#get a grip this is tumblr dot com

[whatsyaname]

Hi.

I can't reveal who i am but i used to be a ex moot of tee (@/saetoru) and i don’t care if this seems cowardly to make a page just to call her out. after seeing lots of people share their experiences with tee i’d like to also add and show some of the stuff she’s done to remind people she’s not as angelic as she makes herself out to be.

me and tee weren’t close as she was with her little clique (they know who they are) and other people but the main reason we aren’t moots anymore is because i broke the mutual. after seeing a callout post about her way back in oct. 2023 with other people’s stories in the thread of reblogs / link (i’m sure you guys saw)

i simply didn’t wanna be associated with someone like that. i was just confused why tee was acting like it wasn’t her fault. she said she doesn’t have to provide proof because she doesn’t owe anyone anything when that doesn’t make sense. because if you’re gonna accuse someone, always provide proof otherwise it’s safe to assume you’re lying.

this was Tee’s response back in october to her being called out by one of her old moots also, she deleted this a few days before she returned to make it seem like nothing happened but oh it did. i’m putting this here for people to see again (if you already haven’t) because just look at this.

this is what a narcissistic manipulator sounds like!

the biggest thing that made me scratch my head was for her to immediately bring up past drama to redirect the situation and make herself seem like the good person, and address the other party as a “white girl who blackfishes,” and she tried taking the attention off her to bring up palestine.

are you serious? if she so called “blackfished” why were you supporting/defending her in the first place? shouldn’t you be in the wrong too? the party she was talking about didn’t even blackfish, from what i can recall it was a simple tan so again, this was Tee reaching and blowing things way out of proportion.

she keeps mentioning some random bnha blog but never gives the @ so she’s probably lying. how are you gonna accuse someone of plagiarism then your only evidence is “oh me and my moots saw the whole thing, so you know i’m not lying.” girl bffr. and for her to even say something as childish and stupid as “she’s stolen ppl’s skin tones and she’s stolen their ideas. not much to left to take besides your identity at that!”

you and i both read that right? this is a supposed 20+ year old, saying something as kiddish as that. she even exposed the persons @ in the tags and why did she do that? so she can make her thousands of followers / anons spam their inbox with threats, derogatory names, and literally anything else. and she has the nerve to say she’s not enabling that kind of behavior with her audience. she’s abusing her following and it’s showing.

and for her to sit there and say it’s not her fault for being in her own space and name dropping people without actually name dropping them is just absurd. subposting is the lowest of the low. If you’re gonna talk shit at least put the url while you’re at it. people can tell who you’re talking about even if you’re being discrete.

She has a private blog called @/clorindes where she uses it to "vent" and bash writers and laugh it off with her moots and even followers.

i know of this particular blog because like many others, if you followed tee that blog (her private) would appear in ‘blogs like…’ or ‘recommended to follow.’ after tee got called out, she privated it but it’s still up.

(i recommend blocking that blog) because i’m sure she’ll activate it again once things settle. i hope that’s not the case because how many drama, discourse posts, call outs does it take for her to fully leave this platform? this is chronically online mentality at its finest.

it’s been an ongoing rumor that tee has this tumblr 'burn book' to blacklist writers on this platform and it’s proven to be true. some of tees even own mutuals are in there, and its just embarrassing. you have to constantly remind yourself this is a 20+ y/o person acting like this, out of all platforms, tumblr…

i remember a while back tee drove off a few blogs just for having the same theme concepts as her. (is that even a thing?) like tee used to have instagram themes i think, yet when she found other blogs having the same, she’d send her thousands of anons to harass that person, and be so butthurt over a theme.

not gonna lie, her themes are generically basic and doesn’t even look like it takes much effort. so what is there to copy. i’m not saying copying themes are good and okay, but she takes things too far. i can see if it’s writing, but a theme or a layout? i just find it so mind boggling people stick by her side and support her still.

from her old blog she’d always say sneaky comments like these and laugh it up with her mutuals in the comments. it’s really…something, because why do you care what those writers do? she reeks of jealousy and envy, literally look at her tone.

“we all know yall just want the notes and numbers.” um, yeah? everyone wants recognition on their work, it feels good to know your works being appreciated. and her jab at shading writers who write half paragraphs was so unnecessary. because again, why do you care? how are those writers hyping each other up seen as ‘shady’ or ‘fishy’ behavior? just say you’re jealous and go.

she acts like she doesn’t do the exact same thing with her cult of friends on tumblr, spamming the tags with wtv.

miss tee, flat out you’re a nobody.

you have no right to judge how someone write. who cares if you have 30k+ followers on this old ass site. congrats ….i guess? in the real world, you’re just a miserable person who likes torturing people online.

she has this thing of coming after upcoming big blogs, if i’m not mistaken, the most recent one was a known jjk writer, kazu _____ another was a popular multi account munson____, and there were multiple others i’m sure. her following count boosts her ego a lot, that i can see. and she thinks it’s okay to say whatever and not get held accountable. well now she is.

notice how she came back to tumblr after a two month hiatus, turned anons on then back off. and shes been inactive for a few days. she’s running away from the drama because she knows exactly it’s no one’s fault but hers.

if you look through the long thread i linked earlier, actually read through the reblogs. if multiple various ppl are coming out to share their experiences (with receipts) chances are you should be able to tell who’s lying! she needs to be stopped and ran off the app, not those blogs who didn’t do anything. tee’s been involved with drama for a long time like i said before, way back in her tokyo rev/hq era in her @/hanmas era. so about three to four years ago.

it’s been said tee and her mutuals send anons to harass other writers and i wouldn’t be surprised if that’s true.

again, it’s a shame you have to remind yourself this is a grown woman in her twenties acting like this on tumblr. it’s sickening and she needs to grow up, and get the hell off this platform before she drives anyone else off.

thats all! thank you for reading

[paponela]

i have not spoken to my ex girlfriend since we broke up over a year ago but today i had to make small talk with her and i felt so many insane things that i have no option but to sneak them in a piece of fiction just to hear someone say wow that's fucked up!! to which i'll answer yeah!! and never speak of it again

[mainfaggot]

i need to get an actual grip i need to stop acting like my life is a tragedy like YOURE FINE YOURE FINE YOURE FIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE

[widevibratobitch]

.

[bloomberrypint]

I am entering my "whatever you call this look of angus" is hot era

[whifferdills]

seeing trans people they/them a trans woman in a context where it is very obvious she's a she/her......the call is coming from inside the house

[yakamozarda]

Saw a callout post so fucking stupid i am feeling my soul leaving my body

[wishing-on-a-staranise]

Kiss it away, honey.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea. (get in your daily clicks, read about it, donate if you can.)

summary: you have a perfect and loving boyfriend, and everything should be great but something is just not right.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: use of y/n, no pronouns used (gn!reader), use of pet names (honey, etc), codependency, dark themes, a new flavor of jealousy, horror (spookies and scawies), gore, murder

a/n: yall remember when i was yapping about clones and all that? yeah. I went a lil feral while writing this lmao✌️🤪

another banger by @procrastinationprincesses and I on tumblr dot com. Thank her for listening to me babble on and just helping me sift through the different routes this could go and also being what is basically my proofreader

i might write a part two of this. do not ask me when.

masterlist

You haven’t changed out of your work clothes yet, staring at the phone on the wall. 

It was silent now but it had rung, blaring, louder than you'd ever heard it before. Five times it had rung.

5 calls– 5 missed calls. Unknown number. No voicemail.

You hadn't picked up. You had just stared, you weren’t sure why– the ringing scared you. you weren't sure why but every fiber in your being had coloured you stuck– immovable even if you wanted to do otherwise.

Now it had stopped, empty as vacuum, dead quiet left in the wake of those shrill rings.

And just when you were about to let out a sigh of relief, just when you thought you could finally get to changing out of your work clothes, it started ringing again, your temples hurt from its shrill notes. 

Your nostrils flared, you will not cower, no, you huff of frustration before stomping towards the phone. Its red plastic is just as bright as it had been when you had first gotten it with Steve.

