#like i do have much bigger problems to think about

[heather-mcnamacandcheese]

No worries, I like talking! Okay, let's see...

1: Hmm... Probably my best I was talking about. Or my spare set of house keys for the Heathers and Veronica's houses. I like those too.

4: Beards. I don't like beards. Just don't.

8: Don't tell anyone, but if I've had a really bad day, I'll turn on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. It just helps, somehow. I don't know why, but it does.

16: Umm, I only made my account like... a month ago at most? Yeah.

17: I don't think I'd ever get a tattoo. Needles hurt, and getting stabbed over and over by one and being injected with ink sounds awful.

37: My house is big enough to where I can get some peace and quiet in my room. Or the third floor. Both work.

39: I refuse to ever not show up to cheer practice. I've skipped out on parties for practice a few times before. Cheer is important!

70: Favorite relationship? If that's what you mean, then it's probably Han and Leia from Star Wars. I love how she puts him in his place. Leia is an icon (not to mention fairly attractive).

72: NO. It's just- gah! So much stuff! I hate big crowds. I can barely stomach some of the parties I go to, and anything bigger than those is just a nope:

77: Unless you count stuffed animals, then no. I can't take care of them on my own, and Dad isn't here enough to do it himself.

100: I mean, I guess. I like boys, but girls can be hot too. And I suppose someone that's both could be hot too... I'm not sure what that means. But I know that I'm a girl! That's for sure.

[yup my turn now! 1- t h e s t i c k. nothing else needs to be said. 4- not really. my fears are pretty normal (like being forgotten). 8- heading down to the basement and messing with the trains. or putting on the classic series. one of the two. 16- about 6 months ago on my main. 17- OH MY GOD YES! firstly, i want grunkle stan's shoulder brand. then i want hunters wrist flapjack tattoo. and then i want a glyph sleeve like belos's. and then imma get a matching one with my twin and cousin of three croquet balls, with which one we represent shaded in. i get the red one. 37- the woods near my house, or going on a bike ride. both work. 39- i'll work myself to death if it means that i don't voluntarily give up. 70- huntlow. huntlow gives me so much joy. so does lumity, but huntlow strikes such a chord with me. i relate to both of them in a way. 72- eh. i used to, but then i got some decent hearing damage, so now i don't have too much of a problem. 77- two cats. love them. 100- yup! genderfluid and lesbian. makes dating harder since i have to find pan girls, but oh well.]

ask game

1. whats your favorite thing in your room?

2. how tall do you wish you were?

3. what color is your hair?

4. whats a rare fear that you have?

5. are you single?

6. has your heart ever been broken?

7. what was your favorite thing as a kid?

8. favorite coping mechanism?

9. whats your favorite love language?

10. how often do you get nervous?

11. if you had three wishes, would you use them?

12. if you could be fluent in any language which one would it be?

13. where do you wish to live?

14. what’s something surprising about you?

15. when did you last shower?

16. when did you first join tumblr?

17. do you want any tattoos? if so, where, what, and why?

18. whats the most prominent dream youve had?

19. whats your dream job?

20. whats your ideal date?

21. what do you wish you could do better?

22. what country would you live in if you could?

23. whos the best person you know?

24. have you ever walked into something you shouldnt have?

25. whats your favorite holiday?

26. when have you been most embarrassed?

27. whats your favorite halloween costume?

28. what are you best at?

29. do you know how to tie your shoes?

30. do you have siblings?

31. if you could know one thing about the future what do you wanna know?

32. whats a dealbreaker for you?

33. whats your favorite current class?

34. how many people have you dated?

35. how often do you wash your hair?

36. do you daydream? what about?

37. where do you go to be alone?

38. which parent do you like more?

39. whats the one standard you hold yourself to?

40. whos voice do you enjoy?

41. if you could announce one thing to the world what would it be?

42. whats one thing you wanna do but havent yet?

43. what do you wish you never did?

44. do you believe in life after death?

45. do you prefer book over movie?

46. whats your favorite season?

47. whats your favorite time of day

48. do you have a beloved stuffed animal?

49. whens a time you wish you acted differently?

50. what’s something you wish that you never bought?

51. do you have your own room?

52. whats your favorite book?

53. who’s someone you hate?

54. whats your best hottake?

55. whats your favorite game?

56. whens a time you felt real genuine fear?

57. are you a morning person?

58. do you drink enough water?

59. how different are you from the little kid you used to be?

60. do you enjoy tumblr?

61. have you ever had a tumblr experience that made you wanna delete the app?

62. whats your least favorite game?

63. were you a markiplier fan?

64. how do you respond to compliments?

65. whats something that would make you fall in love?

66. do you believe in marriage?

67. do you have a crush on someone?

68. do you like tumblr?

69. were you a voltron stan?

70. whats your favorite ship?

71. whats your favorite song?

72. do you like loud crowds?

73. have you ever created conflict on purpose?

74. how do you sleep?

75. do you bite your lips?

76. do you use chapstick?

77. do you have any pets?

78. what color are your eyes?

79. what’s something you wish you could change about yourself?

80. have you ever had surgery?

81. whats your least favorite animal?

82. whats something that youre really bad at?

83. do you have an sqishmellows?

84. do you enjoy fast food?

85. do you like soda?

86. what grade are you in?

87. do you wear any jewelry?

88. what socials do you use?

89. whats your lowest grade in school right now?

90. whats the latest youve stayed up till?

91. did you ever have bangs?

92. what trends did you hate?

93. whats your favorite item of clothing?

94. do you like dinosaurs?

95. whats your opinion on body hair?

96. whats your least favorite time?

97. do you make a wish at 11:11?

98. do you have your phone on military or regular?

99. have you ever been to church?

100. are you lgbtq?

[revelboo]

I’m sorry- I just discovered Flatline and I’m making it everyone’s problem since he checks so many of my monsterfucker boxes. I’m also absolutely mashing some of his ROTF comic aspects with his IDW/G1. Absolutely @drabbletron ‘s fault

Medic

Flatline x Reader

• Venting and reaching to pick you up and deliberately move you to the far end of the counter and away from his patient trying to lure you closer, Flatline growls a warning at Onslaught. Don’t you have any self preservation instincts at all? Trusting everyone, him included. And you just stare up at him in confusion, not realizing that the other Decepticon will kill you just for fun. “Let me play with your little toy, doc,” Onslaught rumbles, watching you busying yourself straightening up anything you can pick up. And okay, you’re too small to really help, but it leaves him oddly warm that you’re trying. “I won’t make ‘em suffer. Why do you even have it?”

