#and I am gnawing at the bit for new music

[steviewashere]

I need somebody to talk to about the influences in Djo's music, I feel like I'm going crazy.

Like, there's this part in "I Want Your Video" where he sings:

"So, I need you, baby, feeling alright, ooh/ Yes, I need you, baby, overnight/ Yes, I need you, baby, feeling alright (ooh)"

And just! That "Ooh" he does, the way Djo specifically sings it reminds me so much of the little Oohs that The Beatles sing in "I Saw Her Standing There" (not the mono version, fuck the mono version). And then, also, thinking about how "I Want Your Video" and "I Saw Her Standing There" have the exact same amount of syllables (which could genuinely mean nothing). Both of these songs are love songs for a specific kind of woman, too—women who both are seemingly down to earth or not swarmed by egotistical traits, both of which are lit up as the day/night progresses, both of these songs talking about dancing or partying in some way.

Anyway. I just think it's neat to hear him talk about The Beatles in his interviews as one of his favorite bands—favorite band, even—and to see the little moments in his music where the influence flows within the lyrics. It's just so cool to me.

There's also the break in "On and On" where it's got the people talking on a broadcast (tv or radio, it's hard to discern) and it reminds me so much of the backtrack in "I Am the Walrus" where you can hear people chattering over some sort of staticky broadcast/talking in general.

But then the rock break in "Flash Mountain" is interesting, too! The bass is boosted slightly in this section, which reminds me of the bass heavy beats of Justice's track, "Genesis". Which, if I'm remembering correctly, I believe Joe Keery has mentioned Justice being one of the inherent influences on his music creation. ALSO, The Beatles's song, "Come Together" has this excellent little rock break around 2:00 minutes or so into the song—the way it's performed, that shout into the break and cleanliness of the guitar, reminds me of the break in "Flash Mountain". Another band/artist I'm hearing in this song specifically is Cage The Elephant—with a hard focus on their song, "Spiderhead". The bass on that particular track is also boosted, there's the artistically shouted lyrics, the wideness in Cage The Elephant's vocals—which is something I have also heard in Djo's vocals and I absolutely adore it.

I also really enjoy this one way Djo enunciates his lyrics, very staccato, to the point, every word has the correct sharp emphasis each needs. My favorite tracks he's done this style of singing on have been, "I Want Your Video", "Gloom", "Fool", and a bit in "Total Control". It's a certain clean, purposeful sort of emphasis. It's not struck so hard that it's a brutal, violent beating to the eardrums. It's not messy and loose, sprawling and done unnecessarily throughout his songs. And when his vocals are wide, elongated, open from the back of his mouth, they aren't smearing the page or bleeding over the instrumental—the vocalization isn't a pool of ink from the tip of a permanent marker, ready to stain and ruin. There's a concentrated enunciation to his music, a kind that isn't cock-blocking the other vocalizations from being heard—he's not muddying a backtrack or croaking over a soft, heartfelt minor note.

Anyway. I'm really passionate about music and I just love over-analyzing everything I listen to. And also I'm really excited for the next Djo album, I'm more excited right now than I was for Christmas this last season. Something excellent is coming and I am so fucking sure of it.

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Feat Abbot Staff!!

Carmy hated Sundays.

The Bear was closed and for a man used to the relentless pace of a kitchen—orders flying in, knives slicing, pans clattering—the stillness of a day off felt more like a curse than a blessing. Without the chaos to ground him, he was left alone with his thoughts, something he avoids at all coast. He’d tried to fill the hours: cleaning his already spotless apartment, flipping through a cookbook he’d read a dozen times, even going for a run. But nothing seemed to stick. The quiet only made the knots in his chest tighten.

That’s why he was here, walking aimlessly through the park, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie. The air was crisp, the kind of late-autumn chill that bit at your nose but wasn’t cold enough to send you running for cover. Leaves crunched under his sneakers, their vivid oranges and yellows scattered across the path like nature’s version of confetti. The walk wasn’t fixing anything, but at least it gave him something to do. Something to focus on other than the gnawing sense that he should be doing more—even if he wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.

The distant sound of cheering, music, laughter, and the unmistakable squeak of sneakers against asphalt drew his attention. Rounding a corner, he spotted the commotion: the park’s basketball court was packed with people, all gathered around a lively game. A colorful banner hung crookedly above the entrance: Teachers vs. Parents Fundraiser—Help Abbott Elementary Score New Desks!

Carmy slowed his steps, curiosity tugging at him. Abbott Elementary. He’d heard you mention it in passing—how you loved your chaotic fourth graders, even when they tested your patience. You’d shared stories that had made him laugh more than he expected, like the time students were ‘desking’ and one of her coworkers splint her ankle.

On the court, two teams—one in bright shirts labeled Teacher Squad—were in the middle of a heated game. The crowd around the edges was just as lively, holding signs and hollering encouragement. Kids raced around with ice cream cones, parents juggled snacks and folding chairs, and a few teachers shouted at their teammates with varying levels of enthusiasm... And cameras?

Carmy’s gaze drifted toward the sidelines, and that’s when he saw you.

You were holding a clipboard, looking equal parts coach, cheerleader, and chaos manager, laughing as a tall man in a Teacher Squad t-shirt tried to dribble past a petite woman in braids who had the energy of someone far too invested in a friendly game.

“Janine!” you shouted, waving your clipboard. “Stick to defense, not interpretive dance!”

Janine threw her arms up. “I am playing defense! I just happen to be expressive about it!”

Another man—who Carmy guessed was not a regular athlete—tried to block someone but ended up tripping over his own feet.

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd as a woman with an air of authority rolled her eyes. “Jacob, for heaven’s sake, plant your feet!”

“I’m working on it!” The man, Jacob, shouted back, sweating bullets.

Meanwhile, on a DJ setup at the edge of the court, a woman stood at a table with a microphone in one hand and a portable turntable in the other. She was wearing oversized sunglasses and a sparkly "Finest Principal of the Year" t-shirt.

She leaned into the mic, her voice dripping with confidence. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and everyone else lucky enough to witness this greatness, welcome to The Ava Coleman’s Show! Featuring basketball, fundraising, and these fabulous beats brought to you by yours truly.”

Carmy was unable to look away from the scene. It was chaos—absolute, unfiltered chaos—but there was something oddly magnetic about it.

You caught sight of him before he could decide whether to leave or stay. Your eyes lit up in recognition, and you broke into a grin, waving him over. “Carmy? Hey!”

He froze, realizing he’d been caught observing, he hesitated for a moment before stepping closer to you. “Uh, hey.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, jogging over to the sideline with a bright smile.

“Just walking,” he said, his tone casual, though his eyes lingered on you a little longer than he intended. “Didn’t know there was an event.”

You grinned, gesturing to the chaos behind you. “Yep! Teachers vs. Parents fundraiser. Most desks in my classroom are about two good elbows away from falling apart, so here we are.”

“That bad?” he asked, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

"You have no idea." You laugh.

Carmy glanced at the court, where a small woman—Janine, if he recalled correctly—attempted a layup… and missed. Spectacularly. The ball rebounded off the rim and smacked into Jacob, who yelped and stumbled backward into an older woman, spilling her lemonade.

“Jacob!” The woman scolded, dabbing at her blouse with a napkin. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you made it this far in life.”

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” Jacob said, raising his hands defensively before being yanked back into formation by a red haired woman.

“Quit standing there like a scarecrow, Jacob,” she barked. “Play defense, for crying out loud! And somebody get Barbara another lemonade.”

“Looks... intense.” Carmy tells her.

“Oh, it is,” you said with mock seriousness. “Melissa’s out for blood, Barbara’s refusing to play, and Janine... well, she's... enthusiastic. The only one that can give us a fighting chance is Gregory." You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder toward the court.

On the court, a tall man with a serious demeanor—whom Carmy guessed was Gregory—executed a perfect jump shot, earning cheers from the teacher's side. Nearby, Janine with a bright smile, clapped enthusiastically.

"Nice shot, Gregory!" Janine called out, her admiration evident.

Carmy chuckled softly,“Sounds like you’ve got it covered.”

Before you could respond, the DJ's, Ava, voice boomed over the mic again. “Heads up! This next track is dedicated to the parents who thought they could outplay me.”

She hit a button, and Jump Around blared from the speakers.

“Is she always like this?” Carmy asked, nodding toward Ava.

“Always,” you said, grinning. “But we love her. Mostly... she's what I like to call a creative leader."

“So, this is what you do on Sundays?” He asked.

“Not every Sunday,” you said, shrugging. “But when the kids need desks, we show up. Gotta support the cause, right?”

He nodded, shifting his weight. “Seems like a good cause.”

“It is,” you said warmly, then tilted your head at him. “You can stay if you want. No pressure. But, it’s more fun than wandering around on your own, I promise.”

He hesitated, his instinct to keep moving clashing with the unexpected comfort of your presence. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon,” you teased, nudging him lightly. “I’ll even buy you a cupcake from the snack table. Chocolate, with sprinkles. The good kind.”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s your pitch? A cupcake?”

“Best ones in town,” you replied confidently. “Baked by Barbara herself. And trust me, if you’ve never had a Barbara Howard cupcake, you haven’t lived.”

For a moment, he debated it. Sundays were his least favorite day for a reason. But here, in the middle of this chaos—your chaos—it didn’t feel so bad. Finally, he let out a small sigh and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

“Good choice,” you replied, patting his shoulder before gesturing toward an empty spot on the sidelines. “Park it there, Chef Carmy. You’re about to witness the greatest—and messiest—game of all time.”

He watched as you jogged back, clipboard in hand, before stopping in front of Barbara, who was comfortably seated on a folding chair with her arms crossed and a bottle of water balanced neatly on her knee.

“Alright, Barbie, the game's still on track and we are five points down,” you said, tapping your clipboard against your hip with mock authority.

Barbara didn’t even flinch, raising a single unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh no, dear. I’ve done my part. My knees are not built for this level of foolishness.”

“But the kids need you!” you countered, raising your hands in a dramatic display of desperation. “Think of the desks, Barbara. The desks!”

Barbara waved a hand dismissively, though Carmy caught the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. “The children will survive, desks or no desks. But I will not survive chasing a basketball like a teenager. It’s your turn.”

You let out a dramatic, theatrical sigh, tossing your clipboard onto the bench. “Fine! Guess I’ll have to take one for the team. Again. The things I do for education.”

Barbara chuckled softly, waving you off. “Do your best, dear.”

Carmy leaned against the fence, arms crossed, as he settled in to watch. His eyes tracked your movements on the court as you threw yourself into the game with unrelenting enthusiasm. It was almost endearing—almost. You darted toward the ball, arms outstretched to block a pass—only to misjudge your angle entirely and slam directly into Jacob, who yelped as he tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs.

The ball ricocheted off Jacob’s head, soaring through the air and narrowly missing Melissa, who jumped back with a glare.

“Watch it!” she barked.

“Sorry!” you shouted, grimacing as you crouched down to help a dazed Jacob to his feet. “That one’s on me.”

Jacob groaned, rubbing his elbow. “No worries. Just another day of being collateral damage.”

“You’re a champ,” you said, patting him on the shoulder as the ball was scooped up by one of the parents. “Shake it off!”

“Classic,” Ava’s voice boomed from the DJ table. “That’s why you don’t mix bad aim with too much confidence. Someone get this on video for the highlight reel.”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, leaning further into the fence as the game pressed on. Watching you, he felt the restless tension in his chest begin to ease, replaced by something lighter.

You weren’t the most graceful player on the court—far from it. Within minutes, you’d tripped over your own shoelaces, collided with Janine during an overly enthusiastic pass, and accidentally launched the ball straight into Gregory’s face. But every stumble, every misstep, was met with your laughter—a sound so warm and genuine it seemed to ripple through the air, softening everything around it.

Carmy’s smirk deepened as he watched you jog back to your spot, waving apologetically to Gregory, who gave you a long-suffering look in return.

“C’mon, Chef Carmy,” you called out suddenly, spotting him on the sidelines. “Don’t just stand there! Cheer or something! Ava promised to drop the bass for every basket we score.”

“If you score,” Ava chimed in over the mic, smirking as she adjusted her oversized sunglasses. “Let’s not set unrealistic expectations.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ava!” you shouted back, rolling your eyes.

Carmy chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him here or why he’d stayed, but as he leaned against the fence, watching the chaotic mix of personalities on the court, he realized something. For the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about work. He wasn’t worrying about what needed to be done, what had gone wrong, or what could go wrong next.

Instead, he was just... here. Watching you light up the court with your unrelenting energy, the way you made even the smallest moments feel big like they mattered. Watching the Abbott crew—imperfect, loud, and utterly ridiculous—made his day feel like the best day of the week so far.

And when the game ended with a triumphant, if not entirely skilful, shot from Melissa, Carmy found himself clapping along with the rest of the crowd, the tension in his chest completely gone.

You jogged over to him, grabbed a water bottle and flopped onto the bench, tilting your head back as you took a long drink.

“You alive?” Carmy called out, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

You lowered the bottle, looking at him breathlessly but grinning, wiping sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. “Barely, but I’m thriving in spirit. Pretty impressive, right?”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to a smile. “Impressive isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Rude,” you said, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “But I’ll take it. Cupcake?”

“Sure,” he said, his voice quieter now, but warm.

