#I don’t wanna talk about the sad things

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Slight angst, fluff, kissing, PDA, cuddling, mentions of family issues, hints towards darker themes.

A/N: A bit shorter (not by much) but I thot of the you're welcome song from the Moana soundtrack tbh.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P23: Me Too

The smile on my face refuses to falter for even a second. Chris and I have been talking for hours at this point, exchanging memories while sitting in my bay window, my legs resting across his lap as his hands massage up and down my calves. 

“-and then Nick would always get me and Matt to do some dumb shit for him. One time, oh my,” he laughs dryly, his eyes twinkling with fond emotions, “-one time he convinced us to film a YouTube video.” His shoulders seem to slug, his voice becoming more strained, “It’s just us, in our car, talking about god knows what, but…when I really miss him…I go back and I, um—I watch it.” 

My heart squeezes in my chest. The raw feelings are noticeable in his voice, his eyes glazed over with a glowing joy dimmed by a subtle sadness. 

Reaching out, I place my hand on top of his. Chris immediately maneuvers his hand, cupping his palm to mine as he spares me a half smile. 

“It’s still up?” I ask, referring to the video. 

“I, uh—yeah,” he says, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his eyes fall down to our intertwined hands. “-I didn’t…I couldn’t take it down, you know? I just—I…can’t.” 

The longer he rambles, the quieter his words get. I find myself clutching his hand a little tighter, breathing shallow as I hear him clear his throat. 

“You should tell me, um….tell me about you and Baylen,” he suggests, shifting the attention towards me, “-gotta be some fun stories there, right?” he questions, playfully nudging my shoulder 

Ugh. Baylen. 

Listening to all of Chris’ stories made the relationship with my brother look like ashes and dust. 

It hurts to think about the good times—it hurts to remember how few fond memories we actually have together. 

“Oh, um…” I hum, trailing off as I try to think. 

Shuffling through various thoughts and instances, my mind runs completely blank. 

The sensation of sunlight beaming through my window and onto my back becomes evidently apparent. Warmth crawls over my shoulders, the tops of my ears burning as I feel a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. 

I can’t even think of one singular time. 

My face burns with an uncomfortable heat. I feel my throat get tighter as I try to open my mouth to speak, some sort of stutter mixed with a heavy breath falling from my lips. 

“Hey,” Chris soothes, his thumb massaging circles on the back of my palm as he stares at me with soft eyes, “-you don’t have to. Tell me anything you want, alright?” 

I nod at his statement, immediately able to take a deep breath from the relief of pressure. 

What could I tell him?

“Well,” I start, my lips rolling together as my brows scrunch together, “-I used to always sleep in his bed. I, uh—just kept having accidents and wouldn’t wanna wake up my parents. So, I’d change and go to his room. We used to make his entire room a fort, it…it was nice.”

God. 

I miss that. 

Baylen’s room was my sanctuary at some point. We would hide toys under his bed, extra pillows and blankets to build our fort to cover his entire room. 

“You guys used to be close?” Chris questions. 

“Yeah,” I puff, “-very close.” 

Something inside of my chest burns as I mutter the words. It used to be so fun, so perfect. He was the best brother someone could ask for, but that changed—and I still can’t figure out why. 

“Did things change when your dad passed?” he mumbles, soothingly rubbing his hand over the back of my palm with reassurance. 

“Um…no—not really.” I answer. My brain fogs as I try to retrace the moment everything seemed to change between us, but it always felt so abrupt—so unprompted. 

One night, I was following my typical routine, wandering into his room in the middle of the night. I had another accident, waking up in a puddle of pee and crying with shame. 

My parents room was no longer the place I went to, not after the time my mom screamed at me, shoving me out and yelling with tears. She used to help me wash off and get new pajamas, she used to tell me it was okay—she used to care when I cried. 

Baylen tugged me into his room after that. I’d woken him up with my crying and he creeped into my room, helping me wash off and dressing me in his pajamas. The lego pj set of his was my favorite and even though he loved them, he never wore them after that—he always offered them to me. 

Night after night, it became routine. I didn’t even bother considering my parents room. I’d walk over to Baylen’s door, waiting patiently for him to let me in. 

And he always did. No matter how tired or how long his day was, he always got up while half-asleep, letting me in his room and helping me clean up. 

Eventually, he just left his door unlocked. It was odd at first since Baylen was always incessant on locking his door, scared of possible intruders because of the paranoia due to how much graphic media he’d consume. 

But he always left it unlocked for me.

Until one night, he didn’t. 

At first I thought he’d just forgotten—but then I knocked. A lot. He wouldn’t answer. 

Little me wanted to think it was just a one time thing, but it kept happening. 

And at one point, it hurt too much to even try to get him to open the door. 

“Hey.” Chris’ voice tugs me back to reality. 

My glossy eyes burn as I blink furiously, the sensation of his hand soothing over mine more intently making my chest rise and fall with an automatic deep breath. 

“I…sorry,” I mumble. 

Chris shakes his head, giving me a sympathetic smile before clearing his throat. “Don’t gotta say sorry. I just…you looked a little too deep in thought. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” he says. 

My lips roll together as I swallow the lump in my throat. The way his eyes are piercing into me makes everything feel so real—so alive. 

It’s good and bad. 

I hate how naked my skin seems, I hate how rough the air is sliding into my lungs. 

But I love how my heart seems to patter in my chest, I love how vibrant everything seems to be. 

Especially his eyes. 

God, they’re perfect. 

Chris keeps rambling more about his family. My heart feels lighter in my chest as I listen to him talk so lovingly about fond memories, my head starting to lean on his shoulder as I sink fully into the moment. 

___

“Yep, just—there you go,” Chris praises, the word forcing a blush to crawl over my cheeks. 

Somehow, we ended up talking more about Baylen. I mentioned how he loves playing video games, but I was never good enough to play with him. He’d always get frustrated. 

I couldn’t blame him, I never knew what I was doing. 

But Chris offered to help. He brought me over to his house, having me sit in his lap on his gaming chair. His PC was confusing, but it’s a lot less confusing with each question he answered.

“Just keep—see!” he exclaims, squeezing my hips as he turns his face to nuzzle his nose into the side of my neck. “-you got it.” 

