#it’s okay to be a slow burn for once in my goddamn life

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

me: oh cool a “dora comes back” fic I can be normal about this

fic: “i don’t think i can love you the way i love her” “good i don’t want you to love me the way you love her”

me: 😭 ☠️ 💔 🙏

[carmenized-onions]

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                    Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

 You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person. �� 

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

[brayneworms]

gouge away (if you want to) | johnny joestar

kinktober day ten: kissing

word count. 2.4k

content. disabled johnny, but like his prostate works, anal fingering, prostate orgasm, kissing, johnny cries after sex it's canon, gender-neutral reader, fluff, mentions of ableism, established relationship, this is sappy

♪ gouge away - pixies

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

For a while—a long while—after his accident, Johnny thought he'd never be with someone again.

A part of it was the paralysis. Okay, a big part of it was. He learns after using the chair for a bit that he sorta stops becoming a real person to most people, that their eyes just sorta slide past him. Oh no, how sad, that guy in the chair must have it so bad. Don't be rude and stare, now. Sometimes he wishes they would stare at him, like he knows they wanna. He almost finds their determination to ignore him totally more jarring.

And that's only half the problem. The other part is that even if he could find someone, his goddamn dick doesn't work anymore. Which would for sure pose a problem. So Johnny resigns himself miserably to a sexless and potentially loveless life, and pretends it doesn't make him want to die.

Still. Anyways. It all seems kinda redundant now, 'cause he's lying under the sky in the dirt with his pants halfway off, and you're—you're doing something, or you're tryin' something that Johnny is extremely skeptical about. A bit of time travelling with Gyro had taught him many times that there was a lot of things about the human body he was ignorant of, but he still can't help but be dubious of the claim you made to him a few minutes ago.

I'm gonna make you cum.

At once, a protest had risen to his lips. You can't. Almost a reflex. You'd cocked your head in inquiry, and Johnny had gone redder, down to the tips of his ears hidden by his hat. It's my—it doesn't work. Down there doesn't...

You seem to consider this for a few moments. Then you say, there's something else we can try.

You disappear inside the tent and come out with the bottle of aloe vera they'd been using to treat the burns that had blistered as a result of the unforgiving desert sun. He had red peeling skin all up his shoulders and the bridge of his nose.

He watches dubiously as you squeeze a clear, cold glob onto your fingers. "Wh—where are those goin'?"

He's pretty sure he has an idea.

"You know what a prostate is, Johnny dear?" You always call him that. Johnny dear, like it's all one word. Johnnydear. He always gripes and groans about it and then has to turn away extremely quickly to hide his flush. He's going to examine the reaction he gets when you baby him sometime, he promises himself, just not right now. He's got a lotta shit on his plate, okay? Corpses to find and such.

"N-no," he answers, stammering when you kneel between his legs and spread his thighs gently apart. He sucks in a breath; one of your fingers leaves a cool trail of aloe along the skin there.

"A prostate," you tell him patiently, like you're not situated between his naked thighs, "is a gland that people with your particular reproductory set are born with."

"You sound like Gyro," he mutters. "Kinda killing the mood a little."

"I just want to make sure you're fully informed." You roll your eyes. "It's just that you're leaking precum, see?" To his mortification, you swipe your fingers over the tip of the dick he can't feel and hold them up; under the starlight, they gleam, and he burns with embarrassment. "Means you might be able to feel it. Means I might be able to make you cum."

Johnny swallows hard. He wants—it sounds good. Sounds great. But with the hope comes that fear, an ever-present shadow. What if it doesn't work?

"Hey." You lean over him, and before Johnny can protest you've captured his lips, a slow, deliberate cling. Johnny loves kissing you. He thinks it might be his favourite thing to do, other than jockeying and he can't do that anymore, so this takes an automatic first place. He sighs and melts against you like softened butter, his hands winding themselves over your shoulder and jaw. He loves everything about it. The closeness, the slow gentle intimacy, the way you smell. That last part is probably weird, 'cause you mostly smell like sweat and leather, but Johnny likes it all the same.

You kiss for a while; one of your hand strokes soothing shapes into his ribcage. When you pull back, the panic that had been rearing up inside him has faded to a dull murmur.

"Don't get in your head about it," you whisper. "If you can't feel it, then that's that. You know I won't think less of you."

A lump rises in Johnny's throat, and he shields his eyes from the burning sun of you seein' right through him. "I know," he says, almost petulantly.

"So? Wanna give it a try?"

A part of him doesn't. A part of him is so, so scared. But a bigger part of him, the one that likes kissing you and likes the way you smell and the way you touch him and look at him and everything, really, is nodding before that first part can protest. You kiss him again with a smile, a little faster, a little dirtier this time. This is another thing Johnny likes about kissing—it can take so many different forms. Even if he did find the corpse pieces and get the use of his legs back, Johnny reckons he'd still like kissing more than real sex.

Your mouth starts moving down, sweeping the sensitive skin of his neck and collarbones, the valleys of his pectorals, a nipple. The last one makes Johnny gasp and you giggle, and he splays a palm over his face in embarrassment. You coax such stupid noises outta him. But you seem to enjoy it, so whatever.

Down, down, down. Somewhere between his navel and his pubic bone he stops feeling it. But it still somehow feels sorta nice, which doesn't make a whole lotta sense but it does to him, so. He watches you between his fingers as you reach between his legs, he thinks prodding.

You look up at him. "I'm going to put a finger in, okay?"

Johnny nods eagerly. "Don't gotta tell me. I won't feel it."

You roll your eyes. "I'm still gonna tell you. We can stop whenever, okay?"

"Okay," Johnny says impatiently, and wiggles his hips. You smack his hipbone playfully, which does nothing to temper his brattiness on account of him not feelin' a fuckin' thing. Then you get a quiet, serious, concentrated look on your face that Johnny usually only sees when you're fighting. Or when he's making you cum. That expression, more than any of your words or hesitation, it what makes him quiet down and take it serious.

There's a silence that stretches on. Johnny supposes you must be doin' something, considering the slight furrow he can see between your brows and the achingly careful, gradual movement of your wrist. Finally, after about a minute, you look up at him.

"My finger's in," you tell him, and Johnny bites his lip.

"Can't feel it," he says. He's starting to think this was a really bad idea.

"Just lemme—hold on," you say, and your wrist moves a little, and then—

Johnny keens. He feels, he fuckin' feels so much that it lights him up from the inside and sets his nerves alight, some part deep inside him that he didn't even know existed 'till five minutes ago and it's so good it immediately brings tears to his eyes.

"Oh," he says like he's surprised, and he is, apparently so much so that it's all he can say. "O-oh, oh, oh—"

Your finger retracts back into nothingness, and Johnny bites back a sob. "Johnny?" you ask worriedly. "Did you—is it too much?"

"No, no," he babbles, feeling incoherent already. You brush his hair back from his face with your free hand, the one that ain't inside him, your thumb stroking over his cheek. "It was—fuck, felt so weird. But good. Really, really good. Can you—are you gonna do it again?"

"Will if you want me to," you answer lovingly, and Johnny is biting back another sob for a whole different reason. "Might be a bit intense, Johnny dear. You sure you wanna?"

"Yes, yeah." He stares up at you beseechingly, feeling a bit pathetic but also too far gone to give a shit. "Please, I wanna—I wanna feel it again."

You nod, leaning over to kiss him again. Johnny relaxes into the embrace, losing himself in the familiar touch of your lips, the smell of you, taking the bite out of his surge of panic—and then with no warning you're brushing against that spot inside him again and he's moaning into your mouth, loud and unrestrained. It's pitchy and startled, and your free hand cups the back of his head as he pulls away in shock.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ," he swears, slamming his head back against the dirt. "O-oh, oh god, ohgodohgod—"

"Still good?" you ask, and your fingers made a weird sort of curling motion and it occurs to Johnny that you're movin' them in and out, sort of like you would if you were actually fucking him, and the thought makes him flush so hard he feels feverish. You're fucking him. You're fucking him.

He nods deliriously. "Mhm, yeah," he gasps out, feeling breathless, feeling giddy. "Don't stop, feels so fuckin' good, oh my god."

Your fingers press into him over and over like you're ringin' a bell, and all the while you kiss him and for the first time in ages Johnny feels that both parts of his body are equal. The bottom half has come alive under your jackhammering fingers, the top half consumed by you and your kiss. The kissing makes it so much better, 'cause Johnny reckons if anyone else had their fingers in his ass he'd probably hate it even if they were touching his whatdidyoucallit like that and making him feel amazing. He'd hate it 'cause they wouldn't be you.

The kissing reminds him it's you. The chaps on your lips, the smell of you, the feel of your face and skin, your body pressing into his. It's so all consuming it makes him wanna cry, in a good way, in a weird way. Your fingers move faster and weirder, and Johnny starts making those stupid oh! oh! noises again, stifling them against your mouth, and your tongue presses in and you swallow them whole.

All too soon, Johnny feels a weird tightening, one he hasn't felt since before the incident. He feels a constriction of panic, his fingers clutching at your clothing. "I—hah!—I f-feel weird."

"Bad weird?" Your fingers slow down, nearly stop, and Johnny whines.

"No, no, good weird, good," he pants. "Move again, fuck."

You pick up the pace; Johnny shudders, tensing in your hold all over again. He feels like he's burning, like he's sweating out everything bad he's ever felt.

"Do you mean you're gonna cum?" you ask, your voice lower this time, so close to Johnny's ear it makes him shiver. The harsh brush of your chapped lips against the soft skin there makes his body feel electric.

"I think," he whispers, eyes screwing shut. "Sorry—oh—I think, yeah."

"Don't feel sorry," you tell him almost sternly. "I want to see you cum, Johnny. Wanna see you cum so hard your pretty little head goes blank. You deserve it, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps out. "I deserve it."

What you do next with your fingers is almost brutal in the wracks of shivering pleasure it sends simmering through Johnny's body; every curl of them has him writhing and gasping and moaning, he must sound so stupid but you seem to be liking it and fuck, he's liking it, he likes feeling a little stupid and helpless while you take care of him and he's definitely gonna have to unpack that, but later, 'cause—

"I'm gonna cum," he gasps, hands flying out to curl in your clothing. "Baby, baby, I'm gonna cum, I—kiss me? Kiss me, okay, I wanna, oh, oh oh oh—"

You crash your lips together, and your fingers curl up one last lingering time and Johnny shatters. White stars explode over his vision, shatter inside his head, and for a split second it feels like every cell in his body freezes up and screams and dies. He's vaguely aware of some long, drawn-out, breathless noise he's making and the way you swallow it with your mouth.

It takes several seconds for him to come back down to earth. When he does it's to the sensation of you running your fingers through his hair and pressing soft, feathery kisses to his cheeks.

He pants like a dog. When you see his blue eyes on you, you sit up, seem to retract your fingers from between his legs. Your image starts to blur, and Johnny sees your expression crease in concern. He realises he's crying. Not like, actually, not like he's got something to be upset about. He's just... tearing up. Like someone's turned a faucet on behind his eyes and just left it there. He pushes the heels of his hands into the sockets and presses down, willing it to stop, willing the overwhelming feeling blooming in his chest to deflate.

"Hey, hey." Your voice, low and soothing, pressed into his hair, your arms holding him tightly. "You okay?"

