#understanding the dire fucking state of it all

[zelzelez]

Sleep cycle seems fucked, but actually only if you count for free days. Every morning I wake up at 6 and don't know what the fuck to do with myself. I'm sick! And it's Sunday anyway! Now I'm just stuck here with my brain all active again, thinking thinking thinking. I'm too tired to do anything against it, and honestly, I still lack coping mechanisms for overthinking. Maybe if I wasn't such a lost noodle I could stitch/mend torn clothes? Maybe I could write for my bachelor's thesis? Maybe I could puzzle, or paint, read poems?

I'm too fucked by now tho. I feel lonely inside so I go online. I am too tired and too lazy and too hopeless, so everything seems pointless anyway, so scrolling is the easiest. My brain is on an endless scrolling-trip, with or without the phone, so why not take the phone.

God damn if the phone addiction hasn't become the worst of all ... But this stupid life so easily sets you up for it, too.

#im exhausted #ive been at home and in bed for two weeks now #ive left the house only once for a long walk through the fresh snow in the beginning of the first week and then three small trips to the #doctors around the corner to pick up paper shit #and one grocery shopping trip when i was almost healthy again and hadnt cought the second;worse sickness #the damage this time has done to my rhythm and work ethics and relationship to the outside world as a huge concept and m #and my immediate environment is fucking unbearable #it threw me out of all the routines i had been forcibly training myself into #i lost so much of my fitness; havent been to the gym in a month now and have only been on my (by now very sore) back all the two weeks #not to mention that world politics and the complete and utter shock of realising wtf germany is #what the US is!!! #has fucked me up once more #i mean its not the first time and i knew already but its been years that i have had these realisations that werent just theoretical or #mentally understood; this was another round of feeling it in my BONES #understanding the dire fucking state of it all #psychological damage 4000 #my life #at least yesterday i was able to feel 5 minutes of sun on my skin #which is more than in the last two weeks combined

[wizardnuke]

"thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain" except Her name is Dolly Parton and i am about to start fucking biting people

#you cannot idolize the working class and queer icon dolly parton and then talk badly about southerners. i am in your fucking walls #'she's a drag queen!' YES she fucking is <3 AND she is a southern lady and you better remember that next time you want to say something #political about the south ALSO FUCKING. THINK. she's from tennessee do we all know that? you know the state that recently tried to ban #drag shows! you understand that she does drag right you understand she's from tennessee do you understand what im explaining about that #state and the south in general. i am getting really tired of explaining gerrymandering to people. especially liberals who live in the south #chewing the drywall its sooooo fucking dire #'she's so progressive' yeah and she is like eighty whatever the fuck years old we have always been here fuck you

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

a couple of people on twitter have dmed me to ask me about my degree / master i'm gonna cry 😭😭😭

#and twitter wouldn't notify me so they're all old by now but whatever #no but you don't understand humanities are in dire state of help and it makes me emotional to find people wanting to study the same as me #especially since i constantly get smirks or like jokes about it from my family and friends telling me no one cares about them #and especially in my field!!!! and in my degree!!! like in my year only 11 of us graduated #11 #do you know how sad is that??? #they had to change a rule in my faculty cause to do an optative there needed to be a minimum of 15 students and that's more than we were #so we ended up with classes of 2 people #and like the attitude of some professors especially the oriental studies ones was so full of sorrow and sadness #as if they were already griefing the death of ancient studies #and i know i'm being melodramatic but humanities really need fucking help #we aren't even considered scientist ffs #anyways i'm happy that i get to help people in studying them 🥺

[nariism]

another sunny day — i. rin

handcuffed together + matchmaking gone wrong

synopsis. rin doesn't get how his "friends" can come up with such insane ideas. like, seriously. or: blue lock tries to play matchmaker with a flustered loser and their terribly unfriendly teammate.

wc. ~1.1k

— for @jenoutof10 🤞 | event masterlist ✉️

"don't be mad, but..."

rin's eye twitches.

4 words. 4 measly words is all it takes for his blood pressure to start rising. that, and the fact that isagi can't meet his bloodthirsty gaze.

in all the time that he's had the displeasure of knowing these morons, he's come to know one simple fact: nothing good ever happens when they break news starting with 'don't be mad'.

before his teammates can even get a chance to explain further, rin interjects.

"you lost it, didn't you? you fucking lost it."

bachira's lips just press into a thin line, mischief missing from his expression where it usually permanently dances. now, he just looks utterly terrified and a little guilty.

"hey, but there are worse people to be cuffed to!" bachira nervously states. and at that, all eyes land on you.

you'd been hoping that maybe rin's temperment would have drawn all attention away from you right now—that they at least wouldn't have to witness the absolute despair in your face realizing you've been cuffed to your long-term crush for an indefinite amount of time.

but their eyes are heavy on you, trying to scrutinize your reaction. you want nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

the chains connecting you jingle impossibly loud as silence fills the room. you flounder slightly, caught off guard by the collective weight of everyone's eyes, and rin seems to understand how dire your situation is. he quickly gathers everyone's attention back to himself.

"you all better crawl on your hands and knees until you find that fucking key."

to think that an entire group of people could have gone through with something so stupid—rin doesn't get how his "friends" can come up with such insane ideas. like, seriously. handcuffing the two of you together as a last ditch attempt to solve the last puzzle of their escape room? he would probably be laughing at their idiocy if he wasn't the one locked to your side right now.

and why him, of all people? was it so obvious that he was maybe, kind of, sort of a little into you? no, impossible. he's incredibly good at hiding his feelings for you, so much that he's completely stone-faced while you're busy panicking beside him.

what should have been an innocent team-building exercise put together by their calm and collected manager has suddenly turned you into a blithering fool and him into a cranky asshole.

he'd always had suspicions that you'd liked him, never able to look him straight in the eye without fidgeting and messaging him out of the blue for seemingly insignificant reasons. ("did you try the new garigari-kun flavour?" or "i saw this cat that reminded me of you," and even "did you eat dinner yet?")

if you had told his teammates, you made a grave error. a fatal mistake. because they were all half-wits who would want nothing more than to try playing cupid, and he knows that only they could come up with a plan so stupid and still claim it to be foolproof.

frantically searching for the key, they get to work scouring the floor and drawers—anywhere they could have left it in the last twenty minutes. he takes the opportunity to focus on his breathing, as his therapist had advised him to do when he was feeling overwhelmed with emotion.

"you okay?" rin asks quietly, lathering a hand down his face in exasperation. you hum nervously, clutching yourself instinctively. it draws his hand closer to your body but he doesn't mention it, instead letting it dangle limply in front of you. the warmth emanating from you makes him realize just how frazzled you are.

he decides he should guide you to the next room where it's quieter, all the puzzles already solved and abandoned. he sits you down on the sofa, standing in front of you with your hands connected in the middle.

"what if we're locked together forever?" you murmur.

rin looks at you in confusion, perplexed by your sudden loss of functioning brain cells. you were always so rational, it's strange to see you so...

you meet his intense stare and the rest of his train of thought derails into a disastrous dumpster fire.

"i... don't think that'll happen."

"but what if we are?"

"there are worse people i could be locked to."

silence suffocates you. rin blinks at you, but doesn't back down as you fumble over your own tongue.

"you think so?" you finally manage out.

god almighty, you need to break this eye contact before he shrivels up and dies. okay, so maybe his feelings for you aren't entirely miniscule, but that doesn't mean he's going to get any enjoyment out of this.

he scoffs, gesturing to the next room. "at least it's you and not them."

you sputter in embarrassment, hand yanking toward your face as you try and cover your cheeks with your palms. his hand follows, nearly smacking you in the nose but you don't seem to care or even notice.

he slowly seats himself beside you, dragging your conjoined hands back between your bodies and settling on the couch.

"i hate this," you admit. "it feels claustrophobic."

rin knows exactly what you mean. your hand is inches away from being in his—he can hardly breathe. he would rather eat natto every day for the rest of his life than come to terms with that, though, so instead he just sneers at you funny.

"you have claustrophobia?"

"i just mean that we're so close right now."

"so?"

you gulp loudly. "and—" you sigh, breaths shaking. "well, you're sort of right. i guess it could be worse."

"...you're weird," he tells you.

your lips quirk up into a tiny smile, so small that he would have missed it if he weren't chained to your side right now. for a moment, he almost forgets all about why he's even in this situation in the first place.

"sorry," you stammer, fingers fumbling around with the hem of your sweater. "i hope they find that key soon."

he stares at you for a few more seconds, tries to trace the outline of your face with his eyes and memorize the curve of your smile.

"yeah," he lies. "me too."

("is it working?"

"i don't know, i can't hear them!"

"shh," chigiri hisses. "i'm trying to listen!"

rin puts his head into his hands at their volume, bringing your hand along with his motion. he glares in their direction, catching a glimpse of his team stacked on top of each other as they peer into the room.

"idiots..." he mutters. you look at him, puzzled. "i'm surrounded by idiots.")

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

#— whispers in the wind: 1k event ✉️ #so remember when i said i would be out of commission for a bit #that was a fucking lie #blue lock #bllk #blue lock fluff #blue lock drabbles #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin x y/n #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x you #rin itoshi x y/n #bllk fic #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock fic

[pinkrelish]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #linecook!eddie #roommate!eddie #ex-con!eddie

[solarmorrigan]

If you’re still taking prompts, could I ask for “please come get me” with Steddie?

I’ve read over all your other angst prompts and just about died this morning, you’re so good at the pain!!

Hello! :D Thank you for the prompt! I'm afraid this one is a little heavier on the comfort than the hurt, so perhaps not as much pain, but if you've been binging what I've written so far, maybe that's a good thing?? But anyway, I hope this is alright!

[Warning for implied child neglect/emotional abuse. Nothing really happens in the fic, but just as a heads up]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

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Eddie shouldn’t be hearing this. This isn’t a conversation meant for spectators.

“I know you just got back from a trip, I just–” Harrington says into the receiver of the payphone, clinging to the handset as he practically wilts against the useless ‘privacy wall’ next to it. “I’m sorry, I was just hoping you could give me a ride home.”

All Eddie had wanted to do was cut the pep rally like any self-respecting social outcast would, except he couldn’t just ditch and go home; it’s Friday, and he has Hellfire after this. But the last thing he’d expected while loitering around outside, waiting for the pep rally to end, had been to stumble across Steve Harrington on the phone, practically begging someone for a ride home.

“No, I drove myself here today, I’m just not sure I can drive home.” Harrington pauses, then sighs. “No, Dad, this is a pep rally, I haven’t been drinking.” Whatever comes down the line next makes his posture snap straight almost immediately, before he hunches back in on himself with a wince and a hand pressed to his forehead. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

This is weird. This is so weird. Harrington is meant to be cocky – confident and in-charge and at ease, not curled around a payphone in the same way a kicked puppy tries to protect itself even as it asks someone for more attention.

Someone who is apparently his dad.

It’s just – weird. It’s like how you know a lemon is a citrus fruit, just the same as an orange, but the second you peel off the rind, you feel like you’ve seen something forbidden. Lemons aren’t meant to be peeled that way, and Harrington isn’t meant to look close to tears while trying to get someone to drive him home.

“I – I’m sick. I mean, it’s – I have a migraine,” Harrington explains haltingly. “No, it’s not just – yeah, my head hurts, but if it was just that, I swear I wouldn’t bother you, I just – I’m dizzy, and my vision’s all blurry, so I’m not sure I can drive, and I don’t…”

Shit, that sounds kind of fucked up. Eddie frowns, leaning against the wall he’s been peering around, now definitely intentionally eavesdropping. Harrington is frowning, too, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face.

“Tommy and I don’t hang out anymore, we haven’t in over a year,” Harrington says, then carries on a little more quietly, a little more subdued, “and there isn’t really anyone else here I can catch a ride with, either.”

Eddie will admit he hasn’t been paying a whole lot of attention, but anyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows that Harrington’s popularity had taken a bit of a hit last year, when he’d ditched Hagan and Perkins and decided to be a bit less of a dick. And then this year – well, even if Hargrove hadn’t crowed enough about the fight between the two of them, the state of Harrington’s face back in November had spoken volumes. Still, Eddie hadn’t been aware the condition of Harrington’s social life was so dire.

