#why can't i stop thinking about this show

[nonstoplover]

all of my heart ~ carlos sainz (cs55)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: carlos sainz jr. x fem!reader

summary: a short story of carlos becoming a father

words: 2K

warnings: one tiny swear word in spanish ig, otherwise nothing, just fluff fluff fluff and dad!carlos which deserves its own warning tbh

a/n: i know you love the dad!driver trope, @vetteltea, which is why i dedicate this blurb to you (though i think you'd maybe prefer this to be with seb now that i think about it), as a thank you for all the amazing fanfic you provide this fandom with. i love you so much, you're so talented, so inspiring, and i truly wish to be like you. <33

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

Carlos is still a little out of breath when he hears it for the first time.

A delayed red-eye flight and an excruciating traffic jam caused him to almost miss this appointment. The first he finally has the chance to attend – having had a race when the initial one happened –, and he almost missed it.

As a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face, obvious sign of how only seconds ago he was still running up the stairs of the hospital, a smile forms on his lips. Looking at her, lying down, the screen beside the bed showing a picture of their baby.

Well, at least they say it's that. For the love of God, Carlos can't see anything on it. He still nods along with a wide smile when the nurse asks him if he sees it. The focus shouldn't be on him and whether he can see it or not, but on his girlfriend.

God, this woman. He hasn't seen her in over a month now. And this is how they meet again: when they meet the little one officially as well, though on a screen only. Hell, the last time he saw her, they had no clue of this wonderful piece of news. From watching her wave with a smile through the glass at the airport, before he turned a corner towards his flight and disappeared, fast forward to now, when he catches sight of her lying form, just as gorgeous as ever, if not more, with a baby growing inside her. A creation by him and her.

They're gonna have a child, Carlos thinks, and as if it's the first time he realises this, his heart stops for a second. In happiness, in awe, in fear.

Because as the image on the screen gets displayed, and Carlos gets lost in-between words like embryo and transvaginal scan, suddenly the doctor announces that the baby indeed has a heartbeat, listen, you can hear it. And this one sentence, followed by the almost inaudible little thuds, is enough to make everything feel real.

Of course, he already knew what the positive pregnancy test meant, the one she showed him first on a FaceTime call, then sent as a separate picture later. But this, hearing that tiny heartbeat, it made everything even more real. They had actual proof now of what is going to happen in the near future. It might not have been planned, but it doesn't make it any less sweeter.

With his heart beating away in a rapid rhythm, he feels his facial muscles pull as his lips curve into a smile, so wide that it even showcases his pearly white teeth.

When he sees her the next time, the first thing Carlos does is place his palm against her tummy. The bump is already visible – well not in the hoodie she's currently wearing, but it's there underneath, he knows –, and he's been dreaming about holding it for many, many days now.

She lets out a giggle, throwing her head back a little, having expected a kiss upon her arrival, not this. Carlos practically doesn't pay her any attention, his sole focus is on talking with his baby.

Later on in the car she inquires jokingly the reason behind why she's not the first to be greeted by him, and he explains with a serious tone why that's the priority. "You get all this time to speak to her and bond with her, and she's already inside you which is a bonus, but she has to know exactly who her father is."

"She, huh?" she raises a teasing eyebrow, and he simply smiles, shrugging in a nonchalant way.

"I can feel it in my bones."

He looks so self-assured that she can't help but lean in and press her lips against his cheek. She still can't believe she'll get to have a kid with this man.

Doubt starts rising in his mind when they reach the third trimester. The date underlined in bright red in his calendar creeping closer and closer, making him more self-conscious and unsure than he's ever felt.

What if he won't be a good father? What if his job gets in the way of his child really feeling close to him? What is he supposed to do anyway? He already has no idea what he's doing in this whole pregnancy, safe to say, how is it going to be when he finally gets to hold the baby as well?

He's read multiple long articles, spending every flight he's had to take nose deep in his phone, until his eyes hurt and words started to lose their meaning. He wants to be the best father he can be.

This even includes several calls to his parents, asking for advice from them as well, trusting and valuing their words far more than the ones he can find online. He knows that his parents proved already that their methods work, they've been good parents to him and his siblings.

Still, the only thing that seems to reassure him is that they – the baby and him – have her. His superwoman of a girlfriend, who simply seems like she was actually born to do this, to be a mother, taking every obstacle in their way with a cheerful step and a smile reaching from ear to ear on her face.

How did he deserve her?

As he's gritting his teeth to stop himself from letting out a groan while the pain he's feeling in his hand spreads – mierda, this woman is strong – he repeats one sentence as a mantra. Only to keep him from worrying his heart out for the love of his life, who's currently letting out loud gasps and occasional curses, her eyes teary and her cheeks red from the strain of pushing and pushing and pushing.

I hope the baby looks like her.

Why is this so important to him? He has no idea. He doesn't even know why the thought popped into his mind in the first place. He just knows he has to keep on repeating it to divert his mind, otherwise he'll lose his sanity.

Simply, he has to focus on picturing a baby with her eyes, her hair colour, the elegant line of her nose, the curve of her lips, her rosy cheeks. Every inch of their baby looking like a mini-her. Because what would be better than looking at his girlfriend and marvel at her beauty? Of course, looking at her and his daughter, and seeing the exact same beauty? Sure, it would be nice to have a tiny detail of him in their baby girl somewhere, just so that it would be obvious to the whole wide world that this is his baby, that the woman giving birth to her now is his woman. Maybe the exact copy of his eye colour? Or his locks of hair, silky and thick? It doesn't matter. Honestly, who cares about how she looks, he will love her no matter what. With his whole heart, with more love, a deeper connection than he's ever felt before.

Minutes pass, then some more, until it feels like an eternity has gone by since they arrived to the hospital. But then he hears it – crying. The unmistakable baby sound, entering the haze of his mind like a sharp knife, bringing him back to reality in a millisecond.

Everything seems to quicken up, and the next thing he knows is that the bundle of his child is placed in his arms, and after that initial wave of slightly terrified chills running through his body, immediately a mixture of relief, joy and tranquility spreads in his veins. He has no idea why he was so scared this whole time. This is... subconscious. Instinctive. Meant to be.

In that very moment he wordlessly promises the baby to always be there for her, always looking out for her, always caring and loving her with all of his heart. He won't let any harm ever reach her.

"Congratulations, Mr. Sainz, on the birth of your son," the doctor approaches him, and that last word bursts the bubble Carlos has been surrounded with.

Son?

His eyes widen, lips fall slightly open in shock – right until he hears the exhausted sounding but unmistakable giggle coming from the bed. "I told you," she grins.

"A boy," he mumbles dreamily, glancing at his girlfriend, lips curving into a smile matching hers.

"Good thing I came prepared with boy names as well," she continues, slight pants leaving her lungs still.

The memory when she practically wanted to force him into choosing a male name as well, just in case – because he was so sure about their baby being a girl that he didn't even want to spend a moment thinking about names for the other sex –, pops into his mind, and he shakes his head. He was wrong.

Tiny feet patter on the floor, growing louder and louder, before a second later they suddenly cease and get replaced by a high-pitched giggle.

She glances up just as Carlos appears in the doorway to the kitchen, their son hanging from his arms, his little cheeks red from all the laughter. Her heart swells at the sight and sounds, her eyes shine bright, connecting with his easily – the love of her life.

Miracle. That's what the little boy is in their lives.

Watching Carlos be a father has been the best thing she's ever had the chance to witness. The way he plays with him, practically going back to being a child, his sole focus being on entertaining his son.

The Sainz household they established not too long ago is filled with laughter every day, the walls reverberating with the joyous sounds until they fill their hearts.

"When's dinner ready, mi amor?" Carlos leans in, pressing a loving kiss on her temple.

She cheerfully smiles, her fingers moving to caress the impossibly soft, dark brown hair on the little boy's head. "A few minutes," she replies, catching her fiancé's eyes once more. "If you two help me set the table, we can eat sooner."

Her son nods eagerly, as much as his three-year-old energy allows, and waves his tiny arms to wordlessly tell his father to put him down on the ground. Carlos obeys, then opens the cupboard to find the appropriate plates – all plastic, reserved for the times when it's only the three of them eating, to allow the young one to help them without the worry of him breaking anything.

She watches from the corner of her eyes as her two boys move towards the dining table, where Carlos lifts their son to stand on a chair, this way allowing him to reach the tabletop. His hands never leave the boy's waist, just in case, and when he's finished setting the plates, helps him back on the ground.

"Good job, chiquito," Carlos holds his palm out at the proper height.

"Gracias, papá," the little one slaps into his father's hand eagerly, making his mother smile so wide it's close to actually hurt the muscles in her cheeks.

They walk back to the kitchen counter with proud looks on their faces, and she places the bowl of salad in Carlos' hands. "It's too heavy for you, pumpkin," she explains when her son opens his mouth to complain.

"Te adoro," Carlos steals a melting kiss from her lips as his fingers get a hold of the bowl, before leaning back and fully taking it from her. I adore you.

With her heart fluttering with nothing but pure happiness and blood rushing to her face, she enjoys the way that bashful smile forms on her lips that only he can achieve. Her gaze follows his movements, the way the T-shirt clings to his arms, to his back muscles, and how the soft material ripples with every move he makes. He is breathtaking. He truly is, because unawares, she lets out a soft gasp watching him and has to endure the knowing glance and that smirk he casts her way above his shoulder. He knows her too well.

She shakes her head, attention going back to her son still standing by her feet, patiently waiting for his next task. A perfect mini-him, way more than she could've ever asked for.

A perfect child, a perfect man to call the love of her life, a perfect life. And it's all hers.

a/n: i'm back baby!! i've been gone for the longest time ever (since last summer) but i'm in my final year of uni and i had to write my thesis too so hopefully that's a good enough excuse. writer's block ain't fun still. it really just feels nice to post something again.

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

#carlos sainz #cs55 fic #blurb #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz fic #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr x you #sainz x reader #carlos sainz f1 #cs55 #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one fanfic #formula one fic #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader

[ode2rin]

new boyfriend rin would never ever, under any circumstance, admit that he likes the pet names you call him. well… unless you would stop doing it. (also me pushing the bffs to lovers pipeline)

You must be upset with him, Rin is convinced so. It’s the only logical and sensible explanation behind this unusual behavior. 

And he's going mad about it. Itoshi Rin is going mad any second now if he can't get to the bottom of this, he’s certainly convinced.

Every instinct screamed that your recent behavior was a reaction to something he'd done, but what? Was it the late replies to your text messages? No, you knew he was at practice and you told him you didn’t mind. Was it about the souvenir he brought back home to you from Paris? Sure, you teased him about its impracticality, but nothing that warranted this icy distance.

Or maybe it was something he said now? It must be, right? Everything boils down to his reckless poor choice of words, he supposes.

Slowly, Rin approached you by the couch you’re seated in. With your attention preoccupied by the selection of shows you’re browsing, you settled on looking at him briefly through your peripheral vision. Amused by how he’s slightly tiptoeing around, you let out a half-suppressed laugh to yourself. 

He looks like a cat sometimes, you thought from the sight. And acts like one too. Like a big black cat who would hiss at you if you looked at him funny, or one that would bite your hand if you stopped petting him to sleep. Funny how Rin could be like that too.

The moment Rin settles into the plush comfort of the couch, he gazes at you through lowered lashes, trying to read the play of emotions on your face, if there’s any. 

There’s nothing worth noting, and he doesn’t know if that should assure or bother him.

“Are we… alright?” he drawled.

What the fuck. He did not just sound like that. 

He did not just ask that and sounded like an anxious pathetic wet cat who just had a new home waiting for its owner’s permission over anything (highly specific because he’s a bit dramatic). Just what kind of loser have you reduced him into, really.

Oblivious of the internal turmoil in Rin’s mind, you turn to him, “Hmm? Yeah? Why’d you ask?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. It’s enough that he already humiliated himself for the way he asked if the two of you were cool— doing it again by exposing himself that he thinks you’re mad plainly because he hadn’t heard you call him a pet name (like you always do) would be mortification in its final form.

“Okay, Rin.”

That’s it. This needs to end. Forget humiliation. He would rather choose to feel pathetic over any day than continue with this charade.

“Are you mad at me?” 

“Why would you think that?” you asked back instantly, shocked and extremely confused because of your boyfriend’s question. You’re literally just looking for a movie the two of you can watch— how is that any indication of being mad at him?

“Just answer the question,” he fumed, impatience settling on the furrow of his brows.

You said in the beginning of your relationship that you didn’t appreciate the silent treatment and guessing games, so don’t you think it’s hypocritical of you to do the same to him? (You’re not, but he just doesn’t know that.)

“I’m not mad at you, Rin.”

“You so are!” 

“I am not! But you, yelling and instigating it are making me right now!” you countered, voice hinted with irritation, “What is your problem, Rin?”

There it is again. Rin rose from the couch to face your sitting form, as if standing would better prove his point. “See? You’re calling me Rin!” he blurted.

“Well, maybe because it’s your name?!”

“Not to you, it’s not!”

A beat of surprised silence. Until your lips grew to such a wide smile that made Rin physically feel his heart melting. 

Yet, in Rin’s true fashion, he’ll never let you know how much air you knock out of him because of your beaming smile. Instead, he’ll say something along the snarky lines of, “Stop smiling like that.”

“Did my big bad grumpy Rinnie here thought we’re on a fight because I hadn’t call him baby?” you ask, purposely stressing out the words to disarm him more.

With a feigned exasperation, he comments, “I forgot how annoying you are.” 

“And I forgot how childish you can get sometimes,” you countered.

“I’m not childish.”

“You don’t mind me calling you Rin then?”

Rin rolled his eyes at you, but you know better than to put meaning to it. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you. With a swift tug, Rin pulled you closer, closing the distance between you effortlessly. His arm found its way around your waist, drawing you snugly against his chest.

“But I don’t see why you need to…” Maybe he could be a bit childish.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” you shyly muttered, drawing shapes in his arm. “The pet names, I mean,” you clarified, sensing the confused look he’s probably giving you behind.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He is baby. He is Rinnie. Fucking hell, that’s so loser of him to even voice it out in his own mind. 

“What? You call me by my name!” you defensively pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like your nicknames of me,” he mumbled, the words barely audible.

The pet names— they were more than what they served. It was important to him more than what he would admit. 

They were a secret language, a way you marked him as yours. A reminder that he wasn't just Rin anymore— just your friend.

He was now something more, something special.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Besides… I love your name,” he whispered, his voice velvet against your hair.

It’s tender— no, it makes him tender. Saying your name has been the softest, kindest, and most tender way he’s used his words for. 

Maybe it’s a little pathetic, feeling this undone by a name. But then it’s you. 

It was your name— a name he could whisper with adoration, a name that belonged only to him to claim. 

You melt to his words, leaning deeper into his chest. A contented sigh escaped your lips, the sound swallowed by the warmth of his embrace.

Looking up at him, your eyes held a softness he often found himself getting lost in, “I love your name too, but I also like calling you pet names. Is it okay?”

“Whatever you decide.” He’s yours, either way.

note. this is basically rin being "my nameeee is whatever you decideeeee and i'm just gonna call you mineeee i'm insane but i'm your baby!!!!" yeah that song basically.

#☁️ my ode to you #i have more drabbles like this i am fucking insane about him #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi

[crystalandbow]

APHRODITE MESSAGES 💌

Hi!

