#not me sharing this shit after being almost a year without posting anything here

[misaerabl]

HAPPY ENDING - abby anderson

ex wife!abby x fem!reader CW: divorce, soft, emotionally charged smut scene,MULTIPLE SMUT SCENES, tender kissing, mutual undressing, gentle fingering, and implied climax with strong emotional context. (also sorry for the horrible cover lmfao, i can't for the life of me make it better, i swear i'll change this shit) SUMMARY: Two years after their divorce, Abby brings their son back home for the weekend. In the quiet of a shared kitchen and old memories, they talk, they touch, and they fall into something that feels like love again. Is this finally the happy ending that they always knew they deserved? A/N (MUST READ): I was debating whether to post this. I don't know if I'm just hormonal or it hits way too close to home but I legit cried (multiple times) while writing this. I wasn't really done with it yet but I couldn't bring myself to torture myself even more!

The last thing Abby packed was your son’s stuffed giraffe.

It sat on the edge of the crib like it always had, one ear chewed and stiff from months of being a favorite. Her hands hovered before grabbing it, slow, almost guilty. Like she knew this was the part that would wreck you.

You didn’t cry. You stood by the door, arms crossed and chest heavy, watching her zip up a duffel bag that shouldn’t have looked so out of place in the nursery, but did. The morning light painted the room in soft gold, but nothing about the moment was warm.

Your son, just barely two then, tugged on your sleeve, asking for a snack.

Abby met your eyes. She didn’t say anything. She never had to. You both knew what this meant. You both knew the ending was here.

Two years before that, you’d found the house.

It was snowing, the soft kind—quiet, almost romantic. You were walking back from the clinic, one hand in Abby’s and the other holding the test results. Positive. One embryo took.

You were pregnant.

You were laughing about something she said—something dumb and hopeful and laced with disbelief—and then you saw it. The house. White trim. Sloping roof. Just enough yard for a dog and a swing set. And somehow, as if by fate or miracle or whatever lesbians believe in when their IVF finally works, it was for sale.

You bought it two weeks later. The older couple selling it said they were moving to a quiet coastal town in Asia to retire. The woman said she hoped the house would hold joy. “It already does,” you’d told her, one hand on your belly, the other in Abby’s.

Everything was perfect. For a while.

Now, your son is three.

And Abby’s outside, strapping him out of the car seat like muscle memory. He babbles at her, one hand clutching the same worn giraffe. You watch from the window, arms curled around yourself, heart doing that irritating thing where it aches without warning. Like a reflex.

She carries the grocery bags in first, balancing the paper bag on one forearm while unlocking the door. She still remembers where you keep the spare key.

He bursts in a second later—small, giggling, snow stuck to his boots—and you kneel down to take off his coat. He throws his arms around you in the way only toddlers can, all weight and trust.

"Hi, baby," you murmur into his hair.

"Mommy!" he yells, like it’s the best word he knows.

Abby bought his favorite yogurt. The blueberry one with the dinosaur on the lid. She also got him socks with tiny planes, a new pack of crayons, and the exact brand of waffles he likes.

You notice the extra coffee creamer, the one you always used to grab. The spicy trail mix you like. A new copy of that book you never got around to finishing.

"You didn’t have to," you say, standing in the doorway of the kitchen while she organizes things like she never left.

"I know," she says, not looking up. “Just thought I’d save you the trip.”

You nod, chewing your bottom lip. You’re not sure whether to thank her or cry.

You tuck your son in after a bath. Abby sits on the floor beside the bed, holding his hand until he’s out cold. It's so natural, it stings.

When he’s asleep, she follows you downstairs. The silence stretches. You take the leftovers from the fridge—her favorites, coincidentally—and you heat them in the microwave.

She sits at the kitchen table. You pour her water.

"Have you eaten?" you ask.

"A bit earlier," she lies, because she always forgets to eat on long shifts and you know it.

You slide the plate in front of her anyway.

She eats. You sit across from her, your fingertips brushing the rim of your glass just to have something to do.

“You still hang the dish towels the wrong way,” she says, gentle, like it’s an old joke.

You shrug. "Habit."

There’s a pause.

“I miss this,” she says softly. “Not just the eating. All of it.”

Your heart clenches. You push the feeling down.

“I do too.”

You both talk for a while—casual things at first. How work’s been. How your son’s been asking about Christmas already. How the neighborhood got a new streetlight installed and your son insists it’s “his” star.

And then it slips in.

Like smoke under a door.

Abby wipes her hands on a napkin. Her voice is so quiet, you almost miss it.

“Do you ever think we gave up too early?”

The question lands like a weight across your chest.

You blink.

The sound of the fridge hums in the background. Your fork scrapes your plate though you’re no longer hungry.

You don't know what to say.

Because yes. God, yes. And also no. Not at all.

You finally speak. “I think we held on too long.”

She swallows. You see the hurt in her eyes, even if she tries to hide it behind a half-smile.

“I just…” she starts, then stops. “You know I never stopped loving you, right?”

“I know.”

There’s a pause.

“You still do?”

You look at her. Really look at her.

Hair tied back lazily. Dark circles under her eyes. That same sweatshirt from college. Her voice like a familiar lullaby you’d forgotten.

And yes.

You do.

But you also remember the shouting. The slammed doors. The tears in the next room while your son slept. The feeling of drowning in a life that was supposed to be perfect.

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

She exhales. Like she needed to hear it, even if it changes nothing.

“Then why couldn’t we fix it?” she whispers.

You don’t have an answer.

The truth sits somewhere behind your ribs, tangled in all the things you never said.

“I think we forgot how to talk to each other,” you say eventually. “We started fighting to win. Not to understand.”

Abby nods slowly. She looks at her hands in her lap like they’re guilty. “I hated how we were becoming strangers.”

You take a breath. “But we weren’t. That was the problem. You can’t be a stranger to someone who knows how you like your toast, who knows which songs make you cry and what brand of toothpaste you hate. We knew each other too well.”

She looks up at that, and for a second, you see it—the grief, the longing, the what-ifs.

“I miss being home with you,” she says softly. “Even when we were falling apart… part of me still hoped we’d figure it out.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s warm. Sad. Soft.

You rise from your chair and cross the room without thinking. Abby stands too. You meet in the middle like muscle memory. Your hand reaches for hers. She lets you.

And then she kisses you.

It’s cautious at first—like a question. Her lips press to yours with all the hesitation of someone who remembers how you tasted and how you walked away. But you don’t pull back. You sink into it, let her kiss you like she used to, like nothing ever broke between you.

The kiss deepens. Your fingers slide into her hair, and she exhales into your mouth like she’s been holding her breath for two years. Her hand finds your waist, warm and grounding, and her thumb slips beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against skin like she’s reacquainting herself with you inch by inch. She pulls you closer, the old familiarity settling between you so naturally that it almost hurts.

She breaks the kiss only to tug your shirt over your head, and you let her. Her hoodie comes off next, and you help her out of it like you’ve done a hundred times before. Your bodies fit the same as they always did, no hesitance, just instinct. You tug at the band of her sweatpants, her breath stuttering as she lets them fall. She kisses your jaw, your neck, her mouth moving with intention, slow and reverent, like she’s learning you again. Like she never forgot.

Clothes scatter quietly on the stairs as you make your way up. The hallway light is off, the moon doing the work instead. She pushes your bedroom door open without asking. It’s still half her room too, no matter what the lease says now. Nothing in it has changed much since she left. Same sheets, same low lamp by the nightstand, same quiet.

She kisses you again at the threshold, a little rougher now, her hands gripping your thighs as she walks you backwards toward the bed. You fall onto it, laughing softly into her mouth before she silences the sound with another kiss. She moves over you, the weight of her familiar in the best way. She touches you like she remembers exactly how. Her fingers trail from your ribs down to your hips, dipping below your waistband but never rushing. She watches your face, always needing to see, to know how you feel it.

She doesn’t speak much. She never did during moments like this. Just little exhales, quiet sighs of your name, the way she kisses your collarbone like it means something. And it does. It always did.

She slides your underwear down slowly, the pads of her fingers brushing your thighs as she goes, her mouth trailing behind. When she finally touches you, it’s careful. Gentle. She still remembers how to draw those soft, shaking noises from your lips. You arch into her hand and whisper her name, and it’s all it takes for her to lean up and kiss you again, deeper this time.

You reach for her too. Hands roaming the curve of her back, the stretch of her stomach, the lines you still remember tracing on early Sunday mornings when your son would sleep in. You pull her on top of you fully, wrap your legs around her waist, your mouths never parting for long. The friction is slow, delicious, and every movement draws out more need. It’s messy in the quiet way, the kind of mess you make when you’re trying not to cry. The kind where moans blend with breathless whispers of “I missed you” and “you still feel the same.”

You come like that—together, tangled in memory and sweat, her forehead pressed to yours, her voice in your ear, and the weight of everything you never fixed still lingering somewhere behind your ribs.

After, she doesn’t let go. She pulls you against her, chest to chest, your legs knotted together like neither of you wants to wake up alone.

You fall asleep in her arms.

And for the first time in a long time, it feels like home again.

You wake to the sound of small feet.

Your eyes crack open just in time to see the door swing open.

Your son stands in the doorway, rubbing his eyes, his stuffed giraffe in hand.

His gaze shifts from you to the other side of the bed—to Abby, still asleep under the blanket. His brows pinch together in the way they always do when he’s trying to understand something new.

“Mama?” he asks, voice soft and puzzled.

You sit up quickly, heart stuttering, Abby’s shirt slipping off your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” you say gently, climbing out of bed and crossing to him. “Let’s go get breakfast, okay?”

He nods, still glancing back at the bed.

“Is Mommy staying?” he asks, tugging at your hand.

You don’t answer. You kiss the top of his head and guide him out of the room.

“I’ll make waffles,” you say instead, hoping he won’t ask again.

He doesn't. He hums something off-key, clutching his giraffe as you walk him to the kitchen.

Behind you, the bedroom door stays closed. Abby doesn’t come out right away.

And as you pour batter into the pan, your back to the hallway, you don’t know what this morning means. If it’s a beginning, or just another soft, temporary reminder of the past.

But for now, your son is laughing at bubbles in the batter, and you’re still wearing Abby’s shirt.

And Abby… Abby’s still upstairs.

Later that day, after Abby’s gone and your son is napping on the couch, your phone buzzes. It’s your sister. You pick up and barely get a hello out before she starts.

“So. You want to explain why your son told me, ‘Mama sleeped with Mommy and she had no socks on’?”

You groan and cover your eyes with your hand. “God.”

“I'm not judging,” she says, which is a lie. “He said, and I quote 'They were cuddling. Mama had no socks on.'”

You slide down onto the kitchen floor with a sigh, your back against the cabinets. “It was just... I don’t know. It just happened”

“Does she want to come back?”

“She didn’t ask.”

“But do you want her to?”

You don’t answer right away. There’s too much noise in your head—memories, pain, last night’s warmth. You press your palm against your chest like it might keep everything from spilling out.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I don’t think I’m ready to know.”

Your sister is quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice has softened. “Just be careful, okay? For your own sake. And his.”

You nod even though she can’t see it. “Yeah. I know.”

Abby comes by again the next day, just to drop off some clothes your son left at her place. You talk more this time, standing on the porch after your son runs inside with his new truck.

You don’t look at her at first. You keep your arms crossed and your eyes on the chipped paint of the railing.

“What happened that night,” she says, and you can hear how carefully she’s choosing her words, “it wasn’t just about missing you.”

You glance at her. Her hands are in her pockets. She’s not wearing her scrubs today—just jeans and that old gray hoodie she stole from you when you were still dating.

“I still love you,” she continues. “I never stopped.”

You swallow around the knot in your throat. “I know. I love you too.”

She looks relieved, but there’s sadness there too, a kind of restraint that hurts to see on her face.

“But,” you add, because it has to be said, “loving each other didn’t save us the first time. It’s not going to be enough on its own.”

“I’m not asking to move back in,” she says quickly. “I’m not asking for us to pretend nothing happened. I just… I want us to try. Carefully. Slowly. I don’t want to confuse him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you admit. “He’s too little to understand any of this. If we try and we fail again, I don’t want him carrying that weight.”

“I’d never leave him hanging,” she says. “You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a pause. She steps a little closer, not enough to touch you, just enough that you can feel the heat of her presence again.

“I just don’t want to do this wrong,” you whisper.

“Then let’s do it right,” she says. “Whatever that looks like.”

It’s not a solution. It’s not a promise.

But it’s something.

You nod. “Okay. We’ll try.”

Abby doesn’t reach for your hand, doesn’t lean in for a kiss. She just smiles. A small, hopeful, quietly broken thing.

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

She steps down from the porch, gets into her car, and drives away. You watch her until the taillights disappear at the end of the street.

When you go back inside, your son is lying on the rug with his trucks, humming the same off-key tune from that morning.

You sit beside him, and he scoots closer without looking up, like he just knows where you’re supposed to be.

You think about what trying means. What it might cost. What it might heal.

You think about Abby’s hand brushing yours under the dinner table, about the old room, about how easily everything came flooding back.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought of a happy ending doesn’t feel like a lie.

One month later.

Things are quieter now—softer around the edges. The air between you and Abby doesn’t crackle as much. It stretches. Breathes. You still keep your distance in certain ways, still don’t sleep in the same bed or leave your toothbrushes tangled together like before. But the rhythm is new, and not entirely unwelcome.

Abby comes over more often, but it’s never framed as anything permanent. She brings takeout when you’re too tired to cook, lingers by the sink to help with dishes, joins you and your son on Sunday walks to the park. She still calls before she comes. She still asks if it’s okay. And you always say yes, even when you’re not sure what that means.

Your son has adjusted, like kids do. He doesn’t ask why she’s here more. He doesn’t question why some mornings it’s only you, and some nights it’s all three of you on the couch, your knees brushing hers, your son fast asleep between you.

You’re rebuilding. Not with grand gestures, but with little ones. The kind that can’t be undone with a single argument.

On a Friday afternoon, your son brings home a drawing from daycare. You’re in the kitchen, packing up leftovers, when he tugs at your sleeve and holds out a sheet of paper, crumpled at the corners, crayon lines jagged and bright.

“For you, Mommy,” he says, proud.