“I’m not – I’m not making this up, the doctor talked to you about this, he– I’m not trying to talk back, I just– Dad, please, can you just – please, come get me,” Harrington stutters through what sounds very much like a losing argument before going silent altogether, pressing one hand over his eyes as he lets his head hang, the other still holding the handset near his ear. “I understand,” he says dully after a minute. “I’m sorry. I’ll – I’ll figure it out… Yes, sir.”

It doesn’t seem like there’s much left to say after that. Harrington hangs up the phone and leans up against the adjacent wall before sliding down and sitting himself right there on the ground, knees drawn up and face in his hands.

Shit.

Eddie ducks back around the corner, gnawing on his lip, caught in indecision. He shouldn’t have overheard any of that, intentionally or otherwise, but now that he has, he can’t just – not do something.

Can he?

He tries to tell himself it’s not his problem, that Harrington’s certainly never done him any favors, even if he’d never been a dick to Eddie specifically, but it doesn’t work. All Eddie can see is the defeated slump of Harrington’s shoulders, the helpless way he’d just sort of dropped to the ground, the way he’d quietly admitted there’s no one else he can ask for a ride – Eddie’s always had a soft spot for the lonely ones.

But when he rounds the corner, prepared to come up with some bullshit excuse as to why he’s out here and willing to drive Harrington home, he finds that Harrington is – gone.

Eddie glances around, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere. Poof, vanished while Eddie had been too busy trying to decide what to do.

Well, damn.

Distantly hoping that Harrington had, indeed, figured something out, Eddie tries to put the incident out of his mind. The pep rally will be over soon, and that means Hellfire will begin, and he needs to get his head in the game.

He has no real reason to think on the incident after that, and he’s fairly successful at shoving it somewhere into the back of his mind until nearly two years later, in a setting so far removed from that spring day at the school that it might as well be in another life.

Eddie has to extricate himself from a few fans (actual fans; apparently, rumors of Satanism and returning form the dead will do wonders for the reputation of your metal band) in order to get up from the table settled near the back of The Hideout. Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver are all accounted for, enjoying their drinks and chatting with whoever’s descended upon them after their set, but Steve had disappeared ten minutes ago and has yet to make a reappearance.

Ten minutes isn’t all that long, Eddie knows logically, but after last year, after everything, it still feels a little too long. If he finds Steve and Steve tells him he’s fine, then that’s great, Eddie will leave him be. But he just wants to check.

The bathroom is a bust, empty but for one drunk swaying precariously in front of a urinal, so Eddie heads outside, where, around the side of the building, settled on the ground in a triangle of sodium-glow orange thrown off by a nearby streetlight, he finds his quarry.

Steve is sitting with his back to the rough wood façade of the bar, his knees drawn up in front of him and his head leaned back against the wall behind him. His eyes are closed, but there’s a little pinch of tension between his brows, and Eddie is abruptly reminded of that day, eons ago and not really that long ago at all, when all Steve had wanted was for someone to care enough to give him a ride home when he’d been sick.

Eddie finds his ass on the concrete right next to Steve before he even has the conscious thought to go over and sit down.

“Doing okay, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, picking up one of Steve’s hands from where it’s resting on his own knee (it’s safe enough right here, Eddie knows; someone would have to actively be looking for them to spot them where they’re tucked away).

If Steve is surprised to find Eddie beside him, he doesn’t show it. He turns to look at Eddie in the low light, offering him a fond little smile.

“I’m good. It was just getting to be a little much in there, so I came out here for a break,” he says.

Things like excessive noise and heat—say, the likes of which might be experienced at a concert in a crowded bar (or maybe a high school pep rally)—tend to be migraine triggers for Steve, so why he continues attending shows at The Hideout is beyond Eddie. He’s tried telling him that he doesn’t have to come, but Steve still insists he wants to make it to every performance that he can.

Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand. “You wanna head out?”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re having a good time. I don’t want to take you away from that.”

“I’m not going to be having a good time if you’re miserable.” Eddie reaches up and cups Steve’s cheek in his hand, keeping him facing in Eddie’s direction. “You’re a priority for me, you know that, right? Say the word, and we’ll go home.”

It doesn’t seem like Steve has anything to say to that; instead, he just stares at Eddie with something like wonder, as if Eddie’s just done anything more amazing than promise Steve that he’ll never have to beg for basic consideration.

“Besides,” Eddie goes on, if for no other reason than to shift the sudden weight of Steve’s reverence, “it’s not like it would be a hardship.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to Steve’s willing mouth before he continues, speaking so close that their lips are brushing. “Getting to take you home, take you to bed, lie there in the dark, just the two of us…”

Steve presses in for another kiss, long and lingering, before pulling away.

“Let’s stay a little longer,” he says. “Jeff owes me a beer, anyway.”

“Y’know,” Eddie pauses with a grunt of effort as Steve stands and uses their joined hands to pull Eddie up after him, “the only reason you knew the movie he was referencing—and, thus, the only reason he owes you a beer—is because I made you watch it.”

“And? What do you want, a medal?” Steve snarks.

“Well,” Eddie drawls, glancing Steve up and down, “some token of appreciation wouldn’t be remiss.”

Steve raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Eddie. “It would be if we did it in the alley next to a bar.”

“Wow, Harrington, mind in the gutter much? I only meant a beer,” Eddie sniffs, all exaggerated offense.

“Sure you did,” Steve says. “Now c’mon; one more beer, and then… home?”

“You got it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, offering one more quick kiss in hopes of putting any hesitation out of Steve’s mind. “One more beer, and then home.”

#rajumat #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #eddiesteve #I think this one is a little rough but I dunno man I'm fond of it #solar wrote #answers from solar

[ripleyresonance]

Sweet Enough to Eat

Sugar Mommy Rhea! x OC

Part 2

Happy Holiday's Mosherz. I hope you all made it on the naughty list this year. This is part 1 of a sugar mommy Rhea fic idea I had. Let me know if you want more...it might be ready already...

Cali had always enjoyed the finer things in life.

Her favorite perfume was Vanilla Diorama by Dior. Her favorite weekend getaway was Nicè, France. And she had even had her favorite sakè flown in from Japan on a bi-weekly schedule.

The best part was that she didn’t spend a dime on this lifestyle. It was all thanks to her sugar mommy.

Cali smiled sitting at her vanity and looking at a picture of her “mami” on her vanity. Cali was unsure which state or country she was in right now. Being an international WWE superstar meant she was gone most of the time. And with past sugar mommy’s, Cali had never cared as long as they bought her what she wanted she was happy. But something about this one left this empty feeling inside of her when Rhea left.

It all started a few months ago. Cali was down on her luck in a major way. Her last sugar mommy had ghosted her and she was running low on perfume. It had even been three weeks since she had her nails done. It was a dire situation.

To take her mind off it she went to her favorite bar from college. She knew they had cheap drinks so she put on a baseball cap and sunglasses and just tried to keep your head down and drink the sadness away. By the time she left, she was understandably pretty fucked up. Maybe she was a little too fucked up as she was bent over throwing up on the brick wall next to the building in the ally. She went to sit on the cool pavement as she felt a strong arm hold her up.

“Woah woah easy there beautiful. Don’t want you to sit in this puke puddle.” An Australian accent said to Cali.

Cali giggled as she stood up facing the woman.

“Y-you sound like bluey.” Cali burped.

The woman laughed.

“You would be surprised how often I get that.” She smiled.

“Can I get you an Uber love, you look like it’s been a rough night?” She said frowning a bit.

“Oh, you wouldn’t even believe the half of it! I mean first, she ghosted me and didn’t even leave me enough money to get my nails done last week now look at them.” Cali cried showing the woman her nails.

“Who could ever let such a pretty thing let their nails go undone?!” She said playing along with Cali.

Cali smiled at the woman as her drunk brain thought someone finally understood her problems.

“What’s your address honey?” the woman asked propping her against the wall to grab her phone.

Cali frowned at the woman.

“I don’t wanna go home. It’s not like anyone will be waiting for me.” Cali said making the women pause for a moment. “Did you want to go back to my place?” She offered.

Cali gasped dramatically.

“Are you trying to kidnap me!?” Cali said loudly.

The women panicked.

“NO NO oh god you just looked sad and sounded like you-“ the woman stuttered.

Cali laughed loudly playfully pushing her shoulder. “I’m fucking with you. A sexy buff lady just asked me to come back to her house. I’ll happily be kidnapped.” Cali said putting her hands out in front of her acting ready for cuffs.

The woman chuckled rubbing the back of her neck.

“You going to be a real handful huh?”

“I could be two handfuls if you wanted..” Cali said grabbing her chest and making the woman laugh.

“C'mon then my car is around the corner she said grabbing Cali’s hand to guide her. It was warm and grounding, enough for her to realize.

“Wait wait wait,” Cali said making the woman stop to face her.

“I’m about to go home with you but I don't even know your name. I mean not like I haven't hooked up with someone before not knowing their name” Cali said.

The woman thought for a moment before touching Cali's chin lightly.

“ We are not doing anything tonight in the state you are in besides getting you a new outfit. You can call me Rhea…what can I call you?” Rhea said her voice low.

“Shit with that voice you can call me whatever you like.” Cali felt her face heat up. “But my friends call me Cali”.

“Well…Cali, shall we go home?”

The next thing Cali knew she was opening her eyes to a bull terrier licking her face.

She shot up in a bed that was not hers as a woman ran in the door.

“Oh shit I am so sorry I wanted to let you sleep in. Barry DOWN off the bed.” the woman snapped as the dog ran off.

Cali looked at the woman momentarily as last night flooded back to her. She remembered her picking her off of the sidewalk, going back to her place…throwing up on her-

“Oh, my god.” Cali said “I just remembered…I am so sorry!” She went to move from the bed until she realized she had no clothes on.

Cali looked mortified as Rhea quickly reassured her.

“We didn't do anything! After you threw up on me I went to go shower and I came back to you naked and laying on my bed so I threw the blanket on you and went to sleep on the couch” Rhea said frantically.

“I- oh my god.” is all Cali could say putting her head in her hands.

“Hey hey we all have had those days, trust me,” Rhea said leaning down next to her and placing a glass of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand.

“You have woken up naked in a stranger's bed after she picked you up out of your own puke?” Cali said peeking out of her hands.

“Well…no,” Rhea admitted causing Cali to groan and fall over.

Rhea laughed going to her closet to grab Cali some clothes.

“Here you can take a shower real quick and throw on these clothes, I will make us some coffee.” Rhea smiled before leaving Cali alone.

As Cali showered all she could do was die of embarrassment remembering the night before. Did she call A total stranger a “sexy buff lady?”. On top of that strip naked and lay on her bed. Cali had to get out of there quickly but after walking out to the kitchen she was hit with the smell of toast.

“There you are sunshine, I got coffee and some toast, the hangover breakfast of champions.”

Rhea sat the food on her kitchen island before Cali as she just stared at the woman.

“Why are you being so nice to me…” Cali said quietly. Rhea looked at the woman with soft eyes.

“Last night you told me you didn't want to go home…you said no one was waiting there..and I don't think anyone should feel that way…especially not someone as beautiful as you are.”

Rhea mumbled the last part as Cali blushed taking a seat and drinking a sip of coffee.

“So did you just break up with your partner then?” Rhea questioned as she leaned against the counter sipping a cup of her coffee.

“Oh no, I haven't dated in…a long time.” Cali laughed

Rhea cocked her eyebrow.

“Sorry you mentioned someone was paying for your nails and perfume so I assumed,” Rhea said

Cali groaned internally thinking how she was about to explain to this kind stranger that she just gets sugar mommies to buy her things. She should have just lied but the ibuprofen was taking longer than she wanted to kick in.

“I uh…people like to buy me those things sometimes,” Cali said avoiding eye contact.

Rhea had a devious smile across her face.

“Are you a sugar baby?” Rhea questioned.

Cali signed looking at Rhea.

“Okay okay let me explain I started back in college and it was super easy and I started getting used to all the gifts and attention and-” Cali rambled.

“Hey hey, no judgment from me..It's not like you are scamming people. They just like giving you what you want, and I see why.” Rhea smirked.

Cali looked confused as Rhea set her cup down standing in front of Cali grabbing her hand. “You were right last night. I cannot believe someone would let you have your nails grown out this much. I would let you change them multiple times a week if that was what you wanted.

Cali stared at her shaking her head and laughing.

“Okay okay poke fun of me all you want thank you for the breakfast,” Cali said getting up as Rhea as Rhea pulled her hand again.

