#I have no explanation for this/reason why

[spore-loser]

Rhys holding grudges against Lucien and Nesta despite Feyre forgiving them is disrespectful of her wishes and hypocritical of him in general.

ACOFS: “But I cannot let go of how [Lucien] treated you after Under the Mountain.” “I can. I’ve forgiven him for that.” “Well, you’ll forgive me if I can’t.”

Lucien tried his best to help Feyre after UTM. He advocated for her at his own expense and there was only so much he could do because he was not the HL. He tried to bring Feyre back to the SC because he thought she had been kidnapped, was being mind-controlled, and sexually assaulted. Then (regardless of his reasoning) Lucien risked his life to get Feyre back to the NC.

“You still can barely talk to Nesta,” I said. “Yet Elain you can talk to nicely.” “Elain is Elain.” “If you blame one, you have to blame the other.” “No, I don’t. Elain is Elain,” he repeated. “Nesta is … she’s Illyrian. I mean that as a compliment, but she’s an Illyrian at heart. So there is no excuse for her behavior.” “She more than made up for it this summer, Rhys.” “I cannot forgive anyone who made you suffer.”

Feyre was right but Rhys just brushed it off with infantilization of Elain and a vague statement about Nesta. Both Elain and Feyre at that point had called out the double standard of blaming Nesta and not Elain.

The IC could judge Nesta all they wanted but none of them had a right to hold Nesta accountable for that situation. It was Archeron family business and Feyre’s choice to forgive Nesta. It is disrespectful to her and that choice for Rhys to forever hold a grudge and let it affect his behavior. Feyre repeatedly told him to back off her sister. She knew Nesta in a way the IC did not, did not take her behavior personally post-cabin, and could handle her. Being antagonistic to Nesta would in no way help Feyre’s relationship with her and only contribute to the strain.

What does Nesta being Illyrian at heart even mean? We didn’t get an explanation on that, so it is left up to our interpretations. 

“The Illyrians (…) are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions.” -ACOMAF

This is how Rhys introduced Feyre to his and his mother’s people. So I assume what he meant with the comparison is that Nesta is strong(-willed) and ruthless. Whatever he meant, his reasoning is: due to her similarity, Nesta’s behavior is inexcusable. 

I’m not saying Nesta’s treatment of Feyre was excusable, but at that point Nesta had done everything Feyre asked of her and then some. She had been involved in the war effort on every level, from diplomacy to helping in the camps to strategy to the battlefield. She saved Cassian’s life multiple times. She directly risked her life to distract the King of Hybern. She helped kill the King of Hybern. She was crucial to the war effort and Rhys just ignored that because of something Feyre had already forgiven Nesta for.

Rhys himself is actually Illyrian so why is his behavior excusable? For weeks he sexually exploited Feyre in front of everyone UTM without any logical reason except to get back at Tamlin. (Link) Feyre forgave him and they moved on without Rhys even offering an apology or them having a real discussion on how it hurt her. Why does Rhys get away with his abuse so easily but for the rest of Nesta’s life she is to be held responsible for something she was singled out for? (Not even holding her accountable for the verbal abuse, but specifically the hunting thing.)

“They’re my family. You have to forgive Nesta at some point.” (…) “Should that be my Solstice gift to you?” he murmured. “Forgiving Nesta for letting her fourteen-year-old sister go into those woods?”

It was not Rhys’ place to forgive, it was Feyre’s. And why did Rhys only blame Nesta for letting Feyre go? Their father was the one responsible for the Archeron’s poverty and he made no attempt to work even before his attack. Rhys knew this.

he hadn’t argued when I announced that I was going hunting. He hadn’t bothered to attempt to stand from his seat by the fire, hadn’t bothered to look up from his wood carving. He just let me walk into those deadly, eerie woods that even the most seasoned hunters were wary of. -ACOTAR

“My mother died when I was eight; my father lost his fortune three years later. He sold everything to pay off his debts, moved us into a hovel, and didn’t bother to find work while he let us slowly starve for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He wouldn’t work—couldn’t, because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt. And I kept us all alive, if not near starvation at times, for five years.” -ACOMAF

Why did Rhys not hold it against Feyre’s father that he sat by and did nothing while his youngest daughter went out to hunt? Instead, Rhys asked Feyre if she wanted to name their son after him. The narrative obviously treated the Archeron father differently because he came through for his daughters in the end and gave his life for them, but why was he never judged by the IC for his failure to his daughters in the first place? 

Rhys holding a grudge against Lucien and Nesta for how they treated Feyre is peak hypocrisy. He mistreated Feyre throughout their whole relationship. (Link 1) (Link 2)

ACOTAR: Going into Feyre’s mind and using it to humiliate her, and everything UTM, which was all completely counterintuitive and unnecessary to their survival.

ACOMAF: Rhys only gave Feyre the illusion of choice, emotionally manipulated her, and gaslit her about Tamlin. (Link 1) (Link 2) He put Feyre in dangerous situations several times without all the facts both at the Weaver’s cottage and using her to bait the Attor (near the Archeron house, also putting them at risk).  

ACOWAR: Being 500+ years old, he should have been the one to think better of entering into a toxically co-dependent death pact with his only twenty-year-old mate. 

ACOSF: Regardless of his reasoning for it, hiding that Feyre’s pregnancy was life-threatening is medical abuse. It’s disrespectful to her on multiple levels because she made it very clear to Rhys she never wanted to be left in the dark. He had her whole support system in on it too, isolating Feyre emotionally. Her whole family betrayed her trust over something Feyre should have been told before she even got pregnant. Even if Rhys is only half Illyrian, there was always a chance of his and Feyre’s children having wings, and it was common knowledge among the bat boys that wings were a danger to high fae mothers. 

#acotar #acotar analysis #feyre archeron #lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #rhysand #sjm critical

[carmenized-onions]

Where To? | Delivery Fees

logline; Fix, after fix, after fix; at a point, you've gotta ask what you are.

[!!!] series history, this is the fifth; First, Second, Third, Fourth

portion; 8k+ (sorry, it's about to go down. Perfectly in time for your long Friday midnight read that you regret in the morning!)

possible allergies; birth/medical shenanigans (nothin' scary, tbh, unrealistic), Mikey heavy talks and thus, mentions of drug addiction, it's traumas, his death, and grieving! Tony makes a joke about being bisexual, and I simply can't apologize for this, I write the perspective I have, man.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (aunt, mentions of bein' a mom, no pronouns? I think?)

this is by far, I think, the best (and longest) chapter so far, and if you don't leave me a paragraph (or several) detailing your thoughts and favourite moments, I will eat a lightbulb. And you will simply never hear from me again. Be warned,,,,,

Everyone works fast and efficient. Hospitality is used in two places for a goddamn reason. A well-oiled machine can switch gears on a dime.

Sydney gets a clean table cloth sample from a pile of off-whites they’d been considering. She puts it down in the office, swiping it over the floor to cover up the grime. Does she close her eyes when she walks in, and trip over the chair on the ground? Yeah. But she’s trying to be respectful of Nat’s privacy, okay!?

Tina talks Nat through everything as she gets Nat to lay down, she finds your Carhartt jacket hanging the shelf, folds it, and tucks it under the small of Sug’s back for support.

Richie is in the front of house, yelling at Pete over the phone, both with disdain and love somehow? That’s fathers for you. Fak is respectfully standing in front of the office door with one pile of warm cloths and another pile dry. Was he yelled at when he initially tried to come in? Yes. He’s handing them off to Sydney as needed now.

You scrub your hands clean, dry them, then start rolling on prep gloves at the sink. An apron is thrown around you, you turn your head just so, to see Carmen behind you, tying the neck and then waist of your apron for you.

He’s focused on the knots, but he looks up at you for a split second, meeting your curious gaze, his only explanation is, “S’faster.” You refocus on your gloves, because you’ll go insane if you don’t. It’s a silent exchange.

When you’re both scrubbed and ready, Carmen takes the towels from Fak and you usher for him to switch places with Tina, who slips out along with Sydney.

Everyone else sits outside the office, hushed and worried, and it is just the three of you, in here. Technically four, if you think about it. He sits on his knees so Sugar can elevate her head on his lap. And on the other side of him, about to assist in the birth of his niece, between her legs, is you.

You situate yourself, hands at the ready to catch a baby, towel in your lap.

And if you can just pretend you’re wearing medical gloves instead of prep cook gloves, and scrubs instead of an old Beef apron, you can almost believe it’s three years ago and you’re riding in the back of an ambulance helping a new mom deliver a baby, and Mikey is still alive somewhere where you don’t know him yet. You shake your head out of it. There’s not time for this.

“Alright, you’re doing a great job, just keep breathing, just keep pushing— Sometimes talking helps, uh, with labour.”

“I— What should I talk about—?”

“Oh, uh—” You look up at Carmen as if it’s gonna help you, and in a way, it does, “Why don’t you tell me baby names you’ve been considering? You pick one out?”

“Oh, oh I— Christ— I was thinking maybe, maybe Michaela? Is that stupid? That’s stupid, isn’t it?” She warbles with a stinging level of insecurity.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, Sug.” Carmen’s quick to jump in, swiping her hair out of her eyes. You nod in agreement, backing him up. “I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s a sweet sentiment— Nobody gets to judge the way you mourn, Nat.”

She groans in pain, then groans more pitifully, like being struck with a sudden guilt, “Tony!”

“Yeah, yeah, Nat? I’m here.” You take her hand.

“I was being a bitch before in the bathroom!” She whines this out like a drunk girl’s confession.

You’re quick to lean forward to her, consoling her, as if she is in fact a drunk girl in the bathroom with you, “Nononono, you were fine— Hey, keep pushing, keep breathing— You weren’t bein’ any type a way, you’re good!”

“I was so judgy! I was just like my fucking mom— Oh my God— Am I gonna be my mom?!”

Carmen and you are lightning fast to usher and coo a myriad of denials and flat out ‘No’s. When he gets the chance, he looks up and whispers to you, “What did she say to you?”

He’s far too hung up on this, in this moment. You squint at him, whispering back, oozing with sarcasm, “She can still hear you.”

“I said— I said ‘didn’t see you at the funeral’! Like who says that!?”

Carmen should be looking at his sister, which makes his stare feels ten times more exposing, “You didn’t go to the funeral?”

You shrug, but you feel a mountain of guilt on that shrug, like fucking Atlas. “Neither did you.”

He squints back at you, head tilting just slightly, “Yeah, but—”

“You knew him so much better than we did and I just— You’re so intimidating!”

“Intimidating?” Looking at Carmen’s face, it doesn’t look like he disagrees. Which only shocks you all the more.

“Yes! You know, you’re— You’re—”

“You’re like Mikey.” Carmen finishes for her. She nods, deliriously, trying to focus on her breathing.

“In what way?” You’re way too interested in this conversation, Goddamn it, look at the baby forehead, not the boy.

“You don’t talk like him or nothin’, but—”

“It’s the air!” Sugar shrieks on ‘air’, white knuckle gripping your hand. “You just, you control the temperature— you make rooms easier to breathe in like he did— And I— I wanted to push to see you make it harder to breathe like he—Oh my God!”

“Nat, you’re doing a fantastic job. The head’s a quarter way out, you’re doing —great.” You nod to Carmen, and wordlessly he knows to take your absolutely shattered hand out of her grasp and replace it with his. “And I try my best, but I— Y’know what, this isn’t the time—”

“No! Please, God, keep going!” She is clinging to your words like a telenovela. “This is all I have to keep my mind off my vagina tearing open!”

You nod, you want to wring your hands together but you’re wearing latex gloves. “I just— I didn’t know your brother better than you did. I just— I just knew him when he wasn’t letting a lot of people know him.”

“How did— you become friends with Mikey?”

“Dad was a fixer—”

“No, I know how you met. How did you become friends?”

You pause. God, no one’s ever called you on it. You've always been able to get away with a mere list of factors.

“I, uh…. was a couple jobs in at the Beef, with my dad, and we’d spoken casually before, but I stepped out to get some air, and he was there, havin’ a smoke, and he offered to share, and when I said ‘Oh, I don’t smoke’, he—”

You soften at the thought, eyes distant, smirking. “He went ‘What, are you Amish?’ And I guess, we just… Became friends over how detached and different I was, from everything else in his life. I didn’t know anything about him before The Beef. I didn’t come with expectations or social circles to rat on him to. I was— I was basically Amish, to him.”

You were his lock box. You had no way of using anything he ever said against him, and even if you could, you never would.

He could bitch about his successful baby brother in Denmark, and also rave over how excited he was about his successful baby brother in Denmark. He could do impressions of his little sister's cringey husband, and also show his relief in the fact that she will always be loved. He could tell you how scared he was, he could tell you what Uncle Lee said—he couldn’t tell you he was using. No. He couldn’t tell you. But you would find out, when you had to administer Narcan on him as he was passed out in the back alley of The Beef.

From there, there was nothing you didn’t hear about, nothing he thought would be worth hiding, after that. A diary of confessions is carved into your heart. Your name is carved into your favourite booth at your second favourite diner, not two blocks from here. It’s all the same handwriting.

You didn’t know Mikey better than his siblings did, you just knew how he felt about the things they saw.

Natalie’s shrieking brings you back to earth, you re-cradle your hands for the very top of the baby’s head. Despite the pain she’s in, she was right, your talking really is helping her keep the focus off her pain, “Is—Is that why you didn’t go to the funeral?!” She’s not judgy or mad, she just can’t say anything without full screaming it.

“I don’t— I don’t know if this exact moment is the best time—”

“I decide what time it is!”

Carmen looks up at you, and for the first time, is wincing at the iron clad grip his sister has his hand in— Ironically, the one with the stabbing tattoo. He wheezes, “She— She decides what time it is.”

“Right.” You nod at both of them, eyes wide. Your tone is hasty, you’d rather explain yourself well, but now you just have to explain yourself fast because the baby’s head is three quarters of the way out.

“Well, I, uh, yeah— It was, it was tough. I didn’t— I didn’t want to watch a group of people I’d heard so much about, good and bad, walk up on stage in front of a closed casket— N’— N’ talk about like, cute childhood moments— When I—When I had seen, when I had only seen him at his worst. And I— I liked the Mikey I got, loved the Mikey I got, but I know those last two years were very different. And I guess— I guess, I didn’t wanna learn… What I missed.”

There’s a lot of reasons why you didn’t go to the funeral, but that’s the one you know she’s going to find the most digestible and make some semblance of sense out of, right now.

She nods, repeatedly, deliriously, Carmen holds her head still. “I’m— I’m sorry, Tony.”

“I forgive you, Sug.” You nod back, reassuring, a soft smile for but a moment. “Now breathe, and one last big push— Head’s almost out! Smooth sailing from there, you’re doing so good!”

Just as frantic as Natalie’s screaming, there’s doors slamming, yelling, and what sounds like tripping from outside the office, “Nat! I’m here! I’m here! I’m coming!”

“Oh! Hold it in, Pete’s here—”

“Sugar, again, I hate to tell you this, not how that works!”

