#i don't go to their posts and bother them

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Guilty as sin ✦ 」

[Theodore Nott × reader] [TTPD Masterlist]

Summary:(Request) Theo x f!reader where she is a huuuuuge flirt. Flirts with the whole slytherin gang, the golden trio, literally everyone EXCEPT Theo and it doesn’t bother him until his friends start teasing him about it and then it drives him CRAZY. So he tracks her down and she’s all blushy like “idk how to flirt with someone I actually like??” And then smut ensues

Warning: smut

Words:3.5k

Laughter echoed through the empty corridor – a welcome reprieve from the usual bustle of Hogwarts life. We were on a glorious post-lunch break, a rare moment where none of us had classes.

Draco, ever the stoic one, smirked from the corner, a hint of amusement flickering in his grey eyes. Blaise, reclining against the wall along with mattheo and Enzo .

“So, what’s got you all so chipper today?” I asked, leaning against the wall opposite them, my eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, just the usual,” Mattheo replied with a grin, his eyes scanning me up and down. “Though your presence certainly brightens things up.”

I laughed, a playful glint in my eye. “Is that so, Mattheo? I’m flattered.”

“Flattered, are you?” Enzo chimed in, his smile broadening. “Just wait till you hear what Draco’s been saying about you.”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile playing at his lips. “Don’t drag me into this, Enzo.”

I arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Oh? And what exactly has Draco been saying?”

Draco finally looked directly at me, his smirk deepening. “Nothing that wouldn’t make you blush, I’m sure.”

Suddenly, the air shimmered and Theo materialized beside me, a frown etched on his handsome face. My laughter died in my throat, replaced by a nervous flutter in my stomach.

Don't get me wrong, Theo was so attractive. Tall, dark, and mysterious, he exuded an aura that drew you in like a moth to a flame. That’s why I always act that awkward whenever he show up.

"Hey, Y/L/N," Theo greeted me, his voice a low rumble. "Having fun?"

But before I could respond, a mischievous glint sparked in Blaise's eyes. "Having fun? She's practically rolling on the floor here! Just look at her," he nudged me with his elbow, "completely smitten with my hilarious story."

My cheeks burned. "Oh, shut up, Zabini," I swatted him playfully. "It was Enzo's joke that was funny, not yours."

Enzo chuckled. "Thanks, Y/N."

We all fell into a comfortable banter again, the conversation flowing like a well-worn path. But with every witty remark aimed at me, every playful touch from Blaise or Enzo, I found myself subtly shifting away from Theo. It wasn't intentional, not really. Maybe a subconscious defense mechanism, a way to keep myself safe from the intensity I sensed in him.

Finally, unable to handle the mounting tension any longer, I blurted, "Oh, well, this has been lovely, but I actually have to…" My voice trailed off, searching for a believable excuse.

"Potions homework?" Blaise offered with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah, yes," I stammered, "Look at the time! I completely forgot, I have to—"

"Go?" Mattheo finished my sentence with a playful grin, his eyes flickering between me and Theo. "That seems to be your usual line whenever Nott graces us with his presence."

A collective laugh went up from the others, but a blush crept up my cheeks. Was it that obvious?

"See, Theo? That's just how Y/N is. Always gotta disappear when you show up."

Behind me, I could hear the eruption of laughter. Draco's voice rang out, That's just how Y/N is. Everyone but you Nott, gets the charm offensive."

I winced, a mixture of guilt washing over me, I grabbed my bag and walked away.

As I walked to the class the next day my stomach lurched, I scanned the room. Every single seat was taken except for one – the one directly next to Theo. A wave of annoyance washed over me. Why did I have to be the one stuck beside him after yesterday's awkward retreat?

With a resigned sigh, I marched towards the empty chair, determined to keep our interaction to a minimum. Just as I sat down, the classroom door slammed open, and Professor Snape strode in with his usual scowl.

"Settle down!" his baritone voice boomed. "Since we're already behind, we'll be starting immediately. Take out your textbooks and quills, we're brewing Veritaserum today."

My shoulders slumped. Of course, today would be the day Snape insisted on absolute honesty. Great.

I grabbed my textbook with a muttered curse, desperately trying to ignore the heat radiating from beside me. Theo. He was practically close enough to see the worried frown etched on my forehead.

"Rough day, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine despite myself.

I kept my eyes glued to my textbook, pretending to be engrossed in the complicated brewing instructions. "Just fine," I mumbled, my voice a touch too high-pitched.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Do I make you nervous, Y/N?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

My cheeks burned. Did he have to be so perceptive? "No," I lied unconvincingly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Then why the avoidance act?" he pressed.

My cheeks felt like they were on fire. I couldn't take it anymore. Taking a deep breath, I finally looked at him, ready to fire back with a witty retort.

But as our eyes met, something unexpected happened. All the bravado I had practiced in my head evaporated. His gaze held a depth I hadn't noticed before, a hint of something… more.

The stern voice of Professor Snape cut through the sudden tension. "Miss Y/N, Mr. Nott! Pay attention or face detention."

Flustered, I tore my gaze away from Theo.

The moment Professor Snape dismissed the class, I bolted. My cheeks still burned from Theo's teasing, his words replaying in my head like a broken record. "Do I make you nervous?" Ugh, the audacity!

Heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I weaved through the throng of students, desperate to escape the classroom and the lingering scent of Theo's cologne.

As I rounded a corner, I slammed right into someone, the impact knocking the breath out of me. I stumbled back, muttering an apology.

"Easy there, love. Running from something?"

My cheeks burned like someone had set them on fire with a dragon's breath. "No, no, of course not," I stammered, my voice tripping over itself. "Just... eager to get to my next class."

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "Really? Because you look like you just escaped a dragon attack in those robes."

"I-I really have to go," I mumbled again, yanking my arm free from Matteo's grasp.

Before he could say another word, I bolted. I sprinted down the hallway, robes billowing behind me, desperate to put as much distance as possible between me, Theo.

The thoughts I harbored about Theo, well, they were borderline scandalous – even for the often-unconventional wizarding world. Wet dreams were a daily torment, a vivid tapestry woven with stolen glances and the memory of his low chuckle. Even the most mundane tasks became infused with Theo. Daydreams, unwelcome and potent, hijacked my mind, filling it with images of his strong arms wrapped around me, the feel of his warm skin against mine, and those lips... oh Merlin, his lips. The very thought of them sent a jolt through me, leaving me breathless and yearning.

It was a full-blown obsession. Every interaction, every stolen glance, was a spark that ignited a wildfire within me. I envisioned stolen touches, whispered secrets, a clandestine world where it was just us. These "visions," as I'd begun calling them, were both exhilarating and terrifying. Had I lost my mind?

Looking at him was like staring into the sun – an act both beautiful and blinding. I craved his attention, yet recoiled from it in equal measure, afraid of what it might reveal – both about him and the depth of my own desires.

The moment I reached the solitude of my dorm room, I threw myself onto my bed, burying my face in the soft pillow. It was just me and the storm raging within. Seeking a semblance of control, I reached for my most trusted companion – my sketchbook. Flipping to a blank page, I did what had become a nightly ritual: I drew Theo.

His face materialized on the page with practiced ease – the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his eyebrows quirked slightly when he was amused, the intensity of his gaze that seemed to pierce right through me. Each stroke was infused with a longing so deep it ached. As I added the final details, a desperate thought crossed my mind – what if, somehow, magically, drawing him like this would bring him closer? A ridiculous notion, even for a witch like me. But a girl can dream, right?

The drawing complete, I flipped back through the pages, revisiting the countless iterations of Theo that filled my sketchbook. Each one a silent testament to my growing obsession. A pang of guilt stabbed at me as I traced the outline of his lips in one particular sketch. Here I was, feeling like I'd committed a sin, when in reality, our interactions hadn't even reached the stage of a stolen touch.

A frustrated groan escaped my lips. This was madness. Yet, as I drifted off to sleep that night, the sketchbook remained tucked under my pillow, a silent guardian of my unrequited affection.

The next day, the weight of my secret world pressed down on me like a lead blanket.

My usual bubbly demeanor was replaced by a forced smile and a dull ache in my chest. The boys exchanged worried glances, their questions a constant reminder of the truth I couldn't share.

Mumbling an unconvincing excuse about feeling unwell, I escaped the classroom the moment the bell rang, desperate for some fresh air and a moment of solitude.

Once I was finally away from everyone I grabbed my bag, then it happened, panic clawed at my throat as I realized my sketchbook was missing.

I scoured my bag again, desperately searching every compartment, but it was nowhere to be found. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I carried that sketchbook everywhere, afraid of someone stumbling upon my secret world.

Fear morphed into a cold dread as I retraced my steps, hoping it had simply fallen out of my bag somewhere.

The thought of someone, anyone, seeing my drawings, especially Theo… the very notion sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through me.

I retraced my steps, combing through the classroom once more, a desperate hope clinging to the edges of my despair. But it was futile. The sketchbook was nowhere to be found. My mind raced, picturing prying eyes and whispered secrets. This was a disaster.

Just then, a familiar voice cut through the rising tide of panic. "Searching for something, Y/L/N?"

I spun around so fast I nearly toppled over, my eyes widening as they landed on Theo. A self-assured smirk played on his lips, and in his hand, he dangled my precious sketchbook.

"Theo!" I gasped, the sound strangled and desperate. My cheeks burned with a mixture of mortification and a strange, exhilarating thrill.

Instead of listening to my frantic plea, he held the sketchbook just out of reach, the amusement in his eyes deepening. "Such beautiful secrets you keep hidden, Love."

The blood drained from my face. "Give it back to me, Theodore," I demanded, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands.

He chuckled, a low, beautiful sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Not so fast, love. Perhaps there's something in here that warrants a little… negotiation."

Frustration bubbled up inside me. I lunged for the sketchbook, my fingers brushing against his hand. But he easily outmatched me, holding it high above my head. The height difference was agonizing.

"Give it back!" I hissed, my voice laced with desperation.

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn't decipher. Then, before I could react, his other hand shot out, landing firmly on my waist.

A gasp escaped my lips as a jolt of electricity shot through me at his touch. He used the momentum to pull me closer, turning us around so that my back slammed against the cool surface of the empty classroom door my eyes widened when he locked it. My breath hitched in my throat as his warm body pressed against mine.

His face was inches from mine, his breath tickling my ear. "Now," he murmured, his voice a husky rumble that sent a delicious shiver down my spine, "Care to explain what is it about?”

"No "I say "Just give it back!"

Instead of replying, he pulled away, placing the sketchbook on a nearby table with a soft thud. I made a move to grab it, but he was faster. With a single, smooth motion, he used one hand to capture both of mine, pinning them above my head against the cold, unforgiving surface of the door.

His touch sent a jolt through me, a current that both terrified and excited me. His gaze was intense, boring into mine, and suddenly his earlier amusement was replaced by something else entirely.

"So," he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

"you just decided to ignore my entire existence? The social butterfly with all her friends, suddenly giving me the cold shoulder or vanishing into thin air whenever I'm around. Then I find out you've been drawing me… like a hundred times? Which by the way I'm not complaining about but— ," he added, "but seriously, Y/N, what have I done that you can't bear to stay in the same room with me for a minute?"

His words hit me like a physical blow. Shame burned through me, hot and fierce. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely a choked sob, my eyes desperately seeking the floor.

"Look at me, love," he commanded, a gentle firmness in his voice.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his. His face was unreadable, a mixture of concern and something else – something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Good girl," he murmured, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Now, say it. What have I done to make you hate me that much?"

"It's the opposite," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The words tumbled out before I could stop them, fueled by a desperate need for him to understand. "I like you, Theo. A lot. Those feelings… they're so intense, so confusing, and I just don't know how to act around you. I see you and I freak out. I can't breathe, my heart races and then those unholy thoes…" My voice cracked, and tears welled up in my eyes.

He leaned closer, his hand brushing a stray tear from my cheek. "Breathe, my love," he whispered, his voice gentle, his touch sending sparks dancing across my skin. "Breathe."

I did, taking a shaky breath, closing my eyes as his face came closer. His touch was everywhere – on my cheek, my neck, his warm breath against my lips. "Are you mad?" I whispered, barely audible.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Quite the opposite," he murmured, his lips brushing mine with a feather-light touch. Then, in one swift movement, he closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both electrifying and grounding.

His hands gripped my hips, lifting me off the floor effortlessly. I gasped as I looked into his eyes, seeing the raw desire burning within them. "You smell so good," he murmured, his lips finding my neck. His stubble tickled my sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"You know those thoughts you talked about," he continued, placing soft kisses along my jawline. "I have similar thoughts too."

I moaned as he sucked on my earlobe, my head falling back to give him more access. His lips moved down to my neck, his tongue tracing a path along my collarbone.

His hands tightened on my hips, and I could feel his erection pressing against me. I couldn't help but grind against him, feeling his length rub against my clit through our clothes.

"I want to leave marks on your skin, so everyone knows you're mine," Theo growled, his lips moving down to my neck. His tongue traced a path along my collarbone, and I shivered with delight.

"Yours?" I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, baby. Mine. And those fuckers need to know this," he said, I couldn't help but smile. I knew they had been teasing him for how I had been ignoring him.

His lips traced a path along my collarbone, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I shivered with delight as his hand gripped my hair, pulling me to him he looked at my eyes for a second then kissed me. His lips were soft and eager, and I couldn't help but respond.

He turned me around his head on my shoulder "Tell me your deepest fantasy. I'll make it a reality for you,"

His hands went inside my skirt, and I felt his fingers on my thighs. "Can I touch you?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. I nodded, my breath hitching in my throat.

“ oh Merlin “ I say my whole body shaking his finger rubbing circles on my clit fast then slow making me losing my mind

“ not Merlin baby me say my name, do i make you feel good ? “ he say in my ear

“ yes Theo oh yes you do “ I say my body still shaking .

"Do you want me to be rough with you, or gentle?" He asked, his finger sliding inside me. I gasped, holding onto his arms for support.

"No one has touched you like this before, baby?" He asked. I shook my head, unable to trust myself to respond without screaming.

"Good, and no one else will," He said, his fingers moving inside me. I felt myself getting closer to the edge, my whole body tensing up.

"I love how you arch your back when I do this. You're so responsive," He said, his fingers moving faster inside me. I screamed, my whole body shaking with pleasure.

He put his hand over my mouth, muffling my cries "Shhh” He said, his voice soothing.

I felt it happening. My whole body shook, and if not for his strong arm around me, I would have fallen. I screamed with his hand still on my mouth. I came for the first time in my life, and oh lord, it felt like heaven.

"You did so good for me, baby. So good."

Put his fingers in his mouth, savoring my taste. "I love the way you taste, the way you smell. You're like a drug to me,".

He picked me up, setting me on the desk. pushed the books and papers aside, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he pulled me to the edge of the desk, his hands on my thighs.

"Is this like your fantasies?".

"No," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "It’s much better."

His lips were on my inner thighs in an instant, his tongue tracing a path up to my panties. He pulled them down, his fingers grazing my skin. My breath came in short gasps.

"Do you want me to use my fingers or my tongue? Or maybe both?"

His tongue found my clit, and I moaned as he licked and sucked, his fingers exploring my wet folds. I grabbed onto the edge of the desk, my legs shaking.

Theo pulled back, his eyes meeting mine. He reached for a pen on the desk, pulling it towards him. wrote "mine" on my inner thigh, his eyes locked on mine.

His fingers slid back inside me. I moaned again, my hips bucking against his hand.

His tongue found my clit once again , and I moaned louder this time. He sucked and licked, his fingers moving inside me in a steady rhythm. I could feel my orgasm building for the second time.

"Oh, Theo," I moaned, my hips bucking against his hand.

He moved his fingers faster, his tongue lashing against my clit. I cried out as my orgasm crashed over me again.

He pulled away, making his way up to kiss me. I was shaking in his arms, but he wrapped them around me, making me feel safe and comfortable.

As I trembled in his arms, He held me close, his embrace warm and comforting. He gently brushed my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead tenderly.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice full of admiration and love.

