#i am hanging on by a thread and i might need someone to give me mouth to mouth and pump up my heart. preferably him but idk ��😍🫠😂😰

[heroicn0nsense]

I guess I'm about to get real vulnerable on main here, but I saw some kinda "BookTok" disk horse cross my BlueSky feed, and it's got me thinking in a way I really can only discuss without a character limit. But it feels kind of relative to an over all trans creative experience. Maybe more specifically for us masc people, but. You know. Maybe the threads are different but the weave a similar picture. Anyway, this is kinda what my tumblr blog has become, and so here goes. Please note I also use 'queer' as an all encompassing term, as to me it is the most inclusive word I can use despite its dubious origins and history. Sorry if that upsets anyone.

The funniest thing about this whole conversation popping up was the fact that I had just been lamenting about finding the concept of 'romantasy' fun but what I'd give to find or read something with a transmasc protagonist paired with an opposite partner of any gender. Something my masc bisexual ass would love to see. Mostly because I see and support so many ones that are sapphic in nature, but hardly see any masculine. Maybe I'm not looking in the right places but Anyway. Just so happened that in the next hour I saw what I was looking for cross my Bsky feed, but with the author show casing the really nasty and negative comments he received on his concept. things like but not limited to:

"of course the transmasc character is a twink bottom" "just a girl who got a mastectomy" And other just Internalized Misogyny and Heteronormative things that affect a good portion of us transmasculine guys.

And idk, man it really struck a nerve with me.

If only because first and foremost, the author is writing something he wanted to see. Filling a niche and void he wanted to see realized, and like so many other authors' works, in a way that feels personal to him. And to attack it in such a way was pretty vile.

Queer stories and creations in of themselves are personal stories, because we write from our own experiences, and put them in our original works whether subtly or not so subtly. It's there, and you can't separate the queer experience from a queer work because by its very nature its queer. But also like, that experience isn't the same for everyone. And we shouldn't expect it to be. So, no, not every work is going to be what you want or associate with. But we should be uplifting all of it so that someone with an idea or concept that does speak to you will have the confidence to bring it to the table. And yeah. Unfortunately, that sometimes means that cliches are gonna happen. That twink ass transmasc might end up being a bottom 75% of the time.

But it also like, led me to associate my own struggle of accepting my own body and transness and some of my own preferences in the bedroom.

I'm not saying that all writers, artists, or creators are using their method of making art to explore their own hang ups with their gender and bodies, navigating this absolutely messy and strange world of norms and expectations while simultaneously seeming to want to turn them on their head. Gender is complex. Being trans is complex. And it gets weird, and sometimes we need outlets to work our way through it.

But also, most of us transmasc people have vaginas. It's just a fact of life. We've got a big ol' gaping axe wound of an organ sitting between our legs and for a lot of us, it still feels good to stick something in it, and we shouldn't be ashamed of that at all. And hell, a lot of us are short, considering our genetics are wired that way and no amount of HRT is going to change the fact some of us aren't going to get past 5'5". But sometimes, especially with what is expected to be masculine by gender norms, and the physical form of a cis male body, it can sometimes be really hard to reconcile that.

I know it was for me. To the point where I often struggled with my sexuality and my relationship with intimacy about it for a long time.

I made my character Akihiro while I was, and still am parsing through a lot of my own dysphoric issues, and paving my own way to acceptance. And that's made him a deeply personal character to me. And he has grown and changed as I project a lot of those issues on to him and his development. Akihiro has been an exploration of myself as much as he is an an original character that I role play. But not so much in the ways of personality, but more in the ways of the challenges with which he is presented and has to navigate himself.

Akihiro is a trans man in a world that is accepting of it. Society has progressed past these petty and arbitrary standards. But he becomes a cyborg at a time where the question is instead what it means to be human, and so...The aspect of depersonalization, dysphoria, and depersonalization he experiences at the hands of transhumanism is not so different than what I have and do experience in my own transition.

Akihiro wasn't always trans. That was honestly a pretty recent development and one that I did struggle with making. And I realized I was struggling with it because of those same dysphoric issues. And I just needed to let them go.

It was reflected in another recent development; the way that I had Akihiro handle his genitals when he was presented with the option to upgrade from none to a functioning set. And he chose to go with what he had been born with, the genitals he had when his body was mangled. He went with a vagina. Because he wanted to embrace the body he had taken for granted before he lost it, and not some idealized version of himself he could have obtained at any point prior.

And yeah. He 'bottoms' the majority of the time for his boyfriend because he enjoys it. But it doesn't stop him from topping him either, nor enjoying that. Nor had it stopped him previously from being intimate with other men and women. And that's his preference as a character.

And who are we to say it wasn't the same for this author? Where he is putting his feelings and acceptance of his own body and desires onto paper? And that is being met with such vitriol because it's not someone else's idea of what is masculine, or whatever. I don't know. Maybe they weren't. Maybe they did just wanna write some twink ass boy getting dicked down and like, that's fine too. Why do we have to be so mad about that?

And maybe this was just a lot of words to say that I think we get so wrapped up in words and labels for things that it completely erases the nuances of our own experiences and it turns right back around to being so queerphobic and limiting. And we don't give ourselves, much less other people, the grace to create the things they want to, and from a place of their own experience and desire. It's harmful.

[peachbubbless]

How are we feeling about the SBR anime announcement? I am so excited and I hope you all enjoy SBR fanfic week to celebrate this momentous occasion 🤠

Comfort – Diego Brando x Reader

Word count - 2.2k | Day 1 SBR Fanfic Week

The desert was quieter after dusk.

No hoofbeats. No shouting. Just wind carving lazy arcs through the dust and brush. You’d let the rest of the pack ride ahead earlier in the day intentionally, giving yourself the rare privilege of silence. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe not. Either way, the canyon had swallowed the road behind you and left nothing but red walls and shadow.

That was fine. You needed the space.

You were rounding a bend when you heard it. Not footsteps, not talking-

A curse.

Low, hoarse, bitten off halfway through like it hurt to say. You stopped, holding your breath. It came again. Faint, but close.

You followed it.

Just off the path, tucked between two slabs of rock, was a crouched figure. Blue coat. Blonde hair darkened with sweat. One knee braced against the earth, the other splayed out ungracefully. He was trying to wrap gauze around his side, one arm shaking from the effort.

And failing. Badly.

Diego Brando. Of course.

His head snapped up the second he sensed you - animal-sharp and defensive, but not surprised.

“You,” he growled. “Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

You blinked. “I’ll take that as a hello.”

He didn’t answer. Just hissed as the gauze slipped from his fingers again.

There was blood on his shirt. A lot of it. Dark, wet, and spreading.

You moved closer.

He bared his teeth. “Don’t.”

“You’re hurt.”

“I noticed.”

“Let me- ”

“I said, don’t.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then, begrudgingly, like every word was dragged up from a place he didn’t want you to see:

“Fine. Don’t just stand there. You wanna stare or make yourself useful?” 

You heisted for a moment before crouching down beside him, not asking again.

And for once, Diego didn’t protest.

Not out loud, anyway.

You didn’t speak right away.

You just reached for the bandages he’d dropped and began rewrapping them, steady as your hands could manage. The wound was ugly - a jagged cut along his side, too clean for a scrape, too messy for precision. Something sharp got him. Or someone.

He watched you. Like a hawk might watch a storm - annoyed, curious, but unwilling to fly off just yet.

“You do this one blind?” you muttered, gesturing to the half-twisted gauze still clinging to his ribs. 

Diego huffed. “I wasn’t expecting company.” 

“You weren’t expecting to be bleeding out either, I take it?” 

A sharp glare.

“And do you always get this mouthy when someone tries to help you?”

“I don’t need help,” he snapped.

You roll your eyes dramatically. 

He flinched - not from you, but from his own movement - like the words cost him more energy than he had to spend. You ignored the bite in his tone, gently easing his coat off his shoulder to get a better look. Underneath, the wound was even angrier.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t stop looking at you either.

“I’m not doing this out of pity,” you said after a moment. “So relax.”

“Sure,” he muttered. “You just have a thing for rescuing wild animals, is that it?”

“I said relax, not get cocky.”

He scoffed under his breath.

Still, he leaned back just enough for you to work - his breathing ragged, muscles twitching under your fingers. The proximity was unavoidable now, the two of you pressed close under the shallow overhang of rock. His coat was tossed aside, his shirt pulled up, his pride hanging on by a thread.

You worked in silence for a while.

Then:

“You’re not gonna ask how it happened?” he said suddenly.

You glanced at him. “You’d tell me if you wanted me to know.”

Another pause. A twitch of his jaw.

“I don’t,” he said.

You nodded.

Finished tying off the bandage, not too tight.

His eyes lingered on your hands. He hadn’t moved since you started - hadn’t even insulted your technique. That was suspicious in itself.

“You’ve done this before,” he said.

You shrugged. “People bleed.”

“I meant for enemies.”

“Are we enemies?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes drifted back to the canyon mouth, shadowed in the fading light. For a second, he looked like he might bolt. But he didn’t. Just exhaled slowly and leaned his head against the rock behind him.

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

When he spoke again, it was quieter.

“You shouldn’t be nice to me.”

You paused. “Why?”

“Because it won’t end the way you want it to.”

Your hands stilled, still resting lightly on his ribs. The bandage was done. You could’ve pulled away. You didn’t.

“Who said I wanted anything?”

He didn’t reply.

Didn’t look at you.

But the air shifted.

The sarcasm had drained out of him - not gone, but buried under something heavier. He was still Diego Brando, sharp-tongued and prickly to the end. But the edges had dulled. Just a little.

You let your voice drop.

“It’s not just the race for you, is it?” He blinked. “You run like there’s something chasing you. Or something you’re trying to outrun.”

The way he looked at you then - like he didn’t expect the question, like it scraped something raw inside him - told you everything you needed to know.

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

And when the answer came, it didn’t sound like bravado.

It sounded like truth, hoarse and splintering.

For a while, you thought he might not answer.

Then:

“She worked on a farm.”

The words were flat. Disconnected.

You looked at him - Diego’s profile caught in the low red spill of sunset over the rock. He wasn’t looking at you. Just staring into the distance, as if seeing something you couldn’t.

“My mother,” he added, voice still tight. “She did whatever work she could find. Cleaning stables, feeding horses. We lived in the barn.”

He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at his bandaged side.

“She never complained. Always told me to hold my head high, no matter what.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers curling slightly.

“There was a time when the landowner… he wanted more from her. When she refused, he made sure we suffered for it. Put holes in our bowls, so we couldn’t hold food or water.”

He took a slow breath, as if steadying himself.

“But my mother… she didn’t break. When mealtime came, she had the stew poured into her bare hands so I could eat.”

You felt your chest tighten.

“She stood there, hands burning, just so I wouldn’t go hungry.”

His voice grew quieter.

“She did this for weeks. The burns got worse. Infected.”

A pause.

“Tetanus,” he said bitterly. “That’s what took her. She was barely older than us now.”

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with the weight of memories and regrets.

“I was six.”

You swallowed, the enormity of his loss settling over you.

