#I literally had a dream about him last night

[loving-family-poll]

2nd Ultimate Incest Tournament- Round 1

Propaganda under the cut:

Liam/Noel:

The Gallagher brothers have a very intense relationship that doesn't make any sense to the outside viewer unless one considers the possibility of incest. For 30 years now they have been utterly unhinged about one another in the public eye. Noel has often made incest jokes; Liam once said on-stage once "we had sex last night" referring to him and Noel. Even people writing in actual books and magazines have picked up on the vibes (some stuff that has been printed about them fully feels like it was written by tumblr incestinas except it's like. actual fucking journalists). Also there was this one time in 1996 where they kissed each other with tongue in front of 40 thousand people.

They have been described as “in love with each other” by both themselves and third parties. the lyrics “you’re my lover, i’m your brother.” they kissed with tongue at loch lomond in 1996 and have also been photographed/videoed kissing on the mouth other times. liam regularly groped noel onstage. liam’s entire twitter is just propaganda too. liam talked about impregnating noel once. noel frequently talks about how physically attractive liam is. liam claims that he’s noel’s muse

their song guess god thinks im abel has the lyrics "i could be your lover" while comparing themselves to you guessed it abel and cain. and like. a thousand more instances of them being weird about each other. also noel REALLY wanted a sister and he mentioned it quite a few times and said well liam IS basically a sister or something like that. normal behaviour

Liam literally called himself Noel's good boy on twitter, and called him god a few times after reunion. Noel said he loves make women cry and the only thing that's better is make Liam cry so he can laugh and call him a woman. They literally kissed with tongue and loch lomand is not their only kiss they have two more photos of different kissing to, they literally used the japan kiss video for reunion video. YES THEY DID THAT TF. Noel said they are head over heels in love and said it's illegal in many countries. Also Noel said Liam is like his ex-wife a few times or shit like those cunts are fucking crazy

Other people have described them as more like boyfriend/girlfriend than brothers and said they’re in love. someone on twitter asked liam “if you’re john lennon, who is noel?” and liam said “yoko ono.” another time someone said on twitter “you defo rimmed noel when you were younger” and liam replied “you jealous?"

Deeply weird about each other getting married (them not attending each other's wedding which occurred month apart and then getting divorce around the same time and they stayed at the same hotel for months), intense infamously love-hate relationship and is everyone's favorite soap opera, noel saying "on stage i just wanted him..there's only two of us that will ever get this", prominent theme of shame and crime and impossible dream in noel gallagher works, the elusive meaning of wonderwall which noel insisted is not about anyone but there's good amount of evidence that it referenced back to their childhood and their shared bedroom, liam having mental breakdown several times on twitter about noel, liam's my brother is getting a divorce playlist to which he shared with his 3 millions twitter followers, incest-baiting on main ever since the reunion, brother and lover being interchangeable for noel when writing lyrics, noel (allegedly) lying to liam that his girlfriend cheated on him in order to sabotage their relationship before oasis took off, liam hating noel's latest (ex) wife (sarah), noel writing "the owner of the star on stage" after liam's autograph and so many more insane shit

"[Liam] thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him." –Noel Gallagher (1997)

"It's all about me it always was and is" –Liam Gallagher (2023)

Japan kiss (kiss is at the end) loch lomand kiss

PLUS they’re back together after 14 years of estrangement! The narrative!

Edward/Alphonse:

Two brothers try to resurrect their dead mother as children and in the attempt become alchemically bonded together. Sacrificing life and limb for one another, professing to be “practically the same person,” having their bond blessed by the canonical god itself, and in one dimension sacrifice everything they’ve ever known to spend the rest of their lives together.

Canonically have their souls tied, go everywhere with each other, travel through dimensions and give up everything just to be together

Ed would kill for alphonse and alphonse would die for ed but they are so soulmate coded that they would go against their own principals too: ed would die for alphonse and alphonse would kill for ed IM OBSESSED also they keep talking about how much they need each other and wanting to touch each other constantly they gay as fuck

They need to kiss sloppy and FUCK! They are literally so canon in the 2003 anime… Al says “Brother, I want to touch you” or something like that in an episode. Ed would literally sell his soul for his brother.

[pasteldreams]

all i want - m.s.

pairing: bsf!matt sturniolo x reader

summary: matt doesn't know how to deal with his feelings for his best friend

cw: (resolved) angst, crying, cursing, self-deprecating comments, texts, friends to lovers, kissing

a/n: happy holidays friends! this is my first written piece! don't expect too much, but i hope you enjoy lol

based on- driving by dwllrs (lyrics in bold)

word count: ~2k

all i want, all i need,

all i dream, i need you next to me.

what do i want? what do i need?

what do i dream? i need you next to me

 

"are you sure you don't want to go out with us? we're gonna be gone for a while, you don't just want to come for a bit?" nick asks, unsure about leaving his sulking brother alone even for just a few hours.

"yeah, i'll be fine, just leave already." matt rolls his eyes starting to lose his patience with his brothers, who looked down at him as he laid on the couch.

"are you going to text her? weren't you supposed to hang out with her tonight?" chris asks tentatively.

matt's eyes shift, looking straight ahead before going out of focus.

'why'd he have to bring her up?' matt thought, suddenly stuck in his own mind. 'he knows why I can't just text her, why I can't ask her to come over, why i-'

"look bro," chris says, interrupting matt's spiraling thoughts. "she's your best friend. don't push her away just because you have feelings for her."