Let's dive into your messages from Aphrodite

Intuitively pick a pile 👇🏻 and check the corresponding message to it! & I hope you enjoy the reading

PILE 1

1212, " I am sexy, I am divine", "affirm"

Y'all are fucking kings and queens and princesses. Just shut up, y'all pretty (inside out) asf.

PRIORITISE YOURSELF AND YOUR NEEDS.

Y'all be settling for bread crumbs and shit but stop! Like self worth where?

Stop hurting yourself for petty things/people and start to enjoy life. Celebrate yourself.

You could have a talent for natural healing powers so make use of it. The upright Queen of Pentacles can also signify someone involved in a nature religion such as a white witch. It can be an indication that you may have an interest in or a natural talent for Earth magic such as creating potions using herbs.

Connect with Aphrodite if you want to add more peace and calmness into your life. You might also have some (green flag) suitors that want to make you theirs.

" Confident " for some it is asking you to be more confident while for some it shows that you are confident in yourself & your abilities

Hope the reading helped. This is a general reading so Only take what resonates. bye see you next time!

PILE 2

"pours out their heart to us"

A change is coming your way.

What change you may ask,

You are now on the verge of releasing all that has been holding you back, you are now realising the value of something (your own worth, value of a person, time, effort, anything) and this is going to bring in a new flow of motion.

New love, new feelings or new passion could be anything but it's good!

You might be going through some tough times but you are very brave and standing high. And this new thing is your reward for trusting the universe. Keep slaying and working hard💪🏻

Hope the reading helped. This is a general reading so Only take what resonates. bye see you next time!

PILE 3

Y'all could be feeling tired, disturbed, pissed at everything (or something specific) we actually have very similar cards to pile two.

you have a new opportunity being presented to you rn / soon. this opportunity is brought to you by the divine itself. GRAB IT BITCH! this thing is important for you, it has a potential to grow and get big/ successful. depending on what the thing is it will show you its benefits/pros. it will likely bring you in contact with the right people/ your soulmates/ soul family.

how will you recognize it though? one sign could be your desire for wanting to go for it, you could be naturally talented too.

another message could be that you need to give out to people, help people, be a provider. this could be you providing guidance to people or money or hope/motivation, basically anything.

for some who have been thinking about sharing content online, this is your sign to do it! (and tag me/jkkkk)

Hope the reading helped. This is a general reading so Only take what resonates. bye see you next time!

PILE 4

Y'all seem confused and stuck? Like everything "looks" alright but doesn't intuitively feel right. You are unsure if it's you whose the problem or the other thing, something around those lines, yk?

not here to scare you but yall better be careful. Your intuition is on spot especially with that one thing/person.

If something/someone is giving you weird vibes and you can't figure out why then it's the universe trying to speak to you through your intuition. your intuition needs to be addressed, try to dig in deeper with "why" you've been feeling so.

Just be a Lil cautious, that's it ig.

Hope the reading helped. This is a general reading so Only take what resonates. bye see you next time!

#tarot tuesday #free tarot reading #tarot reading #free tarot #daily tarot #tarot community #tarot witch #tarotdaily #tarot blog #tarotblr #tarotonline #pac tarot #pick a card tarot #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a pile tarot #tarot guidance #witch community #witchblr #love reading #aphrodite #tarot messages #psychic readings #intuition #tarot tumblr #paid tarot readings #tarot pick a card #tarot pick a pile #tarot pac #pac

[shinestarhwaa]

PHYSICAL || KANG YEOSANG

Genre: Smut, mild angst and fluff

Pairing: Genius!Yeosang x Bartender!Femreader

Word Count: 1.9K

Tags/Warnings: Friends to lovers AU, College student Yeosang, Yeosang is anxious and sad, Protected sex, Oral sex, Virgin!Yeosang, Experienced!reader, Praise

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno

ENJOY!

"Can I have two vodka shots, please?"

A beautiful guy sat on the stool right on front of you. His hair was dark and kind of fell before his eyes. His skin was pale and you noticed a little red mark on the side of his face, looking like a birthmark. His shoulders were tense and his leg bounced up and down rapidly. He must feel nervous or anxious, you figured. You gave him a smile and nodded, filling two shotglasses with straight vodka. The guy thanked you and put some money down and immediately after he took both shots. "Re-fill, please."

"Wow, you must have a rough night," you say as you re-fill the shot glasses. "You shouldn't shot too much vodka though." "I know the exact amount of vodka I can handle, thank you," he says, putting more money down. He shots the vodka again and sighs deeply.

You keep watching him as you're making a martini cocktail for another customer. You had never seen this guy around before, while you usually tend regulars. The guy thanked you again and left the bar, leaving you a little confused, wondering who he was.

A few nights later he showed up again, sitting down on the same stool. You walked up to him and smiled. "Good evening," you greeted him. "Hey, could I get a scotch on the rocks?" "Sure," you nodded, making his drink.

You watched him drink it but he seemed not to like it very much. "Something wrong with your drink, sir?" "No, no, I just... I don't usually drink alcohol. It's not my thing. But I kinda need it right now." You nodded, understanding where he comes from. A lot of people who come to the bar for drinks come to forget about their current situation.

"What's bugging you?" You asked. "Honestly? I feel like I'm at a dead end,'' he sighed. ''A dead end? About what?'' He then started to explain he's a Physics student at the university nearby and his research is failing. ''I was so sure, you know? I was so sure I'd have a breakthrough but all my inspiration is just gone. I've got nothing and the deadline is coming up soon. I'm just... stuck and I can't get over it.''

''Well then get on top of it, of someone,'' you grinned, ''Let your stress out.'' ''I don't have sex,'' he stated, sipping from his glass. You looked at him, intrigued. ''You do not have sex? Are you a-sexual?'' ''Oh, no, not necissarily. Well. I don't really know actually. I haven't paid attention to those sort of things. It is not like I do not want sex though. I would... But no one really likes me or anything so I stopped caring a while ago. It is what it is you know?''

You frowned and looked at him up and down to which he gave you a questioning look. ''What?'' ''Well,'' you sighed, ''I just can't understand how people don't like you. You're kind. You're hot. What's there not to like?'' ''Well, the fact that I am a virgin,'' he said quietly. ''I don't know why people care about those things, I sure don't.''

The guy looked at you, with hopeful, big brown eyes. ''You don't?'' ''No, I don't think it is right to judge someone for being a virgin. I don't care about that stuff.'' ''So you'd have sex with me?'' The two of you were quiet now. ''You want me to have sex with you?'' you grinned as you cleaned some glasses, ''Are you sure about that?'' ''Well I... I'd like to try it and you just said I'm handsome right? And that you do not mind my virginity. You said it might help, right?''

You laughed. ''You're really endearing. What's your name?'' ''Oh, I apologize, how rude of me. I'm Kang Yeosang.'' ''Nice to meet you Yeosang, I'm Y/N. You'll need that when you're moaning out my name tonight after I'm done with my shift,'' you smirked. Yeosang swallowed thickly, biting his lip. ''Really?'' ''Really. I get off at 11, wait for me? I'll take you to my place, it's right down the street.'' Yeosang nodded and politely waited, drinking his bitter whiskey.

A while later you approached him again when your shift had ended. You took his hand and giggled at his shocked expression. ''Come with me cutie.'' Your seductive voice made Yeosang's hormones rage through his body. In a matter of minutes you got into your apartment, taking off coats and shoes and you took him to your couch.

''Have you kissed before, Yeosangie?'' He nodded shyly, ''A long timeago, but yes, I have... I know how that part works. It's the part after that I don't know.'' You nodded and pulled him close. You pressed your lips against his and God, were they soft. He looked so clean and polished and he probably took good care of his lips too. How else would they be this soft? They were so warm too, making you completely melt into the kiss. His lips parted slightly, allowing your tongue to slip inside his mouth.

You pressed your body onto his and he tensed up, probably never have felt this before. You pulled back and ran your hand through his hair. ''Never felt a woman's body before, have you, Yeosangie?'' He shook his head, swallowing thickly. He was already growing a raging boner in his pants that needed to be freed. You palmed his crotch and his cheeks heated up, growing red. ''It's okay, Sangie, I'm gonna take care of you. No reason to be afraid, okay?'' He nodded and took a deep breath to relax himself.

Standing up, you took him to your bedroom for more comfort. He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking around curiously as you got on your knees in front of him. He blushed when your gentle hands travelled up his thigh towards his zipper. You grinned at the bashful boy as you opened up his corduroy pants. Your heart was racing with excitement when you pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his hard, girthy length.

''Look at that,'' you breathed out, your hot breath fanning over the tip of his twitching cock. ''I-I'm sorry if-'' ''No. You're perfect the way you are, Sangie, you're never gonna apologize for your body, you're beautiful, I promise,'' you assured him before he could say any more. He nodded and then took his sweater off. To your surprise he was more muscly than you'd expect. ''You look like a greek God, Yeosang, I swear. Except your cock is much bigger,'' you smirked.

He blushed again, to which you laughed soundly. ''Y/N, don't embarrass me!'' Yeosang whined. ''I'm sorry angel, I'll make you feel good now.'' You took off your top, revealing your black lacy bra before you took his cock into your hand. You gently slid your tongue over the tip of his dick while looking Yeosang in the eyes. He whimpered softly and bit his lip, full of anticipation. ''Don't worry about lasting long baby,'' you commented before you took him into your mouth.

Your lips parted beautifully around his cock and he grunted at the sight of it. Bobbing your hair up and down, you coated his long shaft with saliva. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked while your hands fondled his balls. ''Y/N, oh God,'' he moaned out, leaning back a little. One of his hands ran through your hair and by the heavy twitching of his dick you knew he would definitely not last long. But considering he was a virgin and new to all this pleasure you did not mind at all, in fact, you were proud you're able to get him off so quickly.

In a matter of seconds his moans grew louder and he burst, spilling himself into your mouth. You let go of his cock and swallowed his cum with a smirk as you watched him regain his breath. ''God, You are amazing Y/N,'' he smiled. You grinned and got up, undressing yourself until you were naked in front of him.

''Take a good look if you want, Sangie,'' you said as he admired your bare body. ''You're beautiful,'' he smiled, and you knew it was genuine. ''Do you wanna touch me?'' you asked. Yeosang looked nervous and he looked down. ''I don't know how to do all that...''

You caressed his cheek softly and he looked back at you again. ''Honey, I can teach you all that. Let me ride you first, hm? We've got time,'' you assured him. Yeosang nodded and laid against your pillows. ''Like this?'' he asked. You nodded and took a condom from your drawer, rolling it down his shaft. ''Perfect, babe.''

Yeosang put his hands on your hips when you positioned yourself on top of him. ''Are you ready, Yeosang?'' ''Yes, I am... I want you,'' he breathed out, his hands running up to your breasts, cupping them gently. You smiled at the sweet boy, knowing you were about to take his virginity and teach him about all the kinds of pleasure you could bring each other.

You let yourself sink down on his cock, moaning at the stretch of him inside you. ''Look at that baby, you fit so well, such a pretty cock for me to ride, for me to fuck,'' you moaned when you started rolling your hips. Yeosang moaned and threw his head back, overwhelmed with the pleasure of being inside your wet cunt. Even with the condom on he felt like he got swallowed in by your warmth, like electricity in his body. You fucked yourself on his cock, bouncing up and down just the way you liked it.

''How's that baby? How does that feel?'' you panted out. He just nodded eagerly as he whimpered, overwhelmed with pleasure. The sound of your skin slapping together was like music to your ears. ''You know what you can do baby?'' His eyes met yours when you took one of his hands and pressed his fingers on your exposed clit. You cleaned back slightly to give him a clearer view of your pussy.

''Rub here, circle it,'' you told him, and Yeosang quickly obeyed. He rubbed your clit in circles and switched from slow to fast from time to time as you kept moving up and down his cock. ''Oh that's it baby, so good for me, such a good boy!'' ''Fuck, Y/N, I t-think I'm coming again! I'm gonna come!'' ''Come for me, Sangie, rub my clit fast and we'll come together, hm? Harder baby, yes that's it, that's it! Fuck you're such a good boy, I'm coming with you baby, right there, right there!''

With only a single movement you felt an orgasm wash over you and you moaned out his name. Yeosang whimpered and twitched inside you as your pussy clenched down on him. He spilled his cum into the condom and panted out your name. ''Fuck,'' he cursed. He looked so beautiful, all fucked out you swore he did look like a Greek God.

''You've been so perfect, little scientist boy,'' you grinned as you got off his cock. ''Ah, don't call me that, aren't I a man now?'' he laughed cutely. You grinned and shook your head. ''No. Virginity doesn't determine your manliness baby, don't worry about that. You're all man.'' ''Well... This man really enjoyed it... Thank you for doing this for me.'' ''Well thank you for letting me and giving me a good time too. What about a second round of getting physical right away?'' ''Y/N. That's a horrible pun but I'll take it.''

#kpop #ateez #smut #shinestarhwaa #yeosang #kang yeosang #yeosang x reader

[barn-anon]

You look back at your house as the taxi drives off, clutching your carry on luggage in your hand. You don't want to leave him but... it felt suffocating, disheartening having to spend everyday with a Custodes that pushes you away at every turn.

There were nice moments with him, he's a good roommate you suppose. Though you can't help but feel unsatisfied, cheated even. Why did others get Space Marines that would dote on and love them so freely while you got stuck with him? I-it's not fair! You want that warm, loving, supportive relationship. Want to come home from work and be able to hug your Custodes.

You sigh as you look out the window, watching the scenery pass by. Odysseus disappears every few months for a few days and you decided to take this moment to leave without him knowing. It isn't right... running from him when he has stayed with you all this time. Would he miss you though? He hasn't done much to show that he truly cares that much about you.

It's just a two week vacation... maybe. You don't know. Maybe you will come back, maybe you won't. You feel guilty for leaving, you feel relieved to be away. Wanting him here, freedom that he isn't.

Odysseus returns to his human's house after 5 days in the wilderness. He stops the moment his human's home is in view, narrowing his eyes. It's dirty. The leaves aren't swept and as he gets closer, he can see a layer of dust that's starting to build on the surfaces.

No sighs of a struggle or fight, there's some food in the fridge, clearly left for him. But where is his human? Where is HIS human? He growls, agitated as he searches the house for her. Panic building within him, until he finds a note on her desk.

An apology. From her to him. Apologizing for leaving, that she just needs time away. Away from him? She promises that she will come back eventually. Why doesn't she mention when she will be back? She just needs to be alone and think about what she wants in the future. A future without him?

The chains that bind him to his Master ring out their slick, filthy delight and joy. Good, now he can devote his time to the Emperor. The vines of his bond to her writhe and scream, thorns digging into his soul as it punishes him for his failure to keep her happy and close. How dare he drive her away, doesn't he know how precious a gift this bond is?

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts

Thanks @bleedingichorhearts !

#odysseus the custodes #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer 30k

[thefirst3chapters]

Unpopular opinion (maybe): Luke's ultimatum at the end of Season 3 inadvertently reinforced Jess's choices that stopped him from finishing high school in the first place.

Disclaimer: The intent here isn't to attack Luke for how he handled things. The overall effect of Luke's presence in Jess's life is undoubtedly positive and instrumental to where Jess ended up. Luke was put in an unfair position that he wasn't prepared for, he genuinely cared and tried his best with the knowledge he had, and it would have been well within his rights to say no to Liz to begin with or to Jess when he came back after the car accident.