I rested my head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The intensity of the moment began to fade, replaced by a soft, soothing calm. Theo's hands traced gentle circles on my back, his touch reassuring and tender.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern evident in his eyes.

I nodded, feeling a smile tug at my lips. "I'm more than okay. Thank you."

He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Theo, I need to tell you something,” I said, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

He looked at me with those deep, caring eyes, waiting patiently.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I don’t mean to scare you with it now, but I’ve been holding it to myself for too long and I wanted you to know.”

A smile spread across his face, and he leaned in to kiss me softly, his lips curing my words. “You don’t have to anymore,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to my fears. He looked into my eyes, his expression sincere. “I love you, and I will prove it to you every single day.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, not of sadness, but of overwhelming relief and happiness. “Promise you won’t hurt me?” I asked, my voice small and vulnerable.

“Never, baby,” he said, pulling me closer. “I promise. I will never hurt you. I’ll always be here for you.”

I buried my face in his chest, letting his warmth and words envelop me, my gaze wandered to the ink on my thigh. The word "mine" stood out boldly, a possessive claim that made me giggle despite the seriousness of everything that had just happened.

Theo noticed and raised an eyebrow. "What’s so funny?" he asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

I pointed to the makeshift tattoo. “This. ‘Mine.’ You really went all out, didn’t you?”

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You bet I did. I had to make sure those fuckers know you’re off limits from now on.”

I laughed, “Oh, I’m sure they’ll get the message loud and clear.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

#slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodorenottsmut #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott masterlist #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #theo nott #theo nott smut

[noona-lover]

My Girlfriend - Umji VIVIZ × M!Reader

Author's Note: I received a few requests but only Umji's requester provided the plot so I started with that as my first work. Thanks to @i-turned-into-the-stone for being the beta reader and helping me with some parts. I got a lot of support even before posting anything so I'm thankful for that also. This one is just basic but I hope it's still enjoyable.

Tags: shower sex (not really), blowjob, creampie

Word Count: 2,341

As you sit in the audience, your eyes are glued to Umji's stunning figure on stage. The way her hips sway and her luscious curves move to the beat instantly sends shivers down your spine.

Then, you hear the crude voices of two men beside you. "Damn, did you see how that Umji chick was grinding on stage? I'd love to bend her over and—"

Your blood boils as that man continues his lewd description. "Don't even think about it, man. My dad's got some connections at her company. I'll become her little groupie and she'll be all over me in no time.”

Their words slice through you like daggers, making your jaw clench with fury. How dare they objectify your beautiful girlfriend like that? You picture yourself grabbing the arrogant prick by his collar and smashing his face in, shutting him up for good.

Umji notices the scowl on your face from the stage, her brow creasing with concern. After the performance, she rushes to your side backstage. "Babe, what's wrong? Your face looks like you want to murder someone."

"It's nothing, I'm fine." You force a tight smile, not wanting to worry her. The drive home is tense as she eyes you suspiciously.

"You know you can talk to me, right? Did something happen?"

You shake your head dismissively. "I said I'm okay, don't worry about it."

Once home, you hastily excuse yourself to the bathroom with a reassuring smile. "I'm just going to take a quick shower and cool off, alright?"

As the hot water cascades over your tense muscles, you replay the creeps' words in your mind, stoking the flames of your jealous rage. The urge to protect what's yours, to stake your claim on Umji's body, burns deep within you.

The steamy water beats down on your tense body when you feel a pair of soft arms encircle you from behind. Umji presses her bare breasts against your back, her hardened nipples dragging across your skin. 

"Baby, please don't hide anything from me," she whispers huskily against the nape of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. "I'm your girlfriend, I can tell when something's bothering you."

You sigh deeply, holding her hands splayed across your abdomen. "There were these two perverts at the show, talking about you like you were just a piece of meat." The words come tumbling out, your jealousy and anger still simmering. "One of them was some rich asshole who said he'd use his family's connections to get close to you."

"Those disgusting pigs," Umji spits, hugging you tighter. Her soft curves mold against you as she reassures, "Nothing's going to happen, you know I only have eyes for you." You turn in her embrace, drinking in the sight of her glistening, naked form. Your hands roam hungrily over the swell of her breasts and the flare of her hips.

"But what if your company tries to pull some bullshit?" you growl possessively. "Try to use you for fanservice or put you in compromising situations? I won't allow anyone to touch what's mine." 

Umji smirks defiantly, reaching down to grip your hardening cock. "They wouldn't dare try that. And even if they did, I'd spit in their faces and walk away. My members would have my back." She pumps your thick shaft slowly. "Because there's something only YOU can give me.”

Umji sinks to her knees in front of you, the warm water still raining over both of your bodies. She gazes up at you with those big, innocent eyes while dragging the head of your cock across her full, pouty lips. She playfully smears your precum over her cheeks and chin with a giggle.

You chuckle softly at her antics, almost forgetting just how delightfully dirty your girl can be. Her devious moves never fail to turn you on, instantly melting away any jealous or troubled thoughts.

As Umji kitten-licks the underside of your rigid cock, you thread your fingers lovingly through her soaked hair, earning an appreciative hum. Then, wrapping her bare lips around the swollen tip, she hollows her cheeks and takes half of your length into her eager mouth.

You let out a groan as she bobs her head enthusiastically, tongue swirling along the throbbing veins. "Fuck, you're so good at this, baby," you said breathlessly, drinking in the erotic sight. 

With a twinkle in her eye, Umji pulls off your cock with a pop, strings of saliva still connecting her lips to the tip. "All for you, babe," her voice is dripping with needs. "Now just relax and let me take care of my man." 

Gripping the base, she laves her talented tongue along the underside before sucking one of your heavy balls into her mouth, lavishing it with covetous attention. You shudder and groan, hips jerking as she services you with unrestrained fervor. 

For now, all the possessive worries and dark thoughts melt away, leaving only the exquisite sensations your gorgeous girlfriend is delivering. Your body blocks the shower stream from lashing Umji's face as she hungrily devours your throbbing cock. 

You can't tear your eyes away from the incredibly lewd sight of your wet girlfriend gliding her soft, wet lips up and down your rigid shaft. "Fuuuck, Umji..." you growl through gritted teeth, drinking in every sultry bob of her head as she takes you deeper into her mouth. 

When she manages to stuff your entire length past those lips, the scorching tightness of her throat constricting around you makes stars burst across your vision.

Umji gags, eyes fluttering as she struggles to maintain eye contact, but the dazed lust burning in her gaze only ratchets your arousal higher. Her drenched, raven locks plaster her face as she pistons her head without pause, spit, and pre-cum dribbling from the corners of her mouth.

The delicious suction from her cheeks hollowing, the wet heat of her tongue massaging at your underside - it's all too much incredible stimulation for your senses to handle. Gruff groans tear from your throat as fiery ecstasy courses through your veins, threatening to make you lose control right then and there.

"Oh god, baby… I'm gonna… Fuck!" you curse, instinctively grabbing a fistful of her hair as your hips jerk forward on instinct. 

Umji just moans encouragingly around your pulsing cock, her eyes sparkling with pure, carnal desire as she readily accepts your face-fucking. You withdraw your cock from Umji's sucking mouth with a pop, despite your body screaming for release. 

As much as you crave that mind-numbing euphoria of her sweet throat, you want to tend to her pleasure as well. She worked so hard, so selflessly, to satisfy you first. Umji catches her breath, pink tongue darting out to swipe the mixture of saliva and pre-cum from her lips. 

The glistening mess only makes her look even more debauched as she gazes up at you with heavy-lidded, needy eyes. "Why'd you stop?" she pouts petulantly.

You silence her whine by capturing her mouth in a ravenous kiss. Reaching back, you twist the shower knob off before pulling your girlfriend flush against you. Your cock rubs against the flat plane of her stomach as you voraciously knead the supple flesh of her ass.  

Breaking the heated liplock, you speak into the crook of her neck, "Because I need to be inside you. Need to fill you up so damn deep and mark you as mine." 

Umji keens with unbridled lust at your filthy words, arching her back to grind her weeping slit along your rigid cock. "Yes, please," she whimpers shamelessly.

You hoist Umji's legs around your waist and pin her against the steamy shower wall. The sweltering heat and steam only amplify the erotic scent of her arousal as you grind your achingly hard cock against her soaked folds. 

You grip her meaty thighs, spreading them wider so you can grind your rock-hard cock against her dripping pussy. "You want this dick inside you, don't you?" Teasing her sensitive folds.

"Yes, yes! Give it to me, baby!" Umji begs, her nails digging into your shoulders. You slowly slide your throbbing shaft into her tight, wet heat, both of you groaning at the sensation.

"Ohh, fuck! Your pussy feels so good," you exclaim, bottoming out inside her. You pull back, then slam back in, setting a rough, pounding rhythm. The sound of your flesh slapping together echoes in the steamy shower.

Umji cries out, her head thrown back. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me harder!" Her breasts bounce with each powerful thrust, the water trickling down you all’s bodies.

You lean in, sucking and biting at her neck as you fuck her relentlessly. "You like that, don't you? Taking my cock so deep?" you dirty talk against her skin.

"I love it! Don't stop, baby, don't ever stop!" Umji moans, her walls clenching around you. You can feel her orgasm building, her whole body trembling with pleasure.

Umji's pussy grips your cock like a vice, her slick, spongy inner walls caressing your shaft with each slide in-out. You know how stressful being an idol must be for her, so you're determined to make this fucking as good as possible.

You pull her even closer to bury your pulsing cock deep inside her quivering heat. "Fuck, your pussy feels amazing, haa, I can't get enough," you growl, drinking in the sight of her flushed, ecstatic expression.

"Yes, yes, that's it!" Umji moans, her nails dragging down your back. "Give it to me harder, baby. I need it so bad." 

You oblige, slamming into her harder. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the steamy air, along with Umji's desperate cries of pleasure. 

"Ohh, god, you're stretching me so good. I can feel every inch of you!" she gasps, her inner muscles fluttering around your cock. Her thighs tremble as you hit that sweet spot inside her over and over.

"All for you, baby,” you groan, swaying your hips with abandon. Umji's perky breasts bounce with the force of your thrusts, her hard nipples grazing your chest.

"Fuck, I'm so close!" she whimpers, her orgasm building. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You capture her lips in a messy kiss, swallowing her cries as her pussy clenches down on your throbbing cock. The euphoric sensation pushes you right to the edge as well.

Umji cries out, her legs stiffening around your waist as she drops herself down fully onto your cock. Her toes curl in pure ecstasy and she screams loudly, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around you.

Her orgasm explodes, waves of pleasure rippling through her trembling body. You slide your hands from her thighs up to her soft, round ass, supporting her weight as you push yourself balls deep inside your desperate, quivering girlfriend.

"Umji, your pussy is milking my cock so good.” You bury your face in the crook of her neck. You can feel her heartbeat pounding as she clings to you, lost in the throes of her climax.

"Oh god, yes, yes, yes!" Umji’s hips rolling and grinding against you. The slick sounds of bodies joining echo in the compartment. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You oblige, snapping your hips up to meet her frantic movements. Your fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. Umji's walls flutter and spasm around your throbbing cock, dragging you ever closer to the edge.

With a few more deep, decisive thrusts, you feel the familiar build of your orgasm. "Fuck, babe, I'm gonna cum!" you warn, your entire body tensing.

Umji looks up at you with lust-blown eyes, her voice dripping with need. “Cum inside me, baby. I want to feel your hot cum filling me up," she pants, her canal clenching around your pulsing cock.

"You want me to creampie you, don't you?" you smile, your balls smacking forward with ruthless intensity. "Such a naughty girl, always playing these dangerous games."

"Yes! I need it, please!" Umji begs, her fingernails digging into your shoulders. "I want your seed dripping out of my pussy, tickling and coating my insides."

You grip her hips, slamming into her. "Then take every last drop." With a throaty groan, you feel your orgasm exploding, your cock throbbing as you pump your hot, thick load deep inside her quivering needy pussy.

Umji howls out, her back arching as she feels you filling her up. "Yes, yes, that's it! God, it's so warm and full," she moans, milking every last drop from you.

You continue rocking your hips, making sure to coat her insides thoroughly. The sound of your mingling fluids is obscene. 

"Mmm, I can feel it dripping out of me," Umji purrs, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. "Such a good boyfriend, giving me exactly what I needed."

You pull Umji close, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, baby. You always know how to make me feel better," you state, brushing a stray hair from her flushed face. 

Umji beams up at you, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your chest. "And thank you for the amazing fuck. I needed that just as much as you did," she teases, playfully nipping at your bottom lip.

Carefully, you ease your softening cock out of her well-used pussy, watching as your combined fluids begin to drip down her thighs. You help lower her to her feet, steadying her when she sways slightly.

"How about we clean up together?" Umji suggests, her voice soft and warm. "Then I'll make us a nice dinner. You must be starving after all that grind."

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her in for a leisurely kiss. "Sounds perfect. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Umji hums contentedly, melting into your embrace. "You'll never have to find out," she mutters, giving you a smile before stepping back and turning on the shower.

As the warm water falls over your body, washing away the evidence of your love-making activity, you can't help but feel utterly, blissfully satisfied. With Umji by your side, everything just seems right.

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #viviz umji #umji smut #viviz smut

[carmenized-onions]

I Want To. | Wellness Check

logline; Such is life, you go from not being needed at The Bear today to being more needed than you ever have been.

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

portion; 4.7k+

possible allergies; a dash of Tony's former paramedic background (and just medical shit in general) in this one, so, a sprinkle of post-trauma stress (and her usual yikes psyche). Mikey comes up a bit, as usual! despite the ops, we ball.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (pretty unavoidably gendered episode, mb non-fem folks)

we'll talk after babe, have a good time w/ this one.

Falling asleep was easy— par for Carmen fighting to keep his 6:30 am alarm on. When he finds out you don’t have a plug on his side of the bed and he has to charge his phone on your side, he turns it off. Cute.

Well, there’s also the part where you had to ask if he was okay because it sounded like he wasn’t breathing and it turns out —He was not breathing— He then pointed out that it sounded like you weren’t breathing —You were not breathing— Both of you thought the sound of your lungs would bother the other, so you opted not to use them at all. Turns out, counterproductive; you notice each other’s absences pretty well.

But besides that, it's easy. Carmen isn’t an awful bedfellow. He’s not super shifty, he doesn’t tug the blanket, he doesn’t roll all the fucking way over to your side, or anything like that. He’s honestly concerningly still. Is he annoyed that you’ve gotta toss and turn a little to get comfortable? Probably. He's probably dreaming of you exploding right now, he’s so annoyed. He didn’t make fun of your ages old build-a-bear plush nor it’s Cubs jersey, so that was nice. Pity, probably.

...If Carmen wasn’t here, he knows he’d be stirring and kicking and probably sleep-walking to his oven to light it on fire. But he is here. Where kicking would hurt. Where stirring would wake you. Where a fire would cause more anxiety than relief because all your plants and projects would die. Where you washed his hair and told him that taking care of people doesn’t feel like a lot of work to you. Was it not a lot of work, to take care of his brother? Was it worth it, to you? Probably not. How could it be?

He wills his body to not fucking move because if he does it's going to ruin everything. He's going to ruin everything.

He wakes up at 6:30 on the dot, alarm or no. He’d be concerned if his body functioned any differently. But he can’t get to his phone while you’re sleeping in his way and you’re so comfortable. You’re clutching a bear that’s undeniably on a losing team and you’re at peace with it. He’s trying not to make a metaphor out of this in his mind; alas, it’s already there. The only thing he can do is go back to sleep and dream about killing the teenage boy in his head before he can escape again and call you pretty.

It's around ten when you wake up, you try not to wake him when you turn to grab your phone, but the split second of motion makes him flinch like he’s about to get jumped. “Relax!” You hiss, but like, soft, whispered. “I’m doin’ the fuckin’ Wordle, not smothering you with a pillow.”

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“The first fuckin’ thing you do in the morning is the Wordle?”

“And I do the Crossword too, bitch, what of it?”