And as you handed him a cupcake from the snack table, your fingers brushing his for just a second, he felt something unfamiliar—a flicker of ease, of belonging, of something good.

The sun was starting to dip lower, casting a golden hue over the park. Carmy took a bite of the cupcake, savoring the quiet moment. For the first time in a long time, the restless churn inside him had stilled.

And as he stood there, beside you, surrounded by laughter and warmth, he realized that this Sunday, chaotic as it was, might just be the best he’d had in years.

A/N: Heyyyy, thank you so much for the support. I'm on fireee lol. I hope you enjoyed it and tell me if you would like to be tagged. <3

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe

@akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1

Part 5

[astermath]

hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!

HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!

wc: 1.4K

notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!

Steve is one attentive boyfriend.

It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.

He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.

So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?

It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?

You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.

“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.

The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.

The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.

"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"

You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"

"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"

"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.

"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"

Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.

"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.

"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."

The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.

Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"

You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.

By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.

Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.

Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.

Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.

"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.

"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"

The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.

"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."

He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.

"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.

"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.

"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."

The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”

You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.

“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.

“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

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[toomuchracket]

if you're too shy, part 2 (office nerd!matty x reader fluff)

remember those gigs you and matty got scheduled to cover in part 1? yeah. this is them. enjoy <3

“hey.”

matty's curls bounce as he looks up at you quickly. a mild sense of guilt gnaws at your ribs when you realise you've spooked him, but it dissipates when he smiles, visibly relaxing when he realises it's you breaking him from his concentration. “oh, hi. you alright?”

you nod, gesturing to the vacant desk next to his. “am i ok to sit here?”

“yeah, of course. no need to ask. here, let me,” matty slides his notebook out of your way; as you lay your laptop down and sit, you can see him biting back a beam from the corner of your eye, and your heart flutters. “was there anything you needed, or…? not that there has to be, you know,” he sits up straight, apology settling itself on that gorgeous face of his. “i didn't mean it like that, i just meant-”

“no, i know, matty,” you smile softly. “there is, incidentally, but also i just wanted to sit next to you.”

there he goes with the blushing again - honestly, you reckon you could make a fortune if you bottled and sold the colour of matty's cheeks when you fluster him. although, you suppose, maybe the colour is only appealing because of whose face it's on.

said face is grinning at you again. “well, feel free, anytime.”

“likewise.”

“i'll take you up on that,” matty's smile gets impossibly wider, before he catches himself and controls it a little. “so, what is it that you need from me?”

the sloppiest kiss known to man. “advice, actually,” you put your glasses on, preening internally at the way matty's breath catches in his throat as you do, and open spotify on your laptop. “where should i start with this band we're going to see twice this weekend?”

matty's face brightens even more - impossible, you'd have thought. “oh. well, do you know any of their stuff already?”

you shake your head. “very bad of me as a music journo, but no,” you smile cheekily. “this is my first time. need you to talk me through it.”

the way matty coughs and tries to pass it off as him clearing his throat at your words is delicious. to be fair to him, he recovers quickly, the only sign of him being flustered the way his cheeks periodically twitch into a smile and back down again. “alright, so… i think i’d probably start with their second album - can i?” at your approval, he slides your laptop closer to him and scrolls down the band’s spotify profile to find the album in question. “their first is good, yeah, but the second one is where they really start to define their musical identity…” he trails off, covering his mouth. 

you blink in concern, leaning into him. “you okay, matty?”

“yeah, i just,” he sighs, then giggles into his hand. it’s maybe the best thing you’ve ever heard. “i realised i was starting to sound a bit like patrick bateman.”

“oh my god,” you snort, covering your own mouth as you laugh. “christ, you were. was this band’s early work too new-wave for your tastes and all?”

“little bit. i think their undisputed masterpiece is album two - literally a personal statement about the band itself,” matty smiles, then winces. “that was embarrassing.”

you shrug. “nah, i like that film. and not just because i think christian bale’s fit in it.”

“i was gonna go as him for halloween this year, actually,” matty says, nonchalantly scrolling through spotify again. “would that be weird?”

fuck. matty in a suit? potentially covered in blood? you have to readjust the way you’re sitting at the mere thought. so, naturally - “i think you should do it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you smile, matching matty’s. “i’d enjoy it, at least.”

“that’s all the convincing i need,” he smiles sweetly at you, then gestures to the laptop. “so, d’you wanna know a bit about their influences before you listen?”

“go on, then.”

“alright,” matty shuffles his chair closer to you; you sit up slightly straighter as goosebumps pass over your body, increasing tenfold when he looks directly into your eyes. from this close, his are warmer than you initially realised, and you have to work extremely hard to focus on what he's saying instead of drowning in them. “to be fair, you weren't totally far-off with the new-wave joke - their music is rooted in post-punk subculture, but more along the melodic, jangly-guitar, early eighties type. you know aztec camera, yeah? convinced i saw you wear a high land, hard rain shirt to work once.”

the butterflies nesting in your stomach flutter at his recollection. “yeah, that's right. same vibe as them?”

“kinda. similar to a lot of scottish and northern bands of that era. which is weird, considering they're all about thirty and from fucking newark.”

“i see,” you nod, smiling at the way matty's twirling one of his curls. “any springsteen influence, then? not to stereotype, but… eighties-inspired music by people from new jersey? seems like there could be connection.”

matty nods enthusiastically. “yeah, great question. i mean,” he puffs air through his lips quite adorably. “lyrically, yeah, and they have quite prominent sax parts in some of the songs that are quite e street band. but the inspiration seems to be mostly melodic post-punk. does that all make sense?”

you smile, leaning on your elbow. “yeah. you're very good at explaining things. i like that about you.”

“really?” matty blushes again. “sometimes i worry that i'm just talking shite, to be honest. i know i've got a tendency to ramble a bit, always have. it annoys people, i think.”

“not me. you're always talking about something interesting. makes me feel good to talk to you.”

he clutches his hands into sweater paws again, smiling. “same. you're a sweet one, i think. m'excited that we're working a bit closer now.”

“nobody else i'd do this with, matty,” you hold out your hand, and squeeze his when he lays it atop yours; a perfect fit, you note. “you're my favourite.”

he genuinely looks like he could cry, softly rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand and speaking even softer than that. “likewise, darling.”

for a second, you do nothing but beam at each other, still tentatively holding hands; it's only when your laptop pings with an incoming email that you break out of your reverie and apart. matty clears his throat. “would you like to know which order i recommend listening to the albums in?”

“please.”

he nods. “the second, then the most recent - which is the fifth, by the way. after that, i think i'd probably say… first, third, and fourth last. that one got a bit experimental, i doubt they'll play anything from it at either of the shows. d'you want me to just make a playlist of that order for you, while we're here?”

“oh, yes please,” you watch him do just that, a slight sense of longing settling itself in your bones when you think of a playlist so sorely him settled amidst all your favourite songs; actually, it gives you an idea. “i've got a final question for you, if that's okay, matty. well, technically two.”

“yeah?” he turns to look at you again, eyes disarmingly caring and focused on you.

“what's your absolute favourite song by the band? doesn't have to be the objectively best one, and you don't have to tell me why. m'just curious.”

matty smiles, the sun breaking through clouds. “that's easy,” he scrolls down the new playlist. “this one. that's my favourite.”

“alright,” you drag it to the top of the song list. “then that's the one i'll start with. and then i'll go onto the matty-approved listening order,” pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose, you turn to face him. “that sound alright?”

“mhmm,” matty nods vigorously again, wild hair bouncing all over the place; a curl falls over his eye, and he brushes it away before peering up at you through his enviously-long lashes. “meant what i said earlier, you know. i really do think you're incredibly sweet.”

“thank you,” you all but whisper, doing your best to cover your own blushing. “um - what was i saying?”

he smiles. “you had another question, i think?”

“right, yeah. um,” your throat goes dry with sudden nerves, and you try to swallow as inconspicuous as you can to make it better. twisting your fingers together, you look down at them as you speak. “i've still got a restaurant review to do this weekend, and i was wondering if you, like, wanted to go for dinner before saturday’s show? that italian, near camden road station? and you can say no, of course, no hard feelings, but,” you can feel your cheeks burning as you tentatively look up at him. “i'd just like to hang out with you a little bit longer this weekend. i like spending time with you.”

“oh,” matty breathes, blinking as if he can’t quite believe he isn’t dreaming - you hope that’s the reason, at least. he bites his lip, cheeks rosy as he looks up at you with a smile, and nods. “yeah, i’d love that. thank you.”

“thank you, for agreeing,” you exhale, nerves replaced by tingling excitement. “is half four too early? that would give us time to eat, and walk to the roundhouse before doors, yeah?”

“that works for me,” matty nods. he twirls his hair again. “d’you want to just meet at the restaurant? cos that’s the station i’d get off at, camden road. but i don’t mind meeting you off the tube, if you like.”

“no, no, it’s alright. i’ll just get you there - i’m not gonna make you brave the high street when you don’t need to,” you giggle. “especially on a saturday afternoon, christ.”

he huffs out a laugh, but his eyes are tender - so is his voice, when he replies. “alright. i’d do it for you, though, no complaints.”

you believe him. you aren’t sure if you’ve ever seen someone look so sweetly sincere, and it’s fucking your brain up. big-time.

still, you hold it together long enough to reply. “you’re cute, healy, even if i think you’re a bit mad for offering to walk through camden just to get me,” you giggle at the way his jaw drops at the compliment. “you can get me at angel on friday, though, if you fancy? makes sense, if you’re already walking down from highbury.”

“i’ll be there at six,” matty smiles. “i’m excited to hear what you think of the band, you know. i think you’ll like them.”

“well, if you do, then i’m sure i will. you’ve got good taste,” you gather up your laptop and stand, turning to matty with a flirty grin. “speaking of - i like that jumper. you look hot in red, matty. really hot. anyway,” you bite back a grin at the little gasp he lets out. “thanks for all your help, lovely.”

“anytime!” he calls after you when you turn to walk away, deliberately swinging your hips slightly more than usual - you’re convinced you hear a muffled “fuck” before he speaks properly. “and, um, thanks for, y’know, liking my jumper.”

you look over your shoulder and wink, happiness bubbling through your body when you notice matty shifting his gaze from your ass to your face so hastily it’s a wonder his neck didn’t snap. “friday at six, yeah? don’t be late.”

“i won’t!”

and he’s true to his word - when you come up the escalators at angel station at five minutes to six on friday, matty’s leaning against the wall opposite you. he grins, a big toothy eye-crinkling smile that has your heart doing backflips, and waves as you walk over to him. “hi! i like your jacket.”

“oh, thank you,” you self-consciously touch the fluffy collar. “have you been waiting long?”

“not really. ten minutes?”

“that’s not too bad. shall we?” you wander out into the chilly evening air, matty matching pace beside you. “you ever been to a show here before?”

“yeah. what a fucking weird venue,” matty steps closer to you to avoid being run over by a bike, and your heart flutters; you’re actually sad when he moves away. “i like it inside, but-”

“the fact it’s literally in the middle of a shopping centre is insane?”

“completely mental.”

“a really strange bit of urban planning,” you smile, turning to him as you wait at a set of traffic lights. “i listened to the playlist you made me, by the way. even learned some of the words.”

matty laughs. “you like them, then? that’s good. knew you would, though.”

you nod, fighting the urge to grab his hand as you cross the road. “played your favourite song about ten times on loop. i had no idea it was going to end up being a love song, by the way…”

“yeah, the title’s a bit misleading.”

“...but it really works. i can see why it’s your favourite,” you gently nudge your shoulder into his arm. “like i said the other day, you’ve got good taste.”

he looks down at the pavement, smiling, then at you. fuck, he’s so cute. “so do you, darling,” he says, voice so soft you can hardly hear it over the bustle around you. “i really like your outfit.”

the hour spent upending your entire wardrobe onto your bed to pick it out was absolutely worth it. “thank you. i figured, y’know, since i’m technically not working,” you smirk at him. “i’d make the effort for going out. tomorrow, though, when i’m on-shift? not a chance.”

“you’ll still look great, i reckon,” matty says, easy as breathing; ironically, the ease of his words practically stops your own breath. “and yeah, i s’pose you really aren’t working tonight. when was the last time you went to a gig just for fun?”

“it’s been a while,” you admit. “and i miss it, actually, getting to just experience new artists without having to analyse and critique them. that’s part of the reason i’m excited to be going tonight.”

“i get that,” matty nods as you turn into the venue entrance. “and what’s the other part?”

you grin. “the fact i’m going with you.”

once again, matty blushes. “if you keep throwing me off with compliments the whole night, i literally won’t get any work done. but thank you. m’glad you agreed to come with me tonight.”

