#i dont think i want to talk about this anymore

[helloanthy]

11.05.2025 🐍 today's anthy!

i drew this around lunar new year ... when i wasnt feeling quite well haha ... i think i stopped working on it because there was a lot of negative space where the ''2025'' is and still is to the right of it ,it looked really empty but didnt know what to do with it. i wish i could remember what brushes i used for texturing, maybe i couldv done that to the background to make it more interesting. but i found this again yesterday when i was organising my files and added the lettering (numericaling ?❔❔❔) and the snake eye drop. which i remember i kept trying to do over and over before i stopped working on it months sago but it just wouldnt turn out right. it came to me pretty easily before i fell asleep last night though. i guess it just needed some time

[oureddie]

is anyone else's brain just one big

what do we need him for? what's your problem man. what are we measuring here buck. you can have my back any day. i love kids. i love this one. they weren't my type. i thought you just dressed alike. buck gave me a heads up. does this boy crush on eddie mean you're finally ready to move on from abby. uh, you should meet his kid, though. i can see the pollen. i can hear it. ooooOOOOooo you made him cry. you dont find it son, you make it. you two have an adorable son. why are you in hospital jail. i got you. dear buck you are an awesome firefighter love christopher. GET UP your life isn't over just bc you arent a firefighter anymore. says the firefighter. there's nobody in this world that i trust with my son more than you. BECAUSE YOU'RE EXHAUSTING. did you ever stop and think for a minute what that could do to US. a total impulse buy, not like you at all. c'mon eddie if you're not gonna be honest with frank at least be honest with me. i could still take you. you think so? i know. wanna go for the title? uhhhh this is eddie's house im not really a guest. just wait until he gets to the 'i dont have to do what you tell me' phase. aren't you still in that phase. you hungry? wanna grab a bite after we drop him? weeeee have visitors cap. eddie!!!!!no!!!!!nonononnonoedddie!!!! CLAWS AT THE GROUND. you wanna do a rope rescue??? of course you do. i mean that wont happen to US. to abby. his fiance is ABBY. welp. at least it's not a tsunami. hey man you might want to talk to your kid about playing fair. buck can we go to your house and play video games. uhhhh sorry kid i think we might be kicking it old school for a while. he's on the phone with dr. copeland, emergency therapy session. what do you have to apologize for? did you say anything that wasn't true? yeah she's worried about me *drop kicks a punching bag* yeah can't imagine why. i had to do it. i know you did. trauma bag? yup. sorry whhaaaatttt was that? check. do you ever replay a conversation in your head and worry you sound like an idiot? have you met me. it's like the universe is scREAMING at you and you refuse to listen. the universe does not scream. am i interrupting book club. you're late. there was construction on sunset. had to take a detour. buck. buck you have to help chris is- right here. you sure that's a smile? that's the same face buck makes when he's gassy. but just be sure that you're following YOUR heart. *gets sniped* eddie- eddie i need you to hang on. are you hurt? where's buck? he's got a harder job tonight. the team feels off without eddie. he doing okay? better than me. i kind of lost it when i told him you got shot. hey since we've got a minute... uh is everything alright. it got me thinking. what would happen if i hadnt. so i went to my attorney and changed my will. so someday, if i uh, didn't make it, christopher would be taken care of. by you. don't you need my consent. my attorney said you could refuse. but you know i wouldn't. but you knew i wouldn't. because evAN. you act like you're expendable. but you're wrong. good idea. eddie really shouldn't be exerting himself right now. this isn't me an eddie bagging a turkey in south pasadena. he takes christopher there all the time, got the place memorized. my kid loves her. is that enough. ice goes on the eye bud. *gets kidnapped and held hostage together* my abuela would eat this up. she loves a good telenovela. oh cuz uhhh you don't? i know you watch them with christopher. that's how we practice our spanish. look man you don't need to pretend with me. buck you need to move on, i have. eddie get away from the door im coming in. what are you afraid of. that im never gonna feel normal again. buck already took him to school, figured you could use the sleep. chris drew this? uh, that one's mine i misunderstood the assignment. cuz he got the help he needed, and that started with you. i just wish i could- fix it? yeah. what are you offering? right now? bobby's famous lasagna. buck, you dont even have a couch. bUUUUCK where the hell are you going. you can live without a

