#I haven’t drawn him since 2017

[periprose]

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.

Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)

Word count: 11k

There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.

Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.

“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”

“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet. 

“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.

“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”

There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.

“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.

Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.

You wish you could be there for him too. 

It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.

You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.

Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.

Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.

“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.

He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.

“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”

“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”

You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”

“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”

The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself. 

You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad. 

“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.

“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”

“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.

“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember. 

He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.

Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.

“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that. 

“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”

Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.

Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.

Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing. 

Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age. 

“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”

“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”

“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”

“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”

Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”

“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”

Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.

You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it. 

He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.

“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”

“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little. 

“What?”

“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.

“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”

“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.

“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”

“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”

“Business administration specialist.”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”

“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”

Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”

“Acquaintances.”

“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”

“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”

You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”

“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”

Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.

/

Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry. 

You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.

“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”

Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.

“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.

Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.

“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”

“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”

She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.

“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.

 Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.

There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.

“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.

“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”

“Hubris.” 

“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”

“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”

“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”

You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.

“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.

“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”

“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”

“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”

“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.

/

You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.

You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”

Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too. 

Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.

You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.

But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?

Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.

You might never stand out.

You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick. 

They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice. 

You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.

It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.

You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.

/

Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.

“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”

“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.

“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.

He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.” 

“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.

Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.

“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included. 

“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”

“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”

“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.

“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”

She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.

You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?

You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.

Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”

Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.

Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.

“What?”

Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient. 

Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”

“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.

“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”

“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.

Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.

“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.

“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”

“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.

“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”

Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone. 

“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”

“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”

“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late. 

He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt. 

Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.

/

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.

When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear. 

“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.

“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.

You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.

You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all. 

You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.

Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.

He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.

“Birdie?”

You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees. 

“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”

“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.

“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”

“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.

Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort. 

He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small. 

He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust. 

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."

“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”

“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”

Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.

Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.

He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you. 

"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again. 

"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are. 

“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said. 

You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.

But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.

“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”

“Wait, Birdie–”

“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”

“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”

He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.

“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.

“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”

Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”

“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off. 

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”

In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”

You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.

“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”

“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.

“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod. 

“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something. 

Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb. 

Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.

He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.

Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?

Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.

He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.

Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours. 

You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security. 

Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.

Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far. 

“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”

You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.

“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”

His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.

“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”

“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”

Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”

“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”

You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.

“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you. 

Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that. 

/ 

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.

Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this. 

For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough. 

You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.

That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too. 

When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.

“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance. 

You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?

You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.

The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often. 

Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.

Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.

“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.

Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.

Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.

You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.

You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too. 

Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.

Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.  

“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.

Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.

"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”

Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.

“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.

“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.

“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.

“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.

But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael– you want to like him. 

"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”

"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"

He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better. 

“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about. 

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.

"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?” 

You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.

“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.

Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”

You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.

Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.

Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.

You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.

Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.

Michael throws the third fork.

It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other. 

Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.

Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.

Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.

Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.

Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do. 

You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.

Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.

Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.

You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.

You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.

You hope next Christmas will be better.

/

Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.

Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.

He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.

Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.

He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further. 

Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.

#michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #michael berzatto x you #the bear fx #the bear #x reader #reader insert #michael berzatto fluff #fluff #angst #carmy berzatto x reader #jon bernthal #donna berzatto #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #neil fak #the bear s2 #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #the berzattos #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #michelle berzatto

[orangebetel]

Couple studies of Negan because I haven’t drawn him since 2017 and I miss him lol

#negan #negan smith #the walking dead #twd negan #twd

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

Deathless Thoughts:

I only read this book in full once in 2017 and have only really paged through it a lot since. I definitely found it much more deliberate and thematically coherent this time around. I remember initially feeling like the surrealism and constant jumps ahead were disjointed but it reads very cohesively to me now. I’m very curious if that will continue past the latter 50% which I haven’t reread yet. I remember starkly disliking that portion and I have no idea if I’ll feel similarly this time around— because I already enjoyed the second act much more on reread and acknowledged its purpose, when up until now I did not lol

My initial thoughts were that the fantasy elements were too surreal to care about and that the relationship was too much of a nothing, with too little not unpleasant screen time to justify its centrality to the plot. But having read more classic surrealist Russian lit has familiarized me to the former and makes me actually understand what it’s going for. And for the latter I think I’m just more onboard with unpleasantness and abuse being the point. So currently, my perspective is almost wholly positive.

I enjoy the book’s use of its subject material— fairytales set in actual history— as many many metaphors. First folktales and fantasy specifically in the Soviet era, so rife with censorship, as a vehicle for allegory, their use and importance in literature itself being a motif. Then the metaphor for inexorable class hierarchies and unchangeable power structures before and after the revolution, the way only the branding changed, but the power structures remained. And also, most pervasively, as a way to examine gender roles and gendered loss of agency; the politics of a marriage.

I really liked the way the novel built up Koschei and how everything is about Marya’s relationship with Koschei (her relationship with agency and the lack thereof) even when he’s fairly infrequently on screen. From her sister’s bird husbands in the opening, and child Marya’s musing on the potential transformative nature of marriage— but also the inherently unequal power dynamic and resolving that she will do/be better because she knows more than they did. To the metaphor of her thinking that a secret will treat her well and then later the line where the personified secret is then likened to a husband who will be her ruin. Even that when Koschei finally shows up to take her away it’s compared to being taken away by the revolutionary government/the police.

Marya is herself highlighted for her knowledge and her desire for it. Specifically the ability to see discrepancies in the stories she is told whether that is the magical or ideological and political. The sisters in the opening marry into seemingly static unmoving snapshots of history. Meanwhile Marya’s singled out in her precociousness and open admittance of there being anything completely beyond the ideologies presented by each suitor in his human form [the power structure of the Tsarist state, and the Soviet Union]. She’s defined by wanting to see beyond dichotomies and limited scopes of propaganda. She sees it as a skill, and it is, but it’s also something that singles her out for misery, both by her peers (the scarf incident) and by the likes of Koschei who is specifically drawn to willfulness and a lack of adherence to a particular role with the intent of breaking that will.

The entire seduction segment that is turning all the food and her illness into an erotic power exchange is also just explicitly about breaking her will, and fostering perfect obedience and dependence on him. It’s also really interesting that, in going with him, she does somewhat lucidly give up and trade away her agency/ability to dictate a story/her own perspective in exchange for being physically well cared for. (But then even that is very thorny and with many strings attached)

So by part two, she is stuck in the dichotomy of “who is to rule” and either she can be a Yelena/Vasalisa or a soon-to-be Baba Yaga. Yet, either way, she is never good enough and it is still inevitably an exploitative and draining situation.

Marya being successful in her willingness to do degrading and cruel things to earn Baba Yaga’s blessing and Koschei’s favor being punctuated by all her friends— who without which she would never have succeeded at all— dying horribly illustrates that so well. In her success she is only further isolated. She will never repay their help, because being Tsaritsa of Buyan, and having any sort of power, is inherently antithetical to that.

The emphasis on Lebedeva’s girlboss magic makeup and the passage about Marya being told that girls must care only for vapid, pretty things, among other moments, might feel extremely dated. But I do think they’re intended to be employed in a way where traditional femininity presents a sort of deliberate and acknowledged safety? And it goes hand in hand with Marya, while never choosing to be a “Yelena” in traditional soft femininity, does end up choosing to try to leverage soft power and soft manipulation within deliberately gendered terms fairly often. But again it’s just presented from a very dated and particular context.

So far, the sheer dedication of the book to being an explicit Bluebeard tale and a story about abuse, and how there is no winning in that sort of relationship has been very fun for me.

I also enjoyed Koschei outright lying about the Yelenas and Vasalisas— and then later about the location of his death. I think that’s a character type you usually expect to deceive via omission but, no, he just outright lies a lot.

Another example is that Widow Likho’s book makes it clear that humans best enter into Buyan when ill, and meanwhile everything Koschei does is of course explicitly a repetition of previous stories. So it’s practically confirmed that he had taken every Yelena etc on that same long trip and made them ill on purpose. Even though in the moment he claims to be surprised by it, and spontaneous in caring for her through her illness.

Or the suggestion that he found a reason to put all the other girls in the stable when they got to Buyan as punishment for disobeying him. That the point is the punishment and breaking of the will rather than there being any sort of standard the bride could realistically meet where he would be happy with her and welcome her to her new home without that initial humiliation and fear.

It’s also incredibly funny and refreshing that this book buys into Koschei’s nonsense way less than any of its subsequent imitators. (The Grisha trilogy included!) I enjoyed Baba Yaga being like “Why is everything black, stop being dramatic 🙄”

He’s barely present in the book at all. His page count is truly negligible! And it’s great!

Like I mention earlier, that was actually something I was annoyed by on my first read, the relationship just seemed fairly thin, even though the snapshots of it that we get are fascinating. But after being inundated with so many books worshipping the ground love interests like him stand on, I love how much he doesn’t fucking matter and how little page time he has. How that itself allows Marya’s emotions and conflicted feelings to remain central. The narrative doesn’t care about him, it’s only what impact he has on her that’s relevant.

Anyway somewhat superficial but I really enjoy the goth love interest being the Tsar of Life, because authors typically go a more obvious and melodramatic route. Despite all of the goth mystique, him not being associated with death, darkness, night, etc was refreshing. But also I do generally just find the concept of life being equated with the lurid and demanding, the parasitical, something that is always in a personal sense at war with death— aka the mention of him always looking sickly or feeling skeletal initially when he kisses Marya— a compelling one. It’s death and the maiden wrapped up in a single person essentially.

Anyway I also appreciated the parallel of the Yelenas being trapped in eternity weaving soldiers while Marya’s first thought upon seeing Koschei is that if she had knitted herself a perfect lover he would look like that. There is the constant underpinning of Marya being wholly separate from them, the question of whether she is greater or more horrible than them, but at the heart of it she’s really not. She’s just another victim in a long string of them.

#cautiously hopeful that I’ll like the second half just as much despite my opinions on first read #deathless #koschei the deathless #marya morevna #book talk #i ramble sometimes #*writer’s cap*

[womanenthusiast]

Accomplice (Keith/Tenebris & Custom MC)

No romance, just a no good very bad day for everyone involved. Bambi and Keith discover they’ve been cheated on at the same time and things go from bad to worse. Inspired by this ask.

TW: blood & gore, swearing

AN: I haven’t written anything since 2017/2018, but the call of the @dualityvn fanfic contest was too strong. Please forgive any issues, I have no idea what I’m doing.

The knock at the door was unexpected, the rattle of a key in the lock even moreso. When Keith stepped out of the bedroom to see what was going on, his partner, Sam, met his eyes with a guilty look. She seemed to know what was about to happen, her shoulders straightening resolutely as the door opened.

Another woman stumbled in, arms were weighed down by groceries making her unsteady. Sam stepped forward to take a bag and balanced the woman with a hand on her elbow. The motion was domestic, familiar. Keith’s stomach sank.

“I’m so sorry to drop in unannounced, I noticed you were low on some things the other day and wanted to make sure you had enough for the week, I know how crazy work’s been.” The stranger was pulling out items and restocking Sam’s cabinets with practiced movements. When she finally spotted him, she jolted with surprise. Keith tensed too, readying himself for a confrontation. It didn’t happen. Instead, her face brightened into a welcoming smile. “Shit sorry, I didn’t even see you there! You must be a friend of Sam’s.” 

