#which NOONE calls me in real life

[omgeto]

hello empress👋🏼

hello you

[sylveon-official]

thoughts on angel's heartbreak

viv has already said that angel is gonna get his heart broken sooo

i imagine husk pushes a boundary. we've already seen husk push angel's limits quite a few times. he's obviously really judgmental and i think that's one of his biggest flaws. it almost seems like a defense mechanism, that because he's already given up on himself, he doesn't want to waste angel's potential and so he's harder on him.

we've got tons of examples of this in masquerade, with husk calling him fake. and even in welcome to heaven when angel is considering taking drugs, husk totally plays a guilt trip - "go ahead if you wanna mess up all your progress, i just thought you were better than that"

i think that's how the 'heartbreak' is gonna happen. angel can't believe he's got a someone like husk in his life and he's so smitten, coming to terms with his feelings for husk and tentatively getting hopeful that they're reciprocated. like husk has built him up enough to the point that angel feels he can break down his walls around him, so they're getting closer, more flirtatious in a really sweet way, sometimes even a little touchy.

so imagine them being at this stage, where angel so fully trusts him, which is a big deal for him. and then angel fucks up real bad. he's been clean for almost 6 months and him and everyone else in the hotel are super proud. but after a hard day in the studio he just breaks and goes on an all night bender. like he's out so late husk starts to worry and texts him, but all he gets is a belligerent phone call like "huskYYY BAaaby don' worry i'm jus' out w the girls from the studio u should be here miss yoo-" and then some guy cuts in like "angelbaby, i thought you were gonna show me a good time?" and angel's like "mmm oh ya cmere daddy~" and the call cuts off.

husk is fuckin pissed, not just bc angel is off the wagon after making so much progress, but he's also jealous. like they were obviously heading in the direction of something more, or so he thought, but here's angel back to his old self-destructive habits, getting fucked up and fucking random guys.

the next day, husk finds angel passed out on the on the couch. usually he would wake him up with breakfast or coffee if he knew he'd had a long night at the studio, but this time he just rolls his eyes and gets to work on the bar, maybe stuffing glasses back into cabinets a little louder than usual.

that wakes angel up and he's like, "huuusk what the fuck couldya keep it down?"

"it's almost noon. don't you have something to do? or someone..." he mumbles the last part, but angel hears and is wide awake like, "fuckin' excuse me?"

"what? you don't remember callin' me last night? sounded like you scored a real charmer"

angel is stalking up to the bar getting embarrassed and defensive, "wtf? since when do you care who i'm fuckin' in my free time?"

"i guess since it obviously wasn't a choice you made entirely sober! what were you thinking?! you were clean 6 whole months, and you gave it up to what? snort coke off of some hunk's abs?!"

angel's mouth drops open and he doesn't know what to say but his heart stings. he knows he fucked up real bad, but it was a hard day and he guesses old habits die hard... it's his first real attempt at getting clean, and of course he's disappointed in himself. and honestly, he was planning on talking through it with husk, but now...

"well that is just rich coming from you," angel says, shaking, rolling his eyes in the direction of husk's bloody mary.

"yeah, well, i'm not the one trying to get into heaven-"

"fuck off with that shit husk! you don't think i know i fucked up?! i'm not an idiot! you don't gotta keep that line in your back pocket for every time i screw up! i already know it's fuckin' pointless, you don't need to keep reminding me, asshole, get over yourself!" and he starts storming off upstairs, eyes welling up.

husk does feel guilty, and wants to continue the conversation, but he's still firmly of the belief that if angel just pulls himself together, he's a shoo-in for redemption and it's frustrating to see him self-destruct after making more progress than ever before.

"angel, wait-"

"NO, fuck you husk!" angel turns around, tears streaming down his face, pointing an accusing finger. "i thought if anyone could understand, it'd be you! i know everyone else is gonna be disappointed in me, but you-" he pauses, gulps down his tears and steels his face, "i guess i don't know you as well as i thought i did" and then storms upstairs.

then angel would have a few consecutive weeks of totally self-destructive behavior on a whole new level than anyone else at the hotel had ever seen. maybe he even moves out of the hotel and back in with val, having given up not only on himself and his grand delusions of getting clean and redeemed, but also his "stupid school-girl crush" on husk.

this turned into something way longer than i intended lol, but my point is that since angel is gonna experience heartbreak we know it has to involve husk, and with husk's habit of guilt-tripping angel... i think it will need to blow up at some point and be seriously discussed.

i also think we need to see the 'it gets worse before it gets better' side of recovery bc obviously it's unrealistic that now that angel is a serious resident of the hotel, his addictions are just gonna magically disappear. and i think that's gonna cause some misunderstanding and turmoil with not only husk, but also our main cast.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Corporate Bullshit

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Corporate Bullshit: Exposing the Lies and Half-Truths That Protect Profit, Power, and Wealth in America is Nick Hanauer, Joan Walsh and Donald Cohen's 2023 book on the history of corporate apologetics; it's great:

https://thenewpress.com/books/corporate-bullsht

I found out about this book last fall when David Dayen reviewed it for the The American Prospect; Dayen did a great job of breaking down its thesis, and I picked it up for my newsletter, which prompted Hanauer to send me a copy, which I finally got around to reading yesterday (I have gigantic backlog of reading):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/27/six-sells/#youre-holding-it-wrong

The authors' thesis is that the business world has a well-worn playbook that they roll out whenever anything that might cause industry to behave even slightly less destructively is proposed. What's more, we keep falling for it. Every time we try to have nice things, our bosses – and their well-paid Renfields – dust off their talking points from the last go-round, do a little madlibs-style search and replace, and bust it out again.

It's a four-stage plan:

I. First, insist that there is no problem.

Enslaved people are actually happy. Smoking doesn't cause cancer. Higher CO2 levels are imaginary and they're caused by sunspots and they're good for crop yields. The hole in the ozone layer is only a problem if you foolishly decide to hang around outside (this is real!).

II. OK, there's a problem, but it's your fault.

An epidemic of on-the-job maimings is actually an epidemic of sloppy workers. A gigantic housing crash is really a gigantic cohort of greedy, feckless borrowers. Rampant price gouging is actually a problem of too much "spending power" (that is, "money") in the hands of working people.

III. Any attempt to fix this will make it worse.

Equal wages for equal work will cause bosses to fire women and people of color. Protecting people with disabilities will cause bosses to fire disable people. Minimum wages will cause bosses to buy machines and fire "unskilled" workers. Gun control will only increase underground gun sales. Banning carcinogenic pesticides will end agriculture as we know and we'll all starve to death.

IV. This is socialism.

Income tax is socialism. Estate tax is socialism. Medicare and Medicaid are socialism. Food stamps are socialism. Child labor laws are socialism. Public education is socialism. The National Labor Relations Act is socialism. Unions are socialism. Social security is socialism. The Fair Labor Standards Act is socialism. Obamacare is socialism. The Civil Rights Act is socialism. The Occupational Health and Safety Act is socialism. The Family Medical Leave Act is socialism. FDR is a socialist. JFK is a socialist. Lyndon Johnson is a socialist. Carter is a socialist. Clinton is a socialist. Obama is a socialist. Biden is a socialist (Biden: "I beat the socialist. That's how I got the nomination").

Though this playbook has been in existence since the nation's founding, the authors point out that from the New Deal until the Reagan era, it didn't get much traction. But starting in the Reagan years, the well-funded network of billionaire-backed think-tanks, endowed economics chairs, and latter-day propaganda vehicles like Prageru breathed new life into these tactics.

We can see this playing out right now as the corporate world scrambles for a response to the Harris campaign's proposal to address price-gouging. Reading Matt Stoller's dissection of this response, we can see the whole playbook on display:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/monopoly-round-up-price-gouging-vs

First, corporate apologists insisted that greedflation didn't exist, despite the fact that CEOs kept getting on earnings calls and boasting to their investors about how they were using the excuse of inflation to jack up prices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

Or the oil CEOs who boasted that the Russian invasion of Ukraine gave them cover to just screw us at the pump:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/15/sanctions-financing/#soak-the-rich

There are all these out-in-the-open commercial entities whose sole purpose is to "advise" large corporations about their prices, which is just a barely disguised euphemism for price-fixing, from meat-packing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

To rents:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

That's stage one: "there's no problem." Stage two is "it's your fault." That's Larry Summers and co insisting that a couple of stimulus checks a couple years ago are responsible for inflation, because it gave you too much "buying power," and so the only possible fix is to jack up interest rates and trigger mass layoffs and sharp wage decreases across the economy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/14/medieval-bloodletters/#its-the-stupid-economy

Stage three is "any attempt to fix this will make it worse." When Isabella Weber pointed out that there was a long history of price-controls being used to fight price-gouging, corporate apologists lost their minds and brigaded her, calling her all kinds of nasty names and insisting that her prescription didn't even warrant serious discussion, because any attempt to control prices would destroy the economy:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-millennial-economist-who-took-on-the-world/

You may recognize this as cousin to the response to rent control proposals, which inevitably trigger a barrage of economists screaming that this will not work and will actually reduce the housing supply and drive up prices, which is true, provided that you ignore all evidence and history:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

And stage four is "this is socialism." Look, I am a literal card-carrying member of the Democratic Socialists of America and I can assure you, Kamala Harris is not a socialist (and more's the pity). But that didn't stop the most eminently guillotineable members of the investor class from hair-on-fire, ALL-CAPS denunciations of the Harris proposal as SOCIALISM and Harris herself as a COMMUNIST:

https://twitter.com/Jason/status/1824580470052725055

The author's thesis is that by naming the playbook and giving examples of it – for example, showing how the "proof" that minimum wage increases will destroy jobs was also offered as "proof" not to abolish slavery, ban child labor, add fireproofing to textile factories, and pay women and Black people the same as white guys – we can vaccinate ourselves against it.

Certainly, we've reached a moment where the public is increasingly skeptical of claims that we can't fix anything because the economists say that this is the best of all possible worlds, and if that means that we're all going to boil to death in our own skin, so be it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

In other words, after 40 years of subordinating politics to economics, there's a resurgence of belief in politics – that is, doing stuff – rather than hunkering down and waiting for the technocrats to fix everything:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/seeing-like-a-matt

Corporate Bullshit is a brisk and bracing read – I got through it in about an hour in my hammock yesterday – and, in laying out the bullshit playbook's long history of nonsensical predictions and pronouncements, it does make a very good case that we should stop listening to people who quote from it.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/19/apologetics-spotters-guide/#narratives

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Zoom In.

Muggle AU, professor of 18C literature and poetry Draco, celebrity Harry ✨️

~

Violet was the first to log in - again. In the minutes before class began - in the "waiting room" - while she stared at her blank screen, it felt like the only real few moments she truly had to herself.

She spent all those moments, like so many others, thinking about Professor Malfoy.

To every single straight girl, and the singular gay guy, in class, Professor Malfoy was prime wank material. Violet hadn't known her classmates to be as desperate for a good word on their assignments from any other professor. To think homework would feature so high on the to-do lists of some of the biggest lunkheads she knew...there was definitely something about him, that Professor Malfoy.

She could see the appeal. The eerily pale eyes, hair, and skin made to appear warmer by the fluffy jumpers - all in elegant shades of scarlet, burgundy, emerald, wine, golden yellow - he wore over crisply ironed button-downs and tailored trousers; the way he used his hands when he talked, long fingers like a pianist's; the slim golden spectacles he was constantly misplacing on his own head, the rich precision with which he pronounced the olde names and subjects that he spoke of - it was very difficult not to admire Professor Malfoy.

All of that, but nobody really knew much about him outside of uni.

They'd switched to virtual classes a week ago; hurrah for the new pandemic. The idea that she didn't have to sit in class with her tittering classmates, a stray cough sounding now and again, made Violet automatically sit up straighter and smile, just as the little boxes on her screen began popping into life.

"Aaaayyyy!"

"Tell me we don't need to have our faces on display."

