#so all three of them kind of suck but its because their situation sucks
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Ok I'm back on the nugget obsession grind. Juliet Loki and Parker in ruina fighting alongside each other like it's a love language while Saxxly and Roland just sorta awkwardly fight like normal people around them
#rat rambles#oc posting#lobotomy posting#loki absolutely Hates parker's guts in lob corp but I think he warms up to them during ruina#mainly because I imagine the two click quite well in combat and loki very much enjoys combat so thats enough to get him to slow down the#parker hate train especially since parker themself has mellowed out a bit since lob corp#plus loki cant deny that they make juliet happy so he eventually gives in and gives them the thumbs up#he mostly hated parker before because he would regularly say some pretty nasty things abt juliet#well tbf parker would regularly call everyone and everything an embodiment of evil so juliet wasnt special#well ok they did treat her as uniquely evil but like it was mostly a part of their whole song and dance they had going on#but the two eventually actually managed to somewhat successfully bridge the gap between their beliefs#so while parker still will say it is evil to exist and all that jazz theyve kind of accepted that they enjoy to engage in said evil now#so theyve chilled out a lot in terms of their beliefs and while they're still a judgy bitch at least now theyre having fun with it#and juliet and loki are both also judgy bitches so they can now be three judgy bitches#they all still suck as people they just all get along now and have made peace with their situation#not in the sense that they retrospected on their past actions just that juliet and loki were real bummed out that lob corp didnt work out#but maybe the real meaning of life was the friends we made along the way <3 (they have traumatized so many fucking ppl with no regret)#in general my keter has a real theme of wow this is unsatisfying as hell#a bunch of shitty assholes just fully coming out the other end happy without having to better themselves as people#well maybe not saxxly I dont think shes capable of being happy lol#I am interested in giving her some kind of arc tho Im just not sure what kind#mainly its about how much I wanna lean into the unsatisfying nature of this floor#generally one of the big things Im going for with my nuggets is that this isnt their story#and as such the trajectory of their characters aren't always going to be fair or satisfying#I do still want to give some of my less shitty guys room to grow and find joy ofc but many shitty assholes will get away scott free#primarily yuri isnt even slightly bummed by all this shes doing great#she and maxim are chilling with binah and having a gay ol time#anyways I accidentally stayed up too late without showering so time to go to bed sad and dirty
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★ cupid carries a gun.
open up your skull, i'll be there climbing up the walls.

cw # 18+ mdni, modern au, mentions of marijuana, dealer+loser!ellie, blink and you miss a slight pervert behavior, sub!reader, switch!slightdom ellie, pussyslapsyum, pet names, fingering, public sex.
an # if you recognize this it may be because it's from my previous account aka @vicorices who got deleted out of nowhere, this is me trying to get all my work back up again cause i'm not losing three months of work thanks to a shitty team who wiped me out of the internet.
the first time she saw you, she called you bro by accident.
it happens unexpected. ellie's been selling weed for a while now and she's used to get random text messages from unknown numbers: a friend of a friend, a recommendation from some old client — of course when she got your text you're not going to receive special treatment, not when she greets you like she would greet a guy, asking you where to meet since the club's big.
you're friends with cat, that's how you got her number. your usual provider is being insane with ridiculous prices you cannot afford not even by chance, so you're searching for someone else, a reliable source you can buy your weed from without getting into much trouble.
she’s perfect for the job.
it's a surprise either way when you tell her to meet you close to the main stairs in the first floor, and you think you saw her by the time you get there, but before you can approach your phone lights up with a new notification from an unknown number you now recognize.
you like it, making them think you’re a man, confuse the people you buy weed from. it's funny cause it's not the first time it happens, matter of fact, it's really common as you approach the auburn haired girl, noticing she's far less intimidating than your last seller, less tattoos on the face to instead, be covered in freckles and green eyes.
and to ellie — it's clear you aren't a bro too.
you don't pay much attention since it's a quick interaction, but to ellie its enough to make her spiral. too much weed, too much booze that night made her look at you like you're most beautiful girl out there, barely illuminated by the sporadic lights that changes time to time as you approach to her in a nice top of a band she also hears.
"hey. sorry to make you wait" you're too kind to her rough heart, yet from up close she's able to look at your face properly: where the fuck did you know cat from? why she hadn't seen you before too? was she hiding you from her?
"ellie," she presents herself like you do and she's almost a little shy to ask you to walk with her to a less crowded space, cause it sounds different from when she usually asks, slapping herself mentally for being so lame when she meets a pretty girl in a situation like this: don't be a fucking pussy. "do you mind if we move to a quieter place?"
"no, no problem" you reply "i was going to ask you the same, actually. don't want to get kicked out from here."
and you must be really trustful person, cause ellie could be a bad person and you're following her willingly, entering a dirty, small bathroom only to lock the door beneath her not really knowing her true intentions. you know she's not going to do anything when she's nervously speaking to you as the space got way reduced.
"so, you're friends with cat" what's she even doing? trying to pull off some small talk she sucks for? either way your nodding as ellie gives you a small bag with an smiley face on it, letting you see the weed she's going to sell you out first — "you study here in this university?"
"yeah, it’s my last year" you say inspecting the weed with a pleased look, sure you're buying when you take a deep breath and it seems like actual weed and not a fucking rock so tight it seems it came in somebody's ass, good smell, some purple there between different shades of green "film school."
"sick," she looks at you for a moment since you're too busy looking at the product. under the white lights ellie can see the details on your face now, the small moles, the scars, things she wasn't aware of as she wasn't so close as she is now — "it's okay? you like it?"
“smells real good, my last supplier was pretty shit and always had the same strain" you find her concern cute, sure she must take pride in selling good stuff, maybe that's why cat shared her number so reluctant to it, you'd gatekeep a good dealer too.
“that’s lemon haze” ellie explains as a subtle layer of red spreads right over her nose, must be the weather inside the bathroom or something like that, but it's hot as she stares at your eyes and she's betting you must be thinking she's the weirdest girl in the planet. her flannel's too fucking tight, too thick. "it's a nice sativa, wont leave you stupid nor like a hungry animal."
girls like you may be out of her league, but even when ellie's brain saying the same, it does not matter when your fingers brush against hers and you're laughing at her bad joke, giggling like she's oh so funny and it's enough. it may be a tactic she's falling all the way in when saying a lower price than regular and your eyes widen cause you don't believe it: why would such a good quality be cheaper than the usual shit?
"you study in this university too?" you curiously ask as if you're trying to catch the trick, clever girl. she’s selling you cheaper to secure you.
"forensic science" you seemed a bit surprised by it since you didn't talk much to stem girls in general, being in two different fields: hot— "it’s my last year too."
"that sounds cool, never met someone who study that," you say as you're pulling out 20$ for at least 3 grams of top-graded-weed: she's fucking stupid for selling that quality for less than $30 "well nice to meet you ellie, if i don't get poisoned with your weed, you'll be definitely hearing more from me."
and she wants to say something flirty, something with her usual witty charm and her sarcastic replies she loves by heart, but instead of saying something clever, ellie ends up stuttering, tripping in her own words as she nods.
"i- uh- yes sure. save my contact and text me anytime."
fuck it, cause it does get her to know you'll be talking to her again someday, maybe this week, maybe the next, tomorrow. her weed is hella good and her own brain is feeding her delusions cause as far as she knows you might as well be the biggest heterosexual girl in university, but you're there waving her goodbye with a warm smile and your perfume lingers in the air for a while even when you're not there.
so ellie stays in the cubicle for a minute. the longest minute of her life when she takes a deep breath at the scent, discovering the fruity notes, the damn strawberries sweet as ever now impregnated under her nose.
fucking cat cause she must have kept you all to herself, pure selfish reasons — ellie thought they were in good terms.
it's crazy to say she would've done the same if you were her friend too.
the second time ellie sells you weed you're talking with your friends seated in a secluded spot of the main quad and the sun hits your skin just in the correct way to make her mouth go dry.
you're using this straight sinful sundress in blue and white, covering from the fresh air in a denim jacket and it looks so good she needs to check you actually messaged her in the first place and didn't imagined the whole thing.
she politely greets everyone but her attention drifts back to you when ellie's sitting close like you're friends with her before the people you’re hanging out with.
"was it good?" she asks, blatantly checking you out you're resting over your elbows, letting the exposed parts of your body fill out with vitamin d after being trapped in class for what it seems an eternity, and ellie feels trapped too, slightly different cause she's experiencing the victorian era on the flesh when only a glimpse of your ankles is enough to kill her — "guess it was if you're texting to meet up again."
"yeah, seems like you got the best weed in the whole place" you laugh, each time warming up to her as you reply under a pair of black shades that make you look so fucking attractive: her weed, the best. "good job, ellie."
awfully good price. outstanding for you, only loses for her.
the third time, you're meeting her outside class and her friends joke calling you her girlfriend as ellie quickly walks away hoping you didn't hear them: do you talk to her about dinosaurs too, williams? you're too polite to say you find it cute.
by the fifth time you're on her car and the silence is so damn loud as the music sound softly in the speakers, some song you say you like as ellie turns up the volume so you can hear it better. you're humming to the tune, a two-minute song as she pretends to be searching for the weed on her bag, taking more time on purpose.
"are you going to take the same three grams or you feel generous this time?"
"no, just three" you reply to her question. you've become quite aware of her consistent gaze on you now after weeks of selling you grass, personally giving you the best, making the moment linger without you noticing until you actually do catch on her subtle tactics— "that way i can text sooner and see you again this week."
ellie’s clueless most of the days but with that? anyone would notice you're flirting, blatantly as you look up to her and your dealer struggles to resist the need on her hands to pin you against the passenger seat and lean all over the console to go on and kiss you until you clearly state what you want. no playing around the bushes this time. demand, as her stomach turns, what do you mean by that.
do you want to see her more? that's why you buy three grams and talk to her every three or four days? are you, by any chance, not straight?
“if you want to see me during the week, you might just ask” ellie says mirroring your tone “like you ask to buy weed from me, s’not that hard.”
you’re the one who's nervous now, and she considers on giving you the weed as a gift before you’re paying. loses, you only mean loses in her economy at this point — and it's driving her hella mad when you get out the car and ellie’s left there with the need to have you as closer as you possibly agree to.
silk fabric slipping through her fingers.
the sixth time, ellie decides she's going to do something about it. about her needs. there’s no actual way you’re not flirting with her, the image of you in the passenger seat still sealed freshly on her mind even if it was a week ago, repeating it over and over again — you got her staring at your profile pic, debating if she can or cannot masturbate with the pictures you’ve shared on instagram from spring break in fucking california, liking your post cause it’s the only way she dares to interact, a way of saying she’s there.
in the middle of a saturday night, thinking about you. two in the morning and it’s all fucking you.
she should make up her mind. you’re a good buyer, and she wishes to keep it that way. you don’t ask for later payments, you constantly buy and don't share her number with weirdo friends like everyone else does, you're a reliable source surely: so why does her heart stops in her chest cavity when her phone's buzzing and ellie's reading the name she saved your contact with?
right. her pathetic crush on you.
her fingers move on their own before she considers to delay her response five minutes to seem busy.
she wont charge you double.
shit. it's two in the morning and she's selling you weed driven by the desire to see you again, using this gray hoodie to protects herself from the cold autumn breeze as she's pulling up to this party totally uninvited, passing the open door like it's her own house as zeta phi seems to be fully loaded now as the music sound loud and strident as all her hopes of catching you alone goes to the trash can.
no she’s not going to charge you double, she’s just guilty she’s so into you without you having any idea of it.
where you waiting for her arrival? fuck. her brain is acting up like a backstabbing bitch and ellie cannot help it as you appear radiant under a sea of people. you're not saying a word either when you're lacing your fingers with her's and you're pulling on your dealer upstairs, feet moving on their own as she don't make a single effort to resist your magnet-like influence in her very self.
ellie’s hand are sweaty cause she's so fucking nervous but you don't seem to care about it, looking back at her from over your shoulder only to offer a smile she cannot wrap her head around for a moment.
"can i ask where you're taking me?" she questions you, hoping her voice doesn't sound like that really, so strained and rough from just see you around — "or am i your hostage now?"
"we need a more private space to buy" you state like it's obvious "duh, the rooftop's empty. i stole the key."
ellie should've know you were a walking hazard.
cause it really seems like an achievement when you're opening the rooftop door, mischief grin as you look twice behind your back paranoid as ever someone can see what you're doing; and ellie chuckles at the sudden adventure, how you're closing the door when you invite her to step in with a subtle head movement, quickly shoving the key back to the pocket in your skirt.
cute. she thinks you’re cute.
it's empty like you said, and the knowledge makes every hair on her arms stand on their own even when she's wearing this thick hoodie that protects her from the cold.
"cannot risk my dealer of getting in trouble down there" you explain now that you can talk to her at a decent volume, and she fully eats it even when it's a clear lie and you're making up excuses to get her away from the noise.
"very kind, gonna name you my knight in shinning armor if you keep this up."
you're panting the spot right next to you as you take a seat in the over-used lounge chair with a tiny wooden table in front of it, and like a trained animal, ellie follows cause it's the perfect spot to leave her backpack as her brain keeps buzzing at the name you used to call her seconds before— my dealer.
she is, by all means, your dealer. it makes her chest fill out with a different kind of emotion, sound so fucking intimate, so nice.
"gonna buy the usual three grams, princess?" your knee brushes against her, and ellie's breathing hitches cause you're wearing this black-sheer stockings all the way to your upper thigh and she becomes aware of it when the material slips down as you're seated, skirt raising slightly upwards against the muscles of your legs: one movement and she swears she'd be able to see your underwear and ellie has to once again, remind herself how you quickly reduce her to this behavior; this state, shoved in a sea of pure filth — "or did you just call me because you wanted to see me tonight?"
she's feeling lucky tonight even when she never feels that way, a strike of confidence ellie feels as a rush on the blood: you give her a sight of your legs and now she's all over the damn place? loser behavior.
"is it that obvious?" you want her to kiss you. it's a need that installs deep down in your chest, and if you're not making it obvious by then you're definitely doing it now: you're not straight, you're not bulletproof to the holes her eyes make on your skin every time you have the pleasure to be left alone in her company, you're not giving up on this constant game of seduction you like to play "i'm buying weed too, so coming up here actually matters for you."
"haven't we state that already?" ellie asks, looking up to you as she drinks in the sight of you under the almost invisible light of the stars up in the sky "if you want to see me during the week-"
"might as well just ask" you completed for her as ellie grabs her bag so she can pull your weed from it. the best three grams she has in her power "i know that- thank you."
"it's a gift" she finally dares to say it now — "don't pay me this time."
has she ever felt this way before? never. the overwhelming pull, the reminder you're not her's? stings on ellie's skin like tiny needles. it's not a big deal, once again she's losing money all reckless, but fuck- it's worth it, worth it when ellie see you malfunction for a long moment, brain short-circuiting cause you don't expect it.
"that's not the deal."
"i don't care what our deal is, you're my best client, and i take care of my clients” it’s simple as she says it “sides. the weed does not matter, seeing you was payment already.”
"don't go yet," you add before she's making a movement to get up, hands cold wrapping around her arm as you pull her down to the lounge chair you're so comfortably seated — "smoke with me. let's talk for a while."
and she knows it's dangerous, but you're batting your eyelashes, looking at her with this sly smirk on your face she wants to kiss away and ellie has no option but to stay there buried in your side, your fingers still tight against her arm muscles as you make her stay.
"okay, but i need you to let go of me baby- i can't roll a joint with you all over."
liar.
she just want to see you get all flustered because of her as her fingers swiftly roll a joint without much effort, allowing the smoke to fill the air seconds after before you’re sneezing and she notices how you shiver on her side, turning her face to look back at your pretty face she’s been avoiding to stare so much.
"you cold?" she asks, and you do not want to admit it, but ellie's taking her hoodie off and it's a fucking sight when she's wearing this white tank top she does not care about until she can physically feel the shift of the air between you and her, caught up with your eyes checking her out as she lights up the joint.
"thank you," and for being a stoner, it's smells surprisingly nice as you relish on the warmth of it, comfortable now as you watch her smoke "i'll gave it to you downstairs."
"go home with it. you're going to catch a cold like this."
the silence it's imminent for a moment before she's passing you the joint an you're holding it between your fingers.
"i like your tattoo" is it also an excuse? not really, but ellie's bringing her arm closer to you as she's showing it under the flashlight of her phone cause she likes it too, showoff — "can i touch it?"
any other time she'd be denying it mumbling something stupid about hating random people to go on and touch her scarred arm but you're not a random girl. so she's whispering a barely audibly yes, and your fingertips are tracing the pattern etched on her skin, taking your time in doing so.
"it suits you," you praise as you touch, and she's fucking melting there under simple caresses, under something so simple as your fingers tracing her inked flesh, invisible shapes as you just want to keep your hand on her "did it hurt too much when you got it done?"
"yeah, sort of" it's not really like she's trying to sound cool, in all honest, she's just trying to be coherent now as you keep touching her skin as you smoke. invested in questions she's answering in full auto-pilot.
you're high after a while, and it's her weed that makes you look like that. half lidded, a lazy smile on your lips as you keep talking to her, red eyes, slower than ever: shit. she'd devour you all.
“have you ever shotgunned smoke into someone’s mouth?” you ask curiously, and the question comes out of nowhere as you stare at her blowing the smoke, a warmth creeping upon her neck as she notices the way you’re staring at her, ellie’s blushing.
selling you weed and not be able to get high with you every single time must be named one of the most horrible crimes in humanity.
“when i was like, 17?" ellie replies thinking for a moment "i dunno, thought it was the hottest thing ever- have you?”
“no, not really."
and to be fair, ellie's high too. she's testing a new strain with you and the words roll out of her tongue so easily she has no time to regret it, not when you're looking at her like you want her to get handsy there in a damn lounge chair, to hell if it’s in the middle of nowhere or not.
“want me to do it for you?” she asks, a gentleman as usual “i’ll gladly be the first.”
it takes a moment for you to consider it before your voice is all low and husky — "mhm."
“come here then miss,” ellie says using a finger to call you out, the joint already on her lips before she takes a long drag — “sit on my lap and open your mouth f’me.”
it's devastating.
your weight on top of her, your ass in her leg as she can see again, those transparent sheer stockings that must be damn useless against the cold, and her hand rest on your upper thigh there where she looked before.
you're so obedient. your skirt is a sinful invitation to touch further, and you're parting her mouth for her so she can get closer, and as she smokes, ellie does get closeto you. closer than she’s ever been — more than the car, the bathroom in the party she met you, mere inches before she's shotgunning the smoke in your parted lips and you're smoking from the same weed that was in her lungs.
"17-years-old ellie was right" you reply, not really moving to give her space as ellie's fingers squeeze your leg like a reminder you're there still, sated on your dealer's lap, her hands on you — "it is the hottest thing ever."
it's almost a chronicle of a death foretold, cause ellie's kiss does not surprise you at the slightest. it's demanding and sloppy cause she's high, you're high, and she's a victim of this force she cannot escape near you.
so she keeps on kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're simply there, slowly wanting more, squeezing your legs together cause you don't want to be a slut now — no. you don't want her to know you're soaking over a few kisses, at ellie's fingers pulling on your high stockings down till they are no longer there anymore.
"you're a fucking menace" she says between kisses, breathing heavier now by the seconds: ellie already noticed— "a menace to me, to my weed and my economy, you know that? how you make me sell out my stuff at half the price cause i want you as my secured client?"
despite her words, she's pushing you closer to her so you can feel her rib cage pressed against you, the goosebumps you produce just from being close to her, red lips and messy hair.
"it’s your loss ellie, cause i'd pay for the full price."
"mmhm well shit, you're really lucky cause you do give damn good kisses" she murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt now and she has the damn audacity to keep on smoking cause she's now confident on her effect, how you’re all affected by her touch — "and if you give damn good kisses, i'm betting all my money that you have an even better pussy for me."
the sounds you're making? fuck. she’s creaming her panties already when you're letting her touch you so freely and it’s not near enough.
"what is it going to be then, huh?" she asks curiously, her mouth already following the path down to your collarbone, your cleavage before she’s taking her time in leaving red-purplish hickeys there hidden beneath her own gray hoodie "should we make it to our seventh selling or you're going to let me play with your needy cunt as a much deserved reward?"
shit. shit. shit. you're so fucking wet when you're parting your legs further apart to give her a nice view of your underwear, a damp spot already there between your legs who’s enough to make her mouth water with the thought of burying her face between your thighs, intoxicate with the smell you're emanating and she feels already under her nose.
good fucking girl. she wants to praise you, let you know you're doing a great job there letting your skirt roll up to your stomach, so easy to get rid of it ellie's sure you did it on purpose now so she can let her hand slip between your legs to feel how soaked you are.
your cunt makes this sound when her finger’s taunting you she just happens to love, and your underwear clings to your pussy lips, hips buckling up to meet her fingers already wanting more.
greedy.
"shh-" she tries to reassure you — "you're comfortable there baby? want you to feel good when i touch you yeah? you'll let me know anything cause you're my well-behaved girl, aren't you? my best client here.”
ellie’s making you shake her head, coaxing you to say out loud you are comfortable there, ass in her lap, spread legs as her fingers push against the fabric right against your entrance, noticing how the cotton soaks at the motion.
"look at you all desperate" she chuckles — "have you been thinking about this a lot like i do?"
her fingers pull on your underwear to the side and there it is: glistening cunt, swollen lips and neglected clit that's just begging to be touched, filled, discovered by her hands, her mouth, tongue. nothing she fucking wants more.
who she is to ever deny anything to you? to stop selling you weed? the joint falls to the ground now as she's using her entire hand to touch you, fingers rubbing against your minor and mayor labia, circling against your engorged clit as you arch your back and she has to use force to keep you still, taking what she has to give like a champ.
"you're fucking soaked-" there's a slap sound that fills the air, and even when there's people in the garden they don't seem to hear your whimpers as her hand comes in contact with your pussy and she's slapping it once again, just enough to apply some pressure in your clit, just enough to make your legs shake "so responsive to me, gonna let me stuff this cunt full tonight? fucking finally huh? you've been haunting me like no one else."
and you giggle, giggle cause you cannot fucking believe it: fucking your dealer? are you so for real right now? you're deep under a cloud of haze you're unable to control, disheveled state when your skirt is all the way to up and your underwear being pulled to the side at her mercy and you can only answer:
"yes- ngh yes please ellie."
