#im not even proofreading it

[bizlybebo]

oh my god im not your girlfriend but i NEED your normal album analysis omg (im normal about will wood btw)

HI OH MY GOD I TOOK SO LONG TO ANSWER THIS I AM. S ORRY

AUGHH this is definitely an excuse to ramble and i am TAKING it thank you so much for this

im fucking obsessed with the normal album. like sosoos much. it's such a subversive and creative and just. sort of album that you've never seen before, i think it seriously doesn't get the credit it deserves augh

first off here's a link to a 3-hour long analysis of the normal album that i haven't actually watched yet

here's where im cutting the post off before i start incoherently rambling about every song so that i don't curse people's dashes with having to Scroll for a million miles

THIS IS. A LONG ASS POST. LIKE 2.3K WORDS. SO IF YOU CLICK ON THIS BE WARNED LMAO.

i don't expect this to get more than like 2-3 notes this is literally just an open ramble about the normal album cause i got an excuse to.

Suburbia Overture / Greetings from Mary-Bell Township / Vampire Culture is SUCHH a good intro to the album. like. not even going into the lyricism it's fucking so insanely well-composed in a musical sense, I LOVE the samples and the immediate, like, doorbell sound at the very beginning because it just. introduces the ENTIRE album so well.

and the way it introduces will wood's motif of "Everybody's all up in my goddamn business" is SOSOO good.

The first half or so of the song is very illustrative of the typical, like, nuclear family, with these sounds inspired by a very upbeat, like... almost 60s-70s kind of music? It's a very creative song but it's tune and melody are also somewhat restrictive for a decent part of it, expressing perfectly what will wood's saying about this kind of lifestyle. If that makes sense?

and THEN the sudden switch into vampire culture is INSANE. im fucking AUGHGHGH over it.

It draws back on this stereotypical, happy lifestyle where something just seems a bit off and leans ENTIRELY into the uncanny-ness of it all. it's a sudden jump into random tempo switches, fucking just making all the noise he wants, and screaming "fuck your culture".

like the symbolism is so clear yet so subtle. I fucking love it.

and I am

OBSESSED. with this outro.

and THEN the little 'love me, normally' melody at the end is fucking INSANEEE augh. there was literally no better way to start this album off.

2econd 2ight 2eer (that was fun, goodbye) is EASILY one of my fucking favorites on this album. like. god.

IMMEDIATELY starting off with "take it with a pillar of salt, H.A.L.T., it's not my fault", illustrates the point of this song so well.

HALT is the acronym Hungry Angry Lonely Tired. It encourages you to "halt" and think before making an important decision and evaluate-- are you any of these four things?

And it's often been suggested by psychiatrists to a lot of people dealing with mental health issues.

The reason why I'm so obsessed with this lyric is because this entire song is basically accepting, "hey. i'm mentally ill. like i am. FUCKED in the head. this isn't something i can't escape, not really. i'm learning to be okay with this instead of searching my whole life for a cure. i'm never going to be able to assimilate fully into normal society."

and it's mixed with this very, like. Rudimentary view of how society views mentally ill people / those struggling with more severe psychological conditions. The chorus is literally "I'm just a psycho babe; come and go out my mind"

It's almost like this expression of mania, what with the upbeat tempo and the dark lyrics.

"I didn't lose it, I set it free" is another lyric in this song i just. augh. love. love love lvoe vloevleo this whole album. this is DEFINITELY the song i could say the MOST about. but i feel like i'd almost have to save that for another, more organized post.

Laplace's Angel / Hurt People? (Hurt People!)

AUGGGHHHHH.

god.

The title Laplace's Angel comes from the idea of Laplace's Demon, which concerns the whole idea of determinism, etc. It's essentially the idea that if a demon knew the position of everything, everywhere, the laws of physics would allow it to predict and understand the future.

it. doesn't make a lot of sense to me tbh.

BUT.

i understand determinism in a sense, and it's basically the idea that free will doesn't exist and that we and our actions are. products of the things that have already happened to us.

That's the best way I can explain it.

And I think that all of this, tied together with how the song is discussing important topics of morality, etc. is just. So cool and artistic and. God.

It references this guttural, primal sort of fear and this sort of "predictability" of the human psyche with the lyric that throws the entire song into it's first chorus-- said lyric being:

"Run your diagnostic tests, it's posited; nobody dies agnostic, though we still dial 9-1-1."

AND THEEENNNN. the chorus itself. augh.

You could go on all day about the main voice, "Could you take a look at me?" but i'm more in love with the backing chorus--

"It's the norm for animals, it's the norm for chemicals -- It's the norm for particles, eye for eye, for tooth"

and you can see a lot of references to other philosophies such as "an eye for an eye".

AND THEN the bridge being "wash your hands of where you been until you flood the second floor - neatly fold your skeletons but still can't shut the closet door"

essentially just being this greater commentary on morals as a whole, and how, in a sense, morality is just. subjective. Like I don't think I have the skill to illustrate just how insightful this song is on the topic of morality. god.

I / Me / Myself !

so obviously i / me / myself is a remaster of sorts of i / me / myself by Will Wood and the Tapeworms (versus just solo Will Wood)

BUT I LVOE THIS SONG. SO MUCH.

Will Wood wrote this song, essentially, about wishing he could express his femininity properly, right? how he felt like people refused to accept his identity as cisgender and heterosexual because he was a crossdresser, and very proud of it?

i fucking love that. he just puts absolutely everyone on blast for that. he's a cis dude who's also fucking with gender and fashion and art and he's letting people understand that.

but here's where i get personal because i ADORE the song as a lesbian who doesn't consider himself cisgender in the slightest.

I've spent my whole life wishing I could "be a girl" despite being born and raised female-- I simply just didn't fit into the mold of traditional femininity and, growing up in a religious background, that just made it even more difficult to fit in.

So I LOVE the lyric "i wish i were a girl".

AND THE BRIDGE IM JUST OBSESSED WITH TOO

"Eating your prosthetic, meet your anesthetic criteria, pathetic seeing you become acetic -- Say my name like a slur, but I've been called worse; I've heard it all before, no this isn't a first -- Let me be the void you fill with taxidermy fingerprints, taxonomize our differences -- I am quantum physics, my witness brings me to existence"

I think I just. need to leave that there. Cause it says more than I ever could. rahgaghag

and then closing out with the repeated line "all identities are equally invalid; don't you think that there's a chance that you could live without it?" is such cool like. food for thought yk?

idk i love the view Will Wood gave here, honestly. Especially knowing that he's very accepting of the lgbt+ community.

...well, better than the alternative

HOLY SHIT I AM. AUGH. UNWELL OVER THIS SONG.

see, the way I view it, is this attempt to just. Play into a normal, quiet life, despite EVERYTHING mentioned previously in the album. It's about trying to shove beside everything else for a normal existence.

It ties into suburbia overture, i / me / myself, and 2econd 2ight 2eer soso well. it's the perfect "halfway point of the entire album".

another lyric that i just HAVE to throw in here "This isn't my first kiss, it's better to be lost than loved, now isn't it?"

i'm mainly just. obsessed with that because of how aromantic it sounds. even though i know that's not how it was intended.

but i LOVE. THIS SONG. AUGH i love them all obviously but this one has such a special place in my heart.

It's asking somebody to "play along with" you (referring to the normal life thing) and THEN the whole "I just wanna do what's right by you"

it's just. tying together all the previous songs and like. expressing, essentially. "I'm fucked up. Are you willing to put up with me?"

or maybe im just yapping about absolutely nothing on this one idk

--

I don't know much more about the second half of this album, but I feel like diving into the lyrics of Outliars and Hyppocrates : a fun fact about apples is something i definitely need to do soon. i love this song's musical composition and.

"Don't wanna be human, anyways -- who pilots all these crude machines" ?? BANGER FUCKING LYRIC.

It's essentially just-- "the things that make you special are the things that make you strange"

meaning. get weirder with it. get fucking weirder with your art.

BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA is probably my favorite song on this album in terms of, musical composition and noise. I've pored over these lyrics soosososo many times and a lot of it goes over my head but over time I've started to understand a LOT of it and i just. augh.

also this song has such strong animatic vibes?? this is the one that makes me think SO much about my current writing project and i adore it for that.

I wish i was like. able to coherently express my thoughts on the lyrics of this song but they're just so complicated and. wow. it's. I think Will Wood totally outdid himself with this one because this is the most. Perfectly tied-together song on this entire album.

HOLY SHITTT

MARSHA, THANKK YOU FOR THE DIALETICS, BUT I NEED YOU TO LEAVE

OKAY I LIED I CAN TALK ABOUT THIS ONE ALL FUCKING DAY.

GOD.

I'M AUTISTIC. IN THE DIAGNOSIS PROCESS. AND LET ME TELL YOU I AM FUCKING OBSESED WITH THIS ONE SO MUCH.

Essentially, under our current system, any inability to perfectly execute a grueling 9-5, 5 days a week, on top of the mental labor of schooling and debt etc. is considered a disability. "Actual" diagnosed people are just the canaries in the coal mines, we're struggling soso much daily and it's just.

It's expanding upon this idea of microlabels and how Will Wood feels about them, and i honestly do think that, even though it's not the intent of this song, it can open up a conversation about how autism is not a "silly" thing. yk how the jokes have essentially become "I have (normal personality trait), is this... 'the tism'?" or the obsession with the fucking. god. "Neurospicy" thing.

^and how this improper culture/misunderstanding of neurodivergency and the need to make it more sanitized/palatable feeds into consumerism. but i can. go on a rant about that some other day.

But basically, with the lyric that "Dr., what's my prognosis if the study shows that: disease is in the eye of the beholder?" it expresses this sort of disdain, almost, with greater society's view on psychiatric abnormalities. if that. makes sense.

and then it's this constant repetition of "Back in my day ; ; ; we just drank ourselves to death. And we fucking liked it". It's also jabbing at this idea of how, in previous generations, you were generally just told to suck it up or you were left behind/ostracized entirely. It's about older generations not understanding the surge of mental health issues as of late. Closing with "We just bled out in the bed".

I love this song. So much. But I feel like this is all I'm gonna say about it because honestly this sort of discourse. Tires me out so much.

AAA OKAY

MY FUCKING LOVE MY DEARIE MY SHINING STAR I LOVE THIS NEXT SONG MORE THAN I LOVE ANYTHING ELSE ON THIS FUCKING PLANET

Love, me Normally

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

THIS IS THE ONE. THIS IS THETHE THE THE THEHT EH *THE* ONE.