“She told me to use my skill with horses. To rise above. To become someone.”

His eyes finally met yours, a storm of determination and lingering pain.

“So I did. I became a jockey. I clawed my way up. Worked harder than anyone. Smiled when I had to. Bit my tongue when I didn’t.”

His jaw tightened.

“And I won. Over and over. But no matter how many times I crossed the finish line first, it wasn’t enough. I’m going to take everything. Every title, every ounce of glory, until they have no choice but to see me.”

“And then?”

He didn’t answer.

Maybe he didn’t know.

Or maybe the striving was the point - the relentless pursuit, the hunger that kept him moving forward.

You let the silence hang, respecting the rawness of his revelation.

Finally, Diego sighed - a sound that didn’t belong to him. Too weary. Too human.

“I didn’t ask for pity,” he said. “So don’t give me any.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter:

“…Thanks for staying.”

You didn’t smile. Didn’t offer empty words.

You just nodded once.

And stayed.

The silence that followed his confession didn’t echo.

It settled. Low and slow, like ash after a fire.

Diego sat stiff beside you, arms bandaged, shoulders drawn tight. His jaw worked like he was chewing on regret, or pride, or maybe both. For once, he wasn’t speaking - and for Diego Brando, that said more than any monologue ever could.

You gave him a moment.

Then another.

Then: “You should lie down.”

He didn’t even look at you. “I’m fine.”

“Sure thing. You’re shaking.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding through your second bandage, and your face is paler than your ego is big.” You tilted your head. “Which, frankly, is impressive.”

He gave you a flat look. “Are you always this irritating?”

“Only when someone’s too stubborn to lie down before they faceplant into the fire.”

He exhaled through his nose. Sharp. But not angry. And he didn’t argue again.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And you’re exhausting.”

He didn’t deny it.

You grabbed the saddle blanket, shook it out, and laid it down by the fire - not close enough to coddle, but not far enough to ignore. No words. Just the firm press of fabric against dirt.

Then you looked over your shoulder. “Well?”

Diego stared at the blanket like it had personally offended him.

But then - with all the grace of a wounded predator - he moved. Each shift was stiff, deliberate, like he was pretending his muscles didn’t scream with every motion. He lowered himself onto the blanket with a grunt, clenched jaw, breath hissing between his teeth. Still proud. Still Diego.

You followed a second later, slow and measured, easing down beside him. Not touching. Just near.

He didn’t speak. Just lay there, eyes locked on the stars above, expression unreadable.

Then, voice rough: “Don’t make this something it’s not.”

You turned your head. “What exactly do you think this is?”

“This,” he snapped. “This Florence Nightingale bullshit. Like if I bleed loud enough someone’s gonna sing Kumbaya.”

“I’m not lighting a campfire or handing out marshmallows,” you said dryly. “You’re not that charming.”

He huffed. “Liar.”

You smiled, just a little. “Fine. Maybe a little charming.”

That got something. Not a laugh - too much effort - but a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Close enough.

“I’m not fussing,” you added. “I’m just ensuring you don’t die before I have the satisfaction of watching you lose.”

That got a snort. “And here I thought you cared.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

The fire snapped softly. Somewhere in the dark, a bird called once and then went silent again. You let yourself sink back a little, resting on your elbow, letting your coat sleeve brush his. Casual. Gentle.

He didn’t flinch.

He let out a long breath. Not tired. Not relaxed. Just… quiet.

You thought maybe he was about to drift off when he said, low and abrupt, “You’re warm.”

You blinked. “Come again?”

He didn’t look at you. “I said don’t be an idiot.”

You turned your head slowly. “That is not what you said.”

He closed his eyes, jaw twitching. “Must’ve been the blood loss.”

“Oh, so now you admit it.”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

But his voice didn’t have bite anymore. Just frayed edges. A little raw.

You let yourself lie back fully, spine against the blanket, shoulder against his. You didn’t press. But you didn’t shift away either. Close enough now that you could feel the heat between you - two stubborn bodies, bruised and warmed by the fire, pretending this wasn’t what it was.

His hand moved slightly. Rested near yours. Not touching. But closer than it had to be.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone,” he mumbled, eyes still closed, “I will kill you.”

You smirked. “Naturally.”

“And I’m still going to win.”

You snorted. “Sure, Brando.”

“I’ll be the richest man in the world.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, at least you’re dreaming small.”

He didn’t answer. Just exhaled again, a little softer this time. And when you shifted your weight just enough to let your knee brush his under the blanket, he didn’t move.

Didn’t curse you out.

Didn’t push you away.

He just stayed.

And maybe, after a minute, he leaned a little closer - shoulder to shoulder, weight shared, warmth pooled between you like a secret neither of you would admit come morning.

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to.

He didn’t answer. Just exhaled - not tired, not sharp, just… softer than before.

And almost imperceptibly, he leaned back, just a fraction. Enough to let your shoulders line up again. To let the space between you hold something still and steady and unspoken.

You didn’t call it comfort.

He wouldn’t let you.

But in the silence, in the shared heat and aching bones and guarded breath, it settled there anyway.

[samonroegf]

getting high with sam for the first time

f!reader. suggestive moments but no smut, fluff if you squint, angstish, childhood best friends to strangers to lovers? idk i just love him. veronica ( a character i made up) is used to replace alyssa bc she's a weirdo lol. lotta emotions, pals. 3.8k ᝰ masterlist

you'd known you wanted to try weed for a while now, it was just a bit intimidating. there's also the fact that you're 18 and you still haven't tried it, some might call you a pussy, but you just like to be precautionary.

there was the anti-drug commericals and your father breathing down your neck about being a functioning member of society. the pressure has become too much. you can't help but remember some of the stoner movies you've seen and they seemed so carefree.

so you started to concote the perfect plan, you'd never gotten in trouble, never even tardy for school. when your parents monthly business trip comes up, you knew exactly what you had to do.

invite sam monroe over for the first time in four years, and ask him to teach you how to get high.

so you think about your childhood best friend turned stranger, sam monroe. he wasn't the nicest, especially after his parents’ divorce. but there was also the fact that he had a soft spot just for you. and supposedly everyone knew, you hadn't witnessed this soft spot in a long time, so you hoped it made him a little nicer. you can't even recall why, maybe a kid crush or something. maybe you never knew at all.

you cleaned your room, made it all nice and hid some of your stuffed animals. if you were to invite sam over, you couldn't look like even more innocent than you already did.

on that fateful friday afternoon, you kissed your parents and bid them farewell. the pair completely oblivious to what their perfect little girl would be up to. a somewhat devious smile played on your lips.

you had harboured some kind of school girl crush on sam, since the two of you grew distant. he was mysterious and quiet now, you wish you knew him. wish you never would have let him slip out of your hands.

maybe that can change, maybe you can sew up the tattered thread of a connection. you wanted to laugh at yourself, you're so worked up about sam fucking monroe. the boy that you used to play in the mud with, but then again you're not just little kids anymore. things were definitely complicated. maybe more than you realized.

you couldn't help but start to pace around your room a bit, what if he said no? what if he just refused to come over? maybe you should cook something enticing, give him a extra reason? you had the weed and rolling papers already, courtesy of josh. you hated talking to him, but he had what you needed.

you walked over to the home phone hanging on the wall, and then to the clock on the stove. 6:30 p.m. the green digits stared back at you. this was a once in a lifetime chance so you swallowed your anxiety and picked up the receiver.

you dialed sam’s mom’s number, having it memorized like it was your own mother's. there was always some part of sam in your head, always stuck with you like a lover slain.

you waited patiently for someone to answer the phone, your heart beating louder than your ears could stand. you were sure this was the dumbest you'd ever felt.

“hello, kimball residence, who am i speaking with?” robin kimball, sam's mother, sounded tired. the kind of exhaustion you onlly get when you hate your life.

“hi robin! it's y/n! i was wondering if you could, uh, get sam for me?” your voice was shaky, but you hoped that she wouldn't pay it too much mind. or that she didn't notice it all.

“oh y/n! it's so nice to speak with you, how have you been?” her voice perked up once she realized who you were. always having been like a second mom to you, during your friendship with sam, guess the whole family has a soft spot for you.

“oh, I'm okay! i was just thinking of sam, and wanted him to come hang out, maybe have a sleepover like we used to!” you tried not to sound so childish, but perhaps it was working in your favor. excitement bleed into your tone, maybe hope too.

robin sighed a little, a mix of sadness and apprehension, “i can try to get him on the phone, but I can't make any promises.”

that confused you. but considering how sam acted at school, you couldn't imagine he was any easier at home.

“what do you want?” his voice felt like venom and ice, but you tried to ignore it.

“i, uh, i have some, uh, i have some w-” your stuttering didn't get you very far, sam was a very impatient boy.

“would you just spit it out,” he sounded less mad, and more just irritated. you imagined he probably dragged a hand down his face.

“sorry, I'm sorry. i just have some weed and wanted u to come over. you don't have to, I don't wanna bother you. bye, sam.” you rambled this out as fast as you possibly could and hung up just as quick.

your nerves and his mean tone became just a little too much, you'd never heard him talk to you like that. you didn't know him anymore. that hurt your heart, much more than you would like to admit. it was a fact, had been for quite some time but something about witnessing it with your own ears. it was real now.

sam stomped up the stairs to his room, closing and locking the door with a slam. he ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the black and blue strands.

“who the fuck does she think she is?” his voice was mingled with various emotions, he couldn't figure them out nor did he really want to.

“doesn't talk to me for four fucking years and then one day just calls me up and asks to hangout?” he's trying to keep his voice to a low mumble. as to not bother his younger siblings, even if he couldn't really stand them.

“tells my mom she wants a sleepover?” he almost wanted to go over there just to give her a piece of his mind. he kicked a box on the floor, and it shot across the room against a wall. he heard peter stomping down the hallway to yell at him, and slipped out of his window. a common practice these days.

he was dressed in cargo pants, his boots and a sweatshirt with the rolling stones logo printed in black and white. he was cursing under his breath, as he made the walk.

he couldn't believe her audacity, but then why would she call him unless he was the only one she could call. that had to be bullshit, she had plenty of friends. ten times more than what sam had.

he kicked a rock and lit a cigarette as he continued down the street, he hated that he could still remember the fastest way to her house. her perfect little house, with a perfect little family.

it was only just then that her words settled, like rain through a fog. i just have some weed and wanted u to come over. you don't have to. why would she have weed, unless her perfect little life wasn't so. course, could have been a lie to get him here. could be a prank, but she was never one to be nasty like that. or at least he hoped she wouldn't steep so low.

he had about a million questions that are going through his head, but the one that stuck out the most, why me? why would she call me out of everyone? it's not like sam was the only stoner in their school, but she still wanted him to come over. it made him puff on the cigarette a little faster.

sam stopped in the middle of the street for a moment, staring at the moon and sun that were now able to be seen at the same time. there was some poetry in this but he didn't want to fucking hear it.

he tried to shake his head of all these thoughts as he walked up the stairs to her front door. at the very bottom, you can still see paint marks of her and his handprints from when they moved in. sam was the first friend she made, he remembers her telling him, they'd be friends forever. feels like a cruel joke now.

you sat on your bed looking anxiously at the baggie that stood out on your bedside table. the nightstand a white wood with a pink lamp, and covered in literature. the weed looked weird and out of place next to them.

the slam of the front door and stomps crawling up the stairs brought you out of thoughts, sam standing in your doorway. he leaned against the wood, just looking at you. he looked pissed, but you were unsure if that was just his neutral expression at this point.