From what Jess tells Rory in "Teach Me Tonight," it sounds like he never had much academic support from adults, which is of course why Rory's belief in him will end up meaning so much. Details about Jess's childhood that are revealed once Liz is around suggest that Jess didn't have trustworthy adults in his life and had to learn how to be self-sufficient early. Even though we as the audience can see that Luke is responsible and trustworthy through his own actions and his relationships with people who have known him for many years, Jess doesn't have the same history with him, and it can take a long, long time to unlearn those survival instincts. Additionally, Jess's Walmart manager, as gregarious and pro-corporate as he seems to be, doesn't appear to engage in the practice of pressuring introverts to socialize (which happened to Rory at Chilton) and allows Jess to do something constructive and work toward a tangible reward. Some people get these benefits from going to school, but Jess didn't. Then there's a layer of youthful hubris here because Jess really did seem to think that he could manage all of this and go to school just enough to graduate based on what he tells Rory in S3 E17, Luke in S3 E18, and the principal in S3 E19. With of all this information in mind, it's really not surprising that Jess would prioritize work above school. His logic is self-destructive but understandable, and his fatal flaw ends up being that he committed to more responsibilities than a person could reasonably handle. This isn't the standard media portrayal of ditching school.

Luke's approach to being Jess's guardian is fairly hands-off. After Luke's "laying down the law" talk in the first episode Jess is in, the only requirement we see enforced is that Jess has to work at the diner, which Jess complies with. Luke didn't know Jess was working at Walmart at all until Jess bought his car, he didn't know Jess was eventually working more than full-time hours, and he didn't know Jess was missing as much school as he was. (This last one suggests a significant oversight at the school, which is another story.) When the extent of Jess's work hours is brought to his attention and Lorelai speculates about what is going on, he tells Lorelai that there is no way Jess would skip school and doesn't investigate further. When he realizes Jess is working some days instead of going to school, he offers to pay Jess more at the diner (and later steals his car) to prevent him from working at Walmart (the place he worked before he had a car to earn the money to buy it???) but doesn't press him about what is really going on.

So after all of that, it turns out Jess didn't go to school enough to graduate. Luke does give Jess the option to stay in Stars Hollow and keep going to school, but I could never blame someone for not being able to have a rational conversation immediately after a stranger randomly shows up, claims paternity, and runs out. The emotional damage of that incident really can't be divorced from what happens here. Luke is of course also in crisis mode. Jess didn't graduate because he worked too much, so now he's in a position where his consequence is to keep doing what got him into trouble, only this time he doesn't have anyone looking after him. This isn't what Luke is intending, but his ultimatum basically reinforces Jess's mindset of prioritizing work (i.e. short-term financial security) above school and his reluctance to trust other people, and it reinforces Jess's family history (ironically not including Luke) of abandoning difficult situations (in this case, the aftermath of the fight with Dean) and relationships (in this case, Rory) instead of facing them. Jess ends up on his own with the money he had from work that he was saving for a different car, so he probably thinks it's a good thing he worked as much as he did, and he ends up without adult guidance or restrictions to help him sort all this out and repair the harm he caused. This could have turned out much more darkly than it did, and it's really a miracle that Jess got to where he was by the time he was 21.

When Jess is with Jimmy in California, he acknowledges that he's failed and doesn't know where to go from there. It probably isn't outlandish to think that Jess was earning more as a full-time forklift driver than what he is earning during Season 4. Factoring in the lower cost of living in Stars Hollow or somewhere nearby compared to New York, he probably could have been able earn a decent living if he stayed at Walmart (even if he wouldn't have been better off in the long run). That's probably why Luke's "I'm sorry I didn't think driving a forklift for the rest of your life was good enough for you" stung. It was likely a much better situation than whatever Jess is in mid-Season 4.

In late Season 4, Jess seems resigned to where he is. He doesn't complain or blame anyone else for his circumstances, even when Luke repeatedly mocks him in New York. (Even mid-Season 4, Jess doesn't express anger toward Luke about anything other than Luke stealing his car until Luke provokes him multiple times.) Maybe Jess was already thinking about writing a book or studying for a GED during Season 4, but his posture and mannerisms seem to suggest defeat more than anything else. At this point, Jess might not be envisioning anything other than what he has. It is only after Luke accepts Jess for who he is, and stops seeing him as a failed project, ("You are who you are. I cannot change that, and I'm going to stop trying.") that Jess really starts to move forward. Although Luke isn't even very positive in how he says this, it's still the sort of affirmation Jess always needed and maybe never received from a family member before. Then, he's honest with Luke about his emotions, he's receptive to Luke's advice, he expresses appreciation for what Luke did for him, he offers Luke a way to stay in contact, and he makes a commitment to pay him back even though Luke says he doesn't have to do so. He tries (and fails, for the time being) to make amends with Rory, and after all of these things happen, he progresses into the version of himself that returns in Season 6. Jess pursues a path that Luke doesn't quite understand but has accepted and is proud of (it's also a path that Rory does understand and is proud of, and both forms of support are so important).

#gilmore girls meta #luke danes #jess mariano #diner guys

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (7)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, past break-up, arguments, daddy Dean

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (6)

“Dean, a word,“ you square your jaw watching your son show Dean all the cars on his shelves. Dean doesn’t hear you, engrossed in listening to his son’s explanations. “DEAN!”

“Mommy, we are busy here. We are talking about manly cars,” your son huffs and turns his attention toward the stranger he let inside your house.

“Bud, you shouldn’t talk like that to your mom,” Dean sternly says. “We can talk about your cars later.”

“Promised?” Your son sniffles when Dean turns around to walk out of his room.

“Promised, bud,” Dean looks over his shoulder and nods. “We will talk about your cars as long as you want to.”

“COOL!” Your son clasps his hands together and grins. “You’re so cool, Mr. Dean!”

Dean chuckles, and you get even madder. How dare he come here and play the cool guy. Of course, your son is all over Dean. He has no clue that the very same man left you and his son when things got complicated.

“There you are,” Sam joins you and Dean. He still holds the toad in his hands, helplessly lifting the poor thing. “What do we do with that toad now?”

“TOADIE!” Your son shoves you out of his way to snatch the toad out of Sam’s hands, but Sam lifts the toad so Michael can't reach it. “I’ll show you my room now.”

“Great,” you glare at Sam. “Why didn’t you put it in the garden, Samuel Winchester? Now I’ll never get rid of that thing!” You jerk your head toward Dean. “And there is the toad.”

Sam snorts. “I can bring the toad in the garden. My brother is another story,” he sighs deeply. “Again. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“HEY! Sasquatch,” your son grunts and tugs at Sam’s jacket, “give me back my toad. Toadie is my friend, and you can’t have him.” Michael purses his lips and holds out his hand. “Give him back!”

“Michael, stop that,” you tut. “We don’t yell at guests. Sam will bring the toad back into the garden. Toadie wants to go home. Our home isn’t their home.”

Your son pouts. His lips wobble, and he sniffles silently. “I wanna keep Toadie!” He grasps Dean’s hand, tugging lightly. “Mr. Dean, please tell Mommy that a man must have a toad. All the cool guys have toads.”

Dean looks at your son holding his hand. A smile crosses his face, and he holds his hand a little tighter. “Sammy will bring the toad to the garden. If Toadie wants to stay, he’ll wait for you in the garden. But maybe he’s got a family and wants to go home.”

“You think so?” Michael sniffs. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and sniffles. “But…I’ll miss him. He’s my friend.”

“He’ll always be your friend, bud,” Dean crouches down in front of your son. “Sometimes we must let people go, even if we love them very much. And sometimes, people we love leave us.”

“O-kay,” your son nods and gives Dean a cracked smile. “Maybe he comes back to me. OH!” He gasps loudly. “What if he brings his family too?”

“No way,” you shudder at the thought of the toad coming back with the whole family. “Toadie will go back home and be a good toad.”

“How about I show you pictures of my Baby? I got them on my phone,” before you can take his son away from him, Dean wants to make sure to get to know the little boy better. 

“He’s got thousands of pictures of his car,” Sam snickers behind his brother’s back. “You’ll get tired looking at all of them.”

“YES!” Michael grins. “I love cars, mister. I bet Mr. Dean has the coolest pictures of the coolest car in the world.”

You purse your lips and clench your fists. Dean already snaked his way into your son’s heart, and you don’t know how to undo the damage he did within not half an hour.

While Michael guides his father out of his room, you stare at the toad in Sam’s hands. You’re unsure what to do now that Dean came here to get to know his son.

“I should bring the toad out, and … uh… maybe I can distract Michael so you can talk to Dean. I know you’re mad at my brother, but please at least talk things out. If you need a clean cut, do it. I’ll bring him back home and make sure he’ll leave you alone.”

“He broke my heart,” you don’t look at Sam. “Not only because he didn’t contact me or stopped me from leaving. He flirted with that woman, and let your mother walk all over me. We were so in love with each other and suddenly everything was different.”

You sniff and wipe your eyes. “I only thought about the life growing inside of me. The baby he didn’t know about. The whole day I tried to find the perfect moment to tell him. It never came, though…”

“I know this doesn’t mean anything to you,” Sam softly says, “but Dean never was happier than with you. After you left, he wasn’t the same. He had some affairs, but I think he was never in love with any of the women he dated. Dean only ever loved you.”

“Sure,” you snort. “He loved me so much that he left me…”

You storm out of the room, determined to get Dean out of your house. Even if it means making a scene in front of your son.

“You!” You stop in your tracks when you see Dean and your son on the couch. Your son is looking at pictures on Dean’s phone, grinning from ear to ear.

“MOMMY! There are pictures with you in Mr. Dean’s car,” Michael runs toward you, Dean’s phone in his hands. “You look so cool.” 

He grins and shows you the image on Dean’s phone. You’re sitting on the hood of his car, winking at Dean. It’s one of the last pictures Dean took of you.

“Uh…that was a long time ago, baby boy. Mr. Dean and his brother want to go now. It’s almost dinner time, and you still need to bathe and brush your teeth after dinner.”

“Mr. Dean must stay!” Michael purses his lips. “I want him to stay in our guest room and we can eat pizza and pie.”

“Michael, I—” you swallow thickly when your son starts to sniffle. It breaks your heart watching him bond with the man breaking your heart. 

“Pizza and pie. Pizza and pie,” your son chants. “Please, mommy. He’s cool and nice. Mr. Dean wants to show me more pictures of his car, and you!”

“What…no…he can’t…” Your voice cracks. “What about his brother? We can’t send his brother Sam away.”

“Hmm…” Your son nods thoughtfully. “Mr. Dean can sleep in your room, and his brother at the guest room.” Michael grins. “Right? You got a big bed all for yourself.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Sam hastily says. “Or maybe…uh…there is a hotel nearby. I can get me and Dean a room. We can leave after dinner.”

“I can stay for dinner,” Dean finally says. “But you can’t ask your mom to share her bed with me, okay.”

“But…” Michael sniffles. “You will come back tomorrow for breakfast. Right? We can make pancakes and … oh! You must try mommy’s pancakes. You’ll marry her if you taste them!”

Your son’s words hit you right in the chest. Daggers sent to your fragile heart. If only… you think while your son plans a wedding and to keep Dean around.

“I’ll call a hotel and,” Sam gives you an apologetic smile and pats your shoulder, “I promise to get him out of your house. At least for tonight…”

Tags in reblog.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #au!dean winchester #au!dean winchester x reader #Designed by pain (7)

[yesihaveaobsession]

Looped In Time

Alastor x female reader

Summary: Like Groundhog Day the reader (you) are experiencing a endless time loop, she asks The Radio Demon to get her out but that involves a deal.

Y/N- Y'all might argue and say, " Groundhog Day." but the real ones know it's actually "Mystery Spot."

You woke up again. Again? Yes. You found yourself trapped in an endless time loop, with no idea why. Each time, you died in the most outlandish ways: Frank, Sir Pentious's Egg Boi, shot a lasher, it hit you, and then you woke up in your bed. Another time, Cherri Bomb threw a grenade in the hotel lobby, and there you were again... waking up in your bed. Normally, you'd have no idea what day it was in Hell... but you sure as hell knew it was Wednesday.

You wanted to pull your hair out at this point; you needed out. So, you went to look for the man you knew who could help you: the Radio Demon himself. Said demon was returning from his radio tower. He was much taller than you, so you practically had to jog to catch up with him. You didn't want him to disappear, so you shouted.

"Alastor! Just the guy I wanted to see." Alastor stopped and turned to face you with his smile. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Not wanting anyone else to hear what charade was tormenting you, you grabbed his claw and dragged him into your bedroom, shutting the door and locking it.

Alastor let out a chuckle. "That is one way to get your point across." Was he mocking you? You finally turned to face him. "I'm stuck, you baboon."

"Stuck?" He smiled, but his eyes showed confusion. "I'm stuck in an endless time loop that never ends, and I can't do anything about it!" You ran your hands through your hair, trying to catch your breath.

"That does not sound very pleasant at all." Maybe this was a bad idea. He seemed to enjoy watching you struggle. And God, did you hate it.

"No shit! I somehow die in the dumbest ways and wake up, and it's Wednesday. In fact, this is the hundredth Wednesday I've lived through!" Alastor sat on your bed with his legs crossed over each other. "Sounds... frustrating."

You finally looked over at the deer demon, who clearly was enjoying it by his grin. But he did want to help; he saw the desperate glint in your eyes. "You do realize that you are essentially in Hell currently, yes?"

Seriously? "Yes," You replied flatly. "And you know the only way to break the cycle, yes?" He stood from the bed and made his way over to you, clutching his cane, bending down and sliding a finger down your chest, then pausing and looking up at you.

"No, tell me." You gripped onto the flaps of his suit jacket desperately. Just where he wanted you. "Perhaps I can offer you a way out of this tiresome cycle. But, of course, everything comes at a price." Your giddiness came to an end when he said this. "I'm way smarter than making a deal with you." You replied, letting go of his suit and crossing your arms. To think this was the game that Alastor played. He also knew that getting through to someone looking for help like you was a lot easier.

"I assure you... the price is very reasonable..." He said with animated hand gestures. You were now glaring at him. Was this sensibly a price to pay? Although you weren't sure if he believed you or not. You didn't know how to get out. A part of you felt like Alastor put you in this to get something out of you.

"You're not getting my soul." You spoke. He smiled more. His arms were behind his back, and he started to circle around you, slowly, like you were his prey.

"Oh, you will not have to sell me your soul. Just your services, if you agree to my terms." Terms? What terms? You thought to yourself. You felt your heart start to pound in your chest. The tension between you and the seven-foot man was weighing down on you.

"Why do I feel like you're mocking me?" You pushed, knowing he was hiding something behind those yellow teeth. Alastor chuckled. "No mocking here." He let out a sigh before continuing. "Only a simple contract, and you'll be free of the time loop for good... at least, that is my offer." Alastor held out his hand, with his antlers growing from his head. You took a step back. "Do you have some demands that, if met, would break you out of the loop?"

"I was hoping you'd help me without a deal."

"That technically is not an option, my dear." His hand remained stretched out in front of him. You weighed your options. "Why?"

"Think of this situation as a business transaction, my dear. There are no freebies in this plane of existence. There is a price to pay for everything. And I am only being so generous to you because I want something in return, from you."

