#just sounds like a regular group project to me

[maxwell-grant]

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Worm irreparably destroys your ability to engage with superhero fiction the same way ever again, as evidenced by the fact that it destroyed the author's own ability to engage with his own superhero fiction ever again. And everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric (part of why I started WEON4 as a project was motivated by spite, to try and make my own stories about non-American superheroes even if just as practice). It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍.

DAY FOUR OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

pairing: ai-enhanced!miguel o’hara x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, sci-fi, enemies to lovers

summary: there are codeborns and codebreakers. In this world ruled by ai and the people who want to keep it that way, codebreakers fight for freedom while the feared codeborns (ai-enchanced humans) do everything to keep the so-called 'peace'. You are one of the codebreakers, hunted by one of the most menacing codeborn yet, miguel o'hara.

word count: 3k

warnings: hunter/prey, chase kink, size kink, power imbalance, fear kink, dancing on the line of dubcon due to the power imbalance, but reader very much wants miguel, hate sex, piv, possessive!miguel, biting (it has a slight aphrodisiac effect because why not), some blood, dystopian, bondage with mechanical arms, double penetration thanks to said mechanical arms, dirty talk, degradation kink if you squint,

a/n: i don't know with this is, it kinda sorta happened and, honestly, i don't hate it.

In a city perpetually cloaked in gray, oppression is an unrelenting weight. Surveillance cameras leer from every corner, tracking your steps and every muttered word.

This city used to thrive, alive with energy. Now, it's stifled by a regime that rules with an iron fist. Holographic banners hang in the air, projecting sanitized slogans that mask the truth. Rain splashes onto pixelated cobblestones, the wet ground echoing the neon lights into your eyes. 

Heart pounding, you dart through the alleyways, every step echoing. You hear them chasing you, the CodeBorns, they were the AI-enhanced sentinels of this world. Their purpose; bring order to the intricate dark web of the city. You scoff as you run, what a load of bullshit. The sentinels are nothing more than mindless robots that have a barely working human heart—and brain—for that matter. 

Very fittingly, you’re part of a group called CodeBreakers, a group of dedicated people trying to dismantle the regime and censorship. You just recently hacked into the cinema, which might seem not like a big deal, but you just had to save those poor people from watching the same damn thing over and over again. 

Making people watch something else that wasn’t handpicked by the goverment might’ve not been a big deal, but breaking into the system certainly was, and something not everyone could do. 

“Shit,” you hiss, accidentally tripping over a loose cobblestone. “Shit shit shit—” 

The worst thing about the CodeBorns is the fact that they can do a lot that regular folk like you can’t. For example, they’re all ridiculously fast, they can see in the dark, they can hear exceptionally well, they have superhuman strength—

You hear a wall shattering behind you and heavy steps grow closer, you’re relieved when you realize it’s only one set of steps, but as you realize who those steps probably belong to, your chest caves. 

Fucking, Miguel O’Hara. 

You hear the familiar creak of mechanical limbs and the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips. Another thing about the AI-enhanced sentinels, they have body upgrades they can take off whenever they want to. 

“You can’t unrun me!” he roars. “You know you can’t!”

He’s right, you can’t run a beast of a man like him. 

You need to be smarter. 

Ducking into another alleyway, you thank whatever god is left in this world overrun by technology for the web of light the neon signs provide. You quickly spot a string of utility boxes, It’s dangerous, but you manage to squeeze yourself between them and the hard stone wall. Heat radiates from the boxes. If Miguel doesn’t lose track of you soon, the damn thing might heat up enough to burn you. 

The clatter of mechanical limbs echoes closer.

And then you see him. 

The neon light reflects off his holographic suit, its dynamic red details reminiscent of flickering pixels. He's a towering figure. Spider-like limbs protrude from his back, their gleaming metal glistening with the moisture of the rain-soaked air. They move slightly as if looking around, trying to sense her. With panic, you hold your breath, the small hairs on the back of your neck standing with attention. 

His brow is slightly furrowed, something you recognize he does when he’s either angry or annoyed—or both.  His lips, however, curve into a faint, almost menacing smile, revealing a glimmer of satisfaction in this pursuit.

The alleyway seems to shrink around you as his steps grow nearer. Your pulse quickens, synchronized with the flickering lights around you. This isn’t your first run-in with Miguel, and you doubt it will be the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. The fear you feel poisons you, making your stomach churn and your mouth taste of death. He’s captured you before but never actually handed you in. 

Arousal rears its head among the fear, coating you in a sheer sweat. You can’t help it. It’s a Pavlovian response at this point, you see him and your body starts leaking like a damn faucet. Miguel had captured you twice, and in both of them, you ended up with his cock deep between your legs. 

You just never know with him. He never contacted you outside of this, never acted in a way that would indicate that something had happened between you two. 

All he gave you is this, the chase, the fear, the wondering if this might be the time he throws you in a needlessly futuristic cell—

"Here, you are. You tiny thing."

Shit. 

It’s comical really; the way you look up with wide eyes as his red ones peer down at you. His smirk is non-existent, yet you can still feel his satisfaction in finding you. Your chest heaves painfully, you can move, struck with uncharacteristic fear. He might not be an animal you get the sense that he smells the horror sticking to your skin. 

You’re about to make a run for it when the mechanical arm’s sinewy grace coils around your ankles. Miguel pulls you out of your hiding place. All the blood rushes to your face as you hang upside down. 

“Dammit, Miguel!” you hiss. “Put me down!” 

He raises a sole brow elegantly, his eyes moving up and down your body, his gaze almost predatory. “Rather bold for a criminal,” he answers, voice nonchalant. The limbs tighten around your ankles, just a shy away from being painful. The arm draws you nearer, your breath mingling with his in the dewy air. “I’m starting to think you enjoy getting caught.” 

“Does it look like I have a death wish?” you ask. His lips twitch and you quickly add. “You know what, never mind, don’t answer that.” 

“What if it was one of the others who found you first? Were you going to spread your legs for them too? ” he snarls. “Is that how you’ve been getting away from hacking our systems for this long?” 

This time when the limb squeezes harder around your flesh and bone, you scream. The sound is drowned by the constant buzz of the world. “I should just take you in,” he murmurs. “Be less trouble.” 

Due to the blood gathering in your skull, you might be imagining things but you swear you saw a hint of actual worry instead of anger in those crimson eyes. But that shouldn’t be possible. Codeborns didn’t feel; sure they felt anger, but they were programmed sentinels made not to care about anyone who went into their criminal system. 

“Careful, your emotion is showing.” 

Maybe you do have a death wish, after all. 

“Bitch.” 

His sudden anger chokes the air from out of your lungs. You’re suffocated. The limb around you suddenly scorching hot, his eyes redder than normal, bright enough to match the neon raining from above. He bares his teeth at you, sharp and venomous, when he wants them to be. Miguel leans further into your personal space, his scowl deep—you begin to shake all over, your heart begging for your body to move away but you can’t. All you fear and think is fear. 

Arousal sneaks between the sinews of emotions. You taste it on your tongue, the scent of it searing as you take quick, sharp breaths. 

Miguel’s nose brushes the tender skin right under your ear, the sound of his inhale deafening “Afraid?” he rolls his tongue, his voice nothing but gravel. Before you can answer, a chuckle halts your tongue. His breath dans over your damp skin, goosebumps rising across your skin. “Or aroused? Or perhaps both?” 

You say nothing and it’s not for a lack of trying. You’re stunned into it, your tongue feeling limp and big in your mouth. The sharp edges of his teeth nip at your upside-down cheek, and despite yourself, a whimper escapes. 

“No seas tímida ahora. Where’s all that bite from before? Cat got your tongue?” you joly at the sudden feel of his warm tongue, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your shirt. “Beg for it.” again, a darkness curls around each and every word. 

This situation shouldn’t be getting you this hot and bothered. The want between your legs pulses so bad that it hurts. 

“P—Please, Miguel,” you say barely above a whisper. “I. . . I want it.” 

“Want what?” 

Fucking asshole. “Your cock. I want. . . you to fuck me.” 

His smile does nothing to quell the fear, “Good girl,” he rasps, the words echoing in your ear. 

The rest happens in a blur. 

Suddenly you’re not hovering upside down anymore, instead, you’re shoved up against the hard, cold surface of a wall, your pants being lowered for you. Now it’s your wrists that are bound and pinned above your head, your legs spread from the ankles thanks to the mechanical arms. Miguel’s large presence looms right behind you, his clothed cock flush between the crevice of your ass. 

“Let’s see how wet you are,” he coos, ripping your panties into two. You make a strangled sound of disapproval, but all he does is click his tongue. “Be grateful I didn’t shred your pants.” 

Grateful is the last thing you’re feeling as two fingers spread your folds, the middle one dipping between. Your body speaks for itself. Swiping his fingers up and down, he gatherers your slick around the digit and traces your entrance, pushing in. Your body jumps at the beach, pleasure licking the base of your spine. “So responsive,” he murmurs and you hear the familiar glitching sound of his suit. 

Then you feel the heft of his cock laying right above the curve of your ass, both his hands cradling your asscheeks. The limb around your wrists coils tighter. 

Miguel parts your cheeks, getting a better look. Your cheeks burn in response. The cool air hits your other hole and you hate the way your body clenches at the cold. His thumb traces the rim and a loud exhale of air rips from your lungs. Your legs start to shake, slick dripping down the insides of the tender flesh. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty asshole one day soon,” Miguel gloats. Experimentally,  he pushes his thumb forward, nearly knuckle deep until you start squirming. You’re dripping for him, your asshole fluttering around the digit. The mild pain only makes your pulse race. “Unfortunately for you, I can’t today.” 

You hear his smile in his voice. The smugness that is laced into his every sentence. Your breath hitches when he pulls out, a moment later the warmth of his finger is replaced with something cold and metal. 

You tense as you hear the machine whirring, the hardness of it is replaced with something rounder and softer. “M—Miguel. . . ?” 

His lips touch your ear, “Shhh, don’t worry about it, princesa, just a little something to keep you satisfied while I fuck your pretty little cunt.” 

The arm merely moves over your hole, a feather-like touch that warms your skin. When it gently prods at you, you arch your back instinctively, your ass moving up into the air. 

Miguel only chuckles, the sound dark and low, a faint slap is delivered to your ass. You yelp but he doesn’t say another word. 

He’s big. 

You have no idea if it’s just lucky genetics or due to the ai-enhancement but whatever it is; he’s well-endowed. 

He makes you feel every tantalizing inch as he pushes himself further into your cunt, your walls throbbing while adjusting to his width. Your jaw drops, mouth gaping. He presses deeper and deeper, every centimeter of your cunt claimed by him. Your knees buckle and for the first time, you’re grateful for the robotic tendrils holding you up. He growls into your neck, those same venomous fangs skimming the tenderness of your neck. You feel the sharp bite of his nails digging further into your hip. 

Towards the base, his cock thickens and your eyes roll back as he shoves the last of it deep inside you. Your breasts feel heavy, tingling with pleasure despite being untouched.

Miguel doesn’t wait, he pulls back his hips and snaps them forward. Your stomach clenches with a delightful shiver. While slamming into you, the arm that holds your wrists together starts to pull you back until your back forms the perfect art, a mild discomfort steaming at the base of your spine. The way he’s angling you above his cock coaxes sweet, load moans from you. If possible, he’s even deeper now, hitting that devastating spot you can’t seem to reach when you’re on your own. 

“You like being my little plaything?” he groans, kissing the sweaty skin between your neck and shoulder. You moan again when the rounded tip of the mechanical limb starts pushing into the tight ring. A fresh pulse of wetness soaks you and trickles down his length, leaving your body trembling. “Fuck,” thrust. “So,” thrust. “goddamn,”  thrust. “wet—” 

You attempt to say his name but all you manage is the pathetic repeat of the letter “m”. His lips curl cruelly and the tip of the arm forces itself deeper, fucking you with shallow thrusts. “Pathetic,” he spits. “You’re so fucked out that you can’t even say my name? You can’t help drooling around my cock, can’t you? This is why I think you enjoy getting caught, you tiny thing,” the hard edge of his voice softens as he drags his nose down your neck. “So pathetic.” 

When he nips at your neck for the nth time tonight, you bare yourself to him by tilting your head. You want it. Want him. You need to feel him tear into your flesh, you want to feel the sting of his bite for weeks. 

His movements slow on both ends. “It’ll hurt,” he warns. 

“I don’t care,” you choke out. “P-Please— I–I can’t—” 

You really can’t talk. Your cunt squeezes around him, begging for the hard pound of his hips. Miguel doesn’t make you say it twice. He sinks his teeth into the same pace he kissed not a moment ago, the pain is instant, the trickle of warm blood making you squeamish. He doesn’t suck, only bites, not that you ever thought he would be sucking your blood. You imagine it’s just something he enjoys doing, like a primal need. You feel the soft webs of psychedelic venom seep into your veins. Your body grows limp, your lids growing heavy, he resumes his thrust and the pleasure you feel is tenfold. 

“Oh god,” you gasp, slack-jawed. “Oh my fucking god—Miguel—” 

He pulls out his teeth, kissing the marks he made that were shiny with blood, “I know, I know,” he grinds his hips, the pleasure shooting up your spine like electricity. “The effects won’t last long.” 

His words go through one ear and out the other. However. Your body singing with pleasure and nothing else, the word around you fading into reds and pinks. 

Miguel snapped his hips hard into you, meanwhile, the limb resumed its thrusts, stretching you further with every stroke. Some part of you is reminding you that Miguel, as of right now, can see every part of you, your most intimate parts completely bare. But the soothing venom lurking in your veins whispers words of encouragement. You focus on being stretched further, your hips move in need to meet his thrusts, but having nothing to brace yourself against, you surrender and allow him to take you apart wholly. 