"Yes," he says almost angrily. "I'm fine. Dunno why I'm—fuck. Sorry. I'm good, I promise I'm good. That was... so, so good."

Your expression of concern gives way slightly. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Johnny sucks in a shaky, wet breath. "Thanks. Thank you. I didn't even... I didn't even know I could feel like that anymore. Not just 'cause of—you know." He gestures vaguely to the lower half of his body. "All of it. Like, I didn't think anyone would wanna—while I'm still like this. And I—I figured I didn't deserve it, or something. But... it was really good."

Your smile is a little sad. "I'm glad, Johnny dear. I'm glad you enjoyed it. Now that we know it works, we can do it again. And again, and again." He flushes, and you laugh sweetly, and Johnny could just die to the sound of it. "Still, we should get some rest for tonight. Gyro will skin us alive if we oversleep again."

You're right, of course. Johnny lets you maneuvre him onto his sleeping skin, and you unroll yours right next to him. When you do, Johnny reaches for you, clinging like a damn insect. But you don't seem to mind, 'cause you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him in even closer. He tucks his head into your shoulder.

He thinks that he'll get to kiss you tomorrow, too.

His sleep is dreamless and deep.

[miraclewoozi]

(TEASER) HIGH FIDELITY. - c.hs

getting back on the horse is hard, and failing to hit it off with the cute gamer guy you went for a drink with last night has the potential to be your love life’s last straw. but when up and coming rockstar VERNON unexpectedly canters into your life, you find yourself asking very important question: do you have it in you to saddle up, one more time?

pair ; vernon x fem reader. ( also starring: besties!seungkwan + chan. ) content ; strangers to lovers. up-and-coming musician!vernon x record store owner!reader.  fluff, angst, smut. (MINORS DNI). slow burn.  warnings ; drinking + alcohol is a theme throughout. mentions of a past relationship breakdown. reader experiences a lot of stress, anxiety and feelings of doubt. reader is the monarch of self sabotage. wc ; teaser, 1.5k. full fic, est. 40k. note ; if you saw any of my posts about the show high fidelity… you’ll know where this came from. ( it doesn't stick to rob + liam's plot too closely with the exception of the first few encounters. )

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

“It’s just my opinion!” 

From your perch on top of the store’s counter, you raise both of your palms in a display of your innocence. Chan stands in the middle of the R&B aisle, looking personally offended, fingers curled around the top of one of the wooden crates holding your stock. 

“Me saying ‘I don’t think Welcome to the Black Parade is the best track on that album’ is not me saying that it’s a bad song.”

“But how can you say that?” Chan groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Who’s hearing the opening note to Famous Last Words and feeling the same way as they do with the Black Parade?”

“Most iconic doesn’t mean the best,” you counter. “Besides – I never said you weren’t allowed to have it as your favourite. It’d be a boring game if we all had the same answer.”

“I cannot cope with you anymore,” Chan whines. “You know what? No. I don’t even believe you. You’re just being a contrarian.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask. 

“Because it’s the best song on the goddamn albu–”

The bell above the door chimes loud and clear through the store and both of your squabbling voices fall silent. Your head turns in the direction of the entrance, an autopilot greeting already forming on your lips, but you feel them fall slack the moment you realise who it is that’s just walked in.

It’s been five days. Though it would be a mistruth to claim you hadn’t thought about the singer since the night of his gig, it’s not one to say you didn’t think he would ever actually come into your place of work. 

Much less at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. On a Thursday.

He pops his wrists as he walks a little further into the store, glancing around. Barring one of your regulars who walks about with his earphones in all the time, the store is completely empty; an adrenaline spike prickles the hairs on your arms, all the tiny muscles beneath your skin pulling them to stand upright. 

“Hi,” he says once he deems himself to be close enough, stopping in his tracks and bumping the toe of his shoe against the floor.

“Hey,” you greet him in return. 

“I’m-... Vernon. We met at the show, the other night?” 

“Yeah — yeah, I remember you,” you smile. “I’m-... well. I’m still y/n.”

“Still y/n,” he says on a relieved exhale, grinning and glancing away from you. “I uh… I just had some free time. Thought I’d swing by and see what you guys had going on here.” Vernon adjusts the collar of his t-shirt, the silver of his rings glinting under the flickering yellow light overhead.

(It was definitely somewhere on your list of things to get fixed. Honest.)

“Sure, yeah,” you nod, swallowing hard and trying your best not to stare at him. It’s hard, though – in broad daylight, the way the flannel tied around his waist floats down over his hips and the way his jeans hug at his thighs is… you don't even have the words. “Let me know if you need help finding anything, okay?” 

“I will.” He starts to thumb through one of the wooden boxes, offering a small smile your way. “Thank you.”

You’re holding your breath a little as he pulls a few 80’s rock albums out, his lips downturned in surprised approval at some of the records you carry. He holds onto a couple as he moves around the store and the entire time, you can feel Chan and Seungkwan staring at you. If there wasn’t a very real danger of Vernon looking your way again at a moment’s notice, you know you would be showing them your middle finger.

Really, they come away lucky.

“You don’t even know how long I’ve been trying to find some of these,” Vernon says after a few minutes, sauntering toward the desk – you’re still sitting on top of it, your legs swinging in the air beneath you. “Might have to make this my new stop.”

And displayed beside you on the counter – right by the cash register – are a few of his albums. The ones Seungkwan picked up after the show; until about two seconds ago, you had forgotten they were even there.

Vernon’s face lights up when he notices, turning to Seungkwan. “Come on, no way. Dude, I thought you were kidding.”

“We love our locals in here, man,” Chan chimes quickly, seeing you start to freeze up. You nod to agree, biting on the inside of your cheek. “It was on the speakers yesterday. Four people asked us about you.”

“For real?” Vernon asks, but when all three of you nod your heads, you see the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his neck. “Wow. Thank you – um. That’s really cool of you guys.”

“It’s good music,” Seungkwan shrugs. “You’re super talented.”

Vernon doesn’t seem to know what to do with all the compliments he’s receiving. Even so, he thanks your friends again with a stomach-twisting sincerity before he turns back to you. 

“I’ll take these,” he says a little breathlessly. You find yourself a tiny bit lost in the warmth of his eyes and it takes you a moment to remember to swivel around and slip off the other side of the countertop. You do, though. Eventually. 

“Nice,” you say softly as you shuffle through them, ringing each one through. He’s got pretty decent taste, even if less than a week ago you were actively cringing at his choice of cover song. (It’s okay. That was before you knew better.) “Do you– need sleeves, or…?”

“I’m good. Thank you, though.” Vernon rests his hands against the edge of the counter and drums a quiet rhythm out with his thumbs as you tap away at the register. “Are-... you guys busy tonight, by the way?”

You look up from placing the records into a paper bag, glancing over to your colleagues who both rush to shake their heads. Vernon looks from them, to you, and you mirror their motions. Even if I was, you start to think wistfully. I’d make time.

“I’m down at the Velvet Lounge later on. Across town? It starts at eight thirty; I could get you guys on the list, if-... um…”

“That’d be awesome,” Chan says, nodding so hard you’re surprised his head doesn’t roll off his shoulders and start bouncing across the floor. 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Seungkwan adds. 

Vernon grins at them both, humming softly, before turning back to you and fumbling with his wallet to take out his card to pay for his purchases. You turn the machine around to face him; he hovers with his hand just above it. 

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” He says.

You can’t help the delight that rises inside you, as if it’s been injected straight into your bloodstream. It’s everywhere, all of a sudden. In your brain and your heart and your bones and in your lungs.

Yet, you somehow manage to keep your composure when you say, “yeah. Maybe you will.”

The payment goes through and you slide the bag over towards Vernon, your eyes never leaving his and his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers brush over yours as he takes it from you, the bite of the cold ring on his index finger a shocking contrast to the warmth the rest of his hand radiates. You hope your little gasp isn’t too audible, but… the way Chan whirls around to face away from the scene in front of him (presumably to poorly conceal his laughter), you know you haven’t gotten away with it.

“Cool,” he says, hesitating another second before finally pulling himself away. He bows his head in the direction of your friends, sending another of those irresistibly sweet smiles at you, and then he starts off towards the door. “See you, then.”

You feel your pulse finally start to slow as you grip the counter for dear life, setting out a long, drawn-out breath. What just happened? Why do you feel all… fuzzy?

“Maybe… I’ll see you tonight, too?” Chan asks in the deepest voice he can muster, snapping you out of your own head none too pleasantly. You turn in their direction as your other favourite moron feigns tucking hair behind his ear and flutters his eyelashes across at Chan.

“Yeah… Maybe you will.” And Seungkwan’s imitation of you is a little too accurate. Creepily so, and you want to curse him out for it. Instead, you scrunch up a bag to throw towards the pair of them, grinning despite yourself as they both swerve to dodge it.

“Oh my God, shut up,” you chastise them. You don’t have any bite, though, your brain still tingly and positively reeling and seeing Vernon’s dazzling smile every time you so much as blink.  And when Seungkwan takes a running start and launches himself, full-force, into Chan’s unsuspecting arms? When Chan lifts him up and spins him around, and when they start making kissy-noises at each other between unearthly cackles? 

You know that the next few hours are going to be the longest of your entire life.

thank u for reading!! i hope you liked this lil snippet!! i got kind of impatient with myself and needed to post something about this, so if you're interested in the full fic please feel free to drop a like, an ask, a reblog or a comment to tell me your thoughts! this piece has become sort of my passion project the last six months or so and i'm really excited to share the whole thing with you guys when it's done.<3

[eds6ngel]

✎ when i kissed the teacher | part five

summary: with summer break starting, it's time for you to pack up your things and leave hawkins elementary. so, will you be able to find a new job? and will you ever reunite with steve, the man that not only started this whole mess, but that you also love?

part one ♡ part two ♡ part three ♡ part four ˚⋆｡˚ full masterlist.

warnings: dad!steve. singledad!steve. 90s!au. fem!reader. use of y/n. swearing. mutual pining. slow burn. a lil bit of hurt. tons of fluff by the end. mentions of food. job interviews!! slight age gap [r is 25, steve is 29]. roommate amy being the best friend we all need. no more warnings as this is the finale!! [3.6k].

Finishing up your last week at Hawkins Elementary was not the easiest. Not only were you met with multiple days of children’s tears, hours spent reassuring them that everything was going to be okay, but the other teachers began to judge you. You would enter the staff room to dirty looks and ignorant comments. But, of course, adults bullying co-workers wasn’t fire-worthy, was it?

You packed your classroom up last Monday, the white walls, once covered in student’s artwork and decorative pieces, now bare. It made you feel melancholic and nostalgic simultaneously. Almost three years ago, you were walking into that first grade classroom for the first time, ready to made your dedicated space feel like home.

And now you were leaving, much earlier than anticipated. This should’ve been your second home for the rest of your life. But, now it was going to belong to someone else. Someone else was gonna fill the walls of student artwork, of decorative pieces, of their own little trinkets to display appropriate parts of their personality. It should’ve been you. It should’ve always been you.

Your permanent record was updated the day of your departure, the job search becoming increasingly difficult by the hour. Teaching positions cropped up everywhere, especially since you lived so close to Indianapolis, a mere twenty minute drive.

Yet, so far, none had even given you an interview offer. Many point blank stated that your record was the issue, the others you could definitely assume by their rejection wording.

