#km-writers

[km-writers]

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Darna (TV 2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Darna | Narda/Valentina, Narda Custodio | Darna/Regina Vanguardia | Valentina Characters: Darna | Narda, Valentina (Darna), Narda Custodio | Darna, Regina Vanguardia | Valentina Additional Tags: Drabbles, Short & Sweet, 300 - 800 words, Fluff, This is really just me typing words out, yes - Freeform, take that as you will Summary:

Narda, Regina, and the thousands of universes they share in.

A drabble/ficlet per chapter based on prompts or AUs.

[sunfortune]

i don’t care if authors write fanfiction but if i read a book and a major problem the author has is making their original characters compelling or developing characters coherently in a work that is otherwise actually decently written. and Then i find out the author was big into writing fic. i’m like yeah…fanfiction is Not beating the allegations 😔

[melluvsuu]

“ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 . ”

character : dazai osamu

context : you’re an agent going undercover, you encounter port mafia executive dazai. he finds you interesting. yeah..

authors note : you should listen to the diner by Billie ellish to get the vibe to it.

warning : stalker briefly mentioned, stalker!dazai, can be interpreted romantically or whatever, shout out to my bbg @riiwrites 😼☝🏽, murder and blood mentioned too, gender not mentioned, literally we rock with they/them 💋‼️.. uhm I think that’s all gays yeah..

,, 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓. 𝜚

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒, the last remnants of daylight clinging stubbornly to the horizon. It was a view [name] had come to appreciate, standing on the balcony of the modest clinic where [name] built their cover. As a doctor specialising in human behaviour, their role was simple enough—listen, observe, and blend in. Standing there in viewing the people going about their days, [name] ran their fingers along the balcony’s iron railing, feeling the coolness of the metal beneath their skin. In this quiet neighbourhood, [name] was simply known as Dr. [name]—a doctor who listened to the woes of the weary, a person who could help people understand the storms in their minds. In some ways, [name] had taken to the role more naturally than they expected. It wasn’t far from what I had trained for, after all. But beneath that calm exterior, my real purpose was far more pressing.

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the papers on my desk inside the small office. I stepped back inside, closing the door behind me as I glanced at the scattered reports and profiles I’d been reviewing. Every interaction I had here was a potential lead—every patient, every conversation was a thread that might lead me to the missing documents. I was hunting for the whispers in the crowd, the signs that something was about to crack.

I sat down and opened one of the files again. A name stared back at me—Takeda Masaru, a local journalist with a reputation for being nosey. He had been in to see me twice, under the guise of seeking help for stress and insomnia. But I knew better. Knocking me out of my train of thought, my smartwatch started vibrating. It was morse code.

‘GOOD EVENING AGENT [NAME], IT'S NICE TO YOU ALIVE AND WELL.WE HAVE NEW INTEL. THERE'S BEEN SIGHTING AT THE LOADING. THE DOCUMENTS SHOULD BE THERE. IT SHOULD BE A DARK RED CARGO BOX WITH THE NAME ‘MELLUVS ART AND WRITING SUPPLIES’ . QUICKLY GET THERE BEFORE ANYBODY INTERVENES. BEST OF LUCK TO YOU.’

I quickly changed my clothing still keeping my pants and shoes and swapping my glasses with sunglasses, my shirt with a business shirt. Taking my coat off the rack I jumped off of the railing onto the pavement. The cold air hitting my face, I felt that familiar rush of adrenaline. The peaceful exterior I’d adopted as a doctor was peeling away, revealing the true purpose behind the mask.

I arrived at the loading dock slipping past guards. While remaining on my toes, looking around, finding the maroon cargo box, picking the lock, catching it before it could fall can make noise. Opening the door and sorting through papers. I found the papers of the document, putting the papers in my doctors folder, I turned to step out just to be greeted with…

"Are you lost?" a voice rang out behind them.

“I’m sorry?” You turned towards the stranger with a simple smile.

“I said, are you lost? Dr. [name].” He repeated.

Standing in the shadow of a weathered chimney was a young man, barely older than them, with an unsettlingly casual grin. His black hair fell messily over his eyes, his posture loose and unthreatening, but I knew better than to trust appearances. There was something sharp beneath that smile.

“Ah. No I’m not..”

"Dazai Osamu," the man introduced himself, stepping closer without a care in the world. "What a coincidence, meeting you here."

"Coincidence?" [name]’s voice was flat, unamused. "I don’t believe in coincidences."