“I’m being serious…Cali.” Rhea said.

“My job has me flying everywhere, I am rarely here at home and it would be nice to have someone to come home to when I am back Maybe even fly out sometimes.” Rhea smiled.

Cali blinked a couple of times trying to process what Rhea was saying.

“… I’m sorry but do you remember me puking on you less than twenty-four hours ago? Why in the fuck would you want to be my sugar mommy.” Cali said highly confused.

“Because Cali I find you…interesting, and I want to find out why,” Rhea said lightly kissing the inside of Cali’s wrist making her blush.

As the offer hung in the air Cali’s mind raced at the unexpected turn of events. Rhea offered to go get her nails fixed she couldn't help but feel a sort of tension in the air…Cali did not know if it was all in her head or what but she could have sworn that kiss to her wrist was more romantic than transactional.

#rhea ripley #wlw #wwe #wwe raw #mami rhea #Rhea Ripley x OC #rhea ripley imagine #rhea ripley x reader

[vesora]

dealing with fear of abandonment through LOA + general tips

personal backstory / long post ahead

“Change your conception of yourself and you will automatically change the world in which you live. Do not try to change people; they are only messengers telling you who you are. Revalue yourself and they will confirm the change.” ― Neville Goddard, Your Faith is Your Fortune

as a child, my needs were not met and therefore, i developed a schema that people were meant to disappoint me and leave me and my relationships, both platonic and romantic reflected EXACTLY that.

countless times, i was ‘left’ without any reason, always strengthening the notion i had always felt that people were meant to abandon me. even if i was close to someone, i would still engage in self-sabotaging behaviours when i felt disappointed by the expectations i had set for them. feeling this lack of control when it came to relationships because i was so deathly afraid of being left alone; of disappointing the other. not putting myself first because i felt the only sense of worth i had was through whether another found me worthy. this is all very hard for me to say of course, im a private person but i felt maybe someone at least needed to hear this. my parent would be nice at one point and disinterested in the other, i felt i had to work to gain their approval and for them to be nice to me all the time. i needed them to view me as perfect, so they wouldn’t leave me. but guess what guys? thats stupid, bcos fuck perfection.

in my abandonment activation strategies/self-sabotaging behaviours, my body would go into a state of desperation, in dire need of any sort of relief and safety, crying my heart out because i was so scared, leaving people because i was scared of being left first. being scared i was being clingy by asking for reassurance which in turn sends me into another frenzy, isolating myself from people so i have no chances to be hurt, feeling resentment when someone doesnt meet my expectations/needs through no fault of their own. my inner child would just take over my body, repeating the same distress i experienced as a kid. 

but i am not a kid anymore. i am a well-functioning adult and i cannot continue this abandonment schema. so what do i do?

i use loa. 

how to use loa + general tips for this:

recognise that everything and everyone is you pushed out. your relationships play out the way you assume they will. this is not to say at all what happened when you were a child was your fault. we are not to blame. our needs were simply not met.

change the way you view relationships, no matter how hard it may be. if everyone is just us, how can anyone else abandon us? not even that, why would anyone leave us? we are amazing and fun and good people

be someone YOU are proud of, irrespective of what other people think. all is mind, so why do you think you need to impress someone who’s just another part of you? a part that can easily be molded

you are not clingy. you are not desperate. you are not unworthy. you are not unlovable. repeat affirmations that you are lovable. that you deserve to have your needs met. that everyone meets your needs. that you never feel abandoned. that you love yourself unconditionally. YOU are on the pedestal, NOT anyone else.

if someone is emotionally unavailable, this DOES NOT mean they do not love or care about you! they might be busy, not be well-versed with showing emotions in a healthy way, express their love in a different way than yours or they may simply be going through something in their lives right now. 

when this happens, you can talk to the person about it and usually in my experience, the person understands and reassures me that they still love me and that we are okay. if a person is not willing to make sure you are okay, maybe rethink their position in your lives. you are the pedestal, not them. now just because someone reassures you doesn’t mean you don’t work on yourself. you do work on yourself through LOA and useful strategies.

take deep belly breaths when you feel yourself get triggered. it is okay. you are going to be okay, i promise. the next day im sure you will feel fine. it is not the end of the world, i promise you. the world IS you. just change it.

reassure your inner child and your adult self that you are okay now. you are the best version of yourself right now. you are safe. you are secure. you are not in danger. your life is in YOUR hands. YOU are in control. YOU created this life. the only way to change it is within.

if you feel impatient and you want things to change IMMEDIATELY, i.e. when youre having a panic attack, take deep breaths and remember this is temporary. remember you are in control of what happens but also do not be attached to any outcome, just have faith that everything works out in your favour.

if you feel resentment when someone doesn’t meet your expectations, do NOT use strategies to hurt them or leave them. just calm down and view them with a gaze of love. transmute this feeling of resentment and abandonment to love and understanding, you can even visualise it. they still love you, you can manifest them to love you the way you want to idk but still they love you! don’t try to make them jealous, don’t distance yourself, don’t do whatever you do to get ‘revenge’ idk, it is NOT healthy. it only hurts YOU in the end. plus, LOA dictates the way people act with you is a reflection of yourself, so all you need to do is change self.

no matter what, KNOW you are loved. even if your body is freaking out and wants to flee, tell yourself in the moment it will pass. it has to. your trauma trigger reactions are NOT you. 

it may be hard to believe that someone loves you. for me, i felt like i was delusional. that i was kidding myself, because how dare i assume someone loves me? that’s why i kept seeking external reassurance for any semblance of love because i was not giving that reassurance to myself internally. and when someone didn’t give me that reassurance in the 3d, i’d freak out, even though i had manifested it unknowingly. how can i go to the 3d and ask for love when everything, good and bad, is within me? as the creator, how can i not tell myself i am worthy of love and that people close to me love me? how can i not believe that when all is me? it is a bit stupid to think like that, no? well i did, and to an extent i still do. but i’m recovering. i deserve to live a life where i am not constantly afraid. i deserve to live a life where i can speak with confidence that someone loves me. it is hard for me, even now, but i know i will get through it, as will you. 

let’s be brazenly impudent together, shall we?

“Dare to believe in the reality of your assumption and watch the world play its part relative to to its fulfillment.” ― Neville Goddard

#abandonment issues #abandonment #fear of abandonment #attachment #anxious attachment #attachment anxiety #trauma response #loa #law of assumption #neville #neville goddard #law of attraction #law of belief #manifest #manifestation #manifesting #consciousness #psychology #awareness

[fictionalmenmakemecry]

Fuckin' with the Ecosystem- Chapter 3

Characters: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Summary: With Carmy receiving Mikey's goodbye letter and you coming to understand the dire financial state of the restaurant, emotions are flying high. The nightmare doesn't let up until Carmy stumbles upon a fuck ton of money which leads him to ask you a very important question.

Warnings: Suicide mention, anxiety, cursing, alcohol.

A/n: This took way longer than I originally planned. This chapter is a long one and there's a lot of emotions. I wanted to make sure I did it right. I'm really enjoying writing this series and honestly I could write about Carmy all day, everyday! I've got big plans coming for this story so let me know if you want me to start a tag list. Please let me know what you think! Any interaction is super helpful for me :)

If you haven't read, here's: Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

Enjoy!

It's Tuesday, and you're very aware of the days slipping through your fingers. When booking your flights, you thought two weeks would be too long but thought it wouldn't be bad to have some left over time to check out Chicago. Now that you're here, you were worried you weren't going to have enough time to go through everything with Carmy before heading back.

You arrive at the restaurant at 9 am to see Carmy already here and the others starting to filter in. As per usual, Marcus has been in since 7am, exploring the world of dessert making.

You take a sip from your hot coffee before reaching over for the leatherbound book on the other end of the desk. You've only flipped through it lightly not seeing anything that would be any importance. But you decided to have a deeper look to see if you're missing anything.

You open it and start scanning it. Each page consisted of a list of numbers with no order or description. Some of them crossed out, other not. The further you studied it, the more confused you got.

Was this the way Mikey was keeping track of this debts? You thought to yourself resting your forehead on your hand as you continued to flick through the pages.

"Carmy" you called out seeing him walk past the office.

He paused and leaned into the doorway, his hair more chaotic than usual.

"Uhh.. you a'ight?" You checking in on him noticing his messy state.

"Y-yeah, good, Why?" He questioned.

You shook your head slightly, remembering the actual reason why you stopped him.

"I'm going through Mikey's notebooks and seeing if there's any notes he may written down, and I stumbled on KBL electric, ring any bells?" You asked moving the book closer to him.

He leans down and furrowed his brows, pausing for a moment. His arm resting on the back of the chair you're sitting on.

"Uhh.." He raised his eyebrows.

His eyes continued to stare at the notebook like his mind was searching for the connection. You noticed his curls sticking up awkwardly and smiled to yourself.

"No...no idea" He eventually said.

You paused for a moment before flicking a couple of pages and point your finger to the same words but with $300,000 scribbled underneath.

"This?" You asked again.

He shook his head and stood up. He had no clue what that was about. Mikey was known for not being clear, but this was a joke at this stage. He made a mental note on how important bookkeeping was going to be when this place got sorted. He was not going to go through this nightmare again.

"Mornin'" Richie yawned strolling by, sporting an original beef zipped hoodie.

"Cousin" Carmy called at him, making him take a few steps back.

You glance up at him and noticed the tiredness still clinging to his eyes.

"Do you have any idea what this is about?" Carmy gestured to the desk looking over at him.

Richie readjusted the strap on his shoulder of his bag and took a step forward. He leaned in, bringing his eyes to the page.

"KBL electric" He said to himself, thinking.

"Fuck if I know" He flickered his eyes and gave a shrug before continuing his way to his locker.

Carmy brought his hand to his forehead, pushing his hair back. He let out deep exhale, continuing to look at the writing in the book.

"Look, maybe I'll come across something else that might give us a hint." You said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

"I'll let you know if I see anything else." You brought your eyes back down to the book.

"Sounds good." Carmy stayed there for a beat before going back into the kitchen.

Time goes by, you have no idea how long it been. You hear a light cough and look up to see Marcus.

"Shit!" You gasped to yourself, completely startled.

"Fuck Marcus, a little warning? Maybe a knock?" You said putting your hand on your chest, feeling your racing heart.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He smiled looking down at you.

You brought your eyes down to see him holding a freshly made donut covered in icing sugar. He placed the plate on the desk.

"This looks.. unreal" You grinned picking up the donut glancing up at him.

"Yeah, well... I thought if I was gonna to really start nailing this down, I needed to learn the classics first." Marcus licked his lips, waiting for me to take my first bite.

You take a bite, a big one, making sure you get some of the filling. The dough is fresh and pulls away so delicately. Once you get a couple of chews in, the filling hits your tongue. The sweetest jam awakens your tastebuds. You raise your eyebrows out of pure instinct of how unexpectedly delicious it is. You pull away the donut and look at it to see the rich red filling oozes out of the donut. You bring your finger up to it to catch it before any of it drips off.

"Mhhmm...Dahhmmn Marcus." You called out with your mouth half full with donut.

He instantly beams, shining that big bright smile at you.

"Good?" He asked, angling his head.

"Fuck yeah, way better than good!" You complimented.

You lean in for another bite and stop.

"I can have the rest of this, right?" You double-checked looking up at him.

He nodded, chuffed with himself that he could get someone to react to his baking that way. With Syd and Carmy being critical about his previous attempts, he lacked the little bit of confidence.

You take another bite and enjoy the perks of being around a training prodigy of a pastry chef.

"Mmhh you show..mhh Syd... yet?" You asked with a mouthful of donut.

"Not yet.. I don't think I'm there yet. " He shook his head, putting his hands on his beanie.

"Marcus! Nah, I'm changing that." You swallowed and put the half ate donut back on the plate.

"Syd! Sy-" You yelled out leaning out the doorway over his shoulder.

"No, no- needa still fix-" Marcus put up his hands, trying to block the doorway. It didn't take a second before the swinging door opened.

"Yea?" She popped her head out, wondering what the commotion was.

"You gotta try this!" You said excitedly, glancing up at Marcus.

The grin was gone off his face and replaced with a slightly nervous one. You gave a slight apologetic one back, not wanting him to hate you after this. You reached for the donut handing the plate to Syd at the door way.

As she took a bite, you looked over to Marcus, who had his lips pressed into a fine line.