His grunts became louder, Miguel pushed deeper and deeper, both cocks thrusting into you at the same time. Spit dribbles from the corners of your lips. Your mind empties with slack-jawed bliss as both lengths repeatedly strike your sensitive spots, pounding you with pleasure. 

You let out a loud gasp when the limb pulls out of you suddenly and you’re left empty, Miguel’s arms wrap around you, hands sliding under your shirt to cup the heavy weight of your breasts. He presses flush against you, striking your ass, he fucks into you with short, deep thrusts. 

His fingers pinch at your hard nipples, slightly turning them, “Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fuck myself deep inside of you so no one will dare touch you.” 

The possessive tone, the brutal pace of his thrusts, the large hands on your tits—all of it pushes you down the edge, your body going rigid before relaxing entirely. You gush around him, wet sounds echoing in the narrow alleyway as he fucks you through it, not slowing down in the slightest. 

However, you do feel the hold around your wrists recoiling along with the ones holding your ankles apart. Miguel holds you close as you fall loosely like a ragdoll, animalistic sounds are grunted into your ear, another burst of arousal awakening on your tongue. 

The tip of his tongue dances along the bite marks when he spills into you, his cock deep, just like he promised. 

There’s so much, you feel the heat of it spreading inside of you, some of it spilling around from where his cock stretches you wide. His hips twitch, his arms forcing down the grind of your hips. You let out a whimper, your head falling over his shoulder. 

The two of you remain like that until his cock begins to soften inside of you, Miguel slowly pulls out and lowers you to the ground so you can sit. He finds your pants and throws it towards your lap. 

Sadly for you, your brain registers none of that. The dumb muscle only starts working again when he stands tall in front of you, that same menacing stance returning. 

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says, voice stern. He looks down at you as he stuffs his cock back in his pants. “If I do, I’ll have to lock you up. This was your last warning.” 

And with that, he leaves. 

A bitter laughter bubbles in your throat as the back of your head hits the hard surface of the wall. Rain begins to drizzle, the first tiny drops landing on your cheeks and sliding down to your neck. 

Among all the people you could’ve fallen for, why did it have to be him?

[astermath]

nemesis; part two.

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: with carmen reworking the restaurant, you’d think his mind would be far too occupied to even think about anything else. yet he can’t shake the guilt from what he’d put you through a month prior. after some talks in therapy, he decides to take a leap of faith and see if he can talk it out with you. he not only wants to convince you that he can be better, but he's got an offer for you too. one you truly can't refuse.

♡ landing page ♡

word count: 4.9K

tags: carmen being unsure about his feelings but trying to be better episode 3265742, letting reader in a little more, APOLOGIES!!!, cursing ig, carm goes to therapy yippee, syd being the absolute realest, regular font below!

notes: sorry this took literally forever omg, I lost my carmen muse for a bit but we are SO back baby. I missed him so much and so sorry if some things don't follow the canon completely (I've been watching season 2 on and off bc I've been so busy lol BUT my fics never follow the canon completely anyways),, hope u guys enjoy and let me know if you'd like a part three ;))

lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Carmen’s life hadn’t known a moment of mental rest in ages. If you asked him when he last sat down with his thoughts or acknowledged his mental anguish, he probably would have said he couldn’t remember the last time. If ever.

With plans to completely revamp The Beef and everything that came with it, now his feelings should be the last thing on his mind. Renovation plans, unforeseen costs and a completely new menu, sure, he could worry his ass off about those, but feelings? Absolutely not. Good thing he was usually so good at suppressing those anyways.

So why was it that he couldn’t shake the thought of what he did to you?

Why, every time he had a moment to himself, would he be overtaken by this intense feeling of guilt? He didn’t even have to be alone, just a second of quiet and the image of you crying in distress would intrude on his thoughts.

It was getting to a point where he’d told his sister, Natalie, about it. Well, not all of it, he wasn’t even sure if he knew all of it. Just that he knows he hurt you, and that coming to terms with what he projected onto you might be a good first step in understanding himself better.

Or maybe it was something more along the lines of “I gotta talk my shit to some people”. Probably that.

To his surprise, it was actually helping. Besides the group therapy sessions where he’d talk about Mikey, the business and his future, he was talking to other people in his life too. Even told Sydney about you, kind of on accident. The words just seemed to… Flow out. It was probably the exhaustion doing its thing.

“I guess I just felt like,” he kept his eyes on the floor he was sweeping, “she was doing it all to fuck with me. I don’t even know where I got the sick idea that she had some obsession over me, but it— it drove me at the same time. It’s like her being on my heels at every aspect of culinary school just made me want to try even harder.”

“Maybe you painted her in that light because you knew it was a good way to keep pushing yourself.” Sydney spoke almost absentmindedly, sweeping the other side of the room. She listened to everything he said in the meantime, and though what he was telling her was a bit worrying, she was glad they got to have talks like this. Carmen often doesn’t like to bring up his past like that.

“Huh,” he paused sweeping for a moment, “yeah… yeah, maybe. Or maybe it was something else.”

Sydney wasn’t even sure he knew what he was referring to. It sounded like something entirely different, like a crush, but what kind of person treats their crushes like that?

Probably an overworked, pressured, overachieving culinary student with a dangerous need for validation. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“So yeah, I visited her restaurant, and… It just felt the exact same as back in New York, you know? Like she was rubbing it in my face again, and— and I know that sounds insane, or conceited, but I just can’t let it go. It’s like the thought of her is stuck to my brain like a stubborn piece of gum.” He wanted to smack himself for that stupid analogy, but what was said was said.

“So how’d you handle it?” Sydney’s head perked up, some of her braids now draping over her shoulders.

“Handle what?” Carmen became more and more uneasy the more he talked about you. Like his chest was tight, it was uncomfortable, but not in the way he was when the health inspection came by, it was different. Weirder. Unfamiliar. He didn’t like it, because he didn’t understand it.

“The talk with her.” She emptied the last bit of dust into the trash bag.

“Oh,” his mind took him back to the parking lot a month ago. The way he could almost taste the tears of your skin from how close he stood, he could hear the shakiness of your breath and the profound desperation in your voice when you apologized to him, when you really had no reason to.

If it was still so clear in his mind, then what must it be like for you?

“Carmen?” Sydney snapped him out of his oncoming train of thought.

“Yeah? Sorry, I— Uh, I don’t know it was…” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly finding it in his best interest to look anywhere else but her face. “Bad. It was— It was bad.” He looks a bit shameful when he meets her eyes. “I fucked up. I like, went all New York boss on her. And then I just… Left.”

His colleague just stares at him for a moment. She knew what he was like when he snapped like that, but that was with his staff, people he liked. So how badly did he snap on you, a person he’d been resenting for years?

“I’m gonna go take out this trash, and uh… Head home.” She lifts the grey plastic bag she was holding. “But uh, Carm?”

“Yeah?”

“You got issues, man.” She has a bit of an awkward smile on her face, but he knows she means it. He knows she’s right. She usually is.

He nods, silently, letting her words sink in. He did have issues, everyone knew that, but most people didn’t just say it. That’s why he liked Sydney, she was so real, so honest. She was so good for the business, for the kitchen. And maybe her saying that to him was all part of grounding him in the reality of it all. Of his issues, just that they existed.

“Heard.” he says. His voice comes out raspier than he expected, like he’s struggling to say it.

“Goodnight, chef.”

“Night.”

He’d thought about what Sydney said the entire night. He does have issues, he knows that, he’s just mad at himself for letting everything get this far before seeking help. It scares him. Because it reminds him too much of Mikey. Or what he heard about him when things got bad.

He doesn’t want to make the same mistakes his brother did. Lock people out of his life just because it seems easier, because it’s better to minimize the damage than to figure out why you’re doing damage at all. And yes it’s uncomfortable, yes it’s scary, terrifying even. But he keeps being reminded of how it must feel for you.

It’s something he’d never considered before. He always thought he had you all figured out, all fake smiles and backhanded compliments to distract him. It never occurred to him to just… Ask. It was always just easier to assume. It fit his view of you and it kept him going, even if it was at the expense of ever getting to know you at all.

He’s hoping he can change that with a few text messages and a long, probably uncomfortable, talk over coffee. Just hoping, trying, that’s really all he can do. He’s well aware of how bad he is at communicating, but he has to give it a shot. For you, at least.

He stares at his phone screen for far longer than is necessary, continuously rereading the messages he’d typed. His eyes keep flicking to your contact, making sure he sent it to the right person. The only thing you two had texted about before was a time and place for him to try your new restaurant. His heart aches at the exclamation points and emojis you’d sent; you were so excited, and he drove all that excitement straight into the ground.

He closes his eyes and shuts off the phone. His chest hurts, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. Maybe he has. You could have that effect on him, making it harder to breathe. He always wondered why he had such nervous reactions around you specifically. He always figured it had to do with your one sided rivalry, but it feels… Different. More complex.

Your eyes are finally peeled off your computer screen when numerous phone notifications alarm you. Truth be told, you’ve been trying your best to keep yourself occupied as much as possible. That usually helps when you get waves of emotions like this, keeping busy, distracting your mind from overthinking.

Ever since your last encounter with Carmen, you’ve been so on edge. Always trying to do something, anything, so you wouldn’t have to think about what happened, why he acted like that to you. Because you know if you did, you’d just start blaming yourself again, and you’d be back to square one.

Your eyebrows raise at the name of the contact. You were sure he’d blocked you, or at least deleted your number after last time. He was avoidant like that, and frankly, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to talk to you again after that anyways. Maybe it was just to drive the point home, make you feel even more worthless.

Still, you were curious. Even if it was just to cuss you out even more, at least you knew what to expect, right?

[carmen]: hey, I really want to talk to you about what happened last time.

[carmen]: well

[carmen]: I want to apologise

[carmen]: but I can’t do that like this

[carmen]: I’d much rather do it in person

[carmen]: if you’d let me

[carmen]: meet me at odette’s tomorrow around 10? coffee’s on me, I just want to talk

[carmen]: please

The last message was sent minutes later than the rest, while you were reading them. He was desperate for an answer, and though you wanted to hear him out, to talk to him, something in you felt off about the whole thing. Like he was just doing this to clear off his own guilt, only to then ditch you just like he ditched you after culinary school. Because you’re rivals, apparently. That’s what you do.

But then there’s something else in you too. The part that’s still nostalgic about New York with him. About the glances back and forth when you were timed on preparing certain things, about the way he’d stare at you when you got feedback, the ignorant bliss you lived in. When you still believed he might have liked you just a little.

That part of you takes the upper hand when you reply and take his offer. Your heart is in your throat, nerves overtaking you already and you weren’t even with him yet. He had that effect on you sometimes, making it harder to breathe.

You wondered what that meant.

Carmen sits alone at a booth, all the way at the back of the café he’d chosen. It’s rather quiet, as most Mondays are, yet at the same time, it’s so loud. Loud in the way he hears the clinking of every spoon against porcelain cups, the crinkling of a napkin and the not so subtle ticking of the clock above the entrance. 10:06. You were late.

Suddenly he's filled with more regret than he's ever felt before. He's not ready to see you again, only to be reminded of how he made you cry, and of his own tumultuous emotions and shortcomings that lead to this moment. It's surprising how fast the emotions he associates with you changed; he's not angry anymore, he's scared, guilty, nervous. He wants to see you so bad and yet he feels like you'd be better off never talking to him again.

It's too late to make a run for it when you finally walk through the door. Hair a little damp from the rain, just a bit disheveled from what he could only assume to be rushing over to the café. And that same angelic smile you offer to the barista that greets you, the same one you'd offer him every morning, whether he looked at you or not.

He had no choice but to look now.

Your smile falters into something more nervous, a little melancholic, when your eyes meet his across the café. Though you knew he was going to be there, something in you feels surprised to see him again. Maybe it’s because he isn’t yelling at you or throwing insults at your head this time. Or maybe because he’s actually looking you in the eye. Since when did he get so good at that?

You sit down across him, taking off your coat and putting your bag besides you.

“Hey.” You smile again, much more awkward this time.

“Hey.” He returns the same thin lipped smile.

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Carmen swears the whole café has gone silent in that moment, leaving the two of you to listen to the sound of your own breathing and heartrate picking up. You’re not sure where to look, not being used to being in such an intimate setting with him.

“Do you want a coffee?”

“Sorry I was late.”

You both talk over each other, and the urge to chuckle about it overtakes you. Carmen can’t help but smile as well. You seem nervous, and somehow that puts him a little more at ease. Like he’s not the only one who’s in their head about it.

“Sorry, I, uhm, yeah— I would like a coffee.” You scramble over your words. “Please.”

“Sure,” he nods, “and no worries.”

“Hm?”

“That you were late. I haven’t been here that long either.” He lied. He’d been there half an hour early, cursing himself for letting him sit along with his thoughts for that long and psyching himself out into almost leaving.

You both order and another heavy silence sits between you two. You both know why you’re there, what needs to be talked about. Yet neither of you know how to bring it up.

You’ve lived most of your lives believing this version of each other you had in your minds. Because it kept you grounded. Because it was easier. He never let you in and for the longest time, you were at peace with that. You could have a slightly distant view of who he was, your classmate, your rival. And he could do the same. Keep you out, pretend you were there to keep him on his toes, to always try to outdo him.

Those facades of each other don’t work anymore. The real world has forced you to reconcile with each other, whether you liked it or not.

Your coffee gets brought to your table, and both of you feel this urgency to say something, anything, at least.

“The pastries here are good too, if you want to get one.” He finally broke the awkward silence. He can start with talking about food, something he knows. If all else fails, resort back to that.