Dazai’s grin widened. "Smart. I don’t either."

This wasn’t good. My mission had suddenly become complicated—this was Dazai, a notorious figure in the Port Mafia, rumoured to be both brilliant and dangerous. Getting caught up with him was exactly what their agency warned them about. But retreating now would be even worse. They couldn't afford to show any weakness.

"You’re in my way," I stated plainly, their eyes locked onto him. Dazai’s expression flickered briefly with interest.

"Am I?" he mused, not moving an inch. Instead, his eyes gleamed with curiosity. "I wonder what someone like you is doing up here. You don’t seem like the usual riffraff the mafia deals with. You're different."

I said nothing. They were trained to maintain a poker face, but they could feel Dazai’s gaze piercing through them, searching for cracks.

After a tense silence, I decided it was better to end this encounter quickly. "I have no business with you. Walk away."

Dazai’s grin softened into something almost playful. "I could say the same. But I don’t feel like walking away just yet. You intrigue me."

Before you could respond, a shout echoed from the alley below—footsteps, too many of them. The mission wasn’t over yet. With a sharp glance at Dazai, [name] moved quickly, shoving him out the way with the documents I hand, disappearing into the shadows of the cargo port.

𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟 . ♡ . 𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎢

The mission was complete, the documents recovered, and the city’s fragile calm preserved. Days passed, and YN pushed the encounter with Dazai to the back of their mind. They believed they had left him behind in that port, a fleeting figure from a fleeting night.

But they were wrong.

It began with small sightings—first at a diner near one of their agency’s hideouts, a quaint place where [name] often went to clear their mind. They walked in for a quiet moment, only to find Dazai, seated by the window, sipping his coffee as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His eyes met theirs, and that familiar grin spread across his face.

The next time, it was at their ‘job’. [name] worked as a hired security operative for a private military company, and the sight of Dazai loitering near the building was more than unsettling. He didn’t approach them, but his presence was a constant reminder that he was watching.

The evening air felt heavy as [name] returned home from a long shift, exhaustion pulling at their every step. They hadn’t noticed the lingering presence outside, the demon in the shadows, waiting. The lock clicked into place behind them as they shut the door, and for a moment, they stood still, listening. No footsteps followed. The silence was almost comforting.

They kicked off their shoes, fingers absently unbuttoning their dress shirt, craving nothing more than the solace of the couch. As they sank into it, something caught their eye—an envelope, placed conspicuously on the coffee table. A surge of unease rippled through their tired mind, heart beginning to race as they reached for the envelope, fingers brushing the edge of the paper with caution. Slowly, they opened it, their eyes scanning the contents.

‘THIS IS A REALLY NICE PLACE YOU’VE GOT HERE! MIND IF I MOVE IN? I HOPE YOU’RE READING THIS SILLY NOTE! I MIGHT’VE STOLEN SOME DOCUMENTS AND IMPORTANT FILES FROM YOUR OFFICE, SORRY, AGENT [NAME]~!’

A low groan of frustration escaped their lips as they crumpled the note and tossed it into the garbage. [name] rubbed their temples, too drained to deal with the antics of a certain mafioso tonight. Just as they tried to let the tension slip away, they caught sight of something—someone—standing on the balcony.

Their heart skipped a beat, and instinctively, they reached for their gun, gripping it tightly as they cautiously approached the window. They slid it open with precision, never taking their eyes off the figure leaning against the railing. "You’re persistent," [name] said, gun ready but posture steady.

The man on the balcony didn’t seem fazed by the weapon. Dazai Osamu smiled as if this were all part of a game. "And you’re elusive," he countered, voice light and carefree. But there was something beneath that tone, something deeper, lurking behind the casual amusement in his gaze. "I like people who don’t give themselves away so easily."

[name] sighed, lowering the gun but keeping it in hand. Arms crossed, they met his eyes with thinly veiled exasperation. "What do you want, Dazai?"

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I’ve been trying to figure that out. You’re… interesting. And I’m rarely interested in anyone."

"Flattering," [name] muttered, voice laced with sarcasm as their patience wore thin. "But I’ve got work to do."

Dazai’s expression shifted, his grin softening, but his presence growing more intense as he stepped closer. "I know," he said quietly. "That’s what makes this so fun. You, with your little secrets and dangerous missions… I can’t help but want to unravel it all."

"You can’t follow me forever," [name] warned, voice quieter now, each word a warning laced with resolve.

