#genuinely hate shovelling so much

[coffentyme]

Did it take me three days to shovel my drive way? Yes. Am I proud of that? Yes. I could have just not, but I did anyway

[amywritesthings]

hiii! for the hallosleepover, can I get jean x reader + enemies to lovers who unintentionally wear a couple’s costume to a Halloween party? 🥺

hallo-sleepover '24!

hello, anon! thank you for sending this in. i've never written jean as a main character before, so let's see how this goes, yeah?

saving horses, matching costumes.

pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader word count: 1.1k+ warnings: halloween party mishaps, miscommunication, enemies to kinda lovers, fluffy, banter, jean is a cowboy bc of the s4 mullet i dont make the rules credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

read on ao3.

“Oh, you have to be joking.”

The complaint comes out of your mouth faster than you can stop it.

As much as you hate that your eyes lock onto Jean Kirstein every time he walks into a room (a sixth sense, if you will, after putting up with him throughout college and beyond) you’re glad it’s you who spotted him first.

You’d never hear the end of it if it’d been Sasha, who’s busy shoveling yet another candy apple in her mouth like she’s discovered the wonders of life — while dressed in a cozy yet outrageous inflatable cow costume.

Be friends! she says. 

(As fucking if.)

He likes you, but he thinks you hate him! she claims.

(False. He hated you first, so you hated him second.)

This year’s costume had been a panicked choice when Sasha reminded you of Mikasa’s costume party a mere twelve hours ago.

Scrambling through your closet before work, the outfit basically built itself: a pink hat, some old cowboy boots, jeans and a denim vest and ta-da—

A cowgirl!

To be fair, you thought Sasha changed her outfit to a silly cow to match you when you texted her the outfit a few hours before the party.

The foreboding dots, however, are connecting in real time:

Jean walks into the house with a bandana tied around his neck, a deep brown hat, a half-buttoned white shirt, and fringed chaps. 

He holds the door open, waiting for someone else.

Behind him waddles in Connie, dressed identically to Sasha as an inflatable cow. He sandwiches the puffy middle through the door before jumping out like a bursting star to greet the people mingling at the front of the house.

This?

This was an ambush.

“Whassajo?” Sasha slurs, cheeks puffed with food. She turns on a heel towards you, not in the least aware of her bulky surroundings.

But before you can answer, she recognizes the two walking through the front door, lights up and flings a hand to the sky. 

“Connie!”

Sharing the same brain cell, the man in question pauses, posing in his cow costume, before pointing at his wonder twin. He lets out a battle cry and rushes over the best an inflatable costumed-person can.

Of course that gets Jean’s attention, his eyes searching the crowd until they land on you, and the drop of his smile confronts the uncomfortable truth:

You’re the only cowgirl at the party, and as far as you can see, he’s the only cowboy.

God.

Damn.

It.

“Yoooo, you matched us!” Connie yelps, slinging a puffy arm around Sasha.

“For the record I didn’t try to, but I also didn’t know you both had matching cow costumes,” you state, trying to make it abundantly clear that this? Not your idea.

“Oh, these ol’ things were a last minute thing,” Sasha states once she’s swallowed her food, grinning ear to ear. “And they were on sale at Spirit, so—”

Jean cautiously makes his way over to your little corner of the party with his hands shoved into his jean pockets.

Either the lighting is making his face red as a tomato or he’s genuinely as embarrassed to be wearing a matching costume with you.

He mumbles a greeting, keeping his chin down.

The Monster Mash plays for the fourth time from the speakers — no doubt a takeover from Yeager, wherever he’s hiding at this party.

Connie pipes up after a minute, letting go of his partner in crime. “Where’d you get one of those, anyway? I want apples.”

“Kitchen,” Sasha states, looping her inflatable arm around his. “C’mon, to the promise land we go.”

Like clockwork, they leave.

They fucking leave you — and Jean, for that matter, because he still stands across from you with his head down and hands in his pockets. His mullet is neatly combed under the hat, stubble grown out for the occasion.

(He looks good, but you don’t have to admit it.)

“...so.” Jean speaks, though it’s barely audible. “This is a thing.”

“Yep.”

“Designed for us to get along?”

“Probably.”

“Sasha told me to go as a cowboy.”

“Probably after I told her I was going as a cowgirl.”

“At least we’re not wearing the same colored hat and stuff, right?” he tries to joke, shuffling his boot to poke at one of the plastic pumpkins lining the room. “Because that would’ve been really damn freaky.”

After acknowledging his statement with a grunt, silence meets you.

For a moment, you wonder if maybe that’s the end of the conversation.

This presumed couple’s costume will be a mere coincidence and no one will think otherwise and the night will go on its merry drunken little—

“Sorry.”

The word surprises you to the point of looking his way, but before you can, he’s already sliding closer to talk directly to you.

“Okay. Hear me out, alright?”

Your brows slide up your forehead. “Hear you… out?”

“It…”

Trailing off, Jean scrunches his nose and takes the hat off his head to smooth back his hair.

“Ah, fuck, just let me get this out one time and one time only and if it’s a shitty idea? We’ll pretend it never happened.”

“Uh—”

“What if tonight’s a truce?” he interrupts, gesturing between your denim-and-pleather-clad bodies. “Whatever beef we have with each other could be fixed or something.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Jean keeps going.

“Because I don’t hate you. Connie says you think I hate you, or something, and I don’t really know why you would ever think I—”

“I thought it because you hated me… first,” you try to remind him, tilting your head in confusion. “You literally declared it freshman year in front of—”

“I didn’t actually hate you!” he whisper-shouts over the mouth, conveying his emotion without the outburst. “I didn’t. Seriously. I said some stupid shit to get Yeager off my damn back about you and I regretted it as soon as I said it—”

“What?”

“I just want a chance, okay?”

Finally, with his hands flexed before you, Jean seems to get to the point of his ramble.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second, he exhales and softens in defeat.

“One chance — to show you I’m not some sort of douchebag because I got tongue-tied years ago. I’m not that moron anymore. Just… let me get you a drink or water or something, and I’ll fix it. And if I still suck to you, then at least I’ll have said my peace.”

For what feels like ages, you simply stare at him.

He stares back as the party lights twinkle like a halo over his cowboy hat, eyes rounded and pleading.

As much as you hate to say it, you’re intrigued.

Jean’s right: it’s been years.

Why hold an arbitrary grudge if it was genuinely an accident?

“...fine,” you relent. “But just one.”

Relief floods his expression, and he sheepishly tips his hat to you. “Yes, ma’am, just one.”

[cheralith]

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader (part ii) 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, implied fem bodied!reader, use of she/her pronouns, reader wears dresses and makeup, mild violence mention

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, angst, angst with some comfort, some fluff if you squint

word count ; 4.3k

notes ; at long last, here's the much waited part two! truly didn't expect the first part to blow up like it did, but i'm ever so grateful for all the support and the patience for those still here!

parts ; one two three (tba)

“Lyla, show me the nearest florist from here.”

“The nearest flower shop? That’s gonna be Business is Blooming on 27th Street—”

“27th Street?!” Miguel exclaims, his shock at the distance startling him and making his hands accidentally tighten the belt he was fixing much too tightly. He lets out a strangled choking sound and quickly loosens it before his legs lose oxygen, a feat that he’d hate to do just minutes prior to an event that could possibly change his life for the better. “That’s at least fifteen minutes away and on the opposite side of Clark! I’m already late, aren’t there any other ones closer?”

Lyla’s smaller holographic form pieces together on top of his full-body mirror that displays him in a formal-casual attire consisting of a cream turtleneck, black dress pants buckled with a coffee brown belt and topped altogether with a sepia overcoat that hadn’t seen the light of day since he bought it all those years ago. She puckers her grinning lips, a little amused at the rarity of Miguel in such an outfit and thinking he looks like a cup of coffee.

“Well, there’s always that crowded grocery store on Main?” she suggests as she examines her fingernails, instantly changing the pattern of them with a snap of her fingers. “But that’s gonna cost ya another twenty minutes and you’re already what—? Ten minutes late?”

Miguel fights off a groan at her teasing. “Lyla, I’m serious. Are there genuinely not any other ones around here? Any local ones? C’mon, this is Nueva York, there has to be at least one.”

“You could always try the marketplace. But then again, it’s Sunday so might not really be wise to take your chances,” Lyla shrugs.

Miguel even wonders if men these days still even have the dignity to give their partners flowers after realizing there is a significant lack of florists in today’s day and age. He wouldn’t be like them; flowers are a timeless gift everyone enjoys and he thinks if he can’t get it for you, he might as well not call himself a man at all. 

His eyes go to spot the window in the reflection of the mirror where the sun is beginning to finally set and the city’s nightlife is rising from the dead. Buildings of all heights buster from every corner and the open road that eradicates much of the land dissolves a weary pit in his stomach, obviously annoyed at the many obstacles that block his path. Miguel takes another glance at the clock, the minute hand inching closer and closer and closer to 6:00. The initial plans were to leave the apartment by 5:30, acquire some gifts for you and then travel to the restaurant by 6:00, but seeing as how he’s still trapped in his abode, Miguel thinks that he can only do so much.

But he realizes that’s for Miguel O’Hara, renowned Alchemax geneticist and full-time father. Miguel O’Hara, an everyday citizen, couldn’t possibly crunch so much in such little time.

For Spider-Man, however…

Lyla eyes him suspiciously and purses her lips when Miguel looks at his wrists and then at the window again. “I don’t think that’s wise, Miguel.”

“What’s wise?” he replies coyly, going to quickly shovel off his clothes to replace them with a familiar blue and red attire.

