#just spent like 3 hours making my notion

[iirulancorrino]

One of the inventors of the sewing machine didn’t patent it because of the way it would restructure labor. Another was almost killed by a mob.

Always when I sew I think of Emma Goldman with her sewing machine, or Emma Goldman during her first night in jail “at least bring me some sewing.” Wikipedia says the sewing machine reduced average garment construction time from 14 hours to 2 hours. Somewhere on a sewing blog someone wrote of making new garments from existing ones: “use every part of the garment” and “each garment holds in it hours of a garment worker’s life.” I sew and the historical of sewing becomes a feeling just as when I used to be a poet, when I used to write poetry, used to write poetry and that thing culture began tendriling out in me, but it is probably more meaningful to sew a dress than to write a poem. I make anywhere from 10 to 15 dollars an hour at any of my three jobs. A garment from Target or Forever 21 costs 10 to 30 dollars. A garment from a thrift store costs somewhere between 4 and 10 dollars. A garment from a garage sale costs 1 to 5 dollars. A garment from a department store costs 30 to 500 dollars. All of these have been made, for the most part, from hours of women and children’s lives. Now I give the hours of my life I don’t sell to my employers to the garments. My costs are low: 2-dollar fabric from Goodwill, patterns bought for 99 cents or less, notions found at estate sales for 1 or 3 dollars. I almost save money like this. The fabric still contains the hours of the lives, those of the farmers and shepherds and chemists and factory workers and truckers and salespeople and the first purchasers, the givers-away, who were probably women who sewed. Sewing is difficult. There is a reason girls were trained in it before they were trained in anything else, years and years spent at practice, and even then they might not have been any good.

Anne Boyer, Garments Against Women

[tragedy-of-commons]

killjoy

childe x gn!reader | wc: ~1.6k

You catch your boyfriend setting up the cake.

tags/warnings: bday fun, modern & college au, based off of the American College Experience™ sorry, tooth-rotting fluff, teucer is a national treasure, comedy, possibly ooc, reader has hair

notes: for @staarri's 100 followers & bday event <3 trying to write childe was a nightmare but the wheel of doom has spoken. chosen prompt "cruel summer" :)

It has been one hell of a day.

Pop quizzes in two of your classes (that you are now tanking), getting heckled by that same group of protesters, slamming head-first into a glass panel like a pigeon, and then getting splashed by a puddle via a speeding car. 

To give credit where credit is due, you’ve suffered through every incident with class and poise. Despite how you drip with murky street water, the saving grace that is the promise of your warm bed keeps you from inventing new profanities and falling to your knees in the student parking lot.

It’s almost over with, it’s almost over with—

The splintered door of your dorm unit has never looked more welcoming. When your keycard is approved with a click, you heave the barrier between you and uninterrupted sleep wide open. However, what you don’t expect is the little spectacle unfolding in your kitchenette.

Who you belatedly realize is your lovely boyfriend is sticking candles into something - it being quickly shielded from your view as he reacts to your arrival.

“You just had to be early,” he grins, revealing those pearly whites, “Maybe I’ll start calling you ‘Killjoy’.”

“Ajax?” He’s here? Today? But he said— He must notice your sorry state, but he’s wise enough not to mention it. “You really think I’d miss celebrating your birthday in person? Seriously, what kind of partner would I be, just sending you a text? Babe, you gotta start setting some higher standards.”

“Rotten liar,” you mumble, growing smile threatening to split your face in two. 

A small flash of copper peeks around the bedroom-adjoining hallway, hyper. Teucer rushes up in front of his brother, the latter ruffling his hair. “Hey, you’re not supposed to be here yet!”

You snort, wondering if anyone else is planning to jump out of the shadows. “My sincerest apologies. I could always leave—”

“No need,” Ajax dismisses the notion with a cavalier wave. “I think we’re all ready, huh Teuce?”

He huffs in agreement, beaming up at you like you hung the moon. “One second!”

Teucer scampers off faster than you can blink, making you bellow a laugh. His energy knows no bounds, necessitating many hours of entertaining his whims. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Happy birthday,” Ajax says softly; wistfully.

You stalk over to him, embracing your boyfriend like he might disappear into thin air without a moment’s notice. “If you broke in, I will be calling campus security.” “You’d never turn me in! Also, we just so happen to still be on the guest card from last week.” You part from his warmth so you can kiss him. He tastes of sugar, the bastard.

“Buttercream?” you place, peering over his shoulder. The sight of a round cake on the counter confirms your suspicions, and your heart swells. He would’ve had to bake and decorate it somewhere else, given that ovens are a luxury you do not possess in college hell. You picture him in his too-nice apartment, piping frosting in the familiar loops of your name. “Yes!” Teucer rushes back in (you note that he’s hiding his hands behind his back), while Ajax pokes your nose. “Big brother spent soooo long on it!”

You snicker deviously. “Really?”

“No reason to lie,” your boyfriend pouts, “Though I’m a bit hurt that you’re both trying to embarrass me, after I went to all this trouble..”

Teucer sticks his tongue out in disgust whenever you console Ajax with another kiss, likely wanting you both to hurry up your gross couple stuff so he can show you his gift. It’s presented to you ceremoniously, and you honor the splendor by pretending not to know that it’s definitely one of his toys. 

Your acting is award-winning, perfectly ignoring the obvious ridges and appendages of a Transformer. After tearing open the paper, you’re told that his name is Mr. Cyclops and you have to take good care of him - your sworn oath.

(Of course, Mr. Cyclops will mysteriously end up back in Teucer’s bedroom if you can count on your partner in crime to help you out. You and Ajax share a Look that hints at conspiracy.)

Speaking of your boyfriend, you don’t think he is governed by even one modicum of shame. During the Happy Birthday song, he performs with his whole chest, much to your chagrin. You think that Ajax lives the most for other people; even if it shines brightest whenever he teases and flusters. His camaraderie is most genuine when he’s this comfortable - when he knows that the present moment is all he needs to focus on. 

When did he start letting his guard down? You find yourself unable to recall among past memories of trudging to the local diner at ungodly hours, cramming for finals at the library, and responsibly talking him down from any antics that would surely get him in trouble.

(Maybe it was when you first held an ice pack over his eye, swollen shut from a punch he shouldn’t have taken just for the thrill of it. Your admonishment must have been jarring, because without any teasing remarks whatsoever, he promised that he’d dial it down. You remember lacing your fingers with his - and promptly threatening to “embalm him with jet fuel” if he ever got hurt again.)

Now your relationship has progressed to the point where spending your first birthday together feels natural. It feels so natural that shitty paper plates stacked high with slices of cake is enough to make you forget that you look like that one damp owl picture. Ajax, as per his boyfriend duties, has to remind you, of course.

“Bad day, huh?” 

You rest your chin on your fist, elbow supported by the armrest of your (comically small) couch. In retrospect, the fleeting illusion of a living room probably wasn’t worth it. Squished into a corner by a dozing Teucer and an awake Ajax, you yawn. “The worst, actually.”

“Well, we can’t be having that,” he tips your chin up to meet azure hues, “Maybe my gift will make you feel better.”

You blink. “Gift? You don’t have to, you know. The little guy’s was plenty enough for me.” 

Ajax spares a fond glance at his little brother, whose head is resting in his lap, legs thrown over the opposite armrest. “Nonsense! If you’re worried about me having bought out a whole store—”

“Don’t tell me you—”

“—Then you have nothing to fret over, Killjoy,” he laughs. “It’s pretty small.”

You don’t suppress the smile that breaks out on your face. “Okay, I’ll bite.”

“Hopefully not too hard.” He’s so annoying. You want to kiss him stupid.

From what you assume is from his back pocket, he removes a black silk pouch before dropping it into your awaiting hand. He was right about it being small, that’s for sure. Toying with the material of it for a moment, you pull open the bag delicately. Ajax tenses. “So.. whaddya think?”

Inside is a brass key that fits into your palm nicely. Of course you’ll love anything he gives you, but you’re unsure of what this could mean. Is it symbolic? Literal? You thumb over the grooves, unsure of what they could possibly unlock. Your head swims with a fuzzy feeling that you don’t entirely hate.

“What’s it to?”

“Our place.”

It’s perfect. You turn the object this way and that way, swallowing. “Giving me my own copy? You realize that you’re gonna be stuck with me crashing at yours way more often, right?”

Your boyfriend wraps a sturdy arm around your shoulder. “It’s not there for you to crash, it’s there for you to stay. I want you to move in with me.”

The following awed silence from you is clearly taken as something else, because Ajax backpedals in that flippant way that belies the panic he’s actually feeling. You need to tell him that it’s okay; that it’s more than okay.

“Of course you can say no, but the rest of your birthday plans kinda hinge on the possibility that you’ll make me the happiest man in the world and say yes,” he amends.

You pay no heed to his theatrics, because all you really need is him. Gross. “Duh, idiot. As much as it kills me to say this, I’d want nothing more.” Ajax glows. “Because you’re head over heels in love with me?”

“No, because I won’t have to drag my ass to the laundromat anymore.”

The offended sound he lets out is muffled with your mouth against his once more, and the tears that roll down your cheeks are obviously not because you’re ecstatic to be so involved in his life. What a preposterous idea.

His hands cradle your face, a little awkward because of the position, but he’s so warm. 

“Killjoy, I have something to confess,” he breathes, pulling back enough so you can see the faint constellation of freckles dotting his features. “You need to start packing immediately, or else the flowers will wilt before you’re able to see them.”

You sigh, happy-sniffling. “Flowers? Is a bouquet perhaps part of these ‘birthday plans’?”

Ajax dries one of his hands stained with your tears off onto his shirt before raking it through Teucer’s curls affectionately. He stirs but does not wake. “Try thirty!”

“Ajax..” The horror in your tone barely disguises the admiration.

“I love you too, Killjoy.”

That night, when you’re both alone in his apartment, tangled in each other’s arms, your overnight bag on the floor - you tell him the same. The few tears he sheds into your hair are also definitely not because you’re finally comfortable enough to say it back. Ridiculous.

taglist: @hanyi-writes, @karagatan02, @bfajax, @aphrodict, @nomazee

[daydream-cement]

Aftercare (lightly NSFW)

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Lucifer seems to be gaining feelings for a little human who was once just a toy.

Author’s Note: Just a random snippet of soft Luci <3

Getting you up to Lucifer’s chambers was an easy process as the angel swept you off your feet once they had finished with you. Your body was covered in love bites from your evening of love making. The Morningstar had challenged you to a new level of heightened pleasure that now left you unable to move.

When you were helped onto Lucifer’s bed, you trembled as you forced your legs open for the Lightbringer. The blonde chuckled in response, shaking their head as they had no interest in forcing you through any additional orgasms. With a large, firm hand, Lucifer gripped your thigh and pressed it to the other, “No more tonight, dearest. You and I are going to explore aftercare. Have you ever done that before?”

You shook your head, your body releasing its tension at the notion of being done for the night. “No…”

“First, we will get you cleaned up. Can you stand well enough for a shower, my darling? I will get you all washed up.”

With a quiet nod, you crawled to the edge of the bed and stood on wobbly legs. Lucifer met you and wrapped an arm around your back and another under your legs to lift you from the bed. They carried you to their washroom, turning on the shower once you entered. 

They wanted the water nice and hot to relax your body. While it heated up, they pushed you against the bathroom sink to press soft kisses against your face and neck. Lucifer’s taller form pressed against yours, your face level with their breasts. Their hands wandered around your body, not squeezing or groping as they had been merely an hour earlier, but softly admiring every bit of your form.

“Did I go too rough, little angel?”

You shook your head ‘no’ even when the answer was ‘yes’, not wanting Lucifer to think you couldn’t handle more the next time around. You would do anything to please the fallen angel.

The Morningstar pressed a final kiss to your forehead and guided you to the shower. They took to scrubbing your body, smirking as they gazed upon the marks they left behind. “Look at these marks… A work of art.”

You smiled fondly at the possessiveness, your arms winding around their frame to hold them close. Lucifer’s hands traveled between your legs, gently cleaning you and trying to avoid irritating the spots sore from fucking. “I would like you to accompany me to my meetings tomorrow…”

You whimper as the blonde’s fingers push too hard against your clit, the sensation more pain than pleasure, “Really?”

“Yes, kitten… I want you there with me.” There was no hiding the obvious twinge of pride in Lucifer’s tone. 

