#phew tagging is tough

[moritzakgae]

spring awakening characters as passages from richard siken's 'crush'

melchior gabor

wendla bergmann

moritz stiefel

bonus: don't do sadness/blue wind

hanschen rilow

[nshi-ao3]

A recurring trait, among others.

[bruhstation]

(redraw of last year's art!) happy new year 2024, everyone! hopefully things go well this year, too :]

[ 2023 version | 2025 version ]

[writefightandflightclub]

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

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

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

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

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

Author’s note: Phew! Well, the last couple of chapters were a lot, hey? I wonder what will happen next, tee hee! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. You give me life! ILY :-*

Word count: 8.6k for this part. 

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

“Hey,” you croak, as Frankie cracks the door to your room, finding you laying in the glum light. You’re on top of the covers and hugging your pillow to your chest, body curled around the white mass like you’re trying to form a human s’more.  

Of course, you can’t sleep. You’re just slumped there, despondent, blinking into the crow black dark. Your tears have subsided, at least. But you feel sapped. Like you barely have any energy to feel anything anymore. 

“Hey,” Frankie returns, dipping the mattress as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Benny send you?” You had insisted Benny go and get some shut eye, after comforting you for the better part of half an hour. There were hugs and warm tea and threats to handle Pope if he’d done something to deserve it. He hadn’t, you’d explained. He hadn’t done a damn thing worse than you, at least.  

“Negative.” 

You hum neutrally and scooch your body up so that you’re sitting with your back to the headboard, knees drawn up around the pillow you still cling to like a security blanket. 

“I’m gonna say something, okay?” Frankie says firmly, and you brace, fully expecting to receive some tough love. You note with relief, however, that as the man turns his head towards you, his eyes are nothing but soft. “You and me. We’re going back to your sister’s tomorrow. Get you some space.” 

Space from him. That much is implied. 

“No, Frankie.” Your throat tightens. All you’ve had is space. For months. The last thing you need is more. 

He places a hand on your knee, his tone firm and almost paternal. He’s going to make a damn good father, you think, with a swell of pride. “That’s what we’ll do. It’s not going to be like this anymore. We’re gonna stop taking chunks out of each other.” 

All you had wanted to do was to be close again. You’d never meant-

“-Frankie.” 

“Just think about it.” 

You nod, and Frankie pats your knee. Stifles a yawn. Presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. He looks wiped. With a gust of breath he stands, preparing to leave. “G’night, chiquita. Get some rest, alright?”

“Yeah. And Frankie?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, by the way.” 

“What for?” 

You sweep your hand through the air. “For the drama. Et cetera.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“Do you know…” You cast a sidelong glance towards the black pane of the window. “Is… he coming back?”

The man drags his tongue along his lip. He does that when he’s uncertain. “He’ll be back.” 

“How do you know?” You don’t remember the last time you felt or sounded so small.  

“Because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment,” Frankie attempts a lopsided smile, his cheek tugging on the corner of his mouth; but it drops when he realises his joke hasn’t landed. “Just… try to get some rest. Okay?”

You nod, and you watch Frankie leave, his face murky but kind through the shadows as he gently tugs your door closed behind him. 

When he’s gone, you wait a moment for his footsteps to retreat and then you cross to the window, cracking it open far enough that you can hear the gentle shush of the waves. Far enough that you could hear either the sound of a truck pulling away in the dead of night, or the front door clicking gently closed, perhaps. 

You lie back on top of the bed covers, flat on your back, and your limbs stretched out like a starfish. You lie with your eyes open, staring at the ceiling - exhausted, but wide awake. 

And, after who knows how long like this, you hear footsteps tramping on to the porch. You hear the front door gently being latched, and the soft pad of someone travelling up the stairs. You hear the footsteps pause outside of your door for a moment and you hold your breath. You imagine an outstretched fist, primed to knock, but you dismiss this as wishful thinking. You’ve done a lot of that lately. Too much. 

Then, finally, you hear him shuffle into his room, clicking the door shut behind him. 

Only then - when you know he’s back - can you sleep. 

And, as you drift off, your thoughts of him merge with the soporific sounds of the waves. 

You’d doubt, with how much you’ve ached for him already, that you could hurt anymore, but you know fine well that it’s possible. After all, the waves break over and over, don’t they? 

They break, and they break, and they break. 

***

The following morning is an awkward affair. Everyone is tetchy, and even after a very necessary lie-in, residual grumpiness abounds. 

It figures. A shouting match and a rude awakening will do that. 

Still, the day must go on. You get knocked down? You keep moving. 

Will, ever an early riser and a true hero, brews up the first pot of coffee. Starts cooking up some breakfast, and, one by one, you and the boys filter downstairs, chasing the scent of sustenance. 

“Don’t even,” you say to Tom the moment he opens his mouth, the room falling silent as you waddle sleepily downstairs, gravitating straight towards the caffeine and the relative safety of Will. Frankie, Benny, and Tom are sat around the dining table, and, you note -because of course you do- that Santiago is glaringly absent. 

Maybe Frankie advised him not to come downstairs just yet. Perhaps he’s simply sulking. Or sleeping. Or avoiding you. Perhaps, maybe, possibly a million and one things, which you’ll never know the reasoning behind. 

It doesn’t even matter now. 

You’re done trying to figure him out. Since when did that ever get you anywhere useful? 

Instead then, you attempt to refocus. To divert your attention away from your sun, and towards the wider constellation of stars you are proud to call your squad. And, of course, to your plate of breakfast - that deserves attention too. 

The one thing you refuse to focus on, for the moment, is the elephant in the room. 

Still, you glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs. 

“What else is new with you then, Benny boy? Seeing anyone?” You reach for just about the only topic you hadn’t covered with him yesterday evening - when you had been trying ever so valiantly to distract yourself from Santiago and all that he entails. 

In response, his baby blues dance with mischief and he grins, raising one arm to pop a bicep in celebration even as he shovels forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth with the other. “I had myself a date the other night.” He probably flexes in his sleep, this man. 

“She stay for breakfast, Benjamin?” Frankie interjects, finally managing to be vocal again now that he’s been provided with the sweet hit of his second mug of caffeine. 

“‘Catfish. She was breakfast.” 

You hear Will groan from over at the stove. “Too much information, Ben.” 

Ben, meanwhile, looks entirely unapologetic. 

“Whatever happened to being a gentleman, huh? The way your Granny raised you?” Tom enquires with a thin smile. “Thought gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell.” 

“Oh