"So, yes, before anyone asks: this is a real lip ring. An actual piercing. Yeah, I'm not blowing you, Greg, sod off."

"Is Professor Malfoy on?"

"No, I don't see him here yet. Did he grade your essay?"

"Yo, can someone please tell me how to turn this camera off, I am smashed out my--"

"Click on the camera icon, Bryan--"

"It's not even noon, what d'you mean "smashed"?

"No, you've turned off your mic. No, we cannot hear you screaming."

"First icon on the bottom left," Violet said, rolling her eyes.

And then Professor Malfoy was in class.

There was a beat of silence before everyone called out greetings, a chaotic round of cheerful hello's that nobody could quite make sense of. Least of all Professor Malfoy.

He was peering into his screen, his slim nose scrunched.

"All right, so I can see me. Can you?"

Cacophonic confirmations.

"Okay, so nobody can see or hear me. Right."

More shrill reassurances. One loud beer-belch.

"Damn it all to hell, I knew this would happen, I told him that I'll need--"

"We can see you!" shrieked Preiti.

"We can hear you!" Nora bellowed.

But Professor Malfoy was already twisting around in his chair, scowling heavily, and screaming, "OY! COME IN HERE, YOU MISERABLE WANKER!"

Violet, along with her classmates, just stared in mystified silence. The professor never spoke like that. He ticked them off if they did.

A tall figure in a too big hoodie appeared suddenly, hissing back at Professor Malfoy. There was a golden lion printed on the maroon jacket. The hood was drawn in close, and Violet could just barely make out the light from the computer screen glinting off a pair of round glasses, on which a shaggy fringe of dark hair fell.

"You need to turn the volume up. Git," said the stranger. "Your camera's already on."

"I hate technology," Professor Malfoy seethed.

"You hate so much else. I'm getting fish and chips." The man was already walking off.

"I want mushy peas too, with mine."

"What kind of sick bastard." The room door was shut with a thud.

"Sorry about all that. We are now officially in session," Professor Malfoy said, smiling and restoring his glasses upon his nose. "Do you all have--?"

There was a muffled shout from somewhere behind the professor. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Professor Malfoy called back, "No. No, I don't want a curry dipping sauce."

There was more muffled yelling.

"Harry, get out right now!" shrieked Professor Malfoy, and Violet, along with the others, just ogled.

Malfoy sighed. "Sorry 'bout that. Just my idiot husband."

"You're married?!" Violet had asked before she could stop herself.

Professor Malfoy sighed, flipping open a thick, spiral bound folder. "Yes. You've heard of Harry Potter, I'm sure. He's the poor idiot I married."

[halfway-house-in-hell]

charlie redesign!

+her gf 😁

(image id in alt text)

im not good at jotting down my thoughts so forgive me if this sounds weird

-she's a doll. she was created by her father lucifer as a gift for her mother, lilith, because lilith could not conceive a child naturally. lilith did not like this, and resents charlie and her father, causing a rift in their marriage. charlie feels responsible for this rift, and tries to help them reconnect to little success.

-the whole doll thing helps explain why noone takes her seriously. they dont see her as a "real" demon or the "real" princess of hell, they see her as a weak little toy.

-she is far too trusting-which is why she takes a deal with the radio demon, a demon who is not at all trustworthy, and has a very thin skin. she feels like she needs to prove her worth to the hell, she wants her citizens to take her seriously.

-her hotel, set up to rehabilitate sinners, has free entry. she tried to get funding to build it from her father, but he denied it as he did not believe it would work. charlie's rehabilitation plan was not the most well thought out, and so she tends to freak out when things go even slightly wrong.

-in the first "series" the hotel does not official approval from heaven. they realise this is a problem when a sinner who is in the process of rehabilitation gets killed, and instead of respawing in hell they respawn at the gates of heaven. when the angels who guard said gates see this, they immediately send the demon back down and demand to know what is happening (this is the setup for the "second season)

-charlie truly believes that. a) all sinners can be redeemed, even the "truly evil ones" and b) that these sinners will have a better life in heaven, free from the annual genocide. she is unaware/only partially aware of heavens strict conservatism and deep hatred of sinners (i have more thoughts on how exactly heaven works but i dont wanna make this post any longer than it needs to be)

-she and v(im not calling her vaggie. might give her another name that starts with v) complete eachother. v is the only one who takes her seriously and believes in her hotel, and charlie is the only one v can confide in and truly trust. charlie is the bleeding heart to v's closed wound.

ok i think thats it if you read this far thank youu❤️❤️❤️

[wonijinjin]

THE WEEKND SERIES: CALL OUT MY NAME - CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

author’s note: the first work of the series! i am all for strangers to more tropes so i hope you guys will have fun reading it! take care<3

synopsis: will shared fate with a stranger turn into something more, something you had never expected?

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, dark themes (apocalypse) | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of injury, doctors, apocalypse, death

the masterpost to this series can be found here.

the wind was blowing coldly as you reached the deserted capital, body tired from dragging it all day, not finding anyone near who could help you out. in the distance you could spot a silhouette, a human’s to be exact. “wait!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, taking all of your energy and putting it into a final call before you saw the figure turning around, running in your direction. the pain in your injured leg became unbearable and forced your knees to buckle; luckily the stranger who had arrived by your side just at that moment had caught you, laying you down on the muddy ground. “hi.” you smiled at him while his eyes widened in surprise seeing another human alive. there were not many people who survived the earthquakes or the tsunamis after the collision of the meteor. “nice to meet you.” he smiled back at you, inspecting the wound on your foot. “i guess you got this while trying to escape from the storm.” you wheezed. “good guess, sherlock.” his movements halted and he got a roll of surgical tape and bandaids out from his pocket. “so, do you want me to fix you up? you are not doing so well as i can see.” you nodded immediately, thanking him several times. “i have been searching for signs of life for days, but have seen noone so far.” he shook his head in agreement. “because there is almost no human here as of today. i’m surprised to see you here, never thought i would cross paths with someone here. everyone i know is at the same place, the mall. they gathered there, but they are starting to go crazy so i left.” he explained what he knew about the situation happening. your lack of response and the way you stared into nothing alarmed him and he pulled your body towards his so he could see your eyes. “you with me?” he swung his hand in front of your face. you nodded slowly to ensure that you heard and understood him. “good.” he thought for a moment. “must be shock which got you so quiet all of a sudden.” he finished wrapping up your leg, patting it for good measure. “can you stand?” he questioned with a warm look, one which you missed so much, after so long of not being in contact with others. “hello? i asked if you can stand up and walk.” he was crouching next to you, grabbing your chin to check your eyes again. you assumed that he must’ve been a doctor since he was looking for signs of head injury for sure, you knew this much of first aid. you leaned in without thinking, kissing him quickly. this caught him off guard, but it was so quick and sudden that it was over before he could register what was happening. “sorry, i just needed to check if you were real. i’ve been alone for a while, i wasn’t sure if it was just in my head or not.” he had a weird expression but only for a moment, then caught your wrist and lifted your finger to his face, poking it. “you could’ve just done this, you know.” he laughed sweetly, another thing you had been missing from your life. “you are right…” you whispered shyly, a bit embarrassed. “anyways, i see that you are quite lonely. you can accompany me for the time being if you want to. at least i can make sure your leg actually gets better.” you grinned tiredly. “if i’m gonna be your companion i gotta know your name at least though.” he extended his arm towards you. “just call me seungcheol.”

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ 𝓜𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝓜𝐄 𝓗𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐖𝐀𝐘. ❜

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❀ ˚◞ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 : 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ miguel o’hara 𝓍 fem!civilian!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. after reconciling your feelings for miguel, you have to confess and you don’t give a shit anymore.

ׄ   ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. angst, fluff, slight violence, jealousy, love confessions, arguments, swearing, slapping (only once and not in a sexual manner), making out, suggestive at the end ( mdni )

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

it’s been 5 days of heartbreak and it still fucking hurts. it’s a wound that will take a long time to heal, unsure how long or if it’ll ever heal. you try your hardest to forget but it still lingers in your heart, your shattered heart caused by that asshole.

while still suffering a broken heart, life didn’t pause. work has been your main priority, mainly as a distraction but it’s still your responsibility and life. coworkers still showed concern but didn’t want to overwhelm you with their pity. you’re still mopey but not entirely gloomy like a few days ago. the sarcasm and jokes return, your usual self. coworkers and even your boss were happy to see you like that. you may still be hurting inside but laughing and talking with your coworkers does put a smile on your face.

as you back up your tote bag prepared to leave, someone calls out your name. swiftly turning around, your eyes land on a coworker. tall brunette, probably around 5’11 or 6’0, got some muscle but not super jacked, usually wears glasses but seems to be wearing contacts, and a light beard.

“oh hey, enzo.” you offer a soft smile.

he mirrors your smile as approaches you. “hey, how are you? you doing okay?” a hint of concern laced in his tone, head tilted a little.

“eh, not so shitty like before.” you shrug. “but i appreciate you asking, truly.” a smile graces your lips.

the male nods slowly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. he seems to be a bit nervous which confuses you a little. “i know you’re going through something right now and you don’t have to agree!” he reassured in a nervous tone.

you raise a brow at him with a tiny smile, knowing where this is going but you want him to say it. to be honest, enzo kinda looks cute when he’s nervous.

“i just wanted know if you… if you wanna grab lunch together?”

oh. your eyes perk up.

enzo keeps rubbing his neck, a bashful smile gracing his lips as he speaks. “there’s this diner that recently opened and i know you’re a sucker for diners so… i thought you wanna try it out with me.” his eyes finally meet yours, anxiously waiting for your answer.

he’s asking you on a date.

honestly, you’re not sure if you’re up for dating considering you’re dealing with a heartbreak, despite that it wasn’t even a real relationship. enzo is a sweet guy, respectful and smart, also attractive. you two shared tiny conversations from time to time.

would one date hurt?

fuck it, why not.

“okay sure, i’ll love to.” you answer with a smile.

enzo’s eyes widen drastically. “wait, really?” he couldn’t hold back a dorky smile.

you chuckle at his reaction. “yes.”

“okay, cool!” he clears his throat after realizing how overly excited he was. “tomorrow at noon? i’ll pick you up. does that work for you?”

you nod with a little smile. “works perfectly.”

afterwords, enzo offered to drive you home, despite your many objections. the man continues to surprise you, opening the door for you like a gentleman. you say your goodbyes with a wave before heading inside your apartment building, enzo watching to make sure you enter in safely before driving away.

reality hits you when you open the door, you have a date with a coworker tomorrow.

welp, can’t be moping forever.

but little did you know a pair of scarlet eyes observing everything from an orange monitor, miles and miles away in a tall building.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

it’s been 5 days and miguel still feels like shit. his already damaged heart still hurting. his workaholic antics grew worse, almost participating in every mission just to stop his mind from thinking of you. however, it fails every time. miguel still occasionally checks up on you through the monitor he has of your street and apartment building. those ruby eyes follow your tiny figure when you walk to and from work. sometimes he really wishes you’d drive instead but he knows you like to walk, despite the heels you would wear sometimes. even though it’s not the same to see you in person, watching and protecting you through a screen he’ll accept, as long as he still sees you, still apart of his life even from far away.

observing the monitor, his thick brows furrowed when your tiny figure doesn’t appear on screen. he saw you heading to work, why aren’t you returning home? those thoughts pause when a car pulls up to your apartment building. his eyes narrow in confusion until he saw a familiar face popping out of the car. you, stepping out of the car with the help of some guy miguel has never seen before.

his face turns into a frown at the sight. who the hell is that guy? miguel doesn’t like what he’s seeing. with the touch of his fingers, he zooms in to get a clear look at this guy. his heart sinks as he watches you smile at this random wimp. when you wave at him with that same smile then head inside, miguel lowers his head in disbelief. his heart stings.

it was only a matter of time until another man waltzed in to capture your heart. a replacement much. and miguel hated it, being replaced so easily.

but what if he’s overthinking? maybe that guy is simply a friend. offering you a ride home is a kind gesture from a friend. that seems reasonable. there is nothing more than that, right? just friends.

oh miguel thought completely wrong.

that same guy pulls up to your apartment building the next day and waits outside. hunched over his desk, miguel observes through suspicious eyes, pondering what this guy’s intentions are. then, his heart drops. you step out of the building, wearing a cute white dress along with a pair of little heels. a matching white bow in your hair and a bit more makeup to emphasize your appearance than usual.

you look so fucking beautiful. that little white dress makes your appearance so angelic. as you walk, it’s like an angel stepping onto earth from heaven.

his mind starts racing. why are you dressed up so nicely? then, realization kicks in.

you’re going on a date.

miguel’s heart breaks, more than it already has been. with an aching chest, he watches the guy open the passenger door for you like a gentleman. well, at least he’s treating you well. those crimson eyes follow the tiny vehicle until the screen vanishes with a trap of his finger. miguel couldn’t watch anymore. the sight of you all dolled up for a man that isn’t him, going out with him, leaves an aching feeling in miguel’s heart. he shouldn’t be acting like this, he knows that. you were never his and he was never yours. but why does it feel like it was?

it was a simple friendship, nothing more. yet, his heart says differently. you were more than just a friend, more than a regular civilian. it was more because miguel’s heart would beat so damn fast whenever you’re near. when you look up at him with those pretty doe eyes. when you smile or laugh, it brightens up his day in a heartbeat.

miguel has been infatuated with you since.

and now he lost you because of his own actions.