The sound of your apartment door opening disrupts you from your job search, and from you continuing to stare into space.

Your roommate Amy arrives home with a paper bag full of groceries in hand, the fruit collection peeking out of the top. “How is your wonderful afternoon going?” she cheerily asks, a smile on her face, placing the groceries onto your kitchen counter.

You huff, placing your head in between your hands, “Shit. I’m not getting anything, Ames. I’m gonna have to resort to becoming a fashion retailer or something. I’m running short on money to split the goddamn bills with you.”

“Well,” she smirks, pursing her lips and creeping up to you, whipping a sheet of paper out from behind her back, “I may have a solution for you.”

You take the sheet of paper from her, inspecting the cover as it reads: TEACHING POSITION AVAILABLE. $30,000 ANNUAL SALARY. SECOND GRADE TEACHER. FULL-TIME. ERNIE PYLE SCHOOL 90.

“Ames, this is such a prestigious school! Aren’t they in, like… the top ten in Indianapolis or something?”

She hums, “Mhm, which is exactly why you should at least put an application in!”

You groan at her optimism, “I have a permanent mark on my record. They’re gonna turn me away the second they see it!”

She heads back to the kitchen, beginning to un-pack the groceries, mumbling out, “Well, you never know.”

And, she wasn’t entirely wrong. Even if it was a one in a million chance, a chance is still a chance.

“Screw it,” you thought, you were gonna put a damn application in. The highly likely rejection was just adding to the list by now, it wasn’t even a sharp sting in your heart like it used to be anymore.

Why not take a chance?

And, my God, was that chance worth taking.

It was a Sunday afternoon, you relaxing on the couch reading your favourite book, when all of a sudden, the landline phone rings.

Amy was currently out on a date with her boyfriend, so you had the house to yourself. You put your bookmark in its place, moving from your comfy position on the couch with a groan, walking over to grab the phone from its stand placed on the wall. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Miss. L/N?”

“It is her, yes,” you reply, the voice of an older-sounding man speaking down the phone to you.

“Nice to hear from you, Miss. L/N. I am calling from Ernie Pyle School 90 regarding your application for the second grade.”

Great, another rejection to add to the overgrowing list.

“We do see that there is a strike on your permanent record, but we also do take notice that you have a lot of other qualities we admire here. So, we would like to bring you in for an interview, if that’s all right? That way, we can get a good idea of your character and what the strike really entailed from your perspective. Does that sound good with you?”

You had to knock yourself back into reality as the words are spoken down the line. They were actually offering you a fucking interview.

“Umm… Yeah! Yeah, that sounds amazing, thank you! When would you like me to come in?”

So, two days later, you were dressed up in your smartest attire, walking into the brown-bricked building, the school a lot smaller than you had anticipated.

An older man, who seemingly matched the voice on your landline, greeted you at the entrance, the school empty for the Summer Break.

He directed you to his office, you neatly placing yourself on the chair in front of his desk, sitting appropriately, trying to appear as professional as possible.

“So, I’m sure you’re aware of the interview process from your previous work listed on your CV, so if you wouldn’t mind telling me a little about yourself,” he begins.

You breathe out, smiling at him, “Of course. I grew up in Indiana, more towards the north in a quite rural area. Growing up as a child in the seventies, I really felt under-appreciated as a student, as if I wasn’t valued. So, that’s where my love of teaching started to grow. I wanted to lead the next generation of students in a way that I felt, and many other of my friends at the time felt, would’ve been beneficial.”

“Well, as someone who has been working in schools since the seventies, I can see why you thought that way,” he chuckles. “It seems your generation has been the leader of change. Okay, we all know that students can become a handful at times. So, tell me, how would you deal with a stressful situation?”

“Well, firstly I would find the identifier of the situation by calmly asking the child what happened, as that helps me form a route to solve the issue. At my previous school, I had a student who got pushed into the mud and his favourite t-shirt got ruined, which made him extremely resentful and angry towards a boy. I got him a spare t-shirt to change into and promised I would scrub it out as best as I could during lunch break, which I followed through with. I then brought the two boys together, asking the other boy why he did it and he said that his friend allowed him to do it the previous day, so I taught the lesson of consent and how our feelings towards a situation can change from moment to moment. The boy apologised, the other boy accepted that and rode through his emotions. And by the end of the day, his t-shirt was just like before, mud stain-free. I’ve found that it’s much better for myself to understand the reasons behind something, instead of resorting to a lack of control over my own emotions and lashing out at one or both of them.”

The principal smiles at you, replying, “That’s a wonderful answer, thank you for that. Now, as you brought your previous school up, I do have to ask you about the strike on your permanent record. It says here that you, quote, ‘Broke student confidentiality,’ so I was hoping you could talk me through that situation. We here at Ernie Pyle like to overview a situation before immediately judging, much like yourself with stressful situations. So, please, go ahead,” he directs you.

You breathe out, trying to present your answer in a non-biased viewpoint, “There was a student’s father that I can confirm we both mutually did have feelings for each other. I set my boundaries in place last Christmas as he did try to ask me out, but I told him exactly that: student confidentiality. But, the school’s Easter Brunch rolled around, he helped me tidy up my classroom whilst the kids were on recess, and we kissed.” You purse your lips, having a sinking feeling that this was not going to secure you the job, “I would say he initiated it, but I also leaned in, because as I said, we both did have feelings for each other, so that part of my brain took over. However, I did pull back fairly quickly and asked him to leave promptly. The kiss was caught on the security cameras, and since it happened, I got fired for that reason.”

You bite your lip in nervousness, anticipating the rejection. However, you were presented with a far more mature answer that you were expecting.

The principal presents a thoughtful expression, “Hmm… I see. You said that you stated your boundaries before, yes?”

“I did sir, yes.”

“And that kiss was initiated by the male parent, to which you reciprocated for a short amount of time, before eventually pulling away, removing yourself from the damaging situation?”

“Correct, yes.”

He looks you in the eyes, leaning forward in his seat, “And have you contacted this parent outside of the school hours, whether that be after school, during school breaks or over the weekends?”

You shake your head, “I have not, no. The only time we spoke after school hours was when he aided me in running the school’s Christmas Fayre.”

“I see…” he pauses for a moment, “I’m going to ask you one more question before making my decision, if that’s all right with you,” to which you nod with a smile. “You worked at your previous school for three years, and I’m sure you’re aware that we really value applicants that have that prior experience. So, what skills have you learnt or improved as your time as a teacher of elementary school children?”

You look off to the side, sighing happily at the memories of your previous students. You turn your head to look back up at the principal, your answer coming confidently to your brain, no fears present. “I’ve learnt how to time manage and be organised. I would schedule my day in the morning to have certain worksheets and items stored in accessible places for me to switch over in between recesses and lunch breaks. Also, not all kids learn at the same pace, so I have to factor in extra activities for the children who complete their work a little faster than some of the other students. But, I think the most important thing I learnt was empathy. Children are just smaller, more innocent versions of us adults. I’ve found that many adults believe they must control their children, but I’ve learnt from my experience as a teacher that it’s better to approach every child with warmth, kindness and love. I’ve heard lots of children say that they hate school as young as five years old, and I want to be the one to change that. I want my students to feel safe and loved in my class, and for them to have it be one of their favourite parts of their day.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing out as he takes his glasses off, “I’m just… Wow. I am truly amazed by your answers, Miss. L/N. They are absolutely phenomenal. These are the exact values we like to promote here at Ernie Pyle and you would be a great addition to our team.”

Was he actually kidding? This sounded like an acceptance…

He sits in his chair with his eyebrows furrowed, a thinking look on his face, “However, I do run into this issue of your strike… But, I’m willing to find a way around it. Willing to put in some extra rules.”

You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly, “Anything. I’ll take on any extra rules you require.”

He looks at you once more, “Okay, I’m willing. These are what your rules are gonna be: You cannot speak to any male parent alone in your classroom, whether that be with their child present or not. If they ask you a question whilst dropping off their child, you must direct them to Mrs. Lane, who is going to be your teaching assistant. As well as this, obviously following the previous rules, no parent can aid you in any after school activities, events, or anything of a similar nature. If you need guidance with an event, you must ask another member of staff to aid you. These are the rules I’m offering you, okay?”

“Of course sir, I completely understand.”

“And I’m going to be super strict with this. If I even see you step slightly out of line, I won’t hesitate to add another strike to that record of yours. Do you understand?”

“100% sir. Absolutely,” you respond.

He smiles, raising from his seat, you copying his action as he extends his hand out to you, saying the words you’ve been waiting to hear for a long time: “You’re hired. Welcome to Ernie Pyle.”

You walk into the front door of your apartment, your hair now a disheveled mess from the windy storm forming outside. Amy looks up from her seat on the couch, re-runs of old episodes of Friends playing on the TV mounted on the wall.

She simply snorts, “Jesus. You look like shit.”

You shut the apartment door behind you, replying with a chuckle, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

She stands up, walking over to you where you had dumped your purse onto the small table where the pair of you eat, “So, how did it go?”

You decided to play with your best friend’s emotions, sighing solemnly as you act sad, mumbling out, “Turns out I have to start taking care of kids five days a week again…”

She furrows her eyebrows, before gasping, putting her hand over her mouth in shock, “You got it?”

You smile widely and giggle, “Yeah, I got it.”

She screams a little too loudly, lifting you off the floor in a hug in excitement, squeaking out, “Oh my God, this is amazing! I told you you would get it!”

You part from each other, you playfully rolling your eyes, joking, “Yeah, yeah. You were right again.”

She smirks overdramatically, “Of course I am. When am I ever wrong?”

You chuckle as she jumps up and down, still in shock at your news, “Holy shit, holy shit! You have to call Steve!”

You part from her again, looking at her with a confusion expression as you let out a “What?”

“Steve. You know, the guy you’ve been crushing on for almost a year?” she says with a smile, “You have to call him!”

You sigh out, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Ames, they just put a bunch of extra rules in for me because of that whole situation. I don’t think they’d be very happy if I suddenly start speaking to him.”

Amy groans at you in frustration, “But, Y/N, he’s not your student’s dad anymore. What are they gonna do? Fire you by association? If anything, that’ll make them more at ease as you’ll be taken, so less likely to become flirty with other student’s dads!”

You let out a long breath, thinking over your best friend’s words, before shaking your head, “Nope! Nope! I’m not doing it, Ames!”

She nods eagerly, “Yes you are!” she teases, running back to the living room and grabbing the phonebook from off the bookshelf, before returning to grab your hand, dragging you onto the couch as you plop down. She shoves the phonebook into your lap, pointing at you, “You’re gonna look up his last name and I’m going to watch you pick up that phone, dial his number and call him. Okay?”

You huff, your breath blowing the hairs out of your face as you complain, “Fine! I’ll do it.”

Amy smiles widely, clapping her hands together and shouting, “Yay!”

You open the phonebook, flipping through until you reach the letter ‘H.’ You scan through the names, reaching the correct starting letters. Hare-, Hari-, Harp-, Has—

“Uh.. Ames?” you say, blinking rapidly, her humming at you, “It’s not in here.”

“What do you mean it’s not in there?” she questions, walking over and sitting next to you on the cream-coloured couch.

“His last name is Harrington. Look,” you point to the page, “It says Harps, and then skips on to names beginning ‘Has.’ He’s not fucking in here.”

