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ghouliawrites · 3 days ago

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BLESS ME, PAPA, FOR I HAVE SINNED [PERPETUA X F!READER]

when perpetua offers to take his brother's place in confession, he finds himself on the receiving end of more than just a confession when a promiscuous sister pays him a visit.

w/c: 5k

cw: confession booth sex, oral (m receiving), wet dreams, afab!reader, reader addressed with feminine nickname's but is otherwise ambiguous in terms of appearance, dirty talk, touch starved perpetua, unprotected sex, light dom perpetua but he's really hanging by a thread

a/n: my first fic back after not writing for almost a year, actually insane, go easy on me <3

also tf saying perpetua is like copia, 'all bark and no bite', while licking mummy dust for lingerie, fingering mic stands, and pointing to his dong during the line about dad's in kiss the go go goat has me in HEAT.

Perpetua's entire body felt like a lit match, whatever cockiness he still had fleeing him as he slumped back against the wall of the confessional. It's no surprise to him that since becoming Papa, the number of women who might be interested in him has gone up, but seeing it - feeling it - in action is a different beast entirely.

Lucifer help him, his jaw hangs open as a deep moan filters out into the silence of the chapel. It's late in the evening, a Thursday, and he'd taken over for Frater when a meeting ran over. Of course, the bastard wasn't the least bit thankful, but Perpetua cares a lot less about it now that he's got a pretty sister's mouth around his cock.

Really, it was pure coincidence.

You fully expected Frater, and were running late to confession when you passed him in the hallway. Confused, he informed you that his twin, Perpetua, was covering for him. He seemed loathe to admit it, and scurried off with an irritated huff. The newest Papa was an enigma still to the ministry, as recording, touring, and other duties kept him away for long period's of time. It's a rare treat for him to be undertaking confession's, and you aren't about to let the opportunity pass. It seems the rest of the world knows him better than any of the siblings within the ministry, and you're desperate to get to know him better.

The chapel was silent as you entered, with only one other person that exits from the confessional. Thursday's were always the slowest night for confession, with weekend plans and Black Mass to prepare for the following day. You half expected to see more of a crowd given that it's Perpetua, but you doubt word had managed to get out fully yet.

The rich smell of incense envelops you as you slide into the confessional. On the other side of the thin lattice wall, you see Perpetua sit up. Tonight, he wore his black cassock, but chose to forgo the accompanying biretta. It was refreshing to have someone new to speak with after so long, not that you disliked Frater by any means. But Perpetua was new, and each Papa chose to go about confession's differently. You already knew what Copia would tell you in response to your sin's, but V was a different story.

"Bless me, Papa, for I have sinned," You spoke.

"Go on, Sister," He encouraged, his voice light and welcoming.

It was deeper than his brother's, and without the same accent that you'd come to find endearing. Yet it's alluring and smooth, and you can't help but try and steal a better look at him through the small openings.

"Papa," You began, testing the waters slightly, "I've been so terrible this week. I overslept twice because I was too lazy to get up, Frater was irate."

It was best to start with something simple. Laziness - sloth - was a starting ground, a safe vantage point to overlook the situation from a comfortable distance. Perpetua hummed, nodding his head gently. After a moment, you continued.

"In my defense, I haven't been sleeping well."

"Why is that," He offered from the other side.

His voice was lined with curiosity, and from the tiny slats that separate the two of you, you caught a glimpse of that unmistakable white eye as it followed you with interest. It was almost strange to see him so still. He found his footing as Papa so quickly on stage, and was just as raunchy as his predecessor's, if not more. Rumors of him licking mummy bucks in exchange for lingerie spread like wildfire, and his almost bratty persona on tour had led you into believing he would be more animated.

"I have been having these... dreams."

The booth creaked on the other side of the wall as Perpetua sat up. This is the part he savors, the atmosphere growing thicker as tension began to take root in the air. It was on the tip of your tongue, the way your chest seemed to rise and fall a bit faster with each exhale and your cheeks bloomed a soft rosy color. Listening to the lustful confessions of his congregation became one of his favorite pastime's at the ministry, with some part of him living vicariously through them. He wasn't afforded much free time, and what little he does have was spent catching up on sleep and doing simply nothing, just to enjoy the slowness of the moment. His carnal desires have taken a backseat to everything else that demanded his attention.

"At first, I could ignore it But then, I started having them every night," You're unintentionally leaned forward, the smell of Perpetua's cologne and natural scent pleasant in the air as you inhale softly.

"What do you dream of," Came his response.

"It start's the same every time," You began, "it's late, and I'm finishing up for the evening in Frater's office when you come in. I think you're looking for him, but he's never there."

Of course not, Perpetua huffed. Even in your dreams, you've captured his brother's absence strikingly. He put it aside for now, regaining his composure when you continue.

"You offered to walk me back to my room since it was so late, and I don't think much about it. On the way, I always ask you how you like being Papa and you say it's rewarding, but it keeps you busy..."

Perpetua leaned closer to the wall, forcing himself to deep breath in to steel his trembling voice as the anticipation seeps in.

"It does," He laughed, "stunning observation, Sister."

You let yourself laugh with him, and for a moment, you're tempted to drop your silly little test. You almost feel guilty, bothering him while he's meant to be working. But then, he spoke again through the wall, and the interest in his voice was unmistakable.

"Keep going."

It sends shock waves through your body, your thighs pressing together seeking some sort of relief from the heat that surges between them. The movement isn't lost on him, and it takes every ounce of control he has not to groan at the effect he has on you.

"And I selfishly ask you to come inside."

"Greedy woman," He hissed out, "that's good. To share it with your Papa is better."

Your Papa. Your core clenches around nothing, panties growing slick as you allow yourself to indulge in the memory.

"And then you come inside. At first, I try and play coy... You slip your jacket off, it's the black leather jacket, from stage?"

He nodded silently, his fingers reaching down to curl around the edge of the bench.

"You aren't buying it. You stretch out onto the couch and pat your thigh... It's exciting, to be alone in this position with the new Papa. When I hesitate, you're telling me..."

You hesitated in the booth. It's one thing to tease Papa about lustful dreams, it's another thing to actually confess in graphic detail the litany of things he does to you in your sleep. You aren't even really sure when it started, whether it was seeing him on stage or enjoying the mystery of his character, all you knew was that the dreams refuse to leave you and if you don't do something about this heat you'll surely go mad.

"Sister," Perpetua urged, "we celebrate sins, of all magnitude. Do not run from it, embrace it."

He was coaxing you, his honeyed voice like music to your ears as he adjusts in his pants.

"And you tell me to be a good girl and come sit for my tired Papa. Instead of sitting in your lap… I crawl to you and sit between your open legs. My head is on your thigh and I just can't help myself, my hand slithers into your pants."

The confession sucked the air from his lungs. It wasn't the first time a sibling confessed to dreaming about him, but there was something different about it because it was you, and he knows you. He can put a face to your voice and suddenly everything felt much more personal. He can picture you now, standing in one of the standard ministry issued sibling rooms in a habit that's salaciously short, the pressure of your head against his thigh as your soft hands come to undo the buttons of his pants.

He can't help but let a small groan spill from his open lips. You make it worse, because of course you do, and have the audacity to giggle at his desperation. His eyes widened, and he watches as you stiffen on the other side of the booth, laughter dying on your lips as you feel his gaze.

"Ah, you enjoy a little tease, huh?" He challenged, his tone humorous but the invite is there.

It's there and it has your heart racing within the confines of your habit.

"Papa," You hummed, "I'm just trying to be a good Sister here and confess."

"Then by all means proceed," Perpetua purred, "Confess to your Papa, yeah?" "I could confess," You said quietly, "Or I could show you."

This is the part where he flounders. The moment he was actually propositioned, Perpetua always managed to shut down any tension by chickening out. It wasn't that he was afraid of sex, quite the opposite. But he's gone so long without it that he's afraid. He couldn't even remember the last time he brought a sister to bed with him, which feels illegal given his position as Papa.

"W-what?"

He cringed inwardly, clenching his eyes shut as he stuttered. He's Papa, for fuck's sake. He wasn't supposed to stutter when a sibling makes an advance towards him. He's supposed to be cool and suave and sensual but the reality of the situation short circuited his brain. When he hears you shuffle in the booth next to him, the door creaking open, he deflated slightly. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, leaning back against the booth.

Though he craves connection so deeply, sometimes it's easier to send siblings away than deal with the expectation's that come from building such connection's. He has so much to do as Papa, and while a certain amount of lazing about was expected, there was only so much time to spare for such activities. It wasn't enough to dedicate towards anything meaningful, but tonight the temptation stuns him and leaves him defeated.

The door of his side swung open, and his eyes snapped open in surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"I can leave, if you want me to," You offered, "or I can stay…" "Get in here and shut the door," He ordered.

He tried to regain some sort of composure, but his nerves are shot from being able to see you without the lattice blocking his view. You look much different away from your desk, and to his delight, your habit was indeed short and grazing your mid thigh as you shut the door behind you. Your veil had shifted backwards, strands of hair escaping from the sides in a way that feels almost too intentional to be truly messy.

Satan is on your side, you chuckle to yourself.

You don't wait for his invitation. He stared up at you with glassy eyes as you moved slowly over to him, standing between his open legs. Perpetua's hands remain clenching the bench by your knees. You can feel the warmth that radiates off of them, and when your arms finally ghost over his shoulders he releases the bench and lets his gloved fingertips graze the soft skin of your outer thigh.

His eyes darken, and something in him awakens from a deep slumber. It's been so long since he'd given into desire, and the scent of your perfume and pleading look in your eye have him trembling from anticipation.

"You're so wound up, Papa," You said quietly, "allow me to relieve you."