"shit- your clit is all puffy baby, all needy for me."
you're squeezing her already so hard when she’s working on you. a wet schlick that fills the air and combined with your incoherent words of praise and moans will send her to the grave.
ellie’s knuckles-deep and fuuuck. you're so tight she needs to ask if you're doing right, cunt engulfing her' fingers until there’s no more and she's curling them right to the spot so you don't care about the drunk fucks in the garden anymore, about anyone who can hear whats going on in an empty rooftop.
ellie’s using a hand to keep your legs spread when your free will collapses like paper cards, pulling them apart only to add a third finger in your used hole and reduce you to pieces now, clenching tight as she rubs on that special spot inside and you're mumbling something about feeling so full, so good with her inside.
"this pussy must be made for me baby, fits me like a fucking glove," ellie’s doubling her efforts, her palm colliding against your clit, fingers thrusting against the right spot over and over — "gonna let me see your pretty face when you cum? i know you're close."
you are. fuck you so are. your movements are erratic, your legs shake, and ellie's kissing on your shoulder, leaving a path of wet kisses on the exposed skin on your neck, biting on your earlobe, anywhere she can get.
"i can't-" you cry out, moving yourself in quick, sharp movements, it’s overwhelming — "fuck i can't hold no more-"
"let go" she replies, holding you tightly against her body — "let go. i got you."
it's hot. messes up ellie's jeans with a damp mark on them, turning the fabric darker when you finally cum and you're gushing on her fingers, leaking through trembling legs.
"fuck yes. drench me like that," your dealer moans, stealing a kiss from your parted lips, keeping the last glimpses of air in your lungs for her benefit "use me, baby, don't stop."
ah. ellie's in trouble after all, cause it don't seem she’ll be selling weed to you now. not when she's mixing business with pleasure and she's making you bend against the top rail of the old lounge chair cause she's not able to wait any longer to lick you clean until you have no other choice but to cum again.
truth be told she once heard cupid's cruel, but she didn't believe it fully, not until now since ellie knows, first hand — the little fucker shoots to kill.
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In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?
Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!
Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.
I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.
I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".
I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.
The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:
"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."
And then later:
"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."
I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.
But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.
I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.
Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.
It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.
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harry's 30th birthday blurb with 1d!yn?! 👀
Birthday Surprises
SUMMARY: Harry celebrates his 19th and 30th birthday with the person he loves.
GENRE: 1dbandmember!yn, married!ynrry
Since 2010 masterlist

Not to sound ungrateful, but Harry thinks that this was one of the worst birthday celebrations that he's ever had.
Tonight, he just wanted to spend his last year being a teenager having fun with friends—not be completely embarrassed and uncomfortable being strip teased and danced on by strippers.
Not to mention that afterwards, One Direction’s management team had booked him to do a relationship stunt for the night. So as he walked out of the club and into his security team’s Range Rover, a tall, blonde model was by his side. As bad as it sounded, he couldn’t remember the girl’s name for the life of him.
Nothing was going to happen with her anyways. All they had to do was a couple of paparazzi pictures of them together before they’re driven off into the night. The driver would discreetly drop her off at her own hotel before escorting Harry back to his.
So there's not an ounce of uncertainty that when Harry comes out of the elevator, he's absolutely tired and wants nothing more than to be left alone.
He waves his card key in front of the lock and once he hears the little "beep" sound, he pushes the heavy door open.
His irritation and tiredness might have just peaked over its breaking point when he begins to hear rustling from inside. He’s already extremely worn out that he doesn’t even want to put in the effort into putting on a nice face to whoever’s inside his hotel room. But the smile that appears on his face is effortless when he sees YN flicking the wheel of the lighter over some birthday candles sticking out of a chocolate cake.
“Fucking fuck—oh, surprise!” She hops, extending her arms out beside her in what she hopes to look like a grand gesture.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re celebrating your birthday.”
Anyone a mile away can tell how uncomfortable he was during the whole stripper fiasco. It sucked to have to stand off to the side, a faux smile on her face to see her bandmate in that type of situation. As much as she wanted to stay with him for the other “fun” festivities the night had to offer, she knew that she couldn’t let his birthday end the way it was heading. So she took the chance to leave the club a bit early and hoped that he would be up for one more celebratory, late night hang out.
“But, but it’s already past midnight,” He blinks, still a little dumbfounded at the kind surprise before him.
"Oh come on, we only have—err—three, ah! Two more minutes until your birthday is officially over." YN pulls Harry over to the small dining table and sits him down in front of his freshly lit cake. It's then that he notices the shaky lettering on the cake that reads, “Happy Birthday Harry!” Letting him know that she went more out of her way for him than she initially let on.
She comically clears her throat before beautifully yet quickly singing the infamous Happy Birthday song. The song isn't being yelled at to him by a big group of people, and the room isn't jam-packed with people he doesn't know. When he leans over to blow out his candles, he isn't fearful of hands going to the back of his head to stuff his face into the cake.
He doesn’t think twice about wrapping her up in his arms. He squeezes the tops of her shoulders tightly and she nestles into his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, “Thank you.”
The sentiment doesn't, can't go by unnoticed, but it doesn't seem totally out of the norm. This is Harry. A sweet and affectionate person whose love language is undoubtedly physical touch. If anything, it'd be YN feeling the one out of place in this situation. And maybe it was a change of heart towards her anti-touchy feelings or maybe it was because of his birthday. Either way, he's grateful for the way she's letting him hold her. If it were anyone else, she definitely wouldn't wrap her arms around his torso, humming at the warmth he brings.
"Well the night doesn’t have end here,” YN blinks up at him. As if they both realize their close proximity, they slowly pull away to give each other some space. “If you're still up for it and not too tuckered out, I rented that one stupid rom com you like. The one with the guy standing outside with the signs."
"Love Actually? I thought you didn't like that movie."
"Well to be fair, I actually have never seen it. But it’s your birthday and this is sort of part of my gift to you. You know, if you even wanna see it. If not, I can just fuck off and you can sleep because I know you probably had a pretty eventful day—”
She’s rambling. YN’s rambling—a quality she was never prone to particularly show, but it’s cute. He thinks she’s cute.
“YN,” He chuckles, effectively cutting her off. “I’m down to watch it.”
“Really? Okay, cool. Because I already have the film on queue in the room so that would have been real fooking embarrassing.” Annnd she’s back.
He watches with curious eyes as she carefully slides the heavy cake plate onto her hands.
She throws a nod towards the kitchenette, “Mind grabbing the forks.”
As much as Harry tries to resist it, he can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. He quickly grabs the two utensils before following behind her to the open bedroom. YN quite literally steps onto the foot of the bed before carefully sitting down, balancing the cake in her hands.
He sits down next to her, handing her the fork just as she begins the movie. They both dig their forks into the middle of the cake, taking out a chunk.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” She says, clicking the ends of their forks together. She happily hums at the delicious dessert but it quickly turns into a groan at the opening aong of the movie. “Ah not this stupid song again. I felt like this was all i was hearing just the other month.”
He’d be lying if he said he was watching more of the movie than her. His cheeks hurt from chuckling at her witty commentary and he tries not to make a big deal about the way she actually started to get into the film. So as he eats cake and spends the rest of the night with his best friend, he thinks that this might be the best birthday he’s had in a long time.
• 11 years later ●
YN stumbles through the front door as Harry cradles her in his arms, his mouth feverishly pressed to hers. They smile through their kisses, and he hums as she runs her finger through his growing curls. Harry kicks the door of their shared home behind him and blindly tosses the keys haphazardly in the general direction of the bowl by the door.
“Okay, okay,” YN pushes against his shoulders, finally getting a breath in, the pair still walking further into their home without separating. “So I know you said you didn't want any more presents—”
“Baby,” the grown man playfully whines. “You've already given me everything.” In all sincerity, she really has in his eyes. He’s been in love with the woman before him since they were sixteen. He wanted to be with her since their time in the band, through the making of their solo albums and everything in between. Even though it’s been a little over a year now, it still brings an explainable peace and warmth to his heart that she’s now his wife; not his friend with benefits, secret lovers, or merely a couple, but married.
And today couldn't have gone better. YN had the whole day planned. They started the day with lazy morning sex that turned into breakfast in bed. They spent the afternoon down by a secluded beach, having an impromptu dip in the water just before eating the lunch she packed for them. Then, after a plane ride to their private villa in Italy, they've just got back from having a beautiful dinner at his favorite restaurant.
“There's nothing more I could possibly want. Ooo, unless you're hiding some sexy lingerie under this fine ass dress you got here.” He says into her the crook of her neck, already sponging kisses onto her skin.
YN lets out a laugh, especially as his fingers begin to bunch up her silk dress. “No! Well, not no but—”
“So you do,” Harry says with excitement, the creases in his eyes appear when he hears her laughter.
“Just hang on a sec. Your present is upstairs.”
“So I get to unwrap my last birthday present in the bedroom,” He teases her further. Her husband relishes in the way she lets out a girly squeal when he dips down and effortlessly lifts her over his shoulder to bring them into the master bedroom.
“Wait, wait,” She pushes as Harry plops them down on the bed, already trapping her underneath him. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Once she's managed to wiggle herself free (with great effort, no thanks to Harry) she scurries off to the connected bathroom.
He sits himself down on the bed, undoing the cuffs of his button up before rolling up his sleeves, preparing himself to see if wife in lacy undergarments that are only begging to be taken off by his teeth. Or torn off. Either one would work.
“H, close your eyes.” YN says from behind the door. “I mean it, no peeking.”
“Alright, alright.” He complies, already feeling a childlike sense of giddy anticipation.
“Are they closed?”
“Yeah.”
“...are you sure?”
“Yes! For fuck sake’s woman. Being so mean on my birthday,” he laughs.
He feels the bed dip next to him before a kiss is pressed to his lips. Before he can bring his hands to her jaw to deepen the sweet kiss, he feels something being placed in his hands.
“Okay, open them,” she says against his lips.
He pulls back and sees a red box tied with a bow on top.
“Lovie, you really shouldn't have.”
“Last one, I promise.”
Just to tease her, he brings the small box next to his head and shakes it slightly to hear the contents rattle inside.
YN makes a strategic move by placing one of her hands behind him so her thumb can twist at her rings, knowing that that's her dead giveaway for her nerves.
When he opens the lid, it's only then his face gets serious—lips slightly parted with soft eyes. On top of the pile of confetti lies a pregnancy test. The small, red plus line stares back at him clear as day.
“YN?” When he looks to his love, she begins to hold back her tears at the sight of his watery eyes and pink nose. “Is—wha—are you sure?”
“I took like five of them just to be sure,” she lets out a chuckle.
“We’re having a baby?” Words can't describe the warmth and happiness that fills her chest at his excitement. It's not like they haven't mentioned having kids before. It's been brought up a couple of times, most recently these past two years, but the timing was never right. They were always working; whether it be on making an album, working on themselves, and for the longest time, tour was their babies. But now that their 2 year world tours have ended and they've finally had time to go MIA for a couple of months, it didn't feel like a better time.
The couple wasn't setting up a schedule or anything technical to have a baby. Especially since going on their second honeymoon had been occupying their schedule right after touring was done, they decided that baby making would happen naturally. Whenever their baby decided to enter their lives, that would be the perfect time.
YN nods and before she can say the words to verbally confirm, he has her wrapped in his arms. Harry lifts her off the bed and gives her a little twirl.
As quickly as he picked her up, he's on his knees before her and puts a gentle hand on her tummy.
“Hi, bubba,” he says softly. YN beams at the sight, already wiping at the happy tears running down her cheeks. “I'm your daddy, and I love you so so much.”
After placing a gentle kiss on her stomach, he finally takes his wife's face in his hands and kisses her. It isn't rushed or filled with a sexual need. It's soft and filled with so much love and passion.
“We're gonna be parents, baby. You’re gonna make the best momma," he says sincerely, getting more emotional at the thought of holding a mini YN or a mini him in his arms in less than a year from now.
"And you're gonna make the best dad," she hums. He wraps his arms around the tops of her shoulders, pulling her close to him as she cuddles into him. He presses a kiss to her forehead and sniffs back his tears.
"I love you so much."
“i love you, baby. Happy birthday, Harry.”
.
.
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lurk | feyd rautha
part two of five. (part one.) (part three.) (part four.)
summary:
the edge of the blade is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…
“it’s not sharp enough.”
he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.
“what will you have me do?”
“pardon?”
“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”
wc. 3k
tw. blood, death, manipulation, knife kink, blood kind (both heavily hinted at), possessive feyd, political machinations, little canon divergent because the atreides actually attend feyd's bday fight (canon dune part 1 one starts a little after that), please read part one first it will all make sense i promise. shoutout to @kpopnstarwars my most beloved you're going to enjoy this. same goes for you @jaiuneamesolitaiire . also please ask questions about reader/the plot i beg of u i need to get this out of my system
you’re falling.
you see white sands engulf you in their sickly warmth, greedy little grains sinking you in.
you’re falling, and there’s a distant roar ringing in your ears. you’re falling, lifeblood escaping you.
you’ve fallen.
black.
you peel your eyelids open. they feel like sandpaper against your eyes, coarse and rough in all ways wrong.
you dream. again.
the past shifts and twists in front of you, ever changing, desert sand falling through your fingers. the more you cling to it, the less you grasp it.
you let yourself fall in the abyss of memory.
you blink.
you stand by your father’s side, gait proud and regal in a dark dress - a convoluted affair of veils and silver. on your breast, the crest of your family - crimson falcon spreading, spreading. you think of blood blooming on your chest and shift, ever so slightly. the cool press of your blade against your forearm soothes you.
you are in troubled waters, after all.
geidi prime, home to your house’s sworn enemy, the harkonnen. geidi prime, its black sun sucking life out of its inhabitants, monochrome nightmare.
the flight from caladan was costly enough - you can almost hear hawat’s teeth grinding in discontent. a fortune, wasted on harkonen festivities held in honor of the na-baron’s birthday. yet, you must attend. you, betrothed-to-be to a harkonnen.
you’ve heard whispers. hushed conversations between your mother and father, an assessing gaze from the reverend mother herself. it won’t be the baron himself - too old, too sick to produce the desired offspring.
just any other member of that wretched house won’t do either - you are a duke’s daughter, your bloodline mingling with that of the emperor himself.
in the end, it all comes down to the baron’s nephews.
rabban - brutal. all furious brawns, minimal intellectual capacity, proficient for slaughter if used well.
na-baron feyd-rautha. utterly psychotic. deadly. precise. cunning. watching.
from his position at the baron’s right flank, he assesses you. you, back impossibly straight, hands folded before you, feet spread wide enough to spring to action should the situation go awry.
you, bowing before them, liquid smooth, a hair short of being disgracious.
you’ve only bowed low enough to respect the intricate harkonnen protocol, not to show deference. not to them.
the baron raises his head from his seat, barely.
“welcome to geidi prime, duke.”
you suppress a twitch. how utterly informal.
“thank you, baron.”
a shift in the baron’s entourage.
outrage, barely concealed. rabban looks ready to slit your father’s throat. how dare the atreides scum fail to recognize the honor paid to him and his suite?
they’re being left alive, have the privilege of witnessing their beloved na-baron’s coming of age, and still fail to show the due respect?
you let out a slow, drawn out breath. the ceremony will be held in two days. more than enough time for you and your father to be disposed of.
your lips quirk up. you speak.
“it is always an honor to be invited to festivities in which the emperor partakes.”
feyd-rautha’s eyes are on you. under geidi prime’s soulless sun, they’re white, depthless. a milky way of depraved harkonnen savagery. he bares his teeth with unbrided hunger. you know it to be a threat - you’ve heard of his harpies.
you think he’ll consume you whole, with the way his gaze scorches your very soul.
how delightful.
a pulse. the suspensors. slowly, the baron rises from his seat, gargantuan mass towering above you, shadow stretching and stretching until it encompasses all of you.
“the flight to geidi prime must have been quite draining.”
a tenth of your wealth. he who controls the spice controls the universe. the harkonnen have had arrakis in an iron hold for eight decades. your jaw ticks. bastard.
“escort them to the guest wing.”
servants surge forward.
feyd-rautha’s gaze burns, sinks in the exposed skin of your back.
your dream shifts. twists, turns, has you seated at a banquet table.
a feast.
one day left until feyd-rautha’s coming of age.
the guards don’t know how to hold their tongue. they expect a fight - the grandest thing under the sun.
the emperor’s here, sitting at your table. from the corner of the eye, you observe. he’s been put at the head of the table, the baron at his right, your father at his left. an attempt at appeasing eons old enemy. a failure. yet...
there’s an air of satisfaction to the emperor. haden’t you be trained in the bene gesserit way, you would have missed it, the way his eyes glimmer like arrakean spice.
finality sinks in as he takes the first bite, knife slicing open the tender flesh of an unknown poultry.
it looks like a falcon.
you take a bite of your own meat. medium rare, the proper way to consume meat. especially venison. princess irulan watches you, gaze assessing. she, too, has been trained in the way.
you smile at her, finger tracing the rim of your glass, spider-pleasantries networking endlessly. you ask her if she enjoyed your gift - a vocal recorder of the highest quality.
her smile is sincere. in the brutal white lighting of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing things were different.
“how is your brother?”
you grin. you’re being watched.
“he’s grown. still has his back facing the door.”
she scoffs, amused.
“he’ll learn.”
under the artificial light, your wine looks like freshly spilled blood.
you take a sip and hum. the alcohol burns, sweet little fire settling low in your chest.
“is the wine to your liking, my lady?"
to your credit, you don’t startle. your shoulders tense, your hand freezes in its motion to lower the glass.
na-baron feyd-rautha is at your side, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear.
“it is, my lord na-baron.”
mine. mine. glacier eyes have you riveted in your seat, needle-like against your throat. mine, mine.
his lady. his to claim, his to wed, his to breed.
you watch lithe fingers curl around his knife and wish you could see him in action. watch the deadly precision he’s so praised for.
soon.
twist and shift, until you’re lost in a maze of hallways.
the ceremony is about to start - you can feel the low thrum of thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. shadows pass over you.
it’s cold, this architecture. metal wings stretching, stretching. should you crane your neck, maybe, you’ll watch them disappear in the ceiling. maybe. darkness is a looming cloud - these very walls soak up the light.
you, yourself, are a shadow. puppet dancing to the whims of whoever holds your strings. bene gesserit. baron vladimir harkonnen. the emperor.
you feel a storm coming.
you stop. light. an open door. a lone silhouette, porcelain white etched against black.
feyd-rautha.
he raises his head. sees you. tilts it to the side, lips stretched in a slow grin.
“are you lost, my lady?”
“so it would appear, na-baron.”
a twitch. flicker of annoyance in his eyelid, in the clenching of his jaw, sculpted edge caressed by shadows.
his blade is at your throat before you can make a move.
time holds its breath. it will snap and bleed raw at your feet, thick rivulets of it.
you will bleed, too.
your lips part, a muted gasp. the edge is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…
“it’s not sharp enough.”
he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.
“what will you have me do?”
“pardon?”
“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”
your heart skips a beat. a droplet of blood trails down your neck, down to your collarbone, down to your breasts. his gaze follows. hungry.
“you’d make quite a mess, na-baron.”
he steps closer. circles you, free hand grazing your hip bone, left bare by your dress. you feel the heat of him. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against you. you suppress a shiver.
“address me properly, my lady.”
he shifts his blade. it presses against your jaw.
“very well, my lord na-baron.”
a pleased hum, like a purr. you tilt your head to the side.
“what will you do, feyd-rautha?”
he turns by a fraction. his lips graze your cheek, a breath away from your mouth. your throat feels dry. they graze there, too, over your carotid, trailing up and up until he’s pressing his cheek to yours, guiding you, helping you see-
carnage.
servants, dressed in white, lying limp on the ground, throat slit with deadly perfection. blood pools on the ground. stretches. oozes from gaping wounds, until it reaches the hem of your dress.
concubines, three of them - sisters of fate, harpies with broken limbs, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. they’re smiling, teeth like fangs in the dim lighting of the room.
“help me,” he mutters, voice like a plea. “i will guide you.”
“and if i refuse?"
a low chuckle. deep, raspy. you melt a little inside.
“you’re brave, my little atreides.”
“you wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me and fail, miserably.”
his arm wraps around your middle, pressing you to him. oh, mother, why did you have to wear a backless dress? you feel each ridge of him, the perfection of a trained warrior, muscles taut from countless hours of training - he’d make sculptors weep with the lethal perfection of him.
“ah, the fabled tale. show me, little atreides.”
“say please.”
his fingers dig in your hip, thumb tracing small circles under the silver threads holding the fabric together.
“please.”
slowly, you raise your arm. the fabric of your dress, a convoluted affair of veils and velvet, slides down your skin. inch by inch, until the treacherous, ragged scar stretches along your forearm. he tenses, feyd-rautha.
“who did this to you?”
“a fool who underestimated me.”
an assassin.
sent to kill you and your brother as you were running around on the beaches of caladan. who took you first, had you pressed against him, blade at your throat - until you sweetly asked him to
unhand you.
he did. your mastery of the voice wasn’t perfect. you faltered. he struck. you bled.
killed.
words are the weapons of the weak.
that, you aren’t.
“how may i help you, feyd-rautha?”
twist, turn, until you’re facing him, holding a bowl of paint. thick, petrol black, it clings to your fingers like a lifeline. feyd-rautha’s hand covers yours. guiding you, dipping your fingers in the paint, raising your hand to his torso.
you flush a little.
he’s warm. so very warm under your touch. the paint is cool on his skin - you watch him shiver, abdominals contracting, and you trail down, down his pectorals, stopping just short of his navel, lingering over the fabric of his tunic. at his side, his fingers twitch, eager.
“more.”
“where?”
his hand reaches for yours. presses it on his chest. you can feel his heart, steady, strong - fluttering, hummingbird flailing in a cage made of ribs.
you want him, you realize. you want to consume him whole, sink your teeth in him until you can finally taste.
“where?”
you have to crane your neck to get a look at his face. something like amusement glimmers in his eyes.
he brings your fingers to his lips.
you blink.
spread the paint, thumb pressing down the plush of his lips. his lips part, suck you in and bite.
feyd-rautha watches you, tongue darting out to gather the sweet blood trailing down your hand. he presses a kiss to your palm, lips lingering against the callouses of your skin.
you let out something like a whine. the bowl falls. you never hear it reach the ground.
“you’re making quite a mess.”
bastard.