“you called.” he barely uttered two words to you, but you couldn't help the growing smile that stretched your lips.

“i wasn't sure if you'd actually show up!” you wished you didn't sound so happy, it was weakness he was bound to attack. you hoped your best friend, sammy was still in there, somewhere.

“what can i say? free weed, can't let that kind of offer go.” he chuckled as he spoke, and it was almost like you knew him again. but you didn't, he was a stranger in your bedroom, while your parents were hours away at this point.

he almost wanted to break something, he had so many questions, so much to say but now that he was in front of her, he wanted nothing more than to push it all aside. this wasn't like this normally, usually anger was so easy to hold onto. this time, it was like he never had any to begin with.

he slowly wandered into the room, looking over everything you had displayed. you prayed he didn't open the closet and get assualted by plushies. the thought almost made you want to giggle.

he was stuck, stuck holding a picture in his hand. he hadn't seen the polaroid in four years. a cheesing sam stared back at him, so free and fun. your arms were tight around him, couldn't be older than six and you were smiling just as big.

as you came to stand next to him, you looked at the picture in his hand. you were being torn between crying and laughing. it's such a cute picture, one that you thought you'd show your kids one day. but those thoughts were one of a silly little girl who believed that sam would always be by your side. you felt stupid, mad and sad all at once.

“i remember this day,” sam's voice sounds faraway, like he is scared to talk at all. like the picture and you would disappear, and he'd wake up from another dream.

“it was the day our dad's built your pool, and we played all day long.” he finished, looking from the photo to you. it was the first time he's really looked at you. his blue eyes peering into yours, you felt naked under his stare.

“yeah, and we had ice cream and it got everywhere,” you chuckled sadly, this felt like a reunion with a lover rather than a friend. you looked away back to the picture in his hand, taking it you put it back on your mirror. as he watched your hands, he noticed it wasn't the only picture of the two of you. you kept every single one, always one to cherish every memory, even if it hurts more than it helps.

“why do you still have them?” his voice is barely above a whisper like he's scared to hear the answer.

“i always hoped you'd come back, that we'd go back to old times. feels kinda stupid to say out loud” you laughed, bringing your arms around yourself trying to bring yourself some comfort.

you're looking at all the pictures, too scared to see what expression is resting on sam's face now.

“well, I'm here, aren't I?” you finally turned to look at him, your eyebrows creased in worry or concern. you weren't sure. his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, it's awkward and comforting all the same.

“would you have ever came if I didn't call? if i didn't have weed?” your voice might break if it shakes anymore, your tongue sucks over your teeth in anxiety.

“wait, don't answer that. i don't want the answer. i don't think you miss me the way i miss you.” you interrupted him. the second half of your words came out mumbled as you walk away from him and sit on the bed. a tear slid down your face, and it makes a bitter laugh come out of you. you've never wanted someone so close and so fucking faraway from you. you wioed it away and hoped he didn't see it. weakness was not an option.

“you don't get to do this,” his voice is quiet, but you were sure that it wouldn't stay that way.

“you don't get to cry and put words in my mouth, you have no fucking idea how i feel.” he raised his voice a bit and you just rolled your eyes at him. he came to sit opposite to you on the bed.

“yeah, you're right. but you also never fucking talked to me. you were my best friend one day and then avoiding me the next. how the fuck do you think that's gonna make me feel? hell, how the fuck can you just do that to someone.” you were yelling too now, staring at him with so much anger. you weren't even really that mad, you were just hurt.

“that is not what fucking happened. you became friends with josh, that's what happened,” his eyes narrowed at you and you wanted, well you don't know what you want but this is definitely something that needed to happen. josh had been a bully in middle school, i guess much hasn't changed.

“excuse the fuck out of me? i did no such thing, i was friends with veronica. i was friends with her, and then you left. and i know, yes, i know that you fucked vee. you left me, and that wasn't enough.” you were seething at this point, barely able to remember why you even missed him in the first place. you got off the bed, not even being able to look at him.

“i did not fuck veronica. who told you that? let me guess, veronica?” your head whipped in his direction, you stopped in your tracks.

your cheeks warmed as you realized you may have been fed incorrect information, “you didn't? but she and josh both told me on seperate instances.” you felt stupid, you came to sit on the bed again. a sheepish look on your face.

“no, i didn't fuck veronica. are you stupid?” the anger in the room begin to fizzle out, and you smacked his shoulder, “don't say that, I'm not stupid.” you gave him a fake angry look and looked at your feet.

you'd been lied to for four years, four years where sam didn't have be alienated. four years where your best friend could be beside you.

“why’d you stop coming around, then? if it wasn't cause of that? ” the fear of rejection injected to your veins. your lip was tightly pulled between your teeth, an anxious habit. your eyes looked from him to your hands as you waited for him to answer.

“somebody told me you hated me and didn't want me around anymore.” his voice was distant like he couldn't believe his own words. “told me you were just friends with me out of pity.”

“now you're the stupid one.” you laughed dryly, trying to make light of the situation. you bumped your shoulder into his.

“hell, i might be. i doubt if you hated me you'd keep all those cheesy momentos.” he chuckled and you could have savored the feeling that went through your chest. he might be better than any high that weed could give you. if you didn't have a bit of love for him before, you definitely do now.

you felt like a tornado of emotions, you didn't know what was to happen now.

some time passed in silence, you both unsure of what was to happen next. years of pushed down feelings that no longer have a sense of direction.

anxiety creeped up your back, looking at sam he's just looking at you. a slight smile on his lips, it's a sight you could get used to.

“what?” you laughed a bit out of embarrassment.

“you’re just pretty.” his voice was soft and you kinda wanted to throw up. how could all this happen and he can just have the audacity to compliment you. you dropped eye contact but a similar smile could now been seen on your face.

“so, we're good now?” you spoke, eyes glued to the floor. you didn't think you could keep from kissing him, if he kept looking at you like that.

“we’re so good. you ready to smoke?” sam smiled some, and layed back on the bed. his arms falling above his head, he stared at the ceiling. life is just some game, and he's pretty sure he just won big. he felt somewhere between being on cloud nine and being the dumbest motherfucker he's ever met. he can't believe he believed josh about some stupid rumor, instead of just coming to you.

“so, actually the thing about that, i don't know how. i called you so you could teach me because i trust you.” warmth gathered on your cheeks again.

he leans up on one arm to look at you, and he smiles real big, teeth and all. his tongue crossing his lips as he laughs a bit. it was clear though, he wasn't laughing at you, just laughing at the situation. but still you must tease him, make up for lost time.

“sammy, don't laugh at me.” before you could stop yourself, the nicknames spilled out of your lips. a nickname sam hadn't heard in some time and it made his heart skip a beat.

“babe, it's not my fault, you make it so easy.” there he was again, undressing you with his eyes. whether it be intentional or not, you weren't sure. his cheeks glowed a little pink and you couldn't help but giggle. it's fair game at this point. you never knew sam as someone to use alot of pet names, is he trying to pick you up?

“yeah, well, you're blushing, dork.” it was a dumb retort, and on top of it all you stuck out your tongue at him. crossing your arms like the brat that you are. it seemed your question answered itself. you were somewhere between friends and lovers, and that scared the shit out of you.

“no I'm not.” he said incredulously, like it was something that was physically impossible. he quick to get off the bed, pushing at his cheeks in the mirror.

you're happy to skip up beside him, “yeah, you are, it's like you have a crush on me or something." you giggled. another thing that should have been left unsaid, spoken by you again. it was necessary, you had to know the truth. it felt like life or death, at this moment.

he stands up beside you, and it's only then that you notice he's got at least half a foot on you. it feels intimidating when he smirks at you.

“what if i do? maybe i like to make cute girls squirm,” his hands come to rest on your hips, and you were sure you were gonna faint, have a heart attack, or maybe die.

“sam, what are you doing.” it wasn't a question, cause you didn't want the answer.

“i'm touching you, is that okay?” you can't help but dumbly nod. he leaning towards you and you let him. his lips are soft against yours, and he pulls you closer. his smell and taste was intoxicating. you were sure if you were dead, this would be what heaven felt like.

your hands come to rest on his chest, letting him kiss you a bit longer before pushing him away.

“i-i think we should smoke, yeah, i think we should do that.” you weren't even sure what you were saying at this point. but you didn't want to just get him back and immediately jump into bed. you're not ready for that yet.

“whatever you want, doll.” he presses one soft, chaste kiss to your forehead and walks towards the weed and the rolling papers. you were almoat confused as you followed him back to the bed, who is this man? you wanted to kick your feet and acream into your pillow.

you watch as his skilled, ring-clad fingers pushed the weed into the white papers. you thought you might have a health issue when his tongue dipped over his lips to wet the paper. your reaction doesn't go unnoticed by him, so he just chuckles and finishes sealing the joint.

“now, what you're gonna do, and I'll demonstrate too. put the paper between your lips,” he explained everything in excruciating detail, and it made your legs clamp together a little. you needed more self control, maybe, but you weren't going to let all this get to you. not this fast, it wasn't fair.

setting the paper between his lips, he pulled a lighter out of his pocket, it was white all the plastic wrap has been picked off of it.

“when you hit it, take small puffs, breathe in and then exhale, like this okay?” he making eye contact with you as he does so.

he hands you the joint and you hope it helps you recollect yourself. you do exactly as he said and did, and somehow still end up coughing up a lung. irritated eyes making contact with his playful ocean ones.

“try again, it'll get easier, you're just a baby stoner.” he rubbed your back a little, and you tried again. this time it went down smoothly and you could feel something as soon as you exhaled. you hand him the joint and watch his expert smoking habits.

you never knew how hot someone smoking could be, but here he was. sam, your sam, looked like some bad boy in a teen cliche film. you never knew why girls would go for guys like this, but now you got it.

the two of you spent the rest of the night recalling stories, watching comfort films and laying in his arms. he held you tight, and smoked you out until you were nothing but a giggly, high mess. he got decently stoned himself and you feel asleep like that.

[thesensteawitch]

What's Your Beauty?🥀

Pick A Pile Reading

💚(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)💚

Hello, Senstea Souls!