“i’m glad you asked,” you turn to him once you join the line to get in. “and you’ll get your work done, don’t worry. i promise to be good.”

for the most part, you actually succeed at that, and it’s largely due to how bloody good the band are. for all the venue is in a weird place, it really is a decent one - it’s so intimate that even you, who only started listening to the artists onstage this week, feel like a proper part of it. and, free of note-taking responsibilities, you can allow yourself to be made giddy by the coloured lights and loud melodies, to dance as best you can on the sticky floor, to sing along to the scraps of lyrics you recognise and join in the backing vocals with the rest of the crowd. that was always your favourite part of a concert, the moments where hundreds of voices just worked as one, identities dropping and merging to prioritise the music; it’s nice to be in it, for once, rather than doing your best to observe and capture and convey it in words. you leave that to matty, and mostly leave him be aside from the odd smile and laugh, always responded to warmly by him.

that is, until they play his favourite song, and the boy beside you becomes impossible to ignore.

the singer says something about this being the last song of the night, before beginning the now-familiar melody on his guitar. matty’s head snaps up at the first few notes, and his notebook snaps shut; you turn to him at the noise, smiling at the excitement on his face, even more radiant than usual under the pink lighting. he looks at you with a matching smile, curls bouncing as he nods along to the music, before turning back rapt towards the stage. you follow suit, soaking up the lyrics about wanting and yearning and falling fast for someone - hearing those words with that person beside you sends goosebumps shooting across your skin and sparks through your nervous system, the same kind of kinetic energy crackling in the space between you and matty. it’s so strong you have to uncross your arms, stretching your fingers out by your side. mortifyingly, they brush against the back of matty’s hand, and the sparks become shockwaves; not so much born out of fear, but of the same kind of longing the singer is musing about. he doesn’t seem to mind the contact, hand staying put despite it, and something in your brain just says fuck it and snaps.

tentatively, more so than you think you’ve ever been before, you loop your fingers around matty’s, and you hold his hand. and, quite honestly, nothing has ever felt quite so right as this. the shockwaves in your nervous system fade to a gentle hum, kinda like the reverb from the speakers, with only a tiny jolt when matty gently squeezes your hand in response.that’s how you stay for the rest of the song, hand-in-hand facing the stage, both of you - unbeknownst to the other - smiling contentedly and mouthing the lyrics to the song you relate to.

it lasts a sickeningly short amount of time, though - as soon as the song ends, you and matty are all but pulled apart by a group of kids running towards the stage, shouting about setlists and drumsticks and god knows what else. matty chuckles, walking backwards towards the exit so he can talk to you. "that was good.”

“yeah,” you agree, although you’re not sure what he’s specifically referring to. “liked it a lot.”

“me too.”

there’s comfortable silence as you weave your way out of the venue and onto the street. you turn to say a reluctant goodbye to matty, but he beats you to it. “i’ll walk you to the station.”

“are you sure? you’ve got a bit of a walk in the other direction, matty.”

he shrugs. “it’s a nice night. i don’t mind.”

“cool,” you do your best to keep from smiling at the thought of an extra five minutes with him. “thank you.”

“s'alright,” matty smiles, leading the way down the street. “i've had a lot of fun tonight.”

“yeah, same here. they're really good!”

“aren't they? i'm excited to see their set tomorrow, see how it compares,” he hums happily. “i think this is gonna turn out to be a really good article, you know.”

“so do i,” you beam at him. “and i must say, i'm enjoying the process for this one much more than i have in a while.”

he giggles, and you have to fight the urge to hold his hand again. “well, if you think about it,” matty rubs his thumb over his bottom lip quite attractively. “it makes a lot more sense for us to do gig reviews together. music is something to be shared, after all, and live music especially, and so are our reviews - we probably get a better sense of it all if we're not by ourselves, don't you think?”

you don't even bother trying to hide how enamoured you are when you look at him. “i love the way your brain works, matty.”

“oh, shush,” he clutches the sleeves of his jacket over his hands, but beams anyway; it drops from his face when he notices the tube station sign up ahead. “well, i suppose this is where i leave you.”

the melancholia in his voice makes your heart sink. “yeah, i guess,” you sigh. “but not for long, though.”

“true,” matty's face brightens, and he reaches to take your hand and squeeze it gently. “thanks for coming, darling. i had a lot of fun.”

“thank you for having me,” you squeeze his hand in return, smiling at the way he looks down at your connected fingers in wonder. “text me when you get home?”

“of course. you too, please.”

“i will,” you let go of matty, pausing before you turn to walk away; quicker than your brain can convince you otherwise, you lean up to press a kiss to his soft cheek, before winking at his dazed expression and turning towards the station. “see you tomorrow, lovely.”

“bye,” comes the soft, delayed reply. you turn back to wave once you reach the escalator, then smile giddily to yourself the whole way home.

in fact, you don't think you stop smiling giddily for the rest of the night, or the next day; just the knowledge that you're going to see matty again keeps you in a state of sunniness, has you dancing around the flat and serenading your dog, who just looks at you like you're insane. a tiny part of your brain agrees with her, but how can you be expected to help it? you haven't been this excited to go on a date with someone in a long, long time.

well, it's not a date, officially. but walking into a dimly-lit italian restaurant with matty in tow, him taking your jacket and pulling your chair out for you like a perfect gentleman? it fucking feels like it. you wish it was.

even more so when he takes his own jacket off, revealing A) a short-sleeved shirt in the same colour of red you told him he looked hot in the other day, worn slightly open over a white tank; B) almost-unbelievably muscular arms; C) tattoos littered up said arms, and one on his chest just peeking out suggestively.

jesus fucking christ.

you can’t help but stare at matty, mouth agape, as he sits down. he giggles nervously when he notices. “what?”

the words leave your mouth before you can even think about stopping them. “matty… do you know how hot you are?”

he does the adorable blinking thing again. “you think i’m hot? me?”

“um, yeah, i have eyes,” you giggle, cheeks burning. keep it together, you stupid slut. “i didn’t know you had all those tattoos, actually. why don’t you show them off more?”

matty shrugs. “sometimes, people think if you have lots of tattoos, you’re like, i don’t know… scary, or unapproachable,” he opens the drinks menu. “that’s not the impression i wanna give off, you know? especially at work. like, you know me, i’m quite soft and quiet. i just think the tattoos look sick.”

god, you want to eat him alive.

“i understand,” you nod, leaning on your elbows. “and i also think they look sick. kinda sexy, i’d say, to be honest. anyway,” you bite back a smirk at matty’s flustered expression. “what sort of drink are you in the mood for?”

“oh, well… i don’t know, actually,” matty scans the menu, then meets your eyes. “i’m new to this sort of reviewing. what do you usually do first? talk me through it,” he must mistake your wide eyes after his last statement for horror, instead of slight arousal. “please.”

“okay. can i see the menu, please? right, fab, thanks,” you hold it open so you can both see the drinks list. “shit, this is extensive… reasonably priced, would you say?”

“for this part of london? yeah.”

“i agree. right,” you look at him, and the concentration with which he looks back almost throws you off. “because we haven’t picked out food and don’t know about flavour palettes yet, i’d avoid wine for the time being. anything too flavoured, actually - i reckon our best bets are either some sort of fairly neutral cocktail, or a spirit and clear mixer. you know, vodka soda, a g&t, that kind of thing.”

matty nods. “makes sense.”

“yeah. the exception to all of that, in my opinion, is champagne,” you smile. “but if i start drinking it, i won’t want to stop, and if i kick the arse out of this meal on the work credit card then marianne will kick mine, so…”

he laughs, and the warmth of it goes straight to your stomach. “classy girl,” he smiles, laughing even harder when you make a face. “well, i think you are. and,” he points at the menu. “i also think we should have negronis.”

“nice. alright, let’s move on to food,” you open another menu. “oh, thank god we came here so early - this decision might take me a while. sorry.”

matty smiles, the tenderness in his eyes only exacerbated by the flickering candlelight. “that’s alright, darling. we’ll take all the time you need. well,” he winces. “maybe keep it within the two and a half hours we’ve got until we need to leave for the gig. although i s’pose we could stay here another fifteen minutes if we got a taxi.”

you wave insouciantly. “we’ll be on time. and you’ll have fun, too. promise.”

“oh, i don’t doubt that.”

and you really do have fun, despite having to constantly remind yourself that you’re not on a date and are in fact at work. the two negronis you each have over the course of the meal continue to coax matty out of his shell - and thus, get you to fall even harder for him than you already have, which to be honest you didn’t think was possible after seeing his tattoos - to the point where he’s affectionately taking the piss out of you for stealing forkfuls of his dinner “for journalistic purposes”. but, all in all, he’s completely fascinated by the process of forming your review, taking interest in the subtleties of what makes somewhere good versus great, and marvelling at the breadth of your culinary knowledge (which you’re actually very proud of, being self-taught and all); he’s still raving about it as you walk - with plenty of time to spare, mind you - along chalk farm road towards the roundhouse. “i actually don’t know what i’m more impressed with, you or the food. genuinely. you’re incredible. and to think i was going to make you soup!”

you frown. “past tense? why?”

“you know too much about food. i won’t be able to impress you.”

“matty,” you turn to look at him, wide-eyed and crestfallen. “that’s not true at all!”

he scoffs, but not harshly. “come on, babe,” the nickname does something funny to your stomach. “i’m not upset about it, just thinking realistically. how is my nana’s carrot and coriander recipe gonna stack up against michelin-starred minestrone, or whatever? not at all, that’s how. and that’s alright!”

“matty. matty - alright, fine,” you clear your throat, stopping and standing with your hands on your hips. “matthew. listen to me, and listen good, yeah? right,” when he nods, blinking those pretty eyes, you continue. “soup is a whole different thing - in fact, all domestic cooking is, especially if you’re making something for someone you care about. i don’t want to be impressed by the technique, i want to be nourished. cared for. dare i say, healed. and, in that regard, i have no doubt that your nana’s recipe would fucking decimate any posh restaurant soup. alright?”

he nods, shyly peeking through his eyelashes. “alright.”

“thank you.”

the walk continues, silent for a few minutes until matty talks again. “you know,” he says, smile audible in his voice. “i didn’t think i’d find being lectured about soup sexy. and yet…”

“oh my god, stop it,” you giggle, although you’re simultaneously fighting the urge to skip along the path and secretly filing that piece of matty information away in your mind. just in case. “thanks, though.”

he shrugs, smirking. you’re into it. “just telling the truth. it’s my job, after all.”

“and here i thought you were flirting with me,” you smirk back. “shame,” you wink, speeding up slightly towards the venue; you drop into serious mode when you see several different door queues. “shit. where do we go, with the press passes?”

matty hums, looking around. suddenly, he takes your hand, gently leading you to a side door; you’re quite content with this, a sort-of fuzzy feeling overcoming you, so much so that you barely register him talking. “here we are. you ready, darling?”

you nod happily at him. “round two. let’s go.”

the night, at first, progresses a lot like the previous one - you spend the opening set dancing, singing along to the songs you know pretty well by now, leaning in to talk to matty about any discrepancies you see in performance between both nights while he diligently takes notes. when they close with his favourite song, again, you’re slightly dismayed that he continues to write, and you can’t repeat the hand-holding; pretty much as soon as you’ve thought that, though, matty leans into you to rest his head on yours and sing along to the lyrics, and the room seems to get brighter. out of both desire and necessity (you know how clumsy he is), you wrap an arm around matty’s waist, and you swear you can hear him smile. it’s warm, sweet, intimate without being weird, and you really don’t want to let go of him. ever.

eventually, once the song ends and the house lights come up in the break between sets, you do, pulling your notebook from your jacket pocket with a sigh. matty straightens up, stretches with a groan that should not be as attractive as it was to you, and smiles. “pasta tiredness hitting you too?”

“little bit,” you wince. “maybe dinner then dancing was a bad idea.”

he shakes his head. “nah. it’s been fun. i’ve really enjoyed it.”

“i’m glad to hear that,” you smile at him. “wouldn’t mind making a habit of it, actually.”

“really?” matty beams. “neither would i. maybe we can pitch it to marianne as an actual segment. like, restaurant pairings with gigs, potentially highlight local places near the venues we go to. yeah?”

it’s a fucking great idea. he goes all bashful when you tell him as much. “cool. we can maybe see her about it on monday, if she’s in.”

you nod. “of course. come and find me on monday morning, and we can come up with a proper pitch while we get this piece done, alright?”

“‘course,” matty nods, smiling when the lights drop and the audience scream. “right, i’ll leave you to your notes.”

“cheers,” you reply, reluctantly turning towards the stage. it isn’t that the gig is bad, at all - as you wrote in your notes, the band are talented, charismatic, well-rehearsed. it’s just extremely difficult to focus on them and your notebook when you have the boy of your dreams beside you, close enough to touch and kiss and dance with, singing along happily and doing a dorky little two-step that makes his hair bounce quite beautifully. every so often, the urge to turn and smile at him becomes too much to resist, and matty goes visibly - adorably - pink under the stark white lighting every single time he makes eye contact with you.

by the time the gig ends, you’re dead certain: you are down so incredibly deeply bad for matty healy, and you need to tell him as soon as possible.

as it turns out, the opportunity for that happens extremely quickly once you’re both out of the venue, talking and laughing and dissecting the show even further than you did in your respective notebooks as you leave, and it’s so romance-media smooth that you genuinely think a higher power might be involved. perhaps an apology from the universe by having a group of teenagers push you and matty apart at yesterday’s gig, this time a group of them push you closer together, bolting past you and screaming about catching the bus home - matty tugs you into him to stop you being completely bowled over, and turns so the two of you are right next to the building instead of in the firing line out in the open. his hands are warm against your waist and lower back, and so is his neck under your clasped hands; you have no recollection of putting them there, but you sure as shit aren’t going to move them anytime soon. if you did that, you’d further the distance between you, and why on earth would you want to do that, when you’re so close you can’t tell whose breath cloud is whose and the little flecks of gold in his dark eyes are visible to you for the first time?

no. you’ll stay as you are, thank you very much.