You both watched her, waiting for her reaction. She took a bite and chewed. After a few seconds, her eyebrows shot up, and she continued to feel the donut's texture between her two fingers, as she was eating it.

"Marcus, this is the shit." She looked up finally giving a big smile before giving him a playful punch in the arm.

The tension from Marcus shoulders melted away. He brought his hands up to his head and took a deep breath, a smile appeared on his face.

Marcus was still new to all of this and wanted to learn as much as possible. He didn't want to get too carried away though. From time to time he felt overwhelmed with all the guidance he would get from Carmy and Syd. He wouldn't know how to use that knowledge to make his recipes better. They were already so established in the flavors they liked. He was only starting to understand the basics.

"I have one recommendation, though." Syd sucked her lip in, still tasting the donut on her lips.

"Yeah, of course." Marcus looked at her eagerly, waiting for her response.

"The filling might be a little too sweet." She explained, dipping her fingertip in the red ooze that had spilled onto the plate and bringing it up to her mouth.

"Okay, that's fair" He agreed.

"Do you still have some of it left?" She asked

Marcus nodded looking at her.

"Here, let me show you something." She turns around heading to the kitchen with Marcus following her.

"Marcus!" You called him making him glance back at you.

"I think it was perfect" You grinned mocking a chefs kiss

"Heard" He chuckled, heading to the kitchen.

Before you know it, it's already Wednesday. You can tell that fatigue is catching. You wake up at 10:30am, sleeping through two of your alarms. You groaned out of bed still feeling like you need another six hours before it even makes a dent in your exhaustion. You unlock your phone to a text from Carmy.

Need to talk bills, let me know when you're in.

You check the time of the message. 6:30am

You get to the restaurant at noon and to say things were hectic, was an understatement. You popped your head into the kitchen to hear Carmy yelling orders more frantically than normal. No one saying a word. You noticed the line of tickets stacked up and thought maybe you would wait a bit for it to calm down.

You head to the office to see Richie on the chair scrolling on his phone.

"Mornin' sweetheart" He glanced up.

"What happened?" You asked taking your coat off.

"Sydney fucked up. That's what happenin'. Cousin blew his fuckin' head, told Syd to get the fuck out. Keep away if I was you" He got up and stretched.

"Gotta go back out now and fuckin' deal with this train wreck, fuck me." He groaned rubbing his face.

"Good luck with that," you grinned sitting down on the warmed up chair.

"Gonna need it." He mumbled, making his way back to the front.

You heard the door open and Carmy voice bellowed with anger before the door closed again and it was muffled.

Carmy stabbed the last ticket on the stack of paper and looked up at the clock. It was the fastest four hours that went by. The relief that overcame him knowing that they got through that catastrophe.

"Housekeeping chefs" He announced wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

"Yes Chef" They replied as the start to clean up the mess around them.

He made his way to the office to see you sitting there.

"Wha-"

"Don't ask" He stated in the doorway pushing back his hair with both hands.

"Okay" You said taken aback by the bluntness.

He watched you for a moment. You had various bills in front of you. All with the dooming "overdue" print on it.

It was moments like this that he wished he could just walk out. The feeling of drowning in anxiety was unbearable. He didn't have the energy to fight it. He thought about just shutting the place down. Just accept defeat. Try and move on, maybe walk away from cooking for a beat. He would leave Chicago and not tell anyone. Just get away from everything for a couple of months. If he was honest with himself, he didn't even know if that's what he needed. He's been neglecting his needs for so long he didn't know what he actually wanted from life anymore.

You looked up at him after minutes of silence. He wasn't present anymore. He was completely dissociated. You did say anything. You continued to look at the money flow, the account book you put together last week.

"Sorry, I was-" He rubbed his eyes, waking himself up from the negative thoughts.

"Just so fuckin' tired" He mumbled taking another couple of steps in.

You clicked your pen a couple of times thinking about how to phrase the news you had.

"So...What's up?" He asked bringing his full attention to you.

He felt your hesitation.

"That bad huh?" He breathed out.

You looked up to see his face was red and his eyes tired. His hair was wet with sweat.

"Y-Yeah, it is" you pressed your lips together.

You pointed the end of the pen to the electric bill.

"You only have enough money to cover electric bill or your produce order." You said straight out.

"Fffuck," He said quietly, looking down at the bill.

"When does the electric bill have to be paid?" He asked

"In 4 days"

Carmy head dropped, his eyes closed, and he took a deep breath. He wasn't even sure if this nightmare was real anymore. He didn't think anymore shit could get more fucked.

"Carmy"

He brought his eyes to you.

"Let me help," you started, knowing he wasn't going to like what was going to come out of your mouth.

"Let me cover this bill, just so-"

"No fuckin' way. No. " He raised his hand, stopping you in your tracks.

"Bu-"

"Stop, not happenin'." He snapped.

He glared into you, not wanting you to say another word about your ideas.

He couldn't even fathom the idea of you pumping your own money into the place. He's not even paying you. What type of owner would he be - or even a friend? It was bad enough that he had to sell his own sentimental belongings just to have meat to work with for the next day.

"I'll figure somethin' out," he stated.

He sat down at the bench between the lockers. He rested his arms on his thigh, bent over with his head in his hands. Today was.... he couldn't even think of a word. Every time he thinks this place can't go anywhere, it hits a different rock bottom. It's been in his possession for 3 weeks. It'll be closed in the next three if something doesn't change.

He felt a body sit beside him on the bench and gave a side eye. Richie sat next to him. Richie was the last person he needed to talk to right now. He couldn't deal with his bullshit.

Richie leaned over behind the locker and picked up a white envelope before sitting back on the bench. There was a beat of silence between them.

If there was ever a time where Richie felt would be the right moment to give Carmy this. It would be now. He looked over to see Carmy completely defeated and exhausted. Since arriving here, Carmy has put all his energy into this place, and it has fucked him every way possible.

Richie felt relief when Carmy arrived one morning on his doorstep. After the funeral, Richie had chaos released on him. Mikey's family asked when Carmy would come back to take over the restaurant. Sugar trying to contact both of them, to grasp any information on what was happening. Richie didn't know anything and now had to handle taking over the place with no idea what to do. To see Carmy in front of him, he had never been happier seeing him than that day.

Carmy looked over, his face change from fed up to anxious instantly, noticing what was in Richie's hand. Carmy recognized the writing and felt his heart pick up. The writing scrawled on the front with a black ink.

To Carmy,

From Mikey.

Carmy hesitantly took it off of him, not lifting his stare from it.

"What is this?" He asked concerned, looking at Richie.

Richie gestured his hands. He didn't know what to say.

"I don't know," he murmured.

Carmy eyes flickered between the envelope and Richie, not understanding what was happening.

"Richie, wh-what the fuck is this?" Carmy spoke up, grasping the envelope with a firmer grip.

"I don't know..." Richie shook his head gently.

"...And I didn't really want to give it to you 'cause.... it meant he was gone. Um, but, uh..." He broke off, feeling his stomach churn.

Carmy looked at him, feeling pain in his chest. He watched Richie, seeing the grief cascade over his face and realize he wasn't the only one going through this. Carmy placed his hand on Richie leg, Richie brought his arm to Carmy's back and for that moment, they both felt the devastation of Mikey presence finally gone. They sat there for a while before Richie got up, giving Carmy the space he needed.

It ran through Carmy's mind if he should even open the letter. Was it worth the wound that was going to be torn up with reading it. He didn't know if he was going to have the strength to continue today.

He needed to go elsewhere. No fucking way was he having the chance of anyone catching him in this sorry state. He made his way to a side alley next to the building. The cold air hitting his red hot skin making it feel like it was on fire. His heart was thumping. He got on his honkers and stared at it.

Maybe, he should wait til' he's home tonight?

Fuck it, he thought to himself.

He stared at it, in his shaky hands, before taking a deep inhale.

"Stupid" He whispered to himself not wanting to make a big deal out of this.

Even though this was going to be the last contact he was going to have with his brother. It was final. Mikey had the last say. After all the time of Carmy thinking Mikey left him nothing. Somehow, this felt worse because he knew for certain Mikey had this all planned. It made it more real than just hearing about it from people's mouths.

Carmy bit his lip, his feelings whelming up inside, finally it was hitting him.

He flipped it over and start ripping it open quickly.

There it was. Two small sentences in the center of the page.

I love you dude.

Let it rip

His eyes ran over the words again and again. Hearing Mikey voice in his head. Carmy choked back tears, bringing his hand up to his face, his eyes never leaving the words. The lump in his throat became unbearable. He felt his body start to tremble. The pain in his chest became stronger to the point that he held his breath to ease the strain.

After a moment, he took a breath in, feeling agony wash over him.

"Fuck you.. fuck you" He sniffled.

He knew it was going to hit him. It did. This scrap of paper made all the feelings he have been brewing since getting the phone call finally come up.

He took deep breaths and looked up. He focused on trying not to lose it completely. The wave of grief over swept him like he was drowning. The tightness in his chest constricting and releasing.

He flipped over the piece of paper and saw the family's spaghetti recipe wrote on the back. No instructions, just the ingredients. A small smile crept up on his face.

After a few minutes of steady breathing, he pulled himself together. He put the letter into the envelope and shoved it in his pocket.

He went back into the kitchen to see everyone prepping. He noticed Richie's eyes following him as he weaved through the station.

"You a'ight?" Richie whispered, coming up behind him.

Carmy nodded before reaching up for a 28oz can of tomato sauce.

"I'm.. gonna make spaghetti. I need to clear my head for a bit, " he mumbled, bringing it to the countertop.

"Uhh.. okay" Richie hesitated before giving a worried look to Tina.

She shrugged her shoulders making her way to the walk-in.

Carmy knew prep needed to get done but he just needed sometime to turn off his thoughts and get lost in cooking without thinking about it. He wanted his body to go into autopilot.

He added the garlic cloves to the pot and poured in an eye measurement of oil, clicking on the gas ring until a flame emitted on the surface. In another pan, he had half onions getting fried in butter. As they sizzled away, he leaned over to grab a can opener and opened one of the cans before dumping the contents with the onion.

He saw hints of green mixed with the tomatoes and shoved it around to see it was a lump of something. He grabbed it and wiped away the remaining sauce surrounding it.

"There's no fuckin' way" He said to himself tearing off the clear wrapping on the suspicious looking bundle of money. The hundred dollar number facing back at him, he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Cousin!" He urgently yelled not taking his eyes off the hundred dollar notes in his hand.

"Yo!"

"HELP" He shouted back coming to the realization of what might be happening.

You heard the racket from the office, hoping it wasn't another meltdown situation. As you entered the kitchen you saw everyone walk past your with cans and cans of tomatoes.

"Get you ass to work, Chica," Tina grinned.

"What?" You asked, completely confused about what was going on.

"Money." She beamed before continuing her way.

You went to where the cans where stored to see Richie stacking them on a metal tray.

"You're not gonna fuckin' believe this" He snickered.

That evening Carmy gave you the run down of what he thought Mikey did. He showed you the KBL on the lid of the unsuspicious can of tomato sauce. The hint that you were looking for was right into front of you the whole time. Everyone walked past those cans 50 times a day, not blinking an eye. Hidden in plain sight.

For the rest of the evening, everyone got plenty of practice on their can opening skills. Tomato sauce was everywhere. Everyone emptying the cans and pulling out bundles of money. Richie was tallying it up with his calculator. Syd came to join us, completely unaware of the jacket pot that landed on all of you during the day. Carmy spoke to her about what the money could do for them. For the restaurant, and with that, she was reeled it.

Everyone was at an all time high with the sudden change in events, Carmy decided that service wasn't happening for the rest of the day. He knew everyone needed one night of blowing off steam for, hopefully, the new chapter ahead that he had in his mind.

"How many should I get?" You asked dialing the number on the office phone.

"Uh... 10?" Carmy suggested, scratching back of his head.

You order several types of Chicago deep dish pizzas with excited muffled voices in the other room.

You hung up the phone after making the order and looked over at Carmy who was still standing there, dissociated or exhausted or maybe both.

"Well we finally got the hint" You smiled putting the phone back on the desk.

He snapped out of his trance.

"Oh yea, you could say that" He gave a little smile.

You could both hear the happy chatter over in the next room with Richie's booming voice echoing the most.

"My sister, Suga, is coming over."