• Blinking at the big mech Flatline’s working on, you shiver. Well, that sounded ominous. But then his patients like to joke about squishing you, probably because of how small you are compared to them. Some of them even call you Bug, but you don’t think they mean anything by it. “I haven’t studied biological creatures as thoroughly as I’d like, that’s all,” Flatline growls, finishing a weld while you clean up. And you’re not really paying attention as his patient stands until his shadow falls across you. Hear Flatline snarl right as the big mech he was working on stumbles, hand smacking the counter and skidding into you to toss you into a rack of vials. ‘Oops,’ Onslaught laughs as you struggle to get back up and the bigger mech is leaving.

• Reaching to cup you, he growls at the broken glass you’re laying in. The sharp scent of copper filling the air as your arm bleeds sluggishly. And you whimper trying to help him get you up, cutting your little hands in the glass. “Close your eyes,” he growls and you don’t question him. But you never do, always trusting him. Glancing at the Medbay door to make sure no one’s around he shifts the plating at his chassis, freeing his secondary arms. Useful for surgery since they’re so much more dexterous, they’re still unusual enough that he hides them from everyone unless he needs them. Knows he’s different, a monster even to other Cybertronians. Learned to hide those things about himself other Cybertronians won’t accept early on, a battlemask to hide his sharp denta, augmented plating to let him keep his extra limbs bound and hidden. Carefully picking you up in his secondary hands, he examines the cuts and carries you to the sink. Reaching to turn on the water on low, he shifts you to his primary hands and uses his secondary to pick glass off of you. “You can’t trust everyone,” he mutters.

• “Eyes closed,” he growls, the words harsh when you try to look at him and your shoulders hunch. ‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, feeling him removing shards of glass. “What am I supposed to do with you?” And you’re about to cry he sounds so disappointed and exasperated with you. Know you get in the way, that you aggravate him. But also that he’s kind when most of the aliens that come in his Medbay aren’t. They’re cruel, taunting you. Sometimes trying to hurt you like that one just did. “Why are you leaking? Is there glass in your eyes?” He asks sounding horrified and you shake your head as he moves you away from the water and you’re settled on a berth. “Keep them closed,” he growls.

• Venting in aggravation at himself for not protecting you, he finds the kit he’d put together when he’d first rescued you. Mass shifting and using his secondary hands to clean and bandage your cuts. None too deep or serious enough to need stitches and that’s a relief. And he cups your cheek, tensing when you grab his secondary hand. And your eyes open. Seeing what he tries so hard to hide. You don’t look at him, attention on his extra limbs as you press your cheek into his palm. “You don’t have to hide these, you know,” you whisper. “Sometimes you hold me with them when you’re recharging.”

• They make you feel safe. Protected. And he’s just staring at you like you weren’t supposed to know or say that. “I like when you hold me,” you say and he leans until his helm brushes your forehead. Feel him vent against you and you shift, hesitantly sliding yourself into his lap and those arms come around you as his optics shutter. Resting your head against him, hearing the familiar thrum of his spark, you wonder what he’d say if you told him you love him? That you need safe and kind. Need him.

• Resting his chin on top of your head, his main arms wrap around you, feeling the warmth of you, scenting you. What would you say if you saw his denta? Would you accept that, too? Or is there a limit to the amount of horror you can handle? He’s afraid to find out. Recharges every night with you against him, your warm softness sprawled on his chassis. His spike aching behind his panel when he comes online as you haunt his dreams, sometimes pressurizing in his recharge and he has to hide it away from you before you wake. Knows it’s from sharing a berth with you, carrying your scent on him. But it’s more than that, you’re his. So why fight himself over this? Cupping your chin to tip your head back, he brushes his cheek against yours. Angry at himself for not claiming you sooner, for not protecting you better. Because you’re fair game to mess with if you’re not claimed. “Strip for me, little one.” Because he’s done pretending that he doesn’t want you.

• Breath catching as his growling voice dips lower, you stare up at him. Trying to figure out if he’s serious. Because surely you’re just misunderstanding him? Maybe he wants to check for glass he missed? Those secondary hands brush your own, helping you out of your clothes and his stare is heated. As both sets of hands slide against you and you heat in response, you remember seeing his spike, hearing him murmur your name in his recharge and pretending to be asleep so you don’t embarrass him. And he’s laying you back, masked face sliding against your inner thighs as he shifts to cover you and those secondary hands grip your hips, lifting you up and he grinds against you. “I’m claiming what’s mine,” he growls and you’re on board with that, because you want him, want to claim him as yours. Arching feeling his spike pressurize between your bodies, he’s on his hands and knees over you as he adjusts you and you feel the length of him slide against you. Rocking himself against you as you hang under him, grabbing at his chassis for some semblance of control when he grinds on you.

• Venting to scent you, he wants to put his mouth on you. To taste you, but knows his denta might be a dealbreaker. So he ruts and grinds until you grow slick and then he’s shifting you to line you up with his spike and you’re shockingly tight, all wet heat as he rocks himself against you. And you’re squirming, hips rolling, both of you groaning when his spike sinks suddenly into you. Hips pumping as he uses his secondary hands to move you on his spike and he growls. Hears you whimpering his name and he wants to pin you on your belly, rut into you and hold you to him with his extra limbs. Decides he’ll do that next as his primary hands dig into the berth, denting the metal. Sharp denta gritted behind his mask as he moves you faster, feels you tremble against him and you cry out when you climax, fisting his spike. Elbow smacking down as your shoulders hit the berth, he’s thrusting urgently against you. His. Why did he wait so long for this? Pressing his face against your neck, he overloads inside you, hips rocking and he lets his mask retract. Skims his mouth against the thrum of your pulse as he fills you. And clicks it back into place before he can give in to the urge to bite. To mark you. ‘Flatline?’ You whimper and he eases up his grip on your waist, feeling guilty knowing he’s going to leave bruises. “I have you.” And you’re his. Always have been.

[writinginatree]

Latenight Confessions

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/reader

Summary: A quiet night with your best friend unexpectedly leads to a long overdue heart to heart about the wounds of the past and repressed feelings.

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury, some angst, I made up some stuff regarding the Tyrrish custom behind Xaden's scars, Iron Flame spoilers. Set pre-canon.

Based on this request.

"Move over," you huff, poking your finger at Xaden's side.

He bats your hand away, not giving you an inch of space. "If I moved over any further, I'd be falling out of bed."