THIS IS THE SONG THAT I UNDERSTAND THE MOST. THIS SONG IS LITERALLY ME. ME ME EM EM ME EAUGGHGH

HOLY SHIT.

I feel like so much has already been said on this song. I want to highlight, specifically, the bridge.

This is. my favorite piece of lyricism Will Wood has EVER put out and i fucking mean that.

---

"Now this is the part of the song where I like to talk to my audience

I like to tell 'em there's something I want from you hep cats tonight

I want you to look to your left, look to your right

Your 12 o'clock, three o'clock, six o'clock, nine o'clock, rock around the clock tonight

And I want you to find those points of no return, those singularities

Those burning rings of fire in the beautiful pupils of the beautiful eyes of the beautiful

Boy, girl, neither, both, or in-between that you brought with you tonight

And I want you to tell 'em how you really feel

I want you to tell 'em that you love the way they so seamlessly, like-a-dream-fully

So beautifully, oh so dutifully

Jam that square peg in the round hole in their heart

I want you to tell 'em that you love the way

That they don't stick out like sore middle fingers

That they crawl their way up the side of the bell curve

Stick their flag in the peak, and slide their way back down

I want you to tell them that you love the way that they're not maladaptive

Not malcontent, not malignant or maleficent, but rather that you love them

Exactly the way that everybody else is!"

---

now is it. unnecessary. to paste it all in here? certainly. but i just. love this so much.

the constant motif of mentioning the bell curve is amazing, too. I love this album because of it's essential... just. Being so outside of the normal bounds of society that all you can do is sit back and observe it all like "huh".

this is another ramble that i'd have to save for another post because this is the one that i understand the most.

I personally like to view this one through the lens of aromanticism. cause i can.

Now I'm not gonna go too much into detail on Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world cause BOY is it existential.

but i do think it's a beautiful way of tying this entire album together.

this entire album is almost like a note to humanity in general, this whole "you may not listen to me ever again, but give me these 45 minutes of your life to change your outlook on all of it".

Despite this album being subjective and subversive? Deviating so strongly from the norm that the average person, hell, even most avid fans, could never begin to relate to most of it?

It has this sort of... span of the human existence, in a sense. It understands it on such a small level, and it speaks bast the barriers that we usually don't try to cross. It just says shit that nobody else has said before.

I <3 this album. So insanely much.

I think that it's honestly one of the better pieces of music period that have been put out in these last few years. nothing else is as lyrically, linguistically, or musically different. aughgg

thank you for the ask if you read to the end youre fucking insane.

#vixen rambles #vixen answers #will wood #the normal album #dont feel pressured to read all of this #im not even proofreading it #i just took the excuse to ramble and scream about this album #becuase. i love it #insanely good insanely creative just insane #william woodiam #love me normally

[floofe-trans-doggie]

Gun to my head I think the backrooms was a genuinely really good concept, and even tacking on more levels and things of interest could lead to interesting settings and stories. Even adding new monsters isn't a strictly awful idea (the original creepypasta even has one, though a lot of the horror of it obviously comes from the unknown.) The reason every backrooms wiki sucks is because they all try to be SCP with a concept that should absolutely not be SCP'd.

The clinical tone SCP usually takes adds to the horror by referring to grotesque monsters and human experimentation in cold, professional terms, like it's just paperwork. The backrooms is completely different and new entries should've been written closer to the original where they're heavy on imagery and the vibe of the location while generally keeping their threats down-low and mysterious (or otherwise building up to them carefully before the reveal).

#its almost 3 am so if this post sucks thats why #im not even proofreading it #enjoy my unprompted hot take

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part two

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: implied sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 2.5k

You weren’t sure what woke you at first but when you opened your eyes, you found the brilliant, early morning light that streamed through a crack in the curtains. Groaning, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not missing the unmistakable rustling of clothes somewhere at the foot of the bed. 

Peeking over the sheets to the source of the sound, you found Ale working to put her pants back on, her bare back to you. You propped yourself against the headboard as you watched on, biting your lip at how Ale’s tattoos deliciously shifted over her rippling muscles. She picked something up from the floor before she turned towards the bed and you caught sight of the darkening marks on her neck and chest. When she saw you looking at her, she smiled, a little bashful, which you returned in kind.

“What time is it?” You cringed at how you croaked out the words.

“Early. You should go back to sleep.” Ale said, putting her bra on as she kept your gaze.

You hummed. “I could say the same for you.”

Ignoring what she said you sat up on the bed, allowing the sheets to slide down and settle by your waist as you stretched. Ale’s eyes wandered to your chest which, you supposed, bore the same marks you could see on hers, and you relished the attention. Once she found your eyes again, you sent her a knowing smirk before you left the bed, headed to the closet where you grabbed the nearest fresh shirt you had, and tossed it to Ale. 

Without even looking at the shirt, she caught it with ease. You raised your brow, both in question and in wonder. In response, Ale just smiled innocently at you. Ale pulled the shirt over her head, hiding the marks from view, then she moved towards you, her eyes dark and shining with intent.

Your body remembered last night’s endeavours before you did: every nerve in your skin lit up in anticipation for Ale’s touch, a fuse waiting for a spark. She laced an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to her front with a strength that left you breathless, her clothed body firm against your bare flesh. Without your heels she almost towered over you that you had to stand on your toes to wrap your arms around her neck. You closed your eyes when you felt the words she spoke against your temple.

“As much as I’d love to stay, I have to go.”

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. But what did you expect? You knew what you were getting into last night–you knew this was meant to only be a one-time thing. Besides, you were never one for relationships anyway; all your dalliances were brief and fleeting, ending before they ever got serious. Still, something about Ale pulled you to her, a force that compelled a desire to get to know her. The logical part of you already accepted the fact that you’d probably never see her again after this, but a small part of you wanted to rebel and resist that fate. 

Unsurprisingly, logic won out.

“I shouldn’t keep you, then,” you whispered against her collarbone. Ale shivered and that made you smile: it’s good to know you weren’t the only one still feeling the effects from the previous night.

“You’re not making this easy,” she whined and you laughed. 

“Alright, alright. I guess it’s time for me to let you go.”

There was a moment of silence but not an uncomfortable one. You looked at her, soaked in how her features caught the morning light, how her fair hazel eyes almost appeared like twin golden suns. You were tempted to kiss her lips then but you settled for a chaste one on her cheek instead. “Keep the shirt, to remember me by and… a thank you for last night. It was wonderful.”

“I had a good time, too,” she hummed, a small smile on her lips. 

You returned her smile, and then you gently pushed her away as you took a step back. “Go, Ale.”

Ale stood there for a moment more, took one last look at you, gave you one last smile and she was out of the bedroom. When you heard the front door shut, you sighed again as something akin to regret settled in your bones. Maybe you should’ve at least asked for her number…

“So… did you have fun?” A deep voice filtered through the speaker before you saw the familiar mop of blonde hair and blue eyes on your screen. You rolled your eyes at his dry tone but you smiled nonetheless.

“Oh hi, Derek, I’m doing fine! Thank you for asking!”

Derek gave you an unimpressed look. “Come on. I need details cause that club was exclusive for a reason. So, did you hook up with someone?”

“Dude, stop! That’s so–” you shook your head, a palm over your face. You swore if he wasn’t family you would’ve… you breathed through your nose. “Thank you for the pass and everything but I’m not obligated to tell you shit.”

“Fine, I see how it is. Just ‘cause I’m not there you’re keeping secrets from me now, huh?” He raised an exaggerated eyebrow. 

“Then maybe you should’ve come here with me,” you retorted with faux annoyance. “What’s the point of you owning a house in Barcelona if you’re not going to use it? It’s literally rotting here! The fact that you haven’t even put any personal things in here is criminal!”

“And let this agency burn down to the ground while both of us are away? Pfft, yeah, right!” Derek scoffed. “You know it’s either you or me who can keep watch around here. Besides, the house can wait and you’re using it now, right? So, a win-win in my book.”

He was right but you weren’t about to tell him that so you opted to change the topic. “How are things on your end anyway?”

“Chaotic, as usual. And it doesn’t help we’re now down two–actually, three including you–of our best in the Spot News department.”

At that, you sat up from the couch, alarm and dread filled your body and you brought the phone closer to you. “Oh my god, did something happen?” 

Derek sighed heavily, his demeanour clouded over as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was Jones and Gilda–they’re stable, don’t worry!–they got caught in a flash flood on the way to the base at their area. Sick with some minor injuries, Jones more so than Gilda, but thankfully they’re both okay.”

At that, you breathed out in relief. You were well acquainted with the dangers that came with your job but you could never get used to how quickly a situation could get from bad to worse. The mere thought was enough to turn your hands cold. 

“When did this happen?”

“Early morning today in our timezone.”

“Oh, fuck. Derek, why didn’t you call me?!”

“Dude, you’re on leave. And it’s not that I didn’t want to let you know, I just wasn’t about to wake you up in the middle of the night to give you this headache. I’m just about done with the paperworks anyway.” A moment silence, then Derek sighed. “You really chose the worst time to go on leave. You know, I had to send Jersey to start covering Spot.”

“Not my fault you authorised it. I was happy to wait another month, remember? Wait, so if Jersey is doing Spot, who’s doing Sports?”

“I know, I know, don’t remind me ‘cause I’m already regretting it. And no one’s doing it. Spot coverage is more important but–”

“–we get a decent sum from Sports, too,” you finished for him. You did some quick estimation in your head: a month or two without Sports could prove costly, too great of a sum to let go. You hummed, rubbing your chin, but it didn’t take you long to realise that you could help out, your mind immediately fleeted to your conversation with Ale and her suggestion.

“I’ll cover it, Derek.”

“No. You’re supposed to be enjoying your leave–”

“Derek.” You fixed a stern gaze at him, the one you knew that he knew meant your mind was made up. Then you proceeded to reassure him that it was fine, and then you told him about your plan. “Alright, then, I’ll leave the press passes to you.”

“I’ll e-mail them to you once I get ‘em, most likely by tonight your time. I–” 

“Derek, you got to see–” Another voice filtered through the speaker while you watched as Derek turned his head to the side and held his hand up to whoever it was before returning his focus back to you.