“I know whatcha gonna do,” Lyla says and glitches around him as he searches for his suit. “But it’s not gonna end well, I’m tellin’ ya right now, mister!”

Miguel shakes her caution off, too occupied with shuffling on his superhero suit onto his body before neatly tucking his other outfit into his hammerspaced pocket. “It’ll be quick, I swear. I just need to get her some flowers and then I’ll be on my way. Lock up the house for me, yeah?”

“You’re not gonna make it,” Lyla shakes her head. “Just ditch the flowers and get her something on the way instead.”

But the last of Lyla’s words don’t make it to Miguel’s ears, as he’s already slinging and gliding himself out of the window and toward the given address of the florist. Lyla can only watch in artificial disdain as Miguel’s figure grows smaller and smaller through the passing seconds. She sighs, rolling her eyes as she flickers off the apartment lights before disintegrating.

The roar of the city life grows louder and louder the more Miguel comes closer to the center of it where the flower shop lays. People gather in clusters bustling about all over, making him a little weary of himself as he stares at them from above a high tower. He’s not exactly an ordinary passerby that can easily maneuver their way through so easily—especially not with this getup. Spider-Man is also a name that rather became widespread across the city of Nueva York, meaning that even if one person were to see the flash of blue and red, he’s up for trouble. 

The evildoers tonight seem to be at cease, thankfully. He hasn’t heard of any malicious plotting or future events that will take place today by any of the supervillains that hunt him down like deer recently. Then again, there’s always smaller crimes still waiting to be stopped, but he’s sure the cops will come around for those. Miguel convinces himself it’ll just be a one time thing.

Yet when the familiar song of police sirens blare through the city, he twitches at the thought of leaving such miscreants in the hands of police when he’s sure he can take them down like an army of ten men.

But the police have ten men on them, so truly he can just leave it alone, right? He’s essentially in front of the flower shop that’s seated below an apartment building. All he has to do is just jump down, get the flowers, and leave in the nick of time. He doesn’t have time to dilly dally with low-rated criminals. 

Then again, when he spots the gang of robbers in two white vans speeding down the road at a blistering speed without any caution for pedestrians, Miguel grits his teeth. On their tail is a rally of five police cars that keep gaining and losing them by the second and Miguel isn’t sure whether the irritation was from his indecisiveness or the fact that if he didn’t do anything, there will be consequences.

Perhaps do both to ease his mind? No, he can’t do that. You’re most likely on your way to the restaurant, all dolled up and fresh-faced. He still would need the time to fix himself up in some dingy public bathroom. A cop car that’s been hiding in the corner joins the chase—that’s surely more than enough to take care of them?

Miguel’s eyes go back and forth... back and forth between the two sights. Anxiety is doing little to help his situation and a mist of sweat begins to form on his skin the more the seconds tick by, making the innermost part of his suit much more uncomfortable and moist. A clock hangs by an awning nearby that displays the haunting time of 6:03 PM, just twenty-seven minutes shy of the designated 6:30 meeting time.

He glances one more time at the chase, swallowing a thick lump in his throat when he sees the vans hurdle full speed toward an open street of walking pedestrians, all ignorant of the fact to what beholds them in just mere seconds.

Miguel curses under his breath.

It’ll only be this for today, no more after that.

Fatigued eyes go to watch as the last people leave the restaurant, leaving you isolated in your little corner both embarrassed and hungry due to the heavy lack of food served on your platter for tonight. The other waiters begin to scrub the tables and booths free of crumbs and topple the chairs onto them, indicating that tonight has drawn to its close. You think you’ve memorized the entirety of the menu at this point, considering it’s really all you’ve been averting your eyes towards to avoid the looks of others.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see the waiters and waitresses pitifully gossiping about you and a heat flashes onto your face by how incredibly desolate you’ve looked in the past three hours. Internally, you thank them for their patience and how they’ve tolerated your excuses for your date’s tardiness-turned-absence, knowing that it must be a pain to look after someone that hadn’t even ordered anything besides water for the time she had been here.

You don’t even wait for your waitress to come to your table for the nth time tonight, going by your own initiative to pack up your things. Your phone is still devoid of any notifications from Miguel, as well, even after the four calls, occasional text checkups, and last minute voicemailed question of a needed rescheduling if he so desired. 

What remains is just a grayed out Read, 7:47 PM underneath all the text bubbles.

“I… sincerely apologize if I loitered at all,” you murmur with your head half-down to the young host who shuffles the menus back into the lectern. “This was truly the last thing that I had expected from him…”

You instantly take back that statement the moment it leaves your lips. If anything, you should’ve known that this would’ve happened. Foolish you were—you’ve been with Miguel for the past three years, this was everyday behavior for him. You suppose this is how Gabriella must feel constantly and another heartache pits itself within you at the shared feeling.

The host shakes his head sympathetically. “You wouldn’t be our first case, I’m sure you didn’t have any ill intent. If anything, I’m the one sorry that he made you wait that long,” he replies with evident pity. “Whoever he is, he must be a dick for leaving such a pretty thing like you alone all night, ma’am.”

“Oh, he’s—” you fall short on your words, not even having the energy to sorely defend Miguel’s name. “Never mind…” you mutter.

“Do you need a cab?” asks the host, “Well actually, I’m about to clock out for tonight. I can drive you home, if you want. It’s the least I can do for you after tonight.”

You’re about to reply to him to turn down the offer, as you suspect he’s the type of guy to use women in these situations to his advantage, but the doors suddenly burst open to reveal the one and only in a hazy state and what seems to… flowers clutched in his hands? The petals, however, are corrugated and some have even completely drooped down from their stem. The paper that is supposed to guard them is wrinkled and torn at the corners. Almost all of the bouquet is wilted, much like your own composure for tonight. 

Miguel isn’t much better. Hair and clothes a little damp, he’s frazzled and evidently guilty, as his face pales when he sees your contrasting appearance. You’re adorned in an a-lined, half-sleeved royal blue dress that made you look so regal in comparison to your daily white blouse-black pants outfit that he's seen too much of. Not to mention additional details of your styled hair and accessories just brought out the best of your beauty that was wasted on essentially nothing this evening. 

“Mr. O’Hara…” you breathe when he passes through the door. The first thing that you notice automatically when his face properly comes into view is a sharply jagged, yet thin cut on the side of his cheek. “Did someth—”

“(Y/N), I’m so… so sorry,” he chokes out. “Something c-came up at work and they asked me to help them out… I’m sorry, I know I should’ve said no, but they were kind of on my ass about it and I got so caught up with it, so I wasn’t able to text you and—”

“She waited three hours,” the host drones and juts his thumb toward the dining area where all the chairs are laid atop the tables. Its lights flicker out, leaving only the foyer and smaller hallways lit so dismally in the night. “Until closing. She didn’t order anything in the meantime, so not only you left her alone tonight, you left her alone and hungry.”

“Hey listen, bud,” Miguel snaps at the host. He points a finger at him with irate in his eyes. “Not your business, so stay out of it.”

The host scoffs with a smirk on his face. “Not the first time I’ve heard that and certainly not the first time I’ve seen this happen. Guys like you always—”

You raise a hand to stop their bickering, afraid of what might happen if things escalate further as you really didn’t desire to do anything more than just sleep off your feelings. Both men stop and turn to look at you with concern on their faces.

“Do you still need that ride home?”

“Are you still hungry?”

A frustrated head shake finally silences the both of them. 

“I’m fine, thank you for the offer, though,” you say quietly to the host. You turn to Miguel, who swallows at the sight of your tired eyes. “May we talk outside? I’d hate to stay here any longer than I need to.”

Miguel attempts to excuse himself one more time, but when you begin to pace yourself toward the door without waiting for him, he realizes he can’t exactly make any more decisions of his own any more this evening. Not after choosing his heroic duties again and again for tonight instead of tending to you.

The moon and stars tonight have made their presence with the special guest of light rain coming in for a visit. The whisper of a drizzle ghosts itself on your goosebumps skin and the chill of a wind nips at your flesh. 

Miguel is quick to follow you. “I’m really sorry again, (Y/N),” he utters so softly that it makes your heart ache with familiarity. It’s the same tone of voice he’s used with Gabriella when at times, he wasn’t able to make it to her events or practices like he promised. “Are you still hungry by any chance? I know a good 24/7 diner that’s pretty close here.”

Without turning around, you politely shake your head and begin to search for any cabs coming your way. “I’ll be okay. I think I have some leftovers in the fridge that can suffice.”

The thought of you eating alone like he did on a night that you shouldn’t be sends shivers of guilt down Miguel’s spine. He curses himself at his past actions—deciding that it was stupid to catch those robbers who didn’t even put up much of a fight, to stop that gang brawl that was happening on the corner of 5th that was resolved the moment the elderly shopkeeper began to yell, to help that old lady that was certainly taking her sweet time to cross the street. They were such unbelievably mild crimes that he didn’t need to attend to, but did anyway even with the thought of you in mind.

Perhaps he should’ve had more faith in technology, because he’s sure Lyla was going to have much fun taunting him for the rest of the week. 

“You can keep the flowers, too,” you say softly when a cab begins to pull up. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I have a vase to store them in unfortunately.”

Miguel’s grip on the dismal bouquet tightens, not even trying to fight your refusal as you get into a cab. He stops the door from closing just as you’re about to, trying one last time to make up for his actions. 

“At least let me pay for your cab,” Miguel whispers.

