#doctor who has inspired me to wine about what I want

[amphibious-thing]

we need more queer time travel stories actually

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

Perfume Regret

ExBoyfriend!Miguel O'Hara x FemReader

Summary: A fic inspired by Attention by Charlie Puth. Your ex-boyfriend Miguel O'Hara left you heartbroken and no matter how intense the effect he has on you still is, you're determined to use this party to get even.

Warnings: +18 meaning SMUT AND LANGUAGE MINORS DNI OR SO HELP ME GOD. Also there's angst and good old anger-fueled sex. The ending isn't heartbreaking don't worry.

Word count: 4K

I know that dress is karma 

Perfume regret 

Got me thinking 'bout when you were mine 

Nightclubs had never been your scene. 

While you weren't strictly averse to them, you didn't thrive in that element as much as some of your friends did. Yet, whenever you decided to make an appearance, it wasn't the stroboscopic lights, the promise of a few drinks with friends, or the energizing music that made the night worth it. 

It was the hunt. 

And the preparations began long before you even set foot out of your apartment, from the moment you stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but a fluffy bathrobe, your face a blank canvas. Getting ready with your favorite, emboldening playlist was usually a luxury but not tonight. Judging by the way you struggled to apply eyeliner over your lids with such shaky hands, tonight, you were in dire need of a crushing amount of confidence. 

So much so that a glass with one remaining sip of red wine stood next to your makeup bag, waiting for you to take that last bit of liquid courage. 

Yes, the mere thought of the chase always made your chest swell with excitement. The stolen glances from across the dancefloor until someone gave in and tried to make contact. Loud music left people no choice but to hold conversations in loud whispers that tickled your ear. The desperate attempts to make themselves worthy of your time and the small concessions you made to make them feel like the most special person in that tiny, packed, overpriced club. Flirting was a tango meant for two, and not knowing what kind of partner you'd be dancing with was exhilarating. 

Not this time, however, you thought as you picked up the glass and poured the remaining wine down your throat. Tonight you were after a much too familiar prey that you'd once been dumb enough to let get away. 

As soon as you got the digital invitation to the Alchemax Innovation Department New Year's Eve party, you knew it was time to settle the score. 

A short buzz coming from your phone interrupted your train of thought as the screen lit up with a text from whom you considered to be your work best friend, Liz. 

Heyy :) u coming? 

Yep. Be there in 20, is everybody there already?

O'Hara is missing. Idk if he's coming, though. 

Oh. 

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of all of this being for nothing. Whatever,. Who cared? You weren't doing this for him. You were doing it for yourself because you wanted to go out and have fun. 

A weak smile tugged at your lips when you couldn't even convince yourself with that blatant lie. God, you felt like a terrible feminist at the moment. Screw you, Miguel O'Hara. 

Those had been the last words you said to him before marching out of his apartment and slamming the door after you. Ever since that week during which he’d vanished from work with no explanation, your boyfriend had started to cancel your dates at the last minute or still be out at odd hours, and when he started to simply disappear and not answer your calls or texts several times throughout the day you began to worry.

When he asked if you could talk about something important, you figured you'd be getting an explanation, not dumped. 

The reason, according to him? He was dealing with some personal issues that he could not tell you about, but he'd single-handedly decided it was in your best interest to just move on with your life, so he'd decided to break things off. His face when he said all of that remained engraved in your brain since that day. Cold. Logical. As devoid of any visceral emotion as a doctor would be when recommending you to give up carbs or red meat. 

Two years of your life you'd given to him. You were planning to move in together. You were happy. For what felt like the very first time in your life, you were in love. 

You took a deep breath to keep tears from running down your cheeks and ruining your mascara. 

Even almost six months later, your heart painfully fluttered at the mention of his name.

Carefully, you dried your eyes with a piece of paper and took another deep, slow breath. Your eyes, beautifully framed by a smoky eyeshadow, slowly traced the reflection of your body in the mirror. A sleek, simple dress with a small slit on the side hugged your figure. You loved the color: a nearly black navy blue that matched your chosen makeup palette. 

At the sound of your phone, your eyes drifted down to the lit-up screen. 

Oh, nvm, he just got here. 

The game was afoot. 

As much as it hurt your pride to admit it, you were decidedly nervous as you made your way into the dimly lit nightclub, your eyes discreetly scanning the crowd in search of a particular set of brown eyes. 

Suddenly, a voice made your face in the opposite direction. 

"(Y/N)! Over here!" Liz called from the bar, waving at you with a huge smile that you returned as you walked towards her after wistfully looking at the busy crowd one last time. It wasn't until you reached the bar that you noticed she was sitting next to a man you didn't recognize. 

"So, this is she," she nearly yelled right next to the man's ear when you got close enough to be heard above the deafening electronic beats. 

"Hi, (Y/N), right?" He said, reaching out one hand, "I'm David. Liz has told me a lot about you," 

"Dave here just joined the team," Liz explained, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, "I thought it would be nice to make him feel welcomed. I'll leave you to it. I have to go say hi to a few people," She continued as she left the bar, not before giving you a certain look that made you realize you'd walked straight into a trap. While David was decidedly handsome, and you could've considered him to be your type under different circumstances, right then, your mind was somewhere else. 

"Sure," You replied distractedly, "So why did you choose to work here?" 

That should be enough to keep him talking for a while about his college education and how all he'd ever wanted to do was work for this company and so on while you focused on the matter at hand. 

Where the hell was he? 

Could it be that he'd just popped in to greet a few people and had left before you arrived? Before the countdown? 

Maybe he was celebrating New Year's with somebody else? 

"Sorry, one shot of tequila, please," You loudly called as the bartender walked past you. 

"Make that two, thanks man," David added with a flirtatious smile that you returned out of politeness, mentally praying for Liz to come back soon, knowing damn well that if she'd done this on purpose, there'd be no way out of this conversation. 

You downed the shot as soon as it was placed in front of you. 

David asked you something, but his voice reached your ears as if he was underwater. For a minute, you wondered if such a small amount of alcohol could make you feel so dizzy until you realized it was something else. Your eyes had landed on the back of a familiar head. Brown, scruffy hair and a hearty laugh that had your hands shaking again as you placed the glass back on the wooden bar. 

"God, I'm so sorry. My head's all over the place right now. You were saying?" You said, leaning closer to David. 

"I asked if Alchemax tends to go easy on the new guys or kick them to the curb at the first mistake." 

You laughed as if he'd just told an amazing joke, your eyes covertly going from his face to your target right behind him. At the sound of your laugh, his back stiffened, and you could see he was about to turn around. Right before he did, you quickly tore your eyes off him and glued them to David's face. 

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be just fine. I'll tell you what, I'll look out for you. How's that sound?” You replied, a more relaxed smile plastered on your face. David's eyes lit up. Poor guy. He probably thought that out of nowhere, his luck had shifted. 

Slowly and without losing the amused grin, you peeked over David's shoulder and found Miguel O'Hara's searing eyes staring right into yours. Unlike you, he wasn't smiling. Instead, he let those same calculating eyes unashamedly scrutinize every inch of your body that your gorgeous dress didn't cover and secretly fantasize about what it did. 

Another loud laughter leaving your lips made him snap out of a trance-like state and look into your eyes. Hunting on grounds you were no stranger to had its advantages, such as knowing what to do and when. And so you didn't look away. You held his gaze, undaunted, as you took David's unfinished tequila and brought it up to your lips to take a sip, barely sticking out your tongue to slowly lick the last droplets off your lower lip. You mouthed an apology to the man before you as you walked away from the bar, both for the stolen tequila and for what was about to happen. 

Trying your hardest not to smile or look at him, you made your way through the crowd straight toward Miguel, whose eyes you knew had remained with you since that intense visual exchange back at the bar. You felt them so intensely that you wondered if he could make you burst out in flames just by looking at you. You clenched your jaw as you got close enough for the scent of his enticing cedarwood cologne to fill your nostrils and travel all the way down to your chest, where your heart beat so strongly that it physically hurted. 

You only had one shot. This was it. 

It wasn't until you walked right past him that you finally acknowledged him, gifting him a faint smile as you stepped around him and walked toward the restrooms. 

As soon as the door closed after you, you found the two stalls were empty. After confirming you were alone, a nervous grin took over your features. Biting your lip, you approached the mirror and distractedly began to comb your hair back in place and even retouched your nude lipstick, your eyes set on the reflection of the bathroom door. 

Almost as if you'd timed it, the second you finished applying your makeup and threw it back into your purse, Miguel stealthily slid inside and shut the door after him. 

A minute that felt like an eternity to him transcurred while you kept patiently tucking strands of hair behind your ears, concealing a smug grin. Something had to give. More often, sooner than later. 

"Mind telling me what the fuck was that?" 

His voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears like a once-favorite song you hadn't heard in months. 

"What do you mean?" You calmly asked, never interrupting your task. 

"(Y/N), stop that and look at me." He commanded, his patience wearing thinner by the second. 

"I am looking at you," You nonchalantly replied, your eyes transfixed on his tense shape in the corner of the mirror as you slowly wiped some smudged lipstick off the edge of your bottom lip. 

Outside, the one-minute countdown began. Neither of you could care less. Inside that dimly lit, empty nightclub bathroom, time was irrelevant. 

In less than five steps, Miguel reached your side and, placing his hands on your shoulders, firmly spun you around to face him. 

"Carajo, ¿Tú no entiendes, verdad?" He hissed, his next leaving his mouth after an ominous pause, "Now look at me."

Not happy with the way you were being handled, you shoved him away and shot him a glare with your arms folded before you. 

"There, I'm looking. What do you want?" 

"I want you to tell me who's that asshole and why you seem to think he's so damn funny," 

"I'm sorry, O'Hara, that's none of your business anymore, is it?" You spat out.

"It was none of my business,' He agreed, wincing at the dry use of his last name, "Until you showed up in here looking like that, laughing like a dumb teen at some guy's dumb jokes, making sure I'm watching after you did some pretty extensive research to make sure I was coming."

Wanting to rebuke that argument, you immediately opened your mouth just for him to interrupt you. 

"What? You thought I wouldn't find out, bonita?" 

Miguel started to move towards you without giving you a chance to explain yourself. Still, you weren't sure of what you would've said had you been given the time. Three seconds later, he was standing right before you, trapping you against the cold stone of the sinks.

"Why are you doing this?" He absentmindedly asked, as if he was actually questioning himself or already knew the answer. Before you could react, he suddenly leaned in, burying his face in your neck and taking a deep breath, taking in the scent of your perfume along with something else that you couldn’t perceive but seemed to pull him forward so violently that he had to use both his strong arms on either side of you to hold himself back. Still, he kept babbling against the soft skin of your neck, “I didn’t want to do it…I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…mi amor, I just wanted to protect you,” 

“Protect me from what?” You asked in a breathy whisper, your self-control flaking when you felt him move even closer until your backside was pressed against the sink and your front...

You pressed your lips together to keep a noise that would be much too revealing from leaving your lips. 

Still, you realized your trials and tribulations weren’t over when his hands slowly moved closer to your thighs until his thumbs were tracing faint circles on them. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked in a hoarse voice before burying his nose behind your ear once more. You had to want him to stop. Before you could gather up the courage to tell him off as you should, you leaned forward and feverishly pressed your lips against his in a kiss that was all but sweet. Without breaking the kiss, in a display of both strength and coordination that was new to you, Miguel slid his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, placing you on top of the sink with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the way he nudged your legs out of the way so he could grind his lower half into yours. This time there was no way in hell you could contain your moans. 

Pleased with the beautiful sounds he was eliciting from you, Miguel’s hands found their way back up to the thin straps of your dress, which he gently slid off from your shoulders before gripping your chin in his hand and tilting your head to the side so he could devour every inch of skin available, occasionally trapping it between his teeth to make sure it’d leave a mark. Even in your haze, you could notice there was something new to the way he was ravishing you. It was as if he was desperately trying to be gentle, to take things slow, just for something primal to take over and coerce him into taking you for himself. 

Once again, you stopped thinking when he pressed the hard bulge in his pants against you, the friction over your barely clothed clit throwing all logical thoughts out the window. 