spleen- right? she's gonna be ok. how did the age of absolutely turn into alfalfa smoothies? give me one second let me grab eddie. YO. i dont know. feels weird to congratulate him. alright cowbody go get em. BUCK!!!!! do more! i just feel like she sees me. sorry about this. yeah it's gonna suck. uh hey do you have any plans for the weekend? i was thinking about go-karting, place in the desert, supposed to be a blast. welcome back to the world of the living buck. you were missed. actually i was kind of hoping you would. i just dont want him to uh- end up like me? you didn't end up like you. hey cap, need a lift? you took the chevelle? how'd you talk him into this he always says no to me. like sea monkeys! in fact, i havent been able to uhhhh yeah since i found out. yeah. well i uhhh wish i could help with that! this doesn't change a thing between us. i thought you couldn't bring a date to a bachelor party. UBBBEEERRR!!!! we don't need a key we're firefighters. he's crockett he's tubbs. actually im crockett and HE'S tubbs. eddie who's kim. does that poor woman know she's a dead ringer for your ex wife. oh eddie. what you always do. talk to him. i dont wanna break down the door buck i want him to open it. well uh, he probably won't. ok well why does it have to be me? you're the fastest runner. we beat the bees! im guessing it's probably an allergic reaction of some kind. to what bad juju? you owe me five bucks eddie. i never watched glee. give it back im serious. we know you're serious that's what scares us. whatareyoulookinateddiehehehe. he knows how to stay, unlike some people. yup, i am freddie fakeman, you would do that for me? you and for christopher. mmmmm like it's nothing. it's not nothing. look i know this whole thing between us has been messy and hard. you do matter to me. i know. eddie would never do anything illegal eddie has a silver star!! you're his dad. he doesn't have a mom. if you don't damage him who will? dad up!! sorry i had to go to the airport to pick up this one. said i was gonna get groceries. it's fine. doesn't seem fine. the trials and tribulations of evan buckley. a tragedy in 97 acts. you've been spiraling since the funeral and nobody knows how to talk to you about it. i don't know buck i wasn't there. eddie- jerk. airport and texas are not the same. they don't even have the same amount of letters. heard some dick was being mean to you, thought you could use a little cheering up

or is that just me rn

[andy-15-07]

Say It Louder

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 1513 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

request:Can you maybe write one where the reader is like in her 30's and dating pedro and lately she notices hes a bit distant and not himself to her at least and one day after work she asks him whats going on and he tells her he wants to break up and he doesnt give an explanation and they are both heartbroken and on set shes quiet and one night at a award show or afterparty of a movie a guy is flirting with her but she is just being nice and not going in on it until he put his hands on her and pedro is there too and helps her and confronts the guy and she takes him home and he explaines why he broke up cause of ppl downgrading her with the age difference but she never cared and they make up? Can you end it with smut and maybe after they go full out public cause they dont care anymore what others think @kellyxo1

You knew something was off.

Pedro hadn’t been himself for weeks. Not distant in the obvious way,he still made your coffee just right, still left sweet voice notes when you were on set,but it was in the eyes. Less sparkle. Less softness when they landed on you.

You didn’t want to pressure him, but after two weeks of his half-hearted kisses and distracted smiles, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.

That night, you waited until he got home. He dropped his keys in the bowl like usual, shrugged out of his jacket, and when he turned to greet you, you were already waiting in the hallway.

"Hey," you said gently. "Can we talk?"

Pedro paused, eyes flicking to you with that guarded look you'd grown to hate. “Sure.”

You motioned toward the living room. He followed, sinking into the corner of the couch while you sat opposite him.

"You’ve been different lately," you said. “And I didn’t want to make a thing out of it, but… it’s been eating me up.”

He ran a hand over his face. "Y/N..."

"Just be honest with me, Pedro. Please."

He didn’t look at you when he said it.

“I think we should break up.”

Your breath hitched. "What?"

His hands gripped his knees, knuckles pale. “I just… I think it’s time.”

"Why?"

“I just," he shook his head, still avoiding your eyes, "I can’t do it anymore.”

“You can’t do what, Pedro? Be with me?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quietly.

You stared at him, stunned. “So you’re just ending it? Without even explaining?”

His silence told you everything. You nodded slowly, standing, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally looking up.

You didn’t cry. Not until the bedroom door closed behind you.

You stayed professional on set. You didn’t cry in your trailer or avoid eye contact with crew. But people noticed.

Pedro noticed too.

He watched you when he thought you weren’t looking,eyes filled with regret he refused to speak aloud. You greeted him politely, like any colleague. He looked gutted every time.

A few weeks passed. The new film premiered with glowing reviews, and the cast was invited to a big afterparty at the Chateau.

You almost didn’t go. But the publicist insisted. “You’re stunning and successful. You need to shine.”

So you put on the dress that made you feel invincible and stepped into the spotlight like nothing had ever hurt you.

Pedro was already there. In a classic black suit, nursing a whiskey, eyes tracking you from the moment you walked in.

You didn’t go to him. You were trying to move on.

A tall man with a sharp suit and cocky smile approached you at the bar. “You’re Y/N, right? The scene-stealer?”

You laughed politely. “That’s generous, but yes.”

He offered you a drink. You sipped slowly, nodding along as he talked,clearly impressed with himself. You were just being nice, not encouraging anything. But then his hand slid across your lower back.

Too low.

You tensed. “Hey,”

He leaned in. “You’re even hotter in person. Age looks damn good on you.”

You stepped back. “Okay, that’s enough.”

But his hand followed. “Oh come on,don’t be like that,”

A hand clamped over the man’s wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

“Let go of her.”

Pedro.

He stood between you and the man now, body tense, jaw clenched.

The guy raised his hands, trying to play it cool. “Whoa, alright. Didn’t know she came with a bodyguard.”

Pedro didn’t flinch. “I’m not her bodyguard. I’m the man who’s about to get you kicked out if you touch her again.”

The guy muttered something under his breath and slinked off. Pedro turned to you, eyes stormy.

