#i wanted to do an edit but everything I tried was ugly

[eternalyoo]

𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈 ! 🦢💝❄️ • 𝟘𝟟.𝟙𝟙.𝟚𝟘𝟘𝟛

Do not repost

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[evilminji]

You know... >.>

My Dad always used to tell me, if I get a Genuine Genie(tm)? Get a lawyer first. Before I make my Wishes(tm), so they can help me word them correctly.

Obviously, a human lawyer would not be foolproof... BUT! What about a Ghost Lawyer?

Like? Obviously Desiree would be PISSED. How DARE you twist HER wish twisting! Her THING is "what you believe is your heart's desire always comes at a terrible cost" which is what she DIED to learn.

So obviously she would NEVER, willingly, bend her Obsession for ANYONE. And you'd have to make a DAMN good case to that Lawyer for why he ISNT breaking the law by helping you. Probably some "you can: save the life of an unconscious person against their will/shove an unobservant person OFF the train tracks, even if they get hurt, to save their life" clause.

Like? Using a ghosts Obsession against them? Bad. Illegal.

Using it against their will, to save OTHER ghosts, who are in immediate danger? Not illegal, but they will be PISSED. Still not great though, you will want to apologize and fast.

So like??? Reality Bending Power. Patrick Star Method of "what if we MOVED the city... somewhere else?" Considered at 1am. Team of Ghost Laywers, acquired.

Amity and all Limnals are REMOVED from the DP-verse.

Wish worded juuuuust so. Any ghost that forms there? Yoink! Instantly removed to the Zone. Natural Portals? Cut off. Let the whole Reality fade out at an accelerated rate, as no NEW energy is fed into the system. Entropy will do, what entropy does. Exactly as they wished it.

They hated Death so much, they speed up the heat death of their ENTIRE universe by Eons. Congratulations, you guys "Won". Enjoy the wildly more fragile flora, fauna, and general ecosystems. Now that none of you have that ambient Ectoplasm strengthening your bodies. Yeah, the things you used to shrug off? Those are gonna maim or kill you now.

Doesn't MATTER if you "learn your lesson" though! Cause this is WAY past that point! This is "cutting off the tumor before it kills us" territory, and buddy? Amity ISNT the tumor. Go forth a grow, just like you wanted.

They won't be here to fix your messes anymore.

Because Danny got himself a dictionary thick "I Wish..." contract. Which was worded, as it needs to be, in one loooooooong run on sentence. Shouted "I Wish what's written on THIS, as it is currently, and without any form of editing or negotiation!" As fast as he could. Yote the document in Desiree's direction. And Flew like an INCANDESCENTLY pissed off Genie was trying to set his everything of fire.

Which she was.

Thankfully, Paulina came in clutch with her History of all things Jewelry, world fashions, and Make-Up knowledge. That, coupled with the Power Of Rich Friends(tm)? (Sam. Her mother was THRILLED to take her Jewelry and clothing shopping for something other then blacks and dark purple. They went on a jet setting whurl-wind tour. Sam actually kinda liked a some of what she found.)

They have Apology Bribes.

They shamelessly HIDE behind the mountain of Apology Bribes, while they explain themselves. Is Desiree HAPPY? No. But those bracelets are magnificent and she DOES deserve nice things. Those silks will really bring out her eyes. And she... DOES... admit...

Maybe...

That things are not... SAFE. Any longer. Danny TRIES. Everyone else can see it. And he's made incredible strides! Even convinced his lunatic parents. Though they're still not quite POPULAR. (WAY too pushy and invasive with their questions, for most people.) But the fanatics in white?

They nearly killed Box Lunch. If her father hadn't BEEN there...

And the poor man will have that scar on his back for the rest of his afterlife. Desiree can see why Danny is pushing. Does she LIKE it? No. But...

She supposes she will content herself with the suffering of the Fanatics in White and all who support them. THEIR wishes, twisted. Their ugly heart's desires.

Fine.

"SO YOU WISH IT. SO IT SHALL BE!"

And? The ghost town of what WOULD of one day grown into Amity, had the witch's there not been found by those they had fled from, which sits in long rotted ruins, amongst the trees in nowhere Illinois? Poof! Two "Towns" are switched.

The roads out of town coming to a clean line stop, meeting not even goat paths. Just trees. Old growth.

But it's not ALL of Town, is it? Faces missing. New, confused, faces from every corner of the map, taking their place. No Limnal left behind. No supporter of the GIWs genocide, brought along. Family's kept together where they could be. But by the few, scared and upset, green flashing eyes of children in the crowd?

It seemed for some, it was easier to fear and hate, then love their children.

Already they were being gathered up by school teachers and PTA parents. As everyone tried to figure out what had happened. Concerned, quite muttering a dull roar as everyone tries to coordinate.

Red Huntress joins Danny and Dani in the Sky. She doesn't get a word in. Wanted to know what the HELL was going on. She was with her dad in Chicago! Dani was in Taiwan! Literally! As in, sitting in a SUBWAY station one second, the next? Outside!

But they don't get to demand those answers. Because there is a sonic boom on the horizon. And then? Floating... weird... not ghosts?

Uuuuuuhhhh?

Hi?

That much blue... sure is a Statement. Like the cape and... bloooomers? Shorts. Bikini bottoms? It.. it's a Cool Look, dude! No, really. They are being VERY supportive here! If YOU like it? That's the only thing that matters!

Red Huntress smacks the Danny/i's Repeated upside their heads and demans to know what the Not-Ghosts are doing in their airspace.

Oh YEAH. Good point! What she said! And can it WAIT? They're kinda going through A Thing right now...

Kon? Wants it on record he loves these guys. They're hilarious. The LOOK on Clark's FACE?? He wishes he could frame it. Preserve it for future generations. Thing is? There was NOT a town here a second ago.

Well, bout 30 minutes or so, but you get the idea. One moment? Tree noises. Bam! Thousands of people! Obviously the checked it out. Only to be met with two... three maybe? Heros who have NO IDEA who they are.

Clear Reality warping shenanigans. Might be time travel or multiverse. Question is... are they STAYING? And if SO? What now...

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @dcxdpdabbles @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter

[zerosuitsammi3]

If I can take a moment to share my experience as a trans woman on the internet

My experience is by no means unique, it's just one experience in the plethora of trans feminine experiences and not unique to only tumblr. Though, I'll mostly talk about what I've experienced here. In the light of recent events, the reaction of "the ceo," and the comments he contributed regarding dog pile harassment; I simply wish to share my experiences that I have had to juxtapose the dynamic of his statements against a lived experience.

This account started as a way to document my social transition and eventually my journey with HRT. Tumblr had always had a large lgbtqia+ community. The queer people here inspired me and gave me hope. What I didn't know, but soon learned, is that there were people here who hated me for being trans. Being early in my transition I was a prime target. TERF groups would plan raids on my account. What this entailed was: rebloging my selfies into circles that would say the most vile things about me, threaten to kill, tell me I was ugly, tell me that everyone I knew thought I was a joke, I was a monster, my family hated me, that I should kill myself, they'd download and edit my photos into caricatures or depictions of violence. They would fill my ask box with hundreds of asks detailing how they'd kill me, call me slurs, describe the ways that I should kill myself, and pretty much everything else I mentioned above with the reblogs. Their words were carefully curated to try and break me, break my spirit, break my will to live. I tried reporting it. But it was impossible to keep up with, and like many others I saw no real response. Eventually I learned that I had to block all of them. 100's of blogs, eventually 1000's of blogs. My block list these days is incredibly extensive. I had to wade through their blogs, traverse sickening hate speech and imagery to eliminate entire circles of people harassing me. I became jaded to the hate speech, hardened to it. But mind you, I shouldn't have had to expose myself to all of this just to be at peace here amongst my community. I received no help, I was left to my own devices to protect myself. The people who hurt me never saw consequences. It was painful, it was unfair, and no one else should have to put the hours upon hours of effort and exposure to hate in to protect themselves like I did. But again my experience is not unique.

I have had to repeat this process of preemptive blocking periodically once a new circle discovers me. Blocking them all before they can start the process of hate all over again. A process of hate that seems to be hitting my community with rapidly increasing fervor as of late.

I've seen others experience far worse than me. The TERF circles will hunt down their personal information and doxx them. Expose their home address, telephone numbers, names of their family members. I can't begin to imagine the terror my queer siblings must feel when someone tells then that they want to murder them all while showing them that they know where you live. This is not a new thing, not a rare tactic, it happens. And we've all seen the news stories of trans people being murdered by people who planned it and were vocal about it.

I know this is depressing. And it doesn't reflect all of my experiences. I've had wonderful experiences here, met amazing people, made close friends, found inspiration, found hope. I found a community.

And it's my community, and I never want to let it go.

I do have fear that making this statement will get me banned. But, I wanted to say it. I wanted it to exist in the world so that everyone who doesn't know our experiences has a chance to understand and with luck empathize.

I'll part on these words and hope for the best both for myself and for every member of the community.

[cherryredstars]

holy sbit i just read your actor!mig oneshot and i’m frothing at the mouthjfjfjdand it got me thinking

how would reader react if mig had to do a sex scene for a movie? i mean she’d be fine with outwardly but inwardly, understandably she’d be jealous asf, even though there is security in their relationship i feel like it would be difficult, how would mig react to her being insecure? or maybe jealous because of that🥹

(i saw ur requests were open and i couldn’t help myself, tysm for reading this and you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to i love your work regardless<333)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Insecurity, Mirror Sex, Praise, Fingering, Oral Sex, Mentions to Breeding Kinks

Summary: Nothing but a good sex scene. 

Word Count: 2K (Not Edited)

Part 1

The internet sucks.

You know that, Miguel knows that, everyone knows it. Yet, here you are, hurting your own feelings as your phone feeds you countless posts about your boyfriend and his new movie. His new movie that also stars a really popular, really really pretty female co-star. Who he had sex with. Cinematically. In the movie.