The woman’s attitude caught him off guard. She didn’t seem to be aware that anything was wrong. His brain rushed to smooth the edges of his assumptions; maybe he wasn’t being cheated on, maybe he’d been too hasty to assume. A sister or cousin? A friend? An assistant? Tenebris stirred in the back of his mind, drawn out by the frantic chaos of his thoughts. The woman’s next words startled them both into silence.

“My name’s Bambi, I’m Sam’s fiance.” Bambi wiped her hands on her jeans and offered one to him to shake. “I just stopped by to drop off some groceries, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.” 

Keith took her hand without thinking, but couldn’t bring himself to shake it. Bambi’s smile wilted at the look in his eye. They both heard Sam cough behind her. 

“Keith, listen-” His hand tightened around the stranger’s at the sound of Sam’s voice, colored with guilt. The remnants of Bambi’s smile crumbled away as the pieces began to fall into place and she squeezed his hand back involuntarily. They stared at each other, frozen.

Keith looked pale. Bambi would later come to see the omen in the blue splotches crawling up his neck and the uncanny curl to the corner of his mouth, but at the time her frantic brain twisted the strangeness into something she could understand. A lifetime of self-imposed service pushed her legs toward the window, the clamminess building in her hands making it easy to slide out of his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked, incredulous.

She blustered about the lock with hands numb and shaking as though she’d just plunged them in ice water. An old routine turned awkward and clumsy with the shock to her system. “He needs air.” 

Did he? Keith wasn’t sure. His head was a mess of his own swirling thoughts and the frustrated prodding of Tenebris. The other inhabitant knew something was happening and wanted to step in, but Keith wouldn’t yet relinquish control, regardless of the temptation to just let go. There was an innocent here and he could tell by her demeanor that Bambi hadn’t known, either. He didn’t know how far Tenebris’ rage would extend if he didn’t take the time to sort his thoughts and inform him of the situation properly.

Sam seemed to take pity on Bambi and nudged her away so she could undo the lock and slide the window open herself. Bambi looked confusedly at her own trembling hands. Sam wasn’t shaking at all, which seemed wrong. She felt like it should’ve been the opposite. 

Bambi had learned young that relationships were fleeting, frequently slipping through her fingers. She refused to be lonely but kept a loose grip, letting one relationship go and then reaching back into the bucket for more. Made herself useful so they’d have a reason to keep her around a little longer, but not begrudging them when they left. The way her mother had held a white knuckled grip to her cheating father had seemed embarrassing to her in her adolescence. The longer it had gone on, the more Bambi had wanted to take a hammer to those fingers so her mother would finally let go and fall away somewhere better. The desperation of wanting to hold on to someone like that became associated with the sympathetic humiliation Bambi had felt for her. She’d vowed to never do that to herself long ago, so why was this affecting her so? 

She squeezed crescents into her palms, shame coloring her cheeks as everything came together for her. She’d gotten too comfortable, held on too tight. Just like her mother. A toothbrush wrapped in a paper towel, found shoved into the back of the medicine cabinet. A sweater, out of place in Sam’s pile of laundry. The orchid that had been thriving on the windowsill despite Sam’s self proclaimed touch of death. How long had she willingly ignored the signs? She’d let Sam become important, let the ring on her finger dig a mark into her skin. Hers. Mine. 

She willed herself to feel anything else about her own lot, but embarrassment reigned over all. In the face of that, she decided instead to feel for Keith. There was more there to work with, bubbling up in her chest like a witch’s brew. Indignation. Anger. Offense. Sadness. Pain. She tended to those emotions, urging them to loosen her own grip on the relationship, pop her fingers off the ledge one at a time as though breaking a seal. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. A deep breath, a release of tension.

“What the hell, Sam? How long has this been going on?” 

“Not long, I swear! It was just some fun, I wanted to try something new before we tied everything down.” She mistook Bambi’s anger as hurt for her own self, a loose thread in the sweater that Sam could pull to unravel her into forgiveness. She knew Bambi didn’t like to fight, that she’d roll over and show her belly if it would make the conflict stop, regardless of her own feelings. This wasn’t about Bambi’s feelings, though. Her need to defend overshadowed her aversion to conflict.

“Something? He’s a person and he’s right here!” She didn’t bother asking if he knew, the truth was written in his wide eyes, turned towards the floor, and the distressed pinch to his brows. His mouth was clenched shut and a muscle twitched in his jaw. Keith looked like he was having a conversation in his head and feared he’d speak it aloud if he eased up even a fraction. 

“Keith, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, I-” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, maybe because she didn’t know if Sam would. Someone had to be sorry. “I don’t know what to say.” 

He didn’t either, a small part of him just wanted to take her hand again. There was comfort in being tethered to someone as lost in the situation as himself. 

Seeing that placation wouldn’t work, Sam bristled and turned defensive. “I’m sorry it turned out like this, but Bambi you’re so fucking hard to love! You keep everyone away, even me!”

“What?”

“I thought we could make things work, that you’d open up if things between us were more stable but you’re so damn cold! I was lonely, that’s it.” Sam scoffed, “you’re not even crying! You cried watching a fucking documentary last week but not over this?” 

There was a stabbing feeling in Bambi’s chest, a rage clawing to the surface at Sam’s assessment of her. She wasn’t wrong, but she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to strike back, find a soft spot in the other woman’s armor and dig her nails into it, but she didn’t know what to say. 

She didn’t have to say anything. A blur of movement tore past her line of sight and collided into Sam. The snap of a rubber band pulled too tight. For a moment Bambi didn’t move, only to stumble back a heartbeat later as though hit with the shockwave of Sam and Keith’s impact. 

He drew back a blue fist -was it always that color?- and something wet landed on her cheek. As though in a trance, she brought a finger to it. Red. Oh shit. 

“APOLOGIZE!” He shouted, his voice was raspier than she’d expected. There were other words too, but they all sounded garbled and incoherent to her. Through the fog of the shock, she thought the sound of it didn’t quite suit Keith’s delicate features.

Sam didn’t apologize, Bambi doubted she could anymore. She couldn’t see much past the haze of his movement, but each thud of contact was beginning to sound like an open palm slapping the surface of a pool. 

Bambi was on the ground. She didn’t remember dropping, but her tailbone ached so it couldn’t have been graceful. When she tried to scoot away, her sock slid tractionless through the pool of blood lazily inching towards her. When had she taken her shoe off? 

It wasn’t long before he stopped moving, shoulders hunched, and she noticed the faint shape of a women's size nine and a half printed on his sleeve in dirt. Her other, still shoe-covered, foot managed to gain a bit of traction and she shot back into the cabinets behind her hard enough to knock the wind out of herself. 

He turned to face her and she saw that he was different. Blue skin, eyes wide and bloodshot with pinprick violet irises. Odd lines stretched from the corners of his mouth which pulled back in a grimace full of knifelike teeth. She wasn’t as hung up as she thought she should be on this change in appearance. Perhaps she was fresh out of shocks to her system. What else could today throw at her? Why not this, too? 

“Are you okay?”

What an odd question to ask her when her former fiance was a pile of meat beside him. She shook her head violently, not wanting to test his patience by not answering quickly enough.

“Keith doesn’t want me to kill you.” He let out a puff of air through his nose, “Sam hurt you too?”

She nodded. Should she call the cops? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her phone was in the car. Not-Keith was between her and the door. Fuck. 

“Do you talk?”

He wasn’t hostile yet, maybe she could get out of this if she played her cards right. Talk her way out of this horror show. Bambi nodded, eyes flicking momentarily to her feet. The blood puddle was encroaching on her space again. She’d always suspected the floor in this code violation of an apartment building wasn’t level, what a way to have that confirmed. She turned her gaze back to him. “Who are you?”

He tilted his head like he was surprised she wasn’t running screaming out the door. To be honest, so was she. She might’ve had a chance to escape back when he was busy with Sam and she was genuinely baffled that the shoe had been her first instinct instead. “Tenebris. I’m a part of him.” 

Sure. Normal. Tenebris sat down across from her. Very normal. Just two people and a puddle of blood. Having a conversation. 

Bambi opened her mouth but a knock sounded at the door before she could say anything. Both of them straightened, making startled eye contact.

“Is everything okay? I thought I heard yelling.” Bambi recognized the voice of Sam’s neighbor, two doors down. She’d met him once. What was his name? Luke? Lake? Lance?

Tenebris was looking at her, his eyes narrowed slightly: this was a test. Her mouth was still open so she snapped it shut with an audible clack. The motion caused a tear to streak down her cheek. 

“Sam? You in there?” 

She tried to read what Tenebris wanted her to do in his face. He gave her a small nod; great, he wanted her to cover. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, steadying herself. “We’re good, man. Thanks for checking up. I sat on the remote and it blasted the volume.” She clenched her hands into fists on the floor, distantly aware that they were now wet.

Panic was beginning to set in. The fear of being caught, the fear of Tenebris sitting across from her, the distress of sitting in the blood of the woman whose name was next to hers on a pile of wedding invitations in her living room. She was shaking badly, every muscle in her body taut as though bracing for some sort of impact. 

Tenebris didn’t look impressed with her improv, but he wasn’t turning her into a human smoothie so she suspected she’d done well enough. 

Luke or Lake or Lance scoffed on the other side of the door, “well don’t fucking do that again, I have a night shift tonight.” Neither of them moved until they heard his footfalls disappear down the hall and his apartment door open and shut. 

When the coast was clear, Tenebris rose and offered a hand to Bambi. She took it without thinking, but cringed when her brain finally caught up. He pulled her up easily and she tried not to slip back onto her ass in her haste to pull away again. 

“What’s your name?”

“Bambi.” 

“Like the deer?” 

She tried not to let the instinctive disdain for the question show on her face. “Just like the deer.” 

He nodded, making an expression like he was proud to have correctly made the connection. “Do you know where she keeps the cleaning supplies?” A nod. “Show me.” 

Bambi led the way, wet sock slapping against the vinyl flooring, to the half bath that contained the cleaning closet. Everything was where she’d left it last time she’d cleaned. Sam had always hated cleaning but Bambi found it relaxing and would stop by to vacuum, mop, and do her laundry for her quite frequently. Most of the things inside had been purchased by Bambi herself. Tenebris filled his arms with supplies and indicated for Bambi to do the same. 

“We’ve gotta make sure this place is spotless before dark so we don’t have to come back after we get rid of the body.” 

He strode out of the bathroom after dropping that bombshell and she watched his back disappear around the corner towards the kitchen. Bambi nearly dropped the bleach on her foot. Fucking we?

From the other room, Tenebris barked a laugh, “Is this your shoe? Did you throw that at me?” His tone seemed a touch too casual for the situation, if you asked her.

Bambi laughed back, though there was no humor in it. Her brain had finally caught up to what was going on and she felt the weight of everything that had and would happen fall onto her shoulders. Their lives were about to become very tightly intertwined.

Son of a bitch, he was making her an accomplice. 