“We don’t have much time,” You urged him, not even sure if he’d locked the door after himself. However, deep inside, you knew your motives had less to do with the little privacy and more with the way he unhurriedly worshipped your body and peppered kisses all over it, how his hands gently roamed it as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. It reminded you of what you two had in a way that was still too painful to remember. You wouldn’t lose yourself to the memories of your past and miss out on how good he was making you feel right now. Tonight you weren’t two people deeply in love with one another trying to fight back the regrets of letting go of what was most precious to you, but two strangers about to fuck in the bathroom of a nightclub. 

As if to reinforce that thought, he swiftly pushed you further back onto the sink and pushed your legs apart even more, your dress ridding up almost all the way to your waist. You shivered as new skin was exposed to both the cold beneath you and the heat from Miguel’s skin as he fumbled with the fly of his pants. Meanwhile, you kept yourself busy trying to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands and silently thanked he wasn’t wearing a jacket in the first place. You needed to get him out of as many clothes as possible in the little time you had, needing to feel more of his skin against yours. 

Your desire wasn’t fulfilled until the shirt slid off his tan, broad shoulders, and you were pressed against his bare chest, his hands resting at the curve of your lower back as his head barely slid over your soaked slit, prying a raspy moan out of his throat that sounds almost painful. Still, even when you slid your hands around his shoulders and intertwined your fingers behind the nape of his head, he didn’t move further. 

“What are you waiting for?” You breathlessly asked, arching your back towards him with a huff just for him to move his hips away, escaping your touch, trying to regain some control over himself. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” He muttered. Shit. Not right now. Out of the whole night, he had to choose this precise moment? No. He hurt you. He owed you. And now it was his turn to shut up and take it. 

Taking advantage of his low guard, you hooked your feet behind his back and roughly pulled him towards you, another needy moan escaping your lips as you felt him right at your entrance, whatever remaining reluctance keeping him from sinking into you. It took every ounce of willpower to keep yourself from begging. 

“Alright,” He finally says, his hands sliding under your thighs to hold you firmly in place, “If this is what it takes for you to listen to me, bonita, así le vamos a hacer entonces.” 

He accentuated his words by slamming into you and immediately picking up a maddeningly fast pace, the loud music outside hopefully drowning out your endless string of broken moans. 

“I just…wanted you to be happy,” He spoke in a strained voice in between thrusts. 

“Shut up,” You snapped at him. You were happy. And it did nothing but further enrage you to see he was unaware of how miserable you were now without him. Or maybe he was aware because he reached that spot that always made your legs uncontrollably quiver and focused all his energy on it as if he was trying to make up for everything. 

“I love you,” He blurted out as he felt you clenching around his length, his hips stuttering for a second before the sigh that left your lips made him lift your leg further up his torso and slam into you with renewed fire, “God, (Y/N) I love you so much, I can’t do this anymore,” 

“Shut up,” You sobbed, this time as a plead and not an order. Your heart fluttered as you heard the words you’d waited months to hear, and feeling him roughly stroke your walls at this new angle became too much for you to bear. A string of ‘shut ups’ and sounds that resembled his name left your lips as your hands fell to his stomach, trying to push him away while paradoxically needing him to be closer, needing to feel more of him just in case this was the last time you felt him stretch you out in a way you were hauntingly certain nobody else would ever come close to. 

And he wasn’t doing any better. He wanted to pull your head against his chest and wrap his arms around you. He wanted to get on his knees and spend the rest of the night apologizing using his words or his tongue, whatever you wanted as long as you went home with him that night. He wanted you to live a happy, normal life. He couldn’t give you that anymore. Not after that night. Not after the accident. 

But those bad thoughts melted away in his brain when he saw your eyes pressed shut, your beautiful, furrowed eyebrows arching over them perfectly as you chased that high that Miguel knew only he could give you. Something that sounded like an actual sentence left your lips so quietly that he had to lean closer to get it. 

“What was that, bonita?” 

You pressed your lips together, unwilling to repeat yourself until another perfectly calculated thrust pried the half-coherent words out of your mouth. 

“Need you…inside. Please, Miguel, please,”  

Hearing his name being called out like that for the first time in months was all he needed to come undone, his pace faltering as he pressed himself against you, strong arms gripping your waist as he spilled his load inside you with one last labored moan. 

Nothing but extenuated pants could be heard inside the bathroom for a whole, tense minute before you finally moved, taking a few sheets of paper from the dispenser next to the sinks to clean yourself up. 

“What are you doing?” He asked as you straightened your dress and tried to somehow fix your disheveled hair. 

“You wanted to apologize, you did, and I forgive you,” You categorically answered, “But don’t expect me to come running back into your arms as if what you did was nothing,” 

Still, you needed him to know there was hope left for the both of you. So you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and then his cheek, granting yourself one moment of vulnerability as you looked into his eyes with a gentle smile. 

“I love you too,” You whispered, giving in to the urge to kiss him again. You basked in his shocked look before turning your back to him and going back to the party, where you bumped into Liz less than five minutes later. 

“There you are! Where the hell were you? You missed the countdown!” 

It wasn’t until you looked around at the confetti-filled floor and the large numbers on a screen that you remembered. 

“I went to the bathroom,” You replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and reaching out to take a glass of champagne from one of the several trays atop the tables, “Where did your friend run off to?” 

“David?” Liz asked, a deep red blush spreading over her cheeks, “He had to go home. I hope you don’t mind, but we’re getting dinner next Friday,” 

“Don’t mind at all,” You replied with a bright smile, eyes already scanning the half-empty club, once again looking for that same face. The one you knew you’d always look for in a crowd for the rest of your life. This time, thanks to the small number of people left, it wasn’t hard to come across his eyes. Amused, you raised your glass at him with a soft, genuine laugh. He did his best to look annoyed, but the minute you tilted your head and gave him your best apologetic look, Miguel rolled his eyes and shook his head with a reluctant smile that made you laugh again before taking a sip of that cheap champagne. 

This was going to be a great year.

[forthegothicheroine]

Do you have any gothic novels that you can recommend off the top of your head? Especially to people who want to try their hand at the genre? I've hit a wall in my project and I need to get some fresh inspiration, but I don't know where to start and the book side of tumblr failed me the last time I tried asking them for recs

Hell yeah! I made some old posts for this a while back, but it's good to look at it again with my more recent taste! Let's see...

Classic Gothics

Dracula: The one, the only. Often imitated, never equalled.

Frankenstein: Short, sad and world changing! Can get a little slow at parts, but definitely worth it. (True story, my parents read this to me as a fetus to calm my kicking, so it's part of my personal mythology!)

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward: The most gothic of Lovecraft's work, and possibly my favorite. Novella length, usually found in collections.

The Picture of Dorian Gray: Sinister, sexy, philosophical, with a main character I want to punch in the face!

Carmilla: Another novella, about as lush and swooning as vampire stories get.

The Hound of the Baskervilles: A very readable gothic mystery.

Confessions of a Justified Sinner: This one isn't as action packed, but if you have big religious issues like me, it's incredibly haunting.

The Monk: Like the above, but sleazier and crazier!

Northanger Abbey: A gentle parody of early gothics, starring an adorable proto-goth girl.

The Italian: I'll be honest, I find Anne Radcliffe kind of a slog, but if you liked Northanger Abbey and want to read what Catherine Morland reads, this is probably the most accessible.

A Long Fatal Love Chase: This starts as campy and then takes a plunge into gut-wrenchingly intense. The book Jo March was always trying to write!

The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Another novella, and Stevenson is one of the best writers out there for excitement!

The Werewolf of Paris: Gothic monster as serial killer, still scary today.

Rebecca: The foundation of all gothic romance to come afterwards. A ghost story without a ghost, with an ending that's still debated as happy or sad!

Jane Eyre: The other foundation of all gothic romance to come afterwards. I bounced off the child abuse-heavy beginning a few times, but I'm very glad I finally read to the good stuff!

The Castle of Otranto: Considered the first gothic novel, a goofy b-movie in written form.

Modern-ish Gothics (post-1950 or so)

The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein: Fuck the haters, I love this book.

Mexican Gothic: Genuinely scary, genuinely romantic, genuinely creative. A favorite.

Blackwater: A southern gothic saga of a family in a flooded town, whose scion marries a woman who isn't quite human. A whirlwind ride!

A Bloodsmoor Romance: Another family saga, this one northern gothic, with sisters whose lives all go off the rails in different supernatural ways. Give this a try before writing Joyce Carol Oates off entirely!

The Silver Devil: A nasty, problematic bodice ripper where you'll cheer for the heroine to bring the hero down low!

Interview with the Vampire: To be honest again, I'm not super into Anne Rice, but this is a page-turner, and every vampire book that has come after it has had to respond to it in one way or another. Read the next two Vampire Chronicles books if you like it!

A Taste of Blood Wine: My own preferred sexy vampire romance!

The Bloody Chamber: The ultimate dark sexy fairy tale work, accept no substitutes.

Haunted Castles: Contains the brilliant novella Sardonicus, as well as some other campy gothic stories!

A Great and Terrible Beauty: Many millennials were introduced to the gothic genre via this, Fear Street Sagas, or A Series of Unfortunate Events. This is my favorite of the three, though the sequels are a bit of a letdown.

Gormenghast: This series is a throwback to the pseudo-medieval, Otranto-style gothic, but much better. Don't read Titus Alone.

[theteasetreads]

Here is a list of stuff I love/recommend from writers I think are neat. Please be sure to check out their blogs and their other stuff too! I will be updating this list the more I find stuff I love.

*this list is arranged in alphabetical order

❤️‍🔥 = smut (18+) 💝 = fluff 💔 = angst 👀 = suggestive/implied smut

❧ @collecting-stories ↳ I am not sure if this writer is currently writing for Daryl at the moment, but I ADORE their Daryl content! Be sure to check them out, and maybe you'll find that they write for some other characters you like, too!

❧ @devnmon ↳ Rye is one of my pals, and they just so happen to write some of the best Daryl Dixon fanfiction ever. Like, ever. They write some of the sweetest, sauciest, sexiest smut I've ever read, and their writing style is just amazing. I am so bad at describing this kind of stuff, but trust me when I say that they are essential reading if you like Daryl Dixon x Reader!

❧ @haruhey ↳ So much has been said about Haru, but I truly cannot express how amazing their work is. Not only do they write the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering smut on this planet, but they also put so much care and detail and love into their writing. I love how they put tons of effort into creating a real relationship between Daryl and the reader character. It's truly spectacular. Please check their stuff out if you haven't already.

❧ @normanplusdaryl ↳ Ari is just starting on her writing journey, and boy is she already turning out to be another ICONIC addition to the Daryl Dixon x Reader family. I love the way she writes Daryl, how he's true to his character and does/says things I actually think he would do/say. That is a really hard thing to do! Plus, she writes angst super well, and, once again, that is not an easy feat.

❧ @starlessea ↳ This writer's work pretty much introduced me to the world of Daryl Dixon x Reader. In fact, her series, Here Comes the Sun, is what inspired me to write my own series, and my own fanfiction in general.

❧ @weretheones ↳ Madi is not only one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, funniest, coolest, most talented people you will ever meet, she is also a stellar writer who truly understands the complexities of Daryl's character and basically everything about him. She is truly the gem of Daryl Dixon x Reader. She is an icon, a star, a revolutionary. She rocks my world. Oh, and she is one of the best angst writers. Ever. I don't even particularly like angst, but Madi? She does it so well that it's not even angst, it's just pure art.