You shuffle down onto the cool wood floor. Before you, Perpetua was leaned back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched you from above. His mouth tipped open, his soft pant audible in the silence as you let your hands finally wander his covered leg. Beneath his black cassock, he wore plain jeans with the same obnoxiously large belt buckle from his stage fit's. It's almost funny, imagining it beneath his clergy attire. But you aren't focused on it, your entire body reacting on it's own accord as you press your front against his leg, your hands skimming the front of his buckle where his pant's bulge out. They're so tight you can see the clear outline of his entire cock, fully hard and throbbing against the denim.

His hips pushed into your awaiting palm, the feel of it beneath your palm warm as he lets out a barely audible moan, sending another gush of slick down your legs. With trembling fingers, you unbutton his belt and push it open just enough to pop the button of his pants open and tug the zipper down. There was little left to the imagination as he was bare beneath his jeans. Above you, Perpetua let out a breath of relief, scooting further down the bench as he shoved one hand into his pants to fish out his cock.

He was tired of pretending he didn't want it anymore, and with you presenting yourself as some offering from the Olde One himself, how could he not give in to the temptation?

He was an average length but the base was wide with several prominent vein's pulsing as it twitched in his grasp. The tip of it was flushed red and already glistening with droplets of pre-cum to lubricate it. He was holding himself back though, his thumb just barely grazing the edge of it as his entire body arched itself towards you. It takes a surprising amount of control for him to come back to himself, squeezing at the base just to feel something while you stare, doe-eyed at him.

"Relieve me then," He grunted, "and stop teasing your Papa."

You grasped the shaft in your hand as Perpetua lets out a soft moan that's nearly lost in the shuffle. He's so much hotter in your hand, fully erect and positively aching as you let your tongue dart out to wet your lips. He was asking you nicely, but part of you enjoys having some power over him now. It's short lived though, as his hand plucked the loose veil from your head.

Your hair was already ruffled and messy from being beneath a veil all day, and Perpetua doesn't hesitate to wrap his hand around a chunk of it to guide you further down. You take him in your lips then, the scent of his soap and taste of his skin invading your senses as his length fills your mouth. It was impossible not to release a slight whimper, tightening your hold on the base as he let's out a deep groan, his head falling against the back of the booth.

You sucked your lips over your teeth, taking him deep as your tongue slid over his head, his hips jerking in response to force more of him down your throat. You pull back until only his tip remains. His free hand came to press against his mouth, his leather glove smearing his paints provocatively as his brow's knit together. You make deliberate eye contact with him as your lips envelope him, your tongue coasting over the ridges as he shivered, his mouth dropping open.

"S-Sister," Perpetua whimpered.

Any sense of control has left him, and he was content just to let you do whatever you pleased at this point. His brain was nearly mush at that point, watching your lips stretch obscenely around the width of him. He's about ninety percent sure his soul leaves his body when you take him deeper, increasing the suction in a way that has his thighs tightening around your shoulder's.

Of all the men you've ever been with, Perpetua was the most reactive, his grip on your hair loosening as you moved freely down his shaft. He watched you with heavy eyes, his mouth parted as soft pants fell each time you pulled back enough to leave just the head before diving back down. Spit dribbled from the corners of your lips, dripping down onto his balls as you take him all the way down.

The moan he lets out is filthy, straight from his chest and deep as his thighs shake violently. You keep him there for a moment, lathering your tongue along the ridges and veins as his breathing starts to increase. Perpetua's hand tightened around your hair again, pulling it and you backwards off his cock as you pant, taking in gulps of air.

Your jaw was tender and you could feel the sticky coating of spit covering your entire chin, but you can't find it in you to feel self-conscious when he's looking at you the way he is now. His eyes are gazing at you so adoringly as he grips himself, his cock glistening as globs of spit trail down the base and onto his hand, his mouth parted as he nods once to you, the question obvious.

You rose from aching knees to return to his lap, nestling your weight into the warmth of his thighs. He releases himself, shaking hands coming to pull the button's of his cassock apart to free himself from the restrictive robe. You help him, pushing the heavy garment off his shoulder's. He let's it pool around him as you make quick work of his satin under shirt, cursing as the buttons slip from your damp fingers.

Perpetua makes no move to help you, surging forward to press a damp kiss to the column of your throat. He doesn't hide his want, his tongue sliding out from his parted lips to taste your sweaty skin. It's all too easy to get lost in it, your fingers slowing as his teeth graze you ever so gently before he presses his lips firmly in the indents. You feel the soft vibration of his groan against you when you finally free him from his clothing. His chest was pale, bare aside from the thin covering of dark brown chest hair and a tattoo you only barely manage to glimpse before he's tugging at the end of your habit.

"Off," He demands softly.

It's hardly assertive, but you're way beyond wanting to continue your little game when your panties slide against your desperate core with each tiny movement. His fingers find the zipper, pulling it down as he lets you out of his grasp just long enough to discard it entirely. You weren't prepared to ride Papa in the confessional, obviously, wearing a basic black bra that offers nothing beyond basic support, and a thin bikini that isn't prudish, but it's far from sexy. If he cares or even notices, Perpetua shows no obvious indication of displeasure.

He presses open mouthed kisses down your exposed chest, leaving a trail of lip shaped smears of black paint behind him as you feel him shuffle beneath you. You hadn't realized he removed his gloves until you feel his bare, sweaty palm glide up your exposed skin. Goosebumps rise in the ghost of his touch as he tugs the cup of your bra down, slotting his hips between yours with a groan as his hardened cock glides against your damp underwear.

The feel of him pressed against your pulsing clit is almost too much, your hips moving slowly over him as his lips wrap around your nipple. His mouth was all to warm, his tongue teasing but so delicious when he sucks it gently. There's little to no resistance in your unhurried grind, the only layer separating you from him now being your underwear that offer little to the imagination. You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, elbows knocking against the sides of the booth as he pulls it down your arms, his mouth leaving yours only temporarily before diving back into the other nipple.

One hand encourages your slow grind against him, pressing his leaking cock against your underwear and moaning each time it catches the edge of the fabric. He wants nothing more than to push it aside, the flimsy scrape doing little to hide your want from him as the outline of your clit grows more prominent. He doesn't want to rush, however, content to suck on your nipple as your fingers run through his hair.

But it's not enough for you, and you aren't risking someone walking in just so you can dry hump the cause of all your recent wet dreams.

"Perpetua," Your needy voice is raw with want, dreary eyes slipping closed as he hums against your chest, half-listening, "touch me."

Perpetua was never a particularly aggressive man - but something overcomes him at baring witness to your desperation, all flushed cheeks and spit-soaked lips as you move your hips over him. You're so wet you've soaked through the fabric, the slick of it almost painful against his over sensitive cock. He's quickly approached his limits, gripping both sides of your panties and giving one firm tug to split the seams.

He wrenches the fabric from under you, tossing it into the corner of the booth as he pulls you over him. Whatever you felt while rubbing against him in your underwear was nothing compared to the feel of him bare against you, your slick wetting the length of him as he moaned freely, tightening his grip on your hips. The ridges catch against your clit, body twitching as you finally grasp the pleasure that has been sitting at the tip of your tongue for what feels like ages.

Whatever reservations you have about riding him in the chapel are gone each time his tip slides past your awaiting hole. You clench around nothing, and Perpetua is practically drooling against your breast when he dares to lift your hips just enough to let the first inch slip past. Instantly, the pleasure of it hits him like a truck, his thighs shaking against the booth as you slowly slide down on him.

It's a tight fit, your walls gripping him so intensely it's almost painful, but you're so wet it begins to form a damp patch on his pants below his balls. Seated at his base, Perpetua offers you the softest grind, his green eye focusing in on you as you lean in, pressing your lips against his. It struck you that it's the first time you're actually kissing him, and can't help but question if you haven't jumped ahead a couple steps. It matters little to you, though, when he's groaning and slipping his tongue into your mouth with expert precision.

The sound of it stirs something primal in your gut, moving purely on instinct as you raise yourself up on shaking knees before slowing moving your hips back down. Your chest presses to his for some sort of leverage, and thankfully he takes pity on you as his own desire wins out, stilling your movements before pushing in deep and giving a light circle of his hips, his abdomen grazing your clit just enough to make you whimper in his ear.

"Let me ask you something , Sister," He purred.

Perpetua speeds up gradually, the sound of his thrusts audible as the shuffling of clothing and wet smacking filled the quiet booth. It doesn't take him long to find your spot, the tip of him knocking into it with such precision it knocks all the air from your lungs. All you can do is hold onto him as he lifts your hips to meet his thrusts, leaning back against the booth to gain leverage.

"Did you come here tonight for absolution? Or so you could sit on my cock?"

Your mouth falls open in a sharp gasp as he punctuates his words with a particularly deep thrust. You hadn't imagined Perpetua to be such a dirty talker, but the revelation catches you off guard in the best way as you wet him further, trying to find his lips in the haze of pleasure. You need something to ground you back to reality, each calculated thrust straight to your g-spot sending you further and further into some trance where all that matters is him. You're losing the fight fast though, whining deeply as his fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles over it that has you leaning forward towards him.

"Pretty baby," He moans, laughing lightly as you knock your forehead against his, breathing into his mouth, "it's okay. A Papa serves his congregation as much as the congregation serves him."

His lips find yours quickly, too quickly and you follow him, pathetically chasing the string of spit that keeps you connected. It's desperate, and every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire when he pushes back in and speeds up his fingers. They catch perfectly, deliciously slick against your heated skin as you make some effort to meet his thrust's half way.

"Serving your Papa so well," Perpetua murmured, and something like reverence flashes in his eyes.

