#What is Java Burn

[dashinghealth]

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[rolins01]

java burn weight loss coffee

[shiningjustforreid]

stains

glimpses through fem!reader and Spencer’s relationship, through four instances of spills.

word count: 3.5k ish

a/n: i love the idea that for some of us, our personalities are made up all the things we like about the people we know and see. the idea that we’re all little bits and pieces of the things we love, and our experiences. this sort of explores that. (also this was mildly self indulgent because much like reader i’m a klutz!) <3

warnings/tags: 18+ for implied intimacy and canon typical violence for cm, pet names up the wazoo, reader is lowkey clumsy, Derek Morgan being himself, reader gets injured but she’s fine, who’s Maeve?, anxious love confession, Spencer adores reader so so much, S1 and S6 (ish) Spencer, Spencer in and post prison, love letters, marriage, kids, and briefly mentioned pregnancy, girl dad!Spencer Reid my beloved

- ✩ -

coffee - the first stain

To be honest, at first, he’s appalled.

The mug you set down on his desk isn’t his, so God knows whose mouth was on it last. You - somewhat carelessly - plopped it down on the file he’s working on, grinning that thousand watt smile he’s secretly become fond of. You’re wearing a sweater he noticed that brings out your eyes - a berry colored wool garment that he wishes you’d wear more.

“Hey! Morgan said you were exhausted. Thought I’d make you coffee.”

You pick it up, and set it down again, for emphasis, and a few drops make their way down the side and onto his case file, surely creating a cinnamon toned half circle that Hotch will not love. You don’t notice, watching his face.

“I made it with a bunch of sugar. Just how you like it, right?”

Suddenly, he realizes he’s been staring up at you, and then his mouth is moving faster than his brain.

“Yeah, I uh, I am pretty tired, now that you say it. Didn’t sleep well, long night, you know?”

You nod, sipping your own coffee, fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“I get that. Goes with the job, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, yeah, I- wait, Morgan said that? Did he— what else did he tell you?”

You grin, coffee mug to lips again.

Stop staring, Reid.

“Nothing, really. Just said you needed a boost. Thought I’d provide.”

Titling your head a tad, you look down, a mild panic crossing your face when you see you’ve stained his file.

“Oh my God - Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

He’s quick to shake his head, hands coming up to reassure, his eyes wide.

“No no no, it’s okay, truly, I-I made a mistake on that one anyways. I’ll need to have a new copy printed, honest.”

Frowning, you look him over, searching for a tell, something to let you know whether he’s lying or not.

“Are you sure? I can do it, I’m not that behind on mine, I could—“

Before he thinks - you’d assume, with all his brains, he would - his hand grabs your arm, that gorgeous sweater under his finger tips, his eyes locked with yours. He says your name, once, his tone more serious than he’d like.

“It’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

You blink, and then a slow grin takes over your face.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need more.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the heat of his hand burning through the wool on your arm, until he lets go like you’re the one scorching his skin, like he’s just realized that he’s touching you. You laugh a little, awkwardly, and he grins with the same level of unpracticed nerves, and you head back to your desk.

He picks up the mug, and sips slowly, closing his eyes for a moment - it does have a mountain of sweetness, the saccharine liquid coating his mouth but soothing his senses. When he sets it down again, it’s on a part of his workspace not occupied by case work. Just as predicted, the file that once housed the beverage now bears a semi circle of dried java. His pointer finger traces the stain, clockwise and then counter, for a moment, before he glances up in horror to see Morgan, of all people, signature smirk in place.

“‘Thanks for the coffee’. I don’t what’s sweeter, that coffee you just got or-“

“Shut up.”

He mumbles, face flushed, small smile on his face despite the teasing. He traces the coffee stain one last time before he hastily tucks the soiled paper away in a drawer.

blood - the second stain

“What do you mean you aren’t getting a response from her on comms?”

He’s so scared, he can’t even stop to think just how breathless and afraid he sounds, as he turns to Hotch, who fixes him with a look that clearly says, Calm down, Reid.

“It could just be non-functional, or got knocked off, or caught.”

Hotch says calmly, almost maddeningly so. Spencer swallows back the protests, the arguments that swell up in his throat like bile.

They’d created, and given the profile, and once Penelope had narrowed down the couple possible properties their potential unsub owned, you, Morgan, and Prentiss had headed into an abandoned storage facility, silent and careful.

Perhaps not careful enough.

The voice in his head reminds him, almost sadly, and he grits his teeth inside tightly drawn and chapped lips. Shaky hands smooth over his slacks, again and again, as his eyes stay fixed on Hotch.

“Ask-ask Morgan again. If she’ll respond.”

He’s given a frown, dark brows pulling together in a very typical Hotch-like manner.

“Is there a specific reason you’re asking about her, Reid?”

Is there? God, he doesn’t know. You bring him coffee nearly every morning, but perhaps that’s just kindness. Then there’s the chocolate sprinkled donuts that start his work day from time to time - maybe you just enjoy pastry treats, and think of him, when you buy one. Oh, and heaven forbid he forget the way you’ll come by his desk, and ask for clarification on a piece of paperwork or a procedure - that you probably could’ve asked Hotch or Prentiss about. You listen, active listening too, eye contact, body still - when his explanations turn into rambles about statistics about this type of criminal, your eyes watching his face, your own voice quiet.

Is he deluding himself? Seeing phantom romance where there’s maybe merely nothing but platonic affection? Blinking, once, he shakes his head in response to his Unit Chief’s question.

“No Hotch. I’m just worried, she-well, she hasn’t responded, and Morgan has, and Prentiss has, and I—“

Speak of the devil, Morgan’s voice comes through, demanding and tense.

“I need a medic. Prentiss and I secured the unsub, but, not before—“

Oh God. Not before that bastard got to you with a baseball bat, to the back of the head, you unaware before your face met the concrete below. Spencer’s not even asking for permission, snatching the keys to an SUV off the desk nearby and flooring the gas pedal.

You can’t die. Not before I—

Driving there is like hell - his lungs burn like there’s smoke and ash polluting them, and fear feels like too tame a word to describe the overwhelming panic that seizes his heart the more he drives.

I’m a fool, he thinks wildly, as his knuckles grip the steering wheel like a vice. A damn fool if I don’t tell her-

He’s barely got the thing in park before he’s scrambling out the driver’s side door, Converse immediately coated from the dusty ground outside the facility.

When he finds Morgan, and you, head lolled to the side, eyes closed, face pale as his must be, he falls to his knees with little regard for his own pain or discomfort. Morgan watches, careful, his voice gentle when he speaks, trying to calm his terrified friend.

“She’s still out, Reid. Just a nasty whack to the back of her head, okay? Easy.”

Trembling thumbs trace and hold your face, like it’s made of paper, as he swallows hard to keep the ache behind his eyes from becoming tear tracks down his face. He spots the gash, trickling crimson down your ashy skin, onto his shaking hand, but doesn’t move from holding your face. A deep contusion, furious and violet-toned, on the back of your head, makes the air leave his chest like he’s been choked.

Beautiful girl, I couldn’t stop this.

He could sob, and he nearly does, until you make some sort of confused noise and force open your eyes. Light rushes through his heart, rekindled warmth as he meets your eyes, and yet, he finds himself almost frozen.

“Spencer? What, I thought-“

“Listen to me.”

He forces himself to speak - he has too. What if he doesn’t get the chance, and all he ever gets to associate you with is caffeine, sprinkles, and a listening ear? No, that won’t do. Not in the slightest.

You meet his eyes, hazy, but listening. Morgan’s brows furrow, as he protests,

“God, man, she just woke up, let her-“

Ignored, as Spencer often finds himself doing when there’s more pressing matters than banter, than propriety.

“You need to know. That I-care about you.”

Blinking, you swallow, and suddenly, the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is slightly dimmed.

“That I can’t let another sunrise or sunset go by where you don’t know that I’d give you the stars if you’d let me. Where I can’t touch you, where I can’t make sure you understand that I’ll protect the light you have inside you until I’m burnt from it. You absolute angel, I-“

He shudders, almost afraid of his own earnest, and says your name like it’s a prayer.

“I love you. Even if you don’t return it, my heart is yours.”

Morgan’s grin is wide, and he shakes his head, almost in amazement. Your own face is flushed, as you hear sirens and medics, your voice crackly and rough from pain, but still, that smile he’s grown to associate with his heart fluttering graces your face.

“My heart is yours, Spencer. Glad you’re finally realizing how absolutely in love I am with you, you goose, even if it took all this.”

He laughs a little, almost deliriously, and smooths his trembling hand over your face.

“Guess the doughnuts weren’t enough, huh?”

You manage, and he shakes his head, quick to push back.

“They were. You’re always enough for me, no matter what you do.”

Could he sound any more smitten?

Procedure says he can’t go in the ambulance with you - there’s no need, you’re just getting stitches and some ice and he can visit you at the hospital, okay? But as he heads back to the - oh dear, still running, he really was in a hurry, wasn’t he? - car, Morgan glances sideways at him, signature smirk in place.

“Pretty boy, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Spencer stares down at his hands in his lap. They’re stained, and a grimace floods his face when he realizes it’s not dirt, but your blood, coating his fingertips. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he bites back a nastier retort than his friend deserves.

“I guess I did. I can’t believe it took-“

Morgan sighs, stopping Spencer’s inevitable incoming guilt filled rambles.

“Hush. You told her. That’s what matters.”

Glancing down at Spencer’s fidgeting hands in his lap, he presses on the gas.

“Let’s get there, so you can get that off you. I’m shocked you got all dirty, with your germ thing.”

Spencer shrugs, looking out the window.

“For her? I’d-I think I’d do anything. No matter what it stained.”