“miguel, you coming?” the familiar voice of jessica snaps him out of those sorrowful thoughts.

taking a deep breath through his nose, miguel shuts off the monitors and hops off the platform. “yes, let’s move it.” with a tap to his gizmo, a colorful portal appears in front of him. he walks through it, his colleague following him to join the others for the mission. those images of you with that guy consumes his mind. this mission will distract him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

the diner is super cute and vintage. it’s 50s themed, teal chairs and tables with pink walls. you and enzo sit in a booth in the far corner. glancing at the menu, you decide to choose the basic choice. a classic cheeseburger with a shake of your favorite flavor. enzo orders the same, much to your surprise.

“hey, i need to use the restroom real quick. i’ll be right back.” enzo said as he gets up from the booth.

“okay.” you hum with a light smile as you watch him walk away, leaving you alone.

the background music keeps you entertained. classic 50s music. pulling out your phone, you scroll on social media while waiting for enzo’s return. scrolling through through numerous videos of memes and other stuff, you come across a video of a couple. it’s shows cute moments between them. their relationship seems to be so sweet, honest and true. the way the man treats his lady with caring touches, gazing at her with hearts in his eyes. how she reciprocates those feelings and gestures. the cute hugs and kisses. they seem so deeply in love.

you can’t help but imagine you and miguel in those scenarios. oh shit — miguel. you thought of miguel while watching that video. it brought tears to your eyes as you remember all the moments between you and miguel. the hangouts at your apartment. the first night he hung out and you two shared coffee. him stopping by one day to make sure you didn’t get into trouble and snacked on a concha with you. the unforgettable rainy night when you switched him up. the day he dogsit daisy, giving you a tulip as a thank you gift for helping him. hanging out at HQ.

you didn’t even realize a tear trailing down your cheek, slightly ruining your blush. wiping it away with the back of your hand, you hope no one saw.

that’s when you finally realize.

you love miguel.

no matter how hard you try to forget him, now matter how pissed you are at him, he constantly on your mind, in your heart. you love him.

you finally allow your heart to speak for you.

that’s when you tell yourself again: fuck it.

getting out of the booth, you make a beeline to the door. enzo returns from the restroom, perfect timing. he watches you in confusion as he approaches you.

“hey. what’s going on?” he asks, slightly concerned.

“i’m so sorry, enzo. something came up and i gotta go. i’m so sorry for wasting your time and going through this effort for me.” you flash him an apologetic smile before bolting out the door, leaving the male confused and a bit heartbroken.

part of you feels guilty for leaving enzo hanging like that, ditching him to go find another man. you’d have to explain to him one day.

right now, you’re focused on finding miguel.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ   𓂃 ₊ ୧   𓂃

passing through the streets, you make your way back to your apartment so you can take your car to HQ. as you make pace, you hear faint sounds of webbing and kicking from a distance. looking up at the rooftops, you find several figures in a fight with some lizard creature. familiar hues of red and dark blue captures your eyes, your heart skipping a beat. without wasting a second, you bolted to the building and go up the stairs of the fire escape. as you make it to the rooftop, it’s a full blown asskicking scene.

your eyes immediately land on the lizard creature, who’s being punched and kicked by two spider-people, ben and hobie. looking around, you find the one man who’s been infiltrating your mind nonstop.

“peter, aim for his head!” the classic shouting from miguel never surprises anyone. he was too occupied with the anomaly to notice your presence from afar.

“i’m trying!” poor peter b. tries following his orders, aiming for the lizard’s head with his webs.

as the asskicking continues, you make your way over with a frown. stopping at a few feet away from the chaos, you yell out with much anger.

“hey, asshole spiderman!”

that familiar voice makes him freeze, shoulders and back tensed. the one voice that’s been haunting him for days. very slowly, miguel turns around to see you standing a few feet away. his pupils dilate drastically, mouth agape underneath his mask. there you are, standing in front of him in all of your glory for the first time in five days. five fucking days of purgatory. there you are, wearing that beautiful white dress that makes you appear like an angel. miguel can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

adoration was replaced with concern because you’re in the middle of a fight. he doesn’t want you to get hurt again. no fucking way that’s happening.

“what the hell are you doing here?!” miguel exclaimed, the eyes of his mask widen in shock. “you need to get out of here, now!”

you stand your ground, frowning. “i’m not going anywhere until we talk!”

miguel stares at you in pure disbelief. “you need to go! i’m not asking you!”

“well too bad! i’m staying right here!” you fold your arms across your chest, standing in your sassy posture as you glare at him.

jesus christ. you’re so fucking stubborn and kinda stupid. he runs a hand over his face, sighing out of frustration. the last thing he needs is arguing with you, especially during a mission.

“why?! why can’t you just listen to me for one second?!” his mask disintegrates, revealing his pissed off face. “why are you here?!”

“porque té quiero, you pinche puto!”

your confession echos, leaving everyone speechless, even the fucking lizard variant. you stand there staring at him with bloodshot eyes, chest heaving due to heavy breathing. miguel stares back with wide eyes, a shocking expression illustrated on his face.

you love him?

miguel can’t comprehend those words. you actually love him? you love him, a chaotic man like him? you share the same love, feelings he has for you? his heart began beating faster, a sign of love.

the fat silence makes you feel a bit awkward, considering you just confessed your love in front of everyone. it was even more awkward since miguel didn’t respond or uttered a single word, only staring at you with those gorgeous crimson eyes. rubies staring into your own eyes, glistening in the sunlight.

you roll back your shoulders awkwardly. “okay, bye.”

swiftly turning around to walk away from embarrassment, you take one step before something wraps around your waist and yanks you backwards, twirling you in the process. a gasp erupts from your throat as you collide with a wall or at least something sturdy. feeling breathless, you quickly look up to find miguel towering over you, one hand wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close to his chest with no space between you two.

“cabrón.” you playfully hit his chest with a fist, knowing it doesn’t affect him but you’re pissed so.

he gazes down at you with pure adoration, heart beating faster than ever. he’s been wanting to do that for so long just to see your pissed off expression. definitely worth the wait. the corner of his lip curls up, forming into a smirk. just as your lips part open to say something else, miguel stops you by quickly leaning down and smash his lips against yours.

the moment you two have been yearning for.

you finally get to feel those plump lips. damn they feel nice, you melt into the kiss. miguel, on the other hand, is on cloud fucking nine. your lips taste so sweet, just like he imagined. god your lips are addictively sweet and soft, something that leaves a man yearning for more. your lipgloss sticks into his lips but he doesn’t give a shit. he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, earning a soft moan from you. it feels like it’s just you two, the rest of the world doesn’t exist like a blur. just two people intertwining their souls in a lovely moment. the sunset is a cherry on top, illuminating a dreamy scenery.

the dreamy scenery fades away at the sounds of whistling from the distance. an annoyed groan escapes miguel’s lips as you part away to look at the other spider-people from across. peter has the biggest shit eating grin, rooting for you two while mayday giggles in the baby carrier. jess simply smiles at you two, feeling like a proud mom. ben is dumbfounded by the sight, jaw dropped and eyes popping out of his face. hobie just smirks, winking at you. he’s finally glad you two got your shit together. they all got the memo, mainly due to miguel’s heavy glare, and leave through the portal with the captured lizard variant, leaving you and miguel alone.

“i—“ he looks back to you but is cut off by a slap to the face. his cheek now flushed and stings, gingerly rubbing it with one hand.

“don’t ever do that shit again.” you threaten, glaring at him with piercing eyes.

miguel knew exactly what you meant; the web lasso. but it was mainly for everything he put you through. a low chuckle spills from his lips before his expression turns sorrowful. “i’m sorry… for everything. for hurting you and pushing you away. i didn’t mean anything that i said about regretting meeting you. i’m happy that i met you, fucking grateful. i was just scared of losing you, losing another...” his shoulders sag, a small pout on his lips, hurt in his brown eyes, mimicking a sad puppy. “i know it’s a weak excuse but please believe me i’m sorry. you don’t have to forgive me, just want to tell you how sorry and regretful i am.”

emotional tears began forming as you look up at him with sad eyes, heart aching at his words. of course you forgive him because you love him and you believe his words. “you fucked me up good.” you chuckle halfheartedly and he frowns. “i cried over your dumbass.” you watch him pout more, making your heart flutter. “but that proves how much i care for your dumbass.” you playfully nudged his chest, eliciting a chuckle from the man that you love.

“lo siento, mi alma.” he gently cups your cheek with a hand and you lean into his touch, his heart skipping a beat at the sensation. “i hated that i made you cry and i never want to be the reason ever again.”

“i know.” you flash him a sad smile. “you have a lot of making up to do, tonto.” you playfully glare at him.

the corner of his lip curls up, forming a smirk. “oh yo sé, hermosa. i promise to make it up to you in best possible ways.” he states wholeheartedly as he leans in and capture your lips with his again.

you smile into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his thick neck, standing on your tippy toes. his hands come down and wrap around your waist, gently pulling you closer against him, leaving no space between. your lips intertwined in a dance, relishing the feeling of his plump lips against yours and your soft lips against his. tilting his head a bit, miguel deepens the kiss as his tongue sneaks in and licks your lips for passage. you happily accept, opening your mouth which miguel doesn’t hesitate to invade with his tongue in a hungry manner. the soft moan leaving your lips couldn’t be held back. he groans in response. his broad hands roam over your back, up to your small shoulders blades then to the curve of your spine before resting right above your ass. you shiver under his addictive touch, becoming putty.

miguel couldn’t resist anymore. he palms your clothed ass, eliciting another soft moan from you which drives him crazy. he grows more touchier, gently groping your curves through the dress, feeling your soft body in his palms. the makeout session grows a bit spicer. using his gizmo, he opens a portal behind you. grabbing the back of your thighs, miguel lifts you up and carries you in his arms. a muffled squeal leaves your lips before turning into a giggle, tightening your grip on his thick neck as support.

carrying you in his arms, miguel steps through the portal, determined to show his love for you.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @loser-alert @keepitreal001 @iamperson12280 @nostalgicdaira @flordelalunas @oharasfilipinawife @cho-coquette @lavenderslemonade @palesatan @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @lilscast @beanieboy23 @dorck26 @kakabskbskdnd @4crew @deputy-videogamer @36namey @sin4tra @holographicang3l @migueloharasoulmate @darlingz99 @opalesquegirl @freehentai @rinverse @colorfulbluebirdpainter @razertail18 @shadowzena43 @undf-stuff @miatjie @leshasnolife

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[afrowrites]

~What A Difference a Day Makes~

High noon, blistering heat scattered across the wastelands. Rolling waves of heat come off of the scared man. His weathered coat and hat absorbs the warmth of the sun. But a man like him doesn’t mind it. He clings to its warmth like he clings to radiation it’s familiar and after 200 years of life that’s the first thing that gets him going. As he traverses the weathered ground and picks from the weathered weeds he’s home and home is wherever he lays his hat. And today his hat lands right at your home.