He was losing himself in his cockiness, his face twisting as beads of sweat gather at the edges of his mask. As much as he wants to prolong your encounter, months without have left him without his usual stamina and the familiar clench of his abdomen signals an earlier end that sends shivers down his spine, unable to control the grunts that come from his throat with each push down.

"P-Papa," Your whiny voice calls out to him like a siren, and he's gasping, sucking bruises on your chest as he tries unfocused to find your nipples.

"I know," He hushed, "you feel it, yeah?"

All you can do is nod, staring at him dumbly as his cock continues pummeling into you. He starts to lose his tempo but never misses his mark, collecting slick that has dropped to his stomach to smear against your clit as he makes quick circles against it. Now that he's found his confidence, all you can do is hold on as he mashes his lips against yours as a deep moan echoes out from his chest.

By now his pants are soaked and the booth smells so heavily of sex, anyone who walks in will surely have no trouble deciphering what is happening. But the thrill of being caught with him, to take what so many siblings wanted, was positively addicting as you fall off the edge.

Your ears ring as you do, waves of pleasure so intense it has your vision going blurry and every nerve ending vibrating as you clench around his cock. Slick gushes from where the two of you are connected, each thrust pushing more out to coat the booth where he sits. You fall limp against him, writhing as his hands grasp your ass, now fully chasing his own pleasure as he drives you up and down against him furiously, kissing you with a messy tongue that moves lazily against yours.

His hips stutter after a moment, and Perpetua's lips part to let out the most erotic, drawn out moan that you could ever imagine. When he cums, his entire body tenses and for a moment it looks like he's in pain before he's letting out breathless bits of laughter as he stares at the mess in his lap. He grinds against you for a moment like that, riding out his orgasm as he stares transfixed at the creamy ring that coats the base of his cock.

It's been too long, and if he was a younger man he would have gladly kept going but overstimulation forces him to stop. His hands card through your hair as you look up at him through sleepy eyes, pressing your lips against his lazily and uncoordinated. He reciprocates none the less, taking the moment to savor your taste as he slips his softening cock from inside you.

The only sound comes from your labored breathing, steadily slowly as you regain consciousness and pull back to look at him.

"Thank you for blessing me, Papa."

Perpetua grins, huffing out a bit of laughter.

"You will always have your Papa's blessing, whenever you should want it…"

You reluctantly slide from his lap and tug your habit back on. Your underwear is ruined, sitting in a damp pile in the corner so it's no use trying to save them. The feel of him threatening to drip down your legs has you pressing them together, the action not missed upon Perpetua who grins, tucking himself away in his pants. You don't try to fix your veil either, holding it crumbled up in your hand as you run the other through your hair in attempt to smooth it out in some way.

It's not that you're ashamed - quite the opposite actually, but you want to bask in the afterglow without someone else prying for every dirty detail.

"Remind me to thank Frater," Perpetua laughs, readjusting his cassock as he checks his watch before standing to his feet, "although, I think he might actually try and kill me if he finds out I fucked his pretty little assistant while covering for him."

The next morning, Frater is already ranting on the phone to someone when you get into the office. Your hips ache and your knees are bruised beneath your habit, but you slept better than you have in months and had even come in feeling optimistic about the day.

"Ah! Sister," Frater greets, sending you a wave as he presses a button on his landline, muting himself as he continues, "That-that fucking V. I ask him to cover for me when a meeting with the tax consultant goes late and what does he do? Defiles the confessional! It's going to add an entire hour onto the housekeeper's route today!"

Ah, yes. Fucking V, indeed.

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they-are-in-my-pants · 3 days ago

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THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM (OR SO THEY SAY)

pairing: Carmen Berzatto (The Bear) x gn!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: smoking, reader is described as more introverted and anxious, carmen is a nervous wreck, just two idiots trying to flirt and failing miserably, nothing really happens I might have to write a second part

summary: your neighbour is a complete stranger to you. Until he isn't. Or, alternatively, the two times fate pushed you together and the one time you decided to take the step.

Author’s note: the author has a lot to say here, so bear with them. Reader is described as owning and playing the piano, this is very self-indulgent, I’m aware, so I apologize if it throws you off. Reader is described as dressing quite boyishly, even though there are no exact descriptions, reader wears jeans and tshirts rather than skirts and dresses, and has short hair. Imagine that how you will. Again, I apologize if this doesn’t quite fit your persona, but there are lots of fics on here that indulge in a very feminine reader, and I want to appeal to people who don’t necessarily relate to that, like me. Finally, this fic doesn’t insert itself in a specific moment of the show, so no spoilers ahead. Thanks for reading!

The new apartment was shitty. But, at least you had your space. Roommates were going to be the absolute death of you, and your old neighbors, a young couple with newborn twins, were assholes when it came to your music. Apparently, Chopin keeps the babies up at night. That was news to you. But you’d finally scraped up enough money to get your own place, even though it was small and far from anyone you knew, which granted, isn’t that many people. By asking around, you’d even found a piano for cheap, and so far, it was by far the nicest thing in the apartment. The kitchen was small, sure, and you still slept on a mattress on the ground, and nothing was properly unpacked, books piling up and necessities thrown around carelessly, but whatever this was, it was infinitely better than anything else that had happened to you to this day. You’d developed a routine, days flowing by somewhat enjoyably, leaving early to come back early and get some well earned rest, and obviously, time to settle in front of your instrument. You were careful not to play too loud, too late, too bad, not wanting to trigger your neighbor, right on the other side of the wall, whom you’d never met. So far, they hadn’t caused any issues.

The first time they barged into your life, it wasn’t pleasant. 7pm and you’d just settled in front of the yellowing keyboard, finger scouring the papers scattered around, trying to find the Mendelssohn piece you’d been meaning to start on. There was absolute quiet around you, interrupted by your sighs, when suddenly, from the other side of the wall, a loud crash and yelling. Your head jerked up, listening attentively, then more yelling, clearer this time. You could make out some of the words, but not enough to fully understand. You waited, assuming it was a nasty phone call, waited for it to pass. Except it didn’t. It went on for a full 15 minutes, and when the yelling subsided, you would hear the clanging of plates and cutlery and pots being jostled far more violently than truly necessary. A true racket that impeded on your nightly routine of doing anything in tranquility. Really, you could barely hear yourself think, let alone function or sleep. But you were not a person inclined to speaking up if not absolutely necessary, you always preferred waiting things out, especially not knowing who exactly was in that next door apartment. However, Mystery Neighbor™ was not relenting. Speaking loudly to themself, apparently, stomping around, slamming things down. Dear god this was worse than the terrible sex that young couple would have in your old building (which is probably what was keeping the babies up, not your beloved Studies). So, fighting all your primal instincts, you threw on a sweater over your t-shirt, slipped on your sneakers and walked out of your apartment.

When faced with the daunting sight of the closed door you were supposed to knock on, you briefly considered backing out and just toughing it out for the night. Your tired limbs and brain reminded you that a good night’s sleep was hard enough as it was though, and that emboldened you just the right amount for you to finally knock on the door. Three times, your knuckles hit the wood. That’s all it took. Silence on the other side, steps coming your way, and suddenly the door was open.

“What?”

Well. That was a lovely greeting. The man in front of you was barely taller than you, but he definitely dominated the space. Well built, tattoos scattered around pale his arms, reaching up to his shoulders, torso hidden by a white t-shirt. Definitely good looking, all sharp angles and broad lines. Not the kind of guy you’d expected to find, definitely not the kind of guy you could easily talk to. He was staring you down with piercing blue eyes, eyes you couldn’t quite meet in the moment. You opened your mouth, but incomprehensible stuttering was all you could muster.

“I uh-... I’m sorry… I just um… Listen…”

“What is it?” His tone was harsh, like a bear’s bite. Clean, straight to the point, brutal.

“Listen, I really hate to bother but um… dyou suppose you could keep it down? I don’t want to be a nuisance but the walls are really thin and i can’t get anything don-”

“Yeah shit, sorry. I’ll um… I’ll try and keep it down” He was tripping over his words, erratic, eyes dancing around nervously. You were stunned. He didn’t seem like a guy who backed down easily, yet here he was.

“I uh-... thanks, I guess. Thanks a lot.”

He nodded, went to close the door, when your wits came back to you.

“Hey um… we’ve never really met properly. I’m your next door neighbor.”

You threw out your name like a lifeline, hoping he’d take the bait. He stared at you in silence for a second, before opening the door again.

“Yeah… nice to meet you. I’m Carmen… Carmy, you can call me Carmy.”

“Oh… nice name. Well… I’m glad we finally got to meet”

He nodded, and shifted around.

“Same here”

“Sorry if i disturbed you, I’ll leave you to your things. Goodnight.”

“G’night” he mumbled back.

And just like that, your first encounter with Carmen was over. Back in the safety of your own apartment, you recalled his face. The shadows, the mane of blond curls falling about, his lips pressed tight together, nervous. You knew that face, vaguely, you remembered seeing it. Carmen… Quickly, you rushed to the corner of the tiny living room, flipping through magazines the previous tenant had left behind and that nobody had bothered to clear out. Lots of trash, a couple tacky porn magazines (jesus this guy had bad taste), fishing equipment catalogues and… there it was. Food and Wine. With your neighbor’s face plastered on the front cover, titled “Best New Chef at only 21: Carmen Berzatto”. So that’s where you knew him from. At first, you weren’t convinced he wasn’t one of the male models in the terrible jerk-off material, but turns out he’s a much nobler guy. A chef, and a good one at that, if Food and Wine was a trustworthy source. So what was he doing in this shit-hole apartment building?

“Beats me” you muttered, “as long as he keeps it quiet, I couldn’t care less.”