God.

His husky voice makes my stomach swarm in knots. I gently rest the controller down on his desk, pausing the game before relaxing into him.

“Hmmmm,” Chris hums, hugging me a bit tighter. His hand hesitantly slides under my shirt. He rests a flat palm on my stomach, his thumb swiveling as he places a soft kiss on the side of my neck.

The heat of his touch contrasts from the cool breeze drifting through his semi cracked window. A fog of air clouds the sun, a distant glow hidden through the cloudy scenery outside. 

“I really like you, you know that?” Chris mentions, soothing his entire palm in circles on my lower stomach. 

My breath halts in my chest from his statement before I let out a deep sigh. I nuzzle the back of my head further against his shoulder, biting my lower lip as I feel his hair tickle at my jawline. 

“I like you too, pretty boy.” 

The remark falling from my mouth makes him pull me impossibly closer. Chris smiles against me, his lips pecking on my collarbone with swift kisses.

“Can’t do that to me, c’mon,” he puffs, teasingly nibbling on the edge of my ear, “-can’t say shit like that and expect me not to—”

“Alright, break it up, lovebirds.”

Peeking my eyes open and over Chris’ shoulder, I see Matt standing with his arms crossed and an awkwards expression on his face. 

“Go away, Matt.” Chris huffs, hugging me firmly. 

“Mia wants help choosing what to post on her instagram from—”

“You help her then, I’m not sharing,” Chris interrupts, cutting Matt off. 

My eyes roll as I try to stand up. Chris pulls me even tighter against him, his heart rapidly beating against my back as I try to bite back a smile. 

“Chris, I wanna help Mia,” I huff, a dry laugh falling from my lips as he reluctantly shakes his head against me. 

It’s a little frustrating, but not annoying. 

I want to help Mia, I want to be a part of anything she wants to include me in. 

But I also love how he’s holding me. The way he’s trying to hug me as if our skin will somehow glue together. 

“Chri—”

Before I can call out his name again, he stands up, holding me bridal style as I clutch my fist into his shirt out of shock. 

“Fine. We’re both going.” he states. 

Carrying me down the hall, he walks into Matt’s room, shifting me in his hold as he sits down with me still on his lap. Mia is sitting on the edge of the bed next to us, a look of shock and excitement plastered on her face as she wiggles her brows towards me.

“Do you want help or not?” Chris asks, sighing as his hands start to rub up and down the tops of my thighs. 

My face goes red as Matt stalks into the room, his eyes wide as he pushes his attention towards the ground, shaking his head. Mia pushes her phone in front of me, swiping through an array of pictures that makes my smile curl wider on my cheeks.

“Awwwww!” I exclaim, looking up at her with a pout of adoration. 

Each picture is adorable. Her and Matt were at a park, coordinating outfits as they posed in front of the camera effortlessly. I can see the glow of pure devotion in the way they’re looking at each other, I can feel the love through the screen.

“I don’t know which one to post,” Mia whispers sheepishly under her breath. 

“You smiled the most when you showed me the first one.” I point. 

She rolls her lips together, nodding briefly. “Yeah, I just…I feel like my hair looks the worst in that one,” she huffs. 

I laugh seeing Matt make an offended facial expression out of the corner of my eye. 

Before anyone can say another word, Chris picks me back up as he stands walking out of the bedroom and shouting as he starts to take steps back towards his own room, “Bye! You’re welcome!” 

His voice drops in volume as we stumble back into his room. He drops me on his bed carefully, immediately flopping onto me and nuzzling his face on my stomach. 

Chris sighs in frustration, hesitantly pushing his hand beneath my shirt before looking up at me with wide eyes. “Can I?” he asks. 

I nod while tangling my hands into his hair. Chris shoves the fabric upwards, bunching it beneath my breasts before laying down and pressing his cheek against my skin. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, tilting his face enough to be able to plant a delicate kiss right above my belly button. 

I hum while combing through his hair, “Thank you. Hopefully Baylen will give me a chance to play those video games with him now.” 

Chris lets out a deep sigh while moving his fingers and tracing along over my rib cage. “Of course. Let me know how it goes with him. I got you, just…just play those with me too, okay? I like having you in my arms like that.” he admits.

I lick over my lips while humming in agreement, “I do too.”

[himasgod]

Some twisted wonderland character comforts us when we broke down because we want to go back to our home ( separated) but it was no way back home

( if so can you make one with Jamil? )

ACE AND DEUCE AND JAMIL X READER

Where they comfort you when you miss home

How would the boys act when they find you crying because you know there's probably no way home?

The stars in Twisted Wonderland weren’t the same.

They were too blue. Too distant. Too still.

Back home, you remembered lying on your roof during summer nights, watching airplanes blink past, hearing distant traffic and dogs barking in backyards.

Here… all you could hear was wind. A different wind. One that felt like it didn’t belong to your lungs, like it didn’t know you.

You were used to pretending, smiling like things were okay. You had magic to study, housewarden rules to follow, ghosts to wrangle. But tonight… it cracked.

You sat on the crumbling steps of Ramshackle, hoodie sleeves pulled over your fists, knees drawn up to your chest. The sky blurred above you because of the tears you’d been holding back for months, now spilling down with no resistance.

You missed everything.

The feel of your own bed. Your mom’s voice. The dumb jingles from your favorite shows. The smell of your old laundry detergent. Even the mundane fights with classmates.

There was no way home.

Crowley said it over and over, he was trying to find it.

But now it felt real. You were trapped.

Like the story had been closed, and you were the only character left behind in the wrong book.

You didn’t notice when someone walked up the path to Ramshackle.

You didn’t hear the footsteps on the gravel.

“…Yo,” came a voice—too casual for the quiet night. “Did you forget what time it is? You’re gonna catch a cold out here like that.”

You blinked hard and looked up.

Ace stood a few steps away, jacket slung over one shoulder, a paper bag in his other hand.

Behind him was Deuce, fidgeting with something behind his back, expression hesitant but worried.

“…We brought you dinner. Er… late dinner,” Deuce said softly. “You weren’t in the cafeteria today.”

You tried to wipe your face quickly, but it was obvious.

“…Oh. I—I wasn’t really hungry,” you whispered, your voice cracking halfway through.