“I haven’t tried a pastry besides my own in a long time. Maybe I could learn a thing or two here.” You admit. He knows that feeling. He’s not nearly as adventurous with his food choices as he wants to be, but as a busy chef on the brink of a new entrepreneurship, it’s usually beef sandwiches and frozen meals.

“I think yours were better though.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

“Huh?” You look up, realizing you were avoiding eye contact by staring into your cup.

“The danish I tried at your place. It was fire.”

“Oh. Right. Thank you, we make everything from scratch.”

“I could tell.” He takes another sip. “I guess I— I kinda forgot to tell you that. In the heat of it all.” He huffs to himself. “Food was so good it made me upset.”

“Upset?” His word use frustrates you. Upset is when they forget to give you your sauce with your order. What happened back there was not upset. That was rage. Wrath. You raise an eyebrow and he realizes he said something wrong.

“Well, more than upset. Listen, I— We need to talk about what happened.” His blue eyes peer into your own. They’re almost distracting enough to avoid you noticing his fidgeting hands.

“I’m listening.” You lean back slightly in your seat. You’d played nice with Carmen all your life, given him every chance to return it. Now it was his turn to try.

"Right." Of course he has to talk. It's his fault, isn't it? He's the one who snapped-- why did he even imply you'd have to explain yourself? He runs a hand through his hair, and there he goes again, eyes darting across the café to find something to focus on as he sought out the right words. You'd almost find it endearing, how bad he is at this, if it wasn't so important to you.

"You don't do this often, do you?"

"What, like-- meeting up for coffee?"

"Talking about stuff. Your feelings and shit." You hid your slightly amused smile behind your coffee cup before taking a small sip.

"Oh. Yeah, no, I-- I don't. Not until recently." He takes a deep breath. Just like they had told him to. “I’ve been going to this therapy thing my sister recommended. S’not much, but… It’s a start. Talked about the restaurant, my brother—“

“Your brother?” Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah, my— my brother. Mikey.” He looks a bit surprised. He’s come to the shattering realization that he’s never told you anything about his personal life, ever. You don’t even know about one of the most important people in his life, his main drive. You’ve known each other for so long yet you know so little. “I never told you about him?”

“You never told me anything.” You answer curtly. “We never really… Talked, you know?”

“Yeah— yeah, you’re right. I just thought… Wow.” He smiles, more out of shock than anything. He feels so stupid. How immature is it to be feuding this much with a person who doesn’t know anything about you?

“I guess I really don’t know much about you either.” His fingers rake through his messy curls again. “Makes me feel like even more of an idiot for going off on you like that. Like I had you all figured out.”

“Yeah, that was uh... That was something." The mood shifts a little. His smile fades as soon as he sees the melancholy in your eyes return. Of course it wouldn't be that easy for you to forgive him, to feel better about all this. "You know, I never knew you thought of me like that." A small smile graces your features. Somehow it's sadder than the expression you had before.

"I mean, I knew you didn't like me. I was pretty much at peace with the fact that you were never going to like me, either. But I never thought you hated me that much." You sniffle, trying your hardest to blink away any oncoming tears. "Like your life, your entire career, would have been easier without me there at all."

His heart aches at the sight of you, all teary eyed and trying to be brave. You're much braver than him. Sadness is a much harder thing to express than anger. He's starting to figure that out more and more.

"I don't hate you." He starts. He sees the confusion contort your features, and he knows he's not making any sense. "I mean I did-- I did hate you. Or, maybe not you, just... The fucked up idea I had of you. And-- and that was on me, that was my own fault." He feels an urge to touch you; to rub your back, hold your hand, anything to comfort you. It's tearing him apart to know that he's the cause of all this.

"But why?" A single tear rolls down your cheek, leaving a wet streak on your skin in its wake. "Why did you think that about me? I-- I get that we had a little rivalry going but jesus Carmen, did you really think I spent my whole culinary school career trying to outdo you?"

"To be honest... Yeah." He feels ashamed. So ashamed. He hopes the waitress doesn't walk by and listen to any of this, see you crying, and make you feel even worse. "Cooking was always just... My thing. If I was good for anything, it would be that. So seeing you do so well at something I'd started to base my whole existence around, it made me jealous, so fucking jealous." He meets your eyes, even if it's hard. You have to know he's being sincere.

"And it's-- it's unfair, it's so unfair to you, I know, and I'm really fuckin' sorry. I'm trying to work on myself, on everything, and I hope I can prove that to you." His face has that red tint you recognize whenever he's nervous or stressed. You can tell this is taking a lot from him.

"Is that really all? You were just jealous?" Your voice is quieter, fragile almost.

"I don't know. I wanna think it's that simple but I really don't know. There's a lot I don't understand about me, or you, or us. My mind doesn't know how to react when I see you anymore I think, now that things are different." He takes a deep breath, like saying that took a physical toll on him. "You have this-- this weird effect on me, and I don't know how to cope with it. I think it was just easier to be mad at you than to be anything else."

Anger is easier to express than sadness. The easiest out of all emotions, actually. Sometimes a little too easy.

You look to the side, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. You huff out something close to a laugh, and though he’s caught off guard by it, he doesn’t mind it. Even if you’re laughing at him, at least that means you’re not crying.

“You’ve got issues Berzatto. You know that?”

“Yeah. I’ve been told.” He smiles, and it’s heartfelt this time. Not nervous, or sad, or awkward. He’s happy to see you a little more at ease.

“It’s just really crazy to me.” You trace your finger over the edge of your coffee cup as you talk. “I spent so much time in culinary school looking up to you. And then I find out you were always just trying to keep up with me.”

Carmen’s eyebrows raise a little at your words. “Looked up to me?”

“Yeah, like… Your drive, your passion, it’s so impressive. Always looking to improve, to do better, it just— it inspired me to do better too. As cheesy as that may sound.” You smiled. “S’why I opened up in Chicago, you know.”

“Really? Huh.” He leaned back in his seat.

“Because I wanted to work with you. Or for you. Either would have been fine with me.” You sigh. “I like owning my own place, but… I don’t know, for some reason I always imagined us working together.” You smiled. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he replied quickly, “no not at all, I— I totally get that.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head when he stares at you for a moment.

“I mean you’re a remarkable chef, really, like— insanely remarkable, and, well, we’re revamping the restaurant completely right now. We need people— more people, new people, and so, I was wondering— or I’ve been thinking—“ He stops himself from losing his breath from all his rambling, before he freaks you out even more than he already has.

“I want you to come work for us at the Bear.” He puts his hands together, as if he’s about to beg. “Please.”

You can almost hear yourself blinking out of confusion. There’s suddenly no more loud silences, no, the café seems dead quiet for once. All you can do is stare at him, wait for a laugh, because clearly this was a joke right? There’s no way Carmen Berzatto, chef supreme, arch nemesis of yours, would want you anywhere near him, let alone work in his own establishment.

“I’m sorry?”

He feels stupid already. You had every reason to say no. He’d been the biggest asshole in the world to you, he’d kept his distance all his life, and now he expects you to be his employee. Or, well, colleague, more so.

“I’m uh— we’re redoing the restaurant entirely. New equipment, new staff, new everything.” He swallows; the thought of everything that needed to be done arises for a moment. “We need people that work hard, who know what they’re doing and who are passionate about it. And I barely know anyone who’s better at what you do than yourself.” He pauses, waiting for you to stop him. But you don’t.

“So I’m asking if you’d work for me. With me. It won’t be anything like old days, if anything I— I need to learn from you.” He scoffs at himself. “Could take a thing or two about how to communicate with my staff.”

You smile, and he genuinely thinks you’re about to start laughing at him. You chuckle, but it’s not mean, it’s honest. Cute.

“You know, you have great timing.” You grin.

“I do?” the smile on his face reflects the hope he feels.

“One of my chefs wants to take over the place for me. Well, has been wanting to. I haven’t had an exact reason to say yes to her yet.” You shrugged. “Guess I do now.”

“…Is that you saying yes?”

“It’s definitely not me saying no.” Your eyes meet his, and there’s something between you both that’s different now. It’s not like there’s a switch that’s been flipped. It‘s more like this conversation was the turning page of a new chapter.

“I’ll think about it. I want to see it first. Maybe talk to some of your staff.” Carmen’s chest strains a little when he thinks about you interacting with Richie. Then he’s reassured when he thinks about you interacting with Sydney or Marcus. You’d fit in well, you have great feeling for people.

“Yeah— yeah, I get that. Totally. I can arrange that. Uhm, we’re renovating right now, actually, it’s all really kinda wild, but if you wanna stop by, chat with Syd, or Nat, or talk about the plans, let me know. I’m sure they’d love to talk to you.” He’s not lying, you seem like you’d get along well with them. Especially Sydney. Your thinking processes are very similar to each other. And to his.

Carmen gets the bill, even though you try to pay for it.

“It’s just a coffee, just let me get this one.”

You let him have this one, simply because you can’t argue with him after the conversation you just had. You’re in too good of a mood after his proposition too.

He walks you to your car, hands in his pockets when you reach it. It’s cold outside, and his breath comes out in visible puffs of air. His nose is a little red, but you think it looks cute.

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” he starts, “I know you didn’t have to. Like— after how I acted to you. But— But I really do appreciate that you’re givin' me a chance here.” He’d always been confused about how positive and faithful you were in people. He never thought he’d be grateful for those exact features too.

“No worries, I… I had a good time. I’m glad we talked.” The keys jingle as you fidget with them. Among them is a keychain in the shape of a cherry, he recognizes it. It reminds him of how little you’ve both changed. And how much.

“Yeah.” He sighs. Relieved, almost. “Me too. But I’ll let you leave, might wanna tell your chef the good news.”

“Good news?” You quirk an eyebrow.

“That you’re selling them the business.”

“I haven’t decided yet, Carm.” You scoff. But he can tell you have, you look too excited about it all to not have your mind made up yet. It excites him too. Scares him a bit as well, but what’s a new chapter without a bit of tension?

“Right. Sorry.” He huffs. “Just text me when you wanna head over to see the place. It’s uh… It’s a work in progress, but it’s getting somewhere.”

“I believe you. I’m looking forward to it.” You lean back against your car a little.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“See y’around?” You unlock it and walk up to the driver’s side.

“Course. Uh, don’t be a stranger.”

You grin, leaning down to get into the vehicle. “Never with you, Berzatto.”

He watches you drive off, standing in the cold for far longer than any sensible person has any business standing there. But he feels good. He feels warm.

He thinks about what you said to him before you left. You were right, you were never a stranger to him. You were always like a constant in his life; whether you were actually present or not. And even if he didn’t know that much about you, which he was insistent on changing, you were never a stranger.

Never with him.

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar  @spr3id  @deadandstill  @777iii  @magicboytrash  @dogdevourer @wiipes @sierrahhh  @crayzmarvelfan800 @azxulaa  @astridyoo15   @rexorangecouny  @azxulaa @jointherebellion215 @diorrfairy @chanluuvr @idontexist-anymore @wolfiealina

[wolfythewitch]

Okay seeing your Hestia design is so refreshing and literally like a sign to me okay? Lemme tell you something.

When me and a small group of friends were in 5th grade, we had a little project. We had to write about and dress up as some sort of Greek god/goddess. I can’t remember who everyone was exactly, but I do remember everyone was super excited about it. I was Demeter, another one of my friends was Artemis, and I think another was even Iris? Sounds fun, right?

Well the thing is one of my really good friends was a kinda overweight. At the time I just didn’t see anything out of the ordinary with her. She was just a person who was a bit bigger than me. No big deal right? Wrong.

We went to a school with a lot of skinny rich kids who knew they couldn’t get in trouble even if they tried. They could do whatever they wanted and the most that would happen to them would be a little talking to from the gym coaches.

So the day for dressing up comes around and she is literally vibrating with excitement. She dressed up as Hestia, the goddess of hearth and home. I told her I’d never heard of Hestia, but she sounds cool.

Well then these little assholes show up and start bullying her for being fat and dressing up. I wanted to punch those shits, (and I did), but the damage had already been done. My friend spent the rest of the day in regular clothes and didn’t even show up for the rest of the week.

So lemme tell you something. Seeing a Hestia design that isn’t a skinny little twig but actually has some weight to her is so freaking amazing and refreshing to see. I really wish I had this all those years ago when my best friend was getting picked on.

Oh man I'm sorry that happened to your friend that's fucked up, but I'm glad she can find at least some comfort in my art

[vitaminseetarot]

March Blessings For You 🍃🐇🍀

Sup y'all, welcome back to another pick a card reading. Rabbit rabbit for everyone as we head into March. Hope you enjoyed a good leap day and are excited to let the winter melt away into spring. I'm looking forward to changing things up around here.

I have finally decided on what my next tarot game will be about this month, so stay tuned within the following week or two. This game will likely not be as extensive as my last one, but it will last longer than my first game so more can join. I'm excited for this one, it'll definitely be more for fun. I'll send out a notice before I start it!

Today's pick a card reading is simply about what kind of blessings will be available for you this month. Here are the three piles to choose:

Pile 1 - Exquisite Emerald Pile 2 - Pure Turquoise Pile 3 - Jade Mountain

Pile 1

Emerald and Milk Thistle, Rescue, Avocado - Prosperity, The In-Between, 13 - Awareness; Knight of Swords, XX Judgement, Ace of Cups, 8 of Swords, 6 of Cups

How's it going, group 1? "Heal the Healer." I'm sensing that many consider you, or you consider yourself, to be a big helper for loved ones in daily life. The term "mom/dad friend" might sound familiar to you. Someone others can rely on, you're seen as a solid supportive friend in their regular troubles. Even with simple things like helping a friend move from their apartment, or getting a classmate's grade up in a class you excel with. At work, you may be the person others call on to take the extra shift. Sometimes, it was necessary, they had to take their pet in for an emergency. Other times, they just wanted a vacation and didn't really notice how taxing it was to ask so much from you.