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

The Chicago accent in both of you is stronger in your rasping morning voices. As is the laughter. You roll onto your stomach to get closer to him and let him see your screen. Neither of you have entirely woken up yet and that means it’s the perfect time to do a puzzle. If you don't focus on this puzzle right now, you fear you will get too comfortable in this idea of domesticity.

“C’s in the right place. Nothin’ else though.”

He’s the one that figures out its Cumin. You pretend not to be mad about this. You’re furious. Of course, it’d be a spice on the day Mr Food Guy sleeps over. Bullshit.

When you finally sit up, stretch, and say, “I’m just gonna shower real quick ‘nd—”

He’s at a breakneck speed to reply, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh, you cook all the fuckin’ time, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You blink, then shrug, the man likes to cook, c’est la vie. “Who am I to refuse?”

He looks far too happy about this, as though he’s won a lottery. A lottery of manual labour. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his back pack stuffed with yesterday’s clothes before leaving you to your own devices. In a literal sense, too, since you get a text. Ugh.

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

You would prefer not to reach, but this is capitalism.

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

Why couldn’t something else at The Bear be fuckin’ broken today?

‘yeah i can reach’

‘that’s my girl, red tops today, see u’

You have also won the lottery of manual labour today. Look at you and Carm, luckiest people alive. Something like that. Alright, go shower and be normal about the fact that there’s a Michelin Star Chef making you breakfast in your kitchen. And he’s prett—

“You make your own bread.”

“I do.” You sit at your own little breakfast nook, waiting to be served. Towel hung around your neck post shower. You’d offer to help, but based on his urgency to cook for you, it’s gonna be a no. Plus, the gift on the table you’ve got for him is going to piss him off enough, can't poke this bear too much. He's already given you a mile. Too many idioms.

“I like to think in another universe I am a homesteader who makes her own soaps and renders tallow n’ shit. But I settle for growing basil and making sourdough in my shitty little Chicago apartment for now.”

“I like your apartment.” He hums, though amused. He turns and sets your plate—the one black plate— in front of you with a small smile. This smile immediately falls when he pushes the plate towards you and you push a travel bag of toiletries towards him.

“Fuck is this?”

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Irish Spring.”

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

“It’s all five of your routine, it’s going to be pungent— Now listen.” You pick up the bag; you’d dug through your sink cabinet and found a dollar store pack of plastic travel bottles, unused from cancelled trips of yesteryear. You've decanted your own products for him. It's fine, you buy jumbo sizes anyways...

“Shampoo, conditioner, face wash—They’ve even got labels.”

He takes the bag from you, setting it down on his side of the counter, begrudgingly. Though he hasn’t particularly paid it much mind, tunnelled on something else entirely, “Do you not like Irish Spring?”

"I didn't give you a body wash, you can still use it for that one purpose."

"Yeah, but do you not like Irish Spring?"

"...I think it's fine."

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

“You don’t deserve breakfast—” He pulls your plate, you pull it back.

“All I said—” “Thinkin’ I smell like shit—” “Did not say that—!” “Just cause you use the fruity stuff—” “I smell good! Deny that I smell good!” “You smell fine.” “Wowww—Whatever, do the thing.”

“Bruschetta with a breakfast twist.” Ah, that makes him give you the plate back. His kink is explaining food. “Sourdough toasted, topped with fresh basil—”

“Courtesy of me.”

“Courtesy of you, yes. Tomatoes, bacon glazed in balsamic, and you didn’t have parm so I used feta. And then, y’know, over medium egg on top.”

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

“Oh, I—Uh—” You haven’t even tried it yet. You’re telling him he’s good for the sake of the effort he’s given alone. He needs an antacid. “Thank you.”

It’s redundant to say his food is good. But what else can you say? It’s a fucking perfect open face sandwich. But he’s eating it with you, and half of it’s your own handiwork, and all of your pantry, so you leave your praises purely reaction based, unsaid.

You're honestly a little distracted, reading too hard into the act of him giving you the black plate and taking one of your shitty plastic ones for himself. Time to talk.

“Itinerary for today?”

“Gotta talk chaos menu with Syd before opening, then, well, running the restaurant all night… And then I’ll—I’ll go home.”

“Yeah? You can come back here, if you want to.” Thank God you took a bite in time to hide your selfish disappointment. It’s good for him to go home, but then he’s not here. Real Catch-22.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good now. Thanks, though. What’s—What’s uh, your plans for today?”

“I’m gonna drop you off wherever you’re going, n’ then I’m gonna go shopping for Syd’s gift—”

“It’s her fuckin’ birthday or somethin?” It’s a delight how immediately panicked he is by this. You're also thankful because he's so distracted it means you won't have to tell him the rest of your plans for today. You'd like to keep that life separate. For as long as possible, at least.

“Nono, it’s just, I didn’t get her anything for her opening night and I wanna change that. I’ll get you something too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The very idea of waiting for his response is freaking you the fuck out, so you’re quick to clear your voice and add. “I’ll give you my number, in case you end up needing to crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Ey, text me your invoice too.”

You take both your cleared plates to the sink, and the lie is swift. You've gotten a lot better at that, in the past year.

“Oh no worries, your sister already covered it.”

It is 6:30 and your life is over. Kidding. Unless? You dropped off Carmen at the train station hours ago and, to use his words, ‘it’s hit’. He’s at The Bear and there’s nothing for you to fix there— So you’re not.

You’ve only been there like three times and yet it started to feel… Like your thing!

Like, like you’d just come in everyday and… Dunno, fix something... But it’s not like they’re gonna have a crisis everyday. Especially not ones that Fak can't handle himself if needed— There's no way he's gonna last at hosting, anyways. You’re now realizing the unrealistic dream— Possibly more unrealistic than homestead you.

Speaking of, Homestead You would probably throw up, if she saw the you you’re looking at in the mirror right now. You look good. Objectively, you know you look good. The mug is stamped. Your pants are black, high-waisted, and give you an ass. The bright red leather corset top is… Chafing, but it looks good! It's a sweetheart neckline so you have to take off your long rope chain necklace from Mikey and shove it in your pocket— Which is fine and doesn't feel bad at all. And listen, listen, being an on-call bottle girl is good money!

And you might get put on bar tonight! You don’t know for sure if you’re gonna have to juggle around lit up bottles for a bunch of fucking geezers!

...

God, fuck, it’s 10:20 and your life is over.

This group of geezers have been fucking annoying and fucking Cherry wouldn’t get off fucking bar even though you literally covered for her last week and these stupid grandpas asked if gratuity is included— No fucking shit! Did you take their card and put a 40% tip? Yeah, maybe. Fuck them! They’re too fucking rich to notice! And they took three hours to leave! Gonna bash this champagne bottle over his bald fucking—

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

You hear your name— Not Tony, not Chip, not Cousin. Your name.

You turn to see, oh fucking hell, let God kill you—

“Uncle J!~ Good to see you!~ What a surprise! It’s Jack, here.” Jack of all Trades. It was cute at the time of sign up. Your smile is bright, fake, strained, and beautiful.

“Been too long, really.” Cicero isn’t a bad guy—Correction: Cicero isn’t a bad guy, to you, but as Mikey once put it, he’s a fuckin’ ball buster and in your case, you’re one of the few people beneath him that he asks favours from. Always wants free labour and your expertise. And he always has a habit of asking for favours the second you need one back. But you don’t need one right now! So it’s fine! Everything’s fine!

“Do your Uncle a favour,”—Fully not your Uncle—“Could you pair me and my friends here with a good red?”

You let it go that they’re having fish and asking for a red. Stupid thing to get hung up over right now. You make a commission of it anyways; you just pick the most expensive bottle. He won’t know the difference. The Bear would know the difference. Carmen would notice the difference... Alright, relax.

While pouring glasses, Jimmy whispers to his compatriots and one by one they all peel off. It is almost alarming how quickly this group of men turn and leave without a second thought, taking their glasses with them.

You raise your brows and look at Cicero. “Ah. This is the moment where I sit?”

He nods, gesturing to the booth. “This is the moment where you sit.”

You slip into the booth, sitting across from him. “What do you need?”

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

You bite your inner cheek, hard. “Don’t say that shit.”

“I liked him too,” He says it solemnly, like your mutual grief is a proper apology. He takes a long sip of his stupid red wine. “Did you hear? Cousin Vinnie and Mira are gettin’ hitched, finally.”

“I have no fucking idea who Vinnie and Mira are.” You take the glass when he hands it to you, taking a sip. Small. You gotta drive home, after all.

“Really? It’s a big wedding—Destination too, in New York—”

“I hate to remind you, but I was friends with Mikey, not his family.” Not his biological one, at least. The Beef, sure. But you literally only met his siblings two days ago. “What’s a wedding gotta do with me?”

He bristles, and finally cuts it short. “Around three hundred guests, seven-hour shift, open bar—” “Oh, for fuckssake—” “Listen—”

“It’s an easy gig, I’ll fly you out for it, it’s a month and a half away, you’ll get to attend a big fuckin’ Italian wedding— Which will be a shitshow, certainly, so free entertainment; and Michelin Star level catering, kind of.”

You squint. Kind of? “You got Carmy in on this shit?”

“You know ‘em?”

You nod, pressing your elbows on the table, “We’ve recently become acquainted. What d’you got on him for him to cater a wedding?”

“He’s eight-hundred grand in the hole.” “Fuck!” “He gets thirty off for catering. Smart boy, said yes.”

Christ, you massage the bridge of your brow with one hand and pull out your phone with another to check your calendar, you might as well see if you can even entertain the idea. You don’t need a favour right now, maybe you can bargain and get him to actually pay you for it, this time.

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

Uncle Jimmy, always, always, has a fucking way, of asking for a favour when you need one…

You slam your phone, screen down on the table, straightening your posture in your seat. “I have demands.”

He motions for you to continue, taking his wine glass back. “You always do.”

“You and your friends are gonna tip a hundred percent tonight.”

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

“Smart girl.” He shrugs, palms of his hands out. Which means yes.

“If Uncle Lee comes up to the bar I’m throwing a fork at him and leaping over the counter.”

He chuckles, “Thought you 'didn’t know family'.”

“I remember what I'm told.”

His amusement fades quickly, remembering first hand. He nods. “…You’re allowed to jump him if I’m watching first.”

“And you’re friends with my boss, right?”

“We’re acquainted.”

“I’m gonna punch out now and you’re gonna smooth that out for me.”

He perks up, amused, glancing at your phone, “Somethin’ come up, Chip?”

“Don’t call me Chip.” He wants to poke at you, just a little bit more, but there’s a rattled look in your eyes that he’s so rarely seen that he lets it go.

He waves his hand, shrugging, “Be safe. I'll send you the details. December wedding, remember.”

At the end of the day, Cicero isn’t a bad guy to you, someone who loved his nephew as much as he did.

You’re running to your car while you dial back Syd. You don’t have time to read the texts, all you need to know is that it’s an emergency. She picks up just after the first ring.

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

You almost fall on your face and eat asphalt. For a flash, you’re in the back of an ambulance being handed a defibrillator at the age of 22, surrounded by faces just as scared and young as you. Then you’re back in the parking lot, slotting the key into your car door because the fob doesn’t work. It’s never worked.

“S-Someone’s having a fucking heart attack!?”

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

“Oh my god! Sorry! No, I was just saying the thing that scares doctors the most!”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ scared Syd!” You slide into the driver’s seat and slam your car door shut. You take a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. “…I’m-I'm sorry for yelling! Where are you, what’s going on?”

“The—The Bear, the restaurant.” The second you have a location you’re revving off.

“Nat locked herself in the office—” “Like trapped?” This shit again?

“No, no— Like she locked herself in— She did this like two hours ago and I thought she was just taking a breather— But we’ve closed and, and like almost everyone left and she’s still not coming out— And she blocked the door inside— and— And I think she’s trying to hide that she’s basically shrieking in pain every five minutes.”

You take a long time to register anything she’s just said. Her tone is as panicked as you feel on the inside. You’re only now registering the ambient yelling of Richie and Carmen in the background.

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah Syd, I’m just thinking.” You don’t step on the gas on purpose, it just happens. “A pregnant woman is screaming in pain— in intervals— behind a blockaded door?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

There’s a much more distinct yell in the background from Richie, “No cops!”

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

“Yeah…” Syd shakily continues for them, “The insurance is a problem, and Richie said— Motherfucker—” You hear a muffled scrap over the phone before Richie continues on for Syd.

“Er, yeah, Cousin, Sugar keeps yelling that she’s fine ‘n blocked the door, if we call the cops they’re gonna ram that shit down and take her to the loony bin.”

“That’s not— That’s not what paramedics do.”

“That’s what they all do.”

“Richie, y’know, I was a paramedic, right?”

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

“Richie, if I was a fuckin' narc you would be in prison by now. I, I— I'll be there in like, like eight minutes, everyone stop fucking yelling at Sugar!”

You’re there in four. You almost rear end someone and you run every yellow you get but you’re there in four. You don’t park properly in the back, you just drive your car in and turn it off in the middle of the lot. You don’t bother to be let in, you just punch the code in as you remember it. As Natalie told you.

“Oh good you—Oh my, God?” Syd is no better than a man in this moment, going from grateful for your presence to being one intrusive thought away from whistling.

You did not have time to change out of your ...outfit and someone has been hogging your Carhartt. You pass Syd quickly, waving a hand in front of her face. Goddammit, why do your boot heels have to have that incredibly satisfying femme fatale click right now?

“Alright— Relax—”

“Holy shit, Chippy!” Richie was yelling at Sugar through the door along with Carm, but once alerted to your presence is now snapping his fingers. You'd describe him more as impressed than actually attracted to you. “You clean up!”

 “Cousin, are you—” He grabs Carmen’s face, turning it to you— Carmen does of course, immediately slap Richie’s hand away which of course, means they just start smacking each other's hands. Like preteen girls. “Ey, get the fuck off—” “I just want you to look at a pretty girl, Cousin—!” “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” “Are you looking!?” “I—”

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

You silence the room. You’re thankful most of the staff has left by now since it’s well after close. It's just Carmen, Syd, Richie, Tina, and Fak for some goddamn reason...You can't be mean you're handymen, you have to stick together.

“I look different from the usual jumpsuit, yes, we get it, can we move on? Pregnant woman?”

Syd is the first to speak, “…Were you on a date, though?”

You blink and roll your eyes all at once, twisting your head to her, “Syd—”

“It’s good to see you getting out there, baby.” Tina, deeply unhelpful in this moment, puts a hand around your shoulder. Oh to have a mother’s judgment when she’s not even your mother.

“O-kay!” You drag on the ‘kay’, clapping your hands together, “Everyone, just get your thoughts out in the next five seconds and then we’re moving on.”

“Chippy, I cannot believe you’ve held this out on me—” “—I meant it like-like a concerned, did we interrupt your date—” “—The red is unbelievable on you, Cousin!” “I need you to teach me how you do your makeup—” “Can you— can you yell again—?” “Fak!” “Oh, so that’s too much?”

A cacophony, it continues on. Your eyes glaze over, and you’re waiting for Sugar to let out a scream so everyone remembers the fucking point of being here. But then you look at Carmen. Everyone’s pivoted from staring at you to yelling at each other. But Carmen; Carmen is still looking at you. Stupid soft scary eye contact. And his voice is so much quieter than the yelling but it’s the thing that you hear anyways.

“It looks tight.”

There’s a possibility that when you killed the teenage girl inside you that you also killed the feminist. Because there’s a small sub-sect of you that’s upset that he’s not objectifying you right now. That his vision is focused on you. Not the changes. He doesn’t seem to look at you any differently than when you’re wearing a jumpsuit and utility belt, covered in toilet water. This should not be annoying and yet it is.

“It is.”

He nods, eye contact unshifting, unblinking, “You wanna change?”

“Maybe after we find out whether or not your sister is in labour.”

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

You approach him, rather, the door, knocking gently. Everyone quiets down.

You clear your throat, and once more, the persona is put on, you’re a paramedic, putting on that soft but firm reassuring authoritative tone. “E-M Rescue, I got a call for a wellness check on Natalie Berzatto?”

“Tony—” A groan of pain behind the door, “I am perfectly well! Everyone go home!”