Movie sex is not real sex. Miguel says and reminds you all the time. Most of the time, sex scenes only consist of the actors being shirtless and zoomed in shots of their upper bodies. Convenient things like a perfectly placed object or being under the sheets hid the fact nothing is actually going on. Miguel always assures you that, if the directors want a real sex scene, he’d be out of there in seconds. 

But still, all the edits and tweets and pictures that are filling up every corner of the internet make your skin raise and ache. It definitely looks real. It’s not really a surprise, Miguel and his co-star are wonderful actors. They’re so good at their jobs. It makes you feel gross. Especially when you can’t stop replaying the scene over and over again. It’s not hard to find it, the scene devours the internet like a wildfire. 

She looks pretty. No, not pretty, gorgeous. Hot and sexy and erotic. Nothing like you at all. Her skin is impossibly smooth, shiny and soft. Her lips are painted in a deep red that pops against her skin and draws attention to her perfectly sculpted face. Even if it weren’t for the lipstick, the calculated moans she makes for the camera draws your attention to her mouth. Her moans are perfectly pitched. They’re breathy and her mouth forms the perfect ‘o’. It makes you rub at your throat, an uneasy feeling getting stuck there. You don’t moan like that. 

Her facial expressions are amazing too. Brows furrowed in a way that perfectly showcases her pleasure. But they don’t look funny or distort her face too drastically. When her eyes roll back, her eyelashes flutter so nicely. She doesn’t look possessed or ugly. Your hand subconsciously rubs at your cheek. You don’t look so effortlessly pretty like that.

It ruins you. Why would Miguel possibly want to have sex with you if he has pretty, hotter co-stars? The thought sticks with you even with Miguel on top of you. Usually, you’d be on your back, legs spread and exposed for his viewing pleasure. But you can’t, not today. So Miguel has begrudgingly agreed to take you in a different position. Your ass is in the air, upper body pressed into the mattress. Your face is completely hidden from his view, something Miguel isn’t the happiest about. What’s even worse, he can barely even hear you. You’re pushing your face into one of the stupid pillows, muffling the minimal sounds you’re making. 

Usually, you’re moaning and whining uncontrollably under him. Your mouth never shutting as noise spills from your swollen lips. It drives him crazy to hear your verbal pleasure. The pleasure he gives you. Sometimes you’re babbling broken sentences or just calling out his name, but it's everything to him. So hearing almost complete silence from you, paired with not being able to see your reactions, shoots worry through him. 

He tries everything he knows drives you crazy. He leans forward and pinches and tugs at your clit. It twitches in his fingers, but you don’t make your usual gasps. He spreads your legs wider and juts his hips into you with more force, hitter deeper against your wall. You don’t give him that beautiful, high-pitched scream of his name. You instead, shove your face into the pillow and hum. He leans in and whines into your ear about how tight you are. How he really, really wishes the two of you would throw away all protection so he can fill you up with his baby. Instead of begging and babbling, you wiggle your hips and push back into him. 

Something awful hits his chest. Did he do something wrong? Are you upset with him? Are you not feeling well? Does it not feel good?

He instantly stills, all the arousal he once had disintegrating. He pulls out slowly, not wanting to hurt you. You turn to him in confusion, brows furrowed from over the pillow. He flips you over gently, turning you on your back and dragging you close to him. You still have that pillow pressed to your lower face, arms wrapped around it. You look like a damn vision, naked before him with your hair spread out on the bed. You look like an offering with that white pillow covering your face and chest, leaving him to only focus on your big doe eyes and the fact your legs are spread to accommodate his body. Innocent and cute and sexy. 

His hands land on your outer thighs, warm and big as they rub up and down your skin. It makes you melt into the bed, a sleepy look masking your eyes. Miguel’s heart sings at the pure content on your face, but it doesn’t drown out his concern. He can feel unease in the air and his hair stands on end. Slowly, you pull the pillow away from your face as you realize he isn’t going to slip back inside of you.

“Why y’stop?” you call out shyly to him, a small pout on your lips. You seem nervous and Miguel’s hands tighten on your thighs. 

“You’re acting differently. What’s wrong?” He counters. 

You grow bashful under him, pulling the pillow up to hide your cheeks that are colored in shame. You simply shrug, turning away from him as you slowly start to close your legs. He doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t take his hands off of you. He helps you sit up when you make the move to, his hand moving to grasp both of yours. He gives them a comforting squeeze and a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter shut, breathing in the comforting clean scent he carries. 

“What’s wrong, mi vida?” He asks again. 

You don’t respond. But you don’t have to. Miguel looks at you like he knows. He always knows. Tentative and caring Miguel who always knows. His kiss to your forehead is rougher, more pressure behind it before he pulls away. The way he carries you is effortless, like he’s carrying a bag of feathers. He moves the two of you to the opposite side of the bed, directly in front of the wall of mirrors that make up the walk-in closet. He sits down first, maneuvering you to sit on his thigh with your back pressed to his front. 

Your eyes are glued to your reflection, naked against Miguel with nothing but a fluffy pillow hiding you. His face nudges at your jawline and neck. He places soft kisses along the skin, distracting you as he takes the pillow from you. He places it to the side, still within your reach. Your fingers itch to grab at it again, but you resist. Instead, you close your eyes and focus on the way Miguel’s fingertips glide over your warm skin and make you shiver. You lean back into him, head resting against his shoulder. His hands travel down, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck to hide your gasp. His fingers caress the lasting stickiness between your thighs, his own leg moving to widen yours. You peek at the mirror from beside his neck, eyes falling to the glistening between your thighs. Your cheeks heat and you nuzzle your face into Miguel as a way to hide. He hums against you, hand still moving and collecting your juices on his finger. You whimper when he pushes it in, thumb swiping gently over your clit.

“Shh, taking it so well, mi hermosa. My pretty baby.” He coos gently into your ear, curling his finger inside of you. 

Your hips buck instinctively, another whine leaving as his finger grazes your walls. His other hand comes to massage your hip and your eyes catch the movement in the mirror. Miguel is looking at the mirror too, studying you. His touch is soft, his finger pumping in and out of you slowly. You moan into his neck, eyes fluttering when he adds another. They scissor inside of you, meeting together to curl. Your hand comes up to hold his, taking it away from your hip and squeezing it tight to stabilize you. 

He hums into your hair, muttering soft praise into the strands. His fingers continue curling, going to the knuckle so he can press onto the gummy spot inside of you. You can’t hold in your moans anymore, giving them freely to him. It makes him smile, kissing the crown of your head. 

“That’s it, singing so prettily for me, yeah?” He asks, letting go of your hand to grab your chin. 

He removes your face from his neck, making you face him. Your eyes are droopy from pleasure, and your lips are parted slightly so soft moans can escape. It makes his cock jump, but he ignores it to give you a sweet kiss. It’s soft and passionate. His lips opened and slanted against yours. His tongue is warm as it slips into your mouth, caressing your own until the both of you are moaning into each other's mouth. It makes your head foggy and you forget all about what you were scared about before. 

When Miguel pulls away, he turns back to the mirror and groans at the sight of you. You’re slick is dripping down his fingers and your skin fucking glows in the reflection. His fingers speed up, his thumb pressing into your swollen bud. 

“Been thinking about you so much, y’know that. Was fucking fantasizing about you during that whole movie. Imagining doing all those things in the script to you drove me fucking crazy. Had to take care of myself in my dressing room thinking about your cute little noises and the faces you make. Mi hermosa nena.”

The little whimper you let out paired with the tightening of your walls is fucking precious. He pulls you into another kiss, quickening his fingers until your whole body is twitching. You have to pull away from the kiss, your hand clawing to his arm and nails digging in as your moans get louder. With a hard flick to your clit and the curling of his fingers, your body is shaking with an orgasm. Your toes curl, head thrown back against his shoulder as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. 

“That’s, that’s my beautiful girl. Ride it out baby, I got you.” He mumbles against your shoulder, pressing kisses along the curve of skin. 

He only stops pumping into you when your hand pushes him away. Your body is heaving with the effort of breathing, and Miguel watches every second through the mirror. When you finally compose yourself, you nuzzle into his skin. It makes Miguel smile, kissing your hair again before gently lifting you off of his lap and laying you down on the bed. You watch hypnotized as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, humming around them before popping them back out. You whine softly at him, and he chuckles down at you. 

He leaves you on the bed, vanishing into the bathroom before coming back with a towel. It makes your brows furrow, leaning up and your elbows as he begins to clean you up. 

“But… What about you?” You ask, eyes trailing down to his prominent hard-on. 

Miguel follows your line of sight, shaking his head when he looks back up at you. “Don’t worry about it baby, all I care about right now is you.”

His confession makes you melt, letting yourself sink into the bed. His touch is gentle as he cleans you, and he throws the towel to the floor when he’s done. He hovers over you, leaning down to kiss you softly before resting his head against yours. 

“Te amo, mi amor.”

And you know. He always lets you know.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 2.3k | tags: rockstar!eddie, addiction, rehab, journaling, only Eddie's entries turn into letters to Steve | Part 2 to Carry You | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost by @yournowheregirl | AO3)

Edited for a big shout out to @steves-strapcollection whose lovely OC has a little cameo here. If you want to know who Tig is, you can find out here. Spoiler: he's amazing and we love him.

Day 0

Dear Steve,

Hi Stevie,

Apparently, it's not good to "bottle up" your feelings. They say it makes drinking or drugs or any other addiction so tempting. It makes it easier to keep all that stuff inside you and let it fester until you need more and more of whatever it is that helps you cope. So the first rule of rehab: Talk, don't take.

That's a long way of saying I need to keep a journal like a 13-year-old girl with her first crush. It's either that or a daily crying session with the other "inmates" here, and I'd rather not have to tell Terry the old gossip my own tragic sob story. She already told me the life stories of two other patients here at dinner.