You smile and crouch to take it from him. “You drew something?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Us.”

The picture is unmistakably his—three stick figures, wide round heads and too-long arms. One of them has your hair. The smallest is holding hands with both adults.

But it’s the label that stops you.

He’s written one word across the top in big, uneven letters.

"Family."

Your hands still. You swallow hard, staring at the drawing, at the way he’s drawn Abby beside you without hesitation.

He doesn’t understand what’s happened between you. Not really. But he feels it—that she’s here again, that something has shifted.

You don’t realize you’re crying until he tilts his head, confused.

“Why’re you sad?” he asks.

You shake your head, laughing softly as you wipe your face. “I’m not. Just... happy.”

Abby arrives ten minutes later. You don’t wait. You hold the drawing out to her without a word.

She looks at it. And then she looks at you. And her face softens the way it always has when something knocks the air out of her.

“He made it at school,” you say quietly.

She holds the paper carefully, like it’s fragile. “He called it… family.”

The word sits between you. Not a question. Not an assumption. Just a truth that neither of you has had the courage to name.

Your son is on the floor, already pulling out his dinosaurs. “Mama, come play!”

Abby glances back at you. “Can I stay a little longer?”

You nod.

And she steps inside like she never left.

Things had been going well. Quietly, steadily—like spring thaw after a long winter.

Abby started staying later. At first, it was because your son asked for another bedtime story, or she forgot something upstairs, or she’d dozed off halfway through a movie. You let her stay on the couch those nights, a folded blanket draped over her legs, her hoodie pushed under her head. The first time you found her already asleep, you brought her a pillow. The second time, you asked if she wanted one.

She never asked to stay. But she never left early either.

Eventually, the excuses started shifting. She started saying things like, “I’ll just head out in the morning,” or “I don’t want to wake him by leaving now.” And once—just once—she said, “I like waking up here.” You didn’t respond, but you didn’t pretend it didn’t settle somewhere deep in your chest.

She made coffee before you even came downstairs. She packed your son’s lunch if she heard you hit snooze too many times. She still folded the laundry a little weird, but you let her. You didn’t correct her when she started calling the house home again.

You didn’t stop her when she started keeping a toothbrush in the bathroom drawer.

And one night—when the house had gone quiet and the lights were low and you were sitting together on the couch after your son had fallen asleep between you, curled against her side like it was second nature—you looked at her, really looked at her, and said, “You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight.”

She blinked. Softly. Carefully.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I want you to.”

You changed into one of your old shirts. Abby wore hers—gray, loose, familiar. She waited until you got under the covers first before crawling in beside you. There was an inch of space between your bodies, at first. Respectful. Careful.

But you turned on your side, and she mirrored you. And before long, your face was pressed against her chest, your fingers curled into the fabric near her collarbone, her heartbeat steady and warm under your cheek.

You lay there like that, quietly breathing together. Her hand came up to rest at the nape of your neck, stroking gently, and your eyes fluttered shut, safety blooming like a slow ache.

She whispered your name once. You looked up.

Her eyes found yours.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

You kissed her.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow, deliberate, aching. You kissed her like you remembered exactly how she liked it. Like muscle memory, like muscle longing. Her hands found your waist, grounding you, anchoring you in place even as you pressed your body into hers.

Her mouth never left yours. Even when your legs slid between hers. Even when her hand crept under your shirt to touch skin she used to know so well. She kissed you through the weight of every memory you both had buried. Every soft sound you made pulled her deeper. Every soft word she whispered steadied the space between you.

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, and she helped you pull it off. She looked at you like you were something familiar and holy all at once. Her hands found your hips, your thighs, her fingers tracing every curve like she still knew how you fit against her—how to make you melt, how to make you want.

When she touched you, it was with quiet reverence, like she was rediscovering something she thought she’d lost forever. Her fingers slipped lower, slow and careful, her mouth still pressed to yours as she made you sigh, then gasp, then fall apart. She murmured soft things against your jaw—your name, little reassurances, words that made your stomach twist in the best way.

You pulled her closer, dragged her down against you, skin on skin. The warmth of her weight made your whole body hum. You wrapped your legs around her hips, urged her closer, hips meeting with friction and heat. You moved together like nothing had changed and everything had.

It wasn’t desperate. It was deep. Familiar. It was the kind of intimacy that didn’t ask for permission because it already knew it had been given long ago.

When you came again, it was quieter. Slower. Your body arching into hers, your breath caught between a gasp and a cry. Abby held you through it, her hand tangled in your hair, her lips at your shoulder.

After, she stayed close. Your head on her chest again. Her arm around your waist. Her breathing steadied into something gentle and safe.

You didn’t say I love you. Not because you didn’t feel it—but because you did. And for once, it didn’t need to be said.

You already knew.

The morning after, everything feels softer.

You wake tangled together, sunlight pouring through the curtains in golden streaks. Abby’s breath is steady against your shoulder, her arm still wrapped loosely around your waist. She stirs when your son pads into the room, rubbing his eyes with one fist and holding his stuffed giraffe in the other.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands in the doorway, blinking.

Then, with a smile so casual it nearly breaks you, he says, “You sleeped here, Mama.”

Abby sits up slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, bud,” she says. “Just for last night.”

He nods, accepting that, and walks over to climb onto the bed between you. He curls up against Abby, resting his head on her stomach like he used to. For a few minutes, you lie there like that. The three of you. Quiet. Whole.

It doesn’t fall apart all at once.

It starts with a small thing. It always does.

It’s a Tuesday night. Abby had said she’d be home early—that’s the word she used. Home. You’d repeated it in your head after the call, tasting it again, trying to make sure it didn’t hurt. You made dinner. Not anything complicated, just stir-fried noodles, some chicken, the kind your son always picks through for extra carrots. You let him stir the sauce in, made it a game. He kept looking at the door every time a car passed.

But Abby didn’t show.

Not at six. Not at seven.

Your phone stayed quiet. The food went cold.

She came through the door at almost eight, still in her scrubs, her hair a mess, her face drawn tight with exhaustion. And you didn’t yell. You didn’t raise your voice. You just asked, “Why didn’t you call?”

Her eyes flicked toward your son, who had already fallen asleep on the couch, curled up with a blanket and his toy giraffe.

“I was in surgery. It ran long.”

You nodded once, but something in your chest twisted.

“I just… waited,” you said.

“I didn’t mean to be late,” she said quickly, toeing off her shoes. “You know I wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

“That’s not the point, Abby,” you replied, quieter, but sharper. “It’s not about what you meant. It’s about what you didn’t do.”

She straightened, the defense rising in her eyes before she even spoke. “What, you want me to step out of an OR with blood on my hands just to say I’ll be thirty minutes late?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

The edge in her voice made your jaw clench. You took a breath, tried to level it out, but it still came out cracked.

“I’m saying I need to know when you’re not coming. I need to know I’m not just… waiting again.”

Her face changed at that—softened and shut down all at once. Like a door quietly closing behind her eyes. And you hated how fast she retreated. How fast the walls came back up.

“I’m doing my best,” she said, and it wasn’t angry. It was tired. That was somehow worse.

You folded your arms across your chest, not out of anger but to hold yourself together. “I know. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like we’re on the same page. And I can’t go back to pretending everything’s fine just because we’re trying again.”

Abby exhaled sharply through her nose and turned slightly, like she couldn’t stand being looked at. “You think I’m pretending?”

You were about to answer when a soft voice broke through the tension.

“…Mommy?”

Your son stood at the edge of the hallway, barefoot, giraffe in hand, sleep still clinging to his face. His eyes moved from you to Abby and back, small and uncertain.

You dropped your arms. Abby went still.

You crouched down first, your voice gentler than it had been all evening.

“Hey, baby. Why’re you awake?”

He didn’t answer. Just rubbed at one eye and mumbled, “Were you mad?”

Your throat closed up.

“No, sweetheart,” you said immediately. “We were just talking.”

He looked at Abby, who hesitated only a second before kneeling down, opening her arms.

He walked to her slowly and climbed into her lap.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, quieter now.

“No,” she murmured into his hair, closing her eyes. “Not mad. Never mad at you.”

He let her hold him for a while, then looked back at you. “Promise?”

You sat beside them and reached out to hold his hand.

“We promise,” you said. “We just got a little frustrated. But we’re okay now.”

You didn’t look at Abby when you said it. You didn’t have to. Her fingers tightened around his back in silent agreement.

You carried him to bed together, tucked him in side by side like you always did. Abby smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead. You turned on his nightlight and left the door open just a crack, the way he liked.

In the hallway, neither of you spoke for a long moment. The quiet stretched until it ached.

Finally, you broke it. Your voice was low.

“I don’t want to fight in front of him.”

“I don’t either,” Abby said, and for the first time that night, she sounded like herself again. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

You nodded. “And I shouldn’t have snapped. I just… I got scared. Felt like before again. Like the slow slipping.”

“I know,” she said softly.

You both stood there, a few feet apart, shoulders weighed down by all the promises you never thought you’d have to make again.

Abby looked at you then. Really looked at you.

“I want this to work,” she said. “Even if it’s hard. Especially because it’s hard.”

You nodded again, slower this time. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything else. But when you both turned in for the night, she didn’t head for the couch. And you didn’t stop her when she reached for your hand beneath the covers.

You tried.

That’s what you keep telling yourself.

You tried more than most would. You opened the door again, handed her a spare key, let her back into your routines, your silence, your bed. You let your son believe it might really be different this time. And maybe for a while, it was.

But cracks don’t disappear just because you stop looking at them. And wounds don’t close properly if they keep getting reopened every time something feels too familiar.

It wasn’t one fight. It was all of them.

The small ones, the tired ones, the ones that started with a sigh and ended in silence. The ones that happened in the kitchen with your son quietly watching from the hallway. The ones that echoed in the car after drop-offs, in the bathroom at midnight, in the way you both stopped touching each other when it wasn’t convenient.

You tried therapy. It helped, at first. You both showed up. Sat on the stiff couch. Said the hard things. Held each other’s hands when you didn’t know what else to do.

You talked about resentment. About fear. About how deeply rooted your exhaustion had become. You told her how afraid you were of being the only one carrying the weight. She told you she was afraid of failing you again.

Your therapist said healing wasn’t linear. That sometimes, love meant staying. And sometimes, it meant letting go.

You both nodded. Pretended that wasn’t a mirror being held up to your last thread of hope.

But the days stretched. And the cracks deepened. And even though neither of you ever said it out loud, you both felt it—the slow quiet death of trying.

She still stayed some nights. Still helped pack lunches. Still left notes in your son’s backpack and sticky reminders on the fridge. But her smile started missing her eyes. Her laughter stopped curling at the ends. She used to reach for your hand in the dark. Now she just turned her back when the lights went off.

You fought in therapy. You cried in the parking lot. You sat side by side in the car, unable to say a single thing because the words felt like weapons, and neither of you had the strength to draw first.

Then came the Thursday she forgot your son’s parent-teacher meeting. You waited outside the classroom with your arms crossed and a knot in your stomach, watching other kids run to their moms and dads, wondering if your son would remember this. Wondering if he’d tuck it somewhere deep, the way kids do, and let it fester years from now.

She showed up twenty minutes late, breathless and apologetic and full of excuses. But you didn’t want reasons anymore. You wanted change. And she just kept giving you intention.

You didn’t talk for two days after that. She texted. You didn’t answer. Your son kept asking when Mama was coming over again.

And then she did. Quietly. Without knocking.

You were folding laundry in the living room. She stood in the doorway like a ghost.

"We can’t keep doing this to him," she said.

You didn’t look up.

"We can’t keep doing this to us," you replied.

It wasn’t a dramatic conversation. No yelling. No crying. Just exhaustion. Just two people who loved each other too much and too badly.

She stayed that night on the couch again. Not because you told her to. But because neither of you could lie beside each other with the truth hanging so loud between you.

The next morning, your son woke up early. He padded into the kitchen with his giraffe tucked under his arm, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

He blinked up at you, then turned to the living room. "Mama?"

She sat up slowly, eyes bloodshot, hair tangled. "Hey, buddy."

He walked over and curled into her lap.

You watched them from the doorway. Watched the way she held him like she was memorizing it.

That was the last morning she stayed.

The official decision came a week later. Not in therapy. Not with fanfare. Just two cups of coffee on the kitchen counter, and one long, hard breath.

"I think we need to stop trying," you said.

Abby didn’t argue.

She nodded once. Looked down at her hands.

"Okay."

She packed slow. Again. Her scrubs. Her hoodie. The books she never read. She didn’t take everything. She never does.

When she hugged your son goodbye, she didn’t say it was forever. You didn’t tell him anything final either. Just that Mama would be at her place more now. But she’d always come back. Always see him. That he didn’t do anything wrong.

He cried. Just a little.

You did too. But not until after.

The house is back to quiet.

You still keep the hall light on for him. You still fold his clothes at the end of the day, line up his little socks and mismatched pajamas. You still sit in the same spot on the couch after he falls asleep. You still wonder if you did enough.

Sometimes he draws pictures. He draws you. He draws himself. Sometimes he draws Abby. Sometimes he doesn’t. You don’t ask why.

She still picks him up twice a week. Still texts you updates. Still sends photos of him covered in paint, asleep in the car, giggling at cartoons. He still asks if she’ll come over sometimes.

You say yes. Even when you mean maybe. Even when you mean never.

Some nights, when it rains, you let yourself imagine the way her arms used to feel around you. The way she’d tuck herself against your back like a second spine. The way her voice could break and build you at the same time.

You let yourself miss her.

And then you get up. Close the windows. Check on your son. Crawl into a bed that feels too big and too small all at once.

You stare at the ceiling and whisper the hardest thing you’ve ever had to learn.

Love is not always enough.

Not even when you want it to be.

[suhkusa]

HELLOOOO i see you opened ur req👀 can I req for suna or atsumu suddenly getting a girlfriend, like hardlaunching her on social media, after almost a year of being on and off... can it be angst to comfort/fluff (pls i want to cope so bad from my prev situationship bahaaaaahahha) tysm just so u know i love u and ur works and prolly the first one to like em immediately>< <3

CASUAL.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, situationship-to-relationship lol

A/N. ouchhh i hope this is good anon ><

Being in a situationship with Atsumu Miya was the absolute worst.