The Morningstar slipped around to your backside, hands continuing to caress your tummy and thighs. They guided you out of the path of the water and began washing your hair, earning a high pitched hum of appreciation from you. Their words just above a whisper when they began rinsing the shampoo out, “But you don’t have to. As much as I enjoy you being at my side, you are not obligated, darling. I just want you to be happy.”

“Making you happy, makes me happy.” You said simply, turning around in their arms and nuzzling into their chest.

Lucifer chuckled at the sentiment and added conditioner to their hands, combing it through your hair. “You already do by being with me. Now, be a good pet and rinse your hair. I need to finish my own shower.”

You remained quiet, moving to do as you were told. 

Lucifer washed up their own body, their eyes drifting to you every few seconds to check on you. They adored you and the love you had for them. With each day the two spent together, the Morningstar felt themself only growing more possessive and protective over you. It was becoming hard to spend time without you near.

After their shower, Lucifer took their time drying off your body, shifting to sit on the edge of the bathtub and draw you to stand before them. They pressed kisses to your chest and abdomen and smiled up at you fondly, “I want you to rest well tonight. I can’t have my darling hurting.” 

You smiled softly at the care Lucifer showed you, your hands teasing at their blonde locks to show them your own affection. “Can we watch a movie tomorrow? After you finish your meetings…”

“Of course, dearest. You know I love your human films. Now get your pajamas on.” 

You were the one to press a kiss to the Morningstar’s lips before hobbling off to the room you had begun sharing. The blonde proceeded with their nighttime routine and adjourned to the bedroom just in time to see you crawling into bed. The sight brought a smile to the Lightbringer’s face, and they felt grateful they were going to be crawling into bed with you.

After turning out the lights, Lucifer climbed into bed after you, weaving an arm around your waist and drawing you in to snuggle. With their hands on either side of your face, the Morningstar encouraged you to rest your face between the blonde breasts. They began stroking your locks, “Did you have fun tonight, my child?” 

“Mhm. I liked riding you… You looked so powerful…” You closed your eyes and wistfully pictured yourself n reverse cowgirl, getting fucked nice and hard by the strap they had attached to their form. They had been absolutely delighted with the sight of you unraveling before them. 

“Mmm… We may need to try it again, only next time I will ride you? Then you can be the one to make me moan.” 

You giggled at the thought, snuggling closer. Your hands wandered inside their robe and around Lucifer’s waist to dance across their back. 

“Now it’s time for bed. Please wake me if you need anything.” Lucifer slowly closed their eyes, adjusting their position to rest their chin on the top of your head. With two deep breaths, the angel began to give way to the sweet temptation of sleep.

“I… love you….” You murmured, not considering the consequences of sharing these never before spoken words. 

Lucifer seemed stunned, taken aback even. They paused for a pregnant moment, never considering before how they could be loved by another. The silence made you feel sick, but you had no regrets in sharing your feelings. Only if you could have seen the way Lucifer stared at you through the darkness. A gazed filled with more love and admiration than even the Morningstar thought they were capable of. 

“I love you as well. Now please try and sleep, dearest lamb.” 

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @opheliauniverse, @enchantressb, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @scream-queenlover, @shyladyfan, @rubberduckiesbathing, @peanutbutterprincess, @larissaoftarthweems, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @dumbasslesbi, @oculusalien, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @h-doodles, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic

[madelynraemunson]

I’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you are, would you be willing to do an Eddie x reader oneshot/short series based on Sober + Sober II by Lorde? The idea is stuck in my head but I trust you to execute it more than anyone else <3

hngnngh comfort eddie please save me comfort eddie

music is such an important part of life, and a vital part of story-telling in my eyes. so thank you for this!!<3

will you sway with me? go astray with me?

bartender!situationship?eddie x fem!billy's girlfriend!reader

CW: alcoholism, mentions of heavy drinking/alcoholism, fluff, angst, established abusive relationship btwn reader & billy, reader has a bruised face, eddie getting touchy feely; city divider by @emeraldurafreak

WC: 1.4K words

12:00 MIDNIGHT

Oh how fast the evening passes…

“Do I need to cut you off, Munson?”

“Funny. I thought you already did.”

Eddie had been drinking with customers all night and — to his surprise — so have you.

He was shocked to see your face. Especially since you've spent all week avoiding him (and The Hideout) like the plague. For a moment he even thought you ditched him for a cooler bartender and some cooler pub down the way. But the reason behind the week long absence soon registers with Eddie — when he sees the black and blue that decorate your cheekbones, poorly hidden by your blotchy layers of cheap, Dollar General concealer.

God fucking dammit, Eddie thinks to himself. He hit her again.

The grip on his washcloth tightens as he watches you saunter over, looking for your vice to band-aid the problem (like you always fucking do).

Unfortunately as a bartender, it's Eddie's job to deal you some cheap booze, strike up a superficial conversation, and cut you off only when he saw fit. He was to cater to your drinking needs whether he thought it was a good idea or not. And for a while it did start out that way. Until his smitten ass got to know you. Now Eddie always your best interests at heart. And it appears like he's the only one who seems to.

“Your usual, sweetheart?”

“Yes please,” you drunkenly slur. “If you don’t mind...”

He's always going to be more than a bartender to you. And you're more than just a patron to him. Often times, when you get in a fight with your abusive fuck of a boyfriend Billy, you'll find yourself at The Hideout, in the comfort of Eddie's arms, slow dancing to all your favorite songs two hours past closing time while Billy blows up your phone.

A cocktail for disaster for sure.

Eddie knows not to ask. It's a rule in his doctrine pertaining to you, an unspoken loyalty — communicated through swift eye contact — that implies YOU KNOW that EDDIE KNOWS what’s up.

And the more he's gotten to know the complexities of you, the more he's fallen in love.

Despite you breaking all of Eddie's rules about the notion though, Eddie knows that you two could never work. You're gonna keep forgiving Billy. And Eddie will keep picking up the broken pieces... waiting agonizingly long periods here and there wondering if you made it out unscathed or not. It's part of the reason he drinks so much as well, but he'll never admit it. It's a vicious fucking cycle. Eddie's accepted it at this point.

Still doesn’t make it hurt any less. And as much as Eddie wanted to figuratively storm the castle, run up to your tower, and break your ass on out of there, Eddie knows that leaving Billy is ultimately up to you.

The bartender goes to pour you your usual neat shot of "Jack Daniels" while you sit across from him. He's most definitely cutting you off. And when you're as wasted as you are right now, Coca Cola tastes just like liquor.

"Mm!" you cheer as you sip the soda-in-disguise. "Hits the spot. Thank you Eddie."

Amused with himself, he snorts. "Anytime, darlin'."

He goes to clink your glass with his beer bottle, then makes an effort to tell you it's his fourth Wildflower Ale, a sour beer that definitely did not seem like something he would like.

“Odd," you observe. "Always thought you were more of a mead guy.”

He smirks. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”

You shrug.

“I dunno…” a flirty hum escapes your lips. “It’s very… medieval times-y. I can picture the knights in shining armor going to their pubs. Grabbin' mead with one another…"

His cheeks a tinted pink now, Eddie chuckles down at the counter.

"Jesting with one another… preparing for battle…"

“I’m a knight in shining armor?” Eddie blushes at you.

You trail off there, hoping that he gets the rest of the picture.

“I should stop talking.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, confused and a little disheartened by the way you shut yourself down simply for explaining yourself again. “No. No, I like when you talk.”

King and Queen of the weekend.

As the last of the five drunks stumble out of the bar, Eddie begins to wrap up his closing, finalizing everything at the register and cleaning up the champagne glasses. You watch him as he pops his hip to the right in attempts to switch on the stereo that he had authority over at the end of every shift.

Atmospheric music sounds through the speakers. Meanwhile, Eddie's enamored eyes trail back over to you.

"I can think of another way to get your mind off things," Eddie smiles. "And they don't involve alcohol. Don't involve talking either if you aren't up for it."

Heat settles at your cheeks "Our usual?"

"On the house," he insists.

He nears you now, extending a hand to you to guide you off the elevated bar stool and safely to the ground.

"M'lady," he jests.

You fall into him almost immediately, giving all of you to him in the form of a long overdue hug. The musky pine and cool mint of his fragrance seduces you, his beer breath strangely giving you the same amount of comfort that a warm blanket would. For the first time in days, you finally felt safe.

There’s a distant gaze in Eddie’s fawning eyes as he stares dreamily at your lips. Grazing the small of your back as you two sway, he allows you to nuzzle your head against the crook of his warm neck.

“I hate when you make yourself small," he croaks against you.

You draw a shaky breath, allowing the music and booze to liquidate into your bloodstream as you continue to melt into Eddie. He squeezes you tighter, delicately resting his chin atop your head.

“I’d ask why you do it, but… I think I know the answer.”

“Yeah," you mumble.

“You guys gotten better?”

"Not exactly."

It eats at him, knowing he can't save you unless you wanted to be. You've always been a regular who drank often, but watching you full on spiral into alcoholism as a form of escape gnawed at Eddie's conscience. Especially since he felt like he was feeding it. The guilt of going behind Billy's back probably consumed you on top of everything else you had to deal with.

But Eddie doesn't know the real reason behind why you drink. You drink to go back in time. Back to when you feel okay. Because every time alcohol touches the tip of your tongue, you're whisked back here. Where you feel most safe. You've broken so many rules to be in the presence of Eddie Munson, but you never regret it when you look back because you've never felt this good when remaining 'compliant'.

The cheeky bartender proceeds to go lower, testing his boundaries as the song continues on by softly squeezing your hips with his calloused hands. A tear escapes his eye, quite possibly due to his fear that he probably won't remember this when he wakes up tomorrow afternoon.

"Just say the word and I'll back off," Eddie says to you.

You swallow hard. "Never."

Eds cracks you another smile before luring you further into his grasp.

“Leave him,” he whispers. “Be with me instead.”

"When I'm ready," is what you end up telling him all the time. It still feels like the very first time whenever you say it though. "And when I'm sober."

That's another thing about rules. They're made to be broken. And no memorable hero was ever well behaved.

You end up staying for a couple of hours again. Billy, for some reason doesn't call, and your brain shuts down the desire to even know why. All you were focused on anyways was Eddie and how safe you felt beside him.

"This never happened?" he questions you, scanning the look on your face for an answer.

"Nope," you shake your head discreetly. "Never."

And when you two sober up, you turn the music off, help Eddie stack the chairs, give him a passionate, grateful peck on the lips before heading out...back to home...back to familiarity.

Eddie watches you leave, taking a long anxious drag of his cigarette as your car drives off. When you're out of sight, he rests a hand over his heart, praying to whatever is out there to make sure that there will be another opportunity dance again in the near future.

We pretend that we just don’t care.

But we care.

What will we do when we’re sober?

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Cup of Coffee and a VHS | Pt. 3

Start with Pt. 1 HERE! ~ Jump back to previous Pt. 2 HERE!

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Reader Coffee Shop!AU

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Lucien continues to be a slight jerk, lots of awkward fluff, some sexually suggestive scenes/dialogue, fade-to-black style end of chapter

A/N: I apologize to anyone who's lactose intolerant, both for the choice of drink in this chapter and for the sheer levels of cheesiness.

It did snow that weekend, and heavily. Neil’s movie pick turned out to be perfect for the frosty atmosphere. You curled up on your couch and popped the VHS in, holding a hot drink with your fingers wrapped tightly around the mug to warm yourself. 

It was an enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. Though, you found yourself wishing that Neil could be curled up on the couch next to you. He seemed like the type who would have all sorts of fun trivia, and be able to spout off every movie that each actor had been in previously. That night, your mind sifted through fantasies of the two of you, cooped up together, sheltering out a storm. Preferably with less dire consequences than had been in The Shining.

The next morning, the world was awash with sparkly white. Although it took a few hours from the time you woke up to actually be able to see anything; of course, it was still dark by the time you were unlocking the door to your cafe. But slowly, the early morning’s pink light crept over the snow dunes, until finally everything outside your window looked almost blindingly bright. The reflection of the ice crystals somehow made winter feel just a little less harsh.

At around nine, Lucien came into your shop, ordered his usual, and reached across the counter to accept the paper cup and marker you offered him. You were already getting used to his idiosyncrasies. 

“So, I know Neil wouldn’t want me to tell you this,” Lucien began, marking an elegant cursive “L” on the cup as he began to write his name. “But I feel like it’s my responsibility as the foil-slash-trickster character in his life to do it anyway.”