I am back with another collective reading that will tell you what's beautiful about you. Take this reading as it resonates. For any personal readings feel free to DM me or email me at thesensteawitch@gmail.com.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 2 of Swords, 8 of Pentacles, 4 of Wands, 5 of Wands, 2 of Wands, Ace of Cups, 3 of Cups, 7 of Swords

My dear pile 1, you are as beautiful as it gets. It's only you who cannot see it. Just like a deer doesn't know that the fragrance is coming from its naval and searches for it in the whole forest same is the case with you. You see beauty in everything and everyone except yourself. Have you forgotten that the beauty that we see in others is in ourselves? Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. God, I feel so sorry for you that I have to remind you this because something happened to you your own thoughts make you believe that you're not beautiful. I will tell you what's your beauty. Your beauty is that you are hardcore loyal when it comes to relationships in your life. You make sure that every friendship and relationship is based on strong foundations. You provide stability and protection to your loved ones. You don't see people as competitors and this quality of you is such emanant that others envy you. Even those who are close to you. It's those who you cherish the most. They secretly want to cut your wings and they even do. Someone is fishy around you. Some of you may be great planners, adventurers, and artists. I sense strong Sagittarius and Capricorn placements. The thread that you bind with others is your beauty. How you intricate relationships with calm and how you give others space to pour their heart out is your beauty, pile 1. Your only weak point is you give others words more value than yours. And that's where you lose your beauty. New voices emerge in your head and keep feeding you with information about someone that you are not. Your beauty grows on people. It's slow but refreshing. You nurture others to the extent that you sometimes end up parenting them. You're so beautiful pile 1 save yourself from predators. Sending so much love your way. If you want to know your Divine Masculine/Feminine energy then feel free to drop a message in my Tumblr inbox. Below I am sharing my:

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Pile 2

Tarot Cards: 9 of swords, 6 of wands, 3 of cups, 6 of swords, the hanged man, 7 of cups, 2 of wands, king of pentacles

Hello, my dear pile 2. I see something strange here. You stick to extremes. If you shift your perception and choose to see the situation upside down you'll notice what you've achieved till now. If you just keep aside the sleepless nights you'll see what those sleepless nights have given to you. They made you shine like a star in front of a crowd. You've been praised by many people in your lifetime. There may be many who broke your heart but there was always that one person who acted as the silver lining to your dark clouds. You're a great performer pile 2. You are a great friend. You are an overachiever despite facing so many challenges in your life. And you doubt your beauty? Come on!!!!! You have the quality of Jesus, self-sacrifice. You've sacrificed a lot to be where you are today. You are very good at balancing things, pile 2. Somewhere your career might be suffering nowadays but believe me you can manage. I hear, “We have come so far my dear look how we have grown.” Free yourself from all the wrong narratives of beauty you have got stuck in your brain. Beauty comes from within. Focus on grooming your soul and pull it out of the mud. You need emotional healing. You are too concerned about your relationships. You are everything a person can ask for. You don't need assurance from anybody. You don't even need it from me. You know that deep down ARE A BEAUTIFUL SOUL. Your dreams are waiting for you to achieve them. You think things through is your beauty. For some of you, I am getting that your sibling may be your strength. Those who stayed are the ones who know what you have. Those who force you to stay now don't know how to stop themselves from taking from you. You can sometimes be that addictive for people. Ask yourself what's there that you need to heal within. If you want to know your Divine Masculine/Feminine energy then feel free to drop a message in my Tumblr inbox. Below I am sharing my:

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Pile 3

Tarot Cards: Temperance, The Fool, 5 of Pentacles, The Empress, Knight of Wands, The Star, 3 of Cups, 8 of Cups

Hello, my beautiful pile 3. I see that your beauty is that you stay with people through thick and thin. Even if you suffer you stay. You only walk away when you are not cherished or valued for what you are giving to another person. You have passion for life. You know your limits but you still carry yourself as if you are limitless. You stretch your dreams as far as you can. You are not afraid to demand. You don't think you deserve less but life at times throws difficulties your way. When the choice is needed to be made you realise that you're only human and you can only do so much. You have many wishes and there's no way that you feel you can't have them. Some of you may have life path 5. You are dreamers. Your beauty lies in your never-ending optimism. You work hard and smart. Your ideas are unmatchable. You not only think but show the world what we can dream we can achieve. I am amazed! So beautiful, pile 3. No one can stop you from achieving what you want and people around you know that. You have the strength to walk away from relationships that come in the way of your big goals. The world you want to create is just not about money. It's also about the community. As you have so many desires and things to do your life asks you to organize well so that you can perform tasks well and on time. It's important for you to not let yourself get involved in work that doesn't fit well with you. Your enthusiasm can sometimes take the best of you. Make sure you plan things through by not letting your passion go out of your hand. Last but not least you carry the faith of a child. If you once prayed for something you believe it's going to happen. It's a quality that adults struggle with but I am happy to see that you still carry faith in your heart. It is the only thing that is going to bring your dreams into reality. It's the most important ingredient, my friend. If you want to know your Divine Masculine/Feminine energy then feel free to drop a message in my Tumblr inbox. Below I am sharing my:

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[frangipani-wanderlust]

is there any truth to those 911 "codes" people see circulating (like ordering a pizza)? Is there a good way to tip you guys off that we need help without saying for sake of an example, "my ex husband is here and drunk and dangerous"?

There is absolutely no truth at all whatsoever to the "pizza code" and definitely not established set of "this topping means this and that one means that" at all. Don't kill yourself memorizing them, that won't mean anything. There are no codes that 911 calltakers are trained on, other than our local 10-codes for the police (and those are not standardized, so knowing them in one jurisdiction won't help you in another).

The situation you described would be tricky to navigate, honestly, but let's see. If I get a 911 call, it's going to start with, "911, what is the address of the emergency."

If the caller says, "Yes, I'd like to have a pizza delivered to 111 Underhill DR." my first thought is going to be that they dialed a wrong number.

So now, I'm gonna confirm that thought. "I'm sorry, you've called 911. Did you intend to call a pizza place?" Or maybe—now that you've got me gamplanning this out—I'd say, "Do you have an emergency?" as the question there, instead.

At this point, anyone who doesn't have an emergency is going to give me their schpiel about how their phone called by mistake or that it was a butt dial or their kid grabbed their phone. Whatever happened. We get a lot of accidental dials.*

If you are not able to speak freely, you're not going to say that. You'll answer that question however you answer it, but whatever it is won't be an explanation of why you called by mistake, and it will almost certainly not be a direct answer to the question I asked either. Whatever you say here is gonna be weird.

(Don't start spouting wacky nonsense, as we do have actual literal crazy people who call and report their hallucinations on 911. So, what you say here should follow the thread of the question asked, but don't tell the calltaker you don't have an emergency or that you dialed by mistake.)

From there, I'm gonna start asking yes-or-no questions, to allow you to answer without whoever might be listing hear you say things other than that. "Is there someone there with you?" "Can you speak freely?" "Do they have a weapon?" Stuff like that. If there's a point where you have to stop talking, I am going to ask you to put the phone down, but not hang up the call, that way I can still hear the noise in the background. By this point, police are already on their way. And I am definitely going to stay on the line until they arrive. So whatever I hear in the background gets relayed to the responders in real time.

* Even for accidental dials, I will double down on getting confirmation by asking, "If you had an emergency, would you be able to tell me?" I do this now for every single person who says they accidental dialed or didn't call because one of the times I just happened to ask it and the caller immediately hung up. To this day, I don't know what was happening, but I do know we absolutely did our due diligence and sent police to go check.

[haruniki]

Body Heat Helps Right?

Caught Kissing/Making Out- HSR Part 2/? part 1 is here

Characters: Bronya, Seele, Natasha, Serval

a/n: Didn't include Pela or Lynx bc i think they are both minors from what i have been told and I dont think it's appropriate to write them for this prompt. I also feel like I'm missing a character, lmk if i am. Also my gifs do not want to work properly on computer so i am sorry about that

a/n 2 (3/22/2025): this has been sitting in my private post for like a year. I took off Serval because I hadn't finished writing her part, but if someone puts in a request or something I'll write her part. i might start writing for hsr but only for some characters bc i haven't touched the game in like a year and know none of the new characters.

CW: suggestive content, established relationship in Bronya's and Seele's, patient x doctor in Natasha's, written with fem aligned reader in mind, Sampo

Bronya

Bronya had never been one for PDA, much less do anything that would expose both herself and her beloved girlfriend.

However, stress was getting to her and as her lover, you could tell that she was hanging on by a thread. Staying late at the office, coming home late in the night, even continuing to work at home.

Sure, rebuilding Belebog was going to take work from everyone, and a lot of the groundwork and decisions will have to be made by the Supreme Guardian Bronya herself.

That's why instead of her doing her paperwork at this very moment, you're straddling her waist as you both make out like your lives depend on it. Tongues intertwined, hands pulling at the fabrics out your clothes wanting to explore underneath, but Bronya's hesitance prevents her.

Bronya initially protested this act of intimacy, stating that it would be indecent to do any act. Guards could walk in, a citizen could walk in needing to talk with Bronya, or heaven forbids Sampo walks in, she most definitely get black mailed by him.

But all that slipped away once you state how cold you were from the outside and how you would only cuddle up to her for a few moments. Feeling a bit worried, she allowed you to sit on her lap and cuddle next to you. And really, she's the one who initiated the first kiss, and the second, and perhaps even the third. But she lost count on who initiated which kisses after the 4th one.

Bronya shifts a bit, grabbing a hold of you thighs before lifting you up and on to the desk. No longer worried about anyone walking in, it was late after all.

"I know I said only a small display of affection would be fine, but I do feel guilty about having neglected you a bit. Please allow me to make up for that.."

Your mouths collide once more. Bronya reaches for you blouse and begins unbuttoning it rather eagerly. It's been awhile since you've seen each other like this. such a pretty sight. Bronya with a flushed expression look adorable and... vulnerable.

You didn't think that part, was someone there? You eyes snap open as you feel Bronya pull away very quickly. A mortified expression on her face as she holds you blouse closed.

Sampo and Seele stand there at the door both relatively surprised. Seele awkwardly places down some papers on the floor, grabbing Sampo by the shoulders before walking out, dragging him as he spouts something about blackmail.

Once gone, Bronya all red face and slightly teary eyed, sits in her chair contemplating her choices.

Hopefully conforming Bronya will make her feel better about the awkward encounter?

Seele

It was so cold, freezing actually. The underground usually didn't get as cold as this but lately the temperature had been dropping really low.

You shiver as you go to meet up with Seele. She invited you out to walk patrol with her. She mostly just likes to show off her fighting skill and she loves when you praise her.

As you approach her, she walks up to you with a slight smile on her face and greets you joyously.

As you both walk and talk, a few rogue bots were approaching. Seele gives a small stretch before making quick work of them. After the fight, Seele walks over to you a proud smile on her face.

You give a small giggle at her behavior. She loved showing off when you were around, especially when she fought something.

As she approaches, you pull her into you and give a small kiss. A reward if you will. Seele smiles into it before wrapping her arms around your waist.

Seele pulls you in for another kiss, then another, and then another. It was quite nice, minus how cold it was. Seele must of notice you shivering and even she had to agree. It was rather chilly.

Seele pulls away and grabs your hand leading you to a dead-end area with tables and some old tents. One of the old places some mining residents were living in once upon a time.

It was much warm in this area, was one of those heaters still here?

Seele pulls you over to one of the tables, picking you and setting you on it.