"Oh that's great"

In the time you were working with Carmy, he would only really bring up Sugar. You knew Mikey existed but Sugar's name came up the most in conversation. You would also see him get phone calls from her time to time.

Richie went to collect the pizzas. You and Carmy joined everyone in the side room. Tina was chatting to Sydney, helping her lay out the long table. Marcus in the corner hooking up his phone with Richie small speaker. Everyone else was scattered around the room talking.

"Hey!" A blonde woman walked in with a big smile on her face.

Carmy instantly drew her into a hug. He leaned back glancing at me before looking back at her.

"This is Suga" He introduced me to her

She smiled over at me and opened her arms to me.

"Oh my god, it's great to finally meet you. Carmy has told me a lot about you over the years" Suga gave me a squeeze before pulling away.

"Really?" You said surprised, not even thinking he would bring you up to other people.

"Same here!" You grinned back.

"We gotta talk later about what the hell is going on" She side mouthed to Carmy before making her way to Tina who was already greeting her.

Richie finally came back with the pizzas and everyone started digging in. You found yourself stuck in a conversation with Richie and Fak

"I swear to fuckin' God it happened" Richie exclaimed telling the story on how Bill Murray is his voicemail.

"I've heard it and it's true" Fak reassuringly nodded at you.

You shook your head in disbelief, knowing it was going to rile up Richie.

"C'mon, you fuckin' believe me, ight?" Richie turned his head to you.

"Well, to be honest, I would have to hear it." You shrugged your shoulders, giving a quick cheeky smile to Fak.

"Fuck it, do you have your phone?"

Fak and I both shook our heads.

"Let me get my phone" Richie felt his pockets trying to place his.

"Hold up" He raised his hand before he walks off towards the kitchen on the mission to find his phone.

As your eyes followed Richie walk out, your sight landed on Carmy sitting at the table talking to Sugar about this evening. You notice his hand was in his hair as he listened to her.

You tell Fak that you're going to get something to drink, asking him if he wanted anything. He said he was good before getting distracted with a song that Marcus had just put on. He boogied his way to Marcus, reeling him in on a fake fishing line.

You made your way to grab a beer out of one of the ice buckets on the table.

"I see you." You hear a voice, and you look down to see Tina sitting at the table picking at her leftover crust.

"Huh?"

She smiled suspiciously before gesturing you to sit down across from her.

"So, how long have you've been..." She rolls her eye towards Carmy at the end of the table.

You glanced over to see him still occupied with Sugar.

"I have no i-"

"Naw, don't play dumb with me. I see the looks you give each other" She narrowed her eyes stilling grinning.

You finally caught on to what she was on about and immediately chuckled.

"Oh no, noth- we're just friends." You smiled, feeling caught off guard on what to say.

"Not in my eyes," she quipped back, taking a drink from her beer.

You looked over to Carmy, and caught him looking at you and immediately took his eyes away. You felt shy all of a sudden. You tried to think back to see if there were any times you and Carmy seemed to be closer to than friends, especially from people looking from the outside in. Nothing came to mind.

"I'm telling you Chica, I'm not judging. Just wonderin' how long has it been going on"

"Well we've never been... together that way" You felt embarrassed explaining to Tina.

She pulled back with her eyebrows raised

"You coulda fooled me" She remarked.

"Here! Here listen" Richie came over shoving his phone in your hand.

You brought the phone up to your ear and on the other end was the voice of Bill Murray.

"Damn," you said to yourself, seeing Richie grin become bigger.

"Fuckin' told you"

You were impressed that you could actually hear Bill Murray and realized that Richie wasn't lying. It's not that you didn't believe him, but maybe didn't take everything he said to heart.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and looked over to see Carmy behind you.

"Wanna talk to you in the office, for a min" He said with a serious tone.

You nodded handing the phone back to Richie. You got up and felt Tina eyes not leaving you until you walked out of the room.

For some reason, your stomach did a flip. What was this about. This is the most relaxed the place has been since you've arrived here. But you could tell Carmy was far from relaxed.

He sat in the chair in the office before leaning over to pull out a foldable chair for you to sit on. As you sat down, you noticed his leg jittering. His inked fingers were tapping on the desk like he was thinking about something.

"Uh.. So I was talkin' to Suga and explainin' everything that happened with the tomato cans and money." He started looking at you.

"She saw all the paper you helped filed and I told her about all the late nights you've been here. Non stop..." He further explained.

As he went on, tension was in the air. You had no idea what he was going on about but him talking more and more made you nervous.

"Carmy" You stated trying to get him to the point.

"Uh.. sorry- fuck" He pushed his hair back and looked down.

"You've been a massive fuckin' help to us. This is crazy to even bring up, so don't worry if you don't wanna..." He continued to ramble.

"I wanna offer you a position here," He finally said.

"What?" You stunned by what just came out of his mouth.

"I wanna offer you a job. I've talked to everyone, and they would love to have you here. It makes sense. You're already caught up on the financial situation, and I trust you."

"Move to Chicago?" You looked down, picking your fingers nervously.

"Uh, y-yeah. I know it's a big ask. I know I still have to pay you for the two weeks, too. But everyone would hate to see you go and-"

"Everyone?" You sputtered out, only realizing after, you said it out loud.

You looked up into his eyes. His blue stare gazing back to you.

"... I w-would, " He stuttered, breaking a small smile.

You felt your heart skip. The thought of moving to Chicago made your stomach flutter. The idea of coming to this place every week made you smile. But most importantly, seeing Carmy daily gave you a weird comfort.

"I have big plans for this place. I would only want people by my side that I know I can count on. One of them is you." He tapped his fingers on the desk lightly.

Your mind went to all the things you would have to start organizing. Your old apartment, moving furniture, driving back to Chicago. It was a lot, especially by yourself.

"I don't know how long-"

"Don't worry, there's no rush. Take the time you need to move here." He scrambled, feeling he was asking a lot from you.

There was a moment of silence between you both. He could tell you were overwhelmed.

"I wanna help you move..." He spoke up, seeing the unexpected look on your face.

".. if only you want," he added not wanting to be too forward.

"Are you sure?" You pressed your lips into fine line.

"Yea, yeah, with both of us, it would be faster. Plus, everyone here could start breaking this place down. " He motioned to his surroundings.

"Look, I'm not asking for an answer now. But, think about it ?" He leaned closer.

You nodded, looking back at him.

Carmy wanted you to say yes. He didn't want to say goodbye. Over the last few weeks, he's gotten used to seeing you. Him going to you moments when he felt everything was falling apart. The rising anxiety he felt imagining you flying off at the end of the week. Him not seeing you come in with coffee for him in the morning. Him making you a quick bite, knowing you would have forgotten to eat all day. In this short period of time, he fell into a routine with you.

The only thing giving him peace was that this place was going to be hectic when it came to renovation that he'll hopefully be too busy to notice you were gone.

"Marcus made us cake! Get some before it's all gone with Richie fat ass. " Tina smirked, leaning into the doorway.

"Go ahead, ill be out in a min" Carmy ushered you away with him staying behind.

"Lovebirds," She muttered, wagging her eyebrows mockingly.

You rolled your eyes, giving her light shove.

Everyone dug into the moist, delicious, double layered chocolate cake. They uttered compliments to Marcus as they took their first bites. It was the perfect thing to end the crazy day. Carmy finally joined you all and picked up a piece of cake that Sydney was guarding against Fak, who wanted seconds.

You both kept separate sides of the room but felt each other's stares. Whatever was growing between each other, you're both hoping it was a wave that would fade away. Just the novelty after not seeing each other for so long. Or maybe the fact that you might not see each other again.

You wanted to think about this straight. It would be easy to get caught up in the fantasy of starting a new life here. You had to think things through, talk to your parents. You knew they were going to question you when it came to your incentives to moving to Chicago. You were apprehensive bringing up Carmy, knowing them hearing a boy's name will ring alarm bells. Did you really want to move to Chicago? Do you really want to commit to a restaurant that doesn't even exist yet? Were you putting yourself through all this trouble just to please a close friend of yours?

These were all questions that were causing you anxiety. You pushed those thoughts out of your head wanting to enjoy one fun night with these group of people that you've become so close with.

"Shots! Shots! Shots!" Richie shouted raising the bottle of Tequila entering the room.

"Here's to a new fuckin' start Cousin!" Richie yelled wrapping his arm around Carmy shoulder pulling him in closer to him.

Carmy grinned, for once giving in to Richie hyper emotions and wrapped his arm around him. His eyes travelled across the room and landed on you. He gestured for you to come over. Richie was pouring shots for everyone. Even if you didn't want one, it didn't seem to be an option.

"I just wanna say.. that I know the last month has been hell" Carmy spoke up bringing the attention to him.

"But, this is the beginning of something bigger than all of us and I know we'll be able to pull it off..." He glanced to everyone holding his cup of tequila.

"So let's make this place something we're proud of...." He paused bringing his cup up.

"and let it rip" He announced

Everyone brought their cups together before downing the tequila.

Chapter 4

Masterlist to other fics

#fanfic #fluff #fanfiction #love #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear #carmy x reader #chicago #carmy x richie #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #the bear headcanon #fuckin with the Ecosystem #jeremy allen white

[lavender--fairy]

Hey Fairy!

I have a success story for the people who always love to doubt the law by saying “well what if I was in a dire situation(bills need to be payed asap, no income, homelessness etc), how would the 4D help me then??”

Welllll, I was in a similar situation where I did not understand how to operate the law despite knowing about it for years and i did have previous successes with money but it was always like an accident and not something I knew how to operate and continued to struggle even until recently lol.

I had no income since November and ofc bills were due, rent was due, I was in a very dire situation and believe me I was freaking out the whole month of January, it did not help me🤠 and I was constantly trying to be in the wish fulfilled but with the intent of changing the 3D, which is what failed me.

I read Ed art’s posts around Christmas but ig it just did not click for me until I reread some of aphroditeappreanticeee’s posts and some of yours and others’ about how it’s not about changing the 3D, it’s all about changing the 4D and being in the state of thing desired. I was like “fck it i got nothing to lose” so I decided to focus on being in the state of wealth and not bat an eye for what the 3D showed me.

I had absolutely no idea how things would unfold but I kept my state and less than a week later money came flowing in I mean like going from 0$ to like 20k$ which ofc isn’t the end goal(as in I’m sure my state of wealth will bring me millions asap😋) but it’s fucking magnificent! Especially considering how bad my situation was!!!!

So in the end, my advice would be - keep returning to the state of your desired thing until it becomes natural and if you’re having trouble coming back to it, do what @cinefairy said and that’s “ask yourself why you want the thing you desire and you’ll see that it’s to acquire the feelings which accompany the thing you want, feel those feelings” and that will help you sustain your desired state, at least it helped me a lot!!

hey butterbean!! I am so gladd you put the law to the test because other wise its just of no use, alsooo thank you so much for telling us this i am sure it will inspire so many people, Thanks for your amazing advise as well <3

#successtory #law of assumption #loassumption #loa motivation #loa

[drefear]

Hail to the King

Chapter 4: Understanding

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: angst, violence, backstory, Miguel will consistently be a dick.

Your back hit the mat beneath you with a thud, knocking the wind out of your lungs. You hissed at the bruise that would form on your leg now, taking another hit from Miguel. 

“Get up.” He commanded and you glared at him, looking over your weaker frame like a tree staring down at a squirrel. “You haven’t improved.” 

“Well, it’s been a week! Can’t you just teach me to shoot a gun?” You panted, trying to regain your breath as he rolled his eyes at you. 

“And if you drop your gun?” His face was still hard, stoic, as he gave you a sharp tone. “Or even better, if you forget it? What will you do then?” He asks. 

You fall silent, sighing and getting up. “Ok, fair… but I’m not big like you, and I’m definitely not as strong.” You get into the fighting stance he taught you an hour ago. “And this is my first lesson.” 

He shot out a punch and you leaned out of the way, before feeling his foot pull your knees forward, bringing you to a kneeling position before him. His hand grabs your throat as he bends down, too tall to grab you normally. 

“Again.” He stated, before you stood up, huffing. 

“This is getting me nowhere.”

“Because you’re not understanding how dire these lessons are. You’d be dead in ten minutes if you had to handle a fraction of what I do in a week. Your first meeting would have you being sold on the black market.” His words were like a movie, not reality, right? 

“The black market is real?” 