#i like to think she goes to therapy after this to fix her relationship hangups but. very carefully #like. this was a sign #some of this was written at 1 am so if a paragraph make sense just assume that's when it was written #SCREAM. i meant doesn't make sense #anyway where's the hostage murder accomplices to lovers tag on ao3 #duality fanfic #my writing #watching ur fiance get murdered and then thinking about building code violations #certified girl moment #duality vn #duality game #duality keith #duality tenebris #mc: bambi #genuinely tend to see bambi x keith as like. sweet romance drama with a twist. #before she's ready to officially start a relationship she just keeps buying plants and then inviting him over to help care for them #and they both know what's going on and give each other a knowing smile #meanwhile bambi x tenebris is like. buddy cop movie meets horror comedy also she pegs him #i feel like that came through here a little too which is funny bc i did not try that #to keith she's like oooh i have to defend him he's so beautiful and delicate #meanwhile tenebris just murdered someone and despite it all his attitude has her like. this fucking guy.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev. || AO3 || My website

Chapter 49: March 2017

Days stretched out into weeks, and by the first week of March, Tim was beginning to think they’d made a mistake in encouraging Jon to stay away from the Institute.

There’d been no sign of Detective Tonner since she’d done her interviews with them, but according to Elias, she was still very much interested in Jon as a suspect. He’d assured the three of them that of course Jon is not responsible for this—although how he knew that, Tim had no fucking clue and no desire to know, although he could guess—but that until he was officially cleared, he would be out of the office. Martin had gone home early with a headache, but he’d been back to work bright and early the next morning, and he hadn’t missed a minute of time since.

It wasn’t hard to guess that he was distracting himself. They might have been teasing a bit when they’d told Martin that Jon wouldn’t lie to him, but it was definitely true that the two of them had formed an incredibly close bond, closer than they were to either Tim or Sasha. Martin missed Jon, and he also worried about him, and he knew enough about what was going on to worry more. And then there was the fact that Melanie was still off doing…whatever she was doing. Martin missed and worried about her, too, but he at least had Gerry to share that worry.

At least, that was what Tim had believed up until last night.

The first Monday in March dawned crisp and cold. Tim tugged his woolen hat a little further down over his ears and hurried his steps from the Tube station to the Institute. Chelsea was an objectively lovely area, if expensive, and ordinarily he might have stopped to appreciate the sun sparkling on the grass where the frost hadn’t entirely burnt off yet or the stark beauty of the bare branches against the wintery sky. Instead, he plowed on ahead, hell-bent on getting to the Institute.

He was a bit earlier than usual; there were a few people arriving, but the biggest part of the crowd would be getting there closer to eight. A couple of people nodded greetings to him, which he returned. Most ignored him, which was fine with him. The Archives were a world unto themselves at the best of times, and as they got more and more involved in researching the Unknowing they’d drawn closer to one another and further from the rest of the Institute. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually exchanged more than a few words with anyone outside the Archives, not that he’d had many intimate friends before that. Still, it was enough to make Tim glad they were getting along—mostly—in the Archives these days; it would have been insanely isolating if he’d had to deal with only working with people who hated him, or who he hated.

That did not, however, stop him from getting angry with them from time to time.

He hoped to get into the Archives with enough time to plan out his approach, because Tim knew himself pretty well and he knew he needed to calm down and think rationally or he was going to say something he’d regret. That hope was shattered when he stepped through the door of the Archives to find Martin coming out of the shelves with a stack of files under one arm, his nose buried in another. A slight frown creased his forehead, and he seemed totally absorbed in what he was reading.

Tim cleared his throat pointedly.

Martin didn’t react, so Tim cleared his throat again, louder and more emphatically. At that, Martin did finally glance up. “Oh—morning, Tim. Have a good weekend?”

“Have you been here all weekend?” Tim demanded.

“No.” Martin blinked. “Pretty sure I haven’t.”

That…wasn’t good. It had taken Tim way too long to catch on to the fact that Martin was always in the Archives when he and Sasha arrived, no matter how early they got there—which, admittedly, wasn’t usually too much before eight, Sasha liked to sleep in and Tim wasn’t giving this place more than he had to right now—and that he was always the last one to leave. He didn’t look like he’d been sleeping in the Archives, but he hadn’t looked like he was sleeping in the Archives when he was officially living in the Archives, so Tim wasn’t going based on that.

He skimmed Martin’s face. He was clean-shaven as always, he looked neat and professional, and there weren’t any dark circles under his eyes, but he was definitely a bit pale. And there was something about his eyes Tim wasn’t sure he liked, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“What time did you leave on Friday?” he asked.

Martin shrugged. “Dunno. It was dark by then. Why?”

Which meant it had been well after six. Tim looked at the folders under Martin’s arm. “How long have you been here?”

“Couple hours?”

“Jesus.” Tim fought the urge to yank his hair out. This had to stop, but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up without risking Elias knowing things he didn’t need to know. “How did you even fucking get in that early?”

Martin gestured over his shoulder. “There’s more than one way to get into those tunnels. Jon and I—” His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment his face betrayed his feelings, but he mastered himself quickly in a way Tim definitely didn’t like. “We found a couple other entrances while we were exploring, so I came up that way. Not like there’s anyone else down there anymore.”

Tim used the couple of seconds it took him to get his coat off and hang it on the back of his chair to try and get a check on his emotions. It didn’t work particularly well. As soon as Martin had set down the folders, he grabbed his arm. “Show me.”

“Oh, sure—r-right now?” Martin looked a little startled.

“Yes. Immediately. Before Sasha gets in.” And before I blow up on you out here where Elias can hear us, Tim added silently.

Martin made his way over to the trap door, opened it, and led the way down with a practiced familiarity that spoke to how often he’d been down there. Tim didn’t pay much attention, just let the door close behind them. As soon as they hit the bottom of the flight of stairs, he grabbed Martin’s arm again to stop him going any further. “When is the last time you saw Gerry?”

Martin froze, and when he turned to face him, Tim almost felt guilty about the look of fear that flashed through his eyes. Almost. “I—oh, Christ, it’s, not since…i-it’s been a couple weeks. Is he okay? What happened? Shit, if he’s—”

“Nothing’s happened. He’s fine. I’d have told you if something was wrong.” Tim let go of him and folded his arms across his chest. “But, fucking hell, Martin, I thought you’d be spending time with him so you wouldn’t worry about Jon and Melanie so much. He asked me how you were, said he hadn’t heard from you except in texts since Valentine’s Day.”

“We don’t—that’s not unusual, really. Or at least it wasn’t. We were all usually…busy.”

“Yeah, but he’s not traipsing around the world, and Melanie’s not doing her show, and you don’t have a life outside of this place—”

“Ouch, really, Tim?”

“—so there’s no reason you shouldn’t see him at least once a week,” Tim said, steamrolling right over Martin’s (admittedly, probably deserved) chastisement. “Instead you’re spending all your time here.”

“As you pointed out, I don’t have a life outside this place,” Martin said stiffly. “What do you expect me to do, go to poetry slams and join a knitting circle?”

“Fuck, Martin, you need to do something.” Tim scowled. “Working all the time isn’t healthy at the best of places, and this is about as far from the best of places as you can get.”

Martin gestured vaguely upwards. “There’s still a ton of work to be done, and I’m just trying to keep things running for Jon—”

“No, you’re running yourself into the ground because it keeps you from thinking about where Jon is or what Melanie’s doing and fretting because you’re not there to protect them,” Tim interrupted. “Which I’d be nagging you about anyway, but Martin, you cannot keep reading the genuine statements like this.”

“Someone has to,” Martin shot back. “They’ve still got to be recorded, and Jon’s not here.”

“They don’t have to be recorded by you!”

“If I don’t record them, who will?”

“Sasha? Me? There are three of us working down here, Martin.” Tim ground his teeth together. “We should be sharing the workload. You’re not the Archivist, it doesn’t need to all fall on you.”

“You think I want you two ending up like this?” Martin burst out. “You think I want to let you two get so tangled up in the Eye that you start, start Seeing Marks and compelling the truth out of people and skimming their thoughts? You think I want you to get to the point where even if we do figure out how to quit the Institute, you really can’t because your fucking…life force is tied to it?”

“It already is!” Tim shouted, finally letting his anger get the better of him. “You were so wrapped up in everything that you didn’t even fucking notice I wasn’t here last week. I didn’t call out, I didn’t file for leave, I just…left. Hopped a plane to Venice, found myself a hotel.”

That had been a miracle in and of itself; he’d arrived at the tail end of Carnevale and it was astonishing that there was a single spare corner not crowded with tourists. He’d managed to find one, somehow, and tried to enjoy himself. It hadn’t worked. At first he’d told himself it was just guilt for leaving Sasha and Martin in the lurch. Then he’d almost managed to convince himself it was the masks; Tim had a healthy fear of the Stranger, for a number of reasons, and he’d wondered if him being short of breath and shaking every time he stepped out onto the streets was because of the Arlecchinos and Columbinas and voltos everywhere he turned. He’d found himself touching his face periodically to make sure he wasn’t wearing a mask. He had successfully, albeit briefly, convinced himself his mid-week weakness was because he’d fasted before attempting to attend one of the numerous Ash Wednesday services at one of the cathedrals, although he hadn’t actually made it to any of them. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that every single statue, icon, mosaic, and stained glass window was watching him.

Tim only became aware that Martin’s face had gone tight with anger when it abruptly relaxed, leaving him pale and wide-eyed. “You weren’t—? Christ, Tim, I’m so sorry. I—you’re right, I didn’t notice, and…and I should have. I’m so sorry. You deserve better than that.”

“Fucking hell, Martin, that’s not the point.” Tim felt some of his own anger drain away, though, and he added, “I accept your apology anyway. But the thing is that…I, I wasn’t going to come back, thought I’d, I dunno, find someplace to live and get a job and maybe call Gerry to come run away with me or something.”

“He’d do it, too,” Martin murmured. “For you.”

“Also not the point. And he’d never leave you, or Melanie. You’re his fucking brother. He wouldn’t leave you any more than I would have left Danny.” Tim’s voice cracked on his brother’s name, and he held up a hand to stop Martin’s instinctive sympathetic reflex. “The point is that I couldn’t stay away. I…I started getting sick. Elias wasn’t lying about that. The longer I was there, the weaker I felt, until finally I…I just gave up and came back.”

“Tim.” Martin’s face creased in pain. “I didn’t…I didn’t want you to end up like this. I didn’t want you to end up like…”

Me.

The word hung in the air between them like a lead balloon. Tim looked into his buddy’s eyes and saw it all—the guilt, the pain, the stress of the life he’d been embroiled in for the last twenty years. The knowledge that it had been too late for him for a long time, but that the last few years had accelerated things to the point that he saw himself as a monster. He’d tried to save the others from that, and the realization that it was too late for any of them hurt him worse than anything else.

Tim swallowed hard and tried to think of how he would have phrased it if Danny had been the one to bring this to him. What he’d have thought if his little brother had survived Grimaldi and become a Stranger himself, if he’d lived to be Marked so deeply that he didn’t think he could trust himself and worried he would spill it on Tim.

“It’s not your fault,” he said at last. “I think…I think even if you’d told me soon enough that I could have walked away, I wouldn’t have. Sasha wouldn’t have believed you, and me…I wouldn’t have left if you and Jon couldn’t. It’s a big brother thing, you know? You can’t be safe if your younger sibling is in danger. It’s our job to protect you, not the other way around, so even if I had a clear path to run like hell, I wouldn’t have if I had to leave you behind. And yeah, that’s even with me trying to go to Venice. Maybe I knew it wouldn’t work. Maybe I knew Gerry wouldn’t come without you, and honestly, I wouldn’t have left him either. For very different reasons. I guess I just wanted to see if it was true. I just…got to the breaking point is all.”