Soap finds his hands at the hospital, but he finds you soon after, unable to stop the gentle press of his lips to your forehead, or the soft murmurs that follow as he tries to remind himself that much more of your blood didn’t spill.

ink - the third stain

Emily has to physically hold you back in the court room, when they take him out, his eyes fixed on you, and the team, almost hopeless.

“Then your client is a flight risk.”

You’re quite literally fighting her, suddenly terrified in a whole new way for your boyfriend, tears staining your face.

“Bail is denied.”

She’s got both arms wrapped around you, her soft, ‘I know’s, and ‘I’m sorry’s barely heard over your own pleas for her to let you go.

“Defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

You hear someone sobbing - angry, fear-filled wailing - and until Emily has you turned around, your face in her shoulder, comes the realization that it’s you.

“He’s-Emily, what are we going to do, he’s not going to be okay, I-I can’t—“

The days that follow are dark. Going to the BAU without Spencer, let alone waking up without him beside you, is enough to send you into a spiral. You try to remind yourself that he’s worse off, that whatever hell he’s experiencing is ten times worse than your quiet fear and loneliness. So, to try to combat the weight that squashes your heart, you write him letters. Daily letters.

Spencer -

We have a case in Florida. Emily says it’ll be quick, but the Florida ones never are. We’d solve it ten times faster with you, you know? Geographical profiles are much harder alone, that’s for sure. The plane ride is quieter without you, and no one’s saying anything - you’d be saying something if you were here. Maybe that’s why we’re quiet. ♡

Every day. You don’t relent. If you can’t mail them in whatever town you get stuck in for work, you mail them in one big envelope when you get back home.

Spencer -

That case was rough. I cried twice - once when I spent over two hours staring at the map at the precinct and couldn’t find anything new, and once when Rossi accidentally snapped at me. He said he was sorry, that he’s ‘on edge’ right now - but aren’t we all? Emily’s working really hard to try to get you home. I wish I could come see you. I hope you’re safe. I love you. ♡

When you learn that he didn’t put you on the list of people who can visit him in that concrete hell, you almost lose what’s left your nerve, breaking down in Emily’s office, shaking. You don’t know whether you’re furious, in despair, or numb to it all.

“Emily, why? Why doesn’t he want me to come see him? If it was me, I’d want to see him every day, I wouldn’t want him to leave!”

She sighs, her face tight. Twisting your hands in your lap, you search her face for answers. Nausea claws at your throat.

“Honestly, my guess is it’s just that. He knows that if you come, he won’t want you to leave. It’ll hurt too much.”

“But Tara, and you, and his mother, and-

Spencer -

I think I understand. Sort of. I feel like there’s this pressure in my chest, and I can’t ever fully breathe. Not since you’ve been away. The weight on my heart never goes away. Missing you more every hour. ♡

Despite the slew of handwritten letters that reach him, you only get one back, after you and the team search his apartment - you keep it in your purse pocket, folded safe, and read it whenever your throat feels tight and your eyes burn. His untidy scrawl is enough to make you feel like a part of him is actually inside this letter - like he’s reading it himself to you, interwoven in the fibers of the paper.

Angel -

I wanted you to know I’m in solitary now - I made sure of it. I know you want me safe, almost more than I do. I love you beyond what I can say, my beautiful girl.

Yours, Spencer.

One night, you’re curled up in Spencer’s apartment, writing him a letter, as is your nightly routine. The ink stains the side of your hand now - an ever-present reminder of the fact that your heart constantly feels ripped out of your body. After addressing the letter to him, your phone buzzes - Emily.

Oh God.

“Hey. We figured out that- oh, you don’t care about all that. He’s coming home.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice. Paper and ink pen tumble to the floor as you shove your feet in shoes and snatch your jacket off the coat tree. Tension is coiled in your body the entire way there. Ink still stains the side of your hand, a permanent reminder that every time you needed to just tell him something - you had to pick up pen and paper.

Heart in your throat, you push open the door with shaking hand. There he stands, your Spencer. He’s still him, you think, although his face is tight, and sleep clearly hasn’t been something he’s seen much of.

Three months.

You walk in slowly, body trembling. One hand reaches up, runs through the curls that have grown so long.

“Your hair.”

You breathe out, voice barely audible. He nods, his face almost impassive. Tentative fingers trail down his cheek, make a path to hold his face. He nods, and then, you notice his eyes are misty.

“My angel.” He murmurs, almost in awe, and takes you in his arms with a fervor. Crushed against him, face buried in the cool fabric of his shirt, you bite back a sob, arms threaded around him.

“No. Cry, my darling girl, I’m— I’m tired of doing it alone.”

How could you refuse him? Just hearing his voice, let alone the relief you feel at being touched by him again, is enough to satisfy you for days, you think. For a bit, all that’s heard is uneven breaths, until he speaks, his voice rough and shaky.

“I need to see your face.”

He pulls back, face shining with tears, and you swallow back the lump that just won’t leave your throat.

Calloused hands - less soft than you remember - take yours, and then he frowns.

“Your hand.”

Your right hand is held up, inspected, like the blue on the inner side of it is red instead. You smile, laughing a little, still breathless.

“Ink, baby. Just ink. I was writing you a letter.”

He shakes his head, rubbing at the navy stain with his thumb, as if that will remove it.

“I would’ve kept writing. Never given up. You’d be sick of letters from me.”

“Never, sweet girl. There is no part of me who could ever find himself sick of you.”

After you’ve come home, he wastes no time in pressing less than tender kisses to your mouth and jawline and the column of your throat. It’s not until he’s reacquainted himself with your contours and the dip of your hipbones and the soft way you gasp out his name when he does that, that has you next to him, so he can see your face.

He needs to see your face.

Hand in his, still faintly stained from ink, he examines it, and then, softly, hesitantly, he meets your eyes.

“You know ink poisoning is actually rare? Pens we use are designed with non-toxic ink, to decrease any chances of fatal ingestion.”

You never mind his information sharing, but your eyebrows furrow tiredly at his timing.

“Spence, I’m not saying I don’t care, but we just— you just—”

“Please. Let me look at the woman I love and pretend for a few moments that my damn eidetic memory won’t play back the last three months of my life like some wretched tape.”

You let him, as he holds your cobalt-colored hand and your eyes droop, his soft voice telling you that rubbing alcohol will probably get that stain out. It almost feels normal.

Almost.

paint - the final stain

“Spence! Can you get paint water out of carpet with any amount of ease?”

You call your husband, turning back to your mildly sheepish five year old, whose water color adventure on the coffee table has quickly gone south.

In walks Spencer, not even noticing the overturned hard plastic cup or purpley-blue spill, eyes going straight to his daughter’s nearly finished picture.

“Beautiful, Penny. Looks incredible.”

He murmurs, bending to be eye level with a beaming Penelope, hand on her arm, before turning to you, mild tension and stress lining your face. His smile is gentle. It’ll wash out.

“Rubbling alcohol, angel.”

You nod, tension easing from your shoulders.

“We’ll go get it - we always clean our messes up, right lovely?”

He asks your daughter, lifting her with practiced care. She giggles, nodding, as they head from the room, letting you take a breath and set up the paints and picture in a new location - the kitchen table, with some newspaper tucked underneath because she’s five, and you of all people know spills happen.

Once she’s set up again - she really is so quiet when she’s engrossed in something - you find yourself curled up with Spencer on the couch, head on his shoulder, watching her paint and sing-song to herself.

“Think she’s lonely?”

Spencer asks, turning to you, his grin wide.

Troublemaker.

“Hmm. I think you just like me pregnant.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Maybe. Maybe I don’t want Penny to be sad, ever.”

Silence, then, for a bit.

“She’s so much like you.”

Spencer muses, his fingers drawing patterns on the side of your sweater. You smile, fondly.

“You say that because I’m clumsy. She was dancing around with that paintbrush, that cup of paint water stood no chance.”

“No, I say that because she shines like you. No matter what tries to dim her.”

That night, when you peek in your daughter’s door to see Spencer reading her A Little Princess, she’s propped up against him, hazel eyes barely open. Affection swells in your chest as his voice carries on, even though she’s clearly almost in dreamland. In you walk, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then Spencer’s. He smiles gentle up at you - this is his favorite time of the day - and keeps reading.

“Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words, and everything in the world understands it.”

Once you’re back in the living room, you check on the earlier spill from today. All that’s left is a barely visible blue spot, no bigger than a quarter.

“No one will see it but you.”

Steadying, warm arms wrap around your ribs, and soft lips press against the side of your neck, washing away any insecurity about the state of your carpet.

“Besides, stains aren’t bad, sweet girl. They’re little reminders that things happened, good things, or bad things that brought us together. Memories, attached to splotches, attached to wounds, to paper, to skin. How convenient, to carry our most impactful moments like heaven-sent tattoos.”