"Lemme know if you get too cold, hate for you to catch a cold. Try not to pull my hair so much either."

She pulls you into another kiss, her hands gripping your waist. Her knee sliding in between your legs. She gently nudges you to lay back, breaking the kiss for you to do so. Seele wiping away the saliva from the broken kiss, watching you lay down.

After you lay down, she moves to straddle your waist. Initiating yet another kiss between you both.

However, it seems these tables were rather old and nor as sturdy as Seele had thought. It broke beneath you both and you both hit the ground.

The commotion got the attention of some guards who were doing their own patrol nearby and both rushed in thinking some monsters were nearby, only to find you both.

Faces flushed red, you both tell them that you both tripped and landed top of the table breaking it. And before the guards question any further, you both dash off. Leaving the scene and leaving the confused guards behind. Natasha

Natasha had always been kind to you. She's kind to everyone even if it's due to her job. But something had been bothering you lately about her, and it was the fact you had a crush on her.

Lately when you would come in, whether you were volunteering or coming in for an appointment. Her gaze seemed to linger along with any touch she left.

You had chalked it up to maybe her wanting to make sure you were helping another patient correctly or to just comfort you a bit when you were there for an appointment.

It just so happens that you had an appointment today, just a wellness checkup. Lately, you've been getting such a bad chill and while it was probably just the cold it couldn't hurt to get it checked in case

The door squeaks as you open it. You'll most definitely have to take a look at that the next time you volunteer.

Natasha looks up and smiles gently at you. Standing up with clipboard in hand, she escorts you to one of the beds. As you go to sit down, she closes the curtains around the bed. Sitting in the stool in front of you, she nods for you to begin listing your symptoms.

As you list them, she nods her head. Furrowing her eyebrows at the more concerning ones. Letting you finish talking, she lets out a hum before getting up and moving closer to you to examine your face. Natasha grasps your chin and hums a little bit.

Your face feels warm as she does this and you're not quite sure but you feel like she is hesitating on something. You almost want to kiss her.

"I think due to some of the heaters aren't working as well as they usually do, that might just be why you're having chills. Nothing a bit of ..warmth won't solve."

You nod your head as she says that. Natasha is still as close as she was before. She looks into your eyes for a moment, her violet eyes searching for something.

Her faces flushes lightly and she looks off to the side for a moment before asking you a question.

She coughs lightly and ask if she could kiss you. Your own face flushes but you slowly nod. Once she gets the confirmation of your approval, she leans in and kisses you.

Her lips feel chapped and dry, but you didn't mind. Natasha pulls back for a moment before diving in for another.

You're not quite sure how long both have waited for this moment but you both weren't going to waste the opportunity. As the time passes, Natasha may have forgotten that she had another appointment to attend to.

The squeakiness of the door must have gone unnoticed from the both of you because you both almost tumble to the floor when the curtain is quickly pulled aside.

You both quickly pull away and try to straight yourselves up both your faces flushed. As you look up to see who it is, you internally groan out of annoyance, Sampo is there with a nervous smile. It seems that he had an appointment with Natasha next.

Natasha glares at him before pulling him aside and having a quick talk with him. Whatever she said seemed to get him running out of there rather quickly. After he leaves, Natasha quickly turns back to

[casanovawrites]

random sentence prompts  ━ from various tv shows, part 17

i’m so tired of missing you.

stop giving me reasons to walk out.

sometimes the most persuasive argument is saying nothing at all.

you act so cold, it’s really hard to know you have any feelings.

this is who you’ve become. you can’t wash it off. it’s in you.

i feel like i lost someone i was with my whole life.

everyone’s kind of an asshole at 18.

fine. do whatever the fuck you want.

i am at the end of my rope. please.

everything that used to make sense doesn’t anymore.

this isn’t gonna be the last time you get exactly what you want and realize it isn’t what you wanted.

all you talk about is leaving this place.

sometimes i get angry, and i’m sorry.

“maybe” to me is the same thing as “no.”

i’m not okay, am i?

how about i just sit here with you until you’re ready. okay?

that’s why they call it a rock and a hard place. not a rock and a soft, comfy pillow.

you don’t get to judge me. i’m doing the best i can.

what happens next, that’s on me.

broken people don’t survive here.

it’s not your fault. you wanna feel like shit, fine. but feel like shit because your life is fucked. 

you wanna talk about what can and can’t be real? that’s the part you wanna focus on?

i haven’t heard good gossip in hours, and i need a good hit real bad.

not everything can be on your time.

if you wanna date people, we gotta stop hanging out with each other. it’s just math.

respectfully, i’ll die trying.

you help me, i help you. that’s the way it goes. 

i’m gonna put this as delicately as possible. how stupid are you?

all we can do right now is wait.

i saw something that wasn’t there. that’s not the first time that’s happened.

in this fucking ugly world, that kind of love does not exist.

i’m still your friend, i’m totally your friend, but you can be a little cruel.

that woman will eat you alive.

between you and me, i have seen some really crazy shit lately. 

you had so much respect for me that i started to learn how to respect myself.

i’m not someone who falls for fucked up, unavailable people.

when i’m mad, i don’t listen well.

welcome to your worst nightmare.

i don’t know what to do, and that really freaks me out.

you have no idea how lonely it is out here.

it wasn’t my choice to be this way.

i’m torn between my best future and my best life.

i feel like i’m hanging on by a thread here.

i wasn’t always like this, you know.

people wanna know if you’re a hero or an accomplice.

you should be mad at you.

i don’t like people going through my stuff.

you don’t have to defend yourself to me or anyone else who really knows you.

there is a fine line between savagery and consequence.

i’m the most clear-minded i’ve been in a long time, trust me.

there are no mistakes, just choices, and you chose what matters to you.

i think you mistook me for one of your little tricks.

i know how hard you work to keep yourself at a distance from everyone on the planet, but it’s not working for you anymore.

guess what, we were never safe.

what part of this is okay?

you just say what you want, not what anyone else wants, then you do that.

do you feel this? most people don’t have this. this is rare.

you’re not living your life. and if you don’t take any risks, you might as well be dead.

i’m not gonna end up sad and alone and full of regret.

let’s be known and gay together.

i pretended everything was fine. i think that just made everything worse.

you won’t be alone, but you’ll still get lonely.

i’ll tell you what i’d like to do next, i’d like to fucking murder somebody. you, maybe.

i’m turning into somebody i can’t stand.

i’m not gonna lie, you drive me crazy sometimes, but we’re in this together. you’re not alone.

i need help, don’t i? i’m really fucked up.

i don’t feel like i have anything left to give.

there are always going to be monsters in the world. it doesn't matter where you are. but i promised myself i would never let them scare the life out of me.

you’d be surprised how quickly all this becomes normal.

if you don’t learn from your mistakes, you’re doomed to repeat them, right?

life always seems to have other plans.

my anger’s like carbon monoxide. it’s odorless, tasteless, colorless, and completely toxic, but only to me. i don’t take my anger out on anyone other than myself.

[angeliqueiguess]

“Focus!” (j.jh)

017. talk warnings: swearing, kinda short.

When Y/n arrived at the building, she swiped her card through the reader, and the door clicked open with a soft sound. A wave of nervous energy rushed through her as she crossed the threshold.

“Stay calm,” she whispered to herself, trying to regulate her breathing while making her way toward her brother’s office on the far side of the building. “You’re just here to get what you need, then you leave. That’s it.” She repeated the mantra under her breath, as if saying it enough times would steady her nerves.

When she reached the glass-paneled door, she paused. Through the glass, she saw Jaehyun sitting in one of the office chairs, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. As if sensing her presence, he looked up, and their eyes met. For a moment, time seemed to slow. His stare was different—deeper, more focused. It wasn’t the casual glance she was used to; it felt deliberate, like he was really seeing her for the first time. Her stomach knotted, but she pushed the door open anyway. Jaehyun straightened in his seat as she stepped inside, her silence heavy in the air between them. The room felt thick with unspoken things, the tension hanging like a fog.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Jaehyun said quietly, his voice lower than usual. The weight of the moment was palpable, as if they were both tiptoeing around landmines. Y/n inhaled slowly, suppressing a sigh.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she replied, her tone cool. Trying to break the ice, she added, “How’d you get in?” He simply gestured toward Johnny’s special keycard resting on the desk. She nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line. “So? What’s this about?” she asked, hoping he’d cut to the chase.

Jaehyun shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the desk as if the scattered objects might give him the words he needed. “I have to be honest with you,” he began. “This isn’t just about Ashley... I wanted to talk to you.”

Y/n sat down in a nearby chair, though she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. His presence was overwhelming, like a pressure she couldn’t escape. “You tricked me into coming?,” she said narrowing her eyes, irritation seeping into her voice.

Jaehyun ran a hand down his face, frustration flickering across his features. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, as if the weight of the situation was too much to bear.

“No… it’s not like that.” He paused, exhaling slowly. “Trying to talk to you—really talk—has been harder than I thought. I didn’t know any other way to get you here.”

Y/n frowned, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Then stop circling around it and say what you need to say. Why am I here?”

Jaehyun hesitated, visibly struggling with the words. She crossed her arms, feeling trapped. Being alone with him for this long felt foreign—too close for comfort. Ever since the incident that made her cut him off, they’d never spent more than twenty minutes in the same space without someone else around. And now that they were alone, it was stirring something she couldn’t quite name.

“I don’t want you handling this,” Jaehyun finally said, tension lacing his words.

Her confusion deepened. “What do you mean?”

“I already talked to Johnny—he’s taking care of everything,” Jaehyun added, his gaze dropping again, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. Y/n tilted her head slightly, studying him. He always did this—avoiding eye contact, deflecting.

“Ashley didn't want to do the session, so she ruined it” Jaehyun admitted, and Y/n seized the opportunity.

“And you just let her?” she shot back, disappointment and anger threading through her words. She opened her mouth to say more, but Jaehyun raised a hand, cutting her off.

“No,” he answered quickly, as if trying to stop the conversation from derailing further. “I left with her to convince her to come back, but she refused.” Y/n let out a sharp exhale, disbelieving. She stood, not to leave, but to pace, the frustration buzzing in her chest. Jaehyun watched her move, uneasy but maintaining his composure.

“Johnny’s handling it,” he repeated, as if that would magically fix everything.

“Then why the fuck are you telling me this?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air, exasperated.

“Because you work here...,” Jaehyun said with a sigh. “And because I needed to talk to you.” Y/n let out a bitter, humorless laugh.

“It’s amazing,” she said with a smirk, stopping mid-step to look directly at him. “Every time we talk, you somehow find a way to get under my skin. Tell me—do you do it on purpose?”

Jaehyun held her gaze for a beat too long, as if searching for the right thing to say. But Y/n was already bracing herself, arms crossed, her breath uneven from the swirl of anger and confusion inside her. Every conversation with him felt like a game she couldn’t win, leaving her off-balance, like they were speaking different languages.

“I want to apologize,” Jaehyun said at last, his voice soft but steady, as if those words alone could erase everything—Ashley, the session, the years of unresolved tension between them. For a moment, Y/n was stunned. Hearing him say that was so unexpected, it threw her off. “Please, Y/n… sit down,” Jaehyun added, his tone gentle, almost pleading.