“Okay, as much as I’d love to keep talking to you, Robert just brought me a huge stack of paper so I’m going to bail.” 

“Alright. Have fun, you. Talk to you later.”

“Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, thank you.”

“No worries. Kiss Mom for me when you see her.”

“I will. Love you, sis.”

“I love you, too.”

After calling Jones and Gilda to ask about their condition and to send them your well wishes, you decided to spend the rest of your day at the nearby square and the beach. A day as good as this wasn’t meant to be wasted by staying inside so you grabbed several rolls of film and your beloved Leica camera before heading out. 

It was already late afternoon when you found yourself trudging along the shoreline of one of Barcelona’s beaches, appreciating the orange-tinged skies and how the gulls called from above. When you looked to the horizon, you found a mother and her little daughter paddle-boarding just a hundred meters from the shore. You could see almost no details in the shadows of their silhouette but the large setting sun framed them in such a way that you felt to take a shot of the moment. So you adjusted your aperture accordingly, pressed the viewfinder against your brow, lined up your shot, and pressed the shutter.

“I thought you looked familiar… And I was right.”

Your thumb froze over the advance lever when you heard someone speak from somewhere behind you. That voice… could it be?

You whipped your head over your shoulder and found none other than Ale standing there. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a white opened blouse that put her toned abs and Nike sports bra on display, loose hair slightly damp, with a leash in one hand that lead to a small, fluffy dog. She also had on a pair of black wraparound sunglasses that she moved to the top of her head, revealing her hazel eyes that captivated your gaze immediately.

You could hardly believe your eyes and your luck; you already accepted her fleeting presence in your life but to meet her again in a city as big as Barcelona without any means of contact… that surely was nothing short of a miracle.

“Ale, hi! I–I never thought I’d see you again,” you said after you finally found your voice but as soon as the words left your mouth, your cheeks warmed. What were you supposed to say to a one night stand in this situation, especially when you clearly wanted it to happen again?

“Me neither. I should thank Nala for dragging me out here.” Ale grinned as she glanced down at her dog by her feet. You crooned as you bent down, then you offered your hand first and only after Nala licked your knuckles did you proceed to pet her.

“Thank you, Nala, for taking your owner for a walk.” At that, a hearty laugh came from Ale which caused Nala, who seemed to be overjoyed by the sound of her owner’s delight, to yip and wag her tail. And just as quickly as she had, she seemed to get bored and began to bound forward, urging Ale to move as well so you stood up, brushed the sand from your palms, and fell in step with her. 

For a moment, the space between you was filled by the sound of the waves, the sound of the shifting sand beneath your feet, and the ever-bustling noise from the city. Then you recalled your conversation with Derek this morning.

“I thought about what you said, about covering women’s football. I’m going to be given a press pass for a match, not sure which one they’ll give me, though. But do you know of any big matches coming up?”

“Really? That’s great! Do you have any particular team in mind or…?”

“Research is still on my to-do list so no, not really. I’m all ears for suggestions, though.”

“I see. Well, there is this match coming up: Real Madrid and Barcelona. Since you don’t know, there’s rivalry between the two teams so any match between them tends to get crowded. You should come watch.” 

“That sounds like a good one. I hope that’s what they’ll get me into. Will you be there?”

“I hope so, too. And yes, I’ll be there.” As she said this, her eyes shone with a glint not dissimilar to what you saw in them the night you met. Her lips tilted to the side, closed but quirked at the corners like she was holding in a laugh. If it weren’t already clear that night, it was now–you were definitely missing something here.

“What?” You asked, confused. What was she not telling you? But at the question, Ale only let out a small giggle, grinning as she did so.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, shaking her head. You didn’t believe her but you let it slide one more time and the fact that she looked so distracting didn’t help either.

She had her head turned to you, her loose hair framed her face and strands fluttered in the cool, ocean breeze. You had to tilt your head up slightly to meet her eyes and, without any bidding, memories from that night and the morning after filtered through your mind: the way she held you against her, the way you wanted her to stay… maybe you should ask her if she was free tonight.

“–what do you have in mind?”

You blinked. “What?”

Ale threw her head back, letting out another hearty laugh before she looked at you and you saw amusement swimming in her eyes. Then, she continued with a smirk, “you asked if I was free tonight. I said yes. Or… was I not meant to hear that?”

Your ears and cheeks burnt while you internally cursed your slippery tongue.  That was smooth. Real smooth. “Ummm…”

You woke the next morning with a delicious soreness between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of the way Ale ravished you last night. Similar to the first morning after, you heard the rustling of clothes being put on. But before you could fully open your eyes, warmth from Ale’s lips branded the skin on your shoulder. 

“I have to go. See you next time?” Ale murmured softly. You shifted slightly to the side and you saw how the sunlight behind her gilded her hair with an amber halo and made her eyes appear like molten gold. 

Brushing a loose strand behind her ear, you hummed in confirmation and pressed your forehead sleepily against the sharp line of her jaw, closing your eyes as you did so and you whispered, “you know where to find me.”

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: introduced some fictional characters here for plot purposes and there'll be more later on (i hope that wont put off some people) #i tried not to info-dump but not really sure if i succeeded lol #also i find it difficult to write smut and its even harder without talking about feelings so nothing yet folks im so sorry #and idk when the next part will come out cause its one of the parts that arent fleshed out but ill try to finish it by next week #just a reminder: im tweaking minor details as i go so the most accurate copy of all the parts will be on my ao3 (@thesunisatangerine) #apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

[carmyboobear]

Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 2

Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets. 

Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship

A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!

You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.

The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.

You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.

After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful. 

You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low. 

You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume. 

“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked. 

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer. 

“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore. 

“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop. 

Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.

That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger. 

The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead. 

“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on. 

“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though. 

“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”

“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.

“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”

“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing. 

“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”

He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back. 

“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question. 

“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”

“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”

“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.                                                                                                                    

“How do you work under pressure?”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”

“Willing to learn?”

“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”

“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.

“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign. 

Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen. 

“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in. 

“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.

“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”

“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”

“Well, who's fault is that?”

“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”

“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”

Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think. 

“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”

“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.

“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”

“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”

“But—” You hear her start to protest. 

“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.

“I know, but Richie—”

“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence. 

“...Yes, chef.”

“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie. 

“You're just gonna let her—”

“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front. 

“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”

“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out. 

“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”

“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”

“Do you not want it?”

“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”

“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you. 

“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway. 

So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them. 

I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong. 

You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture. 

You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to. 

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions. 

At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.

“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”

Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.

The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide. 

Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.

The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.

Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.

“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”

“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”

“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container. 

“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter. 

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh.  He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”

The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour. 

It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off. 

“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.

“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”

You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list. 

Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift. 

There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”

You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline. 

Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice. 

“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself. 

“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”

When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there. 

Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep. 

You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something. 

“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”

“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her. 

“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”

You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break. 

As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen. 

This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.

“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”

“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth. 

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.” 

You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles. 

“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”

“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”

That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.

“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments. 

“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”

“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”

You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm. 

He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you. 

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose. 

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place. 

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses. 

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard. 

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment. 

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling. 

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

“I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges. 

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time. 

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends. 

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination. 

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked.  We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so. 

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?” 

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you. 

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is. 

You don't really care, though. 

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.  

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him. 

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important. 

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now. 

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is. 

“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away. 

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want. 

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive. 

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?” 

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm. 

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.” 

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled.  Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second  you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead. 

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth. 

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway. 

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden. 

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head. 

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you. 

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice. 

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that. 

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at. 

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door. 

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

~

@zorrasucia

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #my fics #my smut #YEAHHHH LETS GOOO im so excited to release this!! even had my friend proofread this LOL #which was helpful. i couldn't stop writing and then BAM. 7.3k #i really wanted the chapters to be shorter than alexithymia bc its a lot of words to proofread but. oh well. #we'll see if the other chs are shorter. cant wait to hear yalls thoughts!! its gonna get worse for carmy and reader from here #blood orange #🩸🍊

[cringefail-clown]

I'm so fucking invested in your turnabout au I'm going to explode please just like ramble if you up to it

hoo boy lets do it

so atm my favourite part of the au to think about is post scratch bro and his relationship with hal, post scratch roxy and what dave would think about him. like for example i don't think he'd be this big superstar like post scratch dave was in canon, his work against the condence would be much more subtle. i imagine him working much more closely with roxy and grandpa jake - its not clear in canon how much dave, rose and jade collaborated together, they for sure were in contact, but its honestly up to interpretation. those three in the au would probably work very closely together, maybe roxy and dirk could help jake with building up skaianet - dirk as an engineer and rox as a programmer. they'd also have their own gigs on the side, roxy would sure as hell hijack crocercorp with malware every chance she got, and dirk would have some obscure websites that'd spread propaganda against condence under the veil of weird puppet stuff and insane chatbots. he'd probably write some kind of this universes detective pony parody book and get it published and it'd become one of the most recognisable pieces of literature documenting the takeover of the troll empire and the rebellion against it

(some quick designs of hal and bro i pulled outta my ass)

honestly he'd probably become some sort of vigilante batman-esque figure in this universe?? he'd show up unexpected, blow some crockercorp warehouses and disappear into the night. and after hal joins him when he builds him a body the media would paint them as some sort of twin antiheroes lmfao

oh man and hal. it'd go simialrly as it was in canon, dirk would fuck around and copy his brain at a young age and they'd HATE each other at first. like dirk would feel responsible for creating hal, and hal would resent the shit outta him - like how dare he be the one who gets to keep the body and hal must be stuck in a pair of glasses, trapped with no means of escaping? but they'd start working together when they find out about dave and the future to ensure their lil bro has the best chances of survival, and in time they'd bond over it and their shared work against condy. they'd come up with a plan so that hal goes into sleep mode until the arrival of the meteor (bc no way in hell dirk would make hal go through hundreds of years of lonely existance, watching as humanity slowly ceases to exist and unable to do anything about it, he'd go nuts).

and the day finally comes when dirk would have to go face the batterwitch so he'd put hal in the apartment and they would tell each other one last goodbye and dirk would put hal in the sleep mode. and hal would wake up like only seconds passed, not years upon years, only the vast ocean streching as far as his eyes could see behind the dirty, dusty windows, and he'd know his one brother is long dead, gone while facing the enemy he was destined to lose against but had to do it anyway, and the other one moments from crashing into the waters below on a meteor sent by some insane video game that creates new universes. he'd sit there for a while, reality slowly sinking in, and he'd probably desperatly wish like he hasn't in years, to be human again and to mourn his losses the human way, because as advanced as his robotic body was he haven't thought about updating it with some goddamn tearducks.