“you’ll make a bigger one if you’re late, my na-baron.”
twist and turn, again, and again, and again. dreams have meanings, and you won’t let this one escape your grasp.
you’re standing above the ground, in the gaping mouth of a harkonnen arena. on and on it stretches, cold metal sparring against the sky, gnawing at its decimated horizon. ink blots the sky. you think of blood pooling in the water. fireworks.
you step inside the lodge. the guards recognise you - duncan idaho flashes a smile, a sharp quirk of his lips. you nod. they part ways. let you join your father, sit by his side and watch.
the fight hasn’t begun yet.
“you look thoughtful, daughter.”
you look away from the immaculate sand and the thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. feyd-rautha.
your father is watching you, gaze austere. you will not conceal, not from him.
“an alliance with the harkonnen would be beneficial, father.”
silence. you watch the subtle twitch of his eyelid, the flexing of his hand. the guards do not hear. you’ve willed it so on your way in. to them, this is only pleasant chatter between father and daughter. harkonnen slander.
“you will not speak of such matters again.”
“the emperor-”
“enough!”
you keep your mouth shut. your father is a stubborn man, blinded by hatred passed down from generation to generation of atreides. as you should be.
horns blow. doors part, slide up. in comes feyd-rautha harkonnen, prowling on the wretched grounds of his playing ground. your binoculars zoom in on him. on the ease with which he carries himself, on the perfect arch of his neck as he kneels before the baron.
on harkonnen prisoners making their way towards him. undrugged.
you straighten in your seat.
the guards murmur. they too, have noticed the prisoners walking straight, carrying themselves with entirely too much ease.
“a bold move. what is the baron planning?”
your father. he’s watching too. all of you are, thousands of gazes riveted on the focal point that is the lone silhouette of feyd-rautha harkonnen.
you rip your gaze away from him and focus on the baron, a few meters above.
his lips part.
show me who you are, my dear nephew.
he’s fast. too fast for them. you relish in it, the fluidity of his movements, the way his hands tenses with each strike of his blades, bare forearms rippling with tension. one body falls. two. it’s barely been a minute since the fight started.
you cross your legs and watch, enthralled.
by god, does he fight well.
a reptile, slithering around his opponent, assessing him with the cruel knowledge of his supremacy. shadows loom over them, horned beasts ready to pry his opponent away from him should he prove to be in danger.
you feel more than you hear his outraged snarl.
“back off!”
that poor soul is his to kill. his gaze flickers upwards. up to the guest lodge, up to you. he bares his teeth in a smile, a flash of black against pure white, and strikes. blood splatters on the ground. a gash opens in the side of the prisoner. he stumbles but doesn’t fall.
no, he’s a fighter that one. lunches forward to pin the na-baron to the ground, wrestling with him, clawing at his arms, hitting every nerve until the baron drops his blades. he’s laughing. he’s getting the life choked out of him and he’s laughing, shifting until his feet find enough leverage to pull him up.
there’s a blade at his throat. the prisoner pushes and pushes, unstoppable force against immovable object. on he laughs, feyd. your eyes drops to his lips, where you see droplets of drool drip down his chin. you bite your lip.
feyd seizes the blade with his bare hand and twists. you hear the prisoner’s wrist break before you hear him choke on his own scream, coughing out blood. the dagger’s deep in his throat. it’s the only thing keeping him together - one fluid motion and feyd rautha wrenches it out of torn flesh and raises it above.
his gaze finds yours.
the dream shifts.
a veil unfolds, parts, until you’re walking the burning sands of arrakis. paul atreides, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, stands before you.
his eyes are blue.
you freeze.
a litany rises. lisan al gaib. your mother’s handicraft and eons of propaganda from the missionaria protectiva did its job well. here stands the one, scalding wind screaming around the looming silhouette of him.
bodies. bodies, laying on the ground, thousands and thousands of bodies, hands clutching at scorched earth, parched mouths opened in damnation. hunger. they’re dying in paul’s wake. fate will set the galaxy ablaze. fate will make monsters out of you.
“you know what must be done, sister.”
you do. there’s something a little broken in the way you smile at him, palm cradling his face.
“do you, little mouse?”
he’s tired, paul atreides, usul, muad’ib, lisan al gaib. sanctity doesn’t suit him well. he sees, but his eyes are sunken, his cheeks have hollowed out. there’s an edge to him, too. the bene gesserit were right to fear him.
“don’t lose yourself more than you already have, brother.”
it’s too late.
a jolt.
your eyes wrench open.
“welcome back, atreides.”
the baron.
#feyd rautha x reader#feyd rautha x y/n#feyd rautha x you#dune x reader#dune x you#dune x y/n#obticeo writes#bald freak supremacy
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T.L.C ⤑ J.F.P & L.J.E
pairing: jily x fem!reader (james potter & lily evans) wc: 2.8k tags: fluff, non sexual intimacy, suggestive jokes, body worship, mentions of praise, james is head over heels, its okay cause lily and reader are too, gryffindor reader, female reader, love bites, lipstick stains, the works basically. kinda proofread
James Potter was not a shy person. It took a different kind of confidence to have a big reputation and live up to it. He thrived in any environment where all eyes were on him, and he loved the attention he got from it. With an ego that skyrockets higher than his broom while playing quidditch, it’s not that surprising to find him doing things for the sake of validation.
Which is why many would be surprised how easily the marauder falls apart underneath the two pairs of hands that he got to call his girlfriends. Of course, that sight is reserved for his darling angels only. Anyone who bothered to interrupt their alone time would be shunned away with nasty looks and a hint of verbal abuse. (and maybe a book being thrown in their direction)
Because if there was one thing James Fleamont Potter was, it would be a lover boy. The perfect bachelor for the two fittest ladies in their year. After pining after the girls for almost the entirety of their Hogwarts life, it was only fair they give him the same attention he served to them daily. Which is why they found themselves wrapped up in situations like these quite often.
In the comfort of the Gryffindor girl's dorm room, the three of them were pressed together in a flurry of lingering kisses and gentle grazes. They were pushed against each other like they were bound together by some rope, and many would believe them to be victims of the invisible string theory. Their dynamic was so perfect that no one had any room to doubt that the possibility of them being soulmates was absolutely true.
A pair of lips brushed against James's forehead, and the strings of vibrant red told him who they belonged to. They finally found a place to settle, planted firmly in the center of his eyebrows, and the satin feeling that lingered when the girl pulled away made him aware of the color she left behind. His heart fluttered as he imagined it, but he couldn't dive too deep into his thoughts before another pair of candy sweet lips began their journey across the skin of his neck.
He was strewn across your bed, his head leaning back into the pillows that smelt deliciously like you, with Lily curled around him. His soft and unruly curls tickled the skin peeking out from the neckline of her top, and her fingers were running through the strands. Her work left his curls to become frizzy the more she separated them, but neither of them were bothered by it. Her other hand was intertwined with yours, resting atop James's chest where they met.
You were on the other side of him, tucked underneath his arm with your head craning up to leave your own velvety marks along his throat. Your unoccupied hand was dancing down his exposed arm, tracing each ridge and line along it until you could paint a picture of it in your mind. His mind reeled as you got closer to that spot, the one that drew the sweetest whines from deep down inside him. His anticipation grew as you hovered above it, knowing him from the times spent worshipping him like this, and you granted him mercy as he jutted himself towards you.
His lips parted with a sigh after you planted an open mouthed kiss to it, momentarily pulling back to drink in his reaction, before diving back in. You made a mess of his skin, the pretty shade of your lip color smudging as you sucked and nipped at the spot. Pulling back, you grinned with stained lips at his equally as stained neck, the blooming purples and reds adding onto the palette you and Lily were making of him.
Not satisfied with a single taste, you leaned back in to continue your work. Lily admired her lovers from her spot above the two of you, and she curled the fingers tangled in dark chocolate strands to scrape her cherry fingernails along his scalp. The action made his brain even more fuzzy than it was before, which he didn't think was possible with the mush puddle it already was. He couldn't think more than a few words without being distracted by another kiss, touch, or sound.
He lost count of how many times you found another spot to mark, but he was sure you were running out of blank spaces. He thought you finally ran out once your head lifted up, but he should've known that you always had another solution. You shuffled down his side to taint even more of his skin, turning your head in the opposite direction to peck where your fingers had previously been. Once in the right spot, you picked yourself off the bed, throwing one leg over a pair of meaty thighs to straddle them.
Two pairs of tender eyes followed her with curiosity. One pair were a gentle brown, wide and shiny, and they were enhanced by the lens sitting in front of them. The others were a striking emerald shade, one that the Slytherins would desire in the form of a jewel. The intensity of them made you feel naked under her gaze, and you wondered if this is how James currently felt.
Tearing your eyes away from theirs, you focused instead on caressing the clothing covered skin in front of you. Hands moved to plant themselves on the thighs beneath your own, squeezing the flesh before delicately moving your touch upwards. Past his hips, you dipped your fingertips to touch the bare skin of his Apollo's belt, the warmth radiating off it utterly enticing, and you couldn't help but lean forward to press a wet kiss there. Glancing up, you caught sight of Lily leaning her head down to whisper praises into her boyfriend's flushed ears, and you couldn't help the fluttery feeling that settled into your stomach.
"Mine." you thought, possessive and selfish in your love for the two. Who could blame you, though? They were created with the most gentle love, perfectly sculpted by the gods into the beings before you. Truly infatuated, that's what you were. And the way they were looking at you told you that they felt exactly the same. But this isn't about you. No, right now you were on a mission, one to pour out your spilling heart in actions rather than words.
Your fingers found the bunched up hem of James's undershirt, the one he wore beneath his uniform so he would be able to shed the heavy material as soon as lessons were over. It was a staple in the James Potter wardrobe, and no one could complain about his robes laying somewhere in the common room when he so graciously blessed him with the sight of him in the thin fabric.
The white material stretched deliciously over cinnamon skin, his athletic build on display like a model from the muggle magazines found in the common room. The lack of sleeves left his biceps bare, and you wondered if he would mind if you sunk your teeth into the muscle. You doubt he would, seeing as James Potter is the biggest attention whore, and would parade around with any marks you graciously bestowed upon him. In fact, you wouldn't be surprised if he dragged you both down to the common room after to do exactly that.
As much as you loved James's clothes (and wearing them), you liked what was hidden underneath them better. You flattened your hands against his v-line and began to ascend, the white fabric folding into pleats around your wrists. The path along his abdomen was full of ridges and bumps, and you gave thanks to every god out there that decided to make your boyfriend a Quidditch fiend. You didn't stop until you passed his chest and couldn't pull it forward with his arms downward. He arched at your touch, and made to get up so you could take it full off him, but you leaned into your hands to keep him down.
He obeyed, and relaxed again as you scooted the fabric into his armpits. With the current headspace he was in, you were sure he'd do just about anything you asked him to. Hovering above his chest, you looked up to study his face. Unable to resist, you leaned forward to connect your lips with his, sucking on his bottom lip while he eagerly reciprocated. He moaned at the taste of you, and silently hoped that you would leave his lips colored like yours.
You pulled away to catch your breath, and felt his chest heaving from where it was brushing yours. Like a magnetic pole, your eyes found the forest green ones belonging to your girlfriend. The soft upturn of her rosy pink lips left you desperate for a taste, and you leaned in to steal a kiss from her, too.
Kisses with Lily Evans felt like laying in a field of wildflowers. Fluffy, overgrown grass with the disruption of pretty pastel blooms, the kind of scene you would want to live in when you need a break from the world. Besotted was what you felt after experimental kisses with the ivory skinned girl in the comfort of your dorm room during second year, and it was no wonder why your boyfriend would become entirely enamored after she gifted him one during a game of spin the bottle the following year.
She quickly gained control over you, not like you had any fight when it came to her, and her hand that had once been holding yours found you again. Her delicate touch on your cheek left you leaning into it, and she deepened the kiss by sliding her tongue into your eager lips. James watched the scene from his place underneath your connected lips, and his eyes glazed over with love. The sight brought him back to the first time he was ever in this position, which was also the first day you and Lily decided to give his pining heart a chance.
It had been Halloween, and Gryffindors were always in charge of the annual All Hallows Eve bash. The marauders and co. had graciously led charge of the planning, and James had been staring longingly at the two of you setting up decorations around the common room. He so desperately wanted to be involved in the sugary kisses you shared between inflating balloons, and wanted to be the one holding your waist as you stood on a chair to use a sticking charm on a banner.
You both had disappeared with the rest of your friends to get ready for the party, and he pouted long after you both had gone. When you both came back, however, it was worth it to see you both flutter down the stairs in your matching fairy costumes. Lily was decorated in green and taupe, and you had flowers where she had leaves. The pastel dress you wore flowed down your waist, and Lily's skirt swished with each step she took. Her strappy sandals made her legs look incredible, and the heels on your own had James staring whenever you crossed your legs and left one elevated.
After a whole night of the poor boy sending longing glances and following behind you both like a lost puppy, he was then holding both of your hands while being dragged up and into your shared dorm. Being kissed by both of the girls he had been obsessed with since he first met them was a dream come true, and he would live to think about that night almost every day for the rest of his life.
He was pulled back into the present when you shifted above him, and his hands flew up to hold your waist. He pulled you down until your entire weight was on him, and he let out an embarrassingly needy sound when his eyes reconnected with their clashing pink tongues. His cheeks darkened once he realized how desperate he sounded, but he couldn't find a single part of him that cared once he had their attention.
Lily brought you in for one last peck before patting your cheek in dismissal, letting you return back to your previous ministrations. Your lips found home on his collarbones, gently suckling at the skin before starting a trail downwards. The auburn haired girl above James went back to caressing him with her pale fingers, and she leaned into his ear to mutter soft teases to him.
By the time you had worked your way across his pecs, ribcage, and now settled by his navel, he was burning under the attention he was receiving. Your lips that had long since been rid of color, having smudged it into his skin, were now covered in Lily's usual shade, and he figured that there was nothing you couldn't pull off. He let a dopey smile grace his face once you continued to stain his skin with it, dreading having to take a shower after receiving such a wonderful gift.
Before you could go any further, the three of you were interrupted by rapping on the room's door. You sat up in his lap, and James whined pathetically. "No, come back!" he thought, and Lily's honey coated voice called out permission for entry. The door slowly creaked open, and a head of light brown hair peaked in.
"Hey, one of your second years is looking for you, (Y/N)." Remus said, and you perked up. "Oh, thanks Rem. We'll be down in a sec." The scarred man went to respond, but he couldn't do more than open his mouth before he was interrupted. "Oi, are you doing dirty things in there? How scandalous!" Sirius tsked at them once his head popped out below Remus's.
James, who had been glaring daggers at his current least favorite people, huffed out a "yes" while you just gave them an innocent smile. "Nope, just some sweet, tender loving. Dirty is whatever you do in that broom closet near the charms class." You shot back, and Sirius just tilted his head in false consideration before nodding. "True."
You had just begun to get up off of your boyfriend before he began to panic. "What- where are you going? Don't leave!" He cried, and Lily had to wrap her arms around his shoulders to stop him from pulling you back down. You stretched out once you were on your feet beside your bed, and made your way over to Lily's to grab your wand and (James's) sweater. "Sorry m'love. I can't neglect my duties as a tutor." You apologized as you made your way back over to press your lips to his.
"Yes, you can. Who cares about them when you have us? Here? Doing some very pleasant things, might I add." He argued back indignantly, and turned to scowl at Sirius, who fake gagged at them. "And they weren't having sex, she claims." he muttered to Remus, but it didn't go unheard of by you. "We weren't having sex, Sirius." you rolled your eyes, and it was your turn to glare at the black haired boy when he added a low "Sure looks like it to me."
"We could have sex." came from James, and you whipped your head around to aim your stare at him. He shrunk under your gaze and quietly apologized while turning to avoid your temper. You just shook your head and began to pull his shirt back down, then turned to Lily. "Will you both be staying here?" The green eyed girl gave you a look filled with admiration before shaking her head.
"We'll head down in a bit." She replied before dragging you into a kiss. You hummed against her lips, softly melting against her. (Though you could faintly hear James cry "We are!?" in disbelief.) You leaned down to peck James, who tried to pull you back down but was smacked by Lily, and moved to head towards where Remus and Sirius were standing. "Gross." Sirius faked disgust with a scrunch of his nose, and you didn't bother glaring at him this time.
"It's okay to be jealous, Siri. I know the only form of intimacy you get is by shagging random girls, but I'm sure Moony will be happy to give you some T.L.C." She taunted as she slipped her shoes on and made her way past them. "How dare you? I get plenty of care, thank you very much." He gasped, hand shooting up to clutch at his imaginary pearls. Remus pulled him along as he shut the door behind him, and they quickly caught up to you. "T.L.C?" He questioned quietly, and you smiled in amusement. "Tender Loving Care." You told him, and he hummed in understanding. "Ah, got it. Yeah no, you're definitely lacking in that department, Pads."
The shrill shriek Sirius let out garnered the attention of everyone in the common room. Thankfully, they all dismissed it once they saw who it came from. And for the record, James did, in fact, refuse to wipe away the proof of your love and paraded around showing the marks off. Because James Potter wasn't shy, but he was deeply and completely head over heels for his two gorgeous girls.
#marauders#fanfic#x reader#marauders fanfiction#james potter#james potter x reader#lily evans#lily evans x reader#jily#jily x reader#oneshot#fluff#gryffindor!reader#gryffindor#fem reader#reader insert#marauders era
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hi! i wanted to ask about your opinion of psychoanalysis. i'm interested in psychology and read excerpts from freud's civilization and its discontents so i'm curious what you think about his theories :)
Hi there! So, I apologize for the tone of my response, especially if you liked that book, considering I didn't read it (I read like Freud's "foundational essay" can't remember the name though), but, well. Considering how strongly I feel about this topic, I'd rather be virulent than undermine its importance through artificial diplomacy. Also people tell me it's funny when I talk shit. Please note that this post is gonna be divided in a bunch of sections (this intro+ 6 points) so I don't get over the tumblr word limit!
In a way, psychoanalysts are a lot like cops. They chose a job that causes harm and enforces a harmful brand of systemic violence and get paid and praised as heroes for it at the end of the day, and many of them actually do think of themselves as heroes because they haven't unlearnt/unpacked the violence they're enforcing, but that absolves them of nothing: I think if you can sit through all three weeks of mandatory pig academy and not realize there's something deeply wrong with the job you are learning how to botch, then it's on you-plausible deniability only gets you so far, and there's a point where practicing cruelty out of ignorance is no different from willful cruelty.
Basically, they're the rotten apple that stops people from buying the full basket of apple, which sucks because those people then die of scurvy, but when you try to convince someone they need to eat an apple they'll be like "okay but what if I eat a rotten apple and it gets me sick? And it sucks because they're making a very good point and the fruit merchant is a gigantic moron in the pockets of the Big Rotten Apple lobby who refuses to take the rotten apples out of the basket or do the bare minimum of anti food-poisoning regulations. Or, maybe a rotten apple is too kind a word for the situation; maybe it's more like a manzanilla in a basket of small apples. And you better bet those motherfuckers all look the exact same before you bite into one.
Those are my general feelings about psychoanalysis, but I think it's important to talk about it and why, because I'm not being a hater for the sake of it. I feel like a lot of people either don't know much about it, are on the fence because they've heard so many people day different things about it (and man, psychoanalysts can be convincing)
I love your curiosity Sashe, and despite my cavalier attitude I truly hope you see my response not as an attack but as the well-intentioned, honest answer to a question that's so important to me and that I wish more people knew of, and I hope I can convince you of the risks before someone takes advantage of you. Anyway, here's an essay.
Thesis statement:
Psychoanalysis is a non-scientific, inherently psychophobic ideology built on misogynistic and homophobic premises as well as a dangerous scam that preys on the vulnerable to extort money from them and extends its influence to spreading false beliefs and actively fighting scientific and clinical advancements in the countries where it is still taken seriously. Unfortunately, I live in one of those countries and have to deal with psychoanalysts all the time, so let's break down why it sucks so bad and why we need to take those practicians' psychologist/therapist license away.
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Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 8 - Catharsis
How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?
pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus | pt. 10
Word count: 4,900
Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, thoughts of death, heavy drinking, use of alcohol and sexual behavior as coping mechanisms. you know it's what you can expect from a blitzo-centered chapter. this happens right after the ozzie's chapter.
dividers by @cafekitsune | art (you’ll see) by @sweetadonisbutbetter <3
Blitzø is going to die alone.
He’s going to die alone and no one will attend his funeral or even visit his grave other than to spit on it and his gravestone will read ‘Here Lies Blitzo Buckzo’ and nothing more because no one will be there to tell them to cross out the O and he most certainly won’t be a beloved anything. He'll just stay Blitzo Buckzo, forever.
And Blitzo Buckzo fucking sucks.
Sometimes he wishes he was able to think before he spoke. He never does much of that and he’s aware he’d probably have refrained from hurting half the people he’s hurt if he could just keep his damn mouth shut. He didn’t think about this all that much… except for when he did.
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?
Her voice rings in his head non-stop, like one of those annoying fucking church bells he’d come across once in the living world that ring every single hour, making it unable for its existence to be forgotten.
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?
It rings over and over again, stubborn, and it just won’t fucking go away.
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?
Blitzø drives home on his own, but not in silence. He turns the radio on and the volume up until he figures it must be loud enough that he’ll have trouble hearing his own thoughts. It doesn’t work. The shit thing about thoughts is that they’re not something you can just turn off when you get sick of them. They follow you everywhere, all the time, inconvenient and impossible to get rid of. He proceeds to ignore the songs that come on in favor of mumbling incoherent things under his breath in a desperate attempt to reassure himself that he’s not bothered by everything that just happened. Things like I can think about people’s fuckin�� feelings and think you’re so much better than me, well fuck you and rich fuckin’ asshole thinks he’s hot shit and probably suckin’ face right now.
You know, things that prove he doesn’t care one bit.
Whatever.
He parks the van without a care, still too busy mumbling to himself, leaving it askew, taking up almost half of the parking spot next to his own. The old lady from 22 is gonna be pissed at the inconvenience. Well fuck her too. He doesn’t spare another thought on that.
He dreads the walk up the stairs to the apartment, wishing he lived somewhere with an elevator, or in a house, or in a super sick fancy mansion where he used money as toilet paper when he took a shit because he was just that rich. Actually, scratch that, that sounds uncomfortable. At least his shitty apartment with limited hot water and four flights of stairs before it had real toilet paper, and it was the nice kind even, he always made sure of it even if it was a little more expensive.