It's probably just a prank call. It's a prank call. A stupid kid doing a stupid prank call. Why the hell is your heartbeat so loud? 

You pick up the receiver, gripping it tight, ready to give the prank caller a piece of your mind.

Hello? Hey you stupid shithole, find something better to do with your stupid, pathetic life, why dont ya’? Good fucking night.

“He– hello?”, your voice comes out nowhere near as fierce as you had wanted it to be.

The line is silent for a second or two. But then you hear a gasp and then some rustling, crackle. You strain your ears, the sounds seemingly impossible to decipher, “hello, who– who is this?”

You think you hear muffled crying, after a few seconds they finally speak up, “y/n”, their voice is of a woman's. “y/n–” is all they choke out before breaking out into a sob. She says your name as if she hasn't said it in a long while, as if she can't believe she’s saying it. And you don’t know why but you feel your eyes sting. You press the receiver closer to your ears, the plastic creaks under your grip. you think you recognise her. The realisation hits you that you do. She sounds familiar.

“y/n, my baby where–” you hear a click, followed by beep beep beep beep, indicating that the call has been disconnected. This time you blink, a tear finally trickles down your cheek. You stare at the receiver, the beeping barely audible. You take in a deep breath, and dial the number again, waiting for the ring or the woman’s voice.

The ring never comes, her voice never comes. Invalid number.

You stare at it. If you were to look any harder, you think the plastic would melt. Too many thoughts were running through your head. And why the hell are you crying?

You hear the jingle of keys followed by the sound of the door opening. You tear your burning gaze away from the phone to the clock. 7:08 p.m. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah!” he answers back immediately, you hear the door shut, the keys in his hand jingle again followed by the clink of them landing in the ceramic ashtray-turned-bowl next to the door where you keep your keys. 

Any other day you would have walked to him, and even if he’d be in the middle of taking his shoes off he’d stop, give you a loving smile, hold his arms up, ready to engulf you into a hug. Any other day, you would have wrapped your arms around his torso, kissed his shoulder before burying your nose into his neck. 

He is the only one who could ever fix you, everyday you come from work, bags under your eyes, tired to your bones and everyday he comes and puts you all back together as if it was the easiest thing to do, as if he was made for it. And you want to go to him so bad. Any other day, you would have. But today doesn't seem like any other day. 

“Hey honey”, he finally comes around the corner and he gives you that smile you love being on the receiving end of, all lazy and adorning, “haven't changed out yet?” 

You look back down at yourself, and you see that you had still been stuck, body still facing the wall where the phone hung. you indeed haven't changed out yet. You barely shake your head before his brows scrunch up, “You okay? Your eyes look all red”

You blink before shaking your head, “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’ll go ch–”

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

What you were saying is left abandoned, your head snaps towards where the phone is. 

“I’ll get it. You go change,” Steve tells you, not noticing your immediate panic. As he ambles to the phone, you slowly shuffle away– moving towards the bathroom, making sure to listen in on the conversation. “Hello?” you hear him speak into the receiver, he pauses for a second and so do you in your tracks, “..oh hey, Henderson'', you breathe out in relief at hearing the familiar name, “Yeah, yep, doing good. How’s the new place treatin’ ya?”

The audibility of his words lessens as you continue on your way to the bathroom. In the small, tiled room, your own breathing echoes, it engulfs you. you immediately regret not just changing in your room because you can't hear Steve’s voice anymore. But you have already locked the door. You weren’t sure why you did– maybe it was your uneasiness and apprehension but normally you never lock the door because your ever clingy Steve loves joining you in, majority of the time there is nothing sexual about it. Most of the time he just stands there by the door, that same adorning smile on his lips.

When you step out of your jeans, it rings in your brain, again and again. The piercing ringing of the phone, the woman’s voice. You know that voice. You know that voice. You know that woman, you are certain. It is like its on the tip of your tongue, like it is obscured behind a frosted glass, like an itch you can’t scratch. 

A knock on the bathroom door breaks you out of your thoughts, “uh honey?” the voice comes muffled through the wood, “Are you done? Need to take a piss.”

“Yeah, just–” you quickly hop into your shorts, balling up your dirty clothes and tossy them into the laundry basket before unlocking the door. 

And he is there, that smile blooms across his face, “there you are”, and then his lips are on yours, his wide palm comes to hold your face, thumb rubbing softly at your cheeks— he’s a tactile being, your boyfriend, loves holding your face, loves holding you, touching you anywhere. 

When his fingers burrow into your hair behind your ear, you somehow manage to breathe out between the deepening kisses, “Thought you had to take a piss”

“Don't bring up pissing when I’m kissing you”

“Oh, but its okay when you wanna hold my hand while pooping?” He once told you he’d hold your hand while pooping if you’d let him– he had been absolutely drunk, maybe high off weed– inebriated, really and didn't remember saying it the next day. you love to tease him about it. he groans at the mention.

“I was high”, he whines, embarrassed,  “I told you I didn't mean it.”

“Drunk words… sober thoughts, honey.”

“You said it was endearing”

“It is endearing but still a weird thing to say”, you laugh all toothy and cute.

“Whatever, I gotta piss”, he mumbles trying his best to hide his smile before moving you by your shoulders to swap places with you so it’s him who is in the bathroom. He shuts the door, the sound of the lock clicking never reaches your ears.

You’re left alone with your thoughts again, and your smile fades away– you’re anxious, you know that much. You’re not so sure of what exactly. You plop down on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing restlessly, finger tracing over the pattern of the sheets. The pillows and comforter are set up perfectly for the night– every morning Steve sets the bed while you shower knowing you always get frustrated with the task. 

Your back sinks into the mattress, you breathe out, deep and slow, eyes closing on their own accord. You almost fall asleep for a second, but the bathroom door clicks open. A few seconds later, the bed dips beside you, the fabric rustles, “tired?” the question is followed by a groan. When you peak a look, you find him stretching out his arms beside you.

“Absolutely”, you answer.

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs out.

“We still have to make food.”

He lets a frustrated groan tumble from his lips, “can't we just have mac and cheese today?”

…

The night goes by in a breeze, not a lot of talking. 

The love is still there though, in the way that Steve holds the corner of the open cabinet door to make sure your head doesn't hit it, in the way he lets you sit on the countertop while waiting for the water to boil over, in the way you stare at him when you think he isn't looking, in the way you pull his hand over your lap and massage the tight muscles of his palm while he stirs the pot with his other hand. 

You put on his favourite show when he plates the food, he makes sure to put some chives on your plate to make it look a little more pretty for you. You watch the show in silence, eating under the flickering light of the tv. You let it play in the background while you wash the dishes, it is Steve who watches you this time, his head resting against the cabinets behind him. and he thinks he could watch you all day. Something about doing the most mundane things with you makes him feel all warm and lovely. He is sure that past anything grand and dramatic, its the everyday things that show love. He hopes in every world, he gets to hold you and love you. He thinks he'll give it all up just to be with you, just to watch you wash dishes, just to have you sit beside him while he cooks.

When the dishes are done, he makes sure the doors are locked, you turn off the lights and the TV. Before you know it you’re in bed, and before you know it, you’re already falling asleep. 

…

At first you weren’t sure why you were awake. Then you hear shuffling behind you, and you barely even roll over when there is a warm hand on your hip, “honey,” he whispers– voice all scratchy and low that makes you melt, you hum for a response, “I’m sorry honey, wake up please”, his tone is slightly rushed, you’re a bit more awake at that. 

Barely did you sit up when he engulfs you in a tight hug. You hold him back without a thought or hesitation. Your hand rubs his back, his arms tighten around you, nose nudging into your neck, his skin warm. your fingers find their place in his messy head of hair like they always do, you card through the strands. He pulls you closer, and then you're in his lap. He holds you like a boy holds his favourite toy– like he doesn't plan on letting go.

“Want some water?” After some time you ask softly. You feel him nod into the junction of your neck.

He loosens his hold on you enough for you to climb out of his lap. Not saying a word, he follows you to the kitchen, and he stays close when you pour him a glass. He is mid-gulp when you ask, “nightmare?”