"can you guys just shut the fuck up about it? I know how she feels about me. I heard her say we're just friends, so why can't you both just leave me the fuck alone?"

"woah, kid. take it down a notch, okay? we know you're upset, but, first of all, you haven't even told her how you feel, and, second of all, she's right. you are just friends because, news flash, you haven't talked to her about it or literally anything for that matter." nick harshly reminds him.

matt sits in frustrated silence as chris opens his mouth to speak. "kid, she's texted me like a hundred times asking if you're okay and what she did wrong. you're scared of losing her, but you're not doing a great job of keeping her, dude."

"whatever," matt responds, opening his phone pretending to scroll through Instagram in hopes they'd get the hint to leave him the fuck alone.

"the uber's outside, so this is your last chance to not spend your night alone in whatever shitty mood this is." nick offers, only receiving silence in response.

 

driving alone

thinking 'bout the times, wrongs were feeling right

'cause you were never mine, i know

i'm lost inside my mind

it happens all the time, when it happens, I wanna go

 

once his brothers left, matt sat as his feelings began to suffocate him. his chest tightened as your words echoed through his mind.

‘am i dating matt? oh, no, we're just friends.'

he felt like running, like driving, like escaping to some other reality. a reality where you knew how he felt, where you felt the same, and, most importantly, a reality where you were his.

matt stood up, his surroundings feeling more like a dream than his own home, as his unsteady legs carried him to the door. he grabbed his keys and he made his way to his car. his mind was too overwhelmed by emotion to have a plan of where he would go once he started the engine.

 

sunsets always hold me, i only go driving when i'm lonely

i wanna go cry, my feelings always leave

i'm running towards a dream that i'll never reach

 

as the engine started, matt felt hot tears begin to roll down his cheeks. he pulled onto the street as he continued thinking of a world where you loved him back. a world that, realistically, could never exist. because you were smart and funny and caring and loveable. and he was just matt… your friend, just as you had clarified.

matt watched the sunset fade as the colors flew past his windows. after what felt like hours trapped inside the hellscape of his racing mind, he felt the car slow to a stop, his body functioning on autopilot. and there he was. parked outside of your apartment.

matt reminisced on all the times he took the same drive to see you. he remembered the nights he spent next to you on the couch, your eyes fixed on whatever film was playing as his eyes were glued to you. he remembered later on those same nights as he gently combed through your hair and traced your soft features while you slept through the movie you had initially been so eager to watch. he didn't mind you falling asleep. quite the opposite actually. he cherished those quiet moments with you, the moments where he could admire you in the way he wished he could while you were awake.

 

all i want, all i need,

all i dream, i need you next to me.

what do i want? what do i need?

what do i dream? i need you next to me

 

suddenly, he felt his hands reaching for his phone. 'what am i doing?' he thought, opening his messaging app. he clicked the name pinned to the top of his screen, your name, opening a thread of 32 unread texts asking what was wrong and pleading for him to respond. more tears threatened to spill as he read your most recent text.

'what the fuck am i doing?' he groans as he closes his phone and lays his head on the top of the steering wheel. 'god, i'm so stupid. i should've never texted her. i should just go ho-.' he sat up, suddenly interrupted by a familiar sound, your text tone.

 

matt felt his heart pounding as his eyes locked onto the screen, his mind racing.

'she's gonna ask what's wrong and what the fuck am i going to say? sorry, i ignored you because i'm in love with you? that's so fucking stupid, i'm so fucking stupid.'

he combs a shaky hand through his tangled hair before resting his forehead back against the steering wheel. the sound of soft taps to the passenger window causes him to jolt up. there you were.

matt's wide eyes take in your messy hair and red eyes. it takes another tap on the window for him to snap out of his trance long enough to unlock the door.

you slide into the passenger seat, the sound of the door closing slicing through the heavy silence. your body faces his while your eyes remain glued to your fidgeting hands. tears spill over matt's lashes as the guilt of how he treated you hits him. he can't stand the way your sad eyes avoid his matching ones. he buries his face in his hands, releasing the emotions that have built up inside him since he overheard your painful but truthful words.

"matt?" your voice cracks wanting to cure his sadness but not knowing what caused it.

"i- fuck." he chokes out through sobs.

"what's wrong? what happened?"

"i just- i fucked up, and i'm so sorry. i should've texted you. i'm so stupid" he says between deep, shaky breaths.

you gently brush through his hair waiting for him to calm down enough to hear you over his ragged breathing. once he's calm enough to face you, he lifts his face up, making eye contact with your soft eyes.

"hey," you give him a soft, yet sad smile

"i'm sorry," he whispers, tears threatening to spill again. "i shouldn't have ignored you."

"i know."

"i uh i missed y-"

"did I do something to hurt you?" you blurt out, unable to keep the question in any longer.

"no," he sighs looking down, "well, i don't know."

"you don't know?"

he could've lied at this point and said that it had nothing to do with you, that he was just stressed about work or his brothers, but he knew you wouldn't forget his hint that you were somehow related to his sadness.

"i-" he clears his throat bringing his eyes back to yours but struggling to maintain eye contact with your intense gaze. "i heard you say something about me to some girls."

