#THIS IS NOT MY FAULT

[kinardsevan]

13, 15, 35. You can either pick one of them or write something with all three! I am a glutton for your writing I will take anything I can get

13 and 15 for you! (this is 1000% your fault, btw)

-

Evan’s hands are trembling as blood runs over them, pressing down hard on his chest. 

“Come on, baby,” he sobs, his fingers practically fisting around the part of the steering column dug into Tommy’s chest. 

Tommy looks up at him, his face too gray for Evan’s liking, the sadness in them hurting more than it did the night they broke up. “I’m s-sorry, Evan.” 

He shakes his head wildly, clenching his jaw as he glares at Tommy with those crystal blue eyes. 

“No, god damn it,” he growls, pressing down harder against the flow. “You don’t get to do this to me again. You don’t get to leave me again. You don’t get to leave me permanently. Fucking fight, Tommy.” 

“D-doing my best,” he stammers, the slightest laugh slipping out of him even though it’s clear that neither of them finds the current situation funny. Around them, their friends are doing their best to work Tommy out of the situation in the safest way possible, but none of them are stupid. They know the situation is dire, and the silence of it all just makes Evan’s throat hurt that much more. It should be loud—too loud; loud means things are happening, movement is happening. Silence means-

Silence isn’t good. 

“I love you,” he sobs, shaking his head as he presses his hands in harder. “Don’t do this to me, okay? I can’t- you can’t- I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. S-so you can’t do this to me.” 

Tommy lifts a shaking hand to Evan’s face, brushes at the tears on his cheek. “You deserve so much better than this.” 

Evan nods, his jaw still tight, his eyes full of righteous anger. “You’re god damn right I do. So live and let me have it.” 

Tommy doesn’t respond, much as Evan may want him to. They both know he doesn’t have that kind of control over the situation. No matter how much Evan yells at him to live, it has far more to do with proximity to a hospital and blood volume than it does his own personal will to survive. 

“I l-..” 

“No,” Evan growls at him. “You don’t get to tell me now.” 

“Evan.” Tommy rasps his name like a secret, and the younger man sobs, leaning into him and pressing his forehead into Tommy’s. 

“You h-have to wait, okay,” he chokes out. “Tell me after, okay? Tell me after.” 

“Baby, I don’t know if there is an after,” Tommy whispers back. 

[tojirights]

LISTEN

WHAT IF SHE GOT BRUTALLY MURDERED ON THEIR WEDDING DAY

+ ALASTOR WAS MADLY IN LOVE WITH HER YEARS BEFORE HE EVEN PROPOSED, HE LITERALLY ADORED HER SM JUST TO HAVE HER RIPPED AWAY FROM THE SECOND HE GOT HER☹️

AND THEN HAD TO WAIT DECADES TO SEE HER AGAIN EVEN THO HE THOUGHT HE NEVER WOULD

This is all your fault😞🫵🏻

- 🦢 anon

AND THATS WHY HE STARTED KILLING PEOPLE BECAUSE HE WAS SO DISTRAUGHT THAT SOMEONE TOOK HIS DARLING LOVE AWAY FROM HIM THAT HE DECIDED THAT OTHERS DESERVED HIS PAIN

so then he gets sent to hell not knowing that his betrothed was in heaven :'))))

[red-room-studi0]

sorry...

but also not sorry lmfao-

[cicerfics]

At this point, my inability to estimate the length of anything I write is truly comical. It doesn't matter if it's longfic or a lil oneshot, I am just extremely bad at it.

Me, last week: I will write a small 00Q Christmas oneshot. It will definitely be 2k tops. :) There is no room for error here, not like when I do long fics and something that is supposed to be 50k becomes 200k. :) It is not possible that I could be mistaken in my estimated wordcount for such a very short fic. :)

Me, discovering the WIP in question is now 4.5k: ...Hm. :|

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i fear the infantilization is heavy with this fic … sorry

[leejungjaes]

wait. no. my angsty chapter just got really sappy. *slaps it gently* why are you doing that, don't do that. no stop it.

[baremueran]

and i must say I've read all ghostroach fics on ao3 three weeks ago so its reasonable i feel empty everyday 💔🏳️

[qqueenofhades]

YOU FIX THAT KASTLE FICLET YOU JUST WROTE. COME BACK HERE RIGHT NOW. HOW DARE. I AM FRAGILE!!!

FUNNILY ENOUGH I WAS LITERALLY JUST OPENING TUMBLR LIKE "I WONDER IF MADS HAS SEEN THAT KASTLE PROMPT FILL YET. HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH."

SO IN OTHER WORDS, THIS PLEASES ME GREATLY.