He nods once, the rogue strands on his forehead bouncing with the movement, and downs the water before saying a soft ‘yeah’.You take the glass from his hands and place it in the sink, and lead him back to bed. 

You brush aside his disheveled hair. You tuck yourself into his side, an arm around him, “wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, fringernails scratching his faint stubble.

In the dim of the room, you see his adam's apple bob. Apparently, he does want to talk about it, because he nods– the movement barely noticeable but there. You put your head back on his chest and you wait patiently, trying your best not to fall back to slumber.

It takes him a while before he starts, “You were…”  his hand moves to hold yours, “you were sick–in the hospital, these wires and tubes attached to you. Y-You had been there for months. You were sick and you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me. And– and…. Then the– the damn heart monitor–”

“Honey–” 

His words are frantic and uneven, “I didnt– I didnt know what to do after. I didn’t–”

“Steve—” you hold his face to make him look at you, “I'm here.”

He licks his lips, then swallows, nodding. he pushes his face forward so your foreheads are touching. “I know", his nose is hot against yours, "it was still awful.”

You both lay that way for a while. Your thumb brushing against his red cheek, he sniffles a couple times. you hate seeing him this way, with his lashes clumped together, his beautiful eyes all red. The moisture glistening under his eyes doesn't let you fawn over his freckles like you'd normally wish to.

When his skin is a little less warm, and his heartbeat calmer beneath your fingertips, you kiss him. Your hand snakes up to hold his face. Fingers, softly rubbing over the spot behind his ear that makes him melt. You kiss him all slow and purposefully, so he knows that he has all the time in the world.

When you pull away, he murmurs, “Can we go back to sleep?” he pulls you closer, face burying into your neck, warm puffs of breath against your collarbones.

You land a quick kiss on his eyebrow before resting your chin above his head, “‘course”

...

You wake up to the alarm clock on Steve’s side of the bed. He turns off the thing before rolling around in your arms onto his back and then turning his head to face you. “Hi”, he smiles that way again and you do the same, sleepy as ever.

“Hi”, you say still half asleep– you ended up not getting a lot of sleep last night. Thankfully you had the day off today, so you plan on being unproductive and sleeping it away.

He stretches, a yawn escaping him, “Jesus, I so don't wanna go to work today”, your boyfriend laments.

You hum, “then don't go” you propose, eyes still closed, “We can both have a day off”

He turns his body so it faces you, leaning on his elbow. His hand moves to your waist before massaging the love handle there “hmm, tempting. I can't though”

“No fun”, you mumble groggily.

“Hey, don't fall asleep on me”, he brushes the hair that falls on your face with the back of his hand.

"But ‘m sleepy", you mumble into the pillow.

"Aw, don't worry, I will kiss it away, honey." He leans down, a smirk painted across his features. His soft lips land on your cheeks first, then one on your nose, they follow a trail that leads to your lips.

You hide your face in the pillow before your lips could meet though, “No, No kissing!” you giggle, holding up your palm to his face, effectively blocking his attacks, “no kissing before brushing your teeth!"

“You're no fun”, he rolls out of the twist of sheets. He stretches his arms, the muscles rippling beneath the skin– he's trying to entice you, seduce you. and if you weren't so damn sleepy, you would have climbed him up like a koala. He gets up to go to the bathroom. When he notices that you haven't moved, he pulls you by your ankle. You let out a surprised shriek that transforms into giggles when you feel his fingers creeping up your torso– tickling you. ”Here comes the tickle monster!” 

A fit of giggles erupts from your throat, "What are you–", your question gets interrupted by your own laughs.

"The tickle monster will not relent unless you wake up!"

“No! Okay, okay, I'm awake! Steve! I am awake!”

The two of you share the cramped space of the bathroom. It is small, but its the best you could afford. So when you brush your teeth together, you try to relish it when your elbows bump. And when you're done, he kisses you as if he waited ages. 

By now, you're a bit more awake so you decide to get his breakfast ready while he takes a shower. It's simple enough, waffles with banana and some coffee. When he comes back out, he kisses you again when he sees you at the stove, this time on the crown of your head.

When he is getting his keys to leave, he gives you another peck, “drive safe", you murmur against his lips..

“I will. You get some sleep, yeah?” you hum and nod in response. You both bid your goodbyes before he turns to leave.

You decide to eat the leftover waffles and clean up a little before returning to your bed. You make yourself a plate with the bananas neatly cut and placed beside the waffles. You drizzle maple syrup, and then start eating the sickly sweet breakfast, skipping the coffee. While you're pouring yourself a second helping of the maple syrup, the expiration date on the bottle catches your eye. expired more than a year ago. ew. 

Your face scrunches in disgust before immediately throwing it in the trash. And you wonder how the hell either of you hadn't gotten food poisoning yet. then it hits you, from what you remember you bought that bottle only a couple months ago. Did you buy an already expired one?

You open the fridge, the condiments and bottles staring at you. One by one, you check each and every one; ketchup, expired. Hot sauce, expired. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, milk– expired, expired, expired. 

What the fuck?

You throw it all out and make a point to call Steve later to buy everything as he often calls to ask if you had to get something from the store. And that makes you wonder, when was the last time you actually told him he needed to get something?

You try not to think too much about it. Honestly, you don't know what to make of it, so you decide to go back to sleep.

…

You hear your name. Its faint. It echoes. Like a whisper in a church.

“y/n”, you know that voice. “I– I know you’re there, y/n”, the woman says, all shaky but sure. “y/n”, she repeats. Its that voice… again. 

Who are you?

“Its me, y/n! Its me!” she exclaims as if that would make you remember.

I don't ... understand.

“Baby, just tell me where you are– I'll find you.”

I’m home.

“Home? No– no baby, you’re not. You haven't been home—” her voice gets cut off. It becomes too loud. You feel as if the veins in your temple are going to explode. Its too loud to even tell what it is you’re hearing. Its a static like a radio or a TV, or maybe its wind, maybe its cars, maybe its screams. You think you hear sirens– you wonder if they’re the police or an ambulance. You hear your own breathing, your own heartbeat. Its deafening. And beneath it all, you hear….. Ringing.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring. 

Your eyes fling open and you see your ceiling, you smell the faded mixture of your perfume and Steve's cologne. You’re in your bed. You still hear the ringing. The phone.

You are up in a second. Rushing towards the origin of the sound. When you’re there, you dont wait a second, the plastic is already to your ear.

“Hell– hello?” it comes out all out of breath and broken.

“Honey, you’re– you okay?” its not the voice of that woman.

“...Steve?”

“Who else?”, he chuckles, “you okay?”

“Uh– yeah,”you clear your throat, “I was um– sleeping. I think I just had a dream..” your hand creeps up to the back of your neck, scratching there to try to alleviate a little bit of the ache.

“Oh, well okay sleepy. I just wanted to check if you need me to buy anything? Like, groceries or whatever on my way back.” you give him the entire list of everything you wanted him to get. You would've talked more if Steve hadn't been interrupted by a customer. Nevertheless, you said your 'I love you's and the call ended.

Your heart is still loud in your ears but the ache has dulled down for the most part.

that voice. that woman. 

Its me. 

I’ll find you. 

You haven't been home.

"Home..", you say out loud to yourself. Home.

...

Hours have passed. you think you’re losing your mind because you have turned the apartment upside down. you're surrounded by boxes, most of them filled with normal things, your tattered rollerskates, shoes, old clothes. Most of it was normal, except one.

One unlabeled box you found in the corner of your closet. You haven't touched that box in ages, not since your fallout with your family, lying out of sight and out of mind. It didn't have a lot, all packed in a hurry. things you'd had in your room. picture frames, some books, clothes, papers.

You pick up a frame. The picture was from when you were a twelve-year-old. Wearing what were your favourite clothes back then, your hair in a manner that made you feel a little sorry. You're so different now, yet somehow its still you. There's your older sister, her braces glimmering under the flash of the old camera– her smile wide. Your dad, who doesn't ever know how to pose in pictures. Your mom, she holds you and your sister by your shoulders, a soft smile on her lips, her makeup done perfectly. Another picture from your high school. Another of you with your sister and cousins. 