Sometimes it felt like he was stringing you along in his little game, while other times it felt like you two were truly meant to be together. 

There were many invisible boundaries in the relationship, or talking stage, or whatever he wanted to call it, that were made without having to say a thing. 

It was mutually exclusive, so no talking to other people romantically.

You two didn’t post each other on social media.

The two of you would make it official when you both were ready.

The rules were easy to follow. Though, you had always been a bit iffy on the third one. When would the two of you deem yourselves “ready” when you’ve already been talking for so long?

———

The worst part about Atsumu, was that he was so indecisive. 

One minute, the two of you could be acting as if you were a married couple. Going on dates, spending time at each other’s houses, and late night calls. The two of you even had pet names for each other! 

But then the next minute, he decides his volleyball career is more important. Or that he’s too busy. Or that he wants a break. Or that you’re too controlling. So many excuses, yet every time he calls out to you to come back, you come running back head over heels. 

And it hurts. It hurts being with him even though you two had never made it official. How could you feel so tethered and intertwined with a man who never had the guts to ask you to be his and only his? Who never posts you on social media?

You weren’t controlling. You were just tired of this cat and mouse game. You just wanted certainty and reassurance. 

Was that so much to ask for?

Apparently for Atsumu Miya, it is.

“I don’t get it Atsumu, why can’t we just say we’re together? Everyone already knows we basically are!” you sigh. 

The two of you sat in his apartment as the TV played in the midst of your argument. This was definitely one of the worst arguments that had occurred between you two.

“If we’re basically together then why can’t you just be happy? Do I need to ask you out? To post you?” he rebuttals, his voice clearly agitated.

“Because! You haven’t asked me out. That stuff is the bare minimum yet I’m here begging. You’re so comfortable in this weird limbo talking stage where it’s so easy for you to leave me and then hope I come crawling back!” you cry, you hadn’t even realized you started to cry. “I’m so, so tired of this shit!”

“If you’re so tired, then leave!”

Usually during the short breaks of your situationship with Atsumu Miya, it was always him who had decided to call it off. But his words had snapped a cord in you that had already been thinned to its last thread.

The two of you share a tense look, both unmoving. It’s you who decides to break the silence.

“Me? Leave? Hah, fine. I will,” you’re quick to grab your bag on the side table.

“Wait, Y/N-”

“And don’t expect me to come crawling back to you, Miya. This time you really did it,”

He freezes when you open the door, eyes filled with tears as you look back at him. 

“Bye,”

The door shuts before he could say anything.

What was he supposed to do now?

———

If Atsumu knew one thing for sure, it was that he was stupid. 100%, a million times over, he was an idiot.

His concept of love and relationships were hindered during his high school days. The ability to commit was a hard idea to grasp onto. 

But you were different. 

You were kind and patient, unlike any one he’s ever known, and he was undeniably scared. Scared to lose you, scared to fuck up. And so what did he do every time he got scared?

He ran away and gave you some bullshit excuse. But even then, you’d come back time and time again.

But now it is different. He told you to leave and you really did. You wouldn’t come back to him willingly.

Atsumu’s stupid. That’s why he’s at your doorstep in the rain.

He rings the doorbell. He’s shocked when you open it on the first attempt.

“What are you doing?” your quiet voice says.

Atsumu takes in your disheveled appearance. You definitely had been crying based on your swollen eyes.

“I—” Atsumu can’t find the words. He’s really scared.

“If you’re going to yell at me or ask me to come back, you better be ready to beg me Atsumu, I’m not doing a stupid “talking stage” or some cheap crap you come up with,”

“I’m sorry, I-l fucked up really bad,”

You don’t say anything in response, allowing him to continue. 

“I love you so much,” he’s stuttering, “I’m really scared but I want to try with you, I want to be with you, for real this time,”

“And if I say yes, are you just going to leave me when it’s convenient for you?” your own voice sounds a bit hesitant. 

“No, no. I promise you. I mean everything that’s coming out of my mouth,”

You look like you’re lost in thought for a split second before you speak. “I’ll be with you, Atsumu. For real,” you smile as you mock his words.

Another moment passes by, and before you know it, you’re kissing him and he kisses you.

———

ATSUMU MIYA HAS MADE A NEW POST.

[tsumumiya]: my person ❤️

[yn.lnnnn commented]: ughh loves it <3 ure so cute ml

>>> [tsumumiya replied]: I LOVE YOU!!!!!

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[bloggingboutburgers]

this past week my qpp of almost two years broke up with me. and i know for you, you said you wouldn't necessarily feel heartbroken if your qpr came to an end, but for me, it felt more heartbreaking than some of my past romantic breakups. this whole thing made me wonder if maybe im not queerplatonic or aro enough to be in a qpr, or if id ever want to be in a qpr again. but seeing you post about your qpr gives me hope that queerplatonic love is something that i can experience fully. so thank you for always sharing your story, because that's what's helping me heal right now <3

Aah, to be perfectly honest, as much as I sorta "downplay" it compared to what it must feel for people who experience romantic attraction... I've had a time where I almost felt like I couldn't go on with my QPP as well and the sheer thought of it was really hard to bear too, so my words here aren't necessarily being very fair to the reality of things.

It was during the travel ban of March 2020 to November 2021 where citizens of my country and others weren't allowed to enter the US unless we spent 15 days in a country that wasn't banned. It made it much harder than usual to visit my partner and as it was nearing 2 years with nobody aware it was going on anymore and US people more concerned about whether they'd be able to have turkey for Thanksgiving, my hope was running really thin. So for a few days in mid-October, as I was at rock bottom, I was starting to write in passing to my partner about how maybe going on wasn't worth it because the separation was too hard on us, it wasn't showing signs of stopping, and the whole thing maybe wasn't worth the pain if they could live their life happily and not have to worry about me who couldn't visit.

And then we videocalled at some point, and when they tearfully told me that even if it did end then and there, they wanted me to keep the promise ring they'd recently given me, I suddenly felt a quiet rage in me going like "No. Fuck this. Look at them. I love them. And I love this too much to allow some cruel governmental decision to end it. If it ever ends, it'll be because WE want it to end. Not because of shit like this."

...I'm making it sound super dramatic but yeah long story short this is also a big reason why we're planning to get married. So that when the US government decides to put a ban on countries including mine again, they can't stop us from vibing together this time.

I guess... I still don't wanna 100% assume we'll be together forever because I don't wanna trap them in a situation they may no longer feel happy in. We're doing great now, but I still have it in the back of my mind that maybe someday they'll get sick of me (they say they never will and that'd be dope if they never did, but never say never and all), or we'll both just want other things, and if it ends like that, then... Yeah, that'd be alright. Much more alright than the way it almost ended.

(...Oh, and for the record, if a friendship of mine ended abruptly, or if my brothers stopped being on good terms with me, I'm pretty sure I'd be just as heartbroken, to be fair. And it'd feel like my reality was collapsing a little. I guess anything ending, any human connection ending, has that effect to a degree, if it's important enough, after all.)

Though describing things like that does make it a bit harder to define what makes it "queerplatonic" as opposed to "romantic", I still... Just have that feeling in my gut that it isn't romance, y'know? It's kinda... A mix between being close friends and being an old married couple without ever having gone through the grandiose passion-honeymoon phase. Maybe that phase IS what defines romance per se. I don't know. Maybe someday I'll find more answers, but it's kinda hard to find answers when you have no idea how romance works to begin with I guess 🙈

In any case... Sorry if I caused any confusion or if I made you question your validity. The thing is pretty simple to be honest: if you feel you're aro, you're veeeeeery likely to BE aro. Because nobody can make that call but you and nobody can name the relationships you have but you. And if amongst everything you even FOUND the words "aro" or "queerplatonic" in a world where those identities and types of relationships are so aggressively hidden or erased, then it's gotta stand for something.

...I guess at the very least THIS I can be certain of TwT Sorry I'm a bit messy about all of this myself, I'm still also going on about it trying to figure it out day by day, but I owed it to you and everyone to be honest. These things are hard to define and I hope to keep finding better and better words to do so someday. TwT

[deviousdevilx]

Because I have little self control; here is a fic? wip based on THIS post right here, may be several years late but anyways!

Warnings for violence, abuse, alcohol abuse, dub-con, and just Kreese being horrible! ;)

Part 1/??

Johnny looked like absolute shit. No that was an understatement, Daniel was hurting just looking at the guy. Former-bully, brief romantic partner, who then disappeared, only to show up looking like a tenderized piece of meat.

Bruises littered his body, there was a cut on his brow covered by a bandage, a swollen black eye, even a split lip. Clearly whatever had happened occurred a few days ago given the level of healing underway, and yet, yeesh it was bad!

Daniel hadn't seen Johnny in months! Almost an entire year after that one evening where Johnny finally opened up about his troubles with his step-father to Daniel. It took a few beers, and Daniel prodding him incessantly to get an answer while he was so down in the dumps, and chugging beers like water.

His step-father cut off all financial aid, including his college fees. Johnny had no option but to drop out. Daniel had offered to help him get set up for loans, but Johnny had brushed him off.

"What for? I can't get loans or any stupid aid because my step-dad's wealth, you didn't think I looked into?"

"I just, look there is something we can do, work part-time, study-part time, jeez Johnny you can't give up that easily!"

Johnny had crossed his arms shooting Daniel a hard glare, "You don't understand that bastard wants to ruin me, he hates my guts! A job? Never worked a single job in my life, all I did was school and karate. Nobody gonna hire me without a reference."

He bent forward, rubbing his hands over his face, his life was fucked as he knew it.

"Johnny...we'll figure something out."

Over the past few months Daniel and Johnny had gotten closer, and closer. Sharing their first kiss in a drunken heat of the moment one night after they chased off some goons harassing an elderly couple. Overcome with adrenaline of fighting together rather than against, hearts-pounding, loosened inhibitions, buzzed with booze, once the couple was escorted safely home, Johnny dragged Daniel around the corner into a darken alley for a kiss. After that, it was history

It was scary, thrilling, and well, they still butted heads constantly, but now instead of using their fists, they started making out after arguments. Like a lot. Anywhere and everything they could, Johnny or Daniel would drag the other off somewhere private to make-up. Like two very horny teenagers, which they still kinda were, now only 19 going on 20.

It never got further though than hurried sloppy handjobs, heavy petting, and making out. Whenever it started to get more serious, more heavier, Johnny kept pulling away.

Partially due to inexperience, ignorance, but also fear. Johnny knew if he took that plunge, he couldn't deny to himself that maybe he was gay. Daniel was pretty, almost like a girl, with big brown doe-eyes, soft plump red lips, no curves though, although he filled out more since high school, no longer as scrawny but still nothing like a woman.

No, if they really slept together, in this climate, Johnny just couldn't handle the implication, the idea that he was anything but straight.

So he chickened out each time Daniel started to really strip them down.

Finally one night he snapped. Daniel did not deserve it, and the guilt weighed heavily on Johnny. He was so hard, aching for Daniel who's deft fingers were stroking his cock wonderfully and then he ruined it when Daniel told him how much he wanted Johnny to fuck him.

Yeah, Johnny did want that too but the shame was stronger.

"I'm no faggot like you LaRusso," Johnny spat out.

He didn't mean for it to sound so harsh, but when Daniel looked at him as if he struck him with his fists.

Daniel was gone and out of Johnny's lap faster than Johnny could even blink.

Shit.

Then it all came crashing down hard. His step-father, who loathed him but tolerated Johnny because of his mum pulled the plug on the financial support Johnny depended on. Somehow, or someone must have told him about Daniel. And that was it. Written out of his will, disowned, and thrown out.

Johnny did not have the heart to tell Daniel he was the reason why johnny was now in all intents and purposes, homeless and broke. He knew Daniel would house him though, take care of him, and that made it so much harder to accept.

Possibly a homo, broke, jobless, and needing support from Daniel LaRusso. His ego, his pride, all took too hard of a hit.

So he ran. Sold what he could, and booked a ticket somewhere cheap. He ended up in Thailand.

Where whether by the hands of Fate or some cruel joke of the universe, Johnny ran into John Kreese. A man he had not seen or heard from for years after he tried to kill Johnny or attempted to in the parking lot after the All-Valley tournament in 1984. That was now over two years ago.

"Johnny Lawrence, what a surprise to see you out here. Not a place for Valley boys," Kreese said with a smug grin.

"Fuck you man!" Johnny started to walk away but when Kreese called him back.

He paused. Johnny knew he shouldn't after everything Daniel had shared with him after they had graduated high school, and Johnny had moved out of the Valley.

A big fucking mistake.

But Kreese had said all the right things; he apologized, and at the time it sounded sincere, maybe a part of it was. Kreese implored Johnny to listen to him, let him buy him a beer, so they could talk things out properly.

And just like that, Kreese had his hooks back into Johnny all over again. A mix of praises interspersed with apologies, "You were my best student Johnny, and I stupidly tossed you aside so easily, I was wrong. You deserved better, and I intend to prove to you that I changed, I can make you great again Johnny." It was enough for a wounded Johnny to accept.

Kreese explains the shootfighting ring he is a part of, fought in himself. The money and glory he gets from it, but mainly the money. It's underground, practically illegal, and it brings it an absurd amount of money from the betting going on.

"People will pay big bucks to watch a real fight, none of this fake crap you see on television or in tournaments with their rules. There are no rules out here Johnny, no mercy, only the strong survive against the weak."

"It sounds dangerous."

Kreese had scoffed, and waved away Johnny's concern, "So what? That's the point, no pussies allowed, real men fighting real men. And you could be a champion. What do you got to lose huh? Daddy tossed you out, college is a no-go, but here Johnny I can make you into something great. Money, girls, fast cars, fancy clothes; all can be yours, if you let me help you."

Johnny had been very dubious about it.

Kreese knew that, "Lemme take you to a fight, check it out yourself, see what you're getting into okay? Don't gotta rush into things. I want what's best for you Johnny, something I should have done a couple years ago. Let me make it up to you."

Exhilarating was putting it lightly. The fights were BRUTAL. Vicious, primal, raw, and the skills, the fighting techniques, the no-holding back was awe-inspiring. The crowds were wild fueled by the ferocity of the fights; mad with the need for blood.

And yeah, there was a lot of money to be made.

