#because I know that can be triggering. he's just. gonna be fucking stupid

[ask-eden]

Alaxia begins laughing hysterically, but still trying to continue speaking Alaxia: That just HAhah.,.,. THAT JUST AHHAHAAa.a.. HAPPENss..S OMETIME AHAHAHAHAhAAA Oh my GOD Alaxia covers his mouth with both hands to try and avoid laughing further His earlier painful outburst, seems to have calmed down For now. It still...... lingers. Deep within the back of his head, feeling like claws raking the back of his skull The alcohol barely masks the thing inside, desperately trying to rip its way out. Yet, Alaxia remains calm. Happy even. He begins to purr and leans back into his arms. Alaxia: I'M fINe... Heeeheeee~ I'M FINE IM FINE... Alaxia begins to laugh to himself under his breath a bit, covering his mouth once more to try and hide that he's giggling. Much how like a child would hide their laughter. He is failing terribly -- -- -- [ Alaxia is now Intoxicated ] [ Anon ] [ Background by @/sinnohsiblings ] Mod note: This doesn't effect ongoing interactions or anything previously set up. If a interaction set up from before continues, he will not be drunk. This is for most things going forward.

[slasherscream]

the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION

❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥

Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke. 

Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while. 

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking! 

Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes. 

Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.

David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.

❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥

Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking. 

Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you…  Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while. 

Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.

[polydamnory]

Poly Shaw Pack Headcanons

⚠️SOME NSFW BELOW - LIKE ONLY 2 BUT STILL YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)⚠️

Sometimes when David says something kind of snappy or rude to Angel (tsunderes gonna tsundere), Darlin will just come up, pick Angel up, and walk away saying “nope. Mate privileges revoked” - doesn’t matter if Angel isn’t bothered by it, he was mean

Milo HAS borrowed that choke collar from Baaabe and used it on Asher 👀👀👀

Almost all of them have tried their hand at teaching Asher how to cook - none have succeeded

Asher and Angel both keep getting caught late night gaming by the others, and David. Is. Not. Happy about it.

Sweetheart doesn’t purposefully sneak up on/startle Darlin the way they do Milo - they know that due to Darlin’s past trauma, they’re a lot more likely to lean more towards the fight part of fight or flight instincts, as well as just not wanting to accidentally trigger them in general

The non-shifter mates will go on a group date just the four of them once a month - the shifters do too but most of the time they just end up playing video games together (Asher) or spending some time in their wolf forms

Milo and Angel are both huge dorks for Aggro and baby him excessively

When Darlin gets really touch starved (which is most of the time), the rest of the polycule just kind of pile on top of them

Baaabe and David learned how to cook some of the dishes Sam’s grandmother used to make for him to help him feel better on the anniversary of her death - Darlin tried to help but got kicked out of the kitchen

Asher and Sweetheart occasionally team up to fuck with Milo (also Christian lol)

Angel moves around in their sleep a lot so whoever’s closest to them in bed have to be the ones to essentially smother them to keep them from accidentally kicking or punching somebody in their sleep

Solar Solstices are TOUGH with them all staying together, but thankfully the four non-shifters can team up to tackle it - Baaabe’s on cooking duty, Angel’s the one keeping David and Darlin from getting up out of bed (they are NOT above sitting on you, Darlin, stop it!), and Sweetheart and Sam team up to do some sleeping or healing magic - it doesn’t help much, but it’s something. They typically end up watching movies or playing some easy video games that at least keep them laying/sitting down for a majority of the day. EDIT: the lovely @darlin-collins (sorry for the at) has pointed out to me that both stealth’s AND vampires are negatively affected by the sun bound solstice so I guess Angel and Baaabe are gonna have to fight for their fucking lives lol

The mates groupchat still exists and Asher begs to be let in it like once a week

Darlin kind of wants to be included in it too but refuses to admit it

Asher and Angel can both dress like total gremlins and it physically pains Milo to have to see it

Baaabe has dommed most of the others at some point

Sam took a bit to feel comfortable asking to feed on any of them other than Darlin, and even then he still typically goes to them first if he’s feeling hungry - he doesn’t really have a favorite, it's just that in that regard he feels the most comfortable with them specifically

Asher will shift and comfort any and all of them in his wolf form like he does for Baaabe - he has to do it a lot for Sweetheart, their job has them stressed

David often feels like he’s babysitting a bunch of toddlers because even when they were just friends, the stupid shit this group would get themselves caught up in is insane - the fact that none of them have been arrested yet is a miracle in itself. No, Sam is not an exception.

Darlin, Milo and Angel are all terrible with horror movies (this is canon) and David sometimes likes to choose one he knows will particularly get them when it’s his pick for movie night just to fuck with them

I feel like some of these could technically apply outside the context of the polycule, and you know what, yeah that too

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

I didn't know how much I needed to write this until you requested traveler 🙏🏼🙏🏼

Also yes! Ted's the name I use to write Horror.

Featuring:Killer, Dust and Horror

Trigger warning: mentions of sexual content, swears, mentions of crimes and criminal cases.

Masterlist

Congratulations traveler, you are now dating three of the most dangerous serial killers in all the multiverse.

You're definitely not living in Nightmare's castle, nuh uh, it's not like he doesn't like you, it's just that your positive feelings may let Dream find the castle easily.Plus he doesn't want to hear you get banged by his subjects.

Every night it's a problem, Dust and Ted don't really mind sleeping together with you, but Killer? He bothers them until he can get you all to himself.

Which doesn't really work 90% of the time, as Ted is big enough to simply hold both Dust and you at the same time, leaving Killer to hug whatever side of your body is to his reach.

The times it does work though, it's usually when Ted and Dust are stressed out because of something, most of the time missions, they simply make Killer sleep on the couch while they sleep with you, sometimes even make him hear your moans as they senseless fuck you.

If you ever find yourself sick, worry not! Because Ted's hands don't know only how to smash skulls, they also do wonderful soup! Dust's going out to buy you the medicine you need, and Killer? Well he's cuddling you on the couch while watching some random criminal case Dust put on the TV.

Killer has a LOT of cats, like 8 in total, so I really hope you aren't allergic..

Be prepared for them to come home covered in blood and Killer running up to you, screaming how much he missed you as you think about how another of your favorite shirts is going to the washing machine because of him.

They take very precise turns cuddling you, the moment the time ends the other's already in front of you.

Dust usually gets really mad with Killer when he tries to find ANY excuse to have more time, especially when you're sleeping. "I want to get up, but they're just sooooooo comfortable here with me!".

"CABRON ES MI TURNO, DESAPARECE!!"

Ted's the one who ends their stupid discussion as he grabs and cuddles you, leaving both skeletons with their mouths open.

"Will... You two... Shut up.... Now..?"

Talking about Ted, you and him often cook together! You know, like a romantic date! Only you and him...except Dust and Killer are arguing in the background.

You snuggled against Killer's chest as he covered your head with the blanket while hugging your waist and kissing your forehead, seeing your eyes close to rest.

"Sleepy now are we, (____)..? Is your headache getting better..?"

He says, his hands brush your hair as you slowly nod. Suddenly he hears Dust's voice.

"Oh vagabundo, levántate, es mi turno."

"C'mon hood man, can't you see they're comfortable with me?"

"I don't care, it's my turn now, get the fuck up and let me cuddle them."

Killer moves so your head is laying on his lap and looks up at Dust.

"And what if I don't huh? What are you gonna do?"

He rests his arm on the armchair of the couch. Dust looks at him furiously, closing his fists as he watches Killer form a sly smile.

"Listen here you-"

The two start arguing loudly, attracting Ted's attention, who just got out of the shower and saw you press your hands to your ears, trying to muffle the noise. Ted signs and approaches you quietly, he grabs you and walks away to your room, he's gonna make sure you rest far away from any type of noisy fuss.

"...Good night.... Darling.."

[di-writes-stuff]

loml

Greg House x Reader

A/N: So, I haven’t written anything in months. Whoopsies! (I have no excuse, I just didn’t want to.)

TW: It’s House. There’s your trigger warning. (Drugs.)

“Who’s gonna stop us from waltzing back into rekindled flames, if we know the steps anyway?”

This is a mistake.

That’s the only thought that runs through your head as you sit in the sterile examination room, the chair under you hard and entirely uncomfortable. It’s fitting, nothing about this will be pleasant, you knew it going in.

And yet you still did. You walked into this damn hospital, snuck around like some criminal, praying that you wouldn’t run into him before the time was right. If it ever is, it never really has been with you two. Maybe it never will be, maybe the world is trying to tell you something you’re just too stubborn to hear. How many times can you keep going back to the same broken thing?

Apparently you haven’t hit your limit yet, considering where you are.

It’s like every nerve in your body spurs to life as the door slides open and he walks in. Him, House. His eyes are glued to the chart in his hand, not really bothering to look at you. He’d treat his patients through the door if he could.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks in a way that’s so typically him you almost roll your eyes. Abrasive, cold, these should be red flags. They are, you just don’t care.

Maybe he had a point with all the masochist jokes.

You quickly refocus, clearing your throat and waiting. For what, you’re not sure. Obviously he’ll look up, recognize you as, well, you. His ex, but that’s not even close to covering whatever twisted role it is you serve in his life. On and off for…how long? Years, you know that. Two, at least, maybe more. There’s always something wrong, something ruining your chances. The drugs, the painfully obvious emotional unavailability. The same one you ignored the existence of when you decided to come here.

Then there’s you. The constant desire you have for more. More devotion, more love, more than he’s willing to give.

Or more than he can, you refuse to explore that option.

You’re fucked, simply. There’s no possible way that you two work. It’s too much conflict, more than a mouthful of pills or some hate sex can solve.

His eyes flick up and widen as he freezes. Speechless. In another circumstance you’d be proud of this. It’s an achievement after all, he never does know when to shut his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting you, not for a second. Maybe he should’ve. You’ve always been stubborn, a trait you both share. It made for some agonizingly long arguments, and some wildly good make up.

That’s the issue with you two. You are eachother. It’s why you’re so chaotic together. It’s also why you can’t be with anybody else.

“Hey.” You say weakly, and the word feels stupid as it comes out of your mouth. You’re long past pleasantries, which is exactly why you receive silence in return.

You knew he’d be like this.

You feel your face heating in humiliation anyway. At the very least, you won’t cry, you won’t let yourself.

The stinging sensation in your nose is persistent as ever.

He slowly crosses the room, sitting down in the chair next to you, a small creaking noise filling the otherwise empty silence. A thick swallow from you, the awkward drumming of fingers from him. This is painful, and for a second you hope his pager will go off. He’d bolt with an excuse, you know he would. And because you’re the same, you would too. And then you’d be back, in a week, maybe a month, and it’d be even worse.

You’ve always had a knack for self-destruction.

You both know how it ended last time. All over a stupid bet. Cuddy thought he couldn’t make it a week without Vicodin, he thought he could. Back when he was still adamant about denying his addiction. Halfway through it might as well have been torture. Deep into detoxing, and still, he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t listen as you begged him to stop being so childish, so stubborn. He wouldn’t even let you come near him, let alone help. He said it’s cause he didn’t need your pity.

In reality, he just didn’t want you to see him like that. Nobody would. Every inch of his pale, shaking frame was covered in sweat, bags under his eyes and a bloodshot gaze had him looking damn near dead.

He was sick, and he hated having to face it more than anything. The Greg House being forced to admit he was wrong. Sometimes you wondered if he’d rather die than say it out loud.

Neither of you handled it well, you never do. He was too stupid to see the obvious, see that he needed help. Needed you. And you, you were too sensitive to let it go. Let him go. Give up on any hope that this could go anywhere.

You still are, and you feel it keenly as the two of you sit in silence. His eyes are trained on you, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was judgement. But no, it’s a myriad. Confusion, anger, guilt, longing. All things he’d never admit. That’d be far too human.

“Say something.” Your voice comes out pleading, a tone you loathe on yourself.

He turns to you, his eyes tracing over your every feature like he can’t decide which one to settle on. How many times has he seen you like this? Desperate, vulnerable, because of him. He loses count. He wants to forget it, but you have to go through the motions. Pretend you’ve worked through your issues so you can live in a momentary state of bliss. Maybe it’ll last a few months this time. Could be less, if he really screws it up.

He’ll take what he can get.

“What do you want me to say?” The words come out harsh, cold, and for a moment he expects you to turn away. You don’t. Of course you don’t.

You sigh heavily, you expected it, the ice you’d be met with. You know him intrinsically, predicting his moves like the plot twists of a movie you’ve watched one too many times.

“Something, anything.” This is sad, pathetic, even. You always do this. Go back to each other, pulling out a past that’s probably better off left in the dark closet it belongs to. Still, how can you just forget? The idea feels foreign after all this time weaving in and out of one another’s lives.

Still, this is familiar, comfortable, in a way. The feigned indifference, the cold tone, the need to pretend neither of you care nearly as much as you do. It would be easier, less painless, to just move on. Have lives separate from each other.

But he’s starting to think he lives off pain. Physical and mental. It’s all he’s known for years. Why change a routine that’s become so commonplace? And even with the pain, he’s never been happier than he was with you. You understand him, and the part of him that hates that kneels to the part that needs it.

The break ups, the separation, it’s all just a low between highs. Ones he finds far more addicting than the pills sitting in his pocket.

He begins tapping his cane on the floor, a restless rhythm. “I miss you.” His voice is deadpan as the words come out, and you know why. He’s being honest, his tone can’t betray how hard that really is for him. He leans his head back, letting it thud against the wall behind you in a way that makes you flinch.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s just saying what you want to hear.

You quickly remember who you’re talking to.

He lets his knee fall sideways, brushing against yours. It’s tiny, imperceivable, almost. If you weren’t so clued into everything he was doing, maybe you wouldn’t have noticed it. But you did, your eyes flicking down to the point of contact. It feels dangerous.

“I missed you too.” Your voice is shaky, quiet, pathetic. To you, at least. Most might see this as normal. A healthy display of vulnerability. You, though. This is hell. It is for him too. It’s also necessary. Maybe this is your twisted way of proving yourselves to each other, giving evidence to your devotion.

“This won’t end well.” He says, pragmatic as always. Cold, sensible. Too smart for hoping, waiting on change that’ll never come.

“I know.” And I’m here anyway. Words go unspoken, you’ve had enough honesty for today.

He sighs, and the noise is too tired. For a second fear settles in that you’re the one doing this to him. That trying to be decent. Trying to be suitable for a relationship is just too much for him to handle.

“Then why are you here?” He knows the answer, he’s not stupid. Maybe he just needs to hear it, and then he’ll get the common sense to tell you to leave. To give up on this, spare both of you the inevitable pain.

You sigh, the idea of having the explain worse than just letting the truth linger unspoken. “What if it works this time?” You know it’s stupid, and you know he’ll tell you just that. For a second you remember something your therapist told you. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. You’d rolled your eyes, told her this wasn’t anything like that. That people can change, you can change.

You stopped going to your appointments after that.

You just look at him, watch as he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face before looking to you. “For how long?” For a second, you think there’s hope in his voice, like he’s waiting for you to lie to him, say this can last forever. It probably will, you think. On and off for the rest of your lives, never stable.

“We can find out.” The words are an invitation, a reckless one. You’ll let him back in, and it’ll end poorly, and you won’t be able to be mad. You knew how this would go from the start, how can you blame him for the inevitable?

He looks to you, and you can tell he’s given up. It was always gonna happen, you wouldn’t stay away forever. No use in wasting time waiting.

“I hate you.” The words are empty. It’s his last ditch effort to push you away. He has to do it, he has to know he didn’t just let you in. Something in him has to hold onto the false belief that he doesn’t need this, that he’s indifferent. That he’s the same cold man he’s always been.

As he mutters the words he reaches out, his hand sliding over your jaw, pulling you in closer.

You smile weakly, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of the statement. You know him, you know when he’s lying, and he’s never done a worse job at it than he just did.

You’re hardly inches apart now, your lips nearly ghosting his own. Your voice is shaky as you speak, “Love you too.” As his lips brush yours, he just melts, leaning into you with a fervor he used to call lust. There’s no use pretending that’s all this is now.

The kiss ends all too soon as he pulls away, shallow breaths leaving both of you, filling the silence. You almost wonder if you should leave when his voice sounds, quiet, tentative, all things he’s normally not.

“I’m going to screw this up.” The look in his eyes is guilt for something he hasn’t even done. He will, but you ignore the nagging voice in the back of your head that says to run before he has the chance. Yes, he’s hurt you. It’s not as if you haven’t done the same to him. You know where to aim when you’re mad, and you’ve turned him to a dartboard more times than you can count.

“I’m okay with that.” For a second, as the words fall off your tongue so easily, almost instinctually, you wonder if your mother would be disappointed in you. This isn’t how she raised you. Offering some man a hundred second chances all because what, you love him? Because when it’s good, it really is so good?

Because at the end of the day, you don’t think you could do it. Leave him, live the rest of your life without him in it. You’d wonder, you’d always wonder what would’ve happened if you just gave him one more chance. And so you will, again, and again, and again.

Sometimes you wonder what your life would look like if you’d never met him. Maybe you’d be married, happy with some man who gave you far less trouble than House ever did. You curse the way you find the thought boring. He’s awful, but he’s thrilling. You might even have kids, or at least be ready for one.

You know deep down you could have a future like that, and still, all thoughts of it dissipate when he opens his mouth.

“I’m off at eight.” Self loathing drips from each word. He’s a selfish bastard, he’ll let you forgive him, and time and time again, he’ll know he doesn’t deserve it. Still, he can’t turn you down. He can’t leave. He can’t not have you. The one good thing that’s ever come out of his life. He just can’t. Not when you’re offering.

“I’ll be here.” The words are so horribly fitting. Won’t you always? Will there ever be a time he takes it too far? Or will you always go back to him? Will you always turn away from the better life, the happier life you could have without him?

Yes. It’s always yes, because deep down, you stopped wanting a life without him the second you experienced life with him. Everything else became boring, commonplace, once you’d had him. There’s nothing like House. Not a person, or drug, or liquor strong enough to come close to how he makes you feel. Nothing can make the memory fade, and nothing can replace it either.

There’s no good outcome, it’s either life alone or life with him. And so you let his fingers interlace with your own, let the sensation numb the thought that never left your head this whole time, the one that’ll haunt you on sleepless nights you spend in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms wrapped around you.

This is a mistake.

A/N: thank u to the taco bell fire sauce packet i quoted.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + seven

authors notes: so this one leaves probably more questions than answers, but there's also a lot of things sprinkled throughout, and all questions will be answered....eventually.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, language, discussion of parental loss, brief (two line) flashback of aftermatch following csa, suggestive themes, ptsd trigger

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 8k

Solana: Are you busy today?

Normally, Roman would keep his phone face down during business meetings but with increasing communication with Solana, he’s leaned more on the side of having it face up so he’s aware when notifications come through. 

It’s not a priority. Just a…..preference. 

Grabbing his phone, he quickly shoots her back a text.

Roman: What do you need?

Before he can put his phone back down, those three dots appear. He keeps the thread open for her reply to slide in.

Solana: Nvm. I’m sorry to bother you.

Roman curses inwardly, barely keeping it to himself and not making the room of men aware of his frustrations. He can acknowledge Solana has slightly improved with her over–apologizing over the past couple weeks, but it’s moments like this that get him upset all over again. 

He fucking hates repeating himself.

But….

There’s that small, annoying ass, nagging voice in the back of his head that reminds him of why she’s always so apologetic, why she thinks her damn existence itself is an inconvenience. And he can’t really fault her, blame her for years of trauma fucking with her mental.

Roman: You’re apologizing again. How many times I gotta tell you to stop that shit?

It could probably, definitely, be worded better. Maybe even a bit…kinder. But Roman is a lot of things. 

Kind is not one of them.

He then adds, knowing she’ll probably try to find another excuse to not be honest with him. 

Roman: What do you need? The truth, Solana. 

There’s an appearance and disappearance of those dots at least three or four times. He can picture her biting down on her bottom lip as she tries to word what probably is a simple request as best she can.

The amount of overthinking she does has to be fucking exhausting.

Solana: I was just gonna see if you could meet me at the library. I wanted to show you something.

Solana: But, it’s not a big deal! Please forget I said anything.