“you know that thing we were going to pitch to marianne at work on monday?” you whisper, heart pounding as you notice matty’s eyes flick to your lips. “the thing we want to make a habit of?”

“yeah,” matty breathes, the words so close to your lips you can practically taste them. “what about it?”

your lips part, and you take a shaky breath before you reply. “well, the thing is,” you bite your lip, and his pupils dilate. “i don’t think i want it to be a work thing, matty.”

a beat passes before he responds. “neither do i.”

thank fuck.

your eyes close in contentment. “matty?”

“yeah, darling?”

you reopen them, looking up at him - for the probably millionth time in two days, you don’t bother trying to hide the feeling in your gaze. “kiss me.”

that gorgeous face above yours cracks into a smile. “alright.”

and he does.

it’s exactly how you imagined he would be - a little bit sloppy, tentative with tongue, but so eager and giggly and just so caring that it doesn’t matter. on instinct, your hand roots itself in matty’s curls, and the little whine he lets out is probably enough to fuel your bedtime fantasies for a fortnight by itself. you smile into him, tracing your tongue around his lips before sucking on the bottom one and releasing it slowly. your head is spinning, from matty more than lack of oxygen, and you honestly don’t think you’ve ever been happier post-kiss in your life.

there’s a happy silence for a minute, save the two of you gasping for breath, broken by matty kissing you quickly again and grinning. “hi. and, also, wow.”

“indeed,” you beam up at him, gently twisting those pretty curls around your fingers. “you might’ve figured it out by now, but… i like you, in a more-than-platonic sense.”

“the kiss gave it away, yeah,” he giggles breathily. “i take it there’s no policy at work about making out with your colleagues? or, y’know, taking them out on actual, unrelated-to-work dates?”

“no such thing.”

matty smiles, pulling you in for another kiss. “well, thank christ for that.”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

what wasnt being said in the poly poolverine storyline??? youve got me so hooked on this one

Enjoy a smut

"So, Angel baby," Wade demanded when you settled on the couch, "make with the details. What'd they say?"

You take a drink and a deep breath and Logan trades looks with Wade behind your head as they take seats on either side of you. "Well. My brain is still there, so that's good news."

"But," Logan prompted, feeling his stomach sink unpleasantly.

"But," you sigh, "they're going to try some new meds and if that doesn't work surgery IF I'm even a candidate for it. But IF they do that the recovery time is a beast and so is the therapy and-"

"We'll figure it out," Wade said.

You shake your head, "I don't expect you to-"

"Shut up," Logan said without any real heat, dropping an arm around your shoulders.

"And," you sigh, "there's still the risk that it could leave me worse off than I am now."

"We'll figure it all out," Wade said, kissing the side of your head.

"I still understand if-"

"Shut up," they tell you in unison.

Wade grabbed your chin and licked into your mouth, cutting off anything else you could say as he kissed you. His usual gentleness replaced with something like desperation. Days of pent up anxieties that had been gnawing at him bubbling up. And on your other side, Logan isn't about to be left out. Taking advantage of the exposed, tender skin on your neck to make his own feelings about it known. Scraping the flesh with his teeth. Making you whimper

"Aw hell no," Althea muttered, "Not this shit again."

You try to pull away from Wade to stammer an apology but Wade keeps hold of your hair and nips at your lip possessively, grinning when you close your eyes and shiver. "Poor neglected angel baby," he cooed, "Look at her, Peanut-"

The Apartment door slammed with Althea's exit and Logan's only response was to carefully shred your shirt. Leaving you in a bralette and your jeans on the couch. Exposing left over bits of adhesive and the bruises on your arms from blood draws and IVs. And he growls possessively. Burrying his face in your breasts and nuzzling briefly before he knelt in front of you and pushed your knees apart. Kissing the bruises on your arms.

"Good girl," Wade said, pulling off his shirt, "Just relax. Think you can take us today, huh?"

"Want to," you whine, letting your head loll back. "Missed my boys."

"You can do it, Princess," Logan growled, unbuttoning your jeans and trailing soft kisses down your stomach.

"He's so soft for you, baby," Wade purred. "Got us both so owned we're stupid. Not goin' anywhere, 'kay?"

"I just don't want you to have to take care of me," you protest, going tense.

Logan grumbled and pulled your jeans and panties down, leaving you exposed you him, and sank his teeth into your thigh. Sharply enough that you cried out, and he licked tenderly at the bite to soothe it. "Ours," he grunted.

"God that's fuckin' hot-"

"Wade," you whine. It's hard to focus. It's hard to think. It's hard to do anything except WANT when they're touching you like this. And when Logan smirks up at you, teasing your folds with just the pad of his index finger, almost lazily- you can only whimper.

"Angel baby," Wade crooned, "what's the matter, huh? You wanna play too?" He shimmied out of his pants and let his cock spring free, "Come to papa. Let's give you something to do, huh?"

And you do, licking at his tip to tease him. Satisfied when you feel his hands in your hair to stroke it. "That's it, Sweetie. Feels better, hu- Fuuuck. Yes. You know what I- Shit."

"Good girl," Logan growled. Giving you a little more now that you're starting to relax some. Losing yourself like you need to- to not think so much. To not worry so much. And your answering muffled mewl is like music to his ears. "That's it, kid. Gonna put two inside you, kay?" Better Music to his ears s that Wade is helpless in your capable hands. All he can do is sing your praises and try not to fuck your face.

Logan could sympathize- You had some super fucking human blowjob skills and he was willing to bet if Wade so much as twitched he was gonna lose it. But- there were rules. And when you were with them, they'd both agreed "Ladies First" was the first rule. It wasn't going to be fair if you hurt yourself and had to tap out before you got to come. They learned that the hard way.

He kept working you and kept at it, slow and steady. Enjoying the steady cresendo of your release. And when you did come, moaning incoherently around Wade's cock, his breathless little scream made Logan grin as he watched his other lover spatter come down your chest- careful not to get it on your face or in your hair.

"Christ," he panted, "What is this Prom night?"

Logan smirked and kissed you before he kissed Wade, "What's the matter, bub, she get the best of ya?"

"It's the fucking tongue thing. Every time- succubus." He pouted and leaned down to kiss you, wiping come off you with his discarded shirt, "Did you have a gay boyfriend or something? Fuck."

You snort, "If you learn to suck dick, suddenly boys don't care as much if you don't really want to fuck."

"Only because they don't know how to fuck," Logan growled, rubbing your hips.

"Such a DILF thing to say," Wade said, leaning over to kiss Logan, "as soon as I can feel my legs again-"

"As soon as you can feel your fucking legs, you pussy," he said, smirking, "you're sucking my dick while she sits on my face."

"So bossy," Wade pouted, "Guess I gotta get my kisses in now huh? Since Logi-bear decided he wants to be Daddy today."

[shannynouhoh]

Shadows of Isolation

BEARBLR PROMPTOBER DAY 1 - Scary Movie

pairing: Richie Jerimovich x Reader

word count: 735

notes: I don't know who is going to read this, this is only my second time sharing fan fiction writing. Bearblr Prompter sounded so good, I wanted in. Happy October.

Richie would definitely consider himself a romantic, albeit a bit rusty at this point. Always the loud and obnoxious one among a group, opportunity was limited to showcase certain skills of romance. Tonight was going to be a normal Wednesday evening, normality he has grown accustomed to since meeting her - a breath of fresh air and friend first and foremost. You invite his obnoxious jokes, you even have a few of your own up your sleeves, yet it is your acceptance that has anchored him the most. Being around you doesn’t simply prompt introspection, it encourages it. For Richie, a blessing when the rest of his life is going well, a curse when it all topples down one meltdown and one interaction with Frank at a time. 

He met you at a bowling club, long after the rest of his The Bear family left the scene. An attempt to avoid life for just one more lime soda on ice. “Last one’s paying, am I right?” you smirked returning your bowling shoes after giving them a good clean. He looks at you confused and you wave your debit card defeatedly. “That’s how it goes. Did your friends leave you to pay as well?”. Richie sips from his drink and shakes his head, “that’s some asshole friends you’ve got, sweetheart.” You nod with a smile as your eyes move toward the exit, “Naaah they’re okay.” you respond warmly. After settling the bill you turn to him, “You want some company while you finish this drink?”

That's how your friendship started, a long conversation about bowling and your respective friend groups later and you suggested to stay in contact in case the other ever needs a bowling partner. And bowling turned into billiard nights, laser tag, arcade strolls once every two weeks if you could arrange it. Richie was hesitant in the beginning, the attention he received from you felt like a set up. In his eyes, whatever your intention was, you were way out of his league and your blatantly open flirting triggered internal alarm bells. If you asked The Bear, everyone would attest that Richie’s demeanor changed over a very short period of time, and life seemed a bit lighter. And sometimes he dared to dream about those doubt-inducing what-ifs. What if she doesn’t flirt just for shits and giggles, and what if this is his second chance?

Tonight felt different; tonight, you had invited him for a scary movie night to your place—you, a woman whose laughter sparkled like sunlight through trees—welcoming him into the comforts of your home  to watch horror films on an oversized projector screen in your living room. Sharing space and sharing your passion for horror with him is totally normal between friends, but Richie’s brain has been in overthinking mode since you so casually suggested the very different plans for your treasured fortnightly Wednesdays. He toyed with the idea inviting you over many times and you beat him to it. As the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows began to dance around along the walls, Richie suddenly felt overwhelmed by a tide of self-doubt that gnawed at him like a malicious specter from one of their chosen films.

The movie flickered ominously as you shared popcorn and half-hearted giggles and sweet “fuck offs” mouthed at each other when creatures leapt out from dark corners onscreen and it took him offguard. Yet with each echoing shriek from your lips came another reminder of Richie’s perceived inadequacies—your stories of trips around the world with your friends, live music you’ve experienced and all these soft impressions of a life fully lived draws stark comparisons against his new solitary lifestyle filled only by weekends with his daughter and hopes of somehow turning all this shit around. He marvels at your spirited conversations but feels a heavy weight settle over him: How could someone so wonderfully alive be interested in someone like him? As anxiety washes over him, turning every heartbeat into thunderous doubt, Richie finds himself retreating further into his thoughts even as you laugh together at his wild reactions to ridiculous jump scares.

And as darkness envelopes you both, something shifts within Richie and it becomes clear to him that maybe there is no place for him in your life, not right now when all he has are glimpses of who he could be, and no real appreciation for who he is.

[wilsonenjoyer]

Introduction / About me post ✨

(i am so sorry if i am mistagging this i am fresh to tumblr)

• Hi, call me Bowie! (this is not my real / go-to name , I want to separate tumblr from the rest of my social medias a bit. If we are close enough, I will tell you & am open to giving you my other social medias, though! I don't actually mind that much.)

• I use he/him pronouns, but it changes every once in a while. I'm 16, bisexual and transgender. I live in Canada.

• My main interests right now are House M.D, Dead Poets Society, Bojack Horseman, and Ride the Cyclone. I'm also into poetry and music.

• I am new to tumblr and do not fully understand how it works, I am only here to make mutuals and doomscroll on something other than tiktok tbh.

• Please. I need mutuals. I'm gnawing at my enclosure. I crave human interaction. Talk to me about literally anything I'll go crazy. In return I will gladly share my favourite playlists and headcanons with u and I will be sooo awesome and cool. PLEASE.

• Side blogs ;

@bowiesmalls - Age regression account

@bowiedotorg - Personal / reblog account (only follow if we're somewhat close, please 🙏)

@wilsonenjoyer - house / dps account

I don't have a real dni, but maybe don't dm me if you're over 20ish years old.

[zablife]

Careless People

Summary: Newlyweds Tom and Daisy Shelby are hiding a dark secret. They're known for being eccentric and a bit kinky, but could something more sinister be lurking beneath the surface?

Author's Note: Requested by @cillmequick for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. You asked what Tommy thought of everyone's speculation about his bride, but what if he’s aware of her sordid past and willing to indulge her? In this one, he and his wife are the ones driving others out of Arrow House!

Warnings: 🔞 smut, dub-con, blood, mention of weapons, murder. Dark fic proceed with caution 💀

Fear gnawed at your insides as you stood ready to serve your new employers, a pair of newlyweds just back from their honeymoon in Paris. The dashing Mr. and Mrs. Shelby sat before you at the dinner table speaking in hushed voices, brows knit in serious conversation. Their conspiratorial tone and occasional glances in your direction unnerved you to the point of paranoia.

“What’s she saying? Am I dismissed already?” you whispered to one of the other servants waiting table. 

The girl only shook her head quickly, lips pursed together tightly and eyes cast toward the floorboards anticipating an incoming storm. 

As if on cue, Mr. Shelby’s temper suddenly flared and he grasped his wife’s forearm hard enough to cause her to whimper in pain. “Enough, Daisy!” he barked into the silence of the room and you looked away feeling sorry for the young woman. 

The other servants had warned you he could be temperamental, but you hadn’t expected him to be violent as well. Pushing away from the table, he stalked to the other side of the room for more whisky as Mrs. Shelby rubbed at her aching wrist. 

She muttered a low complaint into her napkin that sounded something like, “You’re a brute.”