Johnny looked at Kreese, and Kreese had looked at Johnny knowing he had the boy hooked good. Johnny was his all over again.

The training was brutal; Johnny was pushed to his limited. Kreese brought in fighters he knew from all over; Korea, Thailand, Nepal, Vietnam, Japan. All with various martial art techniques and forms of wrestling.

It felt good. He ate and breathed fighting. Even when he slept and dreamed, it was all about fighting. Except for the rare dream he had of Daniel; soft lips, a warm body, a hand on his cock...but those dreams were few a far in between. They left Johnny feeling shame.

Sometimes when he really needed an outlet for his sexual urges, there were plenty of hot Thai girls around. There were boys too, but...Johnny did not dare risk Kreese ever finding out he batted briefly for the other team. No way in Hell could Kreese find out!

His first fight was short, ruthless, and he barely won. He struck first, and fast. All that mattered in the end was he won. Stumbling from the fighting cage, Johnny could barely see or hear but felt Kreese grab his arm.

"Good job boy, you did it."

After a couple of hot chicks tended his injuries, the high Johnny felt from winning, just barely, wore off. Looking in the mirror, Johnny barely recognized himself. His face was half swollen. The moment of self-pity quickly disappeared recalling Kreese's praise. Johnny grinned even as it hurt.

There was blood, bruises, busted lips, swollen eyes shut, concussions, broken fingers, twisted ankles; the list of injuries grew and grew, but so did the wins. There was a few losses, and a few ties, but Johnny was rising in rank and wealth. The pain came with a lot of gain; money, girls, and booze.

That was until Johnny killed a guy. Knocked him out cold, and the man was rushed out of the ring. It was hours later when Johnny heard the news the guy died on the way to the hospital. Suddenly all his victories, gains, and money rolling in meant nothing. It was like someone poured a bucket of ice cold water down his back, the chill he felt, the dissociation he began to feel, disconnecting from reality; it wasn't real, maybe it was a different guy. Johnny Lawrence killed a guy! YOU KILLED A GUY, a voice screamed at him.

It was overwhelming. Johnny began to panic. So he turned to the man he trusted and believed.

"He's dead Kreese, I fucking killed a guy!"

"So what, I killed plenty in Vietnam, it's shit kid, I get it. But you'll get over it. It was a fight, it's a risk everyone takes stepping into that ring," Kreese told him.

Johnny did not want to die fighting though. But he kept that thought to himself.

"If it makes you feel any better, I got us a new gig, back in L.A, a new shootfighting ring is getting a lot of buzz. Might be nice to go home eh? I have an old friend there too I need to reconnect with."

Johnny had heard about Terry Silver from Daniel. The guy sounded like a fucking whackjob. How he and Kreese had plotted to humiliate Daniel. Another grievance he had against Kreese, another issue he chose to ignore, well because, Kreese was the only man Johnny trusted, had trusted, who cared about, taught him how to be a man, made him strong. He was also the man who hurt you Johnny, a small voice reminded him. He's still using you.

Fuck off, Johnny would tell that voice. Kreese BELIEVED in him, accepted him as he was. Not like his mom, Daniel, Ali, even his shitty step-father.

Things did not improve after returning to California and Los Angeles. They got much, much worse.

Kreese became more controlling, more demanding, and Johnny was falling part, mentally and physically. He was being treated more like a dog than a man. And every time Johnny began to pull away, Kreese reeled him back in; more promises, a few days off, a night with a girl, but always, always, Johnny was back in the gym, training, then fighting in the ring.

And then Kreese's friend showed up.

Terry Silver.

Tall, and gorgeous. And filthy fucking rich.

Possibly psychotic too.

When Kreese made them spar one evening, Johnny believed he was gonna die that night.

Terry was beyond skilled. His high kick nearly sending Johnny to the ER. The worst part was that Kreese laughed.

"I told you don't hit him too hard, I need him to fight in a few days."

Terry merely shrugged.

The humiliation burned. Worse than the throbbing pain in his jaw.

He was trapped.

So he turned to the only person he had left.

Daniel.

"I need your help LaRusso. I have no one else to turn too."

"Johnny...of course! Tell me what the fuck happened man?!"

And so Johnny told his sorry tale. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

"It's not all bad," Johnny began to rationalize what was happening, feeling guilt and shame for coming here, betraying Kreese who gave him so much.

"You're being forced to fight in an illegal shootfighting ring Johnny! It's pretty fucking bad! Look at you! He's destroying you!"

"You don't understand, you couldn't understand..."

"You want my help getting out right Johnny? I don't need to understand! Just stay here with me, we can, we can go to New Jersey for a while. I need to get you out of L.A for a while. Shit.'

Daniel decided he had some calls to make, but when he reached for the phone, Johnny had clamped a hand over his wrist, "Don't, look this was a mistake, I'm tired, I'm sore. I just...wanted to see you okay? I'm fine. It's fine, I'm making a lot of money!"

"Fuck Johnny it isn't FINE! This is fucked up! You're covered in bruises, a busted face! You'll be killed!" Daniel shouted in desperation.

"Shut it LaRusso, stop being so hysterical like a girl."

And then Johnny left.

So Daniel went looking for him.

Getting access to underground illegal shootfighting fights was not easy, and avoiding Mr. Miyagi's questions and Jessica's concerns became difficult the more he went out at night.

Eventually he found Johnny. And then someone had also found him.

"Not a safe place for someone like you Mr.LaRusso," a familiar voice spoke up behind Daniel.

The dread that crept up over Daniel was immediate. He knew that voice very well.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, "I got some good seats to watch the fight, why don't you join me?"

There was no escaping Terry Silver at that moment.

Trying to remain calm, Daniel was led over to a balcony area, and forced into a chair.

"It's been a while hasn't it Danny boy? You haven't changed a bit have you, I mean, your looks. Never lost that pretty boyish charm eh? You're lucky I picked you up, there is a lot of dangerous folk here tonight."

"And you don't include yourself among them?" Daniel snaps back.

Terry grins, "Oh I do, but I'm no danger to you Danny boy, look what I did to do back then was inexcusable, I was...not in a good place mentally."

Daniel was taken a back by the admission and semi-apology but before he could respond, he heard another familiar voice.

"Well well who do we have here? Mr. LaRusso? What a surprise!"

Kreese steps into the balcony holding a cigar.

Terry gives Kreese a cold look which Daniel picks up on quickly.

"John."

"Terry."

"You better not disappoint John, I put a lot of money down," Terry says.

For a moment Daniel is forgotten.

"Don't worry yourself Terry, I'm always right. So you two got reacquainted again ? How nice," Kreese says with a sneer, looking up and down Daniel with a hint of disgust.

The boy was everything Kreese despised. Soft, pretty, and most importantly weak. Winning by a fucking Crane kick! A fucking crime.

He was also an object of obsession for Terry. Something Kreese could use to keep his rich buddy in line with.

What Kreese did not realize until that night, he was also a weakness for his champion fighter.

When Johnny saw Daniel sitting with Kreese and Silver, his jaw nearly hit the floor! What the fuck was he doing here! With them no less!

Suddenly his single minded focus on the fight was shredded to pieces. His mind distracted by the fact Daniel was in danger. Did Kreese find out about them? That Johnny went to him one night out of weakness? Fuck! He had to get Daniel out!

His first fight it was clear he was distracted and nearly loss, winning by a margin. Kreese was furious.

It wasn't quite apparent yet, not until he saw the glances Johnny shot towards Daniel up in the balcony. His champion kept looking up with an expression Kreese did not like at all. Concern, concern one had for someone they cared about. He knew that look well. Kreese wasn't blind.

He would get to the bottom of this, whatever it was, but first he had to get Johnny's head back into the fight or he'll lose it.

TO BE CONTINUED!

[crazylittlejester]

Hehe hello hello

Would you be interested in yapping a bit more about Warriors and Time's/Mask's brother relationship?

Please plase share more headcannons with me

HELL yeah dawg I gotchu, these two are my favorites I can yap about em all day every day (sorry for answering late I wanted to save this for after my exam alskddkd. also my apologies if this makes ZERO sense, and my bad for spelling mistakes or oddly autocorrected words 😔)

So, this is just my personal headcanon and a bit about how I write them and I’m just taking this as an opportunity to ramble hehe but here you go, a peak inside my brain!!:

One thing that’s super important to me in writing is names. Names carry with them identity almost, and while Time and Mask are one person and Wars and ‘Captain’ (because i hc that’s what Mask called him instead of Link all the time) are also the same person, they are very different in the sense that trauma and recovery and just aging in general impacts identity and shit. They are the same exact people, but their relationship with each other was pretty different at different points in time and the way they view each other has changed

'Captain' to Mask was a father figure, an older brother he argued with and teased, but ultimately someone who he looked up to. He didn't WANT 'Captain' to ever be wrong about anything, and he COULD see his flaws and his arrogance but he didn't want to acknowledge it because he just so fucking desperately needed a safe adult who could always be right no matter what because after so long of being lost and overwhelmed, some part of him really just wanted stability. He’s not one to blindly trust nor is he stupid, but a part of Mask ignored how arrogant Link got because he needed someone to be perfect

Mask is 'Captain's' kid almost, that's how he views him. That's his child, he doesn't think of HIMSELF as a father, he thinks of Mask as a little brother, but that's his kid nonetheless. He doesn't want Mask to see him struggle, he doesn't want Mask to see he's not okay, he doesn't want Mask to realize how absolutely AWFUL his life is because he's hell bent on giving his kid a good growing environment despite the fact they're in a war

Time, now in his thirties, is able to look at Warriors and see his flaws, he's able to look at him and see a very hurt, very traumatized young man. He's reached a point of emotional maturity and confidence where he doesn't need to have a person who can just be safe for him all the time. He does still find safety and comfort Wars, but he doesn't like, NEED it the way ‘Mask’ did. Because Mask was (to me) like mentally 15 years old living in a 10 yo’s body at the start of that war and he was just so goddamn tired he just needed someone else to call the shots sometimes. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still a bit argumentative, or that Time still doesn’t like being bossed around, but Time has had time to chill and sort his life out and it’s easier for him to take a deep breath and use his brain than it was when he was a kid. (I did a whole post ages ago on depression and how it commonly manifests as anger in kids and yeah something something I do think Time has a short temper still but he has coping mechanisms now and he’s better at dealing with it)

Warriors is able to look at Time and still see his kid, he still sees Mask, but he can also acknowledge that Time spent 20 years growing up without him and is now a good decade older than he is. He can realize that he doesn't HAVE to hide everything from Time, Time can be a safe person for him to lean on because he’s no longer this traumatized child Warriors has to ‘protect’. He can be a hell of a lot more real with Time than he ever was with Mask because he no longer feels guilty about trauma dumping on a child. More real smiles, more real emotions, more real tears. They help each other heal, it's no longer as one sided

But despite this separation and distinction they are still able to recognize the other as just one person. Separate, but one at the same time. Wars can think of his brother and in his mind refer to him AS Mask, but (in a stable mental state) completely acknowledge that as Time. Calling him Mask is literally just a force of habit, he can call him Mask and still acknowledge this is a 30 something yo man. Time can call Wars 'Captain' and be aware he's talking to the 27 yo in front of him and not that poor kid trying to be hero and guardian at the same time.

However 'Captain' in Time's mind became almost like... a character...? That's his big brother he rambled on and on to Malon about. That's his big brother he loves more than anything in the world. That's the person he looked up to even after having left the war. It's almost a version of Wars that's not even real because it’s the version of him that was presented to Mask and then preserved after they parted. It’s Wars through the eyes of a child who adored him. But it's not like the way the people in Wars's kingdom idealize him. The people in Wars's kingdom look at this child and see a knight in shining armor come to save them, or a brat who started this damn mess. They turn him into something he isn't and kinda dehumanize him because it makes it easier for them to send a child to war. Whether they like him or not, they have an idealized version of their hero in their minds, based off what front Warriors himself put up or their own dislike. But Mask’s old version of ‘Captain’ was born from pure love for his brother, like those hero essays 3rd graders write about their personal heroes and they choose to write about their dad and how they see him. ‘Captain’ was a hero to Mask in a MUCH different way than he was for everyone else, and meeting Wars again was a huge shock for him because was forced to look at this person through the eyes of an adult

'Captain' is his big strong older brother who will always be there for him and who is bad ass and epic, Wars is just... a man, and Time HAS now put them in his mind as the same person. His captain isn't as perfect and infallible as he thought he was but thats okay he doesn't give a shit he loves him anyway. This pillar of strength for him, his captain, is cracked and has been this whole time despite his younger self’s inability to see that completely (because he DID know something was wrong, just not the full extent of it), and maybe even directly because of how his view of his brother has changed, he’s able to love and support him even more

For the most part in my writing Time only ever refers to Warriors as “Captain” or “Link”, even in the LU ‘present day’, not because he can’t see how he’s changed but because that title to him carries more of a realness to it. Despite how it was that title he’d associated his idealized version of his brother, Warriors himself views himself more as a captain than a hero. Because he IS a captain and that’s a rank he earned for himself, but he doesn’t feel right calling himself a hero. Similarly Wars rarely calls Time ‘Time’, because in my headcanon Mask didn’t reveal himself as the Hero of Time. That’s a huge ass title to live up to, and he felt like people would be disappointed to know some scrawny kid was the huge historical figure they’d created perfect versions of in their minds. ‘Hero of Masks’ brought safety with it, and while Wars rarely calls him Mask (less frequently than Time calls him Captain), that name feels more like who he actually is. Not only was it something his brother called him, but it just feels safer and just- More intimate I guess. And him calling Wars ‘Captain’ is also partly instinct and more his title than anything else, every time Time calls him that it’s making the real version of his brother more permanent in his mind, with all of his flaws and all the little weird things about him that Time had forgotten over the years

AGAIN SORRY IF THIS MAKES NO GODDAMN SENSE I LIKE TO RAMBLE AND MY HEAD HURTS AND I STARTED SPACING OUT A BIT SO IDK HOW MUCH I REPEATED MYSELF BUT THANKS FOR THE ASK I LOVE TO YAP ABOUT THESE TWO

this is just them to me :)

[jasperandhenryslovechild]

my predictions for the henry danger movie

in honor of the movie coming out in TWO DAYS!!! im dumping everything ive got & for each prediction i get right i get a gold star from myself for being right/j

disclaimer i haven't watched any leaks or anything that's come out after the one glee dango released where henry falls into missys room so if any of this has been even slightly right plzplzpxl don't spoil it but but :)

once the movie comes out im gonna reblog myself seeing what I got right / wrong (mostly probably wrong but shh) for the funnies, DROP UR THEORIES TO ME TOO IF YOU WANT!!