Dazai’s smile softened further, almost genuine. "Maybe not," he agreed, his voice low, "but I can follow you for a little while longer.”

“Get the hell out of my apartment,” [name] snapped, their voice sharp as they levelled the gun at Dazai. The cold metal clicked audibly as they cocked it, a clear threat in the air. They pointed toward the door, eyes hard and unyielding. “Do it now, or I'll shoot you.”

Dazai’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, his eyes gleaming with that same unsettling amusement, as if the threat didn’t faze him in the slightest. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his body remained relaxed, nonchalant, as though he were in complete control of the situation.

“Shoot me?” he mused, voice light but laced with something darker. “Now, now, Agent [name] that seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?”

“You think I’m joking?” [name] growled, finger hovering dangerously over the trigger.

Dazai took a step closer, completely unbothered by the barrel pointed at him. His voice dropped to a near whisper, his eyes locking with theirs. “No, I don’t. That’s what makes this so exciting.”

There was a tension in the room now, thick and palpable. [name] held their ground, but Dazai’s calmness, his lack of fear—it was disarming. He was playing a game they weren’t sure they could win.

“Get out.” [name] demanded, not lowering the gun but sensing this encounter was only going to spiral deeper.

Dazai’s smile softened just a touch, his tone almost genuine. “Nope~!”

“You’re testing my patience,” [name] warned, heart pounding but steady, still aiming squarely at his chest.

“Good,” Dazai murmured, stepping back toward the balcony door. “I like it when people have limits. It gives me something to push.”

With a final glance, he gave them a playful wink. “Until next time, Agent.” Then, as quickly and casually as he had appeared, Dazai slipped out, leaving the tension in the room behind him like a lingering shadow.

[name] stood still, their gun still raised, breaths coming in heavy. The sense of danger hadn’t left—it was only a matter of time before he returned.

additional author notes : ending kinda sucked ass again smh..

word count: 1k

reposts are welcome but do not steal my work!

[peachyygoblin]

i don't even care actually

[kafamdakisenaryolarr]

𝐶̧𝑢̈𝑛𝑘𝑢̈ 𝑏𝑎𝑧𝑖 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑐̧𝑖𝑛 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑚𝑒𝑘 𝑐̧𝑜𝑘 𝑧𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑢𝑟. 𝐵𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑘𝑎𝑏𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑚𝑒𝑘, 𝑘𝑎𝑣𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑘, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑚𝑒𝑘; 𝑑𝑢𝑦𝑔𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑑𝑒𝑔̆𝑖𝑠̧𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑜̈𝑧𝑔𝑢̈𝑟𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑘, 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖 𝑖𝑐̧𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑦𝑖 𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑐̧𝑚𝑒𝑘, 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑖𝑙𝑘 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑘𝑜𝑦𝑚𝑎𝑘 𝑐̧𝑜𝑘 𝑧𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑢𝑟. 𝑂 𝑦𝑢̈𝑧𝑑𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑝 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛, 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑖𝑙𝑘 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑘𝑜𝑦𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑧𝑖𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑦𝑒 𝑚𝑎ℎ𝑘𝑢𝑚𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑟. 𝐾𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖 𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛, 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝑣𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑠𝑙𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑘𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑘 𝑦𝑎𝑝𝑚𝑎𝑧𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑐̧𝑢̈𝑛𝑘𝑢̈ 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑐̧𝑖𝑛 𝑏𝑢𝑛𝑢 𝑓𝑎𝑧𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑦𝑙𝑎 𝑦𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑣𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑟. 𝑂 𝑦𝑢̈𝑧𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑖 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑘𝑒𝑛, 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑠̧𝑘𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑛 𝑘𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑎𝑧𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑝.

[a66-1]

guys guys guys d'ya want a sneakie peakie of because of you? no? heres one anywayssss

Later that night, when it was way past everyone's rest time, Simon was up. He had a drink in his hand, looking at a photo of Alex's sister. You. He had sworn off marriage for the first 23 years of his life, and.. He'll have to home another woman? Who's being chased after an ex? Who probably needs more comfort than a sad dog? Well, sad dogs need a lot comfort, so maybe he should think of another metaphor.. God. He took a sip of his drink, and glanced out at the moon. Tonight was a full moon, of course. It was shining bright tonight, looked bigger than usual. Alex said you were on your way here, to meet Simon. Jasmine had offhandedly mentioned he was pretty good with a sword so.. Maybe Simon could protect her- Protect her? God, maybe he regretted saying yes. He was supposed to stay for a few weeks, say hi, meet suitors and fiancées, then go home and relax at his country side home, but he's bringing home a girl. Fuck. At least you were pretty.