“You okay?”

You nodded, heart still pounding. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“I’ll take you home.”

You didn’t argue.

The ride was quiet.

When you got inside your place, you kicked off your heels, adrenaline still buzzing. Pedro lingered at the doorway like he didn’t know if he was welcome.

You stared at him for a moment, and finally asked the question that had haunted you since the night he left.

“Why did you break up with me?”

He closed the door behind him. “Y/N…”

“I deserve the truth, Pedro. Not silence. Not distance. Truth.”

He paced for a second, then finally let it spill.

“Because people were starting to talk.”

You frowned. “Talk about what?”

“The age difference. You know,how I’m older, and you could do better, and I’m holding you back. That it’s weird. That you’re some kind of… fantasy I don’t deserve.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You broke up with me because of them?”

He looked pained. “It got to me. I started thinking maybe they were right. That I was just dragging you down.”

You took a slow step toward him. “Pedro, I never cared what people thought. You’re the one I loved. You.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And that scared me. That I could have something so good, and maybe I didn’t deserve it.”

You placed a hand on his chest. “You do deserve it. Us.”

He looked down at you, hands curling around your waist like he couldn’t help himself.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “Every damn day.”

You leaned up and kissed him,soft at first, then fierce. Weeks of longing and heartbreak melted in the heat between you.

Pedro lifted you in his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying you toward the bedroom like instinct. The door clicked closed behind you.

His jacket hit the floor first. Then his shirt, hanging forgotten over the back of a chair. Every barrier vanished as he pressed you against the wall, one hand braced on the drywall, the other cradling your face. His lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, to the hollow at your throat, each touch igniting a spark that ran straight to your core.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice thick. His mouth dipped lower, sucking gently on your collarbone, and you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carried you to the edge of the king-size bed.

He paused to meet your eyes. “I need you,” he breathed, voice husky.

You nodded, heart hammering. “I need you too.”

Clothes fell away in a trail: your dress pooled at his feet, his belt and jeans hit the floor in a soft heap. He paused to admire the curve of your hips, the smooth line of your back, the way your breath hitched when he pressed his palm to your belly.

“Perfect,” he murmured, capturing your lips again.

He guided you down onto the mattress, positioning you so you were lying back and he hovered above, knuckles brushing your inner thighs. The anticipation was electric,each small touch sending shivers along your nerves.

Then, gently, he slid home. You cried out, an urgent, breathy sound, and Pedro paused to close his eyes, savoring the feeling. Slowly, he began to move, barely a whisper of motion at first,inch by inch, savoring every gasp and tremor escaping your lips.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders as the pace deepened. He thrust deliberately, hands bracing at your hips, then increased the rhythm until the world narrowed to the friction at your core and the sound of skin against skin.

“Oh, Pedro…” you moaned, arching your back as he found the right angle, each stroke driving you higher.

He bent to press kisses to your neck as he moved, murmuring your name over and over. “Y/N… Y/N…” His thrusts grew more insistent, driven by need and regret and the promise of never letting go again.

Your breath hitched into one long, keening plea just before your release. Muscles tightening around him, you came apart beneath him,hard, trembling, tears of relief and joy shining in your eyes.

He collapsed beside you, sliding out and rolling onto his side so he could cup you close. His body shook as he rode out his own climax, whispering a choked, “I love you,” into your hair.

You curled into him, skin to skin. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder blade. “I never want to be apart from you again.”

Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest. “Stay,” you murmured. “Let’s never hide again.”

He smiled against your skin. “For real this time, I promise.”

Outside, the city hummed on,and inside, you two rebuilt all the pieces you thought were lost.

Two weeks later, Pedro posted a photo.

It was taken on your balcony, sunlight hitting your bare shoulder as you looked over your coffee mug. You were wearing his shirt. He captioned it simply:

“Mine. Always was.”

Within minutes, Twitter exploded. The age-gap discourse restarted, of course,but something shifted.

This time, neither of you cared.

You went public, hand in hand at the next premiere. Pedro kissed you on the red carpet.

And you smiled, because no whisper, no headline, no jealous critic could erase the way he looked at you now.

Like he’d never let go again.

[icallhimjoey]

what if.......... we were seen? if joe really saw us? eh???

ok so shes rusty, and also omg pls i dont EVER want to be perceived, but, you know what its like, leave a beautiful vague request and i'll weirdly fill in some gaps for you <3 thanks for sending this in! hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 2.5K

---

Seen

“How do you always... just, know?”

One day you’ll learn what exactly it is that he sees. What changes.

“Hm? Know what?”

What minuscule little differences he notices in your face. You have no idea what your expression does exactly, but you know it must be practically undetectable, because no one else ever mentions it. Ever questions it. Questions you.

Meanwhile, Joe will spot it from across a busy room without issue.

“How do you know when the alarms in my brain are getting scarily close to going off? You always catch it just before... I don’t—... how do you know?”

He had caught it tonight at a small party that organically happened after you’d all had dinner together. He’d hauled you home just before anxiety was going to start making you breathe a little different. You had let him pull you by the hand into the cold air that instantly made you feel calmer, even though you weren’t even fully aware of any looming issue yourself.