on a lighter note, imagine dirk crunching numbers for three days straight to figure out how much food he'd have to stock in the apartment to make sure dave doesn't grow up malnourished, desperately googling "how much calories does an *insert age* year old need". he'd be banned from every supermarket in at least two states. he would walk into the store and employees would start weeping at the sight of him. i think about it a lot

#homestuck #dirk strider #dave strider #hal strider #lil hal #bro strider #turnabout au #ask #long post #some juicy looore #don't read into it too much im running on 4 hours of sleep and 3 coffees and i havent even proofread it #anyway i judt... i love dirk and hal #let them be bros dammit #homestuck au

[jenna-louise-jamie]

thinking about yassen gregorovich instead of sleeping (because i love him) and how he is a catalyst. yassen stabbs ash -> ash kills john rider -> ian rider raises alex -> yassen kills ian rider -> mi6 blackmails alex into becoming a teenage spy.

i have so many thoughts that i can't properly articulate. obviously this is a simplified chain of events, but yassen and his choices set off a chain reaction of the world's most unfortunate dominos. especially when you read russian roulette. to be clear im not necessarily trying to blame him for everything because that feels very mean. he was also just a 14 year old kid when everything in his life went wrong, just like alex. only difference being yassen literally had no one.

i think i should write an essay about this because i haven't even gotten into my thoughts about what yassen and alex's dynamic would look like past eagle strike. i would imagine it'd be similar to ellie and joel from the last of us part 2.

where obviously yassen loves alex and alex on some level cares for yassen back but struggles to reconcile that with the fact that yassen is responsible for his uncle's death. a very unforgivable act. it would be so messy and complicated and angsty, because on one hand here is an adult who truly cares about him and has a connection with him through his father. yassen could tell alex about john, and trust that yassen truly wants whats best for him. but he killed ian, and he cannot take that back.

while alex reels from those feelings, yassen is also trying to reconcile his love of alex with the knowledge that he on some level is responsible for the suffering alex endured at the hands of mi6. and possibly even the fact that alex's godfather is the one who killed john and helen.

#btw i think anthony horowitz killed yassen off so he wouldnt have to deal with this lmao #and sidenote ash is responsible for his own shitty choices but i think itd be difficult for yassen to cope with the fact that stabbing ash #led to some very bad consequences for literally everyone #are there any fics that are similar to what im describing?? ? #i read a ton of alex rider fics but i mostly read fluff because im actually too emotionally fragile to handle angst #i cried while reading stormbreaker and that book wasnt even supposed to be sad #if this is doesnt make any sense its because i woke up at 2 am and wrote this #its just word vomit; pure not proofread thoughts directly from my fucked up little brain #idk maybe someone will enjoy reading this #alex rider #yassen gregorovich #alex rider books #ian rider #john rider #chaotic ramblings #and final note i do not ship yalex #i was thinking of this more in terms of yassen having a weird guardian/parental relationship with alex #if it wasnt clear from my ellie and joel reference from the last of us #anyways im gonna go back to making shitposts and memes so i never have to feel anything again thank you goodnight <3

[omgeto]

Incoming... long lost love ex!geto who comes to see you for one last time—on the night that he's going to die.

#this is going to be angsty as hell but LIKE THEYLL BE FLUFF IN IT TOO #BUT ANGST #SINCE IT'LL BE SCORNED!READER #since geto just up and leaves you 10 years ago #the hate fucking will be insane #BUT SINCE THE LOVE IS STILLL THERE AND NEVER LEFT THIGNS GET ALL SOFT AND MUSHY #AND THE CONVOS THAT YOU'LL HAVE THE REMINISCING THE DISCUSSION ON WHY U BROKE UP #ALL THAT GOOD JUICY STUFF #DO U GUYS WANNA SEE THIS SHIT? #IDK WHY IM REALLY ASKING SINCE IM GONNA WRITE IT ANYWAYS #ITS GONNA BE MY BEST WORK YET #LIKE AN ACTUAL FINE CRAFTED PIECE OF WORK #THAT I PROOFREAD AND STUFF #AND LIKE PUT ALL MY EFFORT INTO #its the classic 'when he's mean to everyone but you' trope #or the classic 'you know I'll always love you even when you hate me trope' #and readers all like FUCKKK YOU DUDE #since yk I always have to make my reader a bit of a meanie #but then its the 'when you wanna hate him but you just cant' #so... yes #here's a big #★ — emptalkshit!

[tara-the-star]

the choiceless hope in grief by farq [Rated T, 6/6 Chapters, 5903 Words, Complete]

Jean knew that the world outside was better than what he experienced in the Nest, but he didn’t dare to hope for a better life. He was, and forever would be, alone.

Until Renee.

Or, Renee rescues Jean from the Nest.

written for @aftgficwritingmonth & @allforthegamebingo

#i wrote this in 2 days i havent slept since but anyway it has jeanee and an orpheus/eurydice metaphor (hopefully i could get that through) #aftgficwritingmonth #aftg #aftg fic #aftg fanfic #the foxes #aftgbingo #all for the game #jeanee #jean moreau #renee walker #the foxhole court #nora sakavic #im yet to read this without making any changes actually so even i havent properly proofread this yet #my fics

[jrueships]

the okc Jays are the new addition to my slice of life fic series !!! bit scared abt that tbh.. idk if i wrote them well since i have no prior fic base.. my fear of misrepresentation.. it is stabbing me in the thyroid artery rn. BUT FUCK IT ! WE BALL!! IF U GUYS HAVE ANY (preferably underrated :] ?) SHIPS AND A FUN PLOT POINT FOR THEM THAT U WANNA SEE WRITTEN HERE.. LEMME KNOW !!! or it could just be family dynamic platonic stuff too!!! i Wanna write a gg's adventures in the nba fic but like.. he needs (famous) friends tho 😭. so far his only friends are his mom and dad LMAO

#GIMME IDEAS U WANNA SEE WRITTEN GRRRRR #i think im gonna take a mini pause on writing for a lil bit tho #maybe one more fic then ill rest #bcs when i write i dont eat or anything until im done #and even if i do drink smthing it's while im proofreading at the end #<- mainly with professional papers. i dont proof fics until i post it and see my stupidity bcs idk #i write in one long sitting so i feel getting spending so much time on a hobby that i just shove it out #idk my brain gets guilty over odd stuff somtimes #ANYWAYS #SEND ME IDEA S GRRRRRR

[vllergy]

emerges from the ether for 5 seconds before vanishing again--i don't post here often i go through phases, the moon has phases i have phases whatever but i've been playing a lot of b@lders g@ate and while i don't think i'll ever feel comfortable writing canon character content (maybe h@lsin??? g@le??? who knows) this one NPC interaction had me by the throat. feat: tw: canon courtesan/sex worker NPC, kink!reader, second person narration since the game is like that, hunky sneezy drow man, honestly a lot of build up for little payoff im sorry idk what happened. i also don't know the word count im useless (dialog is in-game dialogue up until the lil time skip to his room, then it's all me baybbyeee)

The drow is one of the most handsome you’ve ever seen. Not that you expected him to be ugly, of course. The fabled drow twins of Sharress’ Caress are known far and wide for their talents as well as their beauty. Its just, seeing them in person is quite different from sustaining on mere rumor alone. Sorn Orlith, as he introduces himself, is rather muscular for a drow. He stands nearly a good head taller than you with a broad, brazenly defined chest. His outfit is nothing more than a metal cage topped over his heavy shoulders and flared out down his sternum like witch’s fingers, pointing towards an abdomen taut with muscle.

His long skirt rides around his hips but you can still see the shadow of indents against bluish-gray skin there, as if they are inviting you to take a closer look. They likely are. Nothing about his appearance is not meticulously crafted to draw you in. From the slight sheen on his lips that are plush and naturally the color of ripe blueberries, to the way his wintry hair is falls effortlessly back from his face in perfect waves. He is a vision, and yet his eyes are not cold and imperious like you might expect. They’re warm. Inviting. Somehow kind, despite what kind of debauchery goes on in a place like this. 

You ask him how he ended up here in the first place. Apparently, the Underdark isn’t kind to male courtesans. Also, he was bored.

“The entirety of drow culture is obsessed with bondage beyond reason. While such activities have their charms, I yearned to reach greater depths.” He gives a dazzling smile. “And there is no society on this planet more laterally, imaginatively and confusingly depraved as that of Baldur’s Gate. Although of late, I do feel I’ve seen everything. Perhaps you’ll show me something new?”

Your throat goes dry. 

“I’m…glad you’re happy here,” you manage out. 

Sorn laughs, but not unkindly “I’d have to restrain myself far more than any play-bindings do if I worked in another field. This is a place where I can be myself boundlessly.” 

His arms widen, emphasizing the violet taut flesh of muscle in his shoulders and biceps. You do your best not to stare.

“There are so many who come to me speaking of a fixation that no one else has ever been able to share with them…” he leans close, “And never will again. 

He smells of bergamot and brandy. It’s intoxicating. “A once in a lifetime moment of passion. Every day. What could be better? Don’t you want to try it?”

You do. And he can tell. His grin widens, almost wolfish. 

“Trust me, you don’t want to miss my signature Menzoberranzan Love Trick.”

—

With the door to Sorn’s private room shut, you feel a sense of calm overwhelm you. The room is beautiful—long enough to be someone’s home, crystals and plants glowing in every corner, a bed surrounded by flowers, shadows in all the right places. It looks like it was plucked free from the most beautiful parts of the Underdark and brought here to Wyrms Crossing. It feels comforting. Safe. 

“Now, are you going to tell me about this little secret of yours? Or would you prefer to keep me in the dark?”

Sorn’s voice startles you and he slips a hand around your waist, nosing at your neck as he comes from behind you. He releases you at the reaction, but doesn’t make a show of it. He’s masterful at what he does. Reading his partner, gauging their comfort level, adjusting and maneuvering as necessary. Your blushing cheeks must give you away because he gives you an encouraging smile instead and reaches for your wrists.

“Come, let us sit first. I find it’s easier to talk like that.”