[pooksbedamned]

[kinardsevan]

wip Thursday

tagged by the effervescent @perfectlysunny02, and in the same vein as them, don't I have a million WIPs? Yes, yes I do. But also, I mentioned this idea last week. And... well... oops? (And it's entirely their fault because of the violence they chose with THEIR teaser today.)

Alas, I give you unnecessary, momentary, legendary (working title)

-

Tommy wasn’t supposed to be here. That’s all he could think about; he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

He’d had a full day of plans while Evan was on shift. He was supposed to stop by Harbor and pick up a package he’d had shipped there and forgot to bring home the night before. He was supposed to have lunch with Howie and Jee-Yun. He was supposed to swing by the 118 and swap keys with Evan because something was going on with the Rubicon’s engine. He was supposed to spend the afternoon figuring out if it was going to be an easy fix or not. Evan would be home before sunset. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

Except, Evan was back at work after being down with a nasty virus for the past few days, and the only thing that had really been helping him feel better was the honey citrus tea from their favorite café. It wasn’t even a drink that his boyfriend cared for that much, but Tommy had introduced it to him the first time he’d gotten sick a few months into their relationship, and it had been a game changer for him. It wasn’t a cure by any means, but it definitely helped. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“Natalie?” He croaks out her name, leaning half up off of the tile floor, hand pressed into his abdomen next to his hip. He can’t see her behind the glass casing that contains the pastries, and she hasn’t said anything in a few minutes. The higher he tries to sit himself up, the more pain shoots down his side. “Nat!?” 

It takes more than a few seconds, but eventually—too long—he hears the sound of what he assumes is broken glass shifting on the floor. A small whimper. 

“T-Tommy?” 

“Nat?” He calls back, turning his head towards the back of the counter again. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” 

She doesn’t respond, but then he sees the familiar flurry of jello-red hair appear from behind the pastry case, and then she’s climbing over the counter, her combat boots crunching glass on the floor as she moves towards him. Tommy looks up at her, his paramedic skills immediately kicking in as he takes her in. 

She’s got a cut on her forehead and her hands are bleeding—he assumes from all the broken glass. There’s a slash across her forearm where the knife got her, bleeding pretty decently. His eyes trail down to the side of her apron, the stain spreading across it and her jeans. She’s bleeding from somewhere on her leg. His gaze drifts to the counter and the streak of blood coming across it where she crawled over. 

“N-Nat, we gotta call the cops,” he tells her warily. 

“What if he comes back,” she asks anxiously, her voice shaking as tears come down her face. She sinks to the ground next to him, ignorant of the glass on the ground around him. 

Tommy shakes his head at her, digging into his pocket with blood-coated fingers, fumbling his phone when his fingers come into contact with it. He pulls it out as he looks back up at her. 

“You gave him everything, right,” he asks her. “Didn’t fight?” 

“No,” she sobs, leaning over him. “God, Tommy, I’m so sorry.” 

He shakes his head at her, reaching for one of the napkin holders knocked onto the floor nearby. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he tells her. He keeps flashing hot and cold, and he can feel himself getting clammy. He tries to focus his attention on his phone, dialing the number into it. 

“Tommy, you’re bleeding,” she cries. 

“I’m fi-…fine,” he stammers, slumping back against the floor. “We’re fine.” 

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” 

“5943 Ventura Boulevard,” he rattles off. “This is off-duty Rescue 1701 out of Harbor Station, I need to be transferred to Maddie Buckley.” 

“Just a moment sir.” The line clicks off for all of ten seconds, and then clicks back on. 

“9-1-1, this is Maddie Buckley speaking,” her voice comes back. There’s just the slightest hitch of anxiety in her voice, like she knows being routed to personally isn’t normal. 

“Maddie,” he rasps, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, trying to get the tears out of them. 

“Tommy,” she replies, her voice suddenly flooded with panic. “What’s going on? Is Evan- a-are you- is Howie-…” 

“They’re fine,” he chokes out. “B-but, I need RA and police. S-Stabbing at the café.” 

His head drops back against the floor, and he can feel his vision getting fuzzy. He looks over at Natalie. She looks even more panicked than she did before. His gaze drifts down to where his other hand is. Blood is completely coated over his fingers. 

“N-Nat, I need you to use your apron to apply pressure,” he rasps. 

“Stabbing?! Tommy where are you,” Maddie cries from the other end of the line. Tommy rattles the address off to her again. 

“D-dont send Evan,” he rasps at her. “God, he can’t find me. You hear me, Maddie? Don’t send him. Do not let him see me like this.” 

She hiccups a cry on the other end of the line, and there are hushed voices clearly trying to get her off the line, but she speaks clearly enough that Tommy hears when she growls ‘no’ back at whoever is trying to get her to hand the call off. 