[jayladfanpage]

RHaTO Rebirth's covers are way too good to belong to such a shit fucking comic

[furiousfinnstan]

I don't have enough money for rent and it's due 6 feb🫥😶‍🌫️ anyways my commissions are always open!there is 10 open slots!also anyone who d*nates to my k0fi can ask for a sketch and below are my shop links etc etc etc JAN 28 2024

https://society6.com/ninandrej

[mnmlover]

oh Merlin. my sweet, sweet Merlin.

[answer2jeff]

narrow thoughts // carmen berzatto

part one: sprite

finally done with part 1! somewhat happy ending in part 2 btw, since i don't totally hate you guys or want you to suffer for once

synopsis: you and carmen were good friends turned strangers — the trauma bond from Noma still keeping you closer. you've noticed Carmen's hard work, and you worry terribly for him and his wellbeing. keeping quiet has never been so hard; being "friends" has never been so hard.

pairings: platonic!richie x reader – romantic!carmy x reader

english isn't my first language — expect some mistakes. feedback is always appreciated.

WARNINGS: friends - strangers - lovers, angst, fluff, NOT an established relationship, pre-existing history, ZERO use of y/n, reader is implied female, mention of the nickname "Pico," short for "Piccola" ; small (young), or even baby, in italian.

wc: 2.1k

You twisted the silver key at an angle, locking the glass door shut — the 'CLOSED' sign taunting you. You and your pre-existing staff expected to open in just 6 weeks, and you still felt like so much time lingered. The emptiness of the sidewalk made your stomach drop to your feet, the same way it did every night. You waited so impatiently for the opening day of your coffee shop to inch closer and closer; but you were uncertain, unsettled, and lacking confidence in your craft. Was simplicity really the answer? Should you have just stayed in New York? Were you just another, "Eleven Madison Park Dickhead?" Did you even want answers to these looming questions? No. No you didn't — not yet. All you wanted that night was a glass of homemade sprite, and maybe a real conversation with an old friend.

Maybe he'd know what to say, if anything at all.

So, you walked. And you walked, and you walked, and you kept walking — your dark blue crewneck sweater that went just past the belt line of your baggy jeans, a pair of pantyhose, white socks, and Doc Martens keeping you clothed in the Chicago cold. Your bracelets clanged against each other, harmonizing with the sound of the keychains jingling against your purse, clutched close to your sides. You finally reached the The Beef, the florescent glow casting a blueish green shine against your face. Another 'CLOSED' sign pointed a childish finger at you.

"Richieeee!" You wined, gently knocking on the glass window to grasp his attention — his back turned to you as he was telling Tina and Marcus yet another story about Carmen's childhood. You almost regretted being nice to him, but it gave you leeway; visiting after hours, special treatment, and even the nickname 'Pico' was coined after you.

"Richie, I know you can hear me!"

"Yeah, and he goes—" Richie reluctantly paused, hearing a familiar voice from behind the glass. His hands, frozen in the air, fell to his sides as he dramatically walked over to the door. "Shit, hold on. Pico's here." He groaned, slowly unlocking and cracking the door open, moving out of your way to let you in.

"Thanks." You breathed, crossing your arms as you took a step into the restaurant — immediately met with smiles and good night's from Marcus and Tina. Your eyes darted around the cramped space of the counter, not quite being able to see into the kitchen as you stepped closer to take a seat in a red barstool.

"What're you doin' here? You alright, sweetheart?" Richie asked, his tone only slightly annoyed from the interruption of his attempt to humiliate Carmen. He waltzed behind the counter, supporting his weight by pressing his palms against the metal as he stood across from you. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering — completely disregarding Tina and Marcus clocking out and leaving for the night.

"Yeah, just uh — my stomach hurts. Like, bad." You sighed, sticking your elbows up onto the counter and resting your face in your hands, the stool next to you occupied by your purse. Richie only nodded his head, noticing your mouth slightly gaped open like you had more to say. Even if he was a childish asshole, he wasn't evil. He'd never interrupt someone who was clearly in need.

"And–and i'm just... payin' a visit, I guess." You tried justifying your reasoning for coming all this way. It was 9:47, and you hardly ever came around this late. Typically, you'd lock up by 9:15, come over and stick around till 9:30, and be home by 10:45. You must've needed something, he thought, but he chose not to pester you tonight.