A couple of things strike Roman strange, two in particular. The first being that as soon as she says what she needs, the answer is an automatic yes. Like, it’s not even something he really thinks too much about, but he also chalks it up to a level of genuine curiosity. This might be the first time she’s actually directly asked him for something.

It must be important. Important enough for her to ask him to come see whatever it is, at least.

It’s why he doesn’t even comment on her second, follow up text.

Roman: What time you get off?

He can make whatever work.

Solana: It’s okay. Really.

This damn girl….

Roman’s jaw clench as he types out a text that matches his mood. 

Roman: Solana….

She’s giving him a damn migraine. He’s not sure why he doesn’t just ignore her at this point. If it’s that fucking important, she wouldn’t be giving him such a hard time.

But then the stupid nagging voice returns, reminding him that her even asking in the first place is a huge deal that shouldn’t necessarily be shot down because of lingering struggles that are probably going to be around for a while.

Solana literally has years of baggage and trauma she needs to heal from.

And that shit doesn’t happen overnight.

Solana: 3pm

Roman blows out a breath. Fucking finally. 

He lays his phone back down, not necessarily wanting to hear any pushback or counter arguments she might try to supply, fake ass reasons she wants to back away from her assertive request. 

Not happening. 

Roman: I’ll be there.

“Jey.” Roman’s deep voice cuts through the group who set their eyes on him. “I need you and Jimmy to handle the Barrett meeting for me.”  While the twins are annoying as shit majority of the time, they’re effective all of the time. Roman has trusted countless meetings with them, and none have turned out badly. They always get shit handled. 

His cousins both echo okayness with this change in plans, as expected. The same way Roman expected his Wise Man to be the one with questions.

“My Tribal Chief, we’ve had this meeting scheduled for weeks. What could possibly be more important?”

It’s a fair question, Roman isn’t too stubborn to admit that. But, it’s also not a question that applies. Again, it’s not that Solana is important, per se, it’s just that if his alternative is dealing with Barret’s loquacious business dealings, he’d prefer Solana.

He’s also partially intrigued by the mere fact she’d even had the balls to ask something of him in the first place. It’s promising. Assertiveness has always been more attractive to him than passiveness. 

Roman’s answer is both simple and vague. “I have somewhere to be.”

“But—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s childlike smile deepens suddenly, as if he’s been picked to be fucking line leader. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Who’s the Tribal Chief?”

Rikishi is the only one to offer a visible reaction, hiding his chuckle. He knows exactly where this is going, even if his decades old friend does not. 

“Y–you are, my Tribal Chief.”

Romans voice is sharp and lethal. “So why the fuck are you asking me to answer to you?”

Paul’s expression pales. “I would never, my—”

“Sound like it to me,” Jimmy’s messy ass chimes in. He looks at Jey. “What you think, Uce?”

“Sound like it to me too.” Jey, as expected, agrees. Only for him to nearly fall back in his seat when he jumps up so both feet are on the expensive ass leather. Roman is annoyed all over again for a new reason. “Ayo, Uce, ya’ll got a rat problem!”

At that, Jimmy is twinning with his brother in more than just appearance, also with his feet off the floor and onto the leather chair. Roman hopes they both fall over and break their goddamn necks. Rikishi can handle Barrett just fine.

“Ain’t you like a goddamn billionaire? How the hell you got Stuart Little and his fam running around your crib!”

Roman’s gaze follows the line of vision the twins are so damn focused on only to be met with Dulce calmly walking past both of them to sit in front of him, looking up with a tilted head. 

She’s clearly looking for Solana. 

And he knows this because it’s become a bit of a habit. If he’s home and she’s not, Dulce’s nosy ass seems to seek him out as if he’s supposed to magically make her owner appear. It’s not something he’s brought up to Solana, because he knows she would just freak the fuck out and over apologize for Dulce “bothering” him. 

And that’s not the case. 

It’s a bit annoying, but it’s not a bother.

His staff keep an eye out for her when Solana works, and he’s even seen Solana come back to the house on her lunch breaks to check in Dulce, so he doesn’t mind. She’s keeping up her end of the deal, being the primary caretaker for the puppy. 

“That’s Solana’s dog.”

Jimmy’s bewildered gaze is on him. “This a dog?”

“Yes.”

“You let her get a dog? Like a real ass dog?”

“You fucking see her, don’t you?” At that moment, Dulce calmly lays down on the floor next to Roman’s feet which are literally bigger than her small ass. It’s followed up by Paul starting to sneeze. 

Jey, who is now sitting back in his chair like a normal human being, points out, “man, you hate dogs.”

Naturally, Roman goes a bit on the defense, shoulders straightening. “I don’t hate them.”

Jimmy makes a sound, also with his feet planted on the ground. “Bruh, you literally use to tell us when we was growing up, ‘I hate dogs.’ That’s why we started calling you Big Dog, cause it was funny to see you get all mad and shit.”

Roman may or may not remember that, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to acknowledge it. Besides, he’s allowed to change his mind. Hate was always probably too strong of a word to use anyway. 

There are a lot of things Roman hates, even more people that he hates, but dogs are not on the list. 

It was more irritation than anything.

“Whatever.”

“What’s her name?” Rikishi asks, bending over his chair to try to catch Dulce’s attention.

Roman watches the puppy gradually make her way over his cousin, ears dropping as he gently rubs the top of her head. “Dulce.”

“Dul–what?”

This…..this is why Roman is on high blood pressure medication, why Dr. Michaels recommended he start wearing one of those smart watches to monitor his heart rate and other shit. Not that he did it.

“Dulce. It’s Spanish.”

“Aw man, why you ain’t say that in the beginning?” Jimmy turns to Jey. “The dog only speak Spanish.” He looks over at his dad who now has Dulce in his lap, continuing to pet her. Roman rolls his eyes. This dog is a damn attention whore, just like he predicted. “Hola, lil’ chalupa.”

Jey punches his brother on the arm. “Uce, you can’t be saying that kind of shit. It’s racist.”

“No, it’d be racist if I called the dog Taco Bell since her mama half Mexican, but I ain’t do that shit, cause I like Soso.”

“Stop calling her that.” 

Jimmy avoids Roman’s warning and proceeds to ask with all of the intrigue. “So not only did you let her bring a dog up in here, but you let ole’ girl pick a rat for said dog?”

Already irritated and on edge, Roman isn’t sure why Jimmy’s question irritates him as much as it does, and not even because it's a question that’s being posed when he’s trying to review a contract. It’s that Jimmy is questioning Solana’s decision in general.

He answers as calmly as he’s capable of responding. Roman also notices that Paul is red as a tomato as he pulls out an Epipen. Roman easily brings his focus back to Jimmy. “It’s what she wanted.”

“Should have got a big dog,” Jey suggests, hovering over by Rikishi as he tries to interact with Dulce whose eyes are fluttering closed. Roman swears this damn dog sleeps 23 out of the 24 hours in the day. 

That answer is simple, Roman grabbing a pen to sign off on the contract in front of him. It’s satisfactory enough. “She’s scared of them.”

“What is she not scared of?”

But that comment, for whatever reason, is what makes him snap. “Get out.”

Both the twins are unfazed, but it seems to trigger something for them as Jimmy exclaims, “I forgot!” He looks over at Jey, reminding. “Remember, Soso made some extra food for us.”

“Oh shit, she sho’ did!” 

Roman makes a mental note to write Solana about that. It’s not her job to keep feeding his grown ass, married ass cousins. 

The two bid their farewell, Jey shouting out as his parting term, “yeet!”

“Stop doing that,” Roman calls after their retreating forms as Paul also excuses himself for some air. 

Maybe he really is allergic to dogs. 

Rikishi stands up and walks over to him, still holding Dulce but not saying anything. He’s just looking like he wants to say something. Another of Roman’s pet peeves, of the many.

With a mutter and scowl, he asks, “what?” 

His cousin simply shrugs, nonchalantly commenting. “The girl is growing on you, Uce.” It’s an assessment, for certain.

However, Roman has zero desire to have this conversation with his older cousin, or anyone, in general. Hence, his vague ass reply of, “she’s tolerable.”

Because that’s the truth. Solana is neither amazing nor insufferable. She’s in a pretty balanced space between the both: tolerable.

Rikishi gives him that sly ass look that makes Roman want to punch him in his fucking face. “E tua le fale tele i le faleo’ o.”

It’s an old Samoan proverb that means “Even the mighty need others.”

Instantly, Roman’s gaze is cutting. “I don’t need anyone.” He never has, and he never will.

Rikishi just offers a knowing smile, lowering Dulce back to the ground and placing a hand on Roman’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Of course not, Uce. Of course not.” The older man says nothing else, just walking out, Dulce returning back to stand by Roman’s feet, head up, staring at him.

He rolls his eyes, murmuring as he gets back to work. “She’ll be home later.” 

Dulce barks in response. 

________

The minute Roman pulls up to Solana’s job, sees the expression on his cousin’s face, he knows something is up.

Solo may have a dangerously good poker face, but Roman invented that shit. 

He got the blueprint from Roman. 

Solana is sitting near the front of the building, surrounded by fucking children as she reads some basic ass book that they’re all clearly eating up based upon how they can’t seem to take their eyes off her.

Roman isn’t entirely indifferent, instantly taking note of her outfit, more colorful, less covered. It reeks of Naomi’s influence, but in a good way. 

As always, she looks good, better than good.

Not wanting to interrupt, Roman motions for a few of his men to take Solo’s place as he gestures for his younger cousin to follow him.

As soon as they’re outside the building, Roman gets right into it. “You got something to say, so say it.” 

Roman knows his cousin well enough to know that despite his brutal fighting abilities, the man is always careful and meticulous with his words. Unlike his hot headed older brother, Jey, Solo always thinks before he acts.

It’s why Roman doesn’t think twice about the space between the issuance of his prompt and Solo’s answer.

“You made me your enforcer for a reason, yeah?”

It’s an easy answer. “Yes.” 

“You upped me in the ranks to prove myself, right? To earn my way into the inner circle?”

Roman is already bored with the conversation, but considering this is family, he throws a bone. “Yeah.”

“So just how am I supposed to do that when you got me playing babysitter to your new wife?” The turn in topics as well as increase in Solo’s volume does slightly, very slightly, take Roman by surprise. Granted, he does a masterful job, as always, hiding that surprise. “Any lower guy could do this shit. She don’t—”

“Solo.” Roman gives him that tight smile and scratches his beard, typically the last thing people see before they meet their maker. “You answer to me. You do what I say you do, and I say you’re assigned to Solana.”

Roman doesn’t know what’s in the fucking water for people to be testing him the way they are, but it’s really starting to piss him off.

Solo looks down, clearly embarrassed by this talk down but not enough to shut his mouth. “I get that, but—”

“Wasn’t she already hurt once under your watch?” Roman’s voice is razor sharp as he reminds the younger man of his failure. The memory of that fucking bruise on Solana’s wrist from her bitch of a brother returning all of those strong emotions. “I gave you a job, and you didn’t do it. She got hurt while under your protection. It’s because you’re my cousin, you're even still breathing right now. You know better than anyone I don’t accept failure.”

At that, Solo concedes, knowing good and well there is no excuse or justifiable reason. “I understand, my Tribal Chief.”

Roman does his best to chip away some of his anger at this outright disrespect as well as the memories of Solana hurt. He steps past his cousin, calling out over his shoulder. “And Solo, don’t think because you’re family I won’t put a bullet in your head for questioning me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Roman can see Solo still has his head down. “Fail me again, let her get hurt again, and I’ll put your ass six feet under.”

Roman doesn’t allow the conversation to persist beyond that, big steps taking him back to the library just in time to see the children disperse, whipping past him as Solana approaches. The wedges on her feet give her a bit more height, but he still towers over her, which is a usual experience for him.

But, it doesn’t negate the fact that she’s so damn small.

“Hi,” she greets in that familiar unsure voice, eyes darting from him to the ground. “Sorry—I mean—story time ran a bit over.”

He’s appreciative she at least caught the apologizing before he had to call it out. “It’s fine.”

She offers a tight smile and motions for him to follow her, which he does, just as his eyes follow the sway of her ass as she leads the way.  

He’s starting to really enjoy seeing her in jeans. 

She leads him up the stairs and in the back area he’d visited her before what seems like so long ago, finding that her bastard of a brother had manipulated her into being alone with him. The last fucking time that shit will ever happen.

She pulls a key out her back pocket and unlocks the door, informing, “I have to grab something first.”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. It’s like she feels the need to justify every little thing she does. 

Roman watches her walk over to the desk, leaning over as she grabs him something out of her bag, a notebook, the journal he first found her writing in the first time he came to see her at her place of employment. 

She’s back by him, closing and locking the door. “Come on.”

Typically, if this was anyone else, Roman would have demanded to know just what the fuck was so important that caused him to have to rearrange his whole schedule. Granted, he can’t take that out on her, nor would he ever, when he’s the one who rearranged his whole schedule for her. She didn't ask him to do that shit. 

He did it on his own volition for reasons unknown. 

The walk to the next stop doesn’t take long at all, Solana soon sticks her key in another, unfamiliar door, opening and stepping aside but directing him to walk in.

He does as such, naturally and instantly taking in his surroundings once she hits the light switch. It’s a room obviously, a previous storage room he would guess based upon the large filing cabinet lined against the wall to the right of him. There’s also another couple pieces of furniture against that same wall, like a desk and mini bookshelf, but that’s not what immediately catches his attention.

He’s instead more interested by the remaining walls that are essentially lined with larger, white bookshelves, all filled with a combination of notebooks, books, and journals. Completely filled. 

Intrigued but also confused, the latter of which is unfamiliar to him, Roman turns to Solana, asking, “what is this?”

Her cheeks redden, but she manages an answer that’s somehow not marked by as much stuttering. “There are all my journals—well,” she stops, giving a nervous laugh. “Most of them. Some are books I’ve read, and….” She walks over to a section that somehow seems different from the others, albeit lined up neatly with the rest of the items. Solana’s hand almost hesitantly feathers over the spines of the journals. At closer look, Roman can see they’re a bit dated and worn than the others. “These were my mother’s.”

Her answer surprises him, but he quickly recalls her sharing that she started writing because of her mother, because they wrote to each other.

She clears her throat and then turns back to him, sharing, “every time I finish a journal, I leave it here.”

Obviously. “Why here?”

“My mom started it. It—it was an arrangement she had with Mrs. Jensen. She worked here, and along with her pay, she arranged so she could keep her writings here and after….” Solana starts to hesitate, and Roman can see it’s because emotion is brewing. Just gently bubbling under the surface. “After she died, I kept up with it.”

Roman recognizes the sensitive nature of the subject and makes a subtle effort to change the topic on her behalf. “You’ve really written in all of these?” It’s impressive. He has to give her that. The thought of writing in general has never appealed to him, so for her to have a room full of journals she’s completed is fucking impressive. 

She nods, adding sheepishly, “filled em’ up.” Solana then takes the one in her hand, lifting it a bit. “Finished this one this morning.” He watches her squeeze it into a row that’s probably already being pushed to the limit.

She’s going to run out of space eventually.

She’ll need something bigger, sooner rather than later. Roman compartmentalizes this for a later date and time to navigate.

“You keep em’ here to hide them also, don’t you?”

“They can never know what I’ve written….” She doesn’t need to say who they are. It’s more than obvious. It’d be a sure death wish. “I just—-I know you said you’d write for now and it’s been almost a month, but—but I—I figured if you knew just how important and helpful writing is to me—”

“Solana.” There’s no need for her long ass, drawn out explanation. He understands now why she wanted him to see this space, the goal behind the request. “We’ll write as long as you need it.”

He watches her shoulders drop, a sign of relief. She bites back a smile he wouldn’t be opposed at seeing. She looks even better when she’s smiling. “Thank you.”

He only nods, and Solana finds herself taking him in. 

All of him.

In recent weeks, she’s discovered yet another newfound difficulty and source of anxiety for herself. And that new addition would happen to be in the form of the 6’3 man before her.

Roman has always made her nervous, for a variety of good and valid reasons, but recently, the cause of that anxiety has shifted to something else, something a bit on the unfamiliar side for her, or rather something she hasn’t really had to think about since her last disastrous relationship.

Attraction

Solana has come to terms with the fact that she’s attracted to Roman, yes, but also that she hasn’t the slightest clue of what to do about and with that said attraction.

It’s always been there, to a certain extent, but it was more dormant, something she knew was present but voiceless and nameless, almost invisible.

Now, in interacting and engaging with him more, it’s formed more defining characteristics, creating a sense of butterflies in her stomach whenever his smoldering gaze falls on her or when he says something to her, that deep, baritone voice sprouting goosebumps on the back of her neck.

It also doesn’t help that he’s indicated a couple of different times now that he also finds her attractive, or pretty, beautiful even.

That he thinks she looks good.

None of that makes sense to Solana nor can she understand why he would believe any of those things, but she would never make him out to be a liar, so it must be true, to some extent.

And therein lies the dilemma. 

One of many that exist in her life.

How she’s supposed to balance attraction with fear, desire with aversion, peace with trauma. It’s all a muddled mess. 

“Solana.”

“Sorry.” He only has to sigh one time for her shoulders to sulk, but instead of apologizing, she points out in a small voice. “It’s—it’s a habit.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a fucking habit to break.” His irritation is palpable, and Solana feels even smaller around him, like she’s done something wrong. “It’s not you I’m annoyed with.”

“Oh.” And that genuinely surprises her. In Solana’s experience, she’s always been the source of people’s, especially the men in her life, exasperation. But before she can step out of her comfort zone and ask him what’s wrong, he informs her of something that completely makes her emotions flip and twirl into a puddle of distress.

“Your father called for you today.” And just like that, any sense of relation and ease she’d achieved is dissipated, replaced with growing unrest. “Relax…” It’s not missed upon Solana how Roman’s tone quickly and almost easily jumps from irritated to almost soothing, like he’s trying to calm his nerves. “I told him to fuck off.”

That doesn’t make her feel any better. “He doesn’t like being told no.”

“And you think I give a fuck?” His deep voice is full of indifference and edge, but this time around, Solana knows it’s not directed towards her. He then asks, “do you want to talk to him?”

It takes her off guard. “What?”

Roman repeats himself with a surprising lack of irritation. “Do you want to talk to him?” 

Solana can’t remember the last time she was asked such a question. Been given a choice. Then again, it’s happened quite a few times since her marriage to Roman, starting with Bayley asking her something as simple as how she wants her makeup done. 

She doesn’t know what to make of that. Just another thing added to that mounting list of confusing and conflicting thoughts and feelings. 

“If you want to, I’ll allow it.” He quickly adds the caveat. “But not without me present.”

Prior to the past couple weeks, Solana would suspect Roman’s stipulation stems from a place of possessiveness. But now….now it feels like it comes from someplace else, something so unfamiliar and foreign. 

Protectiveness. 

It feels like he’s being protective of her. 

His proclamation from earlier returns to the forefront of her mind.

“I’m not going to let anyone lay a fucking hand on you.”

He’d also included a list of people he wouldn’t allow to do as such, including her dad and brother, which is why he clearly would only let Solana speak to her father if he’s around. 

It’s just the why that has her stumped.

But, back to the question being posed, the easiest and most simple answer is no. She’d rather not be around someone who’s only ever left her hurt, emotionally and/or physically. Or allocated that task to her brother. 

Not to mention the fact that the only reason he probably wants to talk to her is to discuss this nefarious plot she still refuses to allow herself to think about because it’s so inconceivable. 

“Not really,” she answers after what feels like forever, “but…”

Roman picks up on her hesitation. “But?” 

“Like I said, my–my father doesn’t like being denied.” And before he can protest or again reiterate his outright indifference to her father’s feelings, Solana adds in a quiet voice, “and I usually end up being the one to pay for it.”

Roman steps towards her, and before she can process what’s happening, his finger is under her chin, tugging so that her head is lifted, eyes locked with his. 

His voice lowers, quietly asking, “you still don’t believe me when I say I won’t let anyone hurt you, huh?” It’s rhetorical, sure, but Solana is too focused on the fact that this man is touching her. It’s as innocent as innocent comes, but it’s still touch, something she usually hides away from like the plague. However, outside of the initial shock and borderline discomfort, Solana doesn’t jump away, doesn’t feel the need to put as much distance between them. She’s almost….almost comfortable.