You smiled, but furrowed your brows. You had no idea what Lucien was talking about. Was he always this… cinematic when getting involved in other people’s business?

“Okayyy…” you replied.

Lucien passed the cup and marker back to you, and you started getting his order ready. 

“You know Neil has a huge crush on you, right?” Lucien deadpanned.

“Umm…”

Your words failed you, and you froze with your hand in the jar of espresso beans, halfway through digging out a scoop. Lucien continued, undeterred.

“Before you mistake me for some kind of hopeless romantic,” he said, “I’m really just doing this to advance the plot past the ‘Neil fawns over his clueless love interest’ point. I’m sick of listening to him lament over whether or not he should ask you out.”

“W-why tell me instead of just pushing Neil to do it, then?” you asked.

“Oh, don’t worry - I’m playing this from both angles,” replied Lucien. “But if you’re not interested, I can tell Neil-”

“No!” you blurted, a little too quickly. “I mean, uh, you really don’t have to get involved…”

“Mm-hmm,” hummed Lucien, slowly. “Well, if you’ve got the balls to make a move, could you do it sooner than later? I can really only watch Neil make puppy-dog eyes out the window for so long.”

Your heart swelled at the thought of Neil, elbow resting on the counter and hand holding up his chin while he sighed, longingly. It was a dramatic image, but it seemed to fit him. You stifled a smile.

You handed Lucien his coffee and told him to have a good day, not making any promises about Neil. But of course, you were secretly brimming with excitement over the knowledge that he liked you back. You had spent plenty of time fawning after him the past few days. But you hadn’t allowed yourself to seriously consider the notion that he might feel the same way you did. Your heart sang as you swept the floor of your little coffee shop, and you hummed while you worked, lungs filling with anticipation.

That afternoon, you had a few errands to run after closing up your shop, but you made it a point to stop by Gumshoe so that you could return Neil’s video. More as an excuse to see him than anything, but the back of your mind wondered if maybe you should take Lucien’s advice and make a move. What kind of move, you had no idea - and you still didn’t have a plan as you pushed open the door of Neil’s store, making the little bell ring with your arrival.

“Hey, you’re back!” exclaimed Neil, hunched over behind the counter. 

He came out to greet you, standing at an awkward distance that was a bit too close for regular friendliness but too far to offer you a hug.

“Oh boy, coffee girl,” Lucien called from the couch, keeping up appearances on his antagonistic role.

“Ignore Lucien,” Neil told you, smiling in a way that made your heart do somersaults.

“I usually try to, unless I’m selling him coffee,” you joked, suddenly self-conscious about coming across as too mean.

Neil laughed, though, and your anxieties melted away. At least for a second, until he fixed you with a conspiratorial look that had your stomach in knots to match your pounding heart.

“I won’t say anything if you want to start triple charging him,” Neil said lowly.

“I can hear you!” Lucien shouted.

Lucien’s outburst broke the tension, and you and Neil were laughing easily with each other again. You wondered if it was just your imagination that something felt different between you now, as if there were many things left unsaid. Had Lucien told Neil that you liked him back? Probably. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, if it really did help get you past the awkward pining phase.

“So, what brings you in today?” asked Neil. Was it your imagination, or did he seem more nervous than usual?

“I’m here to return your VHS,” you replied, pulling the tape out of your bag. “Don’t want any late fees, right?”

“Wow, you watched it already?”

“Yep, and it was just as atmospheric as you said.” You smiled as you added, “But very creepy; I wish I hadn’t watched it alone.”

You were hoping that Neil would pick up on the hint, but instead he frowned a little as he took the tape from you.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said sincerely.

“Oh no,” you hurried to assure him. “I just mean I wish I’d had someone to watch it with.”

From the couch, Lucien coughed loudly. Neil, oblivious, still didn’t get the hint.

“Well, next time I’ll pick something less scary,” he promised. Your heart sank a little, but brightened when he said, “So, when can I stop by for my next drink so I’ll owe you another movie?”

There was something strangely endearing about hearing him so eager to be indebted to you. You remembered how Lucien had described Neil as having puppy-dog eyes, and now you could definitely picture it. The way he was looking at you, so much excitement over the idea of recommending a movie for you to watch.

“How about right now?” you offered. You were also eager to snatch up the opportunity. “The cafe’s closed, but I could whip you up something. I have an idea I think you’ll really like.”

You looked up at Neil through your eyelashes, trying to act a little demure. Knowing that he had a crush on you made you bolder.

“Sure,” Neil agreed, a smile lighting up his face. “Just let me grab my coat.”

You followed him to the door, and watched as he shrugged into his jacket and put on a wool hat. Before leaving, Neil called over his shoulder. 

“Lucien! You’re in charge while I’m gone.”

Lucien gave a thumbs-up, and threw you a knowing look. You were grateful that Neil had already turned around, pushing through the door before holding it open for you. It was already dark outside, and the streetlights illuminated the fresh snow as you walked down the street to your shop.

Neil kicked at a snowdrift as he walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. You mirrored him, shoving your hands deep into the folds of your coat, even though you wanted nothing more than to reach out and wrap his fingers around yours.

“I’m excited to see what you have planned,” Neil said.

It took you a moment to realize he was talking about the drink. Your breath puffed out in front of you as you spoke.

“I think you’ll really like this one,” you replied. “Very sweet; just like you.”

You glanced over to see Neil’s cheeks turn bright red. Maybe it was just the chilly air…

“I remember you said that the first time we met, too,” Neil laughed. “That I was sweet. You still think so, huh?”

“I do,” you replied, letting your shoulder bump against his as you walked. “But only because it’s true.”

You reached the front of your shop, and you bent down to twist your key in the lock. A burst of warm air rushed out when you opened the door.

“Come on in and warm up,” you told Neil. “Your face is red.”

Neil’s cheeks blushed an even deeper shade. That time was definitely not from the cold. He stepped in, and you followed, shutting the door behind you.

“Hey, I have an idea.” Neil smiled as you hung up your scarf. “Can we make this one a double and share a drink while I take you on a walk? I know a really nice park around here.”

You liked the sound of that. Being new to the area, you hadn’t had a lot of time to explore, and spending more time with Neil was something you wouldn’t say no to.

“That’s a great idea,” you beamed. “Two caramel hot chocolates, coming up.”

Neil seemed to perk up at your mention of hot chocolate. He followed you over to the counter as you stepped behind it to whip up your latest attempt at finding a drink that Neil would enjoy. You figured that everyone liked hot chocolate; unlike coffee, it was almost guaranteed to be universally loved. You poured the drinks into two to-go cups, and added whipped cream and a drizzle of caramel sauce to each.

“That looks amazing.”

Neil was practically drooling, and you knew you had hit on something good.

“See, this is why you should have just told me in the first place what you like,” you teased. 

“But if I had, would we ever have seen each other again after that first night?” Neil countered.

He had a point.

“Probably, but… maybe you wouldn’t have ended up lending me that movie,” you relented. 

“Exactly.” Neil took an eager sip, and licked at the whipped cream stuck to his lip. “And then, things might have turned out differently. A little chaos always leads to better adventures.”

It was an interesting thought, and you smiled as you recalled all the little swirls of chaos that Neil had added to your life. Even in the short time since you’d met him, life seemed a little more exciting and fun. He was different from you, but that was a good thing.

“Is that something Lucien says?” you guessed.

“Jonathan, actually,” Neil admitted. “Although Lucien is an agent of chaos.”

You laughed, and carried your own drink to the front door. Neil trailed behind you, shrugging his jacket back on.

“Come on, let’s get going before things get too chaotic around here,” you joked. “I was promised a nice walk through the park. And unlike some people, I’m not against saying that that’s exactly what I want.”

You wrapped your scarf around your neck, and you and Neil once again braved the chilly air, with hot drinks now in hand. The warmth seeped through your gloves, keeping your fingers comfortably guarded against the frigid temperature. As you took a sip, the hot chocolate warmed you from the inside as well, and you felt content as Neil guided you down the street toward the little park. As you got close, you caught glimpses of bright lights sparkling in the dark.

“Oh, wow,” you gasped as they fully came into view. “So pretty.”

The trees, bare of their leaves, had been wrapped in twinkling yellow lights. The whole park was full of them, and the beautiful display seemed to shine over the fresh snow. The effect was dazzling. Neil gave you a little nudge.

“Pretty like you.”

As he prodded you with his elbow, it was suddenly your turn to get flustered. You felt your face heat up, and looked down at your cup of hot chocolate so that Neil wouldn’t see you smiling.

You walked together in silence for a few minutes, taking in the spectacle. 

“So,” Neil’s voice cut through the chilly air, breath still puffing in front of him. “I’m sure you’ve probably already figured this out, but… I really like you.”

Your heart flipped with joy. Hearing the words come out of Neil’s own mouth was enough to send you soaring.

“Lucien… might have told me,” you admitted.

Neil laughed, an adorable little chuckle of embarrassment that made you fall a bit harder for him. He stopped walking and turned to face you, setting his paper cup down on the freshly-shoveled pathway. You did the same, wanting your hands free for whatever was going to happen next.

“Well,” Neil continued, “I hope he at least didn’t tell you about this. I got you a little gift.”

Neil reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, offering it to you.

“Since I technically still owe you for that first coffee,” he said. 

You opened the box, and a smile spread across your face. Inside was a pair of tiny charms on a gold chain. One was a little coffee cup, and the other was a VHS tape. The gesture was so adorable you were scared that your heart might burst.

“Neil, this is so cute!” you cried. “It’s us!”

A look of relief washed over Neil’s face.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. 

“Of course I do. Neil, you really are the sweetest.”

A gust of sudden, frigid air blew through the park, causing you both to shrink into yourselves. Neil pulled the collar of his jacket up, trying to keep out the chill. You laughed.

“But you still don’t bundle up as much as you should,” you teased.

You took a step closer to Neil, untucking your scarf and wrapping it around the both of you. Your forehead pressed against his as you stood, bundled together against the cold. The frosty tip of Neil’s nose touched yours when you looked up at him.

“Maybe I just like having an excuse to share scarves with you,” Neil teased back.

His hands were shoved back in his pockets, and you moved a little closer, wishing he would put his arms around you.

“You know, you don’t actually owe me for that coffee,” you said softly. “I told you, the first one was free so you’d get addicted.”

Finally, Neil reached out and held you by the waist, pulling you even closer to him.

“Well, I did get addicted to something, but it wasn’t the coffee…”

Your eyes closed, and Neil pressed his lips against yours. You could taste the sweetness of caramel as he kissed you, his warm arms wrapping around you a little tighter.

Neil’s eyes were still half-lidded when you pulled away. You felt your cheeks burn again.

“So does this mean you like me, too?” Neil asked. 

You giggled, the cold puff of your breath evaporating between you.

“Neil, you can be so dense,” you teased.

You leaned in for a second kiss, just as sweet as the first.

“Okay, I’m going to assume that’s a ‘yes,’” Neil breathed.

You nodded happily.

“This might be a bit forward, but… what do you say we get out of the cold?” you asked, reaching up to take hold of Neil’s collar as you pressed your body against him.

“You mean like… head back to my place?”

You nodded again, smiling as you bit your lip.

“Oh. Yeah. Yes - definitely,” Neil answered. 

He was so cute when he was flustered. You kissed him again, a little more passionately, and felt something start to press against you. You broke the kiss to tease Neil a little more, unable to help yourself.

“Is that a VHS in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Possibly… both?” Neil replied.

Your laughter echoed through the night air as you wrapped your arms tightly around Neil’s neck, throwing your head back. Being with him felt so freeing. Like you could laugh and joke and be yourself, so easily, while Neil did the same. 

“Let’s get going, then,” you whispered. “A little chaos makes the best adventures, right?”

Read Pt. 4 HERE!

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Take What You Need - Part 1: Let the Devil Out

Matt Murdock x Female Reader

Part 2 | Part 3

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT/18+ ONLY. Female reader (anatomy and implication of she/her pronouns) No use of Y/N. Established relationship. Red Suit DD. Oral sex (M receiving), unprotected P in V (be safe IRL), P in V with no prep, DomMatt, choking, lil bit of breeding kink, aftercare.

Summary: The first time Matt takes you up on your offer to take what he needs. After a night of patrolling doesn't calm the devil inside, you offer for him to take it out on you.

WC: 1801

Matthew Murdock is a giver by nature – whether it’s the deep-seated catholic guilt, the childhood trauma of never having his emotional needs met, or just his naturally innate personality. For whatever reason, he is incapable of taking for himself, rarely ever utters or even thinks the words I need.