His little luxuries start to sound stupid when he’s been spending so much time around Stolas and all his fancy stuff.
When he opens the door and enters the apartment, his first immediate thought is to knock on Loona’s door. He groans once as he walks towards it and then once again when he spots the note she left taped to it. ‘Tex invited me to a party. Don’t wait up.’ Yeah of course he fucking did.
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?
Does he?
He does. He thinks he does, at least. Maybe not all the time, but why else would he have said those things to her other than to protect her feelings? It’s not his fault if she was setting herself up for heartbreak. She needed to kill those feelings and if she wouldn’t then he would, fuck being the bad guy. In fact, fuck her too! He could so think about other people’s feelings.
He groans a third time at the thought of spending the night all alone, because he already knows what being alone makes out of him, and he doesn't like it one bit. If he could, he’d never be alone, not even for a single second, ever. Maybe that way he wouldn’t be so pathetic and so sad, because that’s what being alone made of him: pathetic and sad.
It’s why Blitzø used to hate weekends.
Satan, he fucking hated them. Why couldn’t every day be a work day? Why would they need a break? If it were up to him, there would be no such thing as a weekend. Because on weekends he had nothing to distract him from the ever-growing nothing in the pit of his chest and that wasn’t much fun at all.
Until Y/N accepted the job at I.M.P.
Before that, they used to speak almost exclusively through text, extremely inconsistently. He’s never really been the greatest at texting, but he could spam her with stupid memes and pictures of him doing random things throughout his day and horse doodles that she didn’t seem mad about receiving. They spent a whole year like that, only meeting in person a few times here and there.
When he offered her the job he promised himself not to have any expectations because, well shit, why would she trade in an obviously well-paying job, with her best friend as her boss, where she’d been working for years on end without having to hurt or kill anybody, for whatever it was he was asking her to do?
But then she said yes.
It wasn’t long until he figured out they weren’t all that different from each other. Apparently, as much as she liked to complain about needing a break, just to annoy him, she dreaded weekends too. Not that she’d just admit that point-blank, but they did go out on on a Friday night after work and she did drink one too many and she sighed and complained about having to go home and it was all so much like him. ‘I don’t wanna be alone, Blitz,’ she’d told him.
He didn't wanna be alone either.
And so he took her back home and he slept on her couch and he stayed there the next day, keeping her company and, honestly, enjoying hers.
That’s how their tradition started. Almost every single weekend, the two will find themselves in either of their apartments, in the ugliest clothes they own, to cook or order something extremely greasy and unhealthy and marathon a shit-ton of movies, staying in on Saturday after going out somewhere on Friday. Loona would routinely call it ‘patheticville’ and ‘loser day’ and things like that.
He doesn't hate weekends anymore.
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?
And now he’d fucking gone and done this.
He still wanted to fight, then. To argue, to scream, to yell. He wanted them to do it too. To get down and dirty and scream back at him. He wanted a reason to react.
Blitzø has always been very good at reacting.
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than you own?
But how was he supposed to react to that? The thought of grabbing his phone and texting her something along the lines of ‘fuck you and your pet bird too’ crosses his mind for a moment and, shit, maybe he is a prick, and he was gonna die alone wasn’t he? He was sure to if he kept doing this kind of thing.
And maybe he fucking deserves it.
Sometimes he wonders just how he’s going to die. Will it be peaceful? He hopes not. He sure as shit does not deserve peaceful. Maybe it could at least be cool. Maybe he could go down in a super badass shootout in the human world or a cool-as-fuck sword fight or something. Or maybe he’ll die in some dumbass way like tripping on the sidewalk and cracking his head open on the pavement. Maybe it’ll be in one of those days when he’ll be climbing up Stolas’ balcony and then he’ll slip and fall and break all his bones only to be found dead on the grass surrounded by ball gags and anal plugs. A stupid send-off for a stupid motherfucker.
He throws himself on the couch instead and curls up into a ball, wishing he had a big royal-size bed with soft sheets and like three or four fluffy pillows, or even a simple twin-sized one, or at least that the couch was a pull-out.
He grabs his phone and inevitably goes where he always goes when he feels like this- his ‘people I care about’ folder. He swipes through the various pictures. The ones of himself with I.M.P. in the living world, the one he made Moxxie pose with him for with them pointing their guns at each other, the one with Millie when she still had her long hair. The one from the day of Loona’s adoption, the one he took of Stolas sleeping next to him. The selfie with Verosika, the one he secretly took of Y/N watching the screen when he first showed ‘Spirit’ to her.
And then he lands on the one. The one with Barbie and his mom.
Blitzø is a 35 years old single father who kills people for a living. He’s been handling his own shit for almost two decades now. But in this moment… he just wants his mama.
Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own?
What would she have thought of that?
Yeah, he should have known it would be a ‘cry himself to sleep’ kind of night.
Blitzø doesn’t know for how long he’s been passed out when he wakes up disoriented. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and that probably explains why his body ached so much with how uncomfortable the position he’d slept in was. He wakes up with the barking sounds of Loona’s special ringtone and scrambles to pick it up.
“Loonie baby? You alright? Did something happen to you, are you hurt?”
“No, Blitz. I just- can you just come pick me up?” She sounds like she’s been crying. Fuck, no, his baby needs him. No time to be sad.
He’s up in a second. “On my way. Send me the address.” He hangs up, searching for his car keys (which he found between the couch seats) and running down the stairs.
Loona went two rings down to Gluttony for this party. It makes sense, he supposes. He’s more of a Lust Ring party kind of guy himself, but he’s heard Gluttony parties got crazy. He accelerates as fast as the shitty van will let him and gets there pretty quickly, only to find her outside, still crying.
He rolls down the window before he even stops the car completely. “Hey, Loonie. How ya doin’, you alright?”
She wipes a tear with the back of her hand and enters the car with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine! I just wanna go.” She sounds anything but fine.
He’s about to ask her what happened when some fuckface he definitely doesn’t remember calls him by name. The wrong one. “Hey! That sounds like Blitzo!”
“The ‘O’ is silent, asshole!”
“Hey, I knew it was you! Fuck, man, where you been? You here for the party?”
“No, I’m just here picking up my daughter.”
The guy walks up to Loona’s window, and she hides her face from him with her hands, embarrassed. “Oh, shit, you have a daughter now?”
“Adopted!” She yells out, and it stings a bit, regardless of being objectively true.
“Oh, man, you’re already leaving? Things just got started! Come in and show us all up again.”
Blitzø groans, annoyed by the insistence. “No, no, thank you, but I think Loonie wants to head back now.”
Some other weirdo approaches the van, leaning on the passenger’s window. “Huh, the hottie wants to leave?” Come on, right in front of him?
He instinctively starts to growl. “Watch it.”
“I mean, we could stay a little longer,” Loona tells him.
He sighs. He’s not normally one to turn down a party, especially one with free booze, but he feels that’s probably what he should do.. “I think we need to go, ‘kay? I think it’s been a long night.”
“Well, these people seem to know you. Come on! I think I wanna give this another try. Pleeeeaaase?” She gives him the goddamn puppy dog eyes and she knows he can already hardly resist fulfilling her requests.
Well, if she insists. He could definitely use a drink…
“Okay, fine. Maybe one drink.”
… Or a good old night of drinking to forget.
Blitzø downs two tequila shots before he’s even made it into the house. He downs four beers at rapid speed as soon as he does manage to get inside, crushing the cans and cheering loudly when he was done, and then suddenly he finds himself saying yes to a keg stand. It’s so easy he can do it in his sleep. Fuck being too old for this, he’d never be too old to have fun. And he can handle so much more than a keg stand. “Ha-ha! That was nothing, bitch! Give me a real challenge!”
Beelzebub herself appears in front of him, seemingly materializing out of nowhere (or maybe he’s just drunk), all cheers and neon colors and psychedelic paraphernalia floating around her, and she does challenge him. “Oh yeah? Wanna fucks with the big bitch, imp boy? I got a challenge for ya.”
Someone somewhere murmurs “He’s gonna die.”
Now that sounds like a challenge he can get behind.
Vortex walks up to them, carrying two huge gallons of something and placing them on the floor between him and the Sin. “Aaaaight, let’s do this! From Bee’s personal supply, the hardest shit there is.” He crouches down to Blitzø’s height. “You ready, my man?”
Fuck, this better fucking kill him alright. “Bring it, barky! I will drink you under this fucking table, you have no idea what kind of night I’ve had.” He struggles trying to pry the gallon open, and Bee uses her magic or whatever to make them levitate, extending a straw from it. Of course she’d flaunt her magical powers and her easy fucking life to him.
“Alright, shit-talker, but there hasn’t been a soul yet who can beat me at my own game, so you better bring the fire, baby!.”
“Ohh, is Queen Bee too scawed to lose to a widdle imp like me?” He bets she is. And he bets she’ll be embarrassed when she loses to him (because she is going to lose). Fucking big names like her always are.
“Oh, okay. Let’s get it on, you little bastard!”
Vortex signs for them to begin and it takes about two seconds for Blitzø to have downed about a fourth of it already, but why stop there? He pulls the straw out and pours the drink straight into his mouth, downing the entirety of it at light speed. He’s so quick Beelzebub even stops chugging her own, amused… Concerned? Noo, no way. Amused.
He climbs on top of the huge gallon to be at face level with her and properly rub it on her face, high on the adrenaline of it all (and perhaps a little bit on the buzz from the extremely strong drink too). “Yeah, who’s the queen now?”
Loona cheers for him loudly, and it fills him with joy when she proudly yells out “yeah! That’s my dad!” Yeah. That’s damn right.
Bee lets her own unfinished gallon fall down to the floor and crosses her arms over her chest. Yeah, definitely impressed. “Well, fuck me. That’s a first. I haven’t had a first in a while. That was magical, seriously. Impressive. I tip my crown to you, imp boy. Respect.” Fuck her still calling him imp boy, but she’s actually admitting his victory and shes bowing to him, as she fucking should.
She howls, every hellhound around following suit, and Blitzø feels on top of the world.
Why does the world start spinning when you get yourself on top of it?
He almost falls to the ground, but then he’s getting held up by a bunch of strangers like a cool-as-fuck goddamn rockstar and, shit, why had he stopped getting wasted and doing this kind of thing every night again?
He doesn’t exactly remember when people started doing body shots off of him but he does remember getting freaky with a few of them, which did very little to make him feel good and honestly felt a little gross with the amounts of drinks getting spilled all over and making things rather… sticky, but it was doing wonders to his thought problem.
Who would have known having four strangers’ tongues inside of you at once could be a great way to muffle the unsolicited thoughts in his head?
The second those people fuck off somewhere else the thoughts come in again, though. Stolas hiding his face in shame behind the menu. Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? Y/n unable to look him in the eye. Are you worried someday I may have enough of it as well? Fizz is gonna hate him forever. You’re not my real dad! Verosika will always regret him. We could just… talk. Or… watch a movie? Or maybe… cuddle? Y/n’s crying face, Stolas’ disappointed one. Oh, they both had such fuckable faces didn’t they? Which reminded him: he really wanted to fuck someone.
He’s making out with a guy whose name he doesn’t know and whose face he doesn’t even remember when Loona pulls him off of him. “Oh, piss on a dick! What the fuck are you doing, Blitz?”
“This guy,” he grins, pointing to the unnamed man, who now stands still behind him. Wasn’t it obvious?
“It looks like you’re in the middle of a goddamn orgy. Stop!” Oh shit. Loona saw all that? An orgy does sound like some real fucking fun right now. Wait, focus, Loona. Fuck.
“Look, I didn’t expect you to come here and see any of this, Loonie, I’m so sorry, but it’s a party! I’m just having fun with uh… uh…” he turns back around to the man Loona pulled him off of. “The fuck is your name again?”
“Dennis.”
Ew. “Christ on a stick, you would be a Dennis. Get the fuck away from me! I’m not fucking a Dennis tonight. I need a Monica or an Alejandro here, stat.” He’s genuinely surprised that works when some hunky dude pulls him into his huuuge chest. Fuck yeah. “Better.”
Loona punches his Alejandro in the face, and he sincerely doesn’t give a fuck about it, because the world is spinning again, which is weird because this time he does not feel like he’s on top of it at all. In fact, it feels like the world is the meanest dom top ever and he’s a whiny, whiny bottom just sore all over from getting spanked ‘till his ass hurt. Not in a good way.
He falls back on Loona, and she catches him. “You don’t need anyone else sucking your face, freaky weirdo.” She throws him over her shoulder. “You need to drink something other than beelzejuice.”
She pulls him into the van, and she doesn’t rush to get home, because, according to her, she can see he’s already about to throw up. No he’s not, no sir! Ma’am. Loonie.
Whatever.
His mind clears a little as they make their way back home, and he pulls out his phone from his back pocket. Thankfully it’s still there.
“The fuck are you doing, dumbass? That’s gonna make you dizzy.”
“Gotta… gotta draw a thing.”
“You gotta draw a thing?”
“Yeah,” he affirms, as if that was enough information for everything to be self-explanatory, even nodding his head yes for emphasis. He surprisingly manages to take his time and put real effort into doodling it, showing it to Loona before sending it.
“Does it look like I did it drunk?” He slurs, letting out an unintentional burp.
“It actually looks pretty good, Blitz.”
“Okay.”
“So. Who’d you call stupid?”
“Don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“Can you call me dad again?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
He presses send and clicks on Stolas’ contact next, only to see there’s an unread message in their chat.
Stols: I’m sorry if anything I said or did offended you tonight.
Ha. Bet you really fucking are.
Still, he’s not Stolas’ fucking boyfriend. What was there to expect from him? Why would he expect anything?
Blitzy: ITZ WUTEVS
To Blitzø’s surprise, Stolas begins typing immediately, as if he’d been waiting obsessively for his reply.
Stols: Next time you come over, maybe we can talk about what happened at Ozzie’s?
Talk about it? What was there to talk about? Blitzø wanted nothing more than to bury the memories of tonight the deepest under the ground he possibly could. But of course Stolas would want to talk about it.
He always wants to fucking talk about shit.
Blitzy: Y?
Stolas types for what feels like forever, and it must have been, seen that they’re now only one street from the apartment complex, before he sends in a huge-ass paragraph.
Stols: I’m sorry! Nevermind, it’s not a big deal. I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast. I’m sure things will be fine with Y/N, she likes you very much, I can see it. Maybe I read too much into everything, though. Not everything is about me, haha. I’m glad that’s not the case. I wasn’t upset either I just wanted to make sure you weren’t and obviously you can handle a stupid joke a clown can make. Asmodeus can be very invasive in his humor, and Y/N says she’ll talk to him about it, but I thought it was funny myself. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of jest. Maybe you can say mean things to me too next time you come over.
Now that is too much to fucking deal with right now. Which means he won’t.
Blitzy: SHUR.
He clicks out of Stolas’ chat, taking one last glance at Y/N’s before turning his phone off. She hasn’t seen what he sent yet, and that’s actually okay.
Loona parks the van messily, doing the same thing he’d done earlier and letting the car occupy some space from the neighbour’s spot. He doesn’t even think before asking her to fix it. “Sweetie, could you just park it a little more to the right?”
“Why?”
Yeah, Blitzø, why do you even care? “Well I don’t want that freaky cat lady to be up my ass about it tomorrow.” Yeah, that. Sure.
She doesn’t seem to find it in her to argue or even as much as groan, simply readjusting the car. She has to carry him over her shoulder again and all he wishes on the way up this time around is that he were a little more sober. She plops him down on the couch and he curls into himself once again while she grabs him a glass of water.
Nothing to distract him from his thoughts now.
“I had a really shitty day,” he tells her.
“Oh, yeah? Is that why you drank like five gallons of who-knows-what?”
“I don’t want her to hate me.”
“The person you called stupid?”
He nods, hiding his face from her when the tears start coming in. “Fuck, Fizz was right. I’m gonna die alone, aren’t I? Just a wrinkly, old, withered waste. Will you be there, Loonie?” Blitzø feels whatever consciousness he’d gained back slipping away again by the second, this time from the need to sleep rather than the alcohol. At what point did he get so tired?
“Be where?” Loona asks, and he’s too out of it to respond properly, only mumbling half-coherent things like lonely and die alone over and over. “I’ll be there, dad," she tells him anyway, and covers him with a blanket, the softest one they own. “Now go the fuck to sleep,” she orders, and he does hear it, he just doesn’t have the strength to say anything in response as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, his last thoughts being that at least he can’t think about anything while asleep and that…
He vomits all over the living room floor.
“Oh, fuck, I did need to throw up.”
[. . .]
You feel stupid when it’s Fizzarolli who finds you crying in Ozzie’s waiting area. He skips his way to the room, humming along to some song you can’t quite make out, and he almost doesn’t see you on his way into the office. He hears you sniffling, though, and turns to face you. It takes him a couple seconds to process that it’s you.
“Y/N? What are you doing here? Um. You okay there?”
You look up at him, but it doesn’t feel like you can say anything yet.
“I-” He motions behind him with his thumb. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna get Ozzie. Stay here, yeah?”
You don’t even know why exactly you’d asked Stolas to send you here when you were still mad at Ozzie. Or maybe not mad. Just… sad about everything that spiraled out of what he did.
Then again, did you even have anywhere else to go? You could absolutely not make the night worse for Millie and Moxxie by showing up at their place, thinking of Blitzø made you sad and Stolas was not an option. You had Ozzie, though. And you know you always will, despite whatever stupid shit one of you might do.
And it honestly beats going home to a big pile of nothing.
Ozzie appears shortly, Fizz having done as promised and fetched him. Fizz doesn’t come back, though, letting you and Ozzie have a moment to talk on your own, which is nice of him.
“Hey, pretty babe. Fizz said you were here.” He looks you up and down, worried. “Are you crying?”
“Why did you do that?”
“What?”
“Why did you fucking sing about all that, why did you- it was so humiliating, Oz, fuck!”
“Oh. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. It got out of control. I didn’t even know you would be here tonight. You didn’t call me.”
“I didn’t know I was coming either.”
“You wanna tell me what that means?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Alright. That’s okay. I am sorry, though. We took the joke too far and I realized too late that it wasn’t funny.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t. So please don’t fucking do that again. It’s humiliating enough to… fuck... and everybody saw it, and- I…” You groan in frustration, struggling to get your words out.
“No more about Stolas or any of you. Okay? Promise.” He sits down next to you on the fancy couch and he lets you lean on him. “Did something happen between you?”
You hesitate before speaking. “I didn’t- I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I am stupid. Of course he’s ashamed to be seen with us.”
“Stolas?”
You nod.
“Did he… tell you that?”
“Well he didn’t deny it.”
“Okay." He takes a deep breath, probably trying to think of how to handle the situation. "You’ll have time to think about all of this. Alright? Now you’re coming with me, you’re taking a bath and you’re sleeping over, and we’ll talk about everything tomorrow. There’s no need to hurt yourself more thinking about it right now.”
He stands up and turns to leave the room, but looks back when he doesn’t hear you do the same. You’re still sat sit still on the couch.
You look up at him. “Oz?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“What?”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” You repeat yourself.
“What- of course not. Did somebody say that to you?”
You don’t reply.
He purses his lips together, thinking. “Are they worth feeling stupid for?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve gone through this before.”
“It’s different, you know that.”
“Yeah, it’s worse. They’re not hurting you back this time around, they’re just hurting you.”
You decide he was right. You don't want to talk about this right now. “Can we please not talk about it?”
He hesitates before nodding in agreement. “Yeah. ‘Course, babe.” He grabs your hands and pulls you up. “Come on.”
All the crying makes you so tired you’re almost passed out the second you lie down on the soft, silky bedsheets of Ozzie's guest room bed. Taking a look through your texts before you let yourself fall asleep, you click on Stolas’ contact once you see a notification for an unread text.
Stolas: I am truly sorry if I did something to hurt you or make you uncomfortable with me tonight. It’s not your obligation to talk Asmodeus out of doing anything and I did not feel embarrassed because of you or Blitz. If you need space from me I will understand, but I want you to know that is not how I feel. And, for the record, I don’t care what that Verosika person said about you. I hope you’re alright.
It is way too late and you are way too tired to process or deal with all of that, and honestly? You still do feel stupid, and don’t want to further that feeling by replying to him immediately. That feels too pathetic- it feels like proving Blitzø right.
You’ll reply tomorrow.
You click on Blitzø’s contact next, which also had a notification signaling an unseen message, and you brace yourself for a 'fuck you’ text or something of the sorts.
You can't keep yourself from smiling when you open the text, turning the phone off and just waiting for sleep come to you, and things feel a lot less shitty than just a second before.
Having friends is pretty fucking okay.
A/N: everybody say thank you Adonis for the cutest doodle ever and also wish them a happy birthday!! the adorable little doodle blitzo drew is theirs and they did it especially so i could put it in this chapter which is so nice of them and so fucking cool!!
#helluva boss#helluva boss imagine#helluva boss x reader#stolas goetia#Stolas#Stolas imagine#Stolas goetia imagine#Stolas x reader#Stolas goetia x reader#stolas x blitz#stolitz#stolas x blitzo#stolas helluva boss#blitz#Blitzø#blitzo#blitz helluva boss#blitzo helluva boss#blitzø helluva boss#blitz imagine#blitz x reader#blitzo imagine#blitzo x reader#Blitzø imagine#Blitzø x reader#stolitz x reader#blitzo x stolas#blitzø x Stolas x reader#mars writes#asmodeus
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Hi! I was wondering can you write Earthrealm champions x Arab reader who is like a Marcelina from Adventures time. She basically doesn’t need blood to feed and she sucking the red from things making it grey and one day when the boys was in mission reader jumps on Kenshi and sucked his coat dry.
Cherry Cola
Yip notes: Ngl Adventure Time scared me as a kid and I still won’t watch it.
Pairings: Earthrealmer Champions x Vampire! Afab reader
Warnings‼️: Bonk, somewhat proofread
Something is wrong at the Wu Shi Academy. The monks have been discussing the possibility of a wild animal in the area. But what kind of animal sucks the color out of a piece of fruit? And what could leave such big holes behind?
Oh, this doesn’t seem good. Vaeternus must be behind this. What else could create such marks? Why would they be targeting fruit? Nobody knows but they will still believe they are behind this.
This situation has put many on edge. Liu Kang would look into this himself but this might be a better mission for his champions to go on. He is confident that no one will be hurt. Because if this being is what he thinks it is then it will only be harmful to a primary color.