It’s about an hour later, you’re sitting out in front of The Bear, on the curb, with Syd.

Tina headed home as soon as she could to get back to her family. Richie said he’s on ‘daddy drop off’ for Eva tomorrow, so he had to head out— And he’s Fak’s ride, so he left too.

Once the baby had been delivered, and you’d screamed at calmly communicated to Carmen to get the exact time for the birth certificate, and Pete had rushed in and almost slipped on the wet sheets and cracked his head open— Everything was totally chill.

Pete’s driving his wife and daughter to Saint Anthony Hospital, where they’ll stay in holding for the next one to two days. Carmen refused to let you clean up on the basis of, ‘you just delivered my niece, get the fuck out’; and is inside, finishing that up. And so, you and Syd are perched up outside, getting some much-needed air, talking about nothing.

“That was fucking— crazy.”

“I think I should start smoking.” Is all you can reply, laughing shakily, eyes on the stars— Though there’s not many. Shout out light pollution. You hug your arms, still in the same outfit, apron-less, jacket-less, cold as fuck.

Syd laughs, “Yeah, that’s the move. For sure.” She sighs, sipping water from a deli cup she’d brought out. “...I’m never fuckin' having kids.”

“No, for sure.” You whistle, leaning back for dramatic effect, “I go back and forth on it a lot, and then I see a mom giving birth or dealing with her goblins and I’m like—”

You look to each other, speaking at the same time, “Free birth control!”

“Genuinely!” You snort, laughing through the words, “I leave cat food out on my fire escape for this one stray on my block, and I think that is as committal as I’m willing to get with taking care of creatures.”

She sniffs, looking at you more peculiarly, still smiling, “I think you’d be a good mom, though.”

Your amused grin sobers into a wistful smile, “I think you’d be a good one, too. Both like taking care of people.”

She punches your shoulder, softly, obviously. “You came through in an insane way, tonight.” When you try to wave it off, she doubles down, “I literally do not know what would’ve happened without you. The Bear is literally in your debt—And—And— You ditched your date, for us.”

You sigh, though smiling, “Syd, it wasn’t—” “It was bad? It was so bad you were kinda wishing this would happen?”

The house lights of The Bear shut off and Carmen comes out as you respond, locking the door behind him.

“I cannot fathom a date so bad that I actively hope my friend’s sister goes into labour and needs me to deliver her kid.”

“So it wasn’t bad?” She leans forward onto her knees, like she’s about to get the daily scoop.

“Not what I said, no, you keep cuttin—”

“You cold?” It’s Carmen who cuts you off this time, standing behind you both. You turn your head to him, still hugging your shoulders. He looks …stiffer than usual? Tense? You can’t tell the adjective, he just looks… Different. Or maybe it’s just a default you’ve never noticed. But you think you would’ve noticed.

You stand up, as does Syd. “Oh, yeah. I thought I’d like… Rinse my Carhartt before I wear it again. I’m good, though.”

He pauses where he is, like he’s computing, then shakes his head, “Don’t act tough.” And takes off his jean-fleece jacket, holding it out for you. Who are you to refuse that?

When you reach for it, he pivots in time to put the sleeve over your arm for you, then the other. You quickly recall the walk-in, and suddenly this feels like divine retribution. God, it’s weird to be cared for in return. God, he cares for you? Don’t start ruminating right now, holy shit—

“Thanks.” You cough, awkwardly, looking to Syd, pointing your fingers to both of them. “Ride? Ride?”

Syd holds her bag over her shoulder, and you can already tell what she’s gonna say. “I’ll take the—”

“If you say L instead of my fuckin’ car, it’s your ass, Adamu.” It’s past twelve. No way.

“…I’ll take the ‘your fucking car’, please.” She bows her head down, you throw your arm over her shoulder, dragging her with you. “That's my girl!”

You turn your head over your shoulder to Carmy, his weird different demeanour has somewhat melted away, good enough. “You comin? I’m holding your jacket hostage this time, so you kinda have to.”

He follows close behind you two, sheepish. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the ride.”

“Who wants to sit in the back?”

“Isn’t the hot-seat s’posed to be shotgun?” Syd questions.

“You know, people say that, but that’s for when you wanna socialize, when it’s late you wanna sprawl in the back and pretend you’re the last person on earth.”

“You make a compelling argument, my friend.” Syd taps her nose, grinning. She calls to Carmy behind her. “I call the back!”

“Is it bad if I don’t check on my dad, while I’m here?” You park in front of Syd’s place. You know it well, your dads live on the same block. “No, right? It’s twelve in the morning and no matter what you both say, I think I do still smell vaguely of afterbirth.”

“If I were your dad, I think I would prefer to not be visited, right now, yeah.” Syd nods, taking her seat-belt off.

“Woww,” You eye her through the rear-view mirror, “You don’t love your daughter, Syd? Wouldn’t get up at midnight for me?” Carmen laughs from the sidelines into his fist, leaned against the window.

“Of course I would, my sweet child!” She snickers, reaching forward to pinch and pull your cheek, you slap her hand away. “Alright, fuck off.”

When she pulls back and goes to grab her stuff, you remember. “Oh! There should be a lil’ gift bag, somewhere on the ground back there?”

“Yeah,” She procures the bag, lifting it up to her head for you to see. “This thing?”

You nod, “Open it.”

“Oh what!?” She groans, before even opening it, “You got me a present and have saved me twice? Did you kill a loved one of mine or something?”

You laugh, shrugging. “Bloodlust is insatiable. But, y’know, I’m proud of you for opening and getting Head, I wanted to commemorate, or whatever.” You shove Carmen’s shoulder, getting his attention, “Yours is coming, by the way, I just need a lil’ more time on it.”

He seems perplexed by the idea that you’re getting him a gift, even though you already told him you would, but he nods. Syd unbags her present, “What…?”

In a small box, with a clear lid so she can see through, is a white Dickie peter pan style collar. Tacked onto both lapels are gold circular collar pins. On the left one, it has the initial S, and the other A; both in gold over a white background. A thin gold chain connects the two pins, across the neck. All fake gold, duh, you’re not rich. But it’s still gorgeous. And thoughtful.

“‘You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.’” You repeat her own words back to her, looking at her through the rear-view mirror, smiling. “I thought maybe a little extra personal touch on the uniform would help with that. The collar’s really just to explain how the fuck it works, but I also sweat so much in your kitchen, so I thought it could be use—” Syd cuts into your ramblings, swinging her arm over your headrest to hug you, more like choke. But with love, so you hug her arm back. “—Full.”

“You’re a great daughter, Tony.” She squeezes. “Thank you.” You just squeeze her arm back.

She shows the gift off to Carmen, who seems genuinely impressed, he can’t stop glancing between the gift and you. You remember things. “Beautiful, Chef.”

“Oh, oh oh, before you go—” You snap your fingers, “I’m coming to the wedding gig, fuckin’ uh… Vickie and Merman? That can’t be right…”

“You’re coming to Vinnie and Mira’s wedding?” Ah, count on Carmen to know names. It's his family, after all. Or family adjacent? Unsure.

You nod, “Bar-tending. Cicero got me. You’re catering?”

He nods, “30k is 30k.” Syd backs him up. “It’d be fucking stupid, if we said no, especially since they’re taking expenses.”

“We should like, coordinate or something—” “Wait!”

Syd interrupts, clutching the shoulders of your seat and Carmen’s. “When did you see Cicero?”

“Uh, couple hours ago? When you were spamming?”

Syd squints, looking into the middle distance like she’s just cracked a case wide open. Hot outfit. Denial of dates. Cicero. “Oh my god... Cicero’s your sugar daddy?”

“What?!” Lightning speed, both you and Carmen yell. Probably for entirely different reasons and confusions.

“No! Syd, I was at work—” “Well, it is a type of job—” “I am not doing any sort of code for Sugar Baby activities! I was at a real place of business and he was there, he asked me to bar-tend, he said y’all would be there.” You gesture with your hands wildly as a form of enunciation.

“Right…” She opens the door behind her, eye contact un-breaking. “I’m gonna figure you out…”

You roll your eyes, waving goodbye with one hand, flipping her off with the other. “Text me your hotel plans for New York, loser. We can split a room.”

“Okay, loser! See you. See you tomorrow, Carm!” She waves you off, shutting the car door behind her. Carmen waves back to her. Once she’s safely inside, he turns to you. You speak before he can.

“Listen, there’s something about being around your childhood friend, and also around your old neighbourhood, dropping her off at home like you used to in high school, that makes you completely age regress into a sixteen-year-old.”

He smiles, putting his hands up in defense. “I didn’t say shit.”

“I could feel the judgment, radiating.”

“I, I wasn’t—” He chuckles awkwardly, scratching his nose to hide his eyes. “I thought it was cool. To uh, see, a different side to—to both of you.”

“Awe.” You pull off the curb, driving off. “Wonder what you were like, as a teen.”

He laughs, “A fuckin’ loser, is what.”

“Eh, I was too.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Oh? We go to the same fuckin’ high-school, Berzatto?” You flick your gaze from the road to him for a moment. “I think I would’ve remembered.”

He rolls his eyes, though you don’t see it, back on the road. “You wouldn’t have been a loser. Not like, like me level loser, at least.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Too nice.”

“That’s true. I was an angel.” You hum. “I was well known but not popular, I tended to hang out with the more fringe people. Also, I was fucking depressed, I missed like, half my junior year with fake sick days.”

“Hm.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the head rest, tilting his vision to you. “I would’ve thought you were cool.”

“I would’ve thought you were cool, too.” You smile. “I bet we would’ve been friends.”

He just hums in reply, not confirming or denying, lost in thought. He tilts his head back to look at the road. You speak up after a moment, “Where are we headed, by the way?”

 He straightens up in his seat immediately, leaning forward. “Oh, oh right, fuck, directions—”

“That, but also like, I can drop you somewhere else— Like, not home.”

“Like?”

Like your place. “Like uh, I dunno, if you wanted to go to the hospital? If you’re like… A hospital family?”

He snorts, “A hospital family?”

“Like, for my nephew, I didn’t go to the hospital, I met him a week later. But you did already meet your niece— So maybe you get a pass?”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re a hospital family, anymore, anyways.” Ah. The silent knowing. The glue that was there is gone. “You have a nephew?”

“Yeah, you wanna see photos?”

“Oh, uh, yeah—”

“I’m fucking with you.” You chuckle, “No one wants to see photos. But I do have a nephew.” You click your teeth. “You have now joined me at Aunt and Uncle status, people will congratulate you despite the fact that you contribute nothing to becoming one. Congratulations.”

You reach a hand out, awkwardly shaking his hand for a second before right back to the wheel. It’s hard to move one hand up and down and also drive. Carmen just shakes his head, chuckling. A win.

“We could also go shopping.” You shrug. “Buy your niece some baby shit? Or, you’re tired, so I should probably just drop you—”

“Let’s go shopping, yeah.” He’s quick to interrupt, pivoting to face you. Anything to keep the night going, with you. “If uh, if you want.”

“There’s always something I need to re-up on, I’m down.” You nod to him, more specifically, his phone in his lap. “Can you find the nearest 24/7 department store, for me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He fiddles with his phone, getting directions, then balances it on the console so you can see. There’s a lull of comfortable silence as the adrenaline from you two delivering a fucking baby wears off. God, the trauma bond between you is as thick as a lead pipe at this point. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing. You don’t want to find out.

He’s first to break the silence. “Left up here.” Just reading you the directions, and then tacks on, as you take the left. “…Where were you, when we called?”

You groan, though smiling, “Not you fuckin’ too, Carmy!”

“I—” He laughs, disingenuous, you can tell. “I just wanna know, if, if we really did interrupt somethin’ for you.”

“You wanna know if I went on a date.” Not a question, a statement.

His mouth opens, shuts, opens. He shrugs. “A little.”

“Why, you wanna ask me out?”

What. What. What. What. Why— Where— Who—Huh? Crash the car. Why did you say that? Why would you say that? Crash the car right now. Veer into that streetlamp. Kill both of you. Instantly. Those should be your last words. Do it. Do it!

You cough, clearing your throat after a solid one second of silence— Eons too long. “I was— I was actually at work. Not lying to make you feel better. Didn't ruin shit, for me.” You’re certain you’re fumbling this, as you fake laughter at your cool joke, definitely a joke because he literally broke up with his girlfriend yesterday and that was an insane thing to say. Disrespectful, even.  

He’s silent, for a good few seconds, which again, centuries. If you were looking at him instead of the road, you’d see he looks like a deer in headlights, but like, a deer that is somewhat hoping he does get hit by that car.

“…What’s your work?” He flits between you and the GPS. “Straight through this intersection.”

“Bartender.”

“What bar?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“That’s why I’m asking. Take a right up here.”

You turn your head to look right, and also at him. He’s looking at you expectantly. You grimace, taking the turn. He’s not gonna let this go. “…Eden’s.”

He squints. “…Isn’t that—”

“VIP bar and club, yes.”

He backs up in his seat, thinking. Prodding at his inner cheek. “You’re a—”

“Alright, I’m a fuckin’ bottle girl, Carm!” You groan, wanting to say the realization before he could. “I do bar too— And I have been a sommelier, but yes, I am a fuckin’ ‘throw around bottles with flashlights strapped to them’ girl.”

“Turn into there, up left.” He crosses his arms, you’ve raised your voice but he hasn’t. “Is it… Good?”

You sigh, “Tips are good. And I tend to get put on bar. I’m only on-call, it’s just when they’re down someone and I’m down on services for the month.”

He nods, slow, pensive. You shrug, turning into the lot of the department store. A Target. The nice Target, too. “Gotta make rent somehow, y’know?”

He nods again, very clearly lost in thought. You park the car, in a relatively empty lot. He’s still thinking; you turn to him. “…You good, Carm?”

He turns his head up to you, at a molasses like speed. The gears are visibly turning in his head. “What if you worked at The Bear?”

“…Huh?”

“You could, you could do bar.”

“You don’t have a bar.”

“You could make drinks, in the back. We don’t have a drinks guy.”

You take a deep breath, thinking. That is really, what you want. You’d be at The Bear, every day. It’d feel like home. You’d spend time with your second family instead of an ever-turning roster of old male customers. Your coworkers at Eden aren’t bad, but you never quite clicked as family. Not like you did at The Beef. Not like you did at The Bear. You’re staring at Carmen, and his face is slowly morphing into a golden ticket.

Carmen wants you to quit. Carmen’s maybe never wished for the downfall of someone’s career more than right now. Or maybe it’s an uptick? He wants your success, really. The Bear would be an upgrade. You’d be at his restaurant, in his uniform. In the back, making drinks, where no one’s going to look at you, whistling, turning heads. You could make him lavender coffee, every morning. He could put it on the menu. You could work on a cocktail menu together. An evening coffee menu, too, maybe. He could spend the rest of his miles to send you to Paris, have you visit wineries to learn about different types of grapes and shit. He could come with you, maybe, if he got the time off. Who’s he kidding. He’ll never get the time off. But you could send him photos. An entire lifetime is rolling on in Carmen’s head, as he waits for your answer.