❧ Back to Black by normanplusdaryl | 💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl comes home after many years to face the consequences of his actions. ↳ Word Count: 2.5k

❧ Doctor's Orders by weretheones | 💔 ↳ Summary: When a sprained ankle takes you off run duty, the new girl goes in your place. Which would’ve been fine– if she didn’t have that brilliant wit, gorgeous smile, and effortless skill. But she did. And it was only a matter of time before Daryl noticed too. (Season 4) ↳ Word Count: 7k

❧ Gone For Good | Part 1 & 2 by weretheones | 💔💝 ↳ Summary: It was easy to lose hope when everyone around you started dropping like flies. When the flu hit, Daryl saw your optimism drain alongside your health, but it wasn’t until the brutal attack of the Governor that he lost his.  ↳ Word Count: 9k (total)

❧ Hide Away With Me by haruhey | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. ↳ Word Count: 3.6k

❧ In Vino Veritas by haruhey | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: After a particularly rough run, Daryl wants nothing more than to shut himself away from everyone with you. However, he’d agreed days prior to be your ‘date’ to one of Alexandria’s welcoming parties thinking you needed someone to share the pain of new people with. Guilt gnaws at him the whole night and he gets wasted to numb the feeling, resulting in you having to carry him home. The alcohol in his system and the way that dress hugs you makes him particularly… talkative, and as the Romans say, in wine there is truth. ↳ Word Count: 30k

❧ Late To the Party by devnmon | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl has a knife kink. ↳ Word Count: 7.1k

❧ No Rush by weretheones | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl took his time with you. ↳ Word Count: 950

❧ You Deserve the World by devnmon | 💝💔👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl’s been insecure about his age starting to show, and is worried he’ll lose you. You show him every way he won’t. ↳ Word Count: 3.4k

❧ You, You, You by normanplusdaryl | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: After a long night, Daryl comes home and you decide he needs a little break. ↳ Word Count: 1.2k

❧ All You Got by weretheones | 💝💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

❧ Georgia by collectingstories | 💝 ↳ Summary: King County, Georgia. In a small town like that, where everyone knows everyone, people can get pigeon-holed into personalities that aren’t their own. Daryl Dixon was a troublemaker, a good-for-nothing, redneck kid who would grow up to be just like his dad. Drinking too much, smoking too much, and cheating his way through life. But Daryl isn’t any of the things people say he is and you’re willing to shoulder the burden of their judgement when you find yourself falling for him.

❧ Here Comes the Sun by starlessea | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you’re not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn’t like your singing, or that you can’t use a gun for shit - and don’t get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he’s found a best friend for life, and that he doesn’t actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Updated: 3/13/2023

[ereardon]

Golden Hour || Ch. 2 [Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, mention of vomit, alcohol

Chapter summary: Olive settles into her new home; the town comes down with the flu; Olive has a run in with Bradley at the grocery store; Bob is suspiciously absent during the flu pandemic and Olive arrives at his doorstep to confront him

WC: 3K

Masterlist here; first chapter here; next chapter here

You showed up at quarter to seven, double checking the address Phoenix had written down on the scrap of receipt paper. 

This couldn’t be right. 

The house was palatial. It was practically a plantation, if you could still call houses plantations. A sweeping iron gate out front, with a long driveway that ran straight back to an enormous white house with blue shutters and a round driveway out front. 

You got out of the car, starting up the stairs. Just when you lifted your hand in a knock, the door swung open. 

Phoenix stood with her hair dripping wet, a towel bunched up in her hands as she squeezed it dry. She had changed out of the overalls from earlier and now wore a pair of running shorts and a cropped t-shirt. “Olive!” she said. “You made it!” 

You nodded. “Is now an OK time?” 

“It’s perfect.” Phoenix slid out of the way. “Come on in.” 

You stepped inside. The house was even more beautiful on the inside than the exterior, if that was possible. The foyer had a black and white tile flooring that led to a curved white staircase that hugged the left side of the room and rounded out gently on the second floor. An antique wood table sat beneath the curved staircase with the largest arrangement of flowers you had ever seen in one person’s home before. 

Phoenix tracked your eyes. “It’s a lot, I know.” 

“It’s fucking beautiful,” you said and her jaw dropped a little. You blushed. “Sorry, force of habit. It’s beautiful.” 

She shook her head. “Doesn’t bother me, but trust me when I say some of the folks around here are a lot less welcoming than I am.” 

You let out a sigh. “Tell me about it. Dr. Floyd has me on his shit list.” There you went again, cursing up a storm. 

Phoenix frowned. “Bob? Really? He’s so nice.” 

You cackled. “Nice? He’s been cold to me since the moment we met.” 

She led you down a large main hallway which opened up at the back of the house to a large living room and kitchen. “Cold? That’s new,” she said. “What happened?” 

You gave her the rundown of everything that had happened the second time you went to the clinic, including bumping into Bradley. 

Natasha’s eyes lit up. “So you met Bradshaw, huh?” 

You nodded. 

She gave a knowing look. “He’s single,” she added. 

“I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” 

Phoenix opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine. “And why not?” 

You debated not telling her. You had made it approximately eight hours in Willow before divulging your past. But it was bound to come out anyway. And there was something about Phoenix that made you want to tell her things. Probably why she was a good bartender. You held out your left hand, the faint indentations of a ring still visible on the bare digit. 

She nodded knowingly. “When did it happen?” 

“Last week,” you said. “I came home from the hospital and he was already there, which was rare. Just sitting on the couch, head in his hands, and the minute I walked through the door he looked up and said it was over. I stormed out and threw the ring in the East River.” 

Her mouth fell open. “You did not.” 

You nodded. “Three carats, too. But I lost my shit and it was the first thing I could think to do.” 

“Did he ask for it back?” 

You shook your head. “No. But Peter has enough money, I don’t think it’ll make too big of a dent.” You winced and then added, “He was my attending.” 

“Attending?”

“My boss,” you clarified. “He was the senior attending for fetal surgery. I was the fellow. Let’s just say that our relationship never went over well with the surgery group.” 

Phoenix let out a whistle. “Hot damn, drama. I love it.” 

You liked her immediately. There was something charming about the way she immediately poured you a drink even though she was off the clock, and the way her brown eyes locked on yours, like you were the only person in the room. Which you were, but that wasn’t the point. You knew that even in a room full of people, Phoenix had the ability to make it feel like she only had eyes for you. 

And you needed a friend. More, now than ever. 

You sighed. “Anyway, that’s why I left New York. And that is why I am definitely not ready to start dating.” 

Phoenix smirked. “Honey, this is Willow. You’re going to get caught up with someone faster than sweat piling up on your upper lip in August. I mean, look at you.” Her eyes trailed over your slim skirt, tight cowl neck shell top, coiffed brown locks. “No wonder Bob was so angry with you showing up. You’re about to steal all his male patients.” 

“Tell me about him,” you said, leaning both elbows on the counter. “I need to know about my competition.”

“Bob?” she asked. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve known him for years, since we were kids. All three of us: me, Bob, Bradley. He’s always been a little shy. He was the smart one. We all knew he’d follow in his daddy’s footsteps. He went to Emory for medical school, Bradshaw went to New York for law school, and I stayed here. But I always knew they’d come back.” She smiled ruefully. “Men always do.” 

“Wait, Bradley went to New York?” 

She nodded. “Columbia Law.” 

You frowned. “How old is he?” 

“Thirty one.” 

You two were probably there at the same time. Him in the law school, you at the medical school. 

“Bob is a good guy,” she added. “He’s a bit of a grouch. But it’s only because Dr. Robert retired and he’s been busier than ever.” 

“He doesn’t seem to like me much.” 

“We don’t get a lot of newcomers,” Phoenix said. “And the ones we do, most people tend not to like.” 

“So I’m at an automatic disadvantage.” 

“Yup.” 

You sighed. “Great.” 

Phoenix laughed, setting down her glass of wine. “Let me show you the guest house.” 

The guest house was out back. Way out back. You couldn’t even see the main house anymore when Phoenix rounded a corner and stopped in front of a slightly dilapidated green two-story house. The front porch of the house sagged slightly and the door was a little off kilter. 

Phoenix scooted up the steps and unlocked the door, holding it open. You quickly followed her inside. “It’s a little dusty, sorry about that,” she said. “And a little run down. But I think it should work.” 

Inside there was a small entryway that led to a living room on one side and a bedroom on the other. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, and the furniture had sheets flung over it. Phoenix opened the blinds, letting light filter into the room, and put her hands on your hips. 

“Ain’t much,” she said. “But it’s something.” 

“I’ll take it.” What other options did you have? Besides, you liked Phoenix. She was the first and only person to be nice to you in Willow.

***

Your second day went just about as well as your first. 

You showed up at the office at nine, to find it bustling with patients. A frazzled Molly sat at the front desk, hair askew. 

“Where have you been?” she demanded as you walked through the door. “People been lining up this morning.” She handed you a stack of charts. “The flu.” 

You grimaced. “The flu? In September?” 

“When it rains it pours.” 

You groaned. “Alright, give me two minutes to get a cup of coffee.” 

“No time,” Molly said, steering you toward the dusty office at the front of the building. “Mr. Schwartz has been waiting for forty minutes and he’s just about the most impatient man I’ve ever met.” She turned around, faking a smile. “Mr. Schwartz? The doctor will see you now.” 

A grisly looking man stood up, face pale and sweaty. You smiled delicately. “Hi, I’m Dr. James—”

He waved a hand in your face. “Don’t care, sweetheart. Gonna be sick so get out of the way.” 

You winced as he barged into the exam room and unloaded his stomach in the trash. Molly scampered away as you closed the door and pulled on a pair of gloves. 

The rest of the day was no better. Patient after patient sick with a mysterious flu that was going around. There was nothing you could do for them besides check their vitals, remind them to hydrate, explain proper hygiene to minimize getting other family members sick, and send them home to rest. But yet they came in droves. 

By three o’clock, you had seen countless patients, and Bob’s door had never been opened. You frowned. “Where is he?” you asked Molly. 

She looked up from a cup of tea. “The doctor is not in.”

You rolled your eyes. “I know that, it’s why I’m up to my elbows in puke. Where is he? When is he coming in?” 

“He’s not. It’s his day off.” 

“Day off?” you scoffed as the door opened and three more people shuffled into the waiting room. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath.

“Dr. James!” Molly scolded. “This is a family town.” 

“You’re right,” you said, squaring your shoulders and turning around, gesturing to the taller man slumped against the wall. “Sir? I can take you back now.” 

Finally, it was dark out and you made your way back to the guest house to shower. But halfway through the shower the water ran cold and you realized you were out of shampoo. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, this time not caring if anyone could hear. 

At the market, you stood with sopping wet hair, staring at two bottles of Suave shampoo. So much for your Oribe hair products that were probably in the trash already back in New York. Peter never cared much for their scent. 

You sighed, grabbing the green bottle. 

“Didn’t think I’d have to fight someone for my favorite shampoo tonight.” 

You whipped around. Bradley Bradshaw stood two feet away wearing a pair of chinos and a polo, looking way too fresh for the end of a hot Georgia day. He grinned, taking in your short denim shorts and cropped tank, wet hair and bare face. 

“Long day, doc?” he asked. 

You rolled your eyes. “You have no idea. I’ve got a hot tip for you. Wash your hands when you get home. Whole town has the flu.” 

He nodded. “Yeah, I heard. Sounds like a bad day.” 

“Understatement.” 

“Then you need ice cream,” Bradley said, moving over to the freezer section. “Are you a chocolate girl?” 

“Is there any other kind of girl?” you asked and he chuckled. 

“Here, this should solve anything.” He waved a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked in the air. 

You sighed in relief. “Thank God there’s ice cream here. I thought maybe it would be a churn your own butter kind of place.” 

Bradley laughed, holding out his hand. “Here. Let me buy that for you.” 

“Really?” 

He nodded. “I insist. A girl shouldn’t have to buy her own ice cream at the end of a long day.” 

You handed him the shampoo bottle and bottle of wine that was under one arm and he grinned, carrying them alongside the ice cream to the counter. He paid, chatting with the cashier briefly, before accepting the bag and ushering you out of the store. The hot summer air hit your skin and you felt immediately filthy again. “God, is it always this humid? Feels like I’m walking through a room filled with Jell-O.” 

“Pretty much,” Bradley said. Under the glow of the street lamp, you saw no sweat on his brow. Was he even human? “Just wait until November though. Winter is perfect.”

You groaned. “Will I make it to November? Will I make it to next week even?” 

“I hope so.” There was something leading in his words. “Heard you’re staying out at the Wilkes plantation.” 

Wilkes. That must be Phoenix’s family name. You nodded. “Yeah. Phoenix offered me a place. It’ll do.” 

“She’s a nice girl.”

“Pretty much the only friend I have,” you admitted. 