You know he’s sorry. You can see in his eyes the familiar gleam of woe that he’s given to his daughter. Your eyes go to flicker at the cut again, but you know that if you ask, he’s sure to give one his many excuses because it isn’t the first time he’s shown up with an injury before. And you don’t want to put yourself through that wall of verbal familiarity. 

With sorrow gentleness, you pry his fingers off the edge of the car and shut it, putting a physical barrier between you and Miguel. The eyes of the driver goes to pitifully glance at your state before beginning to rev up the engine.

You don’t even have the courage to share a glance towards Miguel one last time before the cab begins to drive off—your wallow of disappointment is deep enough as it is.

The rest of the week is agonizingly slow; Miguel dares to say it’s torturous, even.

He’s thankful you’re still acknowledging his existence and talking with him, but your conversations lack the usual warmth and gentle playfulness they often had. It was already lonely enough dealing with the lack of a third person like him at home, but the feeling of isolation felt even more scarring this time because when he came home late after your babysitting session, you didn’t bother with small talk with him, the only thing that made him realize he didn't have to do everything by himself alone.

You didn’t ask how the late shift was, how were the bosses treating him, if he was getting enough rest… no, you only kept him updated on his daughter's schoolwork and any future events regarding her and her only. Your words never included him or you, only finishing off with a goodbye and have a nice night.

At least you were still kind enough to fix him the usual leftovers.

Work itself wasn’t much better. Conversations were brief and the lab in which you two worked privately was filled with silence that was only broken with the occasional demands and directions of lab work. Sometimes a forced cough would sneak its way through Miguel’s lips if the silence began to disturb him too much. He attempted to make some at the beginning, asking how your day was and whether your father was on your tail again, but he was met with short, sharp responses. 

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m not sure.”

Never have such words been so agonizing before. Ironic that they are because Miguel often hated it when people rambled and preferred it when conversations got to the point. He supposes, though, you get to the point too fast for his liking nowadays.

When he tried bringing up an explanation for Sunday’s events, you’d quickly shut it down as tenderly as possible, saying things along the lines of “It’s alright, your schedule is hectic. I can understand.” or “I just hope your work didn’t give you too much trouble.” You’re so polite about it that it hurts him. Miguel would much rather have you lash out and insult him than have you soften the landing that does barely anything to ease him because it feels like you’ve put on that mask you put in front of others—professional and orderly—and Miguel didn’t want to be seen as just a mere coworker, let alone your boss, to you.

His pride bites at his ankles. Lies coming out of his lips too regularly, he had to fib to Gabriella the morning after her sleepover when she asked about the date that you had fallen sick and weren’t able to make it. The disappointment on her face mimicked yours too eerily. She asked him if they were going to reschedule it. Miguel could only shrug his shoulders—he wasn’t even sure if you wanted anything to do with him after that event. 

At least nothing changed with you and his daughter. He’d still home to an apartment with you helping with homework or her helping with dinner or tucking her into bed. That’s all he could ask for right now.

Miguel still had the chance to redeem himself this week. There was the annual banquet held at a banquet hall to celebrate the yearly achievements Alchemax and those associated had accomplished, as well as discussing major plans for the future. It was a boring, yet formal event used for connections and idle chatter, something Miguel usually didn’t look forward to. Lyla suggested to him to convince you to go and that Gabriella would just have a one-time babysitter while you got to enjoy (or in your case, put up) with his company as he redeemed himself best as possible. You’re not one to talk with others you’ve never met, so he knew that you would most likely stick by his side for a sense of familiarity. 

It took a while, but you murmured you’d go under your breath to shake him off your tail. Miguel was elated, but it was quickly shut down halfheartedly by the reminder that you were still somewhat upset by Sunday’s incident, saying you’d take a cab to the banquet instead of driving with him like he offered.

No matter, as long as you were there by his side.

Miguel made sure that this time, he’d be out the door much earlier than the last, promising to never keep you waiting longer than a minute. A text on his phone pings that you’re near the back entrance, where the parking lot was so it’d be easier to find you. He swerves a little too harshly into the lot—either from nervousness or excitement or both—at the mention and had spotted you near the staircase adorned in a floor-length blushed, ivory pink halter gown with luminescent tulle, making you look like the human embodiment of an ocean pearl.

His eyes are so fixed on you that he didn’t realize he almost knocked himself straight into an oncoming BMW. The owner, a crabby old man he recognizes from human resources, swears and honks at him, making Miguel hide his face before hurriedly parking a little more safely. 

When he approaches you, he drinks you in your full glory. Everything about you is so fresh… so exhilarating. You’ve done your hair with a couple of clips this time, with more subtle jewelry this time. Your makeup looks tidy and perfect and Miguel enjoys the way it emphasizes your best features instead of morphing them. If only he was wiser on Sunday, he would’ve been able to savor a different version of you in blue. 

Nevertheless, you still manage to take his breath away with just a simple breath like you always have. It’s just that it was only recently had Miguel realized you had that ability and he’d be alright experiencing it again and again if it was with you.

“Mr. O’Hara?” you say and wave a soft wave in front of his face to break his trance. Somehow, you begin to grow self-conscious. Perhaps he didn’t like it? Maybe it was too revealing… the slit at the halter neckline did somewhat peek at your cleavage and you weren’t used to baring your shoulders out. “I-is everything okay?”

Miguel blinks a couple of times. His surroundings finally come into focus like your figure, making him realize how long he had been staring. “Apologies. I… never got to tell you this on Sunday, but I hope to do it now, (Y/N)... ” he clears his throat and straightens his posture, remembering to act everything out as practiced, before softly whispering with evident fondness that, “You look beautiful, tonight.”

A spark of surprise shocks your features for a brief moment, before your usual modesty is displayed again. Eye contact is broken, for you can’t fathom the thought of someone like Miguel O’Hara, favored in every possible way, would be complimenting you so casually. “Oh um. Thank you,” you choke out halfheartedly. 

Miguel leans over slightly over your figure and tucks a lock of stray hair behind your ear. If he wanted to truly make up for what happened, he was going to have to go all out tonight, even if that meant rocketing out of his comfort zone. He just barely catches you hitching a breath at the semi-intimate of physical contact as he tries his best to hide his own when he murmurs in your ear again. 

“I’m not saying it out of manners, I’m saying it factually,” he mumbles, eyeing the passersby that stare in wonder at you. Some ego swells inside of him at the jealous looks that are given to him. “You’ve bewitched me and many others already.”

You stray your gaze away at him with your hands fiddling at the skirt of your dress. “You didn’t have to, but thank you for the dress, by the way,” you murmur timidly. “I’ve never heard of a brand called Lyla, but I admit, this dress of theirs is rather nice.”

Miguel furrows his brows at the mention before Lyla briefly appears on your head, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before disappearing. It doesn’t take Miguel long to realize that Lyla had shipped something so pristine to you without his permission, though he supposes that she had done him and you a favor given how majestic you look tonight. 

He lets out a soft breath of a chuckle before shaking his head. Maybe he’ll give her some upgrades in return.

You turn your head behind you, not knowing what he was looking at. “Is something wrong? Is there something in my hair?”

“No, no. Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts…” Miguel interjects before offering his arm to you. “We should get going. I’d hate for a dress like this to go to waste for only my eyes.”

Internally, Miguel wanted to be selfish. He wanted to be greedy and have you all for himself, savor your every move tonight, have you and him be the only ones in this place. He didn’t want anyone to look towards your direction and have you look at anyone else besides him. A little venomous thought of people not realizing you had so much more potential than they realized embeds in himself, and that their awe for tonight was too artificial. He wanted more and to give you more, but then again, he’s still Spider-Man at the end of the day, the impossible man that somehow does it all and faces the consequences head on. He can only offer a regular day citizen like you so much.

But for now, he’ll make do with what he can. Not as Spider-Man this time, but as Miguel O’Hara.

a/n ; hi yeah don't panic, there'll be a part three lmfao i lied lolol. most likely it'll be the last part to this little series i've got going, too, since i think making it a fully fledged series would kind of lead some things astray for me. that doesn't mean the end of the miggy o'hare writings, however! still will most definitely attempt to write for him bc bro's GLORIOUS

thank you all for the patience for part ii, and i hope to see that part iii comes out asap! i'll give updates for it as always, but in the meantime, thank you for reading and likes/comments/reblogs are always noticed and infinitely appreciated ( ˘ ³˘) ♡ !

taglist ; @secretlyrexlapis @urbimom @p1nkliquor @julesclues @averagefloydlover @apurpletrashcan @toofsfairys @raeisthebae (for those with strikethroughs, i'm not able to tag you for some reason :(!)

[lost-romantique]

Which was the better I.M.P Mission this season?

You know, what's strange is the fact that I actually don't hate Unhappy Campers the same way most of the Fandom does.

What I enjoyed about that episode is the fact that, for the first time it portrayed Millie and Moxxie’s relationship, not as perfect and impenetrable as we're initially led to believe.

Moxxie gets stuck in his own head and Millie has to drag him out of his rut. Moxxie accuses Millie of having had the fame gone to her head, when it actuality, she was just genuinely happy to be appreciated in her efforts for once. And Millie is hurt, genuinely hurt, that her husband could not support her the same way she supported him and dealt with his bullshit.

The problem Unhappy Campers presents is that it heightens Moxxie’s desperation to prove himself to everyone around him, and turns it into a form of patheticism to be correct. The fact that Millie and Blitz both go out of their way to tell him that he wasted a whole week of his and everyone's time just so he could do things his way, and not consider Millie's opinion in the matter at all, means something.

Another problem is the fact that it relegated Blitzø’s emotional reunion with his sister, as a three minute side piece that they couldn't have to themselves because we needed a two minute talent show presentation of Millie versus more Blitz lore.