He leads you to the foot of the bed. The sheets are luxurious, obsidian satin, and the mattress sinks with your weight. He sits close, angling his body towards you, but not so close as to crowd you. Your knees touch. You can see his breath flexing the hardened muscles of his torso and chest as he lingers there, expectant but not impatient. His hands cover yours in your own lap.

“It’s perfectly all right to be nervous,” Sorn continues, “But I assure you, your secret is safe with me. And not only that, it is *treasured*. I meant what I said earlier. There is very little that surprises me these days. Should you present me with something unexpected, I will be noting more than delighted.” 

You avoid his eyes, despite how gentle they are. You’ve never said this in front of anyone. But he’s right. Odds are, there are multiple someones in Baldurs Gate who have stranger interests than you. Sorn has likely indulged them all and without complaint. As he said downstairs, he rather enjoys this aspect of his work. Still, your tongue is in knots as you work up the nerve to say it. Your eyes travel up from his chin to his perfectly shaped mouth, the cupids bow of his lips and then finally the long, aquiline shape of his nose. It’s a fine nose. Prominent on his face and somehow as elegant as the rest of him, it captivates your attention for a moment. 

When you realize you’ve been staring for a moment too long, the confession rushes out of you in a breath, “Sneezing.”

Your face feels like it might explode from the heat. Sorn blinks. You expect him to laugh, or tell you to leave the room, or some other horrible outcome but instead he merely tilts his head. His hands give yours an assuring squeeze.

“And what about it do you like, my love?”

You lean over with a groan. You truly cannot believe you’re having this conversation—but his warm chuckle sends something fluttering in your chest and you gather the courage to straighten back up again and look him in the eye.

“I’m…not quite sure, I just know I enjoy it,” you say carefully, “And when my partners do it.”

“Mmm,” he says, contemplating, “So you’d like it if I sneezed for you then?”

Your lips purse, holding the answer hostage in your throat. You nod helplessly instead. He laughs again and releases one of his hands to brush a knuckle along your cheek.

“Look how red you are, it’s positively darling. Was that all, little bird? That was what you were so afraid to tell me?”

You nod again, nearly in tears. It’s off your chest now and it feels incredible, but it’s also freeing in a way that makes you feel raw and exposed. He’s being so kind about it that you’re not quite sure how to react. Emotions clash together, warring for dominance inside the confines of your skull. 

Sorn seems to understand immediately. His hand skirts below your jaw and tips your chin up as he leans forward and captures your lips with his own. It’s a simple, nearly chaste kiss. So featherlight and innocent that it feels like the sun peeking through the clouds. “Shh, shhh,” he soothes as he pulls away, “I think it’s wonderful. I will say it’s the first time I’ve encountered it, but I think it’s quite endearing.” He pulls away a little further, leaving you breathless. His white smile gleams. “And what an exciting challenge besides!” 

He releases you fully and stands from the bed, his hands on his hips. He looks about the room, brow furrowed in concentration. You’re still a little dazed from the kiss, wondering how he manages to taste like brandy and sweetwine and smell as good as he does while also trying to get your brain to stop swimming. You blink a few times to get your bearings as Sorn stalks to one of his shelves.

“Now, the only trouble is—“ he starts as he rifles through a few things, “There isn’t much that makes me sneeze, I’m afraid.”

Your stomach wilts a bit. Perhaps it was too much to hope that this strapping drow would have a terrible allergy to lavender. Though, to be fair, he hardly looks like the type to be beset by anything so pedestrian. Sorn is so maddeningly put together. From his perfect hair, meticulous ensemble and finely crafted expressions, he is clearly a man that keeps up appearances. Decorum is important to him. Should he ever be laid low by an allergy, you imagine he would fight it with the all the dignity and stoicism he so proudly displayed. 

Still—you didn’t work up all this nerve just to get here and *not* have anticipated something like this happening. Shyly, you let your fingers linger over the vial in your pocket. 

“I…may have something that will help,” you say.

Sorn turns from the shelf with what looks like a raven feather in his hand, his eyes bright. He looks positively delighted at the news.

“Oh I love when my clients come prepared,” he says, “You are a dream.”

“We could try that first, though,” you say, gesturing to the feather. There’s definitely something to that idea and it’s already stirring a feeling in your belly that has you shifting on the bed and your heart rising. There’s no possible way Sorn can know this, but somehow you sense he does, because his eyes sharpen their focus on you and his grin goes syrupy. 

“Lovely,” he comments and returns to your side. As he sinks back into the mattress, he gestures a hand. “Is here all right? Or would you like to do it somewhere else?”

“Here is fine,” you choke out. The idea that this is happening, really happening, is making your brain turn to lightning. You can hardly wait. 

He holds out the feather to you, “I assume you’d like to do the honors?”

You nod. The feather has little weight to it, and it’s gorgeous up close. The black shimmers with hues of purples and blues in the low light, glimmering in the reflection of your eyes. You run your eyes along the length of it and then find yourself starting at Sorn again, heart in  your throat.

“Is it… all right if I touch you?” you ask. You lean forward, hand with the feather outstretched, but think you may need to position yourself a little closer and brace yourself on his shoulder to get a good angle.

“Darling,” he laughs. He suddenly seizes your wrist and brings you closer, lowering his voice near your ear. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You gulp as he slides back, demure and innocent as if he hadn’t just made goosebumps appear along your arms and thighs with his words alone. A nervous smile paints your lips and you do finally take his shoulder in your hand. You’re kneeling almost into his lap at this point and to support you, he draws an arm around your back. It’s so intimate you’re almost dizzy with the closeness alone, and you haven’t even gotten to—

The feather brushes at the corner of his mouth and his mouth twitches in a smile. Even just that response alone makes your heart race. From there, you slowly move it up to the indent above his mouth, and then his septum. He wrinkles his nose, skin avoiding the stimulation on instinct before he wrests his control back. He smiles but says nothing, allowing you to continue. 

You draw the tip of the feather around one nostril. It quivers in response, but otherwise, Sorn’s eyes remained focused on you. You test a bit farther, drawing slow, soft circles. There isn’t anything for a few seconds, and then he starts to blink, irritated tears prickling in his eyes. He sniffs a few times and then has to cough, politely turning his head away on instinct as he does so. “Apologies,” he says and then grins, “What a strange sensation.”

“Are you all right?” you ask. 

“Very much so,” he nods, “Please, continue.”

You do, but to mixed results. You’re certainly irritating his nasal passages, but sadly not enough to make him sneeze. After a few minutes of attempting, all you’ve really done is making him cough and cry irritated tears. Disappointed, you’re about to give up when he takes your wrist again, holding the feather inside his nose.

“W-wait,” he says, “I had it for but a moment.”

Your heart stutters. Carefully, you twist the feather as you had been a moment earlier. His eyelashes, pale as new fallen snow, sweep his cheeks and a breath catches on the roof of his mouth. The hand that was around your wrist falls slack, fingers drifting down towards your elbow.

“Yes, I feel it,” he whispers. 

His grip around your back tightens and he draws in another breath. His eyebrows crumple and hoist upwards and his nose practically twitches. 

“Hh—hiiyh—“ 

As his expression snaps, you pull the feather away just in time. His head wrenches away as the sneeze whisks through him. 

“Hi-ISSHh!” 

It’s a spartan, nearly soft sound. Wet, given the amount of torture his nose has been put through for the last few unproductive minutes, but otherwise without frills or embellishments. It’s a very honest sneeze you think, but perhaps one he was not entirely prepared for. By his clenched teeth you think he might have held back at the last moment out of some sense of propriety. The way he lightly touches the backs of his knuckles to the underside of his nose in the aftermath and gives a delicate sniff further enforces your theory. 

Still, it was a sight. 

“Blessings,” you say, enraptured. 

Sorn recovers quickly and smiles at you. 

“Did you—snf—enjoy that? I am sorry it took so long.”

Your red cheeks are enough of a glowing recommendation, but you nod anyway. Feeling a little braver, and a little desperate for him now that you’ve seen him lose control the once, your hand slips down against his abdomen. The warm skin there flexes against your palm as he breathes in. He hums a soft noise of approval and clasps his hand over yours before leaning in to kiss you. There’s just the briefest moisture in the kiss, only you would ever notice it, and it sets your brain on fire. 

“Perhaps we should try your method instead,” he suggests when he pulls away for a breath, kissing a line across your jaw and to your throat next, “It might be more…productive.” 

You feel dizzy. His hand skirts along your thigh and meets the joint of your hip, squeezing with enough pressure to make you moan. 

“If you’re sure,” you say, “It can be…strong.” It’s only fair to warn him, after all. Everyone reacts differently, but you’ve never not seen it work on someone.

“All the better,” he hums against the hollow of your throat, nipping softly at the skin, “I simply won’t have you leaving here disappointed.”

You shift upwards to get access to your pocket. Sorn discards the sodden feather and watches with curious, eager eyes. When you reveal the tiny glass vial, he smirks. 

“I see,” is all he says before nodding his head toward the collection of pillows at the head of the bed, “Let’s get more comfortable first, shall we?”

Moments later, you’re lying side by side, both propped up by pillows and surrounded by the soft glowing plants and crystals that make a canopy of the bed. Sorn holds himself up on an elbow and examines the vial that looks comically small in his much larger fingers. You lay your cheek against one of the pillows and stare up at him, still feeling your heartbeat pound in your ears. You’d thought this would have gotten easier after seeing it happen once, but the idea of seeing it happen again is almost worst. Now that you know the sound, know how his lip curls a little, how his eyes flutter—all you want to do is see it more, see him unravel.

“So, just a pinch of this?” Sorn asks. He seems more curious than anything. Like he doesn’t quite totally believe that whatever is in there is actually going to be able to make him sneeze.

“Mhmhm,” you say. 

He grins and sets to work. A hefty pinch between his thumb and forefinger is gathered and then quickly—and in a rather sophisticated manner—snorted up one nostril. It doesn’t seem to cause him any harm like you worried it might, and he merely clears his throat once it’s over and brushes his hands off. 

“Oh, it’s lovely,” he comments, “Almost medicinal.” 

You can’t answer him because you can’t breathe. You’re waiting for something. Anything. A flicker of his expression, a quiver of his nose, something to indicate that the powder is set to work. But nothing happens. Sorn merely looks back at you questioningly. 

“When does it start to take effect?” he asks.

“Usually right away.”

He frowns, “Oh. Perhaps I should take more?”