Ugh. That's the problem with these damn beds — they very clearly are not meant for more than one person. You could cry thinking of how big and comfortable your beds back home in Aretia had been, so much better suited for sleepovers. Especially Xaden's — there'd been enough space in it to easily fit not only Xaden and you, but also Bodhi and Garrick on the occasion that all four of you were having a sleepover. All of you are much bigger now than you were back then, of course, but these days it's just Xaden and you, anyway. You would kill to be lying in his bed in Aretia right now.

"Then put your elbow somewhere else," you say, nudging the offending body part with your own. "Feels like you're trying to dig a hole through my ribcage."

Lying on his stomach with a map of the Continent before him, Xaden is bracing his weight on his underarms in a way that has his relic-covered elbow pointed at you like a weapon.

"You were the one who insisted it would be more comfortable to do the planning in bed," he reminds you, but does you the favor of retracting his elbow, poking it into the mattress instead as he props his chin on his hand.

You roll over, throwing an arm across Xaden's back and resting your chin on his shoulder to glance at the map too, though at this point, you've already memorized all possible routes. "It would be, if the bed wasn't so damn narrow. Do you think we'll get bigger ones when we're second-years? I heard they have bigger rooms, at least."

"Probably," he answers distractedly, still focused on the problem of the next dagger delivery. "If we can make it through the rest of this year without being found out. Would you stop trying to stab me with your chin?"

"Sorry."

You turn your head so your cheek lies flat against his shoulder blade instead, and close your eyes. If you aren't careful, you'll fall asleep like this; it's getting late, and Xaden is so warm and comfortable. Your fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on his lower back. His shirt has ridden up a little, his bare skin even softer and warmer under your hand. You slide it higher up his back — your hands are always a little cold, and despite how he likes to complain about it, you know Xaden doesn't really mind you warming them on him.

But when you feel the scars beneath your fingers, you freeze.

They're thin, barely raised — if you didn't know they're there, you probably couldn't even feel them. But you know. Oh, how you know. You will never forget the day he got them, will carry the guilt of what they'd forced you to do for the rest of your life. That day had left scars on both of you, though only Xaden's are physical, partially disguised by the relic Sgaeyl had gifted him, but still visible to anyone who knows to look. Your own only exist on the inside, a matching scar to marr your soul for every one etched into your beloved best friend's back.

It's a miracle that after everything, the both of you are still as close as you'd been as children. The apostasy and everything it made you do irrevocably changed both of you, but somehow, your friendship had prevailed. If anything, you're closer than ever now that you're finally reunited after the near-unbearable years in separate foster homes.

Things are the same between you as they had always been, but at the same time, they aren't. You're both older, harder, weighed down by responsibility. Gone are the days of chasing through the mountains surrounding Aretia on horseback, of stealing cake from the kitchens and huddling in Riorson House's library on rainy days until the scribe in charge chased you out for leaving chocolate smudges on the precious books. Now, it's dragons you ride, venin-killing daggers you steal, and the potential consequences of getting caught are no longer a mere scolding or being grounded, but death. The love you feel for Xaden — going far beyond platonic affection — had already been blossoming before his father's rebellion tore you apart, but the guilt mixing with it is another of the many subtle differences to before.

Xaden shifts slightly, like he felt you stiffen and wants to look at you over his shoulder to say something, but then seems to think better of it. The two of you never speak of his scars, of what happened that day. Every time you skirt the topic, guilt clogs your throat and prevents you from saying everything you so desperately want him to know.

You force your body to relax, and gently trace your finger up and down the scar it rests on.

The placement of each cut is so ingrained in you that you don't even have to see Xaden's back to know which one this is and who it represents. Every name is burned into your memory as permanently as the scars on Xaden's skin. The marked one he had taken responsibility of with this particular scar is dead, shoved off the parapet half a year ago. You never actually met him, can't even put a face to the name. Maybe that's for the better. The knowledge of every marked one lost hurts enough as it is, and knowing them personally only makes it worse. Terror seizes you every time you think of the marked ones you already lost this year, and of all the others that will follow you into this death trap of a school next year, and the year after, and the one after that and—

You turn your head, pressing your face deeper into Xaden's shirt and inhaling the comfort of his scent. Don't think about it. You cannot let yourself think about all those innocent lives, can't let yourself question how many — if any — of you will make it out of Basgiath alive. You have a weapons drop to plan, that's what you should focus on.

"When are we sneaking down to the forge again?" you ask, Xaden's shoulder muffling the words so they're barely intelligible.

Though each of you has a small bag of daggers stashed away already, it's not enough for a full shipment. You need to take as many as you can without leadership's notice, or it won't be worth the risk of the long flight.

"I was thinking we should wait for the weekend," Xaden answers, leaving the sentence hanging in a way that tells you he'll welcome your input if you have any concerns or better suggestions.

"Sounds good."

Minutes pass in comfortable silence as he continues to pore over the map. You're about to doze off when Xaden groans, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

"That meeting place is shit," he curses. "No matter what route we take, we'll have to fly fucking slalom to avoid all the outposts on the way."

You lift your head. "Can't you tell them to meet us somewhere else? I don't see why we should always let them decide these things."

"Because they're the ones out there on the front, and know where we can meet without Navarrian patrols coming across us."

"Still. They're making things difficult for us on purpose, and you know it, too. They want our help, not the other way around, so why are we letting them act all high and mighty?"

"You know it's not that easy," Xaden says, twisting his neck to glance back at you. "This alliance is more fragile than ever now that I've called off the arrangement with Cat."

You grimace at the mention of the Poromish heiress. If there has ever been a more unpleasant person, you haven't met them. Words can't describe how relieved you were when Xaden decided to call off the betrothal his father had arranged — and not purely out of selfish reasons. While you definitely prefer having your best friend to yourself, his own mental health was the more important concern. It would not have been good for him being stuck with someone like that, someone he neither likes nor gets along with, who only sees him as a trophy because of a title he no longer holds.

"Which you had every right to do," you remind him. Really, Tecarus had done you a favor by refusing to hand over that luminary, finally giving Xaden an excuse to get out of the betrothal he never wanted, without feeling guilty for the problems his refusal would cause. "And I repeat: They need us, not the other way around. I'm not saying they should grovel and beg for our help, but is it really too much to ask for that they be a little more accommodating about when and where we meet to deliver the daggers they want?"

Xaden folds his arms, resting his head on top of them. "Politics just are nonsensical like that," he grumbles into the mattress. "What are you suggesting we do about it?"

It's your turn to groan. "I don't know! You know I'm no good at politics and all that diplomatic shit. That's your field of expertise."