“You can hire me.”

There’s a wreath of grapevines, cascading over your shoulders, but then you poke his shoulder, and— “When—” they vanish. “—You can afford to.”

He squints, heart stuttering. “We-We can afford—”

“No the fuck you can’t.” You interrupt, shaking your head. “You and Syd are unpaid, right now, I’m not coming on until I see you cashing cheques.”

The coffee in his head hasn’t gone cold just yet. “But you will come work for us?”

You smile, nodding. You put your hand out for him to shake on it, he does. “You’ve got a promised bartender, Berzatto.”

He’s beaming, he’s trying to hide it, but his eyes are too bright for one in the morning. It’s impossible to not see it. But he keeps his cool persona, just nodding. “Cool. That's cool. Let’s uh, let’s—”

You smack your thigh, opening your car door. “Let’s get fucking going!”

It’s a ghost town in the store. You’re pretty sure you could rob this place blind, and not a single worker would bat an eye— If there’s even an employee here right now. You stroll through aisles relatively quickly— Carmen doesn’t have to wake up insanely early tomorrow, since The Bear doesn’t currently have a morning schedule— But he does have to get up at a decent time for Syd, who’s coming over to rework the menu.

Yeah, he took your advice. He’s working on being a better partner. He’s even grabbing ingredients that spark something in him, mumbling cooking terms you couldn’t utter back to him if you tried. It’s a stunning sight, to watch him work in this way. In his element.

Which makes him, in the Children’s Department, completely out of his element, look so much funnier.

“What the fuck do you buy a baby?” He stares down the aisle, alarmed, confused, possibly a touch scared. He turns his head to you, expectant, as though you’re a prophet who’ll save him. “What the fuck did you get your nephew?”

You shrug, counting on your hand. “A Peter Rabbit book, a teething toy that doubles as a stuffy, and a onesie—Or I think they’re called rompers? When they don’t go all the way to the feet?”

He squints, scratching behind his ear. “Do they use any of that shit, when they’re new?”

“No.” You deadpan. “But, my brother reads to him at night and baby switched from holding to teething pretty easy when the time came. Clothes are honestly the most useless. They outgrow that shit in two seconds.”

He nods, looking nowhere, thinking. “Bear and book?”

“Bear and book. Plus something for your sister.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not giving away my ideas.”

“You’re getting her something?”

“How haven’t you gotten my love language is acts of service and gifts at this point?”

“You could gift me with an idea.”

You cannot bite back the smile on your face. You shake your head and roll your eyes, walking ahead to get the bear and book. “I’m getting her a heating pad. You can get her bubble bath shit.”

The bear is cute. It’s incredibly squishable, he’s got adorable heart shaped nose and blue instead of pink on his ears. You’re holding the babe, since Carmen’s basket is full of groceries and you didn’t want to get the sweet little gentleman dirty. Carmen does not like that you keep calling the bear a sweet little gentleman. You do it more.

You offer up the Berenstain Bears for a book, he simply walks away from you. Oh, suddenly it’s bad to make this child’s life entirely bear themed? What world do we live in? You agree on Frog and Toad.

You split up for a couple minutes, he’s getting soaps on one end of the store, you’re getting a heating pad on the other. Plus the smallest bottle of bleach you can find.

It is a bizarre sight, you imagine, for the greeters watching you. Walking around, clutching a bear to your chest, holding a bottle of bleach in one hand, a boxed up electric heating pad in the other. Wearing a jean jacket that’s both a little too big for you and yet too small to button over your chest—and if they’re paying attention, underneath, a red leather corset. God, it’s one in the morning. Your makeup has probably melted off by now.

When you meet back up, he’s in the Hygiene aisle, relaxing bubble bath with Epsom salts already in his basket. Good Carm, he learns fast. Even better, he’s in the Men’s Hygiene section.

…Staring at Old Spice scents.

Your entire system completely reboots for no good reason. You blue screen mid-step. Thank God, his back is to you, so he doesn’t catch this. You sidle up next to him, coolly, squatting down to look at the scents on the bottom shelf.

“Every lesbian I know uses Wolfthorn.”

He turns his head to look down at you, flattening his lips in a line to not laugh. “You want me to smell like a lesbian?”

You tilt your head to look up at him, shrugging. “You currently smell like a bisexual.”

He still smells like you. Well, mostly he smells like seared meat and fish, but underneath that, he smells like your soap and shampoo.

He snorts, taken aback slightly by the subtle come out, covering the bottom half of his face with his free hand.

“You should get the fuckin…” You stand, finger waving over the bottles looking for the right one. “The relaxing one. Get all the advantages you can.”

He hums, “You like lavender?”

“In doses.” You shrug, swallowing. He thinks you’re intimidating? You feel like you’re under a microscope, the way he looks to you. “I get a headache, when it’s too strong.”

He nods, grabs the Bearglove scented one, and starts walking. Not letting you question the choice. You hurriedly follow after, heading to the self-check-out with him. He walks and talks. “What’s with the bleach?”

You stare at him for a long while, squinting. He stops walking to face you. “What?”

“I’m debating whether or not I tell you.”

“Are you gonna poison me?”

You click your teeth and snap your fingers, ‘awe shucks’. “You’ve foiled my plan.”

He smiles, but looks at you expectantly. You shrug, you must acquiesce. “It’s for your present.”

“You said you hate the painting in The Bear, so I’m making you a new one.”

It’s his turn to blue screen. You add, “If you end up hating it, you don’t have to put it up, but I wanted to take a shot at making a piece that’s you, like you wanted.”

All he can bring himself to do is nod, because if he doesn’t, he’ll spill his guts in the middle of this Target.  “I’ll hold off on getting a new one, then.”

He taps his card before you can, when you use self-checkout. He shrugs when you grumble about this. “I owe you gas money.”

“You did not owe me thirty dollars of gas money.”

“Then I’ve got credit in advance.”

It’s half past one in the morning, when you park in front of his place. Two nights in a row, this is gonna fuck with your schedule… Eh, when did you ever really have a schedule?

“Thank you.” He turns to you with a striking certainty, swallowing. “Like. For everything. I think I could’ve died every single day for the past few days, if you weren’t there.”

When you open your mouth to brush off the thank you, because he knows you’ll brush off the thank you, he hovers a finger in front of your face, shushing you. “Don’t give me that ‘no big deal’ shit, neither. It’s been a big fuckin’ deal to me.”

You sigh, nodding, you take his hand where it hangs in the air, bringing it down. You’re still holding it. You’re hoping he forgets that you are. He absolutely won't. “…I just don’t like it when people feel like they owe me. Other than, y’know, doing actual handyman shit for money.”

He nods, “I don’t feel like I owe you. I want to pay it back.”

You shrug, “You’ve fed me every day. So, that’s kind of a huge return.”

“You delivered a baby.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to make you feel better.” You lift your hands in defense, letting go of his hand. You regret it. “I’m very cool, we know.”

“You are.” He chuckles, but his words are sincere. Why is he looking at you so hard?

“What?” You cross your arms, looking back at him.

“You delivered a baby.” He repeats, wonderment in his voice.

You nod. “Not the first time. Which is lucky, not every paramedic has experienced a code O-B. I don’t wanna give you an unrealistic expectation.”

“How was that?”

“The code O-B?”

He tilts his head back and forth, ‘kinda’. “Being a paramedic.”

“Hard.” You nod, straightening up. “Hard. Went to school for two years, straight out of high school. Spent three years as a first responder. It was… Fucked. I cut like...”

You chuckle when you say it, shaking your head, but the feeling isn’t amusement, “Everyone out of my life. Not on purpose, just by design. The hours are insane, obviously, and my co-workers… Like, you expect to be the youngest in the room, and so, when you’re surrounded by kids your age, breaking some grandma’s ribs, doing C-P-R in the back of a shrieking, speeding truck…” You trail off, looking down.

“It’s uh… It was tough, yeah.” You sniff, not crying, just filling silence, looking back up at him.

He nods, “…That sounds pretty fuckin’ tough, yeah.” He’s thankful that you gift him with a laugh, however dry. “And you just switched to, to handiwork?”

You shrug, so-so. “I would’ve kept doing it, is the thing. Which is kinda scary to say. But, basically— In the free time I did have, my dad, who owned Chicago’s Kindest, would ask me to come fix shit with him— Which, would seem tiring, but he really just made me hold a flashlight and hand him shit, most of the time. It was more like… His dad way of asking to hang out.”

“And uh, it’s a old family business, right. He’s been doin’ that shit since I was born. And uh, when he started—” You flex your hands and fingers, cracking them, staring at them. “Gettin’ arthritis and all the other fun old people weaknesses, I started working and he started holding the flashlight… It was kind of a no brainer, when he told me he had to retire. To make the switch, I mean.”

You click your teeth, looking back up at him after a moment, “Sorry, I’m fuckin’ talking too much—” “No, no.”

“I— I, It’s good when you talk too much.” You do not notice the way his jaw grinds, for just a second. Cursing himself out in his head for bowing out at the last minute there.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean your arm on the shoulder of your seat, then your head against your arm. “Yeah, good bedtime story, at least.” You check the time on your phone. Almost two. “You’ve gotta fuckin’ go to bed. You’re probably gonna need to meet with Uncle J, anyways.”

“…Oh fuck.” He rubs his hand over his face when he realizes.

You continue, nodding, cringing for him. “Maternity leave, catering gig— You’re in for a fuckin’ day tomorrow, Berzatto. Need your beauty sleep.”

He swallows, nodding repeatedly, head in hands. “Yeah, yeah, I do.” He laughs, halfheartedly. “Thank you. Uh, for all the shit, again, and the ride. And the detour.”

You shrug, “Welcome. More fun with you, anyways.”

He nods, eyes going from straight at you to literally anywhere else. He fiddles with the door handle for a moment, though he’s turns towards you, not the door. It looks like he’s having a wrestling contest with his own brain. You’re not sure who, but someone wins. “I, I uh, do want to, by the way.”

You furrow your brows, a little worried, honestly. “Want to do what?”

“Ask you out.”

…

It’s sort of like, all the facilities of your stupid brain shut off. You think the teenager tripped over an important wire and every thought and ability to contextualize feelings has left. The same has happened to him, of course, and now it just comes down to both of your now palaeolithic brains to rapid fire responses to each other.

He adds, “Not right now, but, eventually. After, y'know, we— we know each other better.”

You nod. He continues, rambling. “And I’ve— I can’t split my time, right now. I’ve gotta-gotta focus on The Bear, right now, and- and Syd, right now.”

“That should be priority, yeah.”

“—I’m not expecting you to wait—Or-Or even say—.”

“I will.”

It’s his turn to go mum. You play with the stray baby hairs on the back of your neck, explaining.

“The timing right now, like, could not be worse for you.”

“Right.”

“You just started a new business,” “—Yeah—” “That you’re 800k in the hole for,” “—A little less—” “You just went through a break up.”

“Not a rebound.” He’s quick to assure, with a certainty. “If that’s—If that’s a concern.”

You smile, shaking your head, “Not a concern for me, concerned for you. I just wanted to agree with you, that the time for it isn’t right now.”

He laughs, softly, through an exhale. “You don’t wanna convince me otherwise?”

You laugh, shaking your head. You straighten up, putting your hands down. You feel bolder. He’s sort of asked you out, he’s called you pretty, he smells like you, you’re wearing his jacket, he’s staring at your mouth. No risky half-joke is gonna get rid of you now. Probably.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, just so you’ll fuck me, Carm.”

It’s like, a sleeper agent activates, in his brain. Like you’ve done the fucking Konami code. He goes from nerve wracked to nerve wracking. Reaching over the console, fast, hand on the back of your head, pulling you while also meeting you in the middle— And he’s about to go for it, not give you a second to reject him, before he thinks better. Well, kind of.

Holding you there, “I’m going to kiss you.” It’s not posed as a question, but it’s functioning as one.

You stare, wide eyed, taking in his features. Taking in his already waning confidence. “…Sure.”

And he does. And he’s realizing, as he pushes you towards him, pressing his mouth to yours, that this is so so so different, from Claire. You are not going to distract him— In a good way. You wouldn’t let him. You’re prioritizing him, even when that means you need to wait on him. You want to know him, first. He wants to know you. You were being funny, sure, when you said you wouldn’t lie to fuck him— But God, think of how much that means. He sure is. And now, that he knows you have so much respect for his work, his mind, his body, and are happy to just get to know him as a friend first—to give him the space and time he needs— He immediately wishes he'd never asked for said space.

He's holding your head to him, unyielding—Unless you signalled otherwise, but you haven’t yet. At the same time, he’s also pushing your shoulder back, pushing you back, leaning over the center console. He's realizing he's never really gotten the idea of wanting to give oneself and take another. He’s taking in everything, taking everything you’re willing to give.

He knows your conviction well enough, at this point, when it comes to others. He’s asked for time, and that essentially means, the second he stops, he’s going to be locked off from doing this again. He has to give everything—then take everything he can. Ration it out, over weeks. God, what if it’s months? You wouldn’t hold this from him for months, surely?

You tap his neck, gently, and he swears he hears— Feels a gasp. A moan? Don’t think about it. He pulls away, just a few centimetres. He smells like you. He still smells like you. Staring. Soft, scary, eye contact. It’s two in the morning, your makeup has melted, your lip gloss has evaporated, but it doesn’t look like it. No. They’re perfectly wet, blush pink bottom lip. Don’t think about it. He thinks about it; he doesn’t think about his next sentence. You speak at the same time, and for the first time, don’t say the same thing.

“Do you wanna come up?”

“You’ve gotta go, Carmy.”

He shakes his head; you can’t be serious. You’re so sweet, and now you’d be so cruel? You laugh at him, incredulous. He swallows, correcting himself, “Come up and—And sleepover, just that. Make you breakfast, again.” He kisses you, again, selfish. He knows that. He’s at peace with it.

“Carmy,” Good start, that deserves a kiss. “—as much as I’d love to see your apartment—”

“You’d hate it.” He cuts you off, God, it looks like you’re gonna keep talking, and he’s going to have to respect that. He switches to your jawline. “I don’t have a bookshelf.”

“You— Hold on, you don’t have a bookshelf, Carmen?”

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Don’t bite! How many books do you have?”

“Ninety-one. Cookbooks. I narrowed down for the move.”

“Where do you— Christ— Keep ninety-one books?”

“Floor.”

“Floor?!”

“I told you you’d hate it.”

“I don’t hate it, I just— You deserve to have nice things.”

He pulls back again, staring at you, practically wheezing he’s breathing so heavy. He thinks on it for a second, this time. He wants nice things, too. You make him believe he deserves nice things. You're why he took a chance, took a risk, and told you he wanted to see if more could happen. He believes he deserves nice things. Nice you.“Come up.”