Either way, you needed out. "Deal." you replied and shook his hand, you woke up in your bed and looked at the clock it said Thursday, you let out a sigh of relief only to realize you don't know what you agreed to.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #i have an obsession

[decolonize-the-left]

If Americans shouldn't vote for Biden what should they do instead? Vote for trump? Vote third party? Not vote?

(I know most people would probably ask you this in bad faith but I'm just really distraught at the state of politics and keep hearing people say "don't say he's the only option and don't support him" but there's never alternatives given and I don't know what an effective alternative could even be)

I think a good place to start that a lot of people are comfortable with is probably volunteering and petitioning for 3rd parties to make sure they Do have ballot access next year. So that ppl Can vote for someone else next year.

And yes, vote 3rd party this election. Or don't vote at all.

Besides that? Learn some basic defense and join protests. Support encampments and do things leftists say like join a union and organize your own community whether it be your schoolmates, coworkers, or all your friends and their friends.

Y'all see the news right?

Censorship and propaganda are rampant right now, along with transphobia and racism and even Nazis are back. Tensions are high to say the least and everyone is worked up about the election and Israel.

Figure out what you wish someone else would do and then do it. Is that de-arresting protesters? Organizing a bail fund, fighting cops and throwing tear gas back at them when they make things violent?

There's a lot to fight against and even more to fight for. Find what's worth fighting for (to you) and actually start fighting for it. Don't let cops or your principal or boss or anyone else stop you.

I think one of the most important things we can do right now is remind the government and those that serve the government that they won't take our rights so easily. That if they want to silence us then we're gonna make sure it'll hurt more than it'll help. That we can and will fight back.

And that's why it's so vital that we show them we won't settle either. We won't vote for Biden.

We settled for Clinton and look where that got us.

Does it feel like voting for more and more conservative blue candidates actually helped prevent harm? Or does it feel like you were manipulated and lied to?

Gonna be real, it feels like the government is a manipulative abuser and we're all it's gaslit victims who don't want to believe things are that bad just cuz he killed someone else instead of us.

Which is like...it doesn't mean good things for us that our government could do that and we'd rationalize it, you know?

How we want to get out of this fucked up dynamic is up to us. We work, we pay taxes, we listen to the governments rule of law, and still our government won't codify rights, our trans friends are being abused by the government, or it's banning apps with censorship. And the whole time it's telling us to shut up and be grateful it isn't worse.

Abusers never ever tell you that it could be better too. And they don't want you to know that. Cuz then you leave. And if you leave then they can't manipulate and abuse you.

So yeah. They'll shit on us for doing Anything that doesn't result in us staying, for doing anything that results in us choosing our own well being instead of theirs.

But that's what we need to do.

And you need support before you do that. That's what organizing is. It's like calling the besties who hype you up to leave your shitty ex. Except it's a bunch of people agreeing to support each other when they choose to stand up for something. Organizing is making sure there are people watching back and making sure if one of you is harmed or arrested that there'll be someone there to help bail you out.

The more people you have to bail you out, the less you have to worry about being outnumbered, spoken over, or physically stopped with force.

So yeah. Do that.

Organize. I hope I stressed that enough. The people on our front lines need us to be there for them as much we need Them to keep fighting for us.

Also since I'm here: make sure you and your friends don't talk shit about protesters even when they get violent and break shit. It's not abuse when the victim finally hits back at their abuser, it's self defense.

#asked #answered #idk #kinda just want politicians to start dying tbh

[lil-darhk]

"Do You Want to Dance too?"

[Bucky Barnes x reader]

Summary: After a very rare date with your boyfriend, it starts to rain and you two find yourselves stuck in a cafe with no way to get home without being soaked wet.

Warnings: fluff

(A/n: First attempt at a fanfic. I thought about this when I was trying to sleep and I really wanted to write it down.)

I curse under my breath as James and I quickly run to the small cafe at the end of the empty street. The rain started just a few moments ago so it wasn't bad now but I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

We finally making it through the door, only slightly wet.

" Nice end to the day," he mumbles, clearly not happy.

I sigh and take a seat at my usual table when Ella, a good friend of mine, pops up behind the counter.

"Well this is a surprise," the barista says, "Thought I was finally going to be able to go through the whole day without you showing up."

"Ha ha," I muse, "Get us some hot chocolate."

She rolls her eyes but goes to make the order nonetheless.

James takes a seat next to me, glaring out the window as if that would stop the rain. The rain didn't take kindly to that as it starts a downpour, confirming my earlier suspicion.

He grumbles and I take his hand in mine.

"Tonight was nice," I say gently.

"It could've been better."

I shake my head, " You can't control the weather, love."

But I could understand his frustration. We rarely got to spend much time together as it was.

We usually only see each other at night but by then are too exhausted to do anything other than eat and sleep.

James and I had started dating a few months but we had known each other for years before then. I used to be an Avenger but I quit after Steve left. First it had been out of grief from my best friends, then it changed to me not wanting that kind of life anymore.

James was still very much in it, he was a soldier first after all, and, as long as he didn't get himself killed, I was okay with that.

I unconsciously traced a small scar on his palm as Ella brings us the hot cocoas.

"Okay, here's the deal," she starts, "I have to close up in 45 minutes. You guys can stay to try to wait the rain out."

"Do you at least have an umbrella we can borrow?," I ask.

"Nope. I even gave mine to an old lady."

"And you can't let us stay?"

"Nada."

It was my turn to grumble, "Fine."

Ella shrugs, "I need to clean up," she says before making her leave.

James was still glaring out of the window when he suddenly turned his stare on me.

"This is why we should've taken the car," he concluded.

I was taken aback, "So it's my fault for suggesting that we walk for 20 minutes to the restaurant?"

"Guess so."

I scoff, "You are on very thin ice here, Barnes."

He raises an eyebrow, "Are you threatening me?"

"Guess so," I mimic.

"What are you going to do?" he asks, amused.

"Do you want to sleep on the couch?"

He scoffs at my threat but doesn't say anything else.

Smart man.

We sip our hot cocoas in silence.

Then, suddenly, I'm laughing. James looks at me with an amused grin.

"I can make you sleep on the couch," I say, still giggling.

I poke his chest and he starts laughing too.

"I know you can, dear. I know you can."

He grabbed my chin with his right hand, tilting my head so I looked him directly in the eye.

"What would I do without you?" He wonders out loud.

"It's too awful to think about," I joke.

He laughs again before pressing his lips against mine.

I sigh in the kiss. It's difficult to think I was once distrusting of the super soldier I had grown to love. Now I trusted him with everything I had and more.

It took a long time for me to see the ex-Winter Soldier's true nature. His gentle, shy yet annoyingly protective nature

Too long.

He broke off the kiss with a small smile.

"We should finish the hot cocoa before it gets cold," James suggests.

"Hot cocoa is more important than kissing your girlfriend?" I pout.

He shrugs, "It's good hot chocolate."

I don't deny his statement.

It's my turn to look out of the window. As rain banged on the roof and glass of the small cafe, it seems to play out a rather aggressive tune. I don't like when it rains. It brings back rather painful memories, but I've learned that countering the bad memories with good ones helps make peace with the pain caused in a moment.

That gives me an idea.

"Do you want to sprint for it now?" I ask randomly.

The super soldier nearly spits out his cocoa, "What?"

"It's probably only gonna get worst and we are going to have to eventually."

"Do you want to dance too?" he said sarcastically.

My eyes lit up at the idea, "Can we?"

James' eyes widened, "I meant it as a joke."

"But why not? It's as cliche as dancing in the apartment," I point out, "Besides it'll be fun."

He shook his head, "We are not dancing in the rain."

"But-"

"It's way too cold and the last time you got sick, you couldn't get out of bed for a week."

I try to hide my wince by pouting, "Fine. No dancing."

He sighs, "But maybe we should go soon, It does look like it's going to get worst."

"So let's go then."

"Wait up!"

James' voice was nearly lost in the rain. I kept running, knowing full well he could catch up with me within a minute.

Or maybe he couldn't. I was pretty fast.

I laughed into the wind, my mouth filling with water as the painfully large raindrops hit my face.

I sprint in the direction I think is my house and, try to calm the leather jacket that James gave me by wrapping it around my torso.

While doing so, I accidentally stumble on my feet and go flying forward.

Strong arms wrap around me within a moment, one made out of a now freezing metal.

"I got you," Bucky assures, "I got you."

I hear him loud and clear now despite his voice barely being above a whisper. The drumming of rain seemed like an irrelevant background noise.

I turn to him, grinning like an idiot. His hair was stuck to his face. He shakes his head at me but was unable to hide his own smile.

No words needed to be exchanged in the moment as his hands rested on my waist and my arms looped around his neck.

I look at James with possibly all the love I held and softly press my lips against his. It was easy to forget everything with him, even easier to forget the bad things.

He put his arm on my neck and pulls away. " You're going to get sick."

"I've accepted it," I confess quickly, chasing his lips.