Please don't ask.

"Alright.. Yeah, 'ya look a little green. You wanna sprite?" Richie gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead, just reassuring you didn't have a fever. You nodded your head in approval. He walked into the kitchen, shouting "COUSIN! Pico wants a sprite! Make it for 'er, will 'ya?"

Carmen shut his locker as he nodded his head to Richie, mumbling, "be right there." He bit the inside of his cheek, his lips curling into a smile when he saw you through the tiny peak between the counter and the kitchen that you were too far from to experience. Admittedly, Carmen liked seeing you come in — bringing coffee for everyone in the mornings, and wishing everyone goodnight in the evenings. It gave him something to look foreword to. He liked the consistency; and hell, he fucking loved the blonde espresso macchiato you conjured up for him, the foam just a tad bit flat from having to travel on foot from the cafe to the restaurant with it.

You scrolled on your Instagram timeline as you heard Carmen mumbling to himself as he made your sprite, noting the clinking of ice against a glass cup and the crisp sound of the homemade soda pouring in. You gave Richie an air-kiss on the cheek goodbye as he walked out of The Beef, his lanky frame covered by his leather jacket. You smiled again at the sight of Carmen politely delivering your drink, putting your phone away in the pocket of your jeans.

"Why thank you!" You cooed, looking into his big, blue eyes that didn't really know what to focus on. You took in every feature: his curly dirty-blonde locks in need of trimming, his big and arched nose, the round shape of his chin. You were staring, your stare never leaving his figure as he set the glass down on the counter, and he couldn't help but smile back.

He was perfect — it was almost scary.

"Pleasure." Carmen chuckled, placing a warm hand on the back of his neck as he thought of what else to say. He couldn't remember the last time you two were alone. The closest thing was him coming over to your apartment in broad daylight to help you get rid of the green, god awful futon in your living room that was covered in weird stains.

"You've got a weird definition of pleasure." You sighed, raising your glass to your lips and feeling the sprite ease your stomach. Your eyes rolled when you heard his obnoxiously attractive laugh; breathy and nervous.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Carmen nodded his head, essentially saying "you're right, but respectfully — fuck off" without actually saying it. He picked his head up, watching your throat contract with each sip — the neon lights all around the restaurant displaying a purple glow against your skin. It was childish, but knowing he could make your night just a little bit better with a glass of sprite made him proud of himself.

"You feelin' alright? As best as you can, I mean." You set your glass down, resting your face in your palms as you blinked at Carmen, your eyebrows knitted in concern. You worried for him, no matter how much your brain reassured you that they grey crescents under his eyes were none of your concern. It was normal to never get more than 5 or 6 hours of sleep every night as an overworked 34 year old, right? It's a Carmy problem, right?

No. Fuck no.

"Uh... yeah, I—" Carmen's hands gripped tightly against the cold, metal counter, his foot tapping against the tile floor. He bit the inside of his cheek, diverting his gaze away from you and back towards the walkway into the kitchen. He was lying, and you knew it. He felt his chest heave at the question as he forced himself to look at you again; your face still expressing a sense of panic for him.

"You..?" You finished his empty sentence for him, getting a little impatient. Your manicured nails clicked against the counter, waiting for him to tell at least some fragments of the truth.

"No, not alright. Not really. I, um—" He paused again, his eyes finally locking with yours, completely unable to pull away now. You looked beautiful to him — elegant, even. With your hair messier than the way you styled it this morning, with your chipped and grown out manicure, and especially with your lack of knowledge that Carmen was analyzing every inch of you. He felt guilty for looking - more than he usually did.

"I've been having those weird fuckin' dreams again. A-and these panic attacks, I think?" Carmens voice went softer, a whine of fear in his speech; he finally let his guard down just a bit. It was like just looking at you calmed him down enough so he could choke out another sentence.

"Shit. Still?" You asked, your nails pausing their annoying clack and tap so you could focus all of your attention onto Carmen. You remembered Natalie mentioning Carmen's recent manifestations of his stress, often asking if you'd just check up on him every once in a while, just in case she couldn't reach him.

"Yeah." Carmen replied, his voice airy and unsupported. His eyes were blue and desperate, and fixated on every part of your face. It made his thoughts narrow down to you; your weird sense of humor, your artful hands that illustrated your frustration when you complained about your day, even the perfume you wore every day that lingered around the jacket you left at his apartment (which he still hasn't given back to you.) Why would he? How could Carmen not keep a piece of you in his home?