Their new marriage still seemed to be finding solid footing now that the honeymoon was over and the demands of life were creeping in around them. It was rumored that the Shelby family did not approve of Mr. Shelby’s American bride, though you couldn’t imagine why. Thus far she was a fair and honest employer, you’d even heard of an initiative she began which stated one deserving employee would be chosen each season to make their way to America, all expenses paid by the Shelby family. She said she wanted hard workers to have the opportunity to seek their fortune abroad. 

You found yourself drifting away from the unpleasantness and into this enticing daydream as Mr. Shelby cleared his throat to speak. “Elsa, show Y/n to my office after dinner,” he commanded. You swallowed harshly wondering if this might indeed be your last night at Arrow House, but then something took you by surprise. Mrs. Shelby looked at you directly, a smile darting across her lips and a gleam in her dark, amber eyes. There was something in her charm that captivated you, pulling a smile from you before you realized. Your heart began beating wildly at the thought of winning her favor and you could think of nothing else while clearing the dinner plates.

---------------

“Down and to the left,” Elsa said before leaving you alone in the corridor. The haunting strains of a gramophone could be heard in the distance and you paced toward it, still uncertain what awaited you. Just as you reached the partially opened door, a harsh sound of a slap stopped you. Your ears strained for more over the music and soon a few raspy breaths could be heard through sobs. With curiosity piqued, your hand rested over the doorknob and you peered inside to see the upstairs’ maid, Alice, kneeling before Mr. Shelby.

The only light in the room came from a roaring fire. The orange flames cast flickering shadows upon the couple before you making it hard to see everything happening. However, you had an idea as you watched Mr. Shelby’s large hand grasp the back of Alice’s head and push her down between his legs harshly until she began to sputter. Her small hands clawed at his trousers as he sipped his whisky, the light playing across his face in an ever-changing, yet sinister mask. 

“Choke for me, darling,” he rasped before groaning in pleasure on a harsh gag. He gave her a moment to rest, stroking her hair gently before resuming his thrusts, dragging her along his length in frenzy until he eventually stilled. His hands tensed with her locks caught tightly in his fist, eyes rolling back in his head as a string of curses fell from his lips. Then removing his hand slowly, Alice pulled away, tears streaming down her cheeks in dark rivulets from her ruined mascara. 

Still breathing heavily, Tommy leaned down to her, taking her dripping chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Open,” he commanded and she obeyed wide eyed, holding something rich and pearlescent in her mouth that caught the light. He ran his thumb along her lower lip with a nod of satisfaction. “Swallow like a good girl,” he said with the raise of an eyebrow and she did so as she looked up at him, a dazed look on her face. 

Your breath caught as you realized you’d witnessed something you shouldn’t have. Before you had time to consider the damage to Mrs. Shelby, you watched her elegant form emerge from the darkness. You clasped a hand over your mouth as you saw her help Alice stand on wobbly legs and capture the girl’s face between gloved hands before savoring her in a languid, open mouthed kiss. 

Feeling as though you’d already seen too much, you turned to leave, but the creak of the old wooden door gave you away. You should have run in that moment, but for some reason you froze, entranced by what you’d just seen.

“Miss Y/l/n, come in,” Mrs. Shelby said warmly, extending a hand to you from where she stood.  She smiled so brightly it was as though you were the only person in the room and you felt a sudden giddy nervousness take hold of you. Mr. Shelby straightened his appearance and gave a quick nod to signal it was his wish for you to enter, but you stood firm until Alice made a hasty retreat. She didn’t look at you as she passed, cheeks flushed a bright red even in the dim lighting.

“Sit down, Y/n. We have a proposition for you,” Mr. Shelby began, taking a seat behind his desk and producing a formal looking document. 

“We do hope you’ll accept,” Mrs. Shelby added breathlessly as she guided you to sit beside her on the sofa.

—————————

“Are you sacked?” Elsa asked the next morning as you helped prepare Mrs. Shelby’s breakfast tray.

“No!” you said indignantly. “Would I still be making tea right now if I was?” you joked.

“Well? What did Mr. Shelby say?” she prodded.

You bit your lip. It was part of your signed contract not to disclose the nature of your exact arrangement with the Shelbys. However, the best part was so exciting you couldn’t possibly keep it to yourself. “They’re going to send me to America!” you said enthusiastically. “But I had to sign a contract for a…special program first.”

"Jammy git!” Elsa exclaimed. “Alice has been here three years so I knew she’d get picked, but look at you! You’ve only just arrived and already made an impression,” she mused. 

“I know!” you thrilled, wanting to squeal with delight as you hoisted the breakfast tray up, but you were secretly worried about the months that lay ahead. Could you do what they had asked?

——————————-

One month later Alice was set to depart. You helped pack her things and she gave you all the advice she had for serving the Shelbys. However, something in her voice was off as you tied her apron for one last dinner service. “You feeling alright?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” she confided, looking around her empty room with a desperate melancholy. “Working for the Shelbys is like being consumed by fire,” she confided, swallowing harshly, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “But I like it. It scares me how much of myself I’d give them if they asked,” she exhaled on a shaky breath. She seemed afraid, but you weren’t sure precisely why.

The bell rang in the hall calling for everyone in the dining room. “I’m sure you’re just exhausted from all the preparations. You’ve been working long days, but soon you’ll be rewarded,” you said in an attempt to cheer her. “Just as I hope I’ll be rewarded one day,” you said gleefully.

Alice’s face fell as she looked upon you and you noticed how gaunt she’d become. You didn’t pay much attention at first as hard work did that to people. Your own parents had worked themselves to death with little to show for it, but you were determined to build something greater for yourself and you wanted to remind Alice of her own bright future.

Giving her a reassuring smile, you reached for her hand in solidarity, but she twisted away from you. It was then you noticed what looked to be rope burns on her wrist, red and irritated under the cuffs of her blouse. She yanked the sleeve of her uniform down further as you blinked, certain you were seeing things. “I’ll see you downstairs,” you mumbled as you backed away feeling disconcerted.

—————————

Thankfully dinner was uneventful and you soon forgot Alice. Mr. and Mrs. Shelby were in good spirits as they ate their lamb chops, chatting idly about a new business acquisition in Boston which would require his sister Ada to go abroad soon. Mrs. Shelby remarked about the shopping in the area and Mr. Shelby feigned a passing interest. However, one item caught your attention and that was a brief exchange about the upcoming stag hunt with his brothers. “Are you leaving in the morning, Tom?” Daisy asked offhandedly. 

“No, we’ll have to wait for John. He arrives Saturday,” Mr. Shelby replied. Then he instructed the butler to have his guns cleaned.

After you’d finished your duties for the evening, you retired to your room, settling beneath the old tattered quilt you’d brought with you upon your arrival. Sleep came within minutes, a strange, but not unwelcome dream of Mrs. Shelby came to you, her face hovering over yours as her large brown eyes softened to the texture of velvet so soft you thought you could stroke it with your fingertips. Her dazzling smile beckoned you to reach for her and hold her in your arms before she leaned down to leave a love bite on your neck. 

Soon after midnight, when the house was still and quiet, a sudden sharp sound broke your revery. You couldn’t be sure in your hazy state of mind, but you could have sworn you’d heard a gunshot. Shaking your head in disbelief, you burrowed beneath the covers trying to dissuade yourself of the notion. 

However, in the morning everything felt upside down as the house was in a whirlwind of activity. Men stomped through the house and Frances bustled behind them, but no one else was allowed upstairs. When you inquired about your regular duties, you were assigned elsewhere with the explanation that Mr. Shelby was on his hunt and Mrs. Shelby was out shopping.

“That’s odd,” you commented as you began washing the floors with Elsa. You were certain Mr. Shelby said his hunt had been delayed, but it was none of your business so you continued working until Elsa scurried over to you.

“Y/n, Alice is missing,” she whispered urgently.

“Perhaps she left early,” you reasoned, but Elsa shook her head violently in disagreement. “Do you reckon she took another boat?” you asked in confusion.

“I don’t think so. She wasn’t meant to sail for two days and I saw someone take her trunk away before first light,” she said, twisting her fingers in her apron nervously. Glancing down the hall she made sure no one was coming before she added. “They’ve done something with her, I know it.”

“That’s not possible. Mr. and Mrs. Shelby have been nothing but kind and helpful,” you noted, wanting to believe all the lovely things you’d heard about the Shelbys. “I’m sure she’s on a boat. Let’s wait for her letter. She did promise to write,” you reminded Elsa. Although she agreed waiting was best, she didn’t seem to believe you, her brow etched with worry.

In a month, you were vindicated when a letter arrived from Boston. It was type written which seemed odd considering you’d never seen Alice use a type writer. However, it was signed by her and talked of nothing but happiness in her new home. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief that her sudden departure from Arrow House was nothing more than eagerness to begin her journey and she was quickly forgotten as work overtook everyone. 

You were no different, learning what your new role would be. Aside from Frances, you had quickly become the second most important person in the household. If you were honest, the power of being held in such high regard by your employers was thrilling, but also burdensome when it came to dealing with other members of staff. The jealousy in Elsa’s eyes was unmistakable as she found it particularly difficult to hide her envy.

One day she confronted you about it, as you assumed she might, but you were not prepared for her venomous words. “You're so special all of a sudden?” Elsa seethed, pulling you from the corridor by your elbow.

“I-I'm not. I’m just another servant,” you demurred, feeling hurt and shocked by her outburst.

“Like hell. I know what you do with Mr. and Mrs. Shelby when you’re alone,” she revealed.

“I’m not sure what you think you know…” you began, but Elsa cut you off.

“You’re their whore. You let them use you in the most vile ways,” she accused, face contorted in an expression of utter disgust. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said indignantly.

“Think you’re so clever? We can all hear you,” she informed you. “They’re careless people, Y/n. Careless and cruel,” she said bitterly. 

You sucked in a breath. “That’s not true,” you defended the couple you’d grown attached to. Wanting to know if others felt the same, you ventured, “Does everyone think that?” 

“That’s not what you should be asking. You should be worried for your safety, Y/n. Ask why they wanted your signature or why they bought you that trunk to ship your belongings months before you leave. Have you thought about that?” she urged you, eyes boring into you insistently.

“What? What are you saying, Elsa?” you wondered aloud.

“The stable boy found Alice’s belongings in the barn last week and I've seen copies of her letter in Mr. Shelby's office. It’s what I thought all along, the Shelbys forged that letter from America. And that trunk? I think her body was in it. Alice is dead and they killed her!” she cried in desperation.

Your blood began to boil as you realized the lies Elsa was concocting. She was obviously upset she’d been passed over. However, you weren’t to blame. The Shelbys chose you for the opportunity in America. She would have to accept that she might never be the chosen one. 

Seeing her sunken eyes and shaking hands you took pity on her. She’d obviously spent many a night thinking of her wasted potential. You decided it best to play along and tell her the ghosts she saw were real.

“Alright, Elsa, I’ll be careful. Thank you for telling me,” you placated her with a pat to her shoulder. She only sniffed at you in reply and you walked away with a toss of your head. 

————————-

Three months later it was your final night in the Shelby household and you felt a calm acceptance of whatever was to come. Your time spent with them had strung together in an endless night, leaving you physically and emotionally drained. They were the most insatiable couple you’d ever met, constantly pushing you beyond the boundaries of your own understanding. Their “adventures” as they liked to call them left your body marked in all manner of bites, burns and bruises, but you wore them proudly. You had a need to please them and in doing so you felt yourself becoming a different person. In truth, you would have given them anything or done whatever they asked for a single word of praise. 

When you arrived in their bedroom that warm July evening, wrapped in your silk robe from Daisy, you had no thoughts of denying them any last wish. Therefore, when Tommy began his aggressive lovemaking you succumbed to him, knowing Daisy would soothe the pain with tender kisses. You allowed Tommy's calloused hand to wrap around your throat possessively as you rode him, his thick fingers digging into your flesh and restricting your air until a lightheadedness washed over you. 

The fuzzier your head became, the heavier your body, movements sloppy and uncoordinated. As you struggled to stay upright, Daisy took hold of the ties binding your hands behind your back to guide you. Then her skillful fingers dropped to your pulsing clit, rolling and pinching until the coil in your belly pulled tight. Noticing the overwhelming need in your eyes she whispered sweetly in your ear, “Do you think you can cum before he kills you?” 

Your eyes snapped open in panic, body thrashing as Daisy’s girlish laugh filled the air. You tried to shake your hands free, but Daisy held you tightly as Tommy planted his feet against the bed and thrust into you with animalistic drive. When your fight had gone and the darkness descended upon the edges of your vision, you gave into the rushing in your ears like a lullaby, a single tear rolling down your cheek in surrender.

Then without warning, Daisy called out. “Tom, you brute, you’re scaring our pet!” His paced slowed and his hand uncoiled, leaving you to draw lungfuls of air that brought you back to life with a rush of overwhelming emotion. As Daisy hushed you, she began to lick your tears away, sucking at your delicate neck until a dark bruise formed. Your head dropped to her breasts with Tommy’s cock pulsing inside you and you trembled in relief.

“So good for us, darling,” Daisy praised you. “Would you like a treat?” she asked, holding your chin up and kissing your cheek gently. "You want to be allowed to cum now?" You could barely respond as your mind tried to process the notion that they were pleased with you, but Tommy’s hand connected with your ass in a stinging slap, bringing you out of yourself suddenly. 

