#of course there's a bit more to it than that but the point here is that - accident or not - it still embarrasses lwj

[ktgoodmorning]

Goodnight, mi Tana

Aitana Bonmati x adhd!reader

This is just my experience as someone with adhd, I know I don't speak for everyone!

Masterlist

“Baby, do you realize what time it is?” You jumped at the sound of Aitana’s voice suddenly breaking you from your focus on your book. She had been gone most of the day with some friends and you hadn’t heard her come home, let alone come out to join you on the balcony. Your eyebrows furrowed because of course you didn’t know what time it was, but you weren’t sure why it mattered. You had been laying there for a while now, reading and working on your tan, just basking in the beautiful weather.

“I don’t know, three, four O’clock?”

“It’s almost eight! Have you-”

“Eight?!” You jolted up, “How the hell is it eight? I’ve been out here almost the entire day. How did I not notice?!  I haven’t even eaten!” 

You thought you’d been outside for maybe an hour or two, definitely not the whole day. Now you had hardly any time left to do the laundry or any of the other more “necessary” tasks that you put off until you had done some reading. 

In your slightly panicked state, your girlfriend came to join you, taking both your hands in hers to break you from your thoughts and try to calm you down. “It’s okay, love. I can help you get some of that stuff done before we go to bed, and we’ll have plenty of time to finish it up tomorrow.”

You pulled your hands from her hold and roughly ran them over your face with a loud groan. “No, Aita, you don’t understand! I wasted my whole day out here and I still have so much energy because I want to do other stuff but now I need to start winding down to go to bed soon.” 

Aitana was used to you sometimes getting frustrated at yourself for things like this but this was the worst you had been in awhile. It was clear you had no intention of being outside all day but once you got into your book, there was no way of stopping you. It killed her at times to see the way it affected you and how you got so angry at yourself even though you both knew you were doing your best. “Well you’ve still got time, you could start something else tonight and finish it up tomorrow?”

“No! Why would I bother starting it tonight if I can’t just finish it? If I start something else I’m gonna be up late trying to finish, there’s no point.” Your voice had inadvertently raised, something that happened quite a lot and you were both used to at this point. Your girlfriend knew not to take your yelling personally and that it wasn’t her that had you losing your patience, it was entirely yourself. She’d almost prefer if it were her fault though, because at least then she would know how to help. When it was with yourself, there was little she could do.

“Why don’t we just start by going inside and getting you some food? Then we can go from there and see what time it is.”

You gave her a slight nod and allowed her to help pull you up and lead you inside to the kitchen, motioning you to sit down while she got some food out for you. “Any requests?”

“Uggghhhh, no. Nothing sounds good, I’m not even hungry anymore.” You buried your head in your hands, resting on the table as you whined at your girlfriend who was just doing her best to help you. 

“I’ll just get you a little bit of everything then, and I’ll eat whatever you don’t want. At least one of them should be okay.” Atitana was mostly talking to herself, sensing that you had hit a wall where you didn’t feel like talking much and just wanted to focus on regulating yourself. She could see your shoulders rising and falling as you took some deep breaths, but decided to keep working on getting some food together, rather than try to help you calm down right now. She kept a close eye on you while she finished making your food, wanting to make sure you didn’t get any worse. When she set the plate down in front of you, she ran her hand gently over your back to get your attention. 

“Baby, what can I do for you? I really think eating will help but we could go eat on the couch instead, if you want? 

You remained silent but gave her a nod as you pulled your head from your hands and tiredly looked up at her.

 “Oh, baby,” she pushed some hair behind your ear, heartbroken by the helpless look on your face, “Let’s go sit down; I’ll bring your food.”

You followed her out of the kitchen, looking much like a young child who had just been woken from a nap, and laid down on the couch lazily. 

“Do you want me to grab you a blanket before I sit down?” Aitana set your plate down on the coffee table and was now just looking at you expectedly, trying to figure out how to help you. 

“Tana,” your voice was almost a whisper, suddenly much quieter than you normally were. “Could you just lay on me for a few minutes?” 

Her previous face of worry broke into a soft smile, more than happy to fulfill your request. “If I ever say no to that, there’s something seriously wrong with me," she giggled into your neck as she gently laid down on you, both of you instantly relaxing into the contact. 

Both the pressure of her on top of you, along with the sound of her laughter, helped distract you from the anxieties that had been building just moments earlier. It was like hitting control alt delete on your spiraling and making it magically disappear. Suddenly your breathing was calmer, as well as your mind, and you no longer had to worry about all the things you didn’t get done, you had all the time in the world to make sure it all got done tomorrow.

After a few minutes of just laying there, both at peace with where you were at, the Catalan woman’s head popped up to look at you. “Think you’re ready to eat some food?” Her persistence made you smile. She obviously knew that food would help you feel better but didn’t want to push too hard to get you there. 

“Si. Food sounds like a good idea.” Aitana rolled off of you and passed you the plate she had made up, full of a variety of different foods. She knew how picky you got when you were in a bad mood so she made sure there were plenty of things that were always safe bets. “Gracias, Tana. This is perfect,” you leaned over to give her a short kiss, “You know me too well.”

She brushed it off with a small shrug and kissed you again before you started digging into the food in front of you. “Don’t feel like you have to eat it all, I’ll finish anything you don’t want. Then maybe when you’re done you can shower and get changed, and then we’ll put on a movie or something?” 

You groaned, mouth still full of food. “I don’t want to shower, it feels like so much work.”

“What if I say I’ll join you?” You quirked an eyebrow at her, trying to see if she was serious. “I’m not saying anything’s gonna happen, I’m too tired for that. But I’ll still join you if you want?” Your girlfriend watched you continue to shove food in your mouth while you contemplated her offer. 

“If you’re joining, then I’m in.” Her eyes lit up instantly now that she knew her plan would work, just smiling at you and cuddling into your shoulder as you finished your food. Knowing you didn’t like sitting in silence for long, she filled you in on her day and her time with her friends, getting you caught up on everyone’s lives. You normally didn’t like to sit and listen to people without chiming in yourself, but with Aitana, you could do it all day long if you could. Something about the way she would break into little giggles and looked so bright when she talked about the things she loved, just made your heart full. 

You hadn’t even noticed you had just finished the last of your food until she pointed it out to you because you had been far too focused on listening to her story. “Baby, I’ll take your plate, if you go get in the shower. I’ll come join you in a minute, yes?” You responded with a kiss before getting up and helping her up as well. Both going your separate ways until she could join you.

...

After your shower, you both got changed and brushed your teeth together before getting cuddled up under the covers of your bed. 

“Do you want me to put a movie on? We don’t even have to watch, maybe we just put one on in the background while we just cuddle?”

“That sounds absolutely perfect.” You rolled into her side before she even had a chance to respond, chuckling lightly at your sudden clingy-ness. “Don’t put on anything too serious, I’m not planning on paying attention. I’ll probably end up talking through it or falling asleep anyways.” You both giggled at your words. It was true. You almost never made it through a movie and Aitana was always there to tease you about it.

You snuggled into her further, placing your head on her chest as she held you against her. “Maybe I should read a little bit before bed. I didn’t have much left in my book when you came home today, I bet I could finish it.” 

“Amor, I mean this in the best way, but you have over a hundred pages left. If you even look too hard at that book, you’re gonna be up all night trying to finish it. That’s not a good idea. We have training tomorrow.” 

“But Tanaaaaaa. It’s really good and I just think that I’d sleep better if I knew what happened. We only have morning training so if I’m tired I could just take a nap in the afternoon.”

“I understand you want to finish your book baby, but you aren’t pulling any more all-nighters. You need sleep, it’s not healthy.” You only responded with a pout, eyebrows furrowed together, locking eyes with her in hopes that she’d give in to you even though you both knew it wouldn’t work. You were constantly giving her this face yet she rarely gave in, especially if it was something related to your health and well-being. When she only responded with a blank stare, you dropped your head back to her chest to continue chatting.

As soon as you got comfortable again, the two of you immediately fell into conversation about anything and everything. You talked about the transfer window and all the current football news, the book you had been reading and all your thoughts on it, truly everything that popped in your head. Somewhere in the midst of your talking, you realized that the movie Aitana had put on in the background was actually somewhat interesting, making you split your attention between it and your conversation. 

“Baby! Are you even listening?” she tickled your side lightly as a way of bringing your attention back to her.

“I’m sorry, Tana!” You giggled into her neck, hugging your arms around her tightly. “I was trying to listen but look, the movie actually got kinda good!”

“You never get through entire movies! And now when we finally get smart and put on a boring one you suddenly pay attention?!” She wasn’t actually mad at you, the huge smile on her face made that incredibly clear. You just beamed back at her. The two of you probably looked ridiculous as you both smiled at each other from ear to ear, saying nothing while the movie continued in the background. 

“Aita, you should really pay attention, it’s good!” Your girlfriend rolled her eyes at you before following your attention back up to the television. The two of you managed to snuggle even closer together, if that was even possible. You still talked here and there when you thought of anything but were mostly focused on the movie. 

It wasn’t long until you felt Aitana’s breaths evening out underneath you. When you lifted your head to look up at her, you found her sleeping peacefully, clearly exhausted from her busy day. You moved slowly in hopes of not waking her up, trying to reach for the TV remote to turn it off and go to bed. Of course the second you moved though, her eyes fluttered open and a look of confusion crossed her face. 

“What are you doing, baby? I’m watching!” Her accent was thicker than usual, giving away her little nap no matter how much she wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. The way she pretended to hide the fact that she was falling asleep just so you could finish the movie made you smile. She was always doing things like this, and you couldn’t have been more grateful for it. 

“Aita you’re falling asleep. We can finish it tomorrow night, it’s okay. Let’s go to bed.” 

“No! No, I’m not falling asleep!” 

“Okay, well I’ll just turn it off anyways and we can keep chatting.” Your girlfriend rolled her eyes at you, obviously knowing what you were up to, but still getting further settled under the blankets. You reached over to turn off the lights and plug in your phone before you ended up laying face to face with Aitana. Your legs were tangled together in the sheets and the two of you were just looking at each other, sharing a soft smile. Her eyes were wide open now that she had woken from her little nap, but you couldn’t decide if she was actually feeling that awake or if she was just trying to hide the fact that for once, she was the one who drifted off during a movie and not you. 

“We should really be sleeping right now, Tana. We have early training tomorrow and we both know you like getting to bed early.” You could function just fine with little to no sleep, or at least you liked to think so, but Aitana was a different story. She was much more strict on her sleep routine and would definitely feel it if there was a change to it. 

“I know…” she trailed off, going quiet for a moment. “… wait! Remember what Ingrid was telling us about their anniversary coming up?”

“Oh my god, yes! Do you think she’s actually gonna do it? I know Mapi would love another cat but I just can’t see Ingrid going through with it! Can you?!” 

And there you were. Both exhausted, both needing to be up early in the morning, both excitedly gossiping about your best friends. This was normal for you but normally you were the one who started it and kept you both up later than you planned, not your girlfriend.

It was obvious that Aitana wasn’t used to being up this late when her accent became harder for you to understand and her words started slurring together. It slowly became an intertwined mix of English, Spanish, and Catalan that you had no hopes of comprehending. 

“But Bagheera is su bebé, así que tal vez no want someone else para robar la atención and maybe- wait why are you laughing at me?” 

“Tana, you’re half asleep and making no sense. You’re not even gonna remember this conversation tomorrow, I really think you should go to sleep.”

“I’m not even tired, though.” her grumbling was hardly audible as you just shook your head at her, amused by the reversal of your typical roles. 

“Okay well I’m gonna go to sleep, you can keep talking if you want, okay?” her only response was an incoherent mumble as you curled up into her side and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight, mi Tana. I love you.”

I really like my other adhd!reader one better but we'll see. I don't love this one. I wouldn't be shocked if I still do more like this though.

Requests are always encouraged! I'm starting to run low on ideas lately!

Masterlist

#wosoreading24/7 #wosoreadingaitana #barcelona femeni #aitana bonmati #aitana bonmati imagine #aitana bonmati x reader #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #woso one shot #woso imagine #espwnt x reader

[worldlxvlys]

running

part seven of the CRUSH series

bsf! matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of sex

a/n -> read the previous part for context !!

ever since the day he apologized, matt had been acting weird. there was a very obvious tension between us, but neither of us said anything about it. his brothers on the other hand, were quick to point it out.

“ok, what’s up with you two? did you fuck again, or something?” chris asked, earning a quick hit and an incredulous look from nick. matt just rolled his eyes, answering with a brief “no”, before turning in the direction he came from.

he was distant and quicker to anger than he usually was. it seemed like the smallest things set him off, he was just so mad. his recent attitude has made me quite distant myself because being around him wasn’t very enjoyable.

he had his moments where he seemed like his usual self, but for the most part, he was miserable. of course i was aware that this was partially my fault, as right after our conversation about the night we slept together his entire demeanor changed.

i felt terrible, and i wanted nothing more than to help him feel better. but i tried to figure out what was wrong, and he just pushed me away. i wanted to be there for him, but he was a grown man at the end of the day. if i did or said something to upset him, he needed to communicate what that was.

so for the past week, we didn’t hang out unless it was with his brothers. we barely spoke two words to each other, and he couldn’t even look at me on the rare occasion that we did. i tried not to let it get to me, but he was supposed to be my best friend. now he couldn’t even be around me ?