What I loved about Ghostfuckers is that it essentially takes the same premise of Unhappy Campers, Millie having to pull one of the boys out of their rut, but only instead of Moxxie, it's Blitz that Millie essentially has to save and get through.

And getting through to your husband who simply got too caught up into his ideals is a lot more easier to achieve, than getting through to your boss, who has spent the last fifteen years of his life suppressing every major traumatic event and emotion he has ever experienced inside his head.

The stakes are higher in Ghostfuckers, and if Millie was unable to get through to Blitz, if MIllie was unable to genuinely and sincerely help him with all her might...

Forget about I.M.P, what's going to happen to Blitz?

In every sense of the word, Apology Tour destroyed Blitz. Don't get me wrong, that episode was extremely important for Blitz to grow as a character. However, Apology Tour decided to grab a shovel and mercilessly beat its message into his skull, giving him no form of comfort and hope by the end of the episode.

Can you imagine what would have happened to Blitz if he didn't have Millie to help him? To save him? To comfort him?

What would have happened to Blitz if he was all alone, trapped in a spooky hotel, forced to relive every single traumatic moment of his life on repeat like a video player? Despite his resilience, the man would eventually break and be beyond saving.

But Millie saved him, and told him everything that Blitz needed to hear at that moment...

When the entire world is against you... I want you to know that you helped me, you saved me, you being unapologetically yourself is what inspired me to be more than what I initially thought I could be.

"He gave me so much... A career, a husband, a future. And now he's my best friend."

You gave me everything.

"Look, what I said earlier... you've just been so unbothered by everything. Almost bulletproof and, I guess I never realized how much I depended on that."

I always looked up to you as a pillar of support, an impenetrable wall that's almost unbeatable.

"I didn't know how to react to you being reduced to... Bethany."

Seeing someone I value do everything they can to negate their entire existence hurt me.

"But I should have respected you like you always do for me. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry it took me long to realize just how much you were hurting.

There's more to Ghostfuckers that make it a masterpiece, miles above Unhappy Campers, but I'll leave it at that for now.

[anxresi]

I Beg To Differ.

Okay, now just because I'm about to embark on an epic rant does NOT mean I think anything bad about you as a person, OP. It's just on this one teensie-weensie most minor of points, I happen to think you're 100% wrong. Just thought I'd clarify that, so no offense intended. Anyway, on with the show...

Nah, they did us SO dirty with Chloe. I hear your above argument a lot, and it WOULD be a fair point… if it wasn't for the fact that there are SO many clear signs this wasn't what was intended from the beginning that it makes your reasoning completely null and void. Chloe's 'arc' was the most blatant case of in-show character assassination I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing, and I'm about to explain why. Read on! (If you want to, that is.... no pressure).

They strung us along for at least three seasons with various hints about her 'traumatic past', her problems with her often absent mother (which Marinette didn't help by encouraging them to bond because 'they're both such awful people'), showed her genuinely apologizing to her victims, protecting Sabrina from akumatization and having times when she treated her as a real friend, sacrificing herself to save the day occasionally, hugging Miss Bustier in a moment of genuine emotion, telling Ladybug how 'useless' she felt in a teary rooftop encounter, saving lives both as a superhero and a civilian (check back if you don't believe me), giving Adrien a moving speech on his phone about how 'she'd always be there for him', sharing a really close bond with her father, telling her butler Jean it was time she started doing things for herself, loving Mr Cuddly, adoring Pollen… I could go on. Not the best person in the world, true.... but a promising start. Green shoots, and all that. Her name literally means that.

S4 simply forgot any of this happened, and literally pushed her burgeoning development off a cliff with Sisyphu's boulder tied to it's big toe. There was NO build-up, NO foreshadowing, NO precedent for Chloe suddenly becoming a one-dimensional total-sociopath irredeemable-monster AT ALL, they simply made her that way on a whim. They had her start acting like a complete psycho for the evilz, made her the most stupid person in the show BY FAR, severed ALL of her few close relationships, wrote AN ENTIRE FLASHBACK EPISODE in incrimate her newfound nastiness even more and 'punished' her by sending her off exiled on a plane in tears with her abusive mother to… what else? Get abused, of course. GREAT MESSAGE TO ALL THE VULNERABLE TEENAGE GIRLS OUT THERE. (I won't even get into how utterly useless and blandly boring her 'replacement' of a plot device Mary S... oops, I mean Zoe is).

And we're supposed to believe the former corrupt mayor Andre, the terrorist Gabriel Agreste and Thomas Astruc (you know him) are the GOOD guys here? Well, I'd like to tell you what I'd like to do to them… but for fear of censorship, I'd better withhold that particular information for now.

The upshot of it is… if Chloe had been bad from the beginning and terrible at the end, I'd have accepted it. Heck, if her so-called damnation arc was even halfway well written and gave us an accurate and compelling look at the moral descent a person who's capable of redemption could take to the light but ultimately chose to stay on the Dark Side, this would've been highly disappointing to me but fine from a storytelling perspective.

But they didn't give us anything like that, did they? It was just… 'pretend the last three seasons never happened, develop amnesia, hit yourself repeatedly on the head with a shovel… we don't care. Just accept this is the NEW Chloe without question despite past evidence, because you won't be getting any answers. Now let's go back to what we're REALLY here for… Marichat, Ladynoire, Adrinette and that other stupid ship name. SWOON!'

Thanks, but no thanks. Did I ever tell you how much I HATE this stupid show? Apologies if I didn't make that clear enough.

[blackenedsnow]

Haaaiii can I ask you to write headcanons about Postal Dudes dating chubby Reader??🥺👉👈

totally not a self projection I swear...

postal dudes with a chubby s/o; headcanons

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Postal (1) Dude x Reader, Postal (2) Dude x Reader, Postal (3) Dude x Reader, Postal (4) Dude x Reader, Postal (BD) Dude x Reader, Postal (Movie) Dude x Reader

NOTE: Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoyed these headcanons. My bsf wanted to help with this one as she is chubby as well! (she wrote most of these)

P1 DUDE

You won’t hear many compliments from him, but he’s definitely protective.

P1 is quiet, constantly sizing up the world with distrust, and you can bet he’s sizing up anyone who even looks at you sideways.

He doesn’t care about physical appearance; someone’s body type is the least of his concerns.

What matters is that you’re still here with him.

You catch him staring at you sometimes.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but there’s a strange softness in his eyes when he does.

If you’re ever insecure about your body, his reaction is blunt and to the point:

“You’re here. You’re alive. You're perfect. That’s all that matters.”

It’s not a sugar-coated answer, but it’s honest.

He doesn’t express affection with words, but in actions.

If someone says something about your size, they’re probably not going to make it through the day.

P2 DUDE

P2 is pretty laid-back about most things, including your body type.

He’s seen everything from people exploding to Gary Coleman running wild, so a chubby partner?

No big deal.

In fact, he kind of likes it.

He’s not the type to make a huge deal out of compliments, but he’ll throw in a casual,

“You’re looking good today,” or “Damn, you’re hot.”

He’s genuine guys

He’ll crack jokes about anything, including your size, but it’s always playful and never mean-spirited.

If anyone else tries it, though? Yeah, they’re getting a shovel to the face.

He’s also not opposed to being the one who makes sure you feel good about yourself.

If you’re ever feeling down, he’ll throw some crude humor into the mix to cheer you up:

“Don’t listen to anyone else. They’re all idiots anyway. You’re sexy as hell.”

P3 DUDE

P3 is kind of a mess

But even in all his dysfunction, he appreciates that you’re there with him, and your body type is just another thing he enjoys about you.

He’s more of a wreck than the other versions, so he tends to be clingier.

Loves when you hold him, your softness making him feel like things are going to be okay.

He’s a lot more verbal about liking your body, but it’s mixed in with his awkward, over-the-top compliments:

“You’re perfect! And I don’t care what those assholes say! They can… choke on it!”

If anyone insults you, his reaction is unpredictable.

He might try to defend you and end up hurting himself in the process, or he might have a sudden outburst of violence, completely losing it.

Either way, he hates anyone making you feel bad.

P4 DUDE

P4 is laid-back and full of even stupider humor.

He doesn’t really care what you look like as long as you’re with him.

He’ll definitely make jokes about your size, but it’s all in good fun.

He’s not super vocal about his emotions, but when you’re alone, he’ll say something like,

“You know I wouldn’t trade you for anyone else, right?”

He just wants you to know he loves you.

No matter what.

He doesn’t mind that you’re chubby—in fact, he likes it.

He’s been through too much to care about societal standards.

If you ever feel insecure, he’ll just shrug.

“Eh, screw ‘em. You’re awesome the way you are. Now, let’s blow something up.”

BD DUDE

Chaotic energy through and through, but surprisingly sweet in his own insane way.

He’s all over the place, but your body type is something he finds absolutely fantastic.

“More to love!”

He’d say, grinning like a maniac.

Super protective of you, especially if someone makes a comment about your size.

He’ll go from laughing and cracking jokes to a full-on rampage if anyone makes you feel bad.

Loves cuddling up with you after a long day of bullshit.

It’s the only time he’ll calm down, nestling into you and just enjoying the warmth and comfort.

He’s definitely the type to enjoy your softness after all the stupid bullshit he goes through everyday.

MOVIE DUDE

Movie Dude is a bit of a regular guy caught up in ridiculous, over-the-top situations.

He’s not violent for the sake of it, more like an average guy who’s just trying to get through the day in a world that’s gone crazy.

Why would he care about you being chubby?