“You’re not joking with me? You aren’t making up that name to not call him?”

You look her dead in the eyes, “I’m not kidding. He’s not in here.”

“I mean, he must be one of those rare people who really values privacy. Had his name removed or something,” she replies.

You huff, rolling your eyes and slamming the book shut, placing it back on the bookshelf, “I guess the Universe is telling me really not to go through with it, huh?” you direct at your best friend, turning around and storming into your room, closing the door forcefully behind you.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t at least a little bit disappointed… Okay, maybe more than a little.

But… maybe not all hope was lost.

You and Amy took turns taking on the weekly adulting tasks, splitting the boring household chores between the two of you.

You had travelled into Indianapolis, grabbing your weekly groceries for the two of you. You were browsing the selection of cheeses, deciding which one would taste the nicest in relation to your budget. However, a tall man was leaning over you, trying to reach an item located above your head. However, once he spoke, you recognised that voice from anywhere

“I’m so sorry, I just need to grab—” The man looks down at you as you look up at him, your eyes connecting in an intense gaze, “Holy shit… Y/N?”

“Steve?” you breathe out, trying to register the fact that the man you thought you would never see again in your life is standing right in front of you. He’s wearing a Wham! t-shirt, light blue jeans, and a denim jacket in a similar shade. And my God does he look gorgeous.

And he thought the same about you as you stood there in your yellow, flowy dress. Perfect for the warm Indiana summer, and perfect for you. It hugged you so well, in all the right places. It made you look breathtaking.

“Um, hi! Hi… How— How are you?” he asks, blinking rapidly as he tries to form a sentence, his body still shocked from not only how beautiful you look, but the chances of you two meeting in the same grocery store out of your towns.

“I’m doing good, how have you been?” you respond, trying to keep the conversation as casual as possible.

“Pretty great, yeah…” He pauses for a moment, staring at the ground, afraid he would blush if he looked at you again, “Alena’s great too, by the way. Just in case you wanted to know…”

You nod, “I’m glad you two are doing good. I know that me leaving and all probably took a great toll on her, and I wanted to say sorry—”

However, he interrupts you, “Wait, you left the school?”

You sigh out, realising that Alena must’ve not shared the news with her dad, most likely too nervous to tell him that it was because of his actions. “Yeah… I got fired. They caught us kissing on the security cameras and you know… student confidentiality, you know all about that shit.”

“Shit…” he breathes out, sinking in the fact that his actions were the reason for your job loss. “I’m sorry. I never should have kissed you. It was completely my fault and I—”

But now, it’s your time to interrupt him. You giggled, “Steve, I promise, it’s okay. Besides…” you look up, smiling, “I may have found a better teaching job that pays more anyway. You kind of saved me in a way.”

He chuckles awkwardly, “Yeah… I suppose I did…”

The two of you laugh together before the air falls into silence again, the sounds of regular shoppers and beeping machines filling the atmosphere.

Steve was the one to speak what seemed to be the thought lingering on both of your minds, “So… Does that mean I can ask you out again?”

You decide to tease him, “Depends what’s in store, Harrington.”

He laughs at your comment, “Well, I was thinking I pick you up, I take you to a fancy restaurant, and then we shoot the shit, see where the night takes us… Not in a sexual way of course! I just mean in general…” He mentally face-palms himself. Why did he have to phrase it like that?

You giggle at his ramblings, “I like the sound of that,” you smile up at him, your heart fluttering all the more faster, “When are you thinking for?”

“Um… Friday night, seven o’clock at your place?” he asks.

And you verbalise the answer that he’s been wanting to hear for almost a year, the two of you finally being allowed to love each other: “It’s a date.”

and that's the end!! i hope you all enjoyed this five part series, i had so much fun writing it!! now... where do we go from here?

so, if you've checked out the masterlist to this series, you may have noticed the 'spinoffs' section. that's because i'm giving you guys leverage over the future of this little au!!

so, what spinoffs would you like to see? steve and r's first date? them officially getting together? first outing as a couple with alena? even future down the line? it's totally up to you, these are merely suggestions!!

i will be opening my asks back up next week for this series only, so i can't wait to see what scenarios you guys come up with!!

as always, thank you for dedicating your time to reading this entire series, it means so much to me!! ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @cats00089 @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 comment if you wanna be added/removed from the spinoffs taglist!!

[zellink]

all the bells say

a pre-calamity zelink longfic. [chapter 1 of 28 // Act 0 of 5]

>> Read Act 0: "Genesis / Heavy" on AO3

Summary:

Rating: M Main Tags: canon compliant / angst with a happy ending / character study / romance / slow burn / all the goddamn tension. / mutual pining / self-doubt / following all the botw memories / Zelda is an unreliable narrator / Link is so hopelessly in love (until it's not) What will you do with what you've been given when the story forever tolls the same way? Link and Zelda, the Calamity, and their tale of inevitability and doom, and most of all, of love.

Notes:

Here I am, 7 years late to the party, 3 years after witnessing my boyfriend first play BOTW, with a Starbucks in hand and yet another pre-Calamity long fic that absolutely nobody asked for. But I have to do it. I have to bounce these two blonde elves in my head indefinitely and breathe life into my many, many headcanons.

All my love and thanks to my trench buddy and writing soulmate @1up-girl for all your invaluable beta'ing, brainrotting, and everything in between—I seriously owe you forever and ever. Thousands of thanks to the lovely @mustardcheesedog for your amazing energy and hype as an early reader and the daily zelink brainrot.

I also wanna to thank @milkywayes for doing the beautiful banner art for Bells; for understanding my vision and for all the conversations we've had about zelink—headcanons concocted in our DMs that I eventually adopted into this fic.