- missy stole the RAD from evil science corp or smth related to bill evil. how'd she do it? no clue! bill evil isn't in dystopia at all! but it would be like so cool if we reconnected rick twitler stuff even vaguely like that because im never done thinking about it

- henry will end up almost dying and then missy will save him

- charlotte and or ray will have a small little cameo / feature in one of the universes to feed the fans some them breadcrumbs

- there will be an angst/pump up moment between henry & missy where it's kinda a call back to how henry felt really stuck/like shit with ray towards the end & comparing it to how he kinda feels now because he has no clue what to do to fix this? like i rlly do want them to mess w the jaspers sidekick au to its full extent and kinda do a swap between jasper and henrys roles in the series like so in that universe jaspers the super cool flashy hero & henrys the weird comic relief best friend/sidekick & so when our universe henry feels like shit about not knowing what to do its like tenfold because of that aspect?? and missy is gonna have to like pump him up to keep the story going & it's gonna bond them more

- i think the way the different henrys are gonna work is gonna be slightly weird. like for each universe it has its respective henry, but since our henry jumps into all of them what i think happens is that he like rather than becomes a whole new entity in that world he assumes the consciousness of the version of himself that's already there & has vague knowledge of the lore the other henry has lived in. like for example on how that works, our universe henry jumps into the jasper's sidekick au. when he does, he just takes the body of the henry that already exists here but if hes asked to recall some canon event that missy wrote about, he kiiinddaa can, but it's still kinda fuzzy. but like the henrys don't duplicate, that same jasper's sidekick!henry isn't different from dystopia!henry because they're the same guy at their core, so he just like shares a consciousness w that guy for a second. as goes for the other characters in the story!!

- the movie takes place at LEAST a year post the df ending because that would give time for charlotte to end her gap year in dystopia & have been long gone to her new life by the time that the movie plot rolls around. therefore that would be the reason why charlotte isn't in it

- they WILL NOT WIN!! like they'll win in conventional terms like take down vampire piper or smth (which is probably gonna be one of the main antagonists) but there will be implied emotional/physical after effects of some kind that render them not completely victors but still victorious nonetheless

- i stand by the idea that blackouts gonna be in it. the trailer w that dude dressed in all black is ABSOOLLUYTEELY BLACKOUT DEAR GOD!!!! if it's not im gonna be upset but i sossoosososo hope it's him because i really did want to see more of his character because you can't just canonize a soul eating bounty hunter who's out for the protagonist and never address it again like what???

- jasper and henry are gonna be SO fucked up w dystopia and the actual second that piper & schwoz pull up they're gonna try to urge them to go back home immediately without any hesitation.

- also, adjacent to the last two slightly, i don't entirely know if jasper and henry are gonna be the actual like epitome of good vs evil, i think they just take jobs from whoever pays them enough without really background checking the job because it's like.. whatever pays the bills ig!!! since bizwatchs whole thing is "we handle ur bizness" do they really check what kind of business they're handling oorrr?? and i think they might've taken a bit of a fucked up job & accidentally pissed off blackout who was like an ally to the guy they took out and then that's why blackout's after them!! and then that's the entire plot for like 1/4th of the movie until missy pulls up

- speaking of missy, she will be COOL AS SHIT!!! hopefully im gonna end up loving her and if not ill cry

that's all I've got 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥‼️‼️

[anarchictemptation]

So, I've had a bit of an emotional journey when it came down to getting these trolls uploaded and, uh.I'm sort of in a venty mode, so I'm doing a read more cut just so I don't bother people (TW for Drug Abuse and Suicidal Thoughts mentioned)

It became less of "lol, look at all these trolls I've had over the years, let's sell them" to a bit of a crippling "I did this to cope with what was happening to me and this is the financial repercussions of that"

When I joined the Homestuck fandom, I was 16. A long ago ex-friend had gotten me into it because he was an obsessive fan and I REALLY liked astrology at the time, so obviously what was gonna stop me from getting into this silly little webcomic? (Nepeta my BELOVED! Leo's for life!!!)

I've never really shared this with anyone outside of my CLOSEST of close friends, but I was in a really nasty situation. My parents were on drugs, deeply into it at the time of me joining Homestuck, and were basically nonexistent at that point of my life. They'd disappear for days at a time with no sign of them coming back anytime soon, so, while looking after my little brother, I'd get lost in this fandom and obtaining fantrolls was my own sick little kick

I wasn't creative at the time to really make my own, I'd just use sprite bases and all my own guys were basic as hell, but, when I found out troll adopts were a thing, I was OBSESSED

Some oldies might remember me being EVERYWHERE back in the day on DA under the unusualKitten alias. I was on every single page I could find trying to get at least ONE fantroll that someone had posted newly in the groups. It was amazing! I could drown myself in these guys I was getting and bury myself in art of them so that I could avoid the world that I was stuck in

Honestly, without that "distraction", I probably would've killed myself years ago

It was all I had in a shit world, it even led me making a short-time friend in my final year of high school, but it was fun

And then I grew up

Some things happened that involved me being the fucking savior of my family by dragging them out of that hell with my own two broken hands only for the sake of my brother. My mom got clean, my dad died because he couldn't get clean, I had been working a job in which case they'd have stolen my money almost every time I got it (like THAT was anything new), and we were just sort of stuck in limbo for a long time after that

I was still a part of Homestuck, but I wasn't A part of it anymore, if that makes any sense. Most I done was win a spot in the For Fans By Fans design contest with my Heir's Tears submission (Only 1 or 2 people bought the shirt and, two those people, I FUCKING LOVE YOUUUU, y'all are so cool), but I was pretty much dead in the water

Until I reconnected with my bestest friend

She helped me to regain the love again, as we'd rp a lot with all our different versions of canon characters bc we're maniacs (Which will ALL be featured in MSCOTT once I get back on the ball for writing it!)

And, as I sit here today, looking back on everything that happened 11 years ago, I've realized that things are a lot different now. I'm no longer the heavily traumatized kid I was back then, I have a life outside of the fantrolls I've hoarded over the years

And, yeah, it hurts seeing a lot of these guys go, it feels like a bit of myself is leaving with them, but that's not a part of my life anymore, that was a part of HER life

Don't get me wrong, I STILL love fantrolls and still have a handful of my own that I'll fight ANYONE over, but. I think it's time to let go of a past that I don't really want to be haunted by anymore

(But I hope this explains why I generate a LOT of fantrolls and then suddenly they're being given up as soon as something's done with them, hha, old habits die hard)

Thanks for readingggg, time to go cry a bittt!

[stinkythehutt]

an AU idea that i’ve been thinking about lately but i’m not sure i’d ever write is: sidious tries to clone a better version of anakin (without his knowledge) from DNA and matter taken from his severed limbs post-mustafar battle. but, with the sustained damage to the limbs and without the help or technology of kamino, none of it takes very well. only one of the clones actually survives and when tested at around age 3-4 it comes out that he isn’t force sensitive. and, also, he’s inherited a lot of anakin’s more disagreeable traits to the extreme, due to genetic changes and the impact of being raised as an almost-not-quite-dark-lord-of-the-sith from birth.

sidious, in a moment of sidious-like dark humor (and rage at the boy for not being what he wanted), arranges for the boy to be sent to tatooine to live under the ‘care’ of the hutts. this goes as you’d expect until, 7 or so years later, this 10-11 y/o furious, messed-up, came-back-wrong-but-somehow-even-worse, unaware he’s a clone of anakin, kid runs into… obi-wan kenobi, hot off the press of the events of the OWK series.

and obi-wan is like, no. nope. i’m not raising this kid. i don’t know how this happened or what the fuck the galaxy has against me now but no. i’ll figure out a way to free him and i’ll send him to live with the lars but i won’t raise him. so he gets anakin2 freed and they have the galaxy’s most hideous road trip out to the lars’ and they get on terribly and this kid is traumatisingly so like all of the worst parts of anakin with none of the redeeming features. he breaks obi-wan’s landspeeder trying to enhance it and he’s disagreeable and irritable and ungrateful and ungenerous and he isn’t even force sensitive or the chosen one. so obi-wan is straight up just putting up with him out of love for his old friend, who is now literally evil and just recently tried to kill him (again).

only obviously over the few days of their journey they warm to each other just a little. and obi-wan goes to leave 2anakin2skywalker with the lars’ and the kid is furious and hurt and they’re trying to comfort him all wrong and obi-wan is like “wait no he hates when you-“ and realises, fuck. i have to look after this kid. i want to look after this kid. there is nothing actually tying me here and no benefit beyond i kind of care about the little shit now. and i want him to be safe and happy in the same way i wanted anakin to be and i don’t know if i’m good enough to give him that but i have to try. because he needs me.

that, like, exploration of ‘what does this relationship boil down to?’ after all the situational ties are stripped away, all the promises and prophecies and shared histories and goals are gone and instead of in TPM where these two people are bound together by fate, now they are simply bound together by chance and choice and care and love. and how does obi-wan choose to navigate that differently. and how do they both grow and process their own histories. obviously spoiler alert they figure it out and the kid grows up tumultuously happy in the end as a sort of bounty-hunter-rebel type figure and he lives somewhat well on tatooine inciting slave rebellions and getting himself into various troubles and adventures. and he’s never force sensitive and he never joins the official rebellion or learns what happened to old ben who raised him til luke happens to run into him and tell him much later. and there’s no big “wow i’m anakin skywalker! i’m secretly magical and amazing!” moment or anything. he’s just a dude who lives a decent somewhat crazy life out in the sand and fondly recalls the father figure who looked after him when no one else would. the end

[sunflowerharrington]

Wip Weekend!

thank you @oiveyzmir and @medusapelagia for tagging me! love ya!

i have two wips…

✨RULES✨

• In a reblog of this post or new thread, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs.

• Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to play!

• After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file.

If the filename is one you can't share from, write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

• That's it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

without further ado

🛁 The Act (Steddie BB) - Saltburn AU

🖤 Unhealthy (unable to share snippets from)

Snippet for “The Act (Steddie BB)” under the cut. Warning for ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION

“I’ll need some identification, please,” she demands, leaning over the counter, lowering her voice. “Give me any kind of card or literally anything, just as long as the CCTV sees you’re handing me something that resembles a card. I don’t care enough to actually look for legal shit.”

Eddie hands her his credit card with no cash on it, since he spent the last of it on an e-cig yesterday. She pretends to study it and hands it back to him. “Perfect, you’re sixty-nine years old, I can serve you,” she laughs, winking at him. “Kidding, of course. Now, what can I get you?”

“Six pickle shots, please,” Eddie says with a smile, standing up straight to appear more confident. She doesn’t need to know he’s not of-age, yet. To be honest, she looks like she’s eighteen herself. Nineteen at a push. She looks like she should be hanging out with Steve and his friends instead of being stuck behind that sticky bar all night. “I’ll take a lemon drop shot, thanks.”

“Pickle shots, huh? You know Hagan’s allergic to pickles, right? I’ll get you five pickle shots and two lemon drops, hon,” she pauses. “Tomothy!” She yells. “What shot?”

“Lemon drop!” Tommy shouts back. “Thanks, M! And stop calling me that!”

The girl smiles at Tommy, before turning back to Eddie. “Knew he would,” she says, and Eddie can barely hear it over the music blasting over the speakers. And he can’t help but stare directly into her sparkling green eyes as she smiles at him. But the moment is cut short as she turns around to gather everything she needs to make the shots.

She sets each plastic glass down on a tray on the countertop, making the shots with ease and such speed. Eddie’s mouth waters as he looks down at them. “$3.75 each so… I don’t have my calculator.” Where is Barbara Holland when you need her?

“You don’t know your times tables?” Eddie teases, and she playfully rolls her eyes.

“Nah, I was too busy reading magazines in the back of class to care about math. It should be around forty five dollars for seven shots.” Is she… Is she okay? She can’t be serious right now.

“The shots are $3.75, right? That shouldn’t add up to forty five dollars.”

“Okay, whatever, let’s just say twenty five dollars and be done here. I’m so sick of this shit. I just wanna lay in my bed and go to sleep, man.”

Eddie looks down at his wallet. Shit. Fifteen dollars. That’s not enough. “I only have fifteen, can I pay the rest back tomorrow? Please,” he almost begs. Get on your knees and kiss the tops of her shoes while you’re at it. Jesus. What’s gotten into me?

She flicks a strand of her short, white hair out of her face and pins him with a stern look. “I’m here to do my job and not to listen to your excuses. I don’t do “oh, Maddy, can I pay you tomorrow, pretty please, with a lemon drop on top?” Pay me now, or no shots. Choice is yours.”

Eddie “tough guy” Munson begins to shrink under her glare.

“Go easy on him, Mads,” Steve says as he approaches the bar. “Also, I saw you dropping this and didn’t want anyone stealing it,” he continues, handing Eddie a twenty dollar bill with a discreet wink.

“I—” Eddie starts, but Steve shushes him. Steve lifts the tray of shots and brings them over to the table before coming back over. “Go on, man. I’ll meet you over there. Just gonna talk to Maddy for a little while and I’ll pay with your cash.” It doesn’t even take a split second for Steve to start playing with her hair, twisting a strand around his finger to tuck it behind her ear.

She giggles, completely melting under his gaze like she’s a popsicle and he’s the sun. Who could ever melt under Steve Harrington’s gaze like that? Eddie. Eddie could.

Steve leans over the bar, closer to her, and she leans in just as much so their lips can touch. And they kiss. In front of Eddie. How dare they?

Jealousy bubbles inside him and he throws back his shot before anyone else can pick theirs up. He rolls his eyes, wanting to turn away from the scene, but his body freezes up. A murmur of annoyance circles the round table, but Eddie doesn’t care. This wouldn’t have happened if Steve didn’t kiss her.

“Okay, wait,” India pipes up, bringing Eddie’s attention away from the . “We should play a game!”