Bradley flashed his bright white smile. “Looking for another?” 

You squinted. “What are you getting at, Bradshaw?”

“Go on a date with me, doc,” he said. 

You grabbed the plastic bag from his hand. “Or else?”

He put his hands up. “Or else nothing. I’m not threatening you, Olive. I don’t badger witnesses. Just wanted to take the pretty new doctor out for dinner sometime.” 

“That sounds nice,” you said. “But I’m a mess right now. I just got out of a big relationship and it’s complicated.” You looked up. “I know that sounds like a cop out, but it’s the truth.” 

“Fair enough.” Bradley fiddled with his keys. “Well, goodnight then, Olive.” 

You turned, headed back to your car. “Goodnight, Bradley.” 

You unlocked the car, before his voice carried across the town square. “Hey, Olive?”

Turning, you spotted Bradley with both hands in his pockets. “Yeah?” 

“Messes are kind of my specialty,” he said and you laughed. “Being a lawyer and all. Just thought you should know that.” 

You shook your head. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?” 

He grinned. “It’s called small town charm, Olive.” 

You slipped into the front seat of the car and turned it on, audibly sighing as the air conditioning wafted over your sweaty skin. Up ahead, Bradley turned the corner, disappearing down a darkened street. You leaned back against the headrest and closed your eyes. 

***

Where the fuck was Bob?

It had been three days of the flu and he hadn’t bothered to show up to work. Molly was no help either. 

“Call him again,” you demanded.

She gave you a sour look. “If he didn’t pick up earlier, why would he pick up now?” 

You huffed, strutting away in your Jimmy Choos. 

Add buying new, Willow-friendly shoes to your to-do list. Right behind kill Dr. Bob Floyd. 

Finally, one the last patient emptied out of the waiting room, you grabbed your purse and keys, over Molly’s cries of protest. Your rental car barreled down Bob’s suburban street, just off the main square, skidding to a loud stop in front of his house. 

It was cute. That was the first thing you noticed. The second was that his car, an old Audi sedan, was in the driveway, which meant that he was home. 

You sighed, stepping out and ringing the doorbell, foot tapping in your heels. No answer. You rang it again, impatiently, straining over the edge of the door to look through the small window at the top. Ringing it one more time, you started to knock when you heard the lock unclick, the door swinging open slowly. 

Bob Floyd stood in the doorway wearing a hoodie and a pair of pajama pants, his face pale, glasses sitting perfectly on his tiny button nose, hair combed back neatly. “Dr. James,” he said gruffly. 

You squinted. “Where have you been? I’ve been up to my ears in vomit and ear exams and dramamine and not a fucking peep about where you were or when you were coming back. Just a constant stream of sick people.” 

“You’re a doctor, Olive,” he said and his voice was more than gruff, it was scratchy. “You should be used to sick people by now.” 

“Are you?” Oh fuck. “Are you sick?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “What gave you that idea?” 

“Hoarse voice, pale pallor, heavy clothes in the summer heat.” 

“It’s like you went to medical school or something.” 

You folded your arms over your chest. “Well come on, let me examine you.” 

As you started to step inside, the cool air beckoning you, Bob held out a hand, only inches from your chest. You looked down and he removed it. “No thank you.” 

“But you’re sick,” you countered. 

“I know that,” he replied. “Do you know how I know that? I went to medical school, just like you did. I am more than qualified to take care of myself, Dr. James.” 

You frowned. “I’m just trying to help.” 

“I am one patient who really does not need your help,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I was enjoying a rather nice nap.” 

You took a step back, practically frozen. In New York, such bluntness would have been standard. Expected. But in Willow, Bob’s shun felt like a dig that would never stop hurting. “Are you sure?” you asked. 

His blue eyes softened a miniscule amount. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely you wouldn’t have noticed. His bottom lip dropped an inch, as if he was about to say something. But then he decided against it, mouth turned back into a fine, tight line. “Yes.” 

You nodded. “OK. Just call Molly when you think you’re ready to come back and I’ll handle the patients in the meantime.” 

“That is why my father hired you,” Bob said. 

“Yeah. It is.” You lingered. “I, um, I guess I’ll see you around.”

You climbed down the front stairs of Bob’s ivory house, stuffing yourself back into the driver’s seat. 

Why was it that you could feel the heat of his gaze burning the back of your head as you drove away? And why did it, for just a second, feel like he was about to cave when you asked if he was sure? 

You were going to crack him. Buy new shoes, order hair products online, and make Bob Floyd stop hating you. 

Your to-do list just kept on growing.

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[mistressheroine]

WIP Whenever

Thanks for the tags @galadrieljones and @im-immortal

Sorry it took me a while to get to this, I've been in a TTPD spiral that has inspired a few new fic ideas.

This is a little preview of Fortnight, the one-shot that has basically taken over my life for the last week.

It’s the sounds that come back first, every movement creates a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. Then the light, everything diffused in bright white before the world returned in screaming colour. Flashes of jumbled memories hit her like a freight train. She’s running through the overgrown grasses, sweat pouring down her back and making her clothes cling to her exhausted body before they throw themselves to the ground. Half empty bottle of red wine on the table between them, his strong hands covering hers as she whispers “I wish I had met you first” right before he leans in closer and she sees the flicker of something in his eyes. Who are you? Sitting on the porch watching that bashful smile illuminate his face in the moonlight and feeling that smile from her stomach all the way to the tips of her toes. Why can’t I remember your name? Mama and Shawn in the front seat of her big brother’s car, the sun streaming brightly through the windshield as she grips the cell phone tightly to her ear with tears of joy and relief rolling down her cheeks. Standing in a dimly lit, water stained hallway as she catches his eye across the space between them and sees his whole body tense while some woman in a police uniform talks about needing someone called Noah. Then blood, so much blood. Blood on the smashed windshield, smoke billowing up into the summer sky. Blood on that police woman’s face, tiny little specks of it as her vision falters and she suddenly feels herself falling.  Her eyes shoot open and the falling sensation stops abruptly. She tries to speak but her throat is so dry the sound rasps out before it dies all together.  The man in the white coat, the doctor, turns from where he was checking the beeping monitor beside her bed and she glances down to his name tag. Edwards. I knew that, I’m sure I did. Dr Edwards looks at her and smiles before he checks her vitals again. “Welcome back. You might feel a little groggy, it’s the medication but you should start to feel a little more human in a day or so. Can you tell me your name?”  She searches through her mind, plucking it out easily and realising she never really forgot what her name was. “Beth… my name is Beth. Beth Greene.”

Tags back for both! :) And new tags for @sasusc @pipergirl17 @auroraroseane @raginglittlehurricane and anyone else who wants to share.

[likesunsetorange]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 + 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚

send me all you love — all the works in the “deliveries of love” universe

deliveries of love — a little misunderstanding sparks a potential romance between two (unknowingly) new neighbors. firefighter! eren x nurse! mikasa. rated m, ongoing multi chapter fic.

with love, yours truly — a collection of one shots set in the “deliveries of love” universe. rated m, ongoing.

isn’t she lovely — a collection of drabbles detailing the lives of eren and mikasa’s little family. the girl dad eren au – cross posted from tumblr. rated t.

i do, i do, i do — a wedding planner enlists the help of a local baker, resulting in a partnership between the two (and perhaps something more). rated m

this love will keep us through — glimpses into their four years at the cabin. rated m

i'll look for you in every song — a collection of music inspired one-shots. ongoing.

just have me for tonight — strangers to lovers one-shot, inspired by the song cherry wine by grentperez. rated t, 3.3k words.

one day i'll forget about it — a meetup between two previous lovers, inspired by the song cool about it by boygenius. rated m, 3.8k words.

𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚

everything’s different & nothing’s changed — what occurs when two ex-lovers are forced to spend a week together on vacation with their friends. inspired by the book happy place by emily henry. rated m, ongoing multi chapter fic.

take me for what i am — after an attempted assassination on her father, the ackerman-azumabito estate hires a bodyguard for their beloved heiress to ensure her safety despite her wishes. bodyguard au. rated m, ongoing multi chapter fic.

there’s a full moon risin’ — in which a cowboy and a model fall in love, and what ensues after

extremely calm / extremely uncalm — mikasa gets partnered with (who she believes to be) her academic rival & her biggest pain in the ass for her senior capstone project

somewhere beyond the sea — finally free from the burden of an uncertain future, eren, mikasa, and armin venture to hizuru, where eren is forced to consider how he wants to spend the remainder of a life he never quite thought he'd have

lay your cards down — after a bad first impression, eren does whatever it takes to get in the good graces of the girl who just so happens to be his family’s ranch hand

to love what death can touch — a collection of one shots centered around the intricacies of grief, love, and loss.

the sound of your voice sounds a lot like love — how love perseveres through loss. aka the iris au. inspired by the poem "stella" by luis xu. rated m.

you can put your strength down — what occurs when two strangers are brought together by their mutual grief over their respected loved ones. rated m.

your laugh once lifted me — how two people handle the loss of the same person, and how it somehow brings them together. rated m.

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤

just before dawn — it’s prim’s birthday; katniss has a hard time handling her grief—peeta is there to help

𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫 𝐚𝐮’𝐬

bodyguard au

exes to lovers au

girl dad eren au

academic rivals au

cowboy x model au

cowgirl x model au

baker x mafia au

doctor x criminal au

actor au

baseball au

tattoo artist x florist au

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬

drabbles

wips

recommendations

moodboards

bodyguard au socmed

exes to lovers au socmed

updated 09/18/2024

[venusinsilk]

My best friend was dating a narcissist and I saw some red flags early on but she's a psychologist with a fucking doctorate degree so I kind of kept my thoughts to myself for the first idk 6 months they were seeing each other. I guess I assumed she would see the signs for herself and make a decision to engage with him. I also didn't want to ruin the honeymoon period she was going through because she genuinely seemed so happy.

They are coworkers. I already gave her my 2 cents and said she was taking a risk having sex with a coworker. I've done it too, it happens to a lot of people and there are varying consequences.

There were so many signs he was a piece of shit. He wouldn't let her in his house. My reaction was naturally "what's inside the house? What is he hiding?" We would laugh about it but the only time she went there, he said he had to run inside to grab clothes and he had her wait in the car.

When she brought him to dinner to meet me and my bf, he was super reserved and didn't say much. At the time when he visited, I also had 2 friends staying at my house over the weekend. They're a couple, and one of them does bdsm/dominatrix work when she visits us because she has a lot of clients in this area. They didn't go out to dinner with us, but I suggested going back to my place for drinks after dinner. So we go home and naturally the couple joins us in the kitchen for beer or wine. And one of them (the one who is the partner of the sex worker) recognizes the coworker. "I feel like I've met you before," she says to him. "I get that a lot" he says, and doesn't elaborate. He is super quiet and hardly engages with any of us. After my bestie and her coworker/boyfriend leave, the couple staying with us tells me that they definitely recognized him from work- either a sex party or he was a past client. They also ask me to keep it a secret, because they aren't 100% sure and don't want to cause any drama in my friend's life, so I do keep it a secret.

My best friend didn't want to be in a monogamous relationship with him, but he begged her to be his girlfriend. So for only 6 months they were in a "relationship" where she only saw him, and presumably he was with her. But he wouldn't respond to her on weekends and she would frequently become frustrated, saying "I have a 'boyfriend' who doesn't talk to me." I had to finally look her in the eyes and tell her why I didn't like him and I didn't like the way he treated her and she finally broke it off with him at work the following week.

What was inside the house? A fucking family. A mother and child. His child.

After she broke up with him, she started receiving phone calls, texts and voicemails from 2 women- the mother of his child (who he lives with) and another coworker who was also "dating" him. She did not engage with either of them. But she was bombarded with information about his relationship with both of these women, and they demanded info from her.

Last night I went to her place and she told me all of this and more, and I told her about the sex worker friend recognizing him. We can definitely confirm that he's a sex addict and this probably isn't the first time the mother has discovered he had multiple partners.

I'm still reeling from this and so disturbed by the way this man moved so casually into my friend's life -- into MY LIFE -- and lied about everything to us and continues to hurt people around him with no consequences. I feel very inspired by that article about the barista smashing an asshole's windshield with a hammer and I would love to do something like that to him, but the other coworker he was sleeping with already slashed his tires and he had to file a restraining order.