Fic title taken from the famous John Berryman poem, "Dream Song 29".

~~~ Please go to the fic page on AO3 and read the extended author's note in the beginning for warnings! ~~~

Anyway..... here's Act 0, y'all!

Act 0: Genesis / Heavy

There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart só heavy, if he had a hundred years & more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time Henry could not make good. […] Ghastly, with open eyes, he attends, blind. All the bells say: too late. This is not for tears; thinking. “Dream Song 29” - John Berryman

Link is no stranger to death.

At five years old, he’s already witnessed more than his peers ever would. Growing up at a farm can do that to a kid. Cows, lambs, cuccos—all to the slaughter for sustenance, for profit. He stations himself beside Father and Mother as they butcher them to sell at the family shop. He’s also seen Father shoot countless deers and elk during their leisure hunts whenever Father is back home from Castle Town. More often than not, Father would let him borrow his old bow, and Link would contribute to their hunt, too.

But then Link’s pet fish dies one afternoon—a fat white freshwater carp with gold and black splotches he named Goldie—and he weeps and weeps in Mother’s lap. Goldie was his friend. Goldie was always there in the morning when he would wake up, and was there at night before he’d go to bed. But now Goldie is floating in the pond, its tiny mouth agape.

Mother strokes his hair. “It’s okay, Link. Goldie is with the Goddess, now.”

“Can I be with the Goddess, too?” he asks. Snot runs down his nose.

“Well, no.” Mother huffs a laugh. “Where Goldie is… we cannot go there. But what you can do is pray.”

Link withdraws his head from Mother’s lap. He wipes the tears from his face with the heel of his palms.

“Can we pray together, Mom?”

At that, something unreadable passes through Mother’s face. Her blue eyes turn steely.

“You can pray, Link,” she says, something sad about her small smile. “I won’t join. But we can arrange a funeral for Goldie, if you would like that?”

So they spend the rest of the day gathering flowers from the brambles that surround their estate until Mother’s wicker basket is full of white roses, blue nightshades, and armoranths. Mother also allows him to use the small wooden box that sits atop her vanity—a coffin perfect for Goldie. Mother says that it’s a box that used to house a necklace she bought and gave to Father long ago, but that necklace is long lost, so she has no use for it now.

Link wraps Goldie in an old rag and lays it gently inside the box. Then, they dig a hole in their backyard and bury the box and Goldie in it. He cries again, but not as hard as earlier. He clasps his hands in front of his chest, shuts his eyes, and utters his prayers aloud.

“Goddess Hylia, please welcome Goldie in your loving arms, give it many, many worms to eat, and bring it back as a strong and healthy fish in its next life.” Let its next life start tomorrow, please, Link does not say aloud.

When they make it back inside the living room, Father is already there, sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee. He asks about what they have been up to, and Link answers honestly. Father doesn’t press on, and he looks rather exhausted, so Link goes back into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.

He climbs into his bed and crawls toward the far end of the wall, looking out from the window and into the backyard. He sees it—a small grave by the shrubs, complete with a rock roughly the shape of an oval as the tombstone, with flowers surrounding the little plot of land.

He hears voices from beyond his bedroom door.

“I don’t think it is best for us to go soft on him.”

“Wha— soft? He is five and his pet just died!”

“And you helped him throw a funeral. For a fish.”

“Because he’s just a child!”

There’s a grating sound—a chair being dragged on the floor. “Well, he’s always said that he wants to become a knight. Then we must prepare him for such an occupation.”

“Being a knight does not mean he can’t feel emotions.”

“Eleana, being a knight is not easy. He will see hundreds of deaths in his lifetime. The next death he’ll witness won’t be of a fish, but of a comrade. I just want to prepare him for when he eventually becomes one.”

“Well—” a pause, “—then I hope, for Link’s sake, he never becomes one.”

Link, however, doesn’t pay much attention to his parents’ conversation. Instead, he imagines Goldie wiggling its way past the layers of cloth and wood and soil, flopping around the backyard until it finds its way to the pond again. Once everybody is asleep Goldie will rise up from its grave, he thinks. He prayed to the Goddess, after all.

But come morning, the pond is still empty, and Goldie remains lifeless in its little coffin.

And he never sheds another tear after that.

****************

Link is no stranger to death, and no stranger to funerals, either.

A year after Goldie’s humble funeral in his backyard in Hateno Village, Father must attend one of the most important funerals in the kingdom for as long as Link can remember.

(Well, six years is quite long for him, anyway.)

So here he is, holding Mother’s gloved hand, in the congregation at the Grand Chapel of Hyrule Castle. It’s a sad occasion, of course—everyone’s wearing black, all the women have their faces obscured with a veil, and he can hear sniffles from the crowd. But Link also can’t wait to tell his friends back home of his first real experience in the castle.

There are speeches, sermons, hymns, and many, many other long-drawn-out processions that he has no choice but to zone out on. But once the burial is over, Link is rather excited, because the Royal Guards (and by extension, Father) must accompany the Prince Consort to the Sanctum for an intimate reception.

The Sanctum is grand—big, luxurious, grand. Red velvet is draped everywhere—the thrones, the floor, the curtains, the banners. There’s also a lot of gold, and streaks of blue here and there. Link likes the blue the most.

When Father makes his way through the crowd to find Link and Mother, Link knows it’s time. He straightens his back, draws his chin a little bit higher, and follows Father.

“This is pretty exciting, right, Mom?” Link whispers. “Meeting the Prince!”

“The King,” Father corrects him. “He was the Prince, and now, without the Queen, he has become the King.” He sounds annoyed. “Please don’t make that mistake in front of His Majesty.”

Link clears his throat. “Sorry, Father.”

He gazes up at Mother again, but she’s quiet, and it’s hard to look past her veil.

They climb the grand marble staircase leading to the floating dais above the room, and find a large man standing in front of the throne.

Father and Mother immediately drop to their knees. Link follows suit.

“Your Majesty,” Father says, his head bowed.

“Sir William! Please, no need for this,” the King’s voice booms. Father rises, followed by Mother, and then Link. “I am very pleased to see you again, Lady Eleana. It’s been too long.” The King sounds friendly, but there’s a lot of sadness at the edge of his voice. That makes sense, Link thinks. He just lost his wife.

Then, the King sets his eyes on Link.

Link’s hands feel clammy, all of a sudden.

“And you, young boy—how you have grown! It was not that long ago when your father brought you as an infant to the Castle to celebrate my daughter’s birth,” he says. Link can only muster up a nod and a shaky smile. “Speaking of—” the King turns around to shoo something from his back. “Don’t just hide! Introduce yourself.”

From behind the King’s robe, a little girl emerges, clad in a black dress and a black surcoat. Her face, however, isn’t covered with a veil like the other women, and the first thing Link notices is how golden her hair is compared to the rest of her outfit. It’s almost blinding.

The second thing Link notices is how green her eyes are. Very green. Like grass, like trees. Like the forests that he likes to spend time in.

The girl extends a gloved hand. Palm facing down.

“I’m Princess Zelda,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”

Link takes her hand in a gentlemanly way that Father has taught him when greeting noblewomen. His thumb pad rests on her knuckles. His left hand rises to splay over his right breast. Then, he puts one foot in front of the other and bends his knees, bowing his head.

“Nice to meet you, Princess,” he says. “My name is Link.”

As he straightens up again, Link finds it hard to let go of her hand. The Princess doesn’t, either; her forest green gaze is still piercing through his eyes. It feels like vines are growing out of his wrist and twining around his hand and the Princess’.

“Hello, Link,” she says.

Oh, his heart is racing.

Father lets out a cough, and the vines vanish. Link withdraws his hand as if shocked by a jolt of electricity. The Princess lets her arm fall limp at her side once more, but her eyes are still on him. Mother grabs him by his shoulders, pulling him back to stand next to her again.

“Your Majesty, once again, Eleana, Link, and I would like to offer our deepest condolences for your loss,” Father says. “For this kingdom’s loss. The Queen is—was—a strong and wise monarch, and as a people, we shall mourn her absence forevermore.” His lips are trembling a little, Link notes. He’s never seen that on Father before.

“Thank you, Sir William,” the King says. “You were a steadfast presence in her life, truly.” At that, Mother’s grip tightens. Link tilts his head up to look at her, but is met with that layer of veil again. “Well, I must be on my way. Duty calls upon us all, after all.”

With one last bow from Father, Mother, and Link himself, the King makes his way toward the other end of the dais and descends the opposite staircase. The Princess follows, her back straight and steps never once faltering.

She doesn’t turn back to cast one last glance at his family, but Link watches and watches and watches. He’s still watching as she disappears beneath the grand archway that leads further into the castle.

On the walk back to Castle Town where Father resides, Link feels something heavy settling in his gut. Like his little inconsequential life makes sense, all of a sudden. Like being six years old doesn’t really matter because, in that moment, he feels like there are hundreds of ancient men residing within the confines of his bones. And all those men are whispering the same name over and over.

The name he heard just a half hour ago.

So he speaks up.

“Father, I think I’m ready to really train,” he says. “I really wanna be in the Royal Guard.”

Father laughs.

Mother, beneath her black veil, stays quiet.

>> Continue reading on AO3

[wrightingwithalex]

I got something for joel...okay imagine this...

Joel's got their hands burned and they usually wear braids/ponytails/a hairstyle that requires some work.. but due to their injury they cant do it so they ask Joel for help....

Do u think Joel would deal with some memories of Sarah due to this interaction? And if so, think you could write a scenario that shows his reaction to it?

A/N: Okay so I'm in love with this. I really hope this writing is what you expected because this idea is so good I don't wanna disappoint😭 tears were shed while making this

Words: 1,019

Joel Miller braiding GN!readers hair

Warnings: a twinge of angst because of Joel's past, overall bittersweet, platonic, this is set to be a little after they got settled in Jackson

Banner by leoleo on Pinterest, and divider by @cafekitsune!

"Ow, fuck!" you groaned, your voice echoing throughout the bathroom.

You were getting ready to go on patrol and had to tie your hair up, since life cursed you to have goddamn Repunzel-like locks. You could usually make a quick braid and wrap it in a bun with almost no effort, but you have an obstacle to deal with this time.

The second-degree burns on your palms.

You were cooking dinner for everybody in the house the other day. Something distracted you, and your clumsy self went to grab a hot pot without oven mittens. You were screaming in pain as if you were getting attacked by a bunch of clickers. Yeah, that's how it felt.

So now you were unable to tie your hair up properly. Great.

You began thinking of other possible options. Going out on patrol with your hair down or even just in a ponytail is an absolute NO. It would be way too distracting, and would probably get caught in a branch.

You walked out of the bathroom and headed towards Joel's bedroom. Why were you expecting a man in his 50s to know how to do your hair? Well, there was nobody else home, and you were really hopeless at that point.

Joel was lying in bed, back against the headboard with a book in his hands. That was until you knocked on his door.

"Come in," he called out, not taking his eyes off the page. He saw you enter from the corner of his eye and he immediately looked up, peering over the edge of the book.

Your hair was ever so slightly tousled from struggling, and the sight made him let out a breathy chuckle.

"What's with that nest on your head?" he asked jokingly, making your brows furrow.

"Ha ha. Very funny," you retorted sarcastically, "Can you help me braid this shit? My hands still hurt like hell from yesterday," you asked.

"What am I, yer personal hairdresser?" he teased—though he wouldn't mind becoming one for you.

"Well, as of today, yes, actually," you quipped back. He merely rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Alright, alright, just c'mere."

He gestures for you to turn around. You gave him your hair ties before following his gesture, your back facing him as you sit down cross-legged on his bed.

His calloused fingers began working through your hair, gently brushing out the knots. Your hair was soft. It reminded him of his late daughter, Sarah.

Sarah.

His hands slowed at the sudden rememberance of his daughter, his heart aching. Once his pride and joy, his baby girl, now only a bittersweet memory. You noticed the hesitation in his movements, confusion finding your features.

"...If you don't know how to do a braid, it's okay, I'll tell you," you suggested, bringing him back to the present for a second.

"No, no, it's alright, I got it," he responded, getting back to doing your hair. However, Sarah took over his mind. His hands went on auto-pilot as he reminisced about her.

He thought about all the times she would come home from school excited about a good grade she had gotten. How warm her smile was, her enthusiasm contagious. The sound of her voice. All the times they would cuddle on the couch under a soft blanket as they watched a movie, his hand running through her silky hair exactly how it did with yours.