“Answer,” his deep voice urged and you nodded into her hand. “Good. Remember your manners,” he said, taking hold of your hip in a painfully tight grasp.

“Please, can I cum, sir?” you exhaled on a ragged breath, full of desire.

Tommy chuckled at your use of the term of authority he loved so much. He looked to Daisy and she nodded. Your eyes slipped closed momentarily as he resumed his thrusts, hitting the spot inside you that made your toes curl and said, “Cum all over my cock, like a good girl, but let us hear you.” You moaned for them as you willed your spent body to move, chasing the high you’d become addicted to over the past weeks and wanting to satisfy Tommy as well.

Daisy nibbled your earlobe as the waves of pleasure carried you, her intoxicating giggle echoing in your ear, distracting you from a swift movement at her side. You never felt the slice of the blade across your throat, only vaguely aware of warmth leaving your body as you looked down at Tommy in horror. Silenced by your injury, you could only watch as dark crimson sprayed across his toned chest.

Tommy came inside you with a satisfied shudder, your face crumbling in exquisite agony above him. As the light faded from your eyes, Daisy placed a kiss to your mouth one last time saying, “Goodnight, sweet darling.” 

She helped Tommy lay you down as she sighed contentedly, then Tommy reached for his wife with a stern warning. “We have to stop this, Daisy,” he said, thinking of the calls he would have to make to Johnny Dogs and the men soon. 

“I don’t want to,” she pouted. “I was smart this time, I used a blade so no one would hear,” she said proudly.

“Yeah…you fucking did,” he said with a proud smirk and pulled her in for a kiss that lead to a long, slow fuck in your blood. Frances would clean up in the morning when the body would be loaded into the trunk they’d purchased for your departure. 

Your letter would arrive from America in a month’s time, the signature lifted from the contract you’d signed months earlier. It was all too convincing on the letter Daisy typed. No one would ever question it, especially not Liesel, their new toy who would join them tomorrow night for her introduction to the Shelby household. 

She was already upstairs in the servants’ quarters placing her things in the trunk the Shelbys provided and thanking God for her good fortune. She'd met Elsa, of course, but not believed a word of the poor woman's ramblings about missing women and murders in the house. 

“Careless and cruel” Elsa called her employers, but Liesel couldn’t understand why she would say such a thing. Careless people didn't take such good care of their employees, did they?

---------------

Tag List:

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@notyour-valentine

@areyenotfondofmelobster

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@jomarch-wannabe

@helen06dreamer

@raincoffeeandfandoms

@dearshelby

@cillmequick

@call-sign-shark

@peakyltd

@brummiereader

@runnning-outof-time

@emotionalcadaver

@thegreatdragonfruta

@noforkingclue

@pacifymebby

@dandelionprints

@look-at-the-soul

@thomashelbyswife

@babayaga67

@kmhappybunny240

@moral-terpitude

@scorpiussage

@shelby-fangirl00

@l1-l4

@justlulu

@kmc1989

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@the-fangirl-diaries

@allie131313

@watercolorskyy

@everyonesawhore

@mrkdvidal1989

[dhmis-autism]

what’s the biggest mischaracterisation of each character that you feel like you ‘suffer’ from the most? obviously no disrespect to ppl who do characterise them in certain ways! :] this is just out of curiosity…your thoughts are so intriguing:]

I am so sorry I am about to get so unbelievably bitchy and prissy and fussy. I have thought SO much about this question and I have also SEEN so many interpretations of my boys that I completely disagreed with.  Like you said though, clearly, no disrespect to people who characterize them this way! I know I am a very picky, persnickety bitch.

Anyways. Best boy up first.

 Duck mischaracterizations that I hate:

- him being super effeminate and given like an hourglass figure and human woman legs. like what.

- him being feminine being like, his whole personality. I loathe when people just start writing him like a super twinky, aave spitting gay. It’s really fucking weird can you all be normal about him wearing a dress ONE time please. LIKE HES JUST A NORMAL GUY. OK. GOD

- written as a bitchy or abusive mother/parental figure ( specifically towards YG. why.)

- him being super loud and just constantly spouting verbal/physical abuse at the other two (girl he is much quieter than you remember and he insults them like. twice. in 6 episodes. get real.)

- I hate hate hate when people act like RG is his whole world and have him ignore YG/act like he doesnt exist

- him being written as deliberately manipulating the other two, sometimes even like. physically self-harming in order to do so?? like oh my god. he would NOT fucking do that.

- him being written as totally HATING yellow guy and just constantly acting like hes a burden (I’ll actually kill over this one. how dare you. biting)

- weird thing I’ve noticed where people will make him refer to himself as 'the smart/intelligent one' of the group (something he's never done) but then like. the narrative/author will legitimately treat him like he IS very smart. like. no he is not.

- having him take YGs batteries out of sheer malice / ( ABLEISM(??)) and like. hate.  and somehow forgetting how hard he was freaking out that his friend was different earlier in the episode???????

- him being in a nuclear family situation with red with YG as their "son" . like 1. he is NOT a good dad and would not be a good one. 2. he SAID how he feels about that boy if you cant accept dad dog duo as a dad dog duo you do not deserve them

- writing him as CONSTANTLY ANGRY/PISSED OFF oh it makes me wanna shake people by the shoulders and SCREAM like!! Rewatch the show!! Baker Terry did not give us that bizarre and soft and joyous performance for you to write him like Squidward in a yaoi!!!! I’ll KILL YOU!!!!!!! HE IS AN UPBEAT PESSIMIST!!! A CHEERY DEFEATIST!!!!! I’LL GNAW YOUR BONES TO DUST!!!!

- when people make him skinny. How dare you. How DARE YOU. HOW DARE Y

- when people make him taller than YG. I would be less upset if “the smallest one” wasn’t literally something he was called IN THE SHOW

YG mischaracterizations I hate:

-Him being portrayed as GENUINELY stupid. Yes I know the crew call him that, yes I know other characters call him that, I think it’s obvious they’re exaggerating a bit.

-Him being the only one of the three that’s written as incredibly childish (imo, all three of them are a bit childish- but if you write just YG that way, I roll my eyes)

-Him being incredibly passive and soft and nice and conflict avoidant and a huge big pushover crybaby who never fights back or says anything mean.

-When people make it out like he’s really bad at art/draws like a child- really ticks me off because we are EXPLICITLY SHOWN IN EPISODE 1 OF THE WEBSERIES THAT HE’S GOOD AT ART

-I actually hate when people discount a lot of his talents, ppl acting like he wouldn’t be good at music or art when we KNOW HE IS!!!! WE KNOW HE IS!! WHAteever

-Him being socially inept/inadequate ! He is imo the most socially adept out of the 3 of them and the one most likely to thrive among a new friend group

-When people act like. YG with fresh batteries and YG without them are two separate people/have separate personalities??? They are literally the same dude (my good friend Am has a great post on this actually. Here. Read.learn.)

RG mischaracterizations I hate:

-The idea that he is nice. LOL I’m almost joking, but not really. Verbally, he’s very barby and I WISH more people would remember that genuinely.

-When he’s written as the ONLY voice of reason/ smartest guy in the room. He is not. God help him he is so fucking stupid and goofy and canonically loves Smash Mouth and thinks MAGIC is real.

-Super Hyper Sexy Man with vacuum-sealed abs and a COMPLETELY new personality

I have nothing else for him I don’t think of him often.

[sincerely-sofie]

Chapter 8 of Sofie Plays "Slay the Princess": The Hero and the Princess (Round 3) + The Damsel

This is a love story, but it's a love story that I wrote at thirteen during my Warrior Cats phase.

[ Beginning ] - [ Previous Part ] - [ Next Part ]

... Hopefully she doesn't mind the flesh rotting off of my avian visage?

This run is going exactly like the one where I was forced to kill her by the Narrator--- I'm hoping I can change it by not alluding to her gnawing off her own limbs and just checking upstairs for a key.

FRICK.

Interestingly, the option to slay the Princess is no longer available here. The run is a bit different, despite being very similar.

I can't select any of the options. Am I stuck like this?

IF YOU SCROLL DOWN YOU CAN WARN HER. OH MY WORD. THE ANGST IN THIS SCREENSHOT.

Can I please chuck the blade away so that she can defend herself with it. Please. Pretty please. Narrator pleeeeeeeease---

Huzzah! Okay new game title: Slay the Borb.

... I didn't think that was actually going to be the route we took, but alright. Fair. Knowing the way the writing in this game has gone, she's going to miss anything vital and just make it hurt.

This is probably the single game I hate having so many predictions about prove to be correct.

Oh, shoot, it's a new chapter? I couldn't see through my tears.

New party member: Now introducing the Voice of the Simp! ... Smitten. Voice of the Smitten. Yes. That's what I said.

Mirror check! The Smitten is a dork. Moving on.

Once again, I didn't take the knife. I really gotta see what happens when I enter the basement with it in hand.

The Smitten ranting about how much he loves the Princess to the Narrator and Hero's utter dismay like:

I don't have any comments to make on this exchange other than how hilarious it is and how relatable it feels for someone who's had hallucinations try to talk to real people in the past.

The Hero was pulling out a squirt bottle for the Smitten two minutes ago, but the second the Princess calls him a hero he's competing for the Smitten's title. Peak character right there.

The idea of the Princess having a sort of Narrator instructing her on how to behave and what actions to take / things to say is INSANE and a question I had the second the Narrator told me to go down into that first basement. The immediate deconfirmation is a little saddening, but the Smitten's comment makes me wonder if the one who has reality warping powers here isn't the Princess, but us.

Hear me out. The way we interact with the Princess in the first chapter of every loop seems to dictate what the next Princess will be. It's like our opinion of her shapes what she becomes. She savaged our player character in that very first interaction, and then in the next, she was a wild animal that swallowed us whole. In the chapter preceding the Stranger, we never entered the cabin in the first place. We never met. And when we finally did, she was a fractal of possibilities--- almost as if because we hadn't formed an opinion of her yet.

GIRL HUH. Yeah no she's not real. This is a cardboard cut out with a speaker behind it.

NOPE DON'T LIKE THE FACT THAT THE MUSIC IS VERY MUCH CHANGING.

Hey wait her eyes look different. Am I crazy?

Yeah no a lot more than her eyes are different! The gal is having a crisis of identity that is represented by the art style and that is VERY COOL and also VERY DISTRESSING

Chickened out and didn't press the issue of her having her own wants beyond leaving the cabin beyond a second question. I said that if she wants to leave, then we'll leave, and she was abruptly back to normal. Sweetie you need therapy.

The Smitten just said "We have each other. We don't need the world for our happy ending." and that COULD just be his mushy romanticism showing... but what if it's not?

Turns out the Narrator is the one who's been locking us in the basement 90% of the time, not the cabin itself, or the Princess. When we were locked in, I asked the Princess if she thought she could open the door, and said I believed in her when she asked if I thought she could.

THE POWER OF DATING A MARY SUE Y'ALL

Ultra Princess I'm genuinely so thrilled to hear your terrifying ambience again this princess scares me infinitely more than the ones who gnaw off their arms or eat me please take her away ;w;

FINALLY GOT A SCREENSHOT OF THE ARMS. THIS TIME I WAS READY, HECKERS!!!

Continuing this in the next post. Can't wait to take my next mirror selfie! I'm not scared whatsoever :,D

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Nine

Neither of us can see the dance floor, just wall to wall people, but as Marnie and I squeeze our way into the centre of the crowd, space opens up for us miraculously and we start to dance with each other, bumping against the people next to us so that they’ll move over and give us more room. The music is this thumping, repetitive thing that keeps building and building until it drops, explodes, and everyone starts jumping up and down so much that I worry the floor will give way underneath us. 

“Jesus.” I mutter to myself as I try to balance my cup of vodka and Ribena, focussed only on it and the liquid threatening to spill over onto my hand as the person next to me flails his arms around like one of those inflatable tube men they put up outside car dealerships. Marnie grabs me and starts spinning me around while screaming something I can’t hear. For some reason I choose this moment to bring the glass to my mouth to try and decant some of it but I end up getting it down my chin instead. I wipe it away self consciously but nobody is looking at me. The lights are too dim to see much anyway, and with the strobes I feel I’d be just as good if I were blind. 

I lean into Marnie to shout into her ear. “Where’s Ulysses?”

“He’s gone to get something for me.” She screams back, and then waggles her eyebrows around exotically as if I’m meant to know what she means by that. 

Ulysses is her new boyfriend-who-isn’t-actually-her-boyfriend. He’s a fourth year student of English Lit and looks even gawkier than I had imagined when she described him to me. I don’t even know when they met each other, he just materialised one day and now I have to accept him into our friend group and not ask questions like “Does he speak?” and “Does he make Math Rock music? He looks like he’d be into that.” I can’t believe I know a real live man, from Dublin, whose name is Ulysses, it just feels too on the nose.

On cue he comes into our little section of the crowd and stands there stoically like a cyborg with hands perfectly straight as his sides. I’m in disbelief as I watch him emerge. Where does she find these guys? Does she hold an open casting call for them? She goes over to him and they have a brief conversation, and I watch him hand something to her. She kisses his robot cheek and then comes back over to me with a hand outstretched. 