Ace dropped his bag next to you and sighed, crouching down to your level. He didn’t immediately say anything, just stared at your blotchy teary face

“Okay. Out with it. You’re too crap at hiding stuff.”

Deuce sat on the other side, carefully putting down a warm container of food next to you. It smelled like miso soup—maybe something Sam sold them.

You shook your head. “It’s dumb. I’m just… being stupid. Sorry.”

“Don't do that,” Deuce said, his tone suddenly firmer.

“You don’t have to say sorry. Not to us.”

Ace leaned his elbows on his knees, lips twitching.

“You seriously think we haven’t noticed you spacing out lately? Every time someone says something about ‘home’ or ‘parents’ you get that far-off look like someone hit you with a sad spell.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda,” Ace said.

“But we didn’t wanna push. Thought maybe you’d talk when you were ready.”

You swallowed hard.

“I just… I want to go back. To where I belong. I don’t want to stay here forever. I want to be home, and there's no mirror, no spell, no nothing that can fix that. Crowley keeps pretending he’s looking but we all know he’s not really doing anything. It feels like I’m slowly being erased from my own world…”

Your throat clenched as your voice wavered.

“And I’m scared I’ll forget what my mom’s laugh sounds like.”

That was when the silence fell heavy.

Deuce looked down, fists clenched. He finally said, quietly.

“I’d be scared too.”

Ace was still. His normal sarcasm was gone.

“…That sucks,” he muttered, honest for once. “That really, really sucks.”

You let out a sob you didn’t know you were holding.

Without a word, Ace scooted closer and dropped his head against your shoulder.

“I’m not gonna tell you everything’s gonna be okay, ‘cause that’d be a load of bull. But…”

He reached over and flicked your forehead—light, just enough to be annoying.

“If you cry without telling us, I’m gonna be mad. Seriously.”

“Same,” Deuce added, resting his head in your other shoulder, more gently.

“You’re not alone, okay? You’ve got us.”

You looked between them, sniffing.

“Why… why do you two care so much?”

“Because we’re friends, dummy,” Ace said immediately, almost insulted.

“You’re our weird, stubborn, always-in-danger-because-you-have-zero-self-preservation-and-you-need-to-help-every-fucking-body friend. What kind of guys would we be if we didn’t have your back?”

Deuce smiled a little.

“And because you’ve helped us a lot too. You were there when we messed up. It’s our turn now.”

You covered your eyes with your sleeves again.

“…Thanks. Both of you.”

They didn’t push more.

Ace leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, and started complaining about how cold the steps were and how he should have brought a chair.

Deuce stayed beside you, occasionally handing you tissues from his uniform pocket.

At some point, you ate the soup.

It wasn’t your mom’s cooking, but it was warm, and it tasted like comfort.

And when you finally stood up, heart heavy but a little less cracked, Ace grinned and nudged your shoulder.

“Still stuck here with us losers, huh? Guess that means we better keep you around.”

Deuce laughed.

“And maybe… someday, there’ll be a way back. But until then… we’ll make this place feel a little more like home.”

And for the first time in a long while, you believed them.

You weren't supposed to be here.

The lounge of Scarabia in night wasn't exactly forbidden, but it was hardly a place students went after hours.

It was quiet. Isolated. Uncomfortable, even, with the cold stone beneath you and the wind tugging at your sleeves. But maybe that discomfort was comforting in its own way. Tangible. Something you could feel while everything else felt so...

Detached.

The sky above was foreign—unfamiliar stars scattered in constellations you didn't recognize, a moon that looked the same but felt completely different.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, pulling your knees to your chest, and stared into the distance.

"I want to go home," you murmured. The words felt like a betrayal.

Saying them out loud made them heavier.

You hadn’t heard the voice behind you.

"Then why are you here, instead of asking Crowley for the thousandth time to send you back?"

The voice was dry, even. Unmistakable.

You turned slowly. Jamil, arms crossed. His gaze was sharp as always, but there was no mockery in his expression.

Only... observation. Careful, measured.

"I didn't think anyone would notice I was gone," you said, managing a weak smile. "Let alone come looking."

Jamil stepped into. He didn't respond right away. Instead, he glanced up at the sky.

"Grim noticed. You left your bag behind, and he was tearing apart the hallway like you'd disappeared into thin air."

You huffed a bitter laugh. "Well, that would be on-brand for this world, wouldn't it?"

He didn’t laugh.

He just moved to stand beside you, the silence stretching long. The wind tugged at his braids.

"You want to go home," he said again, quieter this time.

You didn't answer.

"You're not the first person who wanted to leave this place," he continued. "And you won't be the last."

"You sound like you know what it feels like," you said.

Jamil sat down beside you, back straight even as he lowered himself. He rested his arms loosely on his knees, his fingers laced together. Always in control. Always composed.

"I used to think I could escape too. That one day, I'd walk away from Scarabia. From Kalim. From... all of it."

You glanced sideways. "What stopped you?"

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Reality."

That one word hit harder than anything else had.

He continued, gaze fixed on the sky.

"No one ever asked me if I wanted to serve the Al-Asim family. No one ever asked me what I wanted. They just assumed. And when you're trained your whole life to be useful, your desires become irrelevant."

His words should have sounded bitter. But they didn’t. They were too matter-of-fact for that.

"And now?" you asked.

"Now? I play the part. Because if I don’t, someone else will write the ending for me."

Your throat tightened.

"I'm sorry."

Jamil looked at you finally, and for a moment, his eyes softened.

"You don’t need to be. You’re not the reason things are the way they are."

The silence returned. But this time, it was gentler. Less suffocating.

"I miss them," you whispered.

"My family. My friends. I miss the smell of my house. The taste of my grandma's food. I miss sunsets I recognize. I miss waking up and knowing where I am."

Jamil didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer empty reassurances. He let you speak.

"And sometimes I feel like... if I let myself forget even one thing, it means I'm giving up. That I'm letting this place win."

Your voice cracked.

"I forgot the password on my old phone. I forgot the tune my sister always sang when she came home from school. I briefly forgot my dog's birthday."

"I'm tired, Jamil. I'm so tired."

He didn’t reach for you. That wasn’t his way

He leaned a little closer. Close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. Just barely.