"about you?" you questioned, wondering what you could've said to have hurt him so badly.

"yeah," he states simply, with no further explanation.

"when? what girls? what did i say? I would never say anything bad about you."

"no, it wasn't- i just-" he stutters as you stare at him with a mixture of confusion and frustration plastered across your face. "i heard you say we were friends."

you stare at him blankly as rage builds inside of you.

"are you kidding?" you spit

"no," he says quietly

"i've been crying for days wondering if you were okay, only to find out you did all of this because i told some people we were friends? are we not friends then?" your anger slowly turns to sadness. your voice shakes as you feel your heart sink. "because i-"

"no no no, we are friends! i just mean-" he sighs and pulling at his hair as he gathers his thoughts. "we are friends. but I don't want to be," he scans your face as your tears begin to fall rapidly.

'he doesn't want to be friends anymore? after years of movie nights and game nights with his brothers and late night drives, he just decides he doesn't want to be friends?' your mind struggles to grasp the concept of losing him.

"i don't want to be your friend anymore because i want to be more." your faces turns from heart break to confusion as he continues speaking.

"what i'm trying to say is…" he takes another deep shaky breath. "i want to be yours" he confesses. "your boyfriend, i mean. i want to be your boyfriend" he clarifies with a short awkward laugh. "but i know you don't feel the same, and, even if you did, i probably ruined any chance i had by pulling this shit." he references his avoidant behavior. as he looks up at you, he panics not being able to decipher your expression. "can you say something?"

"you really are stupid.”

"huh?" he says, taken back by your harsh words.

"you could've just fucking told me instead of treating me like shit.”

"i know… i know. i'm really sorry i just didn't know how and I didn't want to ruin anyt-"

"i would've told you i liked you back.”

suddenly matt's eyes shoot up to yours, searching your eyes for some indication on if you were telling the truth.

"you what?'

"matt, i've tried telling you so many times, our friends have told you, and i'm sure your brothers have mentioned it at some point. you just never made a move or reciprocated any of it, so i figured you didn't feel the same way about me.”

"no no no, god no. fuck. i can't even explain the way i feel about you." his eyes drift off as he rambles on nervously. "you make me feel safe and warm and happy, like so fucking happy, and i just-"

his eyes train back on yours, realizing how close you both were.

"i just want to kiss you," he breathes out softly.

"you want to kiss me?" you ask still unsure if this is all a dream. he nods.

"can i? can I kiss you?" it was your turn to nod anxiously as his face slowly moves towards yours until you feel his breath fan across your lips

"god, you're beautiful, is this really okay? you really want me to kiss you? it’s okay if y-" he rambles on.

"are you going to kiss me or not, matthew?" he smiles at your sassiness, cupping your face gently before closing the space between you.

as his lips meet yours, the unspoken words and pent-up frustrations disappear, leaving only the feeling of his soft lips and warm hands.

as you begin to pull away from the kiss, matt whispers, "no, wait. i need you next to me," pulling you back into him.

🏷️ taglist: @y3sterdaysproblem, @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan

reply/msg/inbox to be added to taglist!

play button divider by @enchanthings-a and leaf divider by @anitalenia

[themareverine]

Toy Soldiers | part one | worst!wolverine x namelessfem!OC

synopsis: He was just a one of those fast food kid’s meal toys from 1993—key word, was. now he’s Hugh Jackman incarnate, standing in the master bedroom of her midwestern apartment, lost in time and infinity. she’s gotta get him back to his world, where he’s the worst Wolverine, where he belongs—or, maybe not?

warnings: Indian in the Cupboard themes (iykyk), fluff, AU, not entirely sure what else at this point, nameless!femOC with blue eyes could be interpreted as reader, mentions of a best friend named Rose, etc, literally based on this silly little toy I rescued and now have crafted extensive lore for.

a/n: i didn't ask for this to become a multi-chapter thing. i really didn't, ok? this got away from me, but i really love these two so much already. this was fun to write, and she's a fun character to develop. worst!wolverine is just occupying too much brain space.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

Dreaming in color is a pro, when you weigh it against the cons—usually.

She’d been dreaming in movie-like quality since she was a kid, could pinpoint almost to the exact timespace when she first realized her dreams were akin to Hollywood flicks roving about her brain like Spielberg classics.

She’d been six, maybe seven. A hopeless crush on Wednesday night’s Steve Irwin had somehow twisted the innocent power of her brain—the only, almost divine dreamstate visit to Australia she’d ever taken. Still she can taste the hot air, thick with sweat and arid desert, from the back of an obscure Land Rover, jostled and bouncing along forgotten roads and who-knows trails. Eyeballing open sky and endless outback sands, the Crocodile Hunter and his darling wife, Terri, vivid imaginations to a childhood fantasy yet, mostly, unlived. 

And ever since this God-granted, she’d always assumed it was a gift and thus titled it so, she’d been dreaming vividly most of the last twenty four years. Forgetting her dreams was the exception, black and white—unheard of. Tasting, speaking, reading, touch was wrapped up in REM and weighted blankets, vicarious life she’d never, really, lived in her waking moments—everything from the supernatural to gut-wrenching. Martial bliss and familial tragedy. Combat she could only ever hope wasn’t accurate. Fame and fortune. R rated filmstrips that left her stomach light and fluttery every morning, promptly, at 4:45—alarm shrieking in her ear, viscerally ripping her back to the land of the living with frothing teeth, the Greatest Showman custom alarm all but a slap in the face.  