Instead, I decided to write to you. You're the one person I regret the most pushing away, and even though you'll probably never see this, it feels good to tell you these things now. Like a dry run. Because, baby, when I get out of here, I swear I will let you in. I won't make the same mistakes.

You will never go another day without knowing how much you mean to me.

How much I love you.

You only left an hour ago and I already miss you. I can't believe I've survived six months without you. Well, I barely did. I wish I could call you, but phone privileges are only for those who make it through their first week here.

I know we chose this center together knowing that they don't allow visitors for at least three weeks. Maybe longer if my therapist says I'm not ready. Fuck, three weeks didn't sound so bad when we talked about it, but now? In this ugly, impersonal room that smells clean but is totally clinical. You know, that mix of disinfectant and sterile air with a hint of medication lingering in the background. It sounds like an eternity and then some.

Nothing here feels comfortable or warm, and I miss your face so much it physically hurts.

But I promised myself I'd do whatever it took. For you and Wayne, for the boys and the kids.

So, day 0, the journey begins.

Fuck, I almost forgot: I'm supposed to answer three questions every day.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

See above. I miss you, that's how I am. I want this to be over. I hate that I'm here and even more that I'm the one who got me here. I feel like a fuckup. It's hard not to when I see how I've ruined everything good in my life. But then I remember the way you kissed me goodbye. The smile on your face when you told me how proud you were of me. The way you kissed my hand because you couldn't let go and whispered, "I'll see you soon," and I want to have hope.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Get through the day without doing anything I'll regret.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

You. That you didn't give up on me. (And the Gummi Bears you hid at the bottom of the bag, you minx. Thank you.)

Day 4

Sweetheart,

I'm not doing so well. It's hard. Who am I kidding? It sucks. My body hurts from how much I want to use. My brain is so very loud, Stevie. So, so loud. I try to remember how you managed to calm me down when my brain got like this. What helped the most was to wear me out by fucking me senseless, but that's not an option. But maybe I will try to go for a walk or even do some of those exercises you always tried to get me to do. The ones that usually led to fucking because I could never behave.

My therapist is nice. Her name is Laura, and so far she's taking everything I throw at her in stride. Talking to her feels like pulling my own teeth and I feel like shit afterwards, but I sleep better. Who would have thought, huh?

I miss you.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Not good. I wonder if I can really do this. It doesn't feel like it right now. I'm afraid I won't make it. That I will screw up again. That if I do, it'll kill me and I'll be grateful because I couldn't live with myself if I did.

I don't want to die, Stevie.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Talk to the weird kid who always sits by himself during meals. He looks lost. Maybe he knows DnD.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Still you. Every day. Wayne, for taking me in when I felt like a failure too. Unlovable. Worthless. He never stopped believing in me. Even when I gave him every reason not to. I don't know how I deserve him or you, but I am so fucking grateful.

Day 7

Fuck, I missed your voice. God. I'm sorry I lost it like that. I didn't want the first thing you heard from me after a week apart to be me ugly sobbing into the phone.

I wanted to tell you so many things. I had a plan, you know? But hearing your voice when you said, "Hi, baby," it just broke me. You sounded like you missed me too, like you were relieved to hear my voice too, and you didn't even realize how scared I was that you wouldn't.

We just hung up, but I want to call you again. Just to hear you breathing on the other side so I know you're still there. Waiting for me. Your hand still gripping mine so I wouldn't get lost.

You said, "I'll hear you tomorrow," like it was set in stone, no doubt about it. It made me feel, fuck, I don't even know. Like this is real. I didn't die on that bathroom floor, and you giving me another chance isn't some kind of hallucination or afterlife dream.

I'm rambling, sorry. Even in writing I can't help it.

One day I'll write it all down in a way that makes sense, I promise.

I love how patient you are with me. No one has ever been. I was always too loud, too distracted, too weird, too complicated, too much. But not to you.

I wish you were here to take me in your arms, it's hard not to fall apart without you holding me together.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Better. Fucking determined to get through this and get back to you. Still scared.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Have a real conversation with you without breaking down on the phone. Here's to hoping. Detoxing and being sober has given me a hair trigger on my emotions, it seems.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Your patience. Your grace. Your voice in my ear. That you still haven't given up on me. DnD, for giving me a purpose when I needed one, a tool to give others the help I so desperately wanted. The weird kid's name is Alex, and he does know DnD. We'll try to find more people for a campaign.

Day 16

Steve, baby,

I am so fucking sorry. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I'm such an asshole. Please pick up the phone. I need to tell you how sorry I am. I didn't mean it, I was just scared. When you said that maybe Laura was right and you shouldn't come to see me next week if I wasn't ready, I thought you didn't want me anymore. That you finally got tired of holding my hand and watching me do those damn baby steps. It's been over two weeks, why am I not better? Why am I not done with this shit?

I want to be done, I swear.

Please don't leave me.

Please pick up the phone.

Please, please, please.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Fuck this shit, what good is it if I keep hurting you?

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Stop being a fucking asshole.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

I want it to be you, but I'm not sure I even have you in my life anymore.

Day 23

Stevie,

I'm scared. Isn't this the stupidest thing you've ever heard? A few days ago I begged to see you. Fuck, I was so desperate to see you that I almost ruined everything. I'm still sorry, I hope you know that. I know, I know, you said that it's okay and that it can't be all smooth sailing, that you forgive me. That you'll keep forgiving me as long as I keep coming back to talk to you, to explain, to show you that I mean it.

And now I've got the all clear for you to come and see me, and I'm too scared to tell you.

I'm still not the man I want to be. The man who deserves someone like you.

Laura told me that love isn't something you deserve, it's something freely given. We don't decide if someone can love us, only they do. And that I have to stop pushing people away because I'm convinced they can't love me. It's their choice and I shouldn't try to take it away from them.

I think about this a lot.

I want to let you love me, I do. It's just hard for me to understand why you would want to do that at all. It's something Laura wants to work on with me as well.

There is so much work to do. I hate to bother you with it. To make it your problem. I wanted to come in here and two weeks later walk out a new man. A better one. One you can love easily and who can love you back in a way you can understand. A man Wayne can be proud to call his son. A man Gareth and Jeff and Grant want to have as a friend, as a bandmate. A man the kids can look up to as much as they look up to you.

Laura said I should take the hand you are holding out to me. It's a decision I make every day. I took it in the hospital. I took it when you drove me here.

I should take it by letting you in, letting you see the work in progress that I am right now.

I think I will call you after dinner to tell you.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Fuck if I know. It's a lot to feel when you've numbed your feelings for so long. I remember why I did it, but I won't do it again, I'll learn to deal with it.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Take you in my arms and hold you. Let myself be held by you.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Your hand in mine. The thought of you that keeps me going. Your bravery. Dustin and Mike and Will and Lucas. They call me all the time, you know. Asking me about my first campaign here, telling me about their lives. Keeping in touch, even though I failed them almost as much as my old man did me.

Day 31

Steve, my love,

You're on your way to pick me up and I can't believe we made it here. It's not done, it probably never will be. I know that now. I have to keep working on myself and being well. But it's so fucking worth it, Stevie.

I'm glad that Laura agreed to stay my therapist even if I leave the center. I trust her. She gets me, she knows when to push me and tell me the ugly truth, and when I need time to process things.

I haven't told you yet, but I'm not going back to Corroded Coffin. At least not right now. I talked to the guys and they all agreed that it's best if I take some time for myself. And for you. For my family and friends. They actually have a guy named Tig who auditioned while I was here and they like him. He's good, they sent me a demo. They asked me if it would be okay and I said it would be. It's true, even though it hurts. I have to do this for myself.

Because I am going to give this to you later, I want to tell you something here before I lose my courage.

Steve. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I know I haven't always shown you the way you deserve. Hell, some days I certainly didn't act like it. My worst days. But I never stopped loving you. I don't think I ever will.

But I also learned to like myself a little better here. I no longer want to punish myself for things that were out of my control, like my mom dying or my dad not caring enough for me to stay. I want to be loved. I want you to love me. I want to let you.

I want to finally leave the past behind and allow myself to think about the future. And whenever I do, you're in it. You're the anchor, the epicenter of all my plans.

Stevie, sweetheart, I want to marry you.

Don't worry, I'm not proposing. This is just something I needed to tell you. Someday I want to be your husband, if you want me.

You are my past, my present and my future.

This is me taking your hand every day until I die or you stop reaching for me.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

So fucking excited to have you all to myself again. Seriously, I'm going a little crazy. I'm also hopeful about the future. And in love. I'm so fucking in love with you.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

To start our life together without forgetting what came before.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

My second chance.

[meruz]

it's been a while since the last time i piled up all my sketchbooks so here's all the ones I could find from the last uhhh 6 years ish. since graduating art school lol!!

scattered thoughts below the cut

it's harder for me to use a sketchbook consistently as a working artist... in school I would sketch a lot aimlessly in class/lectures etc but nowadays it feels like everything I sketch is with an end goal in mind for work or some other project. if I want to draw """for fun"" I really have to find and allot time for it which can feel silly lol. I do a lot of sketching on public transport now.

I didn't take pics of the interiors but I think its kind of interesting that i feel like the heights of having a nice looking sketchbook interior for me peaked in college. in art school, people often ask to look at your sketchbook so I really filled pages and made sure they looked nice. there's also a lot of energy in those pages... in contrast my highschool sketchbooks and post-college sketchbooks are pretty ugly on the inside because I'm really the only one looking at them lol. my sketchbooks now are especially ugly because i dont even care about the drawings being good. i think in highschool i tried to make every drawing as good as possible because I was really struggling to improve just basic drawing skill and in art school i tried to make the page at least as nice as possible. now its all about ideas and iteration, i just keep making bad drawings and keep flipping the page.