Joel's face softened into a small smile at the specific memory of how he had her just like this, doing her hair for the last day of 5th grade. Coincidentally, Sarah also asked for braids, except it was two small ones on each side. To say the least, she got a ton of compliments from her friends and schoolmates.

This rememberance, unlike his other ones, didn't feel... heavy. He didn't know if it was because of you or because he had finally started letting go of his past, nor does he care. All that mattered was that he could think of his baby girl without being haunted by that day 25 years ago. It was as if a colossal weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

With a final tug, he was done with your hair, pulling back to admire his work.

"You done?" you asked, moving your hand to feel the braid bun.

"Yeah. That'll be 20 bucks," Joel responded matter-of-factly. You turned around with a scoff, pretending to be annoyed, but couldn't help the smile creeping up to your face.

"Such a comedian."

[swaps55]

Joker self-sabotages :( While Joker and Kaidan might be able to rekindle their friendship in time, while Kaidan might be able to construct his half of the bridge to rebuild their friendship, it won't stand on its own, and Joker keeps burning his own half of the bridge down. The way you wrote it, it's all dependant on Joker's mental health. Luckily for Joker, if Shepard is doing well, Joker is doing well, and Shepard does well with Kaidan. Honestly understand Joker. Having power is the first step

You have no idea how much I am grinning over this inbox FULL of your brilliant observations.

You are SO correct.

Joker and Kaidan's friendship is a favorite of mine. Before Opus took over my life, I had intended to write a series of one shots that would follow it through the trilogy. The forging, the breaking, and the salvaging. I posted one or two - without much structure - and had some scribbled notes for others.

Now those ideas are just getting folded into Opus, and they have morphed and changed as needed, but I am still really excited about them. Here is one of the half-scenes I scribbled out a few years ago now. It doesn't quite fit Opus!Kaidan and Joker, but some of the sentiment does. I have latched onto the idea that in ME2, Joker believes as much as Shepard does that if they can just get to Kaidan, everything will be okay. And then...it isn't.

And all that guilt turns to fury. Because the person who could have fixed it...didn't.

~

“Why the fuck weren’t you here?” Joker demands. “Why did you have to go and do exactly what you would go and do, walk away when we needed you here?”

“Joker-”

“You know I hated you after Ashley died?”

Kaidan falls silent as though someone slapped him in the face.

“Shepard had to leave someone behind, and he chose her and not you. I could hardly stand the sight of your face after that. What made your life worth more than hers, huh? But after being with Cerberus, you know what? I understood it. You know why he saved you? Because you’re magnetic fucking north. Ashley was a soldier. She’d follow any order Shepard gave her. Oh sure, she had an opinion about it. She had an opinion about everything. But she was a solider, and she followed her fucking orders. You? You have a conscience. He gives you an order and you think about it. You may think you’re a by-the-book kind of guy, Alenko, but at the end of the day, nothing’s getting between you and your goddamned moral center, not even a court martial. That’s why he saved you. Because when he looked in the mirror and didn’t know if the reflection looking back at him was Shepard or Saren, you were there to make sure it was Shepard.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Kaidan mutters.  

“Yes you do. Yes you do. He needed that when we went after the collectors and you weren’t there to give it to him. Only thing worse than watching him die once was watching it happen again, only slow.”  

Kaidan throws an arm in the air. “What do you want from me, Joker?”

“I want you to hate me as much as I hated you. You killed Ashley. I killed Shepard. We both lost something. Why won’t you just snap? For once.”

Kaidan stares at him. “Joker…you didn’t kill Shepard. Look at me. Joker. You did not kill Shepard.”

[xiaoluclair]

Lestappen for ship ask meme?

dawg u did NOT. okay okay, how Thought are we talking here bc. Yeah .

but… thing Is i've done a million quadrabajilion rambles on this site already.... how much more can i do i hear exactly 0.012 people ask. answer:

A Lot.

firstly, the tropes. the dynamics. the Classics u know the ones. ROLL CALL, we got: enemies to tentative acquaintances to friends to lovers, idiots in hate to idiots in love we got red and blue we got 2 sides of the same coin, he fell first i fell harder, slow burn slug burn sloth burn, the opposite of love is not hate it is indifference, he is more myself than i am, whatever our soles are made of his and mine are the same, we have fucking GOT.

secondly, the fukin. the pure Development??? of their relationship like im screaming into my hands rn no lie i fucking Love their development. the amount of Respect that exists between them, breathes like a living thing bc are you surprised by the pace of charles today? uh.. not really (internally: bitch??? why tf wd i be- ) he's a naturally skilled driver. that's always something you can admire. who do you think will win the wdc this year? i think max. i know how strong he is. (😃🔫)

thirdly, the History. they could fill libraries with their shared past, thoughts about each other (prbly more sharl about max, that boy deffo knows a Hate Boner), races, inchidents (WHICH btw max and charles both saying 'we've had moments' - as in plural???? hello????? HELLO-- ) and they talk about it to, they say in the end, we have been doing this for so long and i want to beat him as much as he wants to beat me. that's the way it is and the way it has always been. which also btW fits nicely into pt2 of Respect and that's on part four-

FOURTHLY, yknow when u try to hold convo with some1 n they just. Lack. like, ur tryna have a Good Time but its like chucking micropipettes of water at the goddamn sahara. yeah that = Sucks. Then we have maxnsharl: This Post. 'we were once in the round of free practice. the drivers were rolling the engines. but charles and max found themselves close together, began to push and almost focused, risking throwing each other out-' . and my tags: #the thought of them always pushing each other#always meeting one another move for move mind for mind#they Wanted competition they Found it in each other#and here it’s that Fire that Spark that Flame that PeePoo Racer Brain#they fanned that in each other…

fifthly, the Spec. the goddamn Spec. spectrum, if you will. how they go from ruthless on track, not an inch given bc they don't Do that, they're not Like that. and then they go from That to licheral heart eyes soft looks tender touch. softwiltedcabbage dot img as i Love to say bc it's True.

and sixthly, finally, climactically before eye fill an entire library: the SEX. dawg.. have you Seen. have u Ascended. bc i have . illegal.

.

seventhly i hate them theyre actually the worst ship on the grid. gross disgusting misaligned. votes for taken out back and shot: 1 (tumblr user xiaoluclair).

[yeets myself before i live the rest of my life answering this ask]

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 5/30/2023

all you can see is my hand over the back of the couch as i give a limp wrist flick of acknowledgement and point you toward the post ↓ 

listening

Smooth Jazz by GUPPY, a selfdescribed comedic punk band that makes secular guitar music with bedroom-pop overtones. said to myself out loud on my walk "this sounds gay" and whaddya know they are.

I’m listening to smooth jazz In the parking lot outside of Joann’s Fabrics & Crafts And I’m feeling like a dumb spazz Because my mind is moving way too fast

i have had this exact experience at multiple joanns. the last bit of the song has been on loop in my head since uhh thursday when i was catching up with my spot/ify weekly recommended list. the tired, slightly ironic last-number-in-the-musical performance is really doing it for me

Jazz, baby! That’s just jazz, baby That’s just jazz That’s just jazz, baby In my brain, baby So give me a lobotomy

-

reading

raymond chandler's the long goodbye.

this book destroyed me. there is some BREATHTAKING racism even for 1953. it's one of the cruelest things ive ever read. it's a sucking chest wound of a book. i'm going to think about it for the rest of my life.

i'm not able to talk about chandler novels objectively.

i am partially grieving the incredibly fucked up shit that happens to marlowe in this book (i have no fucking clue how you even go on after that, but he does) and partially grieving that this is the last full novel and there aren't any more. i know the unfinished poodle springs was finished after chandler's death but! i do not care.

-

watching

One-Eyed Jacks (1961, dir. Brando). widely available for free, pluto had the nicest copy but ads that weren't blockable. this is a film where the production is as much of a story as the actual film.

i don't actually know if i enjoyed this film or had a good time watching it. i don't know that i ever need to see it more than once.

it is artistically distinct, and i genuinely mean that as a compliment. it is a rare western-that-doesn’t-have-to-be-a-western, and such a weird artifact of a particular guy's career in a particular time.

surprisingly, this is a pretty okay western to watch if you happen to be a woman. katy jurado and pina pellicier are acting their GODDAMN hearts out. despite itself, the movie paints a very good portrait of a mother-daughter relationship and some goodass parenting. women make mistakes and don't die about it. nobody gets raped!!! the absolute lowest bar a western can possibly have. as a quick sidebar, it's not that i think movies should never address rape, it's that westerns always address it in a way that makes my stomach turn.

it is a slow-burning revenge that mostly takes place on a beach, but it also takes you in great uneven hurtling lurches toward its finale. it wants to have things to say about lies, revenge, and storytelling but cannot help but give itself a certain kind of ending. it can only push so far. it is fascinatingly earnest, horny, and earnest about being horny.

-

playing

grim fandango remastered (2015, originally 1998) by double fine. the EPIC tale of CRIME and CORRUPTION in the LAND OF THE DEAD!!! critically acclaimed, what we would now call Mexican Gothic i think, but billed itself as a Aztec-inspired noir.

technical details: i am not totally impressed by this remaster bc it still looks pretty fucking janky in parts (things clipping through other things, heavily pixelated stuff despite being on the highest quality settings, etc)

why i bounced off: i did not play video games growing up, and have not played many point-and-click games. despite this i do like walking simulators (the modern successor to point-and-click) and visual novels. i think bc i do not have the point-and-click background and am not playing this through nostalgia-tinted glasses for 1998, four years after i was born, the way the design team of this game expect the general population to solve problems and the way i personally solve problems are severely mismatched. i have spent about ten hours playing this game (in four acts) getting to about halfway through the third act, and i would say about half that time has been looking for/at guides or making up lost progress bc i didn't save. this is a tremendously frustrating way to spend free time.

what i did love: however, it does Look. i ADORE this tile and want it in my home. in a cutscene in this little automat there are not one not two not three but FOUR reflective surfaces. they're not real-time, of course, but i did say "what the FUCK" out loud. it's also hysterically fucking funny! many short sharp barks of laughter! i am greatly amused at how a game about skeletons invented permadeath! both the writing and the voice performances are so fucking top notch. i understand why this is a beloved classic and im glad a remastered edition exists in the world, but i do not anticipate finishing this game bc i don't get a lot of joy out of having to closely follow a guide to progress.

how i found this: it was free on GOG several years ago, i wanted to play something this weekend that was compatible with lying down on the couch and used a maximum of one finger for the controls.

-

making

i cannot show any of the extremely doxxable embroidery samples that will zhuzh up this cardigan for a work event in mid-june, but i can show how i tacked the buttonband down. this is somewhat indifferent stitch spacing but it stays down and is invisible at a distance from the right side, and that's what matters. gotta de-pill this also but that's a bit boring for a tuesdaypost

[neon-green-reagent]

I watched every Paranormal Activity movie, and I regret the majority of the process. So don't even click on this if you're not ready to hear a rant. SEVERE rant.

Wow, this is the worst franchise I've ever had the misfortune of watching. I had to POWER through these. I did it simply because... I'm a masochist? Mm, maybe. But also I'm a horror fan. And this series is beloved. And I just wanted to UNDERSTAND.

And I never will.

Because this was about 90% garbage. It is the same movie over and over and over. It's the same movie five times at least. Not in that way where people go, "oh, it's formulaic." No, I mean not a goddamn thing is different. The scares are the same. The pacing is the same. All of it is the SAME. The next time someone bitches about Friday the 13th, I'm gonna ask DO YOU LIKE PARANORMAL ACTIVITY? THEN STOP TALKING.

But I said five. There are seven movies. (seven what have i done with my life the time so much time just gone) Two of them attempted to buck the formula. The Marked Ones and Next of Kin. I don't know if I'm merely brainwashed by watching the same thing happen time and again, but I found these two films to be so refreshing. Like a cool glass of water in the desert. I actually ENJOYED them. The Marked Ones would probably work on its own if it wasn't for the fucking ending, but it genuinely did something else. When it didn't start with that NIGHT #1 shit I just about cut a flip I was so happy. Also, the characters were really genuine, and the story actually made me feel sad. I FELT A THING. And the dudes killing witches with shotguns got a grin out of me, too.