MATT’S POV

just when i think i can’t possibly make things worse than they already are, i prove myself wrong. i somehow managed to completely drive y/n away, and now i couldn’t even look at her.

every time i saw her, i felt the shame and guilt eat away at me. i’ve treated her terribly for the past week, and now she couldn’t stand being around me.

at first i just wanted a little bit of distance, because i knew that the second i felt her soft fingers on my face or watched her plump lips pull into a smile, i would be gone. she’s constantly running through my thoughts, and i have no way of stopping it.

every day chris made these sly comments about how i should make a move on her before someone else did, and that pissed me off. his words constantly rang through my ears, and it made me paranoid.

every time she smiled at her phone and typed away at her screen, which was happening a lot more often recently, i got more and more annoyed. i did my best to push it down and ignore it, but it always seemed to make things worse.

whether she was talking to someone or not, she was growing more and more distant by the day. i found myself missing her when she was in the same room as me, which made me realize just how bad i let the situation get.

i decided to go over to her house to talk to her, knowing i had to clear the air. and that’s how i ended up here, standing at her doorstep anxiously, trying to gain the confidence to knock.

before i could force myself to do it, her door swung open. i must’ve looked like a deer in headlights, my eyes widened as she caught me off guard. she let out a chuckle at that, “i saw you on the doorbell camera, i thought i’d just make this easier for you”

well that’s embarrassing. “you saw that whole thing?” i asked, hoping it wasn’t true. when she nodded her head in response, i closed my eyes shaking my head slightly as i cursed myself. “it’s ok, matt. it was cute” she spoke, a small smile on her face.

i felt my face heat up while i prayed she didn’t notice the deep shade of red that my face turned at the comment. “come on” she motioned to the inside of her house, choosing not to comment on my flustered state.

READER’S POV

when i moved to the side to let matt in, i caught sight of a small paper bag in his hand while he passed me. he led the way to my room, pushing my door open and making himself comfortable on my bed.

“i was thinking we do a movie night?” he asked hopefully, emptying the bag of its contents; an array of different candies, snacks, and a drink for each of us.

whenever matt and i had a disagreement, our way of calling a truce was to have a movie night. we would take the time to talk it out and end off the night with cuddles and a movie.

“sounds perfect” i told him, grabbing the remote and moving to sit across from him. i passed him the remote when i felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. i pulled it out, opening it to see a text from the guy i’ve been talking to for the past week.

dylan 🤠

hey beautiful ;)

what are you up to ??

y/n ⭐️

abt to watch a movie with matt !!

“what movie should we watch?” matt asked, but i was barely able to register his words as i read the next text.

dylan 🤠

matt is your best friend right ?? i thought he wasn’t talking to you ??

y/n ⭐️

yeah movie nights are kinda like our way of calling a truce yk ??

dylan 🤠

ohhh i get u

y/n ⭐️

wbu ??

dylan 🤠

oh yk just texting this girl rn

a lil nervous tho ngl, she’s drop dead gorgeous

wayyyy out of my league

“hellooo? you gonna sit there and text all night or are we ever gonna talk?” matt’s annoyed voice pulled my attention away from my phone.

“hold on, i’m talking to someone right now. just give me a sec” i spoke, looking back down to my phone.

y/n ⭐️

who could you possibly be talking about 🤨

dylan 🤠

your mom :)

y/n ⭐️

that wasn’t funny

dylan 🤠

i laughed

y/n ⭐️

well that makes one of us

i watched as the three dots moved on the screen, before my phone was roughly pulled out of my hand. “what the fuck, matt ? give it back” i yelled as he moved it out of my reach.

i quickly moved over to him, climbing over his body to reach for the phone. he was quick to throw my phone onto my carpeted floor, grabbing my wrists before i could move to get it.

“who was that?” he asked, looking up at me. “none of your damn business” i answered. “considering you’re too busy looking down at your phone to talk to me, i’d say it is”

i let out a dry chuckle at that, “now you wanna talk ? that’s new. usually you just bottle up your feelings and throw a hissy fit instead of telling me what the issue is” i spoke, glaring down at him. my phone vibrated on its spot in the floor, but i ignored it.

“why are you trying to pick a fight?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “i’m not, this is what it looks like when you act like an adult and talk about things. i know that might be a little foreign to you” i jeered, his face dropping at the comment.

when i heard my phone vibrate again, i went to go pick it up, but was stopped as matt’s hands gripped onto my waist firmly, pulling me down onto his lap.

“look, i obviously hurt you and i’m really sorry for that-” he started, stopping as my phone continued to vibrate on the floor. “who the hell is blowing up your phone like that?” he started, starting to become annoyed again.

“it’s no one” i answered.

“who is it?” he posed his words as a question, but it sounded more like an order.

“nobody”

“why are you lying?” he asked, receiving a sigh from me. he just wasn’t gonna let it go.

“it’s just this guy i’m talking to” i answered. before i could even process what was happening, matt had flipped us over so that he was the one one top.

“what’s his name?” matt asked, his hands tightly clenching the sheets on either side of my head. my eyes trailed down to his tatted arm, watching as it flexed when he shifted his weight onto it.

“his name doesn’t matter” i answered, willing myself to look anywhere but at his lips. it was tempting, the short distance between us making it hard to focus on anything else.

“is there anything you can tell me about him?” matt asked.

“yeah. he’s not confused.” i answered without thinking, the words slipping out before i could stop them. “he’s made his feelings for me clear” i finished.

“his feelings? he’s only known you for…what, a week?” he asked, tilting his head at me. “he knows what he wants matt” i shrugged, “do you?” i asked.

the question seemed to catch him off guard, as he didn’t utter a word. instead, his eyes dropped down to my lips for a split second, jumping back to my own eyes quickly.

“don’t do that” i stopped him, “don’t look at me like you want to kiss me. we both know you don’t” i told him, turning my head away from him.

he was quick to place his hand on my cheek, moving my face so i was looking at him while he spoke. “why would you think that?” he asked, his eyes softening.

“why would you keep running away from me if you did?” i asked, trying my best not to show how hurt i actually was. i blinked back the tears i felt beginning to form, taking a deep breath.

matt picked up on my shift in mood, immediately moving to sit next to me. “fuck, i’m sorry. i’m sorry” he whispered repeatedly, pulling me into a hug. “it’s not on purpose, i swear. and it’s definitely not your fault, the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you” i cried silently in his arms, his hands squeezing my waist tightly.

he pulled away to look at me, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. “is there something wrong with me?” i asked, needing an answer to the question i’d been asking myself constantly throughout the week. why? why was he avoiding me like the plague? what did i do to deserve this?

“of course not. this is my fault, it’s not you. i’m just confused and i have no clue what to do. i don’t know what i want, and i didn’t know how to deal with-” he stopped abruptly, like he was about to slip up and say something he didn’t want me to hear.

“i just didn’t want to hurt you while i was figuring out my shit, so i distanced myself from you. i know it was wrong, but i didn’t know what to do. and then i realized you were talking to someone and it just made me so mad, but i shouldn’t have taken it out on you”

“you’re jealous? matt, it’s not like he’s replacing you. he’s just a new friend” i pointed out. “i’m right here, i’m still your best friend. and you can always talk to me about anything. you know that, right?” i asked.

“yeah, i know. but are you sure you’re just friends? you said he has feelings for you” matt spoke, looking down as he spoke the last sentence. “is he the only one?” i asked bluntly, tired of beating around the bush.

matt’s head snapped up at the call-out, his lips turning upwards into a small smile. “i-” he was cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket. he looked like he wanted to continue, but i stopped him, “just answer it, it’s ok” i nodded to him, watching him pull it out.

“it’s chris” he sighed out, before hitting the answer button. while he spoke to chris, i heard my own phone vibrate on the ground. i glanced over to matt, who was fully engrossed in his conversation, before grabbing it off of the floor.

i opened it to several unopened texts from dylan, but the last one is what stood out to me;

dylan 🤠

hey, you home? i’m at your door ;)

what the fuck? he knew i was home, i told him that matt and i were having a movie night.

i glanced over to matt, as he hung up the phone. “he was just asking if i wanted anything from target” he informed me, putting his phone down.

he noticed my widened eyes, his face filling with concern, “what’s wrong?” he asked, walking towards me and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“um, my….uh-” i was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. “here, i’ll get it for you” he spoke, walking out of the room before i could stop him.

“wait, matt-” i started, a few feet behind him. by the time i caught up to him, the door was already open, matt and dylan were face-to-face with each other.

“hey, i’m dylan. you must be matt” he almost seemed amused at matt’s confused face.

“hey, baby” he spoke to me, earning a cold stare from matt as he realized who the man in front of him was. his jaw was clenched tightly as he turned his gaze to me, his eyebrows raised.

shit.

hehehe

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nickgetsmewetter @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo angst #angst

[carmenized-onions]

I Want To. | Wellness Check

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

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

portion; 4.7k+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

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

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

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to.”

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

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

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

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

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

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

‘yeah i can reach’

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

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

“You make your own bread.”

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

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

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

“Fuck is this?”

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

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

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

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

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

“Courtesy of me.”

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

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

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

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

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

“Itinerary for today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know ‘em?”

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

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

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

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

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

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

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

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

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

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

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

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

“I remember what I'm told.”

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

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

“We’re acquainted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

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

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

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

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

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

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

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

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

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

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

“That’s what they all do.”

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

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

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

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

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

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

“Alright— Relax—”

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

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

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It looks tight.”

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

“It is.”

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

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

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

“Not help—fu—ll.”

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

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t— Move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Why do I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙥 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧

trent frederic.

word count: 4.2k

warning: explicit content

"she wet in the shower" — gunna

A/N: this was an anonymous request for trent smut w/ a college student. so of course, i had to add some angst—makes it more fun. not to mention how much i love him, so who am i to deny it?! hope you enjoy! :)

- - -

“Do you think you’ll be able to come out soon?”

Trent’s hopeful tone of voice rang through the phone as you held it up to your ear, sitting comfortably in the quiet bedroom of your apartment. A pang of guilt washed over you. You already knew the answer, and it wasn’t the one he was looking for.

He and you first met when you were a freshman in college. He was a sophomore. You started dating quickly after. Now, you were a senior and he was playing in the NHL halfway across the country. But you lived in Wisconsin, so it wasn’t often that you got to see each other. It was difficult for him to visit during the team’s breaks, especially when the rest of his family was based in St. Louis. And you, on the other hand, were far too busy with work and school to make the extensive trips out.

“I don’t think so,” you finally sighed, pulling your knees into your chest. “I’ve been so busy, and I just—fuck, I miss you, but I can’t. And I’m so tight on money right now.”

“I’ll pay for it,” he pushed.

“Trent, I can’t,” you frowned, resting your chin on your knee. “Believe me—if I could, I’d already be there by now. It’s just…too much.”

A beat of silence followed, and you could practically picture the dejected look on his face. You knew he was still there—the soft noise of his breathing that came through the receiver told you so—but he waited to speak. He was running through any possible solutions in his head, yet not a single one was worthy of voicing.

“I want to see you,” he finally spoke. “I’m sick of only talking to you through the goddamned phone. It feels like this isn’t even real anymore.”

“Not real?” you asked, lips parted in shock. “Trent, what part of this isn’t real?”

“I—I don’t know. Look, I,” he breathed, “it’s just hard to watch all of the guys have their girlfriends here while mine is eleven hundred miles away and has barely even met any of them, alright?”

“Oh,” you spoke quietly, nodding your head as you took in his words. “So that’s it, huh? That’s the problem, isn’t it?” You fell back against your headboard, “You finally admit it, then. It’s because I’m not like them.”

“I never—”

“Oh, save it, Trent!” you shouted. “We knew this was what it would be like when the time came and we agreed to stay together. We agreed to make it work. Do you have any idea how much I’ve sacrificed to even be able to visit and see you when I do?”

You swallowed thickly, “I have juggled so many things in the past year and all I wanted was a little bit of sympathy from you. Christ’s sake, Trent, I know it sucks. I know, okay? But I am trying so goddamn hard to find the time to just talk to you like this right now!”

“That’s my whole point,” he retorted firmly, his voice irritated. “It’s like I never see you anymore. And when I come back, I have to decide between seeing you or my family, and you always make me choose them. So it’s pretty fucking frustrating to see everyone else have their girlfriends or their wives there when you barely get to talk to yours,” he took a breath. “This barely feels like anything anymore.”

“What, so you’re just going to act like I’ve never done anything for you? Like I haven’t been working day in and day out to make as much time for you as I can? I did everything for you when you still went to school here and this is the thanks I get?” you firmly stood your ground. “Yes, Trent, I know I’m not there. I know that. And god, I miss you more than anything—”

“Then come.”

“Jesus Christ, Trent, I can’t!”

You shook your head and sat up on your bed once more. You could only be thankful that you lived alone in your off-campus apartment, with all the back and forth you were having. “You can’t come here, and I can’t go there. That was the understanding when we agreed to make things work,” you lectured. “And trust me, it hurts me too. Fuck, it hurts to see people I don’t even know with their boyfriends. So don’t act like you’re the only one who’s hurting from this.”

“If this is making it work, then I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Trent—”

“I’m just,” he shook his head, “god, I’m tired of this.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the fear of what he’d say next slowly beginning to tear at your heartstrings. Although you hadn’t seen much of each other in recent years, Trent meant the world to you. He’d done just about everything in his power to keep you happy before he moved. And even after, he tried to see you as much as he could; as much as time would allow.

So the thought of what he might’ve been getting at made you sick to your stomach.

“You cannot put this on me,” you told him through the phone, fingers tightly gripped around the metal as if dropping it would make you lose him for good. “You have no. Right,” you swallowed, nostrils flared and teeth gritted. “It’s so fucking unfair.”

“You know what’s unfair?” His question lingered in the air, and you kept your mouth shut. It wasn’t something that you were meant to answer. So you waited.

“Being forgotten.”

And that was your final straw.

“Fuck you,” you sobbed, a tear cascading down your cheek. “If this whole long-distance thing wasn’t enough for you, then you should’ve just broken it off before.”

“I just wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one that left you, Trent.”