It’s, as usual, dark when the numbers on her phone roll over to 4:45—sucked out of a dream like the vacuum of space itself lays claim to her soul, her eyes flutter open heavily to stare at the alarm. Hugh Jackman would never be so unwelcome as he is now, blaring from little iPhone speakers—she manages to lift a noodle-esque arm to slap at the noise hanging out in the darkness around the vicinity of her nightstand. 

Fingers locate the smooth screen, swipe away the prompt for snooze. Roll over. Hand over her eyes—it’s Saturday The day after Friday, her first day alone all week. World beyond is closed away behind walls and empty schedules, priorities otherwise left-fielded for such days as this.  

Warmth simmers beneath heavy weighted covers, trapped against her body. Clawing up through her mattress, threatening to pull her back into oblivion. Pharaoh’s hadn’t been so mummified, entombed as she is now, but that’s the beauty of a queen mattress left unshared—solidarity. Armies only wish they held such control over real estate as she did these sheets, this bed frame—very little could remove her from the ecstasy that is this Eden, the one place that did not require compliance, performance, untenable perfection.

Here she could rot for hours, engage in adventure that the earth would never understand—that man would jeer. 

Heaving a sigh melts her deeper into her astronaut-designed mattress, stomach suddenly flatter than it’s ever been as gently fingers tease at the strip of skin exposed. Back arching, stirring nearly-paralyzed muscle. Toes skip over warm satin sheets as she navigates to her side, arm tucking beneath her pillow. Drawing blankets to her chin, another deep breath closes her eyes, shuts off her brain—all but ready to return to dreamstate, the screen on her phone illuminates again���diiiiing.

Light explodes, lighting up the area of her nightstand just enough to give purpose to her surroundings. 

Nose scrunching in an effort to unhear and forget the notification, her eyes slowly pull open as she considers the phone. It’s her best friend, she knows it is—Rose is up early. All the time. Taking care of her little family at the base of the Teton mountains, as if this is Little House on the Prairie and such things were the norm.

Her inability to ignore anything from Rose props her up on an elbow, has her reaching for her phone—thumbs the passcodes. Opens the text, eyes scanning the message from last night. 

It’s a photo message. She’d sent it last night, proudly showing off the latest addition to her childhood nostalgia collection—a thrift store find, the little McDonald’s toy is hardly noteworthy. Scuffed and worn, it had seen adventures, surely, in its pre-her-possession life. Surprise had knocked her between the eyes like a stone when she’d managed to spy 1993 printed on the little action hero’s foot, in barely-there legalese. 

At thirty-one years old, one may have expected the little five-cent made-in-Taiwan to end up in the landfill, rotting alongside near-radioactive diapers or kill-the-turtles plastic straws.

Nope, not this one—Marvel’s very own little Wolverine. Dolled up in a cute little sci-fi bronze suit, ready for a fight. Retractable claws, the hardly-scuffed cowl, a proud encircled X in all its glory—wrapped up in a little sandwich baggie marked down at the thrift. She’d almost felt sorry for him in that cute aggressive way. 

And almost giddy at the fluke cocktail of age and condition, she’d pocketed the little guy. A pleased smile, her very own little Wolvie nestled in the leathers of her jacket, then the bottom of her purse. He’d adventured to work with her accidentally on Friday, plastic eyes watching her pass the time at the office from his little perch beside her keyboard and Starbucks. Almost had forgotten him, poor thing—he’d landed on her nightstand among the other needs-put-away items for the weekend, proudly standing in his posed little battle stance.

All he needed was matching Sabretooth, maybe Magneto, and he’d be good to go. 

Looky who came home with *me*, shot over to Rose with a little thrill, a Snapchat-like photo of him perched alongside her night cream and phone charger. More of a proud sentinel guarding her bedside table than anything, she’d regarded him playfully, like a child—had told him to close his eyes when she’d undressed. Had asked him about a movie to watch in bed as she managed hip-opening exercises, relaxing breathing techniques. All but kissed him goodnight, promising to get him settled among her other collectable childhood wonders in the morning.

After coffee and cardio, wouldn’t Hugh be proud. 

Rose’s LOL text all but smiles back at her, and she’s a little cross-eyed from the brightness of her phone. It improves when her eyes skate away from the phone, to the little Wolverine—wait.

Brow furrowing, his absence from the nightstand sparks more panic than she’d be willing to admit in therapy—she bends over the side of her bed, fingertips skating the floor in search of her little plastic wonder. Nothing but plush carpet, abandoned laundry she’d failed to relocate to her drawers—her phone slips from her hand as she hauls herself over the bedside, to peer beneath.

It’s dark, duh, and she fumbles upside-down with the flashlight on her phone. Sun levels of intense light, she makes arching passes beneath her bed, but no dice. Nada. Zilch–zippo on the Wolverine toy. 

“Well this is just a little ridiculous,” her mumble rolls off a dry tongue, from messy hair as she works herself back up from hanging over the bedside. 

Forcing off her weighted blankets has never felt more urgent, importance spiking her blood with ill-placed adrenaline she doesn’t understand—why she cares so much about a little three-decade-old McDonald’s toy she’ll never understand, but the thought of him lost in the abyss of her house is more unsettling, again, than she’d admit in therapy.