He’s definitely laid-back when it comes to your body type.

To him, it’s not a big deal at all—he’s more concerned about surviving tomorrow.

You’ll catch him giving you silly compliments like,

“Hey, you’re my favorite person to have around when the world’s on fire. Plus, you’re cute.”

It’s playful, never mean-spirited, and always said with a grin.

He’s big on humor as a way to deal with life’s madness, so he’ll throw in light-hearted jokes about your size, but they’re always sweet.

“You know, if we ever have to run from the apocalypse, I’m hitching a ride on your back.”

If anyone makes a snide comment about your weight, Movie Dude’s reaction is more like an eye-roll and sarcastic retort.

“Oh, cool, another jerk with a mouth. Got anything new, or are you stuck in 7th grade?”

[thecapricunt1616]

Chapter One The Bear & His Honey

Summary: Carmy + Winnie meet, He obviously tries to weasel his way into her heart by cooking for her.

A/N: Eeeep! I am sooo excited to be writing again, i've written fic's since like 2010 & stopped for quite a while, But Carmen has awoken the beast in me once more LOL !!! It's not without much thanks and love to @daysofyellowroses - Her encouragement & excitement for my ideas has inspired me in the most beautiful way. Give her a follow please! Her fic's genuinely are sososooooooo good that they made me want to start writing myself again, The theme and overall organization of her works is immaculate, I admire her works so much! I highly encourage any Carmy lover to take a look!! She is also such a doll!! And so so sooo sweet!!!

Anyhow, I love longer fics - this chapter is nearing 6k words & it initially started as a one shot, so reader be warned I am very wordy!

Warnings; Cursing, ehh I think thats it? Oh! Smoking Cigarettes & The green stuff, but thats all! *We will be getting VERY spicy, angsty, and sickeningly fluffy in this story - if that isn't your cup, ask me anything if you like my style! I am only writing for Carm at this second, but I will be writing ACOTAR & likely other things as I wet my pallate - it's been years for me, but if you have an idea that you want to throw my way, or just wanna talk (even if you just need someone!) I'm here for you peeps! Without further ado- let the show begin.

(Comments + Reblogs + Kind critiques are not only appreciated, but heavily encouraged!)

𝒞𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒪𝓊𝓉 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉!

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

One

I took a deep breath, the dry, late winter air sticking my nostrils together momentarily- fuck. I hate this god-damned weather. I shuffle across the street, my boots mushing through the late-winter Chicago slush. I slosh into the alley, my boots squelching with every step. I trudge across the street, nearly gagging at every soggy step, feeling my socks ever so slowly become wet. 

I sludge my way finally to the (god-blessed, shoveled) alley across the way, that connected The Next Page to the street in front of it, and hear a muttered “fuck” & my eyes lift from the locked spot on my salty, wet boots. They meet the side-profile of an undeniably handsome curly dirty blonde male, my eyes rolling, as he pats his pockets down. I assume he forgot his light. 

As I approached him, I piped up. “Missin’ somethin’?” I flick my pink lighter to life with my thumb, My eyes meeting his large blue ones. He leans forward, gently lighting his cigarette between my thumb and the flame. “Thanks” he muttered, sucking on the cigarette between his lips, his eyes locked on me. 

“Y’ smoke?” he questioned. I shook my head gently, “Not cigarettes, but I’m bout’ to eat, s’why not?” I slipped the small tin from my pocket, pulling a shorty from the box. I put it between my lips, leaning in close, touching the joint tip to the burning end of his cigarette gently, and took a slow drag once it was fully lit.

“Work here?” I motion at the building next to us with my chin, smoke spilling from my lips as I speak. His white t-shirt made me guess he could be a line cook or a bus boy at the restaurant that had been crowding the block the past few months. He nodded, a large puff of smoke leaving his lips, the edges of his lips upturning a bit into a smile. 

“Mhmm, own it.” he said casually, taking another drag, my eyebrows raising. “Hmm,” I hummed, smoke puffing from my nose obviously in the winter air. “Wow, from the shirt- thought you’re a busboy, quite the humble owner mm’?” I teased, a smile dancing on my lips as I pulled another puff of my joint. “Yea- guess so” he teased, shrugging lightly. 

“My boss comes by once in a blue moon, so either you’re a grade-A asshole, or have crippling OCD and you think your business is gonna fail.” I teased, blowing smoke past his left as I leaned against the brick wall. He chuckled, “Alright, well- Sugar says I’m OCD whatever the fuck that means, so you got me” he shrugged. I laughed. “I can so see it, what’s your name?” I asked. 

His eyes flutter to my lips, before meeting my eyes again. “Carmen.” He replied, putting his cigarette back to his lips and taking a deep drag. “Winnie..” I replied nibbling the inside of my lip gently. Carmen. Carmen. Carmen. The word echoed in my mind like an invocation. “Winnie” he repeated, smoke spilling from his lips in tendrils.

“Full name?” He questioned. A heat rose to my cheeks and I rolled my eyes, gaze flicking to my sneakers as I took another drag of my joint. “Winnow. Shut up, if you laugh, I’ll cut off your dick. My parents were never married, not sure what they were thinking.” I mutter, the tips of my ears heating in embarrassment. “Mmm” he hummed.

I look back up at him, “No slick comments?” I asked, genuinely surprised. He shrugged. “Winnow is pretty, people make fun of that?” He questioned, dropping the mostly burnt cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his chef's clog. My cheeks felt like they were on fire. “A dude named Carmen, not used t’ people pokin’ at your name?” my glance meets his.

His arms were now crossed over his chest, his delicious biceps becoming more prominent. “Go by Carm, mostly” he shrugged. Carm. “Hmm.” I hummed. “Carm. Suits you.” I said, my eyes grazing over the tattoos adorning his arms. “Yeah?” his tongue grazed his lips, a smirk pulling at the corners. 

“Mhhmm” I reach out, my finger brushing over the ‘773’ on his arm. “From ‘round here huh?” I questioned, my eyes meeting his blue ones once more. “Ye’, east side” he said, to which I nodded. “Sorry, don’t know too much, from New York.” I said, my arms crossing over my own chest. 

“Yeah? Where about? Did culinary school out there.” he replied. “Rochester” I nod, my accent coming out slightly. “Ah, alright. Like yourself a garbage plate?” he teased. I laughed, a real laugh, something few and far between these days. “Wow, so you really went to school out there eh’? I do actually, know how that came to?” I asked my fingers finding a loose string on my jacket to fiddle with.

“Not at all, thought it was a myth- you really eat that shit out there?” he joked. I giggled. “Don’t make me hit you, Yes! We do, so story goes, frat guys stumble all drunk in to Nick Tahoes, and they tell the line cook to give ‘em the plate with ‘all the garbage’ on it. And so, since it was closing time, they took all the carby leftovers they were gonna throw out, and threw em on a plate- the guys loved it” he grimaced playfully “eugh! Guys never heard of a burger?” 

 I laughed again “there is a burger, Carm! mmm,” I hum my eyes closing and head falling back at the memory of such a comfort meal. “oh my god, mac salad, cold! Has to be cold, Carm, then you do baked beans,” I paused at his brows furrowing “Don’t look at me like that, asshole” I shove his shoulder playfully, earning a chuckle. 

“No- nope keep on explaining your… catastrophe” he teased, I gasped, feigning a shot to the heart. “Wow, Carmy, you know how to flatter a girl huh? Insulting the indigenous dish of her homeland?!” I joked, causing him to really laugh. A beautiful sound I wanted to hear more often. “Ok, ok, so then you add the homefries, then - the house chilli, ohhh my god!” I groaned my head falling back “Soo, so good, then, you add on a burger patty, or a hotdog, or both if you feel frisky” he laughed again, his eyes crinkling adorably.

“How often do you feel frisky mm? Or are you a more tame girl?” he teased. I smacked the side of his jaw gently with a large bashful smile adorning my lips, “Carmen! You do not ask a lady how often she gets frisky!” I giggled, poking his muscular chest gently. “Ok, ok, keep going- or is that the end of the abomination?” he questioned and I dug my knuckle into his chest playfully.

“Nope!! Then you add chopped onions, ketchup, and mustard!!” I grinned and he grimaced jokingly. “Holy Jesus, your breath could knock out an army after that I’d bet” he teased earning another true laugh from me. “I swear, you own his place? If you thought you were busy before- add a garbage plate to the menu, and you’ll be rich, Carmen” I adjusted the Saint Anthony chain around his neck gently, so the pendant was facing front. 

His cheeks got a bit flushed. “Well, i’m makin’ a new dessert menu, if you wanted to come in and check it out, How bout’ I make you a garbage plate, well, the Carmen-Garbage plate, we don’t do chilli here, but I think you’ll like what I pull together” he offered. 

I took another drag of my joint, contemplating. “Alright. Shops been slow today so, Mel won’t notice if I sneak an extra few minutes in” i put out the nub on the wall, before dropping it and crushing it under the toe of my boot. 

“C’mon” he nods, pulling open the large metal door that leads into the kitchen.

Read Chapter 2 Here!