"Then rest. Just for tonight."

You looked at him, eyes stinging. "I don’t know how."

His expression didn’t change. But he said, softly:

"Then let me keep watch while you figure it out."

A lump formed in your throat. You turned your head away, but not before he saw it.

"You don’t have to be strong every second of every day," he continued. "I know what it’s like to keep everything inside until it eats you alive. I won’t let that happen to you."

He said it like a promise. Quiet. Fierce.

You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and leaned into him a little more. He didn’t move away.

"We’re both trapped, aren’t we?"

"Maybe," he murmured. "But under the same sky. Under the same stars."

You sat there together, under constellations neither of you recognized, listening to the wind.

And when your head gradually rested against his shoulder, and his warmth settled around you like a shield, you felt him shift just enough to let it happen.

He didn’t speak again, but you felt the faintest brush of his fingers as they hovered near yours doing constellation figures—hesitating, uncertain.

And then, softly, he intertwined them with yours.

The night didn't feel quite so cold.

[formulaonecrumbs]

is it working?

Lando Norris x older sister!reader

summary: reader had a bad day at school and lando manages to help in his own sweet way

warnings: reader is upset and crying

A/N: i have nothing to say except that i love this kid so much :/

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #5 (out of a gazillion)- found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: norris family kitchen, bristol)

timestamp: 3:23 pm 11-24-2008

the camcorder clicks on mid-zoom, the frame a little too close to a box of cereal before it pulls back and settles on the kitchen doorway. cisca’s breathing heavy, trying to be discrete as she records from the living room.

you step into the frame first.

ten years old. your backpack’s slung low, one strap slipping off your shoulder. your face is blotchy—eyes red, nose scrunched like you’re trying not to cry again. you drop your bag by the counter with a thud and wipe your sleeve across your cheek.

you think you’re alone.

but then—

“…why are you sad?”

lando.

he peeks into frame from the other room, hair a little messy, socks sliding on the tile as he pads toward you. seven years old. small and sweet and still holding a green crayon in one hand.

you sniffle and look away.

“nothing.”

“you’re crying.”

you roll your eyes and turn your back, busying yourself with opening a cupboard. you reach for the cereal box. it’s just something to do with your hands.

lando’s quiet for a second. then his voice comes again, softer:

“was it school?”

you nod a little.

he doesn’t ask more.

he just walks over slowly, climbs onto the chair beside you, and sets something on the counter.

a drawing.

it’s… questionable. a big smiley sun, a stick figure with wild hair that might be you, and another smaller one beside it—clearly him. both holding hands. under the words: “YOU ARE MY BEST FREN”

you stare at it.

“…you spelled ‘friend’ wrong.”

he shrugs, unconcerned. “i didn’t know how to… i forgot how.”

you look down at him, a tear slipping down your cheek despite yourself.

“i don’t wanna talk about it.”

“okay.”

he hops off the chair and disappears from the frame. there’s the sound of feet pattering down the hallway. you exhale, rub your eyes, and reach for the milk.

but before you can pour it—

lando’s back.

he’s carrying one of his knitted hoodies from the laundry. it’s too big for him (grandma measured him wrong). he holds it out to you.

“this is my favourite one,” he says solemnly.

you stare at him.

“i always wear it when i’m happy,” he explains. “so maybe… it’ll help?”

your bottom lip wobbles.

“lando…”

he holds it closer. “you can wear it. i don’t mind.”

you drop the cereal box and pull him into a hug so tight he squeaks.

he hugs back instantly, tiny arms wrapping around your waist like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

the camcorder zooms in slightly, catching your face over his shoulder—eyes closed, breathing steadying.

he pats your back like he’s seen adults do.

“is it working?” he whispers.

you nod.

he doesn’t let go.

fade to black.

THE END :>

[ducksido]

Haiiiiii! How are u? I have an EVIL idea, very evil😈 Idia with entomologist reader? 😈 like Idia is just playing a fight video game, when somehow, a moth ended up in his room, and he’s like AHHHHHHHWTFGETITOUTOFHEREAHHHHHH but readers super happy, yapping about that moth species and Hes like « I love ur rambling but pls get that demonic creature out of here »

YUPPIE! YUPPIE!

Idia was deep into a boss battle—his character's health bar hanging by a pixel, his fingers a blur over his keyboard, sweat on his brow, and his hair crackling an ominous red.

"Just one more hit—come on, come onnnn—YES!! CRIT DAMAGE, GET REKT LOSER—"

A faint flutter filled the room. Something small and dusty-brown spiraled past his monitor.

"…What… what was that." He paused. His eye twitched.

The moth reappeared. Hovering. Menacing. Eyes filled with unknowable eldritch wisdom.

Then it dive-bombed the screen.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!!!" Idia launched himself off the chair, sending his headphones flying. "WHO SUMMONED A DEMON?! WHO DID A RITUAL?! IS THIS THE MOTHMAN???"

Enter you, bouncing in, starry-eyed.

"OH MY GOSH THAT’S A Polyphemus moth!!! You NEVER see those in the wild anymore!! Look at its eye spots! That’s DEFENSIVE MIMICRY, IDIA!! DEFENSIVE MIMI—"

"Y/N please," he whimpers from the corner of the room, hugging a blanket, "I love you and your bug TED Talks but that thing has like... a hundred legs and evil in its soul."

"It has six legs. And no soul. It’s just vibing." You scoop the moth up with reverent hands like it’s baby Jesus. "Look at her!!! SHE'S SO PLUMP!!!"

"I’m gonna pass out."

You beam. "Do you wanna hold her??"

"Absolutely not," he says instantly, blue again and shaking like a leaf. "She looked me in the eye. I saw my death. I’m gonna uninstall life.exe."

You gently shoo the moth out the window and turn back to him with a grin.

"You're such a baby."

"You’re such a cryptid."

"But you love me."

"Yeah…" he grumbles, burying his face in your hoodie, still trembling. "Unfortunately…"

(continuation:)

It started with one beetle terrarium. Just one. A nice, unassuming glass tank full of soil, leaves, and what Idia thought were little rocks.

Until one of the "rocks" moved.

"AAAAAGH—WHY DOES IT HAVE HORNS?!" He screamed and nearly spilled his energy drink. You turned from your desk, lovingly holding one of your Hercules beetles.