And he did keep quiet, much to your pleasure. Days passed and you went back to never seeing Carmen. Until one faithful day.

You were working at the same cafe you’d been working at for the last few years. You needed the extra money and it was an enjoyable spot, quiet and cozy, mostly void of pissy customers you’d encounter in bigger places. Plus, you had free access to the aux when you were behind the counter, and the music really tied everything together. You had your little routine, your regular customers, your free time to bury your nose in a book or experiment with new drinks. But reality came to a screeching halt when, one grey Tuesday morning, your neighbor waltzed into the cafe, looking as neurotic as ever.

You’d never seen him here, and he definitely looked out of his element in the fuzzy quiet of the near-empty shop. He’d ended up here by coincidence, if you had to guess, but when his eyes met yours, the recognition was instant, much to your surprise. He walked closer, hands still deep in his pockets to ward away the winter chill, and you willed yourself to act somewhat normally with the absurdly handsome celebrity chef that also happened to be your neighbor. For a moment, neither of you spoke, until muscle memory kicked in and you opened your mouth.

“What can I get for you?”

“Uh… Just some black coffee.”

You nodded, already moving away to make his order, interrupted by his hesitant voice.

“Hey… you’re my neighbor, right? Um…” It was his turn to use your name as a lifeline, saying it slowly, as if scared he was wrong.

“Yeah” A small smile creeped onto your face. So the celebrity chef did in fact remember you. “Carmen, right?”

“Mhm… Just Carmy, please… the full name stresses the fuck out of me.”

A short laugh escaped from between your lips, and the whole interaction seemed to relax around you, the soft jazz finally sneaking back in amidst the thrum of your heartbeat. Working as a barista was definitely less than ideal for someone as introverted as you, but you’d survived thus far. Today was testing you though. You decided to ride the high and used the beat of silence to ask a question.

“So um… What brings you here today? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

He looked up at you, thinking about his answer.

“Oh I… I was just taking a walk, I needed some air before going into work.”

“I bet. D’you work at a restaurant nearby then?”

“Uh… Yeah. How’d you know?”

Realising you’d let your knowledge about him slip, you turned away from him, facing the coffee machine, to hide your warm cheeks. Admittedly, you’d spend more time than was reasonable on Google, reading up about Carmen. You couldn’t help it, something about him was utterly captivating, he stood out in the grey, monotone landscapes of Chicago. His blue eyes had truly seared into your brain.

Scrambling for an answer that didn’t make you look like a pervert or a stalker, you resulted in telling the truth, or at least part of it. Turning back towards him, coffee in hand, you hoped he didn’t notice your flushed face.

“I recognised your face from a magazine that was in my apartment when I moved in… I-I’m not a stalker or anything, it’s just a weird coincidence…”

Fuck, this was coming out less than convincing.

“Food and Wine? Best new chef?” you supplied nervously at the sight of his confused face.

“Oh… Yeah, alright yeah… I guess that’s gonna follow me everywhere, huh.”

He seemed truly embarrassed by it, you didn’t quite understand why.

“It’s not something to be ashamed of, is it?”

“N-no, that’s not it… It’s like a past life at this point… The memories, they follow me around yknow?”

You nodded along, placing his coffee down on the countertop between you.

“So what’s the new life, if… if you don’t mind me asking?”

He hesitated for a few seconds, choosing his words.

“I started working at The Beef if um… if you know where that is.”

A real smile finally graced your lips.

“Sure, I’ve heard of it. Only good things, I promise.”

The conversation was finally flowing comfortably, but of course the universe was against you finally crawling out of your shell, and you got interrupted by an elderly lady (one of your regulars) calling you from across the cafe. Before you could scurry away Carmen said something that made your heart fall out of your chest.

“You… You should come by some time.”

All you could muster was a small sound of surprise, and that seemed to deter him.

“... or not. Whatever you want…”

“N-no! I’ll come by at some point, when I have some time.”

He offered a curt nod, lips pressed together.

“How much do I owe you?” Carmen gestured towards the coffee.

“Y’know what… on the house. I have things to do, and um… you look like you need the coffee.”

And just like that, you were off, winding through the seats and couches to go tend to your client. In the five minutes it took to reassure old Mrs Revenn that her coffee was in fact brewed just how she liked it, Carmen had managed to slip away, and your second encounter was over, leaving you even more intrigued than the first time. All things considered, you might have to take him up on the offer to finally visit The Beef.

Battling your anxiety, you were hovering around the corner on the opposite side of the street, staring at The Beef like it owed you money. The packet of cigarettes was burning in your pocket, calling your name, your fingers, despite your promises to quit.

“One can’t hurt right?” you mumbled to yourself. “Just for good luck.”

You pulled the packet out of your pocket, placed one between your lips and deftly lit it, while finally gathering your wits to cross the street. Instead of loitering by the door, you found refuge in a back alley, further away from the noise of the street. You lowered yourself onto an upturned crate, slowly making your way through your cigarette.

Last night, you’d decided you’d use your day off to go check out The Beef, and hopefully see Carmen. Was it a stupid decision? Maybe. Were there chances you’d horridly embarrass yourself? Yes. But, third time’s the charm, or so they say. So here you were, testing fate, doing something so out of character for you that you were starting to wonder if you weren’t under some sort of spell. Your cigarette came to an end, and the butt fell to the cold ground, but you were still jittery and looking for an excuse to stay outside, so another one found its way between your lips. When your heartbeat finally started to settle and your leg finally stopped bouncing at the thought of walking into the crowded restaurant, a loud bang from behind you almost made you bolt like a skittish rabbit.

A door was violently pushed open, slamming against the wall and knocking over a pile of boxes, and a furious, coiled figure emerged, yelling incoherently. Too petrified to actually move, it took you a few seconds to recognize the tattoos and blond hair, and it took him even longer to even notice you were there. A crumpled cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, lighter stuck halfway, he locked eyes with you.

“Carmen?”

He looked just as confused as you were. The back alley you’d chosen for peace and quiet was evidently the one just behind The Beef, granting it escape privileges for overwhelmed chefs, namely, Carmen.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I was uh… I was gonna come by the restaurant, but um… I just needed a minute to myself before going in there.” You lifted your hand, displaying the half-burned cigarette. “What’s up with you?”

“Oh nothin’... the kitchen’s a fuckin’ mess, but that’s just the usual.”

You chuckled, taking in his dishevelled appearance.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

A small smile graced his features, and he seemingly relaxed, taking a long drag from the cigarette.

“This isn’t what I wanted you to see, by the way… restaurant’s actually nicer when you walk in the front door, believe it or not.”

You laughed again, tension seeping out of your shoulders, despite the uncomfortable seating arrangement, despite the cold, despite the nerves. The frigid air even seemed to warm up a few degrees, or maybe that was just you.

“It was really crowded, ‘nd honestly I wasn’t prepared to brave that.”

“That’s… That’s fair, yeah. Can get overwhelming.”

The words were falling from your lips with such simplicity, it was a nice change to the usual tight awkwardness that haunted your conversations. Carmen moved, sitting in front of you, on a ledge, and only then did you allow yourself to truly look at him.

A sheen of sweat covered his strong arms and face, proof of the heat and stress that resided in the kitchen. His large hands were steady, but the palms were scrubbed raw and his fingers were adorned with fresh but shallow cuts. A healing burn wrapped around his inner forearm, a jagged dark line cutting through his pale skin. His face looked gaunt, dark circles haunting his under-eyes, eyes bloodshot, and you could feel his gaze heavy on you, taking in details you were sure even you didn’t notice. His apron was decorated with a flock of stains, each one different. The poor guy was exhausted, you could tell, he had that same look you had when you glanced in a mirror.

“Maybe I should come back some other time… looks like you have a lot going on right now.”

“Yeah… Yeah maybe…”

You nodded, somewhat disappointed. You were hoping he’d tell you to stay, find some time for you. But no. He’d dismissed you, just liked that. Fuck. Maybe you shouldn’t have come at all.

“You should come by after we close… it’ll be quieter then.”

You stared at Carmen, processing what he’d just said.

“After hours?” You finally ask, quietly and feeling stupid.

“Yeah… yeah, you can see everything without dealing with any of the chaos.”

He seemed to understand your aversion to crowds. You nodded slowly.

“I’d uh… I’d like that. Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

You stood up, dropping the snuffed out cig and shoving your hands deep in your pockets. His eyes followed you as you moved, and you couldn’t quite get yourself to leave just yet. You took a deep breath, and the words tumbled from your lips before you could think about it too hard.

“Should I… Should I give you my number? That way we can plan things out better next time instead of me just um… showing up.”

You were uneasy, and the silence that followed gave you that sick, sticky feeling deep in your guts. You’d messed up. He thought you were too forward, went too fast. You were about to apologize, maybe run away and not leave your apartment for the next few days, when he spoke.

“That’s a good idea, yeah.”

So, maybe not that stupid of you. You gave him your number, marveling at your achievement, and finally bade him goodbye.

“I’ll uh… I’ll text you when you can come by, ‘kay?”

“Alright… In the meantime, good luck, I guess.”

You smiled shyly and he smiled back, and the air got even warmer. Or again, maybe that was just you. Because suddenly, the sky wasn’t so grey and everything was a little less monotone, and on the walk to the market, you figured that yeah, maybe third time really is the charm, and that sometimes, fate needed a little help to get things going, and now you had a somewhat-date with the ridiculously beautiful celebrity chef that lived next door, and that was by far enough to say that your life wasn’t so miserable after all.

final notes: I really hope you liked it! don't hesitate to like/reblog if you did. I'm definitely going to write a second part, because I can't leave these two idiots to themselves.