You grimace, you motion with your hand for Fak to hand you a screwdriver— He keeps one in his breast-pocket, even when wearing a suit. Hey, you should start doing that.

“Nat, I’m a paramedic— Or I was—will you please let me in?”

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

“Never hurts to do a check-up, Nat.” You speak calmly, like you always did. “Listen, lover, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna have to take it off its hinges, and we're gonna lose medic patient confidentiality.”

When she doesn’t reply after a good beat, you start to unscrew the top hinge; she can hear it, “Wait, wait, wait— Fuck-Fuck— I’m opening it!”

There’s another series of pained groans as she exerts herself to open the door, and once she does, it’s only by a crack, to look at you and you alone. She’s absolutely been crying. She speaks in a whispered tone. “Just you.”

You nod, handing the screwdriver back to Fak without breaking eye contact with her. “Just me.”

She cracks it open just enough for you to come in. And so, you do. Everyone is, for the first time, too worried about her shutting down to interrupt or yell a complaint.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back to it. You note the toppled over chair by your feet that she must’ve blocked it with. Plus the puddle of amniotic fluid beneath her. Oh fuck.

...

“You wanna talk or do you just want me to check your contractions?”

“I’m—” She shakes her head, covering her face. She half sits on the desk. “I’m fucking— I am not ready for this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re not here to convince anyone they’re ready to be a fucking mother. But you’re here to listen, certainly.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

“Her—!” Her voice is choked, another contraction. You’re silently taking the time in your head. She points to her stomach.

“And— And we just opened, and— And I’m gonna have to go on maternity leave, which is the last fucking thing we need and— and— If I could just fucking keep her in!”

“Natalie.” You put a hand on her shoulder, she finally looks at you. “This is happening.”

“Not help—fu—ll.”

“I know it’s not. This is scary and there are no take backs—” “Very unhelp—”

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

You squeeze her shoulder; she looks like she’s gonna cry all over again for a completely different reason. “She probably won’t hate you. Who’s to say. But I know you’ll love her. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

She nods, emphatically, but something is still bothering her. You squeeze her shoulder again. You whisper, so even if everyone’s ear is pressed to the door— Which you doubt, she’s screaming after all, they won’t hear.

“Carmen will still know you love him, even when you're not here.”

She immediately goes for a hug, you reciprocate with a shuddered ease. She sniffs, head on your shoulder. She stays there for a while before letting you go, nodding. “Okay.”

You hand her the tissue box next to her on the table, she takes it thankfully, crushing it in her hand. Another contraction. Oh, that couldn't have been more than 2 minutes. Oh fuck.

You kneel down in front of her, and you’re simply no longer in your body as a person but just the paramedic. You could not be more thankful that she’s wearing a dress today. Awkward requests of spreading legs and pulling off underwear aside, Natalie’s daughter does in fact really want to meet her. Oh fuck.

You look up at Natalie, between her knees, you speak cool, professional. “You’re crowning. This is gonna have to happen here. I'll have someone call your husband.”

You’re so calm that it doesn’t give Natalie the feeling or need to freak out, she just breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

You stand upright. “Do you prefer this office or somewhere else?”

“I can’t— Move.”

“Makes sense. Makes total sense. Okay. I’ll go get everything we need, I’ll be right back. I might send some people in, okay, love?”

She just grunts in reply, nodding, now that she’s not in as much emotional pain, she can entirely focus on her brutalizing physical pain.

“Oh, hey, I know—” You grab her purse, pulling out her phone and ear buds, handing them to her with haste, your calm demeanour is faltering just a bit. “Listen to some music, loud, y’know, chill…” You put the pods in her ear for her. She’s again, in too much pain to tell you to fuck off, and just plays her music loud.

You softly open the door, smiling just a bit too much as you leave, and very softly close the door behind you. Looking at the motley crew before you, your persona immediately falls apart. You really only wanted her to play music so you could scream. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“What’s happening, she good?” What a sweet, stupid brother, Sugar has.

You purse your lips together, eyes wide, shaking your head. “She’s going to give birth in like— Maybe six minutes. Max ten.” Everyone goes to speak in an uproar of panic, and then you slap yourself in the face. Hard. That stuns them silent.

“Alright!” You press your hands over your eyes, “Tina!”

She’s been around this block before, “What do you need?”

“Can you go sit in there with her? Tell her all the breathing exercises and shit? Keep her calm? Coming from you it won’t seem so—”

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

“Gotchu, baby.” She claps your shoulder when she walks past and into the office.

You clap hers in tandem, “Thank you, Mama—Okay, Richie!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna need you to call Nat’s husband—”

“Why do I—”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ dad, Rich, and he will need you!” You’re yelling all pissed, snapping your fingers at him, but he does light up when you say it like that. “I don’t care if he wets his fuckin’ bed, tell him to get here!”

He salutes, walking off, “Aye aye, Cap’n Chip.”

You shake off the sting in your hand, God, you really did slap yourself too hard. You turn to the next targets. “Syd, Fak.”

Syd responds hesitantly for the both of them, since Fak is silently enjoying your colonel persona a little too much. “…Yes, C-Captain?”

“I need towels, a lot of clean towels— cloth ones, like sanitized clean— Warm half in water— And then I need a clean sheet— A table cloth or something, I don’t fucking care, something clean and big that you’re fine destroying. I need sterile sheaths, Syd you get those— Other than that, however they get to me, I don’t give a shit— Just scrub in before you touch anything!”

They almost knock into each other the way they run so fast. You yell after them. “Get the big sheet first, she needs to lay down!”

“Yes, Chef!”

You take a deep breath before moving your gaze onto Carmy. The screaming lead EM in you melts off your shoulders, just for the second.

He asks before you can even say anything, “Yes, Chef?”

“I need you to scrub in and get me gloves and an apron—” “On it, Chef—” “And you’re gonna sit in with me for the birth of your niece.”

He cringes, not to refuse, but just the mounting reality of the situation is dawning on him. His sister is going to give birth to his niece in their shared office of his high-class restaurant within it's first week of open.

But you then tag on, “Carmy, she needs you— Frankly, I’m not the one giving birth but fuckin' I need you. T-There.”

He softens instantly, like tranquilizing— Well, a bear.

“Yes, Chef.”

I know the opening probably feels so far away by now, but i do want to note that Breakfast Bruschetta is my own recipe that I used to make like every fuckin' day pre-employment. It's so goddamn good. I highly recommend it, babes. It's balsamic with brown sugar dissolved, btw, Carmy's just a quick explainer.

I wrote like a solid 75% of the labour sequence before deciding it just needed to have the breathing room of it's own chapter, so until next time for that one bbs. But I'm excited for it! And also dreading it! A lot of hard conversations combined with giving birth = nightmare to write, but well worth it, i think. Speaking of: I don't believe at the end of Season 2 that Sugar is at the end of her term of 36 weeks, but in our case here, she is. I'm very much so not interested in a very scary premature birth for our girl!! She's okay!! Dw!! I just wonked with time a little, hope that's okay.

And hey, look at that reveal! Bartender/Sommelier was code for bottle service-- Which is a very respectable career, btw, don't get it twisted-- I was critiquing it only in the way I would critique literally any other job: Misery Under Capitalism. And now we've got that fuckin' wedding in the future midst! Ah!!

Anyways please send me your thoughts ad nauseam, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking. If you reblog, tell me what you think in the tags!! Yell at me in the replies!! Send an anon in!! I don't bite, I swear <3

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

[steviewashere]

Make a Home Out of Hurt

Rating: General CW: Death of a Grandparent, Mourning Tags: Post-Season 4, Post Canon, Grief/Mourning, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe — Future Fic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Absent Parents, Steve Harrington Mom is Okay, Steve Harrington's Dad is an Asshole, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Moving in Together

Had an evil little thought. Also, all these Fenton bunnies I mention are real! My nana collects Fenton. (She's alive, don't worry, but I thought about her the other day and it spiraled into this.)

🏡—————🏡 We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie thinks, but won’t say.

Even though they have. They’ve driven by the same three houses. Yellow, pastel pink, and navy blue. White door, white door, brown door. Bushes and bushes and a bushel of red roses. One garage, no garage, no garage but large driveway. He’s seen them. Over and over and over.

And each time they pass the last one, the leather of the steering wheel squeaks. And each time, Steve makes a muffled sort of noise. And each time, Eddie wonders if resting his hand on Steve’s shaking shoulders would anger him or mellow him. And each time, the car gets just a little slower as Steve loses his control more and more.

We’ve already seen this neighborhood, Eddie continues to think, but knows he’ll sit here with those words. He’ll sit in the passenger seat. Window cranked as far down as it’ll go—half-way since Dustin busted the actual mechanism. Beemer’s been through a lot, so it’ll be here for Steve’s end all breakdown, too. With the radio volume low, playing the same double-sided tape on repeat, flipped by Eddie because Steve’s hands have been shaking: The World We Knew by Frank Sinatra. Because it was her favorite. Nana’s favorite. Nana Harrington’s favorite.

On the fifth drive through, Steve finally parks the car. At the end of the long, slow winding driveway. He looks out the windshield, hollowed and not quite here. With limp hands in his lap. Messy, greasy hair he couldn’t bother to style. Eye bags so heavy, Eddie barely believes he can hold them on his face.

Eddie can follow his line of sight. To the edge of the white picket fence, worn down a little with age, scratched up from the curled nails of an old brown dog, carved with her son and daughter-in-law’s initials, and eventually stained with yellow handprints from baby Steve. Yellow because, as Steve has echoed, “Lello, Nana. Lello like your dress. Your favorite!” Well, Steve’s favorite too, he just won’t acknowledge it’s because of his nana. Eddie knows that the paint has faded a bit since then, given that it’s been fifteen years since Steve’s had hands that small, but Eddie can see him. In his little white and red striped t-shirt, hidden by a pair of nicely pressed denim overalls, white sneakers, and his mom’s bobby pins in his hair—something she did because it just wouldn’t stop growing so fast and thick. Or so Eddie’s been told.

He’s been told a lot in the last week. Since the call came through the landline of their apartment. Since Steve had gone silent and collapsed to his knees and wailed, screamed even. Since he dressed himself in a suit that fit well, but looked out of place on his curled in body. Since…since the obituary was finally in his hands at the funeral, and he got so sick in the church’s restroom, Eddie had to drive them home in a daze—a quarter worried, a quarter tired, and half hanging by a thread. He thinks he’s heard everything, but what is love if not more than everything? If not all the words in every language, all known objects and unknown, every species and race and sexuality and identities combined?

He’ll hear everything. Until their old and grey and forgetting everything.

“There used to be a tire swing on that tree,” Steve states flatly, pointing at the weeping oak in his nana’s front yard. It’s crooked like it’s been kissed by the wind. A lot withering because the weather’s been harsh on her. Grey against the navy blue of the house’s siding.

I know, sweetheart, Eddie wants to say, so soft it gets lost between them. Instead, “Yeah? Bet it was a good tire, too,” he coaxes, still soft, all sweet. Even if he’s heard it each time they’ve passed by.

Steve nods once in his peripheral. Sniffs. “Yeah,” he states wetly, “one of the expensive ones. She didn’t want it to pop under me. Didn’t…She didn’t want me to stop using it.” His head dips down, looking at his fingers, where they’ve begun to absently trace the seams of his jeans. “I stopped,” he whispers shamefully. “You think she got mad because I stopped?”

“No, baby,” Eddie answers honestly. “I think that she was happy you used it at all. Think she was always just happy to see you, Steve.”

A sharp intake of breath next to him. “I used to come over here when my parents were gone. Or when they’d scream at each other. Or when…when they’d forget I existed,” he relays, quiet as a mouse. “When they’d forget, Nana would open the door and kiss my cheek and make me something to eat. I was always too skinny. So she made me casseroles,” he explains, a wisp of a smile. Gone in the blink of an eye. “She’ll never make ‘em again, though. She won’t—”

“Steve,” Eddie calls gently, a small warning. A siren before the tsunami. 

“—Love me again,” Steve sobs, “Nana won’t love me again.”

“Oh, baby,” he breathes. Eddie steps out of the car, rounds over to the driver’s side, and yanks the door open. Carefully, he unbuckles Steve, scoots him so that his legs dangle over the side, and pulls him down into a gentle hug. “Baby,” he coos. “Just get it out, honey. I’m right here. We’re right here. I’ve got you.”

And Steve cries. Again; though Eddie’s lost count. He squirms against Eddie’s chest. Head nestled to his neck. Crying big sounds that sound too large, even for his adult body. Sounds that carry boats, that poison with oil spills, that home orcas. He slobbers onto Eddie’s skin, grand globs of hot spit that gargle in his throat before launching from his mouth. His unshaved stubble scratching at the side of Eddie’s face—where his skin is sensitive and smooth and will most definitely be raw with Steve’s aching.

He sobs until there’s no more tears. Until he’s a whimpering, shivering mess on Eddie’s chest. Bunched up and small and fisting Eddie’s t-shirt like a lifeline. Squeezing the fabric in his hands like two lemons.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve’s spine. From the small of his back to his hunched shoulders, squishing him. He sways them ever so gently like the rustle of the old oak tree. Hums something incoherent and unrecognizable. If only to get Steve to stop shaking.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

He takes a long, slow breath. Breathes out, “Why’d she give me the house?”

Eddie pulls them apart. One hand on the middle of Steve’s back, the other cupping his left cheek. Swiping at the tacky tracks from his tears. “I’m not sure, baby. Maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to have it? To always be safe there?”

“Shouldn’t she have given it to my dad? I don’t…” Steve’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, his mouth frowning. “I don’t deserve her house?”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie sighs. “She chose you for a reason. You, Stevie. Not anybody else. Just you. If she wanted to give it to her son, she would’ve. But she didn’t. She thought of you, put you in the will, and now it’s yours.” When Steve doesn’t respond, Eddie gives him his moment of silence. Running his palm up to Steve’s shoulders. Pressing his thumb into his supple skin. “You may never know her intent, but she probably had a reason. It was a home you came running to, where you felt safest, where you felt…loved. Grandmothers always have this air to them, like they just know things about you before you say ‘em. Maybe she just knew you needed her and her space before you even realized.”

Steve sniffles. His eyes are still wet. Bloodshot and tired. Rumpled all the way around, exhausted and quiet. “She used to play with me in the yard.”

I know, Eddie thinks once more. He goes with the topic change though, if that’s what Steve needs.

“And when we played hide and seek, she always made sure to look until I was found. Because she didn’t want me to feel forgotten, her words.” Steve’s fingers are fidgeting with one another again. Picking at his fingernails, peeling at hangnails. Eddie moves down and takes them, rubbing soothing circles into their backs, just so Steve doesn’t harm himself on top of everything. Steve continues, hushed, “When I’d stay the night, she would sleep with me. Hold me close to her. Scratch my back and scalp and tell me stories…all the way until I fell asleep.”

“Kinda like I do, huh?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Think that’s why I feel so loved and safe with you.”

And Eddie hasn’t cried, not really, not yet. But this may be it. Because he knows, beyond everything, that Nana was special to Steve—so special that just one negative comment, one complaint, one little fuss about her was enough to get you shunned by him. He’s seen it play out with Dustin, he’d been banned from coming over for two weeks. And with El, who didn’t understand quite yet, but had lost conversational abilities with Steve for two whole days—ergo, the Silent Treatment.

This means something. It means everything. Eddie kind of wants to cry about it.

But he reigns himself in for now. Because Steve needs him like water. For somebody to just be there and be present and be patient. Through it all.

“You wanna head inside,” Eddie offers, “I’ve got the key in my pocket.” He gestures loosely to the inside of his vest, the safest pocket near his heart. When Steve nods, Eddie leads them inside silently. Opens the door first, per request made by Steve days prior. Sets his shoes by the front door—not told to, but just out of respect. Hangs up his jacket, his vest. Takes Steve’s jacket, too. Unties his Nike sneakers. Smacks a quick kiss to his cheek. And then he waits by the front door for Steve to say or do something.