Martin hesitated, then held out his arms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move closer, just…waited.

Tim, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate for a second. He charged in and hugged Martin tightly, in a way he hadn’t hugged anyone since Danny died.

It was the right thing to do. Martin slumped against him, not really leaning his full weight on him but definitely leaning into him, and held on in a way that told Tim he needed this, too. They stood there hugging each other and feeling a lot of the tension and stress bleed away. It was still there, and Tim was still going to get on Martin’s case about overworking himself, but they’d at least cleared the air a little bit.

Finally, he realized Martin was shaking slightly and stepped back, gripping his shoulders tightly, to study him. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Martin took a deep breath. “It’s just, um, I can’t be down here too long. And, and when I said I’d been here a couple of hours? I sort of did a bit more exploring of the tunnels, or tried to. I’d only sort of just come up when you got in. But it’s—we’re cut off from the Eye down here. It’s kind of a blind spot? I can be here for a bit, but honestly, more than an hour a day and I start getting wobbly.”

“Come on.” Tim practically dragged Martin back up the steps. “No more for today. And no real statements, okay? Just…I don’t know. You can do some filing, or some of the research or whatever. Let Sasha and me handle whatever recording needs to be done.”

“I—” Martin sighed. “Okay.”

Just before they pushed the trap door up, Tim stopped and looked at Martin intently. “We’re a team, Marto. We’re family. You’ve got to let us help you.”

“That goes both ways, you know,” Martin said quietly.

“I know.” Tim led them back into the Archives. “By the way, have you heard from Melanie since she left?”

“No, which tells me she’s doing something I’m going to have to yell at her for when she gets back.” Martin sighed and closed the door behind them, locked it, and pulled out the key. He handed it to Tim. “I’m going to go make us both some tea. Do me a favor and put this somewhere I won’t think to look for it?”

“I’ll trap it so that if you do find it, Sasha and I will know right away,” Tim promised, which elicited a tiny giggle out of Martin. “Go ahead. She should be here any minute.”

Martin nodded and headed off in the direction of the breakroom. Tim stood for a moment, staring at the key, then decided to go put it in Jon’s office. They’d been using the office to make recordings with as little background interference as possible, but Martin especially wasn’t the kind to go through the desk drawers without Jon’s permission. He figured if Martin wasn’t recording today either, they’d be able to keep him away from it even if he did figure out where Tim had hidden it. He bent down to put it in the bottom drawer, where Jon evidently kept a spare set of clothes in case he wound up spending the night in the Archives.

He heard footsteps too loud to be Martin’s, who had long ago perfected the art of moving near silently; it sounded like Sasha had decided to wear flats instead of heels. Tim shut the drawer and straightened, intending to to ask if she had heard from Melanie since she had left, only to find himself facing Elias Bouchard, regarding him with an expression of mild concern. “Tim.”

“Oh, hello, boss,” Tim said, trying to cover his surprise with as much sarcasm as he could. “What brings you down to the dungeons? Your office just too full of joy?”

“Not quite,” Elias said blandly. “I heard you’d had some absences. Some unauthorized leave. I just wanted to talk it through with you.”

“Right.” Tim wondered who he’d heard that from, since Martin hadn’t noticed and Sasha would have chewed off her right arm rather than report to him…wouldn’t she?

“Were you sick? If you’re sick, you really need to call in.”

Tim had to give Elias credit—if he hadn’t known he was an evil murderer, which he wasn’t supposed to know, he’d have believed the “concerned boss” act. Time to play it up. “Nope. Wasn’t sick.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Try again.”

“Well, you hadn’t booked any leave,” Elias pointed out.

“No, I had not,” Tim agreed.

“So, what happened?”

“What, you don’t know?” That…was probably pushing it a bit far, but Tim figured he could play it up if he needed to. After all, Elias had admitted the Institute belonged to the Eye, and he’d called it his master…

Something flickered in Elias’ one good eye for just a moment, but when he spoke, it was as mild as ever. “Despite what you seem to think, Tim, I am not omniscient. I suspect you were trying to leave us, but I don’t have any proof. Is that what happened?”

“Yep.” Tim gave Elias his best what are you going to do about it look. “Hopped a plane to Italy, found myself a hotel.”

Elias matched it with his best I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed look, which made Tim want to hit him. “But you’ve returned?”

Fuck it, he’d already told Martin. And Elias had tried to warn him…or threaten him, as the case may be. “I got sick. I…the longer I was gone, the weaker I felt, like I was losing myself.” He raised an eyebrow. “You gonna fire me, boss?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he remembered what Elias had said the day Martin came back—an appointment to the Archives is one for life. That definitely made it sound like he wasn’t listening…or like he was asking Elias to terminate him with extreme prejudice. He fought back the urge to walk it back and merely waited.

Elias didn’t bat an eyelash. “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Of course not.” Tim tried to conceal the sudden surge of relief. He wasn’t getting murdered today.

“But let’s be sure it doesn’t happen again, hmm?”

“You’ve made the consequences of me trying to leave perfectly clear, yes,” Tim said crisply.

Elias raised the eyebrow above his patch. Tim found himself wondering, again, what was under it. “You seem to be under the impression that I did this to you deliberately.”

“You mean you didn’t?” Tim was genuinely surprised at that.

Elias gave a weary, very paternalistic sigh that brought back every argument Tim had ever had with his own father, who hadn’t spoken to him since Danny’s disappearance. “Tim, this place is very old. It has all sorts of…idiosyncrasies, and not all of them are good for the people who work here.”

Tim snorted. That was one way of putting it. “I think I’d prefer asbestos.”

“I’ve always found the best way to deal with it is to lose yourself in work,” Elias said blandly. “Personally, the comfortable rigor of bureaucracy has always helped me. Perhaps doing a bit of mindless filing will help distract you.”

The strangest part of this entire conversation was that Tim had absolutely no difficulty in believing that. Elias was one hundred percent the sort of person who loved admin—filling out paperwork, balancing budgets, ordering supplies. He projected the air of someone who ironed his underpants and folded his socks, someone whose idea of a really wild night was drinking coffee after eight PM and who thought “living dangerously” meant ordering anything less than top-shelf. Looking at him, with his immaculately tailored and yet utterly boring charcoal grey suit, his hair parted severely down the middle, and his left eye covered with a patch that managed, by virtue of being color-coordinated with his tie and pocket square, to look like just another rich guy accessory, it was impossible to believe he’d murdered at least one person, probably two, for reasons unknown. He was just so…benign and inoffensive.

“Yeah,” Tim said slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m sure I am. And no more unauthorized absences, okay?” Elias gave Tim a smile that might have been condescending and might have been encouraging and might have resulted in his teeth getting knocked so far down his throat it’d take a proctologist to find them if Martin hadn’t opened the door at that exact moment.

“Oh, uh—is everything okay in here?” he asked carefully, looking from Tim to Elias and back.

“Yes, Martin, very much so.” Elias turned the same smile on Martin, who recoiled as if he’d just bared his fangs and hissed at him, and then turned and walked out of the office.

Martin stared after him, then looked back at Tim, concern written all over his face. He silently held out the mug of tea in his left hand.

“It’s fine,” Tim said, and he wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. “He just wanted to check up on me after I was out on my…unauthorized absence last week.”

Martin scowled. “Would’ve been nice if he’d come and asked us about it. I’d have at least called to check up on you.”

“Water under the bridge.” Tim took a sip of the tea, then reached for the folder in Martin’s other hand. “Is this for me too?”

“Oh—I didn’t realize I’d picked that up.” Martin looked at the folder, then handed it to Tim. “Yeah, I think it needs to go on the tape recorder. Everything I’ve been able to find is in there. It’s…nasty.”

“Flesh?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Great.” Tim took the folder and glanced at it. “Might as well get started. Where’s the recorder?”

Martin pointed. “Right there. It’s already running.”

Tim blinked in surprise at the device on the desk, which was indeed whirring away. “Huh. I…don’t remember turning it on.”

Martin shrugged. “You’ve got a lot on your mind. I’m going to go try and put the Discredited section in some kind of order, it’s a mess. Sasha’s here. Scream if you need us.”

“Sure. Thanks, Martin.” Tim gave him a light, friendly cuff on the arm, which made him grin before backing out of the office and closing the door behind him.

Alone, Tim settled himself into the chair behind the desk, pulled the recorder a little closer, and flipped open the folder. He heaved a deep sigh as he picked up the first page. “Right, here we go. Statement of Ross Davenport, regarding…bodybuilding. Probably literally, given the nature of the sort of bullshit stories we collect here. Original date of statement, seventh August, 2013. Recording by Tim Stoker, Archival Assistant. Statement begins.”

#ollie writes fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) #tma #tma fanfic #tim stoker #martin blackwood #elias bouchard #arguments #profanity #manipulation #hostile work environment #scopophobia mention #masks #mentioned/referenced loss of a younger sibling

[new-preddsworld]

Hey new to your blog and I love it and your headcannons

Also I hot a question

What would the boys do even they all suddenly got different pred forms? (Like part dragon, naga etc) just something I always wondered

First of all, welcome to my blog!! I’m glad you like the predcannons!

Not sure whether you meant what species they’d turn into or what their reactions would be, so I did both :)

Tord - deffo a naga. No doubt about it. I reckon he’d be pretty annoyed about it since it would take a lot of practice for him to travel around with no legs, but he’d get used to it after a long while.

Edd - a centaur. He just gives off centaur vibes to me. He’d be absolutely horrified at first but he’d find it more fun to walk once he got used to it!

Matt - a mer. Again, he just gives off that vibe. His reaction would be the funniest though, since he’d start off the land. Probably cry and flop around all over the place while the others try not to cackle. He’d be the real reason they have a swimming pool inside the house.

Tom - a humanoid dragon, but one that's wings don’t properly function… probably because he wouldn’t be born with them and had no time to grow into them. So they’re mostly for show. He’d be surprised about it but not that bothered. Plus, as a bonus he could easily whack Tord around the head with them.

Eduardo - this one kinda stumped me… but I eventually decided on a werewolf. Just seemed fitting, though I doubt he’d ever be too happy about it, even with his superiority complex.

Mark - a fae/faerie? I think it’s spelt like that. But he’s one that can naturally sizeshift! He likes doing it mainly because it entertains Jon. And this may come as a surprise, but he got used to his wings pretty quickly.

Jon - a selkie. I’ll be honest, I wanted to make at least one of them a selkie, but I wasn’t sure who. So I decided Jon. He wouldn’t mind too much, as he'd think his seal form is cute! He likes his half-transformed form most. I need to draw this tbh.

Paul - a Mapinguari. I did some research on types of cryptids and found this, and it reminded me of Paul. Only specific references though that I may share. He’d be quite scared of himself for a while, and understandably so.

Patryck - a siren. He would adjust to his new life in the water quite nicely, though sometimes he'd miss the feeling of having legs.

I may actually draw some of these… I will reblog this post and show them if i do. Just bear in mind I haven’t drawn Matt or the neighbours since 2017.