══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══
All four of the men walked through the wooded forest of the mountains. They followed a trail of plants that were missing their colors. Roses, berries, mushrooms, and leaves. All of them had two holes left behind. Johnny took a look at one of the mushrooms and saw how deep the puncture wound went. He grimaced at the thought of being bitten by the possible vaeternian that was doing this.
“Damn, I really hope we don’t come across this thing.”
“Better to catch it now than let it roam around and believe it can do whatever it wants.” Kung Lao replied to Johnny’s worry.
“What is it, Cage? Afraid to be bit?” Kenshi teased his friend.
“Johnny’s concerns are reasonable,” Raiden advocated for him, “But we should try to capture whatever this thing is. Even if it is not a vaeternian it is something else that doesn’t mind sinking its teeth into things.”
It doesn’t help Johnny’s nerves that they were wearing the same outfits they wore when hunting down Shang Tsung. The outfits were made to lessen any possible injuries. His face is still open though! What’s gonna stop this creature from taking a bite out of his nose and sucking him dry…pause.
If a mosquito can find an opening, so could a vaeturnian, if this is a vaeturnian.
The further they walked the more they saw the flora missing its color. Raiden and Kung Lao began to recognize something. All of the plants and fruit they had seen would have been red. Everything else had been left alone. They give each other a look before looking at Kenshi. It might have been a bad move to let him wander with a coat that was almost all red. He is literally a walking platter of food for whatever is out there. It certainly isn’t a vaeturnian but it has vampiric elements.
They were passing by a cave before Johnny stopped them, “Woah, you guys better take a look at this.”
The three stepped back and looked at where Johnny shined his light. Further in the cave was evidence that there was someone staying there. There was literally a house in the cave. It looked a little rundown, but it wasn’t in any bad shape. The true evidence that showed that someone was there was the pile of rose petals. Half of the rose petals have been drained of their color.
“Nope, nope, nope.” Johnny wanted to turn back but Raiden stopped him.
“We have to finish our investigation, Johnny.”
“Do you not see what I’m seeing? That’s a trap. It’s a trap to lure us in and when we are deep into the cave whatever is in there is gonna bite the back of our necks.”
“You should stop using your phone. All those conspiracy theories are making you paranoid. This is not one of those “liminal spaces” you talk about.” Kung Lao mocked Johnny for being so afraid.
While those idiots argued about what to do Kenshi stood there in confusion. His vision could only make him see so far. He didn’t see what everyone else saw. He didn’t even know that the flowers and fruit were missing colors.
It didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was end this mess. He took out Sento and carefully made his way into the cave while everyone else kept arguing. The further he went the more he saw the house. The feeling of being watched hit him hard and he feared he might have walked into something dangerous. His head looked up and saw…
“Huh?”
A being. A human being or so he thinks. All he can see is someone upside down with their feet planted on the rock ceiling. He couldn’t see many details since he could only see the blue outline of the body. He stared in awe as he tried to figure out what was going on. That left Kenshi wide open to the mouth of a ferocious beast.
The head of this creature turned slowly towards him. The creature lunged at him before Kenshi could bring Sento up to protect him. Its body collided with his and he was knocked to the ground. Its mouth opened wide and Kenshi could see the razor-sharp fangs. He heard Johnny yell out to him.
“KENSHI!!”
Down the fangs came onto Kenshi’s…clothes…?
Wait what? Hold on, did I misread that? Ah, okay, this was more dramatic on his end than yours. Let’s step back a bit and get your side of the story.
You are no vaeturnian, you’re just a chill vampire. You look the role and play the role except you have an easier time when it comes to feasting. You don’t need to go out hunting every night for a human body to suck the blood out of nor do you need to pin down a bear and drink its blood. You have it easier by only needing to drink anything red.
It’s way more pleasant than blood. Blood is metallic and the taste stays longer than you would like. But when it’s something like berries or rose petals, it’s much more flavorful. It’s floral, it’s bitter, it’s sweet, it’s way better than blood.
You declared yourself a “vegetarian”. No drinking blood, only the color red. You wandered around the land trying to find new objects that had the color red to them. You found that being near the Wu Shi Academy was beneficial because of the many plants that were around and the clothes they left out to dry.
Oh you scoundrel, no wonder some of Kung Lao’s clothes were losing color. You couldn’t help it. Once you realized clothes had a whole different taste you had to try whatever you could. Kung Lao was like a sweet lychee to you. He was your favorite to feast on.
The little bit you could get from Raiden was alright. He would taste like blood orange if his amulet wasn’t involved. He was way too metallic with all that lightning he was producing. On the rare occasion you got to steal from Johnny he had a red wine taste to him. It’s sweet but could use more aging than he would be perfect.
You never got the chance to try Kenshi however. It’s a shame. You saw how he always wore red but he never left his clothes out to dry. It must be his expensive taste and how his clothes need dry cleaning kind of care. He just looked so tasty with all that red he wore. You thought you would never get the chance to taste that delicious man. So you sulked in your cold and lonely cave, drinking from the same old things.
Your wishes must have been heard since you heard people approaching your cave. You went into hiding by crawling on the cave ceiling and hiding behind a stalactite. You peeked to see who your mysterious visitors were. You were unable to see them until
gasp Kenshi?! All in red? What a treat!
You walked out from behind the stalactite to get a better view of him. That’s when he peered up at you with that lovely red cloth covering his eyes. This was it. This was your big moment to finally get a taste of him.
You lunged at him with a wide smile on your face. You were on him in an instant with your teeth ready to snag onto his coat. You heard the yell that Johnny let out but paid no mind to it. Down you snapped your mouth on his coat and began to suck the color right off of it.
Kenshi was rightfully confused. All he could see was you nibbling on his coat. He couldn’t see how the cherry red color was slowly draining from his clothes, leaving only a pale gray color. Johnny was the first to run over to Kenshi and you. He shined the light at you guys so he could see what was going on. He was perplexed by the spectacle in front of him. You were not harming Kenshi at all. You were harming his clothes more than anything.
“Wh-What is she doing?” Kenshi asked.
Johnny stayed silent as he struggled to explain the situation to the blind swordsman. How could he logically explain that all the color in his clothes was draining away? Raiden and Kung Lao came running, only to be stunned by the situation at hand.
“Would anyone like to tell me what is going on?” Kenshi asked once more, sounding more aggravated this time.
“She seems to be…uh…” Raiden was struggling to tell Kenshi the truth without upsetting him. Don’t worry, Kung Lao will say it.
“She is sucking the color right out of your clothes.”
“WHAT!?”
Just as you were about to finish sucking the last of the cherry red color, you felt the back of your head being hit with something. It made a loud thunk noise and you finally unlatched your jaw. You backed away while rubbing the spot where you got hit. You assumed that Kenshi hit you with the handle of Sento.
The men helped Kenshi up and looked at the damage you have done. All of the color in his coat was drained. There were only a few items of clothing that still had their red color. It’s not a bad look on him but that doesn’t help the fact that your actions were uncalled for. You hadn’t the slightest bit of guilt on your face. You seemed happy and full. Very gluttonous of you
“What was that?” Johnny asked.
“What was what?”
“That! That thing you did to Kenshi! How did you suck the color off his clothes?” Johnny’s concerns were echoing through the cave.
“Johnny, I think that is her ability. I think she can drink anything that is red.” What would these idiots do without Raiden?
You nodded your head, agreeing with Raiden’s spot on observation.
“So, if you drink red things, why have fangs if they are not used to cut through flesh?”
“You can’t drink soda without popping a hole in it. I need an entrance to suck the color out.” You answered Kung Lao with as much attitude as you could provide because his question was just stupid.
“So just to be one hundred percent with you, you weren’t trying to suck the blood out of Kenshi?”
This moment was weirdly incomprehensible to Johnny. He has never encountered a vampire creature that only sucked the color out of things.
“Clearly not! I don’t even like blood. The color red is much sweeter. He was really sweet, like uh cherry cola kind of sweet.”
There was silence for only five seconds. In those five seconds, the men found this situation a bit funnier, except for Kenshi. They realized there was nothing to worry about. You were an extremely harmless vampire who only sucks the red out of things.
“Wonderful…I think we can return to Liu Kang now. We can tell him that the culprit has been found.” Kenshi turned away from everyone and started to walk off. He put Sento away and walked with his fist clenched tightly. This day was just too weird for the men but it sure would be an interesting story to tell Liu Kang.
“Wait!” You called out to Kenshi.
He stopped for a second, hoping to hear an apology come from your red-stained lips. It could be about ruining his clothes, or pouncing on him, or even worrying everyone. But instead, you decided to say.
“Can I drink the red part of your shoes?”
“Haven’t you had enough?” Give Kenshi a break, please.
Yap notes: Not too sure I liked this one but I tried my best. I was pushing through my depression but nothing was making me feel great. Lots of thunderstorms and heat so it makes me a bit ill. Hopefully I can do a little better for the next fic I write. Sorry again if this wasn't my best. Adiós!
#mortal kombat#mk1#mortal kombat 1#mortal kombat1#mortal kombat x reader#mortal kombat x you#mk x reader#mk x you#mk fanfic#kenshi x you#kenshi x reader#kenshi takahashi#johnny cage x reader#johnny cage x you#mk1 johnny cage#johnny cage#johnny cage mk1#raiden x you#raiden x reader#mk1 raiden#raiden mk1#raiden#kung lao x you#kung lao x reader#kung lao mk1#mk1 kung lao#kung lao
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Diet peach soup would probably have the celestials and Marshalls get involved a lot sooner. Overpowered babies are not a good idea to leave unsupervised. As for Macaque, the lady bone demon is most likely going to just shove him onto the thrall, as his problem. Either to be raised as her soldier, or as a potential backup vessel.
Prev.
Yeeeaah the Stalwarts have to get involved sooner than later since their king is now in his terrible twos (again). They present themselves to Pigsy and Tang as village elders who want to help them in raising the boys, and introducing them to their culture. Pigsy was eh on the idea, but Tang was uber excited! Monkey demon culture lessons!
Peaches and MK honestly thought that the Stalwarts were their grandparents for a long time, especially since they didn't know Papa Tang's side of family and assumed he was a just patchy-furred monkey. XD
Nezha, checking in on Wukong: "Why do I sense two baby stone monkeys- WHAT THE SCALLOP!?"
Peaches still gets his school bestie in the form of "Nez", albeit from an earlier age. Nezha can risk a mini-god running around without a voice of reason. Moksa tags in on his younger bro's behalf + as a kindness to Guanyin, as a "cool older kid" watching out for the little monkeys. The -Zha brothers want to keep Sun Wukong's condition as much as a secret as possible from the rest of the Celestial Realm.
Erlang takes one third-eye-look at the situation and goes "Ah crap, I'm gonna have to be their mentor." Cue an Athena and Telemachus dynamic developing between Erlang and the boys once they lift the Staff. But for now, he's Babysitter Jian - the only kid Pigsy and Tang have ever seen feed, wash, and entertain the little monkeys without so much as a grumble. (Jian, shrugs: "I have little cousins.")
Even the Peach Maidens who attended the Orchard with Wukong long ago ensure that he and his little brother are well-watched - glamouring themselves as a gaggle of old ladies in their favourite park. Always ready to pinch cheeks, give fresh fruit treats, and tell the boys how big they're getting!
The Thrall is currently reforming his body after Wukong slapped him across the country for stealing the Stone Egg (aka unhatched MK) + forcing him to drink some nasty potion (Meng Po's soup), so he's not much help in raising de-aged macaques rn.
Macaque accidentally dodges LBD by being a slippery little guy! Falls and crawls through so many shadows that its hard to keep track of him from the Underworld. Lives rough on the street for some time before ending up in the hands of someone who would truly care about him.
Sandy: "Aww. You're an odd little kitten aren't ya?" De-Aged!Macaque: (*spitting and hissing at the giant with all his might, violently protecting the cat food he found. Is barely the size of a football*) Sandy, gently picks up cub: "Hey hey... I used to be an angry little guy too. I learned that when a lot of people are upset, they're really just scared about something that hard to explain." De-Aged!Macaque: (*angry grumbles as he's picked up! Presses ears against fish man's chest to drown out the sound of the city*) Sandy: "Are your ears at you, little buddy? I can see why. One, two three... six ears! Thats a lot of earmuffs." De-Aged!Macaque: (*grumbling gets quieter. Absent-mindedly sucks on his fingers.*) Sandy, conflicted: "I... I really should just bring you to a police station or something. But something tells me that you'll need someone in your corner who understands how messy life can be. If I can manage it, would you be ok staying here with me?" De-Aged!Macaque: (*uninterested squeak*) Sandy, smile forming: "I'll take that as an Okey-dokey. Now... how about a name? Your white fur is super shiny in the moonlight... how about Moon?" "Moon": (*tares up at his new guardian with big violet eyes, one is milky and possibly blind. Makes a curious chirrup at the name.*) Sandy, heart-warming smile: "I think thats a winner."
Little Moon is a curious little guy. Not only because of his ears (the fish man jokes that it's his son's axolotl-like gills), but from an early age Moon has had control over shadows.
It began as simple fascination with stage magic. Moon watched stage magicians preform their tricks of misdirection and illusion, and wanted to see if he could replicate it.
Sandy: (*makes a bunny shape in the shadow of a lamp*) Moon: (*excited cheep!*) Moon: (*manipulates shadows to make many bunnies!*) Sandy, surprised: "Oh!"
Sandy was worried that this power wasn't something that could be trained easily, and an incident where Mo disappeared into one of Moon's shadows for an afternoon (reappeared unharmed once the treat bag was shaken) prompted the fish man to try and find an outlet for his kid.
Thats how he met The Nine Tailed Vixen. The elderly huli jing was hosting a children's acting class at her theatre, and Sandy wondered if it would aid his son's creative drive. It turned out to be a blessing since the heavenly fox was quick to identify, and help Moon tame his wild magic.
(Jiuweihuli is so relieved to have her protégé safe and sound again. Sandy is a good man, and she's glad that her little shadow has found a kind papa.)
Sensing a hunch, the old fox contacted Nezha on whether there wer other de-aged little monkeys...
Peaches and Moon meet during one of the acting camps. At first they cannot believe their eyes.


On sight they feel as though they've known the other their entire lives and beyond.
At the end of the day's acting camp, a group of old friends reunite.
Pigsy, with MK in a sling: "Sandy!?" Sandy: "Pigsy!" Peaches & Moon, running to their respective parent: "Baba!" Pigsy & Sandy, both surprised: "Baba!? You?!" "Yeah!" "Since when?" "Since I found him on the street!" "Whoa. weird."
Peaches and Moon are hard to separate after that meeting. Even if acting camp didn't turn out well for the ginger monkey (stage fright activated), they rarely go more than a week without an excited play date or visit to the theatre.
DBK's gut reaction to the young monkey demon holding his sworn brother's staff is; "Did Sun Wukong have a child- wait. What in Yama's name happened to you!?" Peaches doesn't answer the question as he nearly passes out screaming. Moon is half-way across town wondering what's scared his bestie so bad.
#diet peach soup au#peach soup au#sun wukong#six eared macaque#liu er mihou#shadowpeach#lmk dadsy#lmk pigsy#lmk papa tang#lmk tang#lmk sandy#lmk papa sandy#freenoodles being parents#lmk erlang#lmk nezha#lmk moksa#lmk jiuweihuli#lmk aus#lmk#lego monkie kid
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FEBRUARY FLUFF — CARMY BERZATTO.
A/N: so carmy won this time around!!! Thanks to all those that voted and ultimately made this decision for me lol. Hope you guys enjoy this and have a safe, healthy, and happy love season 🩷 + yes this is a mixture of fluff and angst...i mean come on! I wouldn't be me if i didn't include that in here somewhere!
PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE + HERE & I’m using: 1. “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.” “What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” + always giving the other the first bite of their food < or the last.
WARNINGS/SN: I wrote with a black or brown reader in mind although reader isn't physically described + they’re given a name only when mentioned, language is a thing here duh!, this is LENGTHY, lots of timelines: reader + nat became friendly before season 1 during the summer prior to 7 fishes which is estimated to be five years before season 2, reader knows of carmy due to past work, I feel like she can be just a few year(s) older than carmy but younger than nat—there’s a age gap for the Berzatto’s anyways, sexual relations are mentioned, this piece takes place months after the grand opening, & finally there’s a possible chance for a poly relationship or maybe just multiple crushes going on? Take that how you will.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
it was a Sunday.
The kind of Sunday you woke up embarrassed about but knew you had to swallow your pride and just send out that text. You knew you wouldn’t be judged regardless reaching out to Fak because he’s built to deal with things like this and never made you feel like shit about anything.
You usually had to squeeze it out of him to get him to lay out any cons about a situation but appreciated most times when he didn’t. Your minds been going haywire with a recent assignment as a food journalist and it really slipped your mind, although you were usually a quick thinker, you’ve been stressed over this recent restaurant. Thankfully it clicked for you after throwing a tantrum to simply reach out to Fak to come help you out.
The stupid lever in your bathroom decided to stop flushing on you and of course you panicked. Who wouldn’t panic in a situation like that? You no longer had a roommate and strongly debated if you even wanted to search for another; after the shady actions of the previous one, so you really didn’t have to worry about them giving you shit either. (Let’s see if your rent feels the same next month!)
It was just you in the end and perhaps you were learning to be okay with that.
Yet that didn’t stop you from FaceTiming Sydney about it. “Hey Siddy, how’s your day going?”
“Pretty good, yours?” She politely asked as she moved down the hallway of her shared apartment to prop her phone on the pedestal sink, moving around her functioning bathroom to grab some oil to grease her scalp.
Smacking your lips you glare, “it fucking sucks.”
“Oh?” Sydney questioned, appearing back in frame, “what happened? Did someone egg and scratch up your car again after a review you gave them? Noo wait, don’t tell me there’s a bullet hole?!”
That was light work compared to New York (it really wasn’t a competition of which state had its worst moments but your home state left you kinda triggered, not gonna lie!) where you were just starting off and those that were in tune with the culinary world didn’t take your words with a grain of salt. Most nights you still woke up gasping for air, reaching for your throat due to some trauma of a break in from a well-known nepo-baby chef. Don’t get that twisted, your mom didn’t raise no punk but that didn’t mean those events didn’t mess with your mental and you acknowledged that every time you had a nightmare. They only served three years and five months compared to the original five year sentence.
Ah the system…got to love how that works out for the privileged!
You shrugged, “no…the threats have been pretty tame lately so I can give myself a pat on the back for that. However! I still am in a crisis.”
Sydney begins to move her braids around to expose her scalp, “Elaborate for me.”
“My toilet won’t flush!” You whine, laying flat on your messy bed. You tended to not make your bed on Saturdays and didn’t get around to making it today—although it was after 3pm.
Sydney asks, “Like the waste won’t go down…?”
“Exactly!” You confirm throwing your arm over your eyes dramatically, “The lever thing is moving like my old dislocated shoulder.”
Sydney gags, “don’t fucking remind me of that day. That was spooky to witness but I am glad you healed from that.”
“Thanks girl, means a lot, truly.”
Sydney gives a small smile, “don’t mention it…have you considered YouTubing it? That’s what I do when I don’t want to ask anyone for help and figure it out by myself.”
You hummed knowing this was true. In a sense you could be like that too, especially when it came to the working field, since writers can tend to be some nasty bitches and always in rivalry with each other. You made a name for yourself in Chicago as well, coming from New York where you worked just as hard-maybe even harder than the rest to mean and write exactly how you felt about cuisine, regardless if anyone agreed or not. It wasn’t about if people liked you, the relationship with food would always be more significant and hold value in your life, just like the rest of these chef’s you encountered and you got that, people were allowed to be sensitive about their work. You’ve come toe to toe with many chef’s around the world who didn’t like your take on their craft but that didn’t mean you didn’t understand them. They hardly took the time to really dive into your ratings and automatically took it as you shit talking or not having any idea what you were saying since you “weren’t really a chef,” but you knew your worth most days.
Yes you could be straight forward but that didn’t mean you lacked compassion like some chef’s liked to think according to your reviews. You often wrote in a way that was puzzling to some, almost philosophical or riddle like with your own twist. Some just didn’t get it and that was okay but you wouldn’t back down from any confrontation. The second they didn’t want to really listen, that’s when you removed yourself from the escalating problem. It didn’t have to get violent like some wanted to inflict.
“Why didn’t I think of that?!” You exasperated, slapping the palm of your hand to your forehead.
Sydney snorted, “maybe because you’re under a lot of pressure lately and the most simplest of things don’t come as easily as they should.”
“You would think I have high blood pressure with the way these past two weeks have been.”
Sydney says, “give it time.”
“Gee, thanks! That’s exactly the kind of shit I want to hear from you.” You roll your eyes at the blurt of words that commonly escaped the braided girl’s mouth.
Sydney breathes out a laugh, “I’m just joking!”
“Yeah, yeah! Maybe I should text fak back and tell him not to come by!”
“You asked fak instead of the apartment manager?” Sydney is in amazement.
“Fuck that noise, he’s so full of shit that he should see a doctor about it. He’ll show up to analyze the problem, then acts like he’s going to fit you into the schedule and then when you catch him in the lobby he pretends that he has amnesia.” You commented with a scowl.
You get ready to minimize the call to text fak but some obnoxious knocks at the door made you pop up from your bed. “That was fast!”
Hopping up from the bed and padding out of the last bedroom in the apartment, you made the journey through the foyer to the awaiting black front door. Peeking through the peephole you spot Fak grinning widely up into it, almost making you jump back.
“He’s made it Siddy! I’ll call you back!”
“K. Good luck!” Sydney calls out before you end the call to pull the door wide open.
“Neil!” You scream, quickly latching onto his tatted wrist ready to yank him in until you notice someone else is with him, “…why is he here?” You point.
Fak quickly glances over at a brimmed Carmy who raised a brow at him in a silent told you so manner, “I mean we were having a boy’s day when you called and I didn’t want my buddy to be left out. Plus, it’s always great to have some assistance.”
“…i find it hard to believe that Carmen wants to fix my toilet.” You cross your arms, poking out your hip as you stare at him.
Carmen shrugs his shoulders, “I wanted to wait in the car if it makes you feel any better.”
“Hmm…it doesn’t.”
Carmy rolls his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose briefly in agitation, “you know what, fak you’ve got this right? I know you do so—
“Nope!” Fak quickly interrupts, “this maybe a two person job so aspie if you just let us do what we came to do—
Shooting an arm out to block the doorway you peer into Fak’s dark teal eyes to show you mean business, “didn’t I say I dislike that nickname, Neil?”