EDIT. also last time I piled up all my sketchbooks i divided them into sections for each year of art school which kind of felt like chapters of my life.. if i had to divide these into sections its a little less clean but its probably something like this

[dystopianam]

[DOWNLOAD] 4t2 TRASHCANS MINI PACK (DEFAULT FOR RESIDENTIAL & COMMUNITY LOTS)

I've been wanting to change the default replacement of my trashcans for a while, I didn't find any that I liked...so I decided to convert the ones I liked best! (Or at least the less ugly and with shitty textures TS4 has) - (And sorry for the shitty previews, I'm not able to make them good yet)

Sleek 'n Stink Trash Can is the residential trash can (but can be used in community lots too) it's from High School Years and it come with 9 colours + a invisible rec!

Trash Talking Recycle Bin is the community default trashcan, it's from Snowy Escape and it comes in two versions with 5 colours each!

V1 have neutral colours, V2 have more vibrant and colorful...colors! (Due to the way the file is made, I wasn't able to do recolors and add all the swatches in only one file. I tried to clone the trashcan myself but...for some reason the game wasn't displaying the mesh. On simPe everything was perfect, but in game I saw the original mesh with my texture on!)

So in the end I decided to use an old default file that I already had and edit it to my liking! Please, choose only one version!

(The community telephone you see in the screens is from @tvickiesims )

I compressed everything, and the files should be very clean! Please look for me for any problems!

DOWNLOAD (SFS)

(If the trashcan from the neighborhood view flash blue don't worry. They are not broken, you just have to enter the lot, make a small change (you can move an object or change the swatch of the trashcan), save and it will no longer flash.

This is a problem that occurs when you previously used another default with other swatches. It might even not happen.)

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Clot | Joel Miller

summary: joel has lost something. but once he pieces himself back together, he'll remember what it is.

pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

ratings/warnings: mature. canon typical violence, mentions of blood and injury. mentions of a dead child (sarah), lots of grief, canon suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts. canon divergent. abby wants a cure and she’ll break up families to get it. joel losing a limb and hating himself for it. wanky formatting as a treat. reader has hair but is otherwise not described. no use of y/n.

wc: 3k

an: i can't edit this anymore, it's making me ugly cry.

Everything is hot, heavy, and delirious, 

                                    and Joel has lost something. 

A tight band is wound around his head, and it’s making him ache. It’s making his skin pull taught with blisters, wind and throb with thick blood. For so long, it’s all he can feel. Everything else is too dense.

His head revolves like a planet on strings, like it rolls on some unstoppable, destructive axis between galaxies. He doesn’t know if he shifts and pitches it, or if someone else does, or whether it really moves at all. The whole inside of his skull spins, and between deep, deep black and boiling red, he can feel the acid of that spin climb up his throat and dribble out his mouth. It burns and tastes foul, but he can do nothing to stop it. He can do nothing but spin and float somewhere both within and outside his body, and feel - more than know - that something is missing. 

There is something viscid around him, like he’s been wrapped and bound, like everything’s too tight and too thick. He can’t hear properly, which isn’t something new - but it’s deeper, soupy. It panics him, tightens the skin around his chest.

                                        He’s sure he’s drowning. 

He’s sure he’s drowning, but he doesn’t know how or why. All he knows is that it’s taking him too long to get back to his body, to surface, too long to remember something.

But he is so, so tired. And leaden, everything burning or burned - scarring and flaking and broken and agonising.

When he is something only close to conscious, something a hair away from lucid, he can feel himself twist in clinging sheets, can feel his fingers clutch at a mattress. He can feel broken bones unset themselves in blind fury and fear, can feel bloodlust and scorching wildfires of pain. He can sense loss which grows bone deep, a cavern he cannot turn his face from. High-pitched, too-fast breaths, a wisp of coconut against his chin. Something he hasn’t smelled in so long, something his arms ache to reach out to touch, to snatch, to hold. It’s a desperate feeling. It clings to his chest and cloys his breaths and drips through his ribs, sticky and tar-like, oozes down his body until it fixes him where he lays. He tries to move, he really does. But he can’t match the thoughts with his muscles, can’t see his body, can’t feel his brain. He needs to wake up. He needs to wake up. He needs to wake up he needs to wake up he needs to wake up

he needs to wake up, because he’s failing again. He’s losing again, something is slipping away again. High-pitched, quick, gasping breaths, the clutch of brown curls in his fist, coconut, the wet flash of her eyelashes against his neck, her fear, oh god, her fear, how scared they were, how scared she was, so scared he thought he’d be sick, the clutch of her hands as she pushed against him, as she tried and begged not to move, the blood so much blood the terror in her eyes i know i know i know

                            tommy help me 

come on babygirl, nothing nothing nothing he could do nothing but feel wet, warm blood rapidly cooling in the night air help me don’t do this baby come on please -

Come on, Tommy is saying, come on, we’ve gotta go.

But he can’t. His brother is there, his daughter is here. His body is welded to where he holds his girl in his arms, but his body is nowhere at all. His body is a gaping emptiness of a thing, and he thinks that alone in this vacuum, this grief, this misery, he might consume the whole universe and everything in it.

And he would not be sorry, to destroy the thing that took his baby away. He would not be sorry to destroy the coward who flinched from his own bullet.

                                           He has lost something.

Things are dark for a long time.

There are sounds that reach and pull to him, droplets of rain which patter quietly along roofs and find their way through gaps to drip and run towards him. If he were a body in the dirt, he would grow things. This would be new life. 

But he is not. Instead he absorbs and swallows and pays no attention except to the destruction of what is leaking into him. He gnashes at the darkness he is locked within, wrestles with the lumps of his heart.

When the tenor and tone of their voices becomes tangible, he can taste it.

He can taste the cigarettes he used to share with Tommy while their mama wasn’t looking, he can taste canned ravioli from out on the road to… somewhere. He cannot remember. He lets Ellie and Tommy soothe and lull him in and out of consciousness, lets the swell and tangle of their voices sew shut the gaping wound he has become. Something pulls, something tugs, something that is still missing. Joel searches for it in their muffled conversation, but he can’t summon it. Can’t get them to say it aloud until there is a familiar sound, a name, rough palm pressed to his aching head, a squeeze of a smaller hand to his, and Tommy is saying again come on, we’ve gotta go.

For the first time since the floating darkness began, Ellie’s voice stops. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t sing. There’s no rhythmic sound of her sleepy breathing, no hollow tone of a guitar. The comfort and company he has heard in Tommy’s voice for days stops, too. He drifts in and out on the swell of a tide, grasping for purchase at a starless shore, and then Maria comes to his ear, quietly furious, outwardly heartbroken. He can’t understand what she’s saying, but he understands the intonation. 

Tommy has always loved so hard, been so loyal. Whatever the reason he’s disappeared, it must be good. And Ellie must have gone with him.

The knowledge brings him no peace, and his shapeless, fervid nightmares become worse.

Echoes of what Maria had said swirl around his brain like leaves circling a drain, illuminating with each dull thud of his tired heart. They’ve gone… they’ve gone… they’ve gone to…

He tries to grapple with it, he does - so hard. Gone to find - He feels like he should apologise. To Maria, for having some part in whatever idiot ploy Tommy has dragged himself and Ellie away into. To others. Faceless, nameless people who he waits to reveal themselves. To Sarah. Sarah.

                                                                      He has.

Every night he has apologised to his little girl for failing to keep her safe, for failing to die instead of her, with her. He has been on his knees beside his bed on so many nights, sobbing into his hands with his full body, the grief making his chest so unbearably tight, his throat raw, and even if he screamed for the rest of his life it would not be enough. It would not be enough. He has apologised to Ellie, so softened and so drowned in sadness that she had to forgive him. Pathetic, broken. But there’s someone else, someone else. A dark figure slouched in the corner, the dark smell of blood. Dark, dark, dark.

A small girl in a hospital gown, a gunshot echoing in an underground parking lot. The smell of her hair, pine needles lingering even after a wash. The heat and pressure of her against his chest.  No blood cooling in night air, but holding her just as tightly. The ache, the ache, the grief years in advance of what he’d have to confess, what he’d have to admit to her. They were gonna kill you. I cannot fail again. A tiny person curled up in a stream of light and grass, the twitch of something long broken in his heart. He knew, he knew even then I'm taking a ride with my best friend I hope he never lets me down again it’s okay babygirl it’s okay it's me i’m sorry i understand it's me i love you. The crack and bright of her grin through an astronaut's helmet, the scramble of limbs through a window. She’s not my kid, not my kid, my kid, my kid, my kid is dead, yeah she’s mine. My girl. Mighty and fierce and blood of my blood flesh of my flesh as close as she can be to -

The twitch of a limb which is no longer there. The phantom ache and strike of pain which should not be able to breach air. 

Without opening his eyes, he can tell. He does not know how long he has been out for, what drugs they gave him, but now, through this crack of bright in his skull he is beginning to understand. Sarah letting him go, Ellie bringing him back - come on, old man, you gotta work it out soon - it’s gone. His leg is gone. The dark, slouched figure in the corner. Smell of blood -

                            Where are you?

His breathing is so quick, so agitated, so panicked and wheezed, his body spasming so tightly that he hears Maria call for the doctor, for something beyond the grasp of his comprehension. He has lost something. He is useless - he will be nothing, he will rot. The people of Jackson will place him outside the wall because they would rather watch him crawl in circles in the dirt than let him back in, useless old man. If he has only one leg, he cannot keep people safe. He cannot patrol, he cannot ride, he cannot walk. He cannot stand to have anyone look at him like he is half a man, have Ellie look at him like she does not know who he is, have you, have you -

have you have you have where are you where are you where are you he wants to grab Maria’s hand where from its place on his mattress to ask her where are you but the doctor where is pressing something sharp into his where are shaking arm you. Hold him still, he says and Joel is powerless against the hands that find him. Useless old man who can no longer fight, no longer protect, and he is so disgusted with himself, so betrayed and overwhelmed by his body that he understands why you haven't been around because you must feel the same.