#new-preddsworld #new preddsworld #preddsworld #predsworld #preddsworld tord #preddsworld edd #preddsworld matt #preddsworld tom #preddsworld paul #preddsworld eduardo #preddsworld mark #preddsworld jon #preddsworld patryck

[mywifeleftme]

61: Gonjasufi // Callus

Callus Gonjasufi 2016, Warp (Bandcamp)

Gonjasufi was one of the hip finds of 2010, when his unclassifiable debut LP A Sufi and a Killer drew raves from the indie press. Flying Lotus was probably the hottest beatmaker in the world at the time, and he was at the centre of a Warp Records-affiliated scene that seemed poised to upend electronic music in the same way the Odd Future collective was shaking hip-hop’s mainstream. A Sufi and a Killer’s production was primarily helmed by Flying Lotus associate The Gaslamp Killer (with assists from Mainframe and FlyLo himself), and its scabby, phlegmy take on rap/psych rock/noise/whatever drew perplexed but positive comparisons to weirdos like Tom Waits and George Clinton.

That was as good as it really got for Gonjasufi though. He seems to have drifted out of FlyLo and Gaslamp Killer’s sphere (and the attention it brought) shortly after A Sufi and a Killer, and by his next release (2016’s Callus) he was back to producing his own music. (2012’s MU.ZZ.LE EP consisted of pre-ASaaK recordings.)  Although I haven’t checked out any interviews to confirm it, I suspect Gonjasufi grew weary of the attention/credit being paid to his starry collaborators and wanted to prove that he was the driving force behind the album that’d drawn such acclaim. The situation reminds me a bit of Cannibal Ox, the rap group forever defined by a classic collab with an iconic producer (The Cold Vein, with El-P) who went on to sporadically release plenty more good music to a diminishing cult audience.

Gonja’s 2016 effort Callus is basically a purely solo venture, aside from some guitar on a few tracks by Pearl Thompson (formerly of The Cure). Reviewers often describe Gonjasufi’s music as weedy, but Callus is more the kind of high you get from melting plastic: smoggy, a hot pulse in the forehead that will be a splitting headache later, staggering around in an interesting fashion while listening to a guy who sounds like George Clinton shooting smack in a tenement squat stairwell. It further confirms that Gonjasufi was the auteur of own sound—but also reveals how much more “outsider” his music is without the comparatively accessible sample-based beats provided by his collaborators (like ASaaK’s “Ancestors” or “Candylane”) to leaven his propensity for industrial gloom. While Gonja is clearly a spiritual man who seems to approach his music as if in a visionary trance, Callus makes for a pretty fraught psychic journey.

Despite its insularity, the LP covers a ton of ground. Opener “Your Maker” resembles an Afghan Whigs demo more than it does anything on FlyLo’s Brainfeeder label. It bleeds over into the murky trip-hop of “Maniac Depressant”; the breakcore-shaded “Afrikan Spaceship”; a thousand miles of bad dub vibes in two-minutes-and-forty-six of “Carolyn Shadows”; and finally “Ole Man Sufferah,” a doodle that sounds like post-hardcore drifting in from the next room while I wash my hair in the bathtub. Aside from the oozily sexy “Vinaigrette,” Callus isn’t an album where individual songs stand out much. On balance, it’s an album of very clangorous ambient music.

I hadn’t heard mention of Gonjasufi in quite a while, and I don’t think he’s put out anything since a 2019 DJ mix for Warp’s thirtieth anniversary. (It likely hasn’t helped that The Gaslamp Killer became embroiled in rape allegations in 2017, which limited the tenth anniversary hype cycle that A Sufi and a Killer might otherwise have enjoyed.) I did learn that Gonja had a hand in the production of Tanya Tagaq’s 2022 album Tongues, which strikes me as a great stylistic match. His IG posts suggest the pandemic has been tough on him and his people, so my fingers are crossed he’s able to get some new stuff out there soon.

61/365

#Gonjasufi #Flying Lotus #Warp Records #The Gaslamp Killer #ambient #electronic music #music review #vinyl record #'10s music

[steamishot]

winter cont.

this time last year, i remember i had some weird tension near my uterus (left side) that i was silently freaking out about. it eventually went away after maybe a month. i’ve recently been having some weird tension on my right side now (where i had a mass taken out) as well as something that feels like tension headaches. it started around the time i got my period two weeks ago and it’s still semi there. it seems that the winter/lack of sunlight and cold weather may play a part in this. 

i had my second therapy call this week with my luisa. this meeting went just okay. matt is on night shifts and i wasn’t able to find a private place to speak. the lounges had people, so i went to the children’s play area but had to leave when a mom and her son came in. i ended up just sitting out in the hallway talking. i think that set the tone for a more awkward session. i also didn’t have much to talk about this session because things were generally going well. she spoke like 70% of the time and it was like a teaching lesson. “luisa” is very goal oriented and almost seems more like a coach than a therapist, so feelings were hardly discussed. more so she was big on implementing logic or teaching me how to have a healthier mindset and catching myself when i’m having distortions. 

for times that i don’t have much to complain about or share, i think it would be useful to have less structure in the session like how it was with laurie. i spoke about this to K and S (separately). S has been seeing her therapist for almost a year and thinks it may be time to switch to a therapist with a different approach. her current one focuses on how her thoughts/feelings are related to her past and helps pinpoint the causes, however does not really provide her with the techniques on how to get out of that cycle. i think finding a therapist that’s a good fit can be difficult, especially when the issues are overall “mild” and nuanced. because matt has more overt issues (anxiety, trauma, stress, burnout etc. directly from his job) his treatment seems to be more straightforward. on top of his 5 free sessions from work (josephine) he matched with an indian older lady psychologist who seems to be excited to work with him. 

we have a couples therapy session with a new person cindy next friday. the last two sessions as well as matt’s individual therapy have helped a lot, even though during the session it doesn’t seem much problem solving was occurring. the act of talking things out helps me get things off my chest, and it helps to have a designated time and space to check in. matt is also better at communication. he used to get frustrated when talking about his feelings for an extended period of time but i think he learned to communicate better by talking to his therapists. as things are progressing and getting better overall, i don’t have as many pressing issues to discuss. the anxiety is improving, our quality time is improving, the amount of time we have is improving, the money is improving, etc. so i think i’ll approach it as a “fine-tuning” (knock on wood that we don’t start going back to bad communication this week). 

one thing discussed during therapy was health anxiety. i realized i have not had a physical check up since 2017. i avoided the hospital whenever i could during all of covid (only going to get shots) and sticking to virtual appointments. i haven’t had any blood drawn since 2018 and am avoidant because i hate needles and blood. my first step to confronting health anxiety is to get a check up. i scheduled an appointment for 2/24 when i’m back in LA. 

edit: after i wrote about this, matt and i argued about dumb shit again before his night shift (again involving deals). it’s night 5 of 7 so it’s not surprising that the emotions/sensitivity are high and our bad communication has resurfaced. at least now i have something to talk about in therapy.

[thesecretattic]

I’ll never forget that he hates me, never forget 5th Mar which was like a confirmation, I had stopped dressing up & going out in 2017 I haven’t seen in the mirror or clicked selfies since then… my feet are super cold right now cuz of low pressure (I’m sick of my mother’s abuse) I thought he has some hate because of how I look which is true even if he came to me first, I realised he’d started hating me but in 2019/20 I thought he may have either forgotten me or he must’ve stopped hating me to that extent, I didn’t have any recent selfies, all my photos were old so I was like, what’s the worst that could happen? What would agitate him so much? I was very ill cuz I was abused the whole day and night at home, I was beaten and I already had a double ear infection + high fever and I wasn’t even allowed to eat so I was starving and I had my antibiotics on an empty stomach I slept at 5 am, they’d switched off the wifi because I would’ve tweeted SOS, then after 2 days when I’d not even recovered 5th March happened and I got a big confirmation. I was already sick, I couldn’t leave the bed even if I could I wouldn’t have gone there to his house, even in 2019 I’d not “visited him” After 5th March (which was my birthday month, no one has ever wished me since I was 20 and all my birthdays were bad including 16th & 21st and now after that 5th Mar even that birthday) I know very well now that his hate is permanent and never-ending, it’s forever… and after this awful experience/rejection I obviously felt like changing my gender, I’m not interested in any relationship, I’ve never been dated/asked out/been in any relationship, it’s not for me, I can’t imagine anyone liking me, I also came to know that all his likes were fake… they were just to look down to earth but who would expect that on a dating app, this was my first and last love and I’ll never associate with the opposite gender ever again… I haven’t spoken to any male since 2017 and there was no one to change my mind and now recently when I thought about all this I made a promise to myself - that I’ll never ever be with anyone, that’s it, I can be in an open marriage to escape my mother but I’ll stay separately in a different room and the other person can be with whoever they want but after getting the “forcer, chaser, sl*t & rapist” tag I don’t want to associate with anyone. I was told that inspite of being a virgin/lip virgin cuz it was unrequited love, I didn’t add him anywhere I don’t even stalk him, I get panic attacks whenever I come across his photo and I’m not interested in stalking cuz he already hates me so there’s no reason to stalk… I am also scared now, I twitch subconsciously & involuntarily because of whatever I had to hear so nooooo I have nothing to do with stalking, haters or ppl who want to remove flaws or make fun of others stalk, known ppl follow I’m not “known” either. I just wanted someone to accept me after his rejection and show the world (especially after I’ve been denounced in front of it) but now I’ve changed my mind, I’m not made for it and I can’t imagine anyone liking me so I don’t want to associate with anyone. BTW I COMPLETELY FORGOT… all those coincidences which I’ve shared below in the note… I was drawn to him because of them

These as well as the one in my pinned post here on tumblr

Zara Sauleh

Additional notes:

[ninawolv3rina]

U ever like... redesign a comfort character to force them into a new setting cuz you miss them a LOT AHHH

#percival marrow #I haven’t drawn him since 2017 #I missed him so much #my art #my characters #i wrote a lot of short stories about him but ended up dropping him to write some other stuff #but he still lives on in my heart #and then i needed to make a new character for a monster of the week campaign #and i realized i could yoink him out of the 1800s where his story was set #and make him a time traveler #and you bet #I’m going to do that with him #i adore him #his backstory is all messed up #but that’s a long story i can’t tell in the tags

[ben-wisehart]

Hi ive been looking for the artist of that scarlet witch inspired speed design for over a year now and just saw something pointing towards you, i was wondering if that was true?

Hi!!! No, I'm not the artist, but I can see why somebody might think that given the amount of art in my scarlet witch tommy tag. I’m not sure exactly which piece you're thinking of, but the original design was done by @redemsi, as a commission piece for me! I've commissioned a few different artists using the design he did for me, shown here:

All commissions originally posted to my blog are done so with the artists' permission and credit to them (although it's been a few years now, I might need to check that none of the links are broken). So far, I've only seen one piece of Scarlet Witch Tommy art that wasn't commissioned by me, haha (if anyone reading this has drawn some that I haven't seen, PLEASE tag me!! I am Starving🥺)

So nah I can't take credit for the design other than throwing my money at people who are way more talented than me, but I suppose I could tentatively take credit for the concept itself (I'm sure there must be other people who have had the same idea, but I can say with confidence that when I made this post back in 2017, I had never seen it talked about before)

I did however write a fic called A Study in Scarlet Witches a few years back. That was me 😅

I've moved away from the marvel fandom in recent years but I still adore Tommy and I'm in love with this concept! The idea of him taking on Wanda's legacy title would just be SO perfect for him, given how neglected he was by his birth family. Getting to be part of something like that, casting away any doubt about his place in the Maximoff family, would be such a fitting end for his character arc 🥺especially since the Scarlet Witch is canonically a legacy title that has had at least one male holder in the past.