Word Count: 3,102

Warnings: Hostages, Explosions.

Tags: The Ghoul/Black Plus-Sized Reader, Fluff, Domesticity, Banter, Slowburn(Kind of, not really)

Read on Ao3

The Ghoul enters an old dilapidated town,“Well, well, what do we have here?” 

 He trips and before he can figure out what it is that he tripped on he hears music, a song from the past. “What a difference a day makes”  

The Ghoul pauses for a moment, letting the song wash over him. He hums softly to himself before his features fall back into the familiar sardonic smirk. “Well, ain't that just a day late and a dollar short.”

Suddenly the record stops then it rewinds, a haunting and demonic sound ringing through the speakers from that turntable. It explodes and sends him hurling towards some old rickety building. 

He slowly gets back up, rubbing the back of his head. His expression changes from amusement to annoyance. “Well, ain't that just a real humdinger. What's a ghoul gotta do to get some peace and quiet around here?”

He suddenly feels the barrel of a gun at the back of his head "Now I don't know who you are and what your doing here but you have about three seconds before I blow your head to smithereens"

He turned slowly to see a beautiful brown figure, she had luscious full lips that were twisted in a scowl, a sharp stare that could cut glass, and a body that would make any man fall to his knees. Which is what our cowboy wants to do so bad but he also doesn’t want to get shot. 

“Well, ain't you a proper little ray of sunshine, darlin'? If you want to know who I am, just call me The Ghoul. As for what I'm doing here, well, sometimes a fella jus' needs a little excitement, know what I mean?”

"And what pray tell would that be?" you looked at him, gun nudging his forehead.

“What do I want? How ‘bout a damn drink and a decent meal. Maybe even a little bit of friendly conversation that doesn't involve pointing a gun at my head?” The Ghoul's tone is cool and calm, unruffled by the threat of violence.

You take his bag from him and motion him to hand over his weapons, after all your modified grenade launcher is much scarier then some dinky pistols, after collecting the items you bind his hands with rope tightly and make you decent to your base of operations. 

"Alright if food and good company is what you seek then I guess you can follow me, but don't think you can escape or I'll make sure you face my music."

All while you're talking he for some reason can’t stop staring at your lips, The Ghoul raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a wry smile. 

“Well, looks like I'm just a damn dog on a leash now. But, if that's what it takes for a little vittles and banter, I guess I can't complain. Lead the way, darlin'. I'll try not to bite.”  He shows you a grinning smile. 

It takes half a day's journey to get to a dilapidated house on the outskirts of the shady sands. We walk in and it smells of mildew and dust.

 "Welcome to my abode, rough skin." I tie him securely to a sturdy post of the house. He has enough room to sit at the dinner table without causing too much of a fuss.

The Ghoul glances around the dilapidated house, taking in the dusty surroundings. He doesn't hide his surprise, but masks his discomfort with sardonic wit. 

“Well, ain't this just the picture of comfort and luxury. Mildewed walls, a chair that's seen better days, and the distinct smell of desperation. It's like a damn holiday.”

"I'm sorry this house is 250 years old and has survived two nukes safe to say I think I'm doing just fine, besides it's not like you know any better.” 

The Ghoul laughs, a raspy, guttural sound. 

“Two nukes, you say? Well, now we're talkin'. But hey, maybe I just prefer the finer things in life, like a decent roof over my head and a bed that doesn't squeak louder than a dying Radstag. But who am I to complain? After all, I'm sittin' at the table of a bonafide wasteland celebrity. And the company ain't half bad, either.”

"You're funny, what's your name?" I squint and I lean in closer to his face.

The Ghoul gives a crooked grin, revealing yellowed, pointed teeth. “They call me The Ghoul, sweetcheeks. But you can call me whatever you damn well please. Just don't expect me to be all sunshine and butterflies every damn minute.”

“You idiot I already knew that,” You chuckle and hit his arm playfully, “But you do look awfully familiar, I can't quite put my nose to it but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon enough"

The Ghoul's lip curls into a smirk as he leans in close. “Well, darlin' if you recognize this old mug of mine, then you must be one hell of a fan, considering how much more handsome I used to be.”

He takes a moment to relish in this compliment before his sarcasm returns. “Now, are we gonna talk about my good looks all night, or are ya gonna get a fella somethin' to eat?”

"pushy, much" I rummage through my cabinets to open my secret stash of food behind my fake out cabinets 

"Alright I have some cram and mac'n cheese and drum roll please"

The Ghoul's eyes light up at the sight of the canned meals, He quickly returns to his usual sarcasm. 

“Well, hot damn! Look at you, pullin’ out the good stuff. I reckon I’ll take a bowl of that there “mac and cheese” you mentioned. Gotta tell you, darlin’, nothing says fine dining like canned crap.”

"You didn't even let me tell you what was for dessert, hmph." In your pouty frustration, he finds it endearing which is awfully close as he remembers that one you have him tied up in your hide-away, and two he barely even knows who you are. 

The Ghoul chuckles, enjoying this brief interaction with someone who isn't actively trying to kill him. 

“Desert, you say? Well, now you have my full attention. Let's hear it, darlin'. What's the sweet treat you're hiding in that stash of yours?”  

"Fancy lads snack cakes, they are actually good which worries me because that means they put all sorts of chemical crap in here. But beggars can't be choosers can they?"

The Ghoul's eyes light up again, and he almost seems enthusiastic. 

“Well, now we're talkin'! Fancy lads snack cakes, huh? Sounds like a piece of pre-war heaven. Hell, I've tasted dog food that was better than some of the slop I've come across in the Wasteland. But, you're right, darlin'. When you're out here scavenging for scraps, you gotta take what you can get.”

"I'll heat this stuff up then." You turn away blushing,and you honestly don’t know why?

The Ghoul gives you a sly smile, noticing your flushed cheeks, and nervous nature. 

“Well, ain't that a sight for sore eyes. Here I am, tied to a chair and at your mercy, and you're the one gettin' all flustered. Careful now, darlin'. If you keep givin' me these heated stares, a fella might start getting some ideas.”

"Now what kind of girl do you take me for?" You raise my brow and smirk.

The Ghoul's eyes twinkle mischievously as he looks you up and down. 

���Well, darlin', let's see. You're a proper little badass, ain't ya? Tying me up, feedin’ me grub, givin’ me the eye. I reckon you're the kind of girl who knows how to hold her own in this here Wasteland, and if provoked, could knock a fella flat on his ass with just the force of your glare. Hell, I'd say you're the kind of girl who could kick my ass while lookin’ damn fine doin’ it.”

"That's real cute but flattery will not get you untied." I get closer to whisper in his ear "Mister~"

The Ghoul chuckles, the hairs that would be  on the back of his neck rising at your touch. “Well, ain't you a sly one? Look darlin', I'll gladly sing your praises from here to the Grand Canyon. But you're right, there ain't a compliment in the world that could charm these ropes off me. And don't get me wrong, I ain't complainin'. A pretty lady, good food, and I'm tied down at her mercy? Sounds like a hell of a good time to me.”

"Your just in luck because the food is ready." You take the macaroni and cram off the fire and plate it on the mis-matched plates and cutlery.

The Ghoul's eyes light up as the food hits the table. Well, isn't this a sight for sore eyes? You ain't pullin' any punches, darlin'. Canned mac and cheese and cram. It's like a damn feast for a Wasteland king. I appreciate the effort, darlin'. You've got me hooked. He grins, his stomach rumbling in anticipation.

"You really better be glad I'm wasting my food on you, if I didn't have other food drops and suppliers you'd be starving."

The Ghoul gives a hearty chuckle, his sharp teeth glinting in the light. “Oh, darling, I'm aware. Believe me, I don't take your generosity lightly. But hey, I'd say I make up for it with my sparkling personality. He winks playfully. If you wanted to leave me hungry, you would have done so already. So, why feed me? You gotta be expectin' somethin' in return.”

"Honestly I don't know why I'm helping you, you just feel familiar to me and I don't know why. It's like in my mind I know who you are. But I don't know I might just be talking out of my ass."

The Ghoul's grin falters for a moment, his thoughts racing. He can see the confusion and memory in your eyes. “Ah, familiar, eh? Well, I won't lie, darlin'. I've been around these parts for a damn long time and have met more than my share of fascinating folks. It could be I've got a face that sticks in the mind. But, who knows? Maybe it's just a coincidence. The Wasteland is a mighty big place.”

You abruptly pause and think for a moment, “Would you want to watch a movie with me?"

The Ghoul's eyebrow arches in surprise and amazement. “Now, that's a damn fine suggestion. It ain't often a ghoul gets an invitation to watch the latest Hollywood flick. But, if you're askin', I'd love to join you. As long as it's a proper action movie, none of that romantic crap. I wanna see things blow up and people kick ass, you know what I mean?”

You laugh at his response, gritty and rough, “"Oh yeah you can watch my favorites with me. I only really have a cowboy cooper so I hope you don't mind." You give him a sheepish smile.

The Ghoul's expression grows intrigued. “Cowboy Cooper, eh? Sounds like the kind of movie fit for a true Wasteland outlaw. As long as it's got that proper Wild West charm, I'm in. You better believe I'm ready to sit back and enjoy the show. Let the explosions and bullets fly, darlin'. Hell, it might even make me forget about my current predicament.”

"You're such an old man."  You chuckle to myself as I turn on the movie.

The Ghoul lets out a low chuckle, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well now, aren't you the little firecracker? I ain't called old man in years. But hey, if it gets me a front row seat to this flick, I'll wear that label proudly. Now, let's get this show goin'. Nothing like a proper Western to get a ghoul's blood pumpin'”

You watch the movie together on your dilapidated couch on a tv that somehow works. "Now I know who you remind me of."

The Ghoul nods, his eyes flicking between the movie and you. He can tell you’ve got something on your mind. “Go on, darlin’. I could use a good mystery unraveled. Who do I remind you of?”

You make this somewhat off connection in your mind. "Cowboy Cooper, your voices are somewhat similar and you both have the same teeth which is shocking considering you're a ghoul."

The Ghoul's expression is unreadable for a moment as he processes your statement. Then, a slow, sardonic smile spreads across his face. 

“Well, now, isn't that something. Cowboy Cooper, huh? Guess it makes sense, given this ole’ rugged good looks. I'll take that as a compliment, darlin’. As for the teeth…well, I guess you could say life's been rough on them. But it just gives me that extra charm, don't you think?”

"I guess." you chuckle to yourself, as I start to rest your head on the ghouls shoulder.

The Ghoul's smirk softens slightly as he feels you rest your head on his shoulder. He can't help but let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“Well, ain't you somethin'? Here I am, all tied up and helpless, but somehow I end up playin’ the role of your personal pillow.”

You nuzzle into him, “Well you are comfier than you look.” You smile to yourself, this is honestly the first time you’ve felt anyones touch in a long time.

The Ghoul's smirk widens into a wolfish grin. He leans against the ropes, allowing you to use him as your makeshift pillow. “Well, darlin', if I knew I’d end up as the Wasteland’s next hottest pillow, I would have tied myself up years ago. But I gotta admit, you’re onto something. Maybe it’s these rugged good looks that make it so comfy. So, is this my new job? Just stayin’ put so you can rest your pretty little head on my shoulder?” 

"Whatever you say cowboy," you  yawn and stretch off of him. "Hey I don't know if you ghouls need to sleep but I will be doing that upstairs. i'll even tie you to my bed so I can sleep easier"

The Ghoul can’t help but chuckle at your bold invitation. He gives you a sly look, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Well now, ain't you the forward one? I haven't slept in years, so you don't gotta worry about me gettin’ into mischief while you catch your rest. As for the whole "tying me up to your bed" shenanigans, well, I won't say I'm opposed to the idea.”