“What are we? Five years old?” Tommy says with an eye roll of his own. “Fine. Only ‘cause I’m bored.”

tagging @sourw0lfs @ghostdeb @shares-a-vest @momotonescreaming @penny00dreadful @hornedqueenofhell @medusapelagia but only if you guys want to! 🥰🩷

[maxillis]

i haven't made a personal post in like a year or something and i haven't even really been here the past few months in general but man leaving my job and starting to prioritize what i want for myself has made me shed anxieties that i didn't even know i was hanging onto over the course of the past 3 years. i was waking up feeling like there was no point to anything and i was losing my grip on life, like time kept passing and i wasn't even going along with it, miserable to the point where i knew i wasn't acting like Me but i no longer had any energy to dedicate to reclaiming myself.

and i really did learn a lot about discernment from that situation, because i did not even begin to suspect that someone i considered a very close family friend would be the one who would essentially fuck me over without a single explanation or attempt at communicating with me in any sort of humane way. like when your mother was dying i helped you hold yourself down and did everything i could to make sure you were good. now that the tables turned and my mother has colon cancer and she's doing chemo you couldn't spend a second to act like you gave a fuck about it at all. and what's worse is that she was my boss this whole time so of course i'll sound like i'm the crazy one, or i'm the one who was fucking up the workplace, but 1) i wasn't the one bringing in my issues and 2) you can't threaten my job and withhold yourself as a reference without giving me an avenue to improve whatever it was i was falling short on (i was falling short on being in a bubbly and excited mood every single day. my co-assistant was not subject to the same expectations. lmao!) and it feels so funny and coincidental that all my work, things i tangibly did, things i kept track of, even my things i'd keep under my desk, all went mysteriously missing. i worked my ass off through the worst news i've ever gotten and she lost every single bit of my progress. and then would get angry with me because "i didn't do it" forgetting the first TWO times i gave her what she needed because she'd almost immediately lose the first iteration. i wrote her reminders and left so many notes and still everything was My fault.

i saw some post on twitter like "you think they're your real friend? lose a parent and see if they're still your friend" and you know what. they're completely right. you could really go out of your way to ride for someone and yet given the opportunity, they'd rather make sure they leave you all the way behind in the same situation. what a shit person to have let in my life.

but over the weekend i was able to think even more about my relationships that i feel valued by, especially some newer friends i've made who chose to hold ME down this time. people who stay with you 2 hours after the last bart leaves for the night because they just want more time with you. you give them the aux and they play your favorite songs. they share whatever they've got with you. they drove my car home the day i worked 12 straight hours because i didn't feel safe driving myself. and it's funny because my boss discouraged me from befriending this person, always had something judgemental to say, always made me feel othered because i was getting to know them. he told me this past friday, "it's weird. she's really treating you like an ex."

but i got my happy ending in quitting my fucking job and graduating from being just someone's coworker to full-on "nah i Care care about you now" friendship. i even have a potential job prospect in the next few weeks :) i escaped that job and that woman with my life and it just helped me be so grateful for the reliable and good things i have going on for me. the happiness i've been able to feel these past couple of weeks has been palpable

[im-not-good-with-names]

Leave the phone, Lucía!

One missed call sends Lucía spiralling. She begins to question her feelings towards her strange, snarky online friend. (Part 1)

[00:13] Missed call from Alex

Lucía frowned at her phone for the millionth time that morning.

“Has he said something terribly privileged again?” Amelie said over her shoulder. Lucía jumped so intensely she almost pulled a muscle; it was easy to forget how quiet her coworker could be when it wanted to.

“No, nothing like that,” she replied after her heart rate steadied. “He, er— she called me. Or, tried to. It was just gone midnight, I was asleep.”

“And this is bothering you because…?”

Lucía finally looked up from her phone. “We’ve never spoken over the phone before.”

“Ever? You’ve known each other a while though, right?”

“About a year and a half.”

“And you talk every day?”

“Near enough.”

Now it was Amelie's turn to frown. “And you’ve… never called? Never heard each other’s voices?”

“No.”

“Not even sent a silly voice note here and there?”

Lucía shrugged. “I’m not a voice note kind of person, with my accent 'nd all. Makes things harder.”

A long, slow nod was their only response, which was more unnerving than Lucía would’ve liked to admit. “Is it weird? That we only ever text?”

Amelie made a vague gesture. “If I were in your shoes, I’d think it a little odd, but—”

“Can I get some service, or is this establishment closed for gossip hour?”

Lucía’s head whipped around to find a customer waiting at the till, red irritation blooming high on his cheeks. She bit back an instinctive snarky response.

Luckily Amelie had a knack for dealing with difficult customers, and rushed over to serve him with a beaming smile. “Of course! I can’t apologise enough for being distracted. What can I get for you?”

Lucía decided she was in dire need of a break. She set a timer, threw together a cup of tea and drifted off into the break room, finding comfort in the battered settee with with so many cracks and tears the original leather was barely visible. She liked it here. It wasn't loud or social or filled with idiotic people.

She drew her phone out of her apron pocket. The missed call notification still sat there, taunting her for not knowing how to reply. Alex himself hadn’t said anything, either, which was incredibly unusual for her. It was bobbing on three p.m.; normally by now he would have sent at least two obscure memes, three colourful insults, and one post from their shared film forum with added commentary on how stupid OP was. Instead, she hadn’t heard a peep from her.

‘Unusual’ was a massive understatement.

Her teeth worried the skin of her lips. What if something serious had happened, and she was too hung up on a silly missed call to check up on him? What if she’d done something to severely piss him off, and the missed call was her last attempt to hash it out? She liked Alex! He was fun!

Or—the most likely scenario—what if she clicked the call button without realising, and she was making a huge deal over something hilariously insignificant?

She took a swig of her scalding tea, let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling for a long, excruciating moment of contemplation, then eventually opened their chat.

The cursor blinked. Lucía steeled the strange nerves and reminded herself that she was being a complete tit.

[Luce] oi

[Luce] did u mean 2 call me?

There! Message sent; she was officially no longer a cowardly over-thinker. She relaxed and sunk further into the chair, but stiffened as soon as she saw that Alex was typing. Okay, scratch that—she was definitely still a cowardly over-thinker.

[Alex] Yes, I'm afraid so. We need to talk, Luce.

Shit.

It took an embarrassing amount of time to type her response.

[Luce] shit, is everything alright?

[Alex] No, it's pretty serious, I thought it would have been easier to talk about it over the phone.

[Alex] But you're probably at work right now, so I'll just text it. Hold on.

Lucía straightened and waited with bated breath, tea all but forgotten about. In the time Alex took to type, Lucía involuntarily went through all of her worst-case scenarios one more time, and suddenly felt the need for a drink much stronger than tea. Did his father finally cut Alex off? Got kicked out? Her leg worsened? Gods—why was this bothering her so much?

[Alex] I've been diagnosed with pretentious cunt syndrome, it's fatal. I'm so sorry.

Lucía slowly placed her phone on the settee, counteracting the urge to lob it directly at the nearest wall. She gave herself a moment to breathe—in through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Amelie taught her to do when a customer really got on her nerves—before cautiously picking it back up again.

[Luce] ure a fucking menace

[Luce] dont pull that kind of shit again

[Alex] Don't lie, Lucie. I got you good.

[Luce] i knew u could b a proper knob but didnt think it was this bad

[Alex] Clearly you have to get to know me better.

[Alex] In all honesty, I didn't mean to call you, the call button is right next to the block button. An idiotic design choice if i ever saw one.

[Alex] I'm ought to send the developers a strongly worded email.

[Luce] who the fuck says ought in a casual conversation

[Alex] It’s a perfectly normal thing to say?

[Luce] yea if ur from the middle ages

[Luce] ok, no. we *not* changing the topic. if u didnt mean 2 call me why did u go radio silent??? the normal thing to do wouldve to say “Oops, my bad, didn’t mean to call you”

[Alex] Oops, my bad, didn’t mean to call you

[Luce] cunt.

[Alex] Huge one, yeah. It's a serious condition.

[Luce]🖕

[Alex] I didn't even realise I'd butt dialed you, I swear. I fell asleep right after and woke up like 10 mins ago.

[Alex] I'm a different creature past midnight, unaware of and unliable for my actions.

[Luce] good luck getting that 2 hold up in court

[Alex] I'd charm my way into acquittal, and you know it. All the lady judges would love me.

[Alex] Actually so would the non lady judges. I'm just that irresistible.

[Luce] more like irritating :/

[Luce] they declare u guilty so they never have to see ur ugly mug again

[Alex] You have no proof I have an ugly mug. For all you know I could be on magazine covers!

[Alex] Posing. Smouldering. Surrounded by pearls and feathers.

[Alex] Pretty face

[Alex] Pretty eyes

[Alex] Long legs

[Luce] stopping that list riiiiight there

She wanted to laugh so hard that her teeth were grinding.

[Alex] Buzzkill.

[Alex] I bet your manager keeps you in the back so your face doesn't scare off the poor customers!

[Luce] im practically the face of the company, babes!

[Luce] every1 luvs me

[Alex] This is some next level delusion.

[Alex] …Does ‘everyone’ include Pretty Lady?

[Luce] n this is some next lvl obsession

[Alex] I'm not obsessed with it! I'm far superior than her, anyway.

[Alex] If she saw me in the street she'd drop dead out of pure shock

[Alex] From seeing my pretty face,

[Alex] pretty eyes,

[Luce] STOP

[Alex] My sexy smoker voice alone could crush it's ego.

[Luce] wasnt aware voice cracks and nervous tremblings could do that

[Alex] Kiss my arse, Luce. You have no idea what I sound like!

[Luce] and same vice versa

Lucía's eyes narrowed. She had an opening here— should she take it? She took a sip of her tea, now disgustingly lukewarm, and decided to go for it.

[Luce] is it weird that we talk so much but only over text?

[Alex] Can't say it's ever crossed my mind, why would that be weird?

[Luce] idk. its just smt a coworker said

[Alex] So that’s why the missed call got under your skin!

[Alex] You're so painfully transparent.

[Luce] no im literally not?

[Alex] Denial is not a good look on you, dearie.

[Alex] If it bothers you so much we can just call, like any normal fucking people would do.

[Luce] ig

[Alex] It's not a big deal.

[Alex] Unless you swoon so hard at my voice you get a concussion or something.

[Alex] …Which is highly likely, considering your delicate disposition.

[Luce] wtf is that supposed to mean.

[Alex] last time Pretty Lady called you by your name you almost dropped your phone in coffee. Just saying.

[Luce] in hindsight

[Luce] mentioning that 2 u was a mistake

[Alex] It wasn't! It's a great addition to my Luce blackmail bank!

[Luce] har bloody har

[Luce] ure a comedic genius

[Alex] It's so nice to see my talent finally being acknowledged.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Her break was up. Startled that the time had flown by so quickly, she checked the clock on the wall, only to find she was indeed due back on the shop floor.

On the bright side, she no longer had to worry about the possibility of Alex being a) dead, or b) eternally pissed off at her. Instead, her mind focused on the very real chance that she’d be talking to him on the phone in the near future.

Lucía was by no means completely inept; she could handle a phone call when it was necessary. However, phoning her old insurance provider to get them to remove her from their annoying mailing list and calling a close (could she consider them close when she knew so little about her?) friend for the first time were very, very different things.

A hot burst of air greeted her as she emerged from the back and settled behind the counter. She’d been a barista at this cafe for so long everything was muscle memory. It was a mostly handy skill, until someone once switched the syrups around and she almost handed a hazelnut latte to someone with a severe nut allergy. Besides that, and… her tendency to text on the job… she swore she was a pleasure to have at the workplace. She didn't even bring anarchist theory up without a provocation!

“Got a clearer head now?” Amelie said over the sound of milk being steamed.

“Yeah. I brought it up, and now we might actually end up calling.”

“Ooh, how exciting!” Amelie beamed, then added quietly, “Unless he turns out to be a creep, that is.”

Lucía took moment too long to reply. “I’m sure she isn’t.”

“…Yeah!” Was Amelie's response, full of fake optimism that was far from convincing.

A third voice—one Lucía was becoming more familiar with these days—came from the other side of the counter. “Who might turn out to be a creep?”

Lucía rushed to meet Rem at the till. Even on a Saturday, she was still dressed smartly. “Oh, no one. Just— er, a friend of mine.”

“They only ever text! She could be anyone,” Amelie stage-whispered to it.

Lucía gently batted faer out of the way. “You don’t need to spill my private life to customers, mate.”

“But she’s our best regular.”

Rem beamed. “Glad to hear it.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and tapped the till screen out of standby. “Your usual?”

“No, actually,” it said, sounding ridiculously pleased with itself over something so trivial. “I’d like to try that new gingerbread latte, please.”

“A sucker for holidays specials, ain't we?”

It shrugged. “Who can’t resist a bit of seasonal marketing? I’ll also have a slice of lemon drizzle too, if you’ll allow it.”

A huff of laughter escaped her. “Wow, you’re really branching out today.”

It gave her another one of her tooth-less grins. As she paid, it quirked a curious eyebrow. “What’s this about a maybe-creep you only ever text, then?”

“Oh, I can’t believe Amelie told you about that.” Actually, she could—over the past month or so, Rem's visits had become less by-the-script, and the two of them had learnt more about her than they ever expected to. Of course, it was a two way street, and as a result Rem gained a firm grasp on Lucía's hedonistic nature, weakness for soft smiles, and now her friendship with a random guy on the internet.

She’d managed to avoid mentioning Alex to it, up until now. She was surprised the secrecy had lasted this long, though she was unsure why she’d been so keen to keep quiet about him.

“We met online,” she said slowly. Thankfully, putting Rem's order together kept her hands busy and her brain occupied, which meant she had less energy to overthink how she’d explain her situation. “Met through a shared interest. We were— er, well, honestly we argued a lot, at first. I’m not sure how it turned into a friendship, but it did, and now we talk pretty regularly.”

“Every day,” Amelie added.

“For...?”

Lucía shrunk in on herself slightly. “…Two years? Ish?”

Rem whistled, long and slow. “That’s quite a bit of time.”

“Exactly!”

“Am, shut it or I'll cut your tonge out,” Lucía said with very little venom. “We’re going to call. We’re going to talk. It’s not an issue.”