“I don’t know. I just do.”

“Yea but—... how?”

You had been talking to some of the girls as you’d all huddled together in the kitchen, one of them showing pictures on her phone, scrolling through, whilst all of you marveled at the badly decorated rooms of the house she just bought.

“Oh my God, this is massive?”

“So much potential!”

“It’s got great bones, doesn’t it?”

It was all girls, having a loud girl-conversation, all holding girl-drinks, and making girl-comments which suddenly got broken up when Joe stepped into the circle.

“Hey—”

“Joe, look how much space you could’ve had for like, half the cost.”

The phone got twisted so that Joe could see a photograph of a large back garden that showed the back of this newly purchased house. Joe frowned at it, had to squint a little to get a good look, and then joked, “But live in Croydon? No thanks.” before grabbing the arm that held the phone, smiling, and telling her it was actually lovely.

He easily got sucked into the conversation, knew exactly what to say to make the majority laugh with a silly comment and a silly face. After scrolling through a couple more pictures, he looked up and gave you a questioning look.

You gave the questioning look right back, unsure of what he meant exactly. Do you want another drink? What do you think about this house? Are you all right? Are the dirty dishes that clutter up almost all of the kitchen counters bothering you as much as they are bothering me? He could mean anything.

Instead of explaining himself, Joe let his eyes rake over your body, paying close attention to the way your fingers held onto your glass. To your overstretched knees. Your tapping foot. Eventually his eyes landed back on your face and he carefully scanned your features. He was quick and efficient about it. No one in your little group really noticed the silent communication followed by a full body scan.

“I’m sorry girls,” Joe suddenly said, interrupting three chats that were happening at once. “I’m stealing this one away.”

You got grabbed by the hand and after a few very quick but polite goodbyes, you were lead outside. Taken away from the party by a strong arm that curled behind your back and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Not that you would ever tell him no.

Not anymore, anyway.

You’d learnt that the hard way, unfortunately.

You knew exactly why Joe was making you leave, and you accepted the flimsy excuse Joe gave others without any questions, easily following him out. The party was over for you. Done. The safety of home, of peace and quiet, was what the rest of the night was going to have in store for you, courtesy of Joe.

“How are we doing?” he asked casually, even though you knew he wasn’t treating the situation as such.

Quite the contrary, actually.

“Fine,” you smiled, completely aware that the reason you felt fine was because you’d just left. “That was fun.”

“Yea?”

“Yea.”

You took a deep breath, the air pleasantly cool in your lungs, and then softly added, “Busy though… long evening.”

Joe squeezed your hand at that, one side of his mouth curling up into a small smile.

“Yea. It was busy.”

It hadn’t been that busy. Nothing overwhelming, not really. Just a small flat with a number of people in that made you feel a little uneasy. What made your anxiety silently grow was hidden in small things. Like, how there weren’t enough seats for everyone, which wasn’t an issue, some of you had eaten their dinner sat on the sofa, but it was something you had taken notice of anyway. Or how a sip or two of a drink made everyone else feel a lot more relaxed, but also a lot louder and a little more careless.

You hoped that one day, maybe, you wouldn’t feel the need to take on the responsibility that was sliding down everyone else’s shoulders. That you wouldn’t constantly be eyeing up everyone in the room just to take inventory of where potential accidents were waiting for you.

Joe had seen you push past your own boundaries one too many times and over time had figured out exactly where they lied. Ever since then, he somehow had gained the ability to predict the future and would remove you from a stressful situation before it was too late.

This was a struggle at first.

There’d been a time where all you’d do was push back.

Joe could see how you looked calm, but he’d be able to hear the subtle fraying in your voice. It wasn’t unlike watching someone smile whilst they bled from the edges.

You, on the other hand, felt a little like someone was trying to wrestle the steering wheel from you whilst you were still confidently driving. Like being told to calm down when you didn’t even feel worked up— it made you question whether you should be panicking or not, and thus triggering anger within your system.

You had learnt the hard way to trust Joe and to follow his lead.

You wish you hadn’t.

Especially not at one of your favourite restaurants.

“Yea, no. We’re leaving.” Joe had said before you’d even had a good look at the menu you’d just been given.

“What?”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Joe made the executive decision after you hadn’t even heard what he’d said about the waiter when he walked off. This was going to go sideways, and it was going to go sideways fast.

Your small, confused “What?” surprised him slightly, but not enough to change his mind.

You weren’t going to have dinner at this place.

“We’ll get something on the way home.”

He had good reason to want to leave, he thought. There was the clatter of cutlery, the swell of voices all raised because once one table started, every other table had to join in if people wanted to be able to hear each other. You got placed close to the open-concept kitchen, which looked great, but meant the temperature was way higher than he felt comfortable with. There was a large group of people sat behind you, loud laughter coming from them, sharp, endless. He had seen how tight your grip was on the glass of water the waiter had just poured for you. And he’d only mentioned how he’d said no to water but had gotten some any way, but you already seemed mentally too far removed to have even heard him.

Joe knew that in no time your pulse was going to be a loud drumbeat in your ears. Knew how your chest would tighten up and how, seemingly without warning, you’d suddenly find it impossible to breathe.

“What are you talking about?” you scoffed a small laugh. “We’re not leaving.”

Joe scanned your features, his expression worried yet unsure.

“We’re not?”

“Well... I’m not. I booked this table weeks ago.”

This was your favourite restaurant. Joe’s suggestion was laughable at best.

You got eyed suspiciously, and couldn’t help how that made your skin crawl. Joe’s tone, his worry, it carried the weight of a warning you hadn’t earned. You stubbornly let your eyes glide over the menu in front of you and tried your best to read it.

“Okay.”

And you really tried to read the words and to process them in your mind.

You had to try really, really hard.

It wasn’t like your denial made Joe doubt what he saw. Instead, it made him doubt whether he was allowed to care out loud like this.

So, he dropped it.

Wasn’t going to force to you leave.

Didn’t comment on how he’d noticed you couldn’t seem to relax your shoulders.

Repeated his comment about the water he had been given even though he had clearly said he didn’t want any, and saw how, once again, you didn’t really hear him.

When eventually someone came to take your order, you had to ask the waiter three times to repeat himself, stuttered your way through your order and, once the waiter was out of earshot, you seemed to already regret the choice you’d made.

And it’s hard to watch a glass tip toward the edge of the table, you know? Joe could see that it was about to fall right off, but if he reached out too quickly to try and catch it, he might knock the whole thing over himself.

You said you’d wanted to have dinner here, seemed determined enough for the both of you, and so he’d dropped it.

Until suddenly you announced, “I just, I need the bathroom— I’ll be right back.”

Your chair scraped loudly.

You stood up too fast.

Your bag got caught on the table leg.

You clumsily left it.

Just hurried off.

Joe watched you weave through the maze of tables, watched you disappear around the corner, and sat back in his chair with a sigh.

He waited ten seconds.

Twenty.

Rubbed his face.

Thought maybe he should wait for ten more, just to give you some space, but found that he simply couldn’t, and then he stood and followed.

Joe found you just outside of the toilets in a narrow hallway, lit with harsh, cold light. You had pressed yourself against the wall, breathing like you’d just ran half a marathon, eyes wide and entirely unfocused.

“Hey— are you okay?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Shallow, sharp, and painful. You shook your head, a small and panicked little jerk of your chin that was hidden by your hands that hovered near your face, not quite covering it, but trying to obstruct your vision enough so you could escape this awful reality for a moment.

“Hey… hey. It’s all right. You’re all right. Can you look at me? Look at me a sec.”

You tried your best not hide how his tone made you flinch. Tried to answer him, lips parting, but somehow it felt impossible to get any words out – just air, like you’d forgotten how to use your voice entirely.

“Deep breaths, remember? Deep breaths. You’re good.”

Joe’s hands softly pressed down on the tops of your shoulders for a few seconds. Then the moved down where they grabbed hold of your biceps, squeezing for the same amount of time. Your elbows followed. Then your wrists.

“W-will you hold my hand, p-please?” you shuddered, voice paper-thin.

 “Yea, of course. Yea.” Joe quickly shot into action, strangely proud of how you asked for something you needed in the moment. Something to ground you. “We’re here, remember?” Joe fought for eye-contact, ducking, bending, following your gaze until he caught it, and then asked again, “Remember?”

“Y-yea,” you nodded, choking on your breath as you forced your shoulders to relax.

With one of your hands wrapped in both of his held closely to his chest, Joe shushed you as you closed your eyes and tried to focus on Joe and Joe alone.

Not on any of the noises.

On any of the other people that walked past.

On any of the smells.

Or on the constricted feeling inside of your chest.

Just Joe and the way he raised your hand up to his mouth to press against his lips.

“You’re okay, shh. Shh.”

It took a little while, but Joe’s words helped and slowly but surely he balanced your nervous system with his own.

“Coming out of it?” Joe asked when he felt like you’d calmed down enough.

You nodded, a quick brief little thing.

“Yea, you’re easing out of it.” Joe confirmed, and somehow, just him saying it, made it more true. Made you aware of how you were no longer feeling quite so scared.

“You got it. You’re okay.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I just need— just— I don’t—...”

Joe swallowed, scared he was witnessing you sinking back into a place you seemingly had just crawled out of. He wanted to scoop you up, wanted to say something, to fix something... but he knew better.

You just needed to breathe.

Just breathe until your lips stopped trembling.

Breathe until your fingers stopped twitching.

Breathe until your brain stopped throwing static at you.

“Shh, shh, shh. Just breathe. S’all you got to do. Deep breaths.”

You’d kicked yourself for it after.

For all of it.

For ignoring Joe’s worries, for not telling Joe he was actually right, for just getting up and leaving, and for not listening in general.

You told Joe you should have listened.

Told Joe that you thought you were fine, and Joe had kissed you as he reassured that you were! You were fine, had been fine, just... right up until you weren’t, just for a second, you know?

He’d said then that he didn’t want to tell you ‘he told you so’. Hadn’t wanted to push you when you so clearly didn’t accept the mirror Joe had tried to hold up to you.

You explained that you just hadn’t recognised the reflection yet.

Joe didn’t blame you.

It wasn’t your fault.

But he hadn’t enjoyed watching you silently unravel whilst denying that you were. He’d seen it coming. Knew it was about to all go pear-shaped, and wished that you’d just trust him when he’d tell you.

So you’d learnt to listen.

If Joe said it was time to leave, you knew it simply was just that: time to leave.

You just wondered how.

“How do you always know?” you’d question him again and again.

And Joe would smile and think of the hundreds of little tells you had, obvious to anyone who paid a little closer attention to you. It was easy if they just... looked.

If they watched you for a moment.

If they really saw you.

There were so many things he could tell you about your face, your shoulders, your fingers, your voice... but all Joe would do when you asked him how he knew, was smile a little smile, press a small kiss to your temple, and give a slight shrug.

“I don’t know... I just... do.”

---

The Taglisted

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @dailyobsession

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[sturnsblogs]

HATE THAT I DONT HATE IT

Loser!Matt X Popular!Reader

Word Count- 762.

Warning- none.

Being Matt Sturniolo’s emotional babysitter is exactly as miserable as you expected. Maybe even worse.

It’s only been a few days since the principal “randomly” rearranged your schedule and partnered you with the school’s biggest social mystery—a walking caution sign in the shape of a boy. You used to only hear about him through whispers and occasional detentions. Now you breathe the same air as him in nearly every class.

And every moment is exhausting.

He barely talks. When he does, it’s either sharp or cryptic. And somehow he’s always watching. Not in the flirty, dreamy way your friends sigh about—but like he’s mentally writing your obituary in his head.

You try. God, you try.

You force conversation during classwork. You try to keep it surface-level. You offer him pens. You slide him notes with ideas. Sometimes he stares at them like they’re written in another language. Other times he gives the barest nod, scribbles something down, and goes right back to ignoring you.

It’s like talking to a locked door.

You’re not used to this. You’re used to people liking you. Laughing at your jokes. Wanting to sit next to you, talk to you, be seen with you. You’ve always known how to work a room—how to be what people want.

But none of that works on Matt.

And somehow that makes it worse.

—

Lunch is supposed to be a break. A breath. A return to normal.

You sit at your usual table, surrounded by noise and perfume and glitter and open phone cameras. Someone’s holding up a selfie stick. Someone’s already gossiping about a fight that happened in third period.

You push your tray around with your fork, barely listening.

Until you hear his name.

“Ugh, did you guys see Matt Sturniolo today? He looks like he sleeps in a haunted basement.”

Laughter erupts.

You look up.

“I swear, he smelled like metal,” another girl says. “Like… pennies and vape smoke.”

“His eyes are so scary. Dead fish eyes. Like if a cat and a serial killer had a baby.”

More laughter.

You force a smile.

It’s not hard. You’re good at pretending.

“I mean, he literally never speaks. Like, hello? Social cues?” you add.

It gets a few laughs. Someone taps their water bottle against yours like a toast.

But inside, it feels different.

Wrong.

Because you’ve met his eyes. You’ve sat next to him long enough to know that silence doesn’t always mean nothing’s there. Sometimes silence is louder than people realize.

Still, you say nothing else. You don’t defend him. You don’t even really know why you feel weird about it.

Maybe it’s because you hate him, but you hate that everyone else hates him too—without having to try.

You hate that you’re stuck with him while everyone else gets to treat him like a punchline.

You hate that you agree with them, but you also… don’t.

—

Later, you catch yourself thinking about the way he looked today when he walked into class—hood up, eyes half-dead, like someone dared him to care about being alive. He didn’t even glance your way. Just sat down and started sketching something in the margins of his notebook. You couldn’t tell what it was. Something sharp and abstract. It didn’t look like nothing.

It looked like something.

—

You don’t talk about it at lunch. Not to your friends. Not to anyone.

Because what would you even say?

“Yeah, I hate him, but not like that.”

“Yeah, he sucks, but maybe not on purpose.”

You don’t even know if that’s true.

All you know is this: being forced into Matt’s world is making yours feel smaller. Quieter. Heavier.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure who you’re performing for anymore.

Because every time you smile now, you feel like he’s watching you from the back of your brain—like he’s silently calling you out without even opening his mouth.

And somehow, that’s worse than anything your friends could say.

A/N- ☺️.

[envy-of-the-apple]

ok ok maybe supernatural entities dont have to follow these hyperspecific rules. they just do it cuz humans will be less afraid of them?

just imagine Diavolo one day sitting, sipping tea with Barbatos by his side and suddenly poof he's transported from his castle to a really cramped human bedroom, and he's standing inside a circle.

He knows its a human bedroom because there's a human standing right in front of him, eyes wide and just watching like you cant believe it either.

before he can say anything the human is just like 'you can't move! I've trapped you' and then he's looking down at the circle drawn in chalk and a few weird pentagram shapes and he's like 'rlly?'

but he is kinda bored, and it's not like the human is too hard on the eyes.

if anything...you're a little cute actually. and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way you look at him: a mix of fear and awe at the same time.

so in the end, he decides to just go alone with it. he throws his arms up in the air and is like 'ah, yes, i've been trapped. what did you summon me here for?'

and you ask questions about whatever you can think of and he tries his best to answer. after that, you do summon him a few more times, and you and him kinda become friends. he starts to grow fond of you and he doesnt want you to be afraid of him so he stays well within the boundaries of the summoning circle, still pretending that he cant walk out of it. A few times he has asked you to make a bit bigger so he can move around a little more, and you've obliged.

Most days, a chair is waiting for him so he can sit down as well as a few baked goods you've made earlier that day. It's rlly nice to get away from the stress of devildom and just talk with a friend for a bit.

all things must come to an end eventually.

he's cautious but even a great demon forgets to play pretend sometimes. he might have picked up something you dropped, absentmindedly leaning over to collect it. He doesn't even realize what he did until you stop talking.

"Ah." Diavolo glances down at the circle he accidentally stepped out of. "I messed up, didn't I?"

He tries to smile, but it doesn't do much. Your entire stance has changed, flattened against the wall, muttering every prayer you could think of as you instantly forgot him as the man you joked with, but as a demon.

It's a little hurtful, but he tries not to let it affect him. It makes sense that you would be scared, he tells himself. It's only human to be afraid.

Still, he can't say he isn't too upset at not playing pretend anymore. Despite the way your skin trembles against his touch, it's just as warm and soft as he imagined it to be.

"I'm sorry for scaring you." He apologizes, softly petting your cheek. "I guess it was a little cruel of me to keep pretending like that, wasn't it?"

[wortsandall]

why does it feel illegal to say that Rick and Morty have an abusive codepedent sexually inappropriate relationship; made worse by the knowledge that they are grandfather and (minor) grandson

off the top of my head:

Rick kept getting Morty naked, in some cases literally undressing him, until being naked around each other or in general doesn't really bother Morty anymore. Rick talks about sex and has sex in front of Morty all the time. like graphically. Rick disrespects basically any boundary Morty places and gets angry when challenged in any way.

Rick throws weird and/or mean manipulative fits any time Morty wants to leave or quit or challenges him (vat of acid-the crow episode-the one where Morty was going to pitch a show to netflix). and if its Rick that leaves or quits; its Morty who does shit to try and bring him back (the episode after the crows)

everyone else is so used to it they either fall into the pattern or just refuse to call it out anymore. in that one episode where Morty had his alien kid- i dont believe that Beth would have kicked out Rick if she'd gone up there and found that Rick was actually using that sex doll with Morty. and i mean she is Rick's daughter. he wasnt around enough in her childhood for her to be used to his odd shit but she still tolerates it so he wont leave again. she explicitly says that.

Rick could be straight up abusing Morty (and through a real world lens he IS) and i think she would still hesitate if she was going to kick him out. and i don't think she would at all. i have zero faith in Beth's mothering abilities, even less when its Morty in trouble. if this was Summee i'd have more faith but its still low.

Jerry has always been the most willing to call Rick out but he's also a coward and an idiot. Sometimes I think about how much therapy Morty would need in real life. in that long sequence of Morty growing up, Rick was still there right next to him ?? I'm pretty sure they bought that house together ?? It's sick to think about.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

im with fam but i always thinka him so doodle time

[pullthehilt]

Reader is Yuu with an implied family with siblings. Not re-read or edited.

One day you realise that there is just a bit too much food on the table. It takes eating with the others to truly notice, but it starts with Grim complaining.

"We've been eating the same thing for days now!" And you laugh because it's true. After eating it fresh the first day, you tend to pack up and store the rest equally in the fridge and freezer because, yes, it's a lot. Dishes that are soups, or meals that are cooked in the larger pots and pans. Food that is to be served with rice on the side, portions that are bigger than your face. That isn't to say that you had a lot of thaumarks on you as you're just good at making bulk purchases worth it.

Everyone laughs at Grims moping, remarking of how he should be greatful you're feeding him at all. The banter is great.

But you're picking at your packed lunch now.

Why do you cook so much? Why do you reach for the bigger pots and pans? Why are your portions always for more than one?

From the fog of your mind, you see... your kitchen. Or you think it's your kitchen. It's not the kitchen back at Ramshackle, but the one from before Ramshackle. You're bustling around the counter, chatting to a faceless figure by the table, and reaching for seasonings without even looking. You're opening cabinets and finding what you need easily and asking the figure to make some rice to accompany whatever is in that pot. There's the squeals of children and hearty laughter from the other room. And hands, there's a hand at the small of your back and you think it's a motherly touch because how else can you describe the gentle way they press you to the side of their body.

For the next few days you can't eat properly. There's weight at your gut that substitutes for food and you don't make anything more. When your friends come over to invade the living room of Ramshackle, you don't have much snacks to offer them.

Peering into the fridge only reveals the stacks of containers of food you were eating days prior. You're mulling about maybe something you can make for them when,

"Whoa, talk about excess. Grim wasn't kidding." Ace's voice is right behind you.

"Ugh, sorry guys. i don't think I have anything proper to really feed you guys--"

"Is that some sort of egg salad?" Deuce's hand slithers forward to grab at one of the containters. "You have bread?" Nodding you gesture to the other cabinet. "Then I'll snack on this-- Er, if you wouldn't mind."