"Isn’t he majestic? I named him Shiny Daddy Hercules! He’s the king of this tank."

"That's the name of a boss in Eternal Blight VII. You’re summoning demons with style, huh?"

"But look at his elytra! He’s a literal tank. That horn is for mating displays!"

"Mating?!" Idia scooted three feet farther away from the terrarium. "You're telling me that guy’s whole vibe is like ‘hey baby, check out my forehead sword’?? That’s horrifying."

Still, you noticed something…

Despite his protests (screeching), Idia always glanced at the tank when he thought you weren’t looking.

You caught him once leaning in, eyes wide, whispering:

"Yo... is that the one with the little butt antennae? He's doing a moonwalk… Bro’s got moves."

"That’s TapTap, the click beetle," you said from behind him, making him jolt like you hit him with a lightning spell. "They do that to flip themselves over."

"...Click beetle. That’s kind of… hacker-cool, actually," he mumbled, cheeks slightly pink.

Later that week:

You walk into his room and find a smaller terrarium next to his PC setup.

"...Idia. Is that a new enclosure?"

"NO." He slams his hands on the lid like he’s hiding nuclear secrets.

You peek.

Inside: One shiny little rainbow stag beetle. With a name tag that reads “Sir Byte, Knight of RAM” in his handwriting.

He sulks as you beam at him.

"Whatever. I saw him in the bio lab and he looked sad. So I… heroically rescued him. Stop smiling like that. Don’t make it weird."

"You love bugs now."

"I love you. The bugs are… inoffensive. Kinda. Some of them. Don’t tell them I said that."

[piastriprincess]

soak  my  scrapes  and  sleep  tight ⸻  oscar  piastri  x  reader  .

featuring  oscar  piastri  ,  established  relationship  ,  oscar  is  the  sweetest  boy  in  the  entire  world tw  blood  (pretty  minimal  but  wanted  to  warn  yall) word  count  1.9k author’s  note  requested  by  @princesspiastri007  aka  my  username  twin  !  i  loved , loved , loved  writing  this  request  .  also ... imagine  my  surprise  when  i  found  out  plasters  were  bandaids  .  i’m  sorry  i’m  a  stupid  american  !!  anyway  i was planning on making this a drabble but it  got  away  from  me  a  lil  because  there  is  something  sooooooo  boyfriend  coded  about  oscar  ,  i’m  obsessed  .  i  need  to  wife  him  up  .  i  hope  you  like  this  ,  as  always  please  come  tell  me  what  you  think  or  send  me  a  request  !  title  is  from  acolyte  by  slaughter  beach  ,  dog  .

23:  princess  plasters  and  iodine .

It’s Oscar’s week off before he has to fly to Miami, and you were planning on a relaxing few days. You’d circled the dates on your calendar weeks ago in thick red Sharpie: no races, no briefings, no media. Just the two of you, together. You’ve packed a bag for the whole weekend, so you don’t have to leave your boyfriend’s company for a single second. 

Your grand plan lasts about thirty-seven minutes. You’re just settling in at Oscar’s when your sister calls you in a panic: her job is sending her on a last-minute site visit for the weekend, and could you please watch Lucy for the weekend? You say yes, of course — how could you not? You love your niece, a precocious, rambunctious little four-year-old, and you love being the cool aunt. You’re sad to lose your weekend with Oscar, but you’re sure he’ll understand. 

“Bad news.” You’re already half-apologizing, forehead scrunched as you hang up the phone and walk back into Oscar’s living room. He’s lying on the couch, engrossed in a Sally Rooney book he stole off your bookshelf a few months ago. “I have to postpone our weekend. My sister needs me to watch Lucy.” 

He dog-ears his page, setting the book carefully on the coffee table and looking up at you with that soft smile he reserves just for you. “Sounds fun. I’m excited to meet her,” he says nonchalantly, and your breath catches in your throat.

You’re not sure what you expected Oscar to say. Certainly not that he’d give up his first weekend off in a month to help you babysit a kid he’s never met. But if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s not the first time he’s stepped into the hurricane that is your life like it’s second nature — quiet, calm, already carrying half the weight without you even asking. He grounds you. It’s one of the things you like best about him. 

You perch carefully on the couch next to him, running your fingers through his hair. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. “Osc, she’s four. She’s a ball of energy, and this is supposed to be your weekend off. I don’t wanna ruin it,” you reply reluctantly.  He’s shaking his head before you even finish talking, looking up at you with those big brown eyes, gaze steady and sure. “Baby. What would ruin my weekend is not getting to spend it with you.” Something unfurls in your chest at that, soft and tender. He presses up on his elbows, already getting to his feet and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Now come on. Get your bag, I’ll drive.”

—

An hour later, Oscar pulls into your sister’s driveway, slinging both of your weekend bags over his shoulder like they’re feather-light and taking your hand in his as you walk up to her front stoop. She must have seen you coming (to be fair, his cherry-red McLaren isn’t exactly subtle), because she’s already halfway out the door. You barely have time for her to give you a frantic thank you and tell Oscar it’s lovely to see him again. A quick kiss on the cheek and just like that, she’s disappearing into the Uber that’s been idling by the curb, the driver peeling away to the airport like he’s P1 on the starting grid. 

“Last chance to back out,” you say wryly to Oscar. 

He gives your hand a little squeeze, palm warm and comforting in yours, and you can feel the tension in your shoulders ease. “I’m staying right here.”

You open the door to a blur of light-up sneakers and Lucy throwing her arms around your legs in an enthusiastic hug. She looks the same as always: hair pulled into messy pigtails, tiara headband set just slightly askew, sparkly nail polish on her tiny fingers, and her ratty old unicorn blankie tucked under her arm. She’s beaming at you so hard her cheeks stretch, but the smile fades when she sees Oscar. 

“Who’s that?” she demands, hands on her hips. 

You smile at her, crouching so you’re on her level. “Lucy, this is Oscar. Can you say hi?”

She ignores you completely. “Are you her boyfriend?” she asks, wide, suspicious eyes trained directly on his face.