You chuckle and give him a sleepy smile. "I bet you aren't, come on cowboy" As you lead him upstairs.

With a low chuckle, the Ghoul follows you up the stairs, his steps slightly hindered by the ropes. Despite his predicament, he can’t help but feel a bit excited at the prospect of spending the night in your bed. “Well, darlin', if you're offerin', who am I to refuse? Just don’t hog all the covers, alright?”

"Ah ah take off your shoes" You grin with your hand wide open motioning him to give them to you.

The Ghoul pauses for a moment, confusion flickering across his face. “My shoes? Look, darlin’, I ain’t one to question a lady, but this seems like a bit much. If I take my shoes off, then the next thing I know, you’re gonna be demanding I sleep naked and give up my guns.”

"That's not a bad idea, hand em over cowpoke" You knew he had extra weapons you were honestly confused as to why he hadn’t tried anything.

The Ghoul raises an eyebrow at your suggestion, but can’t help but chuckle, clearly amused. 

“Oh now, darlin’. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a wild one, sure, but takin’ off my shoes and sleeping naked? You keep making me an offer like that and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got plans for me beyond just restin’. Maybe I oughta keep my weapons within reach, just in case.”

"Relax if you think I'm thinking about doing anything of that nature you're surely mistaken" this next part you say under your breath "I've never even done that." 

The Ghoul quirks an eyebrow at your muttered words. “Now wait now, hold up. That sounded like a mighty important confession you just let slip there. Are you tellin' me that you’ve never done any of that?” His eyes rake over you for a moment as a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Seems like some fellas in this world are missing out on a good time.”

"Oh be quiet" you throw a pillow at his face and you take his weapon and throw it at the far side of the room. "And if you don't mind I'll be sleeping with my gun, is that ok?”

The Ghoul catches the pillow with a smirk, setting it aside. He watches as you move his weapons away, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Oh trust me, darlin’, I’m perfectly fine with a lady keepin’ her weapon close. In fact, I’d say it’s a mighty smart move, even when you’re sharin’ a bed with a fella like me. Can’t be too careful in this Wasteland.”

"Hmmm you're too eager and I don't like that, but I'll keep you around. I need a guard dog after all" You smile cheekily at him.

The Ghoul's smirk turns into a wolfish grin, revealing a hint of sharp teeth in the dim light. Your wink doesn’t go unnoticed, and he can’t help but appreciate your boldness. “Oh darlin’, you’re playin’ a dangerous game. Keep givin’ me those looks and making comments like that, and you just might find yourself tangled up in somethin’ more than just bedsheets.”

You roll my eyes "goodnight Cowboy"

The Ghoul watches you roll your eyes, a smirk plastered across his face. He can’t help but laugh as you bid him goodnight, his deep chuckle filling the air.

“Alright there, darlin’. Goodnight~” With a wink, he settles down on the bed, his gaze never leaving you. 

[exhuastedpigeon]

WIP Wednesday

No one look at me. I woke up at 5am with an idea that made me not hate my Buddie baseball AU and now I'm 1.5k deep into the new approach.

And yes, y'all are about to learn that I'm a giant baseball nerd. The kind of nerd who, when I lived close enough to my team, had season tickets. There are 81 home games and from 2017-2019 I only missed 10 home games. I missed those games to travel around watching minor league baseball. The kind of nerd who hand tracked stats as a kid because it was fun for me.

This is all just a warning because this fic is might get a little inside baseball about... baseball...

Pitchers were weird, that’s just a fact of life that baseball players learn young. Sometimes they need a little special attention, sometimes they need to be left alone the day of a game, and sometimes they need a very specific Gatorade only made in Korea.  In his two two years with the Dodgers, Eddie had seen his fair share of pitchers doing stuff that anyone else would think is weird before their start days, but because they’re pitchers it’s just accepted. Most of the guys in the clubhouse just ignore it, but Eddie, as the starting catcher, doesn't get that luxury.  Bobby Nash always prays a decade of his rosary before a start. After their first game together, Eddie had started praying with him to get them in the same headspace. So between batting practice and first pitch Eddie and Bobby sit in front of Bobby’s locker, heads bowed together, and pray quietly.  Chimney Han insists that watching a supercut of all of the Wild Thing scenes from Major League got him in the zone. Eddie’s pretty sure he could recite the compilation from memory by now because he’d watched it so many times with Chim. Before every one of Chim’s starts Eddie finds him in the little lounge area with his iPad and they watch a very young Charlie Sheen.  Albert Han, younger half-brother of Chimney, is the one who insisted on the Korean Gatorade. Eddie didn’t drink it with him, instead he had his own pre-game snack and water while they discussed the line up again to keep fresh. Albert is probably the most well adjusted pitcher Eddie’s played with in the big leagues, but the bar is low so it’s not saying much.  Ravi Panikkar got his first call up last year and Eddie quickly learned that Ravi needed a gentle hand. After his first few starts Ravi started to open up and apparently his thing before games was checking the real estate market, something about needing a back-up plan if baseball didn’t work out. Eddie would have made fun of him after the game, but it worked for him so Eddie didn’t say shit. Eddie liked to think he was used to pitchers and their idiosyncrasies after a basically lifetime of playing baseball and six years playing professionally, but he still wasn’t used to Evan Buckley. There wasn’t much Buck could do that would surprise Eddie, which was why Eddie only needed to gesture for Buck to come into his hotel room when he knocked on his door at 6am the first day the full team was set to report to Spring Training. It was still early enough that the air had  a bit of a bite to it, but Eddie knew better than to be fooled by an Arizona morning.   “Morning Buck,” Eddie rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of it. Buck hadn’t woken him up, but he had gotten Eddie out of bed, which was just as bad in Eddie’s opinion. They didn’t have to report until noon today to give the position players time to get their shit in order since pitchers and catchers had already been at camp for at least a week - or two weeks in Eddie’s case. 

Tagged by @cal-daisies-and-briars @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @tizniz @wildlife4life @diazsdimples

no pressure tagging @monsterrae1 @rosieposiepuddingnpie @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @acountrygirlsfun @actualalligator @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @puppyboybuckley @thekristen999 @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @eddiebabygirldiaz @buddierights @honestlydarkprincess @epicbuddieficrecs @steadfastsaturnsrings @underwater-ninja-13 @rainbow-nerdss @911-on-abc @devirnis @daffi-990 @loserdiaz and anyone else who wants to share!

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Part Twelve

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: A successful return to Ravka prompts you to share warnings of the future with Aleksander, and a new (but not unfamiliar) character invites himself into your schemes.

Warnings: references to the rule of wolves duology.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

“We need to talk about the third amplifier.”

Aleksander hums in acknowledgement to your mumbled words, and you feel the vibration of his response in his throat as your forehead is nestled against his neck.

You’re sitting in his lap, legs draped over his, your side tucked under his arm, and your hands slotted beneath the lapels of his kefta in an attempt to remain warm.

Ever since your fever had broken, you find yourself feeling cold more often, and seek out Aleksander’s warmth which he’s always happy to provide.

When he feels you shiver, Aleksander wraps one of his arms tighter around your body.

You had parted ways with Sturmhond and his crew at around noon today. Not wanting to be seen colluding with a suspected pirate, Aleksander had requested you be dropped off along the coast in a longboat. From there you had walked back to Os Kervo, and now that the shadows were lengthening, you wanted nothing more than some quiet time with Aleksander.

“The firebird is known for its elusive nature, though I don’t doubt that you know where it is.” He remarks with a small smile. You nod faintly.

“I do. But, the firebird isn’t the third amplifier.”

Aleksander frowns, looking down at you as he discards the papers in his hand. You run your fingers down the length of his tunic, nails catching against the seam between soft fabric and leather.

“Did Baghra ever tell you how your grandfather died?” You ask softly.

He nods slowly.

“Everyone in Ravka knows the story of Sankt Ilya. How he brought a child back from the brink of death, and was killed by the villagers for his unnatural power.”

Aleksander opens up a drawer in the desk, pulling out a book. It’s cover is a deep red cloth, with golden embellishments and the title printed in Old Ravkan. He sets the book down in your lap.

“Have you read Istorii Sankt’ya?” He asks, the Old Ravkan rolling smoothly over his tongue as you open up the book.

“Some of it.” You admit. Turning through the glossy pages, you admire the brightly painted illustrations that accompany each story of the saints. “The version in my world is a little different from this one.”

Aleksander’s head cocks to aside and curiosity fills his eyes as his thumb smoothes over your kneecap.

“How so?”

“There’s two saints missing.” You tell him, flicking through the pages before you stop at the back of the book. “Sankta Alina of undiscovered gifts.”

You pause, looking up to meet Aleksander’s eyes.

“And the Starless Saint.” You say quietly. Then you smile. “Which, if anyone knew his name, would also be called Sankt Aleksander. The patron saint of those who seek salvation in the dark.”

Aleksander stares down at the book, eyeing the blank pages where there should be an illustration of him.

All he’s ever wanted was for his country to accept him - the hopeful dream of a frightened boy, shunned and feared for centuries.

Since the creation of the Fold, he had abandoned that hope, believing that he no longer deserved, or would even achieve such a thing. Your words had surprised him, and you can see him mulling over his sainthood in his mind.

You turn back through the pages, to Sankt Ilya’s story, and trace your fingers over the illustration. The white stag with its glimmering antlers. The sea whip with its scales dipped in gold. The firebird.

“You know the real story, don’t you? That it wasn’t a farmer’s son your grandfather brought back to life.”

Aleksander nods.

“Baghra only told me about her sister once. But I remember.”

“When Morozova resurrected her, he used merzost.” Aleksander nods. “Unintentionally making her the third of his amplifiers.”

He looks up at you, startled by your revelation, and you can see his thoughts beginning to race.

“But she died. Alongside my grandfather.” He states, but you can hear the question in his voice.

You shake your head.

“She survived. Somehow. She had children, and a long line of descendants, that continues to this day.”

Aleksander regards you for a long moment.

“You know who it is.”

“We already have the third amplifier.” You tell him quietly. “His name is Malyen Ortsev.”

In that moment, you are both silent. The floorboards creak as the wind rattles against the windowpane, and you fight the shiver settling over your skin.

Aleksander leans back in the chair you’re sharing, his eyes never leaving you as he processes this information.

“That’s why you kept them together.” You shake your head.

“Mal has some sort of connection to the other amplifiers. It would have taken us far longer to find them without him.”

“And do you intend for Alina to kill him?”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head.

“No. Absolutely not.”

He frowns at your almost frantic tone.

“Why?”

“Two amplifiers is her limit. A third one would take her power away, as some sort of punishment for her greed.” Your brows crease and your nose wrinkles in disapproval as you add those final words.

“I presume that’s what happens in the book.”

You nod.

Silence hangs between you both, and you know Aleksander is busying thinking, but there’s something weighing on your mind. Something that neither of you have addressed yet.

“We’re in agreement that taking down the Fold is a bad idea. Aren’t we?” You ask him, and he frowns with surprise in his eyes.

“Yes.” He says slowly. “Though I had thought that you wouldn’t approve of keeping it intact.”

“Taking it down would cause more problems than it’s worth.” He nods in agreement, though his frown doesn’t fade.

“I agree. Although I have a suspicion that we’re both thinking about different problems.”

As you nod, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, and consider how to explain what the problem is.

“The creation of the Fold caused a tear in the making at the heart of the world. There’s no reasonable method of fixing that.”

He tilts his head aside, eyeing you carefully.

“Meaning there’s an unreasonable one?”

Several thoughts run through your mind. Aleksander’s death in the Fold by Alina’s hand. His resurrection, and possession of a young monk. The thornwood tree. The sacrifice he makes, once again, for his country, to hold the tear closed for eternity with his body.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s very annoying when you do that.”