Pile 1, March is the month to turn the tables around in time for the change of the season. "Help others in need or ask for assistance when you need it." You have the chance to ask someone else to help you out the same way you are often asked to help. March will bless you with the feeling of "having your back." The universe has been watching you struggle and is preparing your table for rewards to be served fresh. This help will likely come once you begin moving into a transitory phase. See how the Awareness card looks symmetrical to the In-Between card? These cards together remind me of the Moon card. You're in a state where one cycle has ended and another is beginning, you're already in that first phase so to speak. This space is full of uncertainty, and it's important to not listen to projections that speak of things as though they're going to happen just because they've happened before. The 6 of Cups involves overthinking about the past, assuming that things will be the same as they were before.

Allow the prosperous energy from Avocado to clarify the 8 of Swords here. You may be feeling stuck and unsure of where you're life is going next, but you know you can't enter the next chapter of your life worn out before you're even out of bed. Awareness features moonstone and mugwort on the card. You're being asked to pay attention to your dreams. Imagine what kind of prosperous things have happened in your past, and what kind of prosperity is available for you in the future, just before you fall asleep at night, then journal your dreams. Symbols may reveal themselves over time to give you clues for your conscious mind to consider. Your subconscious mind wants to help you with your stress, if that makes any sense, as it uses images and not words to speak.

Emerald is Venusian energy, and avocados are creamy enough to be made into dessert (ever had a chocolate avocado "cheese"cake? I have, it was actually very good!) March wants to bless you with a little indulgence. Ace of Cups says you will experience a lot of spiritual and emotional replenishment if you make it a focus to do so this month. If things are slow now, consider it a time of peace and budding opportunity. You may not be used to getting some needed rest if you're helping others out more, but the advice here is to take the time off as it comes, and make an intention to relax. Judgement card reminds you that the pace will pick up again soon, so enjoy some down time when you get it this March. Put some of that avocado on toast and enjoy your breakfast. Your body and soul will thank you.

Pile 2

Turquoise and Forget-Me-Not, Communicate, Artichoke - Renewal, Level Up, 9 - Self-Acceptance; 10 of Wands, Queen of Swords, I Magician, 10 of Swords, X Wheel of Fortune

Hey, pile 2. Hope you're doing well. I got a little concerned while shuffling the Earth Wisdom cards when the whole deck slipped and made a loud "thunk" on my table, right next to where the cracks in the Turquoise card. Do some of you live in a loud place, or near angry people who yell and slam doors? The dragon's face on the 10 of Wands looks like they're sick of hearing their neighbors upstairs. For others of you, this cracking is more internally. Do you feel as though you may be cracking under some kind of pressure at work or school? You may even be feeling the urge to let out a fiery rage breath as well.

The Turquoise card says "Balance". See the man rock climbing beside the cracks? It's easy to imagine he can keep going without stopping to catch his breath, but wouldn't that make him like Superman? This month, you'll be able to see exactly what you're capable of. You're recognizing your own talents and strengths. This is a month of learning how to do your best without wearing yourself thin, and it's because you're getting a more accurate picture of what you can do. It's like singing while having noise cancelling headphones in, so you can't hear yourself. March's blessing will take those headphones off so you can hear for yourself how good you sound. You'll see that you were trying harder than necessary. You can take a step back while still moving forward.

Turquoise is a stone well known in many cultures, but I personally read it as a stone of friendship. You'll be blessed with a good friendship or important connection, someone you can confide in with trust. "Things left unsaid will never reach the shore." With Queen of Swords, you're becoming more discretionary about your boundaries and who you speak with. You may have been going through troubles that are hard to talk about. The dragon's mouth is wrapped shut; it may have been a struggle even when you tried, as though you were scared of what your friend would think. Remember, pile 2, that a real friend will want to see you happy, will accept you for who you are, and will cheer you on as you climb to the top. Don't be afraid for long and much needed conversations in March, for as long as you approach it like the Queen here, a good talk will strengthen a relationship. And absolutely talk to someone if you're in need of immediate help, like with relocation.

March may be the start of a "phoenix" season for you, where you will have a gradually unfolding but nevertheless significant period of your life. See the subtle rainbow on the "100"? It was unintentional, the card reacted to my suncatcher and the rainbow just happened to land there glowing. If you're starting at a bottom, pile 2, then you're only going up from here, even if with some scars. Artichokes are actually immature flowers. The past cycle in your life may have felt "incomplete". March will be the beginning of you getting a second chance to let something like a project come into full bloom. Fun side note, but apparently March 16th is National Artichoke Day (in the US). So be on the lookout for an opportunity coming in for you around the 16th. It could be small, but it may be something that brings you into spring's energy of renewal and positive change. Don't forget to stay in touch with people who care about you this month, pile 2, because an outing with them could become a transformative experience for the both of you.

Pile 3

Jade and Pink Lotus, Generosity, Kale - Dedication, Letting Go, 21 - Shadow Treasures; XXI The World, 5 of Swords, XVI The Tower, XX Judgement, VIII Strength

Hello, group 3! March will be a refreshingly easy going month for you if you make the choice to kick back. You are "sinking into silence" after a long and very difficult time in your life. You, out of all three piles, desire to move forward with the year more than anyone. The silence in the jade card feels welcome. The change is long overdue and feels inevitable, so why rush to the starting line of a race? Especially after just finishing a few strenuous laps in the woods. This is a month-long sigh of relief. A quiet, easygoing time will be your primary blessing in March. Jade is bringing much due healing energy for you. Allow yourself the chance to meditate upon the time you've just experienced, as self-reflection can help us clear the way for us to see better.

I can't help but notice the way in which your cards form a picture of a tree falling apart. The leaves give way to autumn, as the trunk of the old fall maple tree lights up from the storms of change. At the roots, however, we see beauty still alive underneath. It shows that the same potential lies beneath, even if situations can look hopeless. Conflict was overgrowing around the tree, sapping it of its vitality. To let go and rebuild was the only way around it, to protect the delicate root system it had to downsize. A lot of growth will come from how you use this time now, because the last phase gave way for new seeds to grow. These seeds will no doubt benefit from what good was left behind, as it was ultimately meant to be shared and not kept hidden forever.

If this feels too abstract, I will liken it to decluttering the house. You may be in the mood to do that as well this month, and March may bless you with a more organized house. This is also a decluttering of old systems, thoughts, and behaviors that no longer work for you, letting you move ahead with a clean slate. If a messy house has been an issue for you, someone might come to help you sort it out, even spirit guidance kind of help. If clearing old things away is difficult, you'll be guided through it. You may have the opportunity to give old unwanted stuff away and even find something that you've been searching for a long time. "Where has that been?" It might not be easy to get started at first but it'll soon become much welcomed change once you notice the difference.

You have the word "treasure" show up twice in your reading. "What good is treasure if you keep it for yourself?" You may something special within yourself that gets discovered as you move through this month. It's a part of you that has gone unnoticed. But when things get quiet, the tiniest things become more noticeable. Things left unspoken creep out from the shadows. I actually don't see you going through shadow work this period, if anything you're walking from it the way a hero puts on sunglasses and walks away from a Michael Bay explosion without looking back. You've been like kale here, hardy in the face of a freezing winter, staying green in faith that spring will bring warmth and light soon enough. Some people don't believe kale has any nutritional value, but that's because they tastelessly judge from a distance. Once you unearth your own shadow treasures from your roots, don't be shy to share your gift with others. You might, like kale, become the next trend.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2024, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[xjustakay]

(8/25) prompt: gold — 1150 words (firefighter james episode 2: being a menace - pt.1, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5) @jegulus-microfic

Regulus loves photography, he does. It’s been a great hobby to pass the time and an excellent excuse for his mildly pretentious takes when it comes to ‘aesthetic.’

The thing is, he really should have thought this particular project through a bit more.

A day off from the coffee shop to work on a shoot, sure, great. In theory. In context? In the context of taking photos of oiled up firefighters in various states of partial undress for a charity calendar? Mistakes may have been made. He’s too gay for this —a realization made too far into the commitment to back out.

Really, it hit him like a fist to the face the moment James’ turn came up.

Stupid. Idiot. Absolute fucking fool.

As if Regulus didn’t know that the man he’s been steadily seeing and getting to know recently —the man who suggested he help with this project in the first place— wouldn’t volunteer to be part of the group for the photoshoot. Of fucking course James would; “it’s for charity,” he’d said.

Regulus is going to throttle him later.

Or mount him.

Could go either direction at this point.

They’re around the back of the station building, just the two of them. It was specifically stated that the individuals who were volunteering to take part in the calendar would have to utilize one of their rare days off to shoot their photos so the fire station wasn’t under-covered on staff. Regulus and James could be doing anything else in the world with this day, but no. No, they’re here, with James rubbing baby oil over his naked torso while Regulus tries to keep from literally fucking salivating.

He’s known James was fit from the moment he walked into the coffee shop and made a place for himself in Regulus’ life. Fully clothed, the man is unbearably gorgeous. Underneath his clothes? God, it’s worse. It’s painful.

All defined lines of muscle and warm tan skin. James works out on a regular basis, has to stay in shape for his job, but it’s more than that. Regulus has learned that James has always been athletically inclined. James prides himself on his body, and he’s not shy about it. 

Which is obvious in the way that he looks up from his own bare chest and catches Regulus staring, a knowing smirk instantly twitching at his lips.

“Care to help slick me up?”

“I should kill you.” It slips past Regulus’ lips without thought to pause, but all James does is laugh loudly, head tipped back with the lovely sound. Regulus huffs, shifting on his feet. “Are you almost done? I have other things I want to be doing.”

“Care to share?” James tosses the bottle of oil onto the grass, wiping off the remainder on his hands down the ridges of his stomach. “Don’t spare any of the dirty details now, love.”

Regulus manages to glare at him, but it’s weak considering the blush that colors his cheeks. “You’re a menace to society.”

“Public hero, menace to society.” James lifts his hands, leaning one direction then the next, like weighing an invisible scale.

“Fix your fucking suspenders.”

“Fix them for me.” Both dark brows lift over the gold frames of James’ glasses, a dangerous grin stretching across his face.

Letting his camera hang from the neck strap, Regulus lets out a dramatic sigh but crosses the small distance toward him. James positively lights up as he approaches, standing miraculously still to let Regulus do what he needs.

James is wearing the yellow turnout pants typical of his uniform, obviously sans a shirt. The pants hang suspiciously lower on James’ hips today, the defined line that narrows beneath his waistband on display. Attached to that band, though, are the usual thick red suspenders, hanging on either side of James’ legs presently. Regulus tugs one up fully over James’ left shoulder, actively working to keep his eyes from venturing to anything more distracting.

“Keep this arm bent against the wall.” Regulus handles him a little roughly on purpose, yanking his arm up as needed to pose him beside the brick wall.

“And this one?” James asks, sliding his opposite hand down Regulus’ side, squeezing at his hip when he gets there.

Regulus takes a slow deep breath through his nose before glancing up at James’ face finally. He swats at the hand on his hip blindly. “Keep it to yourself.”

A charged pause, Regulus’ head cocking to the side before:

“For now.”

James huffs a laugh, but the smug satisfaction on his face shines brighter than his amusement. Regulus loops the other suspender over James’ right forearm, hooking it in the crook of his elbow when he guides James to bend the arm. He presses James’ right hand against the top edge of his turnout pants, meeting his eyes evenly.

“Tuck your thumb into them a little,” He instructs.

James immediately follows direction and it sends a static through Regulus that makes him wish they weren’t quite literally outside James’ place of work currently. James tugs at the waistband slightly more than entirely necessary, exposing more of the sharp line that Regulus is definitely not thinking about tracing with his tongue. He’s being professional, damn it.

“Like that?” James checks, voice low.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” Regulus’ words come out breathier than before, and he catches himself staring downward with a jolt and a fluttered blink. He clears his throat and takes a much needed step back. “Now stare off to the right, look moody if you have to.”

“Thought that was your job.”

“Do less comedy.”

James snorts but stays in the posed position, turning his head as requested. Regulus takes another few steps back for the full shot and lifts the camera from his chest. As if knowing he’s already having a hell of a time doing this job, it’s like the universe itself is against Regulus the way that the sun shines perfectly, haloing James beautifully where he stands —a god damn wet dream being immortalized.

Maybe Regulus takes a couple extra shots. For… purely artistic purposes. Obviously.

Once again, before he gives himself the thought to stop from speaking his thoughts aloud, Regulus asks, “Can you wear this at home?”

He looks up from the tiny square screen on the camera toward James. It’s obvious that James is trying to refrain from laughing, having not been dismissed from his current pose, but he does turn his head to look at Regulus delightedly.

“Oh, so that’s what you’d rather be doing, huh? Wouldn’t have guessed.” James taunts, his playful arrogance never-ending. “Need to work out a bit of a fantasy for yourself, is that it?”

Regulus blushes again, but he meets the teasing evenly this time. “Why do you think I started dating you?”

This time James does laugh, unhelpable. Regulus sneaks a picture of that, too, just for himself.

[octuscle]

I am the only smart and social guy in my class and I’m also he only gay one, normally I prefer to hang with the girls and do all my projects with them…but this time our teacher forced all us guys together, in time for the group project I overheard the boys talking about making me a real Man/boy with there phones. Help!

You have your first project meeting. You are sitting in a circle with the boys. Everyone is playing with their cell phones, picking their noses or scratching their balls. You take a deep breath. And you think you have an idea for an environmental project. Collecting trash on the bank of the creek behind the school. And classifying the garbage according to the possibility of recycling.