The first thing he does is gasp. Eyes roaming the hallway, the living room, and the fireplace that connects the kitchen and living space together. He takes a few tentative steps before stopping in front of a tall, full China cabinet.

“Her Fenton bunnies,” Steve breathes.

Eddie slowly approaches behind him. Wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him into his side a little. “Are these the ones your mom was talking about on the phone?”

“Yeah. I just…Didn’t think my mom was telling the truth,” Steve murmurs. “She told me Dad didn’t want these. Takes up room or whatever. But they’re so pretty here, how could you not want these?” His left hand reaches for the knob of the cabinet. Twisting it gently as to not rattle the glass shelves. With the doors swung open, the bunnies under the cabinet’s lighting are free to touch. And so Steve picks one up, carefully in his hands like it’s alive. Maybe it is, Eddie thinks for a moment, alive with her spirit.

He breathes silently by Steve as he investigates the glass item in his hand. Running his thumbs over the ears. Down the smooth back.

“Satin glass,” Steve states, “It’s like touching the fabric, which is so weird. Nana used to talk about it all the time, but I never believed her. She never let me touch. You wanna?” He holds the bunny up to Eddie’s face. In offering, for him to pet. So he runs a slow thumb down its back. And sure enough, soft as silk, cold to the touch. “All of them are here.” He replaces the silk, purple bunny on the shelf. Picking up a chromatic shifting one next. “Carnival glass,” Steve explains, “it’s heavier than the other one, feels like. But so shiny. Think Nana used to say it was amethyst or something, but that might be what the color shift is called?”

“You sure listened to her well,” Eddie murmurs, “know a lot about this.”

Steve chuckles, a little choked to Eddie’s ears but he makes no comment. “Yeah, I guess I did. Mom used to say that I had selective hearing. That I listened when it was something I cared about.”

“And you cared a lot about Nana,” Eddie concludes.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, “cared a lot about Nana.” He sets the carnival glass bunny back on the shelf. Standing idle in front of it all, taking it all in. “She has one upstairs, in a different glass cabinet. It glows green under the special blacklight upstairs. Said it was radioactive.” He chuckles again. “I gave her that one. As a gift for Mother’s Day in…I think ’77? Mom helped me pick it out—she was nice about the bunnies, about finding this stuff. She loved Nana, too. And she…” He laughs low in his chest and Eddie blossoms a little at the sound, unheard in so long. “Mom would pull out the long box of tissue paper and gift bags from the crawlspace. She’d unfold the prettiest gift bag—this one was a little brown one, covered in peach colored peonies. Stuffed some off-white tissue paper in that one. Wrapped the little yellow—well, it was supposed to be yellow—Fenton bunny in bubble wrap, covered it up with a bunch of caramels. Gave it to Nana, and she squealed! Apparently, she already knew it was radioactive? Thought it was the best gift ever. Which, ouch Nana, I gave you other bunnies for Mother’s Day, c’mon.”

Eddie snorts. “Maybe that’s what earned you the house? That radioactive bunny was probably the key to her heart,” he jokes. Though his stomach turns at the possibility it wasn’t appropriate to make.

Steve laughs loudly, though. Shaking his entire body with it. He slips his hand into Eddie’s back right pocket, sighs, and leans against him relaxed. “Dad should’a tried harder if he wanted Nana’s heart,” he comments, “all it took was a damn bunny.”

“Among other things, I’m sure.”

“Probably,” Steve sighs. “I think she was just excited to have a grandkid. She had a weird relationship with my dad. They didn’t get along very well. So maybe she was sorta…trying again?”

“Stevie, I think she just loved you. There doesn’t have to be some grand, deep meaning behind it. I think she just loved your company. How your laugh fills a room and your smile is seen from across the yard. And how you’re always polite, despite having reasons to not be. Maybe because of your terrible puns and how awful you are at quoting Shakespeare? You charm everybody, Steve,” Eddie monologues. “There’s not a reason to not love you.”

For a moment, the room falls completely silent. Distantly, there’s the slow tick of a wall clock. A few birds singing out in the backyard, where the bird bath probably is—only known through Steve’s memories. A slight hum from the radiator. The cars passing by on the main road just around the corner. Hawkins is quiet when there’s mourning; maybe it’s felt through the whole town, through the soles of Steve’s socked feet, from the beating of his ever love absorbent heart.

She died November 7th, 1993. Just a few days ago. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Will Byers going missing that Hawkins is feeling. Maybe it’s just tragedy. It’s love persevering—even in the most dire of situations. Where Joyce Byers was screaming about where her son may be, all those mismatched theories, and the ways in which the town thought she was crazy—even when they believed her and cried over her son’s body being pulled from the water. Where Will is actually thriving now. Where Sandra Harrington no longer is, though she was a fixture in several communities and families, Steve’s own being included.

“How’s your boy doing?” Wayne asked the day after her funeral. Eddie had shrugged, admitting he wasn’t sure because Steve had gone terribly quiet and sick. “Tell him I’m sorry. That he has a home with us. That he can come over and cry and I’ll make him hot cocoa. Alright, Ed?”

God, even Wayne knew. And there was silence after his condolences.

There is so much silence.

Until, finally, Steve asks, “Will you live with me here?”

“Wh—What?” Because surely he didn’t hear that right.

“Live with me here,” Steve repeats, a little more urgent. “I don’t think I can handle this place alone. And…I know how to use her gas stove. I can make you the spaghetti dish she used to make. And the casseroles she used to bake. We can open up her recipe box and I’ll teach you how to make her apple pie—the one she gave me for your birthday two years ago?

“And we can read your Lord of The Rings books on the porch on the bench she has out there? Grill in the backyard when we have everybody over. Robin can have the room that used to be my nursery. We can…We can live our lives here.”

Stunned, Eddie gapes momentarily. Before gripping harder at Steve’s waist, drawing him closer even when there’s no more room. Two solid bodies connected from shoulder to foot. “Are you sure, Steve? You don’t wanna—“

“You’re my family, Eds. I have loved you since that bullshit in ’86. We have seen each other through our absolute worst. Of course I’m sure. Of course I want you here,” Steve swears. “I know what I’m getting into. Even if it hurts to look around here right now. But you’ve been here by me through one of the worst heartbreaks I’ve ever experienced. I want you here—preferably always.”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes. He reaches out with his free hand and cups the right side of Steve’s face. Swipes over his glistening cheekbone. Under his shadow beaten eye. The tickling brush of Steve’s bottom eyelashes on the tip of his thumb. And he kisses him tenderly, with every word he could ever imagine to say, all emotion he could ever feel, with an intensity seen in atomic bombs. He pulls back to see Steve’s eyes closed. Flushed and bright in the cabinet’s full white lighting, doors still open, and fragile glass bunnies as witnesses. Promises, “I want to, Steve. I want to be here with you. Through it. All of it. As long as I get to love you.”

And on his thumb there are fresh tears, gone cold but skin scalding. Steve’s lips trembling with silent cries. His eyelashes fluttering. Him and him and him. Beautiful and raw and open. Gentle like flowers and strong like wind. Aching and romantic and with a heart the size of the universe itself. Because Steve Harrington is everything—

Or so his nana has said. But Steve doesn’t know. And that’s Eddie’s own secret.

“Okay,” Steve mutters, “make a home with me, Ed.”

🏡—————🏡

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #angst and hurt/comfort

[octuscle]

I'm your average joe who works an average desk job and at 45 I have nothing great going for me. Sometimes I just wish I could do it over again. Maybe take up a diffrent major in college, something that would set me up for a more adventurous life. Can you help me achieve this?

Okay, who wants to be average? And who wouldn't want to know what their life would have been like if they had made a different decision at some point? I mean, your decisions weren't actually bad. Bank apprenticeship, business studies, going to the gym twice a week… You have a house in the suburbs, a cool car. It could have been worse! But also better. We can manage that! Monday, 12:00 noon, let's get started!

When you finish work in the evening, you're still full of energy. Even though you worked until 19:00 today. It's paying off that you started making the gym your home seven months ago. When you arrive at the gym at 8 p.m., Steve greets you at reception with a fist bump. Everyone here greets you. Some of them are good friends of yours. The rest at least know you by sight. No wonder, you're here every day. In the morning before work. In the evening after work. And the effort pays off. From a very well-built man with the typical rolls of flab, you have developed into an athlete. A machine. Not one of the big boys. But close. You call it a day at 22:00. You need seven hours' sleep, you want to be back here at 07:00. One last critical look in the mirror. Not bad for a man in his mid-40s…

Get up, gym, office… You work like clockwork. You're good at your job. The development of your body has boosted your career. Today you have another lunch date with a division manager. He asks you if it's time to take the next step in your career. It's been two years since you moved to the "Digital Research and Development" division. That was also the initial spark for your physical transformation. As an accounting employee, you had previously become a lazy and saturated couch potato… You smile and, as if by chance, flex your huge biceps. You know that makes him hot. And the prospect of a blowjob after lunch is tempting. Of course, he immediately notices that your cock is getting hard… You have his hand in your crotch for the rest of lunch.

When you arrive at the gym at 7pm on Wednesday, you first have to go through your post. As the largest shareholder, you are only the chairman of the supervisory board. But many people confuse that with managing director. Idiots who are just stealing your precious time on the weights. Since you introduced the "Meathead Gym" brand and turned your old gym into the flagship of the new brand, you feel even more at home here. No classes, no machines, no women. Just honest, hard bodybuilding. Dress code is at least off-the-shoulder. In fact, shirtless is preferred. It goes without saying that you don't wear a tank top either.

You're the first one in the gym on Friday morning. Good thing you have the keys. You look around. Your empire. It was a big step to leave your good job almost eight years ago and start working at the fitness start-up. For hardcore bodybuilders, you are now the market leader as a fitness studio, but also in nutritional supplements and gym clothing. Steve arrives at 05:30. He has the early shift at reception. You greet him with a fist bump. Good man. A little weak in the chest. At least compared to you… But he'll get there!

You visit a school friend at the weekend. His son is a handsome stud. He could turn into a real gym hunk. He asks if he can take a selfie with you. Sure, I'd love to, you say. He asks you if you can give him any tips on what he should do now. He's finishing high school now. You ask him what position he plays football. He grins and says that he prefers to spend his time in the gym. You can see that. You tell your school friend to listen away for a moment. And then you tell your son that he shouldn't bother with college and university. You're glad you didn't do that either. You started pumping iron straight away. And then brought your dream to life. Live your dream, you tell him. And that you'd be happy if it could start at your company.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change

[xonavia]

Can I request Chigiri, Nagi, and Bachira getting jealous of their s/o favorite fictional character (besides them)? -> Came from one of the comments on my post but wanted to make sure it was in my line up so I didn't forget to do it!!

Chigiri Hyoma -> I'm sorry but this man is no good with emotions, though his face says it all when he jealous, of really anything -> He will side eye things until you figure out that he's feeling jealous or anything, but then again even when you ask him he'll brush it off like it was nothing -> But he really can't stand to see you gush all about this character who you love ever so much, I mean your walls are more decorated with things of this character then they are of pictures of the two of you!! -> May or May not actually attempt to act like them, but if you ever call him out on it he'll say he wasn't and that it was just an "off day" -> But going back to the fact that he's hella jealous. I mean he's a whole man right here, who can actually hold and touch you and yet you choose to be in love with something that can't even see you?! -> He will hella judge you tho, like why talk about how much you wanna kiss that character when he's literally right here and has been pleading for kisses (with his facial expressions) Nagi Seishiro -> He kinda understands I mean he's most likely had characters that he's liked from his video games, but def not as much as you do -> He'll give you the weirdest looks from where ever he was sitting, even bothering to look up from his game to question what the hell your even talking about -> Does get a little pouty when you gush about how much you wanna cuddle and squeeze the daylights out of your fav characters, I mean he's right there and he wants you to cuddle him -> Will express the fact he thinks your a little delulu and you should really just focus on the fact you have a real person that loves you, instead of trying to get somebody who's not even in your universe Bachira Meguru -> Pouty #2, but at least he'll tell you straight up that he wants your attention -> Has def thrown your phone away from you just to get your attention, I mean phones are replaceable, he's not -> Also Groans repeatedly when you talk about your character and how much you love them, can't you use all that love on him instead?? -> Every once in a while he will be nice though and when he finds some merch online he may, if in a good mood, get it for you, but don't get to excited about it, there's a 99% chance that later he'll get jealous about you trying to figure out where to put it and things like that, that he'll take it and hide it -> Will tackle you onto your bed if he thinks you're talking too much about your fav character and will make you cuddle with him

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri hyoma #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro #meguru bachira x reader #bachira meguru #xonavia's writings!

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

You and Eddie are trapped in the drama club after school in the middle of a thunderstorm. Feelings ensue.

I was going to post this tomorrow but I'm feeling kinda crappy so am posting it now ♥️ this is enemies to oh my god I'm falling for you fic.

💞

Hawkins was in the middle of the worst storm it had seen in years. The rain hadn't stopped since this morning and you could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.

All in all you wished you were tucked up at home right now instead of making your way to the drama room.

You weren't sure what possessed you to even bother going to find Eddie. Surely you had seen enough of him today that avoiding him would be a no brainer.

Eddie had been your enemy from the day the two of you first met. You met him at a talent show in middle school and were performing with your fellow cheerleaders, Eddie was performing with his band Corroded Coffin and the two of you met backstage and well sparks flew and not in a good way.

He looked different then. A buzz cut and a little less dramatic but still the same smug smile and condescending tone. That meeting kick-started the war between the two of you.

Except his stupid little barb aimed at you had been playing on your mind all day. He loved irritating you and spent a good portion doing it earlier.

Even worse he had left his metal lunchbox at your shared table in Mrs O'Donnell's class and you weren't carrying that monstrosity around all weekend.

So you decided to show up at Hellfire, straight after cheer practice to return the item. You don't want to spend any more time with Eddie than necessary so you'll make this quick.

You can hear him setting up for Hellfire and muttering to himself. Taking a deep breath you head inside the drama room and he peers up at you, irritation on his face.

"Princess to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" He says with a hint of derision in his tone and you hurry over to place the lunchbox on the table. Now you could get far far away from the asshat as possible.

"You left this at our table Munson" his face softens into relief as he picks up the metal lunch then he scowls.

"You can go now" he motions to the door and you feel a flicker of annoyance. Couldn't he thank you for returning it at least?

"Could you at least have some manners" you huff and he smirks as he sets up one of the figures in his campaign.

"Thank you for returning it princess, now go away" he returns back to positioning the figures and you growl under your breath. He's still smiling and you're distracted for a split second at the tattoos on his arm, the bats. You've never seen them this close before and a part of you wants to reach out and touch one of them.

Wait...what the fuck? You really needed to get away from Munson, you could never think straight around him. He made you muddled at times.

"You know you really should see someone about your anger issues around me sweetheart" he suggests with a smirk and you gawk at him.

"What! You're the one who is constantly pissing me off. I swear you get some sick joy out of it" there's a faint crackling of a radio and Eddie picks up a walkie talkie completely ignoring what you said.

"Eddie, we can't get out. I'm with Mike and Lucas and Mrs Wheeler has put her foot down. She says the storm is too bad for driving" Eddie grumbles and swears under his breath.

"Henderson it's not even that bad" at that point there's a huge clap of thunder that makes you jump. It's not like you hate storms, you like them well enough but you'd prefer to be at home and cosy.

Preferably not with Munson either. You raise your eyebrow at him and he meets your gaze giving you one half of his devil sign.

Okay, you've had enough now and storm away from him, the wind whips at your hair but you don't care. You'll walk home, it won't take that long.

"Bye bye princess" Eddie waves at you from the drama door and you resist the urge to flip him the bird. Rise about it... Rise about it. Don't tell him to kiss your ass...

You're so wrapped up in your thoughts that you almost miss the tree you're sheltering under jerk violently in the wind and one of its roots rips off. It's massive.

There's a split second of silence, you freeze and fear pounds in your chest and you're sure that the tree root will crush you but just at the last minute you're knocked out of the way.

You and Eddie crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He's breathing hard and his arms are wrapped around you tightly. "Shit, you okay?"