[benjamin-ovich]

i tore out like half my hairs trying to choose a line. and okay. i'm cheating a little, still. i'm giving you TWO lines and you have to write a soul tearing mini fic about it:

number 7 (there isn't anything sexier than a slender boy with a handgun, a fast car, and a bottle of pills) and number 15 (i carried you to the car and drove you home but you weren't making any sense) PLEASE THANK YOU ILY <33333

(send me a richard siken line and i'll write a mini-fic inspired by it)

ok so dani listen. i tried to make this a mini-fic but my brain physically cannot narrow the ideas down to under 1k words. so yeah i'm making this a fic fic instead, snippet below (it's a muggle au for obvious reasons) and i'll gift it to you when it's finished <3

James Potter knows better than to fall in love with boys like Sirius Black. 

Sirius, with his cigarette-ash fingers and quick, dark laugh, burning up an entire room just by standing in it. Sirius, with his gunpowder eyes and long hair and flashing, dangerous smile; worn leather jacket and sleek new motorcycle, the dog tags around his neck clanging as he takes off in a blur of smoke and dust. 

Boys like Sirius are nothing but trouble. But what can James say? These things happen.

It’s a hot, dirty night, swollen with stars. James is in the wrong place at the right time – slightly drunk and strolling aimlessly around the neighbourhood. He’s just down the street from his apartment when he hears a strange, muted noise that stops him in his tracks. 

It’s coming from the alley. James sidles between the narrow walls until he reaches an opening on the other side. There, on the ground, he sees the stranger for the first time. 

The stranger is sitting heaped against the wall, bent over and clutching at his stomach, groaning quietly. The alleyway is dark, save for the thin moonlight, but James can still see the glistening pool of blood the stranger is sitting in. It’s all over his hands and his clothes, staining them like wine. 

“Are you okay?”

The stranger looks up. His face is hostile, unfriendly, lips drawn back in a snarl and all the skin pulled tight over bone. “Who the fuck are you?”

It’s evident he wants to be left alone, and is in a nervous, irritable state, but James isn’t so easily fazed. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, no shit,” the stranger snorts. 

“What happened?”

“Fuck off,” the stranger snaps at him, turning his body away with a dragging, painful-looking twist. "It's none of your business."

James kneels beside him, approaching him the way one might approach an aggressive, feral dog – slow and calm, without making any sudden movements. “You need help. I’m a medical student, I might be able to fix you up.”

“A medical student?” the stranger mutters, rolling his eyes. “So not even a real doctor?”

Now that he’s closer, James can see that most of the blood is from a wound in the stranger’s stomach. “Listen, I don’t mean to be blunt, but – you’ve lost a lot of blood, and that wound needs to be closed up. My apartment is just down the street, will you come in and let me take a look? Because if you don’t, you might bleed out and die right here.”

Something in his words seems to register as vaguely alarming to the stranger, because the latter starts heaving himself onto his feet, groaning with pain as he does. 

“Fine,” he says, stepping toward James and giving him a sullen look, like it’s him extending a favour toward James, and not the other way around. “Let’s go.”

---

“Why are you helping me?”

They’re in James’ flat, the cool fluorescent light stark against the stranger’s marble-pale skin. James has laid out an array of medical supplies on the kitchen countertop, and is now in the midst of pulling a pair of sterile gloves on while the stranger peels his sticky, bloodstained shirt off. 

James smiles. “I like helping people. Why do you think I wanted to be a doctor?”

“To cut people up,” the stranger replies, in a deadpan voice that makes it hard to tell whether he’s joking or not. 

“Here,” James says, holding up some squares of gauze. “May I?”

The stranger doesn’t flinch when James gently dabs off the excess blood so that he can get a better look at the wound. It’s a long gash that runs across his stomach, but fortunately doesn’t look too deep, and seems to have avoided all his major organs and arteries. 

“Am I dying?” the stranger asks in a whisper, and when James glances up he’s startled to see the wet, cautious gleam of vulnerability in his eyes, as though he's genuinely afraid.

“No, you’re not dying,” James reassures him, as he begins working with nimble, precise movements. “I can stop the bleeding and suture the wound closed, but you’ll still need antibiotics when we're done.”

The stranger holds remarkably still as James does his thing, which is impressive given the size of the wound and the fact that James doesn’t have any pain pills on hand. Every now and then James catches his face tightening, eyes snapping shut, but other than that he barely even winces. The minutes flit by in silence, and neither of them speaks until James is nearly done.

“You must have a high pain tolerance,” James comments, straightening up as he finishes his handiwork. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” the stranger says, looking down at his stomach. His wound looks far better now that it’s cleaned and closed.  His voice is softer, quite a bit less rough than it had been, when he speaks to James again. “Thank you. For, um – for this.”

James pulls his gloves off. “What happened to you, if you don’t mind me asking? The incision looks like it was made by some sort of large knife, wielded in the hands of someone who clearly had no intention to kill.”

The stranger turns his gaze away. Now that he’s no longer scowling and snarling, he’s actually rather handsome – with elegant, refined features and a willow-thin build, all slender limbs and narrow shoulders. James notices this, and then is embarrassed at himself for noticing, because it’s not often that he encounters someone so good-looking that it knocks the breath right out of his lungs.

"Alright," he says at last, when the stranger still hasn't spoken in several minutes, "will you at least tell me your name?"

The stranger's eyes meet his; they're a light, impossible shade of grey, shining like steel. "Sirius," he says, clearing his throat and holding out a hand toward James. "Sirius Black."

James goes still, dropping the metal pan he's holding with a thunderous, resounding crash. "Sirius Black? As in, of the Black mafia?"

[edwinadaily]

COSMOPOLITAN UK | A few weeks ago, Charithra Chandran was having a dinner party with some of her oldest friends. A few of them work in advertising and marketing, another is a doctor, one is a lawyer. None work in ‘the industry’. ‘Have I changed?’ Chandran asked them, as plates were cleared and wine glasses topped up. Their answer was unanimous. ‘No way.’ ‘In fact,’ one joked, ‘it’s actually sad how little character development there’s been.’ They all laughed. ‘Sometimes dickish things come out of your mouth like, “I’ve got a fitting with Dior next week!” Look, your life might have changed, but you certainly haven’t.’

Their words reassured Chandran of something she already knew. In just two life-changing years, she had gone from being a philosophy, politics and economics graduate preparing to start a job in management consultancy, to playing a lead in one of the biggest TV shows of the past decade. In the year since she appeared in Bridgerton’s second series, caught in a love triangle with Jonathan Bailey’s Anthony Bridgerton and Simone Ashley’s Kate Sharma, her trajectory has shown no signs of slowing down. This year, she stars in a handful of films including Good Intentions, a short with Micheal Ward (who you’ll know from the Oscar-nominated Empire Of Light), as well as playing the lead in teen rom-com How To Date Billy Walsh. And just a few weeks ago, she was in India with Ashley for the Dior pre-fall show (hence the fitting), which she describes as ‘special and incredible’. But while 26-year-old Chandran may be sitting front row, booking lead roles and appearing on magazine covers, she still feels like that same wide-eyed graduate, the one with no idea what would come next.

‘My life just feels so... normal?’ says Chandran, over a builder’s tea in one of her favourite central London cafes, her hair slicked back in a silk headscarf. 'That is the number one thing that has left me feeling sane. I worry that if my personal life was fully in this world, these crazy experiences would start to feel normal. I need to be surrounded by people not involved in the craziness.'

Most of her friends – like the ones at the dinner party – are from school and university, and the industry friendships she has tend to be with older women, including her Bridgerton cast mates Golda Rosheuvel (Queen Charlotte) and Shelley Conn, who played her mother in the series. ‘We hang out all the time. We go see shows; we grab tea or dinner. Golda’s so cool, sometimes I wonder why she wants to hang out with me. Shelley is literally like my older sister; I’m super close with her family. They both give me advice constantly about how to hold yourself in the industry. They provide perspective as well; they’ve been in it for so long, and they’re both women of colour; they remind me how far we’ve come and how far we have to go. Everything that I go through, they’ve been through it tenfold. I really rely on their counsel.’

The road to Bridgerton

Chandran auditioned for the show in 2020 before the first series had aired. At the time, her career as an actor was precarious. She’d loved performing for as long as she could remember (‘I was that annoying kid who always wanted to be the centre of attention’), acting throughout school and university, even performing in the West End with youth theatre companies, but she’d never really considered it as a viable career. ‘I never even talked about wanting to act because I felt embarrassed. Saying you wanted to be a professional actor felt like saying you wanted to be prime minister or an astronaut.’ Her reasons were twofold. The first was a lack of South Asian representation on screen and stage, – ‘For a long time I didn’t really have any inspiration to look towards,’ she says – and the second was familial expectation. ‘I’m the literal opposite of a nepo baby. My parents are doctors; we didn’t know any actors or journalists. Anyone who’s not a medic was foreign territory for us.’

Though her parents hoped Chandran would follow them into the profession, she credits their progressive attitudes with giving her the courage to follow her dreams. ‘They always expected academic excellence, but they gave me so much freedom and trust. I don’t know if that was an active choice or [if] it was because they were immigrants, junior doctors and single parents who didn’t have time to be focused on me 24/7. Either way, they really let me be me.’

Being herself meant giving acting a serious shot before starting the management consultancy job. She deferred the start date for a year and, in between working as a tutor and running a food bank, spent time crafting a CV and a showreel to try to get professional representation. Her graft paid off, and she signed to an agent who began to get her auditions for film and TV roles. Her first was a Bollywood dancer in the star-studded Marvel film Eternals, which Chandran landed after finding an advert on Instagram, helmed by the likes of Angelina Jolie, Richard Madden and Salma Hayek. On set, it was Kumail Nanjiani who really stood out for Chandran. ‘Being on a proper movie set with this fellow brown actor looking buff felt amazing. He treated us with so much kindness and grace.’

Shortly after, Chandran landed a role in Amazon Prime’s Alex Rider series, and then came her even bigger break: Bridgerton. The process was turbulent. The world had gone into lockdown and after a handful of virtual auditions for Ashley’s role (Kate), Chandran was told she looked too young for the part. Months later, out of the blue, she was approached again, and by that point, season one was already out and the show was a breakout hit that became the most-viewed English-language series onNetflix at the time. ‘While they continued looking for Kate, they had me on the back burner. I’d got a part in another show, so I was like, you know, okay, I love the sound of Bridgerton, butI have [other] work so, whatever. And then season one came out and I was like, “Oh, man! It’s such a good show. I would have loved to get that!”’ This time, the team wanted her to audition for the role of Kate’s younger sister, Edwina Sharma. ‘I desperately wanted to be in the show, but I didn’t want to do it solely for that – which is such an ego trip! I only had one credit at the time. But I was fully being like, “Okay, tell me more about the role...’ So I read for it, and then I didn’t hear about anything for months. I was like, “Okay, well, clearly it’s over!”’

Then, one afternoon, while helping out in her mum’s allotment, she received a call asking her to audition with Bailey and Ashley. ‘I didn’t even realise I was still in the running. But the chemistry read was so special. I remember they looked so beautiful on Zoom. The lighting was amazing, and I was in my dingy dining room in the dark. I thought, “Okay, I need to step up my game.”’ Clearly she was already bringing her A-game because she landed the part.

Surviving the spotlight

Bridgerton has a habit of launching the stellar careers of its leads. Almost overnight, season one’s Phoebe Dynevor and Regé-Jean Page went from emerging actors to household names. ‘So many of the cast members who’d been through it were like, Charithra, get a therapist because this is crazy,’ she remembers. She took their advice, and while therapy has been invaluable, nothing could truly prepare her for such a life-altering experience. She cites events in particular as ‘anxiety-inducing’, explaining, ‘There’s an impostor syndrome there. I leave and I want to cry every time!’ It sounds intense, and the internet’s opinions only exacerbated it. ‘I think when anyone is first exposed to this [fame] on the level that I was, they read the comments, they google themselves. And when you read the really aggressive ones – I know this sounds dramatic – but you feel really vulnerable. I’m a normal person – I’m taking the bus, I’m taking the Tube. You’re thinking all it takes is one person being slightly too deranged and trying to hunt you down... It took me like a solid four months to [get] through that.’