The sound he makes in response is half scoff, half laugh. "We're both terrible at this."

"True," you admit. "But we make up for it with enthusiasm."

At that, he barks a laugh, brief but real, and you allow yourself a small smile of victory. It's much too seldom that you get to hear him genuinely laugh these days.

"Is that what we're calling it now? Enthusiasm?" The amusement lingers in his tone.

"Well, what would you call it?"

"Determination? Ruthlessness? The will to survive?"

"We're doing more than survive," you say. "If that were all, we wouldn't be out there smuggling those daggers past the border."

What you're doing isn't exactly the peak of self-preservation. You might very well end up getting caught and executed like your parents, but it's worth the risk to carry on their legacy.

"True." With a sigh, Xaden folds up the map, hangs his arm over the edge of the bed, and throws it to the floor. "Let's go to sleep. We can figure out what to do about the drop-off tomorrow."

He sits up, ignoring your yelp of protest at being dislodged from your comfortable spot on his shoulder. Before you can complain, he pulls off his shirt, carelessly throwing it at his desk chair. The way his muscles flex with the casual movement could make anyone drool, and your brain completely shuts down at the sight. All you can do is stare. It's not like you haven't seen him shirtless before, but being in his bed with him while he's half naked feels decidedly different than seeing him bare-chested while sparring or going for a swim.

Luckily, he doesn't seem to detect anything improper in your gaze, probably interpreting your stare as one of bewilderment. "What? I only sleep with a shirt on in winter."

"It's barely spring," you sputter.

"It's getting warmer."

"So is this what I can expect every night from now until it's autumn again?"

Xaden and you spend the night in each other's room so often that half the quadrant is convinced you're a couple, and the other half thinks you're fucking. While you certainly wouldn't say no to either option, neither is the case. Your sleeping arrangement is strictly platonic — a mere matter of practicality. The fact that both of you suffer from insomnia and sleep better in the other's company aside, it allows you more private time to scheme.

But Amari give you strength — if he's going to be shirtless every night from now on, it's going to take even more effort than before to hide your attraction.

"Yes." His brows knit. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Well, no—"

"Good. Then scoot over, or I'll lie down on top of you."

Gods, he just had to put that image in your head, didn't he? Even though he certainly didn't mean it like that, you have half a mind to stay where you are, just to see if he makes true on the threat.

You're not sure your heart would survive that, though, so you roll over to lie against the wall, making just enough space for Xaden to squeeze into bed beside you. Clad in a short-sleeved shirt yourself, his bare skin meets your own as your arms press against each other.

It's a relief when Xaden smothers the mage lights, darkness hiding any signs of how flustered you are.

You've barely settled down when something slithers around your waist, winding up and around your shoulders, down around your hips. If you weren't so used to it by now, you might have yelped. The first time it had happened, you'd actually screamed.

Now, you just smile into your pillow. "Xaden," you whisper. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Your shadows."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

The shadows retreat, and you almost regret saying anything. But Xaden desperately wants to learn control over his signet as quickly as he can, and pointing out when he wields without meaning to is part of helping him with that.

The scraps of moonlight flowing in through the half-open curtains are just bright enough to make out the flat look Xaden gives you. "I've only had my signet for like a month, Y/N. I can't control it yet."

"I don't mind," you say. In fact, you quite like being wrapped in his shadows; it makes you feel secure somehow. "Though I gotta admit I am curious. Why does that always happen?"

"I know, that's not what I meant. I'm just wondering why the shadows always do this. I get the whole shadows rising and writhing around when you're agitated-thing, but when they wrap around me like this there never seems to be any trigger, and I've never seen it happen with anyone else."

Xaden is silent for so long you think he's not going to answer. Finally he says, "You're important to me. I think... I think the magic can sense that. I think it wants to protect you."

"Aww," you coo, "so your shadows like me! I like you too, shadows."

Xaden rolls his eyes. "Can you not? They aren't alive or anything. More like... an extension of me. They're drawn to you because I'm—"

He abruptly falls silent, like he said more than he meant to.

"Because you're what?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

Xaden turns, putting his back to you — his bare back, the covers only pulled up to his waist. Even though it's too dark to really make out the scars, you can't help but stare at where you know they're scattered across the expanse of his skin. Without thinking, you lift a trembling hand, pressing your palm flat over the scar right between his shoulder blades — the scar that represents you, cut there by your own hand.

You remember the horror of carving it into his skin like it was yesterday; how the general had rattled down name after name with no emotion, no pity. When she reached your name on her list, there had been no acknowledgement of the fact that it was your own life Xaden was to take responsibility for next, only that cold stare, a silent order to keep going and make the next cut. You weren't so foolish to think she hadn't realized — you might not have been anyone important, not like Xaden, who was taking lead in the face of your parents' failure, but there was no doubt she knew your name.

You never learned why it was that out of all the separatist kids, it had been you she had sent for that day, whether you'd been chosen for the task deliberately or at random. She'd needed a Tyr to do it, someone familiar enough with the custom to perform it, but why you? Had the general known how close you and Xaden were, and sent for you out of malice, knowing how much it would hurt you? Or was it merely because you genuinely were best suited to the task — your father had been one of Fen's most valued advisors, your mother a priestess; as a result, you were more well-versed in customs like this than most other teenagers, and since you had wanted to become a healer, you knew how to best make the cuts and treat them afterwards to minimize the risk of infection.

You prefer to think it had been the latter, if only because you hate to think you gave the general what she wanted when you burst into silent tears after the first cut. Better to belive she hadn't cared, hadn't chosen you as a form of punishment for sins neither you nor Xaden had committed. She couldn't have been entirely heartless, or she wouldn't have made that deal with Xaden when she could have just as easily let you all burn beside your parents.

As cruel as it seemed, that deal had been the only way of survival — not just for you and Xaden, but for all one hundred and seven of the rebellion leaders' children, most of them much younger than yourselves. When your horrified gaze had collided with Xaden's, he merely nodded, stoic and brave even at seventeen, resigned to carry that burden for the rest of you. Both of you knew there was no other choice.

And so you'd done as ordered, kneeling on the cold stone floor behind Xaden, the ritual knife a terrible, sacred weight in your hand. General Sorrengail perched on the edge of her desk with her list of underage traitors to be claimed for the Riders Quadrant, and when she read out the first name on that long, long list, you had willed your hands to stop shaking and took the knife to your best friend's back.