“I’m going to kill them both, eventually.  Fucking with them in the meanwhile only makes the outcome that much more worthwhile. But…” And the surprises keep coming, especially as he makes her aware of his intentions. “One word. All I need is one fucking word from you. That you want them gone, and it’s done. No questions asked.” 

Power.

Solana wonders if this is what power feels like, the ability to say one single word and have a life be ended. How she feels about those lives belonging to her brother and father remains to be seen, but even being given such an option, such an almost promise, it’s an indescribable experience.

Roman’s brown eyes, light and contrasting everything about him that is sharp and hard, study her. “You understand me?”

Naturally, she nods against his index finger that’s under her chin, demanding maintained eye contact. 

“I need words.” It’s a reminder from the infamous wedding night, something that seems so far in the rearview mirror now. 

“Y–yes.”

He seems pleased by this acknowledgment, enough to pull his hand away from her, Solana trying not to make too much of the strange sensation that floats in her stomach at the absence of his touch. 

Roman suddenly offers. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll up your security detail.” Before she can protest and probably apologize if she’d unintentionally indicated it wasn’t already enough, he asks, “you get off at 3 every day?”

“Essentially, y–yes.” 

“I’ll start meeting you.”

The surprises just keep on coming.

Instantly, she feels bad, shaking her head. “You don’t have to—”

“Solana.” This man must get tired of having to say her name, she’s certain of that. “I’ll meet you.” He says the same thing, but this time, she knows not to push back because it’s a done thing. “Just make sure I have your updated work schedule.”

“Wh—what about Solo?”

“He’ll still be assigned to you for any other outings.” This makes her feel a little better, that he’s not entirely rearranging and inconveniencing himself for her. “You ready to go?”

Yes. No. Maybe. There’s so many different questions she has with only a select number of answers, but in this moment, she goes with the one that feels most right. 

Especially with Roman reaching for her hand.

Nodding, she swallows and accepts his gesture, noticing how his large hand closes over hers, almost protectively.

“Yes.”

________

“That for me?” Solana looks up from the notebook she’s almost certain she’ll have filled and completed by the end of the month. Roman’s presence and question both catch her off-guard. She didn’t really expect to speak to him again today, especially after he already spent time with her earlier that day. She figured he’d had his maximum daily dosage. 

Especially after she’d already prepared and fixed dinner for him, the two of them falling into their now routine of him eating in his office, her in the living room before she makes her way out back to the patio where she either writes or, now, plays with Dulce.

Solana shakes her head, answering softly as Roman sits on the chair opposite her.  “no. It’s…”

“About your mom?”

With him now aware of the nature of some of her writing, she answers, “yeah.” Roman’s question triggers something she’s certain she intentionally never commented on because it was such a shock to her system that she really didn’t know how to respond. “When….when you said it wasn’t my fault….did—did you mean that?”

If she expected there to be delayed response or even confusion on his end, she was entirely wrong because he answers almost on the spot. “Yes. I told you, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She’s starting to believe that. 

Wetting her lips, she informs in that same small voice, “no one’s ever said that to me before.”

Xavier’s unshaven face and dark, judgmental gaze is focused on her, Solana doing her best to ignore the pain that wrecks her body, the beeping of the machines and IV’s in both her arms. The throbbing between her legs is equally scary as it is confusing. What did they do to her, and why did it hurt so much?

He pulls the cigar from his mouth, dropping and stomping it on the floor, gruff voice asking, “why didn’t you fight back?” He shakes his head, spitting at the same spot that’s littered with remnants of one of many poor habits. “You’re weak just like your mother.”

Roman’s firm voice snatches her away from spiraling too deeply in dark memories of an even darker past. She does her best to shake away any sign she was about to dissociate when he surprises her for what feels like the 10th time today, almost quietly sharing, “My mother was killed when I was ten years old.” There’s a synchronous dropping of her mouth and stomach at the exact same time. “You think that shit was my fault?”

The answer is obvious and immediate. “No. Of–of course not. You were—you were just a kid.”

While her response is borderline automatic, coming from a place of pure logic, everything else is so confusing. Roman’s mother is….dead? Not even dead but murdered when he was a child?

Just like hers.

Solana doesn’t know how to process this. It’s not until this very moment that she realizes not once has she ever considered or thought about his immediate family, like parents and even siblings. At the wedding, so many people were present, obvious family members of his, but she’s just now realizing she never considered who was who. Were they all cousins, aunts, in-laws even? 

Where is the rest of his immediate family? Better yet, who makes up his immediate family? She’s aware of the twins and even his older cousin Rikishi, but is there not more?

“So were you.” She can’t tell if Roman intentionally works to redirect the focus back onto herself or if he’s unaware of the fact she’s suddenly wondering just how much about the man across from her she still knows nothing about it. “So why is it different for you?”

It’s an effective diversion and valid question that she’s never once asked herself.

“No one’s ever said that either.” Her voice is only a couple octaves above a whisper, and Solana finds herself sharing more than she’s probably ever divulged to anyone. “When I….when I’m writing, a lot of the times, I’m writing letters to my mom.” Having this conversation with anyone, let alone Roman, of all people, wasn’t on her life agenda. But, it seems like a lot of ‘nevers’ are gradually morphing into ‘actualities.’

It’s such a strange experience, too.

“Like I said, we used to write to each other, and after….after she was killed, I couldn’t find it in me to stop. I think at the beginning, I kept doing it because….because I didn’t want to accept she was gone.” The understanding and underlying emotion shifts to the surface, resulting in her quickly wiping at her eyes to keep the tears from falling. “Like I was waiting for her to write me back.” It’s not missed upon Solana how Dulce suddenly moves closer, tucking her body right up against Solana’s thigh. “And I’ve kept at it over the years, cause—she was the only person I could ever talk to.”

Roman repeats the same message he wrote to her, almost reminding her of a lifeline she’s gradually starting to realize is available for the first time in almost twenty years. “You can talk to me, Solana.”

And she is. She doesn’t know how and especially why, but she is, and as heavy as the topic is, there’s a hint of relief at finally having another living, breathing person to speak to and with about these things. 

Especially…..especially someone who can maybe relate to her. “How did you do it—how did you….move past it?”

It’s not the best wording, she’s certain of that. Losing a parent. Having a parent be murdered isn’t something one gets over. 

Solana knows this better than most, but Roman….he’s so composed, so together, so unbroken. 

So unlike her. 

His expression darkens as he answers in an eerie but calm voice. “I got my revenge, and I killed every single son of a bitch who played a role.” His delivery unsettles her a bit, but he seems to easily shift back into that almost patient tone she’s only ever heard him use….with her. “But, I’m not like you, Solana. You're innocent. My ledger bleeds red.” Solana doesn’t know what it looks or even sounds like for Roman to be uncomfortable, but his delivery in the next part definitely feels as such.  “I don’t….feel things like you do. You feel everything. I feel nothing.”

She whispers. “I wish I was like that, that I didn’t feel.” Because it’s true. Because it’s how she initially started to self harm, because she wanted to feel something other than emotional pain. Even physical pain was better than the anguish that racked her every day, 24/7.

He’s quick to shut that down, to tell her the complete opposite. “No, you don’t. That would mean you’ve lost that innocence you have.”

That actually makes Solana smile, chuckle, but there’s not an ounce of humor as she shakes her head. “I–I lost my innocence a long time ago.” Stolen. It was stolen from her a long time ago is the more appropriate way to word it. Stomach a complete freaking mess, she does her best to power through her anxiety at what she’s about to tell him. “Roman…..I—”

“Ayo, Uce—”

“What!” Roman snaps, Solana jumping back away from him, hypervigilance back on high and alert. He briefly casts his gaze back in her direction, and she can almost swear she sees a speck of guilt. Like he’s apologetic for scaring her. 

Jimmy, however, is unfazed by his cousin’s temper. He’s lived with it his whole life. Ain’t nothing new. “Rhodes men were on Bloodline territory—”

“What?” At that, Roman’s head snaps back in Jimmy’s direction. And Solana watches as any sign of Roman, patient and almost kind, is replaced almost instantly with that same cold, stoic demeanor that could strike fear in the heart of even the strongest man. 

He stands up, hands on his hips as he moves a bit away from her. Solana also stands, fighting her urge to move closer to him. 

Jimmy also presents with a seriousness she’s never seen in him, never even really knew he was capable of, to be honest. “We got three guys down. Another two critically injured.”

Roman curses, turning away, back toward Jimmy and her. He then asks, “you got a location on em’ yet?”

“Pearce should have it any minute now.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Roman nods, stepping away from Solana and in the direction of Jimmy just as Dulce walks over, clearly wanting Solana to pick her up. She must also pick up on the sudden shift in the atmosphere. 

Dulce in her arms, Solana finds herself calling for Roman. “What—”

“Not now.” His dismissal is sharp and sudden. It shouldn’t hurt her feelings, because it’s obvious he’s in an entirely different zone now, but it does. 

Solana sinks back into her shell of silence as Solo steps forward. “You want me—”

“Stay with Solana. She doesn't step foot outside this fucking house, you understand me?” Roman’s orders are indisputable, an almost sense of urgency in his tone. “Heighten security around the premises.”

Solana has so many questions. Just what is going on? Why is Roman so on edge all of a sudden? Who is Rhodes and why do they present such an imminent threat where Roman marches out the house, Jimmy on his heels without even a second glance at her.

It’s all so confusing. 

“You need to get inside.” Solo’s equally stoic reminder, command maybe, pulls her from her thoughts. And Dulce suddenly growling at Solo definitely redirects her focus.

“Shhh. It’s just Solo,” she comforts, petting and trying to calm the puppy who quickly upgrades her growling to barking. This also confuses the mess out of Solana.  

She’s not sure she’s ever seen Dulce both growl and bark at someone.

Wordlessly, she walks in the house, past Solo who she notices makes sure to lock the door behind them. 

“Stay in your room," he instructs, and while she has more questions than anything, his austere tone is more than enough for her to not push back. 

Dulce will just have to use the crate if she has to use the bathroom. 

Without another word, Solo carries Dulce up the stairs and into her room where she lays the puppy in her bed and Solana climbs onto her.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she grabs her phone and opens up the latest group text thread she was messaging in. 

Solana: Can I ask you guys something?

Their replies come in not even five minutes later. 

Bayley: Of course!

Naomi: Anything.

Without allowing herself too much time to overthink it, Solana sends out the simple question.

Solana: Who or what is Rhodes?

Solana: Roman just rushed out of here after Jimmy said something about Rhodes men being on Bloodline territory. I’m not allowed to leave the mansion.

Just like the start of the conversation, the replies come in almost instantaneously. 

Naomi: Fuck.

Naomi: Yes, stay put. Solo’s there with you, right?

Solana: Yes.

Solana’s anxiety is only growing. Naomi sounds just as intense as Jimmy and Roman were. 

Her follow up text doesn’t do anything to help the confusion either.

Naomi: The less you know, the better. The guys will handle it.

Handle what, though? That’s what Solana really wants to know. What is the story here, and why did this Rhodes person or group have Roman so wired. 

Just then, another notification comes through. From Bayley, but in their individual thread and not the group chat. 

Solana switches over, reading her messages as they arrive almost back to back. 

Bayley: Rhodes is a person, but…that’s a complicated story.

Bayley: And I'd feel bad telling someone else’s story, but what I can tell you is that Rhodes is Cody Rhodes, head to the Nightmare Factory, the Bloodline’s biggest opp. Tensions have been at an all time high for like two generations with countless bodies dropped on both sides. It’s always a bloodbath when they’re in the same vicinity. 

Solana is regretting even asking anything in the first place. Bloodbath when they’re in the same vicinity, the same vicinity Roman is heading for as she types. Her shoulders drop, anxiety starting to shift to a new target. 

Concern for his safety.

Bayley: If you’re somehow ever in a situation where someone from the Nightmare territory is around, get the hell out of dodge. They won’t hesitate to kill you, especially with you being Roman’s wife.

Bayley: Or Rollins. Seth Rollins. Especially him. Guy is fuckin’ psycho.

Solana: Rollins?

Bayley: Roman, Seth, and Cody used to be friends a long time ago, like way long ago, and it just….it went bad. Really really fucking bad, and Cody and Roman have hated each other since. Like, I don’t know if hate is even a strong enough word for how much they can’t stand each other. 

Solana: But why?

Bayley never replies. 

________

Roman doesn’t step back into the house until almost 4am. He feels every bit exhausted as he probably looks, more physical than anything, some mental, maybe more than he’d like to admit.

Dealing with anything Nightmare related typically has that impact on him.

Solo meets him at the door, looking as on alert as he did when Roman first saw him at the ass crack of dawn this morning. 

The first thing to leave Roman’s mouth isn’t intentional as much as it is unintentional. “How was she?”

Solo motions to the marble flooring leading to the spacious living room. “She’s waiting for you.”

Roman wasn’t expecting to hear that, and he’s certain it shows in his facial expression. “What? Why? Why is she still up?”

Solo shrugs. “You’ll have to ask her. She don’t talk to me.” Which is more Solo’s preference anyway. It’s his job to protect her, not be her fucking friend. “Everything good?” Roman nods but doesn’t say anything, still stuck on the fact that Solana is still up. “Imma head out.”

Roman’s response is as distant as his expression. He doesn’t care whether Solo stays or leaves. “Alright.”

Once his enforcer is out the house, Roman sure enough finds Solana sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, notebook in her lap as she writes away.

“Solana.”

She gasps, clearly taken by surprise, but when her head lifts and her eyes land on him, she untangles her legs and moves the journal to the side. Solana walks over to him, keeping a distance that makes sense for her. “You’re back….”

“What are you still doing up? Don’t you have work in a couple hours?”

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head, adding sheepishly, “I–I don’t sleep much anyway.” He knows this well. “I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Her eyes widen as she hones in on the nasty looking cut near the middle of his hairline. “You’re hurt….”

It’s really not until she says anything that Roman remembers the only “injury” he received from tonight’s bloodbath. “It’s fine.” He then redirects the focus to the main topic at hand. “Solana, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

She ignores him, actually ignores him and instead reaches up to feel the cut that’s maybe a bit more deeper than he realized because her feather light touch brings a bit of a sting. 

“You need stitches.” It doesn’t sound like a suggestion, and he realizes as such following her next surprising action. She takes his hand and leads him into the kitchen, motioning for him to sit down on the stool as she pulls out the medical kit from under the sink. 

Similar to the night of WarGames, she moves in between his open legs and starts tending to his cut, meticulously and carefully stitching him up.

She says not a word, and neither does he. Truthfully, it’s more an unconscious thing than conscious, like neither knows what or if to say something. Especially considering both are currently feeling more than what they know how to properly verbalize, or verbalize at all, really. 

“There….” Roman can tell when she’s done. She gently runs her fingers over her diligent work, her eyes focused on the source of her apparent concern when all he wants is for her to look at him, for her eyes to lock on him. “I think I’m—” And just as Solana goes to move away, to step back and clean up, she’s stopped. 

She’s stopped, because Roman reaches for her, keeping her near him.

His hand is initially on the small of her back, and Solana has the same experience from earlier. That initial tense feeling that quickly mellows into something almost calm, almost secure. 

She’s not sure she’s ever been this close to him, not since the last time she tended to his injuries, not since their wedding day, since their wedding night.

But unlike that last almost traumatic time, she’s not pummeled with anxiety, not paralyzed with fear. 

It’s just the calm. 

His eyes never leave her, bouncing back and forth between her eyes and lips. He then says in a low voice that’s unlike anything she’s heard from him before. “Solana….”

There’s something different about the way he says her name, something more sincere, something almost….vulnerable. 

Roman suddenly has both hands on her hips, holding her, just as her nervous hand moves to lay her palm against his chest. 

His eyes instantly shut at her touch. Interactions with anything regarding Rhodes have always done something to Roman emotionally, but it’s always been something he can manage relatively well. Something simple and easy. There’s nothing simple and easy about whatever the fuck is coursing through him at having her so close to him, having her touch, soft and unsure as the expression in her eyes. 

She doesn’t know what to make of his eyes closing nor does she have time to consider what to make of that because an image, a flashback of a different kind of touch, a much more painful, visceral touch shoots to the forefront of her mind.

And her chest starts tightening, that fear drawing back up. 

“I–I can’t.” Because as much as some part of her, albeit big or small, likes this, likes being close to him, feels safe being this close to thim, another part, much larger and much stronger, can't handle being this close to him. “I’m sorry.” Eyes watering, she breaks away, Dulce is quickly behind her, Solana reaching to hold the puppy as she dashes up the stairs. 

Roman sits unsure, confused, angry. He stands up, pacing across the floor, hands up and on the side of his head before his fist slams against the refrigerator door. He curses, but not from the blow. That shit doesn’t hurt. 

His reaction and frustration is directed solely toward the fact that he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s feeling right now.

The same thing Solana is struggling with as she sits on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest, silently crying into her thighs.

Both of them wondering the same exact thing:

What the hell just happened?

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Angel Dust with Violet Evergarden!reader platonic fluff scenario

Warnings: spoilers up to episode 4, possible triggers. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please leave now and read something much more pleasant.

For everyone else, welcome to this small piece of fluffy goodness! You guys might know me from my other blog, @forbidden-sunlight . You have sent me your ideas for future Violet Evergarden!reader scenarios for Hazbin Hotel, and here is one of them! :)

Sit back, relax, and let us dive into a chaotic afterlife, where even a bit of reprieve from dishonesty and hypocrisy isn’t possible…until now.

Angel Dust's first impression of you is the following: a cute weirdo who dressed like a doll and didn’t smile much. What was even more tragic is that you actually believed there is a chance for sinners to be redeemed, and that the only to do that is complete Charlie’s half-assed rehabilitation program. You still do, even your progress hasn’t gotten you one step closer to Heaven’s pearly gates and the next Extermination is in six months. Five months actually, but who's counting?

That was around the time when he had to go back to work. He didn’t want to, but he knew if he didn’t…well, he didn’t want to think about it. Valentino is a psychopathic freak. He promised to make him, Angel, a big star in Hell’s entertainment industry, and instead fucked him over six ways from Sunday with false promises.

Long hours, shitty pay. No time to even take a nap in his dressing room because of course Big Daddy Val had his favorite toy’s schedule booked until he couldn't walk anymore and needed a stiff drink. When his afterlife seemed to take a nosedive for worse, and after Husk knocked some sense into him, he started finding letters under his door.

At first glance Angel could tell that they weren’t from his fans. No one’s gonna go out of their way and buy expensive paper to type it on, shove in an envelope, and put a wax seal on it just to praise him for his acting skills and share their wildest fantasies starring yours truly. No. This was….someone else.

He honestly didn't know how to describe the context of these letters because he had never received something like this from anyone who did not expect anything from him in PS or PPS. The sender would write either a short or long letter. The short letter was about half a page long; the sender would ask how he was feeling and ask him one question. What was his favorite food? What is the color he would never wear? The sender included a little about themselves too, as if to encourage him to respond. The longer ones started the same, with a greeting and almost the same stuff written in the shorter ones, but they shared how their day went with him, even the stupid, mundane shit they do every day as a part-time clerk at an antique shop and when they come home. The longer ones were at least two pages long. Some stuff made him roll his eyes, made him laugh…but it was the closing sentences, even as they vary from letter to letter, always jerked his heart in a way which made him both sad and happy at the same time.

I’m happy I’ve met you.

Thank you for being here.

Good night and have pleasant dreams.

You are stronger than you think, Angel.

I hope I can receive a letter from you someday.

You made a lot of progress today in Charlie’s exercises. I’m proud of you.

You’re doing great.

Angel might be a bit of a dummy….but he could tell right away who had been sending him the letters. The bit about Charlie’s exercises…there were only a few people attending that day. Vaggie, Sir Wet Noodles, and you. Vaggie wouldn’t write this kind of shit, and definitely not the wannabe overlord. You. You’ve helped him get through it with these letters and you never expected him to reply back. It’s as if you just wanted your words to reach him through Val’s sickly red smoke and hold his hand in your gloved one.

Naturally…the best way he can say thanks…for caring about him in your roundabout way…is to write a letter back. Maybe have a drink at Husk’s bar and talk about shitty coworkers or why Smiles never stops smiling? He’s not sure, but he’ll figure it out somehow. Sex isn’t the only thing he’s good at. And he’d like to get to know you a little more too.