You discovered quickly into your relationship with him that also very much applied to his habits in the bedroom. He would have himself slotted between your thighs for hours, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you like it was just another day in court, but when it came time for you to return the favor, he’d shutter away from the notion. Behave as if it were a nuisance. Only give himself the pleasure for your satisfaction more than his.

Matthew, take what you need became a prayer on your lips that he very rarely answered.

That was until tonight.

The streets of Hell’s Kitchen were volatile lately. Gangs, muggers, hitmen – just to name a few of the characters he’d run into recently. He stumbled home bloody and bruised more times than he’d care to count over the past few weeks.

The crisp air nips at the little skin he has exposed, making his bones ache, seeping into him like a thousand needles. Every molecule of the blood-stained suit he wears rubs against his skin in a fiery itch. Even the faintest of sounds from the street below sends his ears into a frenzy. Not to mention the smells – copper from the blood, garbage and gasoline from the streets of New York, and sweat from his own body.

His senses are in overdrive. He’s irritable, itching for a release to calm his twitchy nervous system back into place. Even a night spent beating up the worst of Hell’s Kitchen is not enough.

A soft but familiar heartbeat cuts through the anguish and draws his attention to you, enjoying the dawning morning from a spot just outside his roof access door. He makes the final leap across rooftops and strides forward, head cocked to hone his senses to only you.

You stand to meet him, discarding the plaid throw blanket from your shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep. Came up to get fresh air and wait for…” You begin to explain, but are cut off by him pulling your body against his and his mouth smashing into yours.

His kisses are immediately intense. Fervent. More teeth than tongue.

Between the violent attack of kisses and the stark contrast of his warm body pressed against yours in the cool dawn air, you’re left breathless, even a bit dizzy. But before you can orient yourself, he’s spinning you around and pushing you through the door that leads into his home, grasping at any part of your body he can get his hands on.

Because as this city tears him down to nothing but fragile atoms, burning every part of him as deeply as the fires of hell to which he feels his sins condemn him, there you are to save his soul.

You pull away from his kisses only for a moment, to let out a familiar request.

“Take what you need, Matthew”

And for the first time, he accepts your gracious offer.

“On your knees. Now.” he commands through his shaky exhales with a tilt of his chin.

The realization he was finally resigning to selfishness sends a fire of anticipation through your veins. Not wanting to give him any opportunity to rethink it, you scramble to drop down to your knees with a creak of the wood floor beneath you.

He licks his lips the way he always does when he’s on edge. Fiddling with the pants of his crimson devil suit for a moment until his cock springs free, already unbearably hard.

As he runs his gloved finger over your lips, he swallows thickly.

“Open.”

He pushes himself inside your mouth as soon as you part your lips.

A shudder runs through him when he reaches the back of your throat. Then he does as you requested – he takes. Thrusting in and out with no regard to how you’re gagging and choking on his length. His thick thighs offer a stable surface for you to grasp and through your lashes you look up and meet the red eyes of his mask. The eyes of the devil.

And what a devilish sin it is, Matt thinks to himself, to give in so fully to his desires. To fight so hard against his selfless instincts.

Tears spring to your eyes with every rut of his pelvis while your strangled moans encourage him to keep fucking your willing mouth. If he continues at this pace, he knows he will finish before fully having you in the way he wants.

No. The way he needs.

Grasping at your throat, he pulls out from you, heavy boots stomping backward to orient himself. Warm spit dribbles down your chin. You gasp at the now empty space around you and it’s suffocating.

“Still with me?” His breathing is ragged and uneven as he finally speaks again.

“Yes”

He wastes no time, bending down to strip you of your clothes quickly. They flutter over the side of the railing into the living room below. A soft contrast to the plonking sound of his gloves haphazardly being discarded as well and meeting the same fate as your pajamas below.

“Turn around.” he orders with a nod of his chin

Now bare beneath him, you comply and turn to face away. Your hands grasp at the spindles that cage the landing in, also now caging you into his unrestrained desires.

Desperation seeps from your every pore like watercolors bleeding across a canvas, your thundering heartbeat and the slick between your legs alerting Matt’s hypersenses to your readiness. He nudges at your entrance with the head of his cock, not wishing to waste another moment apart from you.

Any remaining shred of control is lost. The sound of his sex meeting yours and the warmth of your arousal is enough to make him lose it. He plunges all the way in with a vicious thrust of his hips, allowing no time for your cunt to adjust. And then he’s desperately rutting into you, breathy little moans escaping with every push of his hips.

“Matthew!” you cry out as satisfying pain burns through you.

The sensation of finally indulging in his own needs and desires first is so foreign to him, to be given so much with no expectation in return. He knows this must truly be what it means to let the devil out - to fully blur the line between man and demon.

The rough woven fabric of his suit burns against your exposed back as his thrusts become harsher. Tonight the praise that usually slips from his lips as your bodies meet is replaced by only harsh moans and grunts.

You’re fully pliable to his touch now, eyes brimming with tears moments away from spilling over your lids and staining your cheeks. He can taste them in the air, as he adjusts his pace and begins pounding into the spot guaranteed to unravel you quickly. Your growing whimpers alerting him that he’s got you exactly where he wants you, teetering towards your undoing. At this point, you’re well aware that he’s toying with you, edging you to your limit for his own gratification, full control over when and how you cum. If that’s the only thing he feels like he can control at this point, you’ll let him have it.

He leans forward to wrap his arm around your front and capture your throat in his grasp while his other hand runs desperately up and down your body, grabbing and groping at every inch of exposed skin.

If this was the intensity at which he patrolled and protected, you understood why the underbelly of this city only dared whisper about the man in the mask. But you weren’t afraid of him letting the devil out. If anything it was relieving to submit fully to his mercy – to fully know the parts of him he so desperately wanted to hide from you.

Reaching above where the two of you are joined, his tepid fingers harshly rub at your clit, coaxing you towards your end almost as furiously as his mind has been racing this evening. He doesn’t miss the cues your body is giving – the arch of your back, the intensified way your cunt is squeezing around him, more and more of you dripping onto him. Knowing the fire within him wont fully extinguish until he feels you meet your release.

You can barely think straight from the sheer intensity of your pleasure as your orgasm floods your system, finally breaking him free of the unruly angst he felt tonight. The vibrations in your chest as you continue to whimper and recover from your high pull him into the abyss along with you. He’s panting harshly as he cums, his whole body shaking as frazzled grunts spill from his lips. Electricity ricocheting between the two of you as he spills deep inside, finally placating the burning itch.

A new pain appears (in addition to the ache in your knees and the releasing tension of your muscles) the horns of his devil mask poking into your shoulder blades as he rests his forehead on your exposed back. His grip releases from your throat to find the hand you have clutched to the spindles, lacing his fingers with yours.

The stabbing of the horns are quickly replaced by featherlight kisses. Calmness washes over him in a tidal wave with the act of giving pleasure to flesh, not pain. It feels like an eternity until he finally pulls himself from you, his breathing now steady and even.

“C’mon, let’s get cleaned up” he speaks, almost in a whisper, as he paws at your soft flesh, assisting you to your feet and gingerly guiding you down the stairs.

A warm shower and a massage of your shoulders later, you’re snuggled together under silk sheets, not daring to give in to the sleep you both desperately need. Afterall, the harsh cries of your morning alarm are any moment away.

Matt holds you near, running long circles with his hands up and down the exposed flesh of your arms and back. As he embraces you, he marvels at how easily you offered yourself to him tonight and how willingly you gave, just as he does in nearly every aspect of his life. The thought grounds him, more than being buried inside you already has.

The pink and blue glows of the night time billboard through the large, loft windows are now washed away with the warmth of morning sunlight and the last signs of the devil inside finally dissipate with the rising sun.

NEXT CHAPTER

[heyidkyay]

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name

Part Six

A/n: Another update!! Things are finally coming to a head, or are they?

So grateful for all the lovely feedback this series is currently getting, glad so many people are liking it!! The ending here is a bit abrupt but necessary I think, so I only hope you enjoy!:) X

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

--

To G💋: 

Freddie’s @3?

That message had been received well over an hour ago now, after I’d struggled back and forth on whether or not to actually press send. 

In the end, Matty had made the decision for me and all but hustled me out of the front door and into his car after doing so.

He’d driven straight to mine, the fry up he’d just ordered in had come along with us for the ride too, and we’d spent the rest of our morning talking it all over, hashing out the pros and cons. 

Matty had only left me alone once he’d laid out some clothes for me and made sure that I was freshly showered. It all should’ve been rather amusing, him mothering me, but to be frank I’d all but tossed him out on his arse the first chance I got. His blatant anxiety was like a live wire fraying at the edges and had not helped my own in the slightest.

I texted him now, nerves getting the better of me. My thumbs danced across the screen before my eyes darted back up to the familiar yellow door I was stood outside of. 

I’m here Feeling so!! fucking!! pathetic!! Why are you making me do this again?? Help:(

I huffed and tugged a hand through my hair. I had not picked the best day to wear it down, the wind was unforgiving and seemingly had a mind of its own, unable to simply leave me be as it flew in every available direction. 

Stepping towards the curb, I scanned the surrounding street. Freddie’s was one of the cutest little cafe’s Highgate had to offer, with its bright yellow trimmings and earthy green accents. It was also familiar territory for George and I, a place local enough that it had once been our regular, and not too far from mine now that I could easily just leave, head home, and hide if this all went tits up. 

Yeah… I didn’t just feel pathetic. Apparently, I was.

I had to hold in a pitiful groan at the very thought, thankfully though I was distracted by Matty’s incoming reply.

Ratty🖤: 

You are Pathetic that is But if you leave without tlking to him I will get Ross to tie you up and lock you in a room together

Well, wasn’t that a vivid image.

I could only wonder how both Ross and George would react to that notion.

Kinky.

Was what I texted back, unable to help my quiet snort. 

Matty just replied with a rolling eyes emoji that had me chuckling to myself. It was in that moment that George made me aware of his arrival, causing me to whip around at the sudden hand I felt brace my shoulder.

“Why do you keep doing that!” I accused with a rather aggravated huff, hand now over my racing heart as I glanced down at the phone I’d nearly just dropped. 

“Doing what?” George questioned me but the mirth which lined his voice already gave way to the fact that he knew exactly what I was on about. I scowled up at him whilst he gifted me a light laugh of his own, hands now pocketed in the depths of his coat as he tilted his head in the direction of the shop’s entrance. “We headed in then, or does the pavement suit you just fine?”

With a mocking smile I glanced over towards the door. I swallowed down the sudden hysteria, then evidently nodded. Guess it was time to face the music. 

I tried to rationalise things as I trailed in behind him, ignoring the bout of butterflies I felt when he held the door open for me, and when he offered to order for the both of us whilst I nabbed a table.

George though, was none the wiser of my inner turmoil.

Almost on autopilot, I moved throughout the crowded space of the cafe having felt like I’d been caught in some sort of whirlwind. I took a seat in a booth near the back, leaving the opposing chair (facing away from the crowd) free for George to take, whilst I tried not to pay any attention to the nerves which were firing through my body.

I looked for something else to focus on, taking a couple of deep breaths whilst I waited. I attempted to distract myself with my phone, a few late birthday messages had come through in the time I’d had it pocketed, but I swiped them all away, just like the I’d done with all the others. Nothing else really caught my attention after that though and ultimately I just decided to switch the entire thing off.

It was then that I rubbed at my temples and glanced up at the rest of the cafe. It hadn’t changed much in the time I’d been away, they’d ordered in a couple of new table covers from what I could see, and had added a few new prints to the far wall, but that was about it. I wondered if they’d done anything to the menu, if they still did those chocolate almond croissants I’d been ever so fond of. The very thought gave me an immediate craving for them.

I tried to people watch, crossing my left leg over my right as I surveyed the few other patrons, but my gaze just kept on trailing back to the one person I was waiting on, who appeared to tower above the rest of the others stood in the queue.

George looked much better than he had last night as he’d been leaving, as though the daylight had taken the time to sharpen his every feature. He wore a pair of battered blue jeans that were slightly cuffed at the ankle, exposing more of the heavy black docs he had on his feet. The jeans were of a looser fit but they were snug in all the right places. 