The woman leaned on the counter, watching her dust ginger onto its drink. “Right now?”

“What? No, not right now. That’d be mad.”

“Could be interesting.”

She slid the drink and plate over to her. “Don’t be nosey.”

“It’s in my nature, Luce.” She winced, taking a sip of her drink. “Gossip at heart.”

Lucía's stomach did a funny flip. She playfully waved her off under the pretence she was in a rush to serve the next waiting customer, and was harshly reminded she forgot to put her phone on silent when her pocket was met with a barrage of vibrations.

As the atmosphere lulled once all customers had been served and seated, she returned to her chat with Alex. Most of it was pure gibberish, a poor attempt at grabbing her attention again by way of spam.

[Alex] Did you fucking die?

[Luce] when will u get it into ur thick skull that I have timed breaks?

[Luce] n once said timed breaks r over I go back to work

[Alex] Yet here you are, still texting on the job!

[Alex] What a rebel you are, Lucie. It's cute that you spend your entire allocated free time talking to me.

[Alex] Clearly you have your priorities straight.

[Luce] if that were true id have blocked u 4 ages now, babes

[Alex] Oh no, my ego.

[Alex] Has PL swung by today?

[Luce] she just did!

[Alex] And? Come on. Give me the details, don’t deprive me of the gossip.

[Luce] nothing rlly happened

[Luce] she changed its order up, asked abt u

[Alex] she fucking what?

[Luce] my chatty coworker told her :/

[Luce] and it got curious

[Alex] Did you tell her about my pretty face,

[Luce] stfu wasnt even funny the 1st time

[Alex] Lies! Lies and slander!

[Alex] What did you say?

[Luce] didnt expect u to care sm abt what she thinks

[Alex] I don't. I'm looking for openings to bully her.

[Luce] just told it how we ‘met’

[Alex] Is that it? That's so boring.

[Luce] i mean. we also spoke abt the whole Only Texting thing

[Alex] Christ. What did it say to that?

[Luce] she thought I was going to call u up right there n then

[Luce] on the shop floor

[Alex] Is she stupid?

[Luce] hypocrite

[Alex] My intellect is vast and varied, thanks you very much.

[Alex] Why is everyone obsessed with the calling thing, anyways? Why is it such a big deal?

Lucía glanced at her phone sidelong as she wiped down the counters. Why was it such a big deal?She dwelled on it for a moment or two, but was cut short at the sight of the whole screen lighting up with Incoming call: Alex.

At first, she simply stared. Pressing the red decline button would mean everything stayed as it was—no awkward first phone call, no pressure to make their casual, stupid online friendship something more meaningful, no caving to the expectations of the more socially well-adjusted people around her. But pressing the green pick up button would mean… well, it would mean talking to Alex. Like actual friends. Listening to her voice. What would they even talk about?

Curiosity gnawed away at her.

Lucía pressed the green button.

“You were staring at your phone wondering if you should pick up, weren’t you?”

She wasn’t sure what she expected Alex to sound like, but it wasn’t quite this. He didn’t sound significantly older or younger, though her voice had a slight rasp to it, and she could hear his bourgeois, almost oxfordian, accent. It was unfamiliar, yet so undeniably Alex that she couldn’t help but smile a bit herself.

“No. I told you, I’m at work. Busy day.”

“Busy enough that you picked up the phone in the middle of your shift?”

She rolled her eyes fondly and signalled to Amelie she’d be back in five minutes— emergency, she mouthed, gesturing to the phone at her ear— and Amelie gave her a knowing look in return.

London’s wintery chill nipped at her skin as soon as she stepped outside, but the fresh air was nothing short of lovely.She squinted up at the sky; grey clouds loomed overhead. “Why now? Why not call later?”

“Got sick of you awkwardly bringing it up over text,” he said, then added softly, oh, so softly: “And I wanted to see if you’d pick up.”

“Well, here I am. I picked up. Now what?”

A short pause. “You were the one that was so bothered by it all.”

“Wasn’t that bothered.”

“Er, yeah you bloody were. So, my voice: what’s the verdict? Are you swooning?”

She gave a harsh huff of laughter. “You fucking wish, babes.”

“I can hear you moved outside. Needed some fresh air to cool your blush?”

“Shut up? You’re not funny. Besides, my voice is miles better. I bet you almost tripped over your own feet when I first spoke.”

“I’m nothing but elegant and graceful,” she said, playfully indignant, “even when faced with a really annoying, nasally voice.”

“Charmin’.”

A beat, then: “I didn’t know you were from East London.”

A small, ugly snort escaped her as she contemplated this. At the beginning of their acquaintanceship they’d stuck to an unspoken rule of avoiding delving into their personal lives, but as time passed and they became more comfortable with brutally bullying each other under the guise of friendship, details had come out here and there. They were both English. She worked at a café. His go-to drink order was an espresso martini (I’d had you down as a guinness kind of guy, Lucía had said, to which she responded thats the worst fucking insult). The drops of info were random and sporadic, and ended up so Alex knew Lucía had a stick-n-poke on her left arse cheek, but he didn’t know she was from Newham —and this, in her opinion, was downright hilarious.

“You do now,” she said. “Look, I really can’t talk for long. I already spend way too much of my shift on my mobile.”

“This was an emergency,” Alex said dryly, “you had to succumb to social pressures and modern friendship conventions.”

Lucía huffed in disbelief. “Friendship?”

“Slip of the tongue. I meant rivalry.”

“Of course you did. Denial is not a good look— er, sound, on you.”

He scoffed playfully. “Don’t throw my own words back at me. It’s not my fault you’re desperate for my attention and companionship.”

“And it isn’t my fault you’re projecting.”

“Ooh, you’re pushing it,” she said, and Lucía really could hear her smile. “I could just hang up right now and never contact you again.”

She sighed wistfully. “That would truly be the dream.”

“A nightmare for you, more like. You couldn’t survive without m—”

Lucía took great satisfaction in hanging up on him, and waltzed back into the shop with a lazy smile on her face. To her surprise, it wasn’t Amelie whose eye she caught first upon her return, but Rem's. She narrowed its eyes for a moment before flashing a grin—it was her split-second of hesitation that made Lucía wonder if she’d been watching her call Alex through the window.

So,” Amelie drawled, leaning in close as Lucía returned behind the counter, “how was the emergency?”

“Awful. Three wounded, one fatality.”

Amelie's teasing smile stayed in place; it was clear fae was fully accustomed to Lucía's sense of humour.

“It was fine. It’s nice to just have that over and done with. Now I can stop thinking about it.”

“What was he like?”

“Exactly how she is over text— no, wait, her ego was actually more inflated. He’s a bit insufferable.”

“The smile on your face counteracts your words, Luce.” Amelie playfully nudged her before diverting their attention to a waiting customer, and together they fell back into their routine. After the line had gone back down, she stole a glance at her phone, and held back a snort at the notifications waiting for her.

[Alex] How dare you?! How fucking dare you?!

[Alex] Next time we call I'm getting my revenge!

[Luce] XOXO

[campgender]

do you have any tips for online cruising? I’m new to kink in general but have lost a lot of mobility recently and my ability to socialize offline has diminished so while I want to amp up my sex/kink life I realize it needs to happen primarily online for now…

ooh what a fun question, i’m honored you asked me❣️ + i hope things are going as smoothly as possible for you in terms of adapting to your new mobility level! i went kind of broad here but you’re more than welcome to ask any other questions 💖

ofc all of this is with the major disclaimer that like, i’m just some faggot, i can only speak to what i’ve experienced + read, what works for you may differ substantially & that’s totally okay! on that note this is at times specific to tumblr or a similar posting platform as i’m not personally familiar with grindr etc

it’s fairly common practice in tumblr cruising spaces to make a notes app list or something similar with selected kinks, boundaries, etc, that way you can send it to a play partner for easy reference without necessarily sharing that information on a blog at large (though some people put similar reference lists in a pinned post, which is fine too!) not a requirement by any means but something you might find useful

consider what types of virtual sex acts you’re interested in / comfortable with (of course, it’s okay if this changes). options include sending and/or receiving photos, videos, or audio; a synchronous audio, two-way video, or one-way video call; and long distance app-controlled toys (eg Lovense)

what kind of check-in would you want afterwards, if anything? this can of course vary depending on the person & activity. at the expense of making a vast generalization, it’s my impression that in-person kink spaces promote norms of checking in a day or two after a scene by default (at least that’s what the texts i’ve read across various decades claim, which are certainly biased towards a positive portrayal of these communities in other ways) whereas in my experience (and to my dismay lol) this isn’t as much of a thing online, like there definitely have been people who’ve checked in with me without me asking but they were the exception

it can also be helpful to think about your feelings about fantasizing about scenarios you can’t physically do for disability reasons. there’s absolutely no right or wrong answer, it’s just another conversation i’ve had to hone over time lol. for probably 3 years i wouldn’t sext about stuff i couldn’t do (kneeling, for example) because it made me feel like shit about myself; then for a long while when “stuff i couldn’t do” almost always included “have sex in person,” i got more flexible about that, to different degrees with different people

you don’t have to talk about your sex life with anyone you don’t want to, but when possible it can be helpful to have a buddy (whether they cruise / have casual sex / whatever themself or not) to talk things out with if you have a negative experience or are worried or confused about something. i am very good at construing any situation to be my fault so if i’m triggering it’s helpful to give one of my housemates the basics of what happened & them be like you didn’t do anything wrong / they shouldn’t have done that / etc. i’m also happy to be a sounding board (as long as any ask/dm has the relevant content warnings) with the caveat that i can’t guarantee a prompt response. sex-positive resources like Scarleteen are also good grounding tools for me in terms of like, other people believe in these consent practices too

one aspect to consider especially with D/s play is the (potential) difference between messaging about a shared fantasy versus one person telling the other what to do in real time (for example, “and then i’d make you shake your tits for me” versus “now shake your tits for me baby,” or whatever).

for a lot of people the latter is a different set of boundaries, including being totally off the table. being told what to do, even without videoing it or otherwise ‘proving it’ to the other person, can be an incredibly intense experience and might create feelings in someone that they weren’t expecting

as an example of a boundary i learned the hard way, someone once told me like “shut up, stop typing. do XYZ” & it made me feel like i couldn’t message to safeword if i wanted to. ig just like, even if it’s not a big deal to you be aware that it could be a big deal to others, you know? & if it is a big deal to you that’s okay

personally i tend to tell play partners i’m fine with casual sexting whenever but need to set aside a dedicated time for a scene (for example, telling someone how to touch themself) which usually means scheduling in advance

it’s absolutely not your fault if someone does something without asking, but if you’re interested in subbing, it could be helpful to have a plan ahead of time for how you want to respond if someone just starts ordering you around. there’s nothing wrong with not responding the way you planned, i just feel less overwhelmed & more in control when i’m less caught off guard

as far as like finding virtual play partners i only know what i do lol

go into relevant tumblr tags for what i’m into, sort by most recent posts, read until i find something i’m into, see if that person is looking for hookups. if so check out their blog based on my, like, cruising criteria or whatever lol; if not maybe follow them if other posts are good. repeat

different like communities & kinks & such have different norms for getting around tumblr censored tags, sometimes making things one word or various positions of periods or slashes. “example k!nk” (that’s an exclamation point instead of an i) is a common format, same with adding “nsft” (not safe for tumblr). if you’re looking for disabled play partners and/or disabled porn the “disabled nsft” tag could be a good place to start!

i look in the notes of posts i think are particularly hot (or my own posts) for tags that are hot, interesting, or well-organized & check out those blogs

same for posts that make points about consent etc that i particularly agree with

so you’ve found somebody whose posts you think are hot who’s looking for / open to new play partners, now what? ofc everybody’s different but some of the stuff i look for when deciding whether to message someone:

do they have a tag or similar for serious posts, such as about consent, stereotypes, communication, etc? do they seem to have compatible views to yours?

can they recognize when they should (or when you’d want them to) drop character? some people’s blog personas are “always on” in a way that’s not compatible with what i need; someone adding an aside at the end of an ask they’ve answered to clarify or provide reassurance goes a long way

i’m not sure how to describe this exactly but like, is there flexibility & room for disagreement in their language? this is again a personal preference but while people taking a firm tone & making (unconscious?) assumptions & whatever can still be hot when i’m jerking off or something, it’s super stylistically incompatible with what i want in practice. the play partners i’ve been most compatible with are the ones who’ve answered asks more like “are you into X? if so i would do Y. or if not that’s totally fine, i’d just do Z 💕”

do they express their boundaries with other people?

i hope some of this is helpful! best of luck to you & have fun❣️

[leminhthinking]

"add something, if youd like" ok, here is something i used a throwaway account to comment on the Double MV. i didnt reread so i didnt remember anything about it sorry but there probably is mention about internalized ableism. also personal experience. its kinda shaped like a rant

posting it here now that i came out about being plural here. yeah.

tldr (theres another tldr at the end of it but it was from the time i commented and i want to add something else here) i love representations

I keep finding myself wanting to comment something under this video, but I know I'll say stuffs about myself that I feel would be unsafe to share using my main so I'm using this throwaway account to do it instead 😔

I just want to say that I'm so grateful that Mikoto and John (and maybe other alters in their system too? saying this just in case) were ever written. Being a system who had just discovered that only over a year ago, I can almost see myself, no, I can almost see *us* in every part of their story up until now. And in a way, I feel like I've also... grown with them? If that makes sense?

I have been following MILGRAM for quite a while, enough to be there when MeMe was just released. Back then, I still thought that I was certainly a singlet (didn't have DID), despite how one of my alters - I will refer to her as my sister from now - showed up pretty regularly at the time. That's why when I watched MeMe, I remember thinking to myself, "oh shit, this guy's just like me, and because [insert internalized ableism here] I'm saying he guilty then." But then we all know what's got confirmed 😂 Funniest thing is, a short while before that, I also came to term about being a system. Dammit, to think about it, it felt like a second confirmation 😭😭😭😭

Now that I have accepted who we really are, the release of Double and their second voice drama feels exceptionally special to me, as the host of our system. John and Mikoto's situation right now really reminds me of us last year. My sister and I specifically, respectively. At that time, I tried hard to deny the fact that I am not alone in my head, and that we are entirely separate people. It took me a while (with a few tarot spreads. fuck. I'm a Mikoto kinnie now) to know that we actually are... and some actual, honest conversations to know that she actually loved me, rather than wanting to harm me... Yeah. Yeah. You see what I'm talking about? That's why I'm really rooting for Mikoto and John to have better communication... Ah, maybe if Mikoto watched "his" own second trial MV, he would understand...