He nods.
“Also i find it offensive that you brought an uninvited guest to my place.”
“Just be glad it wasn’t Richie because that was also a possibility before he ran off to pick up the kid.” Carmy snaps making you roll your eyes.
If Richie was here you been would have slammed the door in both Fak and his face. Sure you had some sort of tension with Carmy and beef with .......his cousin but at least Carmy only gave it back to you when he had the energy to—meaning if he was already on one. The issue was simple, you wrote a not so nice review once before when the eldest berzatto, Michael was alive and running the joint. Richie couldn’t forget that and actually kept the clipping, yes the clipping of the review way back when. He had the receipts to show Carmy and Carmy actually brushed it off then, not seeming to really care or doubt some of the words that were said.
He came to revamp the place because Mikey left it for him, to fix the mess his big brother left behind, to create what they’ve always dreamed of. Sure he got shit for it in the beginning and part of him felt like maybe that was your case too? He could relate to you on that, yet the weight was slightly different on his part and he even spoke with you not long after he found those tomato cans.
That gave him a certain push he couldn’t really explain. He may have done a brief dive on you, wondering why you felt acquainted to him—completely forgetting about seeing you once around Noma—choosing to start with reading previous reviews by you on other restaurants here in Chicago and a few interviews you’ve done over the world. You weren’t just some nobody, you held your titles well and it reflected in your work.
You weren’t clueless.
He just didn’t really know what he was dealing with until a short time ago.
What he didn’t expect was for you to show up again on opening night with a certain head chef, also from New York. That made carmy more anxious than anything, seeing you sitting beside that four eyed fuck ready to set off a tornado in the heart of the bear. Was that your motive all along? With carmy attempting to build a bridge, not for you to kiss his ass with praise but there was a odd need to have a simple conversation with you. It was weird but it seemed like Sydney, Fak, and Nat liked you?
The jury was still out with the rest—except Richie but you were a mystery to Carmy. However carmy wasn’t the best at putting a read on people or their emotions in the first place, he was good at fucking that up unless you’re screaming it into his face. That’s just how he operated.
“You two can come in—only because I don’t have the patience with the manager here and Neil’s the best I’m gonna get.” You state while fak slaps a hand on his chest.
“That was really sweet, Aspen.” Fak cooed ready to pull you into a bone crushing hug but you hold up a finger.
“Save the hugs until after you fix my problem.”
“You got it boss,” Fak salutes before diving under your arm to travel through your apartment, ooo-ing and ah-ing before finding the bathroom around the corner from the living room.
Sighing you drop your arm and wave carmy through, who keeps his view straight while traveling through the hallway. You call out to him, “you can have a seat on the couch.”
“What? Did you drop a load or something and is that the real reason why you don’t want me to help Fak?” Carmy comes right out with it, nose twitching in amusement after whipping around to face you in the center of the living room.
See…only when he’s frustrated or overly focused will he just let it out. Some may look at this as Carmy attempting to make a joke but you took that somewhat personally. The only thing you were thinking after he said this was: What an ego on this one huh?
You stop on your heels and tilt your head to the side, “are you telling me that you think women or fem pronoun users don’t take shits? Do you know what it feels like to have period shits?”
Carmy blinks at you and shouts with his hands out, “I...don't even know what the fuck you're getting at? I wasn't even trying to be sexist to you just then! I asked you a honest question—
“About you being in my business,” you pointed out, “contrary to your beliefs I have a heart and decided to be nice to you and let you stay in my place to keep warm. You’re welcome!”
“Oh bullshit, don’t act like you’re doin’ me any favors.” Carmy scowls, “you don’t even want me here.”
You shrug, “yet you’re here in my apartment, yelling.”
Carmy exhaled while you smirked at him sweetly before turning to lean against the wall that leads to the bathroom.
“Everything okay in there, Neil?”
“Oh yeah!” He says, “I think I figured out the problem. Easy peasy!”
“Great!” You exclaim, pulling your phone out from your sweats to read a very important email.
The weight of stress seemed to lift a good chunk as you quickly responded to a email that you’ve been waiting for. You’ve been invited out (squeezed in) to a taste test at this restaurant for this evening that you’ve been trying to get into for a month before you brought it up to your employer. The deadline was approaching for the end of this week to have a review ready and they just responded to you five days before that deadline! Reading over it twice, the squeal in you slipped through your smile until you read the exceptions.
If you were to go over the amount of food purchased, which you would put on the company card anyways, you can get a discount if you brought a plus one and some reimbursement if the review was satisfactory to the owners—which the last part wasn’t unfamiliar to you.
You usually didn’t bring a plus one to any of the places you did reviews for, you got comfortable doing outings all on your own but this was different. Sure you were somewhat known in the culinary world but that didn’t mean you were a millionaire and this restaurant was apparently upscale. There was a waiting list regardless of your status—even for the celebrities that went there so this was a big deal and they gave you a short notice. Usually Sundays were known for a reset for the week but what better way to start it?
You don’t go forward with reaching out to anybody else that you work with. This was your battle and you were aware that two of your other co-workers also reached out to this restaurant. You just hoped you were the only one they picked and wouldn’t miss out on the great opportunity just because you weren’t sure about your guest.
A few hours before show time and you had to find somebody to attend with you. Your best friend was away in Cabo for a honeymoon, the other (who recently planned on moving to ATL) was dealing with the flu and had their no good ex boyfriend taking care of them, Sydney was suddenly MIA, and you even considered inviting Natalie Berzatto to piss carmy off just a bit.
“Hey, Nat!” You greet into the phone as you walk into the kitchen, witnessing Carmy perk up from the couch.
It’s small talk at first: you asking about how her day is going as a mom to be, if she’s going to be at the bear tomorrow, did she watch the Emmy’s the other night, tell her husband you said hello, and then finally if she had plans for tonight.
“…are you asking me to hang out?”
“We had fun at that club way back when no?”
“Yeah! But that was how long ago?”
You knew it’s been awhile. You were always friendly with Natalie, meeting her first—well second out of the siblings down at the small mart one summer you helped out at that your great-uncle owned. She was huffing about something her boyfriend at the time, Pete forgot to bring her and some groceries she was picking up for her mom. You were cool enough to become Facebook friends, exchange numbers, go out for coffee and go to the club together. This wasn’t unusual to call each other randomly but you knew she commonly got shit from Michael and Richard about her talking and hanging out with you.
The thing about Natalie Berzatto is that she always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yes she saw your review yet she kinda laughed about it initially but it was all fuck you’s from the other two loud mouth’s. Of course she was going to listen to her brother but she still had a mind of her own. she didn’t care to listen to Richie go off but she understood how Michael felt, although she was the only other Berzatto that heard you out.
Except you didn’t owe anybody an explanation even if some felt you were more cutthroat in your younger years.
“...Before you and Pete even thought about marriage?”
You were younger than them but you imagined how it would always work out for Nat and Pete, which included growing old together.
“Wow! Yeah that sounds right.”
“So…?”
“Can’t do it.”
“You didn’t even hear all the details!”
“I know, I know and it sounds like it’ll be a real fucking blast but if this kid wasn’t sitting on my sciatic nerve constantly and if my feet weren’t the size of two honeydews…I totally would! But I’ll have to decline this time around—so please don’t hate me!”
“I could never!”
“You know you could always ask carmy-
“Why on earth would I do that?” Your reply was instant.
Natalie sighed over the phone, “aspen…the potential of friendship and love is a beautiful thing.”
You scrunched up your face at the phone before placing it back to your ear.
“Do you want me to hang up on you?”
“I’d call you a rude bitch if you did but then get over it.”
“I can live with that because I know it’s real love between you and I.”
“…whatever that means.”
“Right.”
You both laugh, knowing just how weird the subject of love can be. Although you didn’t talk all the time it was always okay for one of the other to drop a venting text or call each other’s way and know the other would get around to responding. The both of you may not be the best of friends but you did consider each other friends regardless. There were conversations between the both of you that no one knew about and would be a constant reminder of what kind of friends the both of you would remain.
Natalie wished things could have been resolved between you and Michael but she reassured that the dislike wasn’t as deep as it seemed. There was no secret that you felt awful about how his life ended and being there for nat during that time also meant a lot. She told you that one of the last conversations she had with Michael was about you and it felt as if he was learning to let go of your review, slowly taking in Nat’s words of you not having a cruel bone in your body especially with all that you’ve done for her.
Anybody that showed his sister true friendship couldn’t be complete garbage. As much as he tolerated Pete, Michael was always aware that he was good enough for his sister. They were all cut from different cloths and the Berzatto’s were just from the same but opposite corner’s.
Natalie telling you this was not to erase any worries you had since that is always brought to the surface when someone you’ve been face to face with before decides to end it all. It was to show you that nobody ever truly knows what anyone is thinking whether there is love there or not.
You can feel Natalie smiling through the phone, “Think about it…all that tension could be smoothed out if you extend the olive branch…now it’s your turn.”
“It’s not my fault he switched up on me after your opening night.” You didn’t lower your voice or make it louder but you were definitely staring at carmy now who was side eyeing you, looking like phineas from phineas and ferb.
“That’s something you need to talk to him about, don’t you think?” Her tone was always so gentle that it made you sick sometimes because she could be right.
“I’m not here to do think pieces.”
“…aren’t you a writer?”
“Have a good night, nat.”
“Ta-Ta!” Natalie sing-songs, “be sure to send me the deets later because carmy never tells me anything! Bye! Chat later!”
Hanging up the phone, you slide it onto the counter and tap your nails against the island. To the right of you, you pick up on some clinking in the bathroom—which sounds somewhat normal and zone in on carmy who’s also holding onto his phone but staring at the blank tv in thought.
“Hey, Carmen.” You call his name.
His bright blues turn to you as if he hasn’t been eavesdropping on your conversation here and there between his texts with Marcus.
“You. Me. The Saffron Simmer. 7pm.”
The air is frigid as the both of you hunch your shoulders shoving through Chicago’s winter. Shockingly the streets are filled with cars tonight so you had to park on the next street over before walking up and around to The Saffron Simmer. Carmy offered to drive, which was a debate—no shock there—since there was no way he was leaving the bear stock van behind for no license having fak to play around in.
Fak definitely found that offensive and said he didn’t mind hanging out at your place, being done with your toilet but with the look you sent him he said he’s find an Uber or fak2 can pick him up. It’s not like you didn’t trust fak in your place…it’s just that the possibilities of what he can get into are endless.
You also didn’t want to ride in the bear’s van not because of shallow reasons, you just wanted to annoy carmy just a bit more for fun. Walking mostly everywhere was the way to go growing up in New York and Carmy working there so doing so here in Chicago wasnt foreign either. However with the type of cold here in this city is enough to give the bravest of hearts hypothermia. So obviously driving was the best option, it’s just the petty back and forth between you two of who will drive had to be spewed.
Eventually you gave in and sat in the passenger side of the van, being on DJ duty for the twenty-five minute drive—something carmy didn’t care to argue over. The both of you made it on time, throwing the door back for carmy to catch then bouncing on your toes while he blew into his gloveless hands waiting on the greeter to find your reservation.
The pictures didn’t do The saffron simmer any justice. There was so much to look at with its modernized speakeasy décor and the high ceilings did a superb job of making the both of you feel small in the spacious space. Thankfully the dress code was business casual so you didn’t have to go all out but you still put in the effort of looking your best in simple attire. You’re shrugging out of your scarf, earmuffs, and puffer coat while Carmy is already seated; with only the removal of his cap across from you in a chair.
He’s watching you as you place everything neatly to the right of you before you're taking a seat in the leather oversized chair, then digging through your tote to pull out your notepad, Sony camera, phone, and bolt pen. You quickly scribble something on the first line and circle it before dropping your pen.
Rolling the sleeves of your long sleeves back underneath your blazer, you roll your shoulders with a close of your eyes before opening them with a look of determination.
“Wow, that was something.” Carmy tells you, making you set your eyes back on him, forgetting just that quick that he was your plus one.
Clasping your hands together you quirk up a brow, “What?”
“Watching you prep.”
You dip your head, “should have seen me before I got dressed…much worse.”
A smirk appears on the corner of Carmy’s lips, “oh yeah?”
“Well yes, I can contain myself in public, Carmen. Your home is supposed to be your safe space so that’s the best place to go a little crazy sometimes.” You inform, yet still not giving too much away.
“Why are you in your head about this place anyway?” Carmy peers around the slightly filled dining area before meeting your eyes once more.
You lift your shoulders, “have you seen the way they market this place? Giving not too much away although it’s top ten restaurants here and I can either contribute to its success or its downfall. They picked me for a reason so my review matters at the end of this year.”
“But you uh-get a thrill out of this shit don’t you? It’s what you signed up for, right?” Carmy is actually relaxed against the chair across from you.
Which is a sight to see.
You state, “it’s part of the job, if that’s what you mean.”
Carmy blinks and seems to get it, “and so you stay.”
“So I stay.” You echo while holding his stare, which is broken by a piece of the stone table lifting and showcasing the menu illuminated by sepia lighting in the dark of the restaurant.
Carmy’s bright eyes are wide as he stares at the menu that appears right in front of your faces. There’s a grin on your face as you rest your fingertips around its rough edges, almost as if you were expecting this while carmy blows out a breath.
“The hell is this place?”
You peek over at him, “some next level shit, berzatto.”
“Yeah…I think I’m starting to catch on.”
You turn your attention back to the menu, swiping your fingertips along the touch screen although you’ve heard things about the menu, which they kept offline since apparently it renews monthly.
“What looks good?”
“Uh…these pages aren’t even labeled." Carmy exhales through his nose, eyes searching all over the tablet, "I have no clue. You?”
The words come at ease for you, "One of almost everything maybe?”
“Sounds good...I guess?”
“On me by the way,” you state with a wink as you flash your company card.
“I’ll get the tip then.” Carmy pats his jeans, the left containing his carton of cigarettes, the right holding his keys, lifting his hips he checks for his wallet although he’s been sitting on his behind for about ten minutes now.
You don’t argue with that, eyes in awe at the selection of items as you start ordering, “don’t forget to order your drink.”
“Water should be fine,” Carmy mutters to himself, eyes scanning over the first strange title of water that is described as flower and ginger infused purified water and decides to go with that.
You finally express after rapidly letting your fingers go over the screen and taking a picture with your phone, “…Okay, so the only way for us to enjoy that huge discount is to act like we’re dating.”
It sounded so easy to you as you quickly shifted to pick up your pen and start writing notes.
“What was that?” Carmy pressed his elbows into the edge of the table, making sure he heard you right since he’s not even sure if he can trust his inner thoughts lately.
You’re still scribbling but also turning your face towards the messy haired chef, “you heard me. We have to act like we’re in a relationship because I’ve definitely went over the budget on the card.”
“That’s not really my problem?”
“Yes it is,” you demand, “you agreed to be my plus one so that’s that. Plus this menu further confirmed my suspicions from the email.”
Carmy scratches at his brow confused, “what are you talking about, aspen?”
“Here,” you swipe across your screen towards Carmy’s device, which brings up another screen instantly to carmy who’s in awe but scans over the details.
You didn’t share the email with him but he’s heard about how high tech this restaurant is but didn’t have the time to do his own research.
*Significant others in attendance are subject to applicable discounts.*
Carmy feels his stomach cramp at the fine print and it so small that he was sure anyone could have missed that.
Not you.
“…how exactly are we supposed to prove that, hm?” He's gripping at his greasy hair now, feeling himself getting a bit worked up about this.
You fanned your hand along, “just do what couples do and follow my lead...Depending on our witnesses,” you whisper as you look around, “they could always assume that’s what we are anyways.”
Part of carmy didn’t like how that came off.
“What, so you’d fake date me for discounted food but you wouldn’t real date me even though I could take you out to the best restaurants out there in town every fucking night if you wanted me to?” Flies out of Carmy’s mouth before he can even process what he’s saying.
That stoops you too, making you press your back against the chair in thought. That wouldn’t be going down in the notes, as you stare at the pen in between your fingers for a moment. Which brings you back to Carmy’s tatted fingers first that touched you in ways that romance novelist craved to write about.
So you may have left that out, how a shared conversation about the “heartless” review of then Chicagoland turned the bear melted into hot and heavy actions in the front seat of your Mazda. It hits you in those same flashes you take of dishes: the unsure sloppy kisses, you taking the lead to get Carmy to just touch you, shaky hands that trace the tattoo from your rib cage down to your hip before soon holding steady and angled just right beneath your red tapered trousers.
“Where did that come from?” You question just as a server greets you, delivering drinks and announcing the small plates should be out in the next five minutes with a timer appearing on both of the stone tablets.
Carmy says, “you—you didn’t just think I forget right?”
“Well I was hoping.” You were honest, “neither of us are ready for relationships—especially hearing about you and Claire.”
Carmy felt his eye twitch, “and how do you know about that?”
Sydney.
You wouldn’t throw her under the bus like that although you could tell carmy already knew.
“I have my resources but don’t think I’ve been asking around about you or anything like that.” You sipped at the raspberry mint cocktail, it could be stronger.
His thumbs are shaking first on the table top but his icy stare made your chest pulsate in a way you didn't particularly like, “…would that be so bad?”
You and carmy didn’t exactly know each other well enough besides a conversation once had and with his hand down your pants! and you trying to get him to crash, clothes still on right in the center of his lap—It was a spur of the moment hookup and you could tell it was not something that happened often for carmy. He never had time for it or bothered to get attached but there was something about you that had him thinking otherwise. What was supposed to be a one time thing that you swept to the back of your mind was being brought up again.
The annoyance overtook what that feeling brought in the front seat of your ride. You weren’t ignoring carmy after that but the both of you had a lot on your plate with him renovating a restaurant and you diving back into your own work. Both fields of work seemed to matter more and not once did you think he ever thought about you in that way.
Communication was important people!
And here you thought he wanted nothing to do with you, especially with you showing up to the grand opening of The Bear. Now here you were months later, basically at your benefit, face to face hearing only pieces of what Carmen Berzatto was thinking.
“Hey, guys!” A familiar voice gathers your attention and you both turn to see Sydney smiling at you two.
Carmy widens his eyes, “Syd, what’re you doing here?”
Sydney snorted, “doing the same thing you’re doing? Having dinner.”
“Right.” He lightly shakes his head.
“Oh my god…am I interrupting this um? Date?” Sydney quickly connected the dots eyeing the both of you back and forth while you’re choking on your drink, “you okay?”
She pats your back for you while you gasp and Carmy slides over his water your way although you have your own glass near by. Gaining some air, you swallow some water and breathe through your nose. Normally you would have a response for Sydney’s joke but given what carmy just said to you had your mind running along with some burning tears you wiped away.
“So this is where you’ve been instead of answering me back?” You decide to switch the subject-you were great at that-wheezing a bit while Carmy scoffs and looks away.
Sydney frowns, “huh? When did you call me besides the FaceTime call…” she starts and pulls out her phone, “oh shit sorry. I placed it on do not disturb like thirty minutes after you didn’t call me back. I got wrapped into some entail about the menu from one of the chef’s that works here and is also a friend.”
Carmy speaks, “Didn’t know you had a connect with anybody here, Syd.”
“Can’t reveal all my moves, Carm.” She winks and lightly elbows him while Carmy sends her a small smile and a shake of his head.
Carmy asks, “scooping out our competition?”
“Only a little," She pinches her fingers before continuing, "and my dad thought it would be a place I wanted to try.” Sydney admits, “and if you two weren’t on a date I’d say let’s make this a group thing! so I’ll be going! I see my dad coming back from the bathroom…he’s got like a bladder problem and I don’t know why I’m sharing that with you two. But bye! Enjoy and just know I’ll be keeping my eye on you two.”
“Fuck,” carmy exhaled feeling his nerves rising, “don’t do that.”
Sydney chuckles to herself and sends a wave to you two before walking back to her table by the window.
“Siddy kicked me to the curb for her dad,” you sigh resting your cheek into your knuckles for a moment, “can’t be mad at that.”
“But you can be mad at me for what exactly?”
“You wanna do this with me right now?”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
“I thought we could move past what happened—
“You can say it you know? Me with my fingers inside—
“Excuse me!” You hiss, “I don’t need you to repeat action by action thank you. I was there too. We both know what happened, we’d agreed we can coexist around this big ass city. I show up to support—
“Did you though?” Carmy pressed, “support me? Or am I waiting for something else to be thrown at me with your upcoming review?”
“What?!” You bite, “is that what your stank ass attitude is about?”
Carmy tightened his jaw just as the first serving was handed over. You let him sulk in that for some time as you study the plating of the four appetizers, making note of each before taking more pictures with your sony.
“I wasn’t there to write a review.” You reply.
“I saw you—
“Let me finish. I understand pressure so I get it but you have to learn to channel your anger and this grief, elsewhere and deal with it better without projecting it onto any and everybody. I’ll tell you that right now that won’t get you anywhere and especially with me, Carmen.” You affirm.
You’ve been in Carmy’s position before so you can speak with experience. He seemed to always be waiting for the worse to continue filling up his plate but it takes time to accept the good in life. He was giving you something but you weren’t sure it was the best option for the both of you and you weren’t afraid to say that.
“Alright…I didn’t come here to talk about feelings either you know? That’s what those meetings are for.” Carmy spills just a tad.
You stare at the vibrant but delicate plating but his tone and the soft upbeat tempo above your heads don’t go unnoticed. “What did you come here for then?”
Carmy blinks and snatches up a spoon, almost weighing it in his hands before he dives the utensil into the dish. He stares as the stretch of cheese, twisting the spoon to break it apart before holding the Macaroni and Brie with Crab out for you to take the first bite.
He doesn’t answer for awhile and so you do the honors of taking a bite and savoring it's texture and taste.
“…that’s not my favorite.” You announce and notice that Carmy waited for your view.
He raises his brows, “tell me about it?”
“They need different plating.” You deeply sigh, “I know that type of plating works best for a dessert and that’s not it. There’s more breadcrumbs than meat, which seems to not be fully removed from its shell so be careful with that. It’s also lacking flavor even with the brie, which is my least favorite kind of cheese in Mac, although many swear by it.”
Carmy flicks his attention to your disappointment to you scribbling into your notepad with a shake of your head. If he was making you a dish, he’d try his hardest to make sure it was everything you ever wanted.
He quickly has his share and thinks to himself.