#his speech pattern is so hard to replicate oml #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x gn!reader #x reader #x gn!reader #the bear #jeremy allen white #Jeremy allen white x reader #fanfic #the bear fanfic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy #carmy berzatto

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blueboobun · 2 days ago

Note

Extremely self indulgent request but considering how post-realization Mac has an insanely high paying job

Some funny content of reader with poor spending habits trying to convince Mac to let them use their card so they can buy a bunch of crap they want online

YAY, my first funny request! I had so much fun writing this, it might be my fav so far <3

Word count: 801

“Mac?”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Statistically speaking, if it starts with that tone, it ends with me paying for something absolutely unhinged.”

You, fully splayed across the office couch, legs up the wall and head hanging over the edge

“Okay. Rude.”

Mac doesn’t look away from their screens, all five of them, all glowing faint neon blue, data scrolling like a sci-fi movie. Their wheelchair is positioned right in the heart of the setup, fingers dancing over a split keyboard mounted to the desk in two angular halves. The RGB lights from their rig reflect off the edge of their reading glasses.

They’re completely in work mode.

And you are, objectively, about to ruin it.

“I simply,” you say, rolling fully onto the couch and spreading out like an exhausted starfish, “need access to a small sliver of your crypto-funded billionaire wallet.”

“I’m not a billionaire.”

“Crypto-thousandaire then. Come on.”

Mac sighs, finally glancing over. “What is it this time?”

You grin and hold up your phone. “I made a wishlist.”

You slide across the room, pulling out your phone to show Mac your cart. “Before you say no, just know I didn’t put anything alive in it this time.”

“That is not the flex you think it is.”

“You’re right. Let me rephrase.” You pull yourself up on the armrest of their chair. “Everything in the cart is either emotionally fulfilling, aesthetically necessary, or medically adjacent.”

“…Medically adjacent.”

You nod seriously. “I read online that weighted blankets and such items help boost serotonin and that fall under emotional regulation.”

Mac pinches the bridge of their nose. “Is this another squishmallow situation?”

“Mac. His name is Herb. He helps me regulate.”

“He cost $74.”

“He’s huge.” You open the cart. “Anyway, today’s lineup includes: some silly socks, five different slimes, a wall tapestry of a rabbit in a bikini, a mug that says ‘Crypto spouse’, and a reversible plush that turns from a bunny into an evil bunny.”

Mac turns their whole chair to face you. “We’re not even married yet! What part of that is essential?”

You sit back on your heels and rest your chin on their thigh. “Your continued happiness. Mine. Ours.”

Mac stares. Their RGB glasses slide a little down their nose. “How much?”

You grin sheepishly.

“How much?”

“…$316.82. But BUT $57 of that is shipping.”

They open their mouth.

You cut them off. “Some of it international.”

They close their mouth, exhausted.

“You make six figures now, babe.”

You drape yourself dramatically across their lap, head on their thigh, letting your body go limp like you’ve been unplugged.

“Mac, Pleaaaaase.”

“You live like a raccoon who found a debit card.”

You gasp. “That is so offensive. I have a wishlist.”

Mac looks like they’re about to blue-screen. “That doesn’t mean you need six different pairs of novelty socks.”

“They’re themed.”

“THEMED HOW?!”

“One pair looks like chicken feet, and another pair has frogs throwing up peace signs.”

Mac groans, leaning back in their chair, their fingers twitching against the armrest.

“Please?” you whisper. “Let me use your card. Just for this. I’ll venmo you for some of it. Eventually.”

“No.”

You sit up, straddle their lap, and cup their face in your hands.

“You’re right, I won’t…,” you whisper solemnly, “What if… I make you a grilled cheese? With garlic butter.”

Mac swallows. They’re weakening. You see it.

“…Okay, now you’re playing dirty.”

You kiss the corner of their mouth. “I’ll organize your USB drive drawer.”

Mac exhales sharply. “I’m so afraid of you.”

You whisper, “Love me.”

“I do. That’s the problem.”

They hold out their hand. “Phone. Show me the cart.”

You beam and immediately plop the phone in their palm.

Mac scrolls.

Mac scrolls longer.

Mac whispers, “You put a yodeling potato in here.”

You whisper, “It was on sale.”

They sigh and pull out their wallet from the desk drawer. “Okay. Fine….One time.,” They give you a stern look. “One time. Budget cap is $250.”

They said something similar the last time.

“Deal!”

They hand you the card.

You immediately kiss them with the joy of someone about to commit retail crimes. “You’re my favorite rich person.”

[three days later]

Mac wheels into the kitchen on a call, Bluetooth headset snug behind their ear, fingers tapping a haptic touchpad clipped to their armrest.

“…Yes, that’s correct. The NFT conversion layer is being deprecated…no, Greg, I did flag it,”

They stop.

At the front door, a pile of boxes.

One is hot pink and shaped like a bunny. One says “CAUTION: INFLATABLE.” One is a mystery.

Mac sighs. Deeply.

“…Greg, I have to call you back,” Mac says, ending the call and pinching the bridge of their nose. “This was way more than $250, wasn’t it?”

#mac date everything #mac date everything x reader #date everything fanfic #date everything x reader #SFW #request

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lilspacewolfie · 10 hours ago

Note

why hello

79 and 88 from the nsfw prompt list — consider this a chance to give writing a more bratty v a try, lmao. gn reader putting him in his place perrrrhaps 🙂‍↕️💫 have a blessed day <33

79. “Behave.” & 88. “Might I remind you that these walls aren’t sound proof.” Content: 504 words V x gn!reader, NSFW, SMUT, cock-warming, light bondage, a little bit of creature v, idiots in love, you wind him up and he lovesss when you do🖤

He’s lovely when spread out like this—when his hands are bound so he is unable to manhandle you, and the mask on his face lopsided like a pair of skewed glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose.

You touch his fever-hot skin, where his shirt is open to reveal the length of his pale body, a heaving, flushed chest, and a dusting of fair freckles beneath sparse, dark chest hair. He's so very lovely.

You feel his hips move, trying to cant up deeper into the slick channel of your body, so full and stretched that your walls flex reactively. He gives a harder jerk, body taut and straining to roll up into your precious heat. You bite down a gasp and press a hand flat to his sternum. He goes still, trembling, puffing hot breath that you feel against your face.

“Ah,” you warn with a tone that is sharp with amusement, letting yourself deadweight fully onto his hips to keep him from moving his hard cock inside you. “Behave.”

V's laugh is deep, rich and a little desperate. It thrills you to hear it, to know you’re unravelling him thread by thread. The binds around his wrist are straining. He could break them at any time, throw you beneath him and satisfy both your darkest wants. But it’s more fun this way. He likes it when you scold him, prod at him, make his cursed blood sing such praise for you and only you.

Those sultry, shadowed eyes of his drag down your naked form. From your face to hands that toy with a pretty purple ribbon of silk that you’re contemplating tying over his eyes, he studies you with naked desire.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good, hm?”

“I feel just fine as I am, thank you. Perfectly content.”

“You’re taking too long.” The whine he lets out is dramatic and loud.

“I’ll remind you these walls aren’t soundproof, love,” you reply dryly, touching the spot where his heart beats.

He huffs a soft chitter, his black lips parting to reveal fangs that drip with ichor.

“Let them hear us. I don’t care if they hear me make you scream.”

“Me, scream?” You feign ignorance with a playful grin and shift a little, watching his face contort beneath the mask. “I think perhaps it’s you who will be doing the screaming tonight, love. Unless I decide this is better between those teeth than over your eyes,” you say, coiling the silk around your wrist.

It’s such a pretty shade of purple. His shade.

V relaxes back into the mound of pillows and fixes you with a narrow-eyed invitation.

“Come on,” he drones in that gravely, beckoning tone. “Come to Papa.”

And oh, you’re sure your pupils turn to black hearts.

His skin ripples beneath your palm with barely contained power, and you smile, tilting yourself forward to grasp the edges of the metal mask.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll turn him loose and let him release the beast tonight.

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

#hope mother enjoys her feast🖤🖤🖤#the band ghost #ghost #papa v perpetua #papa v perpetua x reader #papa v x reader

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ddejavvu · 11 hours ago

Note

hi i’ve been following your blog for awhile and i love your writing !! i was wondering if you’d be interested in bradley bradshaw having a pregnant wife who is also a hair dresser. maybe she’s farther along and on her feet all day and he comes in like “what are you doing still working 🤨”

bonus if the rest of the dagger squad goes to her for their trims :))

You hear the bell above your door ring, announcing the arrival of a new client. But before you can greet them you hear Bradley's raspy voice ring out, "Why are you working right now?"

You narrowly avoid snipping too much of Fanboy's hair off in shock, tucking your scissors into your apron for good measure when you turn, "Hi, Bradley. I just popped in for one cut, I promise."

"Leave my pregnant wife alone." Bradley gripes, glaring at Mickey through the stringy wet hair hanging down over his eyes.

"He needed a trim!" You defend Fanboy, raking your hands through his hair and testing its length, "Mickey, honey, do you want it shorter on the sides?"

"This is good," He hums, peering at the mirror you've handed him, "Once it dries it'll be the right length."

"Alright. You're good to go." You squeeze his shoulder, brushing a loose strand of hair off of his shoulder before removing his cape, "And tell Nat I can take her next Tuesday, okay?"

"You can not," Bradley interjects, "Next Tuesday is your checkup."

"And I can do it after I get back," You insist, "Hair doesn't stop growing just because the hairdresser is pregnant, Bradley."

"Natasha can do without a trim until you're back on your feet," His large hands come to rest on your waist, your bump stopping you from fully pressing against Bradley's chest. Mickey is smart enough to slip out before Bradley can turn on him, and you swear you catch him putting cash on your counter before leaving your salon. He knows he doesn't need to pay, but Bradley's friends have always treated you well.