This motherfucker is evil, you think. He’s asked you to hold a conviction, asked you to hold a level of patience, for him. And you’re trying so hard to hold that conviction— While he’s actively trying to make you break it the second he’s decreed it. You’re hanging by a thread here. You cradle his face in both hands, kissing him on your own accord, this time. He takes this as meaning he’s supposed to go insane again. You laugh, and that makes it hard for him to not laugh too, which makes it hard to kiss you.

“Carmy.” You hold him back by his shoulders, just slightly. Giggling. You’re smiling, he can get you to fold, if he puts his mind to it. “You’ve got Syd coming over in the morning, all week—”

“Not until noon.”

“Baby, not the point.” Oh, pet names. Good. You called him Sweetheart when he was locked in the freezer, and that was all his brain had to work with until now. God, why did he say he wanted to get to know you first? You can do two things at the same time. You're multi-faceted.

“The sooner—” You wheeze, looking at him, he looks insane. “The sooner you go get sleep, the sooner the morning will come, the week will go by, you’ll start being able to pay yourself, soon enough. I’ll become your bar back, you’ll be able to take time for yourself, and you’ll ask me out.”

He stares at you, thinking. “…I don’t think it’d go any faster—” “Carmen!” You squeeze his face with one hand. “Bedtime!”

He nods, finally, escaping his fugue state. “Okay.” He reaches into the back to grab his grocery bags. Christ, don’t look at the midriff, motherfucker, lock in! Lock it in!

You start to peel off his jean jacket to return it, he’s quick to stop you.

“Keep it. Wear it to work. Til you quit.” He looks at you, considering something once again, groceries in hand. “…Wear this too.”

After he finally gets out, and you wave to him from your window, waiting for him to get inside safely. You drive off, heading home. You take a long fucking breath. Slowly, your motor skills and cognitive abilities return to you.

You take one hand off the steering wheel, fishing out your rope chord necklace from your pocket. You rub your thumb over the plastic pendant, a year-old self-soothing method, by now.

You think about something Mikey said off-handedly, quite often, you squint, staring at the road ahead, perplexed, driving home with the first hickey you’ve had in a minute. You shout out in your car, pleading for an answer from beyond the grave here.

“Mikey, are you sure he’s a virgin?!”

Before we even, start here-- Number one, I'm sure you've forgotten at this point, but I will eat that lightbulb, motherfucker-- I just wrote 8k, I need my k of thoughts in return!! What'd you like! What stuck out to you! Favourite lines/moments!

What even happened in this chapter, deadass, I can't remember it all. Let's try to summarize.

Birth (woah!)

Mikey talks, a lil more of their friendship revealed, cute

Syd and Tony being cute as hell. Speaking of, I'm Desi, so I write Tony like a WOC-- I don't think it makes a huge difference to their dynamic, but I felt like noting it. Oh, Tony's gift!! Collar pins!!

Jacket exchange program, fr.

We would've been friends in highschool.

Why!!! You wanna ask me out!!!??? (crashes car)

Haha, what if you worked for me? (imagines a full perfect life together) I'm so normal.

(buys the brand of body wash you like) (specifically doesn't get the one that could give you a headache after a prolonged period of time) (even if it's the relaxing one) This is what normal people do.

Paramedic/Chicago's Kindest backstory!

(pseudo) ASKS OUT!! TENATIVELY!! REALLY JUST GOT SO FUCKING SCARED BY THE IDEA OF YOU GOING ON A DATE WITH SOMEONE TONIGHT THAT HE HAD TO TAKE THE PLUNGE.

kith.

That was the coin flip, btw. Hehehe. Heads he goes full smooch, Tails you go 'alright, sick, see u later', and he leaves. I could see it going either way. Carmen's a reserved guy. I knew I was going to make him state his interest, because I wanted to try out a lil something new. In the past, I've had the climax of a romance be 'omg we like each other how nice', and I wanted to try out the idea of these two knowing they like each other, and basically trying to maintain that. Thought it'd be fun.

Oh, this one's serious. I gotta know-- Good kiss? God I feel like someone's first boyfriend. I do not write sequences of intimacy. I go 'they fucking kiss, hurray, next scene'. And so, I really gave it my all here. I hope it turned out. I think Carm and Tony had so much tension piled on top of so much trauma that it simply couldn't have not been so feral.

Anyways, I expect an essay on my desk tomorrow. Thesis statements with supporting evidence, motherfucker. I love u. I hope u liked it <3

I start my job next week so I'm trying to write as much as possible before then, lmao.

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fx #the bear #carmen berzatto x female reader

[railingsofsorrow]

you're worth fighting for

summary: sequel to old habits or... in which there's an angry love confession between exes

pairings: emily prentiss x f!bau!reader

warnings/content: heated arguments; language; discussion about a breakup; weapons; mentions of an altercation with an unsub that involves a gun; Angst!; suggestive content (no smut); grammar errors? I proofread this at 2am

a/n: the part 2 some of you asked for. this WILL have a part 3 so don't kill me. be patient.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

[part 1] [part 3]

━━━━━━━━━

“why would you do that?” you bursted inside her office. everyone had left already, it was late, the jet ride itself was tiring because you had to stare at emily in front of you since it was the only seat left. you just wanted to lay down in your bed and rot honestly. but you couldn't do that without letting your anger out first.

emily had pushed you out of the way as the unsub aimed at you. he fired at her. it hit her arm, grazed it, actually, but still. she took a bullet for you and you were about to fucking steal that gun from him and shot him in the head for that. you were so mad, but your rage was directed at the wrong person and you would think about that tonight as you laid in bed, not now. because now, she needed to hear it.

“why would you get in front of me—”

emily barely looked up from the pile of files in her desk. “because there was a gun being pointed at you?”

“yeah, well, I had it handled!” you jabbed through gritted teeth.

she nodded, turning around to put something inside her bag. she had the audacity of getting her stuff ready to go home while you were furiously trying to talk to her. “sure. yeah. your idea was to take off your bulletproof vest like a damn martyr and go for a conversation? that guy was reckless and unpredictable, do you think that would've worked?”

you rubbed a hand against your face. “oh, I'm sorry I didn't listen to an order of my unit chief and now your ego is bruised, emily.”

that seemed to have an affected on her because it was the first time she reacted other than being completely blank since you walked inside her office.

her dark brown eyes narrowed at you, “my ego— that's not about me. you could've seriously gotten hurt. you could have gotten shot!” she scolded you as you raised a brow in response.

“well, I didn't because you pushed me out of the way with your fucking hero complex, so thank you.”

emily sighed in the way you knew she was tired of that conversation and she would do anything to appease you to get out of the situation. “what's gotten into you?”

you bit your inner cheek so hard that the metallic taste of blood reached your tongue. “nothing, emily.” you said with a resigned tone. already tired of being in the same room as her. “have a good night.”

the sound of her heels echoed through the room as you were about to leave.

“that wasn't about my ego.” you halted, hand wavering at the doorknob. “it had nothing to do with me, but if you had gotten hurt under my watch I would've never—”

“so it is about you in a way.”

emily brushed her hair back with both hands as she did when she was frustrated. “what do you want me to do? not care about you?”

you swallowed the urge to scream in her face, instead, you leveled your voice into a calm tone.

“i wish you cared before. I wish you cared when I was at your door begging you for a reasonable explanation for being dumped. that's what I fucking wanted, emily. I wanted you to choose me. but you picked paris and you picked london and you picked fucking interpol—”

and none of that was fair. she didn't choose paris. she didn't choose to be pulled into doyle's maddening scheme. but you weren't being exactly reasonable right now. you weren't mad at her but at the things that contributed to take her away from you. the things that took away the woman you loved.

her eyes widened slightly, lips parting in astonishment. she probably wasn't expecting to be cornered like that.

“god i just wished that for once you'd choose me.”

“i do.” she said, voice faltering. “I did.”

you shook your head “no, you didn't. you left every time. that's choosing me?”

“i thought I was protecting you.” she said, taking a step further into your space. you watched warily as she did it. a month ago she wouldn't as much as look you in the eye, but something changed these last few weeks.

something in her snapped. after the short conversation both of you had in that cold night, she couldn't get what you said out of her mind. emily made a lot of mistakes in her life, she would revisit them constantly as some form of punishment and the worst of those was letting you go. that was the worst thing she could have done, because it took a part of her away. she didn't felt whole anymore. it completely shattered her. but that was her choice, she had to deal with it. she had to work with you and watch as you laughed with your coworkers but only spared her a close lipped smile now.

it was easier this way, wasn't it?

no. it fucking wasn't. and emily was so tired of being selfless. she was done trying to play the hero, she just wanted to get the girl, was that too hard to ask?

“i made the terrible mistake of pushing you away and I regret that every single day since then.” she paused as you studied her closely, trying to decide whether or not she was being truthful. “i'd take a thousand bullets for you and there are no versions of any universe in which I'd let you get hurt because I can't bear the thought of losing you. so this?” she mentioned at her bandaged upper arm. “this is nothing.”

this was the moment where you'd rather emily just nod her head and let you walk out. she was good at doing that, she wasn't good at fighting, she was the type of person to avoid arguments.

you weren't ready for her to fight back.

“if you want to blame me for saving you, fine. do that. but I won't stop because I love you and I won't stand to see you in danger and do nothing about it.”

“you what?” you blinked up at her, feeling your heart beat hard against your ribcage.

emily itched to touch you, but she contained herself. “i love you.” she said instead, gaze falling to your lips and then moving up to lock her eyes into yours again.

now was the time she was supposed to profile your micro expressions and conclude your emotions. that didn't happen. emily couldn't focus on anything besides your closed distance and your perfume and you.

you exhaled slowly, taking a step back but was promptly cornered by the door. “you can't say that.”

“why not?”

“you're not supposed to say that.” emily frowned as you stepped aside and started pacing around the room.

“and why not?”

“because, emily!” you hollered with a certain desperation in your tone and she couldn't be more confused on what you were talking about. “you—you're not supposed to admit that out loud. you can't—” your eyes ran around her office in search for something that you seemed to find in her desk. “you can't have a picture of us in your desk. or call me sweetheart when you think I'm hurt in the field and you certainly can't say you love me six months after breaking up with me!”

“but I do!” emily exclaimed to match your raised tone of voice. “i never stopped. and I'm done trying to hide it.”

“why are you doing this now?” you questioned with batted breath.

“it's not too late for us,” emily raised her hand to gently touch yours. her touch burned you and you wanted to just bury yourself in her arms for good. that was how you felt safe. “i want to fix what I messed up, please tell me it's not too late for that.”

you stared into her eyes, drowning in the brown that took you to burned leaves in autumn season. eye contact. that was a form for you two to communicate through roundtable meetings, in the field and literally any outings between the team. it was affectionate. loving. intimate.

you were never a fan of eye contact before emily. it felt uncomfortable with other people, almost violating. but with emily it was... comforting. her way of telling you she was there and that she understood you.

she truly did. she still does. and that's scary because that meant you wouldn't be able to move on or if you even wanted to.

you had convinced yourself that emily was the love of your life and that she was the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. she was it to you. but she crashed that reality by giving you a poor excuse before leaving for london and slammed the door in your face as you went back demanding a truthful explanation.

you don't know if you wanted to go back there and have your heart crushed by her again.

“i have a date tomorrow.”

maybe it was better to play it safe this time.

“what?” her face fell. “with who?”

“it doesn't matter.” you squeezed her hand and let it fall to her side as you withdrew yours, taking a deep breath. “i'm going home. you should too. get some rest.” your eyes lingered on her arm. “and take care of that arm.”

“is this you telling me we don't have a chance?” emily tilted her head, her chest clenching with the painful reality. missing the warmth of your hand on hers.

you held onto the doorknob until your knuckles turned white.

“i don't know, emily.”

“then don't go.” emily croaked out, pleading. “give me a chance. give us a chance. I promise you I will try to fix everything and I won't let you down again.”

your lips tugged downwards. “i don't want you to fix everything, emily. I want you to start communicating and trusting me.” you paused, sadness and longing pulling at your heartstrings. “look, we can start being friends again. that's all I can offer you right now.”

she nodded, the spark in her eyes hiding behind the hurt. but there was determination in her gaze, you didn't know the reason behind it.

“that's—that's great. okay. I-hm, I hope you have fun tomorrow?” you raised a brow at her, doubtful, and she huffed out a chuckle. “this is me trying.”

you smiled, opening the door and shaking your head. “okay, prentiss.” you turned to her before leaving, a teasing glint as some sort of peace offering. “in that case, I'm sorry I snapped earlier. I was out of line. I... I'm thankful for what you did.” for saving me.

emily brushed you off and went back to fixing her desk. organising files, placing pens and pencils vertically. she was nervous.

“you would've done the same.”

“yes, I would.” you answered without a second thought. you would take a bullet for her and she would be mad about it but she would forgive you eventually, because though both of you might be hardheaded and argue like two dragons fuming when things don't go your way, you're not strong enough to be mad at each other for a long period of time.

“the craziest thing about me?” emily repeated your question during your game of twenty questions. it started as simple questions like her favourite season and your favourite color but then it came the wine and a few shots of a good whisky she had kept in her apartment and all innocent inquiries became drunk stupid questions. like the one you just asked her.

“yes, em.” you winced at the strong taste of whisky down your throat as you took another shot. maybe that should be the last one... “the craziest thing 'bout you. what am I gettin' myself into. what should I be prepared for, ya know... these kind of stuff.” you clarified as if you didn't know her for a long time already. you knew her as friends, coworkers. but now she was your girlfriend.

“you,” she pointed at you with a lazy smile and you felt like kissing her whole flushed face from how adorable she was being. “you should definitely be” hiccup. “prepared for the emotional baggage I carry and... and the— oh!” her eyes lit up as she recalled something. you fondly stared as she crawled towards you and placed her hands in your naked thighs, a giddy smile stretching over her lips.

you couldn't help it, you kissed her this time.

“craziest thing about me is that—” she hummed in satisfaction as you kissed down her neck. “i, mhm... I don't give up easily. yeah, I'm... oh, you're gonna be the death of me.”

you chuckled into her neck, rubbing her cheek lovingly. “okay, finish your sentence. you're...”

“i'm very,” her eyes met yours and she smiled biting her lip. “very hardheaded. so if, one day, you get tired of me—”

you snorted, “never happening.”

“... you should probably know that, if we have the slightest chance, I'll fight for you.” your eyes softened at that. she was definitely drunk and you wondered if she would even remember that in the morning. she cupped your face, gaze lingering at your mouth as if she was trying to figure something out and your lips had all the answers. when she looked up, there was a spark of determination and a bit of joy too. “you're worth fighting for.”

you giggled like a schoolgirl, feeling dizzy due to the amount of alcohol you've had the whole night. yeah, you should definitely stop. or the next words will be you admitting you're falling in love for her.