[conkreetmonkey]

It's gotten to the point where I actually just can't think of the job market even a little or I become enraged. I want to work so fucking bad, but there's just no work to be had, and my parents live on another fucking planet where full time day jobs grow on trees and I'm just lazy for not walking into the Job Repository and picking up my Free Job. I love them but when they talk like this I want to insult them right back. They act like they're "barely scraping by" when they're NOT and it makes me mad. Genuinely like I just can't even think of the concept of employment anymore without wanting to lunge at and kill something. I'd do fucking anything, I keep applying to factories and retail and food service, I'd shovel horse shit for 12 hours a day if given the oppourtunity, but there are just NO. FUCKING. JOBS. I hate living in a society with absolutely no place for me so goddamn much. But I can't leave, because you need money to leave, and a job to get money. And EVERYBODY my age feels this way. Why were we even born if we were just to be discarded and told to fuck off and die once we stopped being cute little kids like fucking teacup piglets. Is that all I ever was? A pet? No thought ever given to what there was for me after I turned 18? This economic system, as it is, has no room for me. Like, I'm intending to stay alive just out of spite because fuck you world for expecting me to willingly lie down and take this, but... god. It's so fucking bleak and depressing. At least we're all united in this, so when the oldies finally croak we can build something better and not repeat their mistakes. It just sucks in the meantime. Like, could the economy stop edging itself and just collapse already? How much fucking longer can a house stand unsold at a ludicrous but rock-solid asking price and a company's framework strain and creak under an ever-fattening CEO paycheque before we finally get some cathartic release? I want to start my adult life. We all do. And we're waiting, because that's all we can really do. Wait for the bad times to run their course, and support each other in the meantime.

[aithusarosekiller]

An Extensive List Of Ouizzy Hcs

Frenchie is a cuddler. If he gets the opportunity to latch on like a koala you know damn well that he will do it. This is often paired with soft kisses to wherever is closest to his face. He and Izzy were initially very casual with very little intimacy, until one day Frenchie just decided to cuddle up and Izzy had the realisation of 'oh shit, this is actually really nice'

Izzy's response to the first 'I love you' was a very panicked 'fuck off' until he remembered how similarly Ed had responded to his confession and freaked the fuck out because he didn't want Frenchie to feel that way. He was too emotionally constipated to apologise so he just left the room. It took two days for him to approach Frenchie and manage an apology, which was accepted a lot quicker than he anticipated.

Frenchie is so proud that he managed to pull the Izzy Hands and will not fail to mention it to EVERYBODY he comes across. He is very much the 'Well, yesterday, my husband said...' 'According to Iz- that's my boyfriend btw-' 'hey, this is Izzy, he's my beautiful boyfriend' 'I'm so lucky to have a husband like Iz' 'I have a partner too, his name is Izzy and-' 'sorry, I've got a date with my darling Izzy today' type of partner

Frenchie smiles in his sleep. It's adorable.

Jim is their no.1 supporter. They gave Frenchie the shovel talk, which he genuinely did not see coming. They think their relationship is 'cute', which made Izzy particularly grumpy and reluctant to talk to them for a week.

Izzy is a sub

Izzy always falls asleep first but he's a super light sleeper so Frenchie is careful to not move or even breathe too loud because he is terrified of waking him

Stede knew they were dating before Izzy did

Izzy will usually shut down Frenchie's superstitious theories but will occasionally indulge him if he's particularly adamant and it won't cause any harm bc at least it makes Frenchie happy to be believed.

The room they choose to hide Izzy in when he gets shot is the room the two of them had been secretly meeting up in for several weeks before the canon s2 timeline picks up. Frenchie just panicked and took him right there, having to come up with an excuse to give to Archie when she asked why he wanted to drag Izzy behind a dusty shelf.

Frenchie gives neck hugs, Izzy goes for the arms around the waist + face in shoulder hug. Occasionally Izzy will come up and hug him from behind but he finds it more intimate for some inexplicable reason so he rarely does it, especially in the company of others.

They can't go anywhere without walking into some big, scary guy Izzy once hooked up with. But Frenchie quickly grew to not mind because out of all of them, Iz still chose to stick the superstitious barely-pirate with no survival skills whatsoever so are any of them really that cool after all?

Lucius takes every opportunity to tease Izzy about their relationship. He will not stop until he gets a satisfying reaction. Or until he gets bored enough to make up an excuse for leaving...

Frenchie is a biter. No further information.

They don't usually do anniversaries but they DO frequently pretend that it's their anniversary when they want to get out of doing something for somebody else

In S1E4, Frenchie is the one that left the prosthetic at Izzy's door. He's also the one that told Lucius what to put on the note.

Izzy sometimes sings when he's really focused on something but he'll deny it to the end of time. Frenchie hears sometimes and just quietly listens. He'll switch between languages when he sings depending on his mood and Frenchie loses all human cognitive abilities when he brings out the French.

One day, Frenchie 'adopts' a rat he found onboard and calls it Maddy, Izzy hates it but still manages to convince Roach not to skin it and feed it to a seagull, all bc it made Frenchie happy. Ofc if you asked him, he'd say he had nothing to do with the thing being kept.

Frenchie manages to somehow slip the word 'babe' into every conversation

Izzy's a hand kisser. Especially the palms.

They both go to Wee John when they're stressing about gifts or smth and it gets to a point where he knows more about their relationship than they do

Izzy accidentally let the words 'my love' slip ONCE and is not allowed to forget it

There is nothing Frenchie wouldn't do to hear that man laugh. He'll do absolutely anything just to see him smile or laugh, which initially proves to be quite difficult.

They are girl dads idec

Izzy occasionally smokes, and it's one of the key ways Frenchie can tell if he is in pain or stressed out

They make bets about everyone else on the ship constantly. About almost anything.

Izzy tried to teach Frenchie how to read but his reading skills are relatively limited so it really didn't go well. They end up going to Ed for help because Izzy banned him from asking Lucius.

Frenchie knows a lot about flowers. He never says how but he'll go on about them for ages. Izzy secretly gives it endearing.

The black jacket Frenchie wears in s2 was given to him by Izzy. He made some adjustments and added the cat to the back and then started to wear it constantly; he quite liked wearing it because it felt like a comforting layer of protection and familiarity from the horrors around them

[nomoreusername]

Not What I Wanted (Part 1)

Pairing:Newt x female reader

Summary:After Newt's attempt, his anger leaves him snappy and hurting people, even you.

I’ll admit it. I’ve been in a mood since I had to become a Track-hoe. I mean come on. You try to jump off a wall one time, and suddenly you're not allowed near them?

I was pissed. Absolutely pissed. Alby shouldn't even have been in the bugging Maze. I mean yes, it was because he had a feeling I was going to pull something, and he was right, but that's not the point.

Y/N was the one teaching me all the stuff that I needed to know. If I’m being totally honest, I was only half listening to her. I was just so done with everything that whenever anyone spoke to me their words went in one ear and out the other. It didn't help that nobody knew exactly why I got a limp that forced me to do this job. I mean sure. She seems to be doing her best to make me feel better about it, but I’m barely happy when I wake up in the morning, much less with being demoted. This was just so humiliating.

“Newt? Hello?”She repeated, waving her hand in front of my face.

“What?”

“I was asking if you knew what to do,”She shrugged, wearing a small, genuine smile. I hate that. I hate that she's so happy. I hate that she's so normal. I hate that she’ll never know that she's with someone who isn't. How can she just sit there practically glowing while being with someone who's so upset and also so good at hiding it? I mean-

“Are you okay?”She asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,”I said simply.

“Are you sure? You’ve just been off,”She repeated.

“I wonder why,”I grumbled.

“I know that this isn't exactly what you wanted to do here, but I’m sure you’ll grow to like it. It's not so bad when you get used to the heat. It's actually kind of-”

“Just stop talking!”I snapped, throwing my small shovel in the dirt. Hearing her let out a weak sound, I looked up to see tears in her eyes. Without a word she reached into the ground and pulled the shovel out, showing blood on the back of her hand.

“Love, I am so, so, so sorry. I promise I didn't mean to,”I swore.

“Yeah. I know,”She said in a shaky voice. “I’m going to go get this checked out,”She added.

“I’ll come with,”I said quickly.

“It's fine. Just go to Zart, and he’ll explain more. I’ll see you later,”She smiled, wiping some of the blood on her pants as she walked away.

I take it away.

I’m the worst. I’m the absolute worst boyfriend ever. I don't make her happy. Instead, I make her bleed. I make her cry. I don't make her smile.

[oh-stars]

Eternity

Love is being willing to wait for them.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 2085 words | CW: anxiety, sort of unrequited love | Rating: T

--

“Can we talk?” Eddie whispers, a hand on Steve’s elbow, “Just us?” 

Steve nods, a tight smile on his face that he hopes doesn’t come off as uncomfortable as it feels. “Later?” He motions to the bowl of popcorn he’s carrying. “I can come over after?”

“Later,” Eddie says, his eyes warm and bright as he gives the tiniest smile in return. He doesn’t seem to notice how tense Steve’s body is as he squeezes his arm and leaves him in the kitchen, slinking back into the Wheeler basement. 

It takes all of three seconds before Steve’s face is falling and his heart is threatening to explode. He knows what this is about. Knows that when he heads over to the Munson trailer, he’ll have to face the music. 

Over the past few months, Eddie Munson has filled a gaping hole in Steve’s chest – with his wicked sense of humor and strong convictions that flip the norm inside out. He’s given Steve something he’s been missing for so long, long before he and Tommy H stopped hanging out and the social pressure became too much: a friend. 

But he’s more than that, isn’t he? 

Steve takes a deep breath and shoves everything into a box deep in his mind, like he’s been doing since he saved Eddie back in March (since Dave Easom used him to train the new lifeguards, his bare chest rubbing against Steve’s back, strong arms holding him up as big hands held him tightly). He has to perform, has to be the guy everyone expects him to be, just a little while longer. 

Robin pats the seat beside her when he finds his way back to the basement. 

He hands her the bowl and drops down onto the creaky couch. “What’d I miss?” 