“…carajo.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Maybe you should have stayed a waitress…” Miguel mumbled as you glared at him now, disliking the feeling of not being able to do something. 

“Again.” You called out and let him throw the first punch, dodging and slipping past him, punching him in the back. He barely moves as he looks at you over his shoulder. 

“Ok. You got past me and got a hit in. Let’s end today on that note.” He straightened up and rolled his shoulders, barely having broken a sweat during your training. Meanwhile, you were gasping for air most of the time. “Start training in the gym to grow some stamina.” 

“And when the hell am I supposed to have time for that?” 

“You work 8-5, we train from 5:30-7, so you should use the gym from 7-8. You can run for about an hour, or do some sort of cardio.” He stated like it was completely natural. “How do you think everyone else in the world does it?” You crossed your arm, hating this all. 

“Most normal jobs just make you finish reports.” 

“I could fire you, if you’d like.” He added. You pondered a bit at the idea of finding a new job and a new apartment. You mentally realized that you were essentially fucked without your position here, working for Spider Man. 

“Fine, fine, relax.” You stretched your arms as you felt the sore muscles start to settle in. He gave you a rough first lesson, and basically beat you to a pulp at the same time. You glanced and he wasn’t even tired, not even sweating. This was just another day to him. 

And then it dawned on you. He didn’t have to be here, helping you. He did this because he wanted you to be able to protect yourself from your ex, to protect yourself in the world, and in his world. You mentally sighed in defeat as you looked back up at him. 

“By the way… thanks. For teaching me.” 

“Don’t thank me.” Is all he said as he walked away. You retreated to the women’s locker room as he went to the men’s and rinsed off, scrubbing the layers of sweat you’d accrued during that session and threw on some t-shirt and sweatpants. You exited and saw him waiting for you. 

You couldn’t help but gawk a bit. He was still a bit wet from rinsing off himself and wearing a clean tank top with basketball shorts. Quirking his brow at you, he narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue. You snapped out of the small daze and walked towards the door, as he followed. “Sorry, I just remembered. I called three escort services and they all refused.” 

“What do you mean they refused?” 

“They agreed until they asked who the service was for and when I told them, they said no thank you. One actually just hung up on me.” You glanced up at him and you saw that he was… pouting? 

“Great. So word got around, hmm?” He mumbled and now it was your turn to raise a brow in confusion. He huffed and looked away. “I have a… unhealthy sexual appetite, and one of the last times I used an escort service, I may have insulted the girl.” 

“May have? What did you say?” He was quiet, not wanting to say it out loud as you crossed your arms. “Tell me.” You rushed him and he blew a strand of hair from his face in defeat. 

“Ok, I called her an ugly duckling and said that I didn’t use an escort service for some vanilla chick with no ass.” He rushed out the sentence, but each word took you a second to process. Once you did, you smacked his arm and he jolted. “Hey!” 

“What’s wrong with you? Are you trying to make someone mad, or are you just naturally talented at being a grade A dick?” You barked and placed your hands on your hips, “No wonder you need someone to monitor you! You’re terrible with people.” You announced and he looked down at you with a bored expression, as if you were just talking about the weather. 

“Look, I’m not proud of it. I just get annoyed when I can’t get off.” He rolled his neck and started walking again like what he’d just said was no big deal. 

“You need a therapist.” 

“No, what I need is for you to find me a date.” He glanced at you sideways and you were awestruck. 

“How am I supposed to find you a nice woman to have as a date to this event if you scare away everyone you meet and ruin peoples lives?” 

“I did not ruin her life, she got the wrong idea. I wanted sex, she wanted a relationship.” Miguel’s lack of emotion was starting to really piss you off. 

“Whatever. If I find you someone and they can’t deal with you, then it’s not my fault.” You waved him off as you got into the elevator with him. He tilted his head while looking at you and after a moment of silence, finally spoke again. 

“You’ll be my date.” His voice was serious, but you couldn't help but laugh. When he wasn’t smiling or laughing with you, you started to worry. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Dead serious.” “Why me?” You asked, shoulders slumping a bit in exaggeration to show how badly you did not want to go. 

“You’re technically single, you can handle my honesty, and you’re gorgeous. Problem solved.” He gave you a curt nod as the doors opened again and he stepped out. You followed hot on his heels. 

“Problem most definitely not solved.” 

“How?” 

“I won’t fuck you!” You threw your hands up, making him spin around to you and think for a second. His nose scrunched a bit as you shook your head. “I don’t have a dress for this either.” 

“Use the company card.” He waved that off and walked back towards your car. “I can find a fuck for the night if I want one. I don’t expect you to sleep with me, and I’m somewhat shocked you thought that was a stipulation.” He didn’t turn around, just continued and stood by your driver’s side door as he waited patiently for you to catch up. 

Meanwhile, you were practically bursting into flames from anger. “I have a headache.” 

“I’ll have a car waiting at 6pm on Saturday. Be early.” He spoke as you got into the car, shutting the door without a response. Getting fired started to sound like fun… 

Thank God for the weekend. You spent that Saturday lounging around your apartment, just decompressing from the hectic week you had. A few times, you thought you heard something coming from your window, and maybe your fire escape, but you also had noisy neighbors and lived in a big city, so you shrugged it off. Cleaning, listening to music, cooking, and doing some living room yoga was mainly what your day had consisted of. At night, you tossed and turned about the stupid event Miguel was now forcing you to go to.

No, forcing you to be his date to, and it made you restless. What the fuck were you going to do?

Sunday, you had accepted your fate with this whole gala-event thing and decided to go shopping. You'd buy a super expensive dress, and a bunch of jewelry to match, and you'd get Lyla to sign off for the business expense. Because fuck him.

It was time to treat yourself, and you did just that. Lunch by the garden and shopping on 5th was something you'd never get used to, but you loved it just the same.

Strolling into multiple different stores, you finally stood as someone walked up to you to help you.

"I'm looking for something that would make a man without a heart fall to his knees, and it's going to be a very big gala."

A Gala? Do you mean the one in a week?" The sales woman's eyes widened and you nodded, "Why don't we have you work with a designer and get something custom? Everything off the rack won't be nice enough, especially with your goal." She winked and you smiled, almost evilly. What was more expensive than a custom designer gown?

Matching diamond earrings and a necklace, that's what. And you bought both. What a perfect Sunday.

Nothing about the next day had been what you’d thought would happen when you woke up and maybe that was your karma from your shopping spree.

Sure, the work day was normal. Paperwork, phone calls, walk in on Miguel fucking the director of events, finish a few reports and then work out with Miguel. But a phone call as you had gotten into your car made your blood freeze. 

“Hey baby.” Eddie’s voice had you staring into the nothing in front of you, still parked as his smile could be heard on the other end. 

“H-Hi Eddie.” You barely spoke, only loud enough to answer him so he wouldn’t get mad. 

“I finally found your new phone number, isn’t that great? Now we can talk about you coming home.” The words he was saying made your stomach feel as if it might fall out of your ass. You grit your teeth as you listen, then feel your phone buzz against your ear. 

“Eddie, I’m getting a call on the other line, can I call you back later?” 

“You’re gonna hang up on me?” The irritation in his tone made tears form in your eyes, fear that you hadn’t felt in weeks rising from your toes and washing over you quickly. 

“It’s work, sweetie. Please.” You begged and the buzzing began again, knowing that you’d for sure be in trouble if you let it ring any longer. 

“Don’t make me wait for long.” He said and the line went dead, making you snap back into reality and quickly answer. 

“Hello-” 

“Why have you been sitting in your car this long?” Miguel’s voice was as monotone as ever and you tried to hide your sniffling, which was in vain. “And why do you sound like you’ve been crying?” 

“It’s nothing, I had to make a phone call.” Technically, you weren’t lying. “Which I have to call him back now.” 

“Him?” There was a question in his voice, and when you went to answer, he clicked his tongue. “That jackass called you?” Your silence was deafening as Miguel hummed in response to your lack of an answer. “You’ll stay with someone else tonight.” “What?” You gapped. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Are you forgetting where you work? He could have gone to terrible lengths to find you, and he might be willing to go to worse ones if we don’t figure this all out fast. There’s no time to be so trusting to fate.” He lectured and you huffed, as you were becoming aware that you did a lot with Miguel. 

“I can’t just expect someone to be able to house me for the night.” 

“I can. You’ll stay with Gwen.” He decided and you could barely even speak at his borderline official decree. 

He followed you back to the apartment building and tried as you both stepped into your apartment. As you packed a small bag, he checked all of your windows, your front door, and your fire escape. 

“Have you ever used your fire escape before?” His voice broke you out of the mental checklist you’d created to remember everything you needed to take to Gwen’s. 

“No, why?” You asked in response and he didn’t speak, making you pipe up. “Why?” 

“The ladder is down, but only up to your floor. The rest of the ones above you are still unused, and there’s definitely been someone here because there’s shoe marks all over your level.” His conclusion made your knees weak. Someone had been here. 

“Do you think he’s been here?” You asked, but MIguel shook his head. 

“It wasn’t him. These are dress shoes, italian. He doesn’t seem like the type to wear expensive clothing when going to stalk his ex, which means he has outside help.” When you moved to see where Miguel was, he was crouched down by the metal flooring of the fire escape. He sighed and continued to stare at the markings. “Pack for an extra day, I’ll have Hobie stay here the next two nights and see if he sees anything.” 

“He’ll be staying in my apartment?” You shrunk backwards, becoming overwhelmed. Something was wrong, very wrong. Everything that had happened since you’d moved to the city was strange, almost too planned. You thought backwards to meeting Miguel, working for him, your ex finding you, being forced to work in a position that Lyla obviously could have been handling. It was like everything around you was targeting you. 

“Is someone after me?” You blurted out, and Miguel’s eyes snapped to yours. The answer was clear as day without any words, and you stumbled backwards. “How long? How long have you known this?” You splayed out on the floor, breathing uneven as you felt your chest practically convulsing, and saw him stand up to his full height, like a lion staring down at a field mouse. 

“Get your bag.” His expression was unbothered, almost bored, as he walked back your cowering figure and to the door. “I’ll be waiting in the hall.” 

And there you sat, shivering in the realization that none of this was an accident or luck. 

This was all you. 

The night came and a black blanket covered the sky by the time you arrived at Gwen’s place, getting out and practically running into her waiting arms. Miguel whispered something to the driver, and they made a call. Gwen held you close as you told her about your past, about Eddie and your family. You grew up in a small town, fell in love with your high school sweetheart, got married, and the rest was history. Now, here you were, living in a world that was predetermined around you. You left that part out, since you didn’t have any actual answers yet. 

Gwen nodded and listened like the great friend she was, and told you it would all be ok. That was all you had wanted to hear. 

After some ramens, you moved to lay down on Gwen’s couch and soon fell to sleep to the sound of rain falling outside. Gwen closed her bedroom door and sighed, pulling out her phone. The call only rang once before it was picked up on the other end. 

“Is she asleep?” Miguel asked, obviously not in the mood for pleasantries. Then again, when was he ever?

“She’s asleep, but I think you need to tell her the truth, and preferably soon. She’s not dealing with any of this well, and she’s already been through a lot.” 

“I didn’t ask for the morality police, Gwen, I just need you to keep an eye out right now so that he can’t find her. Hobie and Pavitr are monitoring her apartment now, and once they’re done, I’m having Lyla scan for any bugs or plants.” He explained, “so just do your job and make sure she stays safe. If you need anything else, call Lego. He’ll be staying in a guest suite a few doors from you two in case something happens.” He concluded. “Are we clear?” 

“Crystal.” Gwen answered and waited until he hung up, tossing her phone on her bed and holding her face in her hands. 

Who were you?

Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Tag list: @lady-necromancer @djarinluvr @itz-kiara @ashreblogsnow @enheduannasposts @misswonderfrojustice @onlysharkz @atrashpandaunderthestars @40-a-sad-bitch-04 @deputy-videogamer @loxbbg @not-aya @miguelsoneandonly @phd-in-simpology @neteyamsluvr111 @hayley1623 @oxrchd @kaqua @winteringfalls @ylnhmi @faithyourgirl @jospehquinnissexxy @foggyvoidtale @freeloverpeanut @sleepingwthemoonandstars @aawdrea @lex-dear @lareinamorgan @jkthinkstoomuch @skullslutt @rin0r1na @donovan-writes @miguelswifey04 @narmothewraith @december-dropout @teenzfrog-12 @somethingrad1 @spectr3inl0ve @woahhajime @chaoticbeanchild @swinginprunegothcop @yehsehneeah @siidmm @angel-xx-1 @ihateuguys @phd-in-simpology @blytheeboo @leonsgfs

#miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #angst #miguel o'hara #miguel smut

[hererafjastori]

The movie Barbie in Princess and the Pauper is deeply misunderstood. In this essay I will…

No but like, seriously. I have come across too many people making fun of “I’m just like you” and fundamentally misunderstanding both the meaning of the song, and Annalise as a character, by acting like Annalise is a rich brat who doesn’t know to be grateful for what she has. So we are going to take an in-depth look at the song, Annalise, Erika, their situations and their character, and make a few things clear.

Let’s start with the above mentioned song, and the widespread opinion, that the girls and the movie act like there is no difference between Annelise living in constant luxury, and Erika suffering the life of an indentured servant. But what is happening has a lot more nuance.

First of: Annelise is not the instigator for this compare and contrast. Note how it’s Erika who starts comparing their lives, not Annelise, who reacts very perplexed. Annelise would have been fine with Erika never figuring out she was a princess, and only starts talking about the luxuries that being a princess grants her, after Erika prompts her. This is not Annalise bragging about her life, downplaying the privilege she enjoys or whining about how hard her situation is. This is her replying to Erikas enquire by both, acknowledging the vast difference there is between their lives, but also by underlining the ridiculousness that is such luxury. We can see later, in the movie, when Erika gets her breakfast, that there are no fucking minstrels. And Erika is totally on board with that, she even plays around with her, look at the way she interacts with the ‘omelet’ Analise presents her with. And later in the song, Erika acknowledges that the ‘married to a total stranger’ situation sucks.

But let’s take a look at the ways they recognize that they are the same. What are their similarities?

“I’m just like you, you’re just like me, there’s somewhere else we’d rather be. Somewhere that’s ours, somewhere that dreams come true, yes I am a girl like you. You’d never think, that it was so, but now I’ve met you and I know. […] ”

“I would never tell my mother. I wouldn’t wanna disappoint her.” “I completely understand.”

“[…]We take responsibility. We carry through, do what we need to do, yes I am a girl like you […] It’s something anyone can see. A heart that beats, a voice that speaks the truth”

So, what are their stated similarities:

They are in a situation they desperately want to escape. They see no option of realizing their dreams and fulfilling their desires or even have a perspective of leading a happy life.

Others lean, depend on and draw from their strength, so they have little to no opportunity of sharing that burden

They recognize that there is a reason they have these duties, and their conscience won’t allow them to even try and shirk said duties. They take up this responsibility that they never wanted, fully aware of the sacrifices that they will have to make.

Throughout it all, they make the active choice not to complain, to stay optimistic, to not loose hope and to carry their burden with dignity and integrity

Nobody disputes that they life very different lives. The first minute of their interaction makes that abundantly clear. Erika even sings “You’d never think that it was so”. Them coming from very different places was never up for debate. What they are comparing is the way they deal with it.

This willingness to endure under the pressure and expectations placed upon them without allowing to loose themselves, is the very core of both of these characters!

And we can see all of this throughout the movie, especially in ‘Free’.

[1] I don’t think I have to explain Erika. We see the direness of her situation in the way Mdm. Karp treats her the times she finds her singing, her threatening to use the excuse of interest to keep her prisoner for basically the rest of her life, the way she treats Annelise, thinking she is talking to Erika after she fled, the fact that she locks her seamstresses in often enough, that there is a routine in place to allow at least Wolfie an escape.

But Annalise is just as worked to the bone as Erika, if in a different way. Her day is planned through, down to the literal minute. Just listen to the start of Free. Her greatest wish is to have one day without work, because she hasn’t had that in living memory. And yes, most of it is studies and keeping up appearances, but in “to be a princess” we get an impression of how much thought and energy that takes. (“be charming, but detached and yet amused […] Never be confused”, “Never fall, don’t ever stray from protocol. All through the day, there’s just one way you must behave” “Never crack” “Never show a thing you feel inside. Glide.” “to be a princess is to never get to rest” “Never squirm […] Speak and be clever, never at a loss for words” “Never show dismay and be there when people call, be prepared whatever royal life may bring” “Never ever turn your back. There’s a time and place and way for everything”)

She has to be flawless, confident, and composed throughout the day without the  slightest hint of being imperfect. She has little to no privacy, she is constantly observed, perceived, judged by far more metrics than pretty much anyone else, and is she falls short of them and say, worsens relationships with another kingdom, makes a bad decision in ruling the kingdom, makes the kingdom appear weak in any way, her people will be the ones to pay the prize. And all that is without taking the marriage into consideration. She doesn’t know who Dominic is! We know that he is a great guy, but for all Annelise knows, he could be the kind of person Preminger reveals himself to be. Even if he is a decent guy, it would likely be a loveless marriage. That is a sacrifice (as we can see when her mother is forces into the very same position), especially if it means sacrificing her relationship with Julian, her childhood friend, who shares her interests, helps her through all that nonsense, and understands her better than anyone. On screen, he is the only person she truly opens up with, other than Serafina (who is a cat), and Erika (who she only met that day, and has little emotional investment in the whole thing). Erika and Dominic sing a whole duet about the importance of knowing each other in order to have a functioning relationship, and she has had that with Julian for years. They both (Julian is clearly just as devoted and self-sacrificing as she is) accept to let this unspoken thing between them slip through their fingers, with no hope of ever finding something comparable, and the prospect of drifting apart with time, all for the sake of the kingdom.

And in terms of hope for the future, Annelise is just as bad of, if not worse than Erika. Erika has been working continuously to escape her situation, and never given up hope (“My determination’s strong. People will gather around the world to hear my song! Soon I will forever be free). And in the meantime, she has found small ways to fight back against Mdm. Karp (She can never stop my schemes). How realistic it is to ever pay off Mdm. Karp is a different matter, but she still has a fighting spirit. Annelise meets Erika, while in the process of making peace with the fact, that this was it for her, and there will be no coming back from this (“Now I fear I’ll never be Free” “I’m savoring a first and last taste of freedom”).

[2] In terms of hope and determination, Erika is doing the emotional heavy lifting for both herself, and the other seamstress. And Annelise is putting up a strong façade for even her mother, because in the face of the lack of options, she doesn’t want to burden her mother with the knowledge that she is damning her daughter to an unhappy life.

[3] I already explained Annelise’s situation in detail. Because she was born in royalty, she is tasked with a lot of responsibility, and even though she had no choice in the matter, she still accepts her cross to bear, and does so silently knowing the great personal cost she’ll have to pay. For Erika, they kind of fumbled the ball with the duties she chooses to accept, seeing as pretty much the sole person to suffer from her just, running away and ignorin her 'duties' would be her active abuser. Even if she has yet to pay back all the money her parents borrowed from Mdm. Karp (something she had no say or choice in), she has more than done her time in emotional suffering, and saying that staying in this toxic environment is her duty is not a message I agree with. But in-universe she explicitly states such convictions, so any and all points on the matter of her dutiful behavior still stand. One might be able to twist her duty to be to not leave the other seamstress to suffer alone, but that has no textual evidence. But we see this willingness to sacrifice for the sake of duty and responsibility most strongly, when she agrees to help Julian out and take Annelise’s place. There are two ways this could play out: she get’s away with it, or she doesn’t. We see both, her options are being thrown into the royal dungeon for treason, or being locked away by Mdm. Karp for running away, and knowing those where her prospects, she still chose to do this for the sake of both Annelise and the kingdom.

[4] Just, listen to free, watch the movie. These two girls prove their inner strength and endurance time and time again. They always keep going, searching for solution after solution, no matter what obstacles lie in their way (Being sent away at the palace gates, escaping Mdm. Karp, escaping the mines, escaping the dungeon, etc.). Their drive, determination, endurance and unbendable spirit are admirable.

“I close my eyes, and feel myself fly a thousand miles away. I could take flight, but would it be right, my conscience tells me stay. I’ll remain forever royal. I’ll repay my parents debt. Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret. But I’ll never stop believing/ she can never stop my schemes. There’s more to living than gloves and gowns and thread and seams, in my dreams, I’ll be free”

This is the end of free, the core of them, and the thing they recognize in each other, and I will no longer allow any slander against either them!

#barbie #barbie princess and the pauper #princess and the pauper #barbie movies #character analysis #erika and annelise #annelise and erika #Annelise #Erika

[miguelswifey04]

Reader locks Miguel out of his computer system... what would he do?

he may or may not be pissed but we shall see!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

miguel had taught you everything you needed to know as his most trusted personal assistant besides lyla, his AI. you were an expert and very knowledgeable in computer science, so, the fact that you accidentally had locked miguel out of his computer system…was something you would have never seen it coming. you panicked as you felt your heart drop to your stomach as you frantically tapped away on your watch, calling margo kess.

“margo! i fucked up. i accidentally locked miguel out of his computer system.” you didn’t know if you were going to have a full blown panic attack or pass out on the spot but what you’ve done was something very serious and carried dire consequences. margo picked up immediately as she saw you incoming call, and listened to your panicked tone, “you what??? how?”

“i-i don’t know! i just accidentally clicked something and—boom, it locked me out..” you had your watch on speaker as you tried every little possible thing to try to log back in to miguel’s computer system without letting him know. miguel left you to look after his computers and keep an eye out for any malicious activity as he was away on a mission with peter b and jess. margo hummed in response, “i’m on my way! stay put!!” lyla soon appeared on your right shoulder as she let out a loud gasp…seeing a huge “error: locked out” on the computer display.

“oh god, girl, what happened? you know it’s hard to lock him out of his computer system..” lyla said in a worried tone as she also went straight to work as she noticed your frantic demeanor trying to reset the computers but it was no use. margo soon came to your aide as she ran around the scanner room trying to see if any attempt you all made would soon unlock the computer system. together, you delve into troubleshooting strategies, exploring various methods to regain access to the computer system. margo, utilizing her technical expertise, offers insight and suggestions, while lyla provides automated assistance based on her vast knowledge.

however, despite your collective efforts, the lock remains steadfast, presenting a significant challenge. as time passes, concern and worry begin to creep in, knowing how crucial miguel’s mission is and how much he relies on his systems.

just as frustration begins to mount, the sound of hurried footsteps resonates in the room as miguel arrives. he swiftly assesses the situation, his sharp eyes scanning the screen and observing the collaborative effort that had been made in his absence.

with a mix of determination and skill, even though he clicked his tongue in frustration and annoyance—miguel takes control, his fingers flying across the keyboard. using his deep understanding of computer systems, he troubleshoots the lock, employing his expert knowledge to bypass the obstacle that had hindered your efforts.

as the seconds tick by, miguel’s efforts pay off, and the computer system gradually relinquishes its locked state. with a sigh of relief, the system opens up, granting miguel full access once more.

miguel’s gaze shifts to the team gathered around him, gratitude shining in his eyes. he acknowledges each of you for your efforts and teamwork, appreciating your commitment and willingness to help despite the temporary setback.

“i didn’t show you everything but these were a few tricks i had to use to reboot the system," he says sincerely, his voice filled with gratitude. "thank you, margo, lyla, and especially you. your collaboration made all the difference." margo soon waved goodbye and left you be—alone with miguel while lyla slighted glitched out into thin air. you felt yourself get nervous as miguel’s gaze lingered over your body. with a few deep breaths in you explained, “i’m sorry miguel. i know you’re always busy and i always seem to be causing issues when i’m supposed to be-”

“it’s fine, i’m not mad plus that wasn’t the first time i had to do something like that…it was nerve-wracking but we did it,” he placed a supportive hand on your shoulder as his eyes seem to crinkle when he gave you a reassuring smile, “thank you because of you, i’m always able to do my absolute best.”

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #spider person #miguel o’hara x y/n #spidersona #ao3 works #computer science #miguel o’hara x assistant!reader #🌱 lin writes

[pompadorbz]

I think people gotta realize that a ship does NOT need to be that deep to be enjoyable. Like I am not too deep in my pride to recognize that Ishimondo is easy as FUCK to understand. it is so unanimously agreed upon that its smoothly insertable background ship status has earned it the title of third most popular Danganronpa ship on AO3. But also I think I spent way too long trying to over-complicate it. Not because I actually WANTED to but rather because I felt like I HAD to (For the record, now I do it because it's fun and I want to). Like there was this dire need to justify it because it wasn't like. action-packed enough in the state that it's in. Except it??? Doesn't need to be that??? Like there is absolutely stuff you can dive into with Ishimondo conceptually. The pieces are all there if you want something to work with, but It is all so so optional. The dynamic is REMARKABLY easy to understand, and it works more in their favor than not, I think.