Thank you for the ask!!!

#scarlet witch tommy #redemsi #tommy shepherd #tommy maximoff #askbox #anonymous

[lemonmeringuecry]

The Cubs at Disneyland

Hi, so I've been trying to do this for awhile (ever since I drew Lo in a Mickey Mouse hoodie) but when the queen herself, miss Hazel, said she needs them to go to Disney... well I wrote this. And drew it. Because I'm me.

So anyway, here's the drawing and below is the fic

Tw for a couple mentions of food but I think that's it

Credit for everything @lumosinlove

Leo bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, goofy smile at full force while he waited to board the plane. He had grown up going to Disney World with his family. Living in Louisiana, Florida wasn’t too far away, and Eloise and Wyatt Knut didn’t let being adults stop them from enjoying the magic of Disney. When Leo was born, his parents were beyond excited about the prospect of going as a family, getting mickey ears, collecting pins, and making memories.

The first time he went, Leo was five, his favorite Disney movie was the lion king, and an expression of pure joy was permanent in his pale, blue eyes. Over the four days they were in the parks he got to go on rides, eat themed sweets, and meet his favorite characters.

After that first trip, Eloise started a scrap book. The book, titled ‘Disney World 2006’, was soon filled with pictures of Leo at the entrance gate, Leo with pineapple dole whip halfway to his mouth, and countless of all three of them taken by the photographers.

A favorite picture of Eloise’s was near the back, this one of her son with Simba. When Leo had spotted the cast member dressed as his favorite character, he all but threw himself at the lion costume clad employee. Leo’s mama had taken many pictures of the two lion cubs together and they were beyond adorable.

There are more scrap books from 2008, 2011, 2014, and 2017. Throughout the years of pictures Leo never looks less than ecstatic. Even though New Orleans will forever remain his favorite place in the world, Disney is a close second to home, which is why this trip with his boys is such a big deal for him.

The Lions are currently on a short break in the season after their game against the Coyotes and the cubs are going to spend a few days at Disneyland in Anaheim.

Finn reaches forward to grab Leo’s hand who is standing in line in front of him.

“Sunshine, are you excited?” He asks. Leo tilts his head around to look at his boyfriend and nods eagerly.

“We’ll take that as a yes,” logan chuckles sleepily from behind Finn where he is standing with his head resting on the red head’s back. Evidently waking up at 6:00 in the morning to drive to the airport wasn’t ideal for him.

Leo lets out a low, impatient groan, still bouncing, “I need to be there like right now. Can’t we get on the plane already?”.

“We haven’t even been waiting that long. I think they’re about to call our section though, Peanut,” Finn answers him, trying not to let his amusement show too much.

A crinkly noise cuts off Leo’s response, “Now boarding rows 1-10,” a voice says from over the loudspeaker. Leo stands up straighter and turns to his boyfriends, “that’s us!”

“I know Nutter-Butter, go on, let’s get you to Disney!” Finn says as he pats Leo’s butt lightly, moving him forward, onto the jet bridge.

The boys get settled into their seats, Finn by the window, Logan in the middle for maximum cuddles, and Leo on the aisle for the leg room. For the first half of the flight Logan sleeps while Finn and Leo share a movie, but all three boys are wide awake by the time the flight attendants come around with drinks for the second time. The rest of the flight is spent chatting about practices coming up after the break, things they need for the apartment, and what they are going to do first upon arriving.

Once getting off the plane in California, they take the shuttle from John Wayne Airport to the Disneyland hotels. They are staying in the Adventure Land tower, closest to the park. By this point all three boys are buzzing with the infectious happiness of Disney. After unpacking and getting settled into their hotel room, the cubs proceed with their plans of shopping and getting dinner in Downtown Disney. First thing on the agenda is to procure mouse ears. Logan, Finn, and Leo make their way to World of Disney in order to find the widest selection of ears. Leo has a collection of his own ears at home, including his favorite pride Minnie ears, but for this trip he wants to get new ones along with Logan and Finn. Leo and Finn decide on classic Mickey ear hats, while Logan picks out Minnie ears with a lavender bow. They all get sweatshirts too, as is custom.

After a pleasant evening of enjoying the atmosphere and getting dinner at Ralph Brennan’s Jazz Kitchen (Leo’s offense towards their attempt at Cajun cuisine is only partially a joke), they call it night. They head back to the hotel, brush their teeth, put on pajamas, and cuddle up in bed. After a busy day the three boys quickly fall asleep, full of anticipation for the day ahead.

Something you should know about Leo is that when it comes to Disney, he is hard core. Their first morning there is an early entry in Disneyland park.

“Rise and shine, party people!” Leo calls as he entera the main part of the hotel room from the bathroom. Logan and Finn are just now waking up, but they aren’t remotely tired. The pure excitement radiating off their boyfriend is contagious as well as the promise of a day of fun.

“Butter baby, how long have you been up?” Finn’s question is alarmed yet distinctly amused.

“Since 5:30,” Leo responds off-handedly. Logan and Finn share a look, then turn it on Leo. Undeterred, Leo spins slowly in a circle in order to show off his carefully constructed outfit. He is wearing his favorite light wash Levi’s, paired with the crewneck he bought yesterday (light gray with vintage looking Mickey & friends). Underneath his sweatshirt he is wearing his Pizza Planet t-shirt, ready for when it gets hot later. Leo’s outfit is accessorized with his new Mickey ear hat, white air Jordan 1’s, and his Tinker Bell lanyard filled with pins from over the years.

“These things take time! Now y’all go get dressed, we have to be in line by 6:45,” Leo says. With that both Finn and Logan get out of bed and into their clothes in record time. On their way out of the room, they pick up their ears and backpacks from the desk by the TV.

After a brief stop at the Starbucks in Downtown Disney, the boys make it into the que of people lining up at the entrance gate. Once 7:00 hits, the lines start to move into the park. As Logan, Finn, and Leo enter, they gaze around in awe. At the end of Mainstreet sits Sleeping Beauty’s castle, tall and glorious. They walk hand in hand down the lane of colorful, old fashioned buildings, chatting excitedly about what to do first.

“Alright babes, what’s up on the agenda?” Finn asks.

“I don’t even know the options, what do you say Le?” Logan continues.

They end up heading over to Tomorrow Land first. They go on Star Tours and Space Mountain while the lines are short, then bounce around Fantasy land as they make their way across the park. Around 8:30 all three boys start to get hungry so they grab a bag or two of beignets from New Orleans Square. After breakfast, they hit their favorites in Adventure land (Finn fucking loves Indiana Jones), Frontier Land (Big Thunder Mountain Railroad is a fan favorite), and New Orleans Square (Logan might not stop singing ‘Yo Ho a Pirate’s Life for Me’ for weeks).

Around noon the cubs exit Disneyland Park and walk across to California Adventure. After lunch at Wine Country Trattoria the boys bop around Cars Land, Hollywood Land, Pacific Warf and Grizzly Peak. The lines are a lot longer now that it’s afternoon, so they take it in stride and spend their waiting time talking, cuddling, and playing games. They end up going on almost every ride as well as hitting the extra good ones twice like Incredicoaster and Guardians of the Galaxy (still a fan-fucking-tastic ride but Leo misses the Twilight Zone theme).

By the time they finish up in California Adventure for the day, it’s almost time for Fantasmic, and Leo has yet to tell his boys that he got them reserved seats. The cubs meander back to Disneyland but when they start to near Frontier Land Finn picks up the pace.

“Sweetheart, what’s the hurry?” Leo asks with a knowing smile.

“I wanna get good seats for Fantasmic, I haven’t seen it since I was little!” Finn replies.

“Orgasmic? I like the sound of that,” Logan slides in with a smirk.

“Baby, no!” His boyfriends exclaim at the same time. Logan giggles which gets Leo and Finn laughing as well.

“And Finn, I got us seat reservations for the show so no need to rush,” Leo tells him. Finn’s response is to jump on Leo with a fierce hug and a drawn out “Yay,”.

The cubs enjoy the water show immensely, all snuggled up and bundled in sweatshirts once again to fend off the cool evening air. They point out little details to each other with intertwined hands and gasp aloud at the pretty fireworks. Once Fantasmic is over they do a few more rides, then head back to the hotel, sleepy after a full day. The boys fall asleep quickly again, ready to do it all again the next day.

#my art #writing #lumosinlove #o'knutzy #leo knut #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #disneyland #coast to coast #sweater weather #harry potter fanart #lumosinlove fanart #fanart

[rizlowwritessortof]

Riz’s Master List

Just updated my master list (finally) - haven’t added anything new for a few months, unfortunately, but I’m working on it! Links below the cut. HUGE THANKS to @firefly-graphics for the dividers, you are a GIFT, my friend! 

Never Look Back

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 21 chapters

Bethany Rae Cooper didn’t realize when she met the Winchesters in her family’s bar and grill that her life would never be the same. But she’s always believed that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not exactly what you were expecting…

The Shadow’s Edge

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 17 chapters

Sequel to Never Look Back. When the demon Dameon was killed, Dean and Beth thought their son was safe from the prophecy. But when Cas brings them news of the new battle for Hell, they realize that their war has just begun.

The Fine Line

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 34 chapters

An unexpected tragedy sends Devon down the dark path of hate and vengeance, but she will learn that things are not always what they seem…

Scars

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Sequel to The Fine Line. Dean and Devon’s relationship has always been stormy - but can they work through the scars of their past to find each other again?

Stars In the Darkness

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A crushing loss brings Dean and Sam to Sioux Falls, and ghosts from the past and present bring them across the path of Tiara, a girl they haven’t seen since childhood.

Dreaming

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 5 chapters

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

My Unimportant Little Life

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 11 chapters

Season 5 timeline. Dean gets yanked from 2009 to 2014, so he can see the ‘consequences’ of saying no to Michael. At Camp Chitaqua he meets Reggie, and is surprised to find that she comes from 2009 as well…

Back In the Saddle

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Dean and Sam are back in the old west again - in answer to a cry for help from Samuel Colt. And if Dean just happens to get tangled up with the spirited redhead that owns the saloon… what’s the harm, right?

Sweet Escape

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

What happens when a friend jokingly does a spell at your birthday party to bring your cardboard standup of Dean Winchester to life? This one’s dedicated to my friend, Liz, who gave me the idea. If only…

Sweet Escape Part 1

Sweet Escape Part 2

Shut Up and Drive

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

Reader teases Dean while he’s driving, so - he gets even

Part 1 - Keep Your Eyes on the Road

Part 2 - Or We Could Park - Parking Is Good Too

Take the Long Way Home

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A look at Dean and Rusty’s relationship, in the present and through their memories. Flashbacks/memories are in italics.