When it comes to social media generally, and whether she feels any pressure with what she posts and the persona she presents, Chandran is typically low-key. ‘I’m not famous enough for people to care about me enough to feel that now! I’m not thinking to myself at any point, “I wonder how the public will receive it.” Maybe I should! But even if – fingers crossed – I continue to do really cool things, and I do get more famous, I’m a very open person. I’m not trying to hide anything. I’m very active on social media and I share loads of parts of my life. But that’s what I’d be doing anyway, even if I wasn’t doing this. I don’t do things differently because I have a platform.’

One thing she is clear on: she doesn’t read negative comments any more and focuses her attention on what a powerful impact the series has had, particularly for young women of colour. ‘I get so much energy and enrichment when I meet someone who’s watched it and tells me how much seeing Simone and me on the show means to them.’ She adds, ‘She is so beautiful. We both went through a baptism of fire together, so we really bonded for life over this very seismic experience that we had. We’re connected by something so big.’

Chandran is clearly proud of the show, however not all responses to Bridgerton have been positive. While the Shonda Rhimes Regency-era romance has largely been praised for the diversity of its stars, some critics have questioned the casting, suggesting it’s tokenistic and that the characters of colour aren’t afforded sufficient context or cultural recognition and could just as easily have been played by a white actor. ‘It’s not a perfect show,’ says Chandran. ‘No one’s out here saying this is a perfect representation of anything. If we were to do it again, I’m sure we’d make certain different decisions, but it’s a damn good try. And it’s a really bold try. Let’s enjoy the fact that we have this and continue striving for more.’

Chandran says some of the commentary that bothered her the most were ‘the comments that said I only got to where I am because I’m Eurocentric or I’m white-passing. That really bugged me because all my life I’ve had to face prejudice for not being those things. I have a quintessentially Tamil face, not even Indian, people can place me as a Tamil. You open books, you go to a temple, you see the pictures and paintings; they look like this. So it’s like, bro, I didn’t go through prejudice and discrimination for you to now belittle my identity. When the show was coming out, that’s all I could focus on.’

From Regency to romance

As she gears up for the release of her next project, How To Date Billy Walsh, this time around, her feeling is one of excitement. She plays Amelia, a precocious teenager who, much like her Bridgerton character, finds herself caught up in an unlikely love triangle with her best friend Archie (played by Heartstopper’s Sebastian Croft) and an elusive new student (Cobra Kai’s Tanner Buchanan). The film brims with all the fun, campness and nostalgia of a classic romcom. ‘We wanted to make something that was really timeless,’ says Chandran. ‘My cousins who are 12 and 13 are still watching Clueless, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. We wanted to do something fun and heart-warming that harked back to the 90s.’

While classic teen romances are praised for their charm, they’re less celebrated for their diversity. As a woman of colour, did it feel like a big deal to be at the helm of a high school romcom? ‘I think it’s so interesting because what I really loved and appreciated was how not a big deal it felt, and I think that’s a real testament to all the people that have come before me, all the directors, producers, actors who have paved the way. I love representing my culture, and I love playing characters who are culturally specific to me,’ she says, ‘but on the flipside, I also enjoy playing a normal person where the story isn’t just about her being Indian. That is what I want for my career as well. I want to do things about race that start important conversations, and things about love and friendship. I don't want to be a one-trick pony.' When choosing roles, she says her approach is simply to find characters who feel truthful. 'The times I've said no are if it perpetuates bad or lazy stereotypes, if it's a character I've already seen before.'

As a romantic lead, her performance is effortless. Amelia is a plucky teenager who reels through the full spectrum of emotions when she develops a crush on the titular character, faces off against bullies and navigates some complicated feelings towards her best friend. Her portrayal of a girl caught in the full throes of an all-consuming crush is vibrant and hilarious, but she also imbues Amelia with a real sense of vulnerability.

Chandran shares some of Amelia's confidence and her thirst for new experiences, but her own memories of dating as a teenager were quite different. rowing up in Oxford, she went to an all-girls school. Most weekends involved house parties with boys from the neighbouring schools, where she would be the only one to get, ‘no attention from the guys,’ she remembers. ‘I thought, "Maybe they’re just not attracted to brown girls." I’m curvy; Indian women tend to have curves and fat in different places. All my friends were white and skinny. It was confusing, but I never took it personally. I used to wonder, is it because they see a brown girl and think, “Oh, she probably can't drink, she’s probably really prudish” – what assumptions were they making just from the colour of my skin?’

While she was at university, one of the boys who had been on the same teen house-party circuit messaged her on Facebook. 'This is a guy I’d seen every weekend for almost two years. He said I was cute and asked me how we knew each other. What’s mad is that I didn’t go to uni and have some glow-up. I looked exactly the same at 19 as I had at 15.’ She believes his sudden interest reflected a broader cultural shift towards diversity. ‘By that time, there were more Black and brown women in magazines and in lead roles on TV. I realised, "Oh, I'm trendy. So now you see there’s an attractiveness there. Because I objectively know I don't look different." That kind of shit happened quite a few times.’

Needless to say, Chandan ghosted the message. ‘I’m not a trend,' she says with a playful eye-roll. In life after Bridgerton, she admits dating can be difficult to navigate. She doesn’t use apps because ‘even before the show, people would see me on Instagram or google me. Which we all do, it's fine... but it started to get weird. So it is harder to meet people, but I don't think I'm famous or successful enough to ever have to worry that someone’s dating me for clout’. Plus, she knows what's important in a potential partner. ‘If I think about what kind of person I want to date, the number one thing I'll say is that they need to be a feminist. I'm a feminist, I'm an advocate for women. I went to a girls school, my family is a matriarchy.’

Dating aside, the fact that Chandran’s life hasn’t changed all that much is a testament to her ability to keep both feet on the ground. There’s also perhaps the knowledge that, should she ever find herself changed by fame, her best friends will absolutely be there to bring her back to reality at the next dinner party. ‘They're the most important people to me’ she says. ‘I love to be surrounded by women. I love the men in my life, but I just prefer women. Women made me feel safe, they make me feel heard.'

[wordsinhaled]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @landwriter <3 thank you, gloam!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

14! (yes, only 14)

What's your total Ao3 word count?

14,842

What fandoms do you write for?

so far, it's been the sandman, good omens, and merlin - though i don't have any published (or finished...) merlin fics. i also just finished dead boy detectives, which may result in a bit of fic - we'll see!

Top five fics by kudos:

just pull on your hair, just pull on your pout - shameless excuse to make dream & hob make out in the cold like teenagers, inspired by the cure & a beautiful fanart of professor hob by @pomegranateruin!

eternity is in us now - dreamling proposal fic <3

if the walls were too thin, you would break right in - this was the first dreamling fic i wrote! :D

while the little moments dream - the one where dream offers hob godhood at the end of the world. soft <3

we are the cosmos fleeing the night - i think this was my second dreamling ficlet? dreamling FWB but make it still romantic

Do you respond to comments?

i'll be honest, i'm pretty bad about responding to comments - NOT because i don't appreciate them! i love each comment i receive dearly and they all mean the world to me. but being less generally flustered and knowing what to say in response to comments is something i'm working on. <3

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

maybe this one? all night or a hundred years is my take on the wine-sharing scene from season of mists. so you know, angst comes with the territory but that one hurts me particularly badly, so it probably fits the bill.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

it's DEFINITELY this one, which has no name and which i should probably crosspost to Ao3 at some point, but it's basically dreamling being sappy and getting married. that's it, that's the plot

Do you get hate on fics?

thankfully i never have!

Do you write smut?

i write... smut-adjacent? i don't think i've ever written like, a pure PWP before or anything i would say rates as explicit. it's just something i've never tried and feel kind of intimidated by tbh, though i'm sure it would be fine if i ever do get around to it! if anyone wants to cheerlead me through my first smut fic i am game, lmao (is there ghost detective smut on my horizon???? IS THERE??? listen. it's not an impossibility is all i'm saying)

Craziest crossover:

i am not sure i've actually written a crossover, but i just finished dead boy detectives and i have many crossover thoughts! oh, also sandman/the old guard, of course. though that's not so much crazy as reasonable, i think

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

i don't believe so, but i would be honored!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

never, but it sounds fun!

All time favourite ship?

well, i'm a multishipper, so this one's hard - i can list my OTPs per fandom... the sandman - dreamling, gaulcienne, hob/destruction (honestly hob/all the endless thanks to @softest-punk but i particularly love how you write hob/desire) doctor who - tenrose / doctor/rose & thoschei my beloveds (particular shoutout to twelve/missy, no one's doing it like them) bbc merlin - merthur, merwaine, mergwenthur dbda - obviously edwin/charles [and edwin&charles of course\ (whatever their ship name is I REFUSE TO CALL IT CHEDWIN... PLEASE... SAVE ME...). but i was absolutely also rooting for crystal/niko in addition to that...

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh my god i have so many. SO MANY. TOO MANY. i really want to finish the dreamling fealty fic one day because i literally have 2k+ words for it already sitting in my drafts, but i have no idea if i will. also it would be nice to finish ANY merlin WIP sometime this century. i am also debating if i want to start any dbda WIPs but they are... percolating still

What are your writing strengths?

i would say conveying atmosphere in a small number of words, if i had to say something!

What are your writing weaknesses?

FINISHING THINGS! god, and i'm terrible at turning fic ideas into actual writing. the ideas form faster than i can even write them down, but writing the ideas instead of having them play out cool music video-style in my head is SO HARD! also longfic is my kryptonite, i have no idea how authors do it!!!

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i think it can work, but if it's in a language i understand i find myself focused on if the grammar is correct and such. russian usually... has not been (stevebucky fandom i'm looking at u)...

First fandom you wrote in?

harry potter ages and ages ago was my first fandom, but i don't recall if i ever had any actual proper finished fics that i posted anywhere, until sandman fandom. i wouldn't say i considered myself a "proper" fic writer until dreamling actually

Favourite fic you've written?

hard to say - i like them all for different reasons but i'm proud of the opposite of blindness !

tagging whoever wants to do it as i'm sure most of my mutuals have already done this! <3

[sensitiveuser]

Etienne Carjat - "Les versaillais" (La Commune, May 3, 1871)

Foreword by Sensitiveuser (XD):

This beginning of November is horrible. So much bad news ! I hope you understand what I'm talking about (I trust you).

Dear followers (and others): My previous post (which I published 3 days ago) was devoted to the overall history of Louise Michel's posterity, from 1905 to the present day. Thanks to all those who liked me :) I thought about publishing Emma Goldman's letter to Doctor Hirschfeld (afterword to La Commune by Louise Michel), but please be patient, this letter is long, and I'm very busy these days (between studies and work) ... Sorry, then, if I go off on a tangent :)

Presentation of the author and context :

Etienne Carjat is known as a journalist, caricaturist, photographer. He is responsible for the most famous photo of Rimbaud. In 1871, he published poems in the newspaper "La Commune". On May 3, "Les Versaillais" was published. Carjat denigrates the "stupid peasants", backward rural people, reactionary Catholics. The first part of his poem highlights a Manichean opposition between Paris and the provinces. The image of the provincial changed very significantly in the 1860s; until then, songwriters like Pierre Dupont had contributed to spreading a "pink legend" of rural life and small villages. From the 1860s onwards, the inhabitants of large cities were now seeking to invent a positive identity for themselves that also involved denigrating rural identity. This ideological and literary positioning reflects a demographic and social phenomenon, since, at the time of the Second Empire, the rural exodus continued, and the working population grew in Paris. The pattern of the Paris/province opposition can naturally be applied in a revolutionary perspective. Etienne Carjat contrasts the Parisian avant-garde with the backward and reactionary countryside.

Like a snarling mutt, who barks at the blouse,

And shows, as it flees, its little sharp fangs,

The imbecile countryside, oh Paris, is jealous of you,

And insults you from afar, clutching its money.

This herd of voters, of stupid peasants,

That no great feeling can spur on,

This people of oafs, of greedy squires,

Wants to try, oh Paris, to uncrowned you !