Your phone was face down on the bed almost instantly after you hung up. Any emotions you were desperately trying to suppress came to the surface, bringing you to tears as you buried your face into your knees. It all finally came to a head, and you couldn’t bear the outcome. Heavy sobs left your lips, pried relentlessly from your throat as guilt ripped through you. Your body refused to let up for even a second; not until every last drop of emotion was ripped from you.

And finally, once it was, you lay restless in your bed until morning, mind unable to escape the intruding idea of never seeing him again.

Hours turned into days, days into weeks of not hearing from him. Since that night, you began to work yourself harder, picking up hours to fill up the time you’d be alone. You couldn’t let yourself think about it, or else you’d break.

It had been almost a month since. You heard a knock on your door as you were headed for the bathroom, about to shower after another long shift. You were prepared for it to be another one of your friends. They’d been showing up at your door for days, trying to break you out of your funk, which only irritated you further. You sighed and tightened your robe, then walked to the door and swiftly opened it. 

“For the last time, I’m fine—”

It wasn’t your friends.

Surprise laced your expression. Trent was standing on the other side of the doorway, hands stuffed into his pockets. His body was tense as he stood silently.

“Trent,” you finally whispered.

He stepped closer, eyes boring into yours when your head tilted back to look at him. His lips parted to speak, but you gave him no such chance when you threw your arms around him. Any emotions that you’d suppressed immediately surfaced, tears streaming down your cheeks as you buried your face into his chest.

“Shh,” he cooed, hands rubbing gently up and down your back.

His hand came up to your cheek when you pulled back, using his thumb to gently wipe it dry. The warmth of his touch radiated through the skin and you felt a sense of familiarity, of comfort being in his hold again.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried softly, your arms tightening around his midsection.

“God, no, don’t,” he hesitated, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “please, don’t apologize. None of this is your fault.”

He frowned, “It’s mine. I shouldn’t have acted like such a baby.”

“But I just got angry. I didn’t even consider how you’d—”

“Hey,” he sternly interrupted, pulling your body into his. “This was on me. I knew how busy you’d be when we decided to stay together. I was upset that I couldn’t see you and I blamed you for that,” he breathed. “You didn’t deserve that. Not after everything you’ve done to make this work. I didn’t do my part.”

Another tear fell from your eye, burning the skin in its path. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel like this wasn’t real anymore,” you frowned.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just…dumb.”

“And I blamed you for leaving when you had no choice.”

He sighed deeply, urging your head to his chest. “It’s only a month left until you’re out, right?” he asked and you nodded, confirming his inquiry. “Okay. So we only have to tough out one more month of this…And then it’s over.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” you finally spoke, leaning into him. “I am, too.”

You finally leaned up to kiss him and he quickly reciprocated, pulling your chest flush against his. His head craned to the side, deepening the kiss and turning it into something more than just making up lost time. You jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist. He hummed against your lips, fingers gripping the underside of your thighs to support your weight.

“I was about to,” you muttered between kisses, “shower.”

“Explains the robe.”

He began walking forward, carrying you down the hallway as you remained perched on his waist. The soft material of the robe slid off of your thighs, exposing them to the cool air and allowing you to feel his bare palms around them. The ring that sat on his right index finger dug into the soft skin as he reached the door to your bathroom. 

“Got room for one more?” he teased as he lowered you to your feet.

“Maybe,” you giggled in response, hands resting atop his shoulders. “Who’s asking?”

His fingers toyed with the belt on your robe, slowly beginning to loosen it around your waist. He lowered his head, forehead nearly touching yours, and softened his voice, “Someone who hasn’t been alone with his girlfriend in a long time.”

“Hm,” you considered, fingers dancing along the back of his neck, “I think something can be arranged, then.”

The robe’s soft fabric fell open as he let go and brought his hands to his shirt, removing it in one go. With that, you slipped the rest off and stepped into the shower, then quickly turned on the water as he rid himself of the rest of his clothing. As you waited, you shampooed your hair, thoroughly rinsing it out and basking in the warmth of the water over you.

It wasn’t long before the curtain opened and in stepped Trent, who had discarded all but his silver chain, including the ring he wore just moments before.

“God, have you gotten bigger?” you asked, hands traveling up his arms. “Or has it been that long?”

“Maybe you’ve just gotten smaller.”

You rolled your eyes promptly, chuckling softly before leaning up to kiss him again, allowing the hot water to cascade slowly down your back. You flipped your bodies around and his hair grew darker as it slowly dampened, curls dissipating as they flattened atop his head. You were quick to run your hands along his upper body, palms grazing the skin of his chest down to his stomach. Your touch earned a groan of approval from his lips as you and your body swiftly moved down.

Down to your knees, even, right in front of him.

A few soft, teasing kisses were pressed to his tip before you drew his cock into your warm mouth. A large hand snaked into your hair, roughly gripping the wet strands as he turned just slightly, back now facing the wall. The hot water coated his body, allowing your lips to glide smoothly along his length, teeth lightly grazing the skin.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he drawled, hand setting your pace as the steam from the water rose up around you.

Slowly, he began to pump his hips, tip hitting the back of your throat with each gentle thrust. His head drew back, pressing against the cool, wet tile as he sucked air through his teeth. Your nose nearly came into contact with his pubic bone as you took as much of him as your mouth would allow. But as much as he would’ve wanted to, he refrained from forcing you down.

Instead, he relished in the feeling of your pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock again for the first time in months.

Deep breaths left his mouth in the form of groans, his lips parted and face contorting with pleasure. Soon his head was off the wall again as he looked down, driven wild by the sight before him—his girlfriend on her knees in front of him, looking back up at him through tattered lashes, sporting stains of mascara that ran down her cheeks. 

It was nearly enough to send him over, and you felt him growing more tense. The grip on your hair tightened as he sped up your pace just slightly, a choked moan escaping your lips and humming against his skin. His free hand darted out and pressed firmly against the fogged glass door, aiding him in maintaining any sort of composure he could conjure up.

Just as he was about to warn you of how close he was, you slid him out of your mouth. When your eyes flitted up, they were met with his disapproving glance, chest rising and falling as he breathed deeply.

“Why did you stop?”

“To irritate you,” you scrunched your nose. “But mostly to tease you.”

Light kisses were intricately pressed to his tip, the action just perfectly denying him enough sensation to fulfill his needs. But enough to make him ache with want, with need; the need of release. Of breaking the taut line holding him together. He was on the brink, and you knew it, but you were denying him.

How cruel.

Maybe it was a form of payback for the argument he started a few weeks before. For making you think you were broken up for all that time. Something like that, he convinced himself. All he knew was that you had every intention of making him wait, and he had no choice but to accept it.

“Mm,” you hummed, the fingers of one hand curling around his length and the others around his thigh as your lips trailed the same torturous kisses down to the base and back up. His hand brushed through the dripping wet strands of dark ginger hair atop his head, feet planted deeply into the floor below him.

Unfortunately for you, he wasn’t the only one who craved his release. And fortunately for him, you were finally willing to give him the satisfaction.

So you drew just the head back into your warm mouth, tongue swirling around the swollen area tactfully. Soft lips glided along his skin as you slid them further down on him, and the line finally snapped like a twig. The aftermath flooded your senses, his taste gathering on your tongue as the sound of his groans filled your ears.

And his traces went smoothly down your throat with a prompt swallow.

“Fuck,” he finally managed, eyes following you as you rose to your feet.

“That,” you started, licking the remainder from the corner of your mouth, “was for that phone call.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a smirk settling in on his face.

“Mhm,” was your sharp-tongued response, bringing a grin to his lips. You reached for the conditioner, “And you deserved it.”

He nodded as you squeezed a bit into your hand, afterward lathering it in your hair. He brought his hands up to your head and tilted it back, using his fingers to rinse out the cream gently.

“Maybe I did,” Trent hoisted you up, an involuntary gasp falling from your lips.

“—But now it’s my turn.”

Your back pressed against the cool tile as he turned your bodies to the side, water now hitting him at an angle as he pinned you up. You breathed out sharply from the force at which you hit the wall, lips parting as your gaze fell on his grin-inhabited face. 

The heat formed beads of sweat on both you and Trent’s foreheads, mixing with the hot water as it continued to fall behind his body. He leaned up and connected his lips with yours, a hand running through your equally wet strands before sliding down your tense figure. The other locked fingers with your own and roughly pressed the back of your hand against the tile above your head, drawing a needy moan from your throat.

Your free hand slid up his front and came into contact with the cold, wet metal of his chain. God, you loved it. And he knew it, which was why he never took it off at moments like this; whether it was the tag tapping against your cheek as he thrust into you or it pressing into your skin as your back arched against him, or even just the sight of it poking out from under his shirts, it set you ablaze, similar to many other things about him. Like his hair. Or his hands.

Or the head of his cock as it dragged along your soaked folds, teasing you until you begged for more.

Which, oddly enough, was exactly what was happening to you then. 

“Trent—fuck,” the words weakly fell, “please.”

His lips were at your neck, working the soft, damp skin just as you did to his body just minutes before, only now the added pressure of him at your entrance came into play.

“What is it, hm?” he mumbled, trailing down to your collarbones and back up.

“Need to feel you,” you breathed heavily, “now.”

Lips stretched into a grin against your skin just before he pushed himself into you, allowing you to sink down onto him properly. Your hands quickly lifted and tenaciously gripped his shoulders for stability. His head lifted from your neck and fell back, mouth open as he exhaled deeply from the pressure of you enveloping him. He was hardening at an unfaltering rate from the sensation, and his mind was running a mile a minute.

Because no effort he made to relieve himself when he was alone could ever replace the feeling of your inner walls constricting around him.

And fuck, did he miss that feeling.

Finally, your boyfriend was buried inside you again. Finally, he was stretching you out again, occupying every last inch of space that your body would allow. The feeling was all too familiar, but that was what you loved most; how perfectly he fit you, and how it was still able to make you see stars, regardless of how many times you’d felt it before.

His hips instantly moved in a controlled rhythm, leaving no time to exchange pleasantries. Hard thrusts drove your vulnerable body up the wall, large hands now having moved to your hips, fingers pressing firmly into the wet skin. 

He wasn’t going to waste any time taking things slower, softer as he normally would. Oh, no—there was no time for that. He needed you oh, so desperately at that moment—to take you. Hard. Fast. That’s what months of deprivation did to a guy like him; a guy who hadn’t felt the touch of his girlfriend in so long that it hurt.

Luckily for him, he wasn’t the only one starving with want.

So the payoff was all the sweeter for the both of you as each torturous thrust forced the tip of his strained, desperate cock to brush just against the right spot within you. Various expletives filled the fogged air of the bathroom, sounding in the form of your weakened voice. Nail-shaped craters formed on the skin of his back while he roughly pistoned his hips forward and back, relentlessly pushing your back against the slick wall behind you.

“So glad you live alone and not on that fucking school ground,” he mumbled, pressing kisses to your exposed shoulder.

Usually, he was more gentle with you, and you’d grown accustomed to that. You liked it that way. But you couldn’t deny how much you loved, in contradiction, the times he decided that gentle wasn’t enough. That it simply wouldn’t do. When all he could think of was the burning desire to pin you to the wall and fuck you dumb with pleasure because he was so damn starved from not seeing you as often as he should. Because he knew better than anyone else that you could take it.

You’d no doubt have prints on your back from the incessant pressure of him pressing you against the tile behind you, and you briefly considered the thought. It left your mind quicker than it came, however, because it wouldn’t be the only thing left behind on your body from the exchange that night. 

They’d pair nicely with the marks that extended from your neck to your collarbones.

“Close, Trent,” you muttered, head falling forward and resting atop his shoulder. “I’m…fuck, I’m close.”

A phrase that had become so familiar to him, so routine, as if it were some sort of perverted Bible verse you’d been trained to memorize. One that he’d never get sick of hearing because he knew that every time he was the reason for it.

Of course, you didn’t have to say it, because he already knew you were there. And if you weren’t, someone ought to have explained to him why you felt so tight, all of a sudden.

“Come on, baby,” the words rolled off his tongue languidly, “let go.”

So you did, clenching around him and crying out with a weakness that laced your voice. White hot pleasure surged through your body as he fucked you through it, his thick cock continuing to provide you more pleasure with each calculated thrust than any store-bought substitute could manage. Calloused fingers grasped urgently at the swell of your hips, the hold on you firm enough to keep you stable as you shattered around him for what felt like the first time in years.

Not a moment was wasted before ropes of hot liquid emptied into your stomach, thoroughly coating your waiting, sensitive inner walls. A satisfied groan exited his lips, the sound low in your ear, and you were sure it was the hottest thing you’d ever heard. A hand traveled up to his wet locks, pushing his head forward and allowing your mouth to envelope his in a deep kiss as his hips slowly, carefully came to a stop. 

His tongue explored your mouth as if it had never been in its vicinity before, head tilting to give himself easier access. Meanwhile, he pulled out and began to lower you down, the muscles in his arms straining as they held you up for support. Your feet were once again planted on the wet, slippery floor of the shower as your spent body remained still between his large frame and the tiled wall behind you.

He pulled away and stepped back, sliding his hands off you as he turned the knob behind him to increase the water’s temperature. Then, he moved in the stream’s direction, arms reaching outward and pulling you toward him. Your back quickly came into contact with his firm chest, metal pressing against the now patterned skin as his hands placed themselves atop your slick skin.

A pair of soft lips peppered gentle kisses from your neck down to your shoulder, fingers rising to brush your hair away. The scalding hot water hit his back and extended to your exposed shoulder blades, effectively relaxing the tense muscles of your worked bodies. After all, it had been quite the bit of time since either of you had been in such a position.

“I love you,” he murmured, lips brushing against the skin of your ear as his hands ran down along your arms beside you.