Legs swinging over the bed, she plucks her glasses from the tray on her nightstand, grabbing for the light robe dragging the floor from one of the nightstand’s knobs. 

Wrestling a steer would’ve been easier than un-inside-outing the garment, still hazy and half-asleep and wholly uncaffeinated, but she manages. Another scout under her bed reveals that, no, little Wolvie isn’t among the dust bunnies and lint of her carpeted under-bed floor.

Brow furrowing, her glasses slip down her nose as she hauls herself back to her feet, sleep-stiff muscles protesting as she massages the back of her neck. 

Hands on her hips, she reaches for her phone. “Had I known you had teleportation powers, little Lo, I’d have sold you off to NASA—come on,” Triggering the flashlight on her phone again, she dives to check between the headboard and mattress, to see if her Logan lookalike decided to magically dive headfirst into the almost-abyss—

“—you make a habit of talkin’ to open air, girlie?” 

Two things happen immediately in her body. 

First. Alarm jumps up in her chest like a devil, deep claws sinking into the meat of her chest only to rip away any sense of safety taking up residence behind her ribs, in her bones. Heart forgetting to throb, blood all but stands still in her veins, asystole in her arteries—she can feel the lining of her stomach twist into a viper-like coil so cold, she fears frostbite has set into her organs.

Fear knocks hard on the door of her sternum, ripping the wind from her lungs. Terror opens up her vocal cords and bludgeons a song from her throat, but it’s so dry in her apartment that the fleshy membranes of her mouth have all but become cragged Sahara sands. Tongue swelling to the size of her fist, she fears she’ll choke on it. Forces it against the back of her bottom teeth, jaw clenching with enough force to break open the world. 

Legs somehow managing to propel her up onto her mattress, across the bed, to the farthest corner of the space. Cold sweat raises to a dance across her skin, satin sleeping pants clinging to the flesh of her thighs as sapphire eyes attack the figure cutting through the threshold of her door—hands low and open, in placating surrender.

Brow furrowed with canyon deep lines, dark eyes flick over her frame as she takes a step back for each of the ones he cautiously makes into the room. Invading her privacy, an unwelcome intruder. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” early morning gravels his words, which hang low in baritones not at all unfamiliar, “‘m not gonna hurt you. You breathin’ ok?” Genuine concern passes through his eyes, deep and alive, but—not in a bright way. The corner of his lip tips up, “Don’t mean to scare ya, pretty.” 

Pretty? Sweetheart? Who the hell is this—?

Any familiarity his face holds is lost to the bite of adrenaline, slavering teeth trenching into the back of her brain. Seeming to lap at the spinal fluid all but bubbling down the length of her back. Chest heaving with effort, she fears her ribs might break. Cardiac muscle behind her chest bones all but explodes with every heavy heartbeat, reminding her to stay alive. That she, still, is living. 

Stomach sour, twisting like corded steel, she lunges for the foot of her bed—snatched the first thing she can retrieve. Face all but a blazing inferno of heat, nails all but pike into the soft plush of a stuffed animal. Her favorite. Or, rather, was—now little more than a weapon, it stands between her and the invasion like a fortress. 

“What the hell are you doing here,”she challenges, taking a half step back. Memories of kickboxing classes, somewhere in her youth, escape through the fingers of memories in the back of her head. More boxing posture than anything, she lifts her arms to chin level. Fingers tear into the stuffie like it’s a lifeline, like it’s protection. And for now, it is. 

Not giving him the chance to answer, his mouth hangs open in muted response, “This is my apartment—you can either leave or I’ll–I’ll forcibly remove you.” It would take a 911 call—it would mean grabbing her phone from the nightstand, punching the emergency button, and staying away from him during response time. All unlikely, given proximity. The size of the apartment. How he blocks the only damn exit with his huge-ass frame. 

Jaw snapping closed, a thick brow pops up. He chuckles. He think this is funny, “Whoa, take it easy, bub—” 

“—shut up! Stop talking!” Pointing a strong finger at him, she shuffles back on light feet. Bobbing as best she can, trying to appear light. Prepared. But everything in every manual in the world wouldn’t have prepared her for home invasion—all those home defense classes. The hours shooting clays and targets with her father. Worthless. 

I am so going to die. 

Another step into her sanctuary, holy of holies. “Quit moving, damnit!” 

The stranger stops mid-stride, brows arched in surprise at her tone of voice. Squinched nose, and tightly shut eyes add to what must be a comical look on her face. Coupled with crimson cheeks and the shake setting into her hands, she surely looks—well. A sight, if little else.

Realizing nothing short of an eternity has lapsed in the cool peace and blissfully ignorant darkness of closed eyes, hers pop open. She watches has near-pawlike hands, mapped with raised veins and pronounced callous, drop to his sides for all of a minute. Her heart cuts against her ribs like an ax laid to roots, willing to break something loose—he chuckles. Laughs. Some faraway light catches the darkness of his eyes, brightens his face in a way that only ever seemed so Hollywood, but is now real. 

And he laughs with his entire body for all of a few seconds, wrinkles at either side of his eyes deepening into canyons that seem to fill with his amusement, at her expense.Mind short circuiting, her toes curl into the carpet, calluses on her heels catching frayed fibers as she does her best, again, to stay light on her feet. Nothing about her is light, certainly, and she attempts to calculate distance, how many seconds it would take her launch her body forward, toward the door. Past him, into the corridor, out the front door.