You pull out the books, the pages are slightly yellowed and they have an earthy smell to them that you love. Pages you don't remember reading, dog-eared and written in.

Then there's the papers– some doodles, some notes, a few maps, some scraps and then.... a file. the file that has your name written on it. And when you open it; medical papers. medical bills. They are a little more than a year old. This wasn't a small stay apparently. From what you can tell from the dates on the bills, it lasted months. You don't remember going to the hospital.

Okay, what the actual fuck?

You find yourself reading through all the details of the paper on the floor of your closet.

months. you had been there for months. Steve's dream.

The entire time, you read and re-read the papers. Why don't you remember any of this? Why does Steve not remember any of this? Maybe he does, he had that dream after all, right? Why are there no discharge papers?

Hours pass. It's maddening, how slow the time passes. Its absolutely maddening. What the fuck does it mean that you haven't been home? You are home. and who the fuck was that woman?

You look through the box again, its contents scattered around you by now. The photos. Your family. Your parents. You miss them. You haven't seen them in so long...

Some broken memories have come to you. You had left– run away. You don't remember why. Then you met Steve when you were stopping by in Hawkins for a few months. You fell in love so quickly. Then one day, you asked if he wanted to run away with you. He said yes and you both left Hawkins and came here.

You don't remember much after that.

Wait, where is hawkins? and why did you go there?

...

It is 7 p.m. and you are pretty sure you have lost your mind. Why isn't Steve home yet? You need Steve. He's the only one who could ever fix you. And now, you need him to fix you again. You need him to fix this, to make some sense of this.

You are sitting by the door, eyes fixated on the hands of the clock.

7:01, nothing. Your arms fidget.

7:02, nothing. Your leg bounces.

7:03, 7:04, 7:05, 7:06, 7:07; nothing, nothing, nothing.

Then, 7:08 p.m., rattle of keys and the sound of the door being closed. Steve. Steve is home. Steve.

You're up on your feet instantly, Steve comes in holding a bag of groceries in one hand and his keys in the other, “I was so worried about you!” you say all hysterical.

“Worried, why?" he says, almost chuckling, but his brows furrow before he looks down at his wristwatch, shaking his head,"I don't think I’m late.” He leans in to land a kiss on your lips, but before he could do so, you turn your head away, “whats– whats wrong?”

“Can I ask you something?” you wrap your arms around your torso to somehow collect your thoughts a little better. 

"Sure", he assures before moving to put the grocery bag on the beige kitchen counter. 

You follow behind him with hurried steps, "When did we buy groceries before this?"

He starts taking out the groceries, "um.. I don't–” he pauses, looking up as if trying to remember himself, “last month probably?" Confusion paints his face, "why?"

"All the stuff in our fridge had gone bad ages ago."

"What?"

“Have you talked to your friends recently? Where are they?” All your attempts to collect your thoughts are all for nought as questions come tumbling out of your lips and you don't even wait for Steve to give a response.

“Honey, why are you–”

“Okay, okay– what about that nightmare you had?”

“Nightmare?” he echoes, brows scrunching together as if he had no idea what you were talking about, “what nightmare?” he asks like he hadn't cried in your arms the previous night.

“Last night! You had a nightmare that I was in a hospital and– and then I was looking through our closet and I find these medical bills–

“Woah, honey. I didn’t have a nightmare. I think I'd remember something like that.. And– what bills?”

Your feet are moving before he even finishes his sentence, you grab the bundle of papers, you show him everything. And he just... stares at them. After some time, all that comes out of his mouth is a “what the fuck...” under his breath.

“I don't understand Steve, I don't remember, you don't remember. And there was this call yesterday–”

“Call? what– from who?”

“From– “ you pause, trying to remember, “ I– I dont…” from who? And then you feel everything you had recalled leaving you. Who called you? What was Steve's nightmare? 

“I don't remember!" you exclaim, frustrated, "why do– I'm so– I'm scared Steve. I’m–”

“Hey, it's okay. you have me honey, you have me”, he holds you by your shoulders, to provide you some semblance of comfort, "we'll figure something out.”

“Steve….”, you mumble, tears starting to collect on your lash line, “something's not right Steve…”

“Its okay..”

“No, no– I dont– I keep forgetting stuff. Why don't I remember anything?”

“Hey, honey—”

“And whatever I do remember; none of it makes sense– nothing makes sense!"

“Its okay–”

“Do not tell me to breathe–”, “breathe for me–” you warn him the exact same time he says it.

You have lost it. You have lost your mind. Eyes wide, you ask, “Why do I already know what you’re going to say? How is that– “

“Hey, hey look at me”, he holds your face in his warm palms, “Breathe for me”, he instructs, “please honey.”

“Steve”, you pull his hands away from your face not because you don't want him to hold you. You do, you want him to hold you forever, but dammit, you feel like you’re going crazy, “where did we meet?”

“Honey–”

“Where did we meet?”

“Family video! We met in Family Video! You just came in one day and asked if I could help you pick out a movie to lift your mood up”

“Where is family video? Like, what town? Wh– what state?”

“..Hawkins, Indiana”

“Steve.. There's no town named Hawkins in Indiana”

“Of course ther–”

“No– no. You can look in a map steve. There was a map in one of those boxes. No town named Hawkins. And then– those papers...” you gesture towards the papers in his hand. You stand there, impatiently so, as he scans over the papers once again. For a split second, you think you see a tinge of recognition in his eyes.

“What does it mean, Steve? Then your dream last night–”, he hands you the papers before turning towards the door.

“Steve, hey, steve!” He heads towards the apartment door. “Steve, come back here!” he doesn't stop, doesn't even spare a glance, his movement robotic. Your voice gets louder, more authoritative, angry “Steve! Come back here right the hell now.”

He doesn't stop, not for his keys, not to tie his shoes. Not for you. Tears cloud your vision and your words come out all desperate and weak, “Steve please! Please don't leave me..”

The door slams shut. Its loud, the silence after it. 

“No..” you whimper to yourself. Tears, finally streaming down your face.

He'll come back, you know he'll come back, sooner or later. He’ll come back to you. Steve wouldn't leave you. He couldn't.

You wait by the door. hours pass. You fall asleep waiting for him.

…

You wake up to the smell of something sweet in the air. When you open your eyes, you’re on the couch. But you don't have time to think about whether your neck will hurt for the rest of the day because Steve is there, standing over the stove– his back facing you. 

“Steve?” your voice comes out croaky.

“Y’wake baby?” he turns to take a glance at you. The furrow between his brows you saw the previous night gone. He smiles softly when you nod dumbly at the rhetorical question, “Well brush your teeth I’m making pancakes”

“Steve..” 

He notices that you don’t move, your gaze fixed on him. “Hey, what's wrong?” he leaves the batter he was working on on the counter before walking towards you, “You okay?”

“I’m sorry”

He kneels down infront of you, holding your hands in his– he smells like vanilla from up this close, “Sorry, for what?”

“Yesterday… I didn't mean to upset you. I just– I was–”

“What would I be upset for?”

“Last night.. I–”

“baby, I’m not upset”

“But you just left and..” you sniffle, “when did you come back?”

“I didn't leave. I was here the entire time”, he shook his head, confused.

“But– I… “

“I think you had a dream honey. Freshen up, kay? I’ll bring breakfast. I think we should rot in bed the entire day today. Get some sleep. How’s that sound, honey?”

You nod, he smiles as he pulls you in for a quick kiss, “Good thing we both have the day off– thank jesus for sundays”

…

7:08 p.m. that is what Steve's wristwatch reads and he is standing at your apartment door. Steve isn't sure why he is back. He isn't sure why he left. Maybe he needed some time. And spending nearly an entire day alone... he remembers things. things he wishes he could forget again.

Although Steve is unsure about a lot of things. one thing is for certain. He loves you. He loves you like he was made for it... and he was.

He was made for loving you and not loving you is not living. He's been there before, not having you to love, he remembers the torture of it. You still don't recall it yet and he doesn't want you to, but he does. He remembers it all. All the hurt, the loneliness, the grief, the silence.