“okay, em.” you drawled out as she lifted your chin, tugging your lip between her teeth softly. your eyes dropping shut. “then do it. fight for me.”

see, the thing about emily prentiss was that she was stubborn. when she got something in her head, she would work for it until she got it. if she saw that she had even a small chance in her favour, she would pursue it.

and if something was worth fighting for, or in that case, someone, there was really no other option. she would move heaven and earth to get you back. because you were worth it.

━━━━━━━━━

taglist: @ravensbug ; @lez-talk1 ; @chiefemilyprentiss ; @snoopyaah

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss one shot #lesbian emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x female reader #criminal minds fanfiction

[djeterg19]

I'm seeing people needing more context about Yak not wanting to be out while being a professional boxer. Uh...homophobia? I don't even follow boxing but I follow Premier League football and am part of a queer supporters group and oh boy the homophobia is off the charts in EUROPE. Thailand is a much more conservative country. Gay partnerships have been legal in England since 2014 and there hasn't been a single out player play in the Premier League. Some of the chants and songs are outright homophobic and requests to stop using them get response after response about how no one should be offended by being called rent boys and worse. Retired straight players have come out and said their teammates homophobically abused them. And you think an out boxer in Thailand would be accepted without issue? And that Yak doesn't know being bi or queer or however he identifies would cause issues for his career? I know generally speaking bl's live in a fantasy world where homophobia doesn't exist but I don't think it needs more explanation about why he was hesitant. Especially without a reason why Dee wanted to do the fake dating. And I do assume it will be brushed under the rug but I didn't even question for a moment why he didn't want to be out and be an athlete.

#wandee goodday #wandee goodday the series

[joelalorian]

Petals of Affection - Part II

A floral mystery in three parts, featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

Word count: 1,996 (twas a good year, jk)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, humor, cursing, gratuitous use of poor floral descriptions, scheming, clueless reader, fluff, eventual smut, alcohol, food, coffee, terms of endearment. POV flops around like petals in the wind. Reader has no physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

Thank you for all the wonderful comments and reblogs on Part I. You make my world a brighter place!

Part I | Part III | Masterlist

Maria’s question had you second guessing everything you thought you knew. Her tone held a hint of something in her voice, like she knew more than she let on. Could the mystery flower giver really be Joel?

You tried to picture it, his broad form bent over the pots in the greenhouse late at night, large hands clipping the perfect flower to pair with a riddle. Or him hunched over the table, tongue poking out between his pouty lips as he concentrated on writing romantic riddles The vision elicited a giggle. It just didn’t track. A nice dream, but it couldn’t possibly be real. It had to be someone else, right?

No flower waited for you when you returned home from your shift yesterday and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Did the mystery person plan on leaving you more clues or was that it? The four flowers and riddles were not nearly enough information to figure it all out, despite thinking about it constantly. So, you hoped for more.

If nothing else, you thought, knowing someone in town cared enough about you to share in your passion for the unique love language of flowers warmed your heart. You wanted to bask in that for as long as possible.

You wouldn’t dare say your life in Jackson was boring – really, it was anything but that – rather, this mystery was a variety of excitement and intellectual stimulation that you hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Shame that you sucked at riddles, though. The grand effort was almost wasted on you.

These thoughts occupied your mind all morning as you readied yourself for another day spent in the greenhouses. At first, you couldn’t figure out why you were hyper fixating on it all. It hit you suddenly, the reason you enjoyed the notion of this secret admirer. You were lonely and longed for something… more.

A hint of movement on the porch, spotted from the corner of your eye as you sipped a cup of coffee, drew your attention. Your body moved for the front door before your mind kicked into action and wrenched the door open to find a flustered Ellie staring wide-eyed up at you. Bent over with her hand on another flower left on your porch, it appeared you caught her in the middle of something.

“Good morning, kiddo,” you greeted with a curious smile. “You’re up and about early this morning.”

Standing up straight, Ellie rubbed her hands on her jeans and stepped up to stand next to you. “Uh, yeah. I was, um, coming to see you. Wanted to know if you needed help in the greenhouses today.” Gesturing to the flower, she added, “This just caught my attention before I could knock.”

The explanation sounded reasonable to you, and you had no reason to distrust the sweet teenager. Bending down, you scooped the flower up. “Sure, that would be great. Why don’t you swing by after lunch. I have a few things you could help with.

“Great!” she exclaimed, an octave too high, before clearing her throat and going for a more subdued response. “Sounds good. So, um, looks like you have a secret admirer, huh?”

You laughed. “That seems to be the word on the street. I keep getting lovely flowers, but I have no idea who’s sending them.”

“You can tell me all about it this afternoon. Maybe we can figure out who the mystery man – or woman – is.” Ellie raised her eyebrows a few times in quick succession, drawing more laughter out of you.

“Alright, kiddo. Get outta here. I’ll see you later.”

Once Ellie jogged away, you turned your attention to the flower in your hand – a large blossom, with creamy white petals. A magnolia, the very symbol of perfection. As always, you held it up to your nose, breathing in the floral fragrance that held a spicy punch underscored by a hint of musk.

The note, written in that same nondescript print that you were beginning to love, read:

Moments with you, the answer rings true.

“I’m not doing it again, Joel!” Ellie shouted, barreling through the front door breathlessly. “She almost caught my ass this morning!”

Seated on the couch, enjoying a moment of peace with a cup of coffee on a rare day off from patrol, Joel jumped as the door slammed against the wall, no doubt leaving a dent in the drywall for him to fix. Hot liquid sloshed in the cup, and he winced as a few drops spilled over onto his hand. “What happened?”

“Your little girlfriend opened her door just after I placed this morning’s flower on her porch.” Joel frowned, fearing the jig was up, but Ellie waved him off. “Don’t worry, your cover hasn’t been blown. Yet. I made it seem like I was coming by to talk to her and just found the flower.”

Impressed, he asked, “Do you think she bought it?”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie glared at him. “Of course she did. You doubting my acting skills, asshole? I’m stuck helping her in the greenhouse this afternoon because I couldn’t come up with anything else quick enough, so thanks for that.”

Relief washed over Joel. He wanted to see this plan through, to show you there was more to him than meets the eye, that there was depth to his character and he’s capable of being romantic and thoughtful. “Cry me a river, kid. A little hard work’ll do ya good.”

Ellie huffed, turning to head through the house to her backyard apartment, but not without a parting shot. “Yeah, well, it’d do you good to grow a fucking pair of balls and just ask her out already!”

“Is that so? Have you asked Dina out yet” Joel shouted back, not letting her have the last word. He smirked as the back door slammed closed.

The pattern continued over the next few days before it suddenly stopped. And no matter how hard you tried, you could never catch the culprit in the act, leaving you as clueless as ever to their identity.

On Tuesday morning, you received a beautiful iris, a particular favorite of yours with the classic fleur-de-lis shape. In your eyes, the answer lies, the note read.

Tuesday evening, a vibrant red lily waited for you as you returned from the greenhouses. The soft, subtle scent a marked contrast to the fiery petals. The note especially fitting for such a flower: Lost in your beauty, the answer is a duty.

A small bouquet of pink lilacs awaited you on Wednesday morning, their relaxing fragrance wafting through the kitchen as you placed them amongst the others. Longing for your touch, the answer means so much.

No flower arrived on Wednesday evening, but a eucalyptus greeted you as you left for work Thursday morning. It was an odd choice, you thought. And you had no idea where it might have come from – you didn’t have any in the greenhouse. The note didn’t make much sense to you either, but it fit the pattern of the others. Evergreen thoughts of you, the answer is in the dew.

The final flower waited for you Thursday evening. You ran a little later than usual, getting caught up in planting some of the flowers you received that you didn’t have among the existing greenhouse collection. As you worked, you found yourself questioning when someone would have snatched some of the flowers gifted to you. The mystery person had a gentle hand, none of the plants were damaged and blossoms were taken from clean cuts. Whoever it was, they respected the flowers and you enough to be careful as well as stealthy.

After completing an inspection of the flowered plants in the greenhouse, you knew which one would find that evening, having spotted the evidence of recent trimming. A salmon-colored rose, the hue a lovely shade of pink, with the softest petals. When you arrived home, your fingers gently rubbed a petal of the rose, savoring the silky texture, as you read the accompanying note. Remember my love for you, the answer is in you.

Something told you the rose was the culmination of the floral adventure, that no more flowers would be placed on your doorstep. On Friday, you moved the flowers and the corresponding riddles to the dining table, arranged in the order you received them. Writing the most relevant meanings for each new flower on the accompanying note, you hoped and searched for some defining clue with each new flower, but still nothing.

You needed help.

“Should I be worried that she hasn’t figured it out yet?” Seated at the bar in the Tipsy Bison with Tommy, Joel began to worry that his plan wasn’t working out as he, well, planned. His biggest fear being that you didn’t return his feelings, he hadn’t accounted for you not putting the puzzle pieces together.

“Nah, we came up with awesome clues, brother. She just needs to put it all together,” Tommy replied, taking a large pull from his drink. Swiping the back of his hand over his mustache, he added, “Maria’s over there now, nudging her in the right direction.”

Joel nodded, sipping at his own whiskey.

“The bigger question, I think, is what are you going to do once she’s figured it out? Please tell me you have a date planned after all this pining.”

“I have somethin’ in mind,” Joel said. “I think she’ll like it.”

“Oh yeah? Ya gonna tell me or is that a big secret too?”

“I’m gonna take her to the ol’ botanical gardens we found – the ones where I got some of those flowers. It’ll blow her mind.” Joel smiled at the thought of you seeing the gardens for the first time. It was a long ride, and the gardens were an overgrown mess, but you’d still be in awe of the plethora of flowers.

Tommy stared at him, amazed at both the lovesick look in his brother’s eyes and the romantic nature of the date. He’d never seen Joel like this, never knew him to have a romantic bone in his body, but it looked good on him.

“You sure are gettin’ sappy in your old age,” Tommy teased, unable to help himself.

On Friday night, determined to solve the mystery, you and Maria combed through the clues over a bottle of wine.

“Ok, let’s just start from the beginning and go over every detail for each flower,” Maria suggested. She arrived with a legal pad and pen in hand, remnants of her old life as a prosecutor. Adamant that the answer had to be right in front of you, she took notes as you reiterated each flower, its meaning, and associated clue.

You cracked open a second bottle of wine as you stared at the information on Maria’s notepad.

Jasmine – love, romance – Joyful moments shared, the answer lies in the air.

Orchid – love, thoughtfulness, charm – Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

Eustoma – appreciation, admiration – Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Lavender – devotion, serenity – Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

Magnolia (white) – perfection – Moments with you, the answer rings true.

Iris – hope, trust – In your eyes, the answer lies.

Lily (red) – love, passion – Lost in your beauty, the answer is a duty.

Lilac (pink) – intense love – Longing for your touch, the answer means so much.

Eucalyptus – strength – Evergreen thoughts of you, the answer is in the dew.

Rose (salmon) – desire, excitement – Remember my love for you, the answer is in you.

Reading it over and over until the words blended together, rearranging themselves until it the answer made itself clear.

“Holy shit! I got it!” you declared excitedly; eyes still focused on the clues as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Fucking finally,” Maria mumbled under her breath, but you didn’t catch it. A little louder, she said, “Ok, show me what you got.”

tbc

Smut in the next part, I promise!

#jettsflora&faunachallenge #writing challenge #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel x female reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories

[ash-says]

Tips on how to dodge personal questions in a Professional Setting:

I know. I know. I said I will be on a break and I still stand by that but it was difficult to throw away the sudden surge of motivation so here I am.

I received a request to make a post on this long back so here is your girl serving it. Honestly I am not much of an expert at it either but I have some ways that work sometimes so here goes nothing.

1) Do not give in to the pressure.

Literally that's the starting point. Whenever someone asks us a personal question we feel obligated at some level to answer because of xyz reasons. That's why we first need to escape the pressure of answering.

2) Straightforwardly and Politely state I am not comfortable answering that.

The bulletproof method. No explanation needed.

3) If you are in a situation where the person is being really nosy and can't take a no for an answer. Try saying to them,"I don't understand how it's relevant to our topic of discussion."

4) If you are not in a position to decline at all which happens when the person asking the question is of higher authority and has influence in this situation give vague answers that lead nowhere.

Example: So are you dating anyone?

It's tough to say in particular you know the dating scene nowadays it's difficult to put a name on anything.

Or what do you do on your weekends?

Nothing just the usuals. I am an office worker after all.

This creates a sense of familiarity with the crowd but at the same time does not reveal anything in precision.

5) Turn the topic on them. One of the smartest things you can do is make them the central focus. People love to talk about themselves so it works most of the time until you come across someone truly smart.

Example: hey how's the new office? Are you liking it here?

Ans: Well I am still getting used to the environment here. What about you? How long have you been working here?

6) Another thing you can do is dance around the topic but not on the topic. You remember how you used to write a 1 mark question for 5 marks exactly like that. Tell the prequel and sequel of the question but never answer the exact question.

7) This one is kinda rude I won't suggest doing it around randomly but if you have been in the corporate space for sometime you would know that there are some people who like to ask things only to belittle you or spread gossip or to be mean. The jealous ones that don't have a life of their own.

In case they ask something or say something rude or cross a boundary just start singing a song or change the topic completely. Don't acknowledge anything they say and continue with your random talks or humming. Trust me it's the easiest way to get rid of them.

Still some are persistent and will try to get an answer. Simply say it's not worth discussing. It's boring.

8) Apart from that there are subtle things you can do which can create a persona that conveys you are not open towards personal questions. You can do it by simply detaching yourself whenever someone starts talking about their personal lives. Don't be a participant or a listener. It gives a que you are not looking to bond personally and many other similar things.

9) If you are truly in a toxic work culture where your colleagues seem to constantly bug and bully you to share personal stuff (happened with me in my previous workplace) Firmly state,"I come here to work not to make personal relations."

10) Ignore.

I hope it helps even a little there's not much we can do without offending the other person but we can be gentle and polite in our tone and gesture that's the only way.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

#girlblogging #glow up #it girl #self care #that girl #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #self love #becoming that girl #dark feminine energy #becoming her #pink pilates girl #pink pilates princess #communication #wellness #motivation #self development #self help #self reflection #thewizardliz #wonyoungism #femme fatale #dream girl aesthetic #dream girl #ash-says #feminine energy #positive mental attitude #advice #level up journey #level up tips #leveling up

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Spider-Woman, NOT Ghost-Spider

This is a tip for people who want to go as canon as possible WITH THE MOVIES, since I feel a lot of people do this mistake because they look into the comics and mix things up.

If you want to call Gwen, Ghost-Spider in your fanfic/fanart/etc because you think is cool, go ahead! Go nuts! I'm not the canon police.

BUT-

In the movies, Gwen still calls herself Spider-Woman.

An explanation as to why this is important in the read more.

(Spoilers about the Spider-Gwen comics, I guess because I am not spoiling anything that came after 2019.)

When I say "important," I mean it in the stick-it-to-the-details type of deal; if you care about technicalities you care about this, but I know that's not the majority.