Taglist

@angelltheninth

@tired-of-life-86

@nixie-writes

@frompeach

@riddle-simp

@likesugarandcyanide

@witch-of-the-writing-desk

@22carolina08

@angel-tsugikuni-kamukura

@justamegafan

@saltyfruitbat

@lanxianschoenheit

@trecllllllll

@vikkirosko

@imperfectbloodmoon

@theunknowntravel3r

@thatstonedwriter

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

@doc-tooth

[sanicsmut]

Gojo Satoru x Confident!Plus Size!Reader

Warnings : she/her reader, fatphobia, mention of food but it’s not related to reader’s weight, use of the word ‘fat’ but positively. I don’t know if it could be considered slight angst if reader isn’t affected by the fatphobia.

Words: 733

Robin’s comment: We need more fics with a fat reader who doesn't feel bad about being fat and doesn't doubt being hot even when confronted with fatphobia. It’s pretty short. I don’t have the attention span to write a long and coherent thing, so I hope it’ll be enough. Keep in mind that I don’t actually write that much, and that english isn’t my first language and I don't have a beta reader. If the use of the word 'fat', even in a positive way, is triggering for you i'd advise you to not read this.

Like every day, you decided to visit your boyfriend during his break. He wasn’t on a mission, thankfully, which meant you could steal more time with him. You walked through the streets of Tokyo, your black skirt fluttering in the wind as you walked. You thanked your past self for thinking about wearing shorts, you didn’t want all of Tokyo to see your backside, this was a privilege for your boyfriend after all. Your handbag was filled with all kinds of sweets for him — how else would you thank him for being the best partner you’ve ever had ?

You were passing a café near Jujutsu High when you heard people laughing. You didn’t pay attention to it, initially, but when you heard the words ‘whale’ and other very funny — sarcasm — comparisons. It was true, you were fat. Yes, fat, not chubby or plus sized. No, fat, and not in the ‘norm fitting’ way that would make you an acceptable type of fat in the eyes of skinny people and the beauty norms, no you were… just you. Fat. You always said it wasn’t a bad word, people said skinny with no negative connotation after all, so why not fat ? And you weren’t ashamed of it, you loved your body, you loved how your clothes looked on you, you loved your fat and your rolls and even your stretch marks and everything that came with being bigger than average. Really. But that pride didn’t stop stupid and ignorant people from commenting on your physical appearance as if it was the funniest shit ever.

You turned your gaze to a table in front of the café and, surely, a group of people was sitting there. Boys and girls alike were laughing, some looking not very subtly in your direction. You walked towards them and they all fell silent.

“A whale, huh?” You said. You almost wanted to laugh at their dumbfounded expressions.

“We… uh… We weren’t talking about you.” One of the boy managed to say awkwardly. He kept looking everywhere but you.

“Oh but you were. What did you say?” You asked, looking at the girl sitting right next to him. “What was it? There’s gonna be an earthquake if I keep walking?”

She shrunk in her seat. You could be very intimidating when you wanted to.

“That’s funny.” You commented, not looking amused in the slightest. “Now let me tell you. All of you. You’re lucky I’m not ashamed of being fat. As a matter of fact, I’d say I’m pretty hot. So your comments don’t do shit to me. However, there are people out there who aren’t as confident as I am. Do you have any idea of the impact these kinds of comments can have on someone? Do you think people can choose to be fat ot not? Do you think we don’t know we’re fat? Do you think saying this will change our life and create a miracle maybe? It’s our life, our bodies, right? If you’re disgusted by fat people, you’re the problem. Go see a fucking therapist and work on your inner insecurities, because this is pathetic.”

Silence.

“It’s easy to talk when you think we can’t hear you, but you fall silent when I’m confronting you?”

You scoffed.

“That’s what I thought. Anyway. Next time you see someone who doesn’t fit your beauty standards, maybe keep if for yourself because nobody cares. And try not to insult them, I doubt you’d appreciate if I commented on your very obvious physical flaws.”

They all looked pretty uncomfortable, you simply threw them another condescending glance before walking away. What a group of stupid idiots.

“Now that was pretty hot.”

You could recognize that voice anywhere.

“Satoru!” You exclaimed, beaming.

You turned around and, surely, he was here in all his glory.

“You were a bit late so I went outside to wait for you.” He grinned, taking you in his arms. “I’m glad to see my beautiful girlfriend is still as fiery as ever.”

You practically melted in his embrace, pressing a kiss on his lips.

“I couldn’t let them think they could get away with this.”

“And you did a good job, sweetheart, I’m proud of you. I'd say no one can mess with my girlfriend, but at this point you don't even need me to defend you.”

You smiled, leaning away just enough to take the sweets out of your bag.

“Here, for being the best boyfriend ever.”

“Are you trying to make me fall in love even more?” He said lightheartedly. “Thanks, wanna share them?”

“Gladly.”

[artificialbreezy]

okay so @as-above-so-below1000 sent me a post and some thoughts and it had triggered some Noah brain rot. plz enjoy these thoughts. this is fucking filthy, sorry 🤷🏻‍♀️

NSFW under the cut ◡̈

Noah who doesn’t like to think about how you come undone on any toy when he’s gone, because only he’s supposed to make you do that. so when you mention you need to get off to him a day before he gets home, he’s kinda fuming. he’s gonna play it cool though. he’ll ask to see how well the dildo fits in your cunt just because he “misses the way you take him”. but really he’s scheming. he’s planning a way to show you, he’s better than the toys you have.

Noah who texts you when he leaves the airport to be naked in bed when he gets home, because he has to have a taste.

Noah who walks in his room to see that stupid fucking toy on the nightstand where you left it last night and all plans go out the window, because now he’s just mad. so ya know what he does? he grabs the dildo off the nightstand before setting himself between your legs.

Noah who tells you to close your eyes, before he’s running the toy through your folds just so he can hear the whine fall from your mouth. “What’s wrong bunny? Thought you loved this thing?”

Noah who teases your hole, until you’re begging him to do something. “I usually like hearing you beg for me, but I think this is just slutty. Don’t you? begging me to fuck you with a toy, when i’m right here. it’s a shame really, i was real excited to feel you squeezing me.”

Noah who finally pushes the toy inside you, only to hear you mumble “not enough.” Just to flip you over, and shove your head into the pillow.

Noah who teases your asshole with this thumb while he’s slowly fucking you with your dildo.

Noah who gets you so close to the edge, just to push his thumb into your tight hole and hear you moan out “oh god.”

Noah who smirks down at you, “that’s it, baby. why don’t you pray to your god. why don’t you beg him for forgiveness?”

[bloop-bl00p]

So who’s in the wrong?

Trigger warning: talks of sexual coercion, abuse, it’s long as fuck and the mention of St**as may trigger some unwanted rage.

• Don't argue about how I’m wrong without reading this first, look I’m a person it’s natural to be incorrect and I’m all for debate. Thank you. Obliviously I won’t always directly agree with you and will defend my arguments, respect is mutual be respectful and I/any other people ready for debate will be respectful to you.

• I tend to post these at night (at least in the country where I live) don’t expect me to respond to you immediately because most of the time, I’ll be sleeping.

• This post is mostly for me, I was really trying to recontextualize their relationship and came up with my own conclusion. There’s lots and lots of repetition, especially at the end so it can get annoying.

Actual start of the rant

I’ll be honest here, I’m biased and I don’t like any of these two, especially Stolas, my girls Millie and Octavia are underappreciated but I’m gonna stick with them no matter what.

While I have a clear animosity toward these two, I decided to be completely objective, I’m gonna point out what both of them did wrong since the beginning of the relationship and the writing issues.

Childhood friends, really?

The first time Stolas met him they were kids, and considering how he blushed when he saw Blitzø performing at the circus we can guess he got his gay awakening here….

Wait are we really going to take into consideration the feelings of a child? Childhood crushes are rarely relevant, and it’s not like they were long-time childhood BFFs, no he just saw him and blushed. We also have to consider the fact that he saw him the day he learned that his entire life was premeditated to his displeasure, Stolas was a kid, and he never wanted to get married so he naturally sought to find a form of escapism to his situation. Which is a pattern that followed him to his adulthood.

His father saw that he took a liking to the imp and bought him for the day and they played buddy. But Blitzø wasn’t having it at all.

He never wanted to be here and honestly, Stolas’s interest in literature isn't his cup of tea. he then proceeded to use Stola's naivety against him to steal items on behalf of his father.

This is the moment where I lost it completely, the first time they met was Blitzø using Stolas’ feelings in order to steal, why didn't Paimon beat the crap out of Stolas? These two literally stole everything and you’re telling me that Stolas did not get scolded? that’s hardly believable when he got smacked just for bowing to an imp. Paimon is the type of parent who only notices his kids when they are making a mistake, the fact that he didn't punish Stolas or even try to pursue Blitzø’s family is more than odd.

Don’t take this as me blaming Blitzø, if anything I blame his father for purposely using the name of his mother to influence his child. Blitzø was just doing it for his family, most importantly for survival.

Blitzø was a child living in poverty in a society that looked down on him because he was an imp, with the influence of his father and the people around him, he learned that he needed to steal in order for him to survive.

Even if there was this “cute” little montage of the two smiling and “playing” Blitzø wasn’t having it he was not here for Stolas he was here to make sure his family ate tomorrow.

But you wanna know why they couldn’t have Stolas actually punished by Paimon because they needed him to still hold onto his Blitzø fantasy.

The messiest meeting I’ve ever seen

Stolas grew up, married Stella, and purposely stayed in a marriage he could have avoided for the simple excuse of “I stay for my daughter.”

I explained why this is a stupid reason →HERE← going back to him. The security eventually brings him Blitzø who was trying to break into his room to which he brings the imp in it and starts casually flirting.

This is the moment when each of y’all are going to burn me. Stolas isn’t that much in the wrong here, yes, it’s a bit weird to flirt with a guy you haven’t seen in years but first, he drank a lot prior to their conversation. While he wasn’t drunk, it’s safe to assume he wasn’t in full control of his speech. Second and last, Stolas said it better than me.

It’s teasing, I don’t think he was actually aroused and more amused by the possible implication of why Blitzø would try to sneak up during the night specifically in his room. This is a man who canonically read smut, what he said was relatively vanilla. Plus Blitzø didn't express any form of disgust except a subtle “ew” before directly getting into his game and playfully flirting back.

In his head, it was just a friend coming back after a long time to see him, he was genuinely trying to catch up.

Is it stupid from a writing perspective that he somehow never realized that he was fooled as a child? Yes. Do I believe that the second he saw Blitzø he should have been more wary because he should have known that the last time he saw him he literally stole from his parent’s castle? ABSOLUTELY!! But the writing gymnastics perpetuated by the writers allowed Stolas’ cluelessness to be believable, in the story at least.

How ‘bout Blitzø?

He wants to start his killing business and goes on a mission to steal the grimoire from Stolas, in order to do so, he flirts back with the Prince and lets things escalate quickly.

He’s more in the wrong, with this context at least, he’s trying to manipulate Stolas in order to steal. The first reaction Stolas had when Blitzø actually went on with the more sexy talk was to back off, ‘til now Stolas just made a few innuendos Blitzø actually elevated the situation. Birdie eventually gets bitten and all of that pent-up frustration from his marriage drops and he starts to say very very questionable comments.

I’m not gonna blame him here because again, Blitzø was manipulating him, to him, that was what Blitzø wanted. They eventually fucked, because Blitzø pitied Stolas. Does this remove accountability for everything he has done to the Prince until now? No.

Verdicts

➤ Stolas not getting grounded as a child for letting an imp steal stuff is nonsensical it was probably a deliberate decision so he could act all friendly with Blitzø for their meeting. He drank not to the point of drunkennes, but still a lot. Alcohol will always affect the brain even when you have not reached a drunken state, so it’s safe to assume that Stolas wasn’t fully in control of what he was saying or doing.

➤ Blitzø is not in the wrong as a child, but he definitely used Stolas to get what he wanted as an adult, he takes the L.

The “Passionate fortification”

Coercion definition

It’s persuading someone to do something by using force or profiting from a possible disadvantage.

There’s sexual coercion where you convince someone to have sex with you by force. The instance of a boss using his power to have sex with one of his employees will be sexual coercion because he has power over them. He can threaten to fire them at any moment, even if he’s a “nice guy” and “will never do such things” That doesn’t remove the control he has.

Even without being threatened, the employee may accept because they do not want to risk their job or negatively affect their career. There’s a difference between genuine concent and the one you gave when disadvantaged. Power imbalance makes it hard to actually evaluate if the concent given is sincere or not.

Going back to Stolas and Blitzø

Stolas, unfortunately for Blitzø, realized that he got robbed and oh well, what does he do?

A. Get rightfully angry for being stolen but since he’s reasonable simply get the book back pacifically?

B. Get more than angry and completely destroy Blitzø’s building in order to teach the Imp a lesson about messing with Royal?

C. Prostitution 2.0 without concent.

If you choose C, congratulations you’re correct.

Now many people seemingly don’t think the deal was sexual coercion because Blitzø accepted it and because Stolas would never even think of actually threatening Blitzø, with the definition I gave I explained why they were weak arguments. The power dynamism is unhealthy, let’s look at how this deal even came up in the first place.

Blitzø was in danger actively running for his life telling Stolas “Hey dude, it’s literally not the time!” he’s getting shot at! You cannot tell me Stolas couldn't hear him getting chased, worse, he was seeing it before his eyes.

It was mentioned that they had a discussion about the grimoire before and that Stolas allowed him to use it. Why couldn’t he make the deal at this moment? Considering that he can actually see Blitzø, there’s this disturbing impression that he waited for him to be in danger, thus in a situation where he couldn’t process information properly so he could make the deal. It’s just an icky impression I had when rewatching the scene.

Even without the whole thing of Blitzø being in danger, the deal would have been unhealthy. Blitzø needs the book for the sake of his business and, y’know, get money to make sure he has a shelter above his and his daughter's heads and he doesn’t know Stolas personally. How could he possibly know that this practical stanger would have been “nice” and accepting if he refused, Stolas is a Prince, he can ruin Blitzø company with the snap of his fingers, it’s this whole power imbalance all over again.

But I kid you not when I heard someone have this take:

It’s still Blitzø's fault because why the hell would he specifically choose to own a business where he needs Stolas’ book? He brought this unto himself.

My brother is Christ are you dense? Blitzø did not choose this, the writer chose to make IMP a human-killing business. What the Hell?

But since I like to dismantle every argument on the internet I’m gonna open parentheses to explain, why, in the story, Blitzø chose to have this business…

( First of all, owning something as complicated as a business for an imp is weird, most of the people Blitzø has talked to have pointed out how surprising it is for him to thrive. Millie’s parent literally thought she was poor.

The fact that he still decided to go for it stems from insecurities I’m going to explain.

We have to evaluate the fact that he always wanted to own his own company, first completely based around circus. Then later killing people. It’s a childhood dream that persisted.

We are shown that he did try to work in a circus as an adult, but he was overshadowed by Robot Fizz. Blitzø is someone with a lot of self-image issues, when he explained to young Stolas what he wanted to do, he explicitly said that he wanted to become the most famous imp with a lot of money. We know that his performance was considered mediocre compared to the better Fizzarolly. As an adult Fizz literally did what Blitzø couldn’t and even without being physically there he put him to shame.

Which led me to believe that he sought something that only he could do correctly. At default of being a clown, he would be something else.

We don’t know how he got into killing business exactly but my guess is when he was Verosika’s bodyguard. She did say “Unlike you, he (being Vortex) actually does his job well.” While it’s more of a theory, I believe he quit the industry Fizzarolly was dominating and went on to protect the succubus.

The sentence was mostly for teasing and picking fun at but there’s also the possible implication that maybe Blitzø was actually bad, why? Because it was his first time, maybe he got better and realized “Hey I actually like killing people.” Then the whole “stealing credit card and ditching her” happened and he eventually started his business in Hell.

But here’s the thing, he’s not the only one killing other demons, he probably doesn't have enough money to buy angelic weapons and alleviate his business to kill royalty like Striker does, and hell, considering where he lives Striker seems to sacrifice a lot to afford those things. Blitzø and his team will just be hitmen over many, so what do you do to push your business agenda, you kill humans directly on Earth.

Blitzø started the company to prove himself that he was good at something else, which is killing. In an effort to seem original from any other killers in Hell, he decided to go for killing humans which he needs Stolas’ books for.

You could ask why he simply didn't get an Asmodeus Crystal because he needs to be registered to use them. How do you get registered? Is it like a passport? Do you need to pay, maybe he just didn’t have enough money to do so and simply resulted in stealing as a last resort. I said it at the beginning when discussing Stolas and Blitzø’s dynamics as kids, he learned in his childhood that in order to survive he needed to steal. A behavior that still stuck with him. )

BOOM parentheses closed.

Verdicts

➤ Stolas flipped the situation and is in the wrong for coercing Blitzø, I’m not saying that Blitzø is a saint here. But his relationship with other people does not matter right now, he’s clearly a victim, just not a perfect one.

➤ I can’t believe that I had to actually explain why Blitzø chose to have this business, he always brags about how good he is with guns and deserves recognition. That’s something he uses to inflate his ego. Not saying that he shouldn’t be proud of his company of course.

Lust and Codependency but not Love

Stolas

Stolas never had a really tangible idea of what healthy relationships look like outside of fiction, we’ve seen him throughout the series reading two books, “Imp in the Sheet” and “Passion & Brimstone.”

Considering that Stolas almost always tends to specify the nature of Blitzø which is an imp (basically a race in this world) it leads me to believe that Stolas is fetishing Blitzø.

Think about it, throughout all of season 1 he was always pointing out how small he was compared to him, mentioning most of the time in his flirting that he was an imp, sexualizing his body, and speaking of how big he was. Not just to him, while he wasn’t flirting with others he always found a way to remind everyone “Hey, y’all are small imps.”

Honorable mention to “Impish little plaything.”

This is not love, it's lust, he likes getting dicked by people hierarchically inferior to him. It’s the white girl having sex with the POC wild man all over again but make it gay with demons.

But why Blitzø out of all people? Because Stolas sees him as a way of escapism.

Every time Stolas is in danger he calls unto Blitzø. In the face of danger, he thinks of Blitzø. In his little fantasy, Blitzø is the one who is going to “save” him from this boring marriage he absolutely has no control over. Except that no, he was indeed forced to have Octavia which is tragic but that ends here. He easily called unto divorce the second a stranger came into the picture as if he was confident that his happiness was guaranteed now that Blitzø was here.

Notice how I used the word “easily” to describe the divorce, he did not face the consequences that should have happened, Stella made parties about how they were still legally together as if it were an accomplishment. Stolas could have left without any problems.

“I’m staying for my daughter” is a weak argument, I’m sending you back to the purple link. If he really wanted to stay for Octavia, why did he throw all of his effort for Blitzø? When the divorce was officialized, he directly went in to get a crystal with the hope of Blitzø staying otherwise he would have sunk into misery, he does not want to be responsible for his own happiness.

You’ll tell me he uses anti-depressants but most of the time, he takes a good amount of them once and that's all. I’m pretty sure that you shouldn't take a shit tone of them in one gulp immortal prince or not it does not help. On top of that, he doesn’t make any effort to fix his drinking issue that has been showcased in the show. Stella is mean? Quick the alcohol! There’s literally a scene where he wakes up from a blackout caused by drunkenness,

He’s miserable, acknowledges it, and has all of the tools to ameliorate his life but he doesn’t. He preferred fantasy, a fantasy he is projecting onto Blitzø. I don’t care if he wants to be better, we all do but he needs to put in the work.

OCTAVIA IS RIGHT THERE BEGGING YOU TO PAY ATTENTION TO HER!

Yes, it’s not romantic but it's still something! Before seeking deeper bounds you need to work on yourself and learn to be content with what you have first, he’s acting as if nobody ever loved him completely disregarding his daughter’s.

When I said put in the work I mean multiple things regarding Stolas’ situation, the fact that he, whether consciously or unconsciously, believes that Blitzø is the solution to all of his problems and not HIS action reeks of a shitty self-esteem. He could have got rid of Stella who clearly has a negative effect on him, which he did but way too late and it affected his daughter out of all people.