The grief that was too much to bear. Silence was unbearable when it wasn't mixed with your heartbeat.

When he turns the door handle– the door isn't locked. He steps in slowly.

He can hear the TV playing, you're on the couch. there's someone else with you. Its him.

Steve watches as he sits between your thighs on the couch– his place, your fingers playing with his hair. He readjusts his head as if can’t quite find a comfortable spot, “You okay?” you ask as gently as you always do.

“Uh, yeah its just–” he sounds just like him, “I just have this nick in my neck”, he says rubbing the back of his neck.

“Here, let me…” you mumble sweetly as your expert fingers move to where he said it ached.

He sees you dig that spot a little with your thumb, “Ah, thanks honey” he almost melts, and it makes him groan the way that always drew a groan out of Steve.

Steve doesn't mind you made him, you probably didn't even know you did, you're powerful like that. But Steve feels something bubble inside him– maybe this is what jealousy feels like. Steve watches, watches as you touch him. He digs his nails into his palm, he feels the urge to touch where you are touching him. He wonders what he would feel when his thumb would run over that area.

His fingers rise on their own accord. Skin barely touching skin, almost hovering. And then he feels… a bump. He isn't sure how to describe it but he knows that that isn't supposed to be there. Not normally, anyway.

He watches as your expert fingers move up into his hair, he always loved when you did that to him. 

His own fingers move higher into his hair. He feels another– another protrusion, another bump.

Steve knows what those are, he knows not to press down on them. You have them too. You have them where he holds you when he kisses you. Its the reason you don't remember, its the reason he didn't remember. Just for a day, he didn't have you to hold him like the way you always do and now he remembers.

Steve watches as he leans down to kiss you. And all Steve sees is red. He doesn’t have control over him as he stomps over to where the two of you were. Your heads snap towards the sound. Confusion flashes through both your features.

“y/n”, Steve says. He watches as your eyes flick between himself and the other. Your eyes land on his. Of course you know he is the real Steve. You made him.

He holds a protective hand infront of you, “y/n”, he sounds like him, “y/n, get inside”, he nods towards your bedroom door. 

“Look, man I dont know who the fuck you are. But you need to leave”, Steve hates him, he sounds nothing like him. objectively that might not be true, but he isn't him.

“You don't know who I am? Fucking look at me"

“y/n get inside”, Steve doesn't like how he says your name, how he shouts it. It sounds nothing like him. 

Steve lets you go, he doesn’t want you to see this. 

You can't look away despite not being able to see much through the sliver of the slightly ajar bedroom door. It is only when he lands a punch on Steve, that you move away from the door– eyes closing on themselves.

You hear shouts. Then thuds, knuckles hitting jaws. Some more thuds and then a loud crack. Then nothing. Its becomes too quiet. 

You quietly step even further away from the door when you hear footsteps approaching, until you feel your back hit the wall. 

The hinges of the slightly ajar door creak. and he is there. Your Steve.

He has a split lip, bruises blooming on his cheekbones. Blood splattered on his jeans, on his hands, his arms. He lifts his arm to wipe his bleeding lip, more so smearing the blood in the process. Your eyes water, heartbeat too damn loud in your ears, eyes wide as a doe.

“It's Steve. your Steve”, he reassures you, holding your face by your chin. From up this close, the blood on him doesn't look quite like blood. Its too dark, too shiny, more viscous than it should be and it doesn't seem to clot. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But you already know that. dont you, honey?” Steve coos oh so gently as he thumbs over your cheeks to rid you of the tear stains. He feels sorry when the action instead makes the blood on his hands smear across your skin. He regrets it immediately, to have tainted you with it. He is sorry you have to see all this, to see him like this.

Steve knows he'll give it all up for you. If he ever had something to give, he would give it all up, just like you did.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

“It's for you, honey.”

He moves aside so you can go to the phone. It rings loud as it did earlier. You move past the kitchen, you don't see him– not entirely. He is on the floor, you see his hand around the corner of the kitchen counter, lifeless, a pool of that blood surrounding him. The corner of the kitchen counter drips with the liquid, forming a stark contrast against the light beige.

You move past the kitchen counter, eyes not daring to look at him or Steve, you don't turn around to see if Steve is there watching. You know he is.

You move to the bright red phone that is still ringing, blaring. You pick it and hold it up to your ear, “hello?”

“y– y/n? y/n its– it's me”, that woman says. And somehow, now, you know who she is. “it's me, do you–”

“Mom?” you say it before you even realise you did.

“Oh my goodness! Yes baby, it's– it's me!”

“I’m sorry mom, I had to.”

“y/n, what–”

“I have to go now.”

“y/n, no– no. Please don't hang up–” click.

“There you go honey", you feel Steve's warm hands on your shoulder, he rubs into the tense muscles there– surely staining your shirt with the liquid, "there you go."

You turn around and you see his eyes-- beautiful coffee coloured things, moles littered across his skin just the way you've memorized to heart. That smile, adorning and warm as ever. He holds you like he always does, thumb on your cheek, palm holding your face. 

He holds you like he was made for it. Your cheek fit perfectly in his palm as if you were made for him. You were made for each other.

You lean in closer and then your lips meet. It isn't hard and fast. Its slow and deep. Like you have all the time in the world, and you do.

When you pull apart and look at him, its just him. Your Steve.

You don't even remember what it was you had been worried about. All you see is Steve, all you feel is Steve. Your lover, your home, your family, your everything. It's all Steve.

You smile up at Steve and everything is right. The blood he had smeared on you was gone. The counter was clean. He was gone. Everything is right, once again.

"So", he starts, walking towards the stove, "what are we feelin' today? pancakes with blueberries, strawberries, or plain ol' choco-chip?"

"Is there an ‘all of the above’ option?"

"For you? always."

...

[areyoudreaminof]

I’m so over this trashy ass fandom.

Great and creative people are being chased out so you can have clout on tumblr dot com.

I know you little girls are still in high school or whatever, but grow up, touch grass, get a hobby, read another book. Death threats over pretend characters? Leave your fucking house, please.

Get a life, get a grip, and get over yourselves.

[eye-in-hand]

Alexander, 27 (18+), ✡ autistic bisexual trans man, married to my platonic companion and in love with a gorgeous man, thank fuck they get along lmfao ✡ Deep in the depths of Jewish conversion.

Feel free to message in English, Russian, Spanish or Italian!

Art blog: @sova-dozhd

Fandom blog: @flut-flut

Book blog: @look-books

Header Image: Fanny Baron Rouah (fannybaron1 on insta)

I do not have anons on, if I can show my face while talking about politics you can show yours. Stand behind what you say proudly or don't say it at all.

And I have a lot of political opinions, but since I post about these the most and it's gonna give me the most shit lmfao:

All indigenous peoples have a right to self determination in their indigenous lands. All of them.

On Israel and Palestine: Note: These are not up for "debate". I am not spending any more time arguing with fascist hamasniks on tumblr dot com.

I am not qualified to have an opinion on how to end the centuries old conflicts in the Middle East. I urge people to listen to those in the region who support Peace and coexistence, whatever that may end up looking like.

Jews are indigenous to the Levant. You can not settle or colonize your native land. Israel is a land back movement.

The far-right of Israel speaks for Jews about as much as Trump speaks for me as an American. Which is to say he fucking doesn't.

While the conflict centers around Jews and Arabs, there are other groups of people in Israel and Palestine that also deserve safety.

Hamas is using Palestinians as human shields. Hamas and Hezbollah are terrorist proxies of the Iranian regime, and Arab colonialism is just as awful as European colonialism and has resulted in numerous native cultures being erased.

To actually care about Palestinian lives you must condemn Hamas.

The UN and UNRWA are arms of Hamas and the Iranian regime, who are allies of Russia.