Again and again you lowered the blade to his unblemished skin, willing your voice not to waver as you spoke the ceremonial words with every cut. One hundred and seven times you repeated those sacred Tyrrish words that would burden him with the responsibility for the person represented by each cut, and one hundred and seven times Xaden answered with the traditional reply, each repetition the same except for the names. His voice was tight with pain, but not once did he allow himself to flinch or cry out.

You kept your free hand at the base of his spine, hoping the gesture could provide a fraction of comfort as the endless litany went on and on. The tears you couldn't hold back mixed with the blood trickling down Xaden's back, but you kept the despair from your voice, refusing to upset him with it. This was painful enough for him as it was, much worse than it was for you.

When it was finally done, the general gave you five minutes to bandage Xaden's wounds, and dismissed the both of you without another word. You didn't get any chance to speak to him again before you were all carted off to be fostered with various Navarrian nobles, could only pray the wounds would heal well, that Xaden would be treated decently and granted access to an actual healer wherever he ended up.

Thinking back on it all, tears well in your eyes even now. Reminding yourself that Xaden's wounds have healed just fine, that he is fine and back at your side, you swallow the tears. You press your forehead against Xaden's back, brushing a kiss to the scar he took for you.

Goosebumps rise on his skin, and another shadow manifests, which settles around your waist like an arm holding you close.

Your fingers wander over the scars, appreciating every single one. Here is the one that represents Bodhi, there Garrick and Soleil and Eya, there Xaden's foster brother Liam, whom you can't wait to meet someday. So many lives, so much responsibility weighing on Xaden's shoulders. So much pain, carved there by your own hand.

A single tear escapes your eye, running sideways down your face to drip onto the mattress.

You never even got the chance to apologize for what you'd been forced to do, never got to tell Xaden how sorry you are for the pain he had to endure. Now would be as good a time as any to remedy that, but as usual, the words refuse to come out.

The guilt envelopes you like a shroud, so palpable Xaden seems to sense it.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," he murmurs. "You just did what you had to, for all our sakes."

Gods, he knows you so well, always knows what you want to say and do before you do it. It can be annoying sometimes, but more often it just makes you feel seen — loved — and is incredibly helpful when the words get stuck, like now.

The shadow around your waist pulls you closer, putting your front flush against Xaden's back. You wonder if he wielded subconsciously again, or if it was on purpose this time, but it feels wrong to ask about that during such a vulnerable moment. Instead, you wordlessly drape your arm over his side. Your hand brushes against his, and Xaden clasps it tightly in his.

Pressing another kiss to his scarred back, you manage to whisper, "I just can't forget that it was me who gave these to you. Who hurt you."

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats, and brings your hand to his mouth to kiss your palm — the very palm in which you'd held the blade that cut all those wounds into his back.

Another tear streaks down your face. You already knew it hadn't been your fault, knew Xaden didn't blame you, but actually hearing him say it cracks something open in your emotional defenses, a wound half-healed and festering.

"I'm glad it was you," Xaden confesses in a broken whisper. "I know that's a horrible thing to say, to think, because I know how much it haunts you, but having you there, having you be the one to make those cuts, made it more bearable somehow."

You squeeze his hand, hold him tighter, well aware how hard it is for him to be vulnerable like this, what a monumental proof of his trust in you this conversation is.

"In that case I'm glad I was the one to do it, too," you whisper against his skin, heart aching with all the love you feel for him. "I'm just sorry you were forced to take on that burden at all."

"I would do it again."

"I know."

For a few minutes, the two of you lie in silence. Xaden lets himself be held, and doesn't let go of your hand, either. Your tears dry, something like peace settling into the cracks of your heart. You will never forget that day, probably won't ever be able to think of it without hurting, but knowing your presence made it easier for Xaden to receive those cuts takes the edge off your guilt. You hadn't even realized how very heavily it weighed on you, never realized how much lighter getting if off your chest would make you feel.

"I never thanked you," Xaden says after a while.

"For what?"

If he wants to thank you for performing those cuts, you're going to fucking bite him.

Your tone must have given away your incredulity, because Xaden chuckles. "Don't go biting my head off. I just meant for facing all this together with me. For always being by my side. I couldn't have done all this without you."

"You don't have to thank me for that, silly," you huff, nudging your head against his back. "By your side is where I belong."

Xaden lifts your hand again, this time kissing the back of it. "Yes. It is."

Heat creeps up your cheeks, your traitorous heart speeding up. You tell yourself he didn't mean it like that, even if it sure sounded like it. Wishful thinking, nothing more.

Though now that you think about it... Earlier, when you asked about how strangely attached to you his shadows seem, it almost sounded like he meant to say it was because he felt that way. And the way he said his magic wants to protect you... It doesn't necessarily mean anything, could be totally platonic — but it doesn't feel platonic.

With another squeeze of your hand, Xaden lets go and turns to lie on his back. You stay on your side, resting your head on the pillow of muscles between his shoulder and chest as his arm wraps around you, replacing the shadow around your waist. His bare skin is incredibly warm and soft under your fingers, a feeling you can't get enough of as you trace the lines of his abs.

"What were you going to say earlier, Xaden?" you whisper. Maybe the answer won't be what you're foolishly hoping for, but either way, you want to know.

He takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself for something, and whispers back even more quietly than you, "That the shadows seem attracted to you because I am."

Your fingers still, splaying flat on his stomach. Holy shit. Xaden is attracted to you. Xaden is attracted to you. Completely stunned by the admission, you realize that though you were hoping for it, you didn't believe it could happen, never thought about what you would do if he did like you that way.

His grip on your waist has tightened, the only indication he might be as nervous to have this conversation as you are.

Slowly, you shift your head to look up at him. Your wide eyes meet his, Xaden's gaze intense and piercing even in the dark.

With his signet, he can probably make out a lot more of your expression than you of his.

You should say something, ask what exactly he means by attracted, just to be sure, or tell him you feel the same. But you're still processing his words, what they might mean. Everything you dreamed of but never thought you could actually get, suddenly a real possibility.

Those perfect lips of his quirk up in a lazy grin. "You want to kiss me so bad right now, don't you?"

Ugh, it's so typical of him to notice that and get cocky, even when he should be squirming as he waits for an answer to his confession. Worse, you can't even bring yourself to be annoyed by it, or pretend he's wrong, because gods, you do want to know what his mouth would feel like on yours, what he tastes like.

"Yes," you breathe. "Have wanted to for years, actually. I just— worried it'd make things awkward between us, since I didn't know how you'd react."