Subjects of the sub-prefect and the rural policeman,

Docile to the voice of the mayor and the priest,

These ruminants, like the oxen they lead to graze

Stupidly blaspheme your great venerated name.

The grotesque firemen pimps of the empire,

Who swooned with love for little Louis,

All the blissful owls that the skullcap inspires,

Blink at the rays that have dazzled them.

Degenerate bastards of the old heroic serfs

Who, axe in hand, rushed upon the English,

All these earth-eaters, with prolific women,

When they are drunk on lucre, give birth to valets.

Under their skulls striped with shameful wrinkles,

Nothing beautiful, nothing great has ever been able to germinate,

Their ossified hearts are rocks more arid

Than the granite that the pick seeks in vain to attack.

Provided that in their fields the beet grows,

Or that in their granaries the wheat is piled up,

Any Caesar at their feet will be able to rivet the fetter;

They will all march the more cheerfully.

The yoke is a collar for their vile shoulders,

Any halter is good for them if it leads to the rack.

In the maternal flank, their servile spines

Before seeing the light of day learn to bend.

Let the Prussian come and show his coin,

They will offer their bread, the wine from their cellar;

They will give up their bed, their wife, and, if he pays them,

At the time of departure, will hold the stirrup for him.

But let a soldier pass by and knock at their door,

If he is poor, he is worth less than a Prussian cad;

Whether he is wounded, hungry, thirsty, what does it matter !

The hero under the penny can die like a dog.

And it is this collection of brutes and pedants,

Poisonous mushrooms of the social manure,

This rabble of madmen and sinister pandours,

Who make the imperial gall die beneath us.

[denimbex1986]

'...Murray Gold (composer, 2005 onwards) Once upon a time at Portchester Northern County Junior School, my best friend was Gavin Fuller. We talked endlessly about Doctor Who. Gavin went on to win Mastermind, answering questions about the show, and to write about Doctor Who for The Telegraph. I ended up being a composer on many episodes. There were concerts of my music at the Albert Hall, Wembley, the Sydney Opera House and many other venues, all with music inspired by this gifted time-travelling eccentric. If there was ever a show I would wish to be tethered to for all time, Doctor Who is that show. Happy birthday, you raggedy old, young thing.

Jacqueline King (played Sylvia Noble, 2006-2023) The delight of being cast in The Runaway Bride was immense, quickly followed by the surprise and joy of Catherine Tate wanting to do a whole series. And I got to go with her! Then the news that we were back together for the specials. The Noble family reunited, after 12 years! That was moving, I can tell you.

Ingrid Oliver (played Osgood, Unit scientist, 2013-2015) Is it cheesy to say the fans? Or Whovians, as they’re officially known? They are what have moved me most about being a part of the show. Playing Osgood has allowed me to travel the world meeting people at conventions for whom the show is a hugely important part of their lives. To see people dressed up as my character – men and women, old and young, from all walks of life – is such an extraordinary thing. So that, and swapping wine tips with John Hurt on the 50th anniversary episode.

Julie Gardner (producer, 2005 onwards) A greatest moment? Meeting my husband, Billie Piper, Kylie Minogue, [Torchwood episode] Day One 2004 filming with a man in a prosthetic pretending to be a space pig, the Proms, the Bafta for best series … There’s been so much laughter, love and hard work along the way. There have also been dark times, including a very gloomy late-night curry in the BBC Llandaff canteen when it all seemed hopeless. But what do I remember most? My car journeys with Russell T Davies. The two of us in my Mini Cooper, his head touching the ceiling. The conversations were everything: furious, frantic and raw. Some of those conversations changed my life.'

[kamreadsandrecs]

By Jessica Roy

It’s 90 degrees outside, and you’re too hot and exhausted from a long day of work to cobble together a proper meal. Luckily you’re home by yourself — no kids, no roommates, no partners — and therefore can eat whatever you want for dinner, without having to consider the food preferences or nutrition needs of others. You grab a bag of popcorn, a glass of wine, some bread, some cheese and a hunk of chocolate, and settle into the couch for a night of snacking and watching TV. Is there anything more glorious? Welcome to “girl dinner.”

According to TikTok, where the trend has more than 30 million views, girl dinner is akin to an aesthetically pleasing Lunchable: an artfully arranged pile of snacks that, when consumed in high enough volume, constitutes a meal. Or so the thinking goes.

Typical girl dinners may include some kind of fruit, a block of cheddar, sliced salami, a sleeve of fancy crackers and a dish of olives. Girl dinner is “both chaotic and filling,” as one TikTok commenter put it, requiring none of the forethought, cooking or plating demanded by an actual meal. As another commenter observed: It’s “no preparation just vibes.”

The trend started when Olivia Maher, a showrunner’s assistant currently out of work because of the writers’ strike, posted a video on TikTok this spring extolling the virtues of a humble, medieval-peasant-inspired assemblage that she called “girl dinner.”

“I think the concept of girl dinner came to me while I was on a hot girl walk with another female friend of mine,” Ms. Maher, 28, saidfrom her apartment in Los Angeles.

She said she and her friend had been discussing the unmatched perfection of bread and cheese as a meal unto itself, as simple as it is satisfying. “We love eating that way, and it feels like such a girl dinner because we do it when our boyfriends aren’t around and we don’t have to have what’s a ‘typical dinner’ — essentially, with a protein and a veggie and a starch,” Ms. Maher said.

She decided to debut the phrase on TikTok. “This is my dinner,” Ms. Maher says in the video, flipping her phone camera to display her spread: hunks of butter and cheese, part of a baguette, some grapes and pickles, and a glass of red wine. “I call this girl dinner.” Since she posted it in May, the 15-second clip has been watched more than a million times.

Alana Laverty, a 28-year-old food content creator in London who immediately embraced the phrase, said she started making what she called “snack plates” for dinner during summers when it was too hot to even consider turning on a stove.

“I feel like cooking full meals just gets so repetitive and exhausting, especially in the summer,” Ms. Laverty said. “When dinner came around, we would just pick up one main cheese or one main protein and get a fresh loaf of bread and throw it all on the plate. It’s a really normal way of eating for me now.”

Ms. Laverty started posting her beautifully arranged snack plates on TikTok last year. When the girl dinner trend began to take off, she recalled, “I was like, ‘I have never resonated with something more.’”

“There was this feeling of, ‘Oh my God, I’m not the only one,’” Ms. Laverty said. “I love anything that celebrates something women are all doing, but we don’t all know that we’re doing it.”

Some have pointed out that the grazing isn’t enough satisfy their own appetites and, in some cases, could be masking disordered eating.

“‘Girl dinner’ more like girl please go to the doctor you have an ED,” one user wrote on TikTok.

But adherents are quick to note that girl dinners are not about deprivation. Women have long been programmed to see food as the enemy, but the girl dinner trend is about embracing the simple joy of snacks as meals. Girl dinner represents a conscious choice to opt out of the tyranny of cooking and doing the dishes. It’s also, conveniently, the answer to fridge clean out day.

And though the trend may sound suspiciously like tapas, or mezze, or a charcuterie board, girl dinner differs in one key way: Unlike a Super Bowl-esque spread of appetizers, girl dinner is most frequently made by one person, for the consumption and enjoyment of one person.

“I remember trying to be a meal prepper and I just couldn’t do it,” Ms. Laverty said. “You could go through the effort of it, but why not open up a bunch of jars and satisfy your taste senses the same way?”

Seema Rao, an art historian in Cleveland, sees a historical connection between girl dinner and entrenched gender norms that dictate women prepare a hearty meal for their husbands every evening.

“The idea of cooking dinner was historically women’s work in the home,” said Ms. Rao, 49. “What I like about girl dinner is it takes away the idea that you have to cook anything: You just literally put it together. So you go from a position where the production of the food is what makes it good and makes you a valid woman, to the idea that having food is what makes you a valid woman.”

At least one nutritionist has given her seal of approval to the trend. Kathrine Kofoed, 27, a nutritionist and health coach in Portland, Ore., suggested that part of the reason girl dinner was being so widely embraced was its affirmation of the way women already eat: “It’s a pleasant departure from diet culture, and from all these rigid expectations of what food should be.”

“I see so many more issues for people with overeating and restricting and then perhaps bingeing, or just having this very complicated and often disordered relationship with food,” Ms. Kofoed said, pointing to the benefits of finding “more joy and pleasure in the meals we’re eating.”

Perhaps the most important thing about girl dinner is that you don’t have to be a girl to enjoy it.

“My friends and I were joking that it’s girl dinner, but anyone can have it,” Ms. Maher said. “But it’s for the girls, gays and theys.”

You may be wondering what, by contrast, “boy dinner” may look like. “Go to your local supermarket at 6:30 p.m. and stand behind a single man and see what’s inside of his basket,” the comedian Brian Lee observed on TikTok. “Frozen pizza, deli meats, potato chips, no vegetables.”

For Ms. Maher, it’s less about the content of the meal than the feeling around it. “The girl dinner is a giddy experience,” she said. “You could be having the slice of frozen pizza, but you’ve also got maybe a glass of wine and some grapes to go with it. And you’re just so pleased with yourself. You’re like, ‘I barely worked for this and it feels like an indulgence.’ That’s what makes it girl dinner.”



[kammartinez]

By Jessica Roy

It’s 90 degrees outside, and you’re too hot and exhausted from a long day of work to cobble together a proper meal. Luckily you’re home by yourself — no kids, no roommates, no partners — and therefore can eat whatever you want for dinner, without having to consider the food preferences or nutrition needs of others. You grab a bag of popcorn, a glass of wine, some bread, some cheese and a hunk of chocolate, and settle into the couch for a night of snacking and watching TV. Is there anything more glorious? Welcome to “girl dinner.”

According to TikTok, where the trend has more than 30 million views, girl dinner is akin to an aesthetically pleasing Lunchable: an artfully arranged pile of snacks that, when consumed in high enough volume, constitutes a meal. Or so the thinking goes.

Typical girl dinners may include some kind of fruit, a block of cheddar, sliced salami, a sleeve of fancy crackers and a dish of olives. Girl dinner is “both chaotic and filling,” as one TikTok commenter put it, requiring none of the forethought, cooking or plating demanded by an actual meal. As another commenter observed: It’s “no preparation just vibes.”

The trend started when Olivia Maher, a showrunner’s assistant currently out of work because of the writers’ strike, posted a video on TikTok this spring extolling the virtues of a humble, medieval-peasant-inspired assemblage that she called “girl dinner.”

“I think the concept of girl dinner came to me while I was on a hot girl walk with another female friend of mine,” Ms. Maher, 28, saidfrom her apartment in Los Angeles.

She said she and her friend had been discussing the unmatched perfection of bread and cheese as a meal unto itself, as simple as it is satisfying. “We love eating that way, and it feels like such a girl dinner because we do it when our boyfriends aren’t around and we don’t have to have what’s a ‘typical dinner’ — essentially, with a protein and a veggie and a starch,” Ms. Maher said.

She decided to debut the phrase on TikTok. “This is my dinner,” Ms. Maher says in the video, flipping her phone camera to display her spread: hunks of butter and cheese, part of a baguette, some grapes and pickles, and a glass of red wine. “I call this girl dinner.” Since she posted it in May, the 15-second clip has been watched more than a million times.

Alana Laverty, a 28-year-old food content creator in London who immediately embraced the phrase, said she started making what she called “snack plates” for dinner during summers when it was too hot to even consider turning on a stove.

“I feel like cooking full meals just gets so repetitive and exhausting, especially in the summer,” Ms. Laverty said. “When dinner came around, we would just pick up one main cheese or one main protein and get a fresh loaf of bread and throw it all on the plate. It’s a really normal way of eating for me now.”

Ms. Laverty started posting her beautifully arranged snack plates on TikTok last year. When the girl dinner trend began to take off, she recalled, “I was like, ‘I have never resonated with something more.’”

“There was this feeling of, ‘Oh my God, I’m not the only one,’” Ms. Laverty said. “I love anything that celebrates something women are all doing, but we don’t all know that we’re doing it.”