He shakes his head again but lets me kiss him regardless.

~~~

I got sick for a week afterward but it was well worth it. Especially when I had James looking after me.

#bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #first fanfic #Marvel #Marvel fanfic #mcu #marvel #marvel mcu #the avengers #<3

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 5: detergent, thrifting, and cake

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Chapter Rating: T (11k)

ao3 link, ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Chapter Summary: It’s his roommate’s birthday this week, and Carmy doesn’t find out until it’s a couple days away. Once he finds they’re unluckily spending their birthday alone, he makes it his mission to make their lonely day better. It’s the least he can do. Little does he know how much more he has to discover about them and about himself.

Tags: reader having trauma, carmy having trauma, toxic families, domesticity

A/N: It’s time… it’s time. I said last chapter was the longest…just kidding. THIS ONE is the longest, and it was hardest to write so far. The duo gets to have a lot of fun this chapter, though! arguably the most so far! A lot of domestic goodness and good food and shopping! Until… :)

also HUGE shoutout to @justaconsequence on tumblr for being my beta reader for this chapter! she was so kind and so helpful. this behemoth of a fic is too much for me to proofread on my own. anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy! can't wait to hear what y'all think!

Typically, by this time on Monday morning, Carmy's usually three cigarettes deep into paperwork, urgently (and poorly) calculating the sales the restaurant needs to make this week to stay afloat. Because even though it's a Sunday closing activity, he never seems to find the occasion to get around to it, and by 10 pm, he doesn't have the capacity to be crunching numbers. 

Not that 8 am is much better. At least he's not dissecting the debt this morning—he's studying detergent prices.

“Why is this one, like, almost 20 dollars?” Carmy stops reading the price tags and glances over at his roommate, who's squinting at products on upper shelves. The lights are always too bright in this place. “And for such a small bottle…”

“Pre-mixed organic sulfate-free 100% vegan bleach,” Carmy reads dully. 

“So stupid.” They shake their head. “Does grocery shopping ever depress you?”

“Usually,” he replies dryly. “Inflation is pretty depressing.”

“Don’t even get me started. Capitalism in general depresses me.”

“Hm, yeah. That too.” He sighs through his nose and tries to refocus. He's having a hard time processing all the numbers and letters today. “You see any unscented detergent? Somethin’ mild?”

“Um…” They crane their neck up and down, and then they crouch on the ground. They pick up a white bottle. “How's this? It's like, 8 dollars. It's not name-brand, but…”

“You know I don't care.” He kneels with them, huddling in close. They smell faintly of a sweet, yet musky perfume. He reminds himself to focus on the detergent, not the way they smell (even if it's far more interesting). “Yeah, this looks good. Thank you.”

“For your vintage denim, right?” They stand up to put the detergent in their shopping cart, which is barely separated with his stuff vs. theirs. He doesn't understand why his face grows warm at their comment, but it does. 

“Uh, yeah. It is.” If the blush shows on his face, they graciously don't comment. “Although I'll admit I don't get around to washing them as much as I should.”

“You're not supposed to wash jeans that often anyway, right?” They lean their elbows onto the rickety cart as they push it, and he ambles along next to them, matching the slow, relaxed pace of their walk. 

“Yeah, but I really…” The implications are clear. They fail in suppressing a laugh, and it makes him smile. “And I’m supposed to hand wash them, so.”

“Oh, so what you're saying is that you never wash them,” they tease.

“That is not at all what I'm saying.” They make an unimpressed face. “I do laundry, it's just…”

“Not often,” they supply helpfully. He tries to come up with something, but he's got nothing. “It's okay, I understand.”

“I promise I wash my clothes,” he mumbles, wilting. 

“I know.” There's that new smile he's grown to recognize more clearly. It's this mischievous one they get when they’re teasing him, and it's so cute he doesn't have any room in him to get even a little irritable. “I've seen you do laundry maybe once or twice.”

“Hey,” he says, warning, and they laugh and run ahead of him, the squeaky wheels of the cart giggling alongside them. 

After the night he almost burned down their apartment, he had felt different. It was like a switch being flipped, light abruptly filling up a dark room, and he's been squinting, struggling to adjust. But as he walks with them today, grocery shopping lit by blinding white fluorescents, he finds that he can see them rather clearly. 

The connection between the two of them is tangible, palpable. It's workable pasta dough that's been kneaded to uniformity. The dough is malleable, clean, and when he touches it, sticky, glutenous residue doesn't cover his palms. When he catches at them peeking over their shoulder to make sure he's still following them, he chases away the urge to pull them into his arms. He throws the desire into boiling water in hopes that enough pressure will change those feelings into something more palatable. He's not sure if it's working.

Something happened when he hugged them that Saturday night. He doesn't dare name what that “something” is, but it's rising from where it's sitting at the bottom of the pot, just about to hit the surface—

“Hey, I gotta get some stuff in this aisle.” Carmy snaps out of it and follows them as they veer the cart to the left. He raises his eyes to read the categories on the sign.

“You bakin’ somethin’?” They both move out of the way for an oncoming cart.

“Yeah, was thinking about it.” They halt to a stop in front of the boxed cake mix and step back to fully peruse the shelves. He stands next to them, and they glance at him out of the corner of their eye. “You’re not judging me for getting box mix, are you?”

“Not at all,” he answers honestly. “Food is always better when made from scratch, but box mix has its uses. Besides, I’m not a baker.”

“That’s true, but I’m sure you still make an insane cake.” Carmy’s aware he can’t make them unsee his flash of a smile, but he still shrugs. “Sure, stay humble.”

“I try. What’s the occasion?”

“Ah, nothing much. It’s just my birthday.”

“Oh, okay.” 

…And he's about to move on, just as casually as it came, but then the processing finishes.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” They ask confusedly. 

“Is it your birthday today?”

“No, um, it’s this Thursday.” He exhales in palpable relief. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He hates at how worked up he sounds.

“Um…” Their face is twinged with guilt. “...There was never a good time to bring it up?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be getting upset.” He sighs, shakes his head. “I just feel like I should’ve known, I guess.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. I never brought it up. Um…” Their hands are fiddling with the edges of their sleeves. “I just have complicated feelings about my birthday.”

“Ah, I see. I get that.” That, he can understand. “Is it all the gifts and stuff?”

“Kinda. It’s a part of it.” They lean down to grab a box of devil’s food cake, and that makes him remember that they’re in a grocery store. Not quite the best place for a personal conversation like this. They’re being vague, but he won’t press. Not right now.

“You shouldn’t be baking for yourself on your birthday,” Carmy mutters. They smile at that, but it’s different. It’s heavy with melancholy. 

“It’s alright. I’m gonna be celebrating with my friends this weekend, just not on my actual birthday.” His conflicted expression persists. “It’s okay, really. It’s just a day. It’ll be enough of a present to not have to go into work.”

“Put that back,” he blurts out. “I’ll make you a cake.”

“Don’t you work?” Their eyebrows are arched in surprise. “You really don’t—”

“I know I don’t. But I want to. I do work, yeah, but I’ll, I’ll get someone to cover me.” He’s never said those words before in his life, and now that they’re out, he can’t take them back. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t want to take them back. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” they reply quickly. 

“Then let me do this. Please.” He has no idea where this courage is coming from. “I want to. I know I'm always working, but I really…” Their eyes are wide with wonder, yet watchful. It shouldn't make him falter, but it does. His heart stutters and whatever bravado briefly gripped him fades away. “I’m…probably being too pushy right now. Tell me to fuck off?”

“I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off for wanting to bake me a cake,” they laugh, easing his worries like they always do. “C’mon, Carm.”

“So, uh, is that a yes, or…?”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m not trying to ask you to take off of work for my birthday,” they start carefully, “but I wouldn’t object to it. So, yeah. It’s a yes.”

“Okay.” He can’t help his giddy smile. There's someone saying you look stupid like this, but he’s with them, and it makes everything else silent. “Okay, good.”

“You’re…being super sweet about all this.” He doesn’t understand why—maybe it’s the way they say it—but hearing that makes his neck go hot. 

“I mean…friends do stuff like this, don’t they?” 

“Only the good ones.” They beam beautifully at him. He hasn’t done anything to warrant their affection, he thinks, but the feeling of their smile is so warm. He can’t resist soaking in it.

He's glad that lady luck blessed him just enough to stop their birthday from passing him by. He's been itching for an opportunity to repay them for all the bullshit they've had to take from him as of recent (although he knows if he brought it up, they would say it wasn't anything worth repaying). They deserve something good from him for once, not panic attacks and nightmares. 

He just wishes he could figure out why they were going to spend their birthday alone. He knows them a lot better now, but there's still so much left shrouded. He wants to know them inside and out—he wants to learn what makes them tick, what keeps them up at night, what makes them happy. He wants to know all of it in its entirety, to fill in the gaps in the puzzle he doesn't have the pieces for.

He has some of the pieces. He understands that their relationship with their family to his—distant, strained, and difficult. Unfortunately, that’s about it. He doesn’t know any of the specifics. It’s not like he’s talked to them about his family outside of the off-handed bitter remarks, just as they have, but he finds that this fact leaves him dissatisfied.

He just hopes that they'll let him in. He's not sure if they will, but…he's gonna try. He has to. He's sick of not trying.

. . . . .

“You want to take off?” Richie’s staring at Carmy like he’s grown a second head. They're taking a smoke break in the back. “I don’t know what sort of doppelganger bullshit this is, but if you’re trying to pretend to be Carmen, you’re doing a shit job.”

“Very funny, jackass,” Carmy mutters. “I’m being serious. This Thursday.”

“All day?” Carmy grimaces, but he nods. Richie shakes his head. “You’re being weird. Really fuckin’ weird.”

“I know I shouldn’t. It’s a bad idea, but—”

“Cousin, no, that’s not at all what’s goin’ on here,” Richie interrupts, and Carmy’s at a loss for words. “This is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“What?” Carmy squints at him. “Are you being serious?”

“‘Course I’m serious. I’m always serious.” Carmy decides not to comment on that. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get you off this ship for just one fucking second?”

“As the owner of this place, you’ve tried way too many times,” he replies dryly. 

“Uh, as the original co-owner of this place, you don’t listen to me enough.” Again, Carmy decides not to elaborate on that one. It’s not worth it. “Take the day off. I was running it fine before, and I’ll keep running it.”

“No, no, we’re not saying that, it was not fine,” Carmy starts, but Richie’s already flipping him off. 

“Whatever, I already know, new fucking system and all that. Don’t get anxiety or whatever over it, that’s why you got Syd hustling shit your way, right?” 

“Uh.” Carmy didn’t realize that Richie had even been paying attention to the new hierarchy in the restaurant, let alone respecting it in any capacity. “Yeah, she is.”

“Then it’s fine.” Richie blows smoke in his face, and Carmy swats it away with a glare. “It was fine when you came in an hour late today, wasn’t it?” 

“You guys knew I wasn’t gonna come in until later,” Carmy argues, defensive (although he’s not sure if there’s actually anything to argue about). 

“Exactly.” Richie sighs all of a sudden, a long one that sounds like it’s bone deep. “Carm. Let me be straight with you. You need to do this. Okay? No backing out of this one.”

“Why’re you sayin’ this? What are you sayin’?” 

“It’s ‘cause of your roommate, right? This Thursday?”

“...Yeah.” Carmy pales. “How did you—?”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Richie says, grinning. “It was obvious.”

“No way. I didn’t say shit.”

“You didn’t need to.” Richie flicks the ash off his cigarette. “They’re changin’ you, man. We can all see it.”

“...” Carmy can’t deny that. He doesn't have time to ponder on that right now. “Is it really okay?”

“Yeah, you could stand to have an attitude adjustment.”

“I wasn’t talking about that, asshole. I was talking about Thursday.”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, it’s completely fine.” Richie claps a hand on his shoulder, solid in its grip. It makes Carmy’s eyes snap to him, mostly in confusion. “So what’s the occasion? Must be important.”

“It’s their birthday. I mean, I could just go home early that day, but—”

“Yo, if you’re gonna take off, don’t halfass it—”

“That’s not what I was gonna say. When I’m here, I can’t seem to find my way out. This place…it just has a way of trapping you in.” He doesn’t expect Richie to nod, but he does. “I know if I don’t take the whole day off, I’ll never get out of here in time. Not until it’s too late.”

For some reason, that makes Richie laugh. 

“Yeah. That's it.” Richie shakes his head as smoke trails out of his mouth. “That’s just it, man. You have to make time for the things that’re important. Even the recitals where you have to listen to five year olds play twinkle twinkle little star 20 times. You can’t miss shit like this. Because once you miss it, it’s gone.”

“Rich.” Carmy wants to say something to make that haunted expression leave Richie's face, but he doesn't come up with anything in time.

“Don’t give me that look.” Richie’s hand falls from his shoulder. “I’m just tryin’ to stop you from fucking shit up. They actually seem like a good person.”  

“Y’think so?”

“I do. You?”

“Yeah.” Carmy doesn’t bother hiding his smile, even though he can already sense Richie’s teasing coming from a mile away. “They’re a really good friend.”

“Friend. Sure.” Richie snorts. 

“Don’t push it,” and for some reason he adds, “they were gonna spend it alone.”

“Huh. Sociable guy like them spending it alone?”

“I know. I didn't ask. Maybe I should've.”

“Maybe. I dunno, cousin. Everyone's got their secrets. Especially the ones that try to act like they don't have any.”

“You're strangely full of wisdom today.”

“Fuck right off,” Richie responds in regular Richie fashion.

“I think they're like me. Like us.” Carmy's not sure why he's saying this on a Monday afternoon at work out of all times, but the truth bursts out of him beyond his will. Richie's expression shifts into something more solemn, something recognizable. “Y'know what I mean.”

“...Yeah.” Richie claps his hand on Carmy's back again. “Shitty parents club.”

As Carmy stands there in the back, feet sore and tobacco in the air, he sees his childhood in flashes. He's five years old again and is following Mike around with scuffed sneakers and untamed hair, although he supposes that unruliness never truly changed with time. There's warm sunlight filtering through green summer leaves. He hears his mother behind him, somewhere, but maybe he doesn't. 

He thinks of home, of his bedroom, and it is cold. He has homework he’s failed to complete again. It's sitting on his desk, on top of all of the other shit he can't finish. There's screaming, and he's not listening.

He blinks. He’s 30, and he hasn’t talked to his mom since Michael died.

“Shitty parents club,” Carmy repeats hollowly. 

. . . . .

When Thursday morning arrives, Carmy ends up greeting his roommate with flour in his hair and eggs sizzling on the pan. 

“Um,” they say, just as Carmy goes “G'morning.” They both freeze, brief awkwardness circling between them before it dissipates with their breathless laugh.

“Good morning. I didn't think you'd actually take off,” they admit.

“I said I would,” he replies quietly, but it's not accusatory. How many times had he said he'd be home for dinner just for him to arrive when they're already asleep? He tries not to make empty promises anymore. Nonetheless, he understands their surprise. “Um, I'm almost done with breakfast. I didn't get to the coffee yet.”

“Am I supposed to be offended?” They laugh. “That's the least I can do, with you doing all of this.” They sluggishly shuffle behind him to reach down into some kitchen cabinets. “It's a special day, so I'll even make us pour overs.”

“That's true. It is special.” He peeks over his shoulder, pausing from basting the eggs in brown butter to see them setting up on the kitchen island. They gently place the hourglass-shaped glass onto the counter with a light clink. He silently switches the button on for the electric gooseneck kettle to his right. “Am I allowed to wish you a happy birthday, or should I not?”

“Hm, I don't mind. Just don't overdo it, which I doubt you will.” They pull out a bag of coarse ground coffee and a filter. As soon as they open the bag, he can smell the sweet scent of the light roast floating towards him. 

“Okay. Then, happy birthday,” he says as casually as he can.

“Thanks, Carmy.” He studies their expression, searching for annoyance in their content expression, but he doesn't find any. “That's not even really what I meant by today being special, though.”

“How else did you mean it?” The eggs are done. He reaches over the hot pan to cut the heat.

“Well, y'know. I dunno if we’ve ever had a full day off together.” They're carefully scooping grounds into the filter fitted on top of the glass, creating a small hill. “I think I managed to catch you coming home early on my off days sometimes, but never a full day.”

“Huh.” Carmy has to take a minute to think about that one. “Yeah, I don't know either. I think you're right.”

“Then, like I said. It's special.” They seal up the bag of coffee grounds, and then they frown. “Shit. I forgot to turn on the kettle. Can you—”

“Already did it,” he reports, pleased, and his sense of accomplishment only doubles at their sigh of relief. 

“Thank god.” There's the familiar clicking sound of the kettle reaching the perfect temperature. “Just in time, too. Can you hand it to me?”

“Yes, chef,” he says, because it always makes them laugh. Today is no exception. He slides the metallic kettle over to them. 

“So what delights did you whip up over there?” They ask. They begin pouring the almost boiling water over their coffee grounds in a slow circle, gradually inching towards the middle. “It smells amazing. I want the full break-down.”

“The full break-down, got it.” On two circular plates, he's carefully placing a fried egg, thick cut bacon, and a slice of toast with jam and butter. “Uh…it's nothin’ special, just stuff we had in the fridge. We've got a, uh, brown-butter fried egg with a little paprika, sage, pepper, salt…”

“Oh, just an egg made with liquid gold, no big deal,” they imitate.