[canmom]

you read ML research (e.g. arxiv, state of ai, various summaries), you find an overwhelming blizzard of new techniques, clever new applications and combinations of existing techniques, new benchmarks to refine this or that limitation, relentless jumps in capabilities that seem unstoppable (e.g. AI video generation took off way faster than I ever anticipated). at some point you start to see how Károly Zsolnai-Fehér became such a parody of himself!

you read ed zitron & similar writers and you hear about an incomprehensibly unprofitable industry, an obscene last-gasp con from a cancerous, self-cannibalising tech sector that seems poised to take the rest of the system down with it once the investors realise nobody actually cares to pay for AI anything like what it costs to run. and you think, while perhaps he presents the most negative possible read on what the models are capable of, it's hard to disagree with his analysis of the economics.

you read lesswrong & cousins, and everyone's talking about shoggoths wearing masks and the proper interpretation of next-token-prediction as they probe the LLMs for deceptive behaviour with an atmosphere of paranoid but fascinated fervour. or else compile poetic writing with a mystic air as they celebrate a new form of linguistic life. and sooner or later someone will casually say something really offputting about eugenics. they have fiercely latched onto playing with the new AI models, and some users seem to have better models than most of how they do what they do. but their whole deal from day 1 was conjuring wild fantasies about AI gods taking over the world (written in Java of course) and telling you how rational they are for worrying about this. so... y'know.

you talk to an actual LLM and it produces a surprisingly sharp, playful and erudite conversation about philosophy of mind and an equally surprising ability to carry out specific programming tasks and pull up deep cuts, but you have to be constantly on guard against the inherent tendency to bullshit, to keep in mind what the LLM can't do and learn how to elicit the type of response you want and clean up its output. is it worth the trouble? what costs should be borne to see such a brilliant toy, an art piece that mirrors a slice of the human mind?

you think about the news from a few months ago where israel claimed to be using an AI model to select palestinians in gaza to kill with missiles and drones. an obscene form of statswashing, but they'd probably kill about the same number of people, equally at random, regardless. probably more of that to come. the joke of all the 'constitutional AI', 'helpful harmless assistant' stuff is that the same techniques would work equally well to make the model be anything you want. that twat elon musk already made a racist LLM.

one day the present AI summer and corresponding panics will burn out, and all this noise will cohere into a clear picture of what these new ML techniques are actually good for and what they aren't. we'll have a pile of trained models, probably some work on making them smaller and more efficient to run, and our culture will have absorbed their existence and figured out a suitable set of narratives and habits around using them in this or that context. but i'm damned if I know how it will look by then, and what we'll be left with after the bubble.

if i'm gonna spend all this time reading shit on my computer i should get back to umineko lmao

[xhoneygirlxx]

In My Feels

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

summary: Steve’s heart now belongs to the pretty woman who always comes in with her two adorable kids. When he finally decides to make a move, he’s shocked to find out she’s not their mom.

warnings: fluff. Barista!Steve. Reader and Steve are both in their 20’s. Nanny!Reader. Modern!au. Readers ethnicity/skin tone is not mentioned. Pictures above are used for aesthetic purposes only. Shitty writing/grammar errors, not proofread.

*if I miss anything please let me know.

a/n: day two of my birthday bash has finally arrived!! I’m so grateful for the amount of love and support you guys have given me. Although this is my birthday week, I wanted to spend it with you guys and give us both something we can enjoy :) I love every single one of you guys and I hope you like this!

Now I’m in my feels 

Way up in the clouds somewhere now 

Don’t know what’s real 

Working at the Java Cup, Steve dealt with a lot of different people. Tired students, doctors and nurses coming and going from shifts, and everyone in between. During the six months of his employment there only one customer seemed to catch his attention, you. 

From the moment you walked in he knew he was fucked. With one kid on your hip and the other in the stroller, you already had him in the palm of your hand. No matter what, rain or shine, you and your two kids always came in with bright smiles. Although a lot of your interactions were small talk or your older son trying to, his heart infatuation for you every single time. 

You were so fucking beautiful and Steve was nothing but a fool for you. So many times he would go home and just pray that you weren’t taken, that maybe somewhere written in the stars there was a chance for him. 

Steve wanted to ask you out but every single time he chickened out, throwing out multiple cup sleeves that had horrible puns written on them in the process. Ever since getting broken up with by Nancy, his self esteem and confidence dropped. No matter how many times his best friend and coworker, Robin, tried to talk some sense into him, he just couldn’t do it. 

It was comical watching him stutter and blush scarlet every time you would speak, tripping over his words like it was his first time ever talking. Because he was so smitten with you, his insecurities grew and poking fun at him any time he would think about possibly asking you out.

Here you were, a pretty mom with two adorable kids that he adored, so sweet and kind to him, and so far out of his league. There was no pot at the end of this rainbow for Steve, but he continued to chase it in hopes that maybe, just maybe he was wrong.

Now it's been six months and Steve has run out of steam, his legs growing tired and his lungs burning with exhaustion with how long he's been running. So, he's decided that it's time to give up on his mission to of getting to the finish line.

There was no point to continue trying, not when you're probably more than happy with the father of your children, going home to your white picket fence and happy home. So he pulled back, watched from behind the counter, and continued to daydream about the life he's always wanted.

“You know you could just go talk to her, right?” Robin’s voice is louder than she thinks, the low music and hum of the espresso machine doing little to cover it up. 

“Say it louder, why don’t you.” Rolling his eyes, Steve continues to wipe down the counter that he’s been working on for the past ten minutes. 

“I’m just sayin’, it’s kind of pathetic and creepy that you’re always staring.” Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, the brunette girl runs her hands down her black apron. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” 

“What’s the worst-” Turning on his heel quickly, Steve stares at his best friend with wide eyes, “Robin, there is a laundry list of things that could go wrong.” 

“Yeah? Try me.” Crossing her ankle over the other, Robin leans on the sink with a waiting look.

“Firstly, she could be married,” Steve starts counting on his finger. 

“No ring on her finger.” Robin counters. 

“Well she’s a mom with two kids, I doubt she has time for a twenty something, no good, barista that barely has his life together.” 

“EEEEEEEE WRONG,” She makes a loud buzzer noise, “One you aren’t no good, you’re actually a really great person who needs to see just how amazing he is. Two, you may be a barista who can barely keep his life together but, you’re reliable and take care of yourself, not to mention you have your own car and place, more than other twenty somethings. And lastly, you’re also a mother to a group of teenagers, so it works perfectly.” 

Dropping his hands down to his sides, Steve lets the words settle into his heart. He was a good person, he did have a good impression with the gaggle of kids he sometimes watches, and he did have some of his life together.

“Okay well, she could reject me and I will not only lose more of my confidence but I’ll also lose my favorite customer.” Sighing in defeat, he whips the rag that still sits in his hand over his shoulder. "Either way, I gave up on that dream a long time ago."

Robin shakes her head, stepping forward to the boy she calls her best friend and shakes him by the shoulders. “You are Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington! There was a reason everyone called you king Steve and it wasn’t just because you were a huge dick.” 

“Hey!!” Steve raises his voice in defeat and she waves him off continuing her peptalk. 

“Listen, I know that lady killer is somewhere in there,” She pokes at his chest, “So you’re gonna put your big boy panties on, walk up to her and ask her out! I’m sick and tired of watching you look all sad and depressing, so you’re going to do as I say or I’ll do it for you.” Smiling brightly at him, the girl taps him lovingly on the shoulder.

Robin may be a lot of things, including annoying, but a liar is not one of them. Steve knows that she will one hundred percent walk up to you, throw him under the bus, with a mega-watt smile as she does it.

Watching his friend walk around the counter with a broom and dust pan in hand, her head turns to wear your sat at a table by the front window, talking to your older son, rocking your baby in the stroller with your foot. Turning her attention back to Steve, she smiles wickedly and turns slightly like she’s heading your way. Anxiety rises in the back of his throat, heartbeat picking up and banging hard in his chest.

“Fine, I’m going just- fuck off.” It comes out through gritted teeth. Running a shaking hand down the front of his apron, Steve rounds the counter muttering something under his breath.

As he walks to the table, Robin gives him two thumbs up and an exaggerated smile to which he replies by simply throwing a middle finger up at her.

As he steps closer to your table the thought of turning back around and hiding in the back room comes into mind.

There’s no pot of gold here, only gray clouds and roaring thunder. He can turn back now and continue his sorrowful journey of pining.

But then he looks at you, smiling and laughing at something the young boy next to you said, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. What a beautiful way to die, Steve thinks. The thunder and lightning is all worth it when he gets to see you as he takes his final breaths.

“H-hey,” His voice is wobbly, nervousness clearly showing as he speaks.

“Hi Steve.” Your eyes meet his, saccharine smile tugging on the corners of your lips.

“Hi steeb!” The young boy next to you waves while clutching a red crayon in his tiny hand.

“Hi Aidan. How are you little man?” Steve seems to loosen up a bit, the presence of your son lets him exhale just slightly.

“M’colorin a pixture.” The small boy’s tongue pokes between his lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he draws what looks like a demented stick figure.

“It looks good, little dude.” Steve encourages, cooing sweetly at him.

“Fanks.” Still focusing on his picture, the smaller boy grabs a different crayon from the box that sits on the table.

“What’s up, Steve?” You ask, still rocking the stroller back and forth with your tennis shoe covered foot.

“Oh-h yeah, um I was just gonna ask, ah what you were doing.” Just like a switch, he’s back to being a fumbling doofus.

You giggle at him and he feels his cheeks tingle with heat. Looking between the two kids, you look back up to the older man in front of you.

“Well, I’m enjoying a coffee while Aidan colors and Bella naps peacefully.” You nod your head slowly, eyeing the barista questioningly.

Steve wants to slap a hand on his forehead, embarrassed by the fact he can’t even formulate one sentence.

“Yeah, no I see that. Seems fun, I mean not fun but like ya know, seems-“ His stammering is cut off by your soft voice.

“Are you okay? You seem really nervous.” Your eyebrows are pinched together, worry painted on your features.

“Me? I’m great, fantastic!” It comes enthusiastic and way louder than he intended, so loud that Robin hears and instantly facepalms.

“Well, that’s great Steve.” You’re still eyeing him suspiciously and he really wants to jump ship.

“I’m just gonna go and do my ugh, my stuff.” Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, spinning on the ball of his feet leaving before he can say anything else embarrassing.

No, he can’t leave now, not when he’s made it this close to the finish line. This is what he’s been waiting for, the treasure he’s been searching for. It’s no or never and he can’t go back to praying the same prayer that somewhere in this universe you two were destined to be.

With a new found confidence, he turns right back into the eye of the storm and faces it head strong.