Disgusting, useless old man. Puckered with scars, beat up and burnt out and mutilated, and you have left you have gone and it clefts his heart in two, wet as the blood between your teeth as you chomp his chambers and arteries somewhere in Jackson, or worse, elsewhere entirely.

Somewhere else, somewhere else where he might never see you again. Something crawls down tendrils to scratch at his brain but he can’t pick at it enough before the burning and the pain and the panic fades again, the doctor’s needle working its magic.

Soft, easy breathing, your face turned to his, your hair tickling the crook of his arm. I love you. Every morning, your eyes so far away at first flutter and then sharp into his, barreling like no one ever had before i love you. A force he could never try to stop, a choice he never could make i love you the inevitability of the promise you made each other i love you, the soft of your hands on his cracked knuckles, the way his nose fits to your neck to breathe you in i love you.

                                                     I love you, be safe.

And through thick, rolling waves of fog, Joel begins to piece it together. He cannot remember what happened, where it came from. Who did it. But you were there. He remembers through dreams he cannot wake from, how you screamed and cried and begged and pleaded from the floor, your cheek pressed into the wood, blood leaking from your hairline. The rivulets of it running across your temple, your cheek, into your eye so it stained the white pink. Your eyes, so wide with terror. How bright, how red, how deep the blood had been. How pretty. The pool and glisten of it as it spread from him, your fingers scrabbling and slipping through it as you tried to reach for his hand. 

He remembers how hoarse you had been as you told them your name.

                                                 No. Not your name. 

Ellie, you’d said. Ellie. I’m who you’re looking for. The thrust of your forearm as you showed them the scarred and gnarled bite mark from the savages who had held you captive for the first years of the apocalypse. The chunk one of them had torn from you in a fit of fury. In low light, it looks little different to Ellie’s, and Joel thinks they must have no idea what the girl he took from the hospital looked like. 

                                 Because they took you instead.

They took you instead.

The shock of it is enough to reel Joel awake. Maria is sat at his bedside, keeping vigil over the man who looks so much like her runaway husband. She is the only one who sees him break this time, who witnesses the gaping, festering wound ripped open, the rot of the universe, the decay of his grief. The way he howls and gasps and cries and begs and pleads where is she i don’t know where are they i don’t know when are they coming back i don’t know i’m sorry joel i’m sorry i’m so sorry if i had known if we had known maria i’m sorry

He does not know how long they hold each other for. He does not know when Maria climbed onto the edge of his bed, does not know if there’s anything more that tethers him to this world than his sister-in-law's arms. 

When he wakes, he is cruelly alone and limitlessly hollow. The room is small and he can focus on nothing beyond that, beyond the press of the walls and how close it feels and the bloodied rags they are using to blot and clean his stump while it dribbles crimson. It’s still clotting, the doctor says, and Joel doesn’t care. He wants to bleed. He would rather die than stay here in this bed, knowing in his heart that you won't come home, won’t survive this. He won’t wait to see whether Tommy and Ellie make it back safely, because if he loses again, if he fails again, there will be nothing left. Empty shell of useless man.

He empties the thin contents of his stomach several times a day into a bowl they keep at his bedside. They pump him full of drugs and tell him eventually the pain will lessen and we’re already pleased with how you’re healing we’ll just keep you in here for a little longer even through he’s already been cooped up for weeks. He hasn’t been able to remember you for weeks. And it’s not his phantom limb, not his broken bones and torn skin he’s recoiling from.

Your screams as they dragged you from the floor, your own pain. Noises Joel had never heard you make before in all the years you’d been together, patrolled together, been at war together. Something awful and ragged and already broken leaving your throat as they hauled you out the door and up the stairs as Joel could only useless old man watch you be taken, watch you sacrifice useless yourself to save him, your family, Ellie and Tommy. Animalistic, strong, straining the tendons in your neck as you stretched to scream, your ankle flopping at a crooked angle, blood drip drip dripping and swiping along the floor, soaking into the wood and that’s all he can remember.

He couldn’t say anything to you, couldn’t help. Not even a last I love you. He had failed. Because he’d heard it in your scream - i love you i love you please stay alive please live just this last thing for me make it out get back to jackson back to ellie live long and be happy but don’t forget don’t forget don’t forget i love you don’t forget i was here and don’t forget nothing but this could drag me away i love you please be safe be alive - and he had forgotten. He had forgotten your promises in his blood and your cries, in your scar and your lie. You would not leave him. Not over a sawn off leg. But you would leave him so he and your girl would live, so he will. He will. He will push aside the maw of his heart and try to fill the space he knows he is wasting. The shift feels light and heavy in his chest. He doesn't know how to be happy in a world without you pulled tight to his chest every morning, but if it's what you ask, he will do it. He will live long and happy and he will sit at that gate every day to wait for you and Tommy and Ellie to come back. He will spend the rest of his life waiting and telling himself he is okay if that's what you want him to do. Don’t forget I love you. Don’t forget I was here.

Sat on the hospital bed, he opens the gape in his chest so it can begin to devour the universe again, to suck you back into his orbit, bring you back to him. He won’t forget again. And when he can, he will start his vigil. He will live long and happy and wait for you to come back, wait for you to smooth this pain to dullness, this ache, this tightness in his chest that makes it so hard to breathe. Wait for it to ease, to deaden. But for now, all he can do

                      is sit and wait 

                                                                 for the wound

                                                                                                                                       to clot.

[faithst]

LIVESTREAMS WITH ZB1

pairing zb1 x idol!reader

genre mostly comedy, maybe fluff ? reader is in zb1 🤝

warnings mentions of food/drinks in hao and hanbin’s

notes hi anon, thank you for requesting ! i didn’t want this to be romantic as idol life is,, something.. but still, i hope you enjoy this ! 🫶

masterlist<3

— zhang hao

you’re playing drinking games

and before you ask, no. it’s not actual alcohol

you mix up the most unhinged drink combinations

like soy milk + tea + mountain dew 😃

the drink literally has particles in it

you play the ‘of course’ game and it turns ugly real quick

“you know that i’m better than you at everything, right?” zhanghao says, feeling proud

“of course! zhanghao.. you know that hanbin loves me more, right?” a smirk tugging on your lips that zhanghao so desperately wanted to slap off

loses the game because of that and has to chug down every drop (he’s ok tho i think)

“you’re lucky we’re live right now.”

— sung hanbin

since he was a barista, you guys are making drinks

he teaches you some tips and tricks but it’s more complicated than you think

his drink is so much more visually pleasing than yours although you both followed the same steps 😭

like pretty gradient colors that blend well together

but it’s expected cuz he’s a professional

you do a taste test

and his drink tastes like heaven 👍

you offered yours to him and he tries it

ngl, you were nervous about his opinion

“uh, it’s definitely a new experience.”

— seok matthew

some kind of crafts live

where you both are making those bead bracelets

you make ones for eachother and also the other members !

and matthew is all like ‘oh, you’re gonna love what i made for you’

he’s so proud of his creations

and at some point he accidentally spills every bead onto the table 😭

and you both take a look at eachother like 😐

and it becomes quiet for a whole 5 minutes as he picks everything back up

after that, you both continue making bracelets for the other members 🫶

“jiwoon hyung likes this color, i know him better than you!”

— shen ricky

painting live

you guys are making paintings to hang on eachothers walls

it’s actually pretty chill with ricky 👍

but then he accidentally splattered some paint onto his designer white shirt

his honest reaction to that: ☹️

but its okay, he can just buy a new one. maybe get a car too while he’s at it

since ricky is really good at arts

you wanted to paint him smth nice too

so you just put your autograph onto the canvas

he loves it tho and keeps it in his room 😔

“i can sell this!”

— park gunwook

workout stream

it was actually supposed to be a live for gunwook and matthew

but matthew had to do smth else

so you offered to accompany gunwook instead !

gunwook shares his workout tips and you just nod and agree

you both share your workout routines and people make articles abt them 🫢

‘zb1’s gunwook and y/n workout routine: is it effective?’

oh and you also get thirst trap edits bcuz of this

flaunting your muscles and abs and stuff idk 😭

“do you guys wanna know the secret to my godly physique?”

— kim taerae

from the content we have now..

it’s 100% a karaoke live

wbk he loves singing and he wanted to invite you to ‘taerae show #2’

has his anpanman guitar, ready at hand 🤝

you both have a blast singing and taerae becomes main rapper at some point

he’s so immersed in the ballad songs, he prolly starts crying for effects 😔

biggest hypeman

like he’s all ‘OH MY GOD WOAHHHH’

and he also harmonises w you

don’t be surprised when you get a compilation of ‘y/n and taerae: 5th gen main vocals’

“100 points?! i’m so good!”

— kim gyuvin

q&a stream

answering fan questions and basically fan service

“is a butt one or two?”

gyuvin actually thinks about it for a second and is like “oh my god.” 😭

it got too confusing though so you continued reading the comments

someone asked what he did today and he started thinking

“uh..” “sorry, i forgot.” you joke, making gyuvin stare daggers to you 🫢

he looks back to the screen

and with a wide smile he said

“i’m sorry zerose! i think we have to end the live here. thank you for watching!”

— kim jiwoong

makeup stream

where you do his makeup

and he’s giving you those eyes yk 👀

the comments are going crazy bcuz of it

and when you do his lips, he smiles and it curves so perfectly (ahdguajskshaikahdh)

you accidentally went overboard with the glitter

but jiwoong pulls off everything so it still looks amazing

everyone loves what you did and your makeup style is trending 👍

“i think some glitter got stuck in my eye.”

— han yujin

i don’t know why but you both are face painting

but instead of face painting on yourselves, you face paint eachother

“i’m gonna make you into a piece of art” he says as he paints a streak onto your face

he stops to take a step back and look at everything from a bigger picture

and bursts into laughter 😃

you’re so worried abt what he did to you

he tries to regain his composure but laughs every few seconds

“what’s wrong? what did you do?” “nothing! i made you look very.. cool.” 😁

and then you look into a mirror and you look like shrek's offspring (yes, you get turned into a meme)

“this is my best piece yet! should i leave my signature too?”