Amusement twinkles in his eyes as he adjusts his arms around you, his palms settling on your waist as he raises a brow.

“What? See through the clever word choices you make to avoid a discussion you won’t like?”

“Yes.” You say, looking down as anxiety floods through you.

If you explain everything, would Aleksander offer to make the sacrifice - to suffer for eternity to keep the Fold at bay? Your heart twists painfully in your chest at the thought of such a thing.

“I won’t pry.” He says softly.

Glancing back up at him, some of your nerves dissipate as his eyes meet yours. You nod, and continue to talk through your thoughts.

“At the end of the trilogy, Alina loses her power, and the Fold is brought down. But in its place there’s something worse.”

“What is it?”

At that, you falter.

“My knowledge is a little limited at this point.” Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you, and you sigh. “There’s two more books set after the trilogy… but I’ve only read the scenes with you in them.”

The corner of Aleksander’s mouth quirks, and you roll your eyes at the sight of his own eyes sparkling with fond amusement.

“Even after it’s destroyed, fragments of the Fold reappear because of the tear at the making, leaving destruction in their wake.”

Aleksander nods slowly, running a hand over his face as he thinks.

“With more training and the power of two amplifiers, Alina should be able to remove the volcra. After that, the Fold is more of an inconvenience than a problem.” You nod in agreement.

“That should work.”

Aleksander runs his hands down your side, in an effort to keep you warm. It’s comforting, sitting in a shabby little room with the fire crackling weakly in the corner, pressed against Aleksander’s chest. No doubt he feels you press a little heavier against his chest as you body pleads for sleep.

He drops a kiss onto your forehead.

“Bed?” He asks softly, and you nod.

Aleksander tucks his papers away, and you place The Lives of Saints back into the drawer. Once you’ve finished clearing away, Aleksander takes your hand, and you move towards the bed.

You settle under the covers, as Aleksander dresses into his night clothes.

“And your plans for the throne?” He asks, lifting the covers before he slips into bed beside you.

“Convince Vasily to abdicate, then prove that Nikolai has no official claim.” You mumble as you wrap your arms around him. Aleksander frowns, and you add quickly, “It’s a very loose plan, at the moment.”

He breathes out a small laugh at your admission.

“Well, it’s a good start.”

You smile softly at the sound of his laugh and fall asleep with your head on his chest.

»»---------------------►

On your return to Os Alta, Aleksander immediately receives news of the King’s illness worsening. He is now bedridden, but you insist to Aleksander that the King should still be treated despite his confinement, in case Nikolai should return. No one can suspect any foul play once the King finally dies.

As Royal Consort, you’re invited to the palace to attend and comfort the Queen in a time of such distress. She sits surrounded by ladies maids, who all flutter their fans towards her whenever a moment of emotion seizes her.

Occasionally she will sniffle in such a manner that has you uncertain as to whether she’s genuinely upset, or just playing a part for her Court. Nevertheless, you offer her empty assurances with falsified sincerity in your voice.

Luckily it’s racing season, meaning that Vasily is several miles away at his dacha in Carvyea. Whether he has heard of his father’s condition, you’re uncertain, but no one mentions his absence.

Day after day, you’re brought before the Queen, and her ladies maids all fawn over you. They run through the usual topic of conversation - your engagement. In response, you show them the Lanstov emerald that you wore almost permanently now that you were back in the capital. Aleksander’s necklace is, as always, hidden underneath your shirt.

They all seem dreadfully excited about the wedding, which has anxiety settling into your stomach. With Vasily not even here, how can you convince him not to marry you or become king? The stress certainly doesn’t help how warm you get when you’re sitting in the Queen’s parlour.

Even you, who feels cold on the warmest of days, find the rooms of the Grand Palace incredibly stuffy.

It’s on a particularly warm day that an attendant announces the arrival of Second Prince Nikolai of Ravka.

Part of you is relieved to not be the centre of attention for once. Though the rest of you is concerned. Did Nikolai know about your engagement to his brother? Surely he must recognise you from when you met him as Sturmhond. Does he know about you and Aleksander? Zoya always said that the two of you were rather obvious.

The Queen is thrilled by her son’s arrival, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for her. None of her family ever wants to be home, it’s no wonder she’s always eager when someone new arrives. She kisses him on both of his cheeks, and he blushes a little at her affections.

Then she introduces you to him.

You bow politely and offer him your hand. He takes it, his eyes fixed on yours as he lifts your hand to his lips.

“A pleasure to finally meet the person I’ve heard so much about.” He says.

Nikolai always chooses his words carefully. You’re certain there’s a hidden message in his greeting, some sort of warning that says: I know you.

After a little more time of Nikolai telling some rather entertaining stories about his travels, you decide to make yourself scarce. The prince doesn’t let you escape so easily.

“Allow me to walk you back to the Little Palace.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Though I assure you, I’m quite capable of walking alone.”

His eyes sparkle with amusement as he remarks with a small knowing laugh,

“I’m quite sure you are.”

Despite his face being different, you still feel like you’re talking to Sturmhond, and you’re tempted to roll your eyes as you accept his hand. You don’t notice the Queen watching you both with a small smile.

Alina had punched Nikolai in the face when he had revealed himself as Sturmhond. Whilst you don’t think the Court would approve of such a thing, the smirk on his lips certainly tempts you. Perhaps punching him would release some of the awful tension in your shoulders.

The two of you walk quietly down the corridor, before exiting through a side door and making your way towards the path which leads to the Little Palace. The silence between you urges you to make some conversation.

“Lovely weather we’re having for this time of year.” You remark lightly as you walk arm in arm.

The breeze is fresh, and the sunlight carries some delicate warmth that is so characteristic of spring shaking away the cold of winter.

“You’re not marrying Vasily for love.” He states.

That certainly didn’t take long. You blink at him.

“What makes you say such a thing?”

Nikolai raises a brow at you.

“Perhaps the rather endearing love confession I witnessed between you and General Kirigan a few weeks ago?”

Keeping your face as neutral as possible, you curse yourself internally.

“Forgive me Your Highness, but you must be mistaken. We’ve never met before.”

“Don’t play coy with me.”

Deciding to drop your confused facade, you give him a small smile as you say,

“I thought you liked our little back and forth?”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly in amusement, but he sighs and shakes his head.

“Why do you want the throne?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re saying you want my brother?”

“No. I…”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you consider your options. Just this once, the truth might work best.

“I just want to make Ravka better. He asked me, out of the blue, and whilst I don’t love him… I thought I could do some good as a consort.”

He’s quiet after your admission, and you lift your gaze up from the grass to look at his face. He seems to be pondering your words seriously, and when he sees the worry in your eyes he smiles reassuringly.

“I believe you.”

Breathing out a small sigh of relief, your grip on him tightens as you step painfully onto a stone. The two of you are quiet for a small length of time. No doubt Nikolai is thinking deeply, so you look over the landscape.

The grass that connects the Grand Palace to the Little Palace is a bright luscious green, and a few insects can be seen buzzing cheerfully above a small patch of flowers.

When you glance back at Nikolai you find him already looking at you.

“What if you married me?” He asks. Your eyes widen.

It takes you a moment to respond.

“No offence, but you’re a second son. Practically speaking, you’re a downgrade.”

“But physically I’m an upgrade, right?” He remarks smoothly, tilting his head to gesture at himself, and you laugh.

“Vasily is still first in line.” You remind him.

“I think I can convince him to abdicate.” You tilt your head at him. That had been your plan, which might be easier to accomplish with Nikolai on your side. “With a big enough fund to live off, and spend on his horses, I think he could be quite content.”

“So do I.” You say softly in agreement. He raises a brow,

“Is that a yes?”

“Wouldn’t it be a scandal?” You ask with a nervous frown. “I’m engaged to your brother, then I decide to marry you instead?”

“We’ll have him leave suddenly. You can act heartbroken for a month or so while his charming younger brother consoles you. Only to sweep you off your feet in a whirlwind romance. The people will love it.”

His words have a smile tugging at your lips. It feels strange, to be scheming with someone other than Aleksander. You wonder what he will think about this offer.

“Do you mind if I think about this?” You ask him.

Nikolai nods with a small smile.

“Give my regards to General Kirigan.”

»»---------------------►

You push the door to the war room open, and stand staring into the room for a moment, your head swimming with thoughts. When Aleksander looks up from his place at the large table he chuckles quietly at your expression.

“How was it?”

“I need to go lie down.” You state.

With that, you step inside and shut the door behind you. Then you walk towards the bedroom with the intent to lie down and close your eyes for a long time.

“Nikolai returned to Court today.” You tell Aleksander as you cross the threshold into his bedroom.

Slumping down onto the bed, you stare up at the ceiling for a moment before you close your eyes. Aleksander’s footsteps echo over the hardwood floor, as he appears in the doorway.

“Did he speak with you?”

“Among other things.” You remark distractedly. “He proposed.”

Aleksander raises a brow and steps into the bedroom. He sits down on the sofa beside his bed, and you sit up.

“I didn’t think their sibling rivalry would extend to such lengths - stealing each other’s betrothed.”

You breathe out a small laugh.

“Nikolai knows about us.” You admit softly. “Me and you.” He shrugs.

“It’s not uncommon. A marriage of convenience often means both parties find what they’re lacking in their marriage elsewhere.”

“You mean the royals usually have affairs while their spouse looks the other way?” He nods.

Lost in thought, you tug your boots off and pull one of your knees up to your chest, folding your arms around your leg.

“The situation is ideal.” You reason. “Nikolai is the best option for the throne at the moment, but…”

You sigh, staring down at the floor.

“I know it’s selfish, I just can’t help but think that I’m ruining everyone’s chance at happiness.”

Nikolai won’t fall for Zoya like he’s meant to, that’s two people broken apart by you. You’ve stopped Aleksander from being with Alina, and whilst he says he wants you now that could change. You will grow old. Aleksander won’t.

Aleksander stands, and within two steps he’s in front of you. He crouches down, so that his face is level with yours, and his forearms rest on either side of you.

“This arrangement with Nikolai is temporary.” He assures you. “Accept his proposal, as long as he agrees to a courtship. That will buy us time.”

Aleksander brushes his knuckles against your cheek, before he cups your face in his hand.

“While he courts you, and even while your engagement begins, we will plan our next move.”

He kisses your forehead, his nose trailing over yours as he moves his lips down to meet yours, and butterflies flutter in your stomach as you kiss slowly. Aleksander smiles when a soft hum of pleasure escapes your lips, and he kisses the tip of your nose.

A smile spreads over your lips, and Aleksander regards you fondly as his fingers trail from your cheek to trace along your jawline. He takes your chin between his fingers and kisses you again.

“You won’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu @cynthianokamaria @scarlettqueen190 @eloquentree @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sorrow-and-bliss @biblophilefox82 @tartiflvtte @rainbowgoblinfan

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia

[wannab-urs]

Carry Me

This is a request fill for @atinylittlepain <3

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x student therapist!reader

Summary: You’re overwhelmed. Being a student at a very rigorous university and interning as a therapist for the local DV clinic is all getting to be too much. You’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown for real, but Dieter is there to lighten some of the burden.

Warnings/Content: hurt/comfort, a rare non smut fic, general anxiety and frustration about being a student therapist, Dieter being kind of an idiot, brief mention of SA and DV (literally just the acronyms, no description whatsoever), Dieter is able to pick you up, Dieter calls you Shrink and baby, you and Dieter are roughly the same age, brief mention of oral f!receiving, no use of Y/N, WC: ~1200

Notes: Thank you so much to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @theywhowriteandknowthings for the beta read <3 Love y'all bunches. I was so excited to write this fic AHHH

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

But you can carry me / I’m not heavy / I’ll grow extra arms / To hold onto your body Dig my fingernails / Into your shoulder / And you’re so steady /And you don’t tip over - Carry Me by Crooks and Nannies

You get home and look up at the stairs which have quite possibly never felt so daunting as they do right now. You had class from 8 this morning until noon, a 30 minute break in which you scarfed down some trail mix you found in your car and drove to the clinic, and then an extremely emotionally draining 4 hours of leading group SA and DV survivor therapy sessions followed by another 2 hours of paperwork. 