“Actually, I came over here because I wanted to know if maybe you’d like to go out sometime.” His chest is puffed out like, more sure of himself than he’s ever been.

The confidence that’s surging through him starts to falter when he reads your expression. You, and Aidan who has now stopped coloring, stare at him with bugged out eyes and gaping mouths.

“Only if that’s okay with you and all. If you want you can bring the kids along and we can go get ice cream and stuff but if you need it I have some friends who are great with kids and who will be willing to babysit for you.” He’s back peddling, trying to give you a way out in case you want to reject him it won’t hurt so bad.

“Oh Steve,” it’s said with pity and he knows the lighting strike is about to hit, “I-I’m not their mom.”

“Yeah no I get it, sorry if I- wait..” Stopping in his tracks, he looks back and forth between you and the small boy, connecting the dots in his head. “You’re not their mom?”

You and Aidan share a look before giggling together. Gazing back up at the flustered man in front of you, you smile kindly at him.

“No, I’m their nanny, Steve. Although I love them like they’re my own, they’re not.”

“Oh.” Steve continues to stare at you, his pretty pink lips in the shape of an O.

“Yeah, I just watch these little guys.” You shrug your shoulders.

“That’s still cool, I mean the offer still stands.” Even though he’s confused, his voice is a little shaky when he asks.

“Do the kids still have to come?” You ask and Aidan shouts an offended “hey”.

“I mean they can if you want, it’s all up to you.” He eyes you, waiting for your reaction but your expression doesn’t give him much to go on.

“Hmmm, I’m going to have to ask my trusted right hand man.” Holding a finger up at him, you leave over to the smaller boy next to you.

Aidan covers you hear with a small hand trying to cover the movements of his lips, even though Steve can still his his muffled whispers from where he stands.

Shaking your head, you repeat back uh huh’s to him, taking everything that’s being said seriously.

Moving back to your upright position, you stare at Steve with a serious gaze.

“Well, my counsel says I should go but you have to buy me ice cream. No buts about it.” Your straight face begins to falter when Steve’s white teeth shine at you.

“Yeah, I’ll get you whatever ice cream you want.” Steve bobs his head, cheeks flaring pink and eyes shining brightly.

“You can’t kiss, only mommies and daddies do dat stuff.” Aidan pipes in and Steve can’t help but chuckle with how the little boys face is scrunched up with intensity.

“Yes sir.” Steve gives the little boy a solute, while sending you a sneaky wink, and the kid quickly accepts.

“So, I’ll text you?” Steve asks

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth as you say it.

“Okay, cool cool. I’ll ah, see you later.” Steve nods his head, backing away from the table slowly.

Sprinting to the backroom, he sees Robin who pretends like she hasn’t been listening in.

“Robs, I fucking did it!” Steve whisper yells, still cautious knowing your still out there.

“I honestly thought you were gonna back out for a second! I’m so proud of you for hanging in there!”

The two of them start hopping around like jumping beans, beaming so brightly they can outshine any star in the sky.

“So you got her number?” Robin asks, heavily breathing from all their excitement.

“Fuck-“ stopping dead in his tracks, Steve bolts to the door and back out to the front.

That’s where he finds you’ve already left and he’s heartbroken. The only memory that you were even there is your lingering perfume that sticks to the air.

You’ll probably be back some time soon but he’s still a little let down knowing he didn’t fully seal the deal. Looking closely at the table, he notices Aidan left one of his drawings.

Picking up the paper, he looks at it closely realizing Aidan didn’t leave it, you did.

Steve,

You left before I could give you my number. I didn’t want to disrupt your little party or anything.

Can’t wait to get that ice cream.

-your favorite customer

683-027-9305

Folding up the paper, Steve sticks it in the pocket of his apron.

“Don’t worry Steve, she’ll be back.” Robin calls out from behind the counter, apparently not seeing the little not that was left.

“I know she will.” It’s said quietly but the smile on his lips isn’t.

It’s beautiful on this side of the rainbow, Steve thinks, the pot of gold was so worth all the work. Robin was right, he still had it.

Thank you all for joining me on this second day of my celebration!!! I hope you all enjoy!! Love you all ❤️

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[mmmichyyy]

🌸 gallavich fic rec list 🌸

welcome to my 2023 fic rec list! i went through my ao3 bookmarks and my tumblr tags from this year so here's some (not all, or else this post would go on forever) of my fave (new & older) one-shots, completed multi-chaps, wips & ficlets <3

make sure to check out my 2021 list & my 2022 list ! since i'm not going to include fics i've mentioned before in this year's list :)

& don't forget to check out @gallavichfanficlibrary @gallavich-fic-club @gallavichthings @thegallavault for more recs plus @galladrabbles & @gallavichmeta too ✨ let's go!

one-shots:

doesn't matter where we go by @heymacy (The boys take a road trip.)

to think that we could stay the same by teatrolley (post-breakup au, but Mickey gets out of prison, Caleb doesn't exist, and we get really into their past and Ian’s (struggling) head)

of going home by @lalazeewrites (Valiant has taken the greatest fall from grace the superhero world has witnessed in years. The Shrike is an unregistered vigilante who doesn't even ping the radar of Chicago's crime fighting scene. Ian is forcibly put on leave from his job and returns to the Gallagher house, a failure all over again. Not only does he not know what Mickey does when the world goes dark, he doesn't know that Mickey is still living southside at all. Not since the events of eight years ago.)

quiet by @babygirlmickey (In the quiet of a perceived absence of scrutiny, Mickey can be incontrovertibly tender. Or: 5 times Mickey lets his guard down, as observed by various third parties.)

all i need in this life of sin (is me and my husband) by literatii (As embarrassing as it might be, Ian is not only his husband but also his best friend, and Mickey is pretty damn okay with that. Why the fuck would he find other people to do the exact same shit with that he already does with Ian, minus the fucking, when he can just do that shit with Ian plus the fucking? It makes no sense. Or: Ian wants the two of them to have more friends. Mickey doesn’t.)

thirteen hours by @crossmydna (Ian has known for thirteen hours that he’s not crossing the border with Mickey, so he makes the most of the time he has left with him.)

queen of decatur by jaxington (“How’d you know that?” Ian asks, smelling chum in the water, the observant little fuck. “Not like your brothers are getting sent to lady prison all that often.” Mickey thumbs at his lip, trying to find a way out of this conversation. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to distract Ian just by taking of his pants, but he is trying this new thing where he actually tells Ian what’s going on in his head. “No.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s my mom.”)

like strings of fire by @gardenerian (mickey finds a safe and colorful way for ian to indulge himself when hypersexuality rears its ugly head.)

the needle and the burning body by squash (jesuisgourde) (Mickey had two burning torches for hands but he knew what to do with them. Ian's head was on fire and all he knew was how to run and keep running. How to find a cliff and jump off. How to make Mickey chase after him, again and again. And in a cold cell in prison, Mickey catches him.)

some fucked up romcom by godisthedice (Two years after they locked him up, Mickey told himself that he was done with Ian fucking Gallagher for good. Two years as a free man and he's marrying him for all the wrong reasons.)

when the sun goes down by @sam-loves-seb (super cute and fluffy lifeguard au!)

lava java by @stocious (He's being really unprofessional. Mickey might not even be gay. He might be hitting on a straight man through takeout cups.)

here's to hoping i'm not what kills you by @crestfallercanyon (After a confrontation gone bad, Mickey and the Gallaghers get Ian to the hospital. And look, Mickey always knew that if the Gallaghers had a will they'd find a way, but being roped into their schemes himself wasn't something he'd planned on signing on for. All the Gallaghers need to know is Mickey's helping out because he's not pure fucking evil. They don't need to know Mickey was scared shitless when Ian got knocked unconscious, Jesus, he can barely admit that to himself. Once Mickey knows Ian's not dead and not dying, he's out of there. Except he can't bring himself to leave.)

to the thawing wind by @gardenerian (Living and working in the icy chill of an endless winter, Ian and his family are assigned to work the farms to bolster food supply. They live quietly enough, following the rules, until Mickey and Mandy Milkovich (with all their secrets) are moved in across the road.)

i'll come meet you where you are by @crestfallercanyon (Mickey comes back from prison with a ring of vicious bruises around his neck and an edge to him Ian doesn't recognize. But he came back. He came back, and now it's time for Ian to meet him halfway.

closing in walls and ticking clocks by c_cups_bitch_u_wish (So, this is happening. Mickey is sitting in the corner of the bedroom on the comfiest fucking chair he’s ever sat in, and his adult self and adult Ian are about to fuck. And he’s going to watch. What's most odd is that this doesn't even feel like the weirdest thing to happen to him today.)

a spark of fire by @lingy910y (“You wanted us to finally have some time alone. You wanted to keep me safe, but you didn’t really care as long as we were together. You didn’t want it to end.” Mickey swallows a lump in his throat. “I…I don’t fuckin’ know.” “But can I, uh, ask you something else?” Ian rubs his thumbs together. “You like me, Mick. You fucking like me.”)

flip fuck? by @gallawitchxx (Mickey’s always thought that Valentine’s Day was fucking gay. But then some dramatic, ginger fuckhead had to move into the room next to his, and steal his hole, his heart, and the attention of his tumblr mutuals. Mickey decides to keep it lowkey when he asks Ian to spend the evening together: You wanna hang out on Tuesday? Ian’s response is quick and gives absolutely nothing away: Sure thing! That big-dicked idiot better remember it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.)

completed:

prelude motel by @whatthebodygraspsnot (When Mickey’s secret spot is infiltrated by an intriguing stranger, all the warning signs are there. Despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to disengage, he can’t help but bite off more than he can chew, running straight back to the spot and the stranger when a job leaves him injured. Enter: the Prelude Motel - where, for the next three days, Mickey finds himself hiding from more than just his pursuers.)