Her heart pounded in her chest, emotions welling up faster than she could contain them. She pressed her lips together, needing space—needing air.

“I just... need a minute,” she whispered before turning on her heel and heading toward the patio. The glass door clicked shut behind her, leaving Jaehyun alone in the silence of Johnny’s office, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

“I’ll wait,” he murmured to himself, almost as if trying to convince himself it was the right thing to do.

She sprinted outside, the cold air hit Y/n’s face, but even that wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside her. She leaned against the railing, struggling to breathe, as if her lungs couldn’t quite expand fully. Does he really want to apologize? The thought gnawed at her. Or is this just another way to mess with me?

Memories crashed into her—fleeting images from their teenage years with Jaehyun and her brother, moments she’d tried to bury but that now surfaced uninvited. Shared laughter, innocent jokes that now felt laced with hidden meanings. And worst of all, the memory of him walking away, leaving her behind.

The nostalgia didn’t warm her—it stung, making her feel raw and exposed. Vulnerable. And she hated it.

She knew this moment would come eventually, but not like this—not so soon, not so overwhelming. Jaehyun’s words kept echoing in her mind, unraveling her thoughts, making her feel like she was slipping, losing control.

Fuck...

Just as quickly as the panic rose, it began to ebb. Clarity washed over her, silencing the voices in her head. She knew, then and there, that she couldn’t keep running. It was time to face everything she’d avoided for so long. Straightening her posture, she took a deep breath, finally feeling the cool air fill her lungs completely. Her gaze shifted back to the door she’d just walked through. And without a second thought, she turned around and headed back inside.

This wasn’t just about him anymore. This time, it was about her.

---

prev//next masterlist.

Angie's note:this is getting juicyyy, sorry for the cliffhanger (i'm planning to post another one after this hehe) As always, i hope u liked it and i hope y'all doing great and taking care of yourselves <3

Taglist @apolloxxivmin @milanco @sibwol @neocupidd @minkyuncutie @miniature-tragedy @injunnie-lemon @kodasity @kukkurookkoo @cryingforjae @tenjyucat @aerivrs @chan-yeoldelling @thegracerammy @livingdoll-hara

[a-blue-mask]

I don't really know what else to say, but I really like your work! Live, Laugh, Forgotten Hill :3

AAAAAAAAA THANKS I'M HAPPY YOU LIKE MY STUFF

And oh my gods I've quickly scrolled down your account and there's so much FH content I might implode, ALSO YEAH WHY DOES ETHAN HAVE ONLY FOUR FINGERS???

As a curiousity I checked Night of mischief walkthrough to see his child self and you can't see his hands too clearly but it seems like he has some missing fingers there too? Someone correct me if I'm wrong, I might replay the game just to see the images at a hopefully better quality than YouTube.

This is fueling the theorist in me because what if the reason he's so hell-bent on his research and "upgrading" is that he was born with only four fingers on each hand, thus internalising the idea that he was defective? And since he can't exactly operate on himself to fix it (he needs to use both hands at the same time to operate, without even considering issues with anesthesia) he's projecting his wish to "fix" himself onto others?

That would be similar to my theory with Nathan and his abandoment issues and his passion for puppets. They would both be projecting an internalised idea of "I'm wrong" (for Nathan because their mother left, for Ethan because of his birth defect) onto those around themselves.

In Run run little horse we see Owen interacting with and guiding Nathan in the ritual with Berry, but Ethan doesn't appear once despite literally living with them, which could point us to the fact that their father put more expectations on Nathan and neglected Ethan. Like, unlike all the others Ethan doesn't even have his own memento game, his child self only appears in Night of little mischief. It might be a stretch... but is it really?

When a child has any sort of abnormality, it's instinctual for the parent to ignore them and invest more resources into the "normal" child; we see this both in human society and nature. The concept of special needs is kinda new after all, and even nowadays not everyone is willing to put in the effort to give their kids what they need if it's anything out of the socially accepted norm.

So for someone from over a century ago, the "normal" thing to do would be to invest more energy in the "healthy" child. But neglected children don't dissappear, and they'll often just try harder to earn the same "worth" their siblings have in their parents' eyes. Add to that any sort of physical defect and an inclination for a field that's supposed to help others (that also happens to be the same field your neglectful parent works in) and you have a projecting overachiever who thinks he has to become his parent to be worthy of affection.

In game I've always thought Ethan was "softer"/less hostile than Nathan, in many ways. And there's a lot of interesting details about the twins - Ethan works in a sociosanitary field (with his own twist to it alright) while Nathan is in the entertainment field (also with his own twist to it).

One makes himself "useful" while the other tries to make people "satisfied". Different ways of interacting - and thus connecting - with people speak volumes about one's childhood and upbringing. If Ethan had to struggle to get his parents' attention and so had to make himself worth of notice by making practical progress, Nathan often had the spotlight on himself by doing very little and so was raised with it. As an adult, Ethan found ways to make himself needed by others, while Nathan kept chasing the spotlight and attention. This last thing also feeds into the "Nathan wants to be liked" thing I said some time ago, which is based on the fact that he turned a guy that didn't like his show into a puppet, like the petty little crow he is.

This is A LOT of speculation hanging by a thread thinner than Ruth's hair, but I am SO into it! Thanks so much I missed making silly little theories like this and probably would have never stopped to do it if you hadn't sent this to my inbox! <3333

[bengiyo]

Only Friends Ep 11 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Atom lied to Cheum that Boston forced him to have sex with him repeatedly, and his friends iced him out completely. Boeing showed up to be an absolute menace and it was compelling. Top and Mew are still doing this dance, and Mew has decided to utilize Boeing to torment Top. Nick avoided advancing things with Dan, and then reconciled with Boston. Ray learned that Sand wasn't taking his dad's money (which is dumb) and decided to commit to rehab.

"Move on. Move in."

Plug, please don't drink after Sand. You do not know where that boy has been.

Look at them messing with Yo and Plug getting back together to lull me into a false sense of security.

Top and Mew are so annoying. Just please break up already.

I like that Nick is being honest with Dan without over sharing. He's also not giving Dan hope. "I like you, but I'm not ready to be anyone's boyfriend right now. Let's just focus on work," is actually good for both of them. Dan is disappointed, but he knows where he stands.

I'm glad Sand is avoiding Ray. He's been called a whore so many times.

I like Sand's mom.

I know they better give Sand that money after all he's been through. I do like that Sand doesn't think Ray needs to completely give up alcohol, but he does need to manage his dependency.

I feel like I've lost the thread on why Mew keeps hanging out with Boeing.

Look at nasty4nasty working again. We've added another boy to Mark's counter and furthered the mission to add complicated layers to digital surveillance and blackmail in modern queer life.

Now what was Boston thinking there when he glanced at Nick when he said he knows what it's like to have a one-sided love?

Things are going too well for Sand and Ray. Ray still got Sand to do the community service with him. Something is going to show up and disrupt them.

Every time I see Mew and Top I'm just like, "Potion Seller, enough of these games!"

I'm glad Sand is pathetic for every man he was in love with. Ray ain't special. Sand is just like this.

We have missed multiple opportunities for a Mama Sandwich and I am despondent.

I wish we'd gotten a better since of Top's emotional interior. Force is clearly playing Top as sincere, and I don't know how much of my distrust of Top is past experiences with guys like him or the reputation he has within the show.

I'm not a fan of Cheum's reaction here to Atom's admission. On his lie, they stormed Boston's house and accused him of assault. They kicked him out of their project. They stripped him of his community. We can support Atom learning something important about himself and still make sure we let him know that what he did was foul. I'm so not into Cheum at all. I was not expecting to have so many qualms with lesbians in this show.

I really loved that conversation between Boston and Nick. They continue to feel the most honest with each other about what they are to each other. I love Boston offering Nick this little time they have left and being clear that it does expire. I like that it's a request, and I like that Nick didn't exactly give him an answer. Nick has been burned, so he's being more cautious with Boston.

I actually kinda want Top and Mew to work out, because the back and forth with them is the kind of thing you need someone willing to spar with for it to work.

Ray saying he'll pay anything for Sand as his boyfriend might be more romantic if he didn't always call Sand a whore when he got mad.

Well well well, are we finally going to get that threesome??

A fire in the last episode what the hell. Who is burning down Top's hotel?? Who isn't Boeing going to try to fuck??

I'm so amused at Ray being possessive of Sand and asking him to draw a boundary with Boeing as if he ever managed to draw one with Ray. Top and Mew remain so uncertain for me, and I'm a bit disappointed that Top will remain an enigma to me. Boston and Nick are the only ones moving towards something that feels sustainable. Atom can leave and never come back. I'm over Cheum.

[eddiecompetitiondiaz]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @neverevan @made-ofmemories and @diazsdimples thank you!

How many works do you have on ao3?

6! I only started writing a little over a year ago and I am a very, very slow writer.

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

68,008

3. What fandoms do you write for?

9-1-1 only at the moment.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos:

I got a bed but I’d rather be in ours tonight (6.7k, Buddie, Explicit) Thighs and Eyes (3.7k, Buddie, Explicit) Kiss your lips blue (7k, Buddie, Explicit) I'll Be Your Gift, Give You Something Good To Celebrate (6.4k, Buddie, Explicit) Sweet Nothing (37.8k, Buddie, Teen and up)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes!!! Every time, comments absolutely make my day and I don't feel like my responses ever do justice to just how giddy I am when I get a nice comment!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't think any of my fics are even remotely angsty (though maybe some in the near future might be idk idk) but I don't think I could ever write something with an angsty ending. Happy endings only over here.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think all of my fics have very happy endings but I'll go with Sweet Nothing maybe, as it's super happy with also hints at even more happiness in their future too. :)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

So far no, thank god.

9. Do you write smut?

Most definitely, four of the six fics I have up are smut but I always like to put a lot of plot in there too!

10. Craziest crossover?

I don't write crossovers, it's just not my thing personally.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of, I really hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, put people are welcome to as long as they link my fic :)

13. Have you co-written a fic before?

No but I hope to soon!

14. All time favorite ship?

Buddie buddie buddie buddie buddie

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I have a few I started when I first got into 911 that would need some crazy reworking to still make sense but I'm still hopeful lol. The hangover au is really hanging on by a thread because the 911 writers blatantly stole my idea to steal the hangover movie's idea (jk) I'll definitely still write it but it's kinda been put on hold.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at writing descriptively? I also get some lovely comments on how I write emotions which makes me very happy :)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think my pacing could use a lot of work. Sometimes things feel a little too fast and other times I go on for too long. My dialogue can also be hit or miss depending on the character.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I can't speak any language other than English and like super basic Irish so I just don't trust myself to write in another language well. If I had someone's help I would be open to it though.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

I think I wrote one direction fics back when I was like 12-15 but I only actually posted one fic before I started writing for 911 and that was destiel about a decade ago (and it was deleted like 6 months later)

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Ahhhh I'm not sure, I have things I both love and hate about all of them, but I think I have to pick Sweet Nothing because I put my heart and soul into that fic for months and it inspired me to keep writing longer fics.