That being said, I'm still not sure on what to vote... When I first watched Double and listened to the second voice drama, I thought to myself, ouch, ok, guilty because John clearly seems to be the alter who knows more right now and that would keep him fronting more to interrogate. But after a while, my opinion... changed? I don't want Mikoto to be affected too much from the verdict and maybe going dormant because of that. John maybe still there for the interrogation but fuck, I don't think he's ever been without Mikoto for a long time and I'd hate to see his heart breaks. Maybe innocent is the better solution after all for the whole system, as it might soothe Mikoto's mood and his mindset. I also trust that MILGRAM's writer team know what they are doing and therefore would not "kill off" John. Maybe they will just let him be inactive for a while if they are voted innocent, given that he's finally satisfied with our decision...

(Yes, I do know innocent = forgiven and guilty = not forgiven and I'm deciding while knowing that. I'm just calling them innocent and guilty because I'm more used to it while speaking in English.)

Hmm, that was a longer rant than I expected. I don't know how to conclude really, so I'll say something that would sound entirely unrelated 😔 If I remember correctly, prisoners can hear us audiences right? If that's really true, I just want to scream to Mikoto and John that it's 100% ok to be a system! To not be alone inside your mind! To exist alongside another person in your system and love them! It's ok to just be yourselves! And please please please fucking find a way to communicate with each other!!!

Once again, thank you MILGRAM for letting them exist... I really hold them so dearly in our heart...

TL;DR: local system getting emotional over Mikoto and John, rooting for them to have better communication.

[rott-heresey]

My solution to absolutely everything that troubles me late at night is to yell to the rooftops about whatever has my interest, be it yapping off in my brain or reaching out to my bros. But tonight I decided “here we go I’m giving up my wack ass AU to Tumblr” as my coping skill.

It’s an age swap au mostly centered around DazAtsu (this is your cue to leave if your not here for that) and the 18 Dazai navigating through grief and life in the agency, along side his strange growing feelings towards Atsushi that he just can’t seem to name. the way I see it is that since him and Atsushi have swapped ages, it’s either his past would have taken place much earlier or he would have just skipped the years in hiding and gone straight to the other side like Oda had wished of him.

I’ve actually had two fanfictions written for it so far that have almost NOTHING to do with adjusting to his life because of inconsistency but I will still post the first one as well as the second one hoping I didn’t just copy paste the same exact link twice. Funny story I actually came up with this thanks to taking part in the 2023 DazAtsu week over on twitter before I deleted the app and account, it came with a art piece I’ve featured previously on here, those are (kind of) their designs but those aren’t the updated ones. God now that I’m thinking about it I’ve been cooking this up for MONTHS and haven’t said or done much of anything on it publicly.

Actually while I’m on my tangent here is the doodles, showcasing them mostly

The next one is an unfinished piece I made for them

I leave a lot of things unfinished in terms of both art and writing. But, without further adeiu here’s some little facts I managed to keep bouncing in my pinball machine of a brain:

• Dazai had been in contact with Ranpo after Oda’s death and received an offer to become a detective. While waiting by the iconic river for who he thought was Ranpo intrusive thoughts struck him and he jumped into the water. Atsushi fished him out and gave him his coat.

• he’s been stealing that damn huge coat any chance he gets ever since

• Dazai had one of Oda’s shirts, it became a source of comfort after his friend’s death to the point he just hardly took it off.

• Atsushi’s attire, though hardly professional is actually acceptable considering what his ability does to clothes.

• Yosano, Dazai, and Kyouka all share a close somewhat familial bond over their dealings with the port mafia and Mori. Yosano also has a spare key to Dazai’s dorm incase he relapses.

• Dazai still cannot cook for shit no matter how people try to teach him, not even his mentor crush Atsushi is successful in doing so.

• Dazai always feels intimidated by Fukuzawa, and tries his hardest to avoid eye contact with him afraid he’ll disrespect him.

• the dynamics of skk and sskk are mostly unchanged other than sskk being both wiser between themselves, and skk being two feral little shits that need to be put in cages.

not sure if I mentioned Chuuya and Akutagawa being swapped like Dazai and Atsushi. Oops.

Look at that you got to the end, feels good? Bad? Well you got here anyways. I quite enjoyed rambling to the walls of my enclosure hoping to be given a piece of cheese, I actually forgot about my stresses for a moment whilst i ran to go grab my sketches. ‘Twas nice, happy holidays you crazy people who decided to read this post.

[simbelene]

I have a list for you Bergdorf!

Since you love lists so much, check this out!

This list requires some background information, so it's story time!

This happened back in the beginning of April. I was browsing though my CC sites as I do, and I just so happen to come across a post that one of these groups' Admin had made. This group usually don't make announcement posts. Most of the time they just post pictures and carry on.

Well not this day!

Idk what Bergdorf did, but she did something because seemingly out of COMPLETELY NOWHERE Admin makes this post:

Admin is calling a select few creators "Hysterical" because I guess they don't like that Admin is sharing their permapaywalled content for free 🤷🏾‍♀️. And I'm sure there were some messages exchanged that would validate Admin calling them "Hysterical". I know how these creators act in the DMs. It wouldn't surprise me at all if it was Bergdorf that decided to crawl in Admins DMs and try to start shit.

Seeeesh! Wasn't nobody talking/thinking about Bergdorf AND YET somehow her name still manges to come out of somebodies mouth! Tell me you're a problem without telling me you're a problem!

No, cause even CWB, Leo, even my arch enemy Hauzz have been quiet. Minding their business and just going on about their life. Bergdorf is still out here being a problem 🙄.

Well, you dun goofed Bergdorf! One of these days you creators will realize you can't just be talking to people any ol kind of way. Not everyone in the sims community is sensitive and passive. Some of us can match your energy sis! And I feel like that's what happened here!

You tried it with someone who has time and has zero tolerance for your shit! And Admin, as they said, put all their content on telegram.

Okay, not ALL of them. Bergdorf is safe for some reason 🤔

Her content never made it to telegram, but everyone else's did! 👀

And it's funny because this went down the first week of April. The following week Brior and Bergdorf do a collab. Guess who's stuff went in the chat?

And guess who's stuff didnt??(bergdorf)

I'm just over here laughing like "Y'all can't be forreal 🤣🤣" Y'all were literally the first two people on the list! I refuse to believe y'all are this dense and delusional. There's no way you don't know this is happening.

So I guess Brior is just going along with it? Even though her stuff is getting shared, but Bergdorf's isn't. 🤷🏾‍♀️ Her whole catalogue is in there! It ain't much, but it's in there. This is giving "fake friend" vibes. Bergdorf is deadass out here smiling in your face while throwing you under the bus at the same time #oooof

If you want, you can play catch up and be current with Brior's CC because they haven't made anything since May.....and It's almost July 🙃. So whoever has subscribed hasn't gotten any content yet. $5 for what?! #glorifieddonations

A month after that initial ordeal the list has grown exponentially! This one isn't current. The list is A LOT longer now.

If you pay attention to who all is getting shared, you'll notice that a lot of these creators come from SL. And not only that, but they all work with who? BERGDORF. There's something to be said about that.

Admin said "Fuckaround, and you WILL find out!"

Even David Heather's content has been uploaded there. And I think it's simply based on the fact that they did business with Bergdorf. Man hasn't made anything new for sims in two years, why else would he be relevant?

My conspiracy theory: Bergdorf fucked around and now this Admin has a vendetta against every SL person that Bergdorf has ever worked with.

Y'all didn't wanna listen when I said "don't associate yourself with problematic people".

Okay den. Don't be upset when you see shit like this happen! Contrary to the popular sims community belief, it actually does matter who you associate yourself with. This is a perfect example.

It's a thing, whether you like it or not. Your best solution to this is to just disassociate yourself with the problem child. Save your image. You doing business with a problematic person is a bad look for you. It makes you look a certain way. Hence why companies let go of problematic employees. Because they cannot be represented by such people, and they don't want to come off as supporting said people either.

As you can see, Dust Bunny wasn't listed on there until they started working with who?? Bergdorf.👀

As far as anyone is concerned, Dust Bunny hasn't done anything wrong. Which, at first, shocked me as to why they were added to the list in the first place. But then I find out who they're working with, and it all makes sense!

You had/have the opportunity to ask literally anyone else in the sims community for help in doing what you're doing, but noooo. You made the conscious decision to work with Bergdorf of all people. Yeah, she's popular, but not for the right reasons. We like her bags, we don't necessarily like her. She has one too many secret haters around here. One of them DM'd me her resume for whatever reason simply because they have a strong dislike for her.

Nobody is forcing you work with her. This community has hundreds of creators. You got options. And clearly you wasn't paying attention to all the drama linked to her. No one told you about the reddit post?

We are all grown and can make our own grown decisions. Just know that some decisions have consequences 🤷🏾‍♀️

So atp, it is what is. Don't try to denounce Bergdorf now! It's a little too late for that! The damage has already been done!

All I can tell you is maybe start looking for creators that **dont** have a history. There's hundreds to choose from! And no, I'm not gonna do your homework for you. You can go find them yourself!

This also warrants it's own post, but word on the street is that Bergdorf's conversions ain't even that great. But I'll save that for another post 😏.

Any SL creator that got a problem with the list needs to take that up with that Admin. Maybe talk to them in a civilized manner and they might consider removing your stuff.

Whatever you do, don't act "Hysterical" because that's what got y'all here in the first place!

[enbyhyena]

So I talk sometimes about how piss-poor the SSI payout amounts are, but I did my math on something slightly different today and I just thought I ought to share my findings. I also just wanted to do a more in-depth, comprehensive post in general. So here you go.

As of the 2023 calendar year, the maximum SSI payout amount is $914 per month.

A full-time worker will work 40 hours a week, or 160 hours a month.

If you take the payout amount and divide it by the hours of a full-time job, you get...

🥁🥁🥁

$5.71/hour.

The federal minimum wage is $7.25.

In order to be completely financially secure and comfortable, you need to make about $233k a year. As of 2021, the median household income is $71,000 a year.

According to this calculator, $914/month ($10,968 a year) is 75.23% below the federal poverty line.

Put another way, if I never spent a single cent of my SSI (which I can't do and I'll talk about why further down), and if my wages were not to increase at all (which it does by a small amount each year, but for the sake of this analogy), it would take me 21 years to make the amount of money that it takes to be comfortable for just one year. (I got this figure by taking 914 and multiplying it by the number of months (12), and then dividing 233k by the outcome [$10,968].)

Multiple resources state that people should aim to not spend above 30% of their monthly income on rent.

30% of $914 is $274.20.

Median rent cost in the United States has climbed to $2,011 per month.

Recipients of SSI are not allowed to have ANY amount above $2,000 in combined income and assets at ANY time, or else they will lose their benefits cold turkey. Meaning that even if they COULD come up with 200% of their monthly income JUST for rent (not factoring in the cost of food, meds, transportation, etc), they would be instantly cut off.

Don't even get me started on what a shit-show Section 8 is. Especially post-pandemic.

Marriage brings the income/asset limit to $3,000. So if you're a double-disabled couple, your limit is cut in half (strongly discouraging marriage). If you're a disabled person and marry to someone who works, your SSI will almost certainly drop or disappear completely—which can trap disabled people in financially abusive situations.

If you claim SSI and try to work to make a little extra money, every other dollar after $63 subtracts a dollar from your SSI payout, BEFORE taxes. So say you work full time for 2 weeks making $9 an hour—$720 before taxes.

Subtract the initial $63, and you're left with $657. Now divide that by two (for every other dollar).

SSI has just taken $328.50 from your SSI payout. Your $914 payout is now $585.50. Subtract another $328.50 for your second paycheck in one month, and that's a $256.50 payout.

This leads to a lot of disabled people, who break their bodies trying to make just a little more in spite of their illnesses, to largely break even. Usually making about the same amount they would have made if they'd just stayed home and taken care of themselves instead.

And to make it EVEN worse, earnings take 2 months to reflect on your payouts. So say you work over the holidays to treat yourself for Christmas. You may get $914 in December and January as normal, but only come February will you finally see that deduction take effect—meaning if anything happens, you have several hundred less dollars to work with.

When I worked, it took over a year AFTER I quit for my payouts to finally go back to normal, as they kept readjusting my earnings and deducting from my payouts saying that they "paid me too much".

So I don't think it needs to be said that you can fight tooth and nail to get accepted onto this program, and be shamed by society for being on it once you finally win, but as an extra kicker be FORCED to stay there with no options to escape without severe punishment.

I have known people who fought for four and ten years. While being considered, you cannot work AT ALL or they will immediately throw out your case. The average wait time is 2 years, but most wait longer. If SSA says no, you'll be sent to court to appeal. If the judge denies you, you have to start all over again. And you can get caught in the same loop over, and over, and over, and over again, getting denied support that you desperately need, and many die hoping to receive.

8,000 people file for bankruptcy and 10,000 people die a year while waiting for their SSI to be approved.

And it just keeps getting worse and worse the further down the rabbit hole you go. I made this post partially to vent my frustration with this system after being abused by it for the past 5 years (and it abusing the people I care about). But I also wanted to create a resource with citations for people to share around and throw in the faces of ANYONE who dares to think that people on welfare/claiming SSI somehow "have it easy".

As a disabled person, I spend over half of my given days either in bed too ill and/or in pain to function, or at a clinic begging a doctor to not call me fat or a hypocondriac or drug-seeking and take my (documented and diagnosed!!) illnesses seriously. I rarely ever get to just SIT there and BE sick. I often have to get up and get shit done in SPITE of being sick, even doing OTHER people's jobs and holding their hands just to make sure they're actually doing what THEY'RE being PAID to do (insurance agents, doctors, etc). Disabled people don't GET days off. Just because we don't work a "conventional" job doesn't mean we're just sitting on our asses mooching off the system. Every single goddamn day is a fight just for the basic human right to survive. And I never want to hear anyone saying that ableist, invalidating, and blatantly untrue shit around me.