As expected, he had his torso wrapped up in a multitude of layers. A white tee to start with, which clung to every curve of his upper body and was showcased by the light linen shirt he’d paired over top. Then to ward off the slight chill that was in the air he’d also chosen to throw on a boxy denim jacket too, one which had been showered in all types of patterns and prints.

It seemed as though George had stepped up his game a bit since we’d last been together, back then it was all skinny jeans and funny shirts you’d expect your dad to be wearing whilst manning the grill in summer.

I couldn’t seem to help my soft smile as I contemplated what other small details he might’ve changed. But then he glanced over at me and I had to try and act nonchalant, as if I hadn’t been blatantly staring.

I adverted my eyes and cleared my throat, acting as though the nearby wall was of sudden interest. It’s brickwork was rather detailed, but that was about as fascinating as it got.

It wasn’t long before George was making his way over to me, sliding into the seat opposite. It humoured me a little to see him having to squeeze himself into one of these things again, his legs still too long to fit comfortably beneath the tabletop.

“Forgot to ask what you fancied, so I just got your usual.” He said and gestured towards the tray he’d brought over. I peered down at what he’d ordered and couldn’t fight the warmth that flooded my chest.

A cup of milky English tea, prepared just the way I liked it, was perched in the corner, and plated beside it was the same chocolate almond croissant I’d just been thinking of.

“You remembered.”

I found myself saying. My voice a faint murmur that must have held some surprise, enough to colour George’s face with confusion. 

“Yeah?” His forehead furrowed ever so slightly. “Why, did you think I’d forget?” He asked with a smug smile. “Practically engrained in my mind after that one weekend last summer- when you’d been sick and all you would eat were these things and those cheap supermarket digestives.”

George snorted at the thought as his sentence trailed off, already moving things around so that he could place the tray to one side. I had to join him with a silent chuckle of my own.

“You still like them then? Those biscuits.” He clarified when I rose a brow in retort, I shook my head at his question.

“No, uh,” I bit my lip and had to laugh a little, “A couple weeks back I got a little obsessed with them all over again, had them for breakfast, lunch, would snack on them constantly… Matty actually ended up buying a bulk load of them and we ate so many in one sitting that we sort of got sick of them. He can’t even think about them now without pulling this weird face.”

George gave me a quirked smile, his eyes humorous. “Kind of like when he hates something on a track? That almost constipated, questioning a funny smell sort of look?”

“Yes! Exactly that.” I giggled, nodding away again. “It’s so funny to watch. Sometimes I mention them just for pleasure of seeing it again.”

He smirked, looking over at me. “Can imagine.”

It was then that I caught the big grin I’d been wearing and had to dim it down a watt. I dragged in a slow breath as I pulled my cup over towards me, “So how’ve you been then? We didn’t really get time to talk much yesterday, properly I mean…”

George winced a fraction and released a heavy breath. His eyes trailed over towards the window as he shrugged. “Just trying to keep busy, I suppose.”

My head bobbed, “Yeah, Matt and Ross mentioned working in the studio again.”

George hummed in return, fiddling with the handle of his mug now. “Jamie’s looking forward to the next album but I don’t know, I’m not feeling it as of yet.”

He glanced over at me then and the smile I wore was sincere, understanding. I remember how much he used to wind himself up over the production of every album, unsure on what songs to use and to scrap.

“It’ll all work out, always does.”

“Maybe.” George replied but the look he had in his eyes threw me a bit, as though he was thinking of something else entirely. I went to question him,m about it, but he beat me to the punch. “Anyway, how about you? You’ve been spending a lot of time with Matty lately.”

“He been talking about me again?” I quipped light-heartedly, but George’s response was almost the opposite.

“Yeah, doesn’t stop actually.”

I frowned. “Oh. Well, he’s just been a really good mate as of late. Was struggling with things for a while…”

George’s expression changed again then, only faintly, anyone else wouldn’t have even noticed it but I’d known him for far too long now. I hurried to soften the blow a bit.

“Erm, just things at work fell through and then some other stuff, spent a load of time held up at home. Matty helped me out, got me functioning again.”

George looked as though he wanted to prod a little further, get a bit more out of me. But that was a wound I wasn’t willing to reopen here and now.

“But these last couple of weeks I’ve been helping out down at this flower shop. It’s been a massive change of pace.” I told him, and it was true. 

I’d gone through a tough period after having been let go from my last job at an advertising company. I’d been one of their best designers (not to blow my own horn) and worked long and hard hours. But then sales had depleted rapidly and the business had gone bust. They’d started tossing off the dead weight on an already sinking ship way before things had really gone sideways. I’d been one of the first lot to go.

Which ultimately meant that I’d been made redundant for a while, but thankfully it was only for a short term.

The flower shop up on the high street had been advertising for a new hire and I’d just so happened to have been walking past and seen it. It had good pay and after they’d interviewed me and called me back with an offer, I’d been so relieved to have a steady income again that I didn’t really care for the fact that it was so completely different to what I’d been doing before.

“A flower shop?” George quizzed, his expression tinted with shock, only seen in the sudden squint of his eyes. 

I grinned, “Not what you’d expect, huh? But I’ve sort of fallen in love with it. Plus, I still get to design there too. I remade all their business cards and pamphlets, redesigned the website, and I still get to decorate the shop’s window each week.” I explained to him, prattling away. “At the moment, I’ve been working on this chalk mural for next weeks display, it’s spring themed, full of all sorts of flower arrangements.”

George just blinked back at me.

“I, sorry. I just did not expect that…” He commented after an audible pause, “Thought you loved your job, remember it being the reason you wouldn’t tour with us for too long.”

I was quick to nod back at him. “I did love it. But things changed and I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I’m grateful for what happened though. Happier for it.”

He dipped his head slowly in response then drank from his cup. “That’s good then. I’m happy for you.”

I smiled and broke off a piece of my croissant, being careful as I dipped it into my tea, George immediately made a face. 

“What?” I laughed, peering over at him, mouth hidden behind a hand as I chewed. He shook his head in silent reply, casting his eyes away, and so I prodded, “No, go on! What is it?”

He rolled his eyes at me wearing a smile he couldn’t seem to dampen. “Just that.” He waved a hand between me and my plate. “Used to drive me mad. I’d be washing up back at the flat and suddenly I’d pick up a cup half full of soggy bread.”

I wrinkled my nose, trying not to grin. “It’s good! It’s what makes it all gooey and warm.”

“Just ask for it to be heated then!” George defended, his voice raised a tad as a chuckle spilled from his mouth. 

“They’re two different types of textures!”

He merely shook his head as he went to take another sip of his coffee. “Still so stubborn, I swear.”

I hummed happily, “That’s why you-”

The smile I’d been wearing then instantly slipped off my lips as I stopped myself short. A certain dread filled me at the realisation of what I’d just been about to say.

George raised a brow, “Why what?”

I fixed my stare on the plate before me and picked aimlessly at the pastry. Then waved his question off, gravitating back towards my tea. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter now.”

He frowned and went to pester me again, but in that single second my entire world seemed to shift and turn on its head. 

I froze at the sight which played out before me and almost dropped my cup at the immediate shock that ripped its way through my body.

I struggled to remember how to breathe.

George was quick to reach out and steady my arm though, saving me from a harsh scolding and the spillage I’d been setting myself up for. 

“Shit! You alright?” He fussed, up and out of the booth in a flash, settling the tea I’d been holding back down on the table then grabbing a fistful of napkins to wipe up the small puddle I’d made. "What happened?"

I opened my mouth to answer him but no sound came out. 

I couldn’t find it in me to reply. To form a coherent sentence. 

Every word I’d ever known had simply left me.

But that seemed to be an ongoing theme today. Because…

“Mum?” I croaked out. 

Part seven>

[theeblackmedusa]

great mistakes 5/7 {attoye}

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4

ao3 link

summary: "loving you had been my greatest mistake, but it's a mistake i'd make a million times."

pairing: okoye x attuma

warnings: angst if you squint, not quite smut but sexual content

a/n: i remixed some of the sirens' abilities bc i don't know if what i wrote is accurate to any kind of lore, but it works for this story so hopefully it isn't too far off.

a/n 2: once again, my keep reading option does not work, so i apologize for how lengthy this post is.

Attuma woke up at an ungodly hour, head full of swirling thoughts. He couldn't grasp why everything was moving so fast, what could have driven a weak surface dweller to even think of going against the alliance. He was no fan of the surface world, but he knew that the Wakandans were smart enough to not attack them. Both sides knew it was not a war that Wakanda could win. 

He stood and began pacing, attempting to put pieces of a jumbled puzzle together. The pieces, however, weren't clicking. No matter how many times he played it over in his mind, the why did not make sense. He was even having trouble with the how. Talokan was packed full of trained fighters, it was practically a requirement. From the time they could walk, they were learning to defend themselves and their nation. He could think back to his days as a young trainee, just a child being taught to throw his first punch. He and Namora had spent most of their childhood sparring with each other and trying to prove who would dominate the next generation of Talokanil warriors. He remembered the two of them always throwing fits if they lost to the other, claiming that they'd been cheated of a win. Young Namora claiming that Attuma's siren song was unnaturally powerful and Young Attuma that Namora kept giving him visions that distracted him. 

And just like that, the pieces connected. It made sense, how a Talokanil could fall so easily. Namora's involvement was the only way that it would make sense. He wasted no time finding her, blood boiling as he made his way to Namora's quarters. He'd shocked her by throwing the door open as he entered, making her whip around and throw a spear in his direction at the possibility of an attacker in her home. He caught it quickly before throwing it down, the tip jamming into the ground.

"Who did you give the vision to?" he questioned accusingly, voice raised to a level that was rare for his relatively calm demeanor. "You made the Wakandan kill him!"

Namora's brow raised and she cocked her head to the side, looking at him without portraying any notion that she knew what he was talking about. 

"What do you speak of, Attuma?" she sighed, turning back to her mirror to finish the braid she'd been working on before he'd stormed into her home. 

"Do not insult my intelligence, Namora! Which Wakandan was it?" 

She shook her head, finishing the braid's end and turning back to him when she was satisfied with how it looked. 

"I would never dare to do such a thing," she played, eyes rolling at his confidence. 

"Do you not understand the graveness of the situation you have created?" he questioned, only praying that he can get through to her and save both nations the unavoidable casualties that will come with another war. "You must fix this or the alliance will fail. People will die, our people!" 

Namora shook her head, inhaling deeply. She figured there was no longer a point in trying to hide her doings from Attuma. He knew her too well for that. Maybe she'd even be able to convince him that she'd done the right thing, that K'uk'ulkan and the alliance were going to drive Talokan into the ground. 

"This alliance was a mistake from the very beginning," she began. "It was bound to fall apart, and all I have done is give Talokan the opportunity to come out on top." 

She turned back to him and turned her head to the side, eyeing him intensely. Namora was smart enough to know what is curiosity was about. Not too long ago, Attuma would not have hesitated to follow her lead had she done something like this. Hell, he would probably be the one leading. This change of heart obviously came from his allowing Okoye to get inside of his head, to change his priorities. 

"You need to get your head on straight, Attuma," Namora told him. "She is not as devoted to you as you are to her. She will kill you if she must. Will you be able to kill your precious warrior when the time comes?"

She was well aware that Attuma loved hard and that if he was as in deep with Okoye as Namora figured he was, there was no way that he would be the one to drive a blade into her back if the opportunity arose. His silence spoke for him and he stood defensively in front of her before taking a few steps toward her. Before he could threaten her, she was shaking her head at him. 

"She has made you weak, Attuma, but it is an easy fix." 

"Namora, if you so much as-"

She laughed at him before sighing, bringing a hand up to condescendingly pat his shoulder.

"Your warrior will be safe. For now," she told him. "When she is to die, it will be honorably. She has earned a warrior's death, and I will happily to provide it to her. It will be nothing personal. It will be for the good of Talokan." 

For a moment, he contemplated explaining it all to K'uk'ulkan, wondered if he would be able to convince him now that his heart had already been turned in the direction of war. He inhaled, knowing that the chances were slim with Namora already in K'uk'ulkan's ear. He knew the only way to bring an end to the madness, but that way was currently giving him the silent treatment. He was determined to fix it, though. Attuma decided that he would have to make his way to Wakanda, deal with the stares he'd get from her Border Tribe as he made his way to her home. 