“Jeff came up with this plan for the guys to split up, but Nancy thinks splitting up is a bad idea and will lead to a trap. And since they know that one of the pathways is an illusion, she’s not sure it's worth the risk. They’ve been arguing in circles and I’m pretty sure their in-fighting was a part of Eddie’s plan all along,” she says in between bites of popcorn. “Honestly, they all need to listen to Erica and just trick the wizard into revealing the illusion so they eliminate one of their choices.” 

“So more of the same?” Steve asks. 

Robin hums. “Precisely.” 

Steve slouches and rests his head on her shoulder. She wiggles under him and the next thing he knows, he’s laying on top of her while her non-buttery hand runs through his hair and she shovels popcorn into her mouth with the other. 

The drill of the game and the soothing motions of Robin’s hand in his hair lull Steve into that space between consciousness and sleep he both loves and hates. His thoughts wander, circling Eddie like a flock of vultures ready to swoop in and rip the false sense of security Steve has. 

Because he knows Eddie wants to talk about them. And Steve wants there to be a Them, but… 

How can he give himself over to another person when time after time everyone has proven he’s unable to provide in a relationship? When he doesn’t know how to open himself up and be vulnerable with the person who is meant to know everything? He’s just a bullshit version of who he thinks he’s supposed to be – he doesn’t know how to be a real person. 

And Eddie deserves that! He deserves to have someone who can be there for him wholly and with enthusiasm. 

Steve’s just not sure he can do that. Not when he’s barely acknowledging the flutter in his stomach when Eddie says his name or looks his way. Not when he genuinely feels like he could be sick when he thinks of his father finding out. Not when all he wants to do is hold Eddie’s hand while they walk down on Main Street, but they can’t without risking their goddamn lives. 

Eddie can barely exist on his own, was already the town pariah for his music and clothing choices, for the things he’s interested in that were completely harmless long before the murderer propaganda started. Being in a public relationship with a man is not going to do him any favors. 

And Steve’s not sure he can sneak around. That’s just… He doesn’t know how to contain himself in small increments; he’s either all in or burying it all deep for no one to find. 

He buries his head into Robin’s shoulder. She has an idea about his feelings and the labels he refuses to give himself. She knows how flustered Eddie makes him, is ready to tease him for falling for the man whenever Steve is, but until then, she’s a rock. Solid and steady, offering support when needed, but letting Steve process it at his own speed. 

“I need to come over tonight,” he whispers to Robin. “Eddie wants to talk.” 

“Oh,” Robin says, cupping the back of Steve’s head briefly. “I’ll have all your favorites ready for you when you get to my house.” 

Steve doesn’t have to say anything or force a smile. She gets it. 

The game ends too quickly and the kids are dropped off to their respective destinations even quicker, so Steve makes his way over to Forest Hills and tries to capture whatever confidence has escaped him over the last few weeks. Wayne’s truck is gone when he pulls up, but the lights on the van are still on, Eddie must have just gotten home. 

He can do this. 

Steve climbs out of the Beemer and pockets his keys. He makes it up two steps before Eddie’s opening the door for him, grinning way too big for the heartbreak Steve’s about to give him. 

Because that’s what this is: Steve’s about to break Eddie’s heart. 

He wants to be able to be with Eddie fully, but he knows that’s not fair. Not when someone else could give him more before Steve’s able to. 

“You got here quick,” Eddie says as they settle on the couch. He’s so open with his body language: back against the corner of the couch, one leg crossed over the other so his ankle dangles off his knee, arm along the back of the couch, elbow propping his head up on the arm of the chair. There’s this easy going smile on his face too, like he’s luxuriating in whatever he’s experiencing. 

“Yeah,” he says. Steve doesn’t feel too bad about still wearing his shoes, needing them for a quick escape, when Eddie’s boots are still on his feet, laces undone. He doesn’t let himself lean back into the couch, no matter how much it wants to suck him in. 

Eddie waits a full beat before he jumps up, shifting so his body faces Steve and his hands are in his lap, fingers worrying around one another. “So,” he draws out, “I have something I need to tell you.” 

Part of Steve feels like he should stop Eddie, to cushion some of the blow before Eddie puts his heart on the line, but he can’t. He’s frozen in place and foolishly thinking there’s still time for Eddie to say something else. For all he knows, Eddie’s about to invite him to play Dungeons & Dragons or something! 

Who is he kidding? 

“Okay,” Steve says, feeling like he’s outside of himself. 

Eddie clears his throat and pushes his shoulders back as he reaches for Steve’s hand. “You have been a really great friend, probably the best I’ve had who knows my secret. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I… I can’t imagine my life without you, man.” 

“Eddie,” Steve whispers. 

“No, no, just hear me out,” Eddie says, scooting closer. “I’m alive because of you. And I was able to recover and stay alive because of you. I… Dude, I’ve shared more with you than I’ve ever been comfortable sharing with anyone.” His voice drops down to a whisper as it trembles a little. Eddie blinks harshly and looks up to the popcorn ceiling. “I’m tired of running, Steve, so I’m just going to say it. There’s… something here, Stevie. I can feel it. And maybe it’s one-sided and I’m projecting how I feel onto you, but I don’t think so. I think you can feel it, too.” 

Steve feels himself shifting back, his leg bouncing with the need to go. 

Eddie takes another deep breath and moves so they’re eyes are locked. “I love you, Steve Harrington.” 

His eyes are watering. How long has he waited for someone to say those words first? And now he can’t even accept them. 

“Eddie, I…” 

Eddie’s smile dims as his eyes grow softer. “I know,” he says softly. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.” 

“It is,” Eddie says, squeezing Steve’s hands. He’s so close their knees knock against one another. Steve feels like his body is about to split down the middle, one half needing to be closer to him and the other wanting to get as far away as possible. “Because we’re going to be okay.”

Steve cocks his head to the side. “What?” 

Eddie just nods like it’s the most obvious statement possible. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Steve and Eddie will be okay. “Do you trust me?” Eddie asks, his voice a little stronger. 

“Of course,” Steve says quickly. 

That gets the bright smile back on Eddie’s face. “I didn’t tell you how I feel for you to act on it,” he admits. “I needed to tell you so you knew, in case you were scared to say it first, but I don’t expect you to get down on one knee and profess your undying love to me. But our friendship is special and strong enough that I think I can tell you about my feelings and it won’t change things too much. I know you won’t hate me for it and maybe you’ll reciprocate one day, maybe you won’t,” Eddie shrugs, “but at least I’m being honest with you.” 

Steve has to look away. “And if I can’t?” 

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” 

“Be honest with you?” Steve says through the lump in his throat. 

There’s a big, heavy pause as Eddie pulls away from him slightly. Not enough to leave the bubble they’ve created, but Steve feels his absence anyway. “Are you… are you keeping the truth from me to hurt me?” 

“No,” Steve says, looking back to see a very pensive Eddie. 

“Are you doing it to deceive someone or something?”

“I’m not like that,” Steve says. 

Eddie nods. “I know, I know. But if those things are true, and you’re keeping the truth because you need to for yourself, then we’re okay. I’ll always be here; so whenever you’re ready to tell me whatever it is, I’ll be here to listen.” 

“Even if it takes forever?” Steve whispers. 

“Baby, I’d wait an eternity to hear what you have to say.” 

Steve turns his body fully to Eddie and fills his chest with the same air Eddie’s breathing, the air that's fueling him to push through the nerves and put himself out there. “I’m working through things. You said you’ve, um, known you liked boys since you were a kid?” 

Eddie nods, takes Steve’s hand in his again. 

“And you’ve never done the relationship thing, have you?” 

“Not exactly a large dating pool for kids like me,” Eddie says with a hollow laugh. 

Steve nods, biting at his lip. “I, um.” He clears his throat. “I need time to, like, figure my shit out. Because you’re not… wrong. It’s not one-sided,” he admits, glancing up to see the surprise and hope fill Eddie’s eyes. “But I’m not… I need time.” 

“So take it,” Eddie says. “However long you need.” 

“I can’t ask you to wait for me–” 

“You’re not,” Eddie says as he takes Steve’s face in his. He runs his thumb along Steve’s cheek. “I’m offering it. I’ll wait as long as you need.” 

Steve just nods, leaning into Eddie’s touch. He’s going to have a lot to talk with Robin about tonight. Eddie may be willing to wait until the end of time for him, but Steve wants to feel this – the hope, the energy shared between them, the love that lies in the undercurrent of every word, action, and breath – as soon as possible. 

“Thank you,” he whispers as he kisses the palm of Eddie’s hand. 

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

[vylad243]

Ok but the big question is this: who amongst the sins approves of Alastor?

Considering Bee stated in an episode that the sins are all like siblings, and Viv mentioned that they’re like aunts and uncles to Charlie, would they give Alastor the shovel talk at some point?