However, I do want to bring it up because the reason why Gwen switched in the comics, or rather, why chose Ghost-Spider of all things- is really neat and interesting story line that I feel a lot of people skip over when they 'chose' to call her that without knowing why she chose that name.

If you think Gwen has it rough in the movies, don't read the comics because they put this girl through the wringer.

Let's go a little bit before she chose that name.

As you can see, Gwen feels that she has always been marked by death, some way or another.

First her mother, then Peter, and is now hitting pretty hard after losing Spider-UK (is not Hobie, or Malala, I don't think he has appeared in the movies,) Noir and Karn, though arguably Billy was the one who hit her the hardest.

She went to other dimensions to tell their love ones that Billy and Noir passed away; it is implied how this is her way to try to make amends to what happened, make peace with herself.

But is not really enough, the topic doesn't leave her mind,

Death and pain certainly follow her often; she almost lost her dad for good, and she was definitely shaken after Harry got gravely injured precisely because he was always there for her.

That last panel never stops hitting hard for me.

There is just some quietness to it, about how no matter what she does, how hard she tried, Death continues to follow, one way or another. Even when she tries to be a hero, to do the right thing, death follows her.

In the comics, Gwen switches her name because she is studying in Earth-616 rather than her own dimension, so she switches names in order to avoid stepping in any toes.

So, in the movies, is kind of hard to think the switch would happen. Sure, Gwen is interacting with Jessica and other spiders, but believe me, the multiple spider-man haven't changed their names, so having Jessica in the spider society doesn't change much.

However, I do bring all of this because I think implementing this story line in the movies not only is feasible, it would be *amazing.*

The phrase "Death loves Gwen Stacy," not only hits hard for the Spider-Gwen in the comics, but for the movie counterpart too.

Think about it for a second; in the movies, Gwen feels she can't have friends because otherwise, they may lose them like Peter, she has convinced herself it can't work. And then. she goes to the Spider-Society.

And now she feels Gwen Stacy and Death always go hand in hand.

She learns how in so many universes, Peter is the one bitten, he is the one who lives, while Gwen Stacy dies, over, and over again. It almost seems like she is the outlier out of spite, how because she gets to live, everyone else pays the price.

Because Death loves Gwen Stacy, powers or not, that's not changing.

But at the end of the day-

And that's why, no matter what, she will continue fighting to protect her people.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy #spider-gwen #ghost-spider #spider-gwen comics #itsv #into the spider-verse #random spiderverse fact #I really hope people explore more this idea in the comics #is so good

[shatcey]

Alfons' secrets

I've just finished reading all three epilogues of Alfons' route… And I have to say, I fell terribly hard for that guy. To say I'm surprised would be a huge understatement.

I will give a detailed explanation later, but now I want to say a couple of things that shocked me the most.

This guy is very jealous. He doesn't say it, he doesn't show it, but his actions leave no doubt about this fact. I'm surprised myself, considering how he lives, but… It just proves how different he feels about Kate. She's so important to him that he wouldn't even let other people touch her. Well… He's overprotective too, but this is a completely different story.

Several facts that I learned from the epilogues:

Alfons feeds stray cats and they recognize him. So it's not as occasionally as he says.

He has mixed feelings of love/hatred for cats due to his past experience (not surprising).

When he arrived at Elbert's mansion, he didn't know the basic things. But he learned to write, read, calculate and cook very quickly. No wonder his handwriting is bad, no one taught him.

He learned to dance faster than Elbert.

He has a weakness. I won't tell you what it is to not to spoil your fun.

And the last thing… This is just my impression, and I have no solid proof, but… He has a vibe of a family type. He's kind, caring, overprotective and actually very loyal (I laugh at the latter myself). He likes to see his family get together, he likes to take care of them and pamper them. In fact, he reminds me a lot of Victor. He probably doesn't understand it himself. He even doesn't see his actions of absolute selfless kindness as it is.

But maybe I'm just imagining things, maybe I'm just trying to convince myself that there's a very simple reason why I love him so much… And it's not as complicated as I think it is.

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🔝 Start page 🔝

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#cybird ikemen #cybird #ikemen series #ikemen games #ikemen villians #ikemen villains #ikevil #alfons sylvatica #ikemen villians alfons #ikemen alfons #ikevil alfons

[katyspersonal]

Guys oh my gosh hgbghgg I am a GENIUS! I've finally figured an explanation for, at the first glance, unreasonable vitriol towards Godrick in the fandom! I should have became a psychology professor for this one but don't let me get ahead of myself ok so:

Like.. This can't be the fact that Godrick literally steals peoples limbs to attach to himself, right? Rykard does a similar thing - consumes people and makes them a part of his body, as all those arms sticking out of him are those of his victims. Also both of these characters appear hard to take seriously upon introduction; "i cOmAnD tHeE KNEEL" and "tOGETHAAAA" are equally silly xd But Rykard is really loved, right?

The difference between the two might happen because Rykard is that cool badass rebel against oppressive system, whereas Godrick willingly perpetuates it. But that can't be this piece, and this also can't be Tarnished-hunting. Because another character who simps for the Golden Order and is racist Tarnished-hunts is Morgott, who is also very loved. Adored, even!

I thought maybe Godrick hit the 'disrespecting women' nerve upon insulting Malenia, which is already a sore topic in the fandom? 🤔 But this is likely not true. Not only he himself is definitely not an incel, since Grafted Scions (his children) exist, but also it is all likely an insecurity. Godrick had that line where he called Malenia and Miquella "rank and malformed" when Godrick himself could be considered a disgrace ( 🥁 ) for the Golden Bloodline with his frail, weak build. He has large insecurities that he takes out on other discriminated people, so that certainly wasn't her gender. Again, many other loved characters also disrespect us for who we are, he isn't outstanding. Nor it is him being "pathetic" for escaping the battle he could not win in disguise or kissing Malenia's feet in apology: the 'pathetic old man' is ABSOLUTELY one of the favorite men types on Tumblr and Twitter! The girls (gender neutral) LOVE the 'pathetic old man', that vibe could not have provoked the hate.

Finally, it can't be the authors intention. Miyazaki confirmed Godrick to be a sympathetic character. So, you should feel bad for his situation of continuing the glory of that imposing bloodline that he is not fit for, and NPCs that dislike him are either within their own right to do so, or straight up hypocritical (like Kenneth). Subtexts, media literacy and so on can't be used as an arguement for why Godrick would be intended as repulsive character.

So... Yeah, it seems like there is no real reason for why Godrick should always be singled out, only brought up as a laughing stock, always brought in negative and mocking context in polls and headcanons compilation and bring his fans being seen as weirdos by an effect, right? Whatever reasoning might be the first responce is very easy to debunk! I think I've finally found an actual reasonable and sympathetic explanation as to why fandom dislikes and bullies him so much more than any other character that explains EVERYTHING! I am going to go under cut as this is the result of long, meticulous thinking and this post is already getting long, so here it is:

💫🌺 S K I L L!!! I S S U E!!! 💕🔥💫

#elden ring #godrick the grafted #elden ring observation #fandomry rambles

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part three

authors note: hi! its me again. i had some free time and most of this chapter was completed, sans gaps and editing, so i figured why not?

thank you everyone for all of the kind words, like im still so floored just how many people like the random shit that comes from my head!!!

also, some tags don't seem to work for some reason, like when i type it, the hyperlink doesn't appear so super sorry to those impacted by that!!!

warnings: angsttttt, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

word count: 4.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion

You were sixteen years old the first time you drank alcohol. Truly, a result of peer pressure. Alcohol never seemed as amazing as your friends tried to preach it to be, not with the amount of hair you’d held back while your friends retched their entire days consumption in toilet bowls. 

Just didn’t seem all that appealing.

And then it was homecoming, and your school won the game, qualifying them for state. The whole town was in celebration, but no one was as lit as the football team. And, of course, dating the quarterback at the time and as cheer captain, your presence was damn near a requirement. High school politics and all.

So, you, Amir, and your closest friends spent the night house hopping, partying at one place for a little while before moving on to the next. And at some point, at some stop, you’d been convinced to try a beer. Honestly, it was disgusting as fuck, but a small part of you didn’t want to be the one prude of your group, so you downed it. And then another. Followed by another. Which preceded one more. 

And by the end of the night, you truly were white girl wasted.

You thank God that you had good friends at the time who made sure you made it home safely, because you absolutely did black out. Amir did too, hence him not being the one responsible for your care.

When you woke up that morning, the first thing you did was dart to the bathroom where you emptied your guts. The second? Panic. You were terrified of your mother finding out that not only had you engaged in underage drinking, literally violating the damn law, but you’d gotten so wasted that you blacked out. It was incredibly stupid and highly dangerous. Your chest tightened and stomach coiled at how she would react if and when she realized what you’d done.

That was the most scared and nervous you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Well, up until now.

Because all you can focus, think, and obsess about is the fact that Joe will be in your state, in your town, in your damn apartment in a matter of hours. He’d text you in the middle of the night a screenshot of his flight information indicating an arrival time much earlier than you were hoping for. 

Dread swept over as you sent him a message asking if he would stay at the same hotel he usually used when visiting, not that it got much use. He typically stayed with you during his visits. But, you offered to meet him there instead, feeling more comfortable if you were out of this setting, not in your apartment that had some type of reminder of Callie in damn near every room.

It took longer than you liked for him to respond, and his answer only served to increase your anxiety and trigger some anger.

No. I’m coming to you.

That was it, no explanation to your follow up texts which you know he read cause bastard had his read receipts on. Just radio silence.

That pissed you off even more, because why the hell was he ignoring you? Wasn’t he about to come talk to you about something anyway?

Oh.

Your stomach tightens. Not knowing what the hell he wants is driving you insane. You know why you reached out to him, but why did he seem so keen on speaking to you? It’d been nearly five years, what could have happened to trigger this sudden desire to reconnect?

And why the hell did he respond so quickly to your initial message? Truthfully, you expected no response whatever, convinced that he’d probably changed numbers after his massive increase in fame. Or, for him to at least hit you with the ‘who is this’? But, he didn’t, he called you and immediately knew who you were.

A tiny gasp leaves your mouth. That must have meant he still had your number saved, the same way you still have his in your contact list.

You….you don’t know what to make of that, don’t know what to make of it at all.

“Mommy, why am I spending the night with Aunt Mariah?”

Callie’s soft voice temporarily eases you from your panic, granted it also makes you aware of how she’s clearly unhappy about this. You know why too. Sundays are always your ‘special days,’ where you spend the entire day together doing the most random of things from baking, to playing game, to random dance parties that sometimes result in neighbors politely asking you to keep the noise down. It’s a tradition, and this is the first time since starting said tradition that it won’t be happening. 

Closing up her drawer where you were just digging for some pajamas for her, you move to sit next to her on her bed. Her head is down as she plays with the stuffed animal in her arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this is our day, but mommy just has some business she has to take care of.”

She keeps her head down, voice low. “Can’t you do it tomorrow?

Fuck. You hate disappointing her. “I wish, baby, but it can’t wait.” More like he won’t wait. You’re not sure what you would have proposed regarding a time to discuss, well, Callie, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the next damn day. “Hey, how about this? Why don’t you and I stay home tomorrow and have a special special day on Monday?”

At that, her head lifts, eyes sparkling with renewed excitement. “Really?”

“Yup. Mommy can take some time off, and you can miss a day of school. It won’t kill us.” You rarely ever take time off as it is, mostly because a teacher’s salary isn’t anything to write home about. You have to work your ass off to keep a roof over your and Callie’s head. But also….you’re not even sure what frame of mind you’re going to be in following this meeting with Joe, so better safe than sorry. “But only if we can watch The Lion King first.”

Clearly pleased with this compromise, she offers you her pink finger. “Deal!”

You two seal the deal with a pinky swear as you hold her into your side and sigh heavily. You wish that you two could stay like this forever. “I love you, Callie. Okay? Always remember that.”

________

“He’s what?”

You anxiously chew on the nasty ass protein bar Mariah offered you after you realized you’d barely had anything to eat today. It was a part of the latest dietary plan she was following, probably something she found from one of those weird ass dieting groups she was a member of on Facebook.

You loved Mariah, dearly, but as you two grew older, especially after having her baby boy, Micah, she’d become increasingly insecure about her body. Always the smaller, thinner, more athletic of the two, you knew that she struggled with how much weight she’d put on over the years, especially when her plan to drop the baby weight didn’t pan out. You're not sure she’s lost any of it, to be honest. 

It wasn’t even a massive weight gain, and truthfully, you thought curves suited her well. But, it didn’t matter what you thought. What mattered was how she felt, which wasn’t the best, despite your best efforts to build up her confidence.

“He’s coming into town,” you finally answer, debating if you should offer her the rest of this grass in bar form. Why the hell is it so damn grainy?

“Today? He’s coming into town today?” You nod. “I’m sorry, I must have missed a couple chapters.”

“More like volumes,” you murmurs, sourly. It’s a great opportunity for you to set aside the dirt bar and explain to her everything she’d missed, from Callie’s initial inquiry to your calling him, to him sending you an itinerary for a flight arriving in roughly three hours at this point.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, careful of her volume despite Micah and Callie being occupied in the living room watching Bluey. “What are you going to do? What are you going to say to him? This is….this is bad, girl.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You lay your head against her kitchen island and force yourself to take three, big, deep breaths. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

You hear her exhale. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious, Mo. I—” You lift your head and try your best not to cry. Tears won’t do anything to help the situation. “I don’t know what he wants, but it’s obvious he’s angry with me already, and I can’t imagine when I tell him about Callie that he’s gonna feel any better.”

“You think he’ll be upset?”

“Of course, he will.”

“No, not that. I mean, yeah definitely, about that. But, I mean, you know….that you kept her.” It takes a minute for you to process what she’s asking, and it’s a question you hadn’t thought about in some time.

You’d been so consumed about how upset he would probably be that you kept Callie hidden from him that you hadn’t considered the alternative. What if he was more upset she even existed in the first place?

The thought alone takes you to a dark place. Feelings of rejection and abandonment that you yourself experienced and probably haven’t fully processed. Feelings you swore with your life you’d always protect Callie from. 

And always will.

“Then he’ll continue to not be a part of her life.” Your voice is sound and resolute. Mariah also recognizes that all too familiar look of determination that fills your face. 

“But what will you tell her then?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” A motto, a mantra, an oath. You’ve hit hard times before and always pulled through. This will be no different. Whatever's needed to keep your daughter from the trauma you experienced, you’ll do. No matter what.

Mariah knows better than to try to reason with you right now, not that there’s a ton of that needed. As a mother herself, she fully understands the intrinsic desire and borderline need to protect your child. She just also knows that you can be stubborn, and when you put your mind to something, nothing and no one can change it.

She just wonders how that’s going to bode over with whatever is about to go down.

You finish off the conversation with thanking her again for her last minute availability. You know you could have asked your mom as well, but she would have had questions, questions you don’t have the answers for nor the desire to explain just what’s happening.

Hell, you don’t even fully know what’s happening. 