Your head fell back against his chest, “I love you, too.”

He leaned down to press another kiss to your lips, arms wrapping around your waist and his hands finding purchase on your stomach, allowing him to inch your body closer to his. Both his and your eyes then fell shut as you settled into him.

It was all so…intimate; intimate in large contrast to the last time you spoke to him before he showed up at your door looking for forgiveness. And of course, he received it, because the whole disagreement was fueled by the sole fact that he simply missed the woman he loved.

The same woman who stood in his embrace as they fell into a comfortable silence, minds focused only on the sound of the water and the steam slowly rising around them.

#trent frederic #trent frederic fic #trent frederic imagine #trent frederic smut #trent frederic x reader #boston bruins imagine #boston bruins #hockey fic #hockey #fanfic #t. frederic

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

09. Hurt to try

Visiting has never felt more invasive.

A large screen rested in the middle. Two massive, black speakers sat on each side of his desk with a small piano perched on top. A white shelf filled with trinkets and golden awards stood beside his stand-up microphone. An array of purple and silver acoustic panels hung around the wall, and you can’t forget the line of guitars laying in a fashionable order.

“Your studio is cleaner than I thought,” you whispered in awe, eyes bouncing around the small room.

Scara scoffed as he dropped his belongings on the grey sofa near the door, “What did you take me for?”

“A gremlin who never leaves his cave filled with chip wrappers and empty cans of energy drinks,” you shrugged, eyes still wandering.

He rolled his eyes and headed to his desk to start his computer up, “Don’t compare me to Aether.”

“You’re lucky he’s not here.”

“What’s his short ass going to do?”

“You’re the same height.”

“Allegedly,” Scara stood from his seat, urging you to take his spot, “I’ll find another chair, you can sit in mine or look around–I might take a while.”

You went to his shelves. You saw a picture of him when he was younger, wearing a volleyball jersey and holding a trophy with his teamates, one of them you recognized—Childe—they must have been childhood friends.

Then you saw another picture, one with his family. It was his highschool graduation, wearing a cap and gown with a stash that boldly displayed “validictorian,” – his mother, Ei, stood on his left, radiating an elegant smile, while his aunt, Nahida, stood on his right, pinching his cheeks with a mischievous grin. They must have been proud of him.

The next one was 5WIRL’s first concert. They were all young, bright with aspirations, beaming at the large crowd despite being rookies. Beside it, you saw a small octopus plush–Marlin–next to a polaroid picture with you two–a photo you’ve never seen before. You snapped a picture of it.

“[name]—” Scara entered with the chair.

You placed the picture down and trailed him.

“Are those all your songs?” you pointed at the screen.

He shook his head, “There’s more I’d like to do, but I want you to listen to this one.”

He passed you the headphones.

You wore it, “What is it called?”

“Bewitched.”

The song started out slow with a piano. His voice was smooth—different from his usually raspy voice. You took everything in—the lyrics, the melody, and piano. His stare was intense, observing every bit of your reaction.

“Did you like it?” He asked.

You grinned at his expectant face, “I love it, are you adding this? I’d be a crime not to.”

“I was planning on making it my title track,” he paused, “And if you agreed before, I wanted you to finish the second verse.”

“Oh.” It’d be a shame…

“Yeah.”

You stared at the giant screen, “…Can I see the lyrics?”

He flipped through his notebook, you see glances of his other works, scribbles of words and phrases only his brain could think of–one of the many reasons why you admire him.

He gave you the page, “It's a work in progress, but that’s the draft.”

“Can I try?”

Kunikuzushi smiled, “Of course.”

notes:

i lied im more excited for the next chapter (had to break this scene in two)

im on a roll with these updates and then ill ghost again idk jk

synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

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#ELYSIAN #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #genshin idol au #genshin fluff #kunikuzushi #genshin modern au #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x y/n #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 3 - Oakmoss

Autumn Embers Masterlist

CW: Omegaverse scent-heavy flirting, food related flirting, Brandon (derogatory)

It’s three weeks later that Sergeant Garrick catches you walking out of your building at the end of the day. You’re more distracted than usual - trying to decipher a text from Jack about his upcoming heat - so you’re almost on top of him before you realize. His smile is genuine when you jump back from nearly stepping on his boot.

“Sorry!”

“No harm done,” he assures you. His hand comes forward. “Sergent Kyle Garrick.”

“We’ve met,” you point out, allowing a short, comfortable handshake.

His grin goes a little bit sheepish when he takes his hand back. “Well, I had to introduce myself better than Soap, at least. That’s MacTavish.”

“Ah,” you say. “Well… good to meet you.”

“The team wanted to thank you, for the information,” he continues. “It was very helpful. That Lawrence guy would have had us runnin’ in circles. We also, uh,” he shuffles his feet a bit, and looks away. “We didn’t want to overstep. By offering a gift before clearing it with you.”

Oh, he thinks he’s clever. You arch an eyebrow, “You want me to give your pack permission to give me gifts, Sergent Garrick?”

“I told them you’d catch on too fast,” he laughs.

At least he has the decency not to deny it. Here you had been tying yourself into knots about being too emotional in a meeting, and now a pretty man is asking permission for his pack to court you. Part of you is relieved. The last thing you need is more alphas pissed off at you, prowling around the base looking for a pissing contest.

Another part of you is annoyed.

You carefully regulate your breathing. “Yeah, I’m pretty good at catching these kinds of things by now. But you don’t have to thank me for doing my job.” You sidestep him and start walking toward the car park.

Sergent Garrick falls into step beside you. “I’ve offended you.”

You sigh. Of course he’d be sensitive to the way your scent changes. You practically scent burned him in a closed room. You step to the side of the walkway and turn to face him. “I’m sure you and your pack are wonderful, sergeant, but I’ve had a long day.”

His smile is charming. “Anything we can do to help?”

“Not approaching me with a courting offer at my workplace would be a good start,” you say, blandly. You watch his face muscles twitch through confusion, shock, and a tinge of horror before continuing. “While I’m flattered that you would tell your pack about me, I prefer to keep things professional on base. And I’m sure your team would prefer that as well. Have a nice night.”

“Wait,” He reaches out, but has the good sense not to touch you. “Would it be better, then, to maybe approach you off-base?”

Why do alphas think I’ll find you elsewhere is ever a good thing to imply? “Like how Sergeant MacTavish approached me at the bar?” He doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that. You take a step back, his confusion tickling your nose. “I’m not really interested in being the subject of whatever competitive thing you have going. Have a good night, Sergeant.”

By the time you get back to your car, you’re not mad anymore. Just tired. You climb into the drivers seat and tip your head back with a sigh. Garrick and MacTavish aren’t the first alphas to want to try taming the Wildfire, and they won’t be the last. But it still stings. For once, it’d be nice if someone saw you and thought you were pretty and interesting instead of just a challenge to conquer.

You let yourself have a few more seconds of self-pity before you strap in and start the car. You’ll give Jack a call, make plans for his heat, and leave the sergeants to do their thing.

The next day, when you get to your office, there’s a travel cup of hot coffee from your favorite coffee shop on the edge of your desk, along with a gift card and a note. You don’t really think much of it - coffee from Sherry as a reward for a job well done isn’t unheard of - but the the gift card for 25 pounds is a bit excessive. The unfamiliar handwriting on the note catches your eye.

Please accept this apology for yesterday.

It’s signed by Captain John Price. That’s… interesting. Speaks well to the cohesion of the 141 that Sergeant Garrick would let him know that he made you uncomfortable. Hopefully this means that neither of the sergeants will be dogging your steps. On the other hand, an almost perfect coffee made it to your office somehow. You’re still dealing with a bit of overbearing alpha bullshit. But apology bullshit is better than the alternative, so you settle in for your day.

By lunch, you’ve pushed the note to the back of your mind. When Sherry walks in, you expect a conversation about taking on Jerry’s workload with his upcoming parental leave. You don’t expect her to place a paper bag from the very fancy sandwich shop across town onto your desk. You can smell warm bread and something else in there.

“Special delivery,” she says. Before you can pull the bag close to poke around, she holds out a folded piece of paper. “Ah, ah! I was told to give you this first.”

“What? Sherry, let me… eat.”

Please accept this offer as a formal request to discuss an intention of courtship. Captain Johnathan Price Lieutenant Simon Riley Sergeant Kyle Garrick Sergeant Johnathan MacTavish

Each of the signatures is different. You look from the note to Sherry’s curious face and back down. You’re glad you have so much practice locking down your scent, because your emotions are all over the place. You flash her a quick smile as you refold the note and stick it under the edge of your keyboard.

“Thanks, I’ll take care of it.”

She nods, with a nervous smile of her own. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” you lie, hoping she doesn’t pick up on the spike of your scent as your heart races. “The 141 had a successful mission after that awful meeting with Brandon and that CIA agent.”

“Oh! Well that’s good,” she says with a sharp nod. She knocks twice on the edge of your desk before she turns to leave. “You always do good work. Least those boys could do is buy you lunch.”

Once she’s gone, you wait a few seconds, then get up to quietly close your door. And then you eye the fancy paper bag on your desk like it’s a bomb. You circle back to pick up the note, read it, fold it, open it to read again.

You snap a picture and send it to the group chat. Then snap a picture of the gifts and note from this morning. You re-re-re-read the second note again.

When you phone rings, you pick up without looking. “What do I do?”

Jack wails into your ear. “Bitch, what do you MEAN what do you do?”

“Do I open it?”

“Open what?”

You snap a picture of the stamped bag sitting on the edge of your desk and send it to the chat. “They sent this with-”

Chrissy’s icy voice startles you. “If you don’t show me what’s in that bag right now I will scream.”

“What if opening it is accepting it?” When the phone chirps in your ear, you hiss, “I can’t do a video call, I’m in my office.”

“Quit stalling,” Chrissy snaps. “Open the bag.”

You pull it closer, then pause. “Should we wait for Mel?”

“NOW,” Jack bellows.

“I’m also at work,” Mel’s says, steady and unbothered. “So please stop yelling.”

The bag crinkles a bit when you pull it closer, silencing everyone. You’re not sure why you’re holding your breath, but it comes out in a little huff of disappointment when you look inside and the first thing you see is napkins.

“Okay,” you whisper, as you start pulling things out. The first food item you find is a roll. “We have… bread, still warm. A half of a sandwich - ooh! The goat cheese and pear one. A half salad,” you squint through the translucent lid. “It looks like it has berries. Oh, it looks like there’s a soup in here, too, nice. And the utensils. And…”

When you don’t say anything else, Jack prompts you. “And?”

“There’s a, uh,” you cover your eyes as your face flushes. “It’s a cake.”

The silence is deafening. You make yourself peek into the unassuming box, and the four-inch, round cake positively dripping with what smells like orange syrup, spices, and the faintest hint of alcohol. Your face gets even hotter when you connect the dots and realize the cardamom you’re smelling reminds you of Sergeant Garrick.

It’s Mel who breaks the silence, clearing their throat before asking, “Did they get you a custom cake from the Trinity Rose?”

You can’t make yourself say anything, so you take a picture of it for the group chat. Then a couple more at different angles, because the curl of orange and peel on top looks like something out of a movie. You hear when the photos load, each of your friends sucking in a quiet breath. Chrissy must mute her mic, because the background noise drops significantly.

“Someone please say something,” you whisper.

Jack says, “Holy shit.”

“What does it smell like?” Mel asks, cutting to the chase. “Is it good?”

“It smells so good,” you admit. “Like… ridiculously good.”

Chrissy comes back on the line, sounding a little breathless. “They apologized with coffee this morning?”

“Yeah-”

“So this wasn’t part of the apology,” she continues. “Guys, this is. This is a legit courtship thing.”

“The website says they offer courtship packages,” Mel confirms. “It’s pretty cute, a subscription service for lunch. But it doesn’t actually include a cake.”

“There’s gotta be at least a two week wait on something like this.” You say it as soon as you realize it. Embarrassment flashes hot and cold down your entire body and you have to cover your face. “Oh gods, this had to be planned in advance.”

Chrissy hisses, “The bakery at the Trinity Rose is award winning. Of course this was planned in advance.”

“Wait, are they all in a pack?” Jack yelps. “All four of them? And they’re all alphas? There has to be more to the pack than that, right?”

Mel makes a disagreeing sound. “If there were more, they’d have signed. This is a very formal pre-courtship gift. Well. Mostly formal.”

You have to resist chewing on your lip. “Should I eat it?”

“No reason to waste a perfectly nice lunch,” they point out. Jack and Chrissy make agreeing noises. “But I’d probably wait to eat the cake until you get home.”

“So I can think about it?”

“What? No. You’ve already decided to hear them out,” Mel dismisses. “I just wouldn’t eat a sex cake at work.”

That startles a squawking laugh out of you. “It’s not a sex cake!”

“Oh, so they got a custom syrup cake that matches your scent as a platonic gesture?” Chrissy challenges.

“…There’s a little bit of cardamom,” you admit. “That’s Sergeant Garrick’s scent.”

“It’s a sex cake,” Mel confirms over the train whistle noise Chrissy makes before she can mute herself again. “When Garrick shows up to escort you to your car this evening, maybe don’t chew his head off.”

“Oh no,” you groan. Your head thumps against your arm as you throw yourself down onto the desk. “He was trying to ask for permission to court me and I was a complete bitch to him.”

You deserve the laughter of your best friends for that. But eventually, you rally. If you’re actually going to enjoy your lunch, you have to start eating now or you’ll have to eat and work later. You start with the sandwich and mute your mic as you take a huge bite. By unspoken agreement, the conversation shifts to the weekend and Jack’s heat, then Chrissy’s client who insists on in person meetings three days before her heat. Mel lets you all ramble for a good twenty minutes before ushering everyone off the phone since Jack is the only one who doesn’t have deadlines and scheduled clients.