So now, roughly 12 hours after you left your apartment, you’re standing at the bottom of your stairs, feeling weighed down by your bag and by your life in general and dreading what you might find at the top. 

When you finally do make it upstairs, slip the key into the lock, push the door open, you’re desperately (delusionally) hoping to find a clean apartment. Maybe he cooked you dinner? Maybe he cleaned the living room and lit a candle? Maybe the bed is made and the laundry is put away? 

Of fucking course not. 

Dieter is sitting upside down on the couch, feet in the air and his head dangling off the cushion. He’s got a paintbrush in his teeth and a canvas propped against the coffee table. There’s a pile of laundry in the corner by the bed, dishes stacked precariously in the sink… 

“Dieter. What the fuck are you doing?” He drops the paintbrush from his teeth and you watch it clatter across the hardwood. Add paint on the floor to the pile of bullshit being heaped onto you today. 

“Painting!” He looks positively gleeful for a moment, but then he takes in your sagging shoulders, your wobbling lip, the way your eyes glint with tears. “Shrink? Baby, you okay?” Dieter does a surprisingly agile maneuver, rolling off the couch and onto his feet just as your chest starts heaving and the tears start to spill over. 

He crosses the room quickly, takes your bag and sets it on the floor of the entryway, wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest. You crumple into him, letting him finally take your weight. He buries his nose in your hair, cradles your head to his chest and supports you with an arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Broken sobs and gasps for air are all you can manage, but he doesn’t ask you questions. He just whispers that everything is going to be okay, that he loves you, that you’re so strong. 

After a few minutes, you’re more sniffling than sobbing, and he grabs your face in his big hands. He swipes away a few tears, presses a kiss to your lips. You squirm away “Dieter I’m all snotty!”

“I don’t care, Shrink,” he kisses your tear streaked cheeks, your now fluttering eyelids, your forehead, then he sweeps you off your feet, picking you up bridal style. You shriek and stifle a giggle. 

“Oh my god, Dee, put me down,” you yell, trying to contain your giggles. 

“Sure thing, baby!” He dumps you on the couch, grabs his fluffy brown coat off the table and wraps it around your shoulders, sinks to his knees and pulls your sneakers off for you. He goes to the bed and pulls your favorite blanket from the tangled pile and tosses that over you too. “Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Di-”

“Nope, you’re listening to me, for once.” You roll your eyes and throw your head back into the soft velvet cushion of the couch. “I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, okay? You’re gonna drink the tea and you’re gonna make a list.” 

“A list?” You arch your eyebrow at him, a skeptical look in your eye.

“A list. You’re gonna write down everything you need to do for school AND everything you want to do this week. When you finish that, you’re gonna make a list of ways you can cut your workload. Can you do that for me, shrink?” You start to nod, but then you catch a glimpse of the laundry. 

“Dee the house–”

“Nope! That’s my problem, okay? Focus on your list. Tell me when you’re done.” He drops another kiss on top of your head and gets your bag for you, laying it on the table before running off to the kitchen. 

You pull out your journal and start making his stupid list and a few minutes in, he brings you tea, just the way you like it and in your favorite mug. He puts on a record at low volume and you can hear the water running in the sink. Dieter Bravo is doing the dishes. You never thought you’d see the day. 

You finish the first list of all the things you need to do for school and add Write and Watch a movie to the bottom for the things you would do if you ever had the fucking time. Dieter appears in front of you, reading your list upside down. 

“Knew you could do it, shrinky dink.” 

“Please stop calling me that.” 

“No. Now what can you do to reduce your workload?” He heads over to the bed and starts making it while you talk. 

“I could take this class as pass/fail instead of for a grade…” Your face pulls into a grimace at the thought.

“And why do you sound like that makes you want to die a little?” He says as he wrangles the sheet back onto the bed. 

“Because it feels like failing. Or cheating? I don’t know, D! Gina will hate me for it.” You toss your journal onto the coffee table and burrow into Dieter’s coat a little more. 

“Ok first of all, that woman adores you, but also,” he trails off as he focuses on stuffing a pillow back into its case. He sleeps like a tornado. “Also! There has to be something else you can do. Is your internship mandatory?” 

“I need to do it!” you drag your hands down your face and bang your head repeatedly into the soft cushion behind you. 

“Can you reduce your hours?” He’s next to you now, plopping down on the couch and pulling you over to sit across his lap. 

“Technically?” You bury your face in the crook of his neck, drape yourself over him and soak in his warmth, his steadiness. 

“Then that’s what you’re gonna do. And tonight, we’re gonna watch a movie. And then I’m gonna toss you onto our freshly made bed and I’m gonna eat you out til you’re so delirious you couldn’t think about your ‘workload’ if you tried.”

“What about the laundry?” 

“It can wait.” He kisses you softly again. You make an exasperated noise, but you let him grab the remote, pull up Netflix, put on a movie. You let him cradle you and kiss you.

Dieter isn’t perfect. He’s messy and forgetful and can’t hold down a job to save his fucking life. But he’s steady, soft, comforting. He’s understanding and kind and silly and a little bit brilliant.

You know that when everything gets too much for you to carry, he can carry you. 

[wellntruly]

Blogging, vol. v

I’m having surgery tomorrow. Why this is always happening in November is beyond me, but it sure is an aesthetically kind month to not work and be extra-grade cozy in soft knits, sipping soups, while outside it rains grey on amber.

Unlike my gum surgery last year, this one I had no idea was coming for me, and the weeks getting up to the point of finally knowing what was going to happen were, not to exaggerate, not good. It's odd that it's better now, since it was indeed something you don't want to find. But then you can start to process. Process, process.

I actually tend to do quite well with surgery, both as a concept and a thing to heal from, even before I spent my recovery from the previous one watching a 50 year old TV show about surgeons. I find the kind of pain engendered by things you need stitches about to be quite reasonable mentally; it hurts, it hurts there, for this reason, you have pills to dull it, and it will gradually heal. Simply “feeling sick,” or worst of all nauseous, that’s what can make me wonder what it’s all even for. Miserable, derogatory.

So the fact that it really seems a predominantly surgical approach is going to be most of what we need to take care of this problem has me almost overwhelmed with gratitude. It could have been far, far worse for me. But I have all the most treatable metrics for this, even being rather young for it has the silver lining of meaning I should heal well. And I’m so lucky to have a warm, funny, exceptionally skilled surgeon who actually went through the same thing when she was also my age, and that honestly, I’ve absolutely the Edward Gorey illustration body type to probably even end up looking pretty chic going down to just a bit of an A cup, which is what she's going to be able to do, not to bury the lede. Surprise top surgery, is what I’ve been calling it, and thank you to the boys for the re-contextualizing dream that is the phrase ‘top surgery’, a concept of such positivity; life-affirming, life-saving.

It is a strange, swift-approaching change to reckon with though, impossible to avoid that. I've always tended to dress as if I don’t even have the actually, admittedly, great boobs that I've had up til now, but it is still the body I know. I’ll roll onto my stomach in bed and think, for one that I soon won’t be doing this at all again for a while, and that when I do, it’s going to feel different. Fascinating to consider.

I'm leaning into a sort of Orlando-like curiosity about it, this vague physical transformation just spontaneously befalling me in my adulthood. How will this be. What sort of opportunities might this actually grant. I’ll be endeavoring to hardly ever wear a bra again, I’ll tell you that for certain. Should I use this as the push to finally get a bespoke suit, soft and wide-legged, with a jacket that can fall in just a clean draped line from my shoulders? Will I be able to wear suspenders? I think about watching Margaret Qualley in The Stars At Noon this summer, how I watched her just drop a loose sundress over her bare body, entirely backless, and walk out the door. I think, of course, of "Keira Knightley Atonement," as my inspiration board folder is called.

I’ve also been thinking about this blog, what I think Tumblr user sashayed once called her secret public journal. Sometimes what I or others will post can break into the very real & personal, like this, for the benefit that comes from just releasing, sharing the large challenging things in our lives. I think about a long-time mutual who posted about some of the strangeness she felt during hospitalization for an accident, how recalling some of what she wrote about has brought me a feeling of solidarity in this.

But there’s also how I’ve actually been blogging about this for weeks and weeks, it’s just only been for me. Another kind of secret public journal. This butterfly coming out of a row of cocoons in a window: this was for how I was, fully insanely yes, watching A Zed & Two Noughts while I was wracked with anxiety over what might be going on with my body, but/and the idea of emerging after this surgery new and striking and light. This is self-explanatory. This tiny-chested witch vaulting skulls is “literally me” goals this time next October. This was actually exactly, exactly my vibe getting my biopsy, with the sweetest nurses.

And now at last it all comes together, the public and private journal, on the eve of really what we’re all waiting for, oh god me for sure: the return of painkiller diaries. Painkiller diaries is a lifestyle, actually, it’s an ethos. I let myself so wholly rest after my gum surgery last year that the rest of November was the happiest I’d been in years. Please, again. Return to cashmere convalescence. And would you look at this beautiful soup sippin' mug I’ve gotten since then:

Oh I think we’re ready.

[untitledmemes]

High Noon Prompts

An assortment of prompts taken from the movie High Noon (1952) directed by Fred Zinnemann. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Did you see what I saw? ”

“ You in a hurry? ”

“ You're a fool. Come on. ”

“ Hot? You call this hot? ”

“ My goodness gracious. ”

“ He rides mighty fast for a Sunday. ”

“ I think people are ought to be alone when they get married. ”

“ You get out of this town. Get out of this town this very minute. ”

“ I guess I'll take a look around. ”

“ It's no good. I got to go back. ”

“ This is crazy. I haven't even got any gun. ”

“ They are making me run. I've never run from anybody before. ”

“ He was always wild and kinda crazy, he'll probably make trouble. ”

“ Don't try to be a hero, you don't have to be a hero for me! ”

“ You can help me by providing silence. ”

“ I'm not trying to be a hero. If you think I like this, you're crazy! ”

“ You know there'll be trouble. ”

“ We got our whole lives ahead of us, doesn't that mean anything to you? ”

“ You know, I got only an hour and I've got lots to do. ”

“ I won't be here when it's over. ”

“ You shouldn't have come back. That was stupid. ”

“ I think I'm letting you down, ain'tchu? ”

“ What a waste. Good luck. ”

“ That's funny, I figured you carried a lot of weight here. ”

“ You think I'm too young too? ”

“ If you don't know, it's no use of me telling you. ”

“ The truth is you probably talked against me from the start. ”

“ You can't stand anybody takin' your place, now can ya? Especially me. ”

“ I thought you'd grew up by now. ”

“ What's so funny? ”

“ He's sore, that's all. He's sore about you and me. ”

“ I can take care of myself. ”

“ No reason, but it's mighty interesting. ”

“ It's going to be quite a sight to see. ”

“ You can count on me. You know that, don't you? ”

“ You've been real decent with me all along, and I want you to know I've been honest with you. ”

“ What are you looking at? You think I've changed? ”

“ I will not lift a finger for you. ”

“ I'm not afraid of him. ”

“ Nothing in life is free. ”

“ If you're smart, you will get out too. ”

“ There's plenty people around thinking he got a comeuppance coming. ”

“ Where's the tin star? ”

“ I guess you all know why I'm here. ”

“ What do you want? You want me to get killed? ”

“ You got nothing to worry about as long as I'm around. ”

“ It takes more than big broad shoulders to make a man, and you have a long way to go. ”

“ When he dies, this town dies too. ”

“ It's their mess, let them take care of it. ”

“ If we don't do what's right, we're gonna have plenty o' more troubles. ”

“ There's only one thing to do now, and y'all know what it is. ”

“ He's a mighty brave man. A good man. ”

“ Bang, Bang! You're dead! ”

“ If you're honest, you're poor your whole life. ”

“ I couldn't do nothing for ya. You'd be worried about me. ”

“ It's all for nothing. ”

“ Let him go, he still has a chance. Let him go. ”

“ They were on the right side, but that didn't help them when the shooting started. ”

“ There's got to be some better way for people to live. ”

“ I always figured you for guts. But I never gave you any credit for brains 'til now. ”

“ It takes a smart man to know when to back away ”

“ Seems like all everybody wants is to get me out of town. ”

“ You think about a lot of things when you're tired. ”

“ I hate this town. I always hated it. ”

“ You just stop 'til I tell you to start again. ”

“ I can handle a gun, you ought to see me. ”

“ Can't you wait? ”

“ I'll come out. Let her go. ”

[bethaven]

When I was fifteen I was very lonely. All my school friends were fine and all, but I somehow felt like noone really understood me. This is very normal for a teenager, and it’s also very normal for that teenager to seek attention somewhere else. At this time internet had just broke through for real and I did seek validation at music forums and communities. Finding other fans of my favourite band turned out to be a lifesaver, and something that'd change my life forever. 