"I can cut hair from home," You plead, envisioning yourself seated on your bed with Natasha on the floor below you, "Please, Bradley? If they go to a different hairdresser for six months they might just switch over permanently, and I like doing your friends' hair!"

"They wouldn't ever go to another stylist," Bradley promises, leaning in to kiss you and the scrape of his mustache against your lip tickles you enough to elicit a soft giggle from you, "They love you too much."

You hum contentedly, resting your head against Bradley's chest as best you can despite the baby bump between you. When you stand up straight again you begin cleaning up your workspace, but you don't get three steps with the broom before Bradley takes it to begin sweeping up Mickey's hair.

"I'm still cutting Nat's hair next week, you know," You hum, lips molding around your straw as you lean against the chair to watch Bradley sweep.

He groans, "I figured. You can't take one week off?"

"I meant it. I love doing your friends' hair," You shrug, "Especially Nat. She gives me all of your dirty little secrets."

Bradley straightens in alarm, broom momentarily forgotten, "She talks about me?"

"They all do," You grin wickedly, reveling in the red hue that tints his golden-tanned face, "Why do you think Jake always takes so long? It takes me about twenty minutes to trim his hair, but he gossips about you for hours."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #rooster fanfiction #rooster oneshot #rooster fluff #rooster x you

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bejeweledinterludes2 · 2 days ago

Text

life in the fast lane.

OR while dean’s playing house and sam’s (supposedly) in the cage, you make a friend.

my (new) masterlist.

「 pairing 」 : gabriel x winchester sibling ! reader

「 word count 」 : 1.3 k

「 content / warnings 」 : canon typical violence, swearing, reader is 24, humor, fluff and some angst.

‧˚₊⋅ ──── faith’s calling! a request from anon! it was very fun to write this! i usually write for just dean soo hopefully i did good <3 someone lmk if i didn’t LMFAOOO 🫣

this is also dedicated to my very beautiful twin and homegirl @sturnspup! i love love love you so much gabby poo! i’m free if you’re free tonight or wtv 😁

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

you’re going to kill your brother if you ever find him.

okay, maybe not actually—but you were gonna give sam a piece of your mind if when you found him.

you’d been nothing short of devastated when sam went to the cage—numb with the feeling of still being alive, despite it all. you were still here.

that had to be for a reason.

so when dean offers a ride to lisa’s—you say no.

because you had work to do.

it started with every single book you could find on archangels and lucifer’s cage—everything you could learn about hell that you hadn’t learned already from all the apocalypse business. then you asked crowley if he knew anything—or if anyone knew anything.

the short answer?

no one did.

it had been about 2 months of roadblocks and dead-ends before you’d realized that you might not be able to bring your brother back by yourself.

or at all.

so you went back to hunting.

alone.

you still spent countless hours researching, of course—but saving people besides your brother was salt in the wound. and it’s not like you were gonna call dean for help—so you just… worked. did little cases, nothing too big. and that was working well for you—

until one hunt.

it was in washington state, of all places—a couple disappearances under suspicious circumstances, but nothing that screamed world-bending.

until you saw him.

you’d been seeing him around—in the diner you’d stopped into, at the sheriff’s office in town—and you’d been half-considering the fact that you’d gone fully crazy because you were seeing this random guy that apparently only you could see? never once talking, only looking at you from afar like he knew something you didn’t.

something wasn’t right here.

you don’t see him again until a close call with what turns out to be a werewolf that was damn good at covering its tracks. when the dust settles in the woods, the mystery man didn’t disappear this time after the werewolf had quite literally blown up after a surge of power illuminated the night—

and you could’ve sworn you saw angel wings around him.

“who the hell are you!?” you’d shouted out, pointing your gun at him—even though he technically just saved your ass.

“woah, woah,” the stranger with supposed wings puts both his hands up briefly, bewildered that you’re so hostile. “i just saved your bacon and this is how you’re treating me? now i know you get your manners from your brothers.”

you squint at him, only tightening your grip on your gun.

“you have 5 seconds to tell me who you are.”

the man frowns, tilting his head: “uh, y’know that’s not really a lot of—“

“speak!” you click the safety off your gun, intensifying your glare.

“jeez, tough crowd,” the guy mutters, glancing you up and down. “well, third winchester, my name’s gabriel. i’m an archangel.”

you almost drop your gun.

dean and sam had mentioned him to—something about a time loop and dean dying repeatedly. you weren’t really paying all that attention to them, plus they seemed heavily annoyed by merely talking about it.

but now, here he was—and it all made sense. how that werewolf literally disintegrated on impact when gabriel appeared, why it felt like you were the only one seeing him at times.

huh.

maybe you were.

you don’t freak out—but you do lower your gun, still suspicious.

“see? you basically know me—and i know you,” gabriel defended, waving his hand at you. “i mean, come on, kid. you’re a carbon-copy winchester!”

you squint a little at the ‘kid’ remark—but it’s then you remember that this dude’s an angel.

all humans are kids to him.

you huff a little before holstering your gun away, shaking your head.

“alright, so whaddya want, then?” you press, raising your brows.

“what, can’t a celestial being just drop in anymore?” gabriel lifts his shoulders along with his brows.

“no,” you say flatly. “you’re here for a reason. so tell me.”

“you winchesters are too serious, i swear to my dad,” gabriel mutters back, glancing down and shifting on the balls of his feet. “ugh, fine. i’m trying to find good ‘ol sammy. any chance you know where he is?”

you blink. hadn’t he heard?

“he—” you stop, wondering if gabriel was yanking your chain. “he’s in the—his cage.”

“cage?” gabriel raises his brows again—and why did his breath fog the cold night air even though he was an angel?—before he talks again, the realization sloughing on his face almost immediately. “oh.”

“yeah. so.” you look down, scratching your nose.

“are you—” gabriel starts, then stops himself. “so, what’re you and dean doing about that?”

“uhm, well, he— dean’s with— he’s not here,” you decide on, nodding to confirm it. “it’s just me.”

gabriel doesn’t press you further—just gives you a look that screams i know you’re fucking lying about something before he relents, letting out an exhale from his nose.

“o-kay,” he draws the word out, pursing his lips together. “so. you wanna go save sammy boy, then?”

“i tried,” you exasperatedly answer, running a hand down your face, all the frustration bubbling up inside and threatening to boil over. “no one’s tellin’ me anythin’—or nobody knows anythin’ and i keep hittin’ fuckin’ dead ends.”

“well, then, maybe we should start finding… living ends,”

gabriel offers after a beat of you trying to compose yourself. you look back up at him, the only sound being crickets chirping and the rustle of leaves—

and for the first time in what felt like months, your gaze softens.

“why d’you wanna help me?” you raise a brow, on the defense. it wasn’t because you didn’t like gabriel, but just the years and years of distrust and suspicion coming into play.

“because maybe you self-sacrificing winchesters deserve it,” gabriel snaps back—but it lacks the heat it’s supposed to have in order to be actually harsh.

it was something close to… nice.

“well.” you relax a little more, rubbing your nose. “then, uh, what did you have in mind, then, gabriel?”

“just… gabe,” he corrects, voice softer.

“gabe,” you repeat with a nod, and something very close to a smile twitches on your lips despite everything.

you could’ve sworn you saw one on gabe’s face, too.

▬▬▬ ⋆ 𖤐 ⋆ ▬▬▬

“you did WHAT?!”

so, long story short, you did find sam—with dean, of all people.

and now?

they’re both a little on edge—because now they have an angel on their hands that they believed to be dead.

“dean, calm down.” sam—void of his damn soul now, by the way—drawls as he rolls his eyes before looking at you. “look, if you guys are bangin’, just say that—“

“we are not bangin,” you snap, shaking your head as you look between sam and gabe, appalled at how different your brother’s acting—and you can’t help but feel like somehow all of this is your fault. “he’s been helpin’ me. look for was to bring back what was supposedly your ass.”

“really? well, i’m here,” sam throws up his arms haphazardly, raising his brows at you, bobby, gabe and dean. “and no thanks to any of your bitchasses. i had to get saved by a fuckin’ nerfed angel, of all things.”

you opened your mouth, about to say that castiel was not a ‘thing’—but gabe’s voice rings out before the first syllable leaves your mouth.

“c’mon, cut the kid some slack,” gabe drawls right back, giving sam a pointed look. “we teamed up to find you—and it’s not like you were exactly looking for us before you realized that you needed something.”

“whatever, asshat,” sam scoffs, eyes going to bobby and dean, already focusing on the main objective again—a stark contrast to the brother you thought you knew to be the real sam. “anyways, we still need to come up with a plan on how to get crowley’s little operation dead and gone.”

sam, dean and bobby all get thrown back into a conversation about overthrowing yet another demon—still kind of annoyed, but less than before—but you meet gabe’s gaze over the threshold.

and you do smile this time.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

my taglist (i know this isn’t a dean fic but hope you’ll all still (maybe) like it!) : @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @sunsbaby @deansposessive @sturnspup @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @aquamarineb1tch @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlejoels @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @liiiilsss @floralscented @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @honeyyxxbee @harlekin705 @megara0224 @ej13928 @pieandflannel @defnot-svnshine @fertilise-me & anyone else who wants to be on it! let me know <3

#writings. . . bejeweledinterludes2!#archangel gabriel #gabriel supernatural #supernatural gabriel #gabriel x reader #gabriel #gabriel x you #gabriel x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #spn fanfictiok

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cappulcino · 17 hours ago

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Genuine question, what are your thoughts about people shipping Jenna Ortega and Gwendoline Christie together? I personally think that once people go over boundaries and keep on shipping them romantically... it'll just be too weird for both of them. I feel this the same way with Jenna and Emma (they kinda have a weird awkward tension now)

I find this extremely wrong in a number of ways.