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

Okoye had woken up earlier normal and could hardly think straight from sleep deprivation. The entirety of her night had either been spent missing Attuma or fearing her future in Wakanda if she sided with Shuri. The journaling was of no use because whenever she tried to open up the vault of her worries, she couldn't stop thinking about if she was any better than W'Kabi if she decided to follow through with Shuri's plan. He'd betrayed the throne and she was very close to doing the same, so what was separating them? The good of Wakanda? That was W'Kabi's same argument. Okoye was so used to knowing what to do, strategizing and finding a way around potential problems, but this felt impossible. 

Okoye let the water fall over her body, head submerged completely as the water streamed from the shower. Her mind never gave her a break from memories of her failings constantly flashing through her head.

"Isidenge," she muttered. Idiot. 

She ran her hands over her face, wiping away the water as she mentally berated her past self as she replayed asking Queen Mother to let Shuri tag along. She should have known Shuri wasn't ready, should've anticipated that Talokan was as strong as Namor had threatened in the beginning. She should've done a lot of things different.

A tear ran down Okoye's cheek and she wiped it immediately before turning the shower off, beginning to feel lightheaded from the steam. She stepped out of the shower carefully, wrapping herself in her towel and cracking the bathroom door open to let out some of the steam in the room. She turned the cold water on and began splashing it in in her face to try and cool down momentarily.

As she reached for a paper towel to dry her soaked face, she heard a familiar rapping coming from her back door. She was alert immediately. There was a part inside of her that knew very well that he would never bring her any more harm than he'd done before their involvement with each other began, but she couldn't help the small twinge of doubt that struck her whenever she thought of trusting him now.

Okoye inhaled deeply, making her way to the door and looking out to be greeted by him holding up the same goat that had been stalking him only days before. Her brows furrowed as she realized she was unable to see M20 anywhere in sight. He'd been stationed right outside of her home and now he'd suddenly disappeared. As if on queue, she heard the great beast growl for Attuma's attention before coming into view in the small viewing hole. 

"You get no more fruit! You have eaten all that I had for you!" Attuma voiced, turning to the animal, not letting his guard down after denying such a dangerous thing food. 

M20 growled again, and although Okoye knew that he wouldn't attack Attuma because of his familiarity with the man, she opened the door to save Attuma the fear. His head snapped when he heard the door creak. She pulled her towel tighter around her under his gaze. 

"Release my goat," she commanded, ignoring the way his eyes were dragging down her barely covered body. Attuma obliged by gently placing it on the ground behind him and watching as it ran free. "Why are you here, and what have you done to take down M20's guard?" 

"We need to speak and I did a small amount of research. The beast does not eat meat," he answered confidently, proud to show off his newfound knowledge to Okoye. "May I come in?" 

She shook her head in disbelief at him and began to close the door in his face, which was Attuma's final straw. He didn't have it in him anymore to go another moment with her holding any kind of disdain for him. The larger man blocked the door with his hand and kept it open, keeping his face within view in the crack of the door. 

"Attuma-"

"Let me speak. Please."

Okoye took in his pleading eyes. She could tell that he was trying. That explaining would mean a lot to him. The woman inhaled deeply in preparation for whatever it was he had to say to her. 

"Well go on," she instructed impatiently, trying to avoid his gaze as he stared at her with those dark eyes that had a tendency to make her heart melt.

"Namora has...a gift. She has been using it to her advantage since we were small. This mess, it was of her doing. She caused the murder." 

Okoye's eyes narrowed at him, but she released the door and stepped aside to allow him in and give him the opportunity to speak. He'd intrigued her now.

"It was not a murder," she corrected, backing further away from the door as he entered her home. 

"I was unaware that it had happened. I never misled you," he told her, his eyes letting her see his sincerity. They always held the truth. "It was not until I came to K'uk'ulkan that I knew of any tensions. I have recently confronted Namora, and I am sure that she is behind it." 

She could believe it. Although, her belief would be solely based off of what Attuma had told her of Namora, how she never wished for the alliance, how she'd do anything to keep Talokan safe. Okoye respected that, respected her dedication to her country, but she was sure she didn't have it in her to spark an entire war for Wakanda. It was extreme, but it wasn't hard to believe that Namora could go to that extreme and even exceed it. 

"You went along with Namor's plan to kill our brother after you knew. You helped spill Wakandan blood, my blood without any explanation," she pointed out, trying to find more reasons to keep him at a distance. 

"He is my king. I must obey the throne the same as you," he responded, taking a step closer to her and refusing to let her distance him any more than she already had. 

She wanted to leave, wanted to escape, but that wasn't an option for her. How could she when Shuri was about to make a decision that could truly mean the end of Wakanda? This, she decided, would be her chance to redeem herself. To who, she wasn't sure, but she needed to figure out another plan. A plan that wouldn't provoke Namor any further and push their nations past the breaking point.

She wondered if Attuma ever thought about straying away, how much sacrifice would be too much for him? What would be the straw to break the great Attuma's back? 

Okoye turned from him and walked into her living room, hearing his heavy footsteps ringing behind her. 

"It never ends does it? There is always something to deal with," she sighed, taking a seat on her couch. 

Attuma sat beside her quietly. She was right. The life they'd chosen didn't provide breaks. Something was always happening even if they weren't major somethings. But in that moment, he knew that if anyone deserved even a second of peace, it was her. He wasn't sure she'd had a break in her entire career with the way that she pushed herself in every aspect of life. 

"What if we simply forget for a moment?" he questioned, hands coming to her shoulders. 

Okoye sighed at his touch, not realizing just how much she'd missed it until it was there again.

"We do not get to forget. All we get to do is handle things," she responded. 

"Then we will handle it together," he suggested softly. "By each other's side. We will handle it." 

She turned to look at him with a raised brow, finding it difficult to believe that he could ever step outside of his duty just to try and figure out the mess that their countries had found themselves in. 

"Oh, will we?" she questioned, earning a nod in response, his gentle touch making its way from her shoulders down to her arms. 

"We will. We will handle it and the rest of the world together." 

She looked in his eyes once more and found nothing but his honesty, and Bast, she hated him for it. She hated him for being so honest and for caring so much and for making everything okay even though it was as far from okay as possible. She turned away from his gaze, closing her eyes and laughed lightly in disbelief. For all of that "hatred", it paled in comparison to the way she "hated" him for being her weakness. 

"Exactly how will we do that?" she asked him softly. "How will we handle this situation between our nations? More people are going to die."

"We can figure that part out later," he told her. "For now, we take a moment to forget." 

Okoye heard the click of his mask and saw his large hand resting it on her coffee table out of the corner of her eye before he craned his head down to press a feathery kiss to her shoulder, causing her to huff in amusement. 

"Attuma, we have been through this before. I will not break, you do not have to handle me as if I am made of glass," she insisted, a small smile forming.

"You can be delicate, Okoye. Your guard does not have to be up all of the time," he told her, voice lowering as he spoke to her. "You are allowed softness." 

"Softness is a luxury that I cannot afford," she told him, earning a disapproving grunt. 

"You can afford it. You just refuse to invest in it." 

Her eyes rolled. He had so much wisdom about him and she could hardly stand it. Another thing she "hated" him for. The two of them let silence fall over them for a few moments before he spoke again.

"I could not spend another moment with you unable to look at me, Okoye," he told her solemnly. "I need you to understand that I..." 

He trailed off, but Okoye nodded. She didn't need him to finish to know what he was going to say. They'd spoken it a thousand times without having to say anything at all. Okoye nodded at his silent declaration and allowed herself to sink into his touch, letting the silence wash over them once more as he peppered kisses along her shoulder blade. 

"I am sorry about Aneka. She is very protective of those she is close to," Okoye finally spoke, getting a short laugh out of him. 

Attuma pulled her closer to him, chin resting on her shoulder as he recalled Aneka's earlier threat. He figured he'd forgive her given that she didn't know the entirety of the situation, didn't know that he was willing to put his life on the line for her friend. 

"I understand," he told her. "You are worth protecting." 

Okoye's heart fluttered at that and she slowly turned her face to his, pressing her forehead to his. 

"As are you," she replied quietly, lips ghosting over his before he finally connected them, taking her in like it had been years since their last encounter with each other. 

Okoye decided to take the moment to forget, to have a break. She would figure it all out in the morning. How she could keep Shuri from making the most detrimental mistake of her life and how to keep Thandiwe alive would be business for later. For now, she decided it was okay that he drew a laugh from her when he picked her up, knowing she liked to walk on her own. The sound of it rang like music as he pressed kisses to her neck and made way to her bedroom. It almost felt unnatural to rip herself from her duties for a small moment of joy but she allowed it, allowed him to take her mind off of everything because he was the only one that seemed to be able to pull her away from all the things she felt so permanently attached to.

The spent the rest of their evening together tangled in each other, the sound of her soft gasps and his low grunts filling the room as they indulged in their moment of forgetting the rest of the world. 

When she pulled his face down to hers for a kiss, he let her take him in for a moment, not sure that anybody else in the world other than her really mattered anymore. Attuma broke the kiss, saw her eyes flutter shut as he pushed against a sensitive spot inside of her. His hand came to her cheek gently and turned her head before her leaned down to press soft kisses along the side of her face and temple. Slowly, he dragged his lips over to her ear, whispering in Mayan as his hips snapped into her. 

Okoye tightened her grip on his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life as he continued to chant quietly in her ear. She was still learning, but she knew enough to piece together what he was repeating like a prayer as he buried himself inside of her. 

My love. My heart. My life. My warrior.

taglist: @simpingforclaudette @amidalis @angel-of-death-2015 @amber-plans @goodluckdumbfuck @mikastarr222 @abbyeliza28 @skysynclair19 @midethefangirl @sunshinescribes

[meetmyothersouls]

Can you do something like pay attention to me but when it says [[“God, you’re so fucking needy. Grow up.” He shoved past you, leaving the bedroom and headed for the living room]] instead of turning to smut is just ANGST like timothee is an asshole and she feels like shit but then he realizes and feels very guilty?? and maybe a happy ending and some comfort?? <3

The Same Mistakes

Warnings: angst, fighting/arguing, self inflicted injuries, toxic relationship??, language

"God," you heard him huff under his breath. You'd been arguing for the last two hours, neither of you getting anywhere.

"What?" You snapped.

"Nothing, forget it."

Timothee attempted to walk past you, but you stopped him. Shoving his chest lightly. He backed away, running his fingers through his hair with one hand, while keeping the other in a tight fist.

"Say it," you pushed him. "Don't be a fucking pussy."

That did it.

He snapped, knocking a bowl of decorative rocks off the coffee table. They slung across the floor, clinking loudly and rapidly as each one landed.

"You're so fucking needy with your constant calls and texts. I just - God," he ran his hands down his face, his eyes pulling downward as he did, "I wish you'd grow the fuck up and leave me alone sometimes."

The room spun slightly as he shoved past you with heavy footsteps, trudging into the bedroom you shared with him. He slammed the door with such force, it made the apartment shake.

Normally, you wouldn't chase after him, you'd give him space. Time to breathe, but this was different. This felt different.

You were at the door in seconds, pounding your fist against the wood, hard enough to ensure there'd be bruises on your knuckles tomorrow. Good. You wanted him to see them, and you wanted him to feel bad.

You knocked until you drew blood. Small splatters of red stained the white of your bedroom door.

"God damn it, Timothee let me in! This is my bedroom too, fucker!"

You switched hands, the other becoming too raw to continue knocking with and when that hand looked identical to the other, you stopped. You turned your back to the door and slid down, not caring about the blood that smeared down the door or stained your shirt.

"You know," you said out loud, not knowing if he could hear you from the other side of the door. "You really make me hate myself sometimes," you paused, letting out a sarcastic chuckle as you inspected your bloodied knuckles. "Why do we continue to do this, Timothee? Why do you continue to do this?"

"Do what?"

You jumped, not expecting an answer, and judging from the closeness of his voice, he was sitting directly behind you on the other side of the door you just spent thirty minutes pounding on.

"Continue to be in a relationship you're clearly ready to be out of."

He was silent, but you heard the back of his head hit the back of the door lightly, like he was thinking of an answer.

"Is that what you think?" He responded, finally.

"You make it pretty obvious."

Timothee's fingers slipped under the small crack underneath the door, brushing against yours, as if that was the only notion he could muster after such a fight. You pulled your hand away.

"I'm sorry, y/n," Timothee said, softly. You heard him shift against the door, followed by the small click of the lock. "Come in and let me make it better."

You stood and before you had the chance to speak, he opened the door, pulling you against his body. He held you tightly even though you pushed against him.

"Timothee," you whined. "We can't keep doing this."