Carmy can agree, this was lacking flavor and the breadcrumbs didn’t even have a crunch to them. You can’t just depend on the cheese to give you flavor in Mac and cheese.
“What’s your favorite dish? I—I don’t think I ever asked you that. We just went straight into talking about the beef.”
And doing dirty things in the front seat but who needs to relive that?!
You look up from your notes and lift your chin, “you’re looking at it. It’s childish I know...but that’s exactly what it reminds me of: my childhood. Mac and cheese! then as I got into my adulthood…crab kinda took over. Which is funny because I hated on it for so long growing up. My papa—my grandad, he helped my mom raise me, he's from Ocean City so you can only imagine the amount of seafood on our table.”
You’re smiling to yourself and Carmy can’t help but to feel his small laughter lines appear by his lips as you’re locked into some memory only you can remember vividly. This was the most Carmy was learning about you, sure it may not look like much but he didn’t feel the need to dissociate even if at times he really couldn’t help it.
You were the question mark that he wanted to figure out and get all the answers to. Maybe it was his gut and he shouldn’t have blabbed to sugar about you because now Carmy was thinking this was Michael’s doing.
If you believe in that shit.
So the both of you take your time trying the small dishes before getting the main courses. It seems the longer you sit across from each other—the tension was definitely still there especially with Sydney’s eyes burning into the two of you across the room and attempting to not get caught—although she had once or twice but gradually it lifted as you and carmy shared this time together.
He watched you work while you asked for his input before you told your own. He also provided a few things he would do to tweak it if he agreed with what you didn’t enjoy. Which was eye-opening for you, yes you went to school for journalism and sat in on some cooking classes once that also tied into your passion for learning. After completing your first degree you decided culinary may take you to different heights and enrolled into culinary school. You didn’t find the need to continue going through with being a chef after Copenhagen, finding writing to be your stronger suit but you still understood food and the relationship with it when it came to chef’s.
So you took carmy’s input into consideration.
With the last serving being a Asian dessert called, “Jjan Hae,” which consisted of: coconut rice pudding served with fresh citrus (orange, grapefruit, kumquat) and coffee ice cream, topped with crispy pop rice & a shot of Korean rice wine, it was a strange concept but the both of you came to terms with the dessert working well.
Carmy even took a video to show Marcus tomorrow at the bear and sent a photo to an old colleague, Luca, that you were also familiar with considering Noma was a thing that you didn’t bother speaking much on…but it was your turn to give carmy the last serving.
He hesitated since he had his own bowl, which he finished way before you did but it was clear you wanted him to have the last bite so he also took it while saying something with his eyes.
Breaking the stare, the both of you felt your phone buzz with a text. Carmy didn’t jump to answer it right away…he was the worst texter according to Nat and Sydney but you can answer for the both of you as it was a group text from Sydney who was long gone with her dad.
Siddy + (773) XXX-XXXX: Carmy, invite aspen to breakfast in the morning?? See you guys then! 👍🏾😉
“You guys do breakfast at the bear now?” You say lifting your eyes from your screen.
You heard Sydney made a mean omelette but you haven’t been back since earlier this year and you weren’t in the mood for that that night.
Carmy frowns and closes his eyes with a shake of his head, “uh yeah it’s a new thing that Syd came up with but we agreed to do that with everyone once a month…later this month. Why?”
“She wants me to have breakfast with you guys…knowing I’m not a morning person.”
“It’s not happening tomorrow anyway, so what is she talking about?” Carmy digs into his jacket, where he carelessly shoved his phone into after sending the photo off to Luca.
Another text rings out: at carmy’s place. just us three???
Not Sydney making plans and then placing it all at Carmy’s apartment.
He’s taking a breath, almost as a silent reminder for him to do so before his thumbs move over his screen: i don’t even eat breakfast, Syd.
Syd: well youre gonna.
~ Syd has notifications silenced 🌙 ~
“Well, looks like your work wife told your ass.” You laugh, which you translated into her message but didn’t comment further than that.
Carmy harshly exhales through his nostrils in disbelief, “my work wife huh?”
He didn’t hate how that sounded but he also never thought about marriage or relationships in awhile.
“Yeah…the proof is in the pudding, no matter what anyone says.”
Carmy pinched at his bottom lip as he attempts to dryly joke, “I thought it was rice? and what about outside work…”
“That’s something you have to figure out yourself.” You shrug, getting ready to pack up your notes and cameras.
You turn your attention to the table, which knows just when to lift as you tap on the screen to signal that you’re ready to pay while holding out your company card, “are you paying cash for the tip or card?”
“Uh, cash.” Carmy answers, “…what if I’m starting to think about what come’s next?”
“With Syd?” You question, your now sage and mint scented hands flying over the screen as you select the correct paying method before tapping your company card against the screen.
Carmy starts bouncing his leg underneath the table, “with everything.”
“Well…when you’re ready you’ll make moves to make it happen won’t you?”
Carmy dips his head, “you bet.”
And here comes the intense eye contact that you can’t help but to huff out some laughter.
“What’s funny?”
“It’s just people with light eyes always do this thing where they’re just staring into your soul you know? Like damn, relax!”
Carmy’s confused as he holds his wallet open, “uh sorry for having eyes?”
“Shut up, glacier eyes.” You tell while Carmy just snorts at you.
The both of you don’t waste any time rushing back to his car as the clock is approaching 10pm. The wind’s definitely picked up and the temperature dropped, making it easier not to get caught up in the night time city lights which you often liked to do. Back in the van, carmy doesn’t wait to crank up the heat and you don’t bother to mess with the radio this time.
“So?” Carmy asks as he waits for the car to warm up some.
You keep your attention outside the window shield, “yes?”
“What’s the rating?”
“What makes you think I’m going to tell you that, Carmen?” You continue holding yourself.
He sniffs, “I mean—I was sitting across from you the entire night while you told me some of your thoughts.”
“So you thought you should also get the final score? I don’t even know what I’m going to say yet.”
“Ah, I think you’ve got some idea.” Carmy lolls his head over to peek at you.
Laughter bubbles past your lips, “I do. I’ve absolutely had better because—what the fuck was that?”
Carmen feels a crooked smirk appear on his own face, “I don’t want to completely bash other chef’s work but fuck, I thought it was just me? You said it got a 4.3 out of 5? The ambience and service was spot on but…the flavor for most of the dishes?”
“I knew you knew something about seasoning,” you continued laughing while carmy rolled his eyes, “should spend less on the tech and interior and more on some fresh herbs.”
“Isn’t it called simmer saffron?”
That made you laugh even harder as you gripped your stomach, “You’ve got that so backwards!”
And carmy couldn’t help but to scan your features as you laughed and he felt his chest getting somewhat lighter? Just listening to the sound of you and being beside you. What kind of feeling was this? He’s felt it before looking at someone else but that feeling was more of a tug with that light while this one slowly poured in from the black.
“Don’t be too hard on ‘em though? There’s always room for improvement.”
“Sure, but we both know the bear is better and you guys don’t have a waist list months in advance.”
“We also don’t have any celebrities showing up either.”
“Yet.”
Carmy taps his fingers against the steering wheel, appreciating that, “right, yet…I’m sorry about March. I was too in my head about so much shit and you’re right, I took it out on everyone and I’m still trying to make up for it.”
“Effort doesn’t ever go unnoticed if people look and feel it hard enough.”
Carmy chews on his lips at that, “if you believe that…then why do you feel what I said about dating—uh us—about us dating is out of the blue?”
“I said that?”
“Your eyes did. It’s the most expressive thing about you which is funny to me when you talk so much shit about mine when you hide the rest of it away on your face. It’s fucking confusing but I think I gathered that from our dinner tonight.”
Carmy was just as detail oriented as you. It was in his language with food and maybe even in his tattoos that you tried to understand starting with his fingers first. The way he spoke about what he would do with the dishes that were lackluster, except for the dessert—that was pretty good. Carmy wasn’t much of a talker because he wasn’t sure how to express himself, always been that way since you knew of him at Noma…but he told just enough in his dishes and you told just enough between the lines you wrote.
Someone just had to look hard enough.
“…I ever tell you I was engaged? Of course I didn’t, we’re still…I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here Carmen but I’m starting to sense that we could be special if we both want this badly.”
“What do you want?”
“Does anyone ever really know?” You laughed, “ I guess someone to look past the circumstanial and I had that once but then he died. So that was the end of that.”
“You swore off love.”
“Love is many things but maybe I closed off the long lasting part.”
Carmy could relate to that as least with family. He never had much interest in romance even growing up because he lacked that confidence in anything being permanent besides the chaos he’s used to, then he found some of it once he proved what he fucking set out to do yet cooking was all Carmen really opened himself up to. While Luca and others encouraged him to have a night out in the town, he always left early or if there was one person that caught his interest, they get to talking and both get bored of each other since Carmy hardly made the move to take them back to his. Before Noma?
Maybe.
Back in Paris there was one that could have been permanent but Carmy had to break her heart since Noma was calling. Culinary was his true love and he honestly couldn’t tell you what she even looked like now if you asked him. Things that should have mattered tended to get buried in the blue of his mind unfortunately.
He didn’t have the time to be attached and you didn’t want to have your heart ripped out again.
“How’d—
“He was a firefighter.” Was all you said and just those words alone told carmy it was anything but peaceful.
It took a lot for carmy to scream at himself how Michael went out and he imagined it might have been the same for you. So he wouldn’t dare ask for further morbid details because what did that help?
So maybe you weren’t wrong about the both of you not being ready to take that step on going on dates but change was everlasting.
“Uh—what about breakfast then after that not so great meal?” Carmy asks as he pulls off from the curb now.
You think about it. Really think about it that carmy starts to assume you may have dozed off.
“Depends on the time honestly? And who am I to turn down a free meal?” You beamed at Carmy who lifts his shoulders with a chuckle.
Carmy explains, “Syd and I usually start our days early, sometimes even earlier for me if I don’t get enough hours in. but thanks to the reno those on the early shift can get prep ready and I heard…you’re not a morning person?”
You’re just as sarcastic but there’s no lies, “I don’t even know my name or birthdate when I first wake up…what do you think?”
Carmy snickered at that, “okay? So how does 10am sound?”
“That’s pushing it but…I think I can be there so that’ll give me the rest of the day to work from home.”
Carmy nods, “can’t wait to read it. Shake on it?”
“On what? My review or showing up?”
“Both.”
“I’m not sending you a sneak peek, maybe syd or even nat but not you.”
“Ouch.” Carmy mocks, still waiting for your hand to touch his.
And when you do there’s a spark, that makes you yank your hand back and you feel like you’re in one of those cheesy teen movies.
You’re aware carmy’s felt that too but he just clears his throat and placed his hand back on the steering wheel. Leaving you to lightly massage the palm of your hand, now glancing at the profile of carmy’s face.
Life takes time to live but once you start to just let it be, the green starts to stand out more and can be equally as joyous…once you get through the rain and mud that is.
And once the ice blue sets back on you, the both of you can’t exactly see the future but there’s always warmth waiting for the cold to give them a try.
𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
February fluff anthology series continues here.
#Spotify#queued#the bear#the bear fx#the bear hulu#the bear s3#carmen berzatto#carmy berzatto#carmen carmy berzatto#carmy berzatto x black reader#carmy berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x black reader#sydney adamu#carmy x sydney#natalie berzatto#richie jerimovich#michael berzatto#marcus the bear#luca the bear#february prompts#february fluff#neil fak#jeremy allen white
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So, um, I guess that awkward dinner between the Wellses and the Fairywinkle-Cosmas is more likely to happen now
Angela and Marcus: so, Peri, what is it you do for work?
Peri, who spent the last three nights sleeping on his parents' couch: well I *starts sobbing into the homemade french fries*
In all seriousness I have so many thoughts about this episode and that scene and these two and Imma use this ask to get them out. Spoilers below
So like, we all saw this coming, right? Dev has never treated Peri all that well and Peri became frustrated with him two seconds in. I sincerely hope Peri stays Dev's godparent because they are such a fun duo with so much potential, but wow they were both screwed over when they got assigned each other. A lot of people have pointed this out, but it really isn't fair that Peri got assigned a hard case for his first godchild. He should've been given someone like Hazel or maybe even like Chester from the original series -- a kid that needs someone for emotional support, of course, but is also arguably well adjusted otherwise. Dec, meanwhile, does not need wish fulfillment -- he's rich, wishing for the "perfect cupcake" won't make him happy when he can just as easily have his robot au-pairs doordash him some cupcakes. He needs a therapist, and to be removed from the harmful situation he's in (IE the neglectful, emotionally stunted, and emotionally abusive father)
Part of why Dev wishing Peri away is so sad is because Peri is actually trying. I don't think he dislikes Dev, even if he's out of his depths dealing with him -- he looks overjoyed and relived when he hugs Dev in the Fairy World episode, and once it becomes clear Dev's birthday was a bust, he offers to do what he can to make it better.
The other reason why its so sad is because Dev can't accept that Peri is trying. He's a miserable child who's never had anyone even try to to teach him emotional regulation. He's understandably hurt and pissed off and probably freaked out when he finds his fathers "secret evil lair," and so he lashes out before anyone can explain things to him. He also probably lashes out because he doesn't know how to handle friendship and support (which Hazel and Peri were offering) and even if he did, they aren't the ones he wants it from, Dale is (they're also safer options for him to lash out at that Dale. Hazel has been kind and forgiving, and Peri is magically bound to try and make Dev happy. He knows on some level that they won't hurt him, and so he knows that they won't hurt him back)
And, well, maybe controversial opinion, but Cosmo and Wanda probably contributed a little to things falling apart slightly. Peri had problems with Dev before he knew his parents were around, but his parents definitely add to his frustration -- they treat him like a little kid, undermine his authority, and probably add to the tension he feels, while also being two people he wants to impress. He spent the beginning of O:BT clearly disengaged with things while Cosmo, Wanda, and Hazel greet Dev, before he whisks them away to show off his new digs. He's such a delightful and relatable take on a young adult who's low contact with their parents while also clearly loving them and wanting to make them proud (He turned off his equivalent of Find My iPhone and was terrified of them finding out about him becoming a godparent, but he also specifically calls godparenting "the family business," choosing it over what would've likely been a more lucrative career with the Tooth Fairy)
(Plus like, Dev constantly being around a set of parents who love their kid while his father is more loving to his boots that his own child has gotta suck)
That said, I don't think Cosmo and Wanda are at fault -- they need to learn boundaries and to come to terms with the fact that their baby isn't a baby anymore, but otherwise, they're loving and supportive. They're more experienced that Peri and could probably give him genuine guidance. They just gotta step back and let Peri do his thing, grow his confidence and learn from his mistakes (which he is making and will continue to make -- he's new, to both godparenting and likely to childcare in general. Plus, even though the show hasn't explored it -- yet -- Peri likely has a unique perspective on godparenting given that he was born to a set of active godparents and raised alongside their human godkid as siblings).
Dev and Peri as a duo are a delight because of how messy they are -- the traumatized iPad kid who's honestly an asshole but an asshole for a reason, and the underprepared and underestimated grown up Baby Of The Family, both of who have family issues that almost clash in how different -- but valid -- those issues are
...Returning to the original point, I wanna see both of them interact with Angela and Marcus, if only to see how they interact with a set of reasonable parents who respect their children as individuals and have largely positive relationships with them
(lastly, really quick, I wanna shout myself out for a moment here for making a comic about the Sad Rich Kid Rival of Cosmo and Wanda's godkid being upset about the whole two fairies vs one fairy thing months before ANW aired. I got the kids in question wrong but I was right in guessing someone would think it was unfair)
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my birthday is coming up! can i please request smut with seonghwa and mingi (bcs its his birthday too! we share the same birthday 🥳)
- 🐰
a/n: happy birthday 🐰 anon !! I hope you have a good one and I hope this piece compensates as a good birthday gift 🩷 I hope your birthday was not too bad (that asshole you told me about sucks. don’t let him ruin your day! stink men don’t deserve the time of day) please enjoy!!
Mingi and seonghwa were never the first people you would think of when you try to think of members with similar interest. They both just kind of went on their own path. For example, Seonghwa loved his LEGO’s and Mingi loved playing video games/watching anime. One thing they could agree on though, was how much they adored you.
You were just a friend to them. You happened to work for them as a staff member for this world tour they were on. You were in charge of getting them from place to place, keeping them in line and helping during shows. They enjoyed your presence so much. The two men were particularly fond of you and would always fight over you. You found their bickering endearing but never took it deeply. Of course you thought they were just joking. Idols never go for staff but this case was very different.
Since the tour had started and you began working with them, they’d been plotting a way to get you into bed with them. Now that the final show was approaching and you’d go back to work with other groups, they needed to put their plan into action. It all started after the last show. The whole staff and the members got together for a nice dinner at a privately reserved restaurant. Of course, the two members took up all your attention the whole time and were practically tripping over their own feet to make you laugh. You just went along with it and gave them the attention they wanted. Besides, you’d grown to enjoy their company. You’d miss them a lot once you were gone. All came to an end after about three hours of talking and eating and drinking. You escorted the boys back to their room that they happened to be sharing together. Before leaving from their front door, they offered to bring you inside to drink some more and hang out. You hesitated because you could get in big trouble but how could you deny them? They’d been so sweet and kind to you that you felt awful saying no.
You went in and had a drink with them. Everything was all fun and giggles when you noticed that they both had their big, dreamy hands on your thighs. You tried not to make a big deal out of it but it was starting to make you feel stuff you didn’t think you should feel about them. At some point, the conversation died down and mingi was the first one to speak up about the situation. “So, y/n. Thank you for keeping us together for this tour. It’s means a lot. There’s just something we’ve been meaning to tell you about.” Seonghwa immediately chimes in, “yeah. This may come as a shock but we’re both really into you. We’ve been fighting over you this whole time but we decided not to fight anymore because we could just give you both our attention.” You’re sitting there…unsure of what to say to them. Mingi started to talk again, “so…before you leave us for good, we wanted to ask you something. Would you be interested in sleeping with us?” You immediately started to blush bright red. “S-sleep with you two? I’d love you but won’t I get in trouble? I don’t wanna get in trouble. I like this job.” You frowned and the boys immediately made you smile again. “Of course not! We’d never get you in trouble. We’re asking you for this. Please? Sleep with us? We promise we’ll show you pleasure you’ve never experienced before.” Seonghwa looked at you with his big, beautiful eyes and you just could deny him. You nodded and they looked so excited.
They started by having you strip out of your clothes and they did the same. They offered to let you shower and the three of you stepped into the very spacious shower. While cleaning up, a lot of deep, passionate kissing ensued. Mingis kisses were slopping and desperate and seonghwas kisses were gentle yet meaningful. Both kisses being very fulfilling and enjoyable. You three were finally clean and were able to get out and dry off. They didn’t even let you put on clothes because they wanted to get right to work. Mingi picked you up and set you on their big bed. They picked the biggest option they could in anticipation for this day (calking for the win). Seonghwa practically pushed mingi out of the way for the space between your legs. He pulled your legs over his broad shoulders and looked up at you. “Is this okay? Can I eat you out? You just look so delectable.” You nodded and he dove right in. Out of jealously, mingi got on the bed and started to kiss you and play with your nipples. These combined sensations made you beak out in moans. They enjoyed listening to your noises. After he was fed up, mingi made seonghwa trade with him to be fair. Mingi eat you out the same we he kissed you, messy and desperate. Saliva and slick were all over his face, making you even more wet at the sight. He didn’t even let you cum, wanting you on his cock before you were allowed to cum.
You started to get restless and that’s when you really began to take some charge. You turned around towards seonghwa, wanting him to go first. “Please? I need you inside. You can be first. Please?” You gave him your best big shiny eyes and he folded, not needing you to beg at all. Mingi moved so that seonghwa could have his way. He ask mingi to grab him a condom and he did. Seonghwa ripped it open with his teeth and slid it on. You whimped while watching him and he smirked, “you liked that, pretty girl? Don’t worry. Im going to take such good care of you right now. If something hurts, you’re gonna tell me. Okay?” You nodded up at him. You three went through picking a safe word and everything was squared away.
Seonghwa started but slowly pushing into your wet entrance. He started to hiss and you were whimpering. “Fuck! You feel so damn good! So good for me. Right?” You nodded and look at him, feeling the pain subside. “Mm please this feels so good. Thank you! Thank you!” Out of instinct you reach up to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He found the action endearing and let you hold onto him. Mingi watched the whole time, fucking his fist and moaning. You turned to look at him and smiled, enjoying watching how he touched himself. Seonghwa took his time with you and when you both were getting close, he warned you. “Fuck, I’m going to cum. Please? You’re gonna cum with me, pretty girl?” You nod, “mhm please let me cum! I’ve been so good!” He pulls you close and you do the same, finally cumming together. When you both finished, you laid down and panted but mingi didn’t give you much of a chance e to recover. You cried out when he jumped on top of you pushed himself inside you. The size difference was very noticeable to you and it made you feel the pain again. “Fuck! I can’t!” You cried and mingi just smirked, loving how you were complaining about his size. He gently caressed your cheek and tried his best to make you feel comfortable. “Does it hurt too much? Poor thing.” You look up at him with tears in your eyes and shake your head, “no please! Keep going. I want it.” You begged him and he continued. He fucked you at a quick pace, leaving your tummy with an ache afterwards. He just went in so deep and so fast. He finished a little quicker than seonghwa, moaning loudly when he finally came, making sure to let you cum also.
When all was said and done, they both laid there with you, taking care of you. Their aftercare combined was the best. They made sure you drank plenty of water and got some snacks in you. You also cleaned you up super gently. They don’t just want to fuck you and have it over with. They never did. They knew you deserved way better than that. “So, you aren’t just going to leave us, are you?” Seonghwa asked with a cute little pout. You shake your head and held onto him. “Nope. Not right now at least. I probably can’t walk always so I’m here for now.” They both laughed along with you and mingi scooted closer to you to snuggle you also. You enjoyed their affection. They were so sweet to you and made sure you were comfortable before falling asleep. You were going to miss them and they were going to miss you also. Hopefully you wouldn’t have to miss them too much because they planned to beg their management to recruit you into their company.