There's a ringing in your ears and you're shaking but manage to calm down enough that Eddie helps you up. "Yeah, I'm okay" you shiver as the rain water has drenched your clothes and there's a stinging sensation on your arm.

"I need to patch that cut up princess, there should be a first aid kit somewhere in the drama room" he leads you inside and the both of you don't notice the door shut tightly. Usually it's propped open with something but in your haste to get back inside the item is disregarded.

Eddie is too focused on you to notice, worry etches his features. He leaves briefly and comes back with a first aid kit.

He's quiet as he patches up the cut on your arm and you access him for injuries, "Are you okay Eddie?" It's maybe the first time you've called him Eddie and not Munson or dumbass.

"I'm okay, he speaks in a soothing tone and that relaxes you as he looks over your body for any injuries. There's a faint cut on your knee and Eddie kneels down to patch that up as well.

He hesitates for a second then gently cleans the cut, his fingers on your skin do funny things to your stomach. A shiver (a good one) runs down your spine.

Eddie's pretty brown eyes don't help the fluttering in your stomach. Fuck.

♥️

Eddie tries to pry the door open once he notices it's shut fully. The two of you are going to try and at least get to his van, he had offered to drive you home. Which was nice of him. He had been nicer than you ever thought he could be today.

"Ahh shit, Eddie curses and he manages to get the door open but it shuts again right away with the force of the wind.

"We should wait until that calms down" you suggest and he nods in trepidation. It's getting quite late and the sky is darkening even more. The storm hasn't abated yet... The wind is still fierce and the rain is coming down albeit a little less than before but it's still bad.

You're still shivery and curse the thin fabric of your cheer uniform. Eddie nudges your shoulder and you notice that he's slipped his leather jacket over to you.

"Thanks" you murmur and he nods tightly, his legs jittery as he waits for the storm to pass.

"Um so is the band good?" You nod to his discarded denim vest and the band Dio on the back of it. Eddie smiles and nods. "Mmm yeah, don't think it would be your type of thing princess"

"I went to see Black Sabbath with my cousin Jamie. He's like a massive fan of Ozzy Osbourne, it wasn't too bad" Eddie's jaw drops and his eyes are wide as he gazes at you.

"I know I'm just full of surprises aren't I Munson?" you tease and he's still speechless.

"You saw the god that is Ozzy Osbourne?" you shrug and feel flustered under his awed gaze. It's making you feel all tingly. Something that has happened more and more around Eddie.

"I never thought I'd see the day that you were speechless Eddie Munson" you smirk then wince as a particular loud boom of thunder startles you.

You wrap Eddie's jacket around you and nuzzle into it. It smells faintly of weed and cigarettes but also whatever cologne Eddie wears, it's nice and it comforts you.

"I might be able to get some pillows and shit from the staff room, I don't know how long we will have to wait, we might need to stay here for the night or until the storm fades a bit" Eddie says and gets up.

You notice he has to keep moving and busy. It must be so he doesn't freak out. The storm is worse than either of you thought it was.

"How are you going to do that? It will be locked wouldn't it?" He grins and doesn't seem to be perturbed by this in the slightest.

"The nurses office could have blankets too. We should go there" you tell him and he nods then frowns.

"You should stay here princess. I will probably need to break in and well...everyone expects the freak to get into shit don't they, not Hawkins good girl" you scoff but feel sympathy that people think so badly of him.

It wasn't like you thought he was an asshole all the time, he definitely had his moments of being sweet...

"You need my help to get blankets if the nurse has some and the pillows. Snacks too possibly and I'm the only one with a bag and cash on me" he thinks about this then nods in agreement.

Somehow you and Eddie manage to wrangle a big blanket from the nurses office and cushions from the sofa in the teachers lounge. Also a few snacks to last the night. Eddie gulps his yoo hoo down before the two of you even get back to the drama room.

You try to make a somewhat makeshift bed on the floor with the cushions and blanket. Just in case.

Eddie is still restless but calms down when you get up to look over the campaign. There's a Dungeons and Dragons handbook on the table and a notebook that looks like it's full of Eddie's own notes.

He points out the different figures and you listen interested in the complexity of the game and take a seat on the throne like chair. "That's my spot" Eddie frowns and you settle back grinning.

"I like this spot" you beam and he shakes his head exasperated.

"Alright, looks like you're the dungeon master for the night princess" you smirk at this and turn to Eddie.

"Does that mean I can tell you what to do?" He chuckles, and shakes his head.

"That's not what a Dungeon Master is, I organise the campaign, weave the challenges the rest of the team face, shit like that. I love it" you pout at his explanation and Eddie gazes at your lips for a few seconds. Enough for your heart to skip a beat.

"Um what's a Demogorgon?" You ask feeling nervous all of a sudden and Eddie explains what it is but that funny tension is still in the air.

Even with the wind whistling outside you and Eddie don't notice. Bickering and far too wrapped up in each other to notice.

🖤

At some point near ten you feel your eyes begin to get heavy and stifle a yawn. You try to fight the feeling but one minute Eddie is talking to you and the next your head drops on his shoulder.

When Eddie wakes up you're still fast asleep on his shoulder and it makes his heart race. It feels so...right being with you like this.

It's six am according to the clock on the wall above the door. It surprised him that he slept so well but he thinks it has a little something to do with you.

Gently he tucks a strand of hair away from your face, feels the softness of your skin and a pit of longing forms in his stomach.

Fuck, he really wants you.

The storm has calmed down and he finds that he's disappointed. He's enjoyed speaking to you, more than he ever thought possible. What did that mean?

You wake up while he's pondering this. It's still dark out and now the storm has all but disappeared. Eddie feels cold when you shift from his shoulder, looking away shyly.

"Sorry, I didn't realise" you murmured and his fingers graze over yours.

"You don't have to apologise sweetheart, it was nice princess" a soft silence lingers over the two of you and you sigh.

"The weather seems to have cleared up" there's a wistful tone to your voice. Eddie wonders if you're as disappointed as him that you're free to leave.

"I had a really great time with you" you turn to him and he smiles pleased.

"You're not so bad yourself" he nudges you gently and he leans close to you, instinctively you mimic his movements. The two of you are so close now, sparks flying and the longing growing even more.

His lips are centimetres from yours and there's only a tiny gap, you're eager to close the distance. Just as your lips touch the door bangs open and Dustin, Lucas, Mike and Steve rush in.

You and Eddie wrench apart. "Eddie dude, what the hell happened?" Dustin gawks at you and you hurry over to where Steve is feeling flustered as hell.

Eddie's eyes meet yours while Dustin is talking to him and you realise that maybe Eddie hasn't been your enemy for a long time and something else has been brewing between you two all along.

...

💞

...

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #enemies to lovers #eddie munson

[the-final-sif]

There's a post from someone outside of the US about how people in the US don't put their country down and just put down their state and something about US people being US centric, and part of it has always kind of bothered me because I think that people outside of the US don't really understand how states work for us or why people think their state should be enough. Some of it is being US centric for sure, but I honestly don't think that's the main reason.

It's because the US is a bunch of countries in a trench coat. I've compared it before to the EU, and I really do think that's accurate. It's literally a union of states. Each state has it's own government and laws and we have the federal government too but day to day a lot more of your life comes down to the state laws. Your driver's license, license plate, wage and a lot of employment protect (and enforcement), vast majority of court experiences, etc all go through the state. Moving to different states can mean being subject to wildly different laws, tax rates/methods, and forms of discrimination (ie florida trying to ban queer people while other states are explicitly adding protections for them).

Like, you'll notice that streamers often tend to be clustered in certain states in the US, and a lot of that has to do with certain states not having an income tax. Depending on what state they're registered in, companies can be subject to wildly different laws. Hence why Delaware is so popular for businesses. Bankruptcy law works differently in every state.

Lawyers are licensed to practice by state, and while they can move to different states, it's difficult and depending on their area of law they may be totally out of their field. Even small states like Delaware have totally different laws from a place 15 minutes to the left like New Jersey.

The largest single state by population is California which has nearly 40 million people. That is more than the entire population of Canada. It's roughly on par with Poland. Give or take a million people.

Ohio has about 11 million people, about 1 million more than Sweden. Florida has 22 million, over double Greece's population. New York and Romania both come out to about 19 million each.

Our smallest state by population, Wyoming, which has about 500k people, still has about 200k more people than Iceland.

Fucking Russia literally does not have half the population of the US. It sits at 144 million while we're at 333 million.

To give a sense of landmass/scale, France is the largest EU state by landmass with 630k square km. Texas alone is 695k. Alaska is 1.7 million square km. The US in total is 11.3 million square km. The entire EU has 4.2 million square km.

The US is 1) fucking huge and 2) so much less cohesive than a lot of non-Americans assume.

So why would someone from the US just put down their state? For the same reason that most people from the EU don't write down "Germany in the EU". Your state is where you're actually from, the USA is the weird umbrella you live under.

#sif speaks #us politics #america #Like I don't think people not from the US understand how fucking big it is #Canada does not compare even a little bit in anything other than land mass #mexico doesn't even reach half #it's also more cohesive now than it used to be #immigration used to be done state by state too #“why is the us so fucked up” have you ever tried to get 333 million people to agree on anything #“why is the us federal government such a mess” your country doesn't even have a third of our population and not even a tenth of our landmas

[sailorblossoms]

Baz's raised eyebrow:

(yet another "Simon identifies as 'Baz-sexual' for very good reasons' post)

few things have annoyed me more with these books than when people do not take Simon's "I don't know anything about anything but maybe I'm just a Baz-sexual" comments seriously (dismissing it with a combination of not paying attention to what he's putting down and good old confirmation bias). He even says it in less "goofy" ways with lines such as "he's the only person I have ever wanted" (in the context of thinking about having sex) (note the emphasis on ever) (yes, it's one of the clues saying he didn't want to have it with Agatha, in case it's not clear)

"Like Baz has only ever wanted Simon, Simon has only ever wanted Baz," is necessary to bring up before I get to my point here. I have seen Simon being read as in love or attracted to Agatha ("he must have been or else how they had sex?"... I mean, Simon tells you why it happened without attraction, but even if he didn't, we could make an alphabetized list of reasons it can happen without it, the desire to fit in is no joke) or the idea of Simon liking all sorts of girls, including the girl he pointedly doesn't notice despite her being obvious to others, for the sake of drama and conflict. I have wondered if they don't believe the characters, or if they find the highlighted sentence here boring. "It's boring if the characters only want each other," "in real life people want multiple people" – indeed, but not everyone is wired the same (and why are we stuck on "real life" so much anyway in stories about half-dragon and vampire boys falling in love). But it's not like this sentence is without conflict. Note Baz's eyebrow...

In CO, when Simon says Trixie is cute, Baz's reaction is a boyish "I'm going to puke" comment, which is likely part of how he dealt with jealousy and thinking Simon was straight for years: masking his feelings with "harsh" or sort of "edgy" jokes (probably not the right words to use, but getting too hung up on precise wording is the reason I never finish these posts). In awtwb, Simon calls Pippa cute, and Baz raises an eyebrow...

By those reactions, we could say the idea of Simon calling someone cute because he finds them attractive crosses Baz's mind – or is something he feels in some way, even if the thought doesn't explicitly cross his mind. It's something the reader might assume as well... however, I don't think the way Simon uses cute – which can be used in many different situations – says anything about attraction for him. I mean, a gay man can see a girl being cute or gorgeous as well – Baz certainly does! (attraction is portrayed in these books as thoughts derailed, repetition, sentences being cut off, fixating in a detail no one else notices like they do – you see it with Baz and Simon, Agatha and Niamh, Shepard and Penny. Shep doesn't just call Penny cute – he loses his entire goddamn mind for a whole page about her cuteness and her knees. It's not just a passing comment).

I don't think those scenes when Simon says "cute" is highlighting something about him, other than the fact that he's able to note cuteness. I think it's saying more about Baz's insecurities (I know I once posted something long about it somewhere...) Baz brings attention to it in a way with his reactions... because he's bothered by it. It's something that's sort of hidden and sort of contained, but it's there.

Baz doesn't find himself desirable, partly because of his vampiric nature. But part of it is also about the complicated and messy fear that perhaps... Simon has a problem with being with a man (I know I have unpacked this in other posts, finding them though...). Perhaps "a girl would be better" (It's messier with boys than with girls, it's a thought that comes out before he catches himself with "I don't actually know anything about being with boys or girls".... "I don't know anything about being in a relationship," he says, while still being able to catch there was something wrong with Agatha and Simon's relationship when Simon talks about – because Simon will process things he would rather avoid when it's about opening up to Baz, he wants Baz to know things that would help Baz understand him better, even if he himself would rather not understand... still Baz can't let go of the programming of all those years believing in the golden couple – he has spent a longer time believing that than dating Simon, after all) (Agatha is alive and beautiful, the sort of beauty that's used to "embody" "desirability".... and Baz is "not alive"...) (as a side note, have you noticed the idea – or the actual action – of sex with Agatha is used both with Simon and Baz to indicate a lack of desire toward women?)...

While Simon thinks of Baz as the only person he has ever wanted – Baz is as desirable as it gets for him – Baz struggles with feeling desirable at all. Baz doubts and wonders and has to catch himself – even if he doesn't notice he's doing that. Even if he doesn't conciously think "a beautiful girl who is alive is more preferable than me, a gay male vampire." That is a far more interesting conflict than Baz having legit reasons to be jealous, I think. The fact that he has truly nothing to feel jealous about, and yet... he just can’t help it. It's hard to go against years of programming, of going against the idea that everything about yourself is undesirable and it's better to hide it – another way he matches with Simon. They also match in their insecurities, with small differences: Baz is so amazing and attractive while Simon doesn't feel like he's good enough for him, he can do better than him, etc... while Baz clearly only has eyes for Simon, Simon feels like Baz is merely stuck with him. And the conflict here is that you think "they need to TALK and voice their thoughts for the love of god, what do you mean Baz doesn't know Simon sees him as the love of all his lives??"... talking is not enough. That Simon and Baz only have eyes for each other is not without conflict. Sometimes we need to keep hearing some things, and even then... the fears and insecurities don't go away. Especially when we have spent a really long time believing ourselves to be unwanted, undesirable, something to be hidden. When we have been exposed to things that confirmed those beliefs for longer than we have been exposed to things that challenge them

#this is an old post (that was in my drafts) #i have been feeling like letting this blog go but I'm hauted by the 30+ posts in my drafts i never finished #snowbaz #long and barely comprehensible as always #i might have lost the point along the way #simon snow #baz pitch #simon snow trilogy #carry on #baz grimm pitch #baz x simon #awtwb #wayward son

[violetasteracademic]

So, while I am a passionate Elriel and my experience is only further cemented with each new detail on every re-read, I have still stated since day one that I still love Lucien and Gwyn! My first ever Tumblr post was a dissertation on Lucien for goodness sake!

And this is where I struggle. I don't personally lurk in anti posts, but they make their way to my eyeballs anyways. And my problem is that myself, and many Elriel's I know, still love all the characters and honor and fully believe they will have their own stories, potentially their own POVs in future books or at the very least play a large role in ACOTAR or the multiverse.

But the a/ti Elriel's, from what I've seen, are almost ALWAYS a/ti Elain. I won't bother going over the comments I get on tiktok from E/ucien shippers that claim they like Elain. They erase her. They misunderstand her. They minimize her. They sideline her. They invent villain storylines. And still ship her with their favorite male character? Just because they want *him* to have his mate. And Azriel is apparently bio hazard waste in all areas of life EXCEPT if he decides to go after Gwyn. Whereas I like Azriel as he is, and I like who he currently wants to be with.

The author, I am certain, also likes these characters. She wrote them. It's difficult to believe her intention was for the fans to turn on Azriel just because a reveal many of us saw coming (that he is down bad for Elain) happened.

I don't have to erase Gwyn from the narrative, or distort her interactions with Azriel, minimize Gwyn's importance, create a shitty personality for her or invent a new storyline to make Elriel make sense.

I don't have to erase Lucien from the narrative, distort his interactions with Elain, call him toxic, minimize his importance, or invent a new storyline for Elriel to make sense.