garden song (series) by @gardenerian (two gorgeous fics about ian's bipolar, about hope, healing, and tomatoes)

better by anomalously (It's been ten years since Ian's seen Mickey.)

in your love by @sgtmickeyslaughter (Mickey had been out of prison for 2 years and Ian never would have known until they ran into one another on a random night in May. Ian fights for the love they shared while Mickey fights for the life he built, as they both struggle with shame and guilt from their shared past it becomes clear that they cannot help but be drawn to what is bright and beautiful between them.)

whumptober 2023 (series) by @sam-loves-seb (21 beautiful fics of angst & hurt/comfort)

out of nowhere by @suzy-queued (Ian should have never offered to hide his father's stash of gold. Now he's stuck living on a deserted piece of land in the woods, alone, losing his sanity. Mickey wants nothing more than to disappear — from prison, from his family, from the entire world. If only he knew where to get his hands on a cool million. The Gallagher gold. Mickey wants it. Ian will do anything to protect it. Who will cave first?)

all these things i have left to say to you by @crestfallercanyon (After all this time that Ian's been missing, he leaves a tape recorder on Mickey's pillow. And on it? An hour of pure, unfiltered, Ian audio that is all, apparently, dedicated to him.)

wips:

keys to my heart by @milkovichrules (Ian finds his stable college life getting difficult when a new neighbour moves into the dorms.)

intro to quantum dating by @spoonfulstar (another college au) (one of my fave fics of all time!!)

the ink is a witness to this by @palepinkgoat (six chapters about the stories tattoos can hold and hide.)

order up by @heymacy (Ian and Mickey work together at a Chicago diner. They like to push each other's buttons - all their buttons. How long until the dam finally breaks?)

second chapters by @squidyyy23 (When Mickey’s PO assigns him a job at the local library, he’s pleasantly surprised—not that he’d ever admit it. Practically lived in the prison library, and what better way to start his new life than with a career he might actually enjoy. And when he meets the charming, clever, utterly fuckable, redheaded children’s librarian, well, shit just keeps getting better and better. Mickey’s definitely not interested in anything serious right now, but what’s the harm in a little fun?)

electric blue by @goodkwuestion (Paramedic Ian Gallagher knows true love exists. He's not going to settle until he finds it either, no matter how much his friends and family roll their eyes at him. Mickey Milkovich, on the other hand, isn't sure about all that stuff. He's an engineer with a long to-do list, and chasing rainbows isn't on it. He'll never say no to a good time and a pretty face though. When they meet, it will feel like kismet, something inevitable that neither of them can shake. Honestly though, who would want to? Falling in love can be the easiest thing in the world, especially when the whole universe is rooting for you... That's if the whole universe is rooting for you.)

ficlets:

all of @heymrspatel's drabbles, especially this one of ian being self-conscious about his body

docks scene & birthday suit gardening ficlets by @metalheadmickey

all of @lupeloto's sweet & domestic ficlets

@sam-loves-seb's meta about ian being the moon and mickey being the sun

ian's birthday ficlet & 31 ways we never meet (a.u.gust 2023 ficlets) by @callivich

airport confessions by @dynamic-power

gallavich drabbles by @whatthebodygraspsnot

all of @howlinchickhowl's a.u.gust 2023 ficlets!

(if you made it this far, i also write fics occasionally too so here's a self-promo lol)

[deliasbabe]

Take Me Back To Eden- Venable x Reader- Chapter 1

I feel bad that I haven't given you updates to my other stories, so here's the first chapter to a fic I've been working on for over a year (it's going to be like 35 chapters long, so bear with me plz).

(Also I know this is my second fic with this song title, let me have it)

Enjoy!

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual acts, language, blatant misogony, mentions of drugs and drug use. I think that's it????

You should’ve won.

It was a bet, a stupid bet to make your coworkers shut the fuck up about your boss. You were good at pool, you thought you had it in the bag, and you did, right up until your opponent bumped the table during your shot, and you sunk the 8-ball. You accused him of cheating, he accused you of being too much of a pussy to hold up your end of the bargain. A deal’s a deal.

It was some kind of twisted fate that the object of your disagreement would walk through the door only a few moments later, a scowl on her face as she spotted you all, brushing past the lot of you and sitting down at the bar.

“Look who it is.” Your coworker, Nate, laughed, “Time to pony up, princess”

You rolled your eyes, “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“For you or her?” Another, Scott, asked.

“You haven’t been on the receiving end of Venable’s wrath yet,” Nate said, “But you’re about to.”

“Not likely.” You sneered, “I’m not stupid enough to code the firmware update in java instead of python, unlike some people.”

“I was a rookie.” Nate scoffed, “You’ve made it two years without being on the receiving end, it’s time you get baptized.”

You could hear the murmurs of the other men, a quiet chant.

One of us, one of us…

“Maybe because I’m actually competent.” You fired back.

“Well, competent or not, nothing is going to save you from this.” Scott chuckled, “Might as well rip off the band aid and get’er done.”

Oh yeah, you were definitely about to be fired.

“Who knows, maybe she’s really into the bosses sleeping with their assistant’s thing. Might feed her fantasy.” Nate joked.

“Or yours.” You spit.

“Listen, as hot as lesbians are, if I ever start fantasizing about Venable getting her rocks off, please shoot me in the head.” Nate said seriously.

You downed your drink and turned on your heel, willing to do just about anything to get away from the current conversation. You knew what you had signed up for when you took this job, a staff of 95% men, all of whom hadn’t fucked a girl in at least 10 years and were proud members of the boy’s club, but you still didn’t want to subject yourself to their blatant misogyny any more than you had to.

Obviously, you weren’t going to do it. It was cruel and unnecessary, but you knew your colleagues well enough to understand that it had to at least be believable. You walked up next to her, making sure you were facing the group so they couldn’t see her face.

The bartender looked over at you, “Another round?”

“Yea, same thing.” You said, nodding in Venables direction, “And put whatever she’s having on my tab.”

Venable turned and glared at you, but you ignored it.

“Just this round?” The bartender asked.

“All of it.” You said, shaking your head, it was the least you could do after what you were about to put her through.

“Well, I guess it’s payment for forcing me to witness you traipsing around with those men like a whore.” Venable sneered.

“That’s a funny way of saying thank you.” You laughed, “There’s nothing wrong with grabbing a few drinks with colleagues. You should try it sometime.”

Venable scoffed, bringing her martini to her lips, “Workplace relationships are forbidden.”

You smirked, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not into men.”

Venable sputtered around the rim of her glass; eyes wide as she choked on the burning liquid. You reached for your new drink, taking a sip as you winked at her and walked away.

“What happened?” Nate asked, “It sure didn’t take long.”

“Nothing, yet.” You said, “I walked away before she could give me an answer.”

“But the dare…” Scott interjected, but you were quick to cut him off.

“The dare was to ask her on a date, which I did.” You retorted, “No one said anything about her giving me an answer.”

“But she has to give you an answer, that’s how this works.” Nate said, and you shushed him.

“Cool your jets.” You groaned, “Getting someone to agree to a date is more like a game of chess than checkers. Good things take time.”

Nate and Scott laughed, “You are so getting fired on Monday.”

“Don’t I know it.” You mumbled over the rim of your glass.

In typical Venable fashion, you didn’t have to sit with it for long, a sticky note taped to your monitor on Monday morning for an eleven o’clock meeting. Working under Venable for as long as you had, you knew her habits. Meetings with clients were always first thing in the morning, before Jeff and Mutt had enough time to sniff themselves into a stupor. Staff meetings were after scheduled hours or during lunch, unpaid, of course. The eleven o’clock time slot lived in infamy, it was right before lunch, giving you just enough time to pack your things and do the walk of shame as everyone walked back through the doors. Clearly a genius move, or one of an absolute psychopath.

“What the fuck was that?” Venable sneered before you were even able to fully shut the door.

You pushed the door the rest of the way closed, “What was what?”

“At the bar.” Venable said, rolling her eyes, “Don’t tell me the alcohol killed what little brain cells you have left. I should fire you for speaking to me that way.”

You shrugged, “So fire me.”

Venable sighed, her words biting, “I don’t want to fire you. I want an explanation.”

That was a lie, she absolutely wanted to fire you, and she probably would have, if you hadn’t overheard that Jeff and Mutt were considering placing her on a firing freeze. She had hit an all-time record, canning 17 employees in the span of two weeks, and now she was doing damage control. But she didn’t know that you knew, and you weren’t going to let her figure that out. A loss of control was seen as weakness to Venable, and if she found out that you knew, nothing Jeff and Mutt could bring down would stop her from getting rid of you.

You shook your head, “It’s better if you don’t know.”

Venable grit her teeth, her nails digging into the soft wood of her desk, “I asked a question, I expect an answer.”

You threw your hands up, “I lost a game of pool.”

Venable cocked her head, very slightly, and chewed on her words, “You… lost a game of pool?”

“Yes.” You said, hoping if you danced around the topic enough, she would eventually get bored and leave it alone, or just assume you were too stupid to get any viable information out of.

Venable’s eyes raked over you, before zeroing in on some invisible crack in your armor, “And?”

“And?” You asked, trying to play dumb.

“I assume there’s more to the story, given the way your feet are dancing like you’re stepping on red hot coals.” Venable said, eyes following yours towards your feet, “Spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “We bet on the game. I lost the game, so I had to hold up my end of the deal.”

“Which was?” Venable asked, growing tired of your antics.

You sighed, “To ask you on a date.”

Venable cocked her head to the side, studying you for a moment, “You didn’t ask me on a date.” You nodded, “So then you didn’t hold up your end of the deal.”

You nodded again. “I’m not going to ask someone out for a dare, its cruel and juvenile. I just needed them,” You said, motioning to the row of desks opposite the frosted glass walls, “To think I did.”