© keiwook

[slightlymediocree]

☆Update 2:☆

I remembered to take pics today! Sort of. Only after i had put away my machines and stuff...

Here are (most) of my edwardian undergarments

(i am wearing modern clothes under bcs the internet is weird)

Chemise, bustle pad, underbust corset, petticoat

I still need to make a corset cover someday, ive just been using a second thin chemise over all this:

I used these vintage buttons on the cuffs. I wanted some more security but ran out of buttons so i used small snaps:

Also put one on the collar so i could try it on. I think the placket at the back of the blouse is a little ugly and larger than ive seen in extant garments but i forgot to adjust the pattern for my broad shoulders and need the extra width for comfort.

I tried on the blouse and skirt together:

I may need to loosen the waistband of the skirt, the corset is a bit bulkier than i thought itd be. Also the blouse is just stuffed into the skirt and currently only has one closure on at the collar so it looks a little bit disproportionate. The belt/sash will help smooth everything out so i dont look like im drowning in voile.

I might go without the bustle pad during the final shoot because i think it gives too much volume in the waist/hip area for edwardian tastes. Its from an 1890s pattern, so the silhouette is a bit out of date. I should probably try the skirt on without the pad before extending the waistband though.

Im pretty happy with how the sleeves turned out! I have some vintage nottingham lace i bought on etsy from penelope textiles that i was going to add to another project. I think ill sew some different laces together and add it to the cuffs to elongate them a bit. Since this dress is supposed to be from roughly 1905, i want the sleeves to look as they wouldve in that time. The photos ive seen mostly feature large ruffles at the ends of elbow-length sleeves but i dont think ill be likely to wear ruffles very often. Ive also seen tighter cuffs that extend from the elbow to mid-forearm or from the elbow to wrist. I think the elbow-length sleeves are a feature of afternoon dresses but i could be wrong. Maybe that was just day dresses? Not sure.

Im also not sure if i want to get gloves/a hat/parasol for this project. On one hand, it would look really cool for the video. On the other hand, it sounds quite expensive and i doubt ill wear it again. I dont want to buy things i wont use and create waste, theres enough of that in fashion. I have a pink 1900s parasol that i might cover with black fabric, but idk.

There isnt much left to do! Im gonna make a list here so i have it written somewhere:

-sew snaps onto blouse

-finish blouse hem

-attatch lace cuffs

-press pleats on sash/belt

-order synthetic whalebones

-add bones, hook/bars to belt

This is just the sewing tasks though, i need to edit the video clips and record audio. I have no idea how to do any of this. I just downloaded davinci video editor so hopefully i can figure it out. The only experience i have with video making/editing was in 3rd grade on ipads on the imovie app. Ive just been binge watching bernadette banner videos bcs i love her video style.

Any tips/feedback are much appreciated! ♡

Date: 4/22/24

[notmorbid]

...best american short stories.

dialogue prompts from 100 years of the best american short stories, edited by lorrie moore and heidi pitlor.

death-bed promises should be broken as lightly as they are seriously made.

the dead have no right to lay their clammy fingers upon the living.

if you're going to snore, go to bed!

you look as if you'd seen a ghost or found a gold mine. i don't know which.

i don't expect to marry anybody.

don't ever bet on anything.

i didn’t realize it, but the days came along one after another, and then two years were gone, and everything was gone, and i was gone.

we've suffered like everybody, but on the whole it's a good deal pleasanter.

we were a sort of royalty, almost infallible, with a sort of magic around us.

i should think you'd have had enough of bars.

don't you want a cocktail before dinner?

i want to get to know you.

i don't really need much taking care of anymore.

i don't want you to forget.

have you got a picture of ___?

family quarrels are bitter things. they don't go according to rules.

i was caught in a trap. it wasn't set for me, but it got me all the same.

you wanted a story, so i gave you a good one.

write me a letter. don't forget. i'll be waiting.

my dreams never renege on me. they're all i have to go by.

i don't put the respect on dreams i once did.

are you sure nobody knows where i am?

i don't see why you should ever be afraid of anything.

you know i'd take care of you if anything ever happened, don't you?

don't go away. stay and talk.

you don't have to worry, you know. i wouldn't ever let anything happen to you.

i wish you wouldn't look so unhappy.

i didn't think you saw me. not at first.

how can you get away from anything here?

we're all human on earth.

we couldn't get away from each other if we tried.

i don't want to do a thing from now on till evermore.

sometimes there are about fifteen or twenty minutes in the week when i feel like myself.

i thought it might make you happy. i wanted to make you happy.

and what if they can hear us? who cares?

i thought you were too smart to get hung.

i swear if i'd known what i was doing i would have never hurt you so.

maybe it does some good if you believe it.

i hope you'll remember the things i tried to teach you.

honey, there's a lot that you don't know. but you are going to find it out.

don't you forget what i told you, you hear?

i think people ought to do what they want to do. what else are they alive for?

i can't forget where i've been, and what i've been.

i can't really talk about it. not to you, not to anybody.

don't be a martyr.

with the world in the mess it's in, it's a wonder we can enjoy anything.

if you know who you are, you can go anywhere.

buck up. it won't kill you.

i wish you'd talk to me.

don't you ever want to rest?

i think death is a wonderful thing. i look forward to it.

what tone? i didn't take any tone.

you give everyone too much. that's your trouble.

mad at me, huh?

i don't know why i did it. i'm sorry for it, isn't that enough?

god listened and didn't say yes or no.

you should have gone after them with an ax.

you've been lucky. you always have been.

i bet you're afraid of me.

why aren't you married? you're not ugly. are you gay or something?

how nice. you always try to say the right thing.

you can't seem to keep your mind on one thing for more than a minute at a time.

it's not exactly the kind of thing you can bring up over lunch.

can you keep a secret about what i did today?

i thought when i left, it would just go away.

i want more days like that.

you don't have a heart. there's nothing to love in you.

would you tell me something if i asked you? would you tell me the truth?

other people's dreams are boring.

two salaries and no kids, that's the way to go.

i always seem to miss you.

i don't think i'll ever be dead enough --- or dead long enough --- to get the taste of this life off my teeth.

your optimism always surprises me.

pick on someone your own size.

promise you won't get mad?

i could yell at you, but why waste my breath?

better late than never. i was sure i'd see you someday.

you're a regular whirling dervish.

i don't watch tv. i don't own one.

how do you connect with the rest of the world?

did you like growing up there?

i don't usually say stuff like that.

i've been getting these mixed signals from you. i can't tell if you're attracted to me or not.

you don't have to love me. i love you enough for both of us.

group sex is for teenagers.

i think our hopes are made when we are young, and we can never adjust them to the real world.

how long can you use your parents as an excuse?

a life is like a house. one has to plan carefully where all the furniture will go.

mr. grief and i went a few rounds.

if you think about fear, then you'll be afraid.

i want to be a hero, you know?

you can always trust unhappiness.

i will keep coming until you speak to me.

what brings you here after all these years?

can i hug you? i'd really like to give you a hug.

i worried about you the whole time.

i wanted to be with you all the time.

the moment you fall in love with someone, you are lost.

i had to let you make your own mistakes.

[roseshewrites]

POV: Lucifer comforts you during an ugly cry

-Depressed reader

-Self loathing reader

-Artistic reader

If you need an ugly cry, now's the time. Lucifer's got yah. 💖

You were curled up on the window seat by your bed, staring despondently out at the hellish night sky. 

It had been a bad day for you. 

Nothing had gone wrong per se, but for some weird reason this morning, you had woken up feeling so...sad. You tried to ignore it. You drank your morning coffee, said hello as cheerfully as possible to the other inhabitants of the hotel. Even going so far as to help Charlie and her dad with their day to day patron check ins and inventory detailing.

And to be honest, it was nigh impossible to feel fucking sad around them both. Charlie, with her bright happy demeanor, and the ease that Lucifer chuckled at your jokes, you started to feel around midafternoon that maybe your bad mood that morning was just a random event. 

But, no. 

Because as soon as you were alone, as soon as you realized you had your own shit to do and got back to your room, the silence and isolation of it hit your ears and heart and you just stood there staring at the mess on the floor. 

You had so much to do. Messes to clean up, artwork commissions that people were waiting on, written pieces that needed editing and published; your bathroom was a mess, and you had no clean towels, so you couldn't shower this mood away. The clothes you're in are still relatively fresh but have been worn all day to now, so just to get out of them and into some pajamas would be a blessing. 

 But you had no clean clothes either. They were all in a pile on the floor. 

You don't know how long you stood there just staring at everything, but it was awhile. Long enough for you to curl up on your window seat, fall asleep in the hell's afternoon sun, and ignore the pain that beat in your chest with your heart, and that threatened to make pinpricks of tears form in your closed eyes. 

You had awoken tireder than before, hungry and thirsty, and now just flat out pissed at yourself for napping the day away instead of taking this low maintenance time at the Hotel to deal with your own business. 

You gulped, fighting that emotion, feeling your cheeks heat up with rage at yourself when a soft knock echoed from your door, and you jumped, not expecting it at all. 

"Hey-O, it's Lucifer. Can I come in?" 

His deep voice boomed a bit. Definitely hard to miss. 

"Y-yeah," you called hesitantly, then cringed when the door actually cracked open, spilling light with it onto the carpeted floor of your room which illuminated each and every embarrassing pile of clothing, art supplies, and random clutter that you hadn't been able to bring yourself to pick up in the past week no matter how you berated yourself for it. 

"Oh fuck" you said, "I'm so sorry. It's a mess in here. I'm sorry." 

But Lucifer was already cheerfully making his way across the room, not paying any attention to the inner workings of the room. Thank god.

He waved your apologies away going, "No, no, I've seen worse I promise!" 