Next of Kin feels like... one of those Hellraiser movies that has Pinhead in it, but you know the original script wasn't even about him? Yeah. ONLY GOOD. It's a slow burn, but it has some truly chilling suspense as they start sneaking around in places they shouldn't be, trying to find answers. And the third act just goes hog wild. It gave me V/H/S series vibes with the creativity and the truly bonkers ending. So if you like that sort of thing like I do, try it. You don't have to watch the other movies. It's so disconnected from them.

Oh, and Next of Kin was the franchise killer. They probably won't make anymore, because it bombed so bad. I want to cackle at the sky. Audiences really are that vapid. They could not handle being shown something different.

The one thing that sort of kept me going with the series was Katie as a character. When you watch her boyfriend basically abuse her until she becomes demon possessed, you can't help but root for her. Her becoming a vessel for evil just kinda seems like... good for her territory. There's something to that, I guess, but it's so fucking minor. She becomes less and less of the focus with each movie, and then when they decide young actors will suffice, it gets unwatchable. Because, no, I don't want to see kids try to improv. Spare me, please.

Normally this is not what I'd do. I'd rank them. This would be all structured and nice and excited. But then I realized what would be the point of me going AND IT SUCKED AND IT SUCKED AND IT SUCKED AND THIS WAS OKAY AND THIS ONE WAS ACTUALLY GOOD FOR ONCE. Like I can't do that. I'd rather not go through each movie saying the same thing, because they are all the same thing. I'd rather just make a nice, healthy, blanket statement. Series BAD.

If someone hate read this for some bizarre reason, tell me why they're good. Tell me why I'm wrong. GIVE ME SOMETHING. Convince me. Don't cuss me out and call me a whatever new internet slang for stupid person. Give me something real here. What is it about this that has so captured audiences and made it a modern classic?

[crystalelemental]

Unit Teambuilding - Neo Champion Leaf

It should have been Articuno, this was such an easy setup, why does DeNA keep fucking this shit up?

General Overview Apparently this is based off which bird they get in the manga, so once again the non-games media has ruined my life.

Leaf's main move is Leer, which hits -1 Atk/Def/Sp Atk/Sp Def and -1 Fire Rebuff thanks to her passives. After a passive is set, she gets access to her Buddy move, which is 150BP, sets Sun on first use, and doubles current debuffs on the single target she hits. While under Sun, she prevents all status and interference for the entire team. TM is immediate +6/+6/+3 offenses, so no real need for support. Her last skill is Potion, which at least gets MPR3 instead of MPR2. Grid skills can include Solar Sync for one more Sun application, Extend 3 on Sun, a chance to burn on Buddy move, and a chance to confuse on Leer. It's a decent spread of tools.

Leaf's strength, then, is compression. She's the Tech equivalent of SS Morty, gaining value from providing multiple relevant tools to allies. Rebuff and Sun are great Fire damage modifiers. Offensive debuffing and Potion are great for supports that can't heal manually. Defensive debuffing, setting sun, and providing team immunity to status and interference, means Leaf has traits that are valuable even beyond on-type damage. And all of this while offensively keeping up with other damage dealers in her type. Sync is a bit stronger than SS May, DPS a bit stronger than SS Hilda.

So okay, why don't I love this? I love the jack of all trades approach, and adore debuffs and field effects. I should love this. Why don't I love this?

Leer is horribly slow to accumulate debuffs. I understand it's a spectrum debuff, but anyone familiar with Classic Elesa is aware that a -1 across all stats is generally not exceptional. It can do a lot to disrupt a target, but it doesn't kick off multipliers for allies that well, and most critically, doesn't set her up well. TM -> two Leer -> sync is only -8. She'd be operating at 2/3rds full capacity on first sync without help. Her buddy move doubling current debuffs also doesn't help. TM -> 3 Leer -> 1 Buddy move and TM -> 1 Leer -> 3 Buddy Moves gets you the same amount of debuff on a single target, with the only difference being the former gets you better spread debuffing, and the latter gets you Sun sooner. And if at any point an X item is used by your opponent on a stat you wanted debuffed, congrats on losing two turns of work in one.

Solar Sync with Extend 3 is a goddamned embarrassment with Adaman dropping three months ago. Dude has the same rebuff ability, way stronger sync, but somehow gets Solarize and Extend 5. If Leaf had even one of those, this could be a different discussion. But both angles were limited, for no reason.

Leaf does not replace current top damage meta. She supplements it. SS May, SS Hilda, they're still approximately as good. Which is a sad state of affairs for a Master Fair, and a sadder state when lined up next two Red and Blue, who get to go absolutely ballistic with powercreep. Leaf's limitations are so unnecessary it's outright insulting. DeNA really does not like Leaf.

EX, Role, and Move Level? 1/5 maintains her debuffs and her rebuff and her Sun setting on first attack. All very good traits to have. 3/5 is nice for sync, Potion MPR, and Solar Sync with Extend 3. EX is nice only if she wants to sync. Personally, I think many people who have strong Fire types already will be fine with 1/5 playing third wheel to comps they already had. Her EX Role is support, which is...fine. I don't entirely agree with it, but it's fine. No explosive coverage, no faster access to next sync, so I guess just double DPS for the team? It gives some added stats for bulk, so who knows, maybe it'll make her a good off tank with the debuffs and Potion. While this is very worth talking about, given her stats shoot up to nearly 900 HP and 270 defenses, I'm not talking about it because there's not going to be an F2P way to earn cake for another 2-3 months.

Team 1: NC Leaf, SS Morty, SS May New and "improved." Prior, Colress was the best partner to May, thanks to Screech. Leaf has better matched theme skills, Leer's debuffs make the team effectively immortal while powering up May, and it's extra Sun application. This is a Leaf that works fine at 1/5, providing the needed debuffs for May and otherwise playing support and secondary DPS.

Team 2: NC Leaf, SC Jasmine, Leon Another nice thing about Leaf is that she's flexible. No need for any support, so she can facilitate an ally like Leon just fine. Because she sets sun, she fills in that role from SS Morty as well, really opening possibilities, while debuffing both defenses. Again, if Leon is the star, Leaf is fine 1/5 here.

Team 3: NC Leaf, Lodge Blue/SS Blue, SS Red/Agatha This seems weird, but allow me to state my case. SS Red got Standfast 9, and can now use Flare Blitz, which is powered up by Kanto Pride. His Trainer Move requires mega evolution to get the attack, which is never ideal, but enter Lodge Blue to work on that with him. Moreover, SS Red can fast-ramp with Propulsion 9 on TM, all he needs is flinch. Because of Blue's Stomp, congrats, you have flinch. Alternatively, if you want Leaf to be a one-woman show, SS Blue works beautifully with her, boosting defenses and having access to Pep Rally, as well as appreciating her pop Potions. I mention Agatha because Kanto doesn't have great flinch bots, so sleep bot it is.

Team 4: NC Leaf, Leaf, SS Leaf I will say, there's a certain joy in knowing this works. NC Leaf is the powerhouse, SS Leaf helps with debuffs (especially at 5/5), and base Leaf has Staggering and defense boosts on sync. With all the healing stacked in, they are more than capable of handling anything. Stallmaster Leaf.

Team 5: NC Leaf, Marley/Lodge Dawn, BP Falkner/Kukui/C!Elesa If NC Leaf is doing the damage thing, spending turns on Leer is generally not ideal. Bringing partners that debuff is then a very useful trait. Marley has matched theme skills and speed control for the party, but has Terrify on grid to contribute. Lodge Dawn can run Mind Games 2 as a lucky skill, and a single good roll snowballs into a very potent sync for Leaf, while also giving both defenses and speed boosts on a single move. BP Falkner is worth mentioning here. Speed is the one stat Leaf doesn't debuff, and more critically, Mud Slap can get really chaotic as Leaf starts spamming buddy move to just erase opponent accuracy. Kukui is an example of the budget slot. Defense is a good stat to debuff for her DPS, and any Leer bot with flinch can put in good work for her, stalling turns for more debuffs and adding a little more pressure. And of course, C!Elesa is the champion of spectrum debuffs, drastically speeding up Leaf's rotations.

Team 6: NC Leaf, MC Regirock, Gordie If desired for Gauntlet purposes, there is one way to get that Rebuff back. Gordie can apply Fire rebuff at will, which means he can keep her DPS active in Gauntlet. I do think this is a bit of a waste of his talents, but such is life I suppose.

Team 7: NC Leaf, BP Barry, Whitney/Lodge Irida But otherwise, you just have to wait until sync. This team is designed with that wait in mind. BP Barry is excellent for this. Crit Shield can be popped at any time, given Leaf's lack of need for support, to block sure crit AoE moves. Paralysis and Attack Trap will cover most known gimmicks, and with Synthesis and healing when attacking a paralyzed foe, Barry can sustain well. For Gauntlets that permit it, flinch from someone like Whitney is ideal, since she can also recover her own HP, limiting the pressure on Leaf's Potion. Lodge Irida is an alternative that flinches and kicks off Fire theme skills.

Team 8: NC Leaf, SS May, SS Hilda Fire Gals. NC Leaf is not particularly bulky, but if you do give her the cake, she gets some respectable stats and can serve as tank with Potion. Debuffs apply well to SS May's damage, while SS Hilda is your 3v3 sync nuke win condition. You have pretty much everything you need, considering Hilda's fast self-setup, so I do think this comp can work out well.

Final Thoughts Leaf is...fine. Her debuffing support kit is slower acting than contemporaries, but the spread of it means some value everywhere. Her DPS is hilariously gated in a way that's going to hurt her gauntlet performance. And unlike Adaman, who gets Sun on every single sync, Leaf gets one. Just one. For no reason. Awesome. Hopefully she sells well enough to get anything else in the next three years. But with Paldea and Hisui coming in, I am not optimistic.

[silentwillowwhisperer]

Poor Keef

I'm so mean to my baby Keef. I'm very sorry. (Keef deserves better.)

Frick canon. I'm writing a thingy that does not follow the course of canon whatsoever, deal with it. (I say that with love. <3)

If feel like I do this exact thing a whole lot.

Oh yeah! Trigger warning, character death, self-doubt/insecurity (like lack of self worth), self-sacrifice, flashbacks (not the good kind), blood. KEEP YOURSELF SAFE PLEASE!!!

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

To his left, Keith sees a starburst explosion bloom out from the side of the blue lion, which flies not far from his own red one. He grits his teeth to keep himself from screaming Lance's name every time he sees the larger lion shudder at the impact of oncoming firing from the Galra.

It's been 2 years. Only 2 years? Keith is surprised by the amount of time that has passed, it feels like a long, blissful lifetime that he's been fighting evil purple cat-people alongside his space family. His only family, really.

And now they're here. Only a couple short years into this war that they stumbled into, and they're about to defeat Zarkon. The blades have already taken down Haggar and the druids that seem to pop up at the absolute worst times. Zarkon is their last target.

They have a whole plan.

And for once, Keith will stick to the plan. He puts the team in jeopardy far too often with his reckless tendencies.

The next impact forces a startled grunt out of him, and he sees nothing but Galra cruisers everywhere.

His team is surrounded, all fighting for their lives at this point.

We're not going to win this. We might not even make it out of this alive.

Keith wants to sob. To yell, to speak his mind, to curse these goddamn aliens for not being able to fight their own wars.

His hands shake as he clutches at Red's controls desperately. He grips tighter and tighter until he sees his knuckles turn white, until he sees his pale skin tear at the soft parts between his fingers like his skin is nothing but paper, until little red rivers crawl down his hands and soak slowly into his undersuit.

Red nudges at the back of his mind to let go, telling him that he's hurting, that he needs to come back.

He's thrown into the past the second he finally closes his fear-stricken eyes.

There's a large, warm hand wrapped around his. "Keith. Keith, bud, are you listening? That building- do you see it? Yeah, good. It's burning and there's a lady in it. I- I'll be back, okay?" Small, trembling Keith watches his father sprint off into the fire. Because that's his job, isn't it? He's a hero. But to be a hero, you have to give up a whole lot. For the first time in his life, Keith sees past the rose-colored glasses that he's been peering through his whole life. His dad, the one that buys him ice cream every Monday after school, the one that drives him far out into the desert just to point up at the sky and say, "See? The sky will always be the same. It'll always be here for you, bud," the one who likes to laugh while he watches horror movies with a far-too-young Keith, the one who tells Keith to, "Stop. Open your eyes, Keith," even when they're already wide open, is now running straight into a flaming building. And Keith finally opens his eyes. Wide open. His dad will never choose Keith, he never has. He just keeps running into every building he sees, never stopping to think about the small child who needs him more than anyone else. But if you keep looking for flames, you're bound to get burnt.

Keith's breathing slows. He opens his eyes to look around. There. Zarkon. He's standing atop the biggest cruiser, watching Voltron getting pulverized by his troops with an almost smile on his face.

Keith really was going to follow the plan this time. Or, at least the most important part of it: take down Zarkon.

He remembers the briefing that took place before all of this. Allura's voice plays out in his head. "Zarkon is using extra power to supercharge his fleets for this battle. We destroy his main cruiser, and we destroy the empire."

Keith turns on his comms.

"Guys. Stop fighting. You're only getting yourselves hurt more."