Xaden shakes his head, the grin turning into a gentle smile as he cups your cheek. "You really thought that after everything we've been through together that could drive a wedge between us?"

"Silly, I know. I was just so scared it would change things between us, and I figured you'd probably never feel the same—"

"I've loved you since we were children," Xaden softly interrupts. "I wasn't supposed to, so I never said anything, but I did."

"Oh." Shaking the shock of his words, you smile at Xaden. "We're both idiots, aren't we?"

"Seems like it. And for the record, this will change things." Before you can panic about what he means by that, he elaborates, "I intend to make up for all the time I could have been kissing you already, and the next person who has the audacity to flirt with you is getting their jaw broken."

You chuckle, relief and love flooding you in a cocktail more potent than any drug. "I love you, Xaden. More than words can describe."

"I love you too," Xaden says, nudging your face toward his own.

Then his mouth is on yours, and every coherent thought drains from your head. The taste of minty toothpaste is still heavy on his tongue, his lips impossibly soft. You've dreamed of this for years, but nothing you ever imagined can compare to the reality of kissing him. You're instantly addicted.

He releases you, both of you slightly out of breath, and rests his forehead against yours.

"Mine," he whispers, and this time there can be no doubt the shadows snaking around your limbs are intentional.

"Yours," you whisper back, wrapping your legs around the closer one of his, one hand on his shoulder, the other draped over his waist.

Your smile is so wide your cheeks are already starting to ache. You're half convinced you must have fallen asleep planning the dagger drop-off and this is all a dream. It's just too good to be true. But gods, if this is a dream, you never want to wake up.

Xaden traces his thumb along your bottom lip. "What are you thinking?"

"Just wondering if this is really happening. If it's a dream, I'll be pissed when I wake up."

"Good thing it's not a dream, then," he chuckles. "You're grumpy enough in the mornings as it is."

"Oh, shut it! I bet I'd be considerably less grumpy if you wake me up with a kiss."

With a smirk, Xaden lifts his brows at you. "Is that so? I think I'll have to test that theory."

"Mhh, please do."

[doublel27]

Look, Pathapi gets to be a bitch to Tamtawan for quite awhile over the manner of breakup (text as you were about to get on a plane my guy—real bad)

But also in ep 4 we got a much bigger look at Tamtawan’s POV in a way we haven’t before. @maybe-boys-do-love did a wonderful post on SOTUS-S and the 4-Act story structure that is common in Asian media and it really has changed my brain in analyzing BL.

The second phase is for growth and expansion and deepening an understanding of the problem, setting up Ep 4 as a perfect place to begin expanding. We head out into filming the new series for Phi and it takes us to Phi’s home, but it lets us into Tam’s perspective. It’s made clear from the moment Tam sets foot outside of Phi’s house in both the past and the present how much he loves it. Tam adores Phi’s mom, Phi’s childhood home, the place Phi is from. And we also learn that Phi was chasing Paul while Tam was pining, in the past, and that it wasn’t a smooth road to love.

Although the twist feels very sudden to me as an audience member and Tam, there are hints that Phi cares deeply for Tam before. But it wasn’t until this trip and Tam supporting him through his heartbreak that Phi could see it. I could see this sticking with Tam. That one moment he was comforting Phi over this huge heartbreak and the next minute Phi tells his mom he wants Tam to be his boyfriend.

But also, we got a very interesting conversation about Phi’s mom not wanting to accept Phi’s bids for her to move to Bangkok between Phi and Tam, and I want to come back to it. Because Tam was telling Phi that Phi actually needs to listen to what his mom wants and not what Phi thinks his mom should want. And it just felt very coded considering how in all the previous flashbacks we’ve gotten Phi’s dreams and Phi’s perspectives and I’ve already been wondering how what Tamtawan may have wanted may have gotten lost and to find that Phi also overlays his own vision of his mom’s future over her vision of her future….

Smells like a pattern to me.

But you know, I said last week we hadn’t been let into Tam at all, and this week we went to a place he is nostalgic for and next week we are going to his house!! Literally inside Tam’s space! I can’t wait.

Also the symbolism at the end with the coals!!

[hallwayheart]

'piracy is wrong' ea is a money hungry, soulless corporation lining its pockets with money made off of an audience of 18-30 year olds in the middle of an international cost of living crisis, cashing it in on an era of overconsumption and 'ill buy it for this one feature'. in the past year it's implemented micro-transactions & Well let's be honest, ea takes advantage of consumers through the ea creator network by using them as a marketing technique to get consumers to buy their products and Like yeah that's blatantly obvious but i feel the need to put it into words because frankly it's sinister.

there's a blatant lack of transparency often enough and i understand this is peoples job and i have nothing against anyone who is attached to the network nor am i targeting anyone. at the end of the day ea is the bigger problem and these are regular people who love the sims and i wouldn't deny anyone the opportunity. but it's corrupt and sinister to me that ea uses this network and the gurus to market their products because simmers are far more likely to turn to creators and people in the community that they love to decide on buying a pack, then to examine the features themselves and make a decision. and i think this puts creators in an awkward position of transparency vs appeasing the evil corporation. and i feel for them While also feeling discomforted by this as a whole.

the people making the sims 4 who cared about the sims franchise left a long time ago, or their voices are drowned out so much by everyone around them that we can't hear them anymore. and i'm not telling you to pirate the game and stop giving ea any of your money so the game can die a sad But natural death and modders can take over and fix ea's mess and we can all live happy ever after because that's illegal and a crime but i also logically Cannot stop you from doing it.

what i am saying is to Put on your grown up pants and assess the state of the game, the state of the world, the state of over-consumption and consider how much money you have fed into corporations like EA and how much other people have influenced YOU purchasing things that ultimately didn't live up to your expectations. how many times has an influencer on tiktok talked about how much she loved a waterbottle Enough that you bought it. if you're happy with everything you've ever purchased that's FINE and some people really Truly do love certain ts4 ep's. seasons and growing together are the only ep's i'd recommend people buy, personally, and i don't doubt anyones honesty! But nuance can exist in this conversation. Two things can be true. make choices 4 urself & consider breaking up w ur favourite toxic video game corporation Today.