TL;DR: I strongly dislike and disapprove. It is disrespectful in many ways —for both of them, and for Giles and any potential partner Jenna might have. I don't endorse shipping real people together, least of all outside their sexuality, and I think age gap relationships should neither be normalised nor fantasised about or glorified, even in fiction and even as a joke. I will block people who engage in that kind of behaviour.

Now, on to my full answer:

Shipping fictional characters or pointing out the chemistry between two actors is one thing, shipping very real people together is just weird.

Too many people feel too comfortable with actors and forget that this is a job —a full-time one at that. 95% of the time you see Gwendoline or Jenna, just like their peers, they're working. The rest of the content and info we get either comes from paparazzi, fans with no boundaries, or more rarely the actors themselves —which is curated and not to be seen as a relevant example of their daily life. But even when celebrities are off the clock, they can never fully relax outside, they become hyper aware of what and who's around and how they should act and look. Becoming famous means losing a great deal of freedom and privacy, so I believe it is seriously disrespectful to pry, speculate, or meddle in whatever private life celebrities manage to maintain.

People also tend not to realise that many celebrities nowadays —and perhaps even more the younger ones— are much more aware of what is said about them on the Internet than we think. Because they have agents that deal with that, because they may have friends and families who closely follow their career (sometimes even their children will check social media for them), because they may have their own private account which they use to go incognito and see what's going on. Sure, the probability that they find out certain things is low, but it's never zero, especially when it starts to spread like the whole Gwendoline/Jenna thing. And I agree, should they find out, it could make things awkward for them. Nobody should want that. And I don't know about Jenna and Emma because I don't follow them or their work, so let's not speculate, but to think that they act more distant because of the whole Wenclair/Jemma thing is one of the many possibilities, yes.

Anyway, like I said, being an actor is a job, and the point I first wanted to make is that you wouldn't ship other types of workers you encounter, would you? Maybe you've got single friends that you think would go well together, you might even introduce them. But have you ever shipped your dentist with your accountant? Your teacher with a cashier? Worse, would you do so if you noticed a wedding ring on their left hand? And to the point where you talk about it with friends, write fanfics about it, or indulge personal fantasies thinking about it? These are all people you don't and will most probably never personally know. You know them in one context only : their work, where they provide a service you purchase or take advantage of. It's should be the same thing for actors. You don't know them, their art is their job, not an excuse for you to use their image and private life as a form of entertainment.

Because we don't know celebrities, I also find it greatly disrespectful to engage in speculation or active hope that they be of one or the other sexuality.

I myself have often lightly joked about how both Gwendoline and Giles give off strong bisexual vibes, and how that would be a huge win for the gays. And sure there is this one single old tweet Gwendoline posted ages ago that once made me ponder if she might have been in a queer relationship before. Meanwhile, Jenna gives off nothing for me because I'm not such a fan, so neither sexualities would surprise me. But that's it. End of the thought. I find it rude to go further than light jokes or private wishful thinking, because I am a great defender of everybody's right to be whoever they want to be and to love whatever gender(s) they love.

And when it comes to Gwendoline, who is in a seemingly happy and respectful, long-term, straight relationship, I would argue that shipping her with Jenna just because they supposedly radiate gay energy is disrespectful to Giles (and I believe this for every other gay icon and their partner, such as Cate Blanchett and the like). From what they allow us to see, Giles is a good and loving man. Gwendoline loves him, is attracted to him, wants to be with him. Shipping her with anyone, regardless of their gender, is mean to him. But perhaps I find it even more cruel to engage in shipping outside of both parties' sexualities because I've witnessed the opposite situation, and I know how hurtful and erasing that is. If you're a good and tolerant person, you wouldn't want a queer person in a straight relationship; that is disrespectful and even hurtful, considering the difficult road to coming out. But this fight for LGBTQ+ rights means nothing if you're willing to pray for straight people to end in a queer relationship or shame them for their choice of partners, saying things like, "But he's so ugly!" or "She deserves a beautiful woman!" —which are definitely things I've seen be said about Gwendoline. It makes me sad.

No matter what, the only person you should ship a celebrity (or anyone) with is their partner.

I have then addressed my thoughts on the question of the age gap more than once, on here and other platforms, especially with the rise of Larissa x Wednesday fanfic requests.

This post is already long and I could make it three times longer just addressing this issue, so I don't know how much energy I have to talk about it once again.

I've never hidden the fact that I myself have been in a relationship with a woman who used to be my teacher. Another writer here —I'm sure you know who— has also never hidden her similar relationship. And I'm certain we're not the only ones. But notice a pattern: we were of legal age when the relationship started, and out of the student/professor dynamic.

Because the thing is, power imbalance is a very real thing! And while happy, healthy relationships with age gaps exist, even amongst celebrities (Sarah Paulson and all that), the sad and terrifying reality is that 90% of those relationships in the world are based on a form of grooming, manipulation, unilateral or bilateral exploitation, lack of consent, or pedophilia. So any full-grown, mature adult who goes into a relationship with someone young enough to be their child without first questioning themself and the ability of that younger person to sustain such relationship is actually not a safe person. An adult should not have that kind of thoughts about someone they could have given life to. If it happens, and it is consensual and mutual, it happens. Alright. What are you going to do against uncontrollable feelings? But it's not happening overnight, and not without sacrifice and organisation.

Fanfiction, especially smut, certain films and series, and porn have completely changed people's views on relationships of all kind. But the fact is, relationships are rarely constantly beautiful and easy, especially when they're unconventional. In order for a a happy and healthy age gap relationship to work, both parties must take their time and talk. Talk all the time. Because it's never going to be as easy as the rest, so they've got to be stronger than other people.

I remember my ex telling me once, "If you're unhappy in our relationship, people will think that I manipulated you. But the happier you are, the more I fear people will think you're weak and I, in fact, successfully manipulated you." Now, my situation was peculiar and it's not the point here, but it's still a terrible sentiment to live with, one that you shouldn't wish on anyone, least of all people you pretend to care about.

And sure enough, many people will say "But you were 19" or "I was 19" and "Jenna is of legal age..." Blah. Blah. Blah. Listen to me. Listen to me carefully. You are not mature at that age. The brain doesn't finish developing before 22 for girls, 30 for boys, and even more if neurodivergence is involved. And there is no such thing as "mature for my/your/their age". There just isn't. That phrase too often equals unresolved or ongoing trauma, undiagnosed neuro stuff, underlying manipulation, and many more things I don't have the energy to dive into now. Older teenagers/Young adults and mature adults will always be at very different stages in life, often with different needs and wishes for their future. Some people can deal with it. Most people can't, and it leads to fawning. And either way, there will always be gaps that can't be bridged.

Meanwhile, because she works in the film and fashion industries, Gwendoline engages with people of all ages, and she has been known to have people in her life whom she calls friends who are as young as 17. To think she would have any sort of non-platonic relationship with any of them is sick and a huge misunderstanding of Gwendoline's personality (as she publicly presents it), in my opinion. I truly believe that these relationships are based on mutual respect, and that, in them, Gwendoline aims at reproducing the mentoring, care, and protection she was herself given when she arrived in London at the age of 18. She's not a mother, but she acts motherly because she knows what it's like. Imagining her doing anything but that is just not right.

Then again, it's common for teens and young adults to have crushes on older people. It really is a classic thing, and it has its own psychological explanation. So, if you told me Jenna had a crush —platonic or not— on Gwendoline, I wouldn't be surprised. But this is her thing to deal with, and I'm quite sure she would know this can't lead to anything.

And yes, I forgot to mention that age gap relationships in queer couples are more common, for historico-cultural reasons that I won't dive into now. But this is 2025, there are enough openly queer people now so that young people don't need to be mentored into their sexuality or to find someone to financially sustain them. Young queer people can more safely come out and learn about their preferences with people their age.

And we've seen her time and time again laugh nervously or say she's uncomfortable at the overwhelming love Jenna publicly pours onto her. Obviously, she doesn't mind that much since Jenna keeps doing it —which I hope she wouldn't had Gwendoline told her not to— and I'm certain she understands what fangirling is —she's done it herself. But I believe there is still a small part of truth in her embarrassment, and if Jenna indeed has a crush on her, I'm sure she's probably trying to redirect it —as she should. Otherwise, this is just a very strong friendship and professional partnership that Jenna, being young and logically obsessed with a talented and beautiful woman, expresses in all sorts of awkward ways. And we can relate, but not interpret and transform it.

And that's it. End of the story.

Now, many people will say that Jenna is of age and that in a few years it could— No. It still couldn't. Let me stop you right there. We could circle back to the previous point, and I could argue for hours about the many issues of age gaps, including issues that still remain in consensual, healthy age gap relationships and that are often ignored. But I think I've made my stance clear, and I don't want to talk about it any more (on this post, at least) especially not at the top of my head, like that, as I'm writing without constructing my thought too much.

And above all, people will tell me to relax, and be more open. That it is just a harmless joke.

Am I laughing here?

There is nothing funny or sweet or arousing about all this. It's not right to do that, and people who do it should feel embarrassed. At the very least, they should have the decency to keep that thought on private servers or in DMs with friends instead of sharing it on social media for everyone to see, including Gwendoline, Jenna, and their friends and family.