He could have surrounded himself with people who actually cared for him, Better, Stolas is isolated, and the introduction of Vassago in the trailers, and the confirmation that he isn’t evil, means that there are probably other positive figures in the Goetia. He could have tried to socialize and go to parties or special events about his favorite subject.

Most importantly, he should seek professional help, there's rehabs and anti-depressants in Hell, and you’re telling me there’s no therapist?

I’m not a therapist myself but I did have a period of my life where my self-esteem was relatively low, those are the solutions I applied during my healing journey and while I definitely still have work to do, I can say that I’m fine now.

Because I worked on myself.

Blitzø

Tell me how could he love the one guy who constantly belittled him throughout most of their interaction.

Often the counter-arguments to that will be that Stolas did not realize that he was making Blitzø uncomfortable, but that doesn't mean that he did not hurt him. If I shot you in the shoulder, you wouldn’t care if it was accidental or not, I still shot you and now I have to make up for it. The same goes for Stolas.

Also…

How bad do you need to be to be unable to read the room and realize that someone's facial expressions show discomfort, how deaf do you need to be to not hear when he blatantly says “Hey, I don’t like how you call me that all the time!”

The fact that the writers make it seem like he did not realize how uncomfortable he was is to me a writing issue again. Or Stolas is just that braindead.

I already explained why Blitzø hasn’t given his consent to the deal in the coercion/unhealthy power dynamics parentheses, so let’s skip ahead to the dependence part.

Here’s my take, Blitzø does not love Stolas.

We all know how bad this guy is at relationships, his last bad experiences make it so he constantly sabotages his connection with others because he cannot fandom the thought of being vulnerable with someone. Being vulnerable is exposing yourself to potentially being hurt, something that happened too many times to him. I believe his relationship with Verosika was just a regular hookup, she mentioned that he only left when she confessed leading me to think that it never was official. He enjoys casual sex because he still wants to feel wanted but leaves when feelings get involved, a pattern he most likely had with other people.

Does this trauma justify him being a dick to everyone else, no. But, he recently showed a desire to make up for his bullshit. While I believe the resolution was fast, he worked out his issues with Fizz and they are friends now. It’s still salty with Veronika but it’s implied that she doesn’t hold that much of a grunge anymore. He still has work to do though.

So how does Stolas fit in all of this?

The deal was made way before he started apologizing to people, meaning that he was vulnerable so here’s the situation:

He’s a guy so bad at showing his true colors that he purposely makes his relationship with people unbearable because at least it’s something that he would see coming. He got hurt but deliberately, he’s in control of the situation. At the same time, he actually craves intimacy making him seek casual sex as a form of replacement for genuine attachment. Now you have this powerful man being the one controlling the situation and weirdly being obsessed with him forcing him into a sexual relationship.

Stolas came like a little flower, offering him the thing he want in the fucked up way possible, a form of attachment, and now Blitzø is stuck in this situation where he doesn’t want the relationship but still accepts it. First, because, it's for the sake of his job, and second because it’s the only form of “attachment” that he could get. He might as well entertain Stolas with sex long enough just so he doesn't get disinterested in him, for the money and for the sense of false intimacy it provides.

Verdicts

➤ Both are codependent on each other but Stolas is the one in power, he’s the abuser who is projecting his savior fantasies onto Blitzø. Some will say that Blitzø is just as a shitty person as Stolas, what he did to Mox is disgusting but does he deserves to be coerced?

When people said that, it felt like they said “He’s a bad person therefore karma bitch!” no, Blitzø is not meant to be a perfect victim. What he did to other people was awful but it did not have any impact on his relationship with Stolas, whether you like it or not Blitzø is a bad person but he’s also a victim.

Hey! It’s the episode with the best song in the first season!!

So Moxxie and the best girl of the show after Octavia had a little rendezvous in Ozzie in order to celebrate their marriage. Moxxie again proves himself to be a lucky boy.

To which Blitzø decides to stalk them… now I mentioned he’s bad at relationships. The fact that he stalks them can be explained by the fascination he has, he is probably jealous or trying to leave something he thinks he would never have thought them. Which does not justify the stalking or sexual harassment! No, I merely explain why he does it.

Unlucky he is, he needs a partner to continue following them in the restaurant to which he calls Stolas feigning inventing him to a date in order to do so… look, calling someone just so you can use them to stalk your employees without specifying your true intention is bad. He’s in the wrong there.

So Stolas was alone in this castle hinting at his solitude, and got existed when he was asked out. While they were still the annoying flirting and infamous “Blitzy” you cannot say that he did not try a bit to get closer to him. He wanted to have a good time, I mean he thought that Blitzø actually wanted to see him, not just because they had a deal. So you’ll notice that he toned down the flirting a bit.

He was not only aggravated that Blitzø wasn’t paying attention to him, which makes sense in this context because anyone would be pissed if the date that invited them didn't give a shit. But despite this, he is actually trying to have a conversation, with how surprised/confused Blitzø looks, I can only assume that it’s the first time Stolas is addressing him over anything else than bad attempts at sexy talk.

He still fumbled despite his best effort.

They weren’t uncomfortable until Asmodeus, a figure of great authority, pointed them out. To Blitzø this means one thing, he is something that Stolas will love to brag around among the lesser, he will toy with him and use him as he pleases but the second their relationship threatens his reputation, the second he will be in the company of the higher folks he will drop him. He’s a kink, a toy to be ashamed of.

You can tell me all you want that this is not what Stolas wanted to convey but the comparison feels so much clearer when Millie and Mox are in the picture. They are unapologetically sweet to one another not caring about anything or the judgments of people, Millie literally knocked out Fizz to protect her husband! Then you have Stolas who’ll brag about how hot Blitzø is, but not too much to make sure it does not reach higher ears. Blitzø realized this and that's why he refused to stay with Stolas at the end of the episode.

“Hey, now that we’re alone we can act all lovely-dovely, sorry for not defending you earlier but my reputation is more important.”

Because of this gesture, all of Stolas’ attempts at getting close felt like some sort of roleplay the bird was planning, but got cut short the moment he got humiliated. It's why rather than saying “I don't want to spend time with you tonight” he says “I don’t want to fuck you tonight.” Blitzø believes his feelings are getting played again.

Stolas said it, it’s just a transaction, a favor for-favor thing. Blitzø does not want the illusion of being a couple to settle in, and despite all of this he still apologizes for not sleeping with the bird.

He got his confirmation that Stolas could never truly love him, one of the reasons being societal. He’s dead set on keeping this relationship as it is.

Verdicts

➤ Blitzø once again used Stolas to entertain his immoral behavior, while the stealing of the grimoire wasn’t immoral because it was for the sake of his companies. Dude literally just wanted to stalk his employees, what the hell dude? He takes the L.

➤ Stolas isn’t the reason for this rendez-vous and actually came with genuine interest, intending to actually have a genuine conversation with Blitzø to flesh out their relationship. But he just dug his own grave and he proved to Blitzø that he was just a toy, a toy to be ashamed of and only used in private to whiting the minority he belongs to.

Honorable mentions

➤ At the beginning of Harvest Moon, during Stolas and Blitzø's conversation, it is implied that it’s not the first time that Stolas advanced the dates of their meeting to align with his princely duties. Now I want you to think of one thing, how many times do you think Blitzø had to completely drop everything he was doing just so he could reluctantly go fuck one bird without even respecting the schedule. And I’m insisting on the “reluctant,” Blitzø cannot say just “no” to the sexy part, he can’t just drop the books no he has to have sex with Stolas.

➤ People take the scene in Truth Seekers where Stolas got all big and angry as proof that he cares about Blitzø, potentially meaning that he was watching over him and decided to intervene to save him.

Not only does he call him “Impish Little Plaything” reducing him once again to the role of toy and dehumanizing him completely, but what does he do after traumatizing the agents? He asked for a little “thanks” When you do something genuinely nice you do it from the kindest of your heart. Blitzø obviously did not see any other possible so he slept with him to satisfy him.

➤ When rewatching the show I noticed something all the way through the first episode of Truth Seekers. When Stolas starts aggressively flirting with Blitzø, his natural reaction is to call out of his bullshit which unfortunately falls on deaf ears. In Western Energy he even allows himself to push Stolas away when he’s too touchy. (at 0:33)

However, in Truth Seeker, we can see he’s still uncomfortable/annoyed but doesn’t do as much as he did in the first episode. He got used to Stola's behavior and stopped trying to assert boundaries, he knows the Prince won’t listen anyway.

➤ People in Western Energy were angry at Blitzø for not jumping on his horse to fulfill Stolas’ fantasies of being saved by him.

First of all, he mentioned that he had a shot to give to Loona, an appointment that took him five fucking years to get. So yeah, sorry I ain’t available to save your ass.

Second, Stolas has a legion of demons he rules over (S2/Ep.1 = 1:32) why the hell would he call that one random imp who has a life outside of him? He even has the nerve to say “I think you should come save me.” (S2/Ep.4 = 2:00) bitch call one or two members of your legion maybe?!

Third, not only did Blitzø apologize for being rightly busy with his own life but, just because he was worried, and also for the sake of his business, he sent Millie and Moxxie to get him. He still assured that help was in the way without asking for anything else unlike someone.

The “passionate fortification” gone wrong

Stolas realized that coercion is bad and decided to ask Blitzø to meet him so he could have a proper conversation about the unhealthy nature of their deal and… oh. Wait…

Stolas: I’m sorry if anything I said or did may have offended you tonight. Blitzo: ITZ WUTEVS Stolas: Next time you come over. Maybe we can talk about what happened at Ozzie’s? Blitzø: Y? Stolas: I’m sorry nevermind. It’s not a big deal. I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast. But maybe I read too much into that. I’m glad that it’s not the case. I wasn’t upset either I just wanted to make sure you weren’t and obliviously you can handle any stupid joke a clown can make. Asmodeus can be very invasive with his humor. But I thought it was pretty funny. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of the jest. Maybe you can say mean thing s to me too the next time you come over. If you want? Blitzo: SHUR

→ HERE ← is a link to other much-needed phone calls between these two.

Stolas does show some levels of care in those banters and seems to be driven by wanting to respect Blitzø boundaries. Those happen in parallel with him realizing that the deal he made was fucked up so he wanted to give Blitzø is the choice. The fact that Blitzø did not acknowledge these attempts as genuine affection was explained earlier, in Ozzie he basically got the confirmation that every Stolas is acting like that it’s just to fuck with him.

Right now after what seemed to be months where Stolas gave him the choice he deliberately chose to stay away from him before coming back to the full moon, Stolas failed to do one thing to convey the seriousness of what they were gonna adress.

That little piece of lyrics from Blitzø let me once again think that this was Stolas who asked for the meeting using the full moon as an excuse. Considering Blitzø was more than happy to get back to square one and how he prepared himself to do the nasty to Stolas, he clearly did not get announced that this wasn’t going to be their casual sex. Which is a big mistake.

Just to remind everyone, Blitzø uses this relationship to get the feeling of closeness he thinks he’ll never have and doesn’t deserve.

Quoting myself:

“Stolas came like a little flower, offering him the thing he want in the fucked up way possible, a form of attachment, and now Blitzø is stuck in this situation where he doesn’t want the relationship but still accepts it. First, because, it's for the sake of his job, and second because it’s the only form of “attachment” that he could get. He might as well entertain Stolas with sex long enough just so he doesn't get disinterested in him, for the money and for the sense of false intimacy it provides. .”

We the audience know this but Stolas doesn’t. But even without this knowledge, why would you not mention that you do not want sex but serious talk? Be for real! Miscommunication is when you fail to convey information, he did not try to tell him beforehand that this was gonna be serious!

So Loona essentially planted the seeds in Blitzø’s head that Stolas was getting bored of him, and well… it fucked with his mind, so how does he respond when the unintended suddenly serious talk happens? With denial then anger.

Can he seriously expect sincerity from Stolas? To Blitzø, there are two solutions, Stolas is roleplaying with him or he’s throwing him away after his fun. It’s the worst-case scenario, he had the power, he put Blitzø to shame stripped him away of his pride, constantly belittled and tossed him to the role of toy, a toy he cannot show off to royalty because of his statue. And then what? Does he leave him after everything?! Seriously?!

And Stolas?

He understood coercion was bad and we can give him the thumbs up for that. He fucked up on everything else, first because it’s the only thing he seems to acknowledge, he only reflects on the unfairness of the contract and not how his past behavior hurted Blitzø.

When Blitzø started going to roleplay, rather than stopping him and further showcasing the seriousness and sincerity of his action he just left like he got a full fleshed-down answer.

You dropped a bomb so suddenly, out of nowhere, using the pretext that you two were going to fuck and you expect him to proceed with this information in a matter of seconds?! Not only did you not leave Blitzø at least a few days to prepare himself psychologically by saying that the night wouldn’t be about sucking your ass for once, but you go and abandon the ship when you don’t get a desired answer?! What the hell is wrong with you?!

The bitches are fighting now

Why did Blitzø come back to Stolas if he hated him so much?

Trauma Bounding

Trauma bonding is when you feel a deep attachment to your abuser. In my opinion, this is what happens here.

This is the relationship Blitzø thinks he deserves, he feels entitled to Stolas because Stolas is what he has coming. He ruined the lives of all of his past lovers/hookups, and his family hates him, yes his friendship with an old crush was fixed but it’s a very minor improvement when you compare it to the years of self-deprecation Blitzø suffered from. Stolas is a prince, Blitzø cannot ruin his life, he cannot blow him up like he did with Fizz, he cannot run away from him, he cannot do anything but please him.

From having sex with him, he gets the semi-form of love he’ll never have with the guarantee that he won't be able to leave. He gained a fully long-lasting “relationship”, a toxic one but it’s better than nothing.

But now that he has the choice, the Asmodeus crystal, with his mind so ingrained in the idea that Stolas is the only thing he deserves, he tries to reinstall the only thing he seeks in this. Intimacy. Stolas doesn't reciprocate, which is surprising.

“You usually like it when I talk all dirty, and fucky, and shit.” (S2 Ep.9/0:52)

Blitzø doesn’t want to lose his VIP pass to a semblance of what love could look like, he can still stalk his employees but it would be drastically different from actually acting on his frustration.

But less talking about Blitzø, why is Stolas so upset with Blitzø? Because despite everything  that happened he still can see that he is genuine. He’s frustrated that Blitzø cannot see it outside of sex.

Honey, you put yourself into this situation.

Must I remind you of the “favors for favors” thingy, you were the one who initiated sex as the center of the relationship? In addition, you ruined the image he has of you. You refused to listen to his complaints when you were aggressively flirting and touching him, and you built this image of superiority and dominance over him with your actions, which nullified all of your attempts to try and be soft because it’s simply not possible to think that you could be genuine with him.

Now you have the chance to apologize and listen to him, but you choose to be sassy and hold the most hypocritical speech I have ever seen.

Watch me lose hours of my life dismantling some of his bullshit:

“As shocking as this might seem, Blitzo- I don't think I'm in the mood to "do sex" with you. In fact, I don't think I'm even in the mood to do words with you! So, how about you respect that?”

And I’m sure Blitzø wishes he could have said the same thing to you multiple times, while Blitzø is clearly disrespecting Stolas’ boundaries here, you cannot tell me how hypocritical that sounds from him.

“I don't look down on you! How many times do I ha- When have I ever?! You speak just like that vile Striker friend of yours. The one who tried to kill me and you couldn't be bothered to come help me. Remember him?”

Imagine changing the subject when the conversation had absolutely nothing to do with Striker. Isn’t Stola's award of the racism toward imp in the society? I mean, he can not be aware of his own bigotry, but why does he sound so surprised when someone points out how royals and even himself talk down to Imps? Granted, Striker was torturing him while doing it, but with Blitzø? That should have been the moment when he realized that maybe he was racist without realizing it. You know a self-reflection you make by actually thinking about what the other is telling you rather than dismissing them.

“I suppose you are right, silly me. It's not an imp's place to protect a Goetia, is it?”

You own a legion of powerful demons, why do expect an imp to constantly save you?

“That's all you were waiting for, wasn't it? For me to play into this idea you have of me that I'm this prince who thinks he's so much better than you. Well, I don't! Why would I allow everyone to see how much I like you? How I've tried so fucking hard to spend time with you, to support you? You don't owe me those things, but you can't just ignore all that!”

I explained most of these things already, but my question is why bother? Why are you wasting your time and energy on someone not reciprocating your feelings when you could redirect them to your daughter?

– Oh, you think I can't apologize?! For what?! You want me to be like- Oh, sorry, this entire time I assumed the worst because I was convinced a prince could never love someone like me and I've let my self-hatred stop me from apologizing to anyone I could ever care about! – Well, yes. That.

I… yeah I’m absolutely going to make you apologize when I’m partially the cause of why you see me that way. What? Apologize myself? Ah! No.

“Do you feel any kind of remorse for what you do?”

Also Blitzø: “Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time. *voice breaking* But, I just, I-I can't do it tonight, okay? I'm sorry.”

“Stolas, wait! I'm s-”

The last verdicts

My final thought will start with a question, where is the love?

This fandom and the series are constantly beating us with the allegation that this is just a miscommunication issue that is going to be fixed at the end!

They are soulmates, everyone!

You know what I see? I see a man unable to face his issue himself and projecting his savior fantasy onto a stranger leading him to eventually trap this other person in a shitty deal just so he could fulfill his dream. On top of that, the person he trapped clearly doesn’t give two shit about him, and seeking the comfort they provide made him neglect the important parts of his life. AKA his child. He’s waiting energy on someone who doesn’t care and torturing this person at the same time.

I see another man trapped in a shitty deal, unable to leave because his life depends on it and because he deeply believes that it’s the only form of love he could get, so he simply content himself with it. Despite not being 100% in control, he still finds little cracks where he can manipulate the one who has the power in order to do immoral shit.

How romantic, but seriously…

Where the hell do you get the conclusion that yay they bone and love each other?! They are two miserable people searching for consolation in a very destructive situation! Not only is the narrative using the most badly affected in the relationship as a punching bag but it is also trying to fly over the radar and showcase this mess as an endgame. A match made in Hell, everyone!

What could have been a powerful story exploring how childhood trauma can let two people fall into a toxic relationship just so they could cramp onto each other to feel the warmth of the flesh turned into… whatever soap opera subgenre it is.

What should have happened is that Blitzø should have realized that he deserves a better form of love, he has a daughter and a friend who cares about him, if anything he should seek to rebuild healthy dynamics with his family and with himself.

Stolas should have realized that one of the many factors of his misery is himself and should have focused on the things that matter, his daughter and mental health. By the end of season 2, they should have separated realizing how they both fucked, mostly Stolas. Season 3 would have been based on their healing journey and how they are focusing on it before seeking relation.

But no… apparently, what they have is love, they are miskomunicatatatin… and they should fall in love to fix all of their issues. Yay! Season 2 is about the end and it's way too late to hold Stolas accountable for everything I’ve mentioned up there, with how the narrative focused on beating the dead horse that is Blitzø, I’m getting the vibe that when they address Stolas it will never feel truly satisfying.

Anyhow, I’m gonna sleep now, rewatching Helluva Boss again and again gave me a migraine.

And → HERE ← you can find a good video, it helped me with the making of the script and the channel is too underrate, go support them.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Therapy Files 3: Twist the Knife

GIF credit: @mithrandirl

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) tells him it’s okay to cry after his first day of therapy. (944 Words) FLUFF.

Warnings: Swearing, comfort, hurt, emotional breakdown (crying), fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, mention of Donna Berzatto, mention of Mikey Berzatto, mention of Natalie Berzatto, mention of mental and emotional abuse.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in the Therapy Files Series and will be tagged with #cb therapy files.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Post-Day 1

I held it together after day 1 of therapy until we got back to the apartment.

I don't even remember the drive back. I can't remember if I ever looked up or if Darling tried to speak to me. I just blinked and was standing at the bathroom mirror, staring into a face much like my own but with terrified eyes, reddened cheeks, a reddened nose, and a fat lip bearing teeth marks. These oceans of blues and wisps of gray with spidery red blood vessels invading in from the corners of my eyes where a band of reflections grew, and grew, and grew until my eyes snapped shut, until I retreated to the dark quiet, and warm saltwater fell from them.