I feel like most people have already been tagged so sorry if you've already done this, but tagging: @wikiangela @watchyourbuck @spagheddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @rogerzsteven

@jesuisici33 @sunshinediaz @daffi-990 @rainbow-nerdss @theotherbuckley

+ whoever else wants to do it!

[lililovesthings]

How did I miss this??? (Part 2)

Now previously I said that I think these two have been together (and I mean TOGETHER together) for a very long time.

I have had some more thoughts/theories...they just keep coming and to be honest I'm not even sure where to start but I'll give it a go.

I do not expect anyone to read this but in all honesty, I just need to get it out. This has been going round in my head for a few days whilst I attempt to form it into a path of logical reasoning. I think I am there and there are holes but hopefully you lot can help me fill them in. So, get comfy, we might be here a while…

Assuming the meeting in Rome was a date...they have been doing this for a long time. Now at first they were extremely careful but over the centuries they became a little more brazen with being seen in public together, knowing what they could get away with. Again, nothing too obvious.

Now, many have been talking about the bookshop as a metaphor for Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship, but I think it's more than that. I shall explain:

Before I get into it, a few pieces of information that are relatively common knowledge and/or I have come across in my daily browsing (I can’t find where I saw all of them, so anyone please help):

Neil Gaiman has said that the scenes we see between Aziraphale and Crowley aren’t all the times they’ve met. This is just the meetings we see – which is understandable considering they’ve been on the planet for 6000 years.

Zira and Crowley evidently have some form of connection or awareness to their respective head offices. Even going so far as to know when they are being watched (S1, EP 6) just before they swap back.

We can all agree that there is almost nothing that is not there for a reason; details, easter eggs, acting choices, props, set etc.

We also know that the story is pretty much plotted out so it stands to reason that there will be a few story threads that go through all episodes, however subtly.

OK. So.

Aziraphale bought the bookshop in the 1700s, up until then where did they hang out? I'm thinking they were using the various 'rendezvous points' anyway regardless, we know Crowley has a flat but we also know that hell has a sort of direct line to it.

Anywhere is very open and somewhere they can be watched. Celestials have materialized inside the car, on the street, in the flat, even on the TV. The only place they never seem to materialize? The bookshop. Even Metatron came in through the front door (when he isn't a floating head summoned through a portal). note it has no TV and no radio if I remember. The only time any demons have materialised is at the end when Gabriel got his memories back. I believe that's because the demons were "invited" in earlier on.

Here's my point. The bookshop is their safe place, it's THEIR space. Remember we don't see everything, we haven't seen everything. Every time we see them, they are in a public place, with someone watching or in the bookshop...with the curtains open. And remember, they KNOW when they're being watched.

Allow me to draw your attention to Season 2, Episode 1. Crowley is already on the way to the bookshop when Zira calls him, and when they meet in the coffee shop he is rather confused as to why they aren't in the bookshop. (Then of course we have the whole naked man friend fiasco and Crowley's reaction to that...)

When they do go to the bookshop I noticed Crowley DOES NOT EVEN QUESTION WHY ZIRA IS CLOSING THE BLINDS. He has no idea Gabriel is there, (he just knows something about a naked man, which is another conversation). Now this suggests to me that this is something that is done often.

They go into the bookshop and have their 'us time'.

This also helps this make sense:

All lovers meetings would be in the bookshop. That was their space. Alone. Where no one was watching.

Now you may be thinking “We’ve seen them alone in the bookshop before when no one was watching and they weren’t behaving like a couple.” But someone was watching. WE were watching. And as we’ve established g-d only shows us what she wants us to see. She is telling the story.

I also think they have gotten so good at pretending in public that they have developed a code of sorts. For example, I think 'Breakfast/dinner at the Ritz' means something totally different.

They care for each other so deeply that they cannot stand putting each other in harms way.

They are celestial beings so their idea of love and relationships is something that is totally different and beyond the understanding of humans.

They saw Beelzebub and Gabriel be together openly in front of everyone and Zira grabbed Crowley’s arm. To me that is a very ‘familiar’ gesture. It’s saying ‘Look, they’re doing it. We can do that too.’ He then proceeds to look at Crowley with such loving adoration as if he cannot see any reason that they can’t be together openly and honestly.

Aziraphale then goes to coffee with Metatron whilst Crowley waits in the bookshop and tidies up. There is something strange about this. Throughout the time he is taking care of the bookshop whilst Zira is in Scotland, we see him chucking books all over the place. Even at the end we see him chuck a tray of food on the chair. So why is he tidying up now? – he tidies up because they are going to USE it.

He says, they are going to an ‘Extremely alcoholic breakfast at the Ritz.’ So if they are not going to be at the bookshop, why would it matter if Muriel is there or if it’s tidy? They do need US time. It’s a euphemism, it’s code. “Breakfast at the Ritz”, “I’ll give you a lift”, “Waiting inside”.

This is why it shocks Crowley so much when Nina thinks they’re a couple. They think they have been hiding it so well for a VERY long time and he can’t believe that someone has thought that for real. Yes we have all done it and been on the receiving end when someone thinks you’re a couple and you aren’t, it happens. But Nina just flat out refuses to believe that they’re not.

That is when Crowley goes to the winebar. Zira asks him why he isn’t ‘waiting inside’ “You like waiting inside.” As in “We never have a date in public, they can see us.” Then Crowley explains it’s because Jim is in the bookshop but in reality it’s probably partly because he’s realised that they haven’t hidden it as well as they thought they did, so they may as well sit there.

That reaction when Shax says to Zira, that hes not Crowley’s type? Seriously, that is a very much a “That’s what you think.” look.

We are a group of the two of us and we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t. – They really were pretending. He wasn’t talking about being in denial about their feelings for one another, he was literally saying they were PRETENDING not to be together. Now he wants everyone to know. He doesn't want to pretend anymore.

He thought Zira felt the same way until he told him about the whole 'going back to heaven' situation. Not sure how it would have gone if Crowley spoke first.

Aziraphale did not seem shocked by Crowley's confession. He already knows. What he doesn't understand is why he doesn't want to go to heaven.

Zira still believes in the fundamental goodness of heaven because he has nothing to compare it to. Crowley has been on both sides and knows they are both as bad as each other “Life on earth would be just as dead, if heaven ended it.” That’s is why Crowley wants so stay on earth or go away with Zira.

Zira wants to go with Crowley to heaven because as others have pointed out, that’s where he believes they will have the best life and be able to be together. Crowley knows different, he was cast out into a pool of boiling sulphur just for asking questions. So he walks away and says ‘good luck’. Zira has not had the same experience of heaven Crowley has, Crowley has experienced the worst of the universe on both sides and can’t live like that anymore.

So "You can't leave this bookshop" yes, indeed, as we have established means "Don't leave US."

We could have been ‘US’. But Aziraphale won’t see it. So Crowley does the only thing he can think of and kiss the love of his entire existence. Whilst they are being watched. That is why Aziraphale says ‘I forgive you’. It isn’t just an ‘I love you’ it’s an ‘I forgive you for telling them our secret.’ I forgive you for trying to change my mind.

More in Part 3...

[realrealcrazy]

I mend things. Clothes mostly. I sat at rolller derby practice last night and made casual conversation about the life of a shirt while i was stitching closed a rip in my jeans. That more people will throw away a shirt than replace a button. I hold my clothess with reverence. I think of the thousands of hours and hands it took to get to me; sewing the seed to grow and harvest cotton and spin it into thread. Weaving lines into shapes. Cutting designs someone built in their brain. I think about people i will never meet who held the pieces of fabric together to run them under a sewing machines. (I think of the hands that built the cogs in the machines). The thousand hands who passed that shirt from bus to train to boat to shop to me. Or, more likely as I prefer second had, to some other stranger who lived and loved in it until i found it hanging in a dusty corner and it finally rested in my hands.

A simple shirt has traveled further, met more people and lived longer than I have —and might ever — and am I to doom it to rot for the sake of a button and a minute of my time?

I mend things. Because i think breaking doesn’t need to be a permanent end. Because being worn down and worn through can be an opportunity for new life. I save scrap of fabric and thread and wait until they find the hole they were meant to fill. I embroider leaves over the tears along my sides because i can see that I needed to grow. I outgrow my jeans and i cry because i loved who I was in them. And then I cut them up and sew in a panel of new life so they fit the body I have now.

I mend things because I am constantly growing and learning to give myself grace for when I fail to do what I thought I was built for.

[beauty-and-passion]

Just wanted to say that I've been a long-time fan of yours, since before PoF, and your analyses were some of the most well-thought out, nuanced and well-researched pieces on the site (my favorites are the playlist analyses they're like my comfort ones lmao). Even tho I've drifted away from the fandom, I still check back in here every now and again to see what's going on. Whilst I love ur series, I do think it's sad you've had to give urself that closure, which is one of my biggest hang-ups with this series. This painful, slow decline where SaSi drags on and on, losing all its momentum & fans and ending with a quiet sizzle rather than a bang as it should, is the worst way to end a series that touched so many people, including me. Tbh, if Thomas is going to use his ever-patient SaSi fans to milk views and money for his other series, he owes it to them to at least finish it properly. He owes his fans a lot of things, and a S2 finale is the main one, you can't milk SaSi for views and not create an episode for 2 years, you can't have your cake and eat it too. Don't want to do it anymore? Cut it, end it, so people can finally move on. The decline of SaSi has been one of the saddest things to witness, but I'm glad you're branching out into other things (tbh kudos for making it this long) and I'll stick around anyway even if ur analyses aren't SaSi because I don't read them for the content, but for the captivating way you write :)

Oh no, compliments! My only weakness!

But seriously, it's beautiful to feel so appreciated and I thank you a lot for that. I am glad you enjoy my analyses so much and it makes me very happy to know they have a good use. If they can help someone feel better, then I will keep writing them until the end of time - no, you can't take back your words now, they will come and be stupidly long because I love to ramble about stuff I like :P

Your words about SaSi are perfectly understandable and I agree with everything you say. It's really a shame that this series is slowly declining and it probably won’t end up like a bang, as it deserved.

Sure, Thomas explained a lot of things and it's now a bit clearer why this happened. However, this doesn't take away from the fact that the organization is pitiful and the lack of communication shouldn't have happened at all, not in a competent team. There are definitely issues and I hope Thomas will work on them as soon as possible, because they can affect his future projects too.

I felt we were going in this direction and I was growing frustrated. So, I did what I do every time there is something I don't like: I try to fix it, even if just for myself. And that's what I did with FSS3. I wanted to see these threads close in a satisfying way, I wanted to see the themes I care about being developed as they deserve. I wanted to give these characters a mature development, because I deeply love them and I deeply love the concept and the possibilities of Sanders Sides.

So, I put my ideas down - with the help of all the people who contributed to the survey. And now, I feel much more satisfied. I know FSS3 isn’t canon, but it’s as close to canon as possible - and, hopefully, will keep being like that for some time too. It’s something I wanted and needed and I’m glad people appreciated it and felt it was good for them too.