#syd spiels #ishimondo #i think about them a horrible amount

[skayafair]

John, Lies and Trust, and the Dark World Pt.3

Part 2

The Deal

Kayne mentions that John finally called him only when he sank lower than ever. I don't want to imagine the state he was in. I want to hide in the corner and never think of it again. Now, the deal impacts a lot of s3 and 4, and we still don't know all the details about it, so I'll lay out only the facts first and my assumptions later.

Facts:

Getting Arthur to touch the grey stone wasn't the only condition. Kayne had John do some other things, horrendous by the sound of it.

Not telling Arthur anything about the deal was one of its conditions. I know it sounds sort of vague when Kayne and John talk about it, but after relistening I'm sure it was one.

It is unknown what the punishment would have been if John broke the deal, or even if there was supposed to be one.

It is also unknown whether Kayne said (or John asked) anything about what would happen after Arthur touches the stone and how safe it was.

Assumptions:

Kayne says John had a choice whether to tell about the deal or not and compares it to Matthew's. Which makes me think that if John broke the deal he would have ended up back in the Dark World OR Arthur could die since John can't.

I bet Kayne left A LOT up to John's interpretation because it's "more fun" this way. A vague deal is always a bad one, but I believe John was in no condition to think things through. One - we know for a fact it was very bad, two - Kayne didn't give Arthur much time to consider their deal, so I don't have any reasons to believe he'd be more generous with John.

The part when my "he did all of that but I don't care set him free" attitude towards John comes up: I believe John didn't know if touching the stone would be safe or put them in danger. Or put Arthur in danger... but what I also believe is that John held onto the thought that They Will Be Together. And they've already beaten unimaginable odds together multiple times, so they'll manage somehow. Cross this bridge when they get to it. In any case any danger to Arthur means danger to John as well, so he's very much interested in keeping his friend and host safe, both from genuine care and the will to live. But John couldn't know if it's safe, and by the sound of it Kayne didn't tell him. Didn't warn if it was dangerous either, though. But since John was in a very bad place both mentally and actually, and he wants to live, he chose to bet their lives on this deal. Hoping it'll be alright because the alternative was too unbearable. "Possible problems in some distant future" sounded almost meaningless compared to "suffering here and now". This noticeably weighted on him throughout the s4 finale - he was talking as if convincing Arthur it was ok and they'll get out alive, but he was actually trying his damnest to convince himself. Because they were so close to the goal! It's one thing to have doubts when the salvation is barely hovering there sometime in the future, and totally another when it's already almost within one's grasp. So yeah it's ugly. There's no way to sugar coat this. He was in a survival mode. It's bad anyway, but... I can understand this. Can judge from the moral perspective but not condemn from the personal one.

I'd also like to note that Kayne's idea of a "choice" is fucked up. I mean that's a given but still. A person held at a gunpoint also has "a choice", but it's beyond normal moral limits. It's a dire situation and no one can predict how they would act in it. Kayne I hate you. Even so, John NEARLY spilled the truth multiple times, barely biting it back at the very last moment. I have many reasons to believe he genuinely cares for Arthur, and this is one of them. Choosing between his friend's trust & life (possibly) - and endless suffering & imprisonment in the Dark World, the greatest fear, he nearly chose Arthur more than once. Lastly, there IS one thing supporting the idea that the stone wouldn't have damaged Arthur irrepairably, at the very least. It's Kayne's idea, and Kayne's interested in the show to go on. He may meddle with their lives moderately, but won't lead Arthur to the certain death on purpose. So John had reasons to believe it was somewhat safe.

I'll add that I wouldn't be surprised if Kayne sneered about putting John and Arthur's trust to the test, and the fact that John valued his life more than it. Knowing full well how John would feel about it, how he hates to lie, and enjoying the effect - it's a lasting one, after all, because John either suffers in the Dark World or while lying to Arthur. There was no good choice.

#malevolent podcast #malevolent spoilers #john malevolent #john doe malevolent

[raestarz]

Rookie Hour

Chapter One - Welcome to Raccoon City.

A/N: Gonna keep it real I haven’t written in years since the days of Wattpad but I’m trying to adapt😭 Kyaire is very much black and I love her with all my heart :)

Ty @neteyamsmunch for inspiring me to post something that I already wrote😭

Word count: 1.6 k

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It was raining, but honestly what was new? I was walking down the road after buying some blunts. I see a cop car pull up to the side of the road where I was and roll down the passenger window. It was a man driving and a woman in the passenger seat, she was pretty with brown hair and blue eyes and the man that was driving was, well he was handsome…Not like a runway model type handsome or something you see in a porno magazine. But, like..he was a pretty boy handsome. I already noticed his blonde hair and blue eyes. Shit. He looked so…like he knew nothing. Well this shithole was gonna hit him right in the face. After a couple of moments of the pair looking back at me and me looking back at them, “Can I help you two…? Or do you guys just always stare at random people?” I ask sort of annoyed. I was already having a shitty day, I didn't need to have two shitty tourists bothering me as well.

The man cleared his throat, “I just…wanted to say I think you should hop in there’s…some pretty dangerous stuff going on around here.” I laughed at his response, “Yeah, like what?” I ask getting closer to their car and smirking. The woman cuts in tired and impatient, “Look, there’s some damn monsters back there where we just came from, eat your face type. I think you might wanna cut the snippy attitude and get in.” I roll my eyes and groan under my breath, “Fine.” I mutter and get into the back seat of the car near the drivers’ side incase, this man was clinically insane. Like, you guys have seen shit like that right? Bro, might crash the fucking car on purpose. Closing the door behind me, I cross my arms and sit back, kind of happy that I’m in a dry area. “Nice to meet you both, welcome to Hell.” I state plainly as the man starts to drive toward the city. The woman laughed softly as I made my comment, “It can’t be that bad,” I snort at her hopefulness.

“It can be indeed.” I respond and sit back. We all sat in amazing silence for a couple of minutes. The woman looks back worried about something, before she finally speaks, “What the hell is going on?” He looks back for a moment as well before responding, “I don’t know…Hopefully they’ll have some answers at the police station.” This peaks my interest and I sit forward, “Wait, you're a cop?” The man takes a breath, “Yeah, Leon Kennedy. You are…?” The woman responds first enthusiastically for some damn reason, I don’t understand how she could if this dire situation is…Real. “Claire ─ Claire Redfield.” She sits back, still looking around worried causing me to start to be a little fucking worried too, these two seem too damn calm about this shit. Claire looks back at me, as if she’s expecting me to introduce myself as well, “I’m Kyaire ─ Kyaire Birkin.” Leon nods in acknowledgement of the names, “So uh…either of you live around here?” I smirk, “Isn’t it obvious I live around here?” I ask sarcastically.

Claire interjects, “No, looking for my brother. He’s a cop, too.” Leon looks at Claire with a soft smile, “Well, it’s a good thing we found each other then. I don’t know what to expect anymore…” Leon finally looked a little damn shaken up and I looked out the window, spotting the “Welcome to Raccoon City; Home of Umbrella.” I scoff at how ironic it would be if my adoptee parents were somehow involved in this epidemic.

…

The three of us finally get into the city, and holy fucking shit it looks like Hell. Cars crashed, bodies piled up, random things burning, I gasp softly thinking of Sherry who my adoptee parents stupidly left at fucking home. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I grab my head thinking, praying I can find my little sister in this mess. I hear an announcement over the intercoms in the city, “Attention all citizens: Due to the citywide outbreak, you are advised to take shelter at the Raccoon City police station.” I take in more of the surroundings as we pass by, just more crashed cars and of course rain, this shit is never ending… I start to drown out the emergency announcement and I hear Leon and Claire talking but I’m so focused thinking about Sherry and how worried I am about her. I take a breath, she’s a smart kid, hopefully she was smart enough to stay home. I finally hear their voices back in focus hearing Claire’s doubtful voice, “Yeah, but what if we’re the only ones? What if there’s no survivors ─” Leon immediately interrupts her, his voice stern but hopeful the complete opposite of Claire, “No. There’s survivors. It’s a big city…there has to be.”

I lean forward and say, “There’s definitely survivors, these people are like roaches, never dying.” Leon nods toward me, “See even the emo kid, has some hope so you should too Claire.” Claire grimaces slightly and sits back, we reach a blockade that blocks the rest of traffic and Leon clicks the car into park, “Looks like we’re walking from here.” I look out the window and see two literal human fucking beings chewing into another one, I bite back a fucking SCREAM. Because what in the literal fuck, I guess Claire notices my look of panic, and matches it as she looks at the scene I’m witnessing as well. The pair of zombies look in our direction, “More like running.” I state plainly. Leon turns his head and sees the scene, “Yeah, good call.” He mutters. Zombie’s pop up and jump on the windows, scaring the shit out of all of us, Claire yells, “Jesus Christ!” And leans back from the window and I let out a small scream from zombies showing up even more, fuck this is like Night of the Living dead, “Leon! We gotta back up!” I shout, Leon responds with a right, and puts the gear in reverse. I turn back and see lights behind us, “Holy fucking shit!” I shout, and Claire whips her head around and sees exactly what I see, a big ass FUCKING truck approaching us looking as if it wasn’t gonna stop, Leon eventually turns and looks as well, muttering, “Holy shit!” I kind of snort at his response. Leon acts quickly, “Guys get out! Get out NOW!” We all start pushing on the doors to get out of the police car, it quickly becoming a death trap other than a safe haven. The zombies pushing back against the doors, trying to get in and well obviously eat us alive. I start to panic somewhat, “I can’t!”

Leon looks back and shouts, “Hold on!” I quickly grab onto the headrest of the driver's seat and whatever the hell else I can grab before this truck collides with us. The truck finally collides into us, which makes us collide into the barricade. The truck topples over, and we crash into the side of another car, I silently start to climb out of the car opening the backdoor of the car and see Leon open it as well, we both fall to the floor for a moment. Leon gets up quicker than me and grabs my hand lifting me up, “C’mon we gotta go…” We both start to limp away from the crashed police car as soon as we get far enough it explodes, Leon covering the both of us with his arm, “Woah!” He gasps and looks down at me as we both stand up straight, “You okay?” I nod silently and Leon looks over, he gasps, “Oh no.” I look over as well and we both try to run away from the nearly ready to explode truck. And the truck explodes knocking Leon into a nearby car and me further back onto the street, “Fuck.” I grunt and get up slowly then Leon runs to me and softly pulls me to my feet despite his own self grunting in pain from the explosion.

Leon looks around the fire and I notice Claire isn’t with us, Leon does as well, “CLAIRE!” He steps forward looking around the fire, blinking through the rain. I grip my side and look around the fire as well, feeling unable to speak, just too out of breath, Leon continues to yell through the fire, “CLAIRE, YOU OK!?” I sigh, starting to think she’s dead until she responds, “YEAH! I’M ALRIGHT! HOW ABOUT YOU GUYS!?” I look around seeing zombies come out through the fire and I nudge Leon pointing, “Hey, rookie.” Leon seethes in annoyance from the zombies popping up, “WE CAN’T STAY HERE! IT’S NOT SAFE!” Claire seems to acknowledge his response, “GO ON AHEAD! I’LL MEET YOU GUYS AT THE STATION!” I huff and respond, “WE’LL BE THERE!” I glance at Leon and see him pull out his handgun shooting two zombies in the head so we can get around and run to the station.

…

We finally get to that station, I run in first and Leon runs in behind me. I'm panting out of breath as Leon takes both hands to close the gate sliding the bar into the lock position. The zombies bang on the gate, I stop panting and full stand up turning toward the huge police station in front of us “Kyaire, are you ok…?” Leon asks, putting a hand on my shoulder, I nod. “Are you?” I ask, giving him a once over making sure he isn’t broken, he nods back giving me a small smile. Well fuck, his smile could light up a room and it’s only a small one. I turn away from Leon and look back to the station.

Fuck…I can tell this is gonna be a long night.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #re2 leon