 HIs hand extends, palm up. Waving her forward, as if she were some thing to beckon—

—until her stuffie chucks directly at his face, a blur of hot-pink fur and fluff. 

The moment she arched her arm and sent Mr. Hearts on his first-ever attempt of flight, her feet springboard off the carpet, launching her forward at a speed she never thought possible. Adrenaline jumpstarts every one of her cells, lacing through her veins like rocket fuel—and the world spins by in a blur of color, her chest racked with pain as her heart racehorses behind bones that are no less than temperatures akin to magma. 

Tunnel vision blocks out the world, save the nearly sparkling promise of the room’s exit. Tears bubble up on her lash line, hot and intruders on any clarity of brainspace she’s trying to will forward. Hot, breathy fear closes her throat, nothing but blood rivers through her ears—nothing except the ache of her throbbing heart, the painful push and pull of her lungs expanding and retracting. 

They say hearing is the last thing to go when your soul begins to fade into death, but it’s a lie—she can’t hear a damn thing. And she’s more than alive.

Missing completely the soft snikt!, the what-would-usually-be unmissable split of skin, there’s a muffled tearing of fabric as once beloved Mr. Hearts suddenly becomes two halves of himself. Puffy stuffing explodes into the air, faintly she can feel her beloved stuffed animal hit the floor mutedly. In some back door of her brain she knows what’s happened, but survival carries her feet—pumps her arms. Zeroes her gaze on the door, blocks out anything other than the gut instinct to run, run, run hard. 

Finger reach to grab the doorway, hurl herself around the corner—but it’s too late. Electric movement snaps through the air, a microsecond passes before a thick, heavy arm catches her around her waist. Hauls her backward, sucks her from the door like something from  Star Wars, the world spinning by in a Picasso of color and tears as she’s manhandled, forced back. Kicking her feet into the air, she wills him to break, throwing her body mass back, against him. Arches her back. Wrangles and claws at the hair on his arm, the muscle that is taught against her rebellion.  

Throat splitting with a shriek, she’s silenced when his enormous palm claps hard over her mouth. It feels like centuries have passed, but in reality, it’s been seconds. Breaths and heartbeats. Tears trailblaze hot down her face, her throat all but reverberating with sobs. Body heat wraps around her, butter down her spine as the arm around her middle pulls her tighter. Closer. Keep your enemies close—

And he’s tall, legs anchored behind her. Like a brick house. Snot begins to empty her sinuses in a slick, sticky mess. Her mouth attempts to open behind the palm of his hand,all saliva and spit. Doesn’t seem to do much. Digging her heels into the floor, her foot skims the floor. Looks for one of his. Finding it, she slams her heel against would-be soft bones, and he hisses. Grunts like an animal.

“Knock it off,” his baritone rumbles, a dangerous growl over her ear, “not here to hurt you, darlin’.” A lie. She doesn’t believe him, digs her heels farther into the soft flesh of his feet. Buries her nails into his muscle, the soft flesh of that tender spot under the wrist. Veins, lots of blood there. 

Something obscene slips past his lips. Fighting back more stinging tears, his fingers curl around her wrist bruisingly, and with herculean strength, he whips her about-face, suddenly chest-to-chest with her as his fingers fist in her hair. Pulls sharply, “fuckin’ hell—calm the fuck down,” his fingers fall from her hair, instead grab her chin with an almost bruising grip, “stop bawlin’, for Christssake,” 

Her nails milk as they dig into his wrist, deep red lines canyon the hand holding her face with a patience lost to most members of his sex. Hard, dark eyes hold hers with a fierceness that numbs her intestinal tract. For a moment, an arctic swirl is born and dies in his gaze, resurrected instead a hint of grief and—empathy, maybe. A lostness she can’t describe. Confusion punches lines between his knitted brows, etching deep into ruddy, masculine features a kind of unwordly handsome, had he not been sent to kill her. 

Oh God, please—Shaking, her eyes pinch closed again, unwilling to let him see any more of her soul. More snot and tears, saliva pearls between the seam of her lips as she tries, and fails, not to blubber. Knees buckle. Hangs there, full weight of her body supported on her chin between his fingers, jaw suddenly alive with inferno pain. It lasts seconds before he lets her go, and she sinks to the floor, slackdoll and sobbing. Staring across the floor, her cheek burns against the harsh fibers of the floor. 

Her belt. Abandoned, on the floor last night after a work dinner. It’s the only thing, and her brain conjures images of just exactly how she’d use it, suddenly Jackie Chan or GI Jane or some shit she’s seen a thousand times on film, has never executed. Hiccuping in short breaths between sniffles and sobs, tears leak into the carpet off her cheek. Her heart pumps blood that may as well pool into her chest, leak between the cracks in her confidence. 

Stepping back, he looks at her. A cocktail of surprise and irritated, he sinks to a crouch. Shakes off red marks that still linger on his arm, wipe her snot and saliva on his-–are those yellow?-–pants. No time to notice, to care—her nails catch against the fibers of the carpet. Begin to push her bodyweight up, on an elbow. 