Dude, that's a lame idea, grunts one of the guys. We were thinking something like "how far can hard training get you in a week". The other guys applaud. And one presses the "Activate" button on the Chronivac app.

Hehehe, you're not into sports at all. But that sounds like a cool project. Shit, why didn't you come up with that idea. You do a little research on the Internet. Calculate the budget, write to a few sponsors. Look for sportswear, nutritional supplements, also look for sources of potentially illegal support. The other guys play with their cell phones. One of them says you should chill out. It's enough if you start tomorrow.

Project diary, day 1:

Erkan sent me a message this morning that he and the other guys will be at the gym at 08:00. I should come already dressed. I don't even remember that I already got a bag with gym clothes yesterday. But in any case, there is one next to my desk. I put on a tank top, some shorts, socks and shoes. While brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I think to myself how ridiculous the way-too-big clothes look on me. On the bus, I'm a little uncomfortable with my appearance. And between the boys in the gym even more so. But it's a project, we have to go through with it.

We spend six hours in the gym. Has been amazingly fun. Somehow I was the only one sweating. The boys just played with their cell phones again. Hopefully there are good pictures for the project documentation. After the training I wanted to take a shower, but the guys took me directly to their regular shisha bar. I have rarely felt so uncomfortable. Because everyone else is bigger, more muscular and more masculine than me. And because I'm the only guest in sweaty sports gear. Besides, I'm starting to feel the soreness. I just fall into bed in the evening. Unable to move.

Project diary, day 2:

At 06:00 I get an address from Bogdan. Barbershop from his cousin. Meeting at 07:00 so that I no longer have to train with the ridiculous blond curls. I'm supposed to put on yesterday's clothes. I didn't have the clothes hung up yesterday. Actually I wanted to put on fresh clothes today So, of course, nothing has dried. Brushing teeth must go quickly, I'm late. Fuck, I actually finally get beard growth? Must take a closer look at me later in the gym.

So far it does not get at all. Bogdan's cousin not only gives me a new haircut, he also shaves me. In my opinion, completely unnecessary. But the result is cool. For the first time I can imagine in the gym on the weight bench in front of the mirror that the project will be a success. Otherwise, the workout goes like yesterday. After the six-hour program, I was looking forward to a shisha. But Ivo takes me to the outdoor pool. One hour of swimming One hour on the lawn. One hour of swimming. Ivo allows me to take a cold shower without shower gel after swimming. It feels good. And I like my tight white ass.

Project diary, day 3:

When Akay sends me the message to remember that my gym clothes are still in the locker, I'm already awake for an hour. Pushups and situps. I got quite a tantrum from my mom yesterday about how my room looks. Hey, the laundry isn't that dirty yet. And I'll clean up the cum-soaked handkerchiefs tonight.

Since the rest is as I said in the gym, I go only in tracksuit with white socks and Adiletten in the bus. I look so antisocial. Makes me somehow horny. In the gym I'm alone today. Fuck, to be honest, the losers only disturb. Let them hang out, I have my own rhythm. And it beats out of iron. For solid muscles. I take a break only to pour protein shakes into me. And on the way to the outdoor pool I make a quick stop at Bogdan's cousin. Trimming the sides And trim the beard.

At dinner, my mother tells me that I stink as much as my room. My father is on my team. He pumps himself. And considerably more than me. It's good to have support at home for my goals. I eat my five chicken breasts with rice, drink two more liters of water and then go to bed. Dad looks in again, laughs, says that nothing stinks as cool as pump sweat and asks if he should get me a syringe cure. Fist bump, old man! But I stay natural for now.

Project diary, day 4:

Was horny while pumping. Today on the bench 150 kilograms pressed. Need new tank top. The old one stinks excellent. But is too tight.

In the evening once again met with the guys on Shisha. Was cool. But they are not focused enough. Juri has scratched his belly. Ey, hardly a six-pack to see. Would I be ashamed of myself!

Project diary, day 6:

Ey, yesterday completely forgotten the diary. Was in great shape in the gym. In the afternoon then posed at the pool. Trained on the pull-up bars. The fans applauded. And in the evening with my old man bombed our arms for an hour. I'd like to have his biceps too.

Today is free. Sascha got me an appointment with the tattoo artist. Before again Barber And afterwards outdoor pool. And then party. The boys and me to the disco. Man, I could have had them all! And I fucked two guys on the toilet. Shit, I have so much energy, I really have to cum four times a day. At least!

Project diary, day 7:

I can only hope that one of the guys makes the presentation about our project. I'm so totally not up for it. I already wrote the damn diary. And I was the guinea pig. I'm a fucking hot lab rat.

One of the guys said last night that I used to be a nerd and a weakling. Must have been a long time ago.

[khaire-traveler]

🗡️ Subtle Talos Worship 🪨

Collect rocks/crystals you like

Bask in the sunlight (Cretan)

Take a walk/hike on a sunny day (Cretan)

Light a bonfire; sit in front of it; focus on the warmth and life it provides

Collect bronze colored items; wear bronze colored jewelry

Assert your personal boundaries; make it clear when someone has done something that made you uncomfortable

Get a candle that reminds you of him (no altar needed)

Keep a picture of him in your wallet

Wear jewelry that reminds you of him

Make something with your hands; work hard on a project or item you're creating (Cretan)

Stand up for yourself and others; stand up for those you love

Assert your boundaries; make others aware when they upset you or make you uncomfy

Set boundaries for yourself; I'll only give this much support to that person, I won't stay on my phone for hours before bed, I won't engage with this media that always upsets me, etc.

Have a stuffed animal of a creature that you associate with protection, defense, strength, or the sun (sun = Cretan)

Have imagery of bronze robots/automatons, swords, shields, large rocks/boulders, the island of Krete (Crete), the sun (Cretan), Volcanoes (Cretan), or light (Cretan) around

Learn self-defense; carry weapons on you (pepper spray, pocket knife, etc.)

Learn how to properly use a weapon of your choice; sword, bow and arrow, short sword, spear, pocket knife, etc.

Listen to yourself, especially regarding situations/people that your gut tells you are unsafe; your GUT, not your ANXIETY

Get to know yourself better; know that you know yourself better than others

Disregard unconstructive criticism; work on not taking hate personally (easier said than done, I know)

Fall asleep/meditate to the sound of island ocean waves

Try to eat healthy; fruits, veggies, protein, etc.; take care of your physical body

Grow your own produce or herbs (Cretan)

Support local farms; buy their produce (Cretan)

Support farming/food (Cretan) or humanitarian organizations; support homeless shelters

Volunteer at a food bank, soup kitchen, or farm (Cretan)

Take regular breaks from screens; make sure to go outside for some fresh air (Cretan)

Make sure to wear sunscreen on sunny day (Cretan)

Go cloud-watching (Cretan)

Exercise; get movement throughout your day, even just stretching

Visit the beach or nearby body of water; stick your feet into the shallows; try to ground yourself there

Ground yourself regularly; check in with yourself and your body frequently

Own a sword - it'd be so cool if you did

Play a fighting-based video game; choose a supportive/defensive character

On a tough day, be gentle with yourself; eat/drink something comforting, take a shower, get cozy under a blanket, watch a comfort movie, etc.

Stick affirmational/encouraging notes in places you'll see them throughout the day

Make a list of your personal strengths and weaknesses; try to healthily reflect on ways you can better yourself

Drink fruit or vegetable juices (Cretan)

Paint or draw an island; purchase art of an island from an artist

Support local businesses

Get involved with local communities; support groups, gamer groups, neighborhoods, etc.

Leave good tips for those working in the service industry; delivery drivers, waiters, hospitality workers, etc.

Treat service workers with compassion and empathy; they've got it rough

Build a sand castle; give it some cool defenses

Support the less fortunate in your community

Volunteer at a homeless shelter; volunteer within your community

Donate supplies to homeless shelters; hygiene kits are always needed

-

This is my list of discreet ways to worship Talos. There are two versions of him most commonly worshipped - that of mainland Greece and that of the island of Krete itself. Both vary vastly; Krete saw him as a bronze automaton Sun god that fathered Hephaestus, while mainland Greece saw him as a giant bronze automaton assigned to protect Krete by Zeus. I gave suggestions for both versions. I hope y'all find this helpful, and take care! 💚

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

[fever-project]

All the LU Warriors headcanons I’m seeing in the tags makes me want to share my own so uh, have them.

He rarely talked for most of his life. He never really wanted to after puberty hit, he didn’t like how his voice sounded. So he barely interacted with anyone that wasn’t his immediate family. After the war started, however, he wanted to talk more. Even though Proxi could talk for him-which he was very grateful for-he wanted to be able to voice his own opinions by himself.

Speaking of immediate family, he currently has none. He and Linkle are not biologically related, but after the war they now consider themselves to siblings. Linkle’s older by two days.

Wars has a thing for his Zelda(I’m not calling her Artemis I do not like that name for her)but he hasn’t made any moves yet. He gets nauseous whenever he thinks about dating in any kind(mainly Cia’s fault). Zelda respects this, and doesn’t show that she has any romantic feelings about him whatsoever because she doesn’t want to scare him. Wars just thinks his love is one sided, making him wanting to ask her out even less. Linkle’s trying her best to help them out, but she hasn’t been successful yet.

Enough about love, because Wars is a-spec. He’s somewhere on there, I know it. Definitely not me projecting.

Wars loves clothing and the occasional dressing up. He never tells anyone this, but everyone during the war knew it. He got the others to participate too.

Legend once sarcastically criticized Wars’ fashion choice and he changed into his Koholint Hero’s Clothes for a week. Wars did not tell him why he did or what the clothes were called, but Wars felt so proud of himself. Legend just thought he was just making fun of him for his pink hair or something.

Wants to tell Legend so bad about Marin, but Marin probably told him that if he ever meets her Link, to not tell him he met her. She didn’t want to give him any hope that they’ll meet again, because they won’t.

Wars loves fairies. He loves them so much. He loves feeding them, dressing them up, taking care of them, all of that. Fairies love him too, because he tries to feed them whenever the chain isn’t looking. He tries to make sure that no one else knows, since he thinks it’s a bit embarrassing.

Wars wants to use everyone’s items one day. He had so much fun using the Spinner during the war, not to mention the Fire Rod. But he never really asks, since he doesn’t wants to come off as weird.

The ends of his scarf/cape thing used to be red, like in the game, but the dye faded after a few years. He tried to redye it, but it didn’t really work.

He was the captain of his own, specific group consisting of the wayward warriors from across time. They all did interact with regular soldiers, but they mostly worked with just each other and looked to Wars to guide them. Since he usually only command with these guys so I guess he was more of a lieutenant? Idk how ranks work tbh. Nevertheless, he was always called captain by the others, since most of them didn’t really know how ranks worked either. Captain just seemed to fit him. The others who did know about ranks just went along with calling him captain.

Impa helped him so much you have no idea. He was a pretty good leader by himself, but he always appreciated the help.

Both dislikes Tingle and is eternally confused by him. And disturbed. Can’t bring himself to hate him though.

Wars knows things. He’ll nod his head along whenever Time or Wind tell the group their stories, he’s heard them all before anyhow. He does the same with Legend, Sky, and Twilight when they share as well, since he’s heard a lot from their friends. He usually pretends that he doesn’t know anything, however. He’s just nodding along to nod along.

Wars hasn’t told Sky that he met Fi before yet. He doesn’t want to give him any false hope that she’ll wake up again.

he hopes that she’ll wake up too.

Wars doesn’t really understand Four’s negative view of dark magic, or anyone’s negative view of dark magic. A few of his items has a dark attribute, he’s worked with people who had dark magic(like midna), and he’s taken care of dark fairies. Dark magic is just like fire or water magic to him, it’s another type of magic that just so happens to be used by bad guys a lot.

Wars gets along pretty well with Twilight. I’d like to think he’s close with everybody, and besides Time and Wind(and the more teasing relationship with Legend) Twilight’s up there. Probably tied with Sky.

Probably interacts with Hyrule, Wild, and Four the least, compared to others. They all get along, but he almost never actively searches for them to hang out.

Very vague whenever he talks about his adventure. Usually just says something about the war and refuses to elaborate. Everyone’s usually fine with this since most of them do the same thing, but he’s dramatic about it.

[snow-143]

Water Coloured Tears | Jeon Jungkook

two- drunk call (0.9k words)

*JJUNGKOOK requested to follow you*

I wish I could say I didn't already know he had unfollowed me all those month ago, but the truth is I knew as soon as he did. Stalker alert. 

'Girl, what is up with your vibe today?' Looking to my left I meet eyes with Lisa. My one acception to my rule of not involving myself with anything to do with Jungkook. Mostly because she doesn't care about the bullshit him and his friends get into. 

She's the epitome of the 'cool girl'. Never Giving a fuck about drama outside of her and never involving herself in gossip. Everyone admires her, I sometimes debate why she even bothers with me. Opposites attract I suppose. 

She's loosely involved with his group of friends, from the little that I've got out of her she thinks they're too much to be around on the regular. 

'Ughhh. Okay, but don't laugh at me. It's really stressing me out.' How can I even ask her that when I feel stupid myself?

'I can't promise anything, but I'll try my very best.' Her tone is light. She's proven to me already that she'll always be there for me, even if she does think my predicament is trivial, if it's causing me stress she'll be there. That's what I love so much about her, she doesn't need to understand to be empathetic.  

'You know that massive project I have that will literally last like half of the year? I got partnered up with Jungkook.' 

'Jungkook as in the Jungkook who shattered your heart into a million little pieces and never looked back?' Her expression might've been the driest I've ever seen it.