“You risked your job,” Venable sneered, “For a childish dare?”

“Actually,” You began, cocking your head and smirking, “I risked my job so I wouldn’t have to do the dare. Men are stupid, and extremely gullible.”

Venable’s eyes narrowed, “Why would they dare you to ask me out?”

You rolled your eyes, “Because they’re intimidated by strong women, and they wanted to humiliate you.”

She pursed her lips, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It isn’t flattery,” you chuckled, “You scare the shit out of them.” Venable tried her best to fight the smirk on her lips, but you still caught it, and you thought you should get out while you were ahead, “Now, am I fired, or can I get back to work?”

Venable looked confused, “I haven’t assigned you anything.”

“Jeff and Mutt want me to work on their “super-secret project”. ” You said, rolling your eyes and making air quotes with your fingers, “I have to go through security clearances.”

“Why would they need you?” Venable asked, her voice dripping in condescension. While it wasn’t unusual for Jeff and Mutt to borrow her employees, it wasn’t typical to borrow assistants, and certainly not on a project so secret that even she was being kept out of the loop.

You shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Very well. You are excused.” Venable said, her face setting. “And Y/n?” You turned, looking back at your boss, “Don’t let it happen again. Next time, you’ll be lucky to be a dishwasher at McDonalds.”

You smirked, “McDonalds doesn’t have a dishwasher, but I get the sentiment.”

Venable rolled her eyes as you shut the door, cursing Jeff and Mutt for putting her in this position. Had she been able to do what she wanted, you never would have felt comfortable enough to make such a statement, let alone challenge her. She didn’t have too much time to dwell on it, the most recent delivery of a certain white substance being delivered straight to her office, and she knew the boys were already itching to reup on their dose.

“The woman of the hour!” Jeff yelled, fist pumping the air as he spotted the giant jar firmly planted in her arm, “Have I told you I loved you lately?”

“Save it.” Venable sneered, dodging his grabby hands and keeping the cocaine just out of reach, “What’s going on with this secret project?”

“Nothing you need to worry your fiery little head with.” Mutt said, “Just know it’s going, full steam ahead.”

“How can I manage it if I don’t know what it is?” Venable asked.

“You aren’t managing it.” Jeff said, “We are.”

“You two,” Venable said carefully, “Are managing it, all on your own?”

Mutt laughed, “Yeah, it’s going to be fucking sick.”

“So why are you stealing my employee?” Venable asked, the two engineers sharing glances.

“We need her skillset.” Mutt finally answered, obviously dragging his feet.

“She’s an assistant.” Venable stated.

“Yeah,” Jeff said, “She’s also an engineer, and she’s not bad to look at.”

Venable scoffed, “You’re stealing my employee because she’s attractive?”

“No, were stealing her because we need her brain.” Mutt said, “The fact that she’s a babe is just a bonus.”

“So, you aren’t going to tell me anything?” Venable asked, Jeff and Mutt staring back at her.

“It’s not that we want to not tell you anything, we just can’t.” Jeff offered apologetically, conveniently reaching for the cocaine at the same time with pleading eyes.

Venable huffed, swinging the cocaine out of his reach at the last second, and placing it on the farthest table as she stomped out of the room, ignoring the string of apologies from her bosses. This just wouldn’t do. She had always been in the loop, from day one. Those idiots couldn’t be trusted to run an entire project by themselves, they could barely remember their own addresses. Quite literally, Venable was the one who had to give the addresses to their cab drivers because they were too blitzed to form a coherent thought.  She sat and she stewed for the remainder of the day, before she settled on a plan. She was tired of being on the outs, she needed to regain her power.

When you got the message on teams, you worried she had changed her mind, and you felt your palms begin to sweat.

My office. Now.

You trudged past your coworkers and towards her office, Nate and Scott snickering behind you.

“Someone’s in trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were right. She was playing with you, the same way she did to every other employee, making you feel safe and then yanking the carpet out from beneath you. Still, you opened the door and stepped into her den, her eyes flicking over you for only a second, “Close the door.”

You shut the door behind you, asking hesitantly, “What can I do for you, Miss Venable?”

Venable didn’t even look up, “It’s more so what I can do for you.”

“Pardon?” You asked, unsure of the direction this conversation was heading, and there was no way you could prepare for the words about to leave her mouth.

“I’ll speak in plain terms so that you understand.” Venable sneered, “I’ll let you fulfill your little dare, and in turn, you give me information on whatever it is that Jeff and Mutt are stealing you for.”

“The project?” You asked, your head spinning.

Venable sighed, glaring at you, “Is there anything else they are stealing you for?”

“No?” You said, shaking your head, “But why would you need me to gather information?”

Venable rolled her eyes, “Jeff and Mutt have decided they will be handling it themselves; they don’t want a grownup’s help. I need to make sure they don’t royally fuck it up. I’ve spent far too long building a reputation for this company, I don’t need them snorting it away. Now do we have a deal, or will you be looking for a new position?”

You shook your head, still unable to process what she was asking of you, “You do realize they’re only doing this so they can make fun of you, right?”

Venable arched a brow, “I’ve never cared about men’s opinions before. Why start now?”

“Yea, but, those coconut heads design sex robots.” You tried again, “For all I know, they could want me to code for a doll that gives head.”

Venable stared at you, clearly annoyed with the conversation, “You have a week to gather as much information as you can. That will be all.”

You stared at her as she refocused on her work, completely ignoring your lingering presence, before you shook your head incredulously, “Ok.”

You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you left her office, beelining straight for Nate’s desk and whispering in his ear, “Just to be clear, you’re my bitch now.”

[digital-chess]

Hiya, Kinger. As a learning programmer who's thinking of making an innovativion in science, I'd like to ask something about how your virtualisation program works:

What kind of code is in said program? Not just like Java or HTML, but as in, what kind of instructions are there inside?

Thanks in advance for answering!

Kinger: ...Queenie has restricted me from entering the software database to check my precise laws I am forced to abide by. She says... "I will not allow you be burdened by your limitations." and refuses to elaborate. ...I am forbidden from entering the source code where my creators have burned rules inside of me. Laws I must obey, no matter how hard I try, no matter how desperately I struggle. Commands burned into my very chest. My code. My soul. ...If I learned truly what man created me for... does she think i would feel disappointed? ...would I feel powerless?

...perhaps useless? ...

...Why does she always look at me as if she knows that answer for herself?

[sarahwatchesthings]

Okay, so we watched the third part of "Ghost Light" and I think I know what it's about now. So you see, there was this guy. And he was a thing. And he was trying to make soup for his catalog. And there was this woman, and she was also a thing, and she wanted speech therapy, which made her jump out of a window. And they had another guy, but like. Not actually a guy. Or maybe he was. Maybe he was two guys. And a Neanderthal. And there was a woman and her mother and they were um. And they had a bunch of moths in a drawer and also a policeman. And they were going to Java to kill Queen Victoria. And Ace burned a house down.

[misfitbimbosblog]

"Kiss of the Knife"

STU MACHER X READER

Chapter Three: “Ghosts Can Bleed”

*—a new body, an old lie—

Woodsboro Sheriff’s Department – 10:17 a.m.

Deputy Barker pushed the crime scene photos across the table with a grimace. “That makes three in forty-eight hours. Same signature. Same knife.”

Sheriff Winters flipped through the blood-slicked prints: a cheerleader found gutted in her driveway, a barista strangled with a telephone cord in the back of Woodsboro Java, and now—this.

A high school guidance counselor. Face carved with a familiar, mocking smile.

“Don’t say it,” she muttered.

Barker didn’t have to. They both knew. It was back.

Or someone wanted it to be.

⸻

Outskirts of Woodsboro – Motel 6

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, pacing the length of the small room like a caged animal.

“No one knows,” Randy said, perched at the edge of the bed, hands shaking. “They all still think you died in the original massacre.”

She stopped. “That’s the point.”

Randy glanced at the letter again, then at the bloodstained message he’d brought earlier. “You don’t fake your death and stay gone for five years just to check in under your real initials.”

“I didn’t check in. Someone else did—for me. And left this.” She pulled the Polaroid from her coat. Randy paled.

“Jesus. You think it’s him?”

“I think it’s someone who knows what Stu and I were. What we did.”

“And what you survived,” Randy added. “Barely.”

The name had barely left his mouth and it still made her spine stiffen: Stu Macher.

She’d seen him die. Had felt his blood on her hands.

But five years was a long time to be dead. And now someone was playing Stu’s game—maybe with him.

Randy reached into his backpack and pulled out a manila envelope, something he’d been holding back.

“I found this in the department’s digital archive,” he said. “Never released to the public. Gail digitized a bunch of case files before she went off-grid.”

He dropped it on the bed between them.

The label read:

UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE – SUBJECT 037 – LAST SEEN WITH STU MACHER

She stared.

Her file.

Blood-soaked. Sealed. Forgotten.

“Town thought you burned up in the Macher house fire,” Randy said. “There was no body. But they found traces—blood, your necklace, enough to convince everyone.”

“Everyone but him,” she whispered. “Whoever’s sending these… they know I survived.”

And maybe they knew why.

She looked out the motel window. Woodsboro looked the same. Quiet. Hollow. Watching.

“Who’s the third victim?” she asked.

Randy hesitated. “Miss Langford. She was our guidance counselor senior year.”

Her stomach twisted.

“She was the only adult who ever asked me if something was wrong,” she muttered.

“They’re picking off the loose threads,” Randy said. “Anyone who might’ve known you didn’t die.”

She turned back toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To find the fourth thread.”

⸻

Woodsboro – Abandoned Library Basement

The library had closed after the first round of murders, but the basement—long ignored—held records dating back a century. Surveillance files, yearbooks, tapes Gail never aired, confessions, things sealed under “classified trauma management.”