“You want?” She bellows. I look at three pills in her palm, the blue colouring in them bleeding into the sweat on her hand, and the Mitsubishi logo debossed on them. A strange choice, but I suppose they have to put something on them, they can’t just say ECSTACY, it might be a bit obvious.  I take in the scene for a moment, her hand out to me with her glow in the dark pink nails, glitter all over her face and body, she looks like the stock party girl from one of those anti drug posters they hang up in your secondary school. I close her fingers around them and push them away. 

“I’m good.” I tell her. “I’m not feeling it.” 

She shrugs. “Okay. We’re going to, though, if that’s cool.”

“Yeah of course, obviously.” I smile even though the idea of them being on drugs while I’m still perfectly sober strikes up a distinct uneasiness within me. 

“Here, gimme.” She says, holding her hand out for my cup and I just hand it off to her and let her go over to Ulysses and use my vodka to help them swallow. I don’t even want it back. I don’t really want to be here at all, in fact, I’m just waiting for the countdown so I can wash my hands of this entire cursed year and go home to bed. 

I think about how hungry I am the whole time that I dance by myself. Maybe I’ll get a kebab after this… no, chips. Maybe a pizza? Pizza sounds good. My stomach gnaws away at itself but I keep dancing. We’ve been here forever already, surely it’s almost midnight by now. 

The DJ suddenly cuts the music and grabs her microphone. “TEN!” She screams, and then the whole dancefloor joins her in the countdown. 

NINE!

EIGHT!

SEVEN!

SIX!

FIVE!

FOUR!

THREE!

TWO!

ONE!

HAPPY NEW YEAR! There’s an uproarious cheer and then everyone is hugging and kissing and throwing their arms around one another, and I watch Marnie and Ulysses dive towards each other to kiss.  Even as I wonder if kissing him would be equal to the experience of making out with a cadaver, I feel a pang of emptiness inside me, a feeling of some piece of me that is missing. For that brief moment where I have nobody to hug or kiss me, I feel very alone. Then I just yearn for a pizza again. A pizza and my own warm bed. 

“It’s 2012, bitch.” Marnie says as she comes towards me and kisses me on the mouth. “The year of strong women.” 

I think telling her that actually, I’m not a strong woman. By definition I’m sure I’d be better defined as one who is decidedly weak, but then I don’t bother because the lights dip back down and the thumping electronica continues like nothing ever happened. I take her shoulder and say into her ear that I’m going to go and get some food, and she tells me to do whatever I want, so I let her get back to Ulysses and shimmy through the crowd, collect my jacket from the cloakroom, and then exit onto George’s Street.

Prev // Next

[morphogenetic]

Mediaposting 2024, #6: Dai Gyakuten Saiban 2/The Great Ace Attorney Resolve

Completed: April 21st, 2024 (/i still have to watch the DLC episodes that didn't get released with the official loc, I guess but I'm not playing it any more so ?? lol)

Time spent: 49.5 hours (will be like 50.5 after the DLC stuff)

Rating: 9/10 (more objectively. but a very biased 9.5 in my heart.)

ohhhhh my god alright where do i even start with this. i guess i also have to talk about dgs1 a little bit in this review/mini completion log but I will TRY and keep it to just 2. [editor's note: somehow succeeded with this! lfg]

first, to get the non-spoiler parts of this out of the way:

please for the love of god play this fucking game if you've played the original AA trilogy but not the DGS duology. i can not stress this enough. i would not recommend playing them as your FIRST aa games because a) they will set your bar way too high (and too low simultaneously bc wow dgs1 still has whack as hell pacing) b) there are a few details, especially in this particular game, that will evoke no reaction in you if you haven't played at least the main three games but WILL cause you to start gnawing on drywood if you have Knowledge Of The Future

the whole dgs duology - and specifically as a duology, bc 2 makes no sense without 1 but 1 by itself is not on this level - is absolutely in my top 3/4 AA games now. i admittedly have not replayed the original trilogy in quite a while, buuuuuut T&T/AAI2/DGS1+2 are my new top 3. not necessarily in that order, give me a bit to think about it lol.

im going to be thinking about this game for the rest of my life probably. i can see why my best friend wanted me to play it for uh. seven years. because yeah it really is that good.

i want to cosplay four different designs from it. i have not wanted to cosplay anything new (to me) since neo twewy came out three years ago. take that as you will.

music still slaps. obviously. my favorite new song is absolutely partners (IYKYK) but agh. the new theme(s) that characters get are all so fucking good. clenches fist. the leitmotifs

definitely becomes relevant in retrospect in a few places where capcom obviously cut the hell out of the budget but they saved it for where it matters so i dont care. im also uh. very used to low budget VNs so frankly even 3D models are better than I'm used to LMFAO. i also you know. didn't realize that they did that until after the fact. so. they hid it well

if you havent played this go and play it (after playing the original AA trilogy). please for the love of god im on my hands and knees.

everything below the cut (i.e. below this point) has blatant unfiltered spoilers. you have been warned.

okay so welcome you've presumably played all of dgs2 if you're reading this. i have THOUGHTS. a lot of these will come off as critical/negative but i need to strongly emphasize that these are the only reasons that this game is not a 10/10 for me and otherwise i'm in love with it. it is fucking CLOSE. i am not talking a lot about the things i really love because that is.............................a lot of the game for me and we'd be here all day. the critiques are much more limited in number. but. you know.

dgs2 absolutely has much, Much better pacing than dgs1 does overall. it does not take 3 cases to get past a bunch of tutorial cases. this is a good thing. however..............the first two cases are still very slow. i won't call them pure filler, because a) reminding us about yuujin was a very good idea, b) they contribute to the Themes of the game. and im glad hosonaga was there again and (of all of the side characters we could have had) seeing souseki was good. i like them. but they really didn't need to be there to fulfill the themes of the game. case 2 in particular feels like a filler case, which I do not love given how tight the rest of the plot feels. if anything i feel like they should have done an interim flashback case without susato, as much as I adore susato, because as-is it's canon that ryuu had 3 cases in the span of a week. which feels INSANE

speaking of better pacing: im so glad dgs2 remembered that AA games can take investigation breaks between courtroom shit because running through ALL of the trial after ALL of the investigation in 1-5 was. let's say. taxing. the 'finding their footing' aspect of the first game

i do kind of wish we got One more case with the masked apprentice where susato wasn't there at all for the entire case. if only because then the delay between ryuu Thinking It and susato Knowing it would be even more painful. but i do really appreciate that they don't try to make it a woah big reveal as much as a painful "i know who you are but you don't." really adds a certain je nai se quois or however the fuck you spell that. idr. its 1 am when im typing this

also hey asougi can we fucking unpack how susato (the girl you were raised with to some extent, probably not like your sister but your weird younger cousin) called your name and you didn't remember who you were but you DID remember when you saw a wax reconstruction of your dead dad. can we fucking talk about that for a minute. can w

speaking of asougi. my god. they did such a good job with him. i think i wouldn't have cared nearly as much about him if all we had was the dgs1 stuff but his extreme motivation for the truth almost turning him into a violent attack dog is. aaaaaaaaaah. god. and the parallels between him and his father's followers (read: the von karmas) that one has from playing the mainline AA games. truly brainworm material

speaking of this: i can absolutely tell they did NOT think about writing the professor stuff with this game until they added in the masked apprentice - before he got turned into asougi - even though the reaper was obviously something that was planned. i do not care personally about this, because game dev is weird as hell and it REALLY works with asougi and van zieks' character arcs. in the same way that i don't think [SPOILER CHARACTER] from vlr would have been as good without the knowledge of 999, i think if barok had been foiled against a new character it wouldn't have worked as well. all that said. it sure is obvious they didn't know what they were doing. this makes me even more impressed that that they got it to work at all

the same is true of everything with the hound of the baskervilles but im really glad that they took it in the direction that they did.

also man it is so obvious that they probably wanted to have this be a proper trilogy like the original trilogy but then budget happened. because 2-3 through 2-5 all slap but they feel so fucking weird next to 2-1 and 2-2. like i dont feel that theres anything missing per se but a little more time for character growth would have been nice. hell even adding in an extra case (and/or editing 2-2....)

the only writing thing, aside from. 2-2 being like that. and the other weird pacing issues..that extensively is off to me is the whole assassin trading plot. i do think it is Very stupid and that they clearly wrote themselves into a corner with 1-5 on how to deal with it because they just...proceed to not deal with it until 2-4 and 2-5. however. even with that said. i actually kind of like that it is so stupid. because stronghart definitely feels SO obsessed with his version of justice that he wouldn't think through the potential downsides of having two free-roaming assassins running around and maybe coming to get his ass. obvious flaw that would not occur to him because of his insane ass behavior

its still dumb. but it's ace attorney dumb. so i can excuse it a little bit

stronghart being a damon gant expy was funny but goddamnit was it predictable. making him be so obssessed with justice that he talks to ryuu about it for 4 hours was funny as hell though and absolutely adds to him as a character. still dont like him that much Personally but hes definitely a character

his breakdown was peak. by the way. top 3 breakdowns in the series

jigoku being like that kills me. also. the way he just let genshin

g. genshin impact (sorry)

i dont care that sherlock's bullshit was a deus ex machina bc honestly.....electricity was real at that point. its fine

also. holy shit i love ryuunosuke in this game even more. 'i'm not doing this for you, kazuma. i'm doing it for the truth.' BANGER!!!!!!!!!!!! his growth across these two games is really good but especially in this one he shines so brightly

however..........this game made the glaring lack of ryuu's parents even more obvious. its not like i Need it or anything but considering how he very literally refers to yuujin/susato/sherlock/iris as his family in 2-4.....where are your parents!!!! what was your childhood like!!!!!! I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS THAT I WISH COULD BE ANSWERED!!!!!!!!!

and asougi. i could write an essay on asougi alone i think. but i adore how both he and ryuu are like 'you've changed' at each other and neither of them are wrong but then by the end they're like 'wow you're the same as before.' theyre so fucking gay. anyway

and sherlock (WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WHY DO YOU LIE FOR FUN LIKE THIS????????)

and yuujin (partners ~ game is afoot starts playing and i start crying). obsessed with how they only had to write the dynamic for a single case and you can believe all of it because they can just go. lol. ACD canon. anyway

and susato

and, most surprisingly of all for me.....fucking barok van zieks. i would not call myself a Fan of him in the way i am a Fan of asougi and ryuu, but i am obsessed with him. he did so many things wrong but realizes he genuinely fucked up and wants to atone for it. he gets genuinely upset in prison when he can't join the red-headed league. he's a professional alcoholic. he has bats in his office (???). what is wrong with him. (i know the answer is 'literally everything that could be wrong with a person.' but still

i love every single character in this game (or i hate them but because they were written to be hated)??? how did they manage this again. dgs1 helps so much here because the character growth.

argh. the character parallels with everyone realizing their parent / mentor figure was fucked up and/or hiding shit from them in some way. thinking emoji rotating in a circle goes here

wow that magically became way less critical as i was writing it. i thought it was going to be a lot stronger of a critique. its still weird pacing stuff basically that bothers me but i have very minor complaints that im forgetting aside from this

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YEAH HI GUYS IM BRAIN ROTTING NOW FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this has had almost the same brain impact on me (as evidenced by the 1 million words about it) as raging loop i think and thats never a good sign since i still think about raging loop at least once a week despite the fact that i played it 3 goddamn years ago

[simplygyuu]

Nouvelle Crown : 010 - Soobin hyung?

synopsis : choi beomgyu, the second prince of the royal choi family doesnt have much of a life outside of his duties. even then hes not allowed to do much, his brother is the crown prince after all. but when he meets you, a regular commoner girl, through his brothers friend soobin he cant help but be intrigued. commoner life is so different from what he knows and you are the only person to treat him like the normal teenager he always longed to be. with you he gets to experience the normal, teenager life behind the backs of his overbearing family.

Beomgyu couldn't help the way he gnawed at his bottom lip, his hands clasped together behind his back as he tried not to pick at his fingers. Following Soobin around the many machines and into the back of the arcade where they couldn't be seen felt like he was walking to his death. Was Soobin mad at him? He hasn't spoken to him in almost two years now.

Finally, Soobin stopped behind a big machine that was playing faint video game music, turning around to face Beomgyu with crossed arms. The silence could be cut with a knife and Beomgyu couldn't even bring himself to look up at Soobin's face. He didn't want to see whatever expression he sported.

“Beomgyu.” Soobin spoke in that monotone voice he used on occasion, causing Beomgyu to tense up a bit. It wasn't noticeable to a normal person, Beomgyu knew how to hide his reactions well. He was in the public eye pretty often. But Soobin still knew the Choi brothers like the back of his hand and could see how wary the youngest brother seemed.

“I missed you so much!” And suddenly a body was colliding with Beomgyus' own, arms getting wrapped around him. The prince froze in surprise and Soobin gave him a tight hug after not seeing the boy in so long.

“How have you grown even taller? Ahh, I must've missed so much! Look at you~” Soobin cooed, backing out of the hug to hold Beomgyus' shoulders and observe him. Beomgyus lips were parted slightly in shock as he stared up at Soobin.