Oscar’s neck flushes, the way it always does when he’s nervous. He wants her to like him, you realize, and your heart does an unfamiliar little swoop in your chest. He clears his throat. “I am, Your Highness,” he replies, smiling softly at her. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Lucy purses her lips slightly, like she’s sizing him up. Oscar’s eyes flick to you worriedly, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear he was holding his breath. Then she smiles at him. “You too. Do you want to have a tea party with me?”

“It would be my honor,” he nods seriously at her. She grabs his hand - his fingers, really, since his hand is too big for her to hold onto - and pulls him into the living room, leaving you behind with the bags in the entryway.

Thirty seconds of Oscar, and it’s like you don’t even exist to Lucy anymore. You’d be upset, if it wasn’t so understandable. After all, you fell in love with Oscar the moment you met him too. 

—

You swear it only takes you a minute to put your bags upstairs in the guest room, but when you get back you’re in for an absolute sight. Your boyfriend is sitting next to the Ikea stuffed bear you bought Lucy for her birthday last year, legs criss-crossed neatly beneath him. The silvery tiara he’s wearing glints under the overhead lights, his face peeking out from atop a fluffy pink-feather boa. He’s holding a plastic teacup in his hand delicately, listening to Lucy’s narration of her fairytale kingdom’s dynamics with the kind of focus you’ve seen him use for team briefings. Your chest feels tight suddenly as you watch him from the doorway, a strange, sweet ache blooming underneath your skin. 

“Hi, baby,” he smiles at you when he sees you, those honey-brown eyes crinkling at the edges. Oh, you’re a goner. You move towards him on instinct, dropping gracefully to your knees beside him. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you slot into his side like you were made to be there. You let yourself enjoy the quiet warmth of his body, solid and strong beside you as Lucy chatters away about stuffed animal etiquette in the late afternoon light. Suddenly, it’s like you can see it — the echo of future quiet afternoons, grocery lists on the fridge, a life built of small, perfect moments with him. You wonder, just for a moment, if he feels it too. 

“Wait!” Lucy brings you back to the present as she interrupts herself, her tiny brows knitting together. “You can’t come to the tea party without a tiara. Princesses have to have tiaras.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you reply, playing along, though your cheeks are still flushed. “How silly of me. I’ll go get one.” 

You’re about to stand when Oscar’s fingers curl around your wrist gently. “I got it,” he says softly, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles before all five feet, ten inches of him extend to full height. He moves just a little too fast, you try to stop him just a little too late, and when he stands up he smacks his head hard into the sloping ceiling. You wince at the dull crack, the way the tiara shatters into shiny plastic shards, one cutting a jagged gash into his pale skin. 

“Ow,” Oscar says mildly, pressing a hand to his forehead. 

Lucy gawks at him, openmouthed. “Oh no, Princess Oscar!”

—

“It’s really not that bad,” Oscar says, and you know he’s trying to reassure you, to soothe the way your pulse is stuttering erratically beneath your skin. As always, he’s the picture of calm, sitting patiently on the closed toilet lid while you rummage through the first aid kit your sister keeps under the bathroom sink. The wad of toilet paper you made him hold to the cut is starting to stain crimson-red. 

“You can’t even see it,” you reply, your fingers closing around the bottle of iodine as you emerge from the cabinet triumphantly. “It's awful. Zak’s going to fine me for scratching up his driver.”

“You’ve done worse before,” he smirks cheesily at you, eyes half-lidded, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat as you swat at his arm playfully. His legs are too long for the small room; you have to crawl over them to get to a spot where you can clean him up. You place a hand on his thigh as you move, to stabilize yourself, and he goes pink up to his ears. Now there’s your Oscar, you think to yourself as you pour the iodine onto a cotton pad. 

“This might sting a bit,” you warn him. 

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he insists, right before hissing through his teeth when you dab at the cut. 

You stick your tongue out at him. “Be brave, Princess Oscar.” 

He laughs outright at that, and his eyelashes flutter against your wrist. A warm twist curls low in your stomach at the contact. “Right,” you say, pulling the box of bandages from behind your back. They’re princess-themed, of course. Fitting. “Aurora or Ariel?”

“Ariel,” he responds instantly, and you raise your eyebrows at him. “What?” he shrugs, smiling at you. “I know the princesses, I have sisters.”

You peel the wrapper open carefully and smooth the bandage across his cut, gentle and precise. He’s quiet for a moment, watching you, the way your fingers ghost over his skin, the way you care for him like it’s an instinct. 

“You know, if this is what the future looks like, I think I’d be really happy,” Oscar says absentmindedly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

His eyes widen at the same time yours do, and he presses his lips together like he didn’t quite mean to say it out loud. Like it was a thought he was holding close to his heart until he knew you’d be ready to hear it.

You stare at him, your lips parted. His cheeks are slightly pink from the confession, and you’re so close you can see the honey brown of his irises. It’d be so easy to kiss him right now, and you’re not in the habit of denying yourself simple pleasures. So you dip your mouth to his, fingers curling loosely at the nape of his neck.

He makes a soft, surprised noise against your lips, one hand rising instinctively to rest at your waist. The kiss is unhurried, familiar, but there’s something new about it. It feels like a promise, so meaningful that it makes your breath catch in your chest. It’s a moment before you both come up for air, but when you pull back he’s looking at you like he’s trying to memorize everything about the moment. 

“Yeah,” you smile at him, easy and unhurried. “I could get used to this.”

[sapphiresaphics]

ENA Dream BBQ Analysis

I wanna talk about ENA Dream BBQ, but it’s really hard to do so since it’s so disjointed. It’s difficult to stitch together meaning but I feel like there is meaning there. Since it’s an abstract piece of work it’s not a literal 1:1 metaphor or message, there’s some teasing you need to do to get meaning out of it.

I think ENA Dream BBQ is at its heart about the seemingly pointlessness of life and how we find meaning and ways to go through it anyway. But to explain why I think the best way to analyze this media is to just make some observations and connect a few dots near the end.

ENA’s duality.

Let’s start with ENA herself. She has two conflicting personalities express through her white and red face. A salesperson side and a mean side. Her salesperson side is trying to constantly find opportunities and ways to coax information out of people. While her Meanie side is abrasive and impatient and wants information NOW.