You saw the amount he took. It was already sizable. Any more and you’d be concerned for him. You quickly shake your head, “No, I wouldn’t. Maybe it’s just…slow to start.”

Sorn huffs, his disappointment mirroring your own. He sets the vial aside and turns back to you, pulling you flush against his body. That’s still nice, sneezing or no. Every hard angle of him presses against you and the heat of his skin makes you shudder. He kisses you deeply and you can still smell the slightly earthy scent of the powder on him as you return it. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” he murmurs close to your mouth, “I’ve done nothing but disappoint you tonight.”

You blink up at him, “That’s not true!” 

He sighs and tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “It is, but I promise you, I will make it up to you. We still have plenty of time, and there are other things we can do, besides.”

Sorn dips an arm under you and pulls you flat against the bed, hovering over you. He grins down at you and starts to remove your top. 

“Is this alright?” he asks softly.

You nod, nearly choking on your want for him. Everywhere he uncovers bare skin, he lavishes in kisses until you’re bare from the waist up and the two of you are flesh against flesh. His skin sears yours with warmth. He trails fingers down your sternum and then down to your bellybutton, then lower. 

“You are a delightful little thing,” he says. His voice is velvet, and his warm breath paints down your ribs as he follows the path of his hand. 

You feel the gasp as much as you hear it. It’s a sudden, reckless thing—so quick that neither of you are prepared for it. Sorn’s expression flinches for just a moment and he barely has time to turn his head to the side before a sneeze completely overtakes him—misting your side in the process. “hh-EDSHHH’iuh!” 

You’re stunned. Sorn looks like he might be too, if not for the telltale signs of another impending sneeze close behind the first. He shifts and places a hand on your hip as he sits up a little. You watch as his upper lip curls over bright teeth and his nostrils flare once before he wrenches away from you successfully this time. “hhHH’RRSCCH!” This one is stronger than the last, more voice to it. It shakes him and you by extension on the mattress.

“Bless you,” you say, but he shakes his head. His hand squeezes your hip gently as if to say ‘not yet’. “Hih-ih!”

His fist goes to his mouth before you can stop it, and he squelches the last sneeze into submission. His eyes cinch shut and he bends at the waist, shoulders trembling as the colossal sound is contained to nothing more than a whisper. “hHh-nGXST!” 

He opens his eyes, though somewhat warily. As if he’s not sure the tickle is quite gone yet. He gives a cagey sniffle and blots his knuckle under his nostrils, “Goodness.” Then, he turns to you and finds your gaze positively enraptured. He smiles. 

“I suppose it does work ah-after all!” He rubs at the tip of his nose for a moment and then flutters his eyes, “I do hope you’re ready for more because it seh—seems…” 

Your hand goes to his chest. You feel the swell of his breath deepen, the warm feeling of his skin moving under your fingers. Sorn seems to get the idea because his palm reaches up to cover yours. His fingers wrap around your palm as his breath continues to snag. You catch his eyes just for a moment before they slide back. 

“hHH’RRSCh’euh!” He trembles under your touch with the force of it. He lifts his head just barely, eyebrows canted desperately, and then pitches downwards again, spraying your arm with abandon. “hh’AEEShhh’ah!” 

“Such a tickle,” he says breathily as he recovers. He gives a wet sniffle and smiles at you, but it’s hazy, the look in his eyes already distracted by the mounting itch. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he’s enjoying the newness of the sensation. The break from monotony. 

His nostrils flare and he releases his hand to rub his knuckle against his septum once more. 

You feel a little bold for asking, “Are you all right?”

He nods, smiling. He tries to hold your eyes but the tickle steals his concentration once more. 

“Quite!Just—hh…sn’tsCHh’eeze-hhHH! H’RRSHC’hu!” 

You reach your other hand up to stroke through his hair and turn him a little more towards you as he prepares for another. He resists at first out of instinct alone, but adjusts in the moment it takes for the sneeze to have its way with him. As his breath snaps, he ducks his head in the space between you and releases it into your lap. “hh”hRRRASsh’chu!” 

“Bless you,” you say, smoothing back his hair. You crawl into his lap and he welcomes you without hesitation, securing your thighs around his hips even as his head tilts back for two more with barely a breath in between. He ducks them between the two of you but there isn’t much space. His hands clench against your thighs with each outburst. “hh-eHH’SCCHE’uh! h’RRSH’ue!” 

Blearily, he looks up. He’s dazed. Sniffly. His cheeks are indigo and the area around his nostrils is too. You kiss him, because he just looks so stupidly *kissable* and he murmurs a laugh against your mouth. 

“It is quite comforting thatyou find me attractive in such a state,” he sniffs once you pull away. 

“Very attractive,” you remind him.

He smiles, and continues smiling even as his expression flickers again. “Ah, one-hh more perhaps,” he says.  He raises a hand in front of his face and a rather tired sounding sneeze ripples through him. “hH’EDShh!”

“Bless you.”

“I don’t thhhink I’ve ever snhheezed so much in my life-hh!” He leans his forehead onto your shoulder and does away with using his hand to cover, opting to simply hold onto your hips and let the sensation take him. “hh’UEHDSHH’iu!” You stroke his bare back and feel his ribs expand beneath your fingers before tightening twice in quick succession. “hh’NGXT! nG’ssT!” 

He clears his throat after and lifts his head back up, adjusting you on his lap. “Ah, I should have asked, do you prefer if I hold them in or let them out? Often I don’t know which it will be until it happens but… perhaps I could try…try to—”

His eyes roll and he turns his head, giving you a clear view of his twitching profile. “If I could juhhst get through a sehh’ESsch!—sentence!” 

“I don’t mind either way, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself if you hold them in,” you say to try and spare him. 

“Oh, darling, it takes much more than that to hurt me,” he wriggles his nose handsomely and turns back to you with a devilish grin. His eyebrows raise. “And lo! A full sentence! The effects must be wearing off.” He sniffs experimentally and for the first time, his eyes don’t get hazy in the aftermath. 

You feel disappointment sink your heart like a stone. It was bound to wear off eventually. But before you can even lament the course of events, he pats your thigh and shifts you off his lap. 

“Come, where’s the vial?” 

You blink. Surely he doesn’t want to do more of that?

He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking because he taps the bottom of your chin and winks.

“Oh, we’re far from finished, love. Ready for round two?”

#snzblr #snz kink #snz fic #i didn't proofread this and i probably wont until way too late and that's on me #i dont actually even like this but something in me had me at gunpoint until i posted it #anyway this stupid game is fun #idk if i'll write more for it #but this man demanded to be written #HOPE YOU ARE ALL WELL #SORRY IM NEVER HERE I LITERALLY GO FROM 0 to 100 IN TERMS OF MOOD #but this week the dogs be barkin

[thedrotter]

as a little treat i am sharing with you little Aya doodles I've done over the last few days to unwind ww just little expressions based on lines in-game because those are always fun to draw. nothing too special just biscuit

it's Aya because upon doing bizarrely throughout playthroughs of the game for still unspecified project purposes I've gained a soft spot for her she's my daughter now my mental tier list on my favorite characters is so confusing right now

#re:kinder #fanart #aya re:kinder #aya hibino #i state shes my daughter NOW because before i didnt pay too big of a mind to her #but honestly in each different playthrough of this game i gain new appreciation for each character #because fun fact ryou was my favorite character at first just because he seemed nice and was a healer and was nice #second playthrough brought in rei and shunsuke in my mind because they ate it up wirh their roles in the story #meanwhile as time passed yuuichi started to grow on me as i realized he was a little too relatable BASICALLY THINGS LIKE THAT #and spoilers for the unspecified project mentioned in the text just because i feel like it #i also did this because having a transcript of every line just spurred me on becquse of how easy it made things #its much more fun to start doing these kind of line based doodles when you dont have to manually go througj hours of gameplay to find stuff #so just being ablr to ctrl f through a document made me very glad HEUEHEHEBEHR #im still working on it it needs proofreading and polishing on some sides but overall it should be here soon i hope #if anyones interested in it do let me know HUEHEHEBRB i will post it regardless but it would be nice to know if anyone is interested #ANYWAY #as to why Aya seems to have a purse when her sprite doesnt its because her equipment mentions her carrying a yellow pouch #its meant to be that!!! #she looks very goofy with it on made me giggle ngl #(as in. amusement) #it adds more interest to her visual design so its nice to have it there im glad its there #OH YEAH SOME COMMENTARY ON ONE OF HER LINES HERE THAT REALLY PIQUED MY INTEREST #if sayaka dies and shes there to see it (thus. you chose to bring her with you) she has this line #where it implies that shes afraid of dying which makes things sad when she's suicidal #she already states i think her desire is more to disappear than to die exactly but even then it's quite sad #like even if she wants to disappear with how gloomy she's feeling and all the things going around with her parents #shes just a little girl who doesn't want to die😭😭 #it really adds a sense of realism to how depression is tackled in game at least for me #that when one is depressed and suicidal a lot of the time it's the wish for this state of suffering to end rather than to actually die #SUCH A GOOD CHARACTER ITS ONE OF THE THINGS THAT UPPED MY APPRECIATION FOR HER

[newvegasceo]

Hello! I just completed the 5some scene witb Halsin and Astarion and I dont really have anyone to comment this with I hope you dont mind me dropping here real quick to say [SPOILERS]

So... he just dissociates no matter what? I completed Astarion's quest and I could swear that meant he wouldnt dissociate in the scene. But I think what bothers me the most isnt even the dissociating itself but the lack of response from the Player Character. I just LET him?? I dont comfort him, I dont stop the whole thing in its tracks??

And its the only way to get Halsin's backstory?? Am I doing something wrong? I feel so conflicted about the whole thing. Opinions? Thanks for reading this far if you have, sorry for any inconvenience!

I don't claim to be the best source on Astarion lore or on his storyline consistencies/inconsistencies since we're like a bitter divorced couple, I can't talk about him without getting slightly annoyed. But,

I got that exact same scene (5some) after Astarion's story conclusion. To me it makes sense that he's still distant - we fixed his Cazador situation but we didnt fix his sexual abuse issue because he never brought up the trauma. I'm assuming you didnt romance Astarion ang got this scene? For me, a non-Astarionmancer it made sense, since he never told me about his intimacy issues in the first place. But if that happened to you, and you romanced him, then I can still understand him being distant in that moment. He's not that into sex with other people and you just asked him to perform in front of 4 others. I can see how he would default to an auto-pilot. But that's assuming you did romance him. If you didn't then there's not much to be surprised about. He's tired of performing seduction.