As the time gets closer, you realize you need to get home and straighten up. Maybe vacuum or some shit. 

“Will you call me before I go to bed?”

“Of course, I will, mama.” You push back some of her hair, hating to see her sad again. She’s wearing that pout that you just realized is similar to Joe when he scowls. Shoving that from your head, you add, “and don’t forget about our big day tomorrow.”

That seems to win you a small smile, enough to make you feel less shitty about ditching her, even if it’s completely beyond your control. “It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“You bet your butt it is, kiddo!” You bring her in for another hug, holding her close and tight. “I love you, Callie Bear.”

“I love you too, mama.” 

Callie expressing her love for you is the soundtrack in your head as you drive home and even as you move around your apartment, dusting and vacuuming. You even clean the baseboard, something you’re sure you haven’t done since you first moved in when you were 22. 

You even make the controversial decision to leave up the photos of Callie or both you and Callie together in the living room and don’t really do much to move aside the indicators that a child lives here. Like her toy bucket near the TV or pink kiddy cups lined up near the kitchen sink. 

It doesn’t make much sense to you to hide these things when the sole reason you even reached out is to make him aware of why those things are there and who they belong to. You’ve stopped letting yourself try to figure out why he wants to speak to you or why he’s upset, realizing it was only making your anxiety ten times worse to the point where you felt like you were going to vomit.

Recognizing you have some time before he arrives, you decide to take a shower that’s much longer than necessary and will probably have you upset at yourself when you get your next water bill. 

But, it’s a nice distraction. Being fresh, clean, and moisturized is always a nice pick me up. Granted, you find it almost silly as you struggle to figure out what to wear. It’s Joe. Not Beyonce. Also, your outfit should be the last thing on your mind, as you eventually settle on a graphic shirt and some shorts. 

And realizing you have nothing else to do, you plop down on the sofa and wait. Wait for whatever the hell is about to happen once you open that door. Strangely enough, your anxiety seems to be settling. Granted, you wonder if that’s being replaced with denial, because you’re also starting to tell yourself that it won’t be that bad.

It may not be, but that’s not a good hill to die on. Preferred but not reliable. 

Needing another distraction, you scroll aimlessly through your Instagram, liking a few posts of friends, family, and former classmates from both high school and college. It’s interesting seeing how everyone ventured down different paths, some homemakers, some business execs, and of course the aspiring musicians aka unemployed. 

And then there was you, the small town teacher raising her secret love child of a WWE superstar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. 

Your stomach twisting and turning tells you the anxiety is returning, but it doesn’t have as much time to heighten because the doorbell rings.

He’s here.

There’s this irritating yet quiet ringing in your ears and anchor on your chest, both of which make it harder to untangle your limbs and move off the sofa. It’s like watching yourself slowly make your way to the door, the tremble in your hand noticeable as you undo the lock and start to turn the knob. 

I love you too, mama.

Callie’s sweet, reassuring voice floods into your head providing the sweet relief needed to return from dissociation and snap back to reality. Eyes shutting, you take another deep breath and carefully swing the door open.

Truth be told, you weren’t quite sure what you expected to feel upon seeing Joe again, not sure what you should feel. This was a reunion, but only in name. Nothing about him being at your doorstep was warm and inviting. That much is obvious by his stoic, unreadable facial expression, which isn’t entirely out of character. Contrary and both similar to his current heel portrayal, Joe has always been more on the quiet side, not as easy to read. More open and warm once you get to know him.

You’d found that out firsthand.

Taking in his countenance, you can’t avoid observing the rest of him. He’s somehow even bigger than the last time you saw him in person, almost taking up your doorway, rippling muscles on full display in the plain, black fitted shirt he wears. His hair is pulled back as usual, clean line up, and beard fuller than you remembered him liking it. He’s aged, obviously, but well. Very well.

Heat rising to your cheeks, you step to the side, allowing him inside. You hate how you close your eyes as you inhale his scent.

He always did smell so damn good.

The physical distractions dissipate when he’s inside, the door locked, and it’s just the two of you. 

You notice almost immediately how he seems to be intent on keeping his back toward you, playing it off by taking in your apartment. Not that much, if anything, has changed. He can’t be that damn interested. 

It was painfully clear that Joe was already frustrated with you just by his texts, but his anger is even more palpable in person, borderline suffocating. 

Just what the hell did you do to upset him so much?

Clearing your throat and crossing your arms over, you decide that someone needs to say something because this silent shit is not working for you.

But then Joe angles his body, still not looking toward you but something else. And that’s when your anxiety starts up all over again.

You watch him, intently, as he walks over to the side table near the sofa, the one that has pictures on it. 

Pictures of Callie. 

He picks one up, and you’ve never been so still in your life. It’s torture, not seeing how he’s looking, unable to read his facials, clueless to what he must be thinking. He’s quiet for too long, so you decide to bite the bullet and say something. 

“I—”

“Is she mine?”

Waves. Heavy, plunging waves of emotions splash at you with a ferocity that nearly floors you. His question, so simple, isn’t what you expected to leave his mouth. It’s posed so quietly, lowly, emotion evident but not enough for you to know which one. Anger? Sadness? Confusion?

It stumps you, and for a second, you try to convince yourself that he doesn’t mean what you deep down know what he means. 

“What–what are you talking about?”

He curses quietly, and you hear him say your name before he asks again in a dangerously calm voice, “is she mine?”

You recognize this tone, the tone he takes when he’s trying his best to tame his temper, but there’s no guarantee that he can. And that in and of itself is not a good sign, Joe rarely ever gets mad. He’s irritatingly adept at maintaining his composure in all situations. 

Except this one.

You just want to take a nap, take a break from all of this. Everything seems to be happening so fast, too fast. It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Callie first asked about her father, and now the man is standing in front of you asking you to confirm she is his daughter. You’re so confused about everything. How could he tell so easily? You always said and thought she favored him, but did she favor him enough for him to take one look at her and know she’s his daughter?

That doesn’t even seem possible nor plausible. 

You have so many questions, but there’s no need in delaying the inevitable.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

“Yes.” 

It’s at that moment he finally decides to turn around, and you can see the moment it happens, the moment the floodgate of emotions rush through him like a tsunami. He’s shocked. He’s confused. He’s angry.

“How did you find out?” Putting the pieces together is a slow progress, but one that’s progressing nonetheless. He clearly came here with that question prepared and ready to launch. He knew about Callie, knew when you texted him, knew when he decided to call. Knew before he even walked in and saw a picture of her.

He just needed you to confirm as such. 

That seems to be the wrong question, because anger is suddenly more prominent, both vocally and physically. “You’re seriously asking me how the fuck I found out I have a daughter?” Any attempt to control his anger is out the door, replaced with visceral emotions. “No, the real question is why the fuck you didn’t tell me I have a child?”

You’re not sure what it is, the emotionality of it all, the fact that you’re face to face with the man you’ve worked so hard over the years to get over, or even just the fact that he’s speaking to you this way. Maybe all of it. Regardless, you’re not about to just take it lying down. “First of all, watch your tone. You’re not going to talk to me any kind of way. Second of all, you are married, Joe. What was I supposed to do? Send you and your wife copies of the sonogram?”

“Don't put this on that,” he dismisses, swiftly and curtly. “Jadah has nothing to do with you telling me I'm a father. Don't you think I had a fucking right to know?”

“Of course you had a right.” He did. He does. You won’t deny him that, but it’s also not as cut and dry as he’s making it out to be. “But—”

“There’s no but, Y/N!” He cuts you off, and you have to take another deep breath. This time though, it’s not to lessen anxiety. It’s to calm your own anger that’s rising. Who the hell does he think he is to speak to you this way? Like you’re some damn child. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you going to actually listen to me, or are you just going to keep yelling? Cause I don’t respond to disrespect, Joe. You know this.”

He actually smiles, smiles at your words. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m disrespecting you? You keep my child from me, and I’m disrespecting you?” He scoffs and looks up at the ceiling, probably to settle himself. “Did you know when you ended things between us?"

The surprising questions just keep on rolling. “What?”

“I swear to God.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Did you know you were pregnant when you told me to leave? Is that why you did it? So I wouldn’t find out?”

This time, you’re the one scoffing, trying to rationalize how he could even think to ask you this. “Seriously, Joe? I told you why I ended things.”

“Yeah, well, you’re clearly not the most honest fucking person, so I don’t even know what to believe anymore.” 

You hate the fact that his words don’t further anger you but instead sadden you. You see how he’s looking at you, with a level of disdain and disgust. It’s such an unfamiliar experience, an unwanted one. “So, I’m a liar now?” It should have come out much stronger, firmer, showing him that you’re not putting up with his bullshit. Instead, it’s a damn near whisper.

He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, like he doesn’t get what you’re not getting about this. “What do you call what you did?”

Your head is starting to hurt. This is going exactly how you feared it would go. 

Bad.

It’s all becoming too much, your voice weighed down with the emotions of it all. You feel like you’re on the verge of tears, and you hate that. You won’t let him see you cry. “We’re not….we’re not getting anywhere here, Joe. I think—”

“You should get a lawyer.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

He runs both hands over his face, the heaviness of this conversation clearly weighing on him as well. “We need to figure out some type of custody arrangement, and I don’t think us handling it with each other is a good idea—”

“Custody?” The room is starting to blur again, items moving wayward and sideways. The ringing in your ears is also returning. “What—you—you want to take her from me?” You need to sit down, your legs feeling like they’re ready to give out at any moment. Take her. He wants to take her from you. Unable to control yourself, you snap, “she doesn’t even know you!”

He matches your tone and volume precisely, clearly unwilling to back down. “Exactly, I’m her father, and she doesn’t know me because of you!”

You can barely believe the words coming out his mouth, incapable of processing that he’s actually standing here threatening to take your child from you. This has gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. “So, you think taking her away from me is the way to get to know her?”

His volume levels down a bit, and you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of sympathy. “I don’t want to take her away from you, Y/N. I just can’t trust you to not keep her away from me.”

This is disastrous. You never could you have envisioned this conversation playing out the way it is. Desperate, you move over to him, needing him to see you, to hear you, really hear you. “You’re here now, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough?” 

His answer surprises you with its austerity. He’s so angry. “No, because it took almost five fucking years for you to call me in the first damn place.”

He moves away from you, obviously headed for the door. He has nothing else to say. Your head is throbbing, vision still murky, but you manage to rush past him, obstructing his leave. “Joe….wait.”

You’ve never felt so small, so desperate, so helpless in your life. It’s reminiscent of the last conversation you had with him five years prior, that same boulder on your chest, bigger now. Much bigger. 

“Please.” You’re not even trying to hold in the tears anymore. That’s not even important. Not in the slightest. This is your child.  “Please don’t take her away from me. She’s my baby, Joe. She—she’s never even been without me before.”

He looks at you, and you can see it now. Finally see it. Finally see past all of the hurtful threats, the dismissiveness, the refusal to hear you out. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. “And she’s never been with me.” He moves past you, but not before one last statement. “Maybe now you’ll know how I feel.”

________

just curious, ya'll think joe trippin? personally, i'm team callie cause both reader and joe are wrong in one way or another but im also biased so ignore me.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns #roman reigns fic #aris notebook

[powerpuffobsession]

Am I the only one who feels that Hazbin Hotel's overall vibe is far too naive and upbeat for an adult cartoon about hell and redemption of sinners?

I feel like before writing this cartoon, Vivzie and the other writers should have made a trip to unfortunate areas of the world and watch how the lifestyle there rolls. Because hell is said to be a place of misery, where there is no trust and a lot of hate, both internal and external... Adam is an object of pure unfiltered hartred (both from writers and fandom) because he dares to live in heaven, such a safe and friendly-natured place...

And yet the sinners who happen to be main characters act more like school kids on a field trip (even more carefree than those, lol) - their selfish and sinful motives are so artificial and are brought up only when these characters need to look like a victim, not like criminals who somehow deserved a place in hell

Obviously, it's a manipulative trope to put them in a better light than Heaven and Adam (who is forever silenced by the writers and not allowed to voice any thoughts and reflections other than "hurr durr murder I luuuv murdering and being evil because that's what I was since I was born, even though Lilith and Eve, born literally the same way as me, were innocent victims from the get go, and no logical explanation for that will be provided whatsoever - men bad, women good")

In the light of all that, the sinners are too eager to trust each other and form "da epic powar of friendship" mlp-sonic-style

In a society built on terror, anarchy and survival instincts, no one would ever bother wasting vital power on noticing someone's problems and helping them out. Everyone is focused on their own problems and desires, and that's what drives them to act. Well, the exception may be family members, and even that varies

That's why Husk's intent to comfort Angel after the later attacks him over nothing at the bar, looks really fake, considering the setting. At first I thought that "loser baby" where Husk insults Angel, was some sort of revenge and Husk laughing in the spider's face. But no, it actually turned out to be a comforting song that started their friendship. Husk literally had no motivation to want to help Angel, because he was annoyed by him all the time prior. If there was some kind of basis for their bonding, I would have believed it. But not like this.

And Angel had no reason to actually like that sort of comfort. I get it when your best friend or a family member cheers you up in a harsh way - you know them. And even when coming from people you trust that can hurt. Now imagine a complete stranger doing that to you. That's actually something that shouldn't be done - trying to playfully insult or jester a person you haven't communicated with for a long enough time to gain their trust. And to make this even more strange, Angel at first reacts negatively, but then suddenly snaps to liking that disrespectful way of comforting for no reason at all.

And why did Angel even vent his problems to Husk, a stranger bartender who he'd hurt before. Wasn't he actually afraid of being laughed at and of Husk using his trauma to spread gossip around or something?

Next, Sir Pentious. In the pilot (which is officially part of canon, mind you), he already felt like a joke sunday cartoon villain, but at least he had some edge to him that made him look like a sinner with some dark history. In the series however, he gets nerfed the very moment he steps into the hotel to the point where it's painful to look at

His tendency to abuse his henchmen, his physopathic demeanor, his hartred for Cherri (instead of embarrassing attempts to get blue balled by her), his sincere power hunger - where did all that go? Vanished in a blink of an eye. All that's left of a promising snake demon is a pile of fanservice. So morally unchallenging and harmless that a viewer theoretically simply cannot resist loving him

Well i'm kind disappointed. We don't even know in what way Sir Pentious had to improve, because the plot never focused on his past, his life goals, whatever made him want to lead turf wars and whatever awful things he did in life, what was the point where he started degrading... none of that. He just became a better person after one "sorry song" and acted perfectly innocent ever since and didnt put any effort into getting ready to sacrifice himself for other main characters

The sacrifice... to me it's baffling how fast the sinners, over the course of just 6 months, actually became Charlie's family figures and risked their lives for her hotel. Such pure child-cartoon-styled power of friendship, built in hell, with the aid of a princess who cant even think through her project of helping sinners without bringing them more trouble... realistically, Charlie would have had to fight angels alone (how convenient it is that no main characters died in that chaotic brawl, right?)