I will not engage with historical revisionism, propaganda, or Nazi rhetoric on any topic, but especially Israel/Palestine. I will not engage with terrorist sympathizers. And I will not engage with anyone who claims Israel is committing Genocide when that is not a proven fact and everything says the opposite of that (like the Palestinian population actually growing. Which you know, doesn't happen during a genocide.). I will not engage with anyone who refuses to accept that Jews are indigenous to the Levant, and Arabs are indigenous to Arabia. This does not mean I support killing Arabs in the Levant, as I believe anyone should have the right to live where they want. I just support Native rights to self determination in their indigenous lands, no matter how long they've been forced into exile. My position on Israel is not founded by Religion or the Torah, it's founded on archeological fact. If you ignore these facts, I am not engaging with you.

I will not engage with Kahanists either btw. Equating all Palestinians with Hamas is racist.

On Ukraine and Eastern Europe:

Слава Україні! Героям слава!

Westerners really need to get a grip on not supporting the USSR/Russia or Russian supremacy.

Communists are not the opposite of Nazis - the USSR did not fight the Nazis because they cared about human rights.

Here at home (the US):

Trump is a fascist.

You do not get to not exercise your right and responsibility to vote and then bitch and whine that you don't get what you want.

America has a real problem with the alt-right and the rad-left. The average person is incredibly radicalized.

Russia interfered with our election because Trump owes Putin's friends money (or government secrets, take your pick).

Misc:

I'm neither a capitalist nor a communist because we need an entire re-hauling of human society and the only way it'll ever get better is to demolish the economic system all together. However this is an idealized world view and not the reality we live in right now.

I support unions, a 4 day work week, paid maternity and paternity leave, and not having to work when you're sick!

Anyone or any movement that tries to get you to hate an entire group of people for traits they were born w is trying to sell you something.

Trans people exist, deal with it. Someone else's identity is none of your business.

Support victims regardless of gender

Whiteness is a western social construct but that doesn't mean it doesn't affect people in different ways. We need to be open to talking about race if we want to take a stand against racism.

To truly be anti-imperialism, we have to stand against it regardless who is doing it.

Pro choice. Abortion saves women's lives.

Sex positive. Sex work is real work.

Waiting for a revolution is not going to save you. The "revolution" is not going to save you. To protect each other we need to engage with positive social change!

Politics are not sports, you don't have to choose a "team"

Being safe from bigotry is not conditional. I don't care how much you disagree with someone. You can disagree/hate someone without being discriminatory.

I'm against censorship of any kind. Instead of hiding things we should teach people how to think about the media they consume.

Most Importantly:

Value human life. Value companionship. Value peace. Value understanding. Value communication. It's harder to be radicalized by hate groups when you put loving human beings over ideologies.

[askewhammer]

I'm sorry but it's really fucking weird yall are outing luigi mangione as bi. all yall say that it's important to not put anyone out for their own safety but as soon as it's some guy you've developed a parasocial relationship with its okay?? you all are sick actually. even if he's not actually bi you all are still sick.

as a matter of fact most of the shit everyone is posting about his PERSONAL LIFE is sick. he hasn't even fucking been sentenced yet and yet both the media and everyone else here is leaking every single detail about him?? have we forgotten the phrase "innocent until proven guilty"?? Don't you know you're supporting the cops narrative by doing this?? That you are actively participating in the smear of a man who's just been detained. I mean shit even if he's not innocent don't you think this is like the slightest bit immoral?

call me a sensitive little naive soul all you want but that man is a real living man that has suffered under the cold steel grip of the manipulative practices that American Healthcare upholds, and its really telling about your character and person by saying shit like "ugh I want to suck his cock so bad and eat his ass out like cake<33" stop treating him as if he's a commodity. as if he's a silly little blorbo from your favorite show. like be so fucking for real with me right now. you are a grown ass adult on www dot tumblr dot com.

this isn't me saying that we should halt all jokes and edgy memes about the situation. hell no. "Snitches get stitches and my Healthcare plan probably won't cover that" is funny as shit. The fact that people are saying that his attorney Tom Dickley is a deadringer for columbo/peter falk is funny as shit. What I'm saying is that we should treat this man with dignity. With both empathy and sympathy. With seriousness for his actions. To not treat this full grown man that harbors such calculated hatred as a little funny celebrity from a boyband that you write horny fanfiction about on ao3 and develop a parasocial relationship with. I know this is the piss on the poor media literacy website but be so serious with me.

also saying this for good measure TERFS step the fuck offff I've seen yall try to squeeze your narratives into this situation you are NOT slick

[actualbird]

do you think marius has a tumblr blog he’s forgotten about and then in 2030 some media tries to expose him by revealing his blog and it’s literally just. dumb memes and art stuff

[the gripping headline]

BREAKING NEWS: CEO MARIUS VON HAGEN'S INTERNET PAST ON BLOGGING PLATFORM TUMBLR DOT COM, UNEARTHED! SHOCKING POSTS AND CONTENT WERE FOUND, NOT CLICKBAIT!!!!

[the posts on tumblr url meowriusvonhaagendazs or something]

art reblog

art reblog

art reblog with unhinged praise tags ala "OP i want to eat this image"

art reblog

this post

art reblog

art reblog

[at pax ceo office]

marius talking to the pax PR department on his phone: yeah dont worry about it, people will think im an idiot from my tumblr but it's not like they dont already think im an idiot

[in the nxx group chat]

mc: "SHE BREAK ON MY BREAD TIL I COM WITH MY PANIS"?????????

luke: DAVIS, how do i unread a post

vyn: Very mature of you, marius

artem: i don't get it

marius: smh ur all uninvited from breaking on my bread

mc: DONT

marius: til i com

mc: STOP

marius: with my panis

[charles-leclerc-official]

What's your opinion on charles in wet. I've noticed that it's his weakest spot by now, but I'm quite new, and maybe it is not up to him, but some outside factors. Overall, I just want to know what you, as the princess of tumblr dot com races analysis, think about him on wet tracks because it most likely gonna rain in Canada.

Charles is actually a lot better in the wet than people usually give him credit for. Is he the best on the grid in the wet? No. There are several others who are much better(Lewis, Max, Fernando) However he does tend to get underestimated in the rain.

One of his best wet weather performances is Turkey 2021. The track is one of the lowest in terms of grip, so very slick already. Then it rained and he was overtaking, also set the fastest lap(at the time) in the rain, and finished P4. Like he wasn't just running in the rain he was putting out some very competitive racecraft in wet conditions. And he stayed ahead of Lewis even after the track was starting to dry(so inter conditions)

The reason he lost the podium place to Checo during that race was because Ferrari strategy decided to see how long he could go on old inters. So the loss of the place wasn't due to the weather.

Again in Monaco 2022(that race had other issues) he was leading the race, on the most technical track, with the most unforgiving margin for error, and was extremely competitive there(the reason he lost places that race was due to Ferrari double stack issue in the pits, you are seeing a pattern here . . .)

Regardless of the result, his racing under wet conditions there was extremely good. His pace and speed were on track to win there. And Monaco is one of the most difficult tracks in the rain.

There are others. But Overall I'd rank him in the top 5-7 drivers in the rain. He isn't as strong in the rain, and he certainly doesn't get stronger. But he is solid and has shown on multiple occasions that he is competitive in wet conditions both in speed and racecraft.

There are other things that work against drivers in the rain. This doesn't just apply to Charles. If a driver has a car that is really unstable in the rain there is only so much they can do.

A lot of lists and analysis just look at final results to determine if someone is "good" under X conditions, but you really have to look at the driving on track to get the real story. A driver coming in P5 who had insane skills in the wet, but then lost the places in the pits is an example where the end results wouldn't reflect the quality of driving.

Most drivers have mixed results in the rain. By results I mean finishing results and overall mistakes(big losses of traction etc) that's normal and doesn't mean any particular driver is bad in the rain. And I think another thing that comes up is his results have been mixed in the wet for other factors that were less to do with the rain and more to do with the car. Just about every driver on the grid has had a big spin or DNF due to rain. So I don't consider that a glaring sign of an issue unless it's happening very frequently.

In conclusion, Charles is solid and can be very competitive in the rain, but there are others on the grid who are better.

In Canada I expect a strong performance from him. The SF-24 is likely better suited for the wet compared to previous Ferraris. We will have to wait and see!