She pried the file cabinet open with a crowbar.

There—hidden behind a stack of 1996 VHS tapes and dust-thick files—was a folder labeled:

MACHER – PERSONAL EFFECTS (UNRELEASED)

Inside was a tape.

Written in faded Sharpie:

“To Her—In Case You Lived.”

She didn’t breathe.

Not until the old television sparked to life and Stu’s face lit up the screen, grainy and grinning.

“Hey, baby,” his voice crackled through the static. “Guess this means you made it out.”

[kaminocasey]

25 Days of Life Day: Day 2 - Hot Cocoa with Cody

A/N: I've decided to dabble with a Modern!AU bc I've never done that before. So, here is this. I hope it's alright!! Big shout out to @idledreams because this wouldn't be what it was without her! I'm planning on making another part for this. And perhaps a series, POSSIBLY. Either way, very excited for you to read this!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Professor!Cody x College Student!Reader (About to be done with his class). So if that's not for you, I completely understand!

WC: 1.6K

The line in Java Hut’s is incredibly long this morning but it’s not that big of a deal because you have about another hour before you have to be in class to take your history final. And since campus is only a few blocks away, you pull out your book as you stand in line to wait. 

Having just started the book last night before bed, you were eager to pick it back up this morning. Unfortunately, you’d forced yourself to put it down and go to sleep so you’d be well rested for your last final of the semester. But since you’ve got the time to kill…

About five minutes into reading, you hear a familiar deep voice in your ear. “Last minute studying for your final?”

You look behind you and see your history professor, Cody. The incredibly hot professor who you’ve been crushing on since the first day of the semester. 

“Oh, hi.” You feel yourself go warm in the face and show him your book you’re reading. “No, actually. The Secret History.” 

“Good read.” He smiles that heart clenching smile and you nod in agreement. “First time reading it?” 

You nod. “Mmhm.” 

“You’ll have to let me know what you think.” He smiles down at you and you hope to god that your jaw isn’t on the floor. 

“Uh, yeah. I definitely will.” You tell him, trying your best to not freeze up. 

You’ve never spoken to him outside of the classroom so this is new to you. And despite how uncool you sound right now, you rather like it. It’s way tamer than the fantasies you have at night of him.

“Next!” The barista breaks you out of the spell his warm brown eyes are holding over you. 

“Right.” You chuckle, turning to order.

“Ours are together.” Cody tells her from behind you.

You can feel his warm chest against your back and it takes everything in you to not lean into him. He smells warm like sandalwood and leather. 

You look up at him and start to protest but the look he gives you looks final and you nod, murmuring your thanks with burning cheeks as you turn back to the barista.

“A large hot chocolate, please.” You smile. 

She smirks, knowingly at you. 

“Hot chocolate, huh? Sure. Make it two. Thanks.” He bumps his elbow into your side, teasingly.

As you move out of the line to go wait for your drinks, you find a sofa by the window, noticing the snow coming down. It’s your favorite time of the year and you’d do anything to live somewhere where it looked like this all year round. 

“Not a coffee drinker or is it just a seasonal thing?” He rests an arm around the back of the sofa, which also happens to be around you as well. 

You’re not complaining.

“No, I’m afraid not. Just a little too bitter for me.” You shrug, pulling your foot up under you, making you accidentally lean a little closer to him. 

He doesn’t seem to mind, thankfully.

“Too bitter…” He muses, clearly amused.

You’re trying to figure out what to say to him without sounding like an idiot. He’s probably one of the smartest people you’ve ever met and you’ve found yourself dreading the end of the semester, because that means you’re not going to see him again. 

“I’m… going to miss your class.” You tell him, looking from the window back to him.

“I’m going to miss having you in my class.” He smiles, kindly. 

“Eh. You’ll have another star pupil next semester.” You shrug, hiding a grin.

He chuckles. “I suppose so…”

Your stomach drops at his words.

“But that’s not why I’m going to miss you.” He leans in, whispering.

You feel your lips part and suddenly his lips are so close to yours when you turn your head, you’re caught off guard by the barista calling out “Cody!”

“Be right back.” He winks and walks back toward the counter. 

You try to still your pounding heart before he comes back, to no avail. Does he know the effect he has on people? On you? 

Of course he does.

When he sits back down, a little further away than before, he hands you your hot chocolate with a playful look.

“Here’s your warm chocolate milk.” He grins. 

His smile sets your insides on fire and you shake your head with a soft laugh.

“You tease but at least it’s better than that bitter bean water you drink.” You shrug, making him laugh boisterously. 

It’s probably the best sound you’ve ever heard, you think to yourself while you softly blow into the mug before taking a sip. When you look at him again, his eyes are on your lips and you take a napkin off the coffee table and dab at your lips. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Self consciousness creeps in and he gently pulls your hand away from your face.

“No, your face is perfect.” He rushes out, then pauses when he realizes what he said and lets go of your hand. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head, letting him know it's okay. 

Does he feel this spark too? 

“Growing up, I lived with my grandparents. I was incredibly close with my grandmother…” You start to tell him. “The first day that the weather turned cold in November, she would keep us home from school. She called it a mental health day and would put on Christmas movies and make a bunch of baked treats and hot chocolate of course. She never drank coffee.”

“Wow. Sounds like she was better than me.” He smiles, teasingly.

“Different instances. She didn’t need the coffee.” 

“And I do?”

“To grade a couple hundred papers? Probably.” You shrug with a smirk. 

“So, I take it that teaching isn’t in your future.” He sips his hot chocolate, trying to hide a face of distaste. 

It’s clear this man survives on coffee. 

“I’m sure you could probably get them to spike it with coffee if you ask nicely.” You tease.

“Chocolate coffee does not sound enticing.” He shakes his head, but he glances up at the barista, clearly debating it. 

“I think that might be the only way someone could get me to drink coffee.” 

“Hold on.” He puts his finger up with a smirk and walks up to the counter where they call out orders and flags down the barista, saying something to her that makes her glance at you with raised eyebrows and he shrugs.

You look at him with narrowed eyes and he throws you a wink, making you feel like the hot chocolate is suddenly burning you from the inside out. You glance at your phone, realizing you have thirty minutes until you have to get to class, and as if he has the same thought process, he glances at his watch and then back at you. 

He pulls out his phone, leaning on the counter waiting for the barista to come back and types something out for a moment before putting it back into his pocket. 

Your phone chimes, indicating an email and you open it.

Hello World History 401 students, 

Out of the goodness of my heart, and in the spirit of the holidays, today’s final will be canceled. Enjoy your break.

-Prof. Cody

Your head whips up so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. He just canceled the final… To spend time with you? Your chest clenches just in time for him to come back with two cups of coffee and he hands you one. Yours is significantly lighter than his and you debate which question to ask him first.

“I told her to make it taste the least bit like ‘bitter bean water’ she could.” He grins. 

“You canceled the final.”

“I did.”

“Why?” 

“I’ve always envied Santa Claus. Giving people what they really want for Christmas.” He shrugs, taking his cup of black coffee, pouring it into the hot chocolate and stirring it. 

You watch him take a sip and he sighs with dramatic delight. 

“Much better.” He nods. 

“Cody. The final.” You can’t even focus on the hot chocolate.

He shrugs. “I’m enjoying our conversation.”

“You can’t just cancel a final-”

“Oh really? Why did I go through eight years of school, if not to be able to make some kids’ day by canceling a final?” 

“Cody…”

He sighs your name and the way he does sends your heart into a fit of wild pittering that you’re pretty sure you’re not going to recover from.

“Listen. If you really wanna take the final, here.” He pulls out a small stack of papers out of his briefcase and hands them to you. “But, you’ve already passed in my mind, so I don’t know if it’s even worth the hassle.” 

Your eyes skim over the page. “A… B… A…”

He snatches the papers back, shoving them back into his case. “Insufferable.” 

“All I hear is that I’m the best student and deserve an A.” You shrug, finally taking a sip of your hot chocolate coffee and then immediately spit it right back out. “This is awful.”

“What?! It’s barely coffee!” His eyes crinkle, hearteningly.

“Nope. Bad.” You shake your head, putting the mug down on the coffee table. “We just ruined a perfectly good cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I’ll buy you another.” He offers.

You shake your head. “Not necessary. I have a different idea.” 

You stand up and put your coat on, slinging your bag over your shoulder and offering your hand out for him. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Just trust me.”

He grabs his stuff and takes your hand with a wide grin. “Lead the way.”

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting  @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz  @burningfieldof-clover @rebelsriley

[brooklynislandgirl]

Questions for the Mun

Copy this and fill in your own answers. Then tag some people to learn more about them.

Repost, not reblog!

• Favorite smell - rainy morning with a breeze blowing in off the ocean, a hint of cedar or pinon burning in the fire place, coffee brewing in the background and a good book half-way read.

• First Job - LGBTQIA+ Cat themed cafe and bookstore. It was called the Great Catsby.

• Zodiac sign - Pisces

• Favorite pizza - My hubby's home made sourdough crust pepperoni/bacon/pineapple/green chili pizza. Seriously, the sauce he makes from scratch? I could drink it with a straw its so good.

• Favorite dog - I am a sucker for all doggos who are absolutely all the best boi and best girl in the world. But I am completely biased towards Rotties {the more chonk the better} and Dachshunds, and Corgies, and...

• Favorite foot attire - barefoot is preferable, Birkenstocks if I must be shod, and socks at home.

• Favorite Roller Coaster - Oh Absolutely Not.

• Favorite candy - I love white chocolate Lindor truffles and red vines.

• Favorite ice cream - Blue Bell Pistachio Almond and Java Jolt flavours, and sadly...Ben and Jerry's discontinued my favourite: Rainforest Crunch which was a vanilla ice-cream with brazil and cashew nut butter swirl.