“You know I love him, right,” he continues. Natalie presses her apron into his side then and he can’t help the cry that falls out of his mouth. “F-fuck. M-Maddie?” 

“I know,” she cries. “Stay with me, Tommy. Don’t hang up on me.” 

He nods letting his head rest back against the floor. 

“No, come on, Tommy,” Natalie cries, pressing harder into his wounds. “Come on. Stay awake.” 

“Trying,” he murmurs, looking around the floor. “I-I, I want to marry him, you know,” he tells Maddie. “He just walked into my life like- like he was always supposed to be here. And I thought I’d lost out on my chance by taking too long to figure my shit out. Fuck, Nat. Yeah, that’s good, keep pushing down.” 

“He talks about you being it for him all the time,” Maddie replies. He can tell she’s crying. “Keeps telling me that he thinks you’ll be a great dad.” 

Tommy lets out a small laugh and then groans at the wave of pain that shoots across his abdomen and stomach. 

“I wasn’t sure, before him,” he replies, letting his eyes slip shut. The phone starts to sag in his hand, but the cry of Natalie’s voice and sudden, sharp pressure on his side has his eyes shooting open again. “Fuck, okay. Okay.” He swallows hard, taking a breath. “B-but if anyone could convince me that we could do it together, it’s him.” 

Maddie hiccups another sob. “I’ve watched him lose one relationship after another, think what he’s holding onto is the right one while knowing it isn’t. But I never said anything because I was just his sister, you know? And I know you said he walked into your life, but you spun into his with a literal hurricane and I’ve never seen him… I don’t even know, Tommy. This settled? Happy? Secure?” 

“H-he deserves it,” Tommy rasps, his head lolling back and eyes getting heavier. 

“Damn it, Tommy, come on,” Natalie cries. “Stay awake, please.” 

“s’getting harder,” Tommy slurs. “Maddie, I love him. So much more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. Want him more, dream about him more, choose him more. My life begins and ends at Evan Buckley.” The tears swimming in his eyes finally slip down the side of his face, his vision tight now, and extremely hazy. 

“Tommy, stay with me,” Maddie cries. Her voice seems farther away now. “The ambulance is so close. Please?” 

“Tell him I love him more than anything else,” he replies, coughing out another groan. “That I choose him. Every day, all the time. I pick him.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes too heavy to open back up. “I love you, Evan.” 

[cookiecrumbconundrum]

i think my co-star wants my ass to do something

[viktorpartner]

if i had a nickel for every time Viktor died i would have 2 nickels... WHICH IS WAY MORE THAN I'D LIKE PLEASE STOP KILLING HIM

[lazylittledragon]

can't believe we're all adults being forced into the club penguin level of censorship in 2024

[morganbritton132]

My sister and I have the same birthday and it’s cool because people will be like, “Oh, are you twins?” And I get to say, “No! I ruined a five year old’s birthday.”

[uncanny-tranny]

I think so many people are so deeply alienated from themselves that they have no clue how to exercise their free will and autonomy. For some, this alienation runs so deep that they are afraid of their own autonomy and humanity. It is completely understandable why one would have those feelings, but it can be worrisome.

I want to help others who feel this way, so here are small things I have done to exercise my free will:

Add "guilty pleasure" songs to playlists and actually listen to them (I have a ton of late 1990s-early 2000s music I listen to now proudly that I never listened to in the past out of shame)

Getting the décor item, bath set, bed spread, ect. in the patterns you like, even if it's "childish" (I got a dinosaur-themed wastebasket from the kids' décor section and I adore it)

Taking a new route to get to a place you go to often

Eat dessert first

Celebrate well, and often

Collect things that are "odd" or don't seem like an "acceptable" thing to collect (somebody on my "for you" page collects dandelion crayola crayons and it was so cool!!!!!!)

Incorporate one new piece in an outfit you wear frequently (e.g., a new chain, a necklace, ribbons, bracelets, ect.). Challenge yourself to add onto the outfits if you feel up for it.

Sing along to songs without worrying that you sound "good" or your intonation is completely accurate

Read a book from a genre you weren't allowed to read as a kid (comics, thrillers, mysteries, anything!)

Walk without having a specific destination or goal

Pick up a new craft without expecting yourself to master it or to ever be "good" enough. Get your hands messy.

I don't want to shame anybody for not feeling as though they have free will or that they are exempt from exercising it. However, I wanted to give ideas so that you might read this list and find your own ways to express your intrinsic autonomy and will. You deserve to be a person, to feel alive, not just living. That is what our lives are for.

[just-a-joey]

I saw Shandzii make a Shadow Milk Cookie/Sebastian hybrid and I am so sorry I had to draw it.

(Original art by Shandzii under this text)