[goatlilly]

Addressing Problems vs. Name Calling

There are a lot of people on the internet trying to persuade other people to listen to their opinions by calling other people names—racist, transfobic, homofobic, sexist, to name a few—but is doing this really helping anyone? To be fair, a lot of these people being called those names are, in fact, racist/transfobic/homofobic/sexist/etc., but is calling them that really going to help them change their world view? The expected result might be that the person will crumble once they realize that they’re a nasty racist/transfob/homofob/sexist/etc., but usually when attacked with hostile language they’re more likely to get defensive, dig their heels in, and start arguing about the labels while the important parts of what was said go ignored. Even in the “best case scenario” where they do listen, hate-labels tend to have the effect of shutting down any potential discussion of the topic in the future. Often a person won’t say what they once thought for fear of being called nasty names. They might even spend nights crying in their room because someone told them they’re a bad person, instead of feeling empowered to be better. Labels stick to people, even after they’ve expired, and it’s hard for a person not to feel defined or boxed in by what others say about them.

This isn't definite, of course—some people really do step up in the face of being called out for their bigotry, and those people are certainly worthy of respect--but isn’t there a better way to address problems than resorting to juvenile name calling and click-bait buzz words? Back when I was in English class in Highschool learning how to write argumentative essays, my teacher made a point of telling us to avoid using pronouns such as I or You as much as possible. Why? Because the minute the word “I” is used, it makes an argument just the author’s opinion rather than fact, making it impersonal and unimportant. When “you” is used in an argument, it makes it personal to the person on the other end of the essay. Suddenly it’s no longer an intellectual experiment—now it’s about “you”, and when everything is about “you”, whatever argument the author is presenting becomes a much bigger pill to swallow.

Instead of making an argument for why someone is racist, what if we simply wrote an argument about why people of all races should be treated with respect? What if instead of stating that people are transfobic, we helped people understand why people transition and what sort of struggles they face? What if instead of calling someone homofobic, we told them why same-sex marriages and partnerships are important? What if instead of calling someone sexist, we talked about the strengths of women and their irreplaceable contributions to the world? What if we started lifting instead of tearing down, and instead of laughing at the people in the figurative ditch we got down there and helped them climb out?

I know a lot of people who weren’t homofobic/racist/sexist/transfobic growing up—they just had questions. They asked those questions, with genuine curiosity, and then were told that because they had those questions they were bad people. Almost no one bothered to answer them, or explain to them why their views were incomplete. Instead they shot them down, told them not to have questions, and pretty soon those people I knew started becoming all those things everyone told them they were. It’s normal to have questions, and it’s good to look for answers. Not one person on this earth knows all the answers. None of us are perfect—we’re all just trying to make sense of what’s in front of us. Don’t be the person who stands on a mountain scaled by asking questions only to throw rocks down at others who are trying to make the same climb. Just because they aren’t at the summit yet doesn’t mean they aren’t trying. It’s impossible to know what a person is going through at any given time, or why they think the way they do. Especially when there’s a barrier of a screen and some imperfect walls of text preventing us from seeing the whole picture. Just be kind, be generous, and assume the best of people. Most people want to be right, so just try to help them get there. It will make the world a better place.

[msmimundo]

My bad, I totally forgot to tag that as spoilers. It was my fault, I'm really sorry.

I know it might be adhd and all, the big difference with Phineas and Linda here tho is that on many episodes Phineas does reference what Candace has previously said, even when it doesn't look like he was paying attention. The best example I have in mind rn is in Thaddeus and Thor when Candace tells them to not go crazy and be annoying and later we see them just sitting there watching TV. In many moments we see they take what she sais at heart and do what they were told.

Linda however -her daughter, who she complained several times of her obssesive behaviour to her face- finally goes to therapy and when she is excited about showing her what her therapist- the person helping her with the problems she complained so much about- was going to show, she cannot for the life of herself pay five minutes of attention. This is frustrating specially considering a couple episodes ago she sais she wanted to spend more time with her kids. There's also that one point another post made that there's some eps where she just treats her as delusional and mocks it, which is the bigger point I mean when im saying she's "not a very good person".

I'm not saying at all that shes a BAD person. She is clearly a loving mother and if anything, the birthday song Candace wrote for her shows how good of a mother she is!!! But there's deffinitely issues with her she is not working on and she is ok with leaning that weight on her daughter instead while she is more unconcerned of the situattion at hand. Like I said, Doof has the same issue!! Namely on Last day of Summer we see Vanessa get frustrated because he just won't listen to her, yet big part of the special is him thinking he knows what the issue with her is and working on "fixing" it. And also, it's HIM the one going to therapy. He is an extremely flawed person, but one that tries for his daughter, even if wrongfully. From Linda's part we just don't see any of that effort?? I DO want this issue to be pointed out and solved in a satisfying way, but it hasn't so far, and it is kinda frustrating to see Candace's mental health declining while Linda just gets shoved as "just a side character that doesn't need character development" you know?? Esp when more cassual watchers treat Candace as the antagonist and as annoying

i swear to god, linda made me SO MAD in deconstructing doof, wdym you cannot pay attention to something that's important to your daughter for two minutes straight, this is exactly why she's in therapy

[leiakenobi]

as someone who seems very knowledgable on mark and watches older races, was he a victim of red bull evil or just rlly unlucky with sebastian? i see alot of ppl discussing his book and claim he likes to victimize himself in it but it tends to be a lot of seb fans.

Honestly there were a lot of things working against Mark, including Red Bull fuckery but also Seb having better facility with the car and, in some cases, better luck. I will say I tried to read Mark's book and couldn't get through it because it reads the same way he speaks (it is borderline unintelligible) but overall my feeling was that he had more perspective about his failings from earlier in his career, and that the Red Bull era was still too fresh for him to be able to describe fairly. I think when he's talked about it more recently, he's taken more responsibility for the places in his skill set where he was lacking compared to Seb.

As far as what those places are? Unfortunately for him, a lot of it was just pace. I've been stunned to watch the start of 2009 and see how Seb is immediately walking all over him in quali—I'm currently 7 races in and Seb's beaten Mark in quali 7-0. (There's 1 weekend where Mark was impeded by Adrian Sutil and didn't make it out of Q1, but even treating that as an outlier, being beaten so handily by his less experienced teammate who's brand new to the team is not a good look.)

During the 2009 season, they could pin some of Seb's pace advantage on the fact that Mark was recovering from a broken leg. That might have even been a little true. But Mark wasn’t just at a disadvantage for pace; he was notoriously harder on his tires and worse at starts than Seb. By his last season in 2013, he regularly lost several places at the start and had to spend the race fighting to get back up the grid, so he was lucky when he finished with net 0 places lost.