I personally can't wait to see what Lucien and Gwyn are going to bring to the story. But by and large, I mostly see Gwyn as being a sidekick to Azriel and Nesta instead of the lead of her own story or Elain as a sidekick to the Band of Exiles instead of the lead of her own story for G/ynriel and E/ucien theories to come together. Beyond that, I'd love to look into their stories more, but I'm tired of assaulting my eyeballs with all the toxic sludge about pelvises and pure hatred from Elain festering in those spaces.

So I'll say it again and I'll say it a million times, just because Azriel and Elain want each other and not Lucien and Gwyn does NOT mean I think Lucien and Gwyn are trash. I just want the characters who want each other to be together. If it were written differently, I would feel differently. And if antis would at least address that Azriel and Elain WANT each other instead of trying to explain away their behavior and invent false intentions and narratives, I'd have a lot more fun reading and exploring their theories.

I'm an Elain girl first and foremost. And I want her to have what she wants. As of right now, today, waking up in Prythian, that is Azriel. That is the only thing on page. Anything else is speculation or theorizing. Azriel and Elain wanting each other is not a theory. It's real. Erasing it is not only bizarre, but makes any statement coming after it really not credible.

I ship a ton of non canon couples in other fandoms. Many of them never came to pass. It's just for fun. But because the hatred for Elain is so visceral, and the desire to erase her character from existence is so real, these ships are not fun. And I genuinely wish they were.

The awful bullying and atrocious behavior and weird hatred for the books and characters in this fandom gets me down some days. Sorry for the wallowing. Love you all 😘

#elriel #pro elriel #elain x azriel #elriel endgame #elriel supremacy

[nicoleheichou]

i miss you, don't call me - chapter twelve: friends?

♡ masterlist ♡ - 《 prev | next 》

synopsis: when your acting careers start to pick up you and your boyfriend zoro both decide that it's better to go your separate ways. you didn't want to, but you knew he was right. fast forward to a couple years later, when you're finally starting to heal, your friends score a deal to shoot a movie together with your ex and you're starting to think maybe you haven't really moved on.

you had gone bankrupt in monopoly, courtesy of nami, so you decided to take a break. you excused yourself under the guise of getting another drink before you made your way to the balcony. you just needed some space away from the one man you couldn't stop thinking about.

you look out at the view and notice all the pretty lights in the distance. for a moment you just enjoy the calmness of being outside compared to the chaos of game night that was taking place inside. that is, until you hear the sliding door open and then shut. you don't bother to turn around, you'll figure out whoever it is soon enough.

you feel them slowly move to stand beside you, a few inches between the both of you the only thing keeping you from touching. you don't have to wait for them to speak, the mixture of alcohol and cologne enough to tell you who was standing beside you. you're all too familiar with the combination of scents. you feel your heart skip a beat, it's been awhile since the two of you were alone since the break up.

"hey." you hear him say, the sound of his deep voice causing the butterflies in your belly that were once dormant to slowly wake up. "hey." you respond back, eyes still trained on the lights below you, not ready to look at him just yet. out of the corner of your eye you notice him fidgeting with the beer bottle in his hand, it was one of his habits he'd do when he was nervous that you had become so accustomed to.

"you know...i'm not someone who beats around the bush, i'm also not someone who likes to talk..." he sounds so awkward trying to word his thoughts that you can't help but smile. "yeah, i know." you reply, memories of the both of you flashing through your mind. he lets out a sigh, a hand coming up to ruffle his hair. "it's been awhile since we broke up...i was just thinking...maybe we could be friends? we've been seeing a lot of each other again. i think it would just make sense. right?" he turns his body towards you so that he can fully look at you to see your reaction.

you feel a little embarrassed under his gaze, it's been so long since he's looked at you for longer than a couple of seconds that you can't help but squirm under it. "yeah. we can do that. it would probably make our friends feel more at ease. it was hard not just on us but on them too." you say as you finally work up the courage to look into his eyes. you feel your breath catch in your throat when you notice the look he's giving you, is it fondness? love? you don't know. it doesn't help that you're already a few drinks and some shots in.

"there you guys are! we're starting uno! come on! we're just waiting on you guys!" luffy says while sticking his head out the door. "hurry up!" before you can reply he's already taken off running towards the direction of the living room. "i guess we should head inside." you say as you start walking towards the sliding door. "i'm glad we're friends again. i missed you." you stop in your tracks, the admission catching you off guard. "let's go before they send someone else to get us." he says as he walks past you not waiting for a response.

if you saw this posted weeks ago, no you didn't. tumblr was messing up lmao. but it was only up for a few seconds.

just know if luffy didn't interrupt them they would have talked for longer. but don't worry these idiots will have more chances to.

usopp thought because no one liked his post that they hadn't seen it. they did.

yn is an emotional drunk, she cries at the tiniest things and she loves to run away, since the break up, ace has been in charge of taking care of drunk yn.

as usual, let me know what you thought in the comments or thru ask.

taglist is open! leave a comment or send an ask if you want to be added!

taglist: @queen-aria-things @soranihimawari @youraggedybitch @captaincyberqueen @yukichan67 @roselleviennesstuff @yukimaniac @minssecret @meosq @himezoro @youmake1mistake @aixaingela @ayeputita @writing-wh0re @asterizee @redpool @hikkarins @chamomilespetal @murnsondock @firefistsimp @mimisweetz @moonlight-dreamer04 @shuujin @gespirida @notjustanothersofthebunch @diarythroughmylens

#roronoa zoro x reader #op smau #one piece smau #one piece #smau #roronoa zoro #imydcm #i miss you dont call me

[picturejasper20]

So, i made a recent post about some issues i have with Mabel Pines' character writing in the main Gravity Falls series like how her characters flaws don't get addressed properly and they can be potrayed as something acceptable.

A mutual of mine, @amazingrich101 , told me to check out the graphic novel Gravity Falls Lost Legends since one of the stories (Don't dimension it) acts as a follow up for the Weirdmageddon and it starts Mabel as main character.

And I'm very surprised i haven't seen more people bringing up this story when it comes to Mabel's character because it addresses quite a lot of things the main series brushed off about her character and problems people have with her characterization. Because of this, i would like to do a semi-analysis about this story myself and talk about the things that explores about Mabel's character and the development she gets.

So ¨Don't Dimension It¨ starts with a semi recap of what happened post Weirdmageddon: There are dimension-rifts as consequence of Bill taking over Gravity Falls, the protagonists are going around trying to fix these rifts. In a moment Mabel pulls up Waddles from her bag, partially ignoring how Stanford said these rifts are dangerous and Dipper tells this to Mabel:

Dipper saying this of all other characters is important, since Mabel has the habit of taking advantage of Dipper quite a lot in the series and he more often than not finds himself in situations he has to go with Mabel wants to do regardless of how he feels about it.

So we have the story bringing up from near the start that Mabel can be very self-centered in occasions and ignore the potential danger in serious situations, like Dipper points out. That's a good start.

Mabel accidentally falls into one of these dimensions rifts and ends ups in a dimension that is full of different versions of Mabels that got lost and ended up in that place. One of the Mabels tells protagonist Mabel that Brain Mabel has been trying to build a spaceship to escape but she got bored and got herself distracted with stickers.

Prot Mabel tries asking for help but the rest of the Mabels don't take the situation seriously, ignore her or do their own thing, not caring about taking priority in escaping.

I think these are more extreme versions of prot Mabel but one thing that prot Mabel realizes is how irritating it is to be ignored by well... versions of herself. She wants to espace this dimension, the issue is that other Mabels are too ¨busy¨ doing their own thing that they don't care about helping.

Mabel eventually finds one Mabel that actually is helpful, lets call her ¨Mabel 2¨ for the moment. Mabel tells Mabel 2 how irritating the rest of the Mabels are and the two work together to send a signal for Stanford and Stan to pick them up from the dimension.

When the ship shows up to pick them up, Mabel 2 betrays Mabel and traps her inside a bathroom. She reveals herself to be ¨Anti-Mabel¨, the most evil Mabel in the multiverse.

....I think this writing choice for to have just ¨Mabel but bad¨ without further exploration is pretty shallow but, meh, i want to focus on Mabel's character, not the antagonist.

So prot Mabel manages to escape from the bathroom she was trapped in while Anti-Mabel takes her place in the ship. Mabel asks for help to the other Mabels again, only to be ignored... and that makes her reach her own limit.

She finds herself repeating almost the same things that Dipper told her at the start of the story and she finally realizes how self-centered she can be to others and not see when something is a bigger priority. She tells to herself that ¨i need to work on myself¨, meaning she admits she has some growing to do as person.

She tries asking for help again, which leads her to admit how she messed up by being selfish in ¨Dipper and Mabel vs The Future¨. She talks about how she negleted those around her for being so absorbed in what she wanted to do that she didn't pay enough attention how this could bother people around her. She promises that she is going to try to be a better person from now on and work on to be more caring of other people.

This is very crucial for Mabel's development because, while she learned that changing is part of growing up in Weirdmageddon, her habit of making things about herself, coming off as too self-absorbed and making people do the things she wants without considering much what others want wasn't properly addressed. And this can become a toxic trait of hers, like ignoring things that are a bigger priority and taking advantage of her friends and family.

Mabel isn't a demon because she can be very selfish at times, she is a just 13 year old teenager. However, it still an important lesson she needs to learn to mature as a person over time. This is why in this story having her confronting these problems that she has was good for her character to have.

She manages to escape along with the rest of the Mabels helping her, they stop anti-Mabel and defeat her. Mabel goes back to Gravity Falls with Stanford and Stan while the rest of the Mabels use the ship to find their way back their own homes.

When Dipper asks to Mabel how was her trip in the multiverse, she has this to say.

She apologizes to Dipper for being selfish during this summer and that must have been a lot for Dipper to deal with. Dipper makes a joke about it, implying that he accepts Mabel's apology and forgives her for her behaviour.

It isn't super big but is still really good having Mabel apologize to Dipper for how she would treat him in certain episodes. I have talked about how their dynamic could come off as toxic in certain occasions because Dipper had to do what Mabel wanted and his feelings weren't always taking into consideration. So Mabel apologizing feels proper for the situation.

I have some issues with this story (Anti-Mabel just... being a not interesting antagonist, for some reason having a meta commentary about how Stanford and Stan aren't the best caretakers which is fine but i don't think it suits Gravity Falls imo). However i do appreciate the development that Mabel gets in it, bringing up her character flaws and her realizing that she messed up in some ways, telling to herself that she needs to work on that.

It definitely leaves Mabel in a way better place than the main series did, by her recognizing she has to change her selfish tendencies and acknowledging her mistakes, a lot healthier than just waiting for others to comform to do what she always wants. Her relationship with Dipper is a better place too, apologizing for the way she would sometimes treat him during the summer. It doesn't fix *every* problem with Mabel's character writing in the series but does solve some main issues and it does leave a better conclusion to Mabel's character arc overall.

#gravity falls #mabel pines #gravity falls lost legends #dipper pines #GF analysis #I would have prefer this to be in the main series but ehh it is better than nothing #And it mostly does a good job at it

[stinalotte]

So. Basingstoke Comic Con.

This is going to be a rant. I'm German, so I have a PhD in a) complaining and b) being blunt. Perfect combination for this post. It's going to be long, so buckle up.

I give explicit permission to repost, reblog, screenshot and post to other websites, comment, tag, and add to this in any way you see fit. Feel free to write your own experiences and criticism.

It's a modified version of the feedback email I sent them. Since then, they have put out a statement which directly contradicts some of the stuff other people have told us (and have evidence for) and which blames everyone from attendees to guests to staff to the weather.

First of all, despite all the mess with the actual con, I had a ton of fun. I hadn't seen some of these people in 20 years. I hadn't met some of y'all before, and I talked to so many people this weekend. I don't regret a single meeting, hug, smile, or laugh. I do wish however for the organizers to step on legos for the rest of their lives.

Frankly, they had a huge business opportunity and they blew it. They could have established themselves as THE Stargate convention in Europe. People were taking 15-hour flights to be there. We were willing to spend hundreds, in some cases thousands of pounds. With that lineup, they blew every other current convention out of the water. If they had done this right, this would have been a huge success and an absolute no-brainer for years to come. They could have been one of those cons that sell out in minutes. 

Instead, they let greed and poor organization guide them. They severely underestimated the size of the Stargate fandom. They didn't bother to learn about what the fans wanted and who the guests actually were.

A few things stood out for me:

Health and safety at the venue. No a/c, running heaters (!!) in some rooms, not enough opportunities to get water, way too many people for this size hotel. We are lucky there wasn't a panic or more severe injuries. Crowd control was non existent.

An impossible, ever-changing schedule. You can't put talks back to back, or meet&greets, or photo ops. Everybody knows you will run overtime and then the whole thing collapses. Changes were not communicated. Nobody knew what was going on.

Poorly trained staff. No staff meetings beforehand. Staff had no way to communicate with each other. Seriously, give them radios! Some of them didn't now the names of the guests or in which autograph group they were.

People could not get the things they paid for. Out of all the autographs included in my pass, I only got one, and only because a friend got it for me. [Marion, you're a fucking rockstar] I don't even want to know how many people will be attempting chargebacks on their credit cards in the coming days.

And the most important thing, the one that makes everyone I talked to the angriest: The way they treated the guests was appalling. They are such generous, hard-working people, and BCC shamelessly took advantage of that. Richard Dean Anderson was signing until after 1 am. A 74-year-old man who just wants to make his fans happy.

[BCC are now saying they were told he was a „slow signer“, aka someone who actually takes their time by talking to fans when signing autographs. Oh really? Then why did you continue to sell autographs well into Sunday when it was clear that there was no way he could get through them all in a reasonable time??]

David Blue was setting up his own autograph table. Several Atlantis actors went and got more of their headshots (by taking pictures in the photo room and printing them) because they ran out. Joe Flanigan tried to bring some order to the chaos more than once. He went full John Sheppard in the photo op room and took charge. We are lucky they're such sweet souls and didn't raise hell then and there. Nobody would have blamed them.

Staff were amazing and tried to make the best with what little support they were given. Kathleen, Finn and Nick (with the Stick!) especially, and so many others whose names I sadly didn't get. They worked so hard, never lost their humor, and tried to help as much as they could.

This disaster is entirely on management. It's a failure of leadership and an example of what not to do when you're running an event.

If you want to put on a convention, you need to go to people who have experience and listen to them. You need to attend several cons before even thinking about doing one yourself. And before, during and after, you need to take care of your people. You need to take care of your staff, of your guests, of the fans. You need to adjust the size of the event to the size of the venue, or vice versa. You need to actually be interested in this event beyond the money it will earn you. You need to know when you bit off more than you can chew.

I'm not hoping for a better one next year, because all of us said we won't be back. What I do hope is that hey sincerely apologize to the guests and at least double what money was raised for charity.

#basingstoke comic con #rant #stargate #stargate atlantis

[violetspots1]

Part 2 to that Welcome Home Incorrect Quotes post I made, like, a year ago. Wow how productive of me.

.

Poppy: Good morning.

Julie: Good morning.

Eddie: Good morning.

Barnaby: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit.

Sally: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS!

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Barnaby, holding in their laughter: Hey, how do you ask a glass of water what it’s doing?

Frank: A glass of water is an inanimate object. Therefore, it's incapable of having a thought process or understanding basic human language.

Barnaby:

Barnaby: Water you doing?

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Julie, peeling a banana: May I take your jacket, sir? Hahahaha.

Frank: Do you think other people can’t hear you?

.

Wally: Good. Thanks, dad.

Poppy: You just called Eddie “dad”. You just said “thanks, dad.”

Wally: What? No, I didn’t. I said “thanks, man”.

Eddie: Do you see me as a father figure, Wally?

Wally: No. If anything I see you as a bother figure ‘cause you’re always bothering me.

Howdy: Hey! Show your father some respect!

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Howdy: *on the phone* Just snap his kneecaps and he’ll talk, I’m at a parent teacher conference.

Howdy: Anyways, you said Wally is enjoying finger painting! That's great.