'First of all, ouch. Second of all, no the Jungkook who magically just appeared that no ones ever heard of.' It's said in the same tone she used, just slightly more sarcastic. 

'Damn there's a mysterious new boy? Is he cute?' At this point I can't even tell if she's joking. Looking far interested at the idea.

'Girl please be serious. I don't know what to do.' 

'Just switch partners or something, your professors chill.' Sighing, I explain exactly why I cant do just that.

'Damn. Well looks like you're fucked.' 

'Exactly my thought.'

---------------------------

3am. That's when I receive the message from him, asking if I was busy tomorrow, Or that's what I think It's meant to say. From his grammar I can tell he's drunk. That catches me off guard, who in their right mind thinks about school work when they're drunk. 

What confuses me more though is the way my heart drops to my arse. Sure, I was expecting the message but not at 3am on a Friday night. While he's drunk might I add. God this boy is strange.

I stare at the message for what feels like an eternity, I know he can see that I've saw it but it's like I'm in a trance. My phone screaming out it's annoying ring tone snaps me right out of it. 

If I was shocked before I don't even know how to describe this feeling. 

Answering the call comes far too easily, like he never stopped calling me.

'Jungkook?' 

'You answered.' It's a gentle whisper, I almost didn't hear it. 'I didn't think you'd answer, but you answered.' His words, his tone, send a shooting pain straight into my heart. He sounds so relieved. As if all he's ever needed was for me to accept this one call. 

'I answered.' Is all I can manage to force out of my mouth and he's giggling. An uncontrollable giggle. How does one react to that? How do I possibly respond to this boy giggling down the line. 

Turns out the only response I have is a sore laugh. Sore but real, a real laugh because what even is this? What is he doing?

The line is silent on his side now, I'm beginning to conclude that he's fallen asleep in his drunken haze when he finally begins to talk again, 'So... are you busy tomorrow?'

'No. No, I'm not.' We're still whispering. I can't tell if it's because he doesn't want anyone to know who he's talking to or because he doesn't want to scare me off. Either way, I know which one it is for me.  

'Perfect! Meet me at the campus café at two.' He's perked up now, his voice raising an octave or two. A smile evident in his voice.

'I'll be there.' I can't help but smile too. 

The line goes quite, once again. 

'Y/n?' His voice is a delicate lull again. Breathy almost.

'Yes?'

'I'm sorry.' 

'It's okay.' It's not okay, though. I'm not okay. He's not okay and I don't forgive him. I'll never forgive him. Not after how much he hurt me. I want to say it, to scream it, but I don't. 

Preferring to let the gentleness of it all to stay intact. Leaving my unspoken words screaming into the abyss. 

It's deafeningly quite, I'm half expecting him to break the silence again. 

That is until I start to hear his soft snores. I don't hang up. I've missed this too much to give it up now. My ego might be bruised for being so weak, but I've never been more content. 

Curling into my blanket I cling onto my lone teddy, the one he bought me when we we're 16. It's a pathetic stand in for what I wish I was holding, but it's all I have.

Falling asleep to the sound of his breathing is far to easy. Normally my brain is clouded by thoughts but tonight non come, and as much as I hate to admit it, that is the best I've slept since the night he left.

prev | m.list | next

—————

a/n: reminder to everyone to never call/ text someone you dont talk to anymore while drunk (or at all tbh). life is NOT a fanfic (unfortunately)

[antiendovents]

This is more asking for advice than a vent but it's a bit of a vent too. It's really long and I'm so sorry but there's important context and we are also physically incapable of not being long winded. No TW i can think of beyond vague mentions of trauma

TL;DR: A friend claims to be an endogenic system and came out to our friend group first, leaving me to clean up the misinformation mess while navigating the minefield that is them being the more liked friend, while avoiding sounding like a fake claiming asshole. Help

About a year ago we decided to come out to our close friend circle. When we came out to one of our friends, they came out to us back. As endogenic. We were really excited for those few seconds before they revealed they were endogenic, and we didn't say anything then because we genuinely had no idea what to say. The fawning kicked in and for several months we were really trying to be accepting of them being endogenic, but we really can't. After further conversations "one" on "one" with them we've discovered they have a deep level of misinformation that I am not sure how to deal with. I can't just cut them off because we're in a group chat together with several of our other friends who I am almost certain like them more than us.

I can almost guarantee that they have infested the rest of the group with misinformation about a disorder I spent half a year having regular breakdowns about having and what that means for us and our childhood. Realizing what we went through was traumatic, that our mother was genuinely insidiously abusive instead of just kind of mean and crazy, was genuinely one of, if not the hardest, thing we've been through to date. Realizing the memory issues were more than just ADHD and silly brainTM, that the gender fluid stuff was alters, all of it was excruciating. But we made it through the other side. We cut contact with our abusive mother, we have an extremely loving and patient and kind partner that held us while we cried about syscovery and hold us now when we have breakdowns about various other things. We had already done a lot of research on DID before even considered the possibility we could have it for a project in high school, and later when we started really needing to figure out wtf was wrong it was that basis of research that lead us to do further research on it to discover that yes, we have this, and yes, that means we were deeply betrayed by the people who we're supposed to protect us and keep us safe and loved.

This friend who came out has referred to alters as being "dead" or "killed", and they split pretty much the entire cast of Hazbin Hotel immediately after watching it, as well as a different media that I'm not going to say cause it's mildly niche and while I know they don't follow this blog I don't want to risk it. I don't want to fake claim them over this, as many CDD systems have very low split tolerances, are fictive heavy, etc., but on top of them identifying as endogenic and clearly not having done any research beyond TikTok and Tumblr, I just don't know. They have however, mentioned things like amnesia and trauma holders, which indicates to me they are in fact traumatized, likely even more than we are due to the low split tolerance (if they truly are a system), and a traumagenic system, but the endogenic community sunk their grimy predatory claws in and made it impossible for them to come to terms with it.

We really desperately want to correct the misinformation I know has been spread among the group, but more than that I need the friend to accept that endogenic plurality doesn't exist, and that if they are a system, it's traumagenic. I do however, know how difficult it was for us to come to terms with our own trauma, and do t really want to subject another person to that. If we had discovered endogenic plurality before coming to terms with our disorder we likely would have buried our heads in the sand as well, which would have inevitably made it so much worse when we did inevitably have to face our trauma.

I am not super worried about destabilizing them as they have stated they're in therapy with a therapist that recognizes their plurality (though a therapist that accepts endogenic systems as real is just as bad to me as a therapist who doesnt see DID as real at all imo), though that is still a concern. We aren't super close with this friend ourselves, but several people in the group are. I'm mainly worried about losing them or them thinking I'm "fake claiming" them when I got to correct the misinformation.

Anyway, the point of this ask that has taken away too long to get to, is how does one go about both informing a friend (gently and kindly they are genuinely a nice person) that they have trauma, that their system was formed by trauma, and that you really can't be a system without it? How does one go about informing the rest of their friends about the reality of this disorder when you fumbled the first coming out and didn't really make it explicit enough you have DID and not just blorbos in your head cause it's fun? What the hell do I do how do I fix this? This has genuinely been causing a lot of stress and I can't say anything on our blog because they asked for our Tumblr and we gave it when we shouldn't have and now we can't talk about this on there.

Any help or advice would be amazing, whether that's for informing the friend, or the group as a whole. Thank you so much in advance, and thank you for having this space as well. -🦝🧥

i think maybe you should start a conversation with them, try to explain to them first that DID/OSDD is a trauma disorder (if necessary you could try link a few sources or maybe even recommend they look into the sources themselves about it) and once you explain to them you can hopefully explain to the group together that your friend was misinformed and maybe link them some sources too. if you're struggling to find sources here are a few : 01 , 02 , 03 , 04 . they might not be the best but i hope they help and i hope everything goes well. it's not easy to tell a friend they're wrong about something, but sometimes its important to do so, both for you and for them.

[gowns]

so like, something that bothered me was: when i was describing my kid and her personality to a group of parents, and how it was similar to my personality, and there was a parent who just kept saying "have you been assessed for autism? it sounds like autism." and i was like, no, ha ha, we don't have autism. and she kept asking me -- gently, not haranguing, with good intentions -- "are you sure? seeking a diagnosis can be very helpful. she could have help in school." and i'm like yeah i know, my mom is an educator who has worked with sped, we don't need it though. and she just kept going like: "but i mean, being sensitive to things, the way you describe it, it sounds like autism." look. i get it. i'm glad there's an expansion of an awareness of autism. i might even be mildly on that spectrum, and my kid might too. but a diagnosis is only helpful as far as its ability to open up connections, accomodations, etc. i have my own little method of doing things that works really swimmingly. and here's the thing: i was really good in school. i crushed tests, worksheets, creative projects, public speaking, group work, independent work, participation, navigating conflicts, school plays. and -- i should note -- it's also not an "overachieving" thing. i was happy being an "As and Bs" student. i firmly regular-achieved.

so sure, i'm an odd duck, i'm sensitive, i'm erratic, but i'm also super social, energized by other people; i have my odd little ways of doing things but they're not set in stone routines. i crave novelty and have issues with impulse moderation. these things + sensory sensitivity and etc etc all fits a pretty firm diagnosis of ADHD. BUT i'm not even married to that diagnosis. like i'm fine just saying, you know what, i am who i am, i operate in this funny little way, but i've figured out how to do things in life, a lot of people love me, i'm very successful and very happy. no further accommodations needed (at the moment). so why hang my hat on my previous diagnoses, or any other diagnosis? literally, like... social services are stretched so thin, please let those services go to someone else. not me, whose biggest "problem" is that i have a special interest that is sometimes a money sink (slow fashion). but that's basically just a hobby. people have hobbies. i'm not in need of therapy for being this way.

i have a blog, ok. other people find my fixations funny and useful!

[aquarium-ina-bag]

Where Danger Finds Me, it Follows with Tides - 7

'Cause you live in my day dreams ch. 7

Word count: 2.7k

Relationships: Wednesday x Reader (She/they)

Warnings: Mention of blood, pain, bullets.

A/N: So sorry I took so long had a project anyyywaayyyy, if I do breaks again Im able to do drabbles so ask away. I have an Idea for a side au with Jenna, just confused about how I'm gonna use this character R and actor R (Gasp spoilers, wtv) enjoy, give suggestions yatta yatta.

Small conversations spread among the bar, bottles hitting stained, polished wood and smooth granite countertops, and low music playing. It definitely wasn’t a big bar, but it was the home of drunken souls in the outskirts of Jericho. And tonight it housed hopeful, evil, and grieving souls. 

The door swung open, hitting the bell. A small three-man group raised their heads to see the newcomer as the bartender gave his regular warm smile to the eccentric man. 

"Evenin’ James, usual?" The bartender cleaned a glass, ready to serve. 

"Nah nah, I need somethin’ tougher; I’m ina surprising mood tahnigh’ hit me hard." James was practically jumping and shaking. 

The bartender started to pour him a fireball.

"Well, gee, it seems like you've got something heavy already." He slid the glass across the counter.

James quickly caught it and brought himself to the table of three men. He threw his head back and drank with speed. "Fellas, I got that damn thing that's been killin’ my livestock." He slammed his hands on the wooden table. 

The three of them laughed, and one spoke up. "The fucking big creature you saw, with the big claws and skin like a lagoon?" Dune made gestures to mock James' description. 

"Nah na! It’s real, but this one had wings! My god, the size of them nevah seen before, the tips nosebleed red, and it-it-it got deeper colah at the base." James tossed around his arms to depict this creature of the night "OH! And-and-and when I shot the bitch, the speed it took was incredible! Even though I shot it in the wing, damn it was moving maybay 300 miles?"

The group looked at the man in front of them like he was on shrooms, he sure acted like it. The bigger male chuckled, "So you’re saying some big ass peregrine falcon, has been taking your sheep, and when you shot it, it left at the speed of 300 miles per hour?" 

"No, no, Harlow, it gave me my sheep back! It done dropped the sheep back in the pen, ALIVE! The damn hooves were painted pink! Fuckin pink!" James explained.

The men were invested now. "You got two creatures in your fences now?" Harlow asked. 

"Yes! One is killing them, the other is saving them. Like an angel." James fawned over his findings.

Chuck took a sip of his beer before speaking. "Well, you said it was dark and bloody lookin’, don’t sound like no angel to me." 

"What would I call it then?" James questioned his ideas.

"I say call it a blood hawk, it’s easy to identify," Harlow said as he toyed with the ring of condensation on the wood.  "Also, go buy one of them cameras that videos motion." 

The bartender couldn’t hold his words anymore. "Say, you know what’s known for having creepy abnormalities, that Nevermore school miles away. That lagoon creature you were talking about James, I think it’s been seen there plenty of times." 

The bartender pushed a glass towards a shaggy brown-haired man, his hair long, as were the scars on his face as if he were mauled by a beast. The man’s clothes looked so mismatched and ripped; he had a beard starting to grow; and he looked homeless but still had money to buy a drink. This man couldn’t help but listen to the conversation; he made clear, surprised expressions at the words ‘Nevermore’ ‘Blood hawk’ ‘sheep’ and ‘alive’. All this man could do was hum in acknowledgment. 

"I’ll look into it once I get home." James smiled and continued to change the subject.

—————-

"Wednesday I know you usually don’t regret things, but I honestly feel so awful about hurting Y/n," Enid said with her chin on her school desk, her body droopy.

Sure, that is true Wednesday doesn’t feel regret, but everything she regrets on her mind is rooted in because of you, she regrets ever talking to you, accepting your dual, working on the project with you, letting you see something vulnerable in her—she regrets a lot when it comes to you. 

"They said it was fine." What Wednesday really regretted was letting you leave and trusting that you would take care of yourself. She hasn’t seen you all morning. The thought of you bleeding out that whole night banged on her cranium. 