#ateez reactions#ateez seonghwa#ateez mingi#mingi smut#seonghwa smut#ateez scenarios#ateez imagines#ateez x reader#ateez smut#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez
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I’m studying archaeology at the moment and I didn’t get into my university’s field school this year as I have not super good grades from being chronically ill and having three knee surgeries while at university so far and its just mentally upsetting. But I’m still dedicated to doing archaeology and I was wondering what advise the two of you had for students? Love reading about what you both do btw
Hi Anon, Mod V answering here :D. Mod A is currently on sick leave and will add his thoughts as soon as he is better. First of all - thank you for the compliment! And second of all - that really sucks, and I'm so sorry for you. Also, I hope I can even give you any good tips, because I have to preface the following advice segment by saying that I don't have any experience with university systems outside of Germany (besides what I learned from tumblr osmosis, which is not a lot), and the fact that you mentioned that you have a MINIMUM GRADE REQUIREMENT to get into a FIELD SCHOOL is a pretty big clue that you're not based in Germany. Because we don't do either of that shit here.
(click on read more for advice I hope is maybe a little bit relevant to your situation)
If you were in Germany, my advice would be pretty simple: Go to your university's disability rep (because you qualify for accomodations [I hope that's the correct word, in German "Nachteilsausgleich", literally compensation for disadvantages] both for the chronic illness and the bum knee), milk your situation for all it's worth, then put in a request for a semester off due to health reasons, during that semester do everything you can to heal up your knee and maybe revise some of your notes and do some reading, come back in 6 months stronger and with better grades. Which you wouldn't need to get into a German field school, because field basics are part of your university curriculum here and your uni organizes teaching excavations that you maybe need a passing grade in Grabungstechnik [lit. excavation technique, I'm sorry I don't know what the subject equivalent in English would be] for, but that's usually it. Also, take advantage of university mental health counseling.
But, I'm guessing (because most Engish speaking countries have MUCH higher tuition costs that here) that taking a semester off isn't an option. Regardless, some of my advice stays the same, starting with: Know your rights. Here in Germany, if you have a disability (defined as any sort of illness or condition that keeps you from functioning at average person levels for longer than 6 months), universities are legally obligated to get you some kind of help for that. If you have dyslexia, you're entitled to more time on exams. If you're a wheelchair user, you're entitled to lectures in rooms that you can actually reach. If you have migraines, you're exempt from compulsory attendance. You get it. I would very very strongly recommend finding out if your country and/or your university have something similar.
Even if there isn't - tell your profs that you're having difficulties. You don't have to go into detail, you don't have to reveal anything personal, but showing up to office hours, saying something along the lines of "due to illness that makes it hard for me to do X I struggle with Y aspect of the coursework", and asking for help (I would recommend going into the conversation with some reasonable idea what that help could look like, for example if you're hard of hearing asking the prof to speak facing the classroom and keep a seat near the front free for you) will often either get you an accomodation or an extra assignment to boost your grade (if you struggle with something like chronic fatigue or depression and extra assignments would make your grade worse, tell them if they offer you any). If there is a such thing as a Fachstudienberatung [lit. Subject-specific advisor, basically someone who you can go to who will help you with admin stuff like exam credit and your schedule but not a secretary, again, I really don't know how universities outside of Germany work] at your university, that may also be someone worth talking to.
My personal, subjective advice for studying with chronic illness and/or disability in general: Make peace with the fact that it will most likely take you a lot longer than your peers to reach the same degrees. I've been studying for my bachelor's for five years (not joking). That doesn't mean I'm going to be or am a worse archaeologist than anybody else. It simply means it took me longer. And once you have your degree, I promise no employer on earth will care. (How do I know this? I spent 3 days at the beginning of October last year being repeatedly told by about 50 professionals from any and every field imaginable that nobody cared that THEY took 2-7 years longer than they should have to get their bachelor's/master's/doctorate.) It's also important not to compare yourself to others doing it faster. I know this is hard, but again, it really doesn't matter (except on a financial level) (which, I realize, may be a lot bigger thing for you than it was/is for me).
Try to take advantage of any accomodations offered to you, even if you're embarrased to do so. Try to make as many friends as you can, involve yourself in as many clubs and organizations as you can. University contacts can become business contacts in a few years, and even if not - in Germany we say "geteiltes Leid ist halbes Leid". Dealing with hard things, as studying with a chronic illness is, is easier when you're not alone. Also: Do everything you can to show your profs that you're trying. Go to office hours, take part in class discussions, ask questions even if you think they're dumb, do your absolute best for assignments. Even if your grades are bad, if you show you're trying your absolute hardest, your profs will want to give you a leg up. I know you're probably already doing all that you can. The key word is "show" - literally go to office hours and say that you are. Make yourself visible.
Now, for my advice for field work with chronic illness, a knee that you needed multiple surgeries on, and grades so bad you didn't get into field school. First of all, unless you're literally on your last semester and you won't graduate if you don't do it, I wouldn't even think about field school at the moment. I hope I'm not ripping the proverbial bandaid off too harshly when I say that, for excavating, a knee that is in any way not healthy is bad. There is a lot of kneeling involved in digging. That is NOT to say that you should give up your field ambitions, but it IS to say that, when you do go into the field, you should a) be VERY sure your knee is healed, and b) be EXTREMELY careful not to hurt yourself again while working. Where- and whenever you do your field work qualifications, make sure the person in charge knows about your knee condition and lets you take breaks. If they don't do that, leave.
That being said, field work, even commercial field work, isn't all digging. If you do your field school and find that digging is something that just isn't sustainable long term, there are options. Archaeology is steadily working toward integrating more and more geophysical prospecting methods, like geoelectrics and geomagnetics, and lots (if not most) of commercial archaeological companies (at least here in Germany) are integrating them as well. 3D scanning technologies for heritage conservation are gaining more and more importance. So are mapping techniques with ArcGIS, QGIS and CAD-programms. Just to name a few things. And even outside of field work, archaeology is a pretty broad field. My advice for digging would be - make sure your knee is as healed as possible, try it, but don't "hang your heart on it", as we say in Germany.
Beside digging, I would STRONGLY encourage you to do a little bit of career orientation. I'm not saying this because I think you "won't make it" digging (also I do not think that), this is not "just" advice for you or any other chronically ill or disabled student of archaeology reading this, I truly believe this is one of the most important things you can possibly do during your university career. In Germany, you have to do you career orientation yourself unless you're really lucky and your university offers a seminar on structures in archaeological work and teaching or something, I don't know how it is at your university - if they have a service or a job fair or anything like that, USE IT. If not, there may be conferences - in Germany we have ARCHAEOworks and ARCHAEOskills. (ANY GERMAN ARCHAEOLOGY STUDENTS READING THIS: GEH DA HIN UND NIMM DEINE KOMMILITON*INNEN MIT.) Google them, find them, go there, talk to people. I cannot overstate how important this is.
Another thing to consider is that you can get field work experience through other means than a field school. (I'm talking about internships.) (I'm also really hoping that there isn't some sort of law against interning on archaeological excavations where you live.) The pros of internships are, of course:
You don't have to pay for them.
In fact, YOU might get paid!
Most archaeological firms don't care about your grades, they care about cheap labour and that's what you are as an intern.
You're much more likely to get insights into what actual day-to-day work looks like than at a field school or a teaching excavation.
You have an opportunity to establish first business contacts.
If you do a good job a company might make you a job offer, whether that be now or for when you graduate.
There is a lot more variety to choose from than there is in field schools (Do an internship at a museum! Do an internship at a conservation lab! Whatever takes your fancy!).
Depending on your university, an internship might count towards your degree as an alternative to field school.
In Germany, there is also the option to just...work at an archaeological excavation, either as a volunteer or as a working student. Both ways, you even get paid. I've heard through the grape vine that this may not be an option in some other countries, but hey - asking doesn't hurt!
Lastly, I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark and guess that you might be...U.S. American? and tag @chaotic-archaeologist, who can surely tell you much more about managing field schools and disability in the U.S. than I can, and might be so friendly as to correct me if I advised you to do anything illegal above. Any archaeologists from other English-speaking countries who have experience with these problems, please also feel free to add on! I wish you the best of luck, Anon, and I truly hope Archaeology will work out for you. Keep us updated if you want, we would love to hear how it's going from time to time!
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How to fix Halamshiral as a Zone
Inquisition is a flawed game.
I don't think there's anyone who is going to argue otherwise.
The only question is wheter you place it higher or lower than DA2.
One of the things I think it does better than DA2, is that it managed to give every place a soul, an identity of it's own, and at least a distinct, if not always amazing storyline.
The emerald graves doesnt have a very interesting plot, but it has some spectacular side quests, and atmosphere, inculding a haunted mansion, which might be my favorite possession based quest in all of DA because it shows much better than others just how dangerous untrained mages actually are to those around them.
The storm coast tells a story of what was once an important dwarven port, and shows how it fell and was repurposed over time.
The Hinterlands shows the aftereffects of the templar mage war, as well as solas stupid plan to give cory his orb, and the mage rebellion and an actually decent time travel story.
I could go on, but the point is, I usually have at least aomething nice to say about every single region.
All except one.
Halamshiral.
Halamshiral was the single worst part of all of Dragon Age Inquisition for me, and every single time I boot up this game, it's always the last thing i do before the temple of sacred ashes, despite how bizarre the game flows as a result.
And the reason is because i hate everything about it.
I hate it's unique attempt at side quests, i hate the characters involved, i hate the Orlesians who inhabit it, and i hate how this section tries to copy what worked so amazingly well with Orzammar and Denerim during the landsmeet section, and fails every single shot it lines up.
The ONLY good thing i have to say about this, is that it's at the very least relatively short.
So here's today's question. How to fix Halamshiral?
Let's begin with the three main players.
Celene, Gasparde, and Briala.
The big problem with every single option, is that they all suck.
Celene and Gasparde are both fucking awful people without any redeeming qualities, they have no charisma, and there is no prospect of the Empire reforming itself under either of them, the way Orzammar would under Bhelen.
Meanwhile, Briala is much, much better, but the problem is that we know exactly what is going to happen here if you support her.
Maybe today elves will have it better, but tomorrow, when Gasparde is gone, or celene turns on elves again as she always does all the progress will be repealed, and reversed, along with a few purged alienages.
Its an old story that's been told before in Dragon age.
In short, there is no reason at all to care about this overall plot. None whatsoever.
There were so many reasons to care about both Orzammar and Denerim in the same situation, and every single character involved had so much more charisma than either of these would be monarchs.
So let's fix that.

Starting with Celene, take the idea of her wanting to reform the empire, and actually take it to the next level.
Celene is genuine in wanting to reform the empire, and has already taken grand, successful steps to make the entire thing much better for everyone, even elves, giving them and serfs more rights, outlawing the practice of chevaliers having a tradition of killing unarmed city elves to graduate.
But the catch is, while she is genuinely making progress, she is doing so within the confines of the great game.
Celene has nonintention of changing the great game, no plans of wanting to remove this thing that holds Orlais back more than any other, this center stone of their nobility and it's culture.
Meanwhile, Gasparde is a different kind of reformer, one that takes the ideas he had of him claiming to hate the game, and actually doing something with it.
He is far less progressive, has no love for elves, is far more warlike than Celene ever was... But unlike Celene, his ideas of reform isn't going to act within the grand game.
He's going to break it.
Unlike canon gasparde, this gasparde is hated by every single noble family in the entire empire. His only support, and it's a strong one, is the army. The parts of the army that supports Gasparde, and they are a huge part, are loyal to him personally to the hilt.
And he hates them back. He hates the game, he hates the way it cripples the empire, and he wants to change things. Like Celene he plans to break the serfs free of their chains, for the good of the nation and it's power and economy if not for any progressive reasons.
And he'a going to start with Halamshiral.
For this Gasparde isn't merely positioning men to stage a coup... He's planning to kill EVERY SINGLE NOBLE in Halamshiral. Evety man, every woman, every child there.
He's going to reform this empire by wiping out it's cancerous nobility in one fell swoop, and install himself as supreme dictator to see his reforms through, and wiping out the entire Orlesian nobility that might have opposed him, french revolution style.
And thus the Inquisitor has a dilemma.
Unlike Orzammar, where only one side was a reformer, both of these Orlesians are... But you have to choose one.
Do you choose Celene? The more progressive candidate, who wants a more peaceful Orlais going forward? But who is not willing to get ridd of the grand game to do so, thus making it a permanent risk that all her reforms will be undone...
Or will you support Gasparde, and by doing so be complicit in destroying the entire nobility of Orlais, many of whom are not guilty of the shit that Celene and Gasparde here both hate so much? Gasparde is far less likely to create a peaceful Orlais going forward... But he will have obliterated the Grand Game for good and all, a prize that might be worth this Red Wedding style bloodbath.

Meanwhile there is Briala, the elven spy who has enough influence to allow, or prevent Gasparde's plans from going through.
Here there should be another moral dilemma, quite different from the base game.
Do you convince her to aid Gasparde, in exchange for the Elves getting a duchy of their own in Halamshiral? Do you then back her up with Inquisition forces and support, forcing Him to publicly announce her as such, and trust his own, twisted version of honor to actually stick to it going forward(Something he ultimately does), or do you throw her to the Wolves the moment things get rough?
Or alternatively, do you convince her to side with Celene, and bury the hatchet? And if so, on what terms? And similarly, if she actually wants to get something out of this, you actually need to back her up... Something you may, or may not choose to do.
And voila, here you have an actual story of intrigue, massive, lasting political changes as a result of the Herald's actions, and morally grey on grey choices.
Everything that Denerim and Orzammar had in spades.
Now moving on from the plot to the actual place.
Halamshiral has no soul.
It's a french villa on a mountaintop. Whoop de freaking do.
It has no interesting murals, unique art only found there, interesting geography, or anything really to make it stand out.
Compare it to Denerim and Orzammar, and the way they fleshed out the entire city's levels of power and criminal underworlds, and you see the difference.
Denerim is a very realistic, squat, squalid medieval city, with it's buildings built on top of every single bit of available space.
Orzammar is a full on high fantasy dwarf city lit up by a lake of lava.
Halamshiral is a villa presented as a city.
How do you fix that?
There is an artist here on Tumblr who pretty much showcased what Halamshiral could have been, if they had taken the idea of the Dalish(who were the original owners) taking inspiration from native americans(amongst others), and use that to build a truly spectacular city, which has long ago been paved over, but the structure is still there.
Make it a city on the water, like the aztex capital of Tenochtitlan, a marvel of canals and stone.


Make it this Venezia like city, with canals everywhere you look, and the entire city running on water. A marvel of Dalish city building, where they took something as simple as a couple of islands in a lake, and built the most beautiful city in the world.
And rather than just limit you to the palace, instead let you actually explore this city.
Expand the entire event from one night, to a week.
Let the Herald explore the city, meet the players, interact with the nobles, become friends with a few like you could with Ferelden's bans, which in turn makes the possibility of sacrificing them for the greater good hit so much harder.
Let you choose what fancy stuff to wear to the balls and meetings, rather than have this stupid motto of forcing you to wear one, pre determined outfit like this game had for some reason.
Let you discover the places where what little Elven Architecture and art still remains can be found, and talk with the elves who still live here, the descendants after the first elves the Orlesians enslaved.
Make the plotting of Gasparde and the positioning of troops be gradual, not instantly discovered and twarted.
And at the end, if you choose to back Gasparde, you mirror that scene from Dragon Age 2, where the Templars sail across the bay, and you either step aside and witness the bloodbath you just allowed to happen, or you fight them and be recognized by the nobility(most of which are horrible, horrible people) as a hero who just saved the day.
Have the venatori plot be to kill both Gasparde and Celene, rather than their involvement mostly be about handing the player the the easy knife for the knot of which monarch to pick without having to get your hands dirty.
Also have the entire group be gathered for once. Every inner member of the Inquisition just like at Denerim.
Each of whom have their own thoughts on the events.
Who supports who? What is the right thing to do? What is better for the inquisition? Are you staining your honor beyond repair if you back Gasparde? Does the Inquisitor maybe have a breakdown after witnessing what they just allowed to happen and they walk through the gardens or rooms filled with corpses? Maybe have the scene at the end with the love interest be about a moment of them truly comforting their lover in the aftermath of it all, understanding(or not) that as boss, it's your job to have to make the tough decisions. And now you have to live with them.
Or if you wanna go the other way, this could be one of the breaking points like Origins had. If you support Gasparde, Blackwall choses to tell you to get bent, and that he will die as benefits a knight. Defending the week, and calling you out on how you are just as bad as he ever was, a child killer who's going to run away from responsibility, to pretend you are some better person than what you actually are. You're a murder. Just like he was. You are just as responsible for the blood that's flowing as he was with that carriage back in the day.
It would have been a far more impressive reveal moment for his crimes, that's for sure.
Cole probably would be the one who would be second most upset, but wheter he leaves or ultimately stays should probably be depended on your other choices and your relationship with him prior to this, probably have his personal quest be the determinating factor of what he chooses to do.
And i could go on, but point is, this would be a return to Origins choices actually mattering. There were choices that could make or break a characters bond with you. Shale would not budge regarding Caridin, Leliana and wynne would stand against you if you choose to defile the urn, Sevran would choose to betray you for his old friend if he didn't like you enough, and of course the age old choices at the end of act 3 in da2, where you have to pick between templars and Mages, as well as anders fate, and chances are regardless of what you do, at least 1 person ends up dead.
If anyone reading this has any suggestions for how to further improve this storyline, feel free to share, but regardless, i think we can all agree that this is a vast improvement of what we actually got.
#dragon age inquisition#dragon age#dragon age origins#dragon age 2#halamshiral#gasparde#celene#briala#inquisitor#blackwall#thom rainier#the herald of andraste#the inquisitor#meta#what could have been#tenochtitlan
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(For our purposes, listen to it without the visuals first.)
I wasn't going to keep posting about Unreal Unearth, but something happened yesterday.
It's been five months since I first heard this song, and I'm still astonished by it. You know the tiktok skit about the Star Wars wedding music, and the guy is grooving along until the Imperial Death March filters in, and then he's kind of alarmed, like, wha—? And then he realizes it slaps anyway and he keeps dancing? That is "Eat Your Young."
It's the morning of March 17th. The EP with the first three singles from the new album has dropped. I've got my phone blasting the song on the bathroom counter, I don't understand half what the man is saying nor did I expect to, I'm cheerfully mumbling along in the shower, grooving along,
wait they did what for a war drum
Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young
What the fuck, this song goes so hard. That's the chorus. The conceit of the whole album is that it loosely follows Dante's Inferno, so this is the third circle of hell, gluttony. Hozier himself says that he wasn't specifically thinking of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal—
“I don’t know how intentional the reference to Jonathan Swift was in this. That essay [Swift’s 1729 satirical essay A Modest Proposal in which he suggests the Irish poor sell their children as food] is such a cultural landmark that it’s just hanging in the air. I was more reflecting on what I felt now in this spirit of the times of perpetual short-term gain and a long-term blindness. The increasing levels of precarious living, poverty, job insecurity, rental crisis, property crisis, climate crisis, and a generation that’s inheriting all of that and one generation that’s enjoyed the spoils of it. The lyrics are direct, but the voice is playful. There’s this unreliable narrator who relishes in this thing which was fun to write.” [Apple Music album notes]
—and I believe him. The song's not a suggestion, a proposal; it's an invitation to atrocity in progress. I also believe he probably wasn't thinking of Greta Thunberg's iconic speech at the UN Climate Action Summit, not specifically, but that's what I hear in the song, like the flip side of a coin:
You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words. And yet I'm one of the lucky ones. People are suffering. People are dying. Entire ecosystems are collapsing. We are in the beginning of a mass extinction, and all you can talk about is money and fairy tales of eternal economic growth. How dare you! [...] You say you hear us and that you understand the urgency. But no matter how sad and angry I am, I do not want to believe that. Because if you really understood the situation and still kept on failing to act, then you would be evil.
I feel like on some level, even coincidentally, "Eat Your Young" is the answer to the question, what would you sound like if you were that evil? Who would you be? I can think of a dozen possibilities just off the top of my head or looking around my blog, from something as petty as studio executives mangling trees to deprive striking workers of shade (while hoping they lose their homes), all the way up to the US school-to-prison pipeline. The National Rifle Association keeps politicians in its pocket while the US has more mass shootings than days in a year, Nestlé fucks shit up around the world as a way of life, even ChatGPT sucks up water while threatening jobs—and for what? And yet, I promise you most of these things weren't the inspiration for an Irishman’s song—some of them hadn't even happened yet. There's just that much fresh You Would Be Evil to go around. I am certain that Hozier wrote the song partly about (as one article puts it) "Ireland's housing crisis: Millennials, a generation sacrificed," given that time back in the day when he helped occupy a building—a housing crisis happening in multiple countries. There's so much of the world I'm not touching on. I can stuff a paragraph with links and it's utterly inadequate.
I haven't even mentioned war.
There's an overwhelming sense this decade of the future being fed into a meat grinder. That sense is in this song. What would it sound like to be in the head of someone who didn't give a shit about anything but profit? Well, it might sound like this.
And if you haven't heard it, well—I'm going to sound absolutely out of my mind after saying all that, but "Eat Your Young" has a beat and you can dance to it. It's sexy. And I'm certain that's on purpose. You get seduced into the sound of it, as if by something demonic, something that enjoys sucking down the future and is not going to stop. And the sheer fucking catchiness of the song keeps you listening to it—thinking about it—when maybe you push away the dry headlines we get everyday. If you let this song stay in your head, it becomes a lens. Five months later, I still think about it when I read the news. Maui was on fire and tourists stayed. Within days, the prospect of developers swooping in to buy up land reared its head. If there's something still to take, there is ground to break, whatever's still to come. Get some.
I was born in 1978 —I'm late Gen X. In my forties, I'm young enough to worry about the future still; I’m neither so rich that I can just plan to retire to Mars, nor so old that I can know I'll be safely gone before the world might go up in flames. But I'm also not my nephew, whose school year just started back up, or the neighborhood kids who race him home down the sidewalk in the afternoons. Yesterday, he had his very first mass-shooter lockdown drill. He’s six.
I think music can put the feeling back into numb fingers, and I think that's why "Eat Your Young" works so well—Hozier calls the song fun and playful, and I think you have to have that, something you can live with rather than just switch off for your own mental survival. We need music to feed spirit at protests; we need something to keep our feet moving. Don’t give up, don't close your eyes and slip away. Those kids, they have dreams we could try to steal back for them.
Since I mentioned Maui:
Why Hawaiian sovereignty has undeniable context for the Maui fires
The Climate Crisis and Colonialism Destroyed My Maui Home. Where We Must Go From Here
How You Can Donate and Help Support Maui Communities Right Now
The Maui Strong Fund
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