Which leaves you staring at the cake.

Your eyes dart to the still closed door of your office, then back. You’re too full of good food to eat a whole cake, but… a bite couldn’t hurt. And while the gift is definitely a little… suggestive… it’s not actually a sex cake. Just a bit... decadent. Sherry’s husband sends her flowers that match their pack’s scents. That’s basically the same thing.

Right?

Before you can second guess yourself, you scoop a bite into your mouth.

The taste that bursts over your tongue makes you moan out loud. You definitely should have waited until you got home. The cake is so rich, cut by the orange and whiskey in a way that almost demands a second bite. There’s something indescribable teasing the back of your palate, hidden by cardamom and the hint of something - raspberry? - but so distinctly there. When you try to focus on it, you keep coming back to a smokiness that can’t be anything but the alcohol.

Before you know it, you’ve eaten a quarter of the little cake. Your stomach feels warm, and you admit to yourself that it’s probably not a good idea to keep consuming alcohol at work. So you close the little box and lick the fork while you log back into your computer one handed. Your lips are sticky. Even after you use your thumb to help clean them off you’re so aware of them.

You catch yourself pursing and rolling your lips through the rest of your day. You can’t resist taking another bite every now and then. Every time, you remember Mel calling it a sex cake and wonder if Captain Price thought about this when placed the order. You remember the way Lieutenant Riley’s eyes had slid down your body. Had he known he wanted to send you this cake then? Did Sergeant MacTavish imagine you licking your fork when he signed the note? Was Sergeant Garrick thinking about this moment when he saw you yesterday?

When the day ends, you send a picture of the cake with more than a third missing to the group chat as you log out. I fucked up, it’s a sex cake.

Beta Daddy: Told you.

Best Bitch: WHAT DOES IT TASTE LIKE

Barbie: drinks at mel and jax tonite

You: :thumbsup:

You: genuinely no idea how to describe, i’ll try tonight

You’re nervous, closing up shop for the evening. Would Sergeant Garrick be waiting for you again? Or will your hyper-independence come back to bite you? You hope someone will be there to walk you, and the possibility of that not being the case cools you. And then you look back at the box of cake in your hands and flush hot. Maybe it’s better that you don’t run into anyone after an entire afternoon of rubbing your lips and thinking of the 141.

You’re shocked out of your musings just before you can exit the building by Brandon of all people calling your name. With a groan, you’re dropped back to reality. You at least let yourself step outside for some fresh air before he can reach you.

“Sherry said the 141 had a question for you. What was it?” Not even a hello. Typical. Thanks a lot, Sherry.

Luckily, you have a lie prepared. “Just another question about Cloudstone.”

“What question?” He steps closer, trying to use his height to intimidate. “I’m the point of contact, they should be speaking to me directly.”

“Hm. Maybe should’ve reached out to you,” Lieutenant Riley’s voice says from behind your right shoulder. “Got a lo’ of info on alpha enhancements, then?”

Brandon’s shocked, offended scent almost drowns out the Lieutenant’s. Almost. You tilt your head before you realize you’re doing it, and catch that hint of something that you’ve been chasing all afternoon, earthy and intriguing. Your mouth waters. You barely stop yourself from biting your lip and tune back into the conversation.

“I wasn’t able to give them an answer today,” you butt in, before Brandon can get too worked up. “I’ll CC you on the email when I have everything.”

“Fine,” Brandon says, glaring daggers at the Lieutenant.

And then the three of you just… stand there.

Behind you, Lieutenant Riley smells amused. “Dismissed.”

Brandon gapes at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re dismissed. Unless you have more to add on the subject.”

Being caught between clashing alphas is not how you thought today would end. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see people look at Lieutenant Riley, then at Brandon, and then visibly decide to wait to exit the building. When you start to inch away, the lieutenant touches just beneath your left shoulder blade with the tips of his fingers. You freeze with a sharp inhale. Brandon looks between the two of you. Then his face settles into a sneer.

“Think hard about what you say next,” Lieutenant Riley ways with almost no inflection. Brandon’s face freezes and goes a little pale. You remember, suddenly, that the man at your back is also called the Ghost. “Because challenging me won’t go well for you. Walk away under your own power.”

The resonance of his voice combines with the way his scent teases your olfactory nerves and sends a shiver through you. You’re suddenly aware of the warmth that’s been building behind your bellybutton all afternoon. You don’t hear the next thing Brandon says. He’s too focused on his own offense to notice your distraction, thank the gods, but -

One of the fingers at your back taps you gently, once, twice. And then you feel the gentlest scrape of a fingernail against your shirt.

“I have to go,” you squeak, taking a step toward the parking lot. To Brandon, you say “I will make sure I email you first thing in the morning.”

You can see Brandon’s jaw working, but no matter how irritated he is, he’s outmatched and he knows it. After a moment, he answers. “See that you do.”

“’Ll walk you,” Lieutenant Riley intones. “Wanna make sure I understand the answer to the Captain’s question.” He turns his back to Brandon and gestures for you to continue walking.

A part of you wants to see what will happen if Brandon answers the obvious insult. It’s not hard to imagine the crunch of his body hitting the pavement, the way the Ghost might growl down and force him to yield. Another, loud part of you needs to not get this wet standing right outside of your office. So you hustle away and try to cool yourself down.

Of course, the Lieutenant is right beside you. You chance a glance up - he’s so tall! - at his face, covered today by a black surgical mask. His brown eyes catch yours and crinkle at the edges as he smiles, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps walking with you until you’re standing next to your car.

“Sorry,” he says, looking across the car park. “Weren’t my intention to cause trouble.”

“No,” you say, fidgeting with the edge of your jacket and looking at your keys in your hand. “It’s not your fault, I, um, I told my coworker that lunch was work-related. I guess she told Brandon.”

He nods. “Tha’s fair. Should I tell the Cap’n that lunch was work-related?”

When you look back up, he’s already gazing back at you. There’s just enough light to see his eyes darken as he tips his head up just a bit. He’s scenting you, his effect on you. You feel your face get hot as you look away from him again.

He gives an amused-sounding huff. “Need time to think about it?”

Do you? “No, I… I would be open to discussing an intention of courtship.”

Lieutenant Riley purrs. It’s deep and gravely, but unmistakable for anything else. The sound startles you into meeting his eyes. This time, he holds your gaze and takes a step forward, then another when you back up until you bump into your car. He doesn’t come any closer, but his eyes say that he wants to.

“Skipper wants to meet somewhere open,” he says. “The Spice Garden has a nice outdoor space, if you’re free Saturday.”

You almost say yes, but catch yourself. “I… have to help my friend through his heat this weekend.”

He nods his head, never breaking eye contact. “Next week, then.”

You do a quick calculation in your head. “I can be free tomorrow evening by… seven, as long as things aren’t too… formal.”

“Won’t be formal,” he assures you. “Cap insisted on a gift and formal invitation, but we don’t stand too much on ceremony. Bit unconventional, far as packs go.”

You nod, too fast. “Okay. I… does tomorrow work?”

“If you wanted us tonight, you could have us,” he answers, eyes crinkling again. He takes a step back, looking at the box in your hand, then back into your eyes. “Tomorrow then. Enjoy the cake.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #poly 141 #omegaverse #autumn embers verse #manic pixie dream ghost

[cb97percent]

「Screw It」 · Chapter 2

HIS SECOND THOUGHTS ➥ Chris is supposed to 'let loose' at the biannual depravity festival a.k.a the Sigma Kappa mixer.

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

➥ Installment of The Red Lights Chronicles

⚠ — Discussions of virginity (see masterlist for more)

“How the fuck is everyone so natural at this?” Chris quickly scanned the large room, his face contorted in mild shock.

The entire place was buzzing with laughter and varying levels of sleaziness. People talking to one another way too closely, dancing a bit too intimately, licking salt off each other’s necks and what have you…

Then you had the Holmes-Watson duo at the secluded corner of the bar, looking way too serious like they were discussing politics over brandy in the late 1800s.

“Did you notice how the guys are exchanging their dick game testimonials?”

“WHAT?! No?”

“That’s because they don’t!” Jisung slid another shot glass towards his friend and raised his for a toast, “Everyone’s just following their instincts, my man. It’s called thinking with your dick.”

It was frustratingly easy to tell someone (not) to do something, wasn’t it? Oh, don’t worry about it. Change your perspective. Don’t let it get to you. Turn a blind eye. Don’t be depressed. 

Actually doing it, though? Goddamn monk patience right there.

It wasn’t like Chris was incapable of assigning the driver’s seat to his reproductive parts. If anything, his mind was way too preoccupied with it, but strictly when he was alone rather than in public functions like this. A force of habit to be ‘proper’. Every time he was about to get physical with someone, that same footage installed itself in his jumbotron inner-mind theater like a cruel foreshadowing of what was about to go down. 

Getting scarred once isn’t enough? Try the latest Christopheresque methods of self-torture for a chance to win a gift card!

In conclusion, no, he couldn’t figure out a way to ‘not let it get to him’.

He was trying, and god fucking knows he wanted to remove that bothersome splinter buried six feet under his façade, but something always seemed to conveniently get in the way.

This one’s too chatty. That one’s on TikTok. This one thinks it’s okay to say ‘irregardless’. That one wears too much lime green.

As if any of that was fundamentally important for sexual chemistry. But he couldn’t help it. 

The more time passed by, the bigger his inadequacy complex grew since he wasn’t able to, quote, ‘stack up those XP points when he could.’ Now it seemed too late like he missed some important deadline, and the whole thing was a piece of gum stuck to his shoes, continuously faltering him and making cringeworthy noises when he walked.

You. Suck. You. Suck. You. Suck.

Maybe pursuing doctoral education was just a massive overcompensation on his part, who knows? 

“It’s not rocket science, man, just…” Jisung mimed something that was supposed to be his soul leaving his body, “Let loose.”

“Let… loose,” Chris echoed his words while zoning out, but his mind was simply not cooperating with him to be present, ���Shit! I needed to revise my syllabus.”

“My god you’re a nerd,” Jisung looked at him in utter disbelief, then sought help from Minho behind the bar, “Ares package. Make it two.”

While ten shots of Wet Pussies were being prepared, he examined Chris’ distracted face. Channie boy was like this for as long as Jisung knew the guy. Stubborn. Headstrong. Latching onto everything he could find to repair his pride. Of course it didn’t mean shit to be a virgin regardless of where you were in the adult timeline, but instead of admitting how much it was bothering him, Chris was pretending to be at peace with it. That was the frustrating part. And if he weren’t spectacularly failing at it, Jisung wouldn’t even consider dragging his ass to every social gathering he could find, but simply talking to the man did not seem to be working anymore. This bootleg immersion therapy was his last resort before he brought up the alternative of escorts again and risked getting punched in the face.

Or worse, another seminar on the ethics of sex work.

“Stop sabotaging yourself,” Jisung slapped him on the shoulder, “Just enjoy the moment for once.”

Why, I’d love to see a step-by-step demonstration of that, Chris wanted to loudly roll his eyes but pumped the brakes at the last second. He wasn’t even mad at Jisung. He wasn’t mad at anyone actually. The only person he loathed with a burning passion was himself for making a huge deal out of something that was supposed to be so damn trivial. He raised his shot for a silent toast and downed all five back to back to take all the residual edge off.

He didn’t want to fucking think anymore.

“She seems cool,” Jisung nodded towards a girl surrounded by what looked like the distant cousins of the Kardashians.

“I don’t think so,” Chris immediately protested, “Looks like she would livetweet it.”

“How about her?”

“GOD no. Too much Slytherin energy.”

“How is that even—?”

“Not the Lestrange kind. Pass,” Chris leveraged Jisung’s one weakness, “You know what, I thi—”

“Fucking stop overthinking this, or I’m gonna risk it all and slap the shit out of you,” he held onto Chris’ broad as fuck shoulders and harshly shook him, “Tonight we’re letting loose. Say it, what are we gonna do?”

“Let–Let loose.”

“With feeling.”

“Let loose.”

“DIG DEEP!”

“LET LOOSE!”

“Can I be a part of that?”

The duo was startled to death when they heard an unfamiliar voice next to them, not to mention right in the middle of a mortifying pep talk. The commandments of Wingmanism dictated doing the preliminary eliminations on behalf of your bro, immediately prompting Jisung to turn on his radar.

Looks? Check. Locked phone? Check. Lack of lime green? Check. 

Without giving Chris the chance to make a dumbass argument, he approved of this candidate and nudged the prospective coupling of the night towards the couch. When he turned to the bar again, he heaved a huge sigh as if he had just put the kids to bed.

“Still trying to get him laid?” Minho asked with a faded sneer.

“I’m gonna die with my eyes open if I depart this world without seeing it,” Jisung hyperbolically gestured, but one look at the gorgeous cheekbones in front of him, and his whole entire personality changed, “But more importantly, whatchu doing later tonight?”

“Damn, they don’t do pleasantries where you’re from?”

“Come on, you like me,” he leaned forward, the smile on his face impossible not to reciprocate, “Why do you drag me around so much? I’m obviously simping for you.”

“You realize I’m holding a sharp object.”

“That’s your version of batting eyelashes. Everybody knows that.”

As much as he wanted to keep the psychotically stoic mask, something about the quokka dude was just plain irresistible. Careful not to give a hundred percent of what he wanted, Minho let out a snort and darted his eyes away.

“Ask me again in two hours and we’ll see.”

Jisung triumphantly slammed his hand on the bar top, scaring the shit out of his porcelain prince, then disappeared into the crowd to mingle with some of his friends.

Meanwhile on the blue corner, Chris was midway through one of the most intense mental statistics of his life.