.

Eddie: Shouldn't get stressed out, it's not good for the baby.

Wally: What baby?

Eddie, crying a bit: Me.

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Wally: The shadow realm? No, I’m sending you to Ohio!

.

Howdy: Well, if you're not at least a little bit gay for your friends, then what kind of friend are you?

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Frank, looking at a selfie of Wally's: I hate this photo.

Wally: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly.

Frank: You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something.

Wally: Up to kindness.

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*at a zoo*

Julie: What are they in for?

Frank: Julie, this isn't prison.

Julie: So they can leave?

Frank: No, but-

Julie, pointing at a meerkat: I bet that one murdered someone.

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Poppy: Fine! Judge all you want but...

Poppy, points at Sally: Married a lesbian.

Poppy, points at Julie: Left a man at the altar.

Poppy, points at Wally: Fell in love with a gay ice dancer.

Poppy, points at Barnaby: Threw a girl’s wooden leg in a fire.

Poppy, points at Howdy: Lives in a box!

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Julie: Frank and I are so close we even share a toothbrush.

Frank: We what?

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Wally: I never tell people off the bat that I'm gay. I wait. I wait until they say some homophobic shit and then I laugh and am like "you know I'm gay right?" and watch the look of terror on their face.

Barnaby:

Barnaby: I like you.

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Eddie: I think I'm falling for you.

Frank: Then get up.

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Julie: Why do you act like we’re three year olds?

Frank, exasperated: WHY?!?

Frank points at Barnaby: YOU TRIED TO HYJACK A CAR!

Frank points at Wally: YOU NEARLY JUMPED 20 FEET OFF A CARPARK!

Frank points at Julie: AND YOU ATE MULTIPLE DRIED LEAVES AND ROCKS OFF THE GROUND!

Frank: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

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Howdy: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash.

Frank: Oh. We're going out?

Howdy: Wh…

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Wally: *gets set on fire and screams in agony*

Wally: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

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Sally: I need 28 lightbulbs for 28 ducks.

Howdy: Ducks can’t eat lightbulbs?

Barnaby: I think that’s the point.

Sally: Exactly. I want my ducks to glow so I can find them.

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Julie: Wasn't icarly that guy that girlbossed too close to the sun because he was down for Apollo?

Frank: ICARUS?

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*at an awards show*

Poppy: Can I carry you on my back like Eddie did?

Wally: I don't think Barnaby would like that.

Poppy: *pouts*

*Later*

Poppy: *carrying Wally on their back*

Barnaby: What the hell??

Wally: What was I supposed to do? Say no?

.

Frank: I have very high standards, you know.

Eddie: I can make spaghetti...

Frank: Oh no! You're meeting all my standards!

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Wally: I’ve been here in jail so long I think I’ve lost my mind.

Wally: The days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months.

Wally: How long have I been in here now? Almost a year?

Barnaby: This is Monopoly.

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Wally: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective?

Barnaby: *crouches down*

Frank: *kneels down*

Poppy: *sits on the floor*

Wally:

Wally: I hate all of you.

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*Sally is crying after a breakup*

Eddie: There there, Sally.

Sally, still crying: Thanks, but how did you get into my room?

Eddie: Great question—

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Barnaby, knocking on the door: Howdy, open up!

Howdy: It all started when I was a kid.

Barnaby: That’s not what I-

Sally: Let them finish!

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Julie, on a random band name generator: Oooo! They Might Be Depressed Horses! That about sums up my friend group.

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Julie: War is heck!

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Sally: What’s it like being tall?

Sally: Is it nice?

Sally: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards?

Poppy: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb 4 chairs, 2 boxes, a small coffee table and 6 oddly placed stools to get what they want.

Wally: It was one time!

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Howdy: Last night I found out Barnaby is a sleep talker.

Poppy: Oh, really?

Howdy: "The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell." Right. In. My. Ear. At 3am.

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Wally: Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey!

Poppy: But I'm a vegan.

Wally: Wakey Wakey Vegetables and Sadness.

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Howdy: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the things you lost throughout your life.

Sally: It would be nice to have my sense of purpose back...

Julie: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this.

Eddie: My will to live! I haven't seen this in years.

Barnaby: I knew I lost that potential somewhere.

Wally: Mental stability, my old friend!

Howdy: Jesus, could you guys lighten up a little?

.

Frank, looking over Wally’s shoulder: You can draw?

Wally, stopping what they were doing: You can speak?

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Wally, near tears: Please, Neighbor, I don’t speak meme! I don't know what a 'yeet' is!

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Julie: A party is a celebration of a life, bringing people together to let the guest of honor know how much they’re loved. Frank has done so much for us. This is our chance to do something for them.

Eddie: By forcing them to have fun at a party that they don’t want to be at?

Julie: I knew you’d understand.

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Wally: Julie noticed only today that they can label their email inboxes, but they took apart their entire bloody laptop two weeks ago.

Sally: This reminds me of the Julie who couldn’t turn on the coffee maker, but remembers about 500 digits of pi.

Wally: I’ll be delighted to inform you that this is the very same Julie.

.

Julie: What do I get?

Sally: A night of fashion, mischief, mayhem, and possible death.

Julie: Ooh, check, check, and check; not sure about that last one.

Sally: It won't be you.

Julie: I'll get my coat.

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Wally: My crush isn’t picking up on my hints.

Barnaby: What hints have you given them?

Wally: Well, I think about them a lot.

Wally: And sometimes I even think about talking to them.

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Poppy: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine!

Julie: How can you still say that?

Poppy: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

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Julie: If you spell skeletons backwards, it still spells skeletons.

Barnaby, deadpan: Wow, I can't wait for Halloween to see some snoteleks.

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Wally: I'm not a morning person. I'm barely even a person.

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Julie, holding a scooter: Poppy! Can I go outside and play with this?

Poppy: Sure, whatever. I'm not your parent, okay?

Julie, running outside: Thanks Poppy!

Poppy, running out after them and screaming: NOT ON THE STREET! STAY AWAY!

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Sally: ....Thou shalt not marry each other, for thy art both sinful...

Frank: I just wanna fucking marry Eddie!!

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Eddie: My life is a little too much panic and not enough disco.

Julie: My life is a little too much fall and not enough boy.

Wally: My life is a little too much chemical and not enough romance.

Sally: My life is a little too much imagination and not nearly enough dragons.

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Frank: Fuck capitalism. It's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities.

Frank, playing Monopoly: Sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

.

I did it :D

#welcome home #wally darling #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #frank frankly #sally starlet #eddie dear #howdy pillar #poppy partridge #incorrect quotes

[y-rhywbeth2]

Hi. Read you post about the dead three's chosen, and I was wondering about the "We got the threat of sexual exploitation (assuming it didn't happen), there's a subtle undercurrent of incest to some interactions" part. Is this something in the game that I missed? Is it a dnd lore thing?

I also looked through some older posts about Bhaal/Durge stuff, and... Jergal is ruthless and manipulative?! How bad is he? Like, what can a Durge who is free of Bhaal and may be protected by Jergal expect, both in life and afterlife? Are there no good options for Durge (except maybe becoming immortal)?

Also just wanna say thank you for all your dnd lore posts. I've mostly just played in homebrew games, so wotc dnd lore hasn't come up much, and I'm learning so much from your posts!

The good news about Jergal is that he has at least shifted from Lawful Evil to Lawful Neutral, so he's probably somewhat less of a jackass...? We hope. He also tends to prefer subtler manipulation, and seems to let people's own personalities steer them (because they'll take them where he wants them to go naturally); Bane in particular is his unwitting puppet, apparently, but Jergal hasn't directly pulled the strings at all yet, for whatever reason. Jergal's faithful usually 'live' in the City of Judgement on the fugue, or he has them as undead scribes working in his temples on Toril (I imagine it's the same paperwork whichever plane you're on). It's a quiet, but not terribly interesting existence. I doubt he's steal Durge from Bhaal to use as a scribe though. Usually if he needs a servant on the Prime Material plane for some task or other he sends them back as an undead of some kind if/when they die (he likes mummies, usually). He might also be manipulating them into becoming some kind of powerful outsider he can subtly puppet like the Dead Three, or Kelemvor, or Cyric... I really don't know.

(Also I think we're supposed to take Jergal being the 'good guy' at face value in-game.)

Durge could move planes to escape the divine shenanigans. The Dead Three in current times are bound to Toril, and Jergal cannot directly bother you in the city of Sigil at the centre of the universe (which all gods are forbidden to enter on pain of total annihilation courtesy of the Lady of Pain. He can send pawns to bother you, but can't go there or do anything himself.)

No problem. (Unsurprising; homebrew is much easier to manage. I can't imagine how people who are obsessed with the lore of multiple DnD settings cope.)

-

And Durge's other 'duty' as Bhaal's Chosen, and their extremely normal relationship with their father is going under a cut.

There's nothing in tabletop lore, past a disturbing Bhaalist spell ('attraction') that can cause love/lust in targets, which is built into Bhaal's avatars and manifestations; some gods having a tendency to sleep with their followers; and a comment from Ed Greenwood that many clergy encourage people to have kids (more people raised from birth within the church = more souls and power for the deity). Also apparently having a tattoo of a god's holy symbol is often a turn on for that god's priests... for some reason...

This stuff mostly comes from the BG3:

The exploitation:

Durge is expected to provide more Bhaalspawn for Bhaal's plans, and always has been. It's most obvious in the feral ending, where Bhaal destroys their mind and puppets them directly, but it's still on their to-do list if they keep his 'love' and become his Chosen:

Sarevok Anchev: 'You failed to bring forth issue while you helmed our cult. It is a mortal sin for a Chosen. I even hoped you and my daughter might one day create a new blood-lamb for us, but it is not to be...'

Durge: 'When I bring ruin to the world, will Bhaal allow me to spare my beloved?' Sceleritas: 'Of course Master! We will always need to sire more Bhaalspawn! Although if they are not up to the task we may need to find you a breeding-mate. Or ten.'

As with anything else in Durge's life, they have no say in Bhaal's intentions for them. They start that conversation off by asking permission to keep their lover and don't even get to respond to being told that they're expected to be breeding stock, probably with a wider range of 'partners'. Just silent acceptance.

The incest:

As ever I could be reading into this, but I'm not the only person who picked up on it so maybe not.

The most overt instances of this implication crops up in the original feral ending and the current, where Bhaal is subjecting Durge to constant rape by inflicting sexual hyperarousal on them and forcing them to have sex in order to breed an army of Bhaalspawn by cross-breeding them with various monsters... which they don't actually remember, because it's not the monsters they're thinking of during the act, where it's implied that Bhaal is forcing them to think of him:

*Your memory of last night's act is absent. In the moment of mounting, your mind emptied itself, and you could think only of Bhaal. The gnoll's rump seemed to become his Temple's graven altar where you once led worship.*

"Father, I love you. I'm a good spawn. A good little spawn."*

Alternatively: "a good boy/girl."

And in one of the Bhaalist religious texts you can find in game that describes how Bhaal basically gives his followers orgasms when they murder:

"Once Bhaal's favour has quickened within one oh his beloved murderers, the bliss of his love is nigh-indescribable. For he blesses his loyal with a new sensation: a mindless, instinctual, primal sensation that comes within the bowels, an erotic spasm that washes over the killer, in the moment of murder. It is said that in that instant, his Divine Essence can almost be tasted. Forsake all other hedonisms, acolytes, for nothing can compare. Until the true ecstasies of murder wash over you, initiates, this scroll contains a prayer, you may say after a kill, calling for the Lord's disgrace to find its course in your body."

The Urge - which is Bhaal as much as it's Durge- does/can cause sexual arousal, which indicates that Bhaal does do this to them or is at least inflicting his own 'pleasure' on them by experiencing the kills through them.

*Your body feels aroused imagining a broken twisted neck, and a thrill thinking of a trailing intestine.*

'I feel the most intense pleasure [when killing]. Arousal, even.'

*The masterful painting [Minthara] depicts of the massacre awakens you hungrily.* Durge: 'Stop! I'm growing aroused!' or Durge: 'How delightful, I'm very eager to begin.' Nightwarden Minthara: 'Control yourself - you are as uncouth as the goblins.'

Notably Minthara responds the same even if Durge doesn't flat out say it, so I'd assume they're having the same response to that 'hunger' regardless.

In the same area you find that text, if you become the 'Chosen' of the Redcap masquerading as Bhaal to the kuo-toa, you get this:

*Mad guilt swills in your swooning, sick body. Today you became the tart of a false God, and your evil pride revolts.*

'Tart' being the polite way of saying 'whore', which on its own might just be a poetic way of calling them unfaithful to their religion, but with the extra context is beginning to form a potential pattern. I don't know whether Durge is referring to themselves, or if it's Bhaal calling them that. Or which is worse.

Similarly, the dream where Bhaal summons you to the duel with Orin to become his Chosen is labelled 'BloodWedding'. Again, wedding has more than one meaning, but it's most common usage is of the marital kind, and *gestures at the context of the fuckery above helplessly*

And if you go through with the whole thing and accept Bhaal, Sceleritas will tell you this:

'You and the Urge are wedded, now. One body, one mind.'

Oh, and if you have a love interest they're your 'false bride.' Let's not ask who the real one is.

Also this is a possible dialogue option if you sleep with the drow guy at Sharess' Caress and is meant to be humorous, but apparently Durge does take their daddy issues into the bedroom:

Player: 'I'm a disappointment to my father. Maybe we can work with that.'

I feel like I've forgotten some parts, but that's the gist of it.

#babbling #/durge #edgelord hours #villainous nonsense #long post

[doraambrose]

Do you have headcanons about jason? And what are some tropes you dislike? generally.

Hello friend!

I have SO many headcannons

Jason loves classic literature, but also Gothic literature (Frankenstein, Dracula, Wuthering Heights, The turn of the screw, etc.)

He's also a huge Broadway nerd and he loves phantom of the opera and wicked

I like to think he's an average cook. Like not a chef, but he can follow a recipe and it turns out the way it's supposed to

He's got a bad smoking habit, but doesn't vape or get high

He seems like a beer, whiskey drinker, but I could also see him with a glass of wine too

He probably smells like cigarettes, motor oil, and dove shampoo for men or something like that

He loves antique cars and is remodeling one

He probably doesn't have great teeth. They're probably kind of crooked and yellow since he's probably not regular with brushing and flossing, etc. With missions and almost dying a lot

He loves kids and is really great with them

He's snores

He's not conventionally attractive, but kind of rugged. Like fuller lips, a more gaunt face, bigger nose that's kind of crooked from being broken so many times

He keeps a neat apartment, but it's pretty basic in terms of decorations since he's not there a lot

I also like to think he likes to watch hockey and basketball, but more because I like to watch that stuff lol

He's got super rough hands and fingers

He's got a deeper voice than the other robins, but not gotham knights or Jensen ackles level

He's not an outdoors man, not a camping kind of guy

There's probably more I have that I'm not thinking of, but if I do, I'll add to this for sure.

As for tropes I don't like

Jason and Bruce have a functional father son relationship

Jason is reckless and rude

Any batcest

Anything miraculous or danny phantom

Tim is afraid of jason

Jason and Damian are closer than anyone else and damian calls him akhi, etc

Jason is asexual, trans. Etc. (This one doesn't bother me as much, only because I know it's a projection to make him more relatable to the person making the headcannons, who are usually asexual or trans, so you do you but it's not for me)

Jason is Hispanic (this one also varies, but it feels icky when people who are white like me have this headcannon and no real reason to back it up, like the only reason is because he's the only robin from the ghetto)

Jasons favorite color is red (basic, only because he's the redhood but his actual favorite color is green)

Lazarus pit madness making him the hulk with glowing green eyes whenever he gets agitated (I made a previous post going more in depth with this)

Jason instantly forgives everyone including Bruce for everything they've done to him and vice versa

Again, there's probably more I'm not thinking of and if I do, I'll add to it. If you guys have any of your own, add them below!

Thanks for the ask!

#jason todd #batfam #dc comics #red hood #batman #dc universe #bruce wayne #dcu #dick grayson #nightwing