The “BOSS”

ENA is searching for “the boss.” She wants to find the man in charge because she has business with him, and that could literally be a metaphor for someone trying to find meaning in their own life.

In ENA’s goal to find the boss many characters claim to be the boss, but none of them actually are. If we assume that the phrase “the boss” (aka: the man in charge) is a synonym for God, then it becomes interesting who claims to be the boss and who doesn’t.

Finding Fullfilment

Dratula, a coin cat, a hands demon, a wooden horse, and a vending machine all claim to be “the boss.” And each one could represent things that people use to find meaning in their lives. For example: Dratula could represent superstition. The hands demon talks about fame and stalking celebrities. The money cat is originally a piggy bank that breaks and talks about saving up to party irresponsiblely. The wooden horse talks about babies and pets. And the vending machine offers material goods.

But none of these things will offer TRUE fulfillment. They’re more akin to distractions or obligations. They’re optional goals to aspire towards but aren’t necessary for you to be happy. You don’t need money, material goods, children, pets, fame, or a belief in the supernatural to be happy. They can offer you happiness but they aren’t necessities.

Jobs

There’s a strong emphasis on the importance of having a job. Many characters bemoan the loss of a job, are discouraged they can’t fulfill their job, are avoiding their jobs, or are very proud of their job. For example: It’s “sad” that the Taxi driver can’t do his job without his heads. Coral Glasses just wants to do her job without “anxiety.” Taski Maiden is “upset” she’s unemployed. Frog gets “angry” when you skirt your job duties.

Like the various things to fill your life with, having a job can give you a purpose. But again, It’s fleeting. You can lose your job at any time. It’s not really fulfilling either.

I think this is the reason why when ENA finds her way to the bathroom she’s at her lowest point and with a massive hole in her chest. She’s unfulfilled and in a zombie-like sickly trance. She’s tried to do odd jobs to find happiness and achieve her goals, but it hasn’t worked. Or she’s tried to skirt her goals and have fun, but that hasn’t worked either. She needs something to believe in.

Enter: The Bathroom

The bathroom is interesting. It is a daily ritual that everyone engages with and this could be seen as a stand in for religion. Certainly many of the ways characters talk about “going to the bathroom” sounds an awful lot like going to church. It’s also the most difficult route to take in the game, making you complete multiple odd side quests or to attempt to play Frogger to cross the river.

It’s also interesting who does or doesn’t support the bathroom. The Witches are searching for the bathroom. The Shaman Wizard wants to help you too. But Frog dislikes the bathroom because it takes time away from your “job.” Likewise many of the side characters who are kinda just running around aimlessly seem to have mixed feelings on the bathroom, which changes depending on the route you take.

It’s also interesting that ENA does not find salvation in the bathroom. She’s actually shunned from it and the Genie refuses to offer kindness for her, or her friends. The only thing the bathroom does help with is in achieving the goal of turning off the smoke.

If you take the Purge Event route, not only do many of the wayward souls you’ve met along the way go too, but you’ll be berated by Frog for ignoring your duties. ENA herself refers to going to the purge event as “craving freedom.”

Meaning Unfulfilled

And that’s where this all ties back together into trying to find meaning in your life. Everything in the game is trying to give ENA meaning as she searches for “the boss.” But none of it really works. After destroying the smoke she is adrift. It’s curious that NOW is when ENA finds herself in a nostalgic world from all her previous ENA videos. She’s in “Auction Day” again but it’s not the same. It’s just nostalgia for a simpler time. And slowly she starts to falter. Her body overcome by blocky pixels that ultimately consumer her.

The end of the game has her body revert to that of a blank mannequin and she falls into the “holy code.”

ENA Theories

And yet it’s not quite the end… because she comes back. The final post credit cut scene shows ENA resurrected by taking control of a blank mannequin that was lying lifeless at the start of the game in the hub world. This does seem to indicate that all of these blank mannequins lying around were previous forms of ENA. They’re often located around places where you as a player can die easily, like missing a jump or falling from the sky.

I actually dislike the “ENA is actually a species” theory because it feels like it’s trying to objectively explain abstract ideas. Since we see ENA cycle through a host of different forms INCLUDING her original yellow and blue form, I don’t think she’s a literal unique species but just a lost soul trying to find purpose and meaning. As a result her physical appearance and shape changes as she does.

If ENA is a species I don’t think that there are multiple ENA. But rather that ENA can jump from blank body to blank body. That could explain why her search for happiness hasn’t been successful yet and why other characters distrust her.

I also don’t like the “she’s a war criminal” theory either. I know there’s images in the game that hints at this, but I think for an ABSTRACT game that is far too LITERAL of a reading of things. Rather I think they’re suing the imagery of war as a way to show ENA’s emotional turmoil in trying to reach her goal of being fulfilled.

The settings of the game help with that interpretation. For example: The game begins with her in a desolate empty war-torn looking city of endlessly repeating houses. And at the beginning of the game she has no purpose yet. She goes to a casino, that offers cheap thrills and purpose, but it’s short lived and she eventually ventures out into a bigger world to find a purpose. This world is split, like her, into having one where purpose is given, or where you can ignore your purpose. Literally one half of the world is laying on top of the other. The bathroom is sterile and empty and nauseating to get to, but offers no fulfillment either. And finally she ends the game in a nostalgic trip to previous videos right before she “dies.”

There’s probably a lot I’ve missed or glossed over. Nothing in this game is a 1:1 metaphor and there’s likely no real meaning behind a lot of it. Curious that a game about finding meaning in your life is told through the gameplay design of an abstract seemingly random and meaningless story, no?

Not What He Seems

There’s only a few final thoughts that I wasn’t able to fit anywhere else. The more I’ve played the game, the more I’ve come to distrust Frog. He’s one of the few characters who also acknowledges that others “aren’t the boss” and yet he acts like your boss through the entire game. He’s the only character that seems to care about the smoke from the genies, as none of the others mind it at all and some even like it. And the act of destroying the smoke machines feels… wrong. He’s also black and white which is a narrative and stylistic choice that gives me pause. Even Coral Glasses has some color in her Coral. But Frog? He’s black and white. He’s binary. He acts like the boss. He wants you to do something no one else minds or cares about to proceed forward. I do not trust him.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Does my analysis hold up? Does any of this make sense? Am I completely wrong? What do you think the story of ENA Dream BBQ is about?