The girl in front of him was a total ten. He knew a couple of guys who would murder him in cold blood just to get with someone like her. One needed to have inoperable astigmatism not to notice she was encouraging him to… well, let loose. Her body language was clearly indicative of willingness. Touching his arm, playing with her hair, laughing at a genuinely unfunny joke—if he made a move now, she would leave with him. 

Ergo, p < 0.05. Possibility of score: 97%.

“Do you think we can take this somewhere… more private?” the nameless girl finally brought it up herself when Chris failed to mention anything remotely evocative of sex. It was a simple yes or no question, but he was choking harder than B-Rabbit in 8 Mile.

She was objectively so damn hot with the kind of body you would brag about in locker rooms. That was supposed to be his focal point, but he was having trouble focusing on her words, let alone being turned on. All he could think about was how this conversation couldn’t be any more boring, and he had endured a finance lecture once. Nothing was ever going to come out of bedding this girl tonight. Even her perfume smelled like the looming regret of the morning after. 

There had to be something fundamentally wrong with him at this point.

Uh oh, do something. She’s getting closer, DO SOMETHING!

“OKAY, I’m gonna go,” he jumped to his feet, giving no fucks about providing a reasonable explanation, and almost booked it towards the front door.

“Chris?” Jisung called out after him with slight concern, but Chris had half a mind to set fire to this place. Everything, everyone, all of it was suddenly too much.

“Later, bro.”

Only when he reached the safe bubble of his home did his heartbeat slow down to a normal rhythm, letting him heave a half-relieved half-disappointed sigh behind that closed door. Shower was the least of his priorities at that moment—he went straight to his room, got naked, threw himself to his bed, and started scrolling through his phone to find something to jerk off and sleep.

Art, art, gif, gif, art, text post, incorrect quote, gif, gif, art…

Then…

bassboostedjiscake reblogged: Closeted sluts living under a rock, check out my girl. Creaming guaranteed 🍦

Jisung was the horniest guy he knew, so if he dropped this on Chris’ dashboard, it must have been at least worth taking a look. He clicked on the profile thinking he was going to be greeted by Jisung’s newest favorite ‘adult content creator’ posting semi-nudes, however—

🌶️Oni @scovillescale I like pizza. And creating sexy universes.

Sexy… universes? 

The fuck did that even mean?

After scrolling through a bunch of Q&A posts, he got to the cream of the crop. Technically, yes, this was an adult content creator, but not in the format he was used to. Finally noticing what he was looking at, Chris couldn’t contain the scream bubbling up in his throat.

“This is goddamn 2D porn!”

If it weren’t for the fact that he was bored and horny that one night, he probably wouldn’t have been at this exact part of the Internet, but he was, and for a man who thought animated porn was high art, this blog was a fucking gold mine. 

His worlds had collided.

Shortly after, he found himself deep into the rabbit hole of this Oni person’s body of work. Artwork being pretty was one thing, but the story? So captivating that he couldn’t put his phone down.

“BUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?!”

The last time he startled himself with his own voice was probably when he was reading one of those original choose your own adventure books. He stayed up till 3 a.m. binging one story, completely forgetting to jerk off until the very last sex scene, which depicted the female lead riding her love interest at the back of a car while choking him. The orgasm he had to that?

Fucking sublime.

Once sufficient blood started flowing to his brain again, he immediately hit follow, then fervently typed a message.

Anonymous asked: HOLY SHIT I mean it as the highest compliment possible, but I came so hard reading this. Your style is awesome and you got an instant fan. Can I be your 🍍 anon?

He didn’t even think twice before hitting Ask with the orgasm high, but all of a sudden, he remembered Jisung’s wording in that godforsaken reblog.

Closeted sluts living under a rock, check out my girl. 

My girl.

So he had just told a woman at three in the morning that he masturbated to a story she created and that he came so harfwnekjfnwfnw THAT WAS SO FUCKING INAPPROPRIATE!

Chris wanted his bed to swallow him whole, beside himself with how mortified he was. He only meant to convey his admiration, completely skipping over the fact that he wasn’t talking to one of his online bros. God, the disrespect… There was no way to edit this goddamn digital owl, let alone delete it before this turning-sex-into-art goddess saw that.

His fast-forwarded panic monologue was cut short barely a minute later. He saw the reply post on his dashboard, and it made his heart jump in his chest for no reason. 

Someone was online. At this hour.

Thank you for being so awesome! Also you got taste. Pineapple pizza slaps! #🍍 anon

The amount of relief he felt for not being called an uber creep was enough to knock him to sleep. He reread the message at least five times before putting his phone down.

“She likes pineapple pizza?” he chuckled to himself stupidly in his bed.

What a goddamn scandal.

He clasped his hands under his nape and replayed the night in his head one more time. His talk with Jisung, the encounter with the nameless girl… Some things did come naturally to some people, and Chris always found himself panicking when he tried doing the same.

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to experience some things in this life.

“Why couldn’t you be at the party tonight?” his smile trailed off into a disappointed sigh while looking at the dark screen of his phone.

⥊ TO BE CONTINUED ⥋

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

For every Minho with a pudding, there is a corresponding Chris with a pineapple. I don't make the rules.

Oh, wait, I actually do.

「© 2021-2024, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

#bang chan smut #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #skz smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you

[toomanyideasandfandoms]

Hello!

I bring brain rot to you once more! Imagine Clorinde being the one to find the notebook from the death seeking creator and just how many of them are her name.

Being the "vanguard" of Fontaine's military of sorts, it's her primary duty to deal with stuff like executions and stuff, so she tends to be the one sent out whenever there is Impostor sightings!

Also, imagine she was also the creator's favorite (she is mine for sureeee... aside from the buttons doing Celestia's work, ofc-), so maybe she finds that in the notes at first! Here is a little concept of what it could look like.

"I met Clorinde today. She was prettier than she looks in game! The graphics didn't do her enough justice at all... but she killed me, too. She did it without hesitation, and I... I thought she would trust me. I put hours into her build and player her for days, I spent thousands just to make sure she was perfect... and she hates me. Just like everyone else

Maybe there is something wrong with me..."

And finally, imagine that the creator didn't know of the whole Impostor deal until a couple hundred deaths later, so they thought there was something actually wrong with them instead of the whole impostor au stuff.

For some fluff, maybe she tries to be the one to bring food and like comfort towards the creator as they heal, and try to build the trust they had on her, and like she's wholesome about taking care of her and like she slowly falls in love with them as time goes on and stuff :3 (maybe becomes yandere too, you never know~)

Anyways that's it for me for now! Have a good day, fwen!

🍌anon

Ohhhh that is GOOD!!!!

So for the Cloride stuff I don't got much too add, I genuinely love it! I'm not too familiar with her character (I know them better once they become playable) but I can see this happening 100%! And honestly she probably would be asked to be the creator's bodyguard since she was/is Furina's.

Also yes yandere, Death Seeking au very much will always end in yandere even with the wholesome mental healing because the fact that these guys would be obsessed to the point of killing those who looked like the creator (very much something I would see as something The Primordial One and Celestia put as a rule in order to make sure creator can't come back at full power) means they were never gonna be normal lovers.

But oh oh that bit about creator not knowing. You my friend brought up such a nice idea honestly. That would severally fuck up creator's mentally GOD. The confusion, the hurt, it would be so much more intense due to them having no clue as to why. They probably wouldn't be able to comprehend it at all once the truth got out and the characters tried to reason with them.

Like wdym you only were killing me to worship me?? Wdym there's a creator? Yeah that's the Primordial One. Hold up what are you stopping? No don't stop! It was getting fun! Don't take the only purpose I have away from me!

That is so deliciously fucked, full course meal of mental anguish and trauma.

#sagau #genshin sagau #death seeking creator #others ideas #cw death #🍌anon #idk why i sounded like a angst vampire at the end #lmao

[dominicsorel]

WHY DID THEY MAKE IT LOOK LIKE HE WAS SEEING WHAT MICKEY WAS REMEMBERING HERE??????? Now that I think about it, it's not actually impossible if he's the true Child of Destiny since he's supposed to be able to SEE what's in the hearts of others and that includes their memories and it genuinely looks like hes having a goddamn vision here...

This would also explain why he knew the vessel at the KG carried important memories inside it. So all these memory scenes with Repliku involved...are actually Riku seeing his memories and it helping him put two and two together. Riku didn't know about Repliku's feelings for Namine until that moment. Namine has never spoken about him a single time since COM on Sora's side.

And honestly, I've been a bit curious about his facial expression when discussing what Kairi has been up to since...he seems more unsure as to what she's doing than the others but then he dumps the info on it after thinking about it for a second. I wonder if it's possible he could sense her in Radiant Garden and figured out what she was currently up to through that. It's just a possibility at this point but I personally don't think he was keeping tabs on her after she went to sleep.

And of course, this scene where he senses Sora's distress to go along with the scene in BBS where he sensed Sora's sadness. He also states that the wielders all still have their hearts which isn't necessarily something you can just see normally. This may be a power he's recently regained that he used to have before he fell to darkness.

#didi speaks #text #kingdom hearts #kh riku #riku #riku is the light #cod riku so real... #kh meta

[absolutebl]

Industry question for you, please: Why is it that it seems that Thai BL in particular has some really systemic issues with writing endings? Screwed-up pacing/editing, out-of-character/illogical actions, not being very satisfying... it seems like a show avoiding that fate is more of an exception than the rule, unfortunately. Do a lot of them just... not write the ending ahead of time? 😅 That would make having these sort of wacked-up endings at least make some sense, but... really, it makes *no* sense to me that that would be the actual standard writing strategy-- I mean, for example, one of the best living novel authors I know of *always* has very satisfying endings, literally without fail (I have read everything he's written and been perfectly content with the ending of every one), and the reason for that is he purposefully always writes the endings of his books *first*, then works everything back up to that point. Similarly, some of the best TV shows I've seen (from any country-- and this does actually include some Thai ones, to be fair) were written either all in one go or at the *very* least with their endings obviously already very firmly in mind, regardless of if they were completely original or were adaptations of some other source material. So... why does this often seem to be such a difficulty for the writers of Thai BL? 😅 (Sorry if I sound a little salty here, but endings either make or break all fiction for me {novels, manga/manhwa, TV, movies, games, whatever}, and I've been getting burned what seems to be more and more often lately with shows being great for the vast majority of their runtime but then inexplicably totally botching the landing, seemingly out of nowhere-- so I'm a bit frustrated with that when it seems to be a really simply-solved problem {that, indeed, has already been solved by many others before}: JUST WRITE THE DAMN ENDING *FIRST* and then work up to it? 🙃😅)

Endings huh? You a romance reader by nature? (Wait, no, you said... HE. So... Sparks? Green?) Anygay, where was I?

But yeah, I get it. I've always fancied the dessert course the most, myself.

To answer your question, not sure. I'm assuming its a narrative expectation based in culture. Like Japan and their lanes, China and 6 act structure, or Korea's adoration of love triangles. And producing culture comes to film and storytelling with its own set narrative conceits, archetypes, and tropes and aren't proscriptive but are leaned on a lot. Much as they come to film with a certain style as well.

Think about the "look" of Korean BL compared to the "look" of Taiwanese BL, for example. They have an entirely different flavor to them. Korean stuff is usually all bright and airy, lots of distance shots, super clean and uncluttered, filtered and filmy and atmospheric. Taiwanese stuff is much closer, more grainy, more bold with it's color choices and contrasts, kind-up n your face and gritty, a bit messy sometimes.

It's jarring to go from one to the other.

After watching nothing but Asian dramas for so long, I always find it jarring to go back to American shit. It feels over-acted and unsubtle and kind of brash. Over all "loud" and in my face. Jarring.

So when first encountering 4 or 6 act structure most westerners feel a little unmoored, it doesn't feel comfortable until you sink into it and leave 3 & 5 behind.

I'm mean I'm so used to K-dramas with that arbitrary year or more separation in the final episode I;m now shocked when it's not there.

I guess what I'm saying is maybe it's just a thing with Thailand, not to put that much truck in endings. The way (especially) romances do in the western world. There's a very fixed idea of what an HEA should look like in the west. Thailand may not share that idea.

I've not read the source books of any of these BLs, so I don't know if this is just their narrative style or not.

I mean there are some Thai BLs with good (if not great) endings, and plenty of Korean BLs with terrible middles, and far too many Taiwanese BLs with bad beginnings.

Ya just kinda get used to it, I guess.

15 Thai BLs with Good Endings

A Tale of Thousand Stars

Bad Buddy

Lovely Writer

2gether

Be My Favorite

Dark Blue Kiss (possibly my favorite on this list)

Destiny Seeker

Make a Wish

Naughty Babe

SOTUS

#asked and answered #sort of #stories represent culture #it;s the whole point #actually #thai bl #bad endings

[nonbinaryeye]

I am certain that plenty of metas regarding shapeshifter's and whose copy version is whose has already been written by lots of people but let me add my take on it.

First let's start with Laois'. The biggest one belongs to Senshi. Senshi is naturally the one to have the least accurate takes as he's traveling with them for the shortest time. Laois is tall man so of course he sees him as tall and the tallness would seem most prominent to someone short so likely to either dwarf or to half foot. Also he looks a bit older than Laois actually is and Senshi is the one most unsure about Laois' age, assuming than unlike Chillchuck and Marcille, Laos is the oldest one of them. The Laos obsessed with monsters probably belongs to Chillchuck. He's the most accurate looking except for his babbling about monsters and Chillchuck is the most observant of them. Marcille of course could be the likely culprit as well as she seems to be the one most done with Laois' obsession with eating monsters but I really think that the Falin like Laois belongs to her even though she claims they are nothing alike. The fact she is the one to point it out is already good enough reason to suspect her. But also she knew Falin first so it's quite imaginable she would see her sibling through the similarity as much as she woukd of course love to deny it. (Also all the Laois x Marcille hints through the series which are closely intertwined to all Falin x Marcille but that's its own conversation I won't dwell into right now)

Regarding Senshis. The one with inaccurate helmet has been already told to belong to Laois. Chillchuck have quite strong opinion about Senshi being handsome so I think the handsome Senshi cones from his mind. Not to mention that overall Marcille is more likely notice less about his cooking equipment as she always tries to distance herself from his cooking as much as she can so it makes the most sense that the one with inaccurate cooking equipment comes from her mind.