I'm not sure if these things come up in his book, but by my read there were two big changes to F1 that caused, or at least exacerbated, his deg and start problems:

2009 -> 2010: no more refueling mid-race

2010 -> 2011: the end of the Bridgestone era and the start of the Pirelli partnership

Refueling meant that cars weren't as heavy on their tires and also meant that teams and drivers could strategize about how much fuel to put in at any given point, so going into 2010 drivers had to adapt to heavier cars (because fuel tanks needed to be bigger) and to driving early stints with a full race's worth of fuel, which also made the cars heavier. The switch to Pirelli tires was specifically intended to liven up racing by increasing deg, but those first few seasons were honestly overkill, and I remember a few 2013 races in particular where the discussion was all about whether the tires weren't performing as well as they should have. (Including Malaysia 2013—wow I can’t believe Pirelli is to blame for multi21.) (I'm kidding.)

"But hang on," you might be saying. "The entire grid had to deal with those changes."

Which is where Mark's other big weakness comes in: overall, he was not a very adaptable driver. He had his way of doing things, and when that didn't work, he was kind of at a loss. The way he talks about his starts in his book is actually a good reflection of that—when he tried to do it differently, his starts got worse. So he had to default to what he'd always done. Likewise, he'd developed a driving style that was hard on tires, and he was never able to grow beyond it.

Would I say that means he was unlucky with Sebastian? I guess in the sense that yeah, maybe he was unlucky to end up in the same car. Because Mark's racecraft was actually quite good; some my favorite moments in 2010 - 2013 are Mark's fights with Lewis and Fernando, and he comes off as quite evenly matched with both of them. The times that Seb and Mark did properly race each other on track are also some of the most thrilling racing I've seen from either of them, and it makes me wonder what title fights would have looked like between them if they'd been at different teams. But racecraft can only do so much when you're fighting your teammate, because that's where weaker pace and tire management will put you at a severe disadvantage. It meant when Mark qualified lower or fell back on the grid (which, again, he often did) he didn't have much chance of catching up, let alone overtaking.

That said, there are also documented instances of Red Bull doing things like swapping the front wings at Silverstone, where a clear argument can be made that they were either relegating Mark to a #2 driver role perhaps more than they should or even actively sabotaging him to increase Seb's chances.

It's pretty clear that Red Bull's playbook hasn't changed; they've won 8 driver's championships, and 2023 is the only season when their #2 driver also came 2nd in the standings. That's a reflection of the fact that they want a #2 driver who's competitive enough to help them win the constructor's if they have the car for it, but beyond that they can and will prioritize their golden boy whenever necessary, even to the extent that they won't really hold him accountable if he refuses to play the team game (yes multi21, but also see for example Max refusing to swap positions with Checo for 6th vs. 7th at Brazil 2022). It’s integral to their ideology as a team, but Mark was the first person it happened to, so his version of events had years to solidify in people's minds as a victim complex rather than a sign of a fundamental problem at Red Bull.

So the tl;dr—was Red Bull evil, or was Mark just unlucky with Sebastian, or was he just playing the victim and not taking enough responsibility for his weaknesses?

The answer is uh. Yes. To all of the above.

[ivorydice]

Torn between feeling incredibly amused and kinda bummed out that an old screenshot of mine that people reposted around is now on some officially licensed collab clothing thing. Like. Aww. But also lmaoooooooo.

[mokeonn]

Before I go to sleep I leave you all with this piece of advice: sometimes you don't actually have to answer big political questions, sometimes you can just say "I am not smart enough to know that, I just know the small things I do to help." Like you can often times completely avoid making a fool of yourself if you just say you don't know.

[ra-vio]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[miodiodavinci]

i saw that you used to hint at oc stuff on twitter (don't ask me why im digging im looking for zola stuff lmao) why don't you post more about them?

i am simply terrified that if i post oc things online someone will steal the concept and run with it faster and better than i ever could have and then i will be devastated forever and ever

more seriously i have very little to show for any of my oc things (adhd brain making life difficult as per usual awawawawawa) and every time i've shared oc things in the past i've ended up never following up on it and it makes me feel bad and guilty so i've just convinced myself i will Never talk about my ocs until i have something substantial i can put out there

[hipsofsteel]

Quick Donut Shop Story I've Been Thinking About Sharing

So, this story happened a few weeks ago, and some quick context before I jump in.

A few months before I started working at the shop, a water pipe burst. The building is old and the water pipes ran through the ceiling, so it took out a lot of stuff. It was 7 weeks of repairs, so if it wasn't essential, the bosses did not see fit to replace it. This included an espresso machine. I've heard various accounts on whether or not it was dead before the burst pipes, but it definitely was afterwards and just is not a priority to the bosses. We have black coffee, that's good enough.

About half a year ago, a woman, who was shocked that the bosses had not replaced it, explained to me "You could get any size espresso drink with as many shots as you wanted and as many flavorings in the amounts you wanted for $3.25! I assumed it was a huge part of your business! Why wouldn't your bosses replace it?!" I suddenly gained the understanding of exactly WHY the bosses are never going to replace it during that conversation. That's just a money pit, let alone how much it would slow things down when generally only one employee runs the counter at a time and we routinely have lines out the door during rushes.

SO, THE STORY:

Because the shop has been extant for decades and is on a popular tourist route highway to the most popular tourist site in the state, we get a lot of people who only show up at the shop every few years, and act weird if things have changed in the literal years since they last stopped in. As such, I'm generally explaining the espresso machine is very broken at least once every week or two, and recommend people cross the street to the coffee shop that I visit every Monday.

It's mid afternoon, and a couple comes in to get donuts and coffee. There are a few people behind them. The gentleman tries to order some sort of coffee drink. I gently explain, in what I figured would be a loud enough volume in the quiet shop to be heard clearly to multiple people, that I only have the ability to sell black coffee or the Starbucks Frappucino drinks in the fridge, and recommend the coffee shop across the street. The wife then tries to order an iced chai. I explain that the only chai I have is a powdered drink mix that has to be mixed into hot water, so I cannot make that for her, and recommend the coffee shop across the street. They buy their donuts and head off, as the young woman behind them comes up to the counter.

She tries to order something, and I can't understand her, so I ask her to repeat it, which she does. She then proceeds to say:

"I'd like an iced soymilk chai."

And I just immediately and very firmly, the second she finished speaking, went "No."

And then we both looked at each other like this:

I did very quickly remember my customer service protocol and explained the situation, but also like.

Just.

"No."

[fascinationstreetmp3]

.

[chewablepebbles]

Sometimes it feels soooo weird not being depressed anymore

[adelle-ein]

i just do not get worked up about fandom drama and ship/character wars anymore and that's really nice