But also including children! Literal children! Jenna is young, so is her fanbase. Gwendoline worked in many projects rather directed at teens and young adults. And the common fandom, Wednesday, definitely targets young people aged 13-20/25. And people of that age (especially the 15-20 year-olds) think they're old and mature enough to read, write and think about that but they're not. They're not equipped to deal with a lot of fandom stuff, or with actual adults with, for instance, a weird obsession with Jenna and who will therefore hypersexualise her, like I've seen on this app and others. So while I'm all for freedom of expression, I'm also all for its moral and legal limitations, as well as for collective responsibility of being mindful of the content shared in public spaces when children are involved.

So there you have if, I think. I could keep going, but I think you have your answer. I am firmly against shipping Gwendoline and Jenna. Gwendoline and Jenna with anybody, actually, and more specifically Gwendoline because I'm her fan and I hate it when people discredit Giles, even as a mere joke. I wish not to interact with people who do that and won't hesitate to block.

#gwendoline christie #jenna ortega #wednesday netflix #wednesday #larissa weems #wednesday addams

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kyathereaper · 2 days ago

Text

I howled, a wreaking ball, and you were porcelain

Summary: Basically you're in Pomni's place during the whole fight in ep 6, and it's near the end of the fight.

CW: Fighting, hate sex, public sex, Oral male receiving, DubCon Jax is super mean to you, female reader, Y/N used, I promise I can write I'm just not great at smut, not proofread, MDNI

"What are you saying?" You can't keep the waver from your voice.

"It was all a game, all for fun." He sounds like he's trying to explain it to a child.

"You said you loved me! Was that a lie too?" This can't be happening. Not again. Not with him.

He laughs. "Yeah. That part was funny. You fell for all of it."

You feel the gun in your hand drop, then your fist is flying for his face. "How could you?"

He stumbles backwards, and you follow, cornering him into a wall. "I was bored, and you were right there. What else was I supposed to do?"

You land another punch, this time to his torso. "Maybe don't play with someone's heart!"

He grabs you by the collar of your dress, holding you up so that you can look into his eyes. "Who would've thought you'd be so fragile?"

Jax's pov

The pain in your porcelain face almost does him in, but he can't back down, not now.

"I fucking hate you." There's more ice in those four words than in the rest of your shouted accusations, and he has to force out the answering smirk that will seal the deal.

"And I don't care about you."

"Put me down then." The demand comes out cold, and if he didn't know any better, if he hadn't heard the shouting earlier, he would think you'd also been playing a game.

"Now where's the fun in that?"

He can see what you're going to do a half-second before your fist is flying upwards.

He makes his move then.

Y/N's pov

His free hand stops your fist, as he uses the one holding onto your collar to pull you closer into a kiss. You push against him with all your might, and he eventually gives in and moves you away. He turns around as he does though, so you're the one pushed against the wall.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't care about you, but you're hot when you're angry."

You hate what that does to your body. You just want to be done with him, but you can't help but fall into the spiral that you always do with him.

He smirks when you don't end up fighting him on it. "I feel like having a little more fun with you before I fully walk away."

"Here?"

He leans down to your ear. "Of course. I'm not letting you into my room."

His fingers slide under your dress, and you go to push his hand away, but he doesn't budge from his goal.

"I know you want this baby, don't fight it."

"I don't want you! Not after you lied!"

His fingers slide into you and you have to bite back a gasp. " Your pussy says otherwise, dollface."

He leans in to kiss you and you take the opportunity to bite his lip. All he does is smirk as his fingers pump in and out of you.

"You're awful. No wonder no one else likes you."

Jax's pov

You say it and something snaps. "You don't anything about that."

You laugh, but it's humorless. "I think I'd know more about that than anyone else here, since I was around when your other friend was."

"You little &$#@!" He gives in at that point and removes his fingers. He's going to break you.

Y/N's pov

Before you know it, Jax's dick is pounding into you. You can't keep quiet anymore, but Jax doesn't seem to care who can hear.

When you climax, it feels far different than any other time. Jax pulls out and shoves you to your knees.

"Open your mouth."

The second you do, he's shoving his dick into your mouth. His hands latch into your hair and he smirks when he sees the tears on your face. When he comes, he leaves you on the floor, without a word about the fight you just had.

To be continued....

#Spotify #jax x reader smut #tadc jax #tadc #tadc jax x reader #tadc jax x you #tadc jax x y/n

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solus-official · 1 day ago

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i don't know if i'd call it 3/4th of the language, it definitely wouldn't be that much. But I'd say that it might be somewhere close to like, 40%? and almost everything that would be removed in this case are primarily nouns, just names for things. Very few verbs, and i don't think any conjunctions or determiners? but hey I'm not doing super deep research into this either. Also about the grammar rules, I honestly don't think a lot of grammar rules even worked back when they were created, actually I think that the rules were only created because some fussy schoolteacher wanted to control their class. Like, there's a whole rule that states: "i before e, unless after c" which has a bunch of exceptions. There is veracity to what this rule is based on though, because it is originally supposed to be about pronunciation and not spelling. e.g. "ie" and "ei" will either sound like "AY" or "EYE" dependent on what their order is, and whether or not C is in front of them. English does have some set in stone, unchanging grammar rules, no matter how malleable the language is there are rules people follow without even knowing about it. It could be considered as another reason it's so easy to learn english because of how these rules work. Primarily, it's to do with sentence format. Not strictly what order the words go it, but simply how to define subjects or objects within a sentence. To use my example from earlier "Owen's Red Coat" you can read this perfectly fine without any additives. But say you wanted to talk about this coat and what happens to it, people will semi-naturally add conjunctions and determiners to the sentence that overall don't change the end result very much: "Owens Red Coat has got Mud all over it." is the same as "Owens Red Coat got Mud-covered" is the same as "Owens Red Coat is coated in Mud". And you don't even need to start with Owens Red Coat, you could also say "Mud was splashed across Owens Red Coat" and it's the same exact meaning. this does attribute to everyone having their own writing styles, which is very fun to read and experience. Although it does at times show people with glaring issues, like those who abuse run-on sentences or those who include too little information. And yeah, English words do have a level of contextualization required, and to a point it means you can't just use a word willy nilly. However with english, there tends to be a standard of one definition currently in use? I don't fully understand it myself but unless you're a writer trying to use a very specific definition for something, the english speaking populace tend to not care about old definitions. And example that can be used here is the word "Gay" which with modern times, has it's first definition basically completely ignored, and instead is used for a much different (and equally happy) purpose. It should also be mentioned that Cadence is something english really takes advantage of in vocal speak, and the reason why stuff like Shakespeare couldn't be translated into French lmao. English can and will stress different parts of words and sentences to develop different meanings, shorten or cut out parts of words to fit to a rhythm, and overall use cadence to help define meaning. If there's any reason english struggles to translate to text, that's why. But people figured ways around that, like sarcasm being represented by DoInG tHiS tO yOuR tExT and expressing stress by capitalizing half of a letTER.

to be honest with you. given how much I hate GenZ for a lot of reasons, I actually respect how they're able to use language online, through posts and texts, in ways I didn't think of. I'm so used to old message boards where if you wanted someone to understand your emotion through text, you usually either had to write in third person, or include a (sarcastic) at the beginning or end. I barely even understand the "/hj" things people use nowadays. i'm old. lmao

hey i wanna do a little rant post

this is not really a linux post

So, one of my minor hobbies is language and linguistics. I call it a minor hobby because it really, truthfully does interest me but i don't spare enough time to actually sit down and learn as much as i'd like.

but there's a comment i've made before and will make again, that i kinda just want to expand upon.

"The internet is a reverse Babels Tower."

The story of Babels Tower, in brief, is that the populous of Earth wanted to reach the heavens, started building a tower, and then the Lord stopped them by breaking their single language into a multitude of languages preventing people from understanding one another.

I personally believe that the Internet, arguably an inverted tower being built to reach high hell, is doing the reverse. Very slowly at first, but more commonly as of recent, languages have been simply borrowing off one another for names of new inventions and the such. Even further than that, emotions can be stated and understood between languages so much more effectively due to meme culture and internet specific lingo. I have seen a couple hundred of posts through out the past couple years where people say something along the lines of "I don't understand a single word of Korean but [insert meme] lets me understand."

And when I say this isn't necessarily recent, I mean as soon as what we consider the World Wide Web began this type of thing has been becoming more and more common. A weird example i can think of from my personal life is the word Savoury. When I was growing up, learning about cooking from my Mom and from TV shows, I was always told the 5 S's of taste are Spicy, Sweet, Sour, Salty and Savoury. But for some reason in the process of growing up everyone I know has started saying Umami instead of Savoury. Even my Mom! I don't believe that using the word Umami is bad by any means, it just seems crazy to me that Savoury just kind of disappeared from my environment despite never seeing it myself.

To be clear, I have no evidence. I am basing this entire opinionated argument off my personal experiences. But I would love to see someone, anyone be able to pull off a real study into this if no one has done it already. Maybe we could even reach a conclusion of some type of ETA on all the world languages becoming ingrained enough to be understandable across the globe.

Every language is extremely cool, and I've been (attempting) to learn multiple languages over the course of my life. Unfortunately with where I live, and what I do, I almost exclusively interact with English Speakers. Even my language is sort of disappearing in it's own way, although I'm trying to preserve it.

If anyone take time out of their day to read this, thank you! and I hope I gave you something to think about!

I wanted to make this post longer and talk about more, but I'm kinda busy at the moment andalso feel like I ranted too much to begin with.

LEARN MORE LANGUAGES! BECOME MULTILINGUAL!

#good luck with college! computer science is wacky but good to learn!#if this is tiring then we don't have to continue #this is really fun! but i'd rather you not stress or tire yourself out just for these posts #i mean #this conversation can theoretically go forever #cause there's no strict or clear answers on any of this since it's half-philosophical in the end

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