You finally caught Carmen's gaze as you grazed the condensation on your glass of sprite — and you could see it in his face; the exhaustion, the anxiety, the need for stability in his eyes. You saw what this place did to him; what fixing this hellhole turned him into for a second time. It felt silly, controlling, nagging even, for you to assume that Carmen couldn't handle himself. But maybe that wasn't too unfair of an assumption; even if Sydney tried to condition you to believe that not every Carmy problem had to be a you problem.

"Jesus. I'm sorry." You clenched your teeth as you thought about his nausea spells he'd get every morning, remembering the dozens of empty bottles of pepto bismol littered around the kitchen counter of his apartment in New York. It was like you could still feel the sting of stomach acid your throat when you ended up puking every night after dinner rush; your digestive system completely empty from the lack of time you even had to keep your body intact. And yet, it was fucking everything. Your calloused fingers from the knives and the rasp in your throat from crying felt like a trophy; a mark on your person that forever reminded you of how great you once were.

What were you even doing here? Opening another thrift shop? But this time, it had a built in cafe; a cafe you dreamed of serving the best coffee in Chicago? Wow! What an original, realistic and inspiring concept. Like Richie warned the two of you: neither of you had any idea what you were doing back in Chicago.

Is it too late for me to understand you?

"Is this even.. I don't know — fun, for you anymore? Was it ever?" You croaked, tracing the tip of your middle finger along the rim of the glass — watching the little bubbles in the drink rise and pop. The question almost struck a nerve in Carmen, it forced him to think; really think.

"I mean... 'fun' isn't the word I'd use." He shrugged his shoulders, his face contorting into that typical confused look he always gave you. It made your heart ache.

"I don't like what it does to you."

"I'm– I'm trying to... to do somethin' here, Pico." His eyebrows knitted as his hands gripped just a little tighter against the counter.

"I know, Carmy. A-and you're doing great I just– I miss you." You barely whispered, crossing your arms almost trying to defend yourself as Carmen's face softened. His stomach dropped to his feet, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

You two hadn't had a real conversation since the night you decided to quit, leaving Carmen to chase his success and even become Food & Wine's best chef without you. You hadn't cried in front of him since the day after Mikey's funeral: which neither of you could bring yourself to attend to. You'd been back home much longer than Carmen had; him coming home was so bittersweet. You needed him here. You needed him in the warm glow of your apartment, on your vintage couch as you shared the leftover pasta carbonara you made the night before. You forgot what his arms felt like around you, trying so hard to remember as you glanced at his tattoos.

"I miss you too."

TO BE CONTINUED BITCHESSSSSS!!!!!!

[frogwithgun]

I've just heard that the next season is coming out soon for The dragon Prince and I'm bouncing off the fucking walls. I'm so fucking excited oh my fuck. And I have a theory too!

Because we saw that Aaravos has a daughter this season (Leola I love you and I'm so sad you died I swear I'd kill for you) maybe we will see more of his backstay. Perhaps even see if he had a partner. Wife or husband. Though maybe Startouch elves reproduce asexually. Either way I want to know more about him.

He's such a cool villain and I feel like we need to explore his background some more! Like yes Leola made him the way he is now but could there possibly have been something else? And just why did he get imprisoned for? Was it for giving humans dark magic? Or maybe it was because of something else he did? Something worse.

All this to say that I'm literally about to fucking burst because I fucking LOVE this show.

[junkcrows]

Hmm, If Seok-chan were to die, I fuckin hope Yeong-hu mourns like a man who just lost his beloved wife. I need him to scream. I need him to wail. I need him to cry his eyes out. I need him depressed. I need him to be a madman. I need him to kill everyone!! Also, I want Seok-chan's ghost to haunt him. (I love Yeong-hu pls)

I swear they're precious to me. I just need this trope man. I need it.

If they erase Seok-chan and Yeong-hu's relationship, I am coming for your family writer and director.

[strawbxsblog]

[mutlulukartikbenim]

Kelimelere sığmaz, gönülden taşar.

[tootles338]

Where did my thugin go

[kuri-kushmia]

Ugghh😭😭 I just spent 30 mins on these (I didn't do the others)

(for my Octo-cases AU – @thenationalcaptainsorg )

Here's the main logo that I used for the new ones:

(This logo was made by @cookiecrumbles52palace / @animalsalvationassociation )