[redsandoranges]

im gonna rant here like i do on blusky because im bored at work and might as well use the unlimited potential of tumblr dot com

i like giving Dave a big dick when i ship him with Bro because, if you've noticed, i always have some element of comedy on my writing. even on the most heart wrenching, traumatized shit, i will find a way to make shit funny because it discombobulates the whole thing

this is where the big, fat cock Dave factors in

Dave who's, of course, subscribed to the idea that a big dick is The Best Thing a man can have. it is the shining beacon of masculinity. a badge of honor he was blessed with against his Bro. he can lord this over every single one of his male friends

...

and then the reality of a big dick crashes through his parade (tw for gross, every day shit and a lot more dick talking lmao)

skinny jeans? nope, not an option. neither are briefs. there goes half of his carefully curated closet

sit to take a shit? well now he has to consciously grip his dick to not get it wet in the worst way and if he doesn't pay attention. well

normal jeans are also a threat now! too fast and he'll be pinching skin that isn't meant to be pinched Like That

chaffing, accidentally sitting on it, (did you know a penis can also fall asleep like a limb?), everyone gawking, erections in public are now VERY obvious, getting asked none too subtly if he has a massive schlong...

and then there's the sex. Dave does not have the option of being lazy and just sticking his dick in because that shit is fucking painful

he got it. he got every man's dream come true and he fucking hates it. it's not a point of pride when the damn thing is a nuisance 24/7. how's he supposed to brag when he's constantly humbled whenever he goes to the bathroom and doesn't pay attention?

it is not the prize he thought he wanted and he wishes he had a normal dick

(Bro, being the size diva i fully belive him to be, would absolutely love it and be merciless about teasing Dave about it)

[yesloulou]

Lestappen and maxiel are such different dynamics, it’s so funny to see 😭

Because Max will scurry out of his car like a lizard on hot sand to apologize to Charles for a racing incident, but if given the chance would rear end Daniel 10 times over without remorse

BUT Max will also call Daniel the most handsome man in the world and act like a clown for his attention, but would rather die than call Charles attractive

anon your visions are so inspiring how does it feel to have the most beautiful brain on tumblr dot com??? 😵‍💫

i think the thing with vegas 23 was that max literally ran wide bc the track was cold and he had no grip. he wasn't even trying to push charles off track. yet he still apologized? that was insane. like can you imagine if it were lewis or george (or anyone else tbh)?? he'd say "that's hard racing that's what happens at turn one's i was a passenger in it too and i served the penalty regardless idk what they were still moaning about" and frankly he has rights to say that. yet he apologized. and honestly WHO TF APOLOGIZE FOR TURN 1 INCIDENTS??? AT ALL?????

also whenever he takes a photo with charles i get the feeling that charles makes him nervous (he gets soooo fidgety 🥲). with daniel he's still a lil nervous (cue shaky stroopwafel) but he's much more comfortable around him and you're so right about the differences in their dynamics.. my vision is that he's in love w daniel and he has a huge gigantic crush on charles and he can do both at the same time bc he's aware of neither 😌

[ochrearia]

Little Brother Turned Littler

Catastrophic levels of Ochre dropping YS being a Guardian Angel lore in the most random bonding one shot. Gee if only I had a job to pour all this focus and dedication into instead of brainrotting on tumblr dot com /silly

BFs in this one-shot: fc!BF (Boyf, Gold's), Yourself (YS)

There was a pleasant fog in his mind, swirling softly as he regained his thoughts. Weird. YS didn’t remember falling asleep, and it was surprising that he even had to begin with. What had he been doing earlier? Wow, he couldn't remember. That was new. Since when did he get into enough of a deep sleep to lose grip on the actions before? Why was he slow to wake up properly this time?

It felt like he was on the couch. TV? No, it was off, so he hadn’t been watching anything. YS supposed he could’ve been mindlessly scrolling on his phone again. It would be discarded somewhere nearby. But that wasn’t where his attention lay- the more he fell away from his slumber, the more he became aware of something.

Someone was running a hand through his hair. Soft and consistent, leaving small trails of wonderful warmth across his scalp as it went. YS, without really thinking about it, eagerly nuzzled his head up into the hand. More, that felt so nice, more please…

Hold on. Who was here? Only seemed like one person as far as he could tell. There were soft but mischievous chuckles from the culprit, most likely amused by his eagerness. Fuck, right, what the hell was he doing being so vulnerable? If he had a guest, how did he have the audacity to doze off so heavily?

YS pulled his eyes open, ignoring how much his brain really did not want to pull away from the hair petting. Somehow he’d ended up in such a ridiculous position, and he suddenly felt like nothing more than a stuffed animal.

Right, he was starting to remember now.

Boyf had come over. There was no reason to speak of, but it wasn’t like any of them had an underlying reason to come by anymore. Sure, he was still a comfort to them, and they’d come by sometimes to benefit from it. But they still continued to show up because they could. YS probably wouldn’t ever get over that.

Hanging around, being close without having to hold much of a conversation. That had been fine. But then Boyf had started humming, and YS still couldn’t really tell if it had been purposeful or not. But god dammit, that proved to be another way to incapacitate him now. Just like how he would hum to any of them when he was trying to calm and comfort them, it did the same for him. But because of his rampant insomnia, he was always tired. So if any of them returned the favor it was knocking his ass out embarrassingly fast.

Boyf was holding him to his chest like a teddy bear. What the hell. Clearly after he’d dozed off, the other decided pulling him onto his lap to hold him like a baby while he slept was the best plan. Did he just not care about how embarrassing that was to wake up to? Probably not. Despite knowing YS was awake now he didn’t bother to stop petting through his hair, or to let him go for that matter.

“...How long was I out?” YS mumbled after a few minutes of not moving either. He was praying that it wouldn't be pointed out later.

“Uhhh… maybe two hours, give or take?” Boyf responded innocently, grip suddenly tightening when he felt YS cringe with utter embarrassment. “Don’t get all worked up over it, man. Glad to help you rest. Sleep’s important, even for indignant softies in denial.”

YS groaned. “Fuck. Did you do that on purpose? You’re all figuring out too quickly that I’m weak to siren song behavior.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” He was playing around with it. Boyf was grinning even though YS couldn’t see his face. “Worth it, honestly. You got some nice rest, didn’t you? I think you did, you were leaning so heavily into me I thought you were going to start melting. You fell asleep so fast, it was hilarious. I’m sooooo going to be doing this again.”

What a fucking asshole. YS whined, pushing his nose into Boyf’s shoulder as he felt his shapeshifting go rogue again. This power was such a goddamn hazard.

“Oh please, do shrink, glad to know that you’re eager about your teddy bear status. Still haven’t left my hug either!” Boyf mused wickedly.

“Fuck you.” YS hissed, finally pulling away enough to see the smug look on his face. “Can’t you waste this menace energy on someone else? Go have another fight with Beefer or something, I didn’t do shit to deserve this target on my back.”

“You were the one who put the target on your own back the second you decided to make yourself known. Sounds like a you problem, buddy!” Boyf snarked back immediately. “Get more embarrassed, I want you to shrink more for my own amusement.”

Oh fuck no. YS was not playing into this shit this time. He ignored the tease, focusing all his energy on keeping control of his damn shapeshifting, getting back to his normal height. “Not this time you little shitter. I know you all embarrass me on purpose now, I’m practicing fighting off the auto-small whatever the fuck that happens.”

“No fun.” Boyf thought with a playful sigh. “Still funny that your so-called power ends up betraying you more often than not though. Would be interesting to have the ability to shapeshift whenever you want. Why don’t you really use it?”

“I mean, there’s not really much I need to be doing with it?” YS responded, shrugging. “You can ask Biff about how I would fuck around and over-exaggerate my jaw when singing when we first met. Really, honestly, no reason for me to do it. It only made me look even more creepy. Eugh, and the whole bone ignoring stuff, yeah I never really used it for anything important.”

“So lame. Biff getting to gatekeep all this shit about you. I think I’ve figured out what that little secret was but I haven’t tested my theory yet. You should be grateful I haven’t, if it’s what I think it is.”