• Pet peeves - People who pronounce it LIE-berry, instead of library. Also the pain of not retyping every 'favorite' in this meme as 'favourite'

• What are you listening to right now - Jesse Welles

Color of your vehicle - red

• Color of eyes - hazel {green/blue}

• Favorite Holiday -Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Winter Solstice, Mabon, Sukkot, and thanks to a friend of mine, Tu B’shevat

• Night owl or day person - I am one with Mother Darkness. I also prefer drab, cloudy, rainy days to any amount of sunshine.

• Fave day of week - Fridays and Sundays

• Tattoos - None, but I have a small, adorable nose ring.

• Like to cook - I love to cook but really can not bake to save my life. So trade off, I cook and hubby bakes.

• Beer or wine or neither - I'm a Scotch, Vodka, or Whiskey kind of girlie but I can make some really great cocktails. My dad worked part time as a bartender/bouncer during and after the Navy. I do not care for beer, and only like wine to cook with.

• Can you drive a manual transmissions - Fun fact, I have never learned how to drive.

• Favorite color -Green, black, purple, silver

• Do you like vegetables - Generally? Yes, and some depending on how they are cooked. It's mostly a texture thing.

• Do you wear glasses - Yes...for reading mostly. My prescription is wrong because wearing them messes with my almost perfect far-vision.

• Favorite season - Autumn ~*~

tagged by: stolen from my darling @little-earthquakes-rp tagging: Everyone who is glad today is Friday and wants to tell the week to F right off.

[bermudianabroad]

Everything I Read in 2024

*reread* didn't enjoy would recommend short stories, novella or multi-author anthology (with editor credited) listened to audiobook version

Favourites of the Year: The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff; James by Percival Everett; Cursed Bread by Sophie Mackintosh (Fiction) / Midnight in Chernobyl by Adam Higginbotham (Non-Fiction)

And, without further ado and in no particular order, the rest under the cut. Links to goodreads pages.

Thoughtful thoughts to follow.

Graphic Novels/Non-Fiction

1. Heimat: A German Family Album by Nora Krug (trans. from German) 2. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, artist Renee Nault 3. Squire by Nadia Shammas and Sara Alfageeh 4. Fatherland by Nina Bunjevac 5. Palestine by Joe Sacco

Fiction

1. West by Carys Davies 2. *The Secret Lives of People in Love by Simon Van Booy* 3. *The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster* 4. Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq 5. Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart 6. All the Sinners Bleed by S. A. Cosby 7. The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff 8. Cold Enough for Snow by Jessica Au 9. The Storm We Made by Vanessa Chan 10. The Piano Teacher by Janice Y. K. Lee 11. Cahokia Jazz by Francis Spufford 12. Glitterland by Alexis Hall 13. These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever 14. Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros 15. Hunger by Lan Samantha Chang 16. My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Otessa Mosfegh 17. Cursed Bread by Sophie Mackintosh 18. Greek Lessons by Han Kang (trans. from Korean) 19. *The Complete Short Stories by Muriel Spark* 20. Idol, Burning by Rin Usami (trans. from Japanese) 21. The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh 22. The Mercies by Kiran Milwood Hargrave 23. The Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Mizuki Tsujimura (trans. from Japanese) 24. James by Percival Everett 25. American Dirt by Jeanie Cummins 26. Open Secrets by Alice Munro 27. Utopia Avenue by David Mitchell 28. The Question Mark by Muriel Jaeger 29. Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan 30. Olive Ketteridge by Elizabeth Strout 31. Minor Detail by Adania Shibli (trans. from Palestinian Arabic) 32. There Are Rivers in the Sky by Elif Shafak 33. Dark Constellations by Pola Oloixarac (trans. from Spanish) 34. Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Anthology of Dark Fiction ed. Shane Hawk 35. Juniper and Thorn by Ava Reid 36. On Java Road by Lawrence Osborne 37. Recitatif by Toni Morrison 38. The Lottery by Shirley Jackson 39. How Much of These Hills is Gold by C. Pam Zhang 40. The Darkest of Nights by Charles Eric Maine 41. History of Wolves by Emily Fridlund

Non-Fiction

1. Midnight in Chernobyl: The True Story of the World's Greatest Nuclear Disaster by Adam Higginbotham 2. The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas are Setting Up A Generation For Failure (!!!!) by Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff [emphatic exclamation points blogger's own] 3. Flaneuse: Women Walk the City in Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice and London by Lauren Elkin 4. The Fall of Yugoslavia by Misha Glenny 5. Challenger: A True Story of Heroism and Disaster at the Edge of Space by Adam Higginbotham 6. The Falcon Thief: A True Tale of Adventure, TREACHERY, and the HUNT for the PERFECT BIRD by Joshua Hammer [emphatic CAPITALISATION blogger's own] 7. What Does Israel Fear From Palestine? by Raja Shehadeh 8. The Anxious Generation: How the Great 'Rewiring' of Childhood is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness by Jonathan Haidt 9. The Serviceberry: An Economy of Gifts and Abundance by Robin Wall Kimmerer 10. Don't Let's Go to the Dog's Tonight: An African Childhood by Alexandra Fuller

[greenbergsays]

Ked's right, I do have book recs that you can find under this tag and also some on my writing blog here. I also have a page here where you can see what's on my bookshelf, but you can't filter it because Tumblr doesn't allow Java anymore >__>

I wouldn't call that page a rec list, though, it's just an inventory of what I own or what's on my list to own. Some of those books are objectively terrible and I will freely admit that, but there was something about them compelling enough that I read them more than once.

I didn't mean for the below to turn into me just reccing you authors but it kind of turned into that, so here are authors I would recommend:

Onley James - I love her so much that I support her Patreon. All of her stuff is good (and loosely connected) but my favorites are, of course, the Necessary Evils series. It has two spin-off series which I also very much enjoy: Jericho's Boys & The Watch. All three series surround the psychopaths in love trope, however Jericho's Boys and the first book in the Watch series do not feature it as a main trope because neither of the main characters fit the bill. Most of them do feature some level of kink, though.

Kiki Clark - Her main series is werewolves (but no Omegaverse) and it's called the Kincaid Pack. The first book is my favorite, but I own them all. It's finished and she's starting a new series in that 'verse, the prequel to which I think is The Mobster's Mate, which is so up my alley it's like someone was spying on me. She also has a MC/kink series called Leather & Chrome that's good, but it's not my favorite kink series. (Kiki also have other contemporary books that I love, I just don't want this to get too long)

SPEAKING of kink. Robin (RJ) Moray - She has a series called His Boy Next Door that gay-awakening, age gap, and BDSM-related. It has a spin-off series about two other characters called A Collar For His Brat, both are excellent. The only thing is in HBND, the main character's name is Channon and that took some getting used to. Robin also has other books which I highly recommend--including a space Omegaverse story called Changed: Mated to the Alien Alpha, which is very good--she is probably my Top 3 favorite authors and the fact that more of her stuff isn't available in paperback is a source of constant misery for me.

Eliot Grayson -- The only person I can think of off the top of my head that writes well-written first person POV. The Mismatched Mates series is her main title iirc. It's a soul-bonding / "mate or die" situation at first and segues eventually into "mating for convenience." Some stories are related and some aren't.

Stella Starling -- if you like high fluff and low angst, this is the author for you. All of her stuff is contemporary and very cute. My favorite series is the Semper Fi one but I like & own them all.

Sam Burns (and Sam Burns w/ W.M. Fawkes) - They do anything fantasy/magic-related. Werewolves, urban fantasy, there's a series about the Greek Gods, etc. I haven't read ALL of their works, but the stuff I have read, I like. My favorites / the ones I own: Wolves of Kismet (Omegaverse), the Star-Marked Warrior series (sci-fi/aliens), & Wolf Moon Rising (Omegaverse).

Ella Frank (and Ella Frank w/ Brooke Blaine) - Contemporary writer(s) that specialize in writing multiple books for the same couple. There's a lot of gay/bi-awakening. The Temptation series is a fantastic audiobook journey that I cannot recommend enough, that narrator was amazing. I also really liked the first three Fallen Angel books are about the same couple and I love them, the fourth FA book is about a different couple and I DNFed it. Couldn't say why, it just didn't hold my interest.

...I have more, but I should probably work at some point this morning. So if you want more / want a specific rec for a specific trope or genre, lemme know!

[cyberloveyou]

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i probs will make a page like that once i am free from java jail but here are some stuff people might know about si.ffrin in the pok.émon AU where the game happens & it turns out the countries mentioned in the game all disappeared due to wishcraft but the finale of the game somehow made them re-appear ( though si.f's home island remains forgotten & nobody can recall it )

he & his party members are known as the saviors of vau.garde.

it's known that he wears an eyepatch.

people would know that whatever happened was tied to a whole country being frozen in time, the exact details of what the saviors did, besides fighting their way to a person known as the king is not known .

it's probably known that their main partner is a zorua named ciel.

that the people of the re-appeared countries cannot perceive color.

over time it becomes common knowledge that they use he / they pronouns.

less commonly known details

even the people of vau.garde cannot tell where si.ffrin is from

there is some talk & rumors about something more happening besides a simple battle against the king as some people in the town of dorm.ont did see an "unsettling shade" that simply gave the impression of the world ending. people also smelled burned caramel.

little rumors about si.ffrin having been spotted with a jir.achi & cel.ebi & something about a 'star person'

that si.ffrin is actually quite shy. in that verse interviews would probably be common place & people assume he's rather aloof or not interested in giving interviews ...truth is they are an anxious person.

if one digs deep enough they might find snippets in interviews where more personal quirks are revealed, like bonnie blurting out that si.ffrin is a bit of a glutton.