Black Velvet

Demon!Dean/Female Reader, Dean/Female Reader, 9 chapters

You and Sam are broken after Dean’s death. Nobody expected him to come back with black eyes…

Fade to Black

Dean/Female Reader, 11 chapters

Sequel to Black Velvet. Dean is no longer a demon, but he’s still cursed with the Mark of Cain, and the lure of that darkness grows stronger as time goes on.

Dean and Toby Series

Part 1 - The Meet-Cute (Actually Rescue but Whatever)

Part 2 - The Emergency Bed-Share/Move In With Us Combo

Part 3 - The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Part 4 - The FINALLY Admit Your True Feelings and Get Busy

GENERIC

I’m Good

This is the story that was published in the Seasons - Supernatural Short Story Anthology in 2017. Bobby sharing some memories.

Combo Shot

Dean/Female Reader

June 2015 GIEPP (Girl In Every Port Project) entry. Prompt: Pool/Poker hustler competitive chick. Pretty much pure smut.

A Hunter Walks Into a Bar

Dean/Female OC

Prowling hunter, sassy bartender

Shelter

Dean/Female Reader

Dean providing comfort

That’s How It Should Be

Sheriff!Dean/Female Reader

They have to make a fast escape, but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time

The Storm

Dean/Female Reader

You’re terrified of storms, and Dean is concerned, feelings get shared

Pest Control

Dean/Female Reader

You think you’ve got mice. The exterminator that shows up is Dean Winchester. He’ll just let you believe that, and take care of the problem. And you.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Dean/Female OC (KK)

Fluffy, smutty birthday fic written for a friend

Gunpowder and Dean

Dean/Female Reader

You’re pissed off at Dean, taking it out on the firing range, but he just won’t leave you alone…

Juicy and Delicious

Dean/Female Reader

My entry for Dean’s Flavor of the Month fic challenge - Peach Pie. You bake some peach pies for Dean, and he’s very grateful…

Lost In You

Dean/Female Reader

A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected. Warning for brief description of attempted (unsuccessful) assault. Protective Dean.

What You Need

Dean/Female Reader

You’re watching as Sam and Dean prepare to interrogate a demon. Dean knows you’re watching him, and he knows exactly the kind of effect it’s having on you…

Santa Claus Is Coming Tonight

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s really getting into the Christmas spirit…

I Need You

Dean/Female Reader

You screwed up, Sam got hurt, Dean’s pissed and you aren’t handling it very well.

Snow Day

Dean/Female Reader

You and Dean, stuck in a motel room in a blizzard

Frisk Me

Dean/Female Cop Reader

You’re a cop, in hot pursuit of a murderer, and guess who crosses your path?

Comfort

Dean/Female Reader

Dean had a rough hunt, and he’s beating himself up as usual. You take his mind off things for a little while…

When I Think About You

Dean/Female Reader

It was a wild hunt, and you’re both a little high-strung. Surely there’s some way to blow off some steam…

One Finger

Dean/Female Reader

Dean Winchester has never been one to back down from a challenge

What Makes You Feel Alive

Endverse!Dean/Female Reader

The world is bleak, the struggle endless after Croatoan. You and Dean do what you have to do to keep going.

Sweet Misery

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

My entry for Bev’s Song Challenge - song prompt was Cryin’ by Aerosmith, lyrics at the beginning

Winchesters Don’t Giggle

Dean/Female Reader

A friend and I were having this discussion about giving Dean a back rub, and whether he might be ticklish…

Confession

Dean (Priest!Dean)/Female Reader

When Dean returns from some undercover work, you discover a fantasy you never realized you had

The Bait

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s (now on her 100th url as @cavillanche - Love you, Jess!) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one… Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday.

Hey, Man - Nice Shot

Dean/Female Reader

This is for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘competitiveness in the shooting range (loser cleans the kitchen for a week) No smut.

Take the Pain Away

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. Prompt was ‘him taking care of you when you’re sick.’ Reader falls victim to a migraine, and Dean helps her through it. No smut.

Lose Yourself

Dean/Female Reader

Smut, pure and simple… Just imagine having Dean tied up, at your mercy while you worship those perky nipples…

The Contest

Dean/Female Reader

Dean loves to give you a hard time, and one night he pushes things a little too far… Flashback in italics. All’s well that ends well.

Slow Ride

Dean (Bullriding!Dean) /Reader

Yeah, after 12x11, y'all should have known this was coming - they don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing… Written (coincidentally - timing is everything!) for the Smut Apocalypse (Smut Appreciation Day) on Tumblr.

The Photo Booth

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

This was written for @winchestersandwordprocessors SPN Valentine’s Fic Challenge. Prompt was Semi-public/Risk of getting caught.

Make You Mine

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s jealousy gets the best of him, which is not a bad thing…

Take a Chance

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

In 7x04, Dean gives himself a little pep talk before his planned hook-up with the bartender. That scene is what inspired me. This one is more important than the usual one-nighters, and it’s making him a little nervous…

If We Don’t Make It

Dean/Female OC

This fic was written for @whispersandwhiskerburn Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration. My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know…” No smut.

My Deliverer

Dean/Female Spirit - Her POV

Dean is hunting a vengeful spirit. But another spirit is in this place, and she is drawn to him…

Friendly Advice

Dean/Female Reader - Dean POV, Reader POV

This was written for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge. The fluff got a little smudged into smutty fun… oops! Two POV’s, Dean’s thoughts are in italics and Reader’s are in regular font.

Old Times

Dean/Female OC

Sequel a few years down the road from A Hunter Walks Into a Bar. Tiara goes back to the bar for a visit, and who should show up the next night but Dean Winchester… Flashback in italics.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Dean/Female Reader (nicknamed Taz)

Inspired by the sexy AF Cowboy!Dean we were treated to in 13x06 Tombstone. Helped along by Joe Cocker’s rendition of “You Can Leave Your Hat On.“

Wish Her the Best

Dean/Female OC - Dean’s POV

This is an angsty li'l fic inspired by Thomas Rhett’s ‘Marry Me,’ tore at my heart until I finally wrote it. No smut.

A Matter of… Time?

Dean/Female Reader

This is the crackiest piece of work I’ve ever written - for @percywinchester27 Ana’s PJO Quotes Challenge. Prompt was “Don’t you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?” - “Umm - no. Me running the world would be kind of a nightmare.”

Demon Seed

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

Demon!Dean stops in for a drink and decides he wants you. He’s very persuasive. Written for @evansrogerskitten’s Hottest Dean Challenge.

Not Wasted Now

Dean/Female Reader

When you all decide to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad hunt, lines get a little blurred. Or crossed. Or fucking erased. Fluffy, smutty, comforting, sweet and sexy Dean.

Bad Guy

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge. My Tangled quote was “You want me to be the bad guy? Fine, now I’m the bad guy.”

Shiny

Trucker!Dean/Female OC

Trucker!Dean AU. Breaker, breaker, got your ears on? 67 Midnight Rider, put that hammer down…

Some Kind of Hero

Dean/Female OC

Written for Tiff’s WTF Challenge. Dean’s just filling up Baby, minding his own business, when he hears an argument and gets involved. Protective Dean, no smut, left that to your imagination.

Crave

Dean/Female Reader

So, have some ‘Riz is craving some sexy Dean action with a big ol’ side of schmoopy fluff’ stuff. Because I was, and I’m sharing with you - the smut and all the sickenly sweet cuddly that I just need sometimes. If y'all are in the mood for that kind of thing.

Perchance to Dream

Dean/Female OC

Using African dream root on a case leads to an awkward situation, and Karlie can’t handle the tension between her and Dean any longer

Ruined

Dean/Female Reader

Dean comes home from a hunt, and he’s had something on his mind…

Going Home

Dean/Female Reader

Written for @crispychrissy’s Gif It To Me Challenge. Overhearing only part of a conversation sends her running, but jumping to conclusions without the whole story isn’t the best decision. No smut.

Not the Smartest Thing

Dean/Female Reader - Reader POV

Only Dean Fucking Winchester could turn taking a swig of beer into pornography. Cocky bastard. But two can play at that game.

Suzy Q

Dean/Female OC - OC POV

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan’s Multi-fandom Follower Celebration Challenge. Prompt - “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

Invisible Touch

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Rowena teaches Dean something new, and he gets inspired. I have no idea where this came from, but here it is…

Maybe I’m Amazed

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

An accident leaves her unconscious and fighting for her life in the hospital, drifting in and out of awareness and memories as Dean refuses to leave her side. Written for @rockhoochie’s 1K Love Supernatural Style Writing Challenge.

Reunion

Dean/Female OC

Passing through town, Dean runs into an old high school classmate. Fluffy and smutty, no angst here!

Playing With Fire

MOC!Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Late Season 10 MOC!Dean smut fic that just wouldn’t leave me alone…

Uninvited

Michael!Dean/Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Michael gives Dean a choice, because sometimes Michael likes to watch…This one is darker than my normal, PLEASE heed the warnings.

What Happens At the Roadhouse…

Early-Season Dean/Female OC

Bailey’s just looking for a couple days post-hunt R&R at Harvelle’s - and then he shows up. Cocky bastard.

Unleashed

Post-Purgatory Dean/Female OC

She’s still struggling to cope a year after Dean disappeared in the explosion that killed Dick Roman.

The Pool House

Dean/Unnamed female OC

Inspired by a dream - one I will never forget!

The Break-In

Dean/Tara (female OC)

One night I started thinking about what it would be like using mics and earbuds and having Dean’s voice RIGHT IN YOUR EAR. And then this fic happened. Hope you enjoy!

Tired of Missing You

Dean/Journey (female OC)

This is one of those times when my story yanked the wheel out of my hands and I just went along for the ride. So if you’re in the mood for a fluffy, angsty cookie with a smutty, creamy middle - here ya go!

Compelled

Dean/Brandi (female OC)

Have you ever had a really bad day at work? I’ve never had a day quite as bad as Brandi’s - but damn, I’d love to use this method to relieve the stress…

The Devil Made Me Do It

Demon!Dean/Shea (Female OC)

Shea is in a reckless mood. Demon!Dean is happy to help her indulge that mood.

Driving Miss Baby

Dean/Reader

Dean decides you need a driving lesson in Baby.

Just a Little Story About Lou and Sam

Sam/Female OC

Lou and Sam walk into a bar… written for a friend who’s a Sammy girl

Doctor-Patient Relations

Sam/Female OC

One-shot inspired by The Born-Again Identity - sick Sammy and Dr. Nicole. Written for another Sammy-girl friend

Head vs. Heart

No title

Fourth of July

Working Saturday Isn’t So Bad

11x17 Drabble

Some Nights He Dreams

Most of the Time

The Name Game

God Bless America

Stress Relief

Dean Hurt/Comfort Drabble

@mrs-squirrel-chester ‘s Album Fanfic Writing Challenge Drabbles

    Dangerous

    For My Brother

    In Chains

    Kiss and Tell

    The End of Me

    Choices

    Hero

    Pure

    In the End

#riz's master list #updated 6/12/21 #dividers by firefly-graphics

[badatjokezz]

Haikyuu!! Rare Pair Fic Recs

i’ve been so hype about some Hq rarepairs lately now imma list some of my fav fanfics, mostly OiSuga mwehehe.... 

(probably gonna add some more in the future)

Oisuga (Oikawa x Sugawara)

1. Stuck in the Middle With You by overlymetaromantic

It's not the kind of blossoming relationship either of them would expect, but maybe, just maybe, it could lead to something good.