Maybe he was inwardly judging you for it. But nothing on his face suggested that at all, actually he seemed mainly focused on having a seat beside you. You scooted over so he could, and the two of you sat in silence for a little bit. 

You played with your hair, willing yourself to speak to him, as he surely must have come in here for a reason, but the words for idle chatter were definitely not in your vocabulary right now. You settled with letting the side of your forehead rest on your window, the cool glass easing your aching head a bit. 

"You okay, kiddo?" He said softly. 

You shook your head silently, not wanting the tears that leaked out at that question. Why was it when someone asked when you were okay, everything hurt even more? 

"I don't know what's wrong with me," you whispered, the tears tracking past your lips, salty and hot. Your lip trembled unwillingly. Embarrassed about this, you bit your lip and fought to get your crumpled face somewhat under control. 

"I could tell something was wrong earlier." 

You peeked at him. He was blurry through the tears but you could make out the round shape of his face, how hell's moonlight illuminated his blond hair and cast shadows across his cheeks. He had his hat off and was holding it in his hands. 

Lucifer spotted you looking, and smiled, his kind crimson eyes crinkling. 

"You could?" You whispered. 

"Yeah, hun. You wanna talk about it?" 

"I - I just-" you gulped, stifling a sob that wanted to rise, and you wanted to talk, but the golfball of anger in your throat prevented you. 

"Hey, hey!" He scooted closer, closing a small dark hand over yours. You nearly flinched at the closeness, but you appreciated the gesture anyway. "Tell me about it. I'm not here to judge, honey, I swear. I promise." 

"I just FEEL like this for no reason!!" You burst out, the emotional whirlwind coming undone, finally undammed in your voice which was horrible and made your heart beat fast, "I have NO REASON to be sad. NONE. And why?! Because my brain decided it one day?! And I'm just stuck like this forever?!" 

The tumultuous sob that broke from you then was ungodly. You had felt this constant sadness as an undercurrent in your chest and stomach for as long as you could remember, and had coped with it as best as you knew how for all that time. And here it was, rearing its ugly face in the form of choking, hot angry sobs that had your body and throat trembling in front of the King of Hell, of all people- 

"Oh sweety, no. Come here. Come here..." 

You felt arms around you, strong and warm, and you tensed, then when you realized he really didn't mind, melted into his arms and allowed him to truly hold you, your face pushed into his chest and silently scream into the fabric of his warm clean smelling jacket. 

He held and rocked you, stroking your hair softly, the rumble of his deep voice vibrating as he said, "Let it out. It's all right. Just let it out. I'm here." 

You clutched his jacket and your breath was hot as the ugly cry wracked you, his shoulder steadying and his hand playing with your hair as he continued to comfort you, as your breathing slowed steadily until it was a series of hiccups that filled you with tiredness. His shoulder was wet, but he didn't seem to mind. 

You sniffed, whispering, "I'm sorry." 

"Why?" 

"Because. I'm upset for no fucking reason. No reason at all." 

"It's called depression, honey. I've been there. Sometimes, you just feel that way. Sometimes it seems like it lasts forever. Like it'll never stop. Right?" 

"...Yeah.." You sniffed again. "I can't. I don't remember. I've never been - completely-" 

"You've never felt all the way normal?" 

"Yeah." 

He released you, digging into his pocket for a handkerchief which he handed you, and you took gratefully, blowing your nose with an embarrassing amount of snot and leftover tears leaking from your itchy eyes. 

"Tell you a secret. I never have, either." 

You looked up, surprised. "You?" 

"Yeah," he chuckled, "Me." 

"The King of Hell has major depressive disorder?" You choked into the wet napkin, unable to help a sob-sounding little giggle - "-Sorry-" 

"No, laugh it's okay, because it is kinda ridiculous, right?" He grinned, "Me. One of the first angels. God's favorite. And there's something chemically wrong with my brain! Go figure, right?" 

"Dude that's fucked up," you giggled, hiccuping. 

"It is, right?!" 

"So effed. Fuck God, honestly-" 

"You're not joking," Lucifer said so seriously that you cracked up into a hysterical giggle, and his booming chuckles filled the room musically. 

"Ahh, fuck," you said, feeling warmer, a lot better, and a little adrenaline-rushed. But calmer. 

"Wanna tell me about it?" 

"It's this," you gestured at the room, "God it's a mess. I have so much to do, and...I've been doing none of it." 

It all poured out of you, then, your story- how over your own head you were with your own chores, the physical ones that were only as simple as laundry, and keeping your area clean, and then continued with the work you needed to do that people were expecting from you. That you expected from yourself but were somehow unable to find the energy for. 

"It just sounds like you're overwhelmed, that's all. And that happens with depression," he related. "You've been fighting for so long, it catches up with you, and you just melt down. I get it, sweety. I do." 

"It just never has before. I usually don't let it get to me like this." 

"And that's okay," he reassured you, "Really. You gotta take the good with the bad. And if you happen to need some help, that's all right too. You might need medication, something to take the edge off. In my experience it doesn't kill the depression entirely, but..." 

"It makes it tolerable?" 

"With how deep yours goes, yes," he said. 

"That sucks." 

"I know, hun." 

"I might never be free from it," you sighed.

"Well there's definitely no cure-all for it, but like I said, there are ways to cope, and ways to fight it, and make it through without losing your mind entirely." 

"I want it to stop. I don't like being this way." 

"Me neither," he agreed. "When it comes to having felt that way for your whole life, I understand. There might not be a way out, but there is a way through. Get it?" 

You nodded, "I think so." 

"Ready to get up and clean your room a little?" 

You smiled, "Yeah.." 

"Come on," he hopped up, taking your hand and helping you up too. You stumbled because you had been sitting so long that your legs were asleep. 

Lucifer cut on some lights- not the overheads, those were too bright for you and made you want to hiss- so the bedside lamp on your night stand was switched on, and the both of you commenced to picking up around the room. 

Lucifer was asking you the occasional question or remarking like "Where do I put this?"- and, "Oh I loved that book, you have good taste-" 

All this until your dirty laundry was confined to a hamper in your closet, your artwork (some of it wrinkled) put into neat piles on your desk, your laptop was found somewhere under the bed, along with a series of truly monstrous dust bunnies and several pairs of shoes you'd forgotten you even owned. 

"I'll do something for you, but just this once," he winked, then snapped his fingers and with a golden -pop!-, your dirty laundry flew into the air from the hamper, rippled itself clean then cascaded one by one into your dresser drawers nicely folded and put away. A fresh scent of tide lingered in the air. 

"Don't go asking me to do your laundry all the time though, kid- oof" 

You had caught him up in a sudden warm hug, squeezing him tight while he chuckled into your shoulder. You'd forgotten you were a whole head taller than him. 

"You're welcome," he grinned up at you. "You gonna be okay?" 

You nodded, and smiled in return, loving how his eyes glinted and shone with that jester like amusement. 

"I'll be okay," you told him. 

After he left, and after you had showered and gotten changed, you sat at the end of your freshly made bed and sighed, waiting for that returning feeling of hopelessness. It tried, but it didn't go very far. You were very tired. 

No, there were a lot of ways that you would never be okay. But there were also people surrounding you who loved you, and care for your well-being and existence. There are ways to cope, like Lucifer was saying, and all that. 'You can be gentle with yourself,' you thought. 'Maybe come back to your work after tomorrow...take a day to unwind and brainstorm..' 

With that in mind, you turned off the lights, crawled in between clean sheets, and dozed off knowing that your journey into healing would continue to grow into something much better than it is now. 

You just have to work on it. 

[toggle1-mrfipp]

CSM 167: Yo, What the Fuck?

So, that chapter, huh?

To just get it out of the way, Yoru gave Denji a handjob and he came on her hand, and despite how crude that sounds I find this whole chapter fascinating. Normally I like to think these kinds of posts out but right now my mind is racing trying to organize everything, so I'm going write whatever pops into my mind.

So first thing, there's the issue of consent, and I'll start with Asa, because she didn't show up until the very end, but we have to remember that Asa has shown the ability to push Yoru out of the driver's seat in moments where she is particularly having strong emotions, and someone using your hand to jack someone off would get some kind of strong emotion out of her. Yoru seems to act as Asa's unfiltered, unrestrained thoughts and desires, the version of Asa that acts without the worry of what other people think or say about her, so that means if Yoru was allowed to do this, then that means on some subconscious level that Asa was okay with this happening. I'm certain she'll scream and yell about it later, but that won't change the fact she let this happen. Then there's Denji, who at this point I think we'll just have to accept that even if all parties involved give consent I doubt he'll ever have a really "normal" sexual experience, and the fact that Yoru seemed to be getting into this along with him, instead of her just using it to manipulate him like literally every other girl he's been with unironically maybe puts it at the top of the list for him.

Which brings me to Yoru! back when the had the apartment date, she kissed Denji and when she pulled away she was blushing, she felt something for him at that moment, and as we saw here the returning memory of that date had her act on that feeling again. We know that Asa's emotions leak into Yoru, and considering Asa's own feelings on Denji that means that to some extent Yoru feels them too, but unlike Asa, Yoru has no inhibitions to stop her from acting on her desires.

EDIT: I decided to add another bit on Yoru

The thing I'm most interested in seeing is how this will affect Yoru's relationship with her own powers. Her weapons are powered up by the guilt associated in making them, but between having no real moral compass and not ever becoming emotionally attached to anything she's never had any sense of guilt, meaning she can't make the most of her own powers. What will happen if she tries to make weapon out of Denji? She's feeling attracted to him, she knows she likes him, meaning she'll get a strong weapon out of him, but what if she goes for it and she can't do it because guilt is such a foreign concept for her despite how important it is to her skill set and having to actually confront her own guilt terrifies her?

Overall, this chapter left me with two major thoughts on what I think/want to happen.