I met T through a forum for that fandom and we immidiately started talking, a lot. Endless chats about the band, our lives and general thoughts and feelings. She quickly became my best friend, even though we hadn't even met yet. She lived quite far away, but was originally from the same town as me, so when summer arrived she was there to visit family and we met for the first time. I can still see so clearly how our looks met in the middle of a crowd outside the mall, and we just ran into each other's arms. It was like coming home. During the upcomming days we went to the local amusement park and went on all the rides. I was very afraid of most of them before this, but with her I was so safe I just did it. I felt like I was growing up for real, becoming my own person and living my best life, just because she was there.

But, T was not okay. She was sick. Her mental illnes spiraled over the years and I tried everything to make her better. Because I definitely saw it as my duty to fix her, to help her, to dry away all the tears and change everything for the better. Grown ups didn't get it and they were just trying to make her do things she didn't want. I needed to be there. Living far away in all of this was hard, it came with a lot of worry between the messages and calls. I definitely didn't tell my parents exactly how far of T was, I was so afraid they wouldn't allow me to keep her in my life. By the time she was admitted to a home to get help I'd turned 18 and they couldn't say anything when i went to see her. I knew they were worried and didn't completely approve of our friendship, but they also knew that they couldn't stop us. 

Our relationship was intense, deeply loving, complicated, amazing, important and inevitably short. After about five years together it fell apart, I can’t even really remember how. We'd crossed over from teens to young adults and somehow we needed something else by then. I see her face flash by on Facebook sometimes. I know she became a mother a few years ago, which always was her biggest dream. I hope she's ok and gets all she wished for. Part of me will always feel a bit torn by the fact that I wasn't able to fix everything and part of me knows that I couldn't.

All of this makes me think about Nick in Heartstopper and how he carries the weight of Charlie's mental illness on his shoulders. The feeling of having to be the one to fix everything, even though noone have demanded that of you. When the one you love have done so many amazing things for you, so you don't want them to suffer in any way and you're willing to do everything to fix all their problems. As Sarah Nelson tells her son; “Love can't cure a mental illness”. We should always be there for our loved ones, but neither them nor we should expect us to perform miracles. We and them need help. 

I wish I knew this when I was a lonely teenager, and I wish for others in the same situation to get proper support and help. 

No End was our song, which became painfull when it all fell apart. There was an end, there often is. But what we had was still mainly something good, I learned that I deserved good friendships full of love and I wouldn't be who I am today without her. T, this playlist's for you. Thanks for everything.

[readinginithilien]

Gandalf the unreliable narrator

I am re-reading the story Gandalf tells Frodo about Gollum's origins and it is hilarious. Gandalf clearly makes most of it up. After all, there are basically no eye-witnesses or records to any of this save Gollum who spent a thousand years alone under a mountain and only told that story to Gandalf under torture, as we later learn. So here is what Gandalf tells:

people akin to Hobbits lived at the shores of the Anduin - that is an educated guess. He knows that Hobbits, allthough their own history goes only to the beginning of the Shire, have moved their relatively recently and must have come from the east, some of them even lived in the north of Rohan for a while. He also knows that Gollum had more in common with hobbits than any other species, including a love for riddles and memories of a life that could be hobbit-like.

Gollum came from the wealthiest family there, which was led by a matriarch - nope, Gandalf us making that up. Even if Gollum still remembered both his family and their wealth, despite living a lonely, independent and completely posession-less (except for the ring) existence, what exactly is he supposed to have told Gandalf about that?

Gollums real name is Smeagol - I mean, could be. Only he would know, maybe he told Gandalf that. Maybe he made the name up, maybe it was someone else's, maybe it was actually his. No way to tell.

He had a friend like Deagol - honestly, that sounds to me like Gandalf wanted another character in the story and looked at Hobbit naming conventions (Frodo son if Drogo). Other people where probably involved in the story, might as well call one of them Deagol.

Smeagol liked roots and beginnings, caves and deep pools - Gandalf is obviously extrapolating from Gollum living in a cave. Why Gollum would tell something like that, even if it true, is beyond my imagination. And I cannot imagine that as the only explanation.

Gollum's people swam a lot and build reed boats - well, Gollum swims well and has a boat, and if he hasn't developed boat building on his own, he probably was already proficient in it. And we assume his people lived at the river at least. But might as well have been a fisher man or shipwright by profession.

One day, Deagol and Smeagol made a trip to where there were nice flowers by the river, where Deagol went fishing and Smeagol looked at roots - well, that sounds like setting the scene. And I still am convinced that the whole Deagol-found-the-ring-first story was Gandalf's way of impressing onto Frodo that the ring can lead you to murder.

Deagol fished and found the ring when being dragged into the water by a fish - not even Gollum would necessarily have seen that part. It's as likely an explanation as any. And we know the ring was last seen on Isildur swimming through the Anduin.

Seagol looked at Deagol looking at the ring from behind a tree - Gandalf is not a bad storyteller

Gandalf quotes the direct words Smeagol and Deagol exchange, something I doubt Gollum would remember

Smeagol kills Deagol and hides the body so noone ever found it - again, this sounds to me like a warning message to Frodo more than based on what Gollum told Gandalf

When Gollum found the ring made him invisible, he liked to go around and sneak up on people, but they kicked him and he liked to bite their feet - bite their feet? Really?

In the end, Gollum was kicked out - well, I can see the resentment of that lingering, Gollum might have told that

He traveled up the Anduin and ended under the misty mountains after the sun became to strong to him - he must have somehow gotten from the Anduin to his cave, and he does not seem to have missed the sun. The rest I'd call speculation

While all of this is a very good story, we know Gandalf has very few sources:

his limited knowledge of Hobbit history

what Bilbo told him

what he found in the archives of Gondor

what Gollum told him under torture

I see very little of the story coming from any of these sources. So in conclusion, Gandalf made most of that up, partly to have a nice story, and partly to teach Frodo some lessons.

[lotusmi]

Unconditional Thinking

📚PART 23: Unconditional Thinking

read more of my summaries | full post on reddit

⬸ [go to PART 22 "The Dreamer" ]

To truly grasp the freedom that is attainable within you, you must understand the concept of States. A State is a belief about the yourself or what you believe you will experience, an attitude towards life.

Imagination is NOT a State. Imagination is the Real Self, which I call the Inner Self. The Inner Self can be and have what he wishes in the World Of Imagination. It cannot be stressed enough that you, the Inner Self, is NOT a State. Forget this garment and the outer-world when you meditate and assume that the World of Imagination is the Only Reality and you (Inner Self) yourself are the God in that World.

Once this change in Self Identification is made, you will discover that within your mind is room filled with clay statues. These clay statues are of yourself performing certain actions, receiving certain treatment and having certain things. There are infinite statues (states) that lie dormant within you. They do not disappear, for nothing can disappear in Imagination. They simply lie in the shadows of the room (Mind). You give life to these statues (states) by feeling yourself to be one with it. Not as something you will be in the near future, but something you are now. The acceptance that you are the State now, is what brings life to these dormant statues.

If entering into a New State within you is challenging it is because you have not accepted who you are within. You are not a State, but is God. As God within, whose permission are you asking for? To whom do you answer to? If there is only One Being within you, then who can stop you?

Just as though there is death and life in this outer-world, there is death and life in the World of Imagination, however YOU are Death and the Life. To navigate in the World Of Imagination successfully, it requires death entirely to what current State you are fused with. Death is the only way to bring life to a New State.

This is what I mean by Death. If you wish to rise as something New in Imagination, you have to give up entirely your currently thoughts/feelings, questions, worries, what you think of the world, what you think is possible, if you think you are worthy or not, if you deserve the New State etc. These belong to the Old State and cannot be brought with you into the NOW. The have to be entirely discarded. Now listen to the words of Neville in the lecture "Repentance Is A Gift From God":

"But grant me the freedom to change it (my state)– don’t leave me in the state if I desire to get out of it. Yet many a person wallows in it, and wallows in it morning, noon, and night, and they are totally unaware they are doing it. They will say, “Oh, yes,” and then five seconds later they are back in that state (Old Man). I have had interviews with people who will say to me, “This is what I would like, but I must first tell you . . . .” Don’t tell me anything! Tell me what you want – they are only states! They insist on wallowing in all the things of the past." - Neville

"Don't tell me anything!" That is the secret. Total self-abandonment to the current State is the way to bring life towards the New State.

So before you assume a New State, understand who is the one doing the Assuming! The Inner Self, who is God is the one, the I AM that precedes the State. The I AM is the God in the World Of Imagination, and this life is the expression of the I AM. Man cannot even be a living being unless God fuses with him and states, "I AM a man." There is only God in this World.

So again, Imagination, the Inner Self is not a State! Repeat this over and over until you understand what I am saying. Understanding this is the difference between shaming yourself and rising anew. Between punishment and forgiveness. Between being stuck and freedom in the Mind.

You have to die to what you do not want to express entirely, a true act of surrender. You can do it.

Practice this art everyday on others in your world. Imagine the very best for your neighbor. See them glowing, radiant. Do not put any condition upon it. Just see them that way without and justification or reason. A true, loving, unconditional act. Doing this for others, will make it easier to do it to oneself. So leave the world alone and go within and die to what you want to stop expressing and allow yourself to be what you want. Imagination is the evidence you are seeking for it is the only reality.

I call this way of thinking, "Unconditional Thinking." You may say, "but.. I once did this or that, or I was abused in my past, I am afraid of my future etc." All understandable but what do you want? You want freedom? You want peace in your body? You want love? You want to stop fearing life? It's counterpart exists within you only that is it dormant. You may have all the reasons in the world for why you feel you must stay in the State of being unloved. But I tell you, if you want to be loved, you do not have to hold onto the feelings of being unloved anymore. You do not have to reason your way into being loved. There are no physical acts you must do first in order to accept the new State! It can be given unconditionally for Imagination does not hold it against you, for it is only a State, and you are not a State. The Imagination is forgiving because thought/feeling is what is creating your world and Imagination does not restrict you from any thought/feeling regardless of your reasons. Unconditionally become what you want to be in Imagination.

I want to see how the Imagination is your savior if you allow yourself to assume the best for yourself:

"He holds success in store for the upright, he is a shield to those whose walk is blameless." - Proverbs 2:7

The "He" is your Imagination. If you assume you are blameless, your Imagination (Reality) will become a shield for you. Who can punish a man who is blameless? Assume you are upright and success will be in store for you. Assume all works in your favor to express your States. This is how the Imagination works.

Blameless or blameable, they are only States, a feeling towards self. A State is powerless until it is provided with I AM. I AM is not a State, so do not feel guilty for taking a better State. Do not feel you are doing something wrong for giving yourself feelings of bliss. Everything within you is yourself for the taking. Think unconditionally, as as Neville says, "Don't tell me anything! Tell me what you want! They are only States!”

📜lotus writting: this is the last post from the series! tysm for reading all of them! It was a pleasure to summarize those!