[jackdaniel69nice]

Tokoyami baby hcs

Tokoyami was born from an egg

He was a rainbow baby, there were three eggs before him that had failed

Dark shadows consciousness was present since birth but they couldn’t figure out how to manifest right away. It was like learning how to walk.

Could make baby chirping noises and his laugh was very chirpy

Thought people could read his mind and never spoke. He would just stare very intently and wonder why you’re not getting him his snack. This is because him and dark shadow can speak telepathically and he didn’t understand the difference.

Tokoyami also behaved strangely for a baby. He would cry at strange times (when brought into strong light), laugh at odd moments (he can see shadow dancing), and stare at nothing for long periods of time(talking to shadow). All of these things made him come off as a very creepy baby

They had their own “language” that was just baby-thoughts and feelings shared through their bond and it somehow managed to get meaning across perfectly. This communication actually allowed them to reach learning milestones incredibly quickly but no one noticed how smart toko was because it was all in his head

Also tokoyami grew faster because of his avian quirk, he was eating solids immediately from hatching

When dark shadow did start trying to manifest it look longer because there was no good way to show them how to do it. Their father would show off their quirk and try to explain how it works but shadow was basically flying blind

Speaking of blind, dark shadow hit a metaphorical wall after manifesting their eyes for the first time. The new sensation of “sight” by absorbing light through their eyes scared them and their progress stagnated for a while

Btw dark shadow only tried manifesting when it was pitch black which wasn’t a problem because tokoyami was often left in darkness because his parents noticed he hates the light. Very good parents for now

Once dark shadow started manifesting toko finally started talking…except he would only talk to shadow. He would run to the darkest corner of the room and just start whispering to himself. Very creepy

Tokoyami, as a bird baby, couldn’t regulate his temperature well so he would stay near warm places or with his parents. His mom was busy with work sometimes but he liked being snuggled under her feathers when she’s around. Otherwise his father rap the both of them in a blanket to warm up

Once tokoyami starts walking around he got his own blanket to wrap around himself to stay warm and block out light. In essence he started wearing capes very early

The tokoyami parents took way too long to realize dark shadow exists. Momayami was unnerved by her child’s weird behavior and would look away when he started acting weird again. But Papayami had no excuse, he just gets distracted and would always look away right when shadow tried to do anything. On another note Tokoyami’s grandfather knew about shadow the moment he met him because he could sense their presence. He’s been secretly helping shadow train up their strength.

Babyyami definitely ate bugs growing up

His interest in the macabre came from his grandfather reading him gothic literature as bedtime stories

His father would sing songs and play his base which gave him a love of music and dance

The parents actually liked dark shadow when they finally manifested. Papayami looooved playing with them and having another baby to dote over. Momayami was distant most of the time but occasionally sweet

[lesbiansanemi]

You know I think the reason it irritates so much me when people complain about kny is cuz they do it in the wrong, dumbest fucking ways imaginable. Cuz like. The series definitely has flaws. But also it is nowhere near as fundamentally bad as the people who hate it make it sound

“It’s bad cuz everyone died” yeah man that was the fucking point every death that happened had a narrative purpose sorry you couldn’t figure that out cuz you got sad or something idk

“The plot is too predictable and boring” Like yeah it’s a simple plot. It’s straight forward, that can not be your thing but it’s not a bad plot and again, it does what it set out to accomplish

“The characters are all too boring and/or tropey” I’m sooooo sorry you’re literally incapable of engaging with subtext because a lot of the character nuances are based in subtext but that doesn’t make them boring characters

“Tanjiro is a boring protagonist and barely does anything” You literally just think because he’s kind he’s boring

Even when they complain about its more misogynistic aspects, they do it in the wrong fucking way. Like they don’t bring up that 80% of the cast is male or Nezuko being completely sidelined later in the series despite supposedly being a major character. It’s always like “UMMMM it’s sexist because mitsuri is girly and kanao just gets ordered around” like. Dawg

Like idk, we could criticize the contradictory world building, again, nezuko’s character completely fizzling out, some of the pacing decisions, etc but that’s never what they do

Every complaint I see at large about why it’s bad literally just boils down to “I don’t want to be sad and I can’t engage with subtext” which is why the people who “criticize” it are so fucking annoying

[stone-stars]

the weird thing about scarlet hollow is i went in intending fully to romance stella and lean into it and then somehow i just…. ended up wanting to get to know and bond with tabitha instead? i skipped the romance scene for cousin hangout

[junebluues]

i think if i got hugged by mizi for long enough she could shape me into a better person i’m gonna be honest. maybe if she told me “i’m so proud of you” it would heal me mentally physically spiritually eternally

[ghostdrinkssoup]

does anyone else do the neurodiverse thing where you’re trying to politely engage in a one-on-one conversation but eye contact is really intense and distracting so you try to make excuses to look elsewhere so you can actually process the conversation better but you know you can’t look at the ground too long or it’ll be weird so you nosedive right in and STARE AT THE OTHER PERSON DEAD IN THE EYES LIKE MHM MHM MHM NODDING ALONG but because you were concentrating so hard you forgot to breathe normally and were lowkey holding your breath but if you look visibly out of breath for no reason that’ll be STRANGE TOO so now you’re breathing through your nose and you can’t look them in the eye so you QUICKLY AND UNNATURALLY LOOK AWAY LIKE THE VERY SIGHT OF THEM DISGUSTED YOU and now every inch of your face feels vaguely out of place and Forced and you have no choice but to leave the conversation immediately

[soldierandawar]

Really, the issue is that people cannot hold two conflicting thoughts in their heads at the same time. That's why arguments online are so frustrating. Most of the time, it's like, "Yes! Both of these things are true!" But no one wants to hear that. Everyone has to be right. We have to prove ourselves as better than others, so we start using identifiers, "Oh, so you're a <insert term here>." to separate ourselves, and it's exhausting.

If you lack conflict management skills and refuse to look inward, how can you create community?

[twilightakiishi]

work….:(

[torawro]

i am having fun rewatching bleach, and i honestly don’t remember it being this emotional & deep so early on?????????

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[spideyhexx]

.