My teeth hurt, my chest hurt, my fingers ached from how tightly I was gripping the sink. Hurt so bad I thought they might snap under the pressure of my own muscles crushing my fingertips against unforgiving shitty fucking composite—I couldn’t have that; I need my hands to cook—but I couldn’t override my body to make it stop. The ache in my jaw was so intense that I waited for the searing pain of a tooth cracking because surely, one of them would go, right? This is the part of emotions I can’t stand: the lack of control. I had no control. My body was just doing what it wanted to without my consent, and the only choice I had in the matter was how many times I’d cuss out whatever made me like this for it.

Fuck you.

There. Have another one.

I'm not a crier. I don't fucking cry, okay? I couldn't, because if I did, Mikey or ma would twist the knife further or Nat would catch some heat trying to protect me from them or sometimes all of the above.  Why are you fucking crying, you baby? You're not a child. Stop fucking crying. Do you see what I did all day for all of you? Am I crying? Then you shouldn't be fucking crying either.

I hate seeing people cry. It twists something deep inside me, under my diaphragm, almost tucked up against my spine. And not because I want to fix it or make them feel better—really, I only have the energy to worry about Nat or Darling feeling better. I can do something for them. They don't reject me, so it can hurt, and I can try to fix it. No, I hate seeing people get to cry. I hate that they can sob like fucking children over the smallest shit and no one, least of all me, tells them that they're being fucking babies. I used to be a human too, you know? Why couldn't people treat me like that? Why do you get to cry, and I don't? Why do I got to hold my shit together?

"Carmy? Baby?”

Shit, and now Darling’s seen me.

I instinctively swiped away the stupid tears, turned my back to her, clawed for the words to explain to her that I was fine, she didn’t see anything. Reflexes baked into my being from too long a lifetime of being chastised for the act of being human. For daring to feel so much emotion that it’d trigger my body’s reflex to cry. That’s the thing—it’s so fucking human to do so, but no one’s ever treated me like a fucking human, have they? I’ve forever only been worthy of consideration when I served a purpose, I’ve forever been a means or a tool until Darling.

That’s the thing about trauma that they don’t tell you, by the way. They do tell you it’s gonna get worse when you try to get better. But how that happens? How worse is actually a thousand little things that all cut you up like glass shards? Nah, they don’t tell you that shit. You go headfirst in the deep end and get water down your throat and in your eyes and you don’t know which way is up and your legs cramp up and then, and then, and then… Sure, you get a better sense of all the shit you’ve survived, and much like the fleeting ten seconds after avoiding wrecking out on the side of the interstate where your heart slams into your throat because you realize how close to death you were, you spiral down into a pit of despair at how much deeper you’re in that you ever realized. You also get less tolerant to more damage. Shit starts to hurt because you’re not numb anymore. The tiniest shit starts to hurt. It’s maddening.

Darling spun me by my shoulders and clasped me in a hug. My hands planted on her ribs of their own accord, intending to push her away.

“Baby, it’s okay!” she hissed.

I froze.

“It’s okay to cry. I’m right here, Carmy. I got you.”

Her cold fingers wove into my hair, tucked my face into the crook of her neck, arm wrapped around my shoulders and yanked me in. She crushed me in a hug, and I caged her in my grip in response. It ripped something raw in my chest, being held so tightly, being held like she wanted me there. Like I wasn’t a waste of space or time or effort. I got you. I had a life ring, for once. I’m the best swimmer I know, but this time, I didn’t have to fight the tide. Darling would keep me from drowning. I clung to her, gasped in a breath, and—without my consent. Emotions never have consent—choked out a sob.

Darling allowed me to cry.

Tags: @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899 @carmenberzattosgf

[dunmeshichilchuck]

For That One Guy On Tumblr part 8

Chilchuck x !fem !halffoot reader

:) I think some of you guys are gonna like this one.

You'd been afraid working with Chilchuck would be difficult, if not impossible, but you soon settled into an easy rhythm with him. With the both of you working together, you could cover more ground. Soon you worked out an almost code to signal to each other, quiet warnings and quick clicks of the tongue. 

The traps were sporadic and sometimes difficult to find and prepare for. Sometimes they were triggered by movement, sometimes by pressure. You weren't sure if you would have been able to get through them all alone. 

The labyrinth changed around you as you moved, doors clicking into place or disappearing. Soon you'd been unwillingly shunted off what you'd thought was the main corridor into who knows where. 

Eventually you came to a dead end. Chilchuck huffed in exasperation. "Damnit I'll have to either find some way through this or we'll need to backtrack, which would lose us a lot of time."

"Well if it's going to be a minute until we can move on we might as well stop for a meal now." Senshi said cheerfully. 

He stopped and made a move to unpack. You held up a hand. "hold on! Let me check this area for traps." 

You quickly combed the area. Surprisingly, it was completely clean for about ten feet away from the dead end. Definitely enough to set up a quick camp site. 

Once finished, Senshi began happily unpacking and then slicing up the walking mushroom. You joined Chilchuck in poking around the walls for hidden passageways. 

"There's no traps right around here. Not for another ten feet back" You said. 

"Yup, that's why I'm thinking it's not actually a dead end. Something's gotta move"

You nodded, and continued combing over the wall, poking and prodding at the bricks. 

"That was a really dumb thing you did back there."

You glanced up, affronted. Did you somehow miss a trap? "What? What did I do?"

"You know what I mean!" Chilchuck quietly hissed. "Tackling Izutzumi! There was a solid chance that wouldn't have worked and you haven't built up nearly enough body mass for resurrection to work again! We could have resurrected Izutzumi, I don't know if we could have resurrected you. It's not our job to put ourselves in danger unnecessarily! It's not brave, it's just stupid." 

You bristled and hissed back. "It wasn't like I planned that! I saw someone in danger and reacted. If I'd stopped to make a thought out plan Izutzumi would have died, and I don't know if you noticed but she's not exactly over abundant in body mass herself."

"Yes but she has more than you do! We *have* to keep expectations consistent across all halffoot workers, that's how this works and how the union continues to function. Yeah maybe you're okay with putting your life at risk for a stupid fucking reason but no halffoot should be forced into that!" 

"I'm not part of the union." You shot back. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Izutzumi watching you with a bored expression. Ah. Cat ears.

You switched seamlessly into your native tongue, your voice rising a bit from anger. "When I went into the dungeon there were no regulations and you had to do whatever it took to prove you deserved to be here! Yeah we're both halffoots, but you're a man and you're tall for a halffoot, do you have any idea what it's like to be a tiny halffoot *woman* trying to get people to take her seriously? I learned how to fight and how to do stuff like that out of *necessity* because otherwise I would have been dropped by the wayside! And I don't have a contract with this party, and it might be nice to have another trap guy but they don't actually *need* me, and I'm telling you right now I will NOT be left behind and I WILL do WHATEVER it takes to be a part of this party. I don't give a shit about your fucking union. Let me take my own risks and stop treating me like a goddamn child, I have enough of that from the other races." 

You were half yelling by the end of that and your face was flushed and hot.  How dare he try and sit there and talk you through how halffoots were exploited like you hadn't gone through it too? Preaching on his fucking high horse. 

Chilchuck scowled, but he looked just slightly taken aback. He'd glanced at Izutzumi when you did and probably had picked up what you had, because he answered in the same language. "You don't have... Fuck you're right. I can probably negotiate one for you, you really don't have to do stuff like that just to be in this party. Why does it even matter to you so much? You don't need to stay here, you don't need to be doing this, we can just send you back. Marcilles all shy about it but they can learn the home spell from their book I bet. She picks stuff up real fast." 

You grit your teeth and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Tell me. ONE. personal fact. About yourself." 

He blinked, mouth hanging open before he snapped it shut. "What?" 

"I've heard Marcille referencing her school, Laois talks about his sister and a bit about his village, Senshi won't shut up about the stuff he's into, and Izutzumi is Izutzumi, but YOU don't share SHIT. so if you want ME to start sharing you better fucking open up too buddy."

"I- that's not- what- I keep my personal and professional life very separate!"

You grinned. "Then don't expect me to be any different." 

Chilchuck opened his mouth to retort, before shutting it again. Then he shrugged. "Yeah that's fair, keep your reasons to yourself, I'll negotiate you a contract anyway, just forms sake." 

You put your hand down, the wind a bit let out of your sails. You hadn't expected him to back down so easy and you felt oddly...disappointed. it'd been a bit since you'd had a really good knock down drag out argument. 

"Food is ready!" Senshi said "Come and eat while it's hot!" 

Taglist, ask to tag:

@hopefully-not

@night-shadowblood-writes2

@thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry

@dunmeshimeshi

@leguink 

@gh0st-spider

@reh-llik

@sy1v30n

@qardasngan

@mshope16

@drowsydoggy

@anaxnee

[cloveroctobers]

FEBRUARY FLUFF — CARMY BERZATTO.

A/N: so carmy won this time around!!! Thanks to all those that voted and ultimately made this decision for me lol. Hope you guys enjoy this and have a safe, healthy, and happy love season 🩷 + yes this is a mixture of fluff and angst...i mean come on! I wouldn't be me if i didn't include that in here somewhere!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 1. “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.” “What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?”  + always giving the other the first bite of their food < or the last.

WARNINGS/SN: I wrote with a black or brown reader in mind although reader isn't physically described + they’re given a name only when mentioned, language is a thing here duh!, this is LENGTHY, lots of timelines: reader + nat became friendly before season 1 during the summer prior to 7 fishes which is estimated to be five years before season 2, reader knows of carmy due to past work, I feel like she can be just a few year(s) older than carmy but younger than nat—there’s a age gap for the Berzatto’s anyways, sexual relations are mentioned, this piece takes place months after the grand opening, & finally there’s a possible chance for a poly relationship or maybe just multiple crushes going on? Take that how you will.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

it was a Sunday.

The kind of Sunday you woke up embarrassed about but knew you had to swallow your pride and just send out that text. You knew you wouldn’t be judged regardless reaching out to Fak because he’s built to deal with things like this and never made you feel like shit about anything.

You usually had to squeeze it out of him to get him to lay out any cons about a situation but appreciated most times when he didn’t. Your minds been going haywire with a recent assignment as a food journalist and it really slipped your mind, although you were usually a quick thinker, you’ve been stressed over this recent restaurant. Thankfully it clicked for you after throwing a tantrum to simply reach out to Fak to come help you out.

The stupid lever in your bathroom decided to stop flushing on you and of course you panicked. Who wouldn’t panic in a situation like that? You no longer had a roommate and strongly debated if you even wanted to search for another; after the shady actions of the previous one, so you really didn’t have to worry about them giving you shit either. (Let’s see if your rent feels the same next month!)

It was just you in the end and perhaps you were learning to be okay with that.

Yet that didn’t stop you from FaceTiming Sydney about it. “Hey Siddy, how’s your day going?”

“Pretty good, yours?” She politely asked as she moved down the hallway of her shared apartment to prop her phone on the pedestal sink, moving around her functioning bathroom to grab some oil to grease her scalp.

Smacking your lips you glare, “it fucking sucks.”

“Oh?” Sydney questioned, appearing back in frame, “what happened? Did someone egg and scratch up your car again after a review you gave them? Noo wait, don’t tell me there’s a bullet hole?!”

That was light work compared to New York (it really wasn’t a competition of which state had its worst moments but your home state left you kinda triggered, not gonna lie!) where you were just starting off and those that were in tune with the culinary world didn’t take your words with a grain of salt. Most nights you still woke up gasping for air, reaching for your throat due to some trauma of a break in from a well-known nepo-baby chef. Don’t get that twisted, your mom didn’t raise no punk but that didn’t mean those events didn’t mess with your mental and you acknowledged that every time you had a nightmare. They only served three years and five months compared to the original five year sentence.

Ah the system…got to love how that works out for the privileged!

You shrugged, “no…the threats have been pretty tame lately so I can give myself a pat on the back for that. However! I still am in a crisis.”

Sydney begins to move her braids around to expose her scalp, “Elaborate for me.”

“My toilet won’t flush!” You whine, laying flat on your messy bed. You tended to not make your bed on Saturdays and didn’t get around to making it today—although it was after 3pm.

Sydney asks, “Like the waste won’t go down…?”

“Exactly!” You confirm throwing your arm over your eyes dramatically, “The lever thing is moving like my old dislocated shoulder.”

Sydney gags, “don’t fucking remind me of that day. That was spooky to witness but I am glad you healed from that.”

“Thanks girl, means a lot, truly.”

Sydney gives a small smile, “don’t mention it…have you considered YouTubing it? That’s what I do when I don’t want to ask anyone for help and figure it out by myself.”

You hummed knowing this was true. In a sense you could be like that too, especially when it came to the working field, since writers can tend to be some nasty bitches and always in rivalry with each other. You made a name for yourself in Chicago as well, coming from New York where you worked just as hard-maybe even harder than the rest to mean and write exactly how you felt about cuisine, regardless if anyone agreed or not. It wasn’t about if people liked you, the relationship with food would always be more significant and hold value in your life, just like the rest of these chef’s you encountered and you got that, people were allowed to be sensitive about their work. You’ve come toe to toe with many chef’s around the world who didn’t like your take on their craft but that didn’t mean you didn’t understand them. They hardly took the time to really dive into your ratings and automatically took it as you shit talking or not having any idea what you were saying since you “weren’t really a chef,” but you knew your worth most days.

Yes you could be straight forward but that didn’t mean you lacked compassion like some chef’s liked to think according to your reviews. You often wrote in a way that was puzzling to some, almost philosophical or riddle like with your own twist. Some just didn’t get it and that was okay but you wouldn’t back down from any confrontation. The second they didn’t want to really listen, that’s when you removed yourself from the escalating problem. It didn’t have to get violent like some wanted to inflict.

“Why didn’t I think of that?!” You exasperated, slapping the palm of your hand to your forehead.

Sydney snorted, “maybe because you’re under a lot of pressure lately and the most simplest of things don’t come as easily as they should.”

“You would think I have high blood pressure with the way these past two weeks have been.”

Sydney says, “give it time.”

“Gee, thanks! That’s exactly the kind of shit I want to hear from you.” You roll your eyes at the blurt of words that commonly escaped the braided girl’s mouth.

Sydney breathes out a laugh, “I’m just joking!”

“Yeah, yeah! Maybe I should text fak back and tell him not to come by!”

“You asked fak instead of the apartment manager?” Sydney is in amazement.

“Fuck that noise, he’s so full of shit that he should see a doctor about it. He’ll show up to analyze the problem, then acts like he’s going to fit you into the schedule and then when you catch him in the lobby he pretends that he has amnesia.” You commented with a scowl.

You get ready to minimize the call to text fak but some obnoxious knocks at the door made you pop up from your bed. “That was fast!”

Hopping up from the bed and padding out of the last bedroom in the apartment, you made the journey through the foyer to the awaiting black front door. Peeking through the peephole you spot Fak grinning widely up into it, almost making you jump back.

“He’s made it Siddy! I’ll call you back!”

“K. Good luck!” Sydney calls out before you end the call to pull the door wide open.

“Neil!” You scream, quickly latching onto his tatted wrist ready to yank him in until you notice someone else is with him, “…why is he here?” You point.

Fak quickly glances over at a brimmed Carmy who raised a brow at him in a silent told you so manner, “I mean we were having a boy’s day when you called and I didn’t want my buddy to be left out. Plus, it’s always great to have some assistance.”

“…i find it hard to believe that Carmen wants to fix my toilet.” You cross your arms, poking out your hip as you stare at him.

Carmen shrugs his shoulders, “I wanted to wait in the car if it makes you feel any better.”

“Hmm…it doesn’t.”

Carmy rolls his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose briefly in agitation, “you know what, fak you’ve got this right? I know you do so—

“Nope!” Fak quickly interrupts, “this maybe a two person job so aspie if you just let us do what we came to do—

Shooting an arm out to block the doorway you peer into Fak’s dark teal eyes to show you mean business, “didn’t I say I dislike that nickname, Neil?”

He nods.

“Also i find it offensive that you brought an uninvited guest to my place.”

“Just be glad it wasn’t Richie because that was also a possibility before he ran off to pick up the kid.” Carmy snaps making you roll your eyes.

If Richie was here you been would have slammed the door in both Fak and his face. Sure you had some sort of tension with Carmy and beef with .......his cousin but at least Carmy only gave it back to you when he had the energy to—meaning if he was already on one. The issue was simple, you wrote a not so nice review once before when the eldest berzatto, Michael was alive and running the joint. Richie couldn’t forget that and actually kept the clipping, yes the clipping of the review way back when. He had the receipts to show Carmy and Carmy actually brushed it off then, not seeming to really care or doubt some of the words that were said.

He came to revamp the place because Mikey left it for him, to fix the mess his big brother left behind, to create what they’ve always dreamed of. Sure he got shit for it in the beginning and part of him felt like maybe that was your case too? He could relate to you on that, yet the weight was slightly different on his part and he even spoke with you not long after he found those tomato cans.

That gave him a certain push he couldn’t really explain. He may have done a brief dive on you, wondering why you felt acquainted to him—completely forgetting about seeing you once around Noma—choosing to start with reading previous reviews by you on other restaurants here in Chicago and a few interviews you’ve done over the world. You weren’t just some nobody, you held your titles well and it reflected in your work.

You weren’t clueless.

He just didn’t really know what he was dealing with until a short time ago.

What he didn’t expect was for you to show up again on opening night with a certain head chef, also from New York. That made carmy more anxious than anything, seeing you sitting beside that four eyed fuck ready to set off a tornado in the heart of the bear. Was that your motive all along? With carmy attempting to build a bridge, not for you to kiss his ass with praise but there was a odd need to have a simple conversation with you. It was weird but it seemed like Sydney, Fak, and Nat liked you?

The jury was still out with the rest—except Richie but you were a mystery to Carmy. However carmy wasn’t the best at putting a read on people or their emotions in the first place, he was good at fucking that up unless you’re screaming it into his face. That’s just how he operated.

“You two can come in—only because I don’t have the patience with the manager here and Neil’s the best I’m gonna get.” You state while fak slaps a hand on his chest.

“That was really sweet, Aspen.” Fak cooed ready to pull you into a bone crushing hug but you hold up a finger.

“Save the hugs until after you fix my problem.”

“You got it boss,” Fak salutes before diving under your arm to travel through your apartment, ooo-ing and ah-ing before finding the bathroom around the corner from the living room.

Sighing you drop your arm and wave carmy through, who keeps his view straight while traveling through the hallway. You call out to him, “you can have a seat on the couch.”

“What? Did you drop a load or something and is that the real reason why you don’t want me to help Fak?” Carmy comes right out with it, nose twitching in amusement after whipping around to face you in the center of the living room.

See…only when he’s frustrated or overly focused will he just let it out. Some may look at this as Carmy attempting to make a joke but you took that somewhat personally. The only thing you were thinking after he said this was: What an ego on this one huh?

You stop on your heels and tilt your head to the side, “are you telling me that you think women or fem pronoun users don’t take shits? Do you know what it feels like to have period shits?”

Carmy blinks at you and shouts with his hands out, “I...don't even know what the fuck you're getting at? I wasn't even trying to be sexist to you just then! I asked you a honest question—

“About you being in my business,” you pointed out, “contrary to your beliefs I have a heart and decided to be nice to you and let you stay in my place to keep warm. You’re welcome!”

“Oh bullshit, don’t act like you’re doin’ me any favors.” Carmy scowls, “you don’t even want me here.”

You shrug, “yet you’re here in my apartment, yelling.”

Carmy exhaled while you smirked at him sweetly before turning to lean against the wall that leads to the bathroom.

“Everything okay in there, Neil?”

“Oh yeah!” He says, “I think I figured out the problem. Easy peasy!”

“Great!” You exclaim, pulling your phone out from your sweats to read a very important email.

The weight of stress seemed to lift a good chunk as you quickly responded to a email that you’ve been waiting for. You’ve been invited out (squeezed in) to a taste test at this restaurant for this evening that you’ve been trying to get into for a month before you brought it up to your employer. The deadline was approaching for the end of this week to have a review ready and they just responded to you five days before that deadline! Reading over it twice, the squeal in you slipped through your smile until you read the exceptions.

If you were to go over the amount of food purchased, which you would put on the company card anyways, you can get a discount if you brought a plus one and some reimbursement if the review was satisfactory to the owners—which the last part wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

You usually didn’t bring a plus one to any of the places you did reviews for, you got comfortable doing outings all on your own but this was different. Sure you were somewhat known in the culinary world but that didn’t mean you were a millionaire and this restaurant was apparently upscale. There was a waiting list regardless of your status—even for the celebrities that went there so this was a big deal and they gave you a short notice. Usually Sundays were known for a reset for the week but what better way to start it?