Oh hell yeah! I love talking about this!! Gives me the chance to flesh out my sins more

Satan and Alastor do not get along. Alastor finds Satan's temperament to be overbearing, and Satan thinks Alastor is a dick. Alastor is always in control of his emotions, while Satan is never in control of his rage. Satan doesn't approve of Alastor because he thinks Alastor lacks emotion and doesn't actually care for Vox and wants to take advantage of him. They have no issue hiding their distaste towards one another

Lucifer also doesn't approve of Alastor because he's convinced Vox can do waaaaay better. Lucifer hasn't given Alastor the shovel talk because Alastor knows Lucifer hates him and would gladly kill him if given the chance. Lucifer does respect their relationship nonetheless and warms up to Alastor a bit when he sees Alastor genuinely cares for Vox

Levi doesn't have much of an opinion on Alastor. He knows Vox is happier with him, and Vark likes hims- so that's enough for him. Levi did find out about the fight between Vark and Alastor and did yell at him for that. Vox mends the bad blood between the two by showing that Vark forgave Alastor, and he explained that Alastor wasn't in the right place of mind and was trying to protect Vox. Levi trusts Vox and Vark to make good decisions, so he respects their decision and can be alone with Alastor with no problems

Bee LOVES Alastor. She thinks his whole gimmick of killing abusers is cool and likes how happy he always is. Bee was the only one who knew of Val, so she was extremely pleased when Vox announced he had broken up with Val and was dating Alastor. Bee was the one who gave Alastor the shovel talk, but once she found out about how he killed Valentino, she trusted him immediately with Vox's life. She likes to send them both gifts in the mail, and she'll send Alastor little notes about different things Vox likes. Alastor is a bit intimidated by her outgoing personality, but he likes her and can see why her and Vox are the closest of all the sins. Plus, Alastor just gets along with women a lot better than the boys, so Bee was an automatic win because she was a woman in power. Alastor was scared of her judgement the most because she is one of Vox's best friends

Belph also gave Alastor a shovel talk - well tried too. She accidentally fell asleep during it, and Alastor laid her on the couch and tucked her in. That was all the information she needed. Belph likes Alastor the most out of every sin and actually prefers him over Vox because he's a lot more laid back. Alastor doesn't like her party drug habits, but she doesn't care about his opinion. He is her friend and he has no saying in it. She also got an automatic boost to Alastor's 'I like you' meter because she is also a woman

Asmodeus was the hardest to gain approval from. Once he found out about Valentino- Ozzy didn't trust any of Vox's taste in men. Once Alastor passed Belph, Levi, and Bee's judgement, that was when Ozzy finally decided to give him a shot. Alastor refused to do anything different around Ozzy to really prove a point to him. Ozzy found him a bit egotistical, but he was also intrigued by the lack of lust Alastor felt. It's not every day you meet an aroace person when you're the embodiment of lust. It took Alastor a bit of time, but he won Oz over eventually, and Ozzy is Alastor's go-to for relationship advice. Ozzy understands Alastor's struggles, and he tries his best to help him, Alastor feels safe with Oz because of his rule of consent. Oz is Alastor's favourite despite being the embodiment of lust, which makes Ozzy feel flattered. Asmodeus has also given him a shovel talk

Mammon viewed Alastor as a problem at first, but the amount of power outages went down in Greed, so he eventually grew to like Alastor because he was helping him make money, even if Alastor wasn't aware of it. He doesn't care for Vox's feelings or emotions and only cares for the power Vox supplies him with, so he never once tried to get to know Alastor

They all view Vox as their family. He's like that one friend that just somehow gets adopted by your parents

[two-sides-halved]

Continued | @erisdiamas

"Again, using the term, phobia would imply that I am afraid of her, which I'm not. I hate her not because she's a Lapis but because she is factually horrible, she's an abuser of people, and animals, she's a manipulative piece of garbage who everyone was tip toing around because we didn't wanna upset the precious scared little girl who is over 5000 fucking years old... but because we handled her with these delicate kid gloves she never really changed into a better person like other people in the Little Homeschool program did... hell she's even been shirking her fucking responsibilities as a teacher... by kinda just telling them to go with the flow and then she'd fly off to who knows where... lazy asshole."

Gem Steven squinted at her as if he heard her incorrectly, picking up Eris and placing her on the couch, to get a reasonable distance away from her so he wouldn't end up hurting her fingers when she played with his hands.

"EXCUSE YOU?? Why the fuck would you think I would enjoy watching anyone nearly loose their life in front of me? I've already failed an entire planet's worth of people once, I failed Dad." He is crossing his arms.

"And you of all people... think I'd get aroused by that fucked up shit?? Fucking hell, Eris, you must be huffing paint thinner to think that is in anyway what I would like at all." He huffed irritated, tears in his eyes, looking away from her, his fists clenched, stomping his way to the kitchen to get himself something to shove into his face before see says something he'd regret. "If the misnaming was ALL I had to deal with... I wouldn't have such a fucking problem with her... I'd just say, ah she's annoying if she doesn't remember your name but she's good people BUT SHE FUCKING ISN'T!! Any time that the tough got going, she went gone... she ran away... she didn't believe in this planet, yet had the nerve to call it home instead of LITERALLY ANY OTHER COLONY OUT THERE IN SPACE!... But no, she chose to abuse and fester here like an untreated infection... and we just dealt with her like she was a misbehaving toddler, who didn't know how the world worked cause we didn't wanna upset her... and now she thinks she can do whatever she fucking wants." Gem Steven replied shoveling some of last nights reheated left overs into his face, thankful for the subject change.

"It's Sadie Killer and the Suspects... and they broke up a few months ago." Gem Steven replied with a disgruntled huff, shoveling another spoon full of foo into his face, chewing thoroughly, before swallowing "Sadie went off and formed a new band with her new partner named Shep... Shep's a chill person... I'm happy for them." He said in a notably bittersweet tone, being the hopeless romantic with the emphasis on hopeless.

"Well that's because Peridot is genuinely nice to be around... and if you were born on Homeworld, Rose might not have known that human's sweat... plus Gems themselves don't really sweat either. Plus you're half human so you'd have a whole bunch of powers she wouldn't have access too." He replied, with a mumble through his half chewed food.

"She wouldn't have known about half of the shit you'd go through... hell if she were here she'd be so much better at this whole parent shit than I am..." He huffed taking a big drink directly out of the jug of milk that was nearly gone anyway. "Guilty... I wouldn't doubt it was yours anyway..." He huffed into his nearly empty food bowl. "Most of the plants I make just try to rip me to shreds." He replied, before he yelped as she was practically dragging him out. "Eris, slow down!"

[cntoesussie]

How would the mercs do if they drank these

all at once?

Scout:

feeling practically nothing

this is like a sedative to him compared to what he drinks

he chillin

Soldier:

run

this man has been filled with a desire to kill

he's grabbing his shovel with murderous intent

Pyro:

I think their insides are melting

there is now a Pyro puddle on the floor

pudda pudda puh *liquidizes*

Demoman:

instant liver failure

i think he'd be like 'ah, I'm fine' then just collapse

the only thing that could save him would be pure ethanol and a kiss on the forehead

Heavy:

'ew' *drinks it anyways*

he isn't too affected by it (only because he needs A LOT to affect him)

although he does get a bit fidgety and anxious

Engineer:

genuinely grateful for it

helps him through the night and the next one and the ne-

Medic has to knock him out so he can sleep again

Medic:

Reads the labels and actually understands what they mean, he knows this much caffeine is bad for him

drinks it anyways

his heart almost stops and he replaces it with a new one (by himself, of course)

Sniper:

considering how much of a nut he is for coffee, he hates the taste.

his hands are shaky, he can't land any shots, why did he do this

why is his jarate melting through the jar-

Spy:

instant death

although i think that a single sour skittle could kill this man, so it ain't saying much

nobody goes to his funeral

i gotta say that i lobe it when people come into my askbox with this stuff, so yeah

please invade my inbox with requests like this :]

[paranormeow7]

man thinking about users like puppychan and birdie (if you don’t know who they are, good) and. god they’re just such tragic cases. I used to wish I was famous online at like 11, the ages that they joined the internet and actually DID get fame, and watching them deteriorate over the years as a result of the attention that was constantly being piled on them was just. horrific honestly. it doesn’t excuse anything horrible they might’ve done but Jesus. I can’t imagine what it must do to a young mind to be under so much scrutiny while shoveling dopamine into your skull by scrolling furry art on twitter. Especially when people levying genuine criticism against you are also mixing that with disgusting bigotry. No one wanted to help these children, they just wanted to hate on them for being autistic/mentally ill/poc/queer/fat etc etc. and now they’re too far gone to save. (at least I think puppy is, last I’ve heard of him he’s still on tumblr and blaming his actions on ossd, but I’ve heard birdie has left the internet in a genuine attempt to get better). I wish I was known, I wish my art could touch more people. Or maybe I just want more friends. But god, I’m glad I don’t have the kind of fame I used to want.

[itsvinzenzdarling]

[x] @xceruleanrosesx

And there it was, the look he hated so much. Scornful, disgust, disdain, rejection, and hatred. He had seen this face before. A cruel night in Germany, lit by the anger of hundreds of torches, the night sky pierced with raised pitchforks and shovels. The accusations flew out of their mouths with such confidence and disapproval that his father was fighting back against the entire population of the townsfolk at their doorstep. No matter what he said, they wouldn't listen. And neither would Le Blanc.

Warring through his own emotions and struggling to pick which would be the most appropriate, the most prominent was hurt and sorrowful. He should've never come here. His parents warned him about working among humans, and the risk he took was well-known in his mind. And yet, he still took that leap of faith. For a while, it was fine. Nobody suspected anything. Every time someone asked about his ears or his teeth, he recommended the "surgeon" he went to. He blamed his strange clothes on his taste in vintage, but they were his from 100 years ago. Everything was genuine and real, including his sentiments. How could he get him to see that?

"Please," he attempted again, taking the tiniest step forward. "I-I know you're confused, and you have many questions, but I can answer them for you. You've got to trust me on this. I can't explain myself if you won't listen. So please, put the gun down."

Fighting back in the diplomatic sense might've been in the safest route but also the most difficult. Breaking through to a closed mind was nigh impossible. Le Blanc didn't seem like he was willing to hear him out, even if he poured every ounce of truth from his red-painted lips.