Next Marcilles. As I've said Senshi is travelling the shortest time with the party and he does not always see eye to eye with Marcille. It is safe to say the most inaccurate Marcille is drawn from his mind. It can always also be deduced by elimination because Chillchuck is quite observant so it probably is not from his mind and I'm quite confident that Laois is the one whose Marcille is the most accurate. Because Laois is the only one familiar with her magic book as he studied it for quite a while when he was trying to figure out how to cure her from her bite from Cockatrice. As observant as Chillchuck is, he's never been interested in her magic and never saw her book up close probably so only one who could plausibly create somewhat accurate looking book must have been Laois.

Last we have here Chillchucks. Again Laois' Chillchuck is said to be the inaccurate one because of wrong neckband and eliminated first. Then the one with wrong tools is the hardest one to guess but I think it's how Senshi views him as Senshi is likely to know and notice less about his toolkid then Marcille because he was quite clueless about traps disarming and Marcille traveled with him much longer and should know a bit more about his equipment because of it. Also I think that one looks the youngest and Senshi is the one assuming Chillchuck is a kid. But this one I'm the least certain about so really feel free to argue with me and share your takes.

#I've been reading manga before the anime came out but watching it as a show with my partner once again brought my interest back #It is such a fascinating episode how can one not to analyse it and wonder? #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi ep 18 #dungeon meshi shapeshifter #dungeon meshi chapter 39 #laois touden #marcille donato #chillchuck tims #senshi #Also I was quite brief with some points so feel free to ask me to elaborate #dungeon meshi meta #mEye post

[nottapossum]

WIP Wednesday!

Tagged by the wonderful @the-flaming-nightmare

Most of my current WIP's are almost done! So I wasn't sure which one to post...