You don’t go forward with reaching out to anybody else that you work with. This was your battle and you were aware that two of your other co-workers also reached out to this restaurant. You just hoped you were the only one they picked and wouldn’t miss out on the great opportunity just because you weren’t sure about your guest.

A few hours before show time and you had to find somebody to attend with you. Your best friend was away in Cabo for a honeymoon, the other (who recently planned on moving to ATL) was dealing with the flu and had their no good ex boyfriend taking care of them, Sydney was suddenly MIA, and you even considered inviting Natalie Berzatto to piss carmy off just a bit.

“Hey, Nat!” You greet into the phone as you walk into the kitchen, witnessing Carmy perk up from the couch.

It’s small talk at first: you asking about how her day is going as a mom to be, if she’s going to be at the bear tomorrow, did she watch the Emmy’s the other night, tell her husband you said hello, and then finally if she had plans for tonight.

“…are you asking me to hang out?”

“We had fun at that club way back when no?”

“Yeah! But that was how long ago?”

You knew it’s been awhile. You were always friendly with Natalie, meeting her first—well second out of the siblings down at the small mart one summer you helped out at that your great-uncle owned. She was huffing about something her boyfriend at the time, Pete forgot to bring her and some groceries she was picking up for her mom. You were cool enough to become Facebook friends, exchange numbers, go out for coffee and go to the club together. This wasn’t unusual to call each other randomly but you knew she commonly got shit from Michael and Richard about her talking and hanging out with you.

The thing about Natalie Berzatto is that she always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes she saw your review yet she kinda laughed about it initially but it was all fuck you’s from the other two loud mouth’s. Of course she was going to listen to her brother but she still had a mind of her own. she didn’t care to listen to Richie go off but she understood how Michael felt, although she was the only other Berzatto that heard you out.

Except you didn’t owe anybody an explanation even if some felt you were more cutthroat in your younger years.

“...Before you and Pete even thought about marriage?”

You were younger than them but you imagined how it would always work out for Nat and Pete, which included growing old together.

“Wow! Yeah that sounds right.”

“So…?”

“Can’t do it.”

“You didn’t even hear all the details!”

“I know, I know and it sounds like it’ll be a real fucking blast but if this kid wasn’t sitting on my sciatic nerve constantly and if my feet weren’t the size of two honeydews…I totally would! But I’ll have to decline this time around—so please don’t hate me!”

“I could never!”

“You know you could always ask carmy-

“Why on earth would I do that?” Your reply was instant.

Natalie sighed over the phone, “aspen…the potential of friendship and love is a beautiful thing.”

You scrunched up your face at the phone before placing it back to your ear.

“Do you want me to hang up on you?”

“I’d call you a rude bitch if you did but then get over it.”

“I can live with that because I know it’s real love between you and I.”

“…whatever that means.”

“Right.”

You both laugh, knowing just how weird the subject of love can be. Although you didn’t talk all the time it was always okay for one of the other to drop a venting text or call each other’s way and know the other would get around to responding. The both of you may not be the best of friends but you did consider each other friends regardless. There were conversations between the both of you that no one knew about and would be a constant reminder of what kind of friends the both of you would remain.

Natalie wished things could have been resolved between you and Michael but she reassured that the dislike wasn’t as deep as it seemed. There was no secret that you felt awful about how his life ended and being there for nat during that time also meant a lot. She told you that one of the last conversations she had with Michael was about you and it felt as if he was learning to let go of your review, slowly taking in Nat’s words of you not having a cruel bone in your body especially with all that you’ve done for her.

Anybody that showed his sister true friendship couldn’t be complete garbage. As much as he tolerated Pete, Michael was always aware that he was good enough for his sister. They were all cut from different cloths and the Berzatto’s were just from the same but opposite corner’s.

Natalie telling you this was not to erase any worries you had since that is always brought to the surface when someone you’ve been face to face with before decides to end it all. It was to show you that nobody ever truly knows what anyone is thinking whether there is love there or not.

You can feel Natalie smiling through the phone, “Think about it…all that tension could be smoothed out if you extend the olive branch…now it’s your turn.”

“It’s not my fault he switched up on me after your opening night.” You didn’t lower your voice or make it louder but you were definitely staring at carmy now who was side eyeing you, looking like phineas from phineas and ferb.

“That’s something you need to talk to him about, don’t you think?” Her tone was always so gentle that it made you sick sometimes because she could be right.

“I’m not here to do think pieces.”

“…aren’t you a writer?”

“Have a good night, nat.”

“Ta-Ta!” Natalie sing-songs, “be sure to send me the deets later because carmy never tells me anything! Bye! Chat later!”

Hanging up the phone, you slide it onto the counter and tap your nails against the island. To the right of you, you pick up on some clinking in the bathroom—which sounds somewhat normal and zone in on carmy who’s also holding onto his phone but staring at the blank tv in thought.

“Hey, Carmen.” You call his name.

His bright blues turn to you as if he hasn’t been eavesdropping on your conversation here and there between his texts with Marcus.

“You. Me. The Saffron Simmer. 7pm.”

The air is frigid as the both of you hunch your shoulders shoving through Chicago’s winter. Shockingly the streets are filled with cars tonight so you had to park on the next street over before walking up and around to The Saffron Simmer. Carmy offered to drive, which was a debate—no shock there—since there was no way he was leaving the bear stock van behind for no license having fak to play around in.

Fak definitely found that offensive and said he didn’t mind hanging out at your place, being done with your toilet but with the look you sent him he said he’s find an Uber or fak2 can pick him up. It’s not like you didn’t trust fak in your place…it’s just that the possibilities of what he can get into are endless.

You also didn’t want to ride in the bear’s van not because of shallow reasons, you just wanted to annoy carmy just a bit more for fun. Walking mostly everywhere was the way to go growing up in New York and Carmy working there so doing so here in Chicago wasnt foreign either. However with the type of cold here in this city is enough to give the bravest of hearts hypothermia. So obviously driving was the best option, it’s just the petty back and forth between you two of who will drive had to be spewed.

Eventually you gave in and sat in the passenger side of the van, being on DJ duty for the twenty-five minute drive—something carmy didn’t care to argue over. The both of you made it on time, throwing the door back for carmy to catch then bouncing on your toes while he blew into his gloveless hands waiting on the greeter to find your reservation.

The pictures didn’t do The saffron simmer any justice. There was so much to look at with its modernized speakeasy décor and the high ceilings did a superb job of making the both of you feel small in the spacious space. Thankfully the dress code was business casual so you didn’t have to go all out but you still put in the effort of looking your best in simple attire. You’re shrugging out of your scarf, earmuffs, and puffer coat while Carmy is already seated; with only the removal of his cap across from you in a chair.

He’s watching you as you place everything neatly to the right of you before you're taking a seat in the leather oversized chair, then digging through your tote to pull out your notepad, Sony camera, phone, and bolt pen. You quickly scribble something on the first line and circle it before dropping your pen.

Rolling the sleeves of your long sleeves back underneath your blazer, you roll your shoulders with a close of your eyes before opening them with a look of determination.

“Wow, that was something.” Carmy tells you, making you set your eyes back on him, forgetting just that quick that he was your plus one.

Clasping your hands together you quirk up a brow, “What?”

“Watching you prep.”

You dip your head, “should have seen me before I got dressed…much worse.”

A smirk appears on the corner of Carmy’s lips, “oh yeah?”

“Well yes, I can contain myself in public, Carmen. Your home is supposed to be your safe space so that’s the best place to go a little crazy sometimes.” You inform, yet still not giving too much away.

“Why are you in your head about this place anyway?” Carmy peers around the slightly filled dining area before meeting your eyes once more.

You lift your shoulders, “have you seen the way they market this place? Giving not too much away although it’s top ten restaurants here and I can either contribute to its success or its downfall. They picked me for a reason so my review matters at the end of this year.”

“But you uh-get a thrill out of this shit don’t you? It’s what you signed up for, right?” Carmy is actually relaxed against the chair across from you.

Which is a sight to see.

You state, “it’s part of the job, if that’s what you mean.”

Carmy blinks and seems to get it, “and so you stay.”

“So I stay.” You echo while holding his stare, which is broken by a piece of the stone table lifting and showcasing the menu illuminated by sepia lighting in the dark of the restaurant.

Carmy’s bright eyes are wide as he stares at the menu that appears right in front of your faces. There’s a grin on your face as you rest your fingertips around its rough edges, almost as if you were expecting this while carmy blows out a breath.

“The hell is this place?”

You peek over at him, “some next level shit, berzatto.”

“Yeah…I think I’m starting to catch on.”

You turn your attention back to the menu, swiping your fingertips along the touch screen although you’ve heard things about the menu, which they kept offline since apparently it renews monthly.

“What looks good?”

“Uh…these pages aren’t even labeled." Carmy exhales through his nose, eyes searching all over the tablet, "I have no clue. You?”

The words come at ease for you, "One of almost everything maybe?”

“Sounds good...I guess?”

“On me by the way,” you state with a wink as you flash your company card.

“I’ll get the tip then.” Carmy pats his jeans, the left containing his carton of cigarettes, the right holding his keys, lifting his hips he checks for his wallet although he’s been sitting on his behind for about ten minutes now.

You don’t argue with that, eyes in awe at the selection of items as you start ordering, “don’t forget to order your drink.”

“Water should be fine,” Carmy mutters to himself, eyes scanning over the first strange title of water that is described as flower and ginger infused purified water and decides to go with that.

You finally express after rapidly letting your fingers go over the screen and taking a picture with your phone, “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.”

It sounded so easy to you as you quickly shifted to pick up your pen and start writing notes.

“What was that?” Carmy pressed his elbows into the edge of the table, making sure he heard you right since he’s not even sure if he can trust his inner thoughts lately.

You’re still scribbling but also turning your face towards the messy haired chef, “you heard me. We have to act like we’re in a relationship because I’ve definitely went over the budget on the card.”

“That’s not really my problem?”

“Yes it is,” you demand, “you agreed to be my plus one so that’s that. Plus this menu further confirmed my suspicions from the email.”

Carmy scratches at his brow confused, “what are you talking about, aspen?”

“Here,” you swipe across your screen towards Carmy’s device, which brings up another screen instantly to carmy who’s in awe but scans over the details.

You didn’t share the email with him but he’s heard about how high tech this restaurant is but didn’t have the time to do his own research.

*Significant others in attendance are subject to applicable discounts.*

Carmy feels his stomach cramp at the fine print and it so small that he was sure anyone could have missed that.

Not you.

“…how exactly are we supposed to prove that, hm?” He's gripping at his greasy hair now, feeling himself getting a bit worked up about this.

You fanned your hand along, “just do what couples do and follow my lead...Depending on our witnesses,” you whisper as you look around, “they could always assume that’s what we are anyways.”

Part of carmy didn’t like how that came off.

“What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” Flies out of Carmy’s mouth before he can even process what he’s saying.

That stoops you too, making you press your back against the chair in thought. That wouldn’t be going down in the notes, as you stare at the pen in between your fingers for a moment. Which brings you back to Carmy’s tatted fingers first that touched you in ways that romance novelist craved to write about.

So you may have left that out, how a shared conversation about the “heartless” review of then Chicagoland turned the bear melted into hot and heavy actions in the front seat of your Mazda. It hits you in those same flashes you take of dishes: the unsure sloppy kisses, you taking the lead to get Carmy to just touch you, shaky hands that trace the tattoo from your rib cage down to your hip before soon holding steady and angled just right beneath your red tapered trousers.

“Where did that come from?” You question just as a server greets you, delivering drinks and announcing the small plates should be out in the next five minutes with a timer appearing on both of the stone tablets.

Carmy says, “you—you didn’t just think I forget right?”

“Well I was hoping.” You were honest, “neither of us are ready for relationships—especially hearing about you and Claire.”

Carmy felt his eye twitch, “and how do you know about that?”

Sydney.

You wouldn’t throw her under the bus like that although you could tell carmy already knew.

“I have my resources but don’t think I’ve been asking around about you or anything like that.” You sipped at the raspberry mint cocktail, it could be stronger.

His thumbs are shaking first on the table top but his icy stare made your chest pulsate in a way you didn't particularly like, “…would that be so bad?”

You and carmy didn’t exactly know each other well enough besides a conversation once had and with his hand down your pants! and you trying to get him to crash, clothes still on right in the center of his lap—It was a spur of the moment hookup and you could tell it was not something that happened often for carmy. He never had time for it or bothered to get attached but there was something about you that had him thinking otherwise. What was supposed to be a one time thing that you swept to the back of your mind was being brought up again.

The annoyance overtook what that feeling brought in the front seat of your ride. You weren’t ignoring carmy after that but the both of you had a lot on your plate with him renovating a restaurant and you diving back into your own work. Both fields of work seemed to matter more and not once did you think he ever thought about you in that way.

Communication was important people!

And here you thought he wanted nothing to do with you, especially with you showing up to the grand opening of The Bear. Now here you were months later, basically at your benefit, face to face hearing only pieces of what Carmen Berzatto was thinking.

“Hey, guys!” A familiar voice gathers your attention and you both turn to see Sydney smiling at you two.

Carmy widens his eyes, “Syd, what’re you doing here?”

Sydney snorted, “doing the same thing you’re doing? Having dinner.”

“Right.” He lightly shakes his head.

“Oh my god…am I interrupting this um? Date?” Sydney quickly connected the dots eyeing the both of you back and forth while you’re choking on your drink, “you okay?”

She pats your back for you while you gasp and Carmy slides over his water your way although you have your own glass near by. Gaining some air, you swallow some water and breathe through your nose. Normally you would have a response for Sydney’s joke but given what carmy just said to you had your mind running along with some burning tears you wiped away.

“So this is where you’ve been instead of answering me back?” You decide to switch the subject-you were great at that-wheezing a bit while Carmy scoffs and looks away.

Sydney frowns, “huh? When did you call me besides the FaceTime call…” she starts and pulls out her phone, “oh shit sorry. I placed it on do not disturb like thirty minutes after you didn’t call me back. I got wrapped into some entail about the menu from one of the chef’s that works here and is also a friend.”

Carmy speaks, “Didn’t know you had a connect with anybody here, Syd.”

“Can’t reveal all my moves, Carm.” She winks and lightly elbows him while Carmy sends her a small smile and a shake of his head.

Carmy asks, “scooping out our competition?”

“Only a little," She pinches her fingers before continuing, "and my dad thought it would be a place I wanted to try.” Sydney admits, “and if you two weren’t on a date I’d say let’s make this a group thing! so I’ll be going! I see my dad coming back from the bathroom…he’s got like a bladder problem and I don’t know why I’m sharing that with you two. But bye! Enjoy and just know I’ll be keeping my eye on you two.”

“Fuck,” carmy exhaled feeling his nerves rising, “don’t do that.”

Sydney chuckles to herself and sends a wave to you two before walking back to her table by the window.

“Siddy kicked me to the curb for her dad,” you sigh resting your cheek into your knuckles for a moment, “can’t be mad at that.”

“But you can be mad at me for what exactly?”

“You wanna do this with me right now?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“I thought we could move past what happened—

“You can say it you know? Me with my fingers inside—

“Excuse me!” You hiss, “I don’t need you to repeat action by action thank you. I was there too. We both know what happened, we’d agreed we can coexist around this big ass city. I show up to support—

“Did you though?” Carmy pressed, “support me? Or am I waiting for something else to be thrown at me with your upcoming review?”

“What?!” You bite, “is that what your stank ass attitude is about?”

Carmy tightened his jaw just as the first serving was handed over. You let him sulk in that for some time as you study the plating of the four appetizers, making note of each before taking more pictures with your sony.

“I wasn’t there to write a review.” You reply.

“I saw you—

“Let me finish. I understand pressure so I get it but you have to learn to channel your anger and this grief, elsewhere and deal with it better without projecting it onto any and everybody. I’ll tell you that right now that won’t get you anywhere and especially with me, Carmen.” You affirm.

You’ve been in Carmy’s position before so you can speak with experience. He seemed to always be waiting for the worse to continue filling up his plate but it takes time to accept the good in life. He was giving you something but you weren’t sure it was the best option for the both of you and you weren’t afraid to say that.

“Alright…I didn’t come here to talk about feelings either you know? That’s what those meetings are for.” Carmy spills just a tad.

You stare at the vibrant but delicate plating but his tone and the soft upbeat tempo above your heads don’t go unnoticed. “What did you come here for then?”

Carmy blinks and snatches up a spoon, almost weighing it in his hands before he dives the utensil into the dish. He stares as the stretch of cheese, twisting the spoon to break it apart before holding the Macaroni and Brie with Crab out for you to take the first bite.

He doesn’t answer for awhile and so you do the honors of taking a bite and savoring it's texture and taste.

“…that’s not my favorite.” You announce and notice that Carmy waited for your view.

He raises his brows, “tell me about it?”

“They need different plating.” You deeply sigh, “I know that type of plating works best for a dessert and that’s not it. There’s more breadcrumbs than meat, which seems to not be fully removed from its shell so be careful with that. It’s also lacking flavor even with the brie, which is my least favorite kind of cheese in Mac, although many swear by it.”

Carmy flicks his attention to your disappointment to you scribbling into your notepad with a shake of your head. If he was making you a dish, he’d try his hardest to make sure it was everything you ever wanted.

He quickly has his share and thinks to himself.

Carmy can agree, this was lacking flavor and the breadcrumbs didn’t even have a crunch to them. You can’t just depend on the cheese to give you flavor in Mac and cheese.

“What’s your favorite dish? I—I don’t think I ever asked you that. We just went straight into talking about the beef.”

And doing dirty things in the front seat but who needs to relive that?!

You look up from your notes and lift your chin, “you’re looking at it. It’s childish I know...but that’s exactly what it reminds me of: my childhood. Mac and cheese! then as I got into my adulthood…crab kinda took over. Which is funny because I hated on it for so long growing up. My papa—my grandad, he helped my mom raise me, he's from Ocean City so you can only imagine the amount of seafood on our table.”

You’re smiling to yourself and Carmy can’t help but to feel his small laughter lines appear by his lips as you’re locked into some memory only you can remember vividly. This was the most Carmy was learning about you, sure it may not look like much but he didn’t feel the need to dissociate even if at times he really couldn’t help it.

You were the question mark that he wanted to figure out and get all the answers to. Maybe it was his gut and he shouldn’t have blabbed to sugar about you because now Carmy was thinking this was Michael’s doing.

If you believe in that shit.

So the both of you take your time trying the small dishes before getting the main courses. It seems the longer you sit across from each other—the tension was definitely still there especially with Sydney’s eyes burning into the two of you across the room and attempting to not get caught—although she had once or twice but gradually it lifted as you and carmy shared this time together.

He watched you work while you asked for his input before you told your own. He also provided a few things he would do to tweak it if he agreed with what you didn’t enjoy. Which was eye-opening for you, yes you went to school for journalism and sat in on some cooking classes once that also tied into your passion for learning. After completing your first degree you decided culinary may take you to different heights and enrolled into culinary school. You didn’t find the need to continue going through with being a chef after Copenhagen, finding writing to be your stronger suit but you still understood food and the relationship with it when it came to chef’s.

So you took carmy’s input into consideration.

With the last serving being a Asian dessert called, “Jjan Hae,” which consisted of: coconut rice pudding served with fresh citrus (orange, grapefruit, kumquat) and coffee ice cream, topped with crispy pop rice & a shot of Korean rice wine, it was a strange concept but the both of you came to terms with the dessert working well.

Carmy even took a video to show Marcus tomorrow at the bear and sent a photo to an old colleague, Luca, that you were also familiar with considering Noma was a thing that you didn’t bother speaking much on…but it was your turn to give carmy the last serving.

He hesitated since he had his own bowl, which he finished way before you did but it was clear you wanted him to have the last bite so he also took it while saying something with his eyes.

Breaking the stare, the both of you felt your phone buzz with a text. Carmy didn’t jump to answer it right away…he was the worst texter according to Nat and Sydney but you can answer for the both of you as it was a group text from Sydney who was long gone with her dad.