Unburdening a sigh, his hand scrubs his face as hers darts across floorspace. Snatching the belt with a speed she’s never fostered, he doesn’t even have time to put two and two together before the leather snaps like a whip, thick silvers from a rodeo buckle landing fully on the bone of his jaw. Cuts a deep line that flashes scarlet, rips open flesh like a fillet knife. 

“Fuck!” it’s harsh, bestial.

Reeling back, she finds time to scramble to her feet like a clumsy foal, looping the belt around her fist once as he pops tall. Backpedaling away from arm’s length, she pistons towards the door, on fire and pumping adrenaline like a sieve. 

And she flies. Out of the bedroom. Down the corridor. Somehow she manages to find her keys on the kitchen table as his heavy, earthshaking feet pump down the hall. Fumbles over her own feet at the front door, slams into it hard, bounces off. Fingers suddenly unable to communicate coherently with her brain, the chain lock on her apartment door is all but burning as she tries, and fails, to work it just so. 

“Come on, come on! Work, you piece of shit—” she’s never sworn more in her life than she has now, and it’s sour, like bile splashing up on her back teeth. But it rips from her throat all the same, bitter and hot, as she mutters fuck, fuck, fuck me! under short, airy breaths that do nothing to put oxygen back into her body. May as well be a drowning soul, the way she sucks in air. Gasps for breath. Drowning or an emphysemic. 

Ignoring the hard breathing behind her is impossible. Whirling around on the ball of her foot, he’s close enough to lock her against the door. Her head falls back hard enough to knock against the door, rattle her teeth. And as her vision begins to settle from the bouncing in her cranium, she sees the three blades bury to the knuckle—the knuckle?—in her heavy, pristine oak front door. Rattles the wall, splits the sheetrock. 

Pupils blown wide, she can feel all the blood leave her body. Terror locks her spine between slavering, hungry teeth. Gaze welded to the blood pearling from fresh wounds between white knuckles, the hinge of her jaw fails. Her mouth opens mutedly, enough for him to count her teeth if he so desired. 

And maybe he does. “Goin’ somewhere, honey,” it isn’t a question. That grin is animalistic. “Stay awhile, huh?” 

He closes in. Her head snaps forward to find him. Nose to nose, he sneers at her, and her eyes think to move to the fillet of open flesh her attack has left on his jawline—or, had. No evidence of even so much as a mark on the sharp line of his jaw, just dark facial hair and sweat that’s bubbling up on his skin, angry red that fans up his neck. Swearing to God she can see the vein in his temple throb with blood, her grip on the leather belt tightens before reality sets in. 

Ohmygod, ”You’re—” her stomach resurrects up her throat. ”—Jesus,” and it isn’t so much a curse as it is a prayer, a hope. A lifeline—grasping at straws, praying something sticks.

Reality begins to fall away, through boneless fingers. Feeling the belt slip from her control, her throat suddenly constricts to the point of oxygen deprivation. Gaping like a fish, her tongue swells to a thick cotton she can no longer feel. 

Numb—everything buzzes with that painful, white-noise needling. 

And she does the only thing her body can manage. Shoves past him just enough to upset a chair—

—-and throws up. 

still working on my taglist but: @thevoicefromanotherworld @sidkneeeee @misscrissfemmefatale @eternallyfrustratedwriter and those who showed interest: @ayamenimthiriel @pandapetals @theoreticalfreak @definitely-not-chill @ghostytoasty17 @werewolfpilar

[guiltyasdave]

things that i wrote

i saw @secretelephanttattoo & @jolapeno do this and really loved the concept, so here’s my review of 2024!

of course, the man occupying the main part of my brain has been DAVE YORK (we are all very surprised), as i finished not one but two series about him this year— the dress series and wildest dreams, which i wrote with my love @joelscurls and i’m still so incredibly proud of this project!

there have also been countless oneshots, which can all be found here, but my two faves are when we go crashing down and the road not taken.

another man living rent free in my head was JOEL MILLER, who i didn’t write that much for but i’m so so proud of the things that i did write. i still think about no one can hurt you now very often and of course there’s safe and sound waiting to be continued. the love i’ve received for that series in particular has been one of my favorite things of the year.

then of course we have JAVIER PEÑA and one of the best writing experiences i’ve ever had: nights are so starry, blood moonlit literally flew from my fingertips and lowkey i’ve been chasing that high ever since 😭

…and, really surprising to me personally, i became obsessed with OBERYN MARTELL this year. it started with delicate, which is another piece of writing that i’m so so proud of, then came gold rush because who knew how badly i needed a threesome with oberyn and dave in my life, and finally i wrote peace, which was so far out of my comfort zone and now i’m so happy that i did it.

and theeeeen i branched out because LOGAN HOWLETT demanded a seat at the table, and my forever love, the logan x kitten universe was born <3

looking back, i wrote way more than i thought this year, and i’m actually pretty proud of all of it :)

i have already talked at length about the things that i read and loved the most this year, which you can find here! the pedro fandom is an incredibly talented bunch of people and i’m so grateful for all the amazing writers who share their stories on here <3

another thing that i loved in 2024 was my 1500 kisses challenge and all the beautiful creations that came out of it. thank you for celebrating that one with me!

a few other highlights from my year:

as most people know (i think) i had to stop working last winter due to severe burnout and depression and it took me a while to get my life back together, but i got medication, i got therapy, and two months ago i was able to get back to work and am in a really good place right now, which i’m eternally grateful for, because honestly, this time last year i wasn’t sure if i’d make it another 365 days.