And now, I will gladly branch into other stuff. I need to do a bit of a makeover on the blog and expand the “not SaSi” section, first. Then I already have three series I want to talk about and one will be very long, so it might take a lot of time. And then Eurovision will come in May and the Book of Bill will come out in June and maybe I will also talk about the books I love in the future? Or about other series I follow and enjoy? I still don’t know, but be sure I won’t run out of things to talk about. I just wish my ramblings will be worthy of your time and I will keep deserving your appreciation, no matter what I’ll talk about <3

[cryopathiic-a]

[ rainfall ] sender finds receiver out alone in the rain

[ needs ] sender asks receiver what they need

angsty prompts || accepting some

There was the thud of the car door slamming shut; shortly before the pitter-patter of dress shoes on a wet pavement. It was pouring, more than it should be around this time of year. Hard enough to have white gold melt into silky threads shortly after he took off running after her. She had the umbrella to get by, on her short walk from the uber to the hotel stairs, after all. All he had... was an acute sense of smell that helped him stalk her all the way there.

❝ Wait, wait! ❞ A hand raised as he rushes after her and almost trips into a puddle. And he picks himself up, prancing, slowing down only after she's stopped and turned to ask him what he could possibly want — what more he could possibly want.

Because he was taking too long. And he coaxed her into waiting, time and time again; and she is not known for her patience. So, part of him still holds onto the thought that this might just be another one of her schemes; something to make them jealous and force them into popping the big question. Why else would they just... tell him something like that?

I am seeing someone else.

And after that, they stormed out with him following suit, looking like a kicked puppy.

❝ One moment, please, give me at least that. ❞ A finger held up, motioning for her to wait. And then he drops down on one knee; and gets his pant sleeve wet, in the middle of the driveway where everyone is watching. And there's this moment where they're just looking at each other, a question hanging from his penetrating gaze before he slowly lowers his head and reaches down...

— to tie the shoelaces of his boot. They'd come loose.

The next moment he's sprung back up and heading for her with bated breath.

❝ Oof, anyway, c'mon let's talk more about it — we can talk over dinner! I know this nice place... we'll just head there quietly and catch up a bit, maybe grab a bite, something to drink — ❞ To loosen her up so he can manipulate her subtly. ❝ Muzan-sama... come on, we've known each other forever. You can't just walk out on me like this. I'm sure if we just air out our feelings we'll sort this out — we always do! Come on... 'darling' ? ❞ There's that sweet, venus fly trap sort of smile again.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Iteration - a Malevolent fic, epilogue

John has been poisoned. Who did it? Unknown. How can he be saved? If not for Arthur, he wouldn't.

The ripples from this event hit far distant shores, and no one will come out of it unchanged.

Part 100 of the Surrogate series.

AO3 - epilogue

--------

The poison was a mystery, and apparently, would always be. This… This would not do.

A spell to activate it was clever. The description of a sauce didn’t make sense, initially, but a magic surge to specifically catalyze the poison into its active form? Absolutely brilliant. Which made sense, given whom she thought had made it.

The Keeper had observed the tiny, frail, twitching piece of magic for hours, dissecting it thread by thread, vivisecting this unthinking, unfeeling living spell so she could see the ways each bit of magic interconnected. There, a specific intent to precipitate one ingredient into a solid from its dissolved state; there, a flash of energy directed just so to charge the particles in question, activating the magical cascade that chewed away at the injured fragments of gods and shunted them out, away, gone.

But fascinating as it was, she had pieces of a puzzle that were not complete. Dagon could not give her a name for the poison, and didn’t know how it was made. She’d paced, and brooded, and researched, and considered asking Dagon for every antidote he could cook up that might clue her in (damn the price!), but it wasn’t enough.

That’s when she heard the whistling.

Sharp, clever, perfectly on-pitch, yet absolutely chaotic in its purported melody. It was very clearly Kayne, in the Scriptorium, doing… something?

Whatever he was doing, he was bringing it her way.

And he was a mess.

Torn. Bloodied. He stopped whistling to grin at her like some rabid coyote, and then resumed, walking forward. His ichor was eating holes in the floor.

“Kayne!” She couldn’t quite keep herself from being bright and bubbly, the intrigue and the questions and the mystery and the need roiling together into a sound like teeth gnashing in delight upon seeing a meal. “Where are you going? What are you doing? Did you see what happened?”

“Heeeey, baby sis!” he said with a wave (flinging more ichor, which sizzled and spit as it ate into whatever it touched). “Got you a present! Oh wait, gotta finish my performance, ahem, ah… oooooooh!” He pressed the back of his ichor-dark hand to his forehead and threw his head back like some damsel in a movie. “Alas, I am done for!” And with all the drama of a thousand cats, he flopped onto his back on the floor.

She watched, silent and still, for a long second.

Wait. That was her cue!

“Oh no!” she cried, sweeping to his side, kneeling and pulling his limp form onto her lap. “My dearest brother, struck down but steadfast to return unto me! Pray tell, Kayne, speak softly to me; tell me your efforts were not in vain, so I may avenge thee!”

He gave her the most exaggerated wink. “No need, fair one, for I have avenged mineself!” He paused. “Myself? Mine… self? Well, either way, I actually didn’t do that, but I did getcha a present.” He held up a small, square crystal.

Inside, etched into the glass, was a recipe.

“I put on a show,” he said.

She gasped, soft, reverent, taking the crystal and rotating it in her hands to see every angle, the words trying to crawl from her sight but pinned in place. This was it. The poison. This was it! “Really? For me?”

“Well,” he said, and though he was grinning, his voice dropped into a terrible register. “I might’ve needed to remind someone not to fuck with my show, and also wanted them to think that they could fight me off.” He rolled his eyes back, and for a moment, aped dead, tongue improbably long and hanging out of his mouth. Then he grinned at her again. “I was just such a pain in the ass that he gave me the damned recipe to make me go away.” He cackled.

She grappled him within all four of her arms (and about five more for good measure), clutching him tight to her chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I need to tell Dagon right away. Everything was so muted and mixed with the interference I couldn’t tell—thank you!” And then she paused, hands ruffling his mussed and bloodied hair. “Do you need to be healed? A silly question, I know, but I can at least fix up your guise for you.”

“Weeeell…” Somehow, he did puppy eyes. “I can do it myself, buuuuut….” And he arched dramatically over her skirt-covered knees. “Oh, alas, I gots a owie…”

She pulled out a black silk handkerchief and tenderly daubed at his brow, power thrumming as his guise knit back together, leaving clean streaks of unblemished skin amidst the ichor that coated him. “But… why walk away?” She asked, torn flesh knitting back together under her ministrations. “This… you caught him, fair and square. He tried to kill your stars. Why let him go? Why not really make him suffer for it?”

That smile was worse, poisonous, dark, hungry. “Because it wouldn’t be enough, doll. There is a fucking reason no one has tried to go against me in millennia, and our brother… our fool of a sibling… thinks that reason doesn’t apply to him.” He stretched. “I mean, sure, he could quit now, but we both know he won’t. And sure, I could have called him on it now, but who the fuck cares? It’s just two gods squabbling over mortal toys. Nothing interesting about it. But.” He wriggled. “Oh, oh, oh, this? This is a fuckin’ guillotine of his own making. I’m not just gonna stop him. I’m not just gonna call him out. I am gonna humiliate him, hurt him, fucking castrate him, and do it all in such a way that he won’t stick his bleeding dicks out of his lab again for a million fuckin’ years. Even letting him pick me apart tonight was all steps on that road. I want him to think he can hurt me. When that axe falls, doll… it’s gonna be memorable.” He laughed, a sanity-shredding sound to match that smile. “They might even end up writing songs about it.” He suddenly drooped again. “Woe is me! I got bited. For He Was Just Too Much.”

“Oh nooooo,” the Keeper said, keeping up with the dramatics (if only just) while her mind clicked and whirred. “I… I see. It’s not about… them. It’s about making an impression.”

It did not feel good to say. She liked them. Her hearts hurt.

But that didn’t matter; her brother’s games were his own, and she could respect the main drive behind it. She was not his keeper (hehe), and neither was he hers. And wasn’t this a better solution, anyway? In the long run, this would keep him from sniffing at her door before long.

(She was, still, deeply angry about the incident at the House of the Worm. The servants of that awful sibling had stolen things right under her nose, and destroyed knowledge in the process. But that was her axe to grind, and she would not ask Kayne to heft it for her.)

“Humans have an expression I like,” he said. “‘An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.’ Teach a lesson good enough, you’ve only got to teach it once.” He wriggled again, settling on and in her lap like a cat. “I hope you like the recipe. Wasn’t why I went, but you know. Thought of you, and I was already there.”

“Don’t read my mind,” she huffed, but there was no force behind the words, merely a childish whine. “I really needed this. Both for your purposes, and… It doesn’t get much more rare than this.” Her voice was hushed. “I’ll get your show back on the road soon. Promise.”

“Aww, you don’t gotta, but thanks. They’ll manage.” He grinned. “So you like your present? Huh? Huh? Who’s the best older brother? I am!”

“You are!” She lifted him into the air, spun him, and brought him back into a crushing hug. “I love it, Kayne, I do. You’re the best. And, well, I will shortly be paid for the antidote, once I can confirm with Dagon. This is so helpful.”

“Ha,” Kayne said at her, at everybody, at nobody, and enjoyed being fussed over until he got bored.

#

Hastur tried to be a good god. Just. Right. According to his own code, anyway. But this…

This wasn’t the right thing to do. Yet… it was the right thing to do.

It was true that Bh’tnnkr’nuah would never leave those mines. He couldn’t; if anyone saw him again, it would be saying Hastur was weak, or hadn’t meant his word, or wouldn’t pursue suffering in exchange for wicked deeds.

But some part of Hastur understood. Understood this fool who’d thrown everything away for the sake of…

Of course he knew where the mate and daughter went. They weren’t hard to find. And he didn’t have to let them know he was the one who set up communications so these three could talk, see each other’s faces every night, even if they were separated by entire worlds.

The communication crystals were from his treasury, and marked when sent as final wages, paid in full, to be followed by no more. But this family could talk. See each other.

If, in time, that mate and child wanted to… visit him in the mines, Hastur would allow it—but that was far, far in the future. For now, this gut-wrenching mercy would have to do.

He understood Bh’tnnkr’nuah’s decision, but he could never forgive it. And as for whoever had pretended to be Gokar’luh…

The death of his son was out now, no way around it. Time for that part of the plan to slot into place—the pretended dismissal, the frustration that his banished child should have been so stupid, the laughter that Gokar’luh could ever have thought he’d succeed.

Tomorrow. The lies and sharp-toothed deceit, the pretense at the asbsence of grief… tomorrow.

Tonight, he sat alone in his room, and held Gokar’luh’s crown, and wept, for he understood the assassin he could never, ever forgive.

----------------

Notes:

(Note from Trin: it's my birthday, and I am a hobbit, so... here's 21,000 words for you!)