“Cut it out,” he snips back, but he's smiling and they know it. “There's honestly not much to it. This thick-cut bacon was in the back, so I cooked the rest of it. And the toast is just brioche with salted honey butter and blueberry jam.”

“Carmy. C'mon. That's nothing special to you?”

“I mean.” It's not quite nothing, he thinks. “I can make nicer breakfasts, is all.”

“That's what you said when you made me garlic bread, and that fucking blew my mind.” They set the kettle down with a thunk. The glass is full of dark coffee. Prepped next to them is their favorite glass mug alongside Carmy's. He's not sure how they knew that it was his favorite, but he doesn't question it.

“I'm just letting you know that you should wait to be really impressed.” 

“Too fucking late, man.” He's turned around and placed the two breakfast platters on the kitchen island, and they gawk openly at it. “Holy fuck.”

“It's ready,” he says, surprisingly meek. He can't comprehend why anxiety's hitting him now of all times. He's served acclaimed food critics, top-security government officials, and celebrities more times than he can count. Before that audience, he never faltered, but in front of his roommate in their crumpled pajamas, his heart stutters. 

“Oh, wow…” They regard the food with undeserved softness. Like a punctured balloon, his anxiety immediately begins deflating. They're staring at the food like it's a painting in a museum. “You seriously didn't have to do all of this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” He feels heat on the back of his neck. “Is…is that okay?”

“It's more than okay.” Suddenly, he notices their eyes are puffy, like they were crying. “Goddamnit, get over here.” 

He only registers what's about to happen for one second before they're hugging him. Their palms are on his back, and the top of their head tucks under his chin perfectly. He makes a small, surprised noise. 

“I, I'm glad you like it.” He links his arms around them, allows himself to rest his chin on their head. With their face turned to the side, their ear's pressed up against his chest, and he's instantly struck with the paranoia that they're gonna hear his rapid heartbeat. 

“I haven't even taken a bite yet, and I love it.” They lean back then, arms still wrapped around him and head craned upwards to look at him. It's far too intimate for what they are, and Carmy hates how his heart beats even harder. “Thank you for doing all this. Seriously. I…”

“The breakfast's just a side thing, I'm, um, still baking you a cake.”

“What? You're doing this and a cake?”

“Um,” Carmy repeats intelligently.

“Carmy. Carmy, Carmy, Carmy.” Their words ooze affection, but surely he's just imagining it. Their hands are crawling up his back. “God, I could just ki—”

“There's the timer,” Carmy blurts out, because his phone's ringing and so are his ears. At the sound, they let him go, and he grabs two towels to retrieve the two circular cake pans from the oven. A toothpick poked through the middle comes out clean, so he sets them on a wire rack to cool. 

He needs to focus on the cakes. That's the most important thing.

“Oh my god.” They lean in close to the cake and take a deep breath. “Is this—”

“Devil's food cake, yeah.” The heat searing his face is surely from opening the oven. 

“You—how did you—” Their smile is luminous with joy. “You really pay attention to every little thing, don't you?”

“Sometimes. When it counts.” He fidgets awkwardly, nails picking at the sides of his fingers. “Wanna eat by the window, or…?”

“Fuck yeah I do. Can you bring the plates over? I'll have the coffee over in just a second.”

Carmy sets up at their little table first, placing the plates just right across from one another. The morning sun casts a cozy glow through their speckled window, streaking planes of light across the floor. He patiently waits and watches them pace from the fridge to the counter, splashing cream into their mugs. Through the transparent glass, he watches the white fizzle into the dark coffee, blending into a warm brown.

“Just a tiny spoon of sugar for you, right?” They peek over their shoulder, catching his stare, and he nods. He's also not quite sure how they know that, either. They've had coffee in the morning maybe a handful of times before.

He supposes they also pay attention sometimes, when it counts.

“Alright, here we go.” They bring a mug in each hand and set them delicately down on the table. He notes that his coffee is the perfect color. “Oh, thanks for waiting. You didn't have to.”

“I, I guess so, yeah. It's just, uh, you always wait for me, so…”

“That's—that's true.” An odd tension sets in their face, but they laugh it off, and it disappears. “I guess I’m not used to it anymore.”

A part of him wants to ask further by what they meant by that, but they're already taking pictures of his food so dutifully. He doesn't want to ruin it, so he eats. 

It's nice to have a solid breakfast for once. He had taken their advice from the other night and had been drinking milk with protein powder. It was nice not to feel like he was teetering the edge by lunch time, but truthfully, it was a bit unsavory. This breakfast platter is much more palatable. It also helps that his stomach pains aren't active today. 

Time rolls by slowly this quiet morning, and Carmy recognizes the oddity of it immediately. It's clear to see when by this time, he's usually already done at least ten laps through the restaurant. An irritating signal in his brain is telling him that he needs to get up and do something, not sit around and eat, but for once, he doesn't want to listen. 

A memory from roughly two weeks ago (or was it one week?) unearths all of sudden. He was up early, drinking shitty coffee and sinking into dissociation. Mornings were lonely, as he was usually the only one up, but not that day. His roommate came stumbling into the kitchen, awake from a restless night. They chatted before he had to head out, and he remembers wishing he had more time in the morning to spend with them. 

He imagined a morning just like this one, with pajamas, food, and messy hair. He daydreamed about having all the time in the world, and he thought about getting to spend it all with them. Now he’s sitting in that moment he imagined, except that it’s real. They're across from him in their wrinkled pajamas and bedhead, contentedly mowing through their food. There's a smear of jam on the corner of their mouth. He takes a sip of his coffee, and it's perfect, just as they made it for him. 

This amount of good should scare him, needs to scare him, but he just can't bring himself to care anymore. He wants more than nightmares, cigarettes, and floating just above the budget. He wants this.

He tastes his coffee and reminds himself that he’s still here. The moment hasn’t passed him by. 

“Is it good?” He asks quietly. It’s a rhetorical question, it always is, but he can’t help himself. He wants to hear it from them. 

“So. Fucking. Good.” They have to finish chewing before they answer. “You always knock it out of the park. If this is the prelude, I don’t know if I can handle what’s next,” they say, gesturing towards the cooling cake.

“It won’t be ready for a while yet. You have time to prepare yourself.” That makes them smile. All according to plan. “Got anything in mind for today?”

“Nothing glamorous. I was just gonna go out for a little. Go thrifting, maybe watch a movie later. Smoke a joint.” They shrug. “Just my usual sort of thing.”

“Mm.” He dusts off crumbs from the toast off his fingers on his pants. “Sounds like a good time. You still wanna go?”

“I do, yeah.” They stare at him for a moment, as if processing his words. Or just him. “Do you…wanna tag along, or…?”

Whenever they ask him if he wants to spend time together (whether it’s grocery shopping, smoking, or watching a show), they usually offer it with an air of nonchalance. Carmy’s assumed it’s been out of politeness, restraining their expression as to not put any pressure onto him. That’s the person he’s used to, not this uneasy anxiety, someone afraid to ask him to spend time with them.

It reminds him of himself in every way. 

“I’d love to tag along,” he answers easily, just as they’ve always done for him. “I’ve got the whole day off, after all.”

“Right. ‘Course.” He watches their little smile double in size. “I promise to not make you watch me try on clothes for too long.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I like thrifting, y’know.” And you, he thinks to himself. 

“You do? Oh, of course—” They make a contemplative noise to themself. “Vintage denim. I always wondered how you managed to have so many pairs.”

“Once you know where to look, they’re pretty easy to find. I can help you find some, if you want.”

“I’d love that. I realized the other day that I don’t have any dark wash jeans, so—actually, the truth is that I do have a pair, but they’re so fucked up and old that I never wear them anymore. Anyway, I need new jeans. Think you could find some dark wash blue jeans for me?”

“If you’re willing to hit up more than one store, then definitely,” he replies, just a smidge cocky.

“I’m willing to hit up even two more stores.” He pretends to gasp, to which they nod confidently. “Yeah. That’s right. Maybe even three.”

“We won’t need three,” Carmy promises. “I’m better than that. Probably won’t even need two, but…” He shrugs. “We’ll see what they’ve got.”

“Okay, Mr. Confident over here,” they tease. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

They head out after they both clean the kitchen and freshen up. Carmy gets the flour out of his hair and rewets his hair to revive some of his curls. He silently thanks his past self for showering the night before. With the passage of the morning cold and the rising sun, the afternoon weather’s become brisk and pleasant. However, the weather’s barely a factor in how he’s dressing. 

Is this too much? Is this not enough? He’s switching shirts and pants in the mirror like he’s about to go on a date. He knows he’s not, swears to himself that he’s not, but he’s put product in his hair and cologne on his wrists and temples. It’s not a date, but he can’t fucking decide what to wear. 

He sucks it up and settles on a gray sweater, light wash blue jeans, and white sneakers. From under his collar and at the bottom of his sweater peeks out a brown button up. It’s probably too much, but this is his sixth outfit change. He’s fed up with it and himself.

After adjusting the gold chain that got hidden under his collar, he steps out. 

He finds them already waiting by the door in this thick knit cardigan and fitted plaid pants that makes his heart stutter. When they hear him approaching, their head snaps up from their phone, and their skin sparkles with touches of makeup. 

“You look really nice.” He has no idea how he let that slip, but he’s more shocked that he didn’t stutter once. 

“Ah, th—thank you,” they stammer, fingers fidgeting with the edge of their sleeve. He’s not sure if it's their makeup or their skin that’s doing the blushing. It’s nice to see them being the one tripping over their words for once. “You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Oh. Um.” Handsome? It echoes in his head. He instantly feels self conscious. So much for being the more suave one for once. “Thanks, uh…I just didn’t wanna wear my work clothes,” he lies in an attempt to ease his embarrassment.

“I gotcha.” He’s glad they don’t challenge him on it. “Shall we head out?”

“Yeah. Where we headed first?”

They take the metro to their personal favorite shop a little up north. The metro’s surprisingly busy for a Thursday afternoon, but the crowd forces the two of them to be huddled next to each other. They’re both standing close to a pole by the window, each with one hand wrapped around the metal. 

As passengers come and go, they step closer to him to move out of the way. Eventually it just gets to a point where they’re standing nearly pressed up against his chest. He tries not to dwell on how that makes him feel, but he can smell the fragrance they put on, and it’s very distracting. 

Luckily, the ride is short. Any longer on the train, he might’ve put an arm around their shoulder, god forbid. 

“If we can’t find what I’m looking for here, maybe you can show me one of your favorite spots to go thrifting,” they say as they enter the thrift store. The interior is decorated, clean, and lovely, and unlike the metro, it’s not packed to the brim with people. It smells faintly of incense, and there’s local art framed all over the walls for sale. It oozes warmth and excitement, much like them. 

“There’s a ton of shit here, so maybe we won’t need to after all.” He finds himself intaking everything at once, eyes flickering from sign to sign. “I’ve never been here before. This is really cool.”

“It’s my favorite place to find new clothes.” They trail down the racks, finger flitting between clothes. “I hope you can find something you like here, too.”

“I’m sure I will.” He’s already walking to their denim section and immediately spots some contenders. “I think I already have.”

He’s not sure if they mean to spend hours in there, but he certainly does. There’s more than just clothes to look at, although that’s what takes up most of his time. There’s dishes, furniture, cds, vinyls, books, even electronics. He goes back and forth with them, clothing articles piling up in his arms as they sit on battered couches together and peruse scratched cds. Everywhere he looks, there’s just more, more, and more. 

“Okay, I’ve gotta cut myself off,” they say as they leave the furniture section. They’ve sat on nearly every chair in that place. “I already have so many clothes to try on, and that’s not even including the jeans you’ve picked out for me.”

“If it helps, some of these are mine.” Carmy flips through the layers of hanging jeans that have built up on his forearm. “If you can believe it, I even found some stuff that isn’t denim.”

“I’m not sure if I can, but seeing is believing.” They thumb through some long-sleeves he’s carrying that are seeping out from under the jeans. “I’m just glad you were able to find some stuff for yourself, too. Not that I was that worried.”

He hands them the jeans he’s found for them, all dark wash and in their size. To his surprise, they also hand him an article of clothing for him to try on. 

“I thought you’d look good in this. You’ll have to show me when you try it on,” they say, and it’s innocent, completely meaningless, but as soon as Carmy agrees and rushes to hide in the changing room, he views in the mirror and sees his flushed face. 

Doesn’t mean anything, he repeats to himself, over and over and over. Stop getting in over your head.

He tries on his items of choice first. The first is a dark green henley that looked better on the rack than it did him, so he puts it in the reject pile. The second is a dark blue long sleeve that fits just right. It’s cheap, too, so it’s an automatic purchase. He presumes the way to word it is that it hugs him in all the right places, but he’s not sure. The rest are jeans, of which only one he decides to buy. A bit pricey, but for the brand and year, it’s worth it (although he basically always uses this reasoning with himself). 

Now, for the piece of clothing they picked out for him. It’s a dark brown t-shirt that seems like it’s just the right length. It’s a muted, yet warm brown, a bit rosey in hue. He doesn’t realize it’s a v-neck until he gets it over his head and down his shoulders. 

“I’ve never worn a v-neck before,” he calls out to the room next to him. 

“Oh, are you trying it on? Do you like it?” Their slightly muffled voice calls back to him. 

“Um…I’m not sure,” he admits with a shaky laugh. The collar is lower than he’s used to. It dips below his collarbones, and between them dangles his chain. “Should I show you?”

“Yes! Hold on, lemme get some pants on. …Okay, I’m stepping out!”

He hears their door open alongside his. When they see him, their expression snaps into what he believes is surprise and delight. He’s sure he looks somewhat the same. 

They’re wearing one of the vintage jeans he picked out for them—dark blue Levi’s. Although they’re rolled up a couple times at the bottom, it seems to fit them just right. As he stares, he’s reminded of his many pairs of Levi’s, and it’s more or less like seeing them in his clothes, which is. Which is. Uh. Yeah.

“I knew that would suit you,” they say with a grin, to which he realizes he can’t hide his blush. 

“It’s not weird?”

“Not at all. It looks good.” They tilt their head to the side as they openly look him over, hip cocked. Something in their gaze is making him hot. “No pressure to buy it, of course.”

“It’s different from what I’m used to, but…” He looks down, smooths the fabric with his palm. “It’s kinda nice, something like this. Um, and what do you think about the jeans?” He needs to direct the attention off him quickly. 

“Oh, I love them. The others ended up fitting not quite right on me, but that’s how it goes.” They move from side to side, almost twirling. It’s cute. “I love these, though. Just a little long, but I’m used to it.”

“That’s how it always is. I can hem them for you, if you want. I usually hem mine.”

“And he sews,” they say, seemingly to themself, but they’re looking right at him. Embarrassing. “If you don’t mind, that’d be amazing. Either way, I’m probably getting them.”

“Good. You should. They fit well.” 

“Yeah?” They glance back into their fitting room, likely examining themself in the mirror, and then back at him. “Okay, then. Definitely getting them.” With that and a cheeky grin, they go back into their dressing room to try on the rest of their clothes. Carmy follows suit, grateful to hide his embarrassed face. 

Carmy heads to check out with the dark blue long sleeve, a pair of jeans, and the brown v-neck. They’ve decided on the pair of jeans they showed him earlier and a little purple tank-top he wishes he got to see on them. 

“Will that be all for you today?” The cashier asks him as he checks out first. Even the cashiers here are pretty nice, he finds. 

“Oh, their stuff, too.” He nods to them, who’s standing right next to him. 

“Carmy.” They glare at him. 

“What?” He feels himself smiling. 

“You can’t do this to me.”

“C’mon.” He nudges them gently with his elbow. “It’s my present to you.”

“Oh, so the present wasn’t the breakfast? Or the cake? Or helping me pick these out?”

“Why can’t it be all of them?” He decides to stop this in its tracks and takes the clothes out of their hands, sliding it onto the counter. “Just these two, and that’ll be it.”

“Just you wait until your birthday hits,” they mutter darkly, shaking their head. “Just you wait.”

“I haven’t told you my birthday.” He pauses. “Right?”

“I’ll ask Richie.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re giving me no choice.”

“You could also just, I don't know, not ask—”

“I wouldn't have to if you didn't force my hand—”

“You guys are cute together,” the cashier comments with a smile, surely a harmless, meaningless thing, but it shuts the both of them up. Carmy can already feel the impact of it on his psyche, and he decides to tuck away the surging emotions to unpack later. At least, he'll try. 

“You really didn't have to get those for me,” they tell him when they're exiting the store. “But I guess I should just be saying thank you. So…thank you.”

“Sure. I mean, it would've been better if it was wrapped and stuff, but…” He shrugs. “Had to get you a real present, not just food.”

“Not just food, my ass.” That makes him laugh. “It'll be nice to have something to remind me of this day, though. That's one of the nice parts of getting gifts. Everytime I wear these clothes, I'll think of you.”

“Good. Yeah, that's…good,” he finishes lamely. He nods like their words haven't flustered him, but he's sure they can tell. They laugh, and he can tell it's because of his reaction. 

“I'm sorry that the cashier said that,” they say out of nowhere.

“Why're you apologizing? It's not your fault.” Any embarrassment he was feeling before is immediately replaced with a new, more potent sort of embarrassment. He was hoping they wouldn't mention it. 