i got to meet @sizzlingcloudmentality this summer and not to be dramatic, but life hasn’t been the same since. i didn’t know i was looking for you but i’m so glad that i found you <3

all the amazing friends i’ve made this year. if we’ve ever dm’ed, or just interacted on here, i’m talking about you! this community has been my safe space (despite the occasional horrors lol) and i love it here.

i’m gonna stop before this becomes more sentimental than it already is, but i’ll tag a few people who might want to share as well: @sizzlingcloudmentality @catchallfangirl @beardedjoel @burntheedges @murder-wife @iamasaddie @almostfoxglove @sceletaflores @schnarfer @moonlight-prose @eupheme

[luverleaver]

it’s a josh day for me

[somegrumpynerd]

It was one of the rare nights that Nightmare decided to actually retire to his room for the night. He didn't need sleep, with enough flow of negativity he could easily survive without it, but sometimes it was nice to just lay down and rest.

He had a dream. They were rare too, if only because he slept so infrequently, but this particular one was common for him when he did. It was about killing Dream. The ongoing war between them was constant on his mind, so it made sense it would invade his unwaking hours as well. In it, he finally managed to crush the life from his twin, in the process gaining unwavering control over the entire multiverse as he watched the other's eyelights dim.

He sat up in his bed.

He was panting. His tendrils, slowly reforming from behind him, were trembling as they hung uncertainly in the air. He realised slowly as he returned to reality that he was gripping the sheets tightly with both hands.

Panic was an emotion Nightmare had rarely been on the other side of for centuries. It took him a few long moments to even identify it from within his own soul, rotten and imprisoned under the corruption. It took him even longer to identify the part of him that he had long assumed dead, which was crying out for nothing more than to cling to his brother for comfort.

For the first time in hundreds of years, Nightmare wasn't sure what he wanted anymore.

[aturnoftheearth]

someone called my mom saying she saw a cat like ours and thinks he’s hiding in the woods behind her house so here i go about to walk 5 miles in this heat. if i find my boy i am NEVER gonna let him live this down

[artheresy]

I just had a PAINFUL thought

If Huaiyan ends up playable and they end up having LCs with him on it, doesn’t have to be his signature or anything bc y’know they’ll put the Playable characters in multiple 4 star ones too

But if he ends up with LC appearances… him having a lightcone with little Yingxing would quite literally break my heart into a million little pieces

[smileysuh]

hiiii nova

I love chef Johnny 😏

I love slice of life single dad chef Johnny and his chef bestie 🥺

You do Johnny so great I miss him

Life has been so much and so busy so I haven’t kept up w all your new releases, but I always have time for my top men

I’m so happy to hear that you’re in loooove 🫶🏼🫶🏼🤭

🍵

THANK YOU!!!! I miss John too tbh- I'm so happy May got a John fic, and June will have a Hyuck centered fic with inklings of John in the periphery :)

[whumpy-wyrms]

yk i was having trouble writing tllr chapter 12 because Dew is sick with a fever in the beginning and i just,, idk felt uninspired or something because im not the biggest fan of sickfics or whatever

well now i’m sick with a fever and it’s helll so sorry Dew im gonna have to put you through this now my bad 👍👍 at least i am now inspired

if this post makes no sense it’s because my brain hurts and i’m tired 👍👍👍

[sukugo]

Ok, I need to scream this at somebody and I feel like you're the right person. WHAT THE FUCK is the deal with hayden Christensen in the early 2000s?? I don't even like men, I'm a lesbian, I don't find men attractive I don't want to have sex with them, I don't like men. But what the fuck is up with early 2000s hayden christensen?? Like what?? I'm sorry??? I want to lick him. I want to spank him and make him cry. And like.. what the fuck?? How does somebody's voice even sound like that?? How are lips even that pouty??? I want to push anakin skywalker face down into a mattress and make him fucking sob?? Anyway. Um. Why is he so fuckable? It's like completely ungodly?? And I'm sorry did I mention the voice?? Like what? What the fuck?

SCREAAAAAAMMMNNNNNN

ANON ARE U ME? DID I WRITE THIS? bc it literally feels like i lost consciousness and sent this to myself HDASJDHASJDASD

which is my way of saying GOD YEAH FUCKING MOOOOOODDD. I GET YOU SO MUCH U HAVE NO IDEA. I AM ALSO A LESBIAN WHO WANTS TO FUCK YOUNG HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN

u're so correct about everything, he's so fuckable, he's so insanely fuckable, i don't fucking get it either 😭😭😭😭😭😭 LITERALLY!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

lick him and spank him and fuck him into a mattress while he sobs.... yeah.. yeah yeah YEAH

this man unlocks Feelings inside one that are just. crazy. lusting after a man. can u fucking believe this anon. 😭😭😭😭😭

[taegularities]

i'm hurt 🥲

[running-in-the-dark]

hmm. I'm starting to think maybe the weird uncomfortable dreams about my childhood best friend won't actually stop, no matter how much time passes 🙃

[ox1-lovesick]

in my soobrangdan era what curse did he put on me

[mainfaggot]

nana (grandpa) on the phone and he asked me what im doing in the future in terms of my career and i started crying

[upperranktwo]

There is no character in the world that drives me more insane than Douma. That man is on another level to me