Soobin had been more of an older brother to him than Yeonjun ever had. Not that his brother never took care of him, but it was never to the extent that Soobin did. Soobin used to be in tune to his every emotion, able to tell whatever Beomgyu felt at a glance. But around two years ago Beomgyu fell into a deep hole of self doubt and hatred. He pushed everyone away from him and once he got a new phone it was the perfect opportunity to completely be alone, so he couldn't be a burden. He never gave Soobin his new number and never left his room much, Soobin doesn't come to the palace anymore either. Not since his mother wasn't needed as a nanny for the brothers anymore. It led to Beomgyu being completely alone, only having his family and Kai who had been persistent enough to keep Beomgyu company.

(He was immensely grateful for that. Beomgyu knows how hard he used to be to deal with, how he was lashing out at everyone during that dark time. Kai had stuck with him throughout it, it's one of the reasons why they're so close now).

“What's up with the mask and all, were inside the empty arcade. You don't need to worry about reporters.” Soobin then questioned, which made Beomgyu tense again.

“I uh.. have yet to tell Y/n yet..” He mumbled in a nervous tone, back to that formal way of speaking. He had done his best to drop it with Y/n but he hadnt seen Soobin in so long, he couldn't really help it.

“You haven't told her you're a prince?!” Soobin exclaimed in a whisper, eyes wide. Then he brought a fast hand up to flick Beomgyu on the forehead, causing the younger to whine. “You idiot. She won't care! Hell, Yeonjun hyung has hung out with us before.”

That made Beomgyu pause where he had been rubbing his forehead. His brother has hung out with them before? That's.. not a very good feeling.

“I am just scared, you wont tell her right? Please dont.”

A sigh filled the silence between them as Soobin shook his head in exasperation. “Of course you would do something like this… but fine. I won't say anything yet.” He responded before pointing at Beomgyu. “But just because you're like my little brother doesn't mean I'll let you keep this from her for a really long time, okay? It'll hurt her feelings. You've got about two more weeks tops before I say something.”

“But Hyung!”

“Nope! I'm not hearing it!” Soobin said stubbornly, sticking his chin up as he looked away. “Now c'mon let's go back.”

Once they finally reunited with the rest of the group, Beomgyu stuck close to you. Anywhere you were he would be close by. He wasn't very good at arcade games, it was cute. You couldn't help but watch him attempt to play game after game with a fond smile. His brows would furrow in concentration and every time he lost (which was a lot) he would jump away from the machine with a cry.

It seemed like he was enjoying himself and your friends were being as welcoming as you had expected. Soobin warmed up to Gyu weirdly fast. It was different for Soobin and Gyu seemed comfortable around him as well. Perhaps both of them being introverted canceled out and helped them be friends.

Either way, it was a fun night for everyone. When you were walking home with Taehyun after bidding everyone goodbye, he even told you about how he took a liking to Gyu.

It seems nobody is able to resist Gyu’s weird but unique charms.

--------------------------------------------------------------

previous masterlist next

notes : soob is a sweetheart sorry for scaring u..😝 ALSO i hope uve noticed that when its y/ns pov i use gyu instead of beomgyu, hopefully that helps decipher when it changes

reposts and replies are really really appreciated and keep me motivated :)

taglist (open) : @mazeinthemoon @pokyloky @run2seob @bluebearybeom @wonioml @rikismiel @yumilovesloona @captivq @soobin-chois @thisisnotjacinta @silvsie @mjdoesstuff @luvsoobs @ddenoudepression

send me an ask or message to be added to the taglist! i wont add from replies :)

[reyescarlos]

tagged recently by @tarlosmalecand @lightningboltreader thank you both 💜 i feel so out of practice, but this story is insistent and demands i continue chipping away at it. so here's some awkward college exes for you guys in this never-ending multi-chapter fic im going to spend forever trying to finish

Music blares out of nearby bars and clubs, drunken Friday night laughter spilling out onto the streets around them. But even with all the chaotic sounds of other people’s merriment, Carlos feels grounded here in this space with TK.

He discreetly studies TK as he begins to eat, his ex absentmindedly watching people as they pass. A group of women in their early twenties walk on by, high heels clicking against the pavement as they go.

Carlos suspects they must be UT students as he and TK once were. In so many ways, it feels like a lifetime ago and yet, like only yesterday.

“Is it weird being back?” Carlos finds himself suddenly asking.

TK’s attention shifts to him. He still looks distracted, almost as if he’d forgotten Carlos was there at all.

“A bit. I almost feel like a ghost sometimes.”

The candidness stumps Carlos briefly, gnaws uncomfortably at the strings around his heart.

You’re here. You’re real and I see you, he wants to say. But the words get stuck.

TK laughs and rubs at his chin.

“Alright, that was kinda melodramatic, but it’s going to take some getting used to being here again. I'm glad to be back though, I really am. I’ve missed Austin.”

Carlos stops himself from asking if he falls under the umbrella of Austin. A truth or a lie would hurt all the same.

“How are your parents?” Carlos pivots.

TK brightens at this, clearly relieved by removal of the spotlight over him.

“They’re doing well. My mom is currently away on business. Shocker, I know.  And my dad is still doing a lot better, so I can’t complain.”

Carlos’ brows furrow deeply at the latter part of TK’s words. 

“What do you mean? Did something happen to him?”

TK opens and closes his mouth. “Right, yeah. You wouldn’t have– Um, he got sick a few years ago,” TK says, scratching at the bridge of his nose. “Stage 1B lung cancer, but he’s been in the clear ever since he went into remission.”

Carlos’ whole body feels cold at once, as if he’s been submerged underwater. He blinks twice, shaking his head to clear it. TK’s words were clear, but damn near impossible to make sense of as he plays them back once more.

“Wait, so you were dealing with that on top of everything else?”

TK smiles wistfully. “I’d already been sober for two years when he got his diagnosis so, all things considered, it could have been worse.”

He says it so nonchalantly and perhaps it shows how well-adjusted he is, but it worries Carlos nonetheless to hear. He can’t help but to wonder how TK coped at that time, if he had people he could turn to. It makes a part of him hurt knowing he was in the dark about it all, that there was nothing he could have done to help. What was he doing at the time while TK and his family had to endure that troubling news? 

It’s almost too much to wrap his head around what he’s hearing and to accept the harsh reality of just how much he’s missed from TK’s life over the last few years. It just serves as another harsh reminder of how far outside each other’s lives they’ve been. He can only hope they haven’t strayed too far that they can’t ultimately make their way back.

tagging @sunshinestrand as per usual 😅

[steamedtangerine]

sad news for me...

My family just got over a black out that lasted close to 55 hours. This was when a huge snowstorm made it's way into Michigan. At the start of it, one of our family members and one of my close friends came into the kitchen and crumpled to the floor panting.

Saturday morning, he crawled up into the couch and would not come out, and I could hear panting coming from him. I had to cut into the underside to get him, and in the pet carrier he was drooling. I ran him over to an emergency vet clinic. After a talk, they said his diet was fine, but all indicators point to the fact that he had congenital heart failure (something that occurs with cats that have Siamese traits). To keep him in an oxygen chamber for three days and get the fluid out of his lungs would cost over 3K and that he may live only under two years time while being put on daily heart meds.

Anyone who knows of my past situation, knows that my family went through an emergency move around March of the previous year. Much of our life is hanging by a thread, and we have two cars that are dying. After much back and forth on the phone, we had to make a very hard decision. I even called the person who gave him to me, and she understood and thanked me for giving him such a nice home for over six years.

Because of the poor weather conditions (I was racing against down traffic lights and an "honor system" on the way to the vet), my brother getting over a cold, AND that his junked up car could not get up the icy driveway to accommodate my elderly mother. They could not make it over to say goodbye, and I was all alone in this.

He seemed so lively in the oxygen chamber when I said my goodbyes, and he could tell I was crying. We had such a good Christmas together, and he loved sleeping under the tree (as usual). We had just gone for a walk last Thursday night. I was just wishing it was some misdiagnosis, but they assured me that once out of the chamber, he will collapse gain and get blood clots in his legs and suffer miserably.

His name was Tobey, and I am terribly broken-up at his passing.

He was so abiding, and he got along with other animals (we suspect he was friends with a possum hanging around our old house). Although he was a tad clumsy, he had such a musical voice. He could play with anything (we weren't sure if he would adapt to us when we first got him, but as soon as he got out of the carrier, he went right for a toy we had)-and the laser pointer was his favorite. He loved fleece, and he would get a tad depressed around the winter time (but would perk up in the summer). Everytime I ate an apple, he would come up and softly paw my shoulder to give him a tiny gnawed off sliver for him to chew. He would do this five times, and he would be satisfied. Sometimes we would sit together in front of the heat register.

I am going to miss him deeply.

This is not how I want my year to start off. It feels like someone turned off the lights on us, and when they came back on, someone was missing.

It's gonna a be a bit before I post again.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello! Thank you for moderating and maintaining your blog) It is really interesting to find out about other people’s experiences(even if it is not MBTI-related).

So, recently my mother was wondering about my physical health. She asked me why I am not having my strolls anymore. My answer was that I don’t like the architecture of the country that I am currently living and studying in, so walks do not give me pleasure. Also I despise the weather here. So that is why I ceased my usual long walks.

But that was my answer to assure and calm down my mother. I know well that I should not start talking to her about my deeper thoughts - she would usually not accept my point/feelings if she does not think/feel the same. So I wanted to share my actual thoughts here.

In the country in which I am being now I feel like an alien. I am afraid that the people here are just raised to think from a completely different perspective. I have the experience of living in several different countries for a relatively long time. And never had I ever felt this difference in cultures.

And I want to function here, so I learn the etiquette, common gestures, I am getting better at their language and soon will enter a university here… And I know that in the future I will probably accustom to their culture. Because it is what I should do and I do not really understand people who are not abiding by the rules of the system they are trying to become a part of.

But at the same time I feel that gnawing feeling, especially when I listen to the music that I really like. The thing is, that in order to learn the country’s language more efficiently I just closed up from all the content in other languages that I know. Including the music. And listening to the music that is popular here is just like trying to drink their soup - it makes me a little bit nauseous.

I have an upcoming exam that will test my English skills, so I am gladly returning for a month in a space that I find comforting. But at some point I will have to return to my usual routine. So I wanted to ask if there is a way to silence my inner voice that is afraid of this new culture? Or some other way out, excluding leaving the country because in a long run it will probably give me more gains than losses? Right now I can only think of switching my music to classical genre, because it is mainly instrumental and will not interrupt me thinking in the country’s language)

Thank you once more for this blog!

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When you make a big change in life, it is necessary to allow yourself a period of time to adjust, acclimatize, and adapt to the change. The transition period can be used to observe, explore, learn, and generally get yourself on the same wavelength as your surroundings. There's no predicting how long it will take and it's not always easy, especially when you move into a very different cultural environment than the ones you're used to. Yes, there are things you can do to speed up the process. Unfortunately, the things you are doing slow down the process.

What is your type and how does it influence how you react to change? You make it sound like you're okay with change because you've lived in different places. However, a change you can manage is very different than a big challenge you didn't expect. You mention the word "afraid", which I believe is significant. What are you afraid of exactly? Losing yourself? I don't see this kind of situation as a threat to be afraid of. Even if you were to lose touch with your own culture, you could make the choice to reverse course or re-balance yourself at any time. There is no perfect way to adapt. It is a process, with ups and downs, and you have to be open and patient with letting it play out as it needs to.

Being excessively afraid/anxious often means there's a challenge you're not meeting, and that challenge is very likely to recur in your life until you are brave enough to meet it. When you finally meet it, you'll learn something new and grow as a person. Therefore, running from or avoiding the things that trigger resistance is abandoning great opportunities to grow. You said you made this change because it was a good opportunity for you. That's the truth. When you pursue a new opportunity, you reserve the right to change course the moment you realize it's not the right path, don't you? Until the day comes that you believe you've made a mistake, stand by your decisions and COMMIT 100%. Having one foot in and one foot out is how people get stuck in a miserable limbo.

As someone who has moved around and studied cultural and cross-cultural psychology, I can tell you it's important to evaluate cultures on their own terms, not just from the outside perspective you're coming from. To be completely fair in evaluating anything, including a culture, you have to get to know that thing inside and out, such that you are knowledgeable enough to make valid judgments. Just like individual people, every culture has its good and bad side, its advantages and disadvantages. When you're a newcomer, being constantly bombarded by the differences and things you dislike, perhaps it's easier to see the bad than the good at first.

To avoid falling into a pessimistic or cynical attitude, you have to nurture greater objectivity. It's not about "silencing your inner voice" per se; it's about making sure you're not being stubborn and resistant because your perspective is too small, narrow, or one-sided. While it is your right to reject the things you dislike, it is still necessary to put more effort into finding the positive aspects of the culture because they provide the openings you need to adapt better. Taking on the positive aspects of a new culture is a great way to find meaning in the experience.

Additionally, put yourself out there and meet more people, then you'll start to see that culture is multifaceted, not monolithic. There are subtle nuances and degrees to which individuals are influenced by their cultural values. In every country you go to, there are always people who are just as willing to critique their own culture as praise it. Once you start seeing the people around you as fellow individual humans as opposed to a faceless band of foreigners, you'll catch more opportunities for social connection and healthy integration.

With regard to music, it sounds like you are suffering under arbitrary rules of your own making? Why must you limit yourself? Why not grant yourself the freedom to listen to whatever you want, whenever you want, to meet whatever needs you have at that moment? When the rules you've made up aren't serving you well, change them.