And Charlie herself is far too naiive and soft-natured for someone who is free to walk along the streets of hell looking at all the muder, rape and othe horrible stuff that's happening there. Given that she's 200, Charlie had more than enough time to built up her street smarts and guts and learn to be more practical and mindful, instead of staying with the mind of a 12 year old who needs other characters to do everything for her (Lucifer, Vaggie, Alastor) and then get praised for THEIR efforts. That's hell's royalty and our main character?

Aaand since sinners are portrayed as Charlie's "people" (as if they are a nationality), sweet babies who all deserve redemption and are called innocent by Emily (I can't believe how dumb the writers made angels be) - the true essence of exterminatons is never focused on. Adam and his exterminator army are seen in the wrong, like some kind of monsters who terrorize poor souls. However, think about this - child molesters, rapists, torturers, bullies, nazists, actual racists etc died in those exterminations. Doesnt that seem like something a lot of us would want? To have scum like this disappear as revenge for people they have hurt/driven to suicide?

Exterminations are not really an act of racism, bigotry or something like that. They are an excecution of criminals, which a lot of sinners are.

But the black and white writing is trying to conceal that rather prominent highlight of the rotten part of Charlie's plan (not all sinners deserve mercy or redemption). All that was needed was to make exterminators these icky "villains" who luuuv killing and are never willing to listen

All in all, a cartoon that has an ambitious premise that should be driven by psychological reasearch/analysis and dark serious themes... makes me roll my eyes with its cliche use of "power of friendship" and " strictly good main characters, strictly bad villains" tropes. Too bad such beautiful animation was wasted on such juvenile writing that never had any effort put into it

There shouldn't even be any villains or heroes in a setting like this. Allow the lead roles (sinners in hell) do something actually questionable and be unlikable, don't coddle the viewer in fear of making them even the slightest bit uncomfortable. Allow those, who opposes sinmers, have personalities and reasons, not cliche sociopathy for sociopathy's sake to cause forced sympathy for the main characters

Pristine "safe" writing should not have a place in adult cartoons. Or else they will stay a product that'd rather be watched by 7-14 year olds instead of adults (I can't picture a single adult over 22 who would unironically call hazbin hotel a show that tackles realistic issues in an observant way)

#hazbin hotel critical

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

So, question; what exactly drove Roman soldiers to be totally down for civil wars after 2 or 3 more years under one general than normal; and how did the Romans try to fix that?

Great question! Roman soldiers didn't generally want civil wars to happen, because civil wars are horrible.

Many times, the soldiers deserted, mutinied, or switched sides to try to avoid fighting other Romans. The most dramatic case was probably when Antony and Octavian faced off at Brundisium, and both their armies refused to fight, insisting that the triumvirs get their shit together. Hence the Treaty of Brundisium, which staved off war between Antony and Octavian for another eight years.

The real crux of the matter lies with financial survival and political legitimacy.

Financial Survival

The old explanation is that the Marian reforms made soldiers dependent on their generals to get paid instead of being paid by the government. This gave them a vested interest in the generals' success, and little reason to be loyal to the state. A closely related argument is the idea that as the ranks opened up to poorer soldiers, they became more dependent on their generals for pay.

I think this idea is only partly true. It probably played some role, like when Sulla's soldiers realized they wouldn't get paid if he were replaced, or when Caesar doubled his army's pay a few months before he crossed the Rubicon. If it's a choice between having enough to eat or obeying some senators who you don't think give a shit about you, well...

But this idea also assumes Joe Centurion didn't give two shits about his country's peace, prosperity, or laws. No sense of patriotism, or even care for who else would get hurt in the crossfire. Would you be willing to resort to war? Why not just hang around the forum and dump poop on the head of the politician who won't give you your damn pension? (This literally happened to the consul Bibulus in 59 BCE!)

So, I think we need to add another, deeper reason to explain why Roman soldiers acted as they did.

Legitimacy

Legitimacy means that a person is accepted as rightfully holding their role. Who has the right to speak for the people? Who represents the lawful government, and who is a rebel against the state?

When Sulla marched on Rome the first time, he didn't tell his soldiers "Let's overthrow the government." He told them Rome had been taken over by a violent mob, and he (the lawfully elected consul) needed their help to restore order. After Sulla left to fight Mithridates, his enemies said, "Sulla overruled a vote of the people and shed blood in Rome against the Senate's orders - of course he's a rebel!" Both sides tried to recruit support with different arguments.

Caesar also had to argue his legitimacy to his troops before he invaded Italy, and later made his case to the Roman public in his Civil War Commentaries. Like Sulla, he delegitimized the current government by claiming it had been taken over by a small faction of extremists. He never claimed to be fighting against the Senate itself. Caesar also portrayed himself as a protector of the people's rights after Caesar-friendly tribunes had to flee from Rome. Finally, he argued that his dignitas was on the line, and by extension the honor of the entire army who'd served him. (Caesar may have also been referring to the people's right to "confer dignitas" by electing officials, and that when the Senate prevented the lead candidate from running, i.e. Caesar, it was supposedly silencing the people's voice.)

The Pompeians, on the other hand, argued that Caesar was actively refusing to obey the Senate and invading Italy. The Caesarians countered that the Senate had declared war on Caesar first, and Caesar tried to avoid actual violence up till Brundisium...but that's getting into the weeds. The overall point is that both sides had to make their case to the people, and to the soldiers, to fight for them.

Then the Pompeian leadership were wiped out, Caesar got shanked, and the question of "Who's in charge?" became an absolute clusterfuck.

Imagine your country has been fighting a civil war for five years. There's been at least three different sides claiming to be the real government. One of them invaded the capital and the other two are suspiciously allied with foreign powers. Then after side #1 wins, and supposedly reabsorbs side #2, guys from side #1 and #2 both assassinate the leader of side #1, and then no one can agree on who the next Top Roman is, or even how to decide that.

If you're confused, don't worry. So were the Romans. And here we finally see an army that is clearly loyal to a general instead of the state. Octavian recruited them without the Senate's permission, and they supported his illegal demand for the consulship against the Senate's will. But it took years of confusion, chaos, and betrayal, to get to that point.

By the time Octavian was ready to declare war on Antony (again), the Romans were sick and tired of the triumvirs' squabbling. So Octavian didn't declare war on Antony, but on Cleopatra. Cleopatra was the real threat to Rome, he said, and Antony was enslaved by her phenomenal pussy wit and charm being smarter than anyone else in the Mediterranean. It wasn't a civil war, but a war against the Egyptian menace. At least, if you asked Octavian. And he welcomed back all of Antony's Roman soldiers who deserted to him, of which there were many.

This all helps to explain why Roman soldiers stopped civil warring once Octavian consolidated power, too. It was the ambitious politicians who started the conflict, not ordinary people.

To prevent more civil wars, Octavian just had to make sure he paid the soldiers on time, looked like a strong and capable leader to the Roman public, and didn't let any other generals get too popular or influential. Except for his best bro Agrippa, of course. Agrippa contributed to Octavian's agenda by refusing to hold the triumphs he was awarded. When the best general of their generation turned the honor down, it became gauche for any other commanders to ask for it.

From here, we get into the more subtle politicking of Octavian - ahem, Augustus' - long reign, and how he tried to stop the empire from exploding again. That's a fascinating story in itself, but it's a story for another time.

#just roman asks #octavian #lucius cornelius sulla #julius caesar #mark antony #jlrrt essays #roman armies #caesar's civil war

[alienwithobsessions]

Dialogue:

THE GHOUL

[You are regular you, but you've somehow wished yourself into the Fallout series universe. Cooper finds you snooping around where he's holed up for a few days. You're bound and interrogated - which is where the following dialogue takes place]

"I don't know how to explain the multiverse to you, if I did, this would be a whole lot easier."

Cooper shakes his head for the umpteenth time. "Nothin's easy out here, sweetie." He paces between you and a window of the building he's dragged you into.

You squirm to circulate blood flow to your hands behind your back, wishing you could be standing instead of tied to a wooden beam. Your left butt cheek has gone numb, making you feel lopsided somehow.

"May I remind you why you need to tell me the truth, darlin'?" He lifts the shotgun he's had at his side, aiming it at your head.

"I know you have no reason to trust me, but just try to understand, please!" You licked your lips with a rapidly drying tongue. "I'm not working for anyone. I'm just a random fan who swapped watching your world on TV with living in it."

Cooper let out a huffed breath, seemingly tired of your pointless explanation, his finger began to squeeze the trigger.

"Come on, you've lived in a world with power armour, massive underground vaults, whatever the hell powers pip boys and Mr Handy's, but you can't believe I've come from another universe?!"

"No, I can't," he drawled, raising a smooth eyebrow.

"Well, where I'm from, a lot of things you knew before the war, and practically everything you've known since, is science fiction," the words rushed out of you, "the effects of radiation, look what it's capable of, look at someone like you," your voice was high, panic gripped you as he narrowed his eyes, "to me you're almost unbelievable, you're a fantasy!"

Faster than you could register what happened, the shotgun was holstered and Cooper was kneeling in front of you, his face inches from yours. Slowly, a lopsided grin stretched his raw lips. "A fantasy, huh?"

#Fallout #Walton goggins #Cooper howard #Cooper howard x reader #Writing #🤠 #Okay so my mental illness is showing #But we're all imagining some version of this right

[prismatoxic]

some people are really fucking mad about trans dunmeshi headcanons and it's kind of pathetic.

like i'm actively unsettled by how many times i've seen it recently. usually re: chilchuck. if it upsets you, block the people you're so mad at. write/draw the characters as cis instead. why do you have to complain in a way that puts the blame at the feet of the people with these headcanons? they're just having fun. they're engaging with fandom. they aren't doing anything wrong, and if you don't like it, you're not doing anything wrong by blocking them or saying, on your own (not under their posts, for fuck's sake), "well i don't personally like this thing."

like you do realize that queer headcanons are completely fucking harmless, right? no one is impacting canon by doing this. you just look like a bigot when you come up with reasons why it "doesn't make sense". like i'm sorry dude, but you don't need an explanation for why someone is queer. you're not questioning why or how characters can be cis or het in dunmeshi, so you must think that's "normal", which... i'll be honest, is a bad fucking look! you can't hide behind "i'm a queer ally" or "i have friends who are queer" or even "i'm queer" if you're actively being queerphobic. the fact that i see this the most with trans headcanons is really fucking concerning.

i'm sorry, but trans chilchuck is not hurting you. block people and filter tags like a big kid.

#tox.txt #i wanna tag this with the main tag but i also don't want to fucking die #so just rb it for me maybe

[arugan]

Dream sweet in sea major ft. ssc

explanation below ⬇️

Second stage children are the most interesting characters to develop, drawing them was so fun.

i had an graphic designer assignement, it was about creating art, our path to create. but i didnt really understand the meaning of the assignement tbh so i gave this, with a silly explanation of how i create at the end lol. the song is Dream Sweet in Sea Major, from Musical Miracle. very good band i recommend.

i tried to give a meaning to each illustrations but to be honest my mind is not that smart, youll have shitty explanations and i hope i make it short lol.

"It feels like flying, but maybe we are dying" this lyric remind me of the whole group in general. second stage children have a limited life time, they have to make the most before its too late, their fightning style is compared to "flying" and their causes of why they do is because they are "dying" (ssc genes may dιε quicker since they dont live long (?)). i picked garo for this one, he is the one who fights alot

"A cosmic confluence of pyramids hologrammed" tbh i dont understand the meaning of the lyric 😭 i know it has a deep meaning in the song itself, but still. cosmic confluence symbolize the different timelines, all the ones that made saru forgot, which is the chalk trait he is tracing. he wanna make fey's head clearer as possible so he (fey or saru) can complete his mission. "pyramids hologrammed" remind me of all the hologrammed moments in cs, with el dorado.

"She knows you heard her" "Staging music murder". this time ill talk about the illustration. there is a part of the circle, it illustrate a clock, i was supposed to put "8" behind, why ? cuz they die at 20. sadly if i added a number next to all these typographies it wont come out great. instead i drew their logo team as clock hand. pointing in front of them. meaning time is going to kill them at "8". which explain the music murder.

"In line before the show began" that is so conceptual all the things i explain but bear with me 😭. in line -> zanark got enough talent/skills -> changed team everytime = reason why he appears 3 times cuz everytime he was in line to play again (show = match) (i drew him with braids because it PISSED ME OFF HIS HAIRCUT i had enough)

"To be where I am". "where" is pixelited because he is always looking for his place, he always moved on to other places, either its for matchs or looking for skills. and he only "found" his place when he miximaxed with clara j + joined chrono storm.

"Children born of one emotion", very basic and understandable. SSC were motived by one reason, people denied them the whole time, they grew up with one strong emotion : anger. (and saru is the only one to command the whole thing too, tiny detail)

"Our devotion's deepest ocean" this is one hell of a lyric but sadly i couldnt come up with a very nice illustration or meaning. their motivation is so strong they wanted to conquer the entire world.

anyway, sorry for the disappearance haha, i didnt have anything to post yk, homeworks and stuff. my first year end this 25th may, it went so fast

#yk what i think about else #about if some ssc didnt take the vaccine #this sht is sad asf #one day i remember i said imagine ssc just dιε randomly one day because their bodies couldnt take it anymore #anyway i hope all this make sense #inazuma eleven chrono stone #inazuma eleven #second stage children #セカンドステージ・チルドレン #inazuma eleven go

[lilislegacy]

I love that whenever you get sent songs, you actually take the time to listen to them. And not only that, but you analyze the lyrics and everything. I simply think it’s so nice that you give everyone’s thoughts and recommendations your full attention. There are not many popular posters who do that and actually care about each person’s thoughts that much. No one is saying this to you so I thought I would

And I have a question. What are YOUR songs that make you think of Percy and Annabeth? And I going to listen to each of them with my headphones on and really pay attention to the lyrics. Because you do the same for us

this is so nice of you to say! thank you for this ❤️ and yes, i always want people to know that i value their thoughts. the only reason i am “popular” is because you all listen to my thoughts and value them. so why wouldn’t i do the same in return?

for my songs, i have soooo many. but i will give a few!

1. Rescue by Lauren Daigle- this one literally gives me chills if i think about percabeth during it. the lyrics are so freaking spot on. especially percabeth in the titans curse, the last olympian, and all of heroes of olympus. if there is one song you guys are gonna put on your headphones for or play in your car and let yourself have the feels, make it this one.

2. True love by Pink - it just gives such percabeth pjo vibes. i love how much they bicker and press each others buttons.

3. Paris by The Chainsmokers - this isnt one where the lyrics match exactly. obviously the bits about alcohol and cigarettes don’t really apply to percabeth. but the themes of the song and some of the lyrics really hit hard. it just gives percabeth vibes to me

4. Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey - no explanation needed. it gives me chills

5 Missing Piece by Vance Joy - there’s so much about this song that fits so percy. i just love it for them.

#guys rescue takes me out #i really hope someone can relate #true love makes me giggle #percabeth #percabeth songs #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #rick riordan #answered