Some have pointed out that the grazing isn’t enough satisfy their own appetites and, in some cases, could be masking disordered eating.

“‘Girl dinner’ more like girl please go to the doctor you have an ED,” one user wrote on TikTok.

But adherents are quick to note that girl dinners are not about deprivation. Women have long been programmed to see food as the enemy, but the girl dinner trend is about embracing the simple joy of snacks as meals. Girl dinner represents a conscious choice to opt out of the tyranny of cooking and doing the dishes. It’s also, conveniently, the answer to fridge clean out day.

And though the trend may sound suspiciously like tapas, or mezze, or a charcuterie board, girl dinner differs in one key way: Unlike a Super Bowl-esque spread of appetizers, girl dinner is most frequently made by one person, for the consumption and enjoyment of one person.

“I remember trying to be a meal prepper and I just couldn’t do it,” Ms. Laverty said. “You could go through the effort of it, but why not open up a bunch of jars and satisfy your taste senses the same way?”

Seema Rao, an art historian in Cleveland, sees a historical connection between girl dinner and entrenched gender norms that dictate women prepare a hearty meal for their husbands every evening.

“The idea of cooking dinner was historically women’s work in the home,” said Ms. Rao, 49. “What I like about girl dinner is it takes away the idea that you have to cook anything: You just literally put it together. So you go from a position where the production of the food is what makes it good and makes you a valid woman, to the idea that having food is what makes you a valid woman.”

At least one nutritionist has given her seal of approval to the trend. Kathrine Kofoed, 27, a nutritionist and health coach in Portland, Ore., suggested that part of the reason girl dinner was being so widely embraced was its affirmation of the way women already eat: “It’s a pleasant departure from diet culture, and from all these rigid expectations of what food should be.”

“I see so many more issues for people with overeating and restricting and then perhaps bingeing, or just having this very complicated and often disordered relationship with food,” Ms. Kofoed said, pointing to the benefits of finding “more joy and pleasure in the meals we’re eating.”

Perhaps the most important thing about girl dinner is that you don’t have to be a girl to enjoy it.

“My friends and I were joking that it’s girl dinner, but anyone can have it,” Ms. Maher said. “But it’s for the girls, gays and theys.”

You may be wondering what, by contrast, “boy dinner” may look like. “Go to your local supermarket at 6:30 p.m. and stand behind a single man and see what’s inside of his basket,” the comedian Brian Lee observed on TikTok. “Frozen pizza, deli meats, potato chips, no vegetables.”

For Ms. Maher, it’s less about the content of the meal than the feeling around it. “The girl dinner is a giddy experience,” she said. “You could be having the slice of frozen pizza, but you’ve also got maybe a glass of wine and some grapes to go with it. And you’re just so pleased with yourself. You’re like, ‘I barely worked for this and it feels like an indulgence.’ That’s what makes it girl dinner.”

[hiraya-rawr]

I Love You So 3

Diluc Dialogue Drabble

about: the neglected, sickly wife trope in a contract marriage with a man that doesn't quite know how to show his love

inspired by: When It's Lonely @lunargrapejuice // I Love You So - The Walters 🎵 (listen to it!!)

notes: I'm sorry for the week-long wait, I'm writing in the middle of my finals so it's been exhausting! this was such a hard chapter to write for, I scrapped and built it a lot so I hope the final product lives up to your expectations! we'll be ending soon so happy reading!!

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"Pardon? You're saying I'm at fault?" Kaeya laughs dryly, placing down his wine glass with a clink on the bar top. It's silent in the tavern, drunk patrons steadily starting to wobble out into the night.

"You very well know her condition. She shouldn't have gone out that day." Diluc turns his back from the cryo user, opting to wipe the empty tables. "Just when she was starting to feel better."

"Her getting sick again isn't something new, you know? It seems to me like you're keeping Y/N caged."

"It's for her health. You know that."

"Well someone has to keep her company."

Diluc turns around to face the cryo user who stayed seated on the bar. The Cavalry Captain smiles at him over his wine glass, finally having caught his attention.

"After all, you and I both know how lonely that old manor can be." Kaeya really shouldn't be meddling in your relationship just when you scolded him last time for it, but forgive him for caring too much for the two of you.

When the redhead doesn't reply, seemingly done with the conversation, Kaeya sighs and takes another sip of wine before talking.

"Just to be clear, she invited me and I simply went along."

Diluc grumbles under his breath, "I suppose it was too much of me to expect any sense of caution from you. You're putting my wife at risk for some what— Death After Noon that she can't even drink." The harshness in his voice would have intimidated anyone, but Kaeya simply leans back with a chuckle.

"Oh? Your wife?" A sly smirk crosses his face, "Ah yes, I suppose she is. Forgive me, dear brother, I've almost forgotten with how little I see her with you — And we met over coffee, if that makes things any better." The redhead looks up from the table he's wiping, clearly irritated with how the conversation was going.

Why can't Kaeya understand how fragile your constitution is? Diluc already lost his father, does Kaeya want him to lose his wife as well– no, clear thoughts. Kaeya is a lot of things, but he's not that. Diluc takes a deep breath, rubbing the skin between his eyes just to calm down.

It was Diluc's decision to have a wedding rather than just signing a contract. While he was elated over the upcoming event, handling all preparations when you allowed him to, he noticed the indifference in your eyes – frowning at every encrusted noctilucous jade and diamond of your gown and bundle of glaze lilies and qingxin decorating the venue. It seems to him that for you, a grand wedding was useless if the groom wasn't who you wanted in the first place.

"This is too much," Were one of the first words you told him since the reception started.

Perhaps it was too much, but the image of you under a white veil enchanted him so that he believed it was worth it – a selfish pleasure so short-lived at the cost of your health.

He remembers the day of your marriage; what was supposed to be the happiest day of a couple's life was ended by your bedside, holding a bucket and towels; maids rushing in and out as you emptied your stomach the sixth time that evening. The exhaustion of having spent the day celebrating – a rather mundane and formal gathering, in anyone's opinion – had finally took its toll on you.

When the doctors couldn't help, he brought in healers to ease the pain, eventually resorting to buying a powerful sleep medication from a green haired pharmacist all the way from Liyue.

Even in your sleep, you shivered violently in cold sweat. Dulled hair and pale skin, weak and incapable, you blended in with the gloom of the manor. He slipped himself in your bed that night, arms wrapped around you to pull you close, pyro vision lightly blazing, warming you; Diluc was never very religious, but his lips sobbed quiet prayers to any archon that would spare a glance and save you.

He learned his lesson. His selfishness had caused this.

That was the first and only night you had shared a bed together.

Diluc sighs.

"The Fatui were spotted south of Springvale, out of their diplomatic jurisdiction. Shouldn't the knights deal with that?"

Kaeya groans, exasperated, "Is business the only thing occupying your mind, dear brother? Just when I thought our conversation was bearing good fruit." He sighs, "Besides, I'm sure the darknight hero has dealt with it already."

"Contrary to your belief, it was miss Lumine. You ought to be glad she's making up for the incompetence of the knights even in the dead of the night."

"Ah yes, the famous miss Lumine," Kaeya swirls the wine in his glass, chilling the little that's left with a cold tips of his fingers, "A little surprising she caught wind of the situation before you did."

"It was more of a coincidence she got caught in on her way to the winery."

Kaeya freezes, eyes boring into his brother's back who was casually arranging the chairs. He puts down his wine glass.

"Miss Lumine... went to the winery last night?"

"Yes."

"And did Y/N say anything?" Diluc stares back at him, the lack of teasing in Kaeya's tone making it difficult to understand his intentions.

"She didn't say anything. They didn't even meet."

•

"Shouldn't I greet lady Y/n? I wouldn't want to suddenly intrude-"

"It's alright. You must be tired; It's late and Y/n should be asleep by now."

'Archons,' You choke, hand held over your lips to keep yourself from making a sound. As Diluc said; it was late and you really should have been in bed, not at a little corner of the salon, preparing a hot cup of tea for two.

He told you not to wait for him anymore. You should have listened.

You peeked from your corner, unable to resist the curiosity of your husband bringing home his- his... whatever she is to him — at the dead of the night. Diluc stood facing away from you, whereas the other... Golden eyes meet E/C ones as Lumine offered a knowing smile. Your heart stops; was she taunting you? Was this a greeting?

She looks away from you, long lashes blinking at the redhead. You hold your breath as you see the way her nimble fingers wrap around his wrist, soft blonde hair cascading over her shoulders as she pulls him away. She is bright and beautiful, capable and strong, even in the dead of the night she contrasted everything from the dark wood of the manor to Diluc's dark coat on her shoulders.

Even after they left for the guest room, you still held your breath.

•

"Unbelievable." Kaeya laughs, finally standing up to march towards the redhead. Diluc raises an eyebrow at him. "You are unbelievable."

"Excuse me?"

"You! Diluc Ragnvindr. I'm sure you're no stranger to rumors, do you know what the whole of Mond has been whispering about?"

"I'm not concerned about my reputation-"

"It's not about reputation!" Kaeya seethes, an emotion unfamiliar to Diluc since their separation.

"... If this is about miss Lumine then I'm sure you of all people would know that our relationship is strictly-"

"Oh but does Y/N know that?" He laughs, hands waving around, trying to suppress the cold air emitting dangerously from his vision.

Diluc stays quiet. Cold, red hues staring into a steely grey one.

"You are aware that... our marriage is simply a contract."

The tension thickens, cold fog seeps from the floor surrounding the cryo user before quickly dispersing away. Kaeya takes a step back, shoulders easing and face contorting to a look of disappointment. How stupid, he thinks, She loves you.

Kaeya could have said that out loud; he could force Diluc to understand how foolish and insecure you both were. He wanted to help. He really did – but as he thinks of your lonesome figure in the large manor he once called home, how you come to him of all people for company... How dare he refers to something he's always wanted as a "simple contract".

He could treat you so much better. After all, the age-old agreement asked for a Ragnvindr son. It was in his hands first before a lovesick fool wanted it.

"... Fine. You know what, that doesn't sound too bad at all," Kaeya muses.

"What?"

"Keep acting like that and it won't be long before I have her all to myself."

"... what did you just say?" There's a dangerous look in his red eyes, hands slowly curling to a fist.

"I said I'll have her-"

"You did not just say that." He grits his teeth, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and vexation.

"Oh? Are you worried?" A sly smirk spreads on the cryo user's face, "You said so yourself. It's just a contract marriage. Why would you care if she's in the arms of some other-"

Something behind him shatters. The sound cuts between them like a knife. Kaeya quickly looks at the wine glass he was previously holding, dark flames blazing from the bits and pieces of glass, scarring the wood of the bar top permanently.

"I think we're done here." Diluc states, looking down on the table with knuckles turning white as he clenches a dirt rag.

Where did things go wrong?

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one | two | three | four | masterlist

a big thanks to @abvolat for inspiring reader getting worse, @pansexualkeoni for inspiring lumine's impromptu visit, and ANON for suggesting Diluc getting angry at Kaeya, which brings him back to our narrative! (ANON REVEAL PLEASE?)

taglist: please message me if you don't want to be tagged, a few of the asks were lost so I've been basing off the previous comment sections. also, i know i posted saying ill upload this in an hour but to think there were so many to tag- im shook hahahah i hope i didnt miss anyone

@d-1-ce @milkypompon @instantmillktea @kfcspicychickensandwich @lonelygranpa @dori-mon @reveltica @soapsoftheworld @danny-yagami @nocturnalcreature998 @loveperfectionchaos @like-wathever @imanayatosimp @ryobf69 @qingxinteaa @krenko @mich-cola @momo89657 @cinnare-blogs @fanfictwarrior @coleluuviida @nhinxsworld @spookyrule @abvolat @d1nne @patchi-chi @feartheuwu @lunabunny-12 @mrcompresssimp @chloeloe @thesleeplessindolent @boundedbyfate @x-zho @kakiwrites @daisukesimp34 @aruaruaru @local-mr-frog @kyomihann @thedivinepriestress @heyimkay @nishayuro @feartheuwu @megsthings @leoriominaj @tanspostsblog @kiyoomiwo @dazaisfavgf @ai-visuals @iamfriedpotato @akebcshi @hikari3601