To me, it's not that big of a deal that the PlayerCharacter doesn't respond to catching Astarion drift away. Without romancing him and learning about his baggage PC at best can only assume that Astarion is not into sex due to his past of sleeping with his victims and that possibly bringing up bad memories. Since the narraror line about him being distant during the encounter was only a brief mention (narrator mentions PC and Astarion catching eyes for a moment, any further descriptions of his performative behaviour are a general description of the scene since nothing is visible, not necessarly describing what the PC is seeing).

What! I! Fully! Agree! With! You! Is how Halsin's mega traumatic backstory is only ever accessible through a hidden option (i wouldn't even call it a mission, just a random NPC conversation) in Act 3. That conversation could have been naturally implemented into the (currently bare-bone) Halsin romance route. This is why I'm still screaming about letting the players have access to Halsin as a companion in Act 1 already, so that he can go with the PC to the Underdark. That could lead to him having some flashbacks to his time there, and perhaps slipping in some titbits during idk the exploration of the wizard tower in the underdark and him seeing the chain mounted to a wall and that bringing up some nasty memories?? Like the story writes itself, it's all there but I'm guessing the devs had better things to do then flesh out their fanservice and fan demands. Like adding Halsin as a romance options SHOULD HAVE BEEN a post release thing !!!

My opinions are more or less summed up here. It's ass that an abuse victim such as Astarion gets all the special treatment and a catharsis while Halsin, who also went through a traumatic experience doesn't. He actually laughs it off. But that's okay, people cope differently. So why not have us explore his backstory more? Well, it's crunch of course. The devs had no time to put love and care into Halsin even tho him being a romance option/companion (so those conversations about his past wouldn't come up) wasn't even on their initial goal list, just something a few discord people suggested.

I feel like the writers had too much on their plates and too little time to make sure inconsistencies in character motivations/ reactions, backstories don't occur. But we should all be happy Astarion got all the attention he deserved. Oh, you're saying there are other companions in this game too? Since when?

#im still thinking about that graph of the amount of content asta got #compared to plot relevant characters like wyll or even laezel and shart #i do wish for halsin to be more than just a bear druid stereotype but in his current state he's just that #i completely disagree with people seeing more in him than what's shown in the game. it's one thing to HC and think of possibilities #it's somethjing else to face reality and admith yeah there's not a lot to that guy compared to other NPCs #i'd argue a silly goose such as minsc (if you've no clue who he is bc you havent played previous baldur's gates) is more fleshed out #than halsin ever was #damn i can say more about zevlor than i can about halsin #there's just not much there to begin with ;//////// #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #bg3 #halsin #astarion #yes i will remain highly critical of this game bc i really care about it!!! #personal #reply #//didnt proofread it fuck it we ball im stuck in traffic and its so bright i can barely see the screen anyways

[hyoqa]

pairing: akatsuki hyoga x gn!reader (no prns)

request: is this how you request something? ive been using tumblr for just a couple of days and im not used to anything ...i hope this is okay!

could i request a hyoga x gn reader? where reader is kind of blunt and direct with the things they say and end up confessing to hyoga while training with him out of an accident; like they say "this is why i like you!" and then they get really embarrassed about it, however, they dont deny anything and wait for hyoga's response.

if the term handsome could be used to describe reader i would really appreciate it. have a nice day!!! i absolutely fell in love with how you write this man

warnings: it’s very short, hyoga is sweet again, reader is referred to as handsome

While you were never one to beat around the bush— you didn’t really see a point in it— even you would admit that this was not how you planned to share your feelings with him.

It was truly like any other day, you were forcing him to train with you and through all his complaints of how he wished to train alone and how he wished you would leave him alone, he would always help you. His excuse was always that he had to make sure you weren’t going to hold him back when we have to fight, but you knew he was worried about you and the rest of the village deep down and wished for more people who were capable of fighting. However harsh his words may be, his actions always spoke louder than his words. He was strict and hard when you were sparring, but when he was demonstrating better form for certain moves, he was surprisingly gentle.

It was very obvious that he respected you very much, even if he would never say so ever.

So while others wondered why such a handsome individual as yourself, with so many people eager to get a chance to talk to you, would be so invested in talking to Hyoga of all people, it was because you knew he was not as cold and ruthless as everyone thought he was. Deep inside you were aware he cared for many, even if not everyone.

Today he went on again about how your form was very unproper and how you had blind spots everywhere, putting yourself in complete danger depending on the situation. This was not out of the ordinary, but today you were a little curious how he’d respond if you teased him a little.

“You’re quite sweet aren’t you, Hyoga,” you said.

Immediately, he paused and frowned a little.

“How could you possibly have come to that conclusion?” he asked, scoldingly.

“You may not think so, but it’s rather obvious that you do care,” you said.

“I think you’re rather delusional if anything. I’m just worried you’re not going to last minutes against any modern weapon. As of now I do not wish to imagine what’d happen if you’re against a gun of any sort,” he said, rambling on about potential dangers that you would be utterly unprepared for and it only put a smile to your face. You truly didn’t mean to say it out loud, but this was exactly why you loved him— he cares a lot.

“This is why I like you,” you said, before you could stop the words from spilling out. You were going to make something up and deny the fact, until you saw how caught off guard Hyoga looked. You had never seen him look like that ever.

So instead you stopped and looked at him, absolutely nervous, but serious. After what seemed like forever, he finally said something.

“I don’t understand, why do you like me?” he asked, confused what prompted that statement.

“Oh, because you care,” you said. “You’re sweet.”

His eyes widened and a slight smile, hardly visible, but definitely there, appeared on his face. Never in his life would he have thought you could tell his harsh words came from a place of genuine care. However, he could tell that you had slightly the wrong idea, so he had to make it clear.

“I only care about you,” he said.

#hyoga x reader #akatsuki hyoga x reader #hyoga akatsuki x reader #hyoga #akatsuki hyoga #hyoga akatsuki #dr stone x reader #dcst x reader #how long did this take for me to write i dont want to know i am so sorry #see warnings isnt right something is off but i fear people wont read it if i just say notes #so i dont like ruin someones day accidentally #anyways maybe ill find a better way to do it #THANK U SM FOR READING and it is not really proofread i apologize in advance #also the handsome only comes up once and its not even from hyoga im so sorry i didnt know how to put it in without it sounding forced and #this is what i was left with... #THANK U SM FOR UR REQ THOUGH !!! i really enjoyed writing actually #WILL STOP YAPPING SORRY ! #request

[ridestomars]

starting a book club (of sorts) with eddie was something you did on a whim. you just randomly said one day that you "didn't have anyone to talk about the old books you like" and ed immediately said that he would read whatever book you wanted if, in turn, you'd read whatever he wanted you to. it was an agreement: every time you'd finish a book, you'd let him borrow it. 

you decided you should read only one book a month, so it gave time for both of you to finish it, and then you'd spend the next month reading each others' selection. it worked, except that eddie didn't give you any book of his own, which you found extremely weird, but went along with it.  until one day he showed up at school with an extremely old book in his hands, impossible even to read the title, since it was all faded. it was a well-loved copy.

you were excited to figure out which book that was, and once you got home that day, the first thing you did was sit down at your desk and open it up. and you should've seen it coming, honestly. of course he chose the lord of the rings for you to read. of fucking course.  but then, the title wasn't importart anymore because your attention immediately was caught by a yellow paper that was clipped on the first page of the first chapter. it wasn't hard to recognize eddie's distinctly messy handwriting. this really caught you by surprise, but didn't fail to bring a smile to your lips. 

dearest y/n, 

you should've known that this book club thing was just an excuse for me to make you read this. but you won't regret it, i promise – at last, you'll finally know what mordor actually is, and why i reference it all the time. 

i know you will like this for you are as much of a nerd as i am, but i would love to hear all about what you've thought while reading these old pages! think of this experience as another weird topic for us to discuss. 

faithfully yours, your favorite nerd. 

and when you decided to actually dive in the book, you found out that he took his time to annotate his feelings and thoughts throughout the whole book, which only made it extra enjoyable. it was filled with "this is super fucked up. isn't that right, y/n?", "what the fuck was he thinking?" and "they're so cool, we should dress up as them for halloween". 

needless to say that this became an unspoken rule in your little club: you had to make notes in your books before lending them to each other. if you were head over heels in love with him while reading the lord of the rings, can you imagine the state you were in when he gave you back your copy of jane austen's pride and prejudice? 

eddie masterlist | main masterlist | navigation 𖤐 hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep ─ currently accepting requests for concepts & moodboards for eddie munson and steve harrington.

#have i ever read lord of the rings? absolutely not #now i'm regretting my decision #i don't know shit about it to write a good reference #i was kinda scared to include a quote i found since i don't know if it's from the movies or the books #im so sorry tolkien #im even more sorry eddie my love #hope this is at least readable #not proofread #obviously #bookworm!eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie <3 #stranger things x reader #liv talks about eddie #liv writes #liv’s personal favorite

[sneezydarliing]

hello!! i haven’t interacted with your blog much but i just rolled in from the last tigh//nari post you wrote (so good!) and saw you might be looking for requests? i’m still really nervous asking and not sure what i’m doing so no offense taken if you disregard!

anyway, i’d love to read some cy/no content? if you’re along w any ships (cynari, haino, etc) that’s totally cool. maybe like a [plant/flower] allergy situation when he visits the forest?

hope you’re well and thanks for sharing content <3

Thank you so much for the req!! I'm sorry for the wait, I really hope you enjoy!

reqs are open

Pairing: cynari

Words: 1044

CW/TW: sneezing content, mention of mess

Cyno had not anticipated anything special out of this trip to the forest. He was going only to see Tighnari- who had excitedly informed him of a new discovery made deep into the forest watcher’s patrolling area. The look on his friend’s face, combined with the eager swishing of his tail behind him, was more than enough convincing to get the mahamntra to venture into the greenery.

It’s quiet as he pads along the roughly and hastily made trail, leaving him with his own thoughts- excitement to see tighnari again, listen to him ramble on about whatever he had found, a slight apprehension at the possibility of this being dangerous- not that either of them could not hold their own, but tighnari was often so eager to research that he did not stop to think about any possible consequences to himself, and he hated seeing him in pain. Muddled in with these feelings, a slight but sudden itch in the back of his nose. He presses a knuckle against the side of it absentmindedly, just as a pair of ears perking up quickly catches his attention.