“I guess that's true. I don't know, I just…” They trail off. “Just hope it didn't upset you.”

“Not at all,” he lies, and he prays they believe it.

. . . . .

The metro is less crowded on the way home. They sit comfortably next to each other and watch the city pass them by. A part of Carmy mourns the closeness they had on the way there, but the other part tells him to get it together and keep his distance. 

“I'mma take a nap,” they say with a yawn. Their cardigan and bag have been tossed onto the couch. The new clothes have been thrown into the laundry machine, and there's the muffled sound of running water. “Maybe we could smoke and watch a movie later, though.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He peers into the fridge to check on the cake rounds. Just as he left them. “Have a good nap.”

“Thanks, Carm,” they reply sleepily. “Wouldn't be a good day if I didn't get to have a nice nap, after all.” With that, they shuffle into their room and shut the door behind them.

Carmy spends the next two hours flying around the apartment, baking, cooking, cleaning. The sun slowly sets as he goes. He keeps his body and hands moving in hopes that his head doesn't have a chance to catch up, but it manages to keep the pace. It always does.

The crumb coat's fucked up on the left, his first train of thought says. He inspects the surface, eyes following the circumference of the cake. There's a little loose crumb. With the edge of his spatula, he tucks the crumb away. 

The faint smell of chocolate wafts up from the cold cake rounds. He's hunched over the kitchen island, hands reaching between dark chocolate frosting and cake. The afternoon sun casts harsh lights onto the cake, and it glistens. He genuinely can't remember the last time he's made a layered cake. He's never been much of a baker, anyhow. 

You're going to disappoint them, his second train of thought interrupts, running parallel to the other one at full speed. Who do you think you are? You don't make cakes. 

He leans back, inspects his work. The crumb coats are perfect. 

Fuck off, he thinks back, triumphant. Look at that shit. He runs his finger along the spatula, picking up congealed crumbs and frosting. He licks it off, and it's delicious. And it tastes good, asshole. So shut the fuck up.

You're being a nuisance, the thoughts continue. Carmy's pops the crumb coats in the freezer for a quick set. They don't actually like any of this. They're just being nice to make you feel better.

They seemed happy to me, he thinks, but he's faltering. He's washing the dishes, and the sensation of the warm water feels distant. They loved the food I made.

Couldn't you tell they were lying? He doesn't understand why these thoughts are rampaging through his head now of all times. It's not unfamiliar, but it's inconvenient. Keep this up, and you'll actually be surprised when they drop you.

Without warning, a memory hits him . As his hands drip with soap, he's reminded of playing with Michael and Sugar in the summer when he was five. Or six, or seven, he's never quite sure. They were outdoors at a local park, and the heat made the metal of the playground searing hot to the touch.

He was blowing bubbles, and the sticky mixture from the bottle was getting all over his hands. In his memory, Carmy watches the way the iridescent bubbles floated away and left little circles on the surface of the plastic slide. He can't remember why he wasn't playing with the others. He can remember the sound of their laughing voices in the distance, gleeful and delighted without him. He thinks he tried to join in, but it didn't work. It often just didn't work, and it was all his fault. 

The memory ends, and Carmy's finished washing the dishes. 

This is working, he thinks to himself. His hands are dried out from the hot water and soap. I swear to you, it's working. So just stop. Okay?

There's no response. Good enough. 

He hears the door opening as soon as he's putting the finishing touches on the cake. With a damp paper towel, he carefully swipes away stray drops of frosting that fell onto the cake stand. He thinks it's best described as if a tiramisu was turned into a devil's food cake. It's not the best cake he's ever made, but it's definitely up there in terms of looks. All the components of the cake tasted good separately, so he hopes it makes sense in his mouth as much as it did in his head. 

“Have a nice nap?” He asks before he turns his head. They're standing in the hallway, bed hair hastily tied back.

“Sorta. It was okay.” Their eyes are glued onto the cake as they walk up to the island. “Is this…?”

“This is for you, yeah,” he finishes for them. They take a seat on one of the chairs at the island. “It's a, uh, devil's food cake with vanilla mascarpone cream on the inside. The outside's this coffee buttercream…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. He could mention the dutch processed cocoa powder, the expensive vanilla bean pods, or the endless sifting, but it feels too gratuitous. 

“Wow…” They're still staring, as if it's not quite real to them. “I can't believe this is for me. It almost looks too pretty to eat, but you know I can't wait to tear into this.”

“We could, uh, have it now, if you, if you want,” he says hesitantly. 

“I don't know if I could wait.” Their smile grows wider. “You even put candles on it?”

“We don't have to light them or anything if you don't want to,” he adds quickly. 

“The candles are the fun part. I don't mind that. The song is…okay I guess, but…” They give him an expectant, excited look. “Were you gonna sing for me?”

“...Only if you wanted to,” he mumbles, suddenly stricken with embarrassment. 

“Would that be okay? If I wanted that?”

“I wouldn't mind.” Not if it's you.

“Okay. Then, yeah.” They pull out a lighter from their pocket. “I’d really like that.”

Carmy cuts the overhead lights before taking out his own lighter to help them light the rest of the candles. One by one, the dark room gradually illuminates until it's filled with a warm, orange glow. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows onto their smiling face and reflect into their glossy eyes. 

“Ready?” He asks quietly. 

“I'm ready,” they whisper. 

Carmy doesn't really need to clear his throat, but he does so anyway. He can't recall the last time he sang happy birthday to anyone, let alone by himself. This is the first time he's ever sung in front of an audience, too. 

I can do this, he thinks to himself. I can do this.

His voice is awkward and scratchy. He never uses it like this, has never sang for anyone in his life. His ears burn, and he hates the sound of his voice, but he reminds himself to focus on their delighted little smile and warm gaze. The room is far too quiet for his voice, making the words painfully clear. 

“Happy birthday to you,” he finishes singing, voice trailing off awkwardly. He's more than ready to finish singing now. “Uh, make a wish…?”

“Right.” The two of them sit in the flickering candle light for a moment longer, the silence thick. Carmy watches their face, their eyes boring into the candles with an expression he can only describe as longing. Then, they blow out the candles with a decisive blow, and the room goes dark. 

He moves to switch on the lights. When he turns back to look at them, tears are streaming down their face. 

“Hey,” he says softly. He props his elbows on the counter, standing across from them and tilting his head to the side. They're not meeting his gaze, glazed eyes boring into the dripping candles. “What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry,” they whisper with a sniffle, and it sounds like a reflex. Something about them suddenly seems so much smaller. “I shouldn't be crying.”

“It's okay. I don't mind.” That makes them smile, even if it's shaky. “Was the singing too much?”

“No, it wasn't your singing,” they say with a laugh. “Your singing was lovely. It's just—I'm so happy. You made today so special.”

“Yeah?” He fights the urge to reach over and wipe their tears. “I'm glad. I wanted to make it good. I…” He hesitates. “...I didn't like the idea of you spending it alone.”

“I didn't either. And I thought I was going to have to be alone…but then you—then you took off work, and you made me breakfast, you went shopping with me—even got me clothes—and now this—” Another rush of tears gushes from their eyes, and they hastily wipe at it with their shirt. 

“You've done way more for me. This is the least I could do.” Before he can stop himself, his hand is brushing hair out of their eyes. They freeze for a split second, eyes finally flickering up towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It's okay,” they whisper back. “Um…” They let out a shaky sigh, the sort of trembling sound that happens after crying too much. “I feel like I should explain.”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” he assures them quickly, “but I…I'd like to know. If that's okay.”

“I want you to know. I, I do.” They open their mouth to keep talking, but shaky breaths continue to stifle them. It's hard to watch.

“Breathe,” he reminds them, quietly. He visibly takes in a deep breath, silently encouraging them to breathe with him. They follow suit, closing their eyes and taking a slow breath. Tears slip silently from their eyes. Gradually, their breathing becomes less of a staccato, evening out into something much more manageable. 

“Thank you,” they murmur. He nods. They already sound a lot calmer. “I'm not sure where to start. I…I suppose I'll start with today.” Another deep breath. “I didn’t get a call from my parents today.”

“Ah…” The first missing piece.

“I knew they weren’t going to. But a part of me still hoped…” They stop and shake their head. “It's the first year that it's been like this.”

“What happened?”

“Uh…I went no contact with my family about a year ago.” Another pained, hollow laugh. The second piece. “I didn't even really want to—it was a complicated, shitty situation. My parents were being their usual shitty selves, and I just wanted them to apologize. It was over such a small thing, and, and I just…I don't know. I thought maybe I could fix things.” He's never seen them with such a heavy expression, etched with such weariness. “I just wanted them to apologize to me, Carm. That's all I wanted. And then they cut me off cold.”

Their voice is trembling again, and the tears are falling faster. The collar of their shirt is dark with moisture. Carmy hates that he doesn't know what to say. He hates just staring at them, silent as he tries to find the words. 

Suddenly, he thinks of Michael. 

“Michael never let me work in the restaurant,” he tells them. “That's why I went to culinary school. A big part of it, anyway. He just cut me off, didn't let me in no matter what I did, and it was…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “I felt insane. I was so fucking angry. I couldn't understand him. And I'm not saying that's anything like what you've been through, but…” He looks into their watchful eyes. “I'm sorry. I think I'm trying to say that I, that I understand. A little.”

“I…I appreciate that.” They give him a small, wobbly smile. He adores their smile, but seeing it through their tears twists something painfully in his chest. “He would've been lucky to have you. You're an excellent chef.”

“I am now, anyway.” He sighs. “Your family's missing out on you, too. You're…” Say it. Just say it. “You're a really wonderful person. I can't imagine…”

I can't imagine anyone looking at you and not loving what they see, he thinks suddenly, and he instantly realizes he can't say it. He can barely even comprehend that he just thought it. 

He can't process this right now. This isn't the time. 

“I keep trying to wrap my head around it all, wondering what I did wrong, what I could've done better… Sometimes, the conclusion I arrive at is that I must have done something to deserve this. That I just, I don't know, that maybe I'm just this permanent fuck-up, and…” They run a tired hand over their wet face, through their hair. “My parents fucked me up real good, man.”

There's something familiar about their words, and Carmy realizes it's because it sounds like him. He would've never guessed that under their easy-going smiles was a reflection of himself. He recognizes himself in their self-deprecation, the bone-deep pain. There was always a sense of sympathetic connection between the two of them, but he had no idea. He had no idea how far deep the mutual experiences went. 

A part of him still can't believe that this is the truth, that this is what lies at their core, but then he remembers. He thinks about the night they were throwing up into the toilet. They were sobbing, crying into his shoulder about how much they hate themself. 

“You know you didn't deserve it. Right?” Carmy's not sure when they started leaning in so close to each other. He's looking at their wet eyelashes with startling clarity. “You did all you could.”

“You don't know that.” Their words are so soft-spoken, but it still catches him off guard. “You don't know what happened.”

“You—” Irritation prickles inside him, his instincts itching to snap back, but he doesn't. He sees himself in them, and he holds back. “You're right. I don't know what happened. But I know you.” The shock is on their face as clear as day. “At least, I think I do.”

“I want to think you do, too,” they whisper. “But this—this messy bullshit is also me. I wish it wasn't. I wish you didn't have to see all this. I…don't want you to…think any less of me.”

“I don't think there's anything you could do to make me think less of you.” He doesn't resist dragging his thumb across a stray tear on their cheek. To his surprise, they lean into his touch. “Y'know when I almost burned down the apartment?”

“Oh my god.” They smile, and he feels their grinning cheek against his palm. “Yeah. Is it crazy to say I remember it fondly?”

“A little bit.” They laugh. It's quiet, but it's real. “Remember that talk we had after?”

“I do. Why?”

“You're allowed to mess up on onions,” he says softly. “It won't push me away.”

They stare at him for what feels like a long time. Their eyes refill with tears, but they don't spill. With a clammy hand, they shakily place their hand on top of his hand that's still cradling their wet cheek.

“Fucking onions,” they say finally with a wet laugh. Fresh tears drip onto his thumb, and he wipes them away again. As many times as it takes. “God damnit, Carmy.”

“No one deserves to have shitty parents, let alone ones that walk out on them.” He thumbs away more tears. “You being an imperfect person like everyone else doesn't justify that.”

“There must be something more I could've done,” they whisper. “Something I did wrong.”

“Maybe. But they're your parents, not the other way around. It's not your fault.”

“I know. I know that. I do. There just has to be a reason, because—fuck—the truth would just be too fucked up.”

“...And that is?”

It takes a long, still minute before they can get their words out.

“...It’s—it's that—” Their cries are verging on sobs, increasingly more staggered and uncontrollable. “It's that s-some kids—are just—some kids have parents that will never—never love—”

They can't finish. Their sobs have overtaken their whole body. Their body's hunched over the counter, curled into themself. Carmy can't think of a time where he's ever seen them crying so hard.

Without another word, Carmy pulls them into a hug. 

They cry for a long time. Through it all, fleeting condolences pass Carmy by in his head, but they all feel too cheap, too meaningless. So all he does is hold them tight, letting them grab onto his shirt and soak the fabric on his shoulder. It's all he feels he can really do. 

After a while, the tide subsides. He feels them wilting in his arms, exhausted from sobbing so violently. He doesn't actually want to let them go, but their sniffling nose sounds like it's completely stopped up. 

“I'm gonna get you some tissues, ok?” He says quietly. They make a quiet noise of acknowledgement, and they pull back. He snatches up a box of tissues from the coffee table. He places it in front of them before grabbing them a glass of water. 

“Thank you,” they mumble, voice scratchy. Carmy stands and watches as they blow through several tissues. The water gets downed instantaneously. 

“Better?”

“Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good.”

“...I think, deep down, I know I didn't deserve what happened. Or just having shitty parents in general.” They sigh. “It's just easier to think that I do. That I deserve it.”

“...Yeah.” That resonates with a part of him he's not quite ready to acknowledge. “You're one of the kindest people I've ever met,” he admits quietly. “If someone like you deserves a shitty hand in life, I'm fucked.”

“Carmy…” Their smile is small, but genuine. “Thank you. I want to be able to genuinely believe that, one day. I'm going to try.”

“I know. I get it.”

“I know you do.” 

That makes both of them smile, even if it's bitter. 

“Thanks for telling me. About everything.”

“No, thank you for listening. For just being there for me.” They prop their chin in their hands, their elbows resting on the counter. “Y'know, this past year, I've been trying to find a sense of joy in all this mess. Sometimes it just feels so far away, like…like any happiness is just impossible. But I think I've found it. Rather, I've already found it.”

“Yeah?” Carmy looks at them expectantly, but he never expected this—

“I found you,” they tell him. 

“...” He immediately fixes his shocked expression. He's at a loss for words. 

Me?

“I never found a chance to mention it, but…my parents are the reason I decided to live with you. That's why I wanted to be your roommate, even though we were strangers.” They shrug shyly. “My lease was up on my last place. I was gonna go home, but then all that stuff happened at the last minute, and…yeah. I needed to find a place to live.”

“Seriously?” They just nod. “Damn. Uh…Yeah, that's fucking crazy. I had no idea.”

“At the time, I was miserable. I kept thinking to myself, ‘I can't believe how shitty this situation is!’ Don't get me wrong, it was fucking awful, but…it led me to you, so…it wasn't really all that bad, in the end. I got lucky.”

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself. Fuck.

“If you hadn't roomed with me, I wouldn't have been able to come back home for my brother's restaurant,” he says, mostly because he's so embarrassed that he swears his whole body's red at this point. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. “I think I'm the lucky one.”

“Can't we both be lucky?”

“I guess we can. Just doesn't seem very realistic.”

“Little too late to say that. It's already real.”

“...There's no other shoe?”

“Not that I know of. I think the other shoe's already dropped for us a while ago. Surely there's no other shoes left?”

“I hope not. I don't know if I could take another one.”

“Me neither.”

“...”

“...”

“Do you…want to eat your cake now?”

“Fuck, oh my god—I completely forgot! Yes!”

Just as Carmy planned, the flavors go perfectly together. Even though he knew it was going to be delicious, when he takes the first bite of the cake, relief washes over him. They seem to be overjoyed, inhaling the cake at dangerous speeds. 

“You're gonna hurt yourself if you eat that fast,” he observes, both amused and concerned. 

“Can't talk. Need to eat this.” That makes him laugh so abruptly he nearly gets cake up his nose. “This is the best birthday cake I've ever had, both visually and taste-wise.”

“I'm glad. Like I said, I'm not really a baker, but…I make an alright cake.”

“You make a fantastic cake.” They’ve got a bit of frosting on the corner of their mouth. “It doesn't get much better than this—eating a cake made by you.”

“Because I'm a chef, you mean?”

“No, not that. Not just that, anyway,” they amend with a cheeky grin. “Because you're my best friend.”

You're my best friend.

…

I'm their best friend, he repeats to himself. I'm their best friend.

He thinks about crying. He won't cry, but he thinks about it.

“Oh,” he replies intelligently. “...Really?”

“Y-Yeah. Unless, uh, you don't—”