1. In which Suga and Oikawa run into each other on a late night convenience store run.

2. In which Suga and Oikawa inadvertently switch bags and end up with the other’s uniform.

3. In which Suga gives Oikawa the lecture he doesn't want but probably needs, and Oikawa might accidentally be a little in love.

4. In which Oikawa won't shut up about Suga, and Iwaizumi plays matchmaker just to make him stop.

5. In which there is not a date, and Suga likes spicy things much more than sweet.

6. In which Karasuno and Aobajousai hold training camps in the same neck of the woods, and the trip back proves to be more revealing than it probably should.

7. In which there might just be a future to this after all.

(Dis is so fluffy i might die)

2. moving on (growing up) by _helios (neocitz)

‘I’ll do it,’ Suga says, walking into their prep school and dropping his bag on the floor next to Oikawa. He shoves the melon bun and drink forward into Oikawa’s hands, and stands there looking down at him because he knows that he needs to not chicken out.

‘You’ll do what?’ Oikawa looks up through his glasses, eyes wide and confused as the other students stream in around them.

‘The fake dating thing, I’ll do it.’

‘Fuck. Yes.’ Oikawa says with a fist pump.

(It’s been AGES since i read Fake/Pretend Relationship fic, this one is goood)

3. how strange, to be remembered by venusintwelfthFandoms

"He is not formed of the type of dust that makes up stars. Suga is not the type of person that stays in the mind of one like Oikawa Tooru, ten years later. He is formed of the type of dust you shake off, the type that settles into the ground."

Ten years after Suga last steps off a high-school court, Oikawa recollects a "Mr. Refreshing" in a post-game interview, and Suga is left scrambling.

(Cute one-shot, Oikawa still remember Mr. Refreshing from Karasuno)

4. all the small things by Authoress for lemedy

Sugawara Koushi.

Oikawa’s brain supplies the name of the person standing at the other end of the aisle before Oikawa can even register him, attuned to spitting out facts about other volleyball players on a second’s notice, even after all these years. Karasuno High vice-captain. 174 cm…no, more like 176 now. Skilled at raising morale and bringing an element of surprise to their strategy. Troublesome. Refreshing. Setter.

The enemy.

(Single Dad! Oikawa, cuuutee ugh)

5. Win Some by kingdra (aroceu) for Icie

Tooru does not have a problem, its name is certainly not Sugawara Koushi, and he is not going to the Karasuno practices just to watch him. Regardless of whatever Iwa-chan says.

(High school romane~)

6. Even as bright as you are? by BKAKCANON

That night when he goes to sleep, he includes "the safety of fairies" on his prayers, making a promise to whoever was listening him, that he'd protect all the fairies and keep their secret safe forever.

[Where Oikawa meets Suga when they are kids and Oikawa believes Suga is secretly a fairy and decides he has to protect his secret all costs.]

(This is basically matches my headcanon)

7. getting to know you by oisugasuga

Suga feels like he’s back on the court then, his heart thudding hard in his ears… so hard he almost misses what Oikawa says. Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t.

"My, my. What a surprise," Oikawa Tooru says. And then… "Hello, Mr. Refreshing."

(Haven’t finished yet but DAMN I LOVE OIKAWA AND SUGA IN HERE, single dad! oikawa, and Suga babysitting oikawa’s kid, def slow burn. Imma follow this fic till death)

8. Dear Reader by hyirule

No one seems to read the paper anymore. But Oikawa likes to for the sports section. One day he finds himself reading a section called "Dear Reader" and finds a submission he can relate to.

Basically messages sent through a page on a newspaper brings to unlikely souls together, who maybe have more in common than they first thought.

(Cannon compliant, simple and... refreshing(?))

9. rest by shicchaan

Tooru looks at the sleeping person beside him as he waits for the lights change into green. The growing fringe of his husband started to cover his eyes but he can still see the beautiful birthmark under the silver haired's left eye.

(Established relationship, fluff fluff!!!)

10. long is the road (that leads me home) by ichweissnichtauch

He thinks about himself, deleting contacts from his phone and throwing coffee cups away without even looking at the string of numbers scrawled in Sharpie ink underneath, and he’s tired of hiding, tired of carefully treading the lines he’d drawn for himself all those years ago.

Just this once, Tooru wants— he thinks he wants to be brave.

Oikawa Tooru is not a stranger to wanting.

(like... 20% Oisuga but i like the way this story follows the Cannon till he get to Argentina)

11. It's Always Been About You by mintycarrots

Every time Tooru had envisioned meeting his soulmate, it was a confession of love, filled with tears of happiness and a lot of making out. It would be a faceless petite girl that would support Tooru in whatever he chose to pursue and would understand when Tooru prioritized volleyball over all else.

It was never a boy on the rival team.

(Soulmate AU)

12. a play in three acts by venusintwelfth

"The first time Sugawara Koushi sees Oikawa Tooru play, he thinks that if he wasn’t so set on volleyball, he’d do well in theater."

the first seijoh x karasuno match through the eyes of suga.

(Kinda poetic i guess, well written af)

13. colors by dazeful

Sugawara Koushi's colorful life as an archer.

(this is like the perfect oisuga one shot ive ever read)

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IwaSuga (Iwaizumi x Sugawara)

1. And so the moon cried by iwriteinpenFandoms:

The hillocks are the domain of unearthly creatures. Creatures of rot and fog, of music and dance. Like ghosts in the night they travel without leaving footprints, they disappear in a flurry of long dresses and pale hair. Those who are fated to see them risk curses far worse than death. You may hear them, a giggle in the wind. You may smell them, the smell of the fog rolling in through the trees. You should pray you never see them. Iwaizumi Hajime is a simple man. He works a simple farm job and enjoys simple things. After one morning where he woke next to a perfect circle of death and only the memory of brown eyes and cold hands, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the forest. Will the tales of his childhood play out with him at the center or will he have to disregard all reason?

(Danish Folklore AU)

2. Cry Just A Little by DreadfulMind

Suga was whistling a tune to himself as he opened the door to the bathroom, so he didn't hear the muffled crying through the door. But he could hear it clearly once he was inside. He heard the sharp sob of someone trying to stop.

"Iwaizumi?" He asked, "are you sure you're alright?"

(Simple but c u t e)

3. Generations by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor), mozaikmage

Professional sports blogger Sugawara Koushi writes an article about a volleyball match that bears special meaning to him and his former kouhai: a showdown between Kitagawa Daiichi and Yukigaoka Middle School, ten years after the teams faced off for the first time. He doesn't plan on capturing the attention of the world of sports journalism, and he certainly doesn't expect himself to end up having a thing for one of the coaches involved, one Iwaizumi Hajime.

(Time-Skip, I loved it)

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KuroTsuki (Kuroo x Tsukishima)

1. Invictus by Chiru

Kuroo T. » So let me get this straight (gay?) Kuroo T. » You want me to pretend to be your perfect and fabulous boyfriend, so that your little freckled friend will stop trying to set you up with cute little highschool girls? Tsukishima Kei » yes Kuroo T. » Aha. Tsukishima Kei » you'll do it? Kuroo T. » I don't know. I missed the part where I get something out of it. Tsukishima Kei » you get to annoy me. Unfortunately Kuroo T. » Tempting, Tsukki, very tempting indeed.

(Fake/Pretend Relationship, some fluff, some angst, i read this in the middle of the night and cried, fortunately happy ending)

2. hold onto hope if you got it by nekolyssi

"Now, in the beginning of their third year of high school, the obnoxious hollering and incessant spirit of his teammates became normalcy to Kei. And now, normalcy is this. Weekly psych meetings. Pharmacy waiting rooms. Prescriptions. Refusal of prescriptions. More prescriptions."

(Not finished yet but yep prolly gonna put this one to one of those best haikyuu fics ive ever read. I wasnt so interested at first but i really like the idea of mental ilness etc, this is g o o d!!)

3. [KuroTsuki Fest Week 2017] Traces by Heartythrills 

Kuroo’s disappeared for a little over a week now, and suddenly a 4 year old who looks like him appears before Tsukishima’s apartment.

(Age regression, fluff)

4. I swear by xArtemisx

Like the shadow that's by your side I'll be there

"What are you doing here, Tetsu? It's cold." Kei asked softly. Tetsurou smiled. Hearing his name came out of Kei's lips is always music to his ears.

"Nothing. I just came to think that whatever memory we make, may it be happy or sad memories, the bright moon and the starry night sky is always there to be the witness. Did you notice?" The alpha answered and Kei nodded. He also noticed it.

"Yes, I did noticed it."

(I love agony and sad ending....)

5. Honeybee by ClosetGoblin

Tsukishima has trouble sleeping one night during a Third Gym Camping Trip. So, he takes his acoustic guitar and passes the time with some music, and gets a visitor. Maybe he doesn't mind Kuroo's voice as he does the screeching that Lev and Hinata call singing.

(Simple but sweet)

6. Say You Like Me by the_madame21

It's been three months. And Tsukishima Kei is going to see Kuroo Tetsurou.

(light angst and.. s m u t. Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamic)

7. trying to get to you by mytsukkishine

Everything came crashing down on Kuroo when Kei had left him alone with nothing but the moon shining down on him.

Wherein, Kuroo was struggling to move on and decided that he wouldn't mind being with Kei again.

(sad beginning? yes. sad ending? y e s. you’re a masochist? come get your juice)

8. Please Hold by ThemooncatFandoms

Kei was expecting Kuroo to do one of two things; Send a text to the office saying that they will have to call back another time and continue what they started, or excuse himself from Kei to answer the call, which was most likely. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Kuroo does neither of those things.

(short but hot. what’s hotter than quiet sex?)

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Ushijima x Oikawa

1. This Insignificant Pride and Prejudice by Mysecretfanmoments, Pouler (poulerslashes)

Oikawa Tooru graduated high school with the burning desire to succeed in his college career. He'd hoped that might include taking down his arch-nemesis along the way, but when he finds that his college team hosts an offensively familiar face, he can't help but think that the universe might be conspiring against him. After all, what could be worse than playing on the same team as Ushijima?

(It was funny for me reading oikawa/ushijima fic with that “you should’ve come to Shiratorizawa” joke at first but somehow i found this one... endearing :3, cute poor ushiwaka)

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Atsumu x Nishinoya

1. All the things I love about Yuu by KilluCoulomb

Atsumu Miya is fixated in Nishinoya. The way the boy acts, talks, plays. He Carefully observes from afar, but he slowly warms up to the Libero. Friendship becomes more and more intimate. Atsumu realizes Nishinoya is not that simple guy he met three years ago. And he loves it.

(pro volleyball players AU)

2. i'll see you then by noyabeans (snowdrops)

Nishinoya Yuu and Miya Atsumu build a rivalry and something more.

“Oh, it's Karasuno’s libero,” he says, mildly surprised to see Nishinoya’s face staring back at him from the brochure, grinning wide with his arms folded over his chest.

Contains spoilers for the current manga arc, up to chapter 380.

#oisuga #kurotsuki #oikawa x sugawara #kuroo x tsukishima #iwasuga #iwaizumi x sugawara #ushijima x oikawa #ushioi #atsunoya #haikyuu!! #fic recs