"We can. We can, y/n." His hands slid from your back to your face, pulling it up to look at him. "I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. I don't deserve you, but I can't live without you." His voice was soft and angelic and completely different from the voice in the living room.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he took the opportunity to cover it with his. His lips slid against yours both dominantly and effortlessly. He owned you in a way that you couldn't describe, and that wasn't a fight you'd ever win...and maybe part of you didn't ever want to win it.

"I love you," Timothee whispered when he finally stopped kissing you. "I love you with everything that I am and everything that I ever will be."

"Timothee-" "Please," he interrupted. "Just tell me you love me. Tell me you love me, and I'll make it better. I'll change."

He said that the last time.

"I love you," he said again.

He'll say it again next time.

"I love you, Timothee."

And you'll keep saying it back.

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp

[cigarette-room]

since you are a med student(if i remenber correctly) what is your favourite part of it?

Oh my god, everything. Genuinely. I have grown to like this so much.

Ok so for a little background, I study in the Balkans, and the regime of medical studies there is you go to a highschool, any highschool, then you apply for uni and you go to a uni 6 years pass all relevant exams then a license exam and you're a doctor. Which is relevant because first 3 of those 6 years are academic years (theoretical exams, not any touch with the patient) and the last 3 are pent on clinical subjects, rotating on internal medicine and surgery and neurology and psychiatry and dermatology and forensic medicine and ophthalmology and radiology and *lists 300 other things*

So the first 3 years I couldn't wait for it to be over. Genuinely. I wanted to do real medicine stuff and COVID was in full swing and it all was so goddamn hard! But now I'm on year 5 and I love this all so much you have no idea

Now I love everything. I love when I anseer a professor's question correctly. I love when we smile and a patient smiles back, I love when we look at scans and notice the right thing in the right moment, I love wearing scrubs. I love the sweet old women and funny old men who are always the most eager to let you do a check-up because you kids have to learn from somewhere. I love when I pass an exam barely enough that I go phew, I almost failed that but one less! We pushed through! I loved rotating bones in my arms. I loved touching a human heart, a human brain, and then having an existential crisis later. I loved when the first autopsy I did I went back home and cried because I was so overwhelmed with the notion that this grandma was a human with so many stories to tell and I felt so grateful to her, in a way, and to the 9 people who donated their remains so we could have learned on them years earlier. I love psychiatry, a lot, and I loved attending additional classes that I didn't have to attend just for the nicest professor in the world to discuss with us how it is to work in prison. I love the pauses for coffee with my colleagues. And the first time we were carrying newborn little baby up to the neonatology department and spent an hour watching the nurses make little bundles off of them and how 15 of them in two rows were all sleeping at the same time (can u believe. Crazy I know). I loved when we spent hours in the basements of the big clinical centres in the rain just listening to our professor explain radiology to us. And when I held a dying patient's hand while we did a last check-up and the doctor then led us all into a room and held the most tearful, most important, lesson on end-of-life care. I loved every time we went into an operating room. And I loved every little encouragement I got from doctors and nurses and fellow students around me.

Long answer, I'm so sorry 😭❤️ there's too much things I wanted to say

[shardofhope-fanfic]

Jimmothy. (2021, May- 2024, March, 7th)

I don't know if it's hilarious, or morbid that Jimmothy and his brother passed at the exact same time in my life. I don't mean a date, or anything so specific. But they left me during the transitory periods of my life when I had time to dedicate to them without any other worries. When Juice Box passed, it was too soon. I fought the reaper tooth and nail to give him more. He died short of his second birthday.

Jimmothy was made of tougher stuff than that, I suppose, but the march of time will wear us all down. Rats have it rougher than us, as after two years, their nerves began to fray and fail. I knew he was getting old in December when he began to waddle. Hind Leg degeneration had begun. I thought it would be different, this time. A slow decline into a peaceful death. I had time to come to terms with it. I thought it would be easier.

This monday, he seemed slightly off. He was still eating, but very little. All he wanted was apple sauce and attention, and I made an appointment for him to get checked out on Thursday. Not for any notion that I could keep him alive for much longer, but to make him comfortable.

Tuesday, he had stopped eating altogether and took a rapid downturn, only wanting to sleep, and occasionally cuddle. Strange, considering he was as independent as a rat could be. He hated being handled and coddled. And would only allow extended petting when he rode around on my shoulder like a pirate. Boys always tended to be, but that's what I loved about them. They were little teenagers, constantly embarrassed by their "Dad" being around, except when I fed them of course.

Later in the night, I knew that he wasn't long for this world. His hind legs had completely given up the ghost, and I couldn't coax him to even drink water. I thought it would be easier. It was not. I cried my eyes out like it was the first time I held him. I was so convinced that he would be gone in the morning, so I slept, getting mentally ready for burying the last of my first pair.

Yet he was still there in the morning, so my surprise. All that preparation crumbled in a moment, and I spent most of the day crying, petting him, and fretting over making him comfortable. I made a bed for him on my desk. I cried more, and I thought that maybe he would make it to the vet.

I spent an hour petting him as I listened to my records, holding him in my arms like I used to do when he was young as he rested. I made my peace then, I thought he may linger for a few more days and gently put him away to use the restroom.

by the time I got back, he was gone. died in the 3 min it took me to take a piss and wash my hands. His brother, of course, did the exact same thing to me.

In my heart, I feel like he was helping me get over him before I had to put him to rest. That he knew how upset I would be, how much I loved the little bastard and wanted to spend some time with me before his time was up. I like to think that, instead of he just wanted to die alone.

Either way, he was an important part of my life. Bought as a paid with his brother, during some of the worst years in my life. I'm better than I was then, healthier and happier, despite everything. Yet....Yet I feel a little lost, without them. Without my boys.

This doesn't even feel like a eulogy to me, more an explanation of what happened, and how much I miss him already. Yet, it feels like the best way to show what he was. He was a stubborn bastard who always wanted his way, despite whatever it was. But he loved everyone, even still.

Even still. I want him to have a little of the immortality that the internet provides, and thus, I write this. In the end, his stubbornness was a gift to me, giving me the time to spend some last moments with a pet I loved with all my heart.

Goodbye, my little bastard. I'll miss you.

[bomberqueen17]

packing for journey

so Dude in his infinite wisdom booked us tickets that go out on a Tuesday and come back on a Thursday and then we just both took both weeks off work. This is new for me, I’m used to a like, “leave right after work” aesthetic. i once went straight to work after getting off a redeye from California. So this is a very, very new notion for me, this concept of like, taking one’s time.

I have not packed yet. I spent the entire weekend working industriously on like. The wrong things. It’s okay but like. I became preoccupied with making sure my travel first aid kit had literally everything I could possibly need, correctly apportioned and labeled. I repackaged things into smaller containers. That started getting out of hand; I dug out some old tins, an old Altoids tin got filled with Tums. A cleaned-out lip balm tin was refilled with ibuprofen. (My first aid kit is meant to zip kinda flat and open like a folder so my old method of film canisters for medication didn’t work great.) I found a tiny holder for ear plugs. I emptied a small 2.5-oz squeezy bottle of hand sanitizer that expired in 2014, rinsed it well, and refilled it with aloe after-sun gel. i couldn’t find laundry powder so I had to buy laundry detergent concentrate and I couldn’t find a good small container for that in plastic so it’s in a glass bottle but I‘m sure that will be fine.

I set out to sort my jewelry into sets to wear with specific outfits, but was defeated by not having packed outfits yet. I also had got tiny containers for the purpose but they weren’t the right shape for some of the jewelry. So I wound up just unpacking and re-packing the tin I’ve been carrying around all year with the jewelry I like to wear, with actual matched sets of things that maybe coordinate with outfits I’m bringing. We’ll see.

(I did start packing clothes. I finished the hem on the black linen Rockwell dress. I want to do a little more hand-sewing to finish the sleeve edges on that, and to get the waistband put together, but it’s done apart from that.) 

It got out of hand by the end of the night. I had a great little ripstop nylon velcro pouch with a carabiner, see-- they come on tripods we sell at work, holding little allen wrenches to adjust the tripods, and when we have a defective one sometimes the manufacturer doesn’t want them back so we throw them out, and I took the little carabiner-bag first because it’s perfectly good. And I’ve been looking at this thing trying to figure out what should go in it, for ages. And then I was fidgeting and the big 3″ bobby pins I use to hold my braids up are exactly the length to fit in that thing, so I put them in there, and then I attached it to my purse so that I will always have a bobby pin easy to hand, and this was so hilarious to me I could not stop laughing about it. So i took a break.

But now the plane leaves in 24 hours and I have some packing to do but all the laundry is dry now, the suitcases are laid out, the bag of summer clothes i collected has been retrieved, and I’m ready to start thinking about it.

I also made my lens selections and charged my camera and cleared off my camera memory cards and such. So. We’re getting there.

OH and i also installed the Colombia pack for my Bird ID app (Merlin). Excited about that too.

[theladyofbloodshed]

hii, may i ask if you use any specific app to help you write? i've been using notion but i think it's hindering my writing when i write on my phone.. i followed your au acosf when it was still being updated and i was amazed how fast you can write for quite a long chapter... thanks for your answer!

Hello!

Uhh, I guess I'm a bit old school because I literally just use word.

Long post below:

Writing process for me is usually:

I have an idea

I daydream about it and imagine possible outcomes then fixate on one path

I write it

Because I've visualised in quite a lot of detail, run through different dialogues, when it comes to writing it, it is usually quite a smooth process because I know exactly what's happening.

If I'm just staring at a screen then I like to switch to writing by hand. These scenes tend to need less editing too as they're slower to write and I can pick up on mistakes whereas when I'm typing quickly, I'll sometimes type the wrong word or miss one out.

Sometimes it means that I haven't planned. Planning for me can just be a couple of bullet points that x/y/z will happen. Sometimes I'll just lay down, close my eyes, put some music on and start imagining again.

When I wrote ACOSF, I had a lot of ideas that I knew would happen so each chapter was either "the event" I wanted or the build up to it. For example, in one chapter, I knew Nesta would have faebane at dinner with the Vanserras or she'd go to meet Cassian at the war memorial in Illyria. Sometimes I needed to bridge between X and Y and there'd be little filler bits. That was more fun because I could waffle and create scenarios not necessary to the plot, but just nice bits like Nesta playing with children or cuddling up with Rovena. It's a luxury that fan fiction can have. I tend to always be thinking a few chapters ahead because we'll be pointing in one direction - but it might be we'll hit some rocks and it's a dead end so I need to start steering it another way, if that makes sense?

How can I write so much so quickly? Lots and lots of daydreaming! When I was a teacher, I didn't get a single second to myself on a work day so I'd be daydreaming about the fic on the way in (30 mins), work solid for 9 hours with children tapping me and teaching and marking and planning, then daydream on the drive home (1 hour thanks to traffic!). I would make a cup of tea then sit for an hour immediately after coming home, drink my tea and write the bits I'd been daydreaming then my partner would come home. I could have my "free time" then which was spent cleaning/cooking/seeing partner. When all those things were done, if there was still time in the evening then I'd sit and write some more. I'm not a night owl so most weekdays I'm in bed by 9/9:30.

Sometimes, I do write on my phone too but I just write on notes then email it to myself and put it in the word document but that's usually if I'm somewhere and have no access to paper e.g. if I stay at a friends and wake up early.

Sprints can also be useful like setting a timer for 15/20 mins and you just write for that amount of time then take a break, do something else, but no distractions during the sprint. I also keep an excel file because i'm obsessed with spreadsheets to track my writing

This was when I was writing The Wench and The Gentleman

Light green was my daily wordcount (I had fics on top of this too). I had a target of the total that I needed to reach weekly to stay on track (I set myself like 8 weeks to write that book because I love putting weird deadlines on myself) so the dark green is my actual word count and the number beside it was the target. You can see by week 3, I was 19k words ahead of schedule lmao.

I'm more than happy to chat more about writing processes and discover how other people work so feel free to message on chat or whatever :-)

[asteria-argo]

Answer the questions and tag five fanfiction authors you know!

tagged by the wonderful wonderful @altschmerzes

1. How many fandoms have you written in?

Written in about 15 but I've only published in two. According to ao3 it's five but that's because of the umbrella fandom of DC comics.

2. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Since I was around 6 and I'm now 20 so about,,, 14 years

3. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I read way more than I write, I read a bare minimum of 3 fics a day and I go through really long periods of not writing anything so I for sure read more than I write

4. What is one way you've improved as a writer?

since I started publishing my fics I've gotten a lot better at actually finishing them, but my grammar and tense has also improved A Lot just from practicing even if it's still not the best out there.

5. What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I mean it's not that weird but I get very hyperfixated on small details so I did a lot of researching into the different degrees offered at Yale and Harvard in order to decide what degrees I think would be offered at a fictional Ivy League university when I was writing character bios a little while ago.

Also for To All The Better Places I spent a truly inane amount of time researching grassroots U12 girls football teams for a side character so I could name one in the right area that would suit her needs the best.

6. What's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

long ones for sure. I love getting long comments especially on my longer fics where people like,, point out things they liked or quote my work as me. Also love those like,, live slug reaction comments you get sometimes where people go paragraph by paragraph telling you their thoughts as they have them in one long comment,

7. What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I have a lot of ambiguous gender feelings a lot of the time, and I also grew up watching a lot of "boy" oriented media that would only have like,, one or two girl characters at best so from a young age I was fascinated with reading like,, canon divergent "always-a-girl" trope fics and I have written a couple of them myself which I think is a bit of an unpopular trope in wider fandom.

8. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

angst and whump because I really struggle describing physical sensation and angst usually just ends up with me making myself sad and/or sick in the process of writing it if I don't have a happy ending planned and ready to go

9. What is the easiest type?

found family stories are my bread and butter, slice of life, friends just being friends, those kinds of stories

10. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I usually write at home at my desk, since I study online I've got a pretty perfect set up to spend long hours there. If I'm not at home I'm at the library. I use Notion, because it's free, I have personal beef with Word and google docs sucks. It's not technically a writing platform in the sense I use it in but it works fine as one, it also makes it super easy to organise my files and extra notes of fics, on top of my editing and the drafts.

11. What is something you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I actually recently overcame my big too nervous to write fic. I am,, an asexual virgin but I also really enjoy reading smut. I've wanted to write some for ages, but on account of not knowing how sex works because I've never had it and also my inability to describe physical sensations I've been weary to give it a go in case it's terrible but I finally wrote some not long ago and published it over on ao3

12. What made you choose your username?

Well Asteria is just my name, and then Argo is a combined DC/Greek Mythology references. Argo comes from the Argonauts of The Golden Fleece myth, but it's also the name of the original supergirls home.

I do not know whose already been tagged or whose already done it so I'm just going to go for it and hope for the best @jamtartandsunshine @kvetchinglyneurotic @jamiesfootball @antitheticaally @its-not-easy-being-green-things

[ofwings]

Genuine question, do you actually like Houston or is it just your hometown?

it's a bit more nuanced than that tbh. i understand why it's losing that poll - it's an absolutely massive car-central sprawl where driving on the freeway feels like you're in mad max, it's hot and humid, there's no real seasons, and what used to be a 100 year flood is now an every other year flood. like many blue cities in the south, you're still stuck dealing with the whims of whatever republican pieces of shit that run your state come up with; i've been trying to get rid of them in texas my entire life, so every time this is used as a dunk i just feel tired. because houston is so much more than that.

it's the most diverse city in the country. there are people from everywhere, from all classes and walks of life, and they bring their culture and hopes and dreams with them, and it makes houston incredibly unique under the surface. you can get viet-cajun fusion food anywhere from a strip mall to fine dining. everyone has tamales for christmas. you can get jerk chicken from the same restaurant that you get authentic indian food. street signs are in 3 different languages, and those languages change depending on what part of town you're in. on the street i grew up on in a working class suburb, my family was the only white family - i had neighbors from the philippines and ghana, cajuns from louisiana that grew up speaking french, and a mexican family whose kids grew up my siblings' friends. my teachers in elementary and middle school were vietnamese nuns, who now get celebrated every time they go to astros games (sr. mary catherine, who throws the first pitch, was my math teacher in middle school)!

i once had my alternator die in the middle of a major intersection near downtown houston, just completely killed my car; my emergency lights wouldn't even come on it was so dead. in the hour span i was stuck there, i had 5-6 different groups of people stop and try to help me - a businessman with a suit and tie and cowboy boots, a mom with her kids in the car with her, a guy with a slab and swangas, a car full of construction workers and neither of us spoke each other's language but they helped me push my car to a parking lot anyway. i've had people help me change flat tires, jump my car, push it out of the road, and i've stopped to do all of that for people too. it's a big city, but there's a level of trust and friendliness among people in a bind there that i've never seen anywhere else i've lived. you'll never eat a meal alone, you'll never be lost. strangers will talk to you everywhere you go, especially if they can sense you're having a bad day. people are friendly and helpful and they will shatter your preconceived notions about who they are or where they're from.

houston isn't a tourist town- i get it, i can't imagine why someone would want to vacation there. and full disclosure, i moved away 5 years ago and now live in a smaller city that feels more comfortable to me in terms of scale. but i strongly believe that growing up somewhere so friendly, so proud of its diversity and so strengthened by it, so different from where the places where the rest of my extended family grew up - i don't think i'd be the same person i am now if i'd lived somewhere else. growing up in an environment where you're exposed to so many different people, so many different cultures, and they're all fundamentally your neighbors? i really believe that makes a difference and makes much more well rounded, compassionate, thoughtful citizens. i wouldn't trade the 28 years i spent there for anything.

also if you have access to watch parts unknown with anthony bourdain, he did an amazing episode on houston. even just the opening minute captures so much:

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Please cite your sources... and errata

Ever since I did the long post on Worldwide Story Structures and then edited the list of Story Structures on Wikipedia, more and more blogs, articles and so on have been popping up with the information I sourced when I backtrace and relook up the names of the story structures.

This is great! Because this means things like the Wikipedia page for Confessional has gotten longer with more sources added. People are paying attention more and so some of the ones I struggled with now have more information out there as people wear it with pride.

But this has also resulted in a new string of people not giving credit where credit is due and wholesale stealing from mainly Wikipedia or doing it poorly without understanding what they are taking (psst, mostly white people and white men, which I covered is somehow a past time and a trend...).

I'm really begging you, given what I've outlined over and over again to NOT do the latter. Please, please give credit to where you got your ideas. Do citations. Also, I've noticed that people have taken my ideas directly from my page, and then not given credit to me. And that one stings. I spent hours tracking down and experiencing story structures from the countries where I cited stories of different types to come up with the ideas, but then they cite usually white people instead. WTF. You took my ideas one for one, down to the wording, but can't cite the academic that came up with it or why? Haven't I gone over the dangers of this already? Like calling out Kenneth Rowe? I spent all that time citing what Freytag really said and people still want to hold on very strongly to the notion he came up with a different diagram, and call it "Updated" in what imagination? Just cite your sources and say it was also Syd Field, etc like I outlined and then give me damned credit for putting in the hours of tracking it down.

Look, I have the degree, the education, I bothered to give the sources and just because my gender is not man and my skin color is not white, does not mean my ideas and the work tracking down primary sources is not "valid". Stop being AHs and taking the hours I gave to you for free, the money I spent on books by erasing the credit when I argued really, really hard that you need to give credit to your sources.

The reason you cite your sources is so people can hold them to account for their ideas, so the person researching can inquire, why do you think that? Also exceptions to the rule... what about this? If they can't inquire, then it's much, much harder to hold the specific person and their ideas to academic rigor. I know that your professors went on a rant about how plagiarism is evil on a personal level and Kenneth Rowe was a professor that plagiarized and somehow got Shakespeare and Aristotle wrong, despite specializing in both, but as I've shown, it also destroys on a systemic level, because people can't name the source of the information and can make up crap, such as Aristotle wanted a 3-Act structure and say things like, "I heard that Aristotle was a sissy pants." and everyone believes them because what? You cited nothing, you just cited everything Aristotle wrote so they can't examine things like if the statement is true because they didn't read beyond Poetics 7 and didn't have enough background to understand that Readercism really, really doesn't work well in this case because the invention of the 5-paragraph Essay was in the 19th century, messing with how people think and organize.

I get it–you might hate me for some of my ideas, like say, Aristotle is a sexist pig, which he is. And Aristotle is not Jesus. Which he isn't. But you should at least cite your sources, especially when those sources have taken the time to cite other sources, like the primary works with page numbers, showing things like where the diagram for Freytag comes from (and how much of a genocidal AH he was).

Cite your sources, even when you hate their guts, like finding out Freytag was a pre-Nazi Fascist–I can cite the History of Opera (Lucy Worsley's Nights at the Opera (TV Mini Series 2017) and Wagner and how Freytag glows with how much he loved Wagner's The Ring saying that they now outstrip Shakespeare. When I say that Freytag was a pre-Fascist, I can cite his love of the middle class, imperialism, and love of the idea that Polish people would be wiped off the face of this Earth. Why? Because I bothered to read the original text. And because I did that I can cite the page numbers where he said so because I posted it up on my blog. And because I cited the page numbers, someone can chime in that I'm wrong.

Also, stop citing white people on PoC things. Favor own voices and stop erasing credit. I was very purposeful in citing the people I did. I spent hours using Japanese I learned, Chinese I learned, etc to make sure it was correct--which includes the Kishotenketsu diagram--which for some reason in the Kishotenketsu Wikipedia people deleted the credit for the diagram to the people I got it from where? Japanese people--something I took 2 years to find and edit in. WTF. What's wrong with you? (Someone also took the diagram and colored it badly and then erased the credit and then explained it on Youtube--the diagram I made off of the Youtube video I credited... c'mon.). They also took a bunch of the words I wrote for the page and gave no credit to Wikipedia. Do better, white dude.

I'm not asking for credit because I want it, and have an ego—no, what I want is the ability of people to interrogate their sources. To correct me down the line. To be able to check back to see if the statements made are original or not and then interrogate the truth of the matter. Because if anything, my journey through the idea of a singular "true" story structure that never changed over time, has proven very much to be false. And it took me *forever* and a day to unwind this myth. So I'd like subsequent generations to also be able to interrogate my work too. But they can't do that if they don't have access to my words, thoughts, and how I selected the parts of the text that I did. I'm very open to being wrong. I want to be corrected--I make errors all the time. And they are free to disagree from there. Much like I hate the idea that Aristotle thought that women get a soul later than men, because, as I said, he's a misogynistic pig and it was not the times.

Oh look, a citation. You can interrogate the source now.

And the source cites: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4021448/

Now you can interrogate the people who came up with it and find out where Aristotle said that.

The source says: "This question has evoked human thinking since ancient times. Hippocrates (460-370 BC) argued that man and woman each contributed semen that mixed in the uterus to form the embryo, whereas Aristotle (384-322 BC) favoured a more male-centred view that the woman merely provided fertile ground for the male seed to grow. "

With the numbers in place, then you can look at other sources such as: https://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736(05)71025-4/fulltext

And you see, new vocabulary pops up. Then you might ask, where did Aristotle say that? And now that you have vocabulary, you can find out if it's a myth or fact.

And from there, I was able to find the original source of the statement from Aristotle, and find the original text. (Which BTW, is still a misogynistic piece of crap) and add it back to the wikipedia page (which I did) De Anima 350 BCE.

I don't want to be cited because I think I'm correct. I don't want to be cited because I have an ego. I want to be cited because I'm pretty sure someone might think I'm wrong, and I want them to be able to inquire into my line of thinking and how I selected sources so that I might be corrected or examined down the line.

So stop being a white straight male, well, usually, and cite your sources. Your privilege isn't going to cushion you from being called out as wrong and a plagiarizer. And do you want to end up being called an imperialistic imperializer who hates PoCs? Please cite your sources and make sure your sources say what you think they say. If you don't, I or someone else is likely to find you and call you out. And don't make it me, because I do check sources.

BTW, more PoCs need to be "allowed" to have writing manuals without half of the internet breathing down their neck for not being white enough because that half of the internet didn't bother to read anything outside of European canon or want to imperialize European ideas of story on the rest of the world.

Oh, you made it this far... here is your reward; https://www.positivelyfilipino.com/magazine/the-joy-of-kuwentuhan

A story structure/story type that's older than colonization.

BTW, also watched a film from Filipino filmmakers and the story structure I cited earlier with the introduction (longer than the US) and the Third act (or second, if you're working off of the 3-act) had an inversion in "What if" (2023) which amused me a lot. I love when people play with expectations. Previously, I said Pinoy filmmakers try to leave the story structure behind and do something else, but to see someone expertly play on an old one and then flip it—that was magic.