“You're my best friend too,” he blurts out, and the anxiety on their face fades away into a relieved, beautiful smile. 

“Thank god. That would've been pretty awkward if you didn't…” They shake their head. 

“I've never been anyone's best friend before,” he confesses. 

“Seriously?” They recover from the shock quickly. “Lucky me, then.”

“I thought you established we were both the lucky ones.” 

“Oh, right.” They chuckle. “Lucky both of us, then.”

Carmy thought that life would always be the same. He thought that he was fated to a routine of nausea and nightmares, never quite close enough to reach a rest point. He thought that he was okay with it being his fate, because he never knew anything else. 

He thought that loneliness, cigarettes, and memories would be enough, because it always stays the same. Nothing ever changes. 

Until them. 

He thought he had outgrown happiness, that his body had grown accustomed to living without it. That there was no longer space in his heart to withstand the weight of joy. But as he sits here with his roommate, chatting and laughing over a cake he made for them, he finds that's not true.

His capacity for happiness had never left. It had been there all along. 

And with that, something in him lets go.

Carmy sees it all at once. It starts from the beginning—he sees the first day he met them, an initially hesitant meeting gone surprisingly well. He sees the first time the two of them smoked together, deliriously laughing through shared smoke. He sees them in the mornings, messy hair and wrinkled t-shirts. He sees them in nothing but an apron. He sees them in tight black clothes that leave little to the imagination. He sees them laughing at a joke that he didn’t think was all that funny. 

He sees them in his dreams, red tomato puree bleeding from their gums. He sees them holding his trembling hands in theirs, soothing him back down from the storm in his hand. He sees them comforting him through his tears. He sees them sobbing, hot tears on their cheek and his hand. He sees them heaving into the toilet, whispering that they want to know him. He sees himself, embracing them tightly in his arms. 

He sees it all. He knows that he can't avoid it anymore. 

Carmy is completely, undeniably in love with them, and there is absolutely nothing that he can do to make that realization disappear.

…Some things, he understands, refuse to stay the same.

~

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto @thehouseofevangelista

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy the bear #the bear fx #my fics #alexithymia fic #GOD. IT'S FINALLY HERE. THIS ONE'S A BEAST. #ch 6 is gonna be the climax..... it's gonna happen yall. it's finally here. hahahaha #anyway this one took so long to write because it was so revealing for me... as i'm sure yall have guessed. sigh.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Unwritten Fics game

I was tagged by @runawaymun to talk about all my as-of-yet unwritten fic ideas! I have many, many of them. Here are a few. Feel free to send me asks about any of them, or to tell me which ones you'd most like to read in the tags!

Earendil-drinks-the-Silmail-AU: see Tumblr post here. Elwing gives Earendil the Silmaril's light to try and heal him from an illness, and both he (and later E&E) now have the light of the Silmaril within them. This causes problems for the Oath of Feanor. Can't decide whether to make it serious and heartbreaking or extremely silly.

Immortal Elros AU: definitely need to post about this one. In which Elros sees the mortals who will become the people of Numenor, loves them, and decides the best way to help them is to be immortal, to protect their descendants and maintain their legacy long after they're gone. He becomes Numenor's beloved guardian, caring for it's people for centuries. This all goes pretty well until Tar-Mairon shows up on the island.

Faustian Bargain AU: when both Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor are captured during Eregion's fall, Elrond makes a dangerous deal with Sauron to get them back. In exchange for their release, Elrond offers to become Sauron's captive, and to help him in his efforts to reach the Void and free Morgoth. Elrond, of course, has other plans. So do the now-free (and incredibly worried) Gil Galad and Celebrimbor.

Unexpected Problems: see Tumblr posts here and here. All about the issues Elrond runs into in Valinor– from people debating about whether or not he counts as an Ainur to Noldor being scandalized that he only wears a couple pounds of jewelry. Also his repeated attempts to stop Galadriel and Bilbo from completely destroying Valinorian society.

The Love of a Parent: Elrond's parents continue to look out for him, whether from beyond the circles of the world or from the stars above. Probably largely outsider POV. A chance for more eldritchry.

On Estel: In which Earendil goes into the void, searching for Maeglin's lost spirit. Slight AU in the sense that it's very Maeglin sympathetic, and has him having a good familial relationship with Turgon, Idril, and Earendil.

Ten Little Soldier Boys: my take on who Finrod's faithful ten were, why they were so loyal, and the moments they each decided they would give anything to keep Finrod safe. OC heavy but very dear to my heart.

Misfits, Outcasts, and other Characters of Ill-Repute: a series of oneshots about the various people who end up in Rivendell and how they got there. Includes canon characters (Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, etc.) and some OCs (including an old Feanorian diehard and one of Thingol's bodyguards, and, of course, Garthaglir the Library Orc)

No pressure, but I'm going to second Runawaymun's tagging of @jaz-the-bard (I don't think they've done the game yet but I might've missed it on their blog)

#silmarillion #silm fic #silm au #tag game #elrond #elrond peredhel #elros #elros tar minyatur #gil galad #celebrimbor #earendil #maedhros #maglor #elwing #galadriel #maeglin #finrod #bilbo baggins #rivendell #eldritch peredhel #kidnap fam

[allthegothihopgirls]

I like to think that Tim’s parents never let him grow his hair out and when he moves into Wayne manor he’s mildly terrified that they’ll make him cut his hair too, and is amazed when they don’t. He damn near has a panic attack the first time someone sees that it’s getting long and asks if he wants to get it cut. But they never make him cut it, not even when it’s long enough put in a ponytail.

I have this fic scene in my head where someone, maybe Damian once he’s warmed up to Tim, starts bleaching his hair in his sleep as a prank and he has a full blown panic attack. He attacks the heck out of whoever’s doing it and starts hyperventilating when someone grabs him and holds him back.

ok i love long hair!tim as much as the next person (fuck batman: arkham knight) but oh do i love the idea that he never really gets to explore that part of himself until he moves into wanye manor.

like imagine you've got this poor little kid, who's terrified of so many things that he should just. not be scared of (tim w/no rational fears + tim w/all the non-rational fears). retaliating to a suggestion of a haircut being one of them.

he's moved into this new place where the people are more accepting and willing to show love than anyone in his life has ever been. he's slowly but surely learning to undo all the past notions he holds about what would happen if he 'disobeyed' or made honest mistakes. but among the few things he just can't let go off, it's this whole thing about his hair.

so when bruce makes some offhand comment about 'we should probably take you to the barbers at some point' and tim completely freezes next to him, he stops and asks '..do you want to get your hair cut?' and when tim can't even open his mouth to give his honest answer, bruce just shrugs his shoulders and says 'no big deal, just let me or alfred know if you ever do'. tim is gobsmacked.

his head reels wondering why he wasn't scolded for not agreeing, or had his silence taken as 'wanting to look feral', and reprimanded for that as well. i don't think he really accepts it as completely okay right then and there though.

he takes it more a warning that they're noticing his hair's length, and that it will certainly need to be cut when they pay enough attention to see it again. so he styles it to look as short as he can get it, and wears a lot of hats for the time being. until one day when it's well and truly at his shoulders, alfred comments 'your hair looks nice today master timothy', and it takes tim just more than a split second to realise the compliment was genuine. i think that's when he lets the fear go.

although that doesn't stop him from freaking out when a villain's weapon slices through or yanks out some of his hair, or when he's in a vulnerable enough state (tired, hurt, etc) and someone mentions cutting his hair. the fear might not be there constantly lingering in the back of his head anymore, but it definitely pops up when he least expects it to.

#big fan of a tim who's oh so aware of manipulation tactics from his dad and has a problem with convincing himself any interaction he has #with anyone involves some level of manipulation #so he thinks bruce being so nice about hair cuts is just a scare tactic to force him into it. or use the conversation against him #anyways #i think the potential of trauma responses for the batboys is severely under-explored in the comics #ted talk over #asks #writtenreblogs #!!!!!!!!!!!!! #tim drake #batman #bruce wayne #red robin #robin #batboys #dc batman #dc comics #dcu #dc #gothihop speaks

[heretherebedork]

Alright, mini color theory written on my phone while waiting for a train incoming. And stealing some of @respectthepetty 's terminology but also kind of misusing it.

I believe that Gi Seop was a green guy and turned into a red menace when he stopped saying no to anything and that Jin Woo both represents love and safety to him because he can say no. (And also that Jin Woo might secretly be a pink person but that's still in the works)

The more Gi Seop thinks about saying no, the more he thinks about Jin Woo, the more we see a mix of green and red on his body and as it goes on, less and less red.

The red is because he can't say no. That's what makes him a menace. That's what hurts the people around him and discourages Jin Woo, the one person he truly wants to see him... even if he doesn't understand that.

And this line just breaks me and hurts Jin Woo and Gi Seop had just no idea why this one phrase means so much to other people. He never says no. He has to accept. He creates this chaos and this lack of boundaries for himself and doesn't understand other people's boundaries either.

But he does it out of this seemingly completely naive and innocent place. He has no idea how or why this bothers people. It's just... what he does. It's fascinating and painful and Jin Woo says it's because he's used to being loved but I don't think he is. I don't think Gi Seop had every truly felt loved or understood what that meant and is desperately chasing what he thinks that feeling means when he really doesn't know.

And this leads to my theory that Jin Woo is actually a pink person who had tried to change himself into a blue person (or blue green, his colors look teal to me but I think that's just my monitor) to escape being the love person, the one who loved what he could never have and convinced himself he never truly wanted.

But he's the person who can truly show Gi Seop what being loved means and brings emotional comfort and stability to his chaotic life while Gi Seop can bring some chaos but also deeper emotions and honestly back into Jin Woo's life.

Green, red, pink, and blue. Honesty, chaos, love, and loyalty.

#boys be brave #boys be brave! #bl drama #bl series #asianlgbtqdramas #asian lgbtq dramas #korean bl #korean bl drama #kbl #korean drama #kdrama #korean bl series #colors mean things #or they might #and i might be off my rocker with this

[mydarlingbat]

Batman Europa #3 lemme just inform everyone that i did not feel like making this one, and It's only because I have to do two parts to Batman Europa #3. there's so many wonderful moments in this issue. It'd be illegal for me not to show all of them. Alright let's talk about the first cutout panel from Batman Europa'#3 I would like to elaborate on Batman's patience here. I've already said this before, however Batman has so much patience with the Joker. He literally just sighs and ask the Joker can he stop his babbling. Batman here is obviously just trying to start a fight. He's once again grabbing the Joker recklessly. Batman you can just ask him you know? Plus he already mention he told you, so this just let's me know you want to argue a little, or even chat a little, but I do think he's also making sure the Joker isn't setting him up. The Joker telling Batman is hypocritical question is so funny to me, and Batman responds with 'heh that's funny' I swear theses two are so married. Batman doesn't tell the Joker to shut up until he talks about them murdering each other. I wonder why? What I really wanted to point out that the Joker listens to the Batman and be quiet for a whole hour? I'm in awe to be honest. The fact that Batman is complimenting the Joker again, and chucking too. It gives me life. Batman is so free around him.

Batman's over here thinking. 'What heart?' Nah, I'm just joking around. I have no doubt that he's just flabbergasted by the Joker right now. He is finding out something new about him, and he's just surprise by it, but I love how his mouth slightly hangs open in befuddle way, like is this really happening too.

I can't entirely believe that Batman just stands by, watching the Joker. He so fascinated with this man!!! Batman also refers to the Joker as his closet enemy. What he really meant is his closest friend. It's in disguise. I'm telling you. I mean but why did he choose those words though? He could've have said my greatest enemy. Bruce please stop playing with us here.

Like Bruce are you saying that the Joker has charm? I actually love this page, because Batman's aware of the Joker's charm. The Joker doesn't need to look amazing in appearance. What makes up for his appearance is his charm itself. It's why Batman can be so intrigue by the Joker, and find him attractive. Batman also wanted to know how it feels to be the Joker, and again Batman's kind of complimenting the Joker here.

I just can't with Batman always trying to start a fight here. The Joker refuses to fight with the Batman while they're working together, but Batman continue to try to go back with the usually routine. Let's fight a little. Batman looks like he misses it more than the Joker here to be honest, but here's a theory. I believe Batman desires the touches from the Joker. He's not fighting with him, which involves a lot of touching. This is Batman way of getting that from the Joker, without making it obvious, and the reason I believe this is because after the Joker's touches Batman arm to call him down He relaxes and doesn't seem the littlest mad to be honest. Batman also grabs the Joker constantly, and even chokes him throughout the comic run. The Joker on the other hand isn't trying to fight with Batman, because he feels free touching Batman whatever way he pleases. Batman's the one who has to stop him. I mean Batman can clearly see no one's laughing. The Joker isn't laughing neither. Batman just find a reason to grab the Joker. He waits for the Joker to say anything about him to attack, that's the only way to touch him without him feeling wrong about it. Now this is just a theory. It definitely might not be true, or maybe it's something I deeply want. Lmao

And the way Batman willingly let's the Joker push him away says a whole lot, and not Bruce raising his hand to ask a question. Oh my god! I'm dying. The Joker just over here like 'bats shut up' and Batman is raising his hand like can I ask something. I can't even think of another villain Batman has done this with? It's so funny to me. I just love, love how the Joker speaks to Batman like he's a child, and Bruce takes it. It's just my opinion.

#batjokes #batman and joker #batman #comics #batman x joker #comic books #dc comics #the joker #batmm #dcedit #word's

[flower-boi16]

Do you think this fandom can still improve despite everything? Is it Viv and Spindlehorse's fault that this fandom is problematic or there is deeper root cause? Despite the amount of negativity both hh and hb recieved, is it still possible to listen to fans who give constructive criticism and improve both shows? Many fans often say something like"The Spindlehorse's crew don't want to listen to critics because there are too many bad faith criticism and hate" or "Those critics don't have the vision of the creators so their advices are invalid." I think both sides of this fandom are overly aggressive to whatever happened. It must have something behind it.

I think the reason why the fandom reacts so poorly to criticism is a mix of several factors:

These shows are fairly popular, the more popular something is the bigger the fanbase will be. And, likewise, some fans would be very defensive when it comes to criticism.

The batshit insane twitter users and fake outrage being confused with the actual critiques people have of the shows. I'll admit, early critical videos were...not great to say the least (cough cough Pkrussel cough cough), and many of Viv's past controversies are admittedly dumb. However, there are real issues people have with these shows and Vivziepop, however, because of all the past controversies with Viv being over-blown, fans lump these real and valid critiques in with the fake Twitter outrage, causing this confusing mess.

Vivziepop's reaction to critiscm. She directly dismisses critiques people have of her shows and pretty clearly spends a bit too much time on online discourse about her shows. Viv IS aware of the critiques people have of her shows but she has this very immature response to criticism just looking at her twitter, and, this does translate to the fandom as well.

Drama channels such as AyyLmao and Iox constantly defending Viv and her shows. AyyLmao is a fairly big channel and a lot of his videos are about controversies surrounding Viv. Pretty much all of these tend to be heavily biased as AyyLmao instantly takes Viv's side, as in several of his videos he deliberately chooses to lump in the actual critiques of the shows with the deranged Twitter users online, which contributes to the second problem I mentioned above. This can be seen with his hatedom video where he says that most of the criticism at least on Twitter isn't "real criticism" and "just hate disguised on such". Notice how he says that at least on Twitter the criticism is just hate. He's deliberately making it look like the critical community is just a bunch of deranged Twitter users who just hate Viv cuz they are jealous or something, when looking at sites such as Reddit, Youtube, Tumblr, etc you'll see people with ACTUAL PROBLEMS with the shows, by AyyLmao's ignoring that in order paint the critical community as a toxic hell-hole. He pretends to be neutral in the video but he clearly is biased with how he paints the critics here, as he only focuses on this one site just to make it look like the critical community is just an annoying vocal minority on Twitter. and because of that, the fandom views the critical community as just that; just an annoying vocal minority of Twitter users who shouldn't be taken seriously.

The fandom just refusing to engage with people's critiques because they can't handle criticism of their favorite shows. That's pretty obvious.

I don't think the fandom will get better any time soon given these factors I just mentioned. Until Viv learns to accept criticism, until Viv drama channels stop defending her bullshit, and until the fandom actually engages with people's critiques rather than sending death threats...ya no this fandom is still going to be awful.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #vivziepop criticism #helluva boss criticism #hazbin hotel criticism #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism