#i have to really clean that blog and figure out my tags

[grievedifferent]

and i —

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[dogboy-dyke]

Sorry if I've been ranting a lot on this blog I just keep going to jerk off and then realizing I am too stressed about my living situations impending implosion to actually jerk off

[endlessthxxghts]

Just One

DBF!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 819 (she just a baby!)

Summary: You’re still worked up even though Joel’s tapped out for the night. Maybe you need a kiss to satisfy you—a simple, sweet kiss. Right?

Content/Tags: Reader is able-bodied and has female sex anatomy, but is otherwise undescribed. Pussy pronouns (she)!! 18+ MDNI. Making out. Bulge grinding 😋 let me know if there’s anything I missed!

A/N: @pinkypromisepascal and I had a conversation…and then I said I wanted to write a drabble based on what we talked about, to which she said “DO IT.” So I did. Y’all better thank her brain for this too!🙂‍↕️ and to @strang3lov3, thank you for the extra pair of eyes AND THE MOODBOARD!!!😭 I love you both so much. To everyone, I hope you enjoy, all my love xx

masterlist | notifs blog

It’s been thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes since Joel had you folded nearly in half, your legs pressed against your torso, the slam of his hips pushing you higher up his mattress. 

Thirty minutes since he made your eyes roll back, throat burning in pleasure. 

Thirty minutes since he wiped you clean and massaged your hips. 

It’s been thirty minutes. 

And he’s knocked the fuck out. 

You sit up in his bed. You’re not here very often. Ever, really. It was by chance you stayed over tonight. So you study the area. Take his space in. The painting and posters above his bed. The nightstand. The white fan sitting on his dresser, pointing directly at him. He runs hot when he sleeps. Too hot. 

Your eyes trace his figure, then. His broad back on display, hips covered by his sheets. 

His face. God, his face. Salt and pepper scruff around the edges, smile lines and furrowed eyebrow lines adorning his face. They’re not as harsh now as he succumbs deeper into his slumber, but they’re present nonetheless. 

His hooked nose sits prettily, the same nose that had you squirming and gasping for air earlier in the night. Your core flutters at the thought. 

You’re looking at his lips now, and you can’t help the way your own forms a smirk. 

“Joel,” you whisper. 

A rock. Unmoving. Unfazed. 

On your knees now, you shuffle to face him. Leaning forward, hand on his shoulder to nudge him, you try again. 

“Joel.” 

“Hm?” his sleepy voice rasps. 

“I need your help,” you respond. 

One eye peels open. His eyebrows move into their natural habitat, furrowed. “What’s wrong, darlin’?” 

You put on your sweetest face. “Can I have a kiss?” 

You stifle a giggle at the daggers being thrown at you. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Have you been up this whole time?” 

“It’s been thirty minutes,” you retort. 

“No, it ain’t—” you gesture to his clock before he can finish his thought. He faces it immediately, throwing his face back into his pillow with an incoherent grumble. “Sleep,” he finally says. 

“I will, sleeping beauty,” you giggle. “Can I please have a kiss first? Just one,” you ask again, lowering your voice an octave, a tone he can never deny. 

He flips himself over, so he’s more on his back now. “It’s never just one.”

“That’s not true,” you fake pout, leaning closer in, letting the tips of your nose dance.

“You said one kiss months ago. Look where that got us.” His breath fans against your lips.

“I don’t see you complaining,” you whisper, your body on fire with this conversation. 

You let your lips finally meet, soft and sweet, but the heat building in your cheeks keeps you from breaking the seal. Without thinking, you climb on top of him, straddling him as your hands find the base of his neck, the length beneath you already beginning to stir. 

You break away for less than a second before you bring your lips to his again, but he’s quick to stop you, a shit-eating grin between his cheeks. “Thought ya said one?” He breathes. 

“Shut up,” you murmur, smashing your lips against his once more as your tongue coasts the expanse of his bottom lip, the taste of you from earlier still lingering. 

“Shit, sugar,” he groans into your mouth, his hips bucking into you on their own accord. “She’s still so needy, ain’t she? That why ya can’t sleep?”

His bulge catches perfectly where you need him most, pulling a whimper from the back of your throat. “Please, baby,” you pant. 

“Told ya ‘s never jus’ one kiss,” he rasps as his heavy hands grab at your waist, guiding your hips into a more frenzied rhythm.

“You’re right,” you cry, eyes clamping shut, nothing but the sweet sounds of your ecstasy blessing his ears. 

Too blissed out to continue kissing him, you bring your lips to his jaw, nipping and licking the places you can reach. With a few harsh grinds of your hips, you’re moaning out into his ear—his partially deaf one, luckily—with millions of white sparkles flashing beneath your eyelids. Joel’s breathing stops at the same moment your body convulses, strangled grunts leaving his throat as he adds to your mess of his boxers. 

“She satisfied, yet?” He hums as you lay across his sweaty chest.

“Mmm,” you pretend to think it over. “I think it’s her turn for a kiss now.” 

Joel scoffs. You can hear his smile with it. 

You lift your head to look him in the eyes, a faux innocence in the way you jut out your bottom lip. “Just one, baby,” you reason with him.

Joel tosses you to your unspoken side of the bed. “Sleep.” 

“But—”

“She’ll get her kiss in the morning.” 

Your eyes nearly pop out at the realization of his words. “G-Goodnight, baby,” you reply quickly. 

“‘S what I thought. G’night, darlin’.”

I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

[haunted-headset-alt]

romantic hcs with s/o lucifer ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

summary: the title lol

warnings: swearing, light angst, mentions of alcohol, tooth-rotting fluff

a/n: ik this wasn't requested, but I'm upset w/ myself due to the lack of Lucifer content on my blog!

tags: (as always, just tagging a few people i think would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be on or off of the taglist!) @o-kye @zuuriell @strangleetomz @xxtalulahlovesyouxx@ax-y10 @stars-around-scars-collective@blu3-lemonad3@myheartticks@mochamuff1n@unbeleevable@danvstheworld @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @average-vibe @back-totheoldhouse

dates w/ lucifer ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

dates with this man are THE BESTTTT

you think of somewhere, he'll take you. the aquarium? done. clothes shopping? of course. fanciest restaurant in town? you don't need to ask, he's already booked a reservation for 6:30.

he's OBSESSED with spoiling you in general, and this gets bumped up x10 on dates

you ask for wine or champagne at dinner? he's ordering the finest, most expensive bottle for his love. don't like what they have? he's bringing his own just for you.

^^ "No, no, sweetheart, I insist. My darling deserves to indulge in the finest!"

he doesn't mind you asking for more simple dates without all of the spoiling, though. he'd plead for a bit to spoil you juuuust a little though!

he's bought LOADS of fancy clothes for you to wear on dates, and sometimes he'll match with you! he wants everyone to know that the king of Hell's partner is living in luxury.

domestic life w/ lucifer ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

he's big on cuddles. cuddles when you wake up, cuddles when you eat or cook, cuddles while watching something, cuddles while getting ready for bed, cuddles while sleeping, etc.

my personal headcanon is that Lucifer knows how to bake super well (he can make the best sweet treats and pastries), but he's terrible at cooking actual meals (COOKING AND BAKING ARE TWO SEPARATE THINGS AND I WILL DIE ON THAT HILL), so you usually end up doing most of the cooking for the two of you. still, he'll help as much as he can!

going back to the baking thing, he loves baking dates with you! wrapping his arms around your waist while you try to figure out his recipe for mini apple pies with ducks on them (he'll step in to help you), teasingly throwing flour at you (which turns into a flour fight), letting you lick the batter off of the spoon, etc.

he really likes learning about and watching the films and shows you like from your era. since he's been in Hell all of his life, he doesn't know everything about the human realm, so you talking about your favorite things from the era you were alive in is a joy for him!

you living with him motivates him to do his chores around the house. talking about your days while doing the laundry, humming along to music while washing dishes, laughing with each other while cleaning. he lives for it.

how you two started dating ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

you heard about Charlie Morningstar's plan through a friend who was talking about how odd it sounded, and you thought you'd pay a visit. you didn't think it was odd at all! if your help wasn't needed/wanted, it might be nice to stay.

turns out, Charlie loved having you help out, and so did everyone else! you pointed out how there wasn't a receptionist or front desk person and offered to take up the job, which Charlie happily let you do.

when Lucifer came to visit for the first time, it truly was love at first sight. something just...clicked.

he kept asking Charlie about who you were, what your name was, etc., until Charlie told him to just go talk to you!

the first 'hello's were a bit awkward, but you two quickly became friends! it went from him not being brave enough to even look you in the eye to him following you around the hotel, laughing while listening to the stories you told him about the hotel.

he started visiting a lot after that, which led to him asking you to be his one and only on Valentine's Day!

he was a little insecure and nervous about dating because of Lilith, and it bothered you for a while that he still wasn't able to take his ring off, but after some arguments and long talking sessions, you two worked everything out :)

[teamatsumu]

kinktober 2023 -> day 12

public play - tendou satori x reader

word count: 607

kinktober masterlist

You’d always known Tendou was a freak in bed. Even before you two had begun dating, you had an inkling. With how unorthodox he was, anyone would’ve guessed he was less than vanilla under the sheets. What shocked them was when he got together with you.

You knew how you looked to the people of your university. Prim, proper, never a hair out of place, well-ironed clothes and clean smile, always early for class and always on top of your grades. What can you say? You were efficient.

So how had you ended up here? Dating the Guess Monster of all people? You heard the whispers follow you when Tendou walked you to class, the same class he had the gall to be skipping. You knew they wondered, and you knew that they had no idea just how similar you and Tendou actually were.

“I wish they could see you now, honey.” Tendou cooed in your ear as your body squirmed and jerked. His lean, surprisingly sturdy figure held you in place against the wall, long thin fingers wiggling inside you so carelessly that you were worried he would rip you apart. He hummed to himself right afterward in contemplation. “Well, they could very well see you. All they have to do is really look.”

And he was right, standing under the shadow of the staircase, it wouldn’t take much for the bustling crowd of students rushing through the halls to take a little breath and slow down, realizing that the huddle under the stairs was you pressed into the wall while your tall boyfriend fingered you fast and rough, his hand disappearing under the hem of your skirt.

You bit into Tendou’s shoulder to try and stifle your moans, bucking your hips into him more and more. You wanted to cum so bad, all rational thought had flown out the window long ago. You didn’t care who saw you at this point, the voices and chatter of the people long drowned out by the roaring in your ears. Tendou chuckled.

“Dirty little thing,” he had a teasing lilt to his voice. “You love this, don’t you? Getting fingered in public. Crying all over my hand. And you’re soaking, too. Way more than usual. Should I do this more often?”

You were panting at this point, breathing hard to try and compensate for your lack of moans. You were close, and Tendou could tell, from the slow stiffening of your body to how you pushed yourself closer to him, your movements getting more desperate.

“Or maybe I should drag you out there in front of everybody,” he mused, knowing what his dirty ramblings did to you, knowing they would push you closer to the end. “I should lay you out on the floor and fuck you right there, so a crowd can gather and watch you cry and cum over my cock. That what you want? Everyone to see how big of a whore you are?”

And his words worked, because the next moment you were cumming, your juices running down his hand and his wrist, his fingers moving faster and faster to prolong your orgasm as much as he could, ignoring how hard his own cock was, straining against his pants. This was enough for now, getting off on the thought of taking you in front of all these idiots who thought he didn’t deserve you. They would understand then, as they watched you cry and moan about how good his fingers felt, why you were with him. That would shut them up real quick.

And Tendou was just freaky enough to actually pull that stunt someday.

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 31- Asking for Help

Since today is Halloween, I thought I would make my last Whumptober fill a little festive! I can't believe I completed all 31 days!!

Villain sat by the door, a bowl of candy on the side table. The doorbell rang. Finally! They wondered where all the little trick-or-treaters had gotten to.

They opened the door, but instead of a tiny pirate or a witch…

“Hero!?” Villain exclaimed.

“Trick or treat?” Hero slurred.

“Woah!”

Villain dove to catch Hero as they lurched forward. Villain got a good look at them. They were covered in blood and bruises.

“What happened to you!?”

Villain carried Hero inside and laid them down on the couch.

“Sorry to bug you like this,” Hero mumbled, “ow. I know it’s a holiday and everything, but- mm…”

Villain gave Hero a gentle slap to the face.

“No sleeping,” they said, “talk to me. Who did this to you?”

“Dunno, they were in costume…”

“Hero,” Villain warned.

“Can’t you give me some ibuprofen before you interrogate me?”

Hero needed more than over the counter pain meds. They needed stitches, bandages, and probably a hospital visit if they were smart. Hero’s eyes started to droop closed. Another slap.

“Stay here. And don’t you dare go to sleep.”

Villain ran from the living room to get the med kit. When they got back, Hero was trying- and failing- to sit up.

“Hey! I said stay awake, not ‘get up and jostle your injuries’!”

“Sorry…”

Villain handed Hero some painkillers, which they took and swallowed dry. They grimaced as they went down. They started to clean their wounds.

“Now talk, or I will turn this into a kidnapping,” Villain said.

“Do you believe in monsters, Villain?”

“Come again?”

“You know, vampires, zombies, ghosts, those sorts of things.”

“I believe in politicians,” Villain stated, “as for the other monsters… where are you going with this?”

“Pretty sure I just met one… a vampire that is.”

“Okay, you’re delirious,” Villain sighed, moving on to stitching Hero up, “vampires aren’t real.”

Just then, the doorbell rang again. Villain sighed, they had left the outside light on when Hero showed up. They’d see to the one trick-or-treater, then turn it off.

Villain opened the door, and their eyes went wide.

“Greetings,” a pale, cloaked figure said, “I think you have something of mine… may I come in?”

“Who are you?” Villain asked.

The figure shed their cloak, and great bat wings sprouted out from their back. Their red eyes seemed to glow in the night, and they grinned widely.

“Who I am doesn’t matter, but I’m sure you’d agree that what I am certainly does.”

“Get lost, Vincent Price,” Villain ordered.

“Oh, I would reconsider,” the figure said, fangs glinting in the warm light of Villain’s porch, “you see, when I want something, I always get it.”

“Cute, you’re entitled,” Villain said, “scram, before I break this wooden table leg and plunge it into your heart.”

The stranger huffed.

“Be careful, human,” they said, “your abode might protect you now, but it will quickly become your prison if you don’t indulge me.”

“Entitled and melodramatic. Leave. Or just stand there until the sun comes up and turns you to dust, I really don’t care.”

With that, Villain slammed the door in the stranger’s face. Their brave façade cracked at once, and they stumbled over to Hero’s side.

“So,” they said, their voice going up an octave, “vampires, huh?”

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Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Five (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors / ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: This is SO VERY ANGST. More angst than any other chapter so far. STRAP IN GIRLIES (GN). I'd love it if you feel like sharing what you think - your feedback means the world to me. ILY :-* Reblogs, comments, and asks are literal power-ups in my day and I appreciate every single one!

Word count: 8.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You’re spiralling. 

You’re pissed off and you’re hurt and you’re somehow still horny as hell (somehow, perhaps even more horny since Santiago helped you out in that very particular way of his). You feel all in a tizz, like you don’t know which way is up; but even so, you’re pretty sure you’ve simply been going around in circles, and it’s dizzying. Santiago makes it easy to do that when you follow his lead, after all – all the more reason that you’d had to get out finally, all those months ago. 

Safe to say, you’re a little bit worked up. Too many thoughts are racing through your head. Resentment that he could get you all riled up like that, have you come undone, and then straight up deny you. Like it was some power play all along and that all he wanted was the satisfaction. On the other hand, a dreadful longing spikes at the thought that maybe he really did just want to protect himself, because he wouldn’t know how to find his way out this time if he got lost in you all over again. 

The main thing you’re feeling though – a bitter shard of pain stabbing through any sense of pleasure you may be left with - is a singular fear. 

What if he really doesn’t want you anymore? 

He wants you, yes, on some level. His admissions in the kitchen about wanting to kiss you confirmed that much. But his desire for you had always felt like an unstoppable force. Like something he couldn’t help or hope to control. Like a raging fire. He had told you that he loved you, wanted you, needed you, all those months ago. And while you are sure that remains true at least in part, you are terrified that all you leaving had achieved was to teach him how to live without you. And, contrary to that, his touch had simply confirmed how hopelessly consumed by him you still are, all your progress - moving on and rebuilding and forgetting - unravelled in mere moments by his fingers. 

You resent that too. His power over you, when you always prided yourself on being strong – needing no-one. You have never liked to feel like the one who is compromised, in any situation. You always prefer to be the hunter as, that way, you’re not the one who gets hurt. But Santiago? Santiago is lethal, and he has always known your weak spots.  

Maybe that’s why you had stormed angrily to your room, subduing your heavy footsteps reluctantly, only for the sake of your dear buddies sleeping soundly in their beds. Maybe that’s why you had hastily cleaned up, throwing on some fresh clothes from your case – a low cut top and some obscenely tight jeans. A splash of perfume. Some lipstick. All in the hopes of heading out to the local bar and searching for the kind of late-night attention which feels in your control. Seeking a desire which feels manageable. Trivial almost, instead of the kind which burns. 

Part of you – a small part of you, at least - recognises you’re being ridiculous, irrational, reactive, even as you zip on your boots. But there is another part of you that simply can’t stay here in this house with him a moment longer, feeling like he doesn’t want you the way you want him. 

You feel like, while you’ve been breaking apart for all these months, he was healing. It’s cruel maybe, that you would wish for his desire to burn him as much as it has a hold over you – but perhaps you’re not perfect. Perhaps you’re only human. 

Whatever. It doesn’t all need to make sense right now. Your head’s all over the place. You’re not really thinking straight at all. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or get your brains fucked out (or maybe all of the above - not in that order). And so, you’re definitely not thinking when you throw open the door to the bathroom, recalling that you’d left your necklace on the counter. If you were -thinking- perhaps you would have heard the rushing of the water. Perhaps you would have heard the muffled, bitten back groans emanating from the shower cubicle. 

Fuck. 

If you weren’t thinking straight before, every thought falls right out of your head altogether when you swing open that door. Namely, when you see Santiago, his body slanted into the wall as he palms his thick, straining length in something of a frenzy. 

You should retreat, probably. In fact, yeah. That's exactly what you should do. But, the sight of him there arrests you, and you can’t help but devour every detail of him. Your eyes skim over him only fleetingly, and yet your memory of his body fills in the gaps, meaning you’re able to see far more of him than you could otherwise in the split second your eyes rove over him. 

He is stripped down, his body curled into the tiled wall, his forehead and one shoulder bracing himself as the stream of water thunders down on the back of his neck and his broad, lightly muscled shoulders. 

His thighs are slightly spread and his full glutes are clenching as he fucks his hard, veined cock into the circle of his left hand, squeezing tight and showing no mercy, his pace relentless. 

From the way his nipples are pebbled and the way you observe the tightness of the muscles coiling in his back, you can guess that the water is cold. Perhaps, that he had attempted to cool off after what had happened downstairs, seemingly to no avail. His need is heavy and urgent and burdening his hand, the veins popping in his slick forearm as water sluices over every contour of him and still, his want is evidently raging. 

The most important detail of all, however, is that his eyes are closed, droplets of water beading in his long lashes, and a wracked moan sounding from around his own fingers as he shoves them over his tongue. 

Fuck. 

He’s licking them clean. He’s tasting you. Tasting your juices from his fingers and pumping himself raw from the thought of it. 

Holy shit. 

He wants you. 

You see it now, clear as day. He wants you to the point of desperation. Helplessness. To the point of coming undone with his need for you. His want rages even beneath the stream of a cold shower, taken in hopes of subduing himself. He works himself urgently in his fist, in hopes of finding his release. You find him here, like this. 

Unfinished. 

You can see it much more clearly now. You see how he wants you. You see what you do to him. What you still do to him. 

You see now that saying no to you likely took every scrap of control he had, and now that is gone, there is nothing left for him but you. 

As you enter, Santiago hears the door creak open – you weren’t exactly sneaking- and he immediately tilts his body to the wall. It’s automatic - showing his ass rather than his dick in his hand, likely in case one of the boys had just walked in on him. But, when he sees it’s you stood there, all slack-jawed and honey-eyed, he foregoes the need to hide. He turns towards you instead, his length twitching as it grows even more rigid and more ruddy at the sight of you. Santiago’s eyes hooded and desolate with want as he looks you up and down in your ridiculous, come-fuck-me clothes. 

Santiago knows fine well that you only wear red when you want to be shown a good time. You feel like a flare, on display, and maybe you’d feel stupid -like scrubbing this red paint from your mouth – if his need was not blatantly on display too. If his predicament did not seem even more dire than yours. 

Finally, though, as you look and he lets you, you register the intrusion, and with a series of stunted vowel noises which barely make it past your teeth, you are dragging your eyes away from his. Your legs like jelly and skin flushed beneath your tight clothes, you are clasping the door handle and turning on your heel. Your only objective is to make it out of there, even if you turn to vapour in the hallway after the fact. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Santiago asks gruffly, and you are not sure what he means. Not sure whether he means to ask where you’re headed out to so late, or to inquire why in the hell you’re leaving the room now that you’re here, but God, you’re not sure anymore that you could answer either question in any way that would make the slightest bit of sense. 

You’re just not thinking straight. Can you be blamed? Look at him. Look at this, all for you. 

So, you freeze, breath held in your lungs as you grip the handle – your back to him, and about to swing the door open to hasten your exit. Instead, though, against every shred of good sense you have, you push the door closed, ever so gently, with you still on the inside. You turn, preposterously slowly back towards him, and when the sight of him stood there, wet and dripping, face all stern and languidly palming himself in the circle of his hand hits you, you flatten your back to the panelled door. Truth is, your legs feel so weak that you could barely stand without it. 

And, as if that wasn’t quite answer enough, Santiago continues to look at you insistently. 

Well? The quirk of his thick brow seems to enquire. Where the fuck are you going? 

Your voice comes out all breath. “Nowhere.” 

You’re going fucking nowhere, apparently. Only ever around and around in circles with Santiago “Pope” Garcia – but suddenly, you could care less.  

Your eyes lock then, and it takes less than moments for him to be on you, his wet hands fisting everywhere - in your hair and your clothes - and dragging your mouth onto his in a sudden, consuming crush. Your hands snake into his hair, squeezing cool shocks down your forearms as you wring rivulets of water from his grizzled curls, grabbing handfuls of the length at his crown to pull him deeper into you, his tongue hot and supple and buried in your mouth. Your top sticks to you, wet and sodden in all the places he has grabbed up handfuls of your flesh, or pressed his hot body flush against you. 

He drives you back, into the door and the awkward mess of towels hanging there on hooks. 

“Fuck,” he bites off into your mouth, and you surge forward with this barrelling want, walking him backward and slamming him against the cool tiles with a thwap and enough force that he grunts. Still, it barely slows him down at all, his hands all over you and his kisses still devouring, ripping the air from your mouth. 

There is no romance in this, you think. Only need, raw and animal, and you are surprised that you show enough restraint not to tear each other down to the floor and go at it right on the tiles. Still, you barely show any more restraint than that. 

“Shit. Fuck. Turn around. Turn around,” Santiago rasps, entirely wrecked already, barely able to get the words past his mouth. His cock looks almost painfully hard, and entirely insistent against your ass as he spins you and roughly bends you over the counter, pots of toothbrushes knocked into the sink and soap rolling who knows who cares where. 

“You want this?” he asks as he presses you into position, little precision or ceremony in it – just a rough, raw urgency, entirely untamed. 

You can see yourself reflected in the mirror above the sink, blurry and steamy and bent over, and that’s exactly how it feels. Everything; blurry and steamy and close and tight. He’s as hard as the cool marble surface digging painfully into your hips, and you’re as hot as steam and as wet and slick as this mirror and you’re melding into one another – not single bodies anymore but shapes and a mood and a feeling, and there is nothing else. 

“Princesa?” Santiago pleads, even as he tugs your jeans down over your ass, removing the bare minimum of clothing to give him access where he needs, the garment still tight and unforgiving around your thighs, not allowing you to move  - barely at all. “You need me?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Need you,” you beg, and you hear him spit unceremoniously into his hand -not that he’d need it- and slather it all over his length, groaning as he makes contact with his sensitive, needy dick as though he might spill over his knuckles with the anticipation of stuffing you full alone. 

Still, he holds on -by a thread – and your eyes roll back into your head as you finally feel the blunt tip of him notch clumsily at your need-swollen entrance. 

Then – ohhhhhh- then, there is the dull ache shortly after as the girth of him pushes through your wanting folds. You grunt at the initial stretch as he works himself inside of you, but pinned between the counter and his surging hips there is nowhere for you to go, and his need sinks into you inch by inch until he fills you all the way. 

You succumb to your ragged breaths and mewl for him, you arms practically giving way beneath you as you press them into the cool surface to keep you standing. He fills you, and God, you’ve missed this. Have missed how full you feel with him inside of you - in every sense of the word. The way his hands grip your hips in that specific spot he likes. 

You have missed his girth. Could swear you can feel every inch of him pressing outward against the tight grip of your heat as he fucks his cock into your hole, bottoming out with a delicious, wracked, stuttering moan, the sound alone causing pleasure to bloom around the drag of him deep inside you. 

Still, despite this fullness - you also feel the give of your walls to him, your slick and eager heat actively suckering him in. He stutters his hips as you clamp tightly around him and then, so help you, he finally begins to move. 

Jesus, this feels even better than his fingers, even better than you remember, and you relish every moment as he fucks into you, bareback and desperate, your pleasure coiling up impossibly quick as the straining mass of him works you open, hitting all of your sweet spots. Your legs tremble beneath you with adrenaline and want, and you feel Santiago’s thighs flush against the back of your legs, his hips snapping against the cushion of your ass as the counter edge bites painfully into your hinged hips. 

He's not taking his time with you. Not teasing or planning or thinking. You can tell by the undone grunts and groans he’s submitting to you already, that -for once- he is far too consumed by his own need to contemplate yours. Can tell by the sloppy pace of his thrusts and the lack of attention to your clit or your breasts or anything else but filling you - his hands fisting in the meat of your hips as he takes what he needs, gives what you crave – that he’s not even trying to make you come… but goddamn it if he isn’t going to get you there all the same. 

Soon too. 

God, the head of him is rubbing exactly where you need, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this good with a dick inside you. Your cunt is primed for him, still sensitive from where his fingers fucked you open and it isn’t going to take you long at all to reach your peak. 

Even without seeing him properly, in the misted-up mirror, you can tell that Santiago is going feral behind you. Filling you deeply and haphazardly, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin. 

You hear a snarl, and see a pearly flash of teeth as his lip curls up from how good you’re making him feel. 

“Fuucckk,” he groans, his head tipped back now, that pretty chin pointing up to the sky and his mouth dropping open – you can vaguely see in the mirror

His broad hand smooths firmly down the middle of your back and over your ass - grabbing handfuls of you- before he retraces his path, sliding his hand up between your shoulder blades and winding his hand in your hair, grabbing and pulling until your spine is curled back for him like a bow, your ass arced up and allowing him a deeper angle of penetration which sends tingles all the way to the tips of your toes when he hits just right. 

You practically yowl for him, your whole body trembling and shaking, sweat trickling down the centre of your cleavage as the layers you did not have time to dispense of overheat your skin. As your clit is nudged into the lip of the counter in a way that shouldn’t work for you, probably, but totally does, the intermittent slap of Santiago’s hips against you providing a pleasing rhythm. 

It’s uncomfortable, and hot, and cramped, and in some ways painful to be rammed up against the surface like this, but you wouldn’t tell him to stop for the world. You wouldn’t tell him to stop because the way he’s taking you feels divine, Santiago burying his want for you as deep as it will go, releasing his punctuated, abortive gusts of breath in time with his thrusts.

You feel drips land on the small of your back, and whether its water cascading from his dampened curls or beads of sweat from the exertion rolling down his temples you do not know or care. 

You only know that you want more. 

Determined as ever, you plant your hands firmly on the counter as he fucks you near boneless, driving through your hips until you meet his thrusts, working him up higher, finding the angle which hits just right and-

“Unnnngggg.” A whimper falls from his pretty mouth and his thrusts are suddenly far more shallow, slow, nudging against your nervy, sensitive entrance. His breaths are coming in deeper, heavy gusts now and you might be afraid that he was about to stop - if you weren’t so sure that he was, in fact, gearing up. 

“Santiago,” you complain as he blunts the sharp edge of your precipice with the break in rhythm. You urge him to give you more, and he uncurls his fingers from your hair and adjusts position. 

Obligingly, he wraps his stronger arm around your chest to guide you closer to standing, pressing his chest to your back, his head hooking over your shoulder. And, with his other arm, he reaches forward towards the steamed mirror, using his palm to clear a window from the condensation. 

“I wanna see you,” he rasps, a hoarse, gritty whisper in the shell of your ear. “Wanna watch you.” 

God, it’s too much. The way his arm is wrapped around your front, strong and yet tender as his forearm braces across your chest and his fingers dance tenderly over your jaw. The wracked, undone voice of him, whisper soft. The contrast between this and the certainty of his thrusts as he finds a new rhythm. As you find a new rhythm together, entirely in sync. 

Slowly, so slowly, he draws out of you, ensuring you can feel every single inch of him, the tantalising drag of him through your folds making your quiver. Then, he snaps back into you all at once, so suddenly shoving himself up into you, balls slapping against your ass, each repetition of this pattern building you up. God, you want him to spill himself inside you, and you think vaguely that it is the only thing which could quench you. 

It is your undoing when his eyes find yours in the mirror, and this all becomes real. No longer fantasy like your unreliable recollections of him all these months. No longer shapeless, tangled, blurry bodies, but now so very suddenly, you are looking at you and him, with all that means. 

The look in his eyes gives form to this act, as though the love settled in them is the very thing giving form to the way he fills you. He is at once stern - his brow burdened, heavy-lidded with need, his eyes sunk into a pit of desire - yet soft. His strong nose is crushed up against you as his lips caress your neck. His eyes dance over your face, taking you in as you languish up against him. 

His eyes are molten when they find you again, dancing with a soft, subtle heat not unlike firelight, long lashes fluttering in disbelief at the sight of you. At the feel of you wrapped around him. No longer just a body or some carnal need, shapeless and intangible. 

Instead, Santiago and you, and your bodies moving as one. 

His soft lips and rasp of stubble break from the column of your neck as his thrusts become sloppy, and you feel his hot breaths come thick and fast against your skin now. 

He missed you.

He missed you, and this is what he’d meant. Had meant he needed to feel you wrapped around his dick. Moaning his name. Needed to see you being his. Missed you being his. God, you missed that too, in so many ways. 

A moan rips through you as you approach your peak, and you plead profusely with him. 

“Don’t stop. Santi. Please.” 

You don’t ever want him to stop. 

As you clamp down on him, your fluttering core wrings his own orgasm from him too, and then he’s pulsing his load into you, thick and warm and abundant, his thighs quaking against yours and his arms gripping on to you more tightly – this time for purchase – as though this might be the time his knees finally buckle if he doesn’t hold on to you. 

You can feel his racing heartbeat hammer from his chest to yours as he holds you flush to him. Can feel his mouth suck at the column of your neck, his tongue sliding along your pulse point and tasting your perfume. 

You come down from your high, thrumming with it. Wet and messy between your legs as Santi drags his softening dick out of you, letting your juices and his seed slip down your inner thighs. 

You feel good. Blissed out. But, as ever, with you and Santiago, there’s always a catch. The joy is immense, but, guaranteed that one of you - if not both - will find a way to ensure it is short-lived. 

Indeed. All too soon, you begin to feel that creeping sense of regret hollow-out your stomach. 

You can see it on his face too. The uncertainty. The lack of understanding of what this all means. About what to do next. It is evident from the way he so quickly moves away from you, picking up his shorts and t-shirt and covering up his body. Similarly, you hike up your jeans without even cleaning up, and as much as you might have hoped for a joyful, intimate moment, you know that it’s already too late for that. The moment that the insecurity, doubt and uncertainty had crept in on each of your faces it had become self-reinforcing. A spiral. Running in circles. 

“Shit,” you sound out, in a clear peal of regret, planting a hand over your face in distress - despite everything. 

“Sounds about right,” Santiago agrees in a monotone, brows drawn down and his gaze fixing on a spot of tile, unable to look you in the eye, despite having been buried inside you only moments ago. 

“No,” you stress, bringing a second hand to your face. There’s something else. Something that makes you feel stupid and sick. “I…. I mean, shit. I changed my birth control up and I… I mean we…” Santiago snaps his eyes back up to you now, alright. You curse when you note the writhing of his taut jaw, set and a little annoyed. Your softly puffed expletive which follows is contrite, but it doesn’t help. 

It’s not like you -or him- to make a mistake like that. And yet, you had all the same. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You bristle at his harsh, accusatory tone. How quickly things sour. “It’s not like you checked!” It is his turn to bristle now, and so you opt to be harsher still. “Besides, I didn’t exactly think you were going to be quite so quick on the trigger, Santi.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his riposte about his stamina not even required. He got you off, didn’t he? So, your attempted distraction is futile, as he manages to stay alarmingly on topic. You fold your arms across your chest as he steps towards you, feeling on the back-foot as his flattened palm nags through the air to punctuate his words. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that before we fucked?” 

“I forgot. I switched up my method and I’m not technically covered yet. It’s marginal, you know. Most likely fine. I mean, what’s another 24 hours? Besides, I didn’t exactly plan on this, did I?” 

He scoffs, then he purses his mouth until much of the colour drains from his lips. “Oh yeah. Sure you didn’t.” 

You raise your eyebrows, and jut a hip out to the side for good measure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Santiago shakes his head softly. Plants his hands on his wide hips, making himself larger. You don’t shrink back from him, but you note it. “For real?” He flashes his line of teeth now, a lopsided, disbelieving lilt of his lips – no happiness in it. Not at all. “I know you love to pretend like I’m the bad guy, right? That serves your narrative or whatever? Bullshit, honey. You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” You snort out a huff of air through your nose, your look all steel as you prepare to deny his claims. You falter though, with his next words. “I can’t get off without you, Santiago?” he mimics, and your comeback dies on your lips. “You wanna put this all on me now? Believe me, I gave it everything I had to stay out of-“

“-My vagina? Yeah, great job, Pope.” You throw your hands up in the air and they slump right back down again. “You’ve had everything up in there except your damn tongue.”

“Let’s go then, sweetie,” he challenges, nodding to the rear of you, his voice taut rather than inviting. “Hop up on the counter and spread your legs, I’ll make it 3 for 3.”

It’s unfamiliar to you, this tone of his. It makes your heartbeat rage. You swear you can even feel the pulse of it in your tongue. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you.” Your adrenaline spikes at the prospect of another argument and you turn on your heel, looking for an exit. 

However, before you can retreat, Santiago’s broad palm contacts your arm to stop you – open hand, no force applied – and you turn your head over your shoulder. “At least tell me you’re going to take care of this,” he bites off, with a clear attempt to restrain his aggravation, expression sullen. 

“Of course I am.”

“How?” 

You think. “I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning. I’ll deal with it.” You pump your brows emphatically. “Okay?” 

You shrug his hand off of you then with apparent disdain for his touch, and in spite of his (relative) tolerance of your acerbic tone, that is apparently the move which fractures his composure. “You know what actually blows my mind? The way you can be nice to me just long enough to get yours. Pretty fucking convenient.” 

You feel your face twist with the weight of a sour expression, mirroring his. “Why are you always like this?” You don’t wait to hear his answer, the adrenalin propelling you away, down the hall and closer to your room, but his footfalls follow closely behind you, hot on your heels. Your voice is a whispered hiss, as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you are vaguely aware of the need to keep it down – the other boys are lights out by now. “Why can you never just fuck me and be happy about it, huh?” You spin to face him, chest to chest and facing off. 

“I knew this was a fucking mistake.” 

Your pulse is in your throat. “Right. Maybe it was. That’s all I ever was to you, I guess.” 

Your voices raise, slowly creeping up in volume as you each get lost in this intimate bubble of angst. Of resentment. On some level, you know you could stop now - before it gets worse and you say things you will only regret (or worse, hear things you’ll wish you hadn’t). You know that you should stop, but it feels… oddly necessary. 

Like it’s inevitable. Like you’ve been waiting all this time to fuck and fight because it’s all you know how to do with him anymore. At least, it’s all you know how to do when loving him heart and soul seems off the table. 

The space your bodies create is tight, leaning into each other’s circle of personal space. 

Santiago’s fingers bridge like a claw and he taps them against his own chest, his eyes needling you like he could sew this up once and for all. Tie off all those loose threads of blame which sit frayed between you. He’s angry. Angry and riled and pissed and even so, there is still this eerie sense of calm about him. 

You’ve seen him really let loose. You’ve seen him kill, for Christ’s sake, and yet he’s still measured and restrained in the face of you. That should make it easier to bear the brunt of his sharp edges, but that’s not quite so. There’s something about the precision of his anger when it’s focussed on you. The fact it feels so considered, so targeted only makes it cut deeper. “You know what? I’m tired as shit of always being the fucking bad guy here. You wanna get into it, huh?” His voice breaks now, splitting like shrapnel, lodging in your chest. “I told you I love you and you fucking left me.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit!”  

He’s not happy that you said that. He rocks from foot to foot like he’s priming for something. Scoops a hand over his jaw, around his taut mouth. You’re close enough to hear it rasp, the fleck of his stubble bristling against his palm. “Oh, it’s bullshit?”

Your voice comes out hot now, your words bitten off between your teeth, flecks of spit cast from your mouth. “Yes! Because if I hadn’t left you never would have told me! You told me because I left you! You told me to fucking punish me. To try and drag me back in.” 

“Wow. Jesus fucking...” He laughs, but it is a cold, brief sound. “That’s fucking rich, cariño.” His eyes glint like knife licks, and he plants his hand indignantly against his chest, jutting up his chin. Puffing up his chest and making his body all angles. Protecting himself. “That’s really what you think of me, huh?” You try to look away from him, but his eyes chase you for an answer. 

Is it? Is that what you genuinely think of your best friend? Is that what you think he’s done to you? Tried to do? 

If so, no wonder you’re so fucking angry. No wonder your body is trembling with it. 

But the truth is, when pushed on it, you have no intelligible retort you can form. No evidence you can offer. So, instead, in your panic over losing ground, you opt to minimise. You throw your hand up dismissively and you turn on your heel, stomping towards your door at the end of the hall. “Fuck this.”

This time, his footsteps do not follow, even if you can still feel his eyes boring into your back. You think that might even be the end of things, until…

“No,” he sounds. A forceful, robust note which fills the whole hallway. A command to wait. This isn’t over. 

With you and him, it’s never going to be over, is it? 

You turn towards him and he is fixed in position, stance set wide and chin dipped down, eyes blackened half moons as he looks at you. “Just let me get this straight. If I’m the one who drags you back in? What the shit do you call what you just did?”

You scoff. “You were a very willing participant, Pope. Or, I dunno. Why don’t you just consider it payback for all the times you fucked me around?” 

He’s biting words back as he listens to you now. You can see them, in the tilt of his head and the flare of his nostrils. In the flip and curl of his tongue settled around his upper lip, dragging back and forth just below his filtrum. “Revenge, then? Really? Is that what this weekend has been about for you? You really that vindictive?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismiss him again, as though not one of his complaints about you can possibly be valid. Or, rather, revealing you are currently unwilling to admit it even if they are. After all, you’re as stubborn as he is. Each of you trying so desperately to palm off the blame for how fucked up this became. 

Santiago paces towards you then, footfalls rhythmic and steady as he swallows the space between you in the hall. “Jesus. You don’t even give a shit, do you? Think I deserve to have my heart crushed into fucking dust?” 

Hot, angry tears spike at the corner of your eyes as you spit your words, jabbing his shoulder with your pointer finger. “Like you give a shit that I left?” 

His dense brows draw down, his whole face a grimace, his voice practically booming throughout the hallway, close enough that the sound of it rumbles in your chest. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Yeah? Well you never fucking had to!”

Santiago is the one who turns from you now, pacing back in a loop, both hands lifting and dragging backward through his grizzled curls, flattening them to his head in disbelief. He rounds back to you, spittle glistening on his lower lip from his tirade. He’s waving his arms now, everything being thrown upward just like the hideous lurch in your stomach. “You’re the one who ran from this!”

Well, that’s the biggest pile of shit you ever heard. You fold your arms to your chest, becoming guarded and taut where he becomes more frenzied. “Oh ho ho,” you scoff. “Now that’s a grade A delusion, right there.” He mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head from side to side in a long, disbelieving drag. In denial. Still. “You’ve been running, Santiago. You’ve done nothing but run from this. Even the whole time I was right next to you. Especially then.”

He steps towards you, driving your body back into the door without making a scrap of contact with you. From the force of him alone. He leans his face in real close, his movements disconcertingly slow - cautious and deliberate. It’s not threatening – you don’t feel physically unsafe at all - but you can tell from the flare of his nostrils and that gunpowder glint in his eye that while his movements may be constrained, he’s still arming himself with a coming barrage. 

You flatten yourself – your back to the shut paneled door-  and Santiago lifts his hand, reaching up to you. Pincering your chin deceptively tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, making sure you look at him. “Right. And you’ve been so perfect, huh?” His eyes needle you, making it impossible for you to wheedle out of this one. To dismiss him. He’s making sure you take at least some accountability for your part in this. “Fucking other guys to get back at me? Insisting we keep it a secret? Pissing off to another fucking continent, two days early, by the way, before we’d even put things right?” You break eye contact, your vision of him blurred by wilful tears. He releases your chin from his grip then, but the space between you remains tight. Close, even as you feel a million miles from him. “Christ - it’s like you never fucking wanted this to work. Never believed I was worth it. How am I supposed to work with that?”

Hot, spiking tears spill over onto your cheeks. You scrub them away with a flattened palm but it still doesn’t slow them down. 

“Please,” you beg limply, shaking your head from side to side. You want him to stop this. You just want this to be over. 

“I was never the guy someone would bring home to their mama, was I? Too fucked up and too broken for that? Hands too bloody, right, to be good enough for you?” You balk audibly in protest at his words, but even so, it sends a hot flash of heat to your cheeks. 

Is there some truth in it? 

Had you been afraid of what he’d done, even though the blood on his hands matches yours? Or… maybe because of it? 

Your lower lip begins to tremble as the ire in Santiago’s eyes burns you, hot like coals. But he has more to say. “I get it. It’s easier to blame me for everything that got fucked up, right?” He beats his palm emphatically against his chest and flattens it there. “I’m hardly a fucking Saint, I’ll admit that much. But do you honestly think that I ever wanted to hurt you? That this doesn’t fucking hurt me?” 

No. You want to say “no”. No. That’s not what you believe at all, but instead the words that find their way out are cruel and petty. “Well you did. You hurt me!” 

You wish you could get rid of it, this anger in your chest. You only want to love him… but you tried that, and since it didn’t work, it somehow feels like the anger is all you have left to fill this hole in your middle.

His eyes tighten, and Santiago jabs his finger back and forth, his voice hoarse as he pushes the words out from the pit of his chest. “It never mattered, what I did or didn’t do. It was never going to be good enough for you.” 

“That’s not true. At all!” You spit back. “It’s you who thought that. Not me. Not me. You wouldn’t even fucking try.”  

Santiago scrubs a tear away from his own cheek now. His voice creaks and cracks apart. “I tried. I did. But you only want me under certain conditions right. If I quit. If I get out. Maybe if I’m someone fucking else.”

“That’s not fair, that’s not how it is. For fuck’s sake, Santi.”

You are both entirely undone now with this ugly rage, tears wetting your cheeks, and this resentment and blame twisting your words and your faces into something unrecognisable. 

That makes it all the worse when Frankie’s torso pokes out of his door in the hallway. You know that the two of you are not yourselves. Frankie’s face twists with disappointment and concern in equal measure, and you fold your arms across your chest defensively, feeling embarrassed that he is seeing you this way. At your worst. Why do you and Santiago always seem to bring out the worst in each other? You’d swear blind to anyone that he’s the best person you know. 

“Guys. What the fuck?” Frankie ventures. His voice is grogged by sleep, and you get the feeling he would step out into the hall if he wasn’t entirely nude behind the door frame. 

Feeling suddenly ashamed, with the contrasting softness of Frankie’s eyes on yours, you feel the urge to run from yourself and what you’ve become, all twisted up like this. You push past Santiago in the hallway, storming down the stairs as tears now cascade freely down your cheeks. You don’t even make an attempt to mop them up now, letting them course down and drip from the point of your chin. 

Then, with an aggravated sigh, Santiago follows you too, in pursuit, despite Frankie’s barked pleas that he “leave it alone, cabrón”. 

You push out of the threshold and into the night, the cooler air a welcome relief. You pace away from the house, wanting to leave it, to leave him entirely, but your body will not let you. Will not carry you far enough away, and your steps quickly run out of steam. 

When Santiago finds you, you are stood with your back to him, looking out towards the white crash of waves. He comes and stands next to you, hands gently clenched by his sides. 

“Look,” he begins, staring out at the expanse of water. You feel your anger cresting and with it comes a wave of sadness. “I love you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe… we’re not good for each other. Maybe we just… can’t make each other happy.” 

You shake your head softly. Tip your eyes to the sky to stave off yet more tears. “I just wish we’d never changed things.” You wish more than anything that you could simply swallow it. Go back to how things were before. 

“Don’t,” Santi implores, turning to you with his hands cupped as though in offering, soft and haphazard and trying to catch on your elbow, your shoulder, your hand. “Don’t say that. Please. No matter how fucked this got… You’re the best thing I ever-” 

But, your anger is not done. Your palms raise in the air, forming a barrier between your bodies - a defence against his brutal love - and you snatch yourself away from him. Your voice is once again harsh as it rings in accusation, words tearing from your lips like bullets. “-Let go?”

There is a beat. 

“Seriously. You’re gonna stand there and tell me I could I have fucking stopped you?” 

You raise your palms and plant them to your face, splayed fingers tugging in disbelief from your temples, sliding down to your mouth - drawing your cheeks into a grimace. You look at him and his face is once again taut with blame. His mouth a thin, downturned line. But even now….. Somehow, even now, you want to kiss him. Want to kiss him until he is soft again, like you know he can be. 

Why would he never turn soft for you - not all the way? Soft in your arms? Why would he never? 

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot under your scrutiny. He sees the anger melt away from your face, but his is not done. “I mean, fuck. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to come with you? Just drop everything?” 

“Just stop, Santi,” you plead, weakly, but there’s no way he heard you over his own tirade.

“My whole career. This shit I’ve got going on with Lorea. Pick-up and move here? Huh? Tell me? What do you want from me?” 

You fold your arms across your chest, closing yourself off to him. “Please, just drop it.” 

“You want me to have dinners with you and your family on Sundays? Take the nephews to the playpark, huh?” 

He won’t stop. He won’t stop talking, stop pushing you, and you can’t take it. You’re going to snap. 

“Go fucking grocery shopping? And get married and have babies and-?” 

“Yes!” you finally yell, your whole body craning forward as you fire your answer out through your throat, the word coming out scuffed and sudden; but nothing if not truthful. Your eyes go wide, quivering with tears as well as the shock of your revelation. The shock of revealing something you can barely even admit to yourself. 

That is what you want. With him. 

Santiago is evidently as shocked as you are too. Stunned into silence, in fact. He takes a perceptible step back from you, punching out a breath like he’s just been struck with a body shot. All the tension drops from his limbs, and his arms flop uselessly to his sides.

But, instead of backtracking, from somewhere, somehow, you finally find the courage to stand in your truth. “Yes,” you say shakily. “I want that, you asshole.” And, at those words, you interpret the most repulsive thing you’ve seen in his eyes all night. Pity. “And you, meanwhile? You’d rather get shot in the guts than do that with me, wouldn’t you? Something so mundane as being happy? Something so fucking worthless as loving me?” You tear your head away from him, whip your gaze away as you cannot bear to look at him. Cannot bear to see your true wants rejected. With a final question, you stab your pointer finger against your sternum with enough force that it hurts. “I’m not a mission, so I’m not worth it right? Not important?”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor, to a neutral spot between you. His voice all but cracks apart, small and broken. “I told you that I love you.” 

“That wasn’t enough!” You bite your words off before you can even think, and his eyes snap back up to yours then. Wounded. Glassy. You regret the words as soon as you have spoken them, but it is far too late to recall them now. You can see that they cut him - and you can even understand why they would hurt. What an awful thing to have said, you think; that his love wasn’t enough. 

It was everything. 

Everything. 

Wasn’t it? 

Even so, here you stand, still waiting and hoping that he can offer you something more than that alone. A solution, perhaps. A way to fix this. 

Instead though, Santiago simply nods slowly. Contemplatively. In resignation. He stands eerily still. Eerily quiet. Entirely stoic. “Right. Well.” His hand rasps back and forth over his stubble, and his voice is entirely sunken. Defeated. He’s a soldier. Your friend. Your lover. But most of all, now he’s someone who appears to have stopped fighting for you. He looks you in the eye, all of his anger dissipated. Voice scrubbed clean and entirely dispassionate. “That’s too bad then. Because I don’t have anything else I can give you.”

He turns from you now, and you grab onto his arm. “Believe me. The only thing I ever wanted from you… With you, was a future, Santiago.”  

It breaks your heart when he quietly, slowly extricates his arm from your grasp, slipping through your fingers like fine sands. Did you really think that you could do that? That you could keep on pushing him, without eventually pushing him away? 

A divot notches in his brow. “Mmm-hmm. Well I guess we fucked any shot at that now, didn’t we?” 

You search his ashen eyes - almost in desperation - for some of that all too familiar fire. For any sort of spark for you. 

Godammit, as soon as the anger has gone, you want it back. You want something; only because it seems a damn sight better than nothing at all. 

You can’t handle it - the thought that any future with him is being taken off of the table once and for all. You know - if you step back from this - that you’ve been far from perfect. That you’ve been bitter, volatile, reactive. Maybe even cruel, at times. You know, in truth, that you shouldn’t be so hung up on the past -on what happened all those months ago and beyond- but it’s the only thing Santiago has ever given you to dwell on. How were you supposed to move on, when he’s never been able to look ahead with you?

Still, all of a sudden, being faced with any and all possibilities of a future with him being ripped away from you, it is all you want to talk about. The past and your grievances and the blame now seem wholly irrelevant. You feel bile rise into your mouth. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just… How do we get past this, Santiago? That’s what matters.”

He stops, halting his retreat back to the house. He turns, slowly. And, Santiago takes your hands into each of his. Looks at you solemnly, as your eyes flit over his face in doubt and fear and regret. He bundles your hands up together, sandwiching them together between his warm, steady palms and he gives them a squeeze - full of finality. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t,” he sounds, flatly, voice scrubbed clean of emotion. And, the only thing worse than hearing his words out loud, is that he looks like he believes them. 

For once, Santiago “Pope” Garcia seems cold, and it hurts more than any of his fire has ever burnt you. Maybe the anger, horrible as it feels, is better. Because it is better than nothing. Better than losing him altogether. 

After all, what is it that happens when the fire goes out? 

Well, you suddenly feel like you’re about to find out. 

You suddenly feel like it’s truly about to be over. 

And so, you clasp your hands over your mouth and you sob, fleeing towards the interior of the house, because you have no place else left to run but away from him.

[sturniolo-rat]

✨Chris Sturniolo Headcanons✨

For Black Girls✊🏽✊🏾✊🏿

💋 Chris loves black girls

I’m sorry but in my head Chris prefers black girls. Like Atlanta Georgia black girls… thick, dark, dressed to the nines, hair done, acrylic nails 💅🏽💅🏾💅🏿absolute fucking queens. Like I don’t describe Y/N in any way but best believe if it’s a Chris fic she’s black to me.

💋 He sees fucking hates racists

This doesn’t actually need to be said but I figured We’d get this out of the way first. Chris definitely listens to you when you talk about race issues so he knows all about micro aggressions. He always notices them and stands up for you every time. “Baby, if anyone says that shit to you again I’m gonna catch an assault charge!”

💋 He owns silk sheets

This man most definitely would buy a full set of silk sheets after you sleep over his house for the first time and he notices you brought your own satin/silk pillowcase. He doesn’t realize it’s for your hair until he surprises you with them the next time you sleep over and you tell him. “Oh, I just thought you were being bougie.” Then he buys more sets of them because he decides to throw away all his cotton sheets.

💋 He learns your hair care routine

Chris is the only white person you trust to touch your hair. He makes taking care of your hair into a really loving and intimate experience. If you’re in the bath he adds epsom salts, sets up candles, and does a bunch of stuff to set the mood. “You have any music requests, Mama? If not I’m probably just gonna put on the sexy time playlist.” He sits out side of the bath and takes his time washing and conditioning your hair making sure to detangle and section it the way you taught him. He does the same thing when you’re in the shower except he stops occasionally to pull you close and feel you up. “Come here, Baby. You’re so fuckin’ pretty and you smell so nice and clean. I just can’t resist.”

💋 He sits with you when you’re getting your hair braided and brings you snacks

Before your appointment he packs you a lunch bag full of snacks for the both of you because of course he’s coming with you. “Alright, Baby, we’ve got Doritos, McDonald’s chicken nuggets, and a shit ton of candy. We’re all set to go.” If you think he’s not gonna come when you’re gonna be in the chair unable to get away from his yapping you are sorely mistaken. He’s always keeping everyone entertained and happy. “What’s up ladies! You have any tea for me today.” It’s just him feeding you snacks and having silly conversations with you and the person doing your hair. If you ever show up to your appointment without him everyone misses him.

💋 He pays for your acrylics

He insists on giving you the money every two weeks because he’s just “helping to keep his princess feeling pretty” He also likes to help you figure out designs and themes nails. He sends you random texts with nail inspo all the time. “I know a zoo theme seems extra, but let me cook, Mama!” I’m certain that he makes you get a C for Chris on one of your nails every time you get new set. This probably isn’t exclusive to black girls but like as a black person who gets their nails done I like to go all out on the designs and shit gets expensive.

💋 You convince him to wear a durag

He only agrees to do it one time in the house. You use the situation to teach him its use and significance in black hair care. It takes him a few tries and you have to demonstrate it a lot but eventually he is able to put it on correctly and he looks super cute. Not cute in a “this is a good look for you” kind of way, but in an aww “the little white boy is engaging in cultural appreciation” type of way. “I think if anyone saw me like this I would get cancelled.”

Taglist

Masterlist

Idk if people put their tag lists on headcanon posts??? Pls advise

@daddyslilchickenfingers2 @mrsmiagreer @rafecameronsbitch @lovergirl4387 @gdsvhtwa @ashley9282828 @j-worlds-blog @stephanienwf @achrisgirly @draculaura123 @abbypost @cind2224 @crazychrisl0v3r @ryli3sworld @bkwrld @chrattstromboli @pinkishpearls @pepsienthusiasts @stunza @sturnssmuts @angelic-sturniolos111 @69isabella69 @maryx2xx @sturniolo04 @bigbeefybitch @klaus223492 @r93339 @sturnzsblog @spotconlon55 @robins-scoop @junovrsmp4 @sturnlover4eva @blahbel668 @lilahnowheretobefound @luxy-nyx @tuffsturns @m0r94n @sturnstvs @pepsicolapussy333 @maddyslifesstuff @dogblof @honeymoonxxz @xplr-sturns-e-m @hayhjelmstad15

[thefallennightmare]

Moment of Weakness-two

*credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest *

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Notes: Tags are open if you're interested!

Tags(open): @splendidreads @sebsgirl71479 @mdpplgtz03 @pattiemac1 @unaxv @elizacusi-blog @alana4610 @broadwaybabe18 @themayzittcha @playboystark @raajali3 @ozwriterchick @ragamuffin285 @screamingdying

The winter air of New York brushed past me as I quickly entered the office, shaking off the cold and snow from my hair. The weekend had come to an end, a lonely and quiet weekend, so I was glad to be back at work. As I closed the distance between the front door and my desk, I was shocked when my eyes landed on the figure sitting in my chair. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were taking over my job today. I could have stayed home in my warm bed,” I joked. 

Bucky smiled. “My job is one thing but there’s no way I could do what you do.” 

I hung up my jacket and bags on the coat rack that was behind my desk. “Do you need me to do something?” 

“I had a few minutes before my first meeting so I wanted to check in with you, see how you’re doing.” 

“So far so good,” I nodded. “It’s easy work.” 

Bucky’s brow peaked while he leaned back in the chair. “Oh really?”

My one hand sprawled on the desk while I leaned into it, the other hand on my hip. 

“I thought that since I was working for a mob gang that I would be cleaning up blood or hiding bodies but all I’ve done is run coffee and make copies.” 

I shrugged; eyes locked with Bucky’s. “Maybe you’re a big softy, who knows.” 

The sarcasm was evident in my voice. 

A low chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest and he slowly stood, the height of him towered over me. His bright eyes shined as he slowly licked his lips, our faces so close but not close enough. I could feel my heart jump into my throat causing my breath to get caught. 

He smelled over cedarwood, like the outdoors, and it comforted me almost instantly. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be a smartass?” His voice was low, husky, and it caused my core to twitch. 

I cleared my throat. “Once or twice.” 

The air shifted around us as his hand began to slowly raise, ready to move the loose strand of hair that fell into my eyes. I sucked in a breath as I felt his soft touch tuck it behind my ear, his vibranium fingers lingering on the skin of my neck. 

My fingers spread over his wide chest and I marveled at the way it felt beneath. They began to graze down but the front door opened, her petite voice calling for Bucky. I hurriedly stepped away from him, creating enough distance between us. 

“I brought breakfast!” Natasha smiled while holding up a brown bag. 

Bucky’s gaze stayed on me for a few moments before looking towards his wife and plastered a smile on his face. “I didn’t know you were coming by.” 

They shared a kiss which caused me to look down at my feet, suddenly feeling very out of place. 

“You rushed out this morning and you didn’t eat so I thought I would surprise you.”

It was almost as if she was avoiding me, not bothering to look my way, which I didn’t find myself complaining about. As they shared yet another kiss, I did my best to leave them be, but my feet haltered when Bucky’s voice sounded in my ears. 

“Can you cancel my first meeting?” 

I raised a brow. “Are you sure? It’s with Mr. Stark and he’s been trying to get a meeting with you for the last month.” 

Bucky cursed with his hands on his hips. 

“I’m sure he would understand, right? Breakfast with your wife should come first,” Natasha said. 

I couldn’t stop the way my eyes rolled. 

“I can see if he’s fine with meeting later. You’ve got an hour free for lunch. I don’t think it’ll take that long, right?” I suggested. 

The smile that pulled at Bucky’s lips made my heart flutter. 

“That should work. Thank you, Y/N.” 

I watched with sad eyes as the two of them walked into his office, his hand on her lower back. 

“Hi, Mr. Stark. This is Y/N calling from Mr. Barnes office again. Something came up and he won’t be able to make his ten o'clock meeting. I’m wondering if there was any way we could push it back to one this afternoon. Give me a call back at this number. Thank you.” 

I hung up the phone and rubbed my eyes with a sigh. I had spent the last hour trying to get a hold of Mr. Stark, only to be met with his voicemail. 

“Hopefully he gets the voicemail before it’s too late,” I grumbled to myself. 

Suddenly, there was a noise coming from the wall behind me and when the sound of a woman moaning grazed my ears, my stomach fell into the pits of my stomach. 

“Oh, Bucky. It's so good.” 

I cleared my throat and did my best to block out their moans, keeping my attention on my work.

You wish it was you, though. 

I mentally smacked the thought away and hummed a tune to myself. It worked for a bit; the moans started to sound farther away. 

“Is Bucky busy?” 

I looked away from my computer and gave Steve a warm smile. “Yeah, Natasha is-.” 

We both heard a very loud crash followed by Bucky’s deep moans. It caused my insides to burn and I discreetly adjusted myself, hoping the itch would subside. I remembered the feeling of his vibranium fingers on the skin of my neck and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the moan quiet.

“How long has that been going on?” Steve nodded behind me. 

“Way too fucking long,” I grumbled.

He noticed that I had been bothered by the sounds coming from Bucky’s office so Steve sat on the edge of my desk next to me and looked down towards me.

“I need your honest opinion about something,” he said, stretching out his long legs. 

I leaned back in my chair while looking up at him. “About?” 

Steve ran a hand through his long hair in an attempt to get it out of his face. “I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair back to how it used to be; short.” 

My eyes doubled in size. “No way. You can't. I can’t even imagine you with short hair and clean shaven.” 

Steve chuckled and scratched at his beard. “It used to be my look back in the day.” 

I snorted. “Back in the day? How old are you?” 

“Way too old, I feel,” he laughed with me. 

“But honestly, don’t cut your hair,” I said while raising to my feet. My fingers messed with his long locks. “I like it this way.” 

His chest rumbled in bliss as I gently scratched his head and his fingers ghosted over my thigh. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Steve asked. 

My fingers were now twirling in the ends of his hair. “Are you asking me out, Rogers?” 

He shrugged. “One drink?” 

I gnawed on my bottom lip, weighing the decision in my mind. There was chemistry between us, it would be wrong to deny myself that especially since the one my heart had yearned for was unavailable. 

The door clicked open behind me, Natasha and Bucky walking out. She was busy fixing her blouse that she didn’t notice Steve and I; Bucky, however, did. 

Bucky’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of us, Steve’s hand on my hip while I continued to mess with the hairs at the back of his neck. 

“What’s going on here?” He questioned. 

Steve sighed. “Impeccable timing as always, Buck.” 

I stood frozen in Steve’s grasp, unable to move because of the look Bucky was giving me. I went to explain but the front door now opened and I groaned when I saw who walked in. 

“Mr. Stark, did Y/N not call you?” Bucky questioned the man while extending his vibranium hand. 

He shook Bucky’s hand while shaking his head. “Tony, please. And I never got a phone call. Is everything alright?” 

“I called you a few times and left you a voicemail about rescheduling your meeting today,” I informed him. 

The anger radiated off of Bucky as he turned his attention towards Natasha, laying a kiss on her lips. “I’ll call you later, alright?” 

She nodded and bid all of us a quick goodbye, leaving through the door Tony arrived in. 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m free now,” Bucky extended his arm towards his office. “Shall we?” 

Tony nodded and walked into the office. 

Bucky’s eyes landed back on me and Steve. “Are you going to join us, Steve or are you too preoccupied with Y/N?” 

My shoulders fell at the tone of his voice. He was clearly upset that I had decided to flirt with Steve and not continue my work. 

Steve sighed. “Of course not. Punk.” 

He punched Bucky’s shoulder before he disappeared into the office. 

“I swear I left Mr. Stark a voicemail asking to reschedule,” I explained. 

Bucky took a step towards me and I felt the heat from him engulf around us. His breathing was slow but erratic. 

“I’d suggest you keep your mind on your work and not flirt with the men that work here,” his voice was low. 

I scoffed. “Excuse me?” 

Bucky went to speak but Tony appeared in the doorway and pointed between us. 

“Should I come back? This seems like it needs to be discussed.” 

“No,” Bucky kept his eyes trained on me. “We will finish this later.” 

All I did was nod as I watched Bucky walk into the office now with Tony and let the door slam behind him. 

[20dollarlolita]

What's up, here's a little pep talk I had to have with myself about the fact that I've recently gone from invisibly disabled to very visibly disabled. It was a pep talk for me, but you can have it too:

Part 1) You deserve to be more than surviving. When you can fumble through and do okay, nice. But what if you can give yourself more support? If, instead of fumbling through, you are able to be comfortable and happy, then you're allowed to do what makes you comfortable and happy. You can do what makes you comfortable and happy, even if you don't NEED it just to get by. Also, BTW, if you feel very poorly when you drive in stop-and-go traffic for more than 4 minutes, because your body is in too much pain from pressing the brake pedal, you deserve better than that.

Part 2) I didn't feel particularly awkward getting disability aids that weren't visible. Expensive insoles in all my shoes isn't a thing other people see, and I didn't feel weird getting them myself. Taking ibuprofen multiple times a day wasn't a visible thing, and I didn't feel weird doing it. It was when I was looking at getting a cane, and when I was looking at getting a wheelchair that I started worrying about if I was "disabled enough" to need it. That was some fun ableism to get to unpack. Invisible things, didn't need to question if I needed them. Visible things, "ooh what if I'm just overreacting?" Can only trust my own judgement of my disability when no one can see it? Yikes.

Part 3) "What if I get a cane and then I get better?" YES. YES. THAT IS THE POINT. THAT IS THE BEST CASE SCENARIO. IF THAT HAPPENS, THEN YOU WIN. YOU DID GOOD.

Part 4) Everyone's ability level fluctuates constantly. It's so built into our lives that we don't even see it, at least until it's someone's disability. "I deadlifted 290lbs yesterday and now my arms feel like noodles," is overexerting yourself and paying for it the next day. Being willing to hike 5 miles in hiking boots, but not wanting to walk a mile down the beach in flip flops? That's your ability level changing depending on what support you get from what you're wearing. Walking 5 miles in hiking boots, but calling a Lyft to drive you 10 blocks because you're wearing high heels? That's getting help from someone else because your ability level is lower that day.

But when it's not being able to get out of bed because you cleaned your house yesterday and overexerted yourself, when you'll walk across a parking lot with a cane but will use a rollator to walk 1/4 mile, when you need someone to push your wheelchair on days when you don't feel good, it feels harder to accept. Also, a lot of abled people fully understand not walking 10 blocks in heels, but consider a disabled person faking because they use nothing one day and a wheelchair the next. Understanding changing ability level is so built into culture that it's not even noticed, but understanding dynamic disability level is apparently just too much to ask people.

Part 5) Every motivational speaker will talk about proacting and reacting. Reacting is looking at the situation you are in, and figuring out what to do about it. Reacting is what you do after something happens. Proacting is where you look at the future, and figure out what to do so that the future situation is something better. Proacting is what you do to make something happen.

Despite the 20dollarlolita pep talks tag on this blog, I'm not a motivational speaker. I'm not going to say that you must proact all the time. I'm going to say that proacting is very valid. If you look at your situation, and you go, "If I use my wheelchair today, then I will have enough energy to do what I want to do tomorrow. If I don't use my wheelchair today, I will be in pain and have difficulty functioning tomorrow," then you can use the wheelchair, even if you feel fine. I've found that, when I use my cane, I often don't feel like I need it. However, my situation is such that I can go from, "I don't need it," to "I really need it," faster than a sponge in a treedome. Over the span of a couple of steps, I can lose my balance or step wrong and find that I'm really leaning on my cane for the rest of the day. Not bringing it because I don't need it at the start of the walk from the parking garage to the coffee shop means that I don't have it on the walk back to the parking garage from the coffee shop. That's putting strain on my ankle that I don't need to put.

Waking up, feeling fine, and still using your wheelchair is completely valid. If you have even the slightest concern that not using your wheelchair today will make things even the tiniest hair bit worse that it would if you'd take the wheelchair, you can absolutely take the wheelchair.

You don't need to proact all the time, though! If you say, "Yeah, I don't want to take the wheelchair, and whatever happens tomorrow will happen," that's also your right. You're the one in your body, and you'll be the one who pays the consequence of not doing something, so you can make a judgement that most other people can't. As long as your judgement is based on your body and your ability, and isn't based on society pressuring you to take less accommodation than you need, you can make that judgement.

Part 6) Sitting down in a wheelchair, your elbows are generally much better able to hit someone's crotch than they are if you're standing up. Sometimes, people will do shitty ableist things. And look, no one knows for sure that it wasn't an accident, that someone did a shitty ableist thing and then you accidentally elbowed them in the crotch. Just food for thought there.

[sparkssys]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

|-+-+-+-+-~~sparks system~~-+-+-+-+-|

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Hey there! First of all, if you're here to start drama, fuck off before i know you're here. You don't wanna figure out what I'll do to protect them.

We're a traumaendo system of either 9 or 10, not sure yet!!

Most of our system members are endogenic but we have at least 2 traumagenic headmates.

Quick reference guide:

-💜 : Layla, traumaholder and persecutor (she/they/it)

-✨ : Glee, tulpa (they/she)

-☄️ : Magno, tulpa formed by stress and a breakdown (he/him)

-🫧 : Jake, femboy (he/him)

-🦴 : Sans, introject (he/him)

-syl : Sylvine, the avid gamer (she/her, also lesbian, her side blog is @sylvineslair . She doesn't front much because she gives us a huge headache.)

-carol : Carol

-⭐ : Avery: traumagenic little who just got back from dormancy. Probably the core. We don't know for sure and we don't care enough to figure that out.

There's (i think?) 2 headmates who don't really front in the same way we do, one is a drowser and the other we know nothing about.

More info under the cut!

~+~Useful info~+~

We are very inconsistent with sign-offs. You can just ask who posted what.

We are inconsistent with pronouns and we use i/me/we/us interchangeably. We don't care enough about it to change how we write.

We are autistic and collectively transfem. Some of our headmates aren't comfortable with feminine terms, so when in doubt, just use they/them pronouns.

Please use tone tags.

We no longer have a host, the lines are way too blurred to appoint one and it's an unnecessary label anyways.

We are not endo neutral. We are pro-endo. If you don't like that, leave. I have no patience for anti-endo rethoric and some "neutral" people are so infuriatingly hypocritical. -Layla

DNIs don't work. Don't like me? Block me. I don't have the time to check if you're some asshole crosstagging on my tags, and it's your responsibility to curate your own space, anyways.

After some time in both sides of proship discourse, I have decided I'm okay with people doing whatever. Antis are just toxic haters most of the time that don't even intend to try to help, they just straight up dehumanize and demean people they don't agree with. Y'all suck.

Also, we're pro-radqueer. Wanna fight me for that? Come at me.

-=edit log under the cut=-~please skip

15/05/24 13:32 PM: added tags

17/05/24 12:01 PM: updated the label we use for the system's origin, because it's far more complicated than we thought

17/05/24 12:53 PM: linked to post about Layla's gender and sex

19/05/24 18:02 PM: linked to Layla's stance about anti endos

30/07/24 14:30 PM: Deleted old text and links and prepared it for an update.

30/07/24 14:53 PM: Updated headmate list and basic info about them, added useful info for people interacting.

30/07/24 15:17 PM: Finished updating the post by linking to an informative older post, adding blinkies and userboxes and more information.

30/07/24 15:25 PM: Just realized I'm a persecutor more than a protector. Edited the label. - Layla

08/08/2024 05:59 AM: Cleared up some text that I should've deleted earlier and got lost in the middle of the edit log. Also added further clarification on some older edits.

08/08/2024 06:01 AM: Moved the cut to right above the start of the edit logs to better organize the information flow.

29/08/2024 6:22 PM: Added info on our stances.

29/08/2024 9:27 PM: Updated various information about how we interact with tumblr.

30/08/2024 04:26 AM: Cleaned up some old quirks and outdated text.

02/09/2024 12:35 PM: Linked to a very important post about my situation

19/10/2024 7:53 PM: Edited a comment about our stances.

[stelyos]

Sept 2023 Updates

Hello!

I know I sort of up and vanished from Tumblr with no real explanation. Same with nothing said about rebranding myself.

I'd just like folks to know in writing (belated), that I am sunsetting "0chromat" as my online username. I don't want to use it, or variants of that anymore. I'm using "Stelyos" everywhere for all my online presence now. People may also know me as "Steel". I'm still using that name, as it's meant to be compatible with "Stelyos", so no problem in people continuing to use it. Stelyos = Formal. Steel = Casual. (misc ramblings under cut.)

I'm still the same person, nothing has really changed, just a name change to keep things more unified.

I have to take the time to update -all- of my information, tags, blog materials, too, etc.. do a bit of maintenance, fall cleaning, maybe remove some posts I don't want anymore - so I will try to do so throughout the week while struggling to figure out what else has changed about the platform since I was truly active.

Also - I realize the tags I used to use for some topics, are now broken since I've been kind of absent from Tumblr, so I will fix that for organization purposes. My blog(s) have went through a period of inactivity for a few years and I'd like to say I am back... ish? Sort of? I know I've been posting periodically before I actually said anything, lol. But, I know for a fact that I want to post more again, so I'm trying. The climate of the internet and online platforms, in recent years, has been a bit strange - which also contributed to my lack of posting.

The online environment is something I've always viewed as an escape from stressful offline experiences or events, and because that's sort of turned inside out, offline ended up becoming more rejuvenating, to get away from online stress.

Strange how things work, sometimes. Along with some personal events in my life that kept my hands tied down. I also didn't have as much time or energy to dedicate to my own works for a time, so I just sort of faded out and ended up quietly throwing things onto the blog whenever I could. Anyways, it's nice to be here again, and I will try to be a bit more transparent about some things going on. Thanks for reading!

[oneatlatime]

I’m curious as to how your blog works. In my mind it goes like this: you watch an episode, write down notes as you’re watching, go back to the episode to make screenshots, write down the episode summary/commentary, post it on tumblr, watch the next episode and repeat. But I wonder, do you actually only watch an episode once or do you go through multiple watches (full or partial)? And do you actually not watch the next episode until you’re completely done with the previous one? Regardless of your methods, it’s so much work and I really respect your self-control (I probably would have ended up binging the show.)

I watch, for the first time, with split screen between the show and where I type notes. With my hand hovering over the pause button like a coked out Jeopardy contestant, I pounce on places I want to make a comment, take a screenshot, and note down the time stamp and a vaguely point form, typo-riddled summary of what I want to say. Then it's back to watching. This doesn't quite work in particularly enthralling scenes, where I inevitably end up too involved in the show to remember to pause, in which case I rewind to my last timestamp and rewatch. Same applies if I can't catch a piece of dialogue. For example, in the scene in The Blind Bandit where Toph explains her earthbending, I watched that three or four times through before progressing on to the next scene because I was having difficulty understanding Toph's lines. Then after I've finished watching, I go through and translate my word vomit into something legible, clean up the screenshots if needed, throw in a 'keep reading' break and some tags, and then it's good to go. I watch, take notes, edit, and post all in one session, based on only one watch through (albeit with some scenes repeated if necessary).

This is what I've done for all episodes so far, except The Storm. I lost count of how many times during The Storm I forgot that I was supposed to be taking notes. I was far too sucked in. And then the post autosave function malfunctioned and I hit the wrong button and the whole thing disappeared. Luckily I had an archived version of the text on my hard drive, but I did have to go through and retake the screenshots, so I watched that episode twice through while blogging about it. I've also watched it once since, just for entertainment.

I figure the choppiness this approach inevitably introduces into the viewing experience mimics what it actually would have been like to view these episodes the first time they aired, since (to my knowledge) Nickelodeon had and still has commercial breaks.

And yes! I am resisting the urge to watch ahead. I watch one at a time, usually devoting my evening to it. Sometimes between posts I'll rewatch episodes I've already seen and blogged about. I've seen Bato of the Water Tribe an embarrassing number of times, and episode 1 at least 4 times. But I'm not watching ahead, and I'm doing the closest thing to liveblogging that the medium allows.

I used to do freelance transcription (and may go back), so I'm very used to making a direct line between the content on the screen and my keyboard. It's a useful skill!

It is a lot of work, and I'm sure there's a more efficient way to do it, but I enjoy it. I can spend two hours typing up a post and it will feel like 20 minutes.

[tikay21]

🐺How to use hashtags on tumblr to organize a story!

It was like paddling in an open sea .... Ok, it really took me 4 years to figure out the thing with the internal hashtags on Tumblr and realize that there is an advantageous sense in them initially only working within your own blog. If you don’t really need them, the benefit isn’t immediately obvious.

Plus, the display of the most commonly used hashtags leads you to assume they are more universally intended. The advantage of internal blog hashtags didn’t click for me - until the moment I actually needed them to bring order to my blog chaos and understood that you can easily sort everything with them, especially when it comes to storytelling.

I originally thought: “I'll make sideblogs for the stories, so I can have everything neatly gathered, with matching colors and background images." However, the hashtags from the main blog don’t work in the sideblogs anymore unless I link them and unless I’ve missed something again. Now I’m wondering if I even need the sideblogs anymore. Probably not. So, new plan:

I’ll post everything on my main blog

tag it with both specific and general tags

using intern unique tags for different supposes

and that’s pretty much it. At the top of a pinned post, I’ll provide an overview of what you can find under which hashtag, and they’ll automatically function as a sorter for an entire internal storyline. Done.

Btw, thanks for the right hints, which made me take a closer look, test things out, and understand how it works by answering my question on it here ...

@figure-it-out-later and @tenyrasims - which made me think about it and especially @satureja13 for the needed key to my head to unlock this blind point🥰. from @satureja13 : ... I just make sure to tag every post properly so I can add new stuff to my pinned post. You can also keep your pinned post clean by making sub posts, like I do for my chapters, for example. ... I can find every event, character, location… within seconds. That’s what I really love about tumblr.

So, what can I do now to satisfy my need for beeing over organization🙈? Technically, I could delete the sideblogs, but I can also use them in parallel, reblogging the respective content there, and thus have everything in a separate place, visually appealing with the story-appropriate colors - for my own peace of mind or for anyone who prefers to read there. But I’ll only reblog, not post the original, so following the sideblogs isn’t really necessary - though of course, you can if you prefer the color-coordinated layout there. If I ever decide it’s all too much, I can delete the sideblogs without losing my original content, as long as I only reblog from the mainblog to the sideblogs.

Is anyone still following? Probably not,😂 but I think this works for me.

Long story short: I’m going to rearrange things once more and adjust the pinned post accordingly... and bring any duplicate content back to the main blog. My old stuff from before the long break will stay here, and maybe I’ll update broken links if I ever get bored - not that I know the meaning of the word, lol. Otherwise, it’ll just stay as it is, since there’s barely anything left in my EA gallery, except for the stuff that can’t be deleted.

Ok, here we go ...

[adiluv-moved]

hello everyone!

i hope y'all have been doing well! i know it's been a really long time since i've hopped on here (or, at the very least, it feels that way to me), so i just wanted to make a post about what's been happening and what the future of this blog is! tl;dr at the bottom!

one. i won't go into much detail (internet safety /silly), but i've been dealing with some personal matters for quite some time now. everything came to a head during the summer, and i could no longer ignore it, which is what ultimately led to my sudden disappearance. deliberately vague but... yeah!

while things aren't totally calm yet (and probably won't be for a while), they've settled enough that i feel ready to begin branching out again. although i can't promise that i won't go mia again, i hope to continue coming back each time! ♡

two. after giving it a bit of thought, i've decided to move blogs! figured that it'd be nice to do some spring (fall) cleaning and start fresh, esp since there were some changes i'd wanted to make to this blog before my disappearance.

probably the biggest of them all, but i'd like to begin writing for sources intended for older (18+) audiences. while i won't be posting any nsfw content, making that change here always felt really awkward, which is why i'd refrained from doing so for so long. while this new blog isn't fully mdni, there will be a tag that i'll ask all minors to block.

moots! thank you all so, so much for being my moots in the first place! ♡ regardless of how often we interacted, please know that i appreciate you all! may you have success in whatever endeavors you choose to pursue!

and, to my followers, thank you all so, so much for your support! this blog would've never grown to the size that it did without you support — i literally could not have done it without you! sending everyone virtual hugs through the screen!

now! this post is getting a bit long, so i'll start wrapping up. if you're interested in following me, my new blog is @kvomi!

thank you all again for supporting this account!

with love, adi ♡

tl;dr — i was mia due to personal matters + i'll be moving to @kvomi!