Enid turned to face the goth, laying her cheek on the cold wood. "You don’t really believe that." Wednesday regrets not smothering her roommate, and Enid started to understand Wednesday’s ‘signs’. The raven stayed silent, keeping it that way the whole period. 

When it was over, she took her free period to confirm that Enid hadn’t murdered you. She checked the gym; you weren’t there. Wednesday looked where you feed birds; no luck. She entered your dorm to find clutters of paper and files scattered around your desk. As if a voice was pulling her into the room, Wednesday walked in and shut the door behind her, making a careful walk across the room to your desk. The floorboards creaking had an unusual pattern as if someone were in the room with her. The raven was on edge but still curious; determined to find out why you were gone. 

The goth inspected the papers on your desk. Pictures of the farm you two went to, papers containing information about the owner of said farm. What really stuck out were documents from the U.S. government. How in the world were you able to access something like this? The thought that you were taken by the FBI could make her chuckle. Wednesday shuffled the small stack, trying to get them back in order. When the order was found, Wednesday couldn’t stop reading.

In brief, the documents explain how an ‘anomaly’ that was captured in December of last year escaped a government vehicle, killing four of the six men in said vehicle. This creature never made it to the lab for testing, questioning, and possible execution. This creature could be conjured by American citizen Tyler Galpin. 

Tyler was out, and that was him; he was still lurking in the towns, waiting for his next victim.  

Wednesday looked around for anything that could reveal she was here, and when she turned to the glass screen door, a shine drew her in like everything else in this room. 

Unlocking it and stepping onto the concrete, she looked down to find a bullet that was almost perfectly clean. Why would you have a perfect bullet here? The casing was gone, so this was fired. 

This curious black cat bent down to pick up the fired bullet. Her head was shot backward, and scenes dashed and flashed across her vision.

Fingers that weren’t yours loading ammunition in a firearm; the bullet flying into feathered flesh, then deeper into warm blood and muscle; with her perspective being the bullet, Wednesday felt layers decompressing her. From what she could guess, it was feathers falling off, then skin, then muscles. The bullet dropped in a pool of blood; something or more of a surplus made a horrific shriek as if it was getting brutally attacked. She couldn’t tell what made it, and the warmth of blood left her after the vision ended.

Once the vision was over, Wednesday moved her head back. It felt as if someone was beating her skull; that never happens with visions, but that aside, what did she just see? Wednesday began to make a hypothesis, clearly, this was past, not future, and this bullet wasn’t yours, but she couldn’t be sure if you fired the weapon, it was shot in some bird, but why was the bullet removed like that, layer by layer? What was that screaming? 

The girl’s head was pounding, and before she left your room, she took the bullet, the papers. She wanted to find some type of DNA in the room, but her head said otherwise. 

—————-

Something was wrong; your brain was triggering some sort of defensive reaction, and you didn’t understand what was triggering it. You’re trained to keep your brain in full control, to know when you’re being psychologically attacked, and currently, the right and left sides of your brain are disagreeing with something. Before you can get the problem fixed, you need to know the problem. That could wait though.

"I really need to train back home again." You muttered to the wind, and it raced past as if responding.

You smiled as you continued to walk along the side of a gravel road. This scenery wasn’t better than the woods with Wednesday; did you even look at the view when you were with Wednesday? What were you focused on? 

This constant questioning of yourself was scaring you. Your family described you as a person, with no limits, but you had to be in control of your whole body, and recently you weren't. Maybe that’s why you're triggering a defensive response.

You stopped at a small home surrounded by flat, crop-growing land, knocking on the door before you looked yourself up and down. With a small smirk, you thought the outfit looked like a hitman in the winter decked out in dark, puffy clothes. Hey, it was close to the beginning of winter.

Once the door opened, a taller man, maybe 2 inches taller than you, greeted you with a grimace.

"Well, who the hell is you? Matrix-looking kid. All these damn new fashion trends." His accent was a deep Southern one.

You chuckled before speaking, "You, James Turner?" Your hands shuffled in that dark, puffy jacket, pulling out a picture of the man in front of you. 

"Who’s asking?" He got closer to you, and smelled like booze. 

You've shown him the photo now. "There’s a problem if someone did." You murdered someone, sir?" He could have the other night if your thesis was right. 

"I ain’t kill nobody, did I?" Bingo. James started to get a little scared, you could read it off his body language.

"Well, I heard a complaint about some gunfire, and when I asked around for you, I heard you shot something." Part of that was a lie, you didn't really ask, just lots of tabs closing at a bar. 

James looked like a child getting caught with their hand in a cookie jar; he was going to break. "Listen, somethin’ been stealing my animals. I was waiting to shoot it last night, then this big bird-like person dropped a sheep in the pen, and I shot at it."

Your face scrunched in confusion. "Why would you shoot something, dropping your sheep back off? And you said human-looking? You were going to just kill a person like that?" You took steps forward, and James kept backing up until both of you were in the house. 

"I jus wan-tah to catch em’ , Ay I don’t even think that was them! Something else was killing my animals, it was green and-and-and large, eyes like a bug." Tsk tsk James, the hole he dug just kept getting bigger.

You were so close in his space that he tripped into a seat. "So you shot something that you wanted to catch even though it helped you; it wasn’t even the creature that was killing! What were you going to do, James? When you caught it, that is." 

"I I I." He sure does stutter you noted, "I was gonna report it for stealing." 

You gripped the table, did it crunch? James questioned. "What’s the story, Turner? You said it gave back…" 

"You’re right It was, it was." He was sweating badly. 

"Good, so you understand that you committed attempted murder? Correct?" Your voice was deathly low. "It can be a pretty hefty sentence, James." 

He watched you move around his house, preparing a glass of water, before sitting across from him.

"I’m going to jail?" He looked on the verge of tears. 

You paused before speaking, a clicking sound filled your silence. "Yes, if you refuse to comply with me." You took a long sip of water, making Turner wait in anguish. "Heard you’re gonna set up cameras around this place, I want you to set up cameras around the woods, set up baits, get as much footage of this killing creature as you can, and hand all of the footage, pictures, and what you baited with to me. Sound simple?" 

"Course, anything yes, please, I jus don’t wanna go to jail." He nodded like a bobblehead.

"Perfect, and don’t think you can escape this; I've got all the information to make a court session last less than 10 minutes." You smiled and finished the glass. Quickly grabbing a pen and paper, you wrote one of your numbers and labeled it, 'Turn in footage work and info here' 

"Cya round James Turner." And just like that, after scaring this older male, you left, walking back to Nevermore. 

———————

This headache wanted to make Wednesday have a lobotomy or struck like Zeus to get Athena out. She could barely piece together the papers in front of her. Enid watched her struggle to work, pointing it out like always.

"What’s up with you? I feel like this is easy." 

"My head has been in pain since I had that vision, usually that doesn’t happen," Wednesday explained as she moved the sheets and note cards around the board. 

Enid knew that if the pain was really bothering her, this headache was something from hell. "Hm, do you want to take something? Or maybe take a break?" 

"I did; it got worse." Wednesday's face barely scrunched as she spoke. "I don’t need a break either." 

Thumps on the door broke the conversation; they both looked at each other, then Enid went to open it. 

You stood there with a toothy grin and said, "Hey Sinclair, where’s Wednesday?" 

"I don’t know if she would be up for a date, Y/n, she’s got a raging headache." Enid knew Wednesday stole from you, so she had to make somewhat of an excuse. 

You paused for a second. "I, uhm, no, I’m not here for that, she has something I ne-" 

Enid shut the door in your face and said, "They know!" Whisper yelling to the goth. All she did was nod and signal to let you in.

Enid slowly opened the door to let you in; once you did, Wednesday’s now migraine blared. She gripped the side table near her. 

"Evening Addams, I’m guessing you know why I’m here." You walked closer to her, maybe 5 inches away from her now. 

"Why," she paused to take a breath, "why do you have them?" 

You raised a brow and said, "I could ask the same." You whispered, getting closer to her ear. "You can get in trouble if you have them; I know how to take care of them." Also, you have a vision?" 

Wednesday wanted to make sure this wasn’t some fake whispering again, so she clutched the bottom of your shirt. For you, it seemed like desperation. She released you and went to take the papers.  

"Yes." Wednesday handed the papers back. Just like that, the pain was gone, and she could think straight now. 

"Doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?" This no-distance whispering with you was going to kill Wednesday; it made her feel sick again. 

She slowly nodded, and with that, you backed up and said your goodbyes, then left.

So many holes—how did you know about the papers? Where have you been all day? How did the vision connect with the headaches? How did you fix it? What trouble did you mean? Why do you have those papers? What were you going to do with it? Her loud thinking was blocked.

"So no more evidence?" Enid asked. 

"The bullet—I still have it."

"Well, it is like almost 12. Let’s look at it tomorrow. Also, who comes to someone’s door at 11? Also,  what did she tell you? I couldn’t hear, over the sound of you two practically making out with each other's whispering. Wait a minute, you didn’t even whisper; you just nodded. What was that about? Whatever, that's a question for tomorrow. I’m too tired, night Addams." Enid threw herself onto her bed and crashed to sleep. 

Wednesday, on the other hand, couldn’t do the same; she needed to get answers.

[ghostfilecabinet]

November’s is Ryan’s birthday month, so our theme is: BOTTOM BERGARA! Because loving someone in fandom means wanting to see them fucked silly. Without further ado -

Onwards.

let us touch so much of ourselves together by uneventfulhouses | E, 4K | He’s soft, but Ryan knows a huge dick when he sees one. “Jesus.” Ryan blinks and. Well, he blinks again, because what else can he do. He realizes he’s staring at it, but—

Once Upon a Porno by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without) | E, 15K | How one awkward moment can change your future. Or, the story of how two grown men end up forging a deeper, more intimate relationship by way of dubbing a period piece porno together.

The Thermostat by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without) | ft. D/s | E, 12K | When arguing over the thermostat blatantly means 'I love you'.

The Wall Between Us by buzzfeedunwritten (loudmouthraccoon) | E, 29K | In order to get over his hopeless crush on Shane, Ryan finds himself at an establishment specifically designed for the purpose of safe anonymous sex. It goes about as well as you would imagine.

A Grand Unified Theory for Dummies by Siria | E, 5K | Shane had something of a grand unified theory of dating one Ryan Bergara brewing which—and bear with him here—used Pokemon as its central metaphor.

kiss today goodbye (point me towards tomorrow) by idkspookystuff | E, 4k | Suddenly, there’s a loud crack from behind them. Shane and Ryan go still, and from this close, Ryan can see the hair stand up on Shane's arms. “Do you think there’s any chance that’s Taylor Lautner?” Ryan jokes feebly. He’s gonna be really mad if those are his last words.

leave me high and dry by bodhirookes | E, 11k | He can’t believe he’s hearing this come out of Shane’s mouth. He says as much out loud. “I can’t believe this. You think I’m a wimp? Even throughout all of the demon encounters and my rippling muscles?”

this rainstorm (it smells like home) by popkin16 | ft. a/b/o | E, 28k | Ryan’s heats were always regular, like clockwork. [...]  His next heat wasn’t due for another two months, but it was hard to deny how empty his nest looked and how much it bothered him.

Baby, Be Mine by petitfangs | ft. D/s | E, 7K | “Hey,” Ryan greeted him, eyes big and warm like the curl of his lips, the bright shine of his teeth, white and perfect. Something tightens, low and hot, in Shane’s stomach. He tampers down the sudden urge to kiss him. 

Want You In My Court by Ourladyofresurrection | ft. D/s | E, 51k | How do you gracefully say: ‘Hey, I know we’re in a group project now, but I think I came to the sound of your voice the other night and I can’t stop thinking about it and frankly, it’s driving me a little crazy‘

Can't We Just Roll for the Moment by punk_rock_yuppie | E, 2.8k | “This doesn’t count as proof,” Shane says.

Wind Me Tighter Than a Wire by sequence_fairy, uneventfulhouses | E, 5k | Ryan’s like, “I’m just aesthetically attracted to some men in particular,” and “I don’t want to do anything about it,” and “alright, maybe, sometimes, I think about getting lovingly railed by Henry Cavill while I jerk off but who doesn’t?” and Shane is maybe losing his mind about it.

be so sweet by sarcasticfishes | ft. D/s | E, 3k | “I feel like you’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Shane says, keeps stroking through Ryan’s hair, again and again, soothing, “I think you already know what you want from me.”

Teacher's Pet by chapscher | E, 24k | “You aren’t describing a teacher’s pet! You’re describing… I don't know the name for it. Someone who tries to seduce their teacher so they can get a better grade.” “Isn’t that a teacher’s pet?”

Oh, Ho, The Mistletoe by Bottomryanbitch | E, 7k | Mistletoe made them do it: sex pollen edition.

Lovesick fool by petitfangs | E, 7k | “If I make you come, will you get off my lap and stop trying to kiss me?” Shane asks gruffly. 

stay the night with the sinners by bodhirookes | E, 85k | Steven Lim and Andrew Ilnyckyj flee Heaven and Hell to be together, and Ryan Bergara is forced to serve on the jury for their trial. Shane Madej is constantly there to remind him why Heaven and Hell should never be allowed to fraternize.

Shut Me Up by Fraudgara | ft. D/s | E, 6k | "You never seem to shut up when I'm touching you." Shane and Ryan play a very very terribly executed rendition of the quiet game.

Read To Me by ouijaboy (nbfutureboy) | E, 18k | When acclaimed children’s author Shane Madej meets a long-suffering parent at one of his signings, he decides on a whim that he’d like to torture this man some more. As it turns out, both Ryan Bergara and his son are two infinitely entertaining human beings.