He hears the others protest weakly, but they know a lost battle when they see one, too.

"I got this, retreat to the castle."

Shiro yells out his name. "I know what you're thinking. Keith, don't do it! Regroup with us, we can end this some other way."

"Not without more lives lost. I-I want to say thanks. To.. all of you. For giving me a family, and for accepting me. I really do love you. All of you."

And with that, he pushes the accelerator all the way forward. So far forward, in fact, that the lever snaps off.

Going out as a hero.

Red. Red surrounds him, then orange and yellow, and then the sound comes back to his ears even though he never noticed it leave.

He hears his friends begging him to stop, the growing whoosh of flames enveloping the lion, and the sound of his own nail digging into the fabric of his chair.

And then it's all gone.

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

Hmmm. I don't like this one as much as my other 'Keith is angsty' things that I write. Oh, well.

If you can't deal with angst, alt ending: the team finds red partially intact, they get Keith's body, and are able to save him. And he loses a limb. Or or or, he goes blind in one eye. Or both!

Alt, alt ending, they get his body but can't save him. Lance never falls in love again. : ) (I'm not normal.)

[grapenehifics]

I’m rereading Solsbury Hill but this is the first time I’ve read it since all chapters have been published. Anyways, I enjoy of how you write Satine and Obi-Wan’s relationship especially with Anakin like I’d say you did so much better than The Clone Wars writers. I do remember all that’s going to happen and how slow Obikin eventually do happen, but it’s definitely worth the slow burn because it’s so palatable of how much they already love and care for each other. I do hope you write more long form Obikin.

(Sorry for the paragraph wall)

But I love your paragraph wall!

This is an extremely roundabout way to get to my point, but if you'll indulge me in a quick personal story: I once dated someone who looked me dead in the eye and called Boromir a villain. And it was such a ridiculous thing to say that I laughed, because it had to be a joke, and said something like, 'Oh, yeah, sure, just like Darth Vader is a villain,' and she said, 'Yes??' like *I* was the one who was confused, here. Like there couldn't possibly be any other way to read those two characters. And maybe that's a weird thing to break up over but that was the exact moment when I knew we weren't going to work out. Because besides a lack of basic media literacy - both those franchises are pretty goddamn clear about who the villains are, and it's neither of those two characters - it just showed such a startling lack of sympathy and empathy and grace and curiosity about how the world works and other people's lives and experiences.

All of that to say - Solsbury Hill has no villain except Palpatine, because real life doesn't actually have very many villains, it just has people, and I was never ever going to villainize Satine, or Padmé, or even Anakin at his lowest point when he's being incredibly shitty to the people who love him. Was there technically room in the story for Anakin to be jealous of Satine's relationship with Obi-Wan, or for Obi-Wan to be jealous that Padmé's married to Anakin when he isn't, yes, of course. But it's never that black-and-white, right? Satine is stubborn and smart and sarcastic and loyal and so is Obi-Wan. If Anakin likes those things in Obi-Wan - and he does - he is at least smart enough to, even if it's grudgingly, recognize that Obi-Wan fell in love with her for a reason, and Anakin can respect the fact that Satine loves Obi-Wan, because he believes so strongly that Obi-Wan is worth loving. And maybe Anakin and Padmé's marriage was hasty and ill-thought out, but marriage is 50-50, and if Obi-Wan can extend Anakin enough grace to say, it's okay to make a mistake, then he has to extend that same courtesy to Padmé.

The other really big point I hope comes across, is that Star Wars, besides being about mercy and forgiveness and second chances, is about community. That was the whole point of the ice bath story in Solsbury Hill - not just that one instance but every part of the first 24 chapters was there to say, sure, on some level these two boys relying on each other for everything is kind of adorable. On another level, though - and it got worse as the chapter count climbed - it was an absolute mess. They were in need of so much help and were not getting it. They needed support, they needed community, they needed help.

Palpatine's whole deal, in every version of the character, is that he tries to isolate Anakin, remove him from his support system, make him feel alone. That's specifically what the Jedi Order is there to prevent - it may be no one's biological family but it is absolutely a community. Star Wars says it over and over again: it's Han Solo's character arc, it's Lando's, it's Din Djarin's, it's Rey's, hell, pick anybody. People are not meant to be alone, and I say this as someone who is super, super far toward the introvert end of the scale. Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't start getting better until they added more people to their team, or family, or whatever you want to call it. Obi-Wan outright says it at Anakin's (first) wedding. The whole story built up to a wedding because I wanted an excuse to show just how many people showed up for them, and how stark a contrast that was to where they started out. They have kids. They have exes. They have friends. They have colleagues. (And therapists and prescription medication.)

Part of the reason this story is so goddamn long is because I wanted a happy ending, and I could not realistically give them a happy ending if they'd gotten together any earlier in the story. Anakin was, to use a very clumsy metaphor, way at the bottom of the pyramid of needs, and having a stable romantic relationship is way at the top. He needed to learn basic friendship (starting with Obi-Wan and Satine) before he could...level up, I guess? Anakin needed to unlearn this - erroneous - idea that love is finite and that if Obi-Wan gives some away to Satine, he'll run out of love for Anakin. And he needed the time to see that that wasn't the case.

Anyway. I've gone on too long. (That's the other reason Solsbury Hill is so long, is that I personally cannot stop talking.) The upshot is, thank you for putting in the time to read and love this story, and thank you for telling me that you enjoy it. I loved writing it, and it makes me happy that anyone else is getting something out of it too :)

[lieutenantmongoose]

Verse Info: Muttongoose (title tba) 

bc i’m too lazy and discombobulated to fic it rn bc it’s a whole slow burn and i’m not patient like that rn, anyway

*Always Sunny Meme/Sets up Dominos* 

(spoilers ahead on the off chance i ever write this and you don’t want to know who takes a tuunbaq to the face or whatever)

It’s jopson, Jopson gets a tuunbaq to the face he’s okay he’s fine it’s a sacrifice that had to happen just hear me out i did the math it was necessary okay listen:

it starts out during Crozier’s Withdrawals. He’s almost through it but we’ve not had the Laudanum talk(tm) yet

Everyone thinks Tuunbaq is dead and the people said Thank U Mr Icemaster Blanky We Love U

Dr Macca is like Aight My Little Penguin Have U Considered,,,,,,Taking A Goddamn Break,,,,,,,and Jopson’s like Ew Why Would I Do Something So Horrible and Dr. Macca is like Lol U Don’t Understand Im Not Asking Im Telling,,,,Babygirl The Dark Circles Are Not Sexy Lmao Take A Nap :) and Jopson is like Ugh Fine Five Minutes and goes the hell outside

Due to a silly situation involving Irving and Little, Jopsauce is out on the ice when Tuunbaq, as one does, shows up 

Thing is when Tuunbaq shows up u only really gotta be faster than like one person and it is Irving’s lucky damn day

Jopson’s actually okay until he decides the most appropriate solution to being nose to nose with the world’s angriest coca cola mascot is to stab it in the face 

Tuunbaq is like U Go For The Face????? Bet

*Man of Constant Sorrow Plays On Xylophone* 

Due to the wonders of medical inaccuracy and some Fitzjames Heroism Jops is actually A-Okay after this

i mean he’s only got one functioning eye and his hearing is janked up for a few weeks but other than that it’s all good and i mean the fact that Crozier has to just about personally threaten to shoot him before he’ll accept any Agonies Mitigation Drugs isn’t ideal but it’s fine he’s fine he’s good it’s all fine

Crozier’s like Aight Jipjop You And I Are In Danger Of Becoming Morbid Let’s Go To Carnivale And Have A Good Time For Once

Nobody Has A Good Time At Carnivale 

Show mostly progresses as normal up until Terror Camp

At which point Tuunbaq to the Face Becomes Relevant bc i mean Crozier DOES still promote our boy to Lieutenant Status and does still give him a gun i mean why wouldn’t you but there’s an Incident and Crozier is like Listen Babygirl I Trust U With My Life And Everyone Else’s But We’re Gonna Let Someone Else Guard Sickfreak McStabbyface 

Which frees Jop up to have a lil run in with Mr Collins and be like 👀

Naturally Jopson is like Oh No oh Absolutely Not We’re Not Playing This Come On Mr Collins I Think You Had Better Let Doctor Goodsir Have A Look At You

Collins is copping hugs left and right he’s very giggly he’s high as a kite he’s like I Haven’t Slept In Two Weeks Lol 

Jopson’s like Dr Goodsir,,,,,,,,,,#Help

Goodsir is like Oh Dear,,,,,,,,,,Alright,,,,,I Gotchu,,,,,There There Mr Collins

Jop and Goodsir team up to help Mr Collins and it’s all very A Lot   

Bc Collins and Jop are both with Goodsir during the #Execution, when Tuunbaq shows up it obviously does not get Collins and also have you ever tried to kidnap a doctor when he’s got a flustered mongoose and a drugged squishmallow in his tent??? It’s not happening bub you might as well give up now

so the mutineers gtfo and Goodsir is still with Team Terror and now he has a new B Plot to be part of while the series progresses otherwise as normal

And the series does progress otherwise as normal except Collins is coming off the drugs and has both Jopson and Goodsir being like Here’s Some Will To Live and Collins Is Catching Feelings So Fast 

My Jop is still Aroace but he’s like Listen Being Needed Is My Drug And I’ve Been Having Withdrawals Of My Own So I AM Going To Be Weirdly Intense About This You Don’t Understand I Would Open My Veins For Captain Crozier He Wouldn’t Even Have To Ask When I Say I Would Do Literally Anything To Help You Sleep I Am So Serious I Am 8000% So Serious Rn What Do You Need Is It Me 

Goodsir and Collins are like Uh,,,,You- You Good Bro? Jop is like Hey Is That A Bird

At some point Tuunbaq shows up again because it’s sick of waiting on this damn ship to sail too and Collins is like Okay I Can Be Weirdly Intense About This Too and Jopson is like Oh. Oh.

and then Goodsir is like, yknow when he walks in on what appears to be the aftermath of a category 80 hurricane,,,,, I’m Super Quiet About It But If You Want To See Weirdly Intense I Mean,,,,, 

*coughs* they reach an Understanding

So naturally when Crozier gets kidnapped and Little is like Well UwU Everyone Says F That Let’s Go UwU Nothing To Be Done I Suppose UwU these three are like Oh Word? Are You Sure About That

yeah 

[slowdripsunrise]

okay updating on my reading spoilers under the cut

after the stone sky, i read minor detail by adania shibli ! god this book was heavy and impactful. the first part, told from the pov of an israeli general (? not sure i think he was a general) was fucking rough to get through but i do think it's necessary to really grasp the gravity of the situation. i don't think the book is perfect, i do wish there was more in the second part of the story, but it being so short i loved it for what it was and what it set out to do. i do think everyone should read it.

after that i wanted something lighter, and i read descendant of the crane by joan he ! read it super quickly, i new going into it that there was a big twist at the end but not what, so i think part of what kept me going so fast was knowing i would get to some big reveal. like i did guess at a lot of the smaller plot twist but. that last one well !! definitely did not think a book ya especially would end that way it did surprise me and i did like it. the characters were fun however do i remember their names. nope not even a little bit. it was entertaining and i liked it and i will probs remember the ending but it wasn't life changing.

next and finally i read (literally just finished 10 minutes ago i mean) house of roots and ruin by erin a craig. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hooo boy okay so i have read the first one of the series and i did like it it was a fun time i don't remember basically anything from it tho. good thing its not necessary to remember to read this one because oohhhh my god. okay maybe my feelings will change once i settle down and it sits with me for a bit but ohh my god this was good. the first half of the book is definitely a slow burn but the second half is so worth it like fawwwk. this one wasn't as creepy or scary as the first maybe just cuz i'm less wigged out by plants than the main character is but. it was still so good !!!!! like there were definitely some cringe lines like its ya i get it and i feel like it's more on the romance heavy side, like a lot of it is focused on like marriage and courtship and such. and i liked verity and alex together they were sweet. the plot twists at the end were crazy and they were surprising if a little bit. like not silly but just like. a bit preposterous like it wasnt too much but shit just kept happening where its like okay okay hang on lets slow down a little. viktor and his violence and rage and powers and such i feel like weren't explored enough to warrant his actions at the end of the book, like i know he has reasons to act the way he does but we just didn't see it. actually well i saw the anger but not the more calculated and cunningness of him. the parts that want to take over chauntililie or however its spelled. BUT. LITERALLY THE LAST SENTENCE OF THE LAST CHAPTER. FUCKING GOT ME. FAWWKKK FUCKING FLOORED ME. i gasped out loud like shit fuck oh god. HIS LEGS??? brother. fawk. and then the epilogue like shiiiiiiiiit. okay. okay goddamn i see it. i see you. part of me is like oh my god i need more like fawk. and another part of me respects the hustle. like yeah you can just leave us like that i respect the storytelling aspects of it and welll yeah. fuck. like the ending is kind of perfect even if i want more like yeahhhhhhh. anyways i have to go happy reading.