“You made it!” Tighnari calls out to him, tredging through ankle-deep tangles of weeds to meet him. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and a tangle in his usual well-kept tail. As Cyno nods his greeting, he cannot help but wonder how long he’s been out here. The other seems to be aware of it, occasionally flicking the appendage about in absent-minded frustration.

Tighnari leads him further into the forest, happily rambling on about the things they pass by and what his research has granted so far. Cyno can’t get himself to focus, the itch in his sinus suddenly alight, forcing his breath to hitch just once before calming again. He can almost feel Tighnari’s concerned frown, but he decides to keep quiet about it for now, to Cyno’s gratitude.

Suddenly, he’s stopped. Tighnari moves to the side, looking at Cyno with pride clear in his eyes. He’s meet with the sight of a large, blooming flower, encased in golden vines that seem almost-conscious, twitching at any movement around them. “I haven’t been able to touch it yet, and my elemental attacks have no effect. That’s why I brought you out here, I was hoping maybe electrical- Cyno?” His ramblings cease as he catches sight of him, hands cupped loosely in front of his face, usually serious expression crumpled into one of desperation as he fights off the need uselessly, breath stuttering until he can no longer fight it.

‘hEh-itSH! ‘tShi! hiH-” The third one is lost, leaving him sniffling, trying to rub the irritation out of his sinuses. “Archons, bless you! Are you feeling alright?” Cyno sniffles uselessly again, trying to will some of the congestion out of his voice before he speaks.

“I’m fine. You can romaine calm.” Tighnari groans in response. “You must be, if you’ve got the energy to make jokes. Anyways, can you try to hit ones of the vines with your elemental attack? Be gentle, please, and don’t damage the plant itself.” Cyno nods, saluting in a ‘yes sir’ gesture, as he prepares to follow instructions. He presses the back of his hand to his nose, scrunching up the appendage as he aims carefully. But he was unable to fight against his body and control it at once, sent foreward with another flurry of sneezes the moment he releases the energy, causing it to be sent foreward towards the flower. It’s reaction was instant, sending out a shower of pollen before curling into a ball, vines wound around it tightly. Cyno faintly hears a noise of frustration come from Tighnari, but he can’t focus, paralyzed with the awful tickle that came as the pollen surrounded him. He was in the direct line of fire, and he felt it, nostrils feeling alight as his eyes watered, he couldn’t even fight it, thrown into a desperate fit.

“haH’TSCHhi- KSHhiew! hih- hidT’SHHih! ‘idtSHhiew- sCHih!” They tore at his throat, raw and painful as his body tried desperately to release all of the pollen. He felt almost embarrassed, unable to do anything as Tighnari watched helplessly. “tignarihHh-tSHhi!” Even just his name seemed to break his stupor, the fox-tailed man rushing over and grabbing Cyno’s arm, bringing him somewhere- he could not even keep his eyes open long enough to tell, the lower half of his face buried in an arm he threw up to avoid spraying the other. He felt himself be gently led into a sitting position, half aware of the sun now beaming down on them.

His breath caught, leaving him helpless into a rough fit of coughing that didn’t seem to let him. He felt Tighnari’s hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles as he whispered encouraging phrases until the coughing finally let up. He leaned back against Tighnari, unable to resist the need to catch his breath. His face was wet with tears, nose running onto his upper lip. He roughly cleaned it up with the back of his wrist.

“There you go, you’re okay. Any trouble breathing?” Came the soft voice next to Cyno, reminding him suddenly of his blunder. Tighnari had been so eager to research, and he had messed it up. Guilt shot through him. “Sorry, ‘nari.” He pawed at his nose again while he spoke.

“It’s alright. I can bring somebody else another day.” Tighnari soothed, hands beginning to card through the others' hair. “Right now, we need to get you cleaned up. The pollen on your clothes won’t do you any good.” he stood quickly, reaching out a hand to Cyno, but he was distracted with the need to sneeze once again, raising a shaky hand in warning.

“hIh’tSChih!i’tsCHuh!” He sniffled once more as Tighnari waited patiently, before taking the hand offered to him, letting himself be pulled onto his feet.

“Hey, ‘Nari?” The forest watcher turned back to face him, “What is it?” “I’m very frond of you.” Tighnari huffed, turning back around and beginning to stalk off, stopping only a few paces in front of him. “I love you, too, Cyno.” Mahamatra grinned, catching up to his partner as they began the trek home, punctuated with the occasional sneezes.

#snz stuff #sneeze kink #sneeze #sneeze fic #ali talks #snz #sneeze stuff #gen/shin #im so sorry for what is probably violent mischaracterization!! i only had what very little ive done of the sumeru quests to do #go off of #but this was really fun to do!! i feel like the way i write snz's gets repetitive so i tried very hard to aviod that #i hope the spelling isnt wonky though 😭 #forgive any errors i tried my best to proofread but ive got too much caffiene in my system rn #<- did this to myself b/c i forget to eat #anyways #reqs are still open so feel free to shoot anything else my way! hope you all enjoy #going to jump over to desktop in a minute to put a readmore on here do not fret #ali?? actually posting a fic as planned?? not only that but the fic that he had planned???? unheard of #it probably wont happen again #queing this until the evening because i feel like snzblr is a lot more active then #if anybody thinks differently lmk! I like to try to aviod my stuff getting buried lol

[pxayopina-unilsiyu]

look who's back with Opinions (tm)

i'll be 100% honest, i have no issue with smut in general. i don't personally consume it, but i can respect it as a form of expression (especially for women) in a very sex-negative purity culture world.

but... Avatar smut so often just completely irks me, and not because of the sexual nature of it. nah, it's not that, it's the creepy racism aspect that is so often prevalent. basically inescapable.

(nsfw warning for everything below)

Many a smutfic posted on here has some tag like "heat cycle" or "heat scent" or "knotting" that makes me recoil. This is not me trying to be a kink-shaming holier-than-thou puritan, rather, an observation about the way some people on here engage with the film and the Na'vi in general, that I think is worth thinking critically about.

In my opinion, these tags and similar ones all have something in common: animalization and exoticism. It's framing the Na'vi less as sapient beings with cognition and culture on an equal level to humans and more as primal and animalistic creatures who have yet to develop a society past the point of breeding permissions and sexual hierarchies--more akin to wolf packs and lion prides than human civilizations.

I don't think it's a coincidence how people so vehemently despised the RDA characters like Quaritch and Wainfleet until they were in Na'vi bodies and therein suddenly had exotic alien sex appeal. It takes a stunning degree of cognitive dissonance to be disgusted by their militaristic and imperialistic culture, mindset, and behavior when they're human, and then turn around and fetishize that aspect of them when they're Na'vi.

I don't think it's a coincidence how the Sully children, despite being no older than 16, are so rampantly sexualized by the fandom. And yes, most who write fanfics about them age them up or whatever, but I gotta ask why the focus on turning them into objects of sexual desire is so heavy--heavier than existing adult male characters like Jake, Tsu'tey, Tonowari, etc. I have never seen people so eager to mental-gymnastics their way into sexualizing a bunch of child characters like I do in the Avatar fandom.

Is it a coincidence we hardly ever see this kind of treatment given to Spider? Only the Na'vi children?

All of this to say--Kinks are informed by culture and society, among other things; they don't manifest out of thin air. I see this sort of thing circulate around the fandom and I have to pause and ask where it's coming from. The Na'vi are undeniably analogous to real-world civilizations and cultures, and I can't in good conscience say that how you engage with them in fiction is wholly detached from how you engage with these real cultures. I've witnessed firsthand how hatred of the Na'vi on the part of RDA apologists translates almost 1:1 with racism and imperialism apology toward real-world Indigenous cultures. I'm not pulling this out of my ass.

Fetishization of "exotic" cultures is a real aspect of imperialism and colonialism, the effects of which are still felt and seen today. Hypersexualization of Asian, Native American, African, and tribal cultures is still rampant in the modern day and was even more so even just a few decades ago. And you see this sort of hypersexualization of the Na'vi everywhere. Ironically, I even see this imperialistic mindset jump out when people try to critique the Na'vi for being oversexualized in the franchise: i.e., "They dress so immodestly!", ignoring the fact that modesty is a wholly Western construct, and women being "immodest" to colonizers was used by colonizers to frame them and their cultures as hypersexualized tribal beasts. It excused sexual abuse against them and their descendants by gaslighting the populus and even the abused themselves into believing sexual abuse was normal, excusable, desired.

(And to be clear, the Na'vi are not above criticism for leaning into Western perceptions of real-world Indigenous cultures, but I wouldn't say they're hypersexualized in the media itself. Yes, they dress """immodestly""", but their immodesty and bodies are never hypersexualized in writing or on screen, imo.)

In conclusion, I guess: I am not saying it's wrong to find the Na'vi attractive, sexually or otherwise. That's 100% okay! And agreeable! I'm not saying having the kinks described above is inherently wrong or that it makes one a bad person--but I am going to point out biases where I think they exist. Kinks are not immune to criticism and analysis. Anything you put out on the internet is subject to it. I'm not trying to stop anyone from writing this stuff or lecture anyone about how wrong and icky it is. You can write whatever you'd like; these are just my opinions. (And please fuck off with the "pro-ship" / "anti" discourse, i am not in the mood to deal with that bag of cats.)

Avatar is a franchise centralized around Indigenous rights and experiences, even if it's through the metaphorical lens of a fictional species. Eroding the shell of humanness that encases the Na'vi and their culture opens the door to mindsets like hypersexualization and fetishization and it isn't unreasonable to point out the possibility of that evolving past the movie screen.

And, just so we clear our bases: if nothing in this post applies to you personally, then it isn't about you--plain and simple. I'm not calling out anyone or any fanfics in particular. This post is about general themes and ideas.

ramble over

#avatar #avatar: the way of water #meta #18+ content #not even touching the misogynistic themes that are often extremely prevalent in 'breeding' 'heat cycle' and 'mating ritual' kinks #or how i have experienced first-hand how consuming this sort of content affects how people perceive my Na'vi characters and create their ow #anyway i barely proofread this so dont pick it apart too hard preferably #but im happy to have a chat about any of the ideas presented