“ANYway…” YS redirected immediately. He was not risking this conversation again. “Now you’ve got me thinking. You said having shapeshifting would be interesting, why haven’t you… tried borrowing it? Biff borrowed my magic before and I didn’t even know he could. I’m not really sure how he did it either, but if he could, maybe the rest of you can…?”

The look on Boyf’s face. Oh, YS was going to regret saying that, wasn’t he?

“Hooooly shit. I’m gonna try. Imagine that we start using it to be taller than your dumbass, not such a BIG brother then are you?”

“Don’t push it.” YS sniffed, amused. “Don’t you like being a little brother? I very aptly remember you being jealous that you didn’t get to be one sooner. If you make yourself taller than me then you can’t really be a little brother, now can you?”

Gotcha. Boyf shot him a playful glare. “Fine then. You know what? I’ve been sitting here for two hours with a big sleepy baby making me unable to move, and now I’m tired. I’m going to become small and now you're going to have to deal with a koala bear with an iron grip. Idiot.”

“Motherfucker-”

Well, YS didn’t have a chance to protest. Boyf figured out the trick to borrowing magic scarily fast, and within less than a minute the moron was using it, shrinking to the point YS was now towering over him. The fallen angel didn’t even get a chance to properly move before Boyf channeled his inner bug and crawled his way around, jumping on his back and hugging tightly.

“Fucker!” YS shouted again. He didn’t actually mind, but he wrapped his hands back to push Boyf up higher onto his shoulders instead, just to destroy the risk of the idiot finding his scars. He was not having another one find those. “Well now what? You can’t stay here forever, you’ve already spent hours doing fuck all.”

“Figure it out dumbass!” Boyf managed to shout, nuzzling his face into the top of YS’s head. “You can’t send me back to my world, I’m not in it, so you can’t get there!”

“Actually…” YS remembered suddenly. “I can. But you’d have to be the one to tell your mirror-walking to drag me with you. Beef did it once, I was uh- well, I wasn’t having a good time let’s say. He straight up just pulled me through the mirror with him back to his own apartment. And I didn’t bring my microphone with me. So it can work, actually.”

“Oh shit. Why don’t you ever talk about these cool ass things?! Stop keeping secrets you shady bitch.” Well that was a new one. “Go to the mirror, I wanna test this now. I wanna fuck around with magic.”

YS rolled his eyes, doing as he was told. He wasn’t sure if this was even going to work, reaching an arm out to rest his hand on the glass. It was solid, because of course it was. He raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to say ‘nevermind’, but then Boyf copied his action and also put a hand on the mirror. Suddenly the mirror was no longer solid, now it was walkable.

“Well, I hope we don’t end up somewhere fucked. Never tried this before…” YS mumbled before stepping through.

Thankfully, no fuck ups. They both slipped through the mirror just fine, ending up in Boyf’s apartment. The bathroom mirror above the sink, specifically, and YS had to over-complicate his climb out since there was a parasite on his back.

“Okay, we’re here. Where’s your partners, I’m gonna hand you off to them. I’ve got shit I’ve been putting off for weeks that I really should be doing by now…”

“You’re actually trying to get rid of me. That’s so fucked up.” Boyf’s thoughts were starting to get a little wobbly, signaling that he was starting to actually fall asleep now. “I’m not letting go, asshole. Good luck trying to pry me off.”

“For god’s sake- really?” YS grumbled, walking out of the bathroom and searching for his brother’s partners himself. It took a little bit, but he found them in the bedroom, minding their own business when he peeked his head in. “Oh good. You two, I have a special delivery. Take him.”

YS revealed their magically shrunken boyfriend by stepping properly into the room, garnering two different but hilarious reactions.

“He’s- small.” Pico pointed out dumbly.

“He’s so small!” GF repeated, her tone filled with infinitely more glee. “Oh but he’s falling asleep. You want us to take him? Sorry to inform you but you’re stuck. You’re not getting out of his grip until he’s awake later.”

Seriously? “Can’t you two shitters just take him? He’s your boyfriend.” He probably shouldn’t be using rude nicknames to refer to them, but oh well.

“Listen, the heart wants what the heart wants, and sometimes that’s his big brother.” GF teased.

Boyf lifted his head at that, gaze half-lidded but indignant. “Fah’ you.”

“I-” YS stumbled over the fact the big brother thing was being mentioned so casually, by someone who wasn’t another version of him. Did these morons talk so fondly about him? That was… sweet.

“Fine. If you won’t take him then I’m borrowing your couch until he lets the fuck go of me. So much for doing those things I was meant to do weeks ago. Nothing ever goes my way when I want it to, does it?”

He was complaining to deaf ears, so he turned around and made his way over to the apartment’s couch. He managed to maneuver Boyf around once more, so he could lie down on his back while the little idiot was surgically attached to his chest instead.

At least Boyf’s partners were a little used to him. They’d met briefly last time when Boyf had very conveniently waited for them to be out to pass out on the floor while sick. YS hadn’t expected them to be teasing though. Well, the GF in this world was. The Pico was clearly a bit scared of him. That was fine, he looked weird and Picos always had insane trauma.

Boyf was completely knocked out now. This idiot, teasing him for being quick to fall asleep, when this was how he ended up like twenty minutes later? What a hypocrite. Small, warm hypocrite sprawled across his chest. Small. Smaller. Little brother turned littler. My little brother. Protect, love, protect, love…

Guard.

That last thought made YS jolt. Oh shit, really, was that what this was? How was that possible, he’d seen to his own Fall, those instincts shouldn’t even be there anymore. And for all of them, too? His guardian angel instincts were attaching and going ballistic with his other selves?! He wasn’t even a fucking angel anymore, that shouldn’t be happening!

They would never let him live this down if they knew. It might not be the same in other worlds, but guardian angels had a really interesting problem in his world. That problem being they would get incredibly possessive of whoever they attached to. Probably some mechanism built in that made it for certain they’d always do their job of, well, guarding. But it was also fucking embarrassing.

Well, the angel wasn’t meant to feel embarrassed about it, but that was normal angels who didn’t start doing things like feeling. Angels that weren’t YS.

“Fuck…” YS breathed, amused but slightly panicked at the same time. He still had angelic instincts? Why? He wasn’t supposed to be an angel anymore. And why did it have to be over his other selves, that was so weird, how was he supposed to justify being so possessive over ‘himself, but slightly different’?

He felt a gentle rumble in his pocket where his microphone was. Huh. She was awake again. Rumble? Was she… laughing? Wait a minute.

“You knew.” YS accused softly. “You fucking knew it was still there and you pushed me after them. You knew and manipulated me so I would have a purpose again, you cheeky minx!”

He could see her start glowing in his pocket. Of course. Hah, even in her state now, she was still the smarter of the two. Despite everything that had happened, she was still trying to keep him alive. Still loving and caring for him. Pushing him towards other versions of himself who somehow loved him too, because that was how she could show he was loved in her state now.

“Hah.” YS wasn’t sure if he should feel used or overwhelmed with sentiment. His arms tightened around Boyf’s back while he snoozed. 

“I said they were stopping me from continuing my plan. I said I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t realize that I literally couldn’t do it anymore. Those damn failsafe instincts… they’ll never let me. And you weren’t satisfied with pushing me to attach to just one, were you? No, it had to be all of them, because that way there’d never be any chance of detaching. No chance of letting myself die.”

This whole time, he’d thought he was going along with his plan and in control of his own fate. Herself had always been one step ahead of him, hadn’t she? Why had he ever thought that she’d let him die even in the state she was in now? Of course she wouldn’t. That was just how it goes, doing everything they could for each other. Even if those actions would’ve spelled death for him.

He sighed, letting his stupid instincts take over and hugged tighter around Boyf. At least he had a clear answer as to why he was so attached. He really had thought all of that shit was gone after he’d torn his wings off. But that left a pit of nervousness to form. Being clingy wasn’t unfamiliar to YS, but surely at least one of them would get uncomfortable, right? He’d have to work on pushing the possessiveness away.

Sure, he was giving into it now, but he could get away with it right now. Other times, not so much.

It was fine. He’d let himself give in for now. Maybe indulging the instincts now would make it easier to ignore them later.