So I'm posting one that will take a bit to get out there.

~~~Past:~~~

“I need you to be on your best behavior, young man. Most people wouldn't be so generous to take us both in.” She tells him, holding his hand. “We're both very lucky.”

They had to leave very quickly last night, they didn't even take his cat with them…or his father.

“Yes, Mama.” He says to her.

He hopes his cat will find them, someone needs to feed him.

The house was huge, he's never seen one so big before. It was big and white, had the biggest porch he'd ever seen, and the roof was bright blue. How many people lived here?

Mama stopped at the door to straighten his jacket. “Alright.” Her hands are placed on his shoulders, her smile bright. “Smile big now, we want to make a good impression. Don't we?” She asks.

He listens and smiles bright as Mama rang the doorbell.

A white lady answered, looking tired yet enthusiastic. “Betty, hello.”

She spoke so kindly… It's weird.

“You're here right on time.” She says.

“Hello, Mrs Anderson.” She says, placing a hand on his shoulder again. “This is my son-”

“Alastor!” Mrs Anderson smiles. “Wow. The way your mother talked about you, I thought you must be a baby. But look at you, so grown up.”

“Hello, Ma'am.” Alastor says, smiling, offering his hand to her.

The lady smiles and shakes his hand back. “What a polite young man you are.” She says. “Your mother raised you well. How old are you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He says. “I'm eight, Ma'am.” He's nervous, not used to talking to people like her.

“Betty, call me Nancy. You act as if we hardly know each other.” She says. She places her hands on her hips and turns to Alastor. “And that goes for you too, young man. I'm Mrs Nancy, ma’am makes me feel old.”

Alastor was confused, his mother never mentioned her before, but Mrs Nancy acts like they've been friends forever.

“Come on in, I'll introduce you to my kids.” She says, gesturing for them to follow.

She leads them both inside.

The house was beautiful, like a palace. What kind of people lived like this?

“My husband Harrold will be home tonight, I advise you to keep Alastor in your room when he's home.”

“Don't worry, he won't be seen.” Beatrice promised. “Did you hear that?” His mother asks.

“Yes, Mama.” Alastor says.

“This is my Son Harry, and my daughter Christy.” She introduced.

“Why do they look like that?” Harry asks, pointing at Alastor.

Nancy hit the back of his head. “Ow!”

“Harry, that is no way to talk to someone!” She scolds.

“It's just the help.” He says.

“Go upstairs to your room.” Nancy says. “Right now.”

“Fine.” Harry says, marching up the stairs.

“I'm sorry about him.” Nancy says. “He gets his manners from his father.”

“Don't even worry about it.” Beatrice says.

“Let me show you your room!” Nancy says. “Follow me.” She says.

Christy said nothing, only stared at Alastor with confusion.

Alastor didn't say anything though, just kept following his mother.

Nancy shows them to a single bedroom with a bathroom next to it. “Sorry it's so small, we're not used to having more than one person here at a time.”

“Alastor and I are used to sharing.” His mother says. “You're doing us a huge favor, I couldn't thank you enough.”

“Of course.” Nancy says. “I wish I could do more. I'm really sorry about what happened, I-”

“Nancy.” His mother interrupts, gesturing to Alastor.

Nancy nods. “Right, uhm. If you need anything, let me know. Work starts first thing tomorrow. I have a list of the meals and chores that need to be done. But tonight, I want you two to just relax.” Nancy tells them.

His mother nods. “Thank you.”

Nancy smiles sadly at Alastor, like he was hurt in some way and she was trying to make him feel better…

What was going on?

Nancy left, and his mother was unpacking some of her things. “Help me make the bed.” She tells him.

Alastor does as told and takes the sheet to help. “Who was that lady? And why was she so nice?” Alastor asks.

“Nancy was my friend if you must know.” She says.

“Friend? How?” He asks.

“My mother was her nanny. Me, Nancy, and your aunties grew up together.” She explains.

Alastor nods. “Oh…”

“What is it?” She asks, seeing the look on his face.”

Alastor shrugs, not sure how to say it.

“No, none of that, tell me what's wrong.” Beatrice says.

“I don't like it here.” He says. “The people act strange and look at me like I'm deceased.”

“Just give it a chance, Alas.” She says, running her fingers through his curls. “Maybe you'll end up loving it.”

Alastor doubted that very much.

But he was willing to give it a try…

For her sake.

“Why did we have to leave?” Alastor asks.

“Well, your father didn't really…he-” she struggled to say

“Just tell me straight.” He says. “I want to know the truth.”

His mother sighs and pulls him closer, holding both his hands. “He didn't want us anymore. He wants a new family…”

“Oh.”

“But that's okay.” She says. “We don't need him or anyone else. We were fine before him, we'll be fine after him too. Understand?”

Alastor nods. “Yes, Mama.”

His mother hugs him tightly…

Alastor sighs. He'll never see his cat again.

Possum:

I'm not entirely sure how much of this will actually see the light of day, but let me know your thoughts on it.

I'm kinda nervous about how to write Alastor's past. I have ideas, but I'm not sure how they'll be received since they're so...dark. and Alastor is so loved, lol 😆

Everyone wants to see him suffer, right? Lol

Tagging anyone who wants to do this!

@todayimfour @attagirljessy @abby5577 @trophyxtissues2 @ask-dusty-boy @legeufygeuber100 @im-not-paying-my-taxes @babiegurlmuffin

#ittybittysinners #ittybittysinnersq&h #hazbin hotel agere #hazbin hotel age regression #little!alastor

[acoraxia]

gela do you like character design? Cause you're constantly popping off over here. I feel like only someone who likes character design can cook like you do

(and maybe you could teach your ways? A little bit? I would love to learn o7)

HAHAHAHA—no. I like watching it and studying it! I love analyzing character design but drawing it? I’m being held at gunpoint

When it comes to OCs I have to design them otherwise it’s hard to get the point across as to who I’m talking about, how their design translates via text, etc. when it comes to, say, Erlang and Sun Wukong it means a lot of character analysis and figuring out whether or not their outfits work… and then realizing the limits of my skills (I hate armor but armor is VERY MUCH in character for these two designs)

I tend to do SOME form of research into my character designs — this ranges from looking at the original sources (FSYY, JTTW) and then modern depictions of them (Nezha Reborn/New Gods, Dyslite (?), Lego Monkie Kid, etc) and studying how their designs work.

I love New Gods rendition of Erlang but that reads more to me like a.. teenager? Young adult? Version of Erlang rather than the aged post-fsyy soldier we see often depicted in JTTW content

I also have a lot of story telling done with color for their outfits:

You can see hints of green for Wukong (Nuwa) and how there’s bits of red in his hanfu — but it’s not overpowering. You can still see gold and even in his makeup there’s teal. You can tell this is SWK in an outfit that was coordinated to suit him for a specific area/god/etc.

But then with Erlang we see him engulfed in red. The same type of red that resembles wine or drying blood because this is an outfit that (ahem) Su Daji picks out for him. The only bit of gold is the belt/sash holding it all together. This, along with the jade skin and dark blue hair, makes it seem like he’s not human. That’s the point! He’s a demigod and he’s often depicted with unnatural skin color (at least in animated versions):

And then of course there’s accessories! We have Sun Wukong’s iconic cudgel and honestly LMK’s design of it is already very well done that I don’t feel the need to adjust it for my au.. so instead I designed him a mask:

This allows for some of his personality to shine through more! And it is far more intimidating than canon!lmk!swk!!

To put it simply: I don’t like character designing because it is VERY hard for me to translate my thoughts onto a canvas but I enjoy the finished results (most of the time) too much to not try and do it. That and when it comes to my favorite characters I will ALWAYS have fun designing outfits for them 🧡

#ask #yippeeee #art stuff

[novantinuum]

Pink Onyx AU- An Analysis and Theory Post, Part 5

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5- You are here!]

~

Apologies for this post going up far later than intended!

This is the final part of my analysis series on the excellent @pink-onyx-au comic made by @ceephorsshitshow. If you haven’t already, please check out the first four parts- linked above- for more information on what these posts are all about. A lot of this analysis will build on what came previously.

Now, here’s where I’m really starting to take a big ol’ stab at some speculation. 

__

Question Seven: Is Steven’s mental repression about corrupting ALSO causing him to physically repress post-corruption scars?

Not only has Steven as a whole continuously shied away from discussing anything about his corruption incident, but he’s been vocally downplaying it, too… his voice overtly growing smaller the one time he overtly references it.

(Episode 1: Page 6)

He briefly alludes to his corruption later when he realizes that Onyx bears their own corruption scars (and ones that defo weren’t Jasper influenced), but beyond that he hasn’t willfully mentioned this topic one bit.

Which… if we didn’t already know how much he Deeply Dislikes Talking About His Own Feelings… would be odd, given the fact that one of his big reasons for trying to fuse with Jasper is to “feel what it’s like to be each other” and try to foster a better understanding between them both. Like, Steven. Buddy. Corruption is a HUGE thing that you now have in common with Jasper. At some point, you’re gonna have to bite that bullet and actually sit down and process this reality.

Far earlier in this analysis series, I brought up a bit of dialogue from Jasper that I said I’d be discussing later.

(Episode 2: Page 15) 

“That human form you wear must have been hiding your markings.”

Yeah, this bit. 

Even if Steven isn’t vocally bringing up the elephant in the room himself, Jasper seems to immediately recognize what he’s gone through. (Something something, ambient thought sharing within fusion.)

And her theory here is interesting, albeit not entirely accurate.

Not only is Steven’s human form hiding his markings, but his Gem form seems to be, too. Because we’ve seen his Gem. 

(Episode 3: Page 11)

He harbors almost no corruption remnants save for a set of noticeably sharp upper teeth (that full hybrid Steven does not have.)

Now, why is this? Why does Onyx present with what should be Steven’s corruption markings, but not Steven or his own components?

Let’s take a quick look to catalog which features are whose before we move on. Let’s start simple- with Jasper.

Jasper only has three notable post-corruption marks- one splotch on her left shoulder, one on her right hand over her thumb, and a pair of horns sticking up through her hair. They’re easily traceable on Onyx’s design.

(Episode 2: Page 12)

There they are! I’ve circled them in red for convenience. Of course, what the big bomb at the end of Episode 9 suggests to me (Steven suddenly showing evidence of corruption scars) is that every other trace of past corruption on Onyx is something that Steven brings to this fusion. Which means, what he’s bringing to the table must be:

Two separate splotches on the right arms, visible claws, and the arm spikes we saw his corrupted form with in “I Am My Monster.” (I imagine that Steven’s corrupted form also having horns influences how long Onyx’s are, compared to Jasper’s.)

Not to mention, uh…

(Episode 7: Page 7)

This gigantic ass geode scar on their back. Which we know for a FACT is Steven’s, because-

Something about being Onyx with Jasper results in these normally repressed features manifesting in full… even when he’s still avoiding conversation about it. Is it due to some sort of subconscious feeling of acceptance- the sense that he feels safer being his rawest self around her, since she’s been through the same thing? Or is it something else entirely?

Bottom line is, Steven may be able to repress these markings just as he does his own emotions… but Onyx does not. And with this latest episode, it seems that certain aspects of this fusion are already rubbing off on him.

(Episode 9: Page 22)

We at least have a visual on the large mark with two overlapping circles on his right arm in these frames.

But, uh… let me ALSO point your attention to-

Yeah. Y e a h. I think that’s the very tippy top of Steven’s version of the back scarring we see Onyx with. It’s hard to say for sure if it’s the same geode scar design, but it’s definitely something.

Anyways! The boy’s got visible scars now. Can’t really hide from the reality of your own experiences looking like this, huh? *twiddles fake and very mysterious mustache*

__

Where I think all this could be going:

Now. With all those discussion points out of the way, I’m gonna do a bit of theorization on where I think a few plot threads could be going.

Number one. 

Onyx’s healing spit and “Jasper’s ugly plants.”  

(Episode 4: Page 10)

While re-reading, I noticed that there’s a growing pattern of Onyx using their healing spit- either intentionally or not- and then their surroundings reacting very swiftly to their mental state. In the above panel, a fronting Jasper tries to use the spit to fix a broken rock. Then, when she speaks ill of the fusion after it fails to work, the spit begins to melt away at said rock as if it were acid.

(Episode 7: Page 10)

Something similar happens when Onyx spits onto the ground here. After Jasper speaks with intent to cause harm to the fusion to split them apart, a creeping vine begins to ominously sprout out of the ground while they’re not looking. (And then, it legit just gets. Sucked into the ground. Oughhgoughhgh spooky.)

I think this plant is the same one that Onyx puts on blast as “Jasper’s ugly plant” in the next episode, that venus flytrap lookin’ one.

And I think the reason it has grown so large and aggressive is that the results of Onyx’s healing spit usage is tightly intertwined with their emotional state. Thus, whenever Onyx says or thinks something negative about themself, the plants they’ve created leap in size. Or in the case of the spit on the rock, it starts to decay. It feels like a logical extension of the way Steven’s activation of his powers at ALL is linked to his emotions. 

With all of this in mind, my theory is that over time these plants are going to cause more and more of a problem as Onyx continues to beat themself down- and that the growing urgency of this issue will act as a sort of visual feedback for them when it comes to trying to escape this cycle of negative self-talk and self-loathing. 

Number Two.

Re: everything that's been discussed in previous posts, I think Jasper’s arc here is going to be centered around two things. First, I think she’ll have to finally reckon with the reality of her shattering and come to terms with the fact that she actually IS upset about what Steven did to her. 

Second, I think she will- through what I’m hoping will eventually be a healthy fusion dynamic as Onyx- start working through her deep-rooted abandonment trauma. 

(Episode 8: Page 9)

Said fusion may not be someone who gets to exist forever as she might prefer, but Onyx’s existence even for a SHORT time deeply matters, and this makes the experience alone incredibly worth it, in my mind. I dearly hope she comes to realize this too, one day.

Number Three.

I think the sudden surfacing of corruption scars for Steven is going to (in time) force him to stop repressing his own feelings about what he went through from the people around him and actually push him to start talking about this experience, to actually process it. 

Crucially, he won’t be able to conceal these markings from Jasper, and they will finally see eye-to-eye on realizing they hold this experience (corruption) in common, and that they both in some way felt they deserved it for the people they became. Suffice it to say, I am very eyes emoji at the fact that an upcoming episode is titled “Self-Hatred,” with the description “Steven and Jasper realize what they have in common.” 

Y e p. Yep, yep, yep. Whatever happens in that episode is bound to be VITAL to the trajectory of Onyx’s story.

Because only once they both recognize and vocalize what they both hold in common and stop running from these facets of themselves can their fusion truly find lasting harmony. 

__

Lingering questions with no clear answers:

What I’ve discussed in these posts is for sure not exhaustive- this comic is very dense with potential lore musings and interpretations, and there’s plenty of lingering mystery even still. Here is a list of some of the questions I still have jangling about in my mind, off the top of my head:

What is the deal with that rabbit, and is it anything more complex than “Onyx healed it?” Why does it snap alert and glow whenever Onyx is active? I think this connects with my earlier healing spit musings in some ways, but I have not determined how yet.

Steven got nicked by a prickly vine in Episode 5, and a bit of his blood was lingering on the thorn afterwards. Where is this leading? (Also seems connected to the healing spit musings.)

What is the purpose of all the glitchiness at the edges of some of the panels? Is it merely an extension of the instability suggested by the butterfly motif, or does it mean something entirely different?

What exactly was Connie’s hunch about Steven when she reached out to Pearl? We know from the most recent episode that Pearl thinks Steven is trying to hide rebound transformations… and possibly Amethyst, too. But what about Connie? She has a lot more context from her text conversation than any of the others do, right now.

And what does Garnet actually know? We haven’t seen any of her perspective yet except that one ominous future vision timestream spread.

As a final little note to cap off this post series, thank you so much to @ceephorsshitshow for your incredible and frankly, inspirational work on this comic- and for allowing me to pilfer so many of your stunning comic panels to go absolutely hog wild analyzing your work. Regardless of whoever else reads these, I hope that at least you got a kick out of observing my Suffering in the Meta Trenches of your own story, ahahah.

Thank you to any of y’all who have read along with me- and for god’s sake, if you’re still here and you haven’t checked out this comic yet, what on Earth are you doing? Go, go- to the tumblr page with you! Check it out, holy shit!

You can read the Pink Onyx comic here.

Have a nice day/night, all!

Curtains.

#su #su future #steven universe #jasper #pink onyx #su meta #pink onyx au #my post stuff

[roxannepolice]

I think I finally put my finger on why I think "the Doctor and Ruby are trapped in a TV show" theory doesn't entirely work for me, though I don't hate it and definitely like it better than "the Doctor is a god actually" approach. First off, and that's subjective, but I just can't agree the writing is dramatically worse and more expository than before? Yes, after 6 regenerations which wouldn't talk much about themselves 15 just offhandedly informing Ruby his whole people are gone feels weird, but... look, pet peeve of mine, 12 giving a very beautiful but also incoherent speech about morality to the Masters to get them into a plan that didn't even involve them in any meaningful way and Missy having to hide from him that she has to kill Saxon for... reasons, is usually hailed as peak character work. All of this would make infinitely more sense to me if they were all aware that they are actually in a medieval morality play...

But no, what really worries me here is that if the reveal is that the Doctor is trapped in a TV show and aware of it... then we'll kind of finish the season not knowing 15? Like, we won't know which parts were a performance for the audience and which performance for Ruby, and which like... spontaneous expression of self? It would be kind of assuming we all know Michael Sheen and David Tennant because we've seen them performing themselves in Staged? Or, as if everyone that's seen A Hard Day's Night knows the Beatles because they played themselves? Yes, of course, whole world's a stage, and my alignment with symbolic interactionism has me acknowledge that even completely alone we engage in intrapersonal performance and there is no truer core self than the enacted one, but...

Like, if our existence is reality and fictional shows are reality(1), then shows within shows are kind of reality(2)? And if by then end of a season we remove reality(2), then we won't really know what's true in reality(1), anymore than reality(1) tells us much about our lived existences? Like, I LOOVE play with a medium, but it would just feel a bit wrong to do that in 15's first season? Other instances where this is done, say WandaVision, have a point of reference to what those characters are like in their "reality", which wouldn't be the case for 15? Am I making any sense anymore or am I floating off into higher regions now?

#doctor who #fifteenth doctor #dw meta #dw spoilers #doctor who series 14 #ruby sunday #tw: negativity #mild i just... don't like s10 finale all that much

[oakdll]

i finished persona 4 golden !!!

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR PERSONA 4 GOLDEN AHEAD

It’s lowkey insane that they made the final villain a gas station employee, but it was super cool. I really love the story, almost as much as P5R, although the gameplay was definitely worse for me.

Obviously there are differences because of the release dates, but there were a lot of quality of life issues and inconsistencies. The last 5 dungeons or so felt comically easy, none of them took me more than 2 hours, especially with Marie and Izanami’s dungeons which took me less than an hour each, even with exploring every floor to the max.

The lack of Safe Rooms really hurts the level design here. You basically have to do every palace in one session (at least I did because I don’t like Goho-M’s). Being able to have save points before different sections in each P5 Palace was a stroke of genius, and returning to P4 where every floor is basically identical is just boring. I like how each floor is randomly generated, but it also really takes away from the individuality of each dungeon. Pretty much every dungeon has the same random layout, the only differences are the visuals and occasional conditions like with Adachi not allowing you to fight shadows in one of his floors. Compared to P5, the lack of puzzles and insight into the characters really hurts. In P5, the design of each palace gave you insight into its rulers psyche. In P4, you really only get the occasional confrontation with the character and some dialogue at the start of each floor.

There were also WAY too many chances to mess up your ending. There isn’t anything really wrong with having a lot of endings, but having so many points where you can accidentally get a bad ending because you picked an option that wasn’t obviously wrong was ridiculous. I had heard there were a lot of chances to get a bad ending if you aren’t careful, so I used a spoiler free guide. Having to pick like 7 of the right answers in a row to get a good ending is insane.

If I wasn’t spoiled on Adachi before playing, I never would have guessed it. That is good for the story, but having to deduce it yourself is a bit too much to ask of the player. I think P5 did good with prompting you to save your game before game changing events happen. A mix of that and confirming with the player when they are going off-course from the true ending makes the game relatively simple to play through with no guide. with P4, you basically have to look up a guide for the true ending. Having to say “no” when prompted to leave Inaba to get the true ending is insane, if I didn’t know beforehand I would have messed up my entire playthrough. It makes no sense unless you know the story beforehand, especially when no other Persona game asks you to do something like that.

The game is also shockingly bigoted, which goes entirely against the themes of the Persona series and the game itself. Ironically, in a game about pursuing the truth, the made Naoto deny his truth of being trans. They wrote such good queer characters and then came to entirely the wrong conclusion and ruined it all. I still think if you can look past the homophobia and transphobia, the game has phenomenal writing, but it gets really uncomfortable at times.

The nostalgic feeling Inaba gives off and the PS2 graphics really help the vibe of this game. It feels so much warmer than P5, and I am ALWAYS a sucker for a murder mystery. The fog is such a good visual element to the game, and I have a strange obsession with electrical poles, so having those be a frequent set piece is awesome.

The characters are so wonderful, I really wish I had more time to max out all of the social links here, but I think I would have had to skip out on helping Nanako with her homework and I would never do that to her. Nanako and Kanji are both some of my all time favorite Persona characters, they are both so sweet and I would do anything for them. Marie is also one of my favorites, I have no idea why anybody could hate her. Yukiko is amazing, Chie is a lot of fun, and Yosuke is hilarious. Teddie is a freak but I love him but I HATE his blue eyes, Rise is super nice, and Naoto is so cool. The Investigation Team is debatably better than the Phantom Thieves as a main cast, but they are so close for me. The main characters are all just great.

As for social links, I think P5 still has it beat here. The social link cast in P4 is still good, but there aren’t any benefits like in P5 and some of the characters here I REALLY don’t like. Sayoko is an outright pedophile. With Kawakami at least if you don’t choose to romance her in-game she isn’t as much of a creep, while Sayoko actively sexually harasses a high schooler. I also did not like Eri, I didn’t get to spend much time with her but she really could have treated her kid better. I know she’s struggling but she would lash out leave her kid at daycare because he was having more fun there than at home. Naoki was cool, I barely got to spend any time with him but from what I did see he was nice and seeing the grieving process of one of Adachi’s victims was super interesting. For the club social links, I chose Kou and Ayane. Kou was great, one of my favorites but I ended up prioritizing party members and couldn’t max him out. Ayane was nice, I like her arc but her voice acting really ruined a lot of the social link for me. Ai was also nice, but I couldn’t spend too much time with her and I didn’t like her romance subplot. I actually liked Shu a surprising amount, he was one of the few I maxed out because I had extra time in the evenings and I really liked how his arc ended. Hisano was one I really missed out on, I only got to rank 3 with her and from what I saw she was one of the most interesting in the game. Dojima is one of the best social links in all of Persona. He is very similar to Sojiro, but he’s a lot darker. There’s a lot more drama with him than with Sojiro, both of them are amazing, and Dojima’s relationship with Nanako is so sweet. Nanako as well might be my favorite Persona character. She is the sweetest thing ever, and I would do anything for her. Marie’s social link was also great, but I really didn’t like Margaret’s. I don’t like any Persona social link that requires you to go on quests. I didn’t like the Strength confidant in P5, and I don’t like Margaret or the Fox in P4. The fox is better by default because he’s a fox, but neither are super interesting to me.

The music is phenomenal because it’s a Persona game, but the P4 OST might be my single favorite Persona soundtrack. Pursuing My True Self, Signs of Love, Heartbeat Heartbreak, Heaven, Alone, Your Affection, Like a Dream Come True, Youthful Lunch, Reach Out to the Truth, Time to Make History, and Omen are some of my favorites. The only Persona game soundtrack to compare with P4 is P5, Whims of Fate, Beneath the Mask, Alleycat, Our Light, When Mother Was There, Price, and Butterfly Kiss are also up there. P4 is more nostalgic for me, so I think it might take the edge for me.

The story of P4 is also much more complex and interesting than P5. If it weren’t for Maruki’s palace being so good, I would say that P4 definitively has the better story. Adachi being the antagonist was such a phenomenal twist, and I loved him so much up to that point that it hurt even more. His social link is a phenomenal addition, I can’t imagine the game without it. Having so many endings is partially a result of flawed game design, but also the depth in the story. It really feels like an investigation team solving a mystery. Pushing further and further towards the truth throughout every suspect, from Kubo to Namatame to Adachi, and even Izanami if that counts, the game really accomplishes its goal. I haven’t done the accomplice ending, but I might do another playthrough to get it after I finish P3R.

P4G is a really great game, I think it’s a bit more flawed than P5R, but it’s still phenomenal and it’s not like P5 has no flaws either. P4 really excels with the story and I think the primary issues with it are just a byproduct of being over 10 years old at this point.

#persona #persona4 golden #persona 4 spoilers #persona5 #persona4 #persona 5 royal #persona 4 golden #persona 4 #persona 5 #persona5 royal #persona 4 golden spoilers #persona4 golden spoilers