Siddy + (773) XXX-XXXX: Carmy, invite aspen to breakfast in the morning?? See you guys then! 👍🏾😉

“You guys do breakfast at the bear now?” You say lifting your eyes from your screen.

You heard Sydney made a mean omelette but you haven’t been back since earlier this year and you weren’t in the mood for that that night.

Carmy frowns and closes his eyes with a shake of his head, “uh yeah it’s a new thing that Syd came up with but we agreed to do that with everyone once a month…later this month. Why?”

“She wants me to have breakfast with you guys…knowing I’m not a morning person.”

“It’s not happening tomorrow anyway, so what is she talking about?” Carmy digs into his jacket, where he carelessly shoved his phone into after sending the photo off to Luca.

Another text rings out: at carmy’s place. just us three???

Not Sydney making plans and then placing it all at Carmy’s apartment.

He’s taking a breath, almost as a silent reminder for him to do so before his thumbs move over his screen: i don’t even eat breakfast, Syd.

Syd: well youre gonna.

~ Syd has notifications silenced 🌙 ~

“Well, looks like your work wife told your ass.” You laugh, which you translated into her message but didn’t comment further than that.

Carmy harshly exhales through his nostrils in disbelief, “my work wife huh?”

He didn’t hate how that sounded but he also never thought about marriage or relationships in awhile.

“Yeah…the proof is in the pudding, no matter what anyone says.”

Carmy pinched at his bottom lip as he attempts to dryly joke, “I thought it was rice? and what about outside work…”

“That’s something you have to figure out yourself.” You shrug, getting ready to pack up your notes and cameras.

You turn your attention to the table, which knows just when to lift as you tap on the screen to signal that you’re ready to pay while holding out your company card, “are you paying cash for the tip or card?”

“Uh, cash.” Carmy answers, “…what if I’m starting to think about what come’s next?”

“With Syd?” You question, your now sage and mint scented hands flying over the screen as you select the correct paying method before tapping your company card against the screen.

Carmy starts bouncing his leg underneath the table, “with everything.”

“Well…when you’re ready you’ll make moves to make it happen won’t you?”

Carmy dips his head, “you bet.”

And here comes the intense eye contact that you can’t help but to huff out some laughter.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s just people with light eyes always do this thing where they’re just staring into your soul you know? Like damn, relax!”

Carmy’s confused as he holds his wallet open, “uh sorry for having eyes?”

“Shut up, glacier eyes.” You tell while Carmy just snorts at you.

The both of you don’t waste any time rushing back to his car as the clock is approaching 10pm. The wind’s definitely picked up and the temperature dropped, making it easier not to get caught up in the night time city lights which you often liked to do. Back in the van, carmy doesn’t wait to crank up the heat and you don’t bother to mess with the radio this time.

“So?” Carmy asks as he waits for the car to warm up some.

You keep your attention outside the window shield, “yes?”

“What’s the rating?”

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you that, Carmen?” You continue holding yourself.

He sniffs, “I mean—I was sitting across from you the entire night while you told me some of your thoughts.”

“So you thought you should also get the final score? I don’t even know what I’m going to say yet.”

“Ah, I think you’ve got some idea.” Carmy lolls his head over to peek at you.

Laughter bubbles past your lips, “I do. I’ve absolutely had better because—what the fuck was that?”

Carmen feels a crooked smirk appear on his own face, “I don’t want to completely bash other chef’s work but fuck, I thought it was just me? You said it got a 4.3 out of 5? The ambience and service was spot on but…the flavor for most of the dishes?”

“I knew you knew something about seasoning,” you continued laughing while carmy rolled his eyes, “should spend less on the tech and interior and more on some fresh herbs.”

“Isn’t it called simmer saffron?”

That made you laugh even harder as you gripped your stomach, “You’ve got that so backwards!”

And carmy couldn’t help but to scan your features as you laughed and he felt his chest getting somewhat lighter? Just listening to the sound of you and being beside you. What kind of feeling was this? He’s felt it before looking at someone else but that feeling was more of a tug with that light while this one slowly poured in from the black.

“Don’t be too hard on ‘em though? There’s always room for improvement.”

“Sure, but we both know the bear is better and you guys don’t have a waist list months in advance.”

“We also don’t have any celebrities showing up either.”

“Yet.”

Carmy taps his fingers against the steering wheel, appreciating that, “right, yet…I’m sorry about March. I was too in my head about so much shit and you’re right, I took it out on everyone and I’m still trying to make up for it.”

“Effort doesn’t ever go unnoticed if people look and feel it hard enough.”

Carmy chews on his lips at that, “if you believe that…then why do you feel what I said about dating—uh us—about us dating is out of the blue?”

“I said that?”

“Your eyes did. It’s the most expressive thing about you which is funny to me when you talk so much shit about mine when you hide the rest of it away on your face. It’s fucking confusing but I think I gathered that from our dinner tonight.”

Carmy was just as detail oriented as you. It was in his language with food and maybe even in his tattoos that you tried to understand starting with his fingers first. The way he spoke about what he would do with the dishes that were lackluster, except for the dessert—that was pretty good. Carmy wasn’t much of a talker because he wasn’t sure how to express himself, always been that way since you knew of him at Noma…but he told just enough in his dishes and you told just enough between the lines you wrote.

Someone just had to look hard enough.

“…I ever tell you I was engaged? Of course I didn’t, we’re still…I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here Carmen but I’m starting to sense that we could be special if we both want this badly.”

“What do you want?”

“Does anyone ever really know?” You laughed, “ I guess someone to look past the circumstanial and I had that once but then he died. So that was the end of that.”

“You swore off love.”

“Love is many things but maybe I closed off the long lasting part.”

Carmy could relate to that as least with family. He never had much interest in romance even growing up because he lacked that confidence in anything being permanent besides the chaos he’s used to, then he found some of it once he proved what he fucking set out to do yet cooking was all Carmen really opened himself up to. While Luca and others encouraged him to have a night out in the town, he always left early or if there was one person that caught his interest, they get to talking and both get bored of each other since Carmy hardly made the move to take them back to his. Before Noma?

Maybe.

Back in Paris there was one that could have been permanent but Carmy had to break her heart since Noma was calling. Culinary was his true love and he honestly couldn’t tell you what she even looked like now if you asked him. Things that should have mattered tended to get buried in the blue of his mind unfortunately.

He didn’t have the time to be attached and you didn’t want to have your heart ripped out again.

“How’d—

“He was a firefighter.” Was all you said and just those words alone told carmy it was anything but peaceful.

It took a lot for carmy to scream at himself how Michael went out and he imagined it might have been the same for you. So he wouldn’t dare ask for further morbid details because what did that help?

So maybe you weren’t wrong about the both of you not being ready to take that step on going on dates but change was everlasting.

“Uh—what about breakfast then after that not so great meal?” Carmy asks as he pulls off from the curb now.

You think about it. Really think about it that carmy starts to assume you may have dozed off.

“Depends on the time honestly? And who am I to turn down a free meal?” You beamed at Carmy who lifts his shoulders with a chuckle.

Carmy explains, “Syd and I usually start our days early, sometimes even earlier for me if I don’t get enough hours in. but thanks to the reno those on the early shift can get prep ready and I heard…you’re not a morning person?”

You’re just as sarcastic but there’s no lies, “I don’t even know my name or birthdate when I first wake up…what do you think?”

Carmy snickered at that, “okay? So how does 10am sound?”

“That’s pushing it but…I think I can be there so that’ll give me the rest of the day to work from home.”

Carmy nods, “can’t wait to read it. Shake on it?”

“On what? My review or showing up?”

“Both.”

“I’m not sending you a sneak peek, maybe syd or even nat but not you.”

“Ouch.” Carmy mocks, still waiting for your hand to touch his.

And when you do there’s a spark, that makes you yank your hand back and you feel like you’re in one of those cheesy teen movies.

You’re aware carmy’s felt that too but he just clears his throat and placed his hand back on the steering wheel. Leaving you to lightly massage the palm of your hand, now glancing at the profile of carmy’s face.

Life takes time to live but once you start to just let it be, the green starts to stand out more and can be equally as joyous…once you get through the rain and mud that is.

And once the ice blue sets back on you, the both of you can’t exactly see the future but there’s always warmth waiting for the cold to give them a try.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

February fluff anthology series continues here.

[freakroth]

i saw your post saying that people who ship incest and headcanon dazai as liking that stuff are obviously going to be harrassed. I don't headcanon dazai as liking daddy kiddy stuff, but i want to ask how you think writing about that makes a person bad. because dazai has literally committed AT LEAST child abuse(akutagawa), 136 murders, 312 extortion cases, 625 cases of fraud and more. but if you think authors deserve to get harrassed for writing about sick crimes like incest because they support or like such things, then why aren't you harrassing asagiri for writing about all those things? and I've seen alot of people that act like sex crimes are somehow different from torture and murder. so I'd like to ask this. do you approve of cheating irl because you act like people who write about sexual related immorality are condoning it and then you say that you might write about cheating in your fic request rules. Also, If you're deep in the bsd community then you may have read no longer human, in which it is heavily heavily implied(to the point that there's literally no other explanation for what happened to her exept rape) that yozo's wife,yoshiko, was raped. do you believe that the irl dazai approved of rape?

I don't mean to come off as rude or argumentative, so sorry if i do, im genuinely curious.

I'm sorry but, are you stupid? you're asking why someone is a bad person for writing incest, pedophilia and rape content. OFC SOMEONE IS A BAD PERSON FOR WRITING THAT KIND OF STUFF. If someone writes it they normalize it, and normalzing disgusting shit like that is VERY harmful.

Its kinda dumb that you are compering Dazai, a fictional character to real people, Dazai is not a real person, so his actions don't effect real people, but people who make incest do effect real people. As someone who is a victim of sa, its very triggering to see incest, pedophilia, rape ect content being made of my favorite character. Making that type of content is normalizing it, and if we normalize kids being raped by someone they're close to, then its gonna end up making younger kids think that its okay if that happens to them.

"but if you think authors deserve to get harrassed for writing about sick crimes like incest because they support or like such things" i never said to harass the writers, i said that if they are gonna write that shit they need to be able to handle the hate, and yes they deserve hate for making it, and saying its for coping isn't a valid excuse, because they are hurting other victims at the same time.

"I've seen alot of people that act like sex crimes are somehow different from torture and murder" They are different, rape is done by the attacker so that they can feel sexual pleasure. And sadly in some cases, like junko furuta, people get raped, tortured and murdered for no reason. But still torture and rape are still different, and i don't know why you're bringing up torture and murder when this is about incest content.

"do you approve of cheating irl because you act like people who write about sexual related immorality are condoning it and then you say that you might write about cheating in your fic request rules." The answer is no, just because i said i MIGHT write for it doesn't mean i will, its meant as "in some cases i might write it" and even if you don't condone incest, rape and pedophilia irl, its stil very much wrong and disgusting and people who write it should really feel guilty about it, if you have thoughts about that stuff you need to seek help, not normalize and spread it around the interent. Also cheating and incest/rape content aren't comperable btw, one is a crime and the other one is breaking someones trust.

Now the book part, i have the book but i haven't read it, and bringing the real life dazai, into this is stupid, he lived over 70 years ago, people thought differently about rape back then so its hard to know. also the book is a fucking autobiography so ofc its gonna talk about stuff that happened in his life

Anyways please tell me if anything in here is wrong or if you wanna add anything to this

Btw saying "sorry if i come of as rude" after compering me to weirdos is something! 🥰

[boydepartment]

enhypen as things from 2014 tumblr

a/n: i am literally frothing at the mouth that 2014 tumblr is coming back. around 2016-2018 this aesthetic and mentality was my EVERYTHING. now in 2024 the mentality and aesthetic is still there just a lil more.... um flavorful for me 😋😋 but it’s okay! i also had to go on my LAPTOP to lay this out so please like this post... my ass worked hard on this- i also dont know if heeseung's aesthetic photo for his headcanons is messed up?? if it is i am so sorry

warnings- 2014 tumblr was a lil cray cray, but i worked my hardest to make sure none of the photos or themes would be triggering :) if you felt anything negative during reading these headcanons- tell me and i will add it to the warnings. but as far as i know and with my own experiences/disorder everything is pretty good and non triggering! :)

MASTERLIST

🕰️jungwon- specifically that one brand of music

okay let me elaborate: out of my league by the fitz and the tantrums

tongue tied by grouplove

electric love by børns

the really like happy yet sad songs??? he’s very like HES SO TONGUE TIED BY GROUPLOVE IM SORRY???? listen to the song that is jungwon he is that song. he is def like that summer romance who you never speak to again and it’s so sad because you loved him so much but now you’re like strangers. just wait till next summer tho, he’ll make you fall in love with him all over again. it’s bittersweet

⚰️heeseung- knee socks

okay me being out of pocket for a sec

heeseung is absolutely fucking insane and drives me nuts. and so do knee socks. any socks that go above the shin drive me fucking insane because they don’t sit properly ever, no matter the size the sock or the size i am they FALL. but i own like 4-6 pairs, because they look nice and make me feel pretty when they sit properly. heeseung drives me insane but i want to be his gf ☹️☹️

he’s def the type of guy to fix your socks too when he notices they’re shifting

🎥jay- the wallpaper quotes

like the sad ones everyone had EVERYWHERE. i was on quotev during this time around 2015?? and they were EVERYWHERE. bangchans wallpaper from 2018 core

these aesthetic quotes just remind me of jay. music is everything to him so he’s the mf to reblog this being like

“this resonates with me.”

he’s also very arctic monkeys coded but do what you will with that 😋😋HE WOULD SO POST HIS OWN WRITINGS AND AESTHETIC GUITAR PHOTOS. HES LIKE THE TUMBLR HOT GUY. imagine while he’s like super popular on tumblr ur like the actual “rockstar’s gf” aesthetic. LIKE THAT ONE FUCKING PHOTO OF THE 1975 ROBBERS MUSIC VIDEO??? I THINK IT WAS THAT ONE RIGHT??? i’m attaching it rn

💋jake- the bold lip makeup + messy photos

dayum let me get out of pocket rq again

that really specific dark aesthetic where it’s in parking lots and blurry and you can make out the dark lip makeup, bleached damaged platinum blonde hair, and the makeup is messy. everything is messy

HEUWBDJBFJAVSHDBBD that is jake :) he’s def the type of guy to be like “wait let’s take a cool photo.” then kisses you to smudge your lipstick then snaps a photo with the flash so when you’re alarmed by the flash you move and it makes the photo all cool looking bc it’s blurry.

👓sunghoon- the john green obsession

i’ve read every john green book pre 2016

i hated looking for alaska it was fucking insane. however sunghoon is like the good part about the paper towns book. like the fun road trip part. that happened right? or did i imagine that? NO IT DID. sunghoon very like curl up bbg im gonna read this book to you and make little stupid comments during it. def the type to have you in his arms while he reads, you hold the book and he has his hands over yours, softly rubbing circles.

💍sunoo- the victorias secret aesthetic

this is actually me rn sorry, all my clothes come from there pretty much. if it’s not thrifted it’s from victoria’s secret. it’s not just lingerie, they have like everything there. NONETHELESS it also screams sunoo. a lot of it is very like chic in a way and it just fits him perfectly. the black and pink colors, the small pops. it just really fits him. the aesthetic is just chefs kiss. especially since i feel like he’d be obsessed with the lotions (i own the mint chocolate lotion and wear it)

def the type of bf to come home with new body sprays for both of you. probably mixing scents too. MATCHING JACKETS AS WELL

📸riki- the electra heart album

MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS. god everything abt this album screams riki.

me relistening to this album and realizing how much it did effect me😨😨😨😨 maybe i’m just projecting now but besides the point

that album is so like riki coded let me get quotes

“I think I want your, your American tan- I think you're gonna be my biggest fan”

“The pretty lies, the ugly truth”

“All I ever wanted was the world- I can't help that I need it all”

“Rule number three, wear your heart on your cheek- But never on your sleeve, unless you wanna taste defeat”

“You're never gonna love me, so what's the use?”

“you don’t love me- big fucking deal”

"question good and question bad."

okay i’m GONNA BE WRITING A BOOK I HAVE TO STOP. he’s def the type of bf where if he hears you listening to this album he’s like “wtf…” then finds himself humming to it. he’d be like that with all your music taste too. riki with black chipped nailpolish OKAY I WILL SHUT UP ABT HIM NOW

[hellsgreatestbrainrot]

Cannibal!Vees (x Reader)

Big thanks to @valentinoappreciator for her Cannibal!Val work, Una Hermosa Noche, and gave life to the Cannibal!Val HCs here. Her fic literally got me thinking, "What if the Vees were Cannibals too?"

Trigger warnings: Cannibalism, Vees being freaks, at the end implied Cannibal!Reader too, talks about blood and flesh.

‌I personally think that out of the three of them, the one who kinda "starts" it all is Valentino. ‌

He's the type of demon that's cannibalistic for a few possible reasons: his want for someone, sense of possession, and sadism

Because, really, what better way for someone to stay with him forever than to take a bite out of them? To have them in you in ways that no one else can ever have them.

And truly, carving into flesh and branding them with his teeth and claws? It feeds so much into his possessiveness. ‌To see those marks last longer due to how severe it is? Priceless.

For the sinner to remember how he made them feel during that moment? The fear? The pain and suffering? He can moan about it.

Valentino's a wild card, and a freak. Remember how he threatened someone with a do mey show? I wouldn't put it past him to have the other V's "try" it, maybe even encourage it.‌

Velvette? She's eating her models. Specifically, she's eating past models and workers, those that have failed her and those that didn't meet the cutthroat standards she sets. ‌

Think about how she discovered this side of her during the worst fit she ever had in all her hellish life. Everything's wrong and fucked. Everyone's getting on her fucking nerves. ‌

She hurts anyone that gets in her way. Unfortunately that's how that new intern of hers, the one that can't tell her shades of red from one another, met her fate that day.‌

Imagine Velvette just staring at her blood-soaked hands and being curious? The shade of red is so, so pretty. Finally, her stupid fucking intern did something right! ‌

Surely nothing would happen if she did a little taste? No one would have to know.

‌Velvette's killing and eating the prettier models she has too, after she used them for her runway or whatever.

‌They're competition - they're too pretty, they have to go. ‌If she ate them then she can be the the prettiest one in the room, she makes sure of it.

‌Last but certainly not the least, our dear Vox, a few reasons that I see for him to be a cannibal is for power, control, and dominance.

‌The talk about him being a cannibal becomes a rumor, and he absolutely thrives in the mystery it gives him. It gives another reason for people to fear him.

‌Vox uses it as a weapon too, as a threat even. Because who the fuck's gonna mess with him now? Not only is he an Overlord, a powerful one too, and a tech demon that controls social media, he also kills and eats demons too.

‌He utilizes his cannibalism to gain power through fear. No one truly knows if it's true or not, but who's insane enough to test it? He makes sure that there's doubt to it, even when it's true. It leaves everyone wary of him.

‌And with that, he controls others and establishes dominance via killing competition and taking over whatever space they left. The more he takes out, the more space there is for him to grow.

‌Hypnotizing victims? Abso-fucking-lutely. He also makes damn sure there's no witnesses to his crimes. If there was, well, was it really that what they saw?

‌Who knows? Maybe that's even something that Vox bonded with Alastor back then? Cannibal Buddies before the Thing happened.

And with that, I present you a little blurb:

Imagine being the 4th Vee. They like you! They think you're fun to be around with, and they like hanging out with you! That's an achievement in it's own right!

But what you don't know is how much they struggle from taking a bite out of you. They smell you, you know? They just know that you'll taste divine.

You fuck them so well too, how can they not like you? So they resist the urge. But they fantasize about it.

Fantasize about the way you ask them to bite you while fuck them. Think about you forcing their mouths to your shoulder, and bite.

They often wonder how you'll feel when they accidentally bite you? Would you get mad? Would you punish them? Please say you'll do.

They want you to want it. They want you to be the first to ask. They can see it too. They can sense it. Maybe, you're just like them too.

Please say you are. They'll offer themselves too. Let either of them be your first. Let them be the first to taste you. Let them be your first taste of blood.

Let them be one with you.

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If you want more of Cannibal!Vees x Reader thing, feel free to send an ask, yeah?

Next post: Overlord!Reader x Sinner!Vees

Thank you for reading!