The first being is that this is what causes Denji to snap, that he'll have some post-nut clarity and call Asa out on how she's been acting, because from his point of view she's been an unstable, schizophrenic psychopath this whole day. Denji asks her about her arm, she kicks him in the balls, she says she wants to help him, but she threatens to fight him, she tries to castrate him, and she gives him a hand job and makes out with him! What is he supposed to reasonably think about her in this situation when she's just been nothing but an inconsistent mess? I want them to start getting mad and start yelling, with Asa arguing with both him and Yoru which only makes her look more insane to him. I really feel like if they get angry, then Denji can actually start beginning to take some control of his life back instead of letting everyone push him around, and Asa will be forced to confront her flaws and mistakes, that she can only be in denial for so long while Denji is screaming in her face about it. It would be ugly and messy, but I think it might actually be good for them in the end.

Also, I'm not entirely joking when I say if those two(three?) end up having intense hate sex in that alleyway in the rain, then I think it would be insane in the best kind of ways.

And second, I think it would be unhinged is Asaden was a red herring, and Yoruden was the real end game pairing. It might legit be the start to Asa's villain origin story. She goes out and does all these things just so Denji can feel strong affections for her, to give her something to latch her self-worth and the attempts to validate her life, oly for Denji to fall in love with Yoru instead. It would be both hilarious and tragic.

Another thing! Up until this point I thought Denji and Asa's relationship would be a tragedy or What Ifs and Could Have Beens, but instead I want them to be unhinged as possible, spiraling down while they blaze the candle at both ends. Just let their relationship become everyone's problem from now on.

Overall, the last few months have left me nervous and apprehensive about what each new chapter of Chainsaw Man will bring, but as of this chapter I find myself more excited than ever because I feel like this might end up taking the story is some insane places.

ONE MORE EDIT: I wrote a one-shot regarding my interpretation of this mess: Back Alley Screaming Match.

[vanillafalvoredcoffee]

X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡

My personal views on Kianna as a Yandere!

X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡

[ !Warning! This blog mentions : Bad writing, Stealing, very brief mentions of kidnapping (not attempted...maybe), Depression, Obsessive behavior and Overall toxic behavior teehee ]

[ ♡ BE CAREFUL DARLING ♡ ]

I couldn't help but see Kianna that would be that kind of person to be in denial about her love for her love interest...at first ofcourse!

Maybe she'll be more distant to her love interest or even unintentionally became more cold and mean towards them, because she doesn't know how to express her feelings properly at that time, but it doesn't mean that she doesn't love them...it's the opposite in fact

She'll try to make it up for it though! She does feel bad about making her beloved cry that one time...would just an apology be alright? Or should she buy some biscuits for them? Oh That reminds her! The bakery across her school has limited edition cheese cake right?

Occasionally she'll visit the place her love interest usually go to just to hang around in there until she finally see who she wanted to see all this time...

she would glance at them from afar but as soon as they notice her she'll immediately act like she didn't see them at all, it's not like she came here to see them or anything! She just happened to be around here that's all! >:T

Anyway...

Day after Day her affection for them only grows and grows, she finds herself in her darling's house holding a stuffed doll...Ahhh it used be their favorite when they're a kid right? Hopefully they don't mind...but they'll probably forget alll about this dirty little thing anyway <3

It's not time she's been here, her darling invites her there all the time! But they don't know that she has her hands on every little thing her darling has, the old toys that they have, the book that they never care to read...all the small things that her love interest wouldn't even notice, it may not be all that important to them but...it's important to Kianna 'kay?

Even after that, everything is going quite well

The only thing that's different is that...her darling seems to be a lot more clingy to her lately...strange...but it's not like Kianna really mind <3

Soon, her beloved began to buy her favorite foods for lunch, complimenting her looks, and even spending more time with her...what's with all the sudden attention she's getting? Are they trying to flirt with her or something? Oh well...she'll entertain them

She actually kinda enjoys her beloved's presence all this time, ever since she met them...it's the very first time she met someone like them...someone that's so incredibly nice to her despite...well everything about her.

Deeper down she feels very guilty about what she feels about them...she knows that it's wrong but she couldn't help but wanting absolutely anything to fulfill the hole in her chest and to not feel so disgusted when she's looking in the mirror.

She always hated how she looks...that flat chested, ugly, fat looking thing in the mirror...no matter how many times she tries to forget about it. The only time she could put that feeling aside is to have her beloved by her side :(

Suddenly they're the one confessing their love to her with a pink envelope in their hand with an embarrassed look on their face...cute.

Kianna never thought they would love her back but... she was delighted to finally see that her angel is finally hers and hers alone ♡

♡ It's too late for them to escape from her grasp now because if they do...she'll do anything to keep them with her...forever ♡

♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X ♡ X

(Note: This is a character made by @nunezs-stuff, and the purpose of this is for anyone wanting to self-insert themself into this shitty short story or any character that you think Kianna should be shipped with to be getting obsessed over by Kianna...including me :'])

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Could I request a little ‘A got roped into a blind date by their friends. They don't want a new relationship and plan to make themselves as unlikeable as possible to dissuade any further possible setups. All of that goes through the window when they see how gorgeous B is.’ with Santi as person A

(if you get this twice I’m sorry I can’t remember if I sent this irl or not because I saw the post when I was hazy and delusional at 2 AM)

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 912

A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests! First time writing for Santi, very very excited about this one! (And don't worry ab requesting twice, hun! It was a very inspiring prompt)

Warnings: fluff, santi thinks he's unlovable, a bit angsty ig?, frankie morales is a good bro, poorly edited (author has BDE)

Santiago really didn’t do the whole dating thing. 

The flowers and the small-talk and the footsies over cheese-stuffed appetisers. 

He had a long-term relationship with running away, that strange, filtered aeroplane air making him feel closer to home than any of his mother’s cooking could ever hope to do. 

Better put, he wasn’t relationship material. 

It wasn’t a deliberate choice from his end. 

It sort of just…happened. 

Life had morphed Santiago into the jagged, crooked, ugly thing that he was now. 

In all of his attempts (three) at the real thing, all his tries at the dart board called love, it usually always ended in the same fashion. He’d take her to meet his friends, she’d realise sooner than later that she’d drawn the losing hand out of the four of them, and it was downhill from there. 

One of them had been kind enough even to enlighten him to exactly what he lacked. 

You just need to be more…Frankie, Santi. 

Though it hurt, it was good to get out in the open like that. The plain, mumpy truth, in all its glory: 

Santiago wasn’t relationship material because of the amount of ‘Frankie-ness’ that was lacking in his blood and DNA, because he was the losing hand, the cracked skipping stone in the middle of a torrential river on the way to the safety of land and love, true love. 

And so, in what would be considered a sociologist’s dream case study, Santiago did what he did best, self-fulfilled then self-destructed. 

He was the intermediary for girls before they managed to find their Frankie, Benny, Will. 

It was a tough truth to chew, left a bitter taste in his mouth, that he’d only been created for people to recognize their self-worth and move on. There was a disagreeable insinuation behind it, if he thought about it too long. 

Which was precisely why he didn’t. 

And he ran away instead when things got too hard, too painful. Like a thumbtack in the heel of his foot. 

But Frankie on the other hand, Frankie thought about it long and hard. Too hard and too long, no matter how often Santiago told him to quit it. 

From his seat behind the driver’s wheel, Frankie was able to watch everything with a keen, honed eye, his two ears moving back and forth like a great-horned owl’s. 

And nothing was able to go past Frankie’s eyes without him picking it up and giving it a thorough inspection.

Which is why Frankie's been adamant about it. A real pain in the ass. 

Santiago was the bachelor of the group now. The only single one left. 

And Frankie was set on changing that. 

No matter how much Santiago protested. 

Will and Benny gave in to Santiago’s reality with a simple nod, the former’s eyes sad and sombre, the latter’s teasing a little light-hearted and half-hearted. 

But Frankie and him had the strongest bond he’s ever experienced. Saving a guy’s life a couple times does that to you. 

Santiago knows, if anything, that whatever happens in this god-forsaken world, that Frankie will always be his rock, the one constant in a world of possibilities and probabilities.

But it also meant that Frankie had some sort of gall that the others didn’t. 

And tonight, he meant to put an end to it, swiftly and surely. 

The sibling of a friend of a cousin. 

That still doesn’t mean Santiago wants to be here. 

Detached enough from them that if it all went to shit, the ripples would be minimal. Attached enough to them to make the small talk a little less small-talkey.

“You’re frowning.” 

“That’s because I’m mad, pendejo,” he grumbles back at the baseball cap. 

Frankie huffs and though he can’t see it, he hears the eye-roll. 

He feels like a petulant child, like he’s being babysat to make sure he won’t act out. 

Which is what he is precisely planning to do. 

He’ll take care of it quickly. Despite his cynical, eighty-year-old with three cats schmick he’s settling into nicely, he still has a bit of heart. And whoever the poor person was that had been roped into this will be roped out just as quickly. No harm done and Santiago’s Frankie problem fixed once and for all. 

With another huff, Frankie leans back in his seat and fixes him with beady eyes, “At least, try to be a little agreeable.” 

He only grumbles in response. 

It’s a white-and-red chequered tablecloth kind of place. Corny, romantic, candle-lit. 

Santiago was hoping he’d never have to set foot in such a place again. 

The door jingles open. 

Show-time. 

Frankie sends him another one of his glares, and Santiago sends it straight back, letting it settle on his face, deep into the grooves of it. 

There’s rolls and rolls of nervousness fading off of you. 

But you look nice-

Beautiful. 

Gorgeous. 

The air’s been swamped out of his lungs. 

This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. This weird, fluttering thing that’s been going on his body since he laid eyes on you. 

Santiago’s vaguely aware that you’re talking with Frankie, thanking him for arranging it all. 

And there’s a lull in the murmurs. 

He hastily gathers himself up, the angry little press of lines on his forehead all but gone. 

He scrambles for the flowers Frankie made him buy you and holds them out, swallowing thickly, “Hi, I’m Santi.” 

He hopes that this’ll make for a hell of a first-date story.

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