Something Old, Something New by ChimChimCherrie | E, 8k | Thrifting wasn't Ryan's favorite way to spend an afternoon, but he had to admit the boutique that Mari found was pretty cool.

[httpshujii]

Remember the friend I thought I was falling for? We got super close in the holidays, but in recent times every now and then he's just so mean (not even the regular banter just straight up rude). I told myself I was overreacting and being sensitive because it might just be because he sounds super cold (he's really stoic). Today we did a group project and he kept yelling at me for 'doing it wrong' (I genuinely wasn't but since I'm sick my throat was being strained too much so I gave up defending myself) and he was just being horrible in general. They also made me read a lot in the presentation even though I'm sick (AND HE KNOWS) and I know I wrote a lot but still.

And it's not like he's stressed or has a reason because he's so much nicer to everyone (he's also told me to shut up when I get excited) Unless it's just us in a class he leaves me out too and today they only paid attention to me when I was doing something else because they weren't including me or adding me to the project.

I haven't done anything wrong I think he just hates me for the sake of it, which I'm fine with but I hate how I know he's capable of being sweet with me

I ran to the bathroom immediately after class, still sad but at least angst inspiration? And I know for sure I don't like him because I don't want to be around someone who tries to make me feel stupid

(holy shit that was long I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND)

I DONT WANNA SWEAR RN COZ IM FASTING BUT WHAT THE AXTUAL FRICK? Istg why do ppl do this UR LITERALLY CUTIE PATOOTIE LIKE WTF???

[starpirateee]

Strange magic

@holloweaneweek day 4 - Worship

Warnings: none / read on AO3 here

--

Over time, Miss Holloway got used to the varied stream of regulars that came through the doors of Miss Retro’s. She made sure to keep an eye on everyone who came in on a near regular basis, whether that be the group of students that came in separately but always left together, the parents that appeared sporadically after the school run…

Or that one writer.

He was a relatively quiet bloke, hardly ever spoke, and he almost always took a lonely corner in one of the booths. No matter what he chose to do, whether he brought his beat up pair of headphones or not, he was always trying to write something. His equipment included a notebook that changed every month or so, and a pen that maybe changed twice as often. Neither were very expensive, in fact his pens were always black or blue ballpoints that looked like they’d come from a five dollar multipack.

Holloway knew very little about this mysterious patron of her diner, but he intrigued her more than anyone. Mainly because he kept losing track of time and staying until long after everyone else had left.

Tonight was no exception.

She returned from washing the remainder of the dishes and emerged from the kitchen, ready to lock up. Much to her surprise, she returned to the sound of a pen scratching against paper, and glanced across the diner floor to be met by the writer. He was leaning over the notebook, headphones over his ears, and not even close to paying attention to the world.

The late evening glow was illuminating him in such a way that really complimented him, she thought. His dark hair was slick back, and her neon lights really made it sparkle. His expression was set and focused, and was perfectly reflected in the window he was leaning against.

“Hey, uh… Excuse me, sir?”

He looked up, registering her presence at the counter, and was immediately struck with the general lack of atmosphere around him. He removed a headphone, and stood up immediately. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Miss-” He muttered hurriedly, gathering his things as he rose from his seat.

“Oh no, I don’t mind! Just how lost in your own world were you?” She chuckled.

“I’ve been sitting here for- holy… Three hours, and I’ve pretty much been going strong since then… Again, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to keep ya…” He started to walk out, but her voice drew him back before he could reach the door.

“Wait! You’re gonna stay this long, and you won’t even give me your name?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned, shooting her an amused glance. “My name, huh? Do I get the same pleasure?”

“You could, if that’s what you wanted… You’re a pretty interesting guy, and the least I can hope for is a bit of conversation outta you next time you come in, huh?”

The smile playing at her lips made him smile too, and he nodded. “Alright, consider it a deal. Name’s Douglas, but most people call me Duke.” He walked back over to the counter and reached out a hand, something she took him up on immediately.

“Holloway. It’s a real pleasure.”

He returned at the end of the week, and elected to sit counterside on one of the brightly coloured barstools. Holloway got a good look at his notebook this time, and noticed that it was thick with loose sheets that he’d clearly scribbled various notes and passages across. They were spread across all of the pages, separating them into various sized clumps of what were presumably works of their own.

When she wasn’t seeing to the other customers and dealing with a kitchen that she was managing to keep from setting on fire, she was talking to Duke. Her first port of call was making a point about how much he wrote; hopefully she’d be able to take that in some kind of direction where he’d tell her more about what was going on inside those pages.

“Yeah, basically every opportunity I have, I’m out here tryna make something work… It’s the first big project I’ve had going in a while, and I might’ve gotten myself a little over-hyped for it, but I dunno, it’s pretty cool to me..” he shrugged.

“What’s the project?” She leaned forwards against the counter, close enough to notice that some of the loose sheets had been stapled, taped and sometimes glued to the main body of the notebook. Now, it looked less like loose notes and more like a case file, with evidence gathered from a whole collection of sources all over the place. It really looked like he was trying to build something here.

He blinked, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone to take any genuine interest in what he was doing. Absently tapping the pen against the page he was currently working on, he tried to figure out what exactly to tell her that would make her just as intrigued as when she’d asked. “So far, it’s a mess,” he played off with a chuckle, reminding himself that none of those notes were in order and hadn’t yet formed anything of a coherent story. “But, I’m looking to make it some kinda fantasy, where a woman with a crazy secret comes into the world’s most ordinary town, and has to try and keep the residents from finding her out? Something like that, anyway. I’ve not written a single thing in order yet, and it's been spread over three notebooks…”

That sounded an awful lot like…

Holloway briefly faltered, reminding herself that she didn’t come into Hatchetfield because it was the world’s most normal town. Far from, in fact. She’d come into Hatchetfield because she’d never seen a town where more weird things happened on a daily basis, and she’d managed to convince herself that she’d fit right in. So far, she’d been absolutely right. So far, nobody had even noticed.

Though, she couldn’t recall telling Duke her life story, and even if she had, then he wouldn’t be privy to remembering it at all…

A curious smile crossed her face; she was desperate to keep up the act that she hadn’t been surprised at his synopsis. “My, Duke, where do you get your inspiration from?”

“Funnily enough, I got that one from coming in here… There’s something about this place, and as soon as I sat down a couple months ago, I just knew that was what I had to do… It’s strange, I’d been struggling with inspiration for such a long time, it’s such a coincidence that I found it here…”

“Or magic,” she suggested with a raised eyebrow.

He laughed. Her shoulders sank a little, flooded with relief. “Or magic,” he echoed, and then laughed again. “Y’know what, yeah… Maybe it is magic.”

“You really got a full idea just from coming in here? My coffee’s not that good, and I promise, I’ve never laced it with anything magical-” well… Not entirely. She had tried her luck by charming the place in a certain way, but that didn’t work for her, completely disregarding what anyone else would think of it. Though, the coffee machine had never broken, and did always seem to make the coffee in just the right way…

“I swear it, the whole thing comes to me in pieces every time I sit down in here…” Duke’s tone was bewildered, he’d never really understood it for himself, but it was one of the many things that kept him coming back as often as he did. It wasn’t easy for him to write everywhere, but when it wasn’t the desk in his office, white he was trying to avoid the slowly growing pile of reports sitting at his side, then it was in her diner. And one of those places didn’t have people on the other side of the line telling him to pick up the pace on the files.

She offered him a smile. “Looks like you’ve really found your muse.”

Muse.

He thought about that even as he headed home and actually cracked on with work from his actual job. So far, he’d gotten as far as understanding what a muse was, and even then he wasn’t quite sure. Nine sisters from the old myths, that helped inspire artists and scientists alike by giving them inspiration.

In a way, that was exactly what happened. He didn’t know whether it was the energy in the diner, or it’s lovely, charming, beautiful hostess…

Who was he kidding? From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d become infatuated. People around town always said that about Miss Retro, but he’d never thought it could be quite so true. It was always something along the lines of “She makes it hard not to be in love with her…” and “I’d envy the lucky guy that finally gets to Miss Retro’s heart,” and Duke was finally starting to see why. The charm she laid on in every conversation, the genuine interest she showed in the world itself and the lives of everyone else, it was admirable. He did understand what everyone was talking about.

Was she his muse?

The source of his inspiration, the reason he was up and writing again after so long being out of it. Hell, the reason he was feeling better in himself than he had in years. All of it was down to her, come to think about it.

Thinking about her like that got him through the case files he promised he’d write up three days ago, and it took him far less time than he normally would, too. He was half expecting to fall asleep over his coffee table as he so often did, the cat piled comfortably on top of his reports. But, he had the whole workload cleared and back in his bag before midnight even hit.

He decided to put this theory and her little joke to the test. The next day, he was out around town. There were two rather pressing calls that he had to make, and while he was waiting in the time between them, he tried to lean against the steering wheel of his old pickup and draw a little inspiration from something that wasn’t Holloway. He thought about the next place he had to go; the trailer park bordering the Witchwood. That place had always seemed a little creepy to him, even if he’d never actually gone into the forest to try and dispel those feelings. But, Hannah Foster never failed to make the day more interesting, even if the case wasn’t specifically about her in herself.

He hummed to the music crackling from the radio. God, he still needed to replace that thing, it was really getting on… Maybe keep the CD drive, though, the collection in the glove department would suffer otherwise. How much was a replacement radio for a car? Would Tony be able to sort that?

When his mind finally stopped wandering for long enough to focus on the book in front of him, he noticed that he’d absently written. That was a start, maybe he really could write anywhere…

No. Nope. Those sentences had been there before he started losing track of everything.

He sighed, glaring at the notebook as if it was personally responsible for his lack of motivation. Surely, he and Holloway had been joking about the diner being magic? Surely he could get himself to write something that actually made some sense, and do it somewhere where he wasn’t thinking of her…

One sentence followed another, and then slowly but surely became a whole paragraph.

That didn’t count, he was thinking about her!

Becoming aware of that made him stop. He was thinking about her. Surely that was one huge coincidence. Surely, all he was doing here was proving that he could write in his truck if he so wanted to, it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing!

The idea that he could’ve been so lucky to be blessed with a muse was funny to him. What had he ever done to deserve such a… Pleasure? A privilege? That kind of luck just wasn’t in the cards for him.

But, there she was, in the forefront of his mind, and his single paragraph had become three and a half before he could even think to stop himself.

She really wasn’t joking, was she?

As soon as he’d cleared things up with Hannah, which was a simple case involving going over the release files for her sister and explaining what would happen to her mother after that, he drove all the way down to Miss Retro’s, to see if he could clear the air.

Holloway saw the way Duke had come through the door, a mix of fractured confidence and sheer confusion painted on his face. He took a seat on the barstool in the far corner, and got her attention as soon as he could. “Hey, could I get a moment?” He asked, though she could see he was willing to wait for it.

So, knowing that, she nodded. “Sure, I’ve got an order coming in five, but I’ll get straight to you.”

He inclined his head, and cracked open his notebook just to prove a point to himself. In that five minutes, before she returned to him and could give him her full attention, he’d finished the page, and managed lines on the next one too. Of course the magic was working in full force here. Of course.

“So… What’s wrong?”

When he looked back up at her, she was glancing at him expectantly, seemingly knowing she’d phrased the question in the right way. He stared at her for a moment, and then looked down at the pages. The reason he was here. As if he was worried someone else would listen, his gaze darted behind him in both directions before finally settling on her again. “You weren’t kidding about that muse thing, huh?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You’re working some kinda magic on me or something… I can’t get shit done on this project unless I’m here, or you’re occupying my thoughts. I mean, I tried it in my van earlier today, and I spent more time staring out the window than I think I ever have. Soon as you come to mind, three and a half paragraphs in only a couple minutes. What? Are you actually a muse?”

There was a beat of silence. When she occupied his thoughts… Or when he was there at the diner… That made way too much sense for it to be a coincidence. He’d started this story unknowingly based on a version of the tale of her life. And now he couldn’t get it done without her. She blinked, trying to work out just how she was going to go about answering his question. Eventually, she settled on, “Seriously?”

Duke relaxed a little, thinking she was about prepared to laugh in his face. This wasn’t much of an improvement, but he could work with this. He nodded. “I’m serious. I don’t think I’ve felt stranger about anything before, but I wish I could tell you I was lying.”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“You… Do?” He raised an eyebrow.

She hummed, somewhat vacantly. There was a lot she could say about this, but he’d retain none of it, through no fault of his own. The real answer would have to be hidden in some cleverly crafted layer of charm that she’d have to act fast to work, before he started believing that she was magic and she’d have no way to tell him he was wrong. “Sometimes, people just have that effect on someone else. Who’s to say you can’t get inspiration from someone like me?”

He managed a smile, but it was still heavily rooted in the tension he felt at his shoulders. “You’re saying… People can be a source of inspiration, and it’s just one of those things?”

“Isn’t everything just ‘one of those things’?”

“I- I guess?”

“Do you… mind me being your source of inspiration?”

His answer came immediately and without hesitation. There was no need to think of the answer to that question, because he already knew how he felt about it. This was one of the best things that had ever happened to him, and Holloway really didn’t seem to mind how often she was present in his head.

“No. I would honestly find a way to thank you if it wasn’t just a… thought out version of you.”

She chuckled. It sounded like a melody in itself. People used to worship the muses, didn’t they? And wasn’t the fact that she was directly responsible for a good majority of his inspiration worship in itself? He sure as hell didn’t know. It felt like he owed her something like that, but presently he still knew the difference between his head and the reality in front of him. Of course, that reality was that muses weren’t real, he just really liked thinking about her…

“I don’t mind being your muse, Duke.”