Epel peers from the doorway. "You don't happen to haf' some meat in 'er do ya?" Your fingers linger, before meekly pulling out a corrisponding tupperware.

"It's a bit stiff though, Epel."

"Hah, I'll jus' throw it on tha' stove or somthing. If it's still tough, I dun' care. Sometimes just gotta eat the greasy foods." He takes the tupperware and slaps it into a pan to heat it up. The aroma of sizzling meat is quick to attract both Sebek and Jack who add to the noise of chatter amongst the others, the former mostly.

You find yourself to the side, watching as they scour through your leftovers, opening and nodding at the meals inside before choosing which to heat up. And it's loud, but not grating. They're navigating through your space with expertice, slipping past each other and peering into cabinets. Jack's making rice and Sebek is counting the plates (whilst also making sounds whenever he sees a chip in the odd one or two). Over the stove Epel and Ace are jerking their hands into the pan, nipping their fingers to the corner pieces of the meat to just 'check if it's ready to eat'. Gathering the spoons and forks, Deuce nibbles on a piece of his egg salad sandwich before disappearing in the living area where everyone is setting up.

The dinner table has been set. You don't feel entirely there, floating to a cushion on the floor as your left overs are bought over to the table plate-by-plate. Everyone sits around you, Grim settled into your lap as he nibbles on a piece of fried fish, and they're passing the dishes around.

You've eaten these things before but you've always eaten them with Grim or alone when Grim takes his naps early. Instead of one set of cutlery scraping at porcelain, there's multiple sets-- a symphony playing to their hunger as they gather more to pile onto their plates.

[mothiepixie]

SET ME FREE

[variksel]

playing kcd1, thinking Very Hard about the fact that while hans has lived in a castle surrounded by nobility and glamor, henry has just survived a literal massacre when they meet eachother.............. thinking about the line "innocence is beautiful to see, would you lock it up for me......".................. thinking about henry running from skalitz after directly seeing his parents killed, shouting at other villagers to run faster when he knows its useless, theyre going to get killed anyway, and when he gets to rattau he meets this prickly cunt waiting for his uncle to let him be a real boy with real responsibilities, with his biggest problem being that he likes hanging out with poor people too much. thinking about how relieving that must be yk? at least i like to think so tbh

[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny

[sketchingdemonss]

i pull the crops from my mind fields and all i harvested were these vintages what the hell

[cowboy-robooty]

im not going to lie i have an illuminati type theory that fanfiction has gotten so fucking bad recently as yet another consequence of the pandemic

[tategaminu]

I have two best friends in real life and the three of used to be very close. However as home and studies moved we grew apart. It doesn't seem the two talk to each other much and I barely talk to them. We live 15 minutes apart yet I will be lucky if we see each other once a month. They don't really tell me about their stuff anymore (the grandpa of one of them died months ago and I found out the other day)‚ we don't hang out on birthdays or special ocasions‚ I feel like I'm bothering them if I talk first.

They want me in my life if after years we are still friends but it doesn't feel like I have someone close to share my interests with anymore. They both have their boyfriends and I'm happy they got a close partner but it's sad to see you aren't as important to someone as you used to be. I don't think calling them my best friends feels right anymore. Closest friends maybe.

[nomstellations]

the vore community has been, and will continue to be a place that is unsafe for both minors and victims of any form of abuse or grooming suffered within it. people have proven time and time again that they will refuse to acknowledge or in fact, violently defend abusers for any reason they can cook up because they do not want to face the consequences of doing so- all people want to do is consume vore content thoughtlessly and if ignoring their favorite artist's grooming allegations means they can do it, then so be it. ignorance is bliss- that's why so many blogs around here are still firmly in the "i don't care who interacts with me!!" boat if it means they don't have to think about it. believe it or not, you have to think about your actions in a kink space even if you don't see it as one.

you can't just excuse away the harm you're enabling with "i didn't know," or "i don't want to talk about that, i just wanna vibe and look at pictures of people eating each other!" that is still enabling, that is still causing harm, and that's just proving to hurt people that there's no one they can trust and when it comes down to it, no one will stick up for them when they open up about the things they've suffered. it's always the victims who are wrong for standing up for themselves or calling attention to people that have been or are still doing harm (especially if they aren't cordial and nonthreatening in the way they talk about it, even though they have every right to be upset), because there's no way your favorite artist could do something bad! their art is too good! their writing is too well-done to be made by someone bad! so it must be them who's wrong, because the abuser said so and the victim was mean! why don't we all attack the victim for daring to open up and nitpick how they did it, because surely that is what prevents people from being hurt! ignore how nobody's actually done any of these things, btw (and if they did, they get ignored immediately).

at worst, these people are callous and cruel and are abusers themselves. at best, these people are enabling harm to be perpetuated because they don't want to acknowledge it. or they're too scared to be dogpiled too, or whatever other reason there is. this culture this community fosters needs to die out or people will continue to be used and abused.

this blog will never come off hiatus. not while this place and people i used to admire and trust continue to prove themselves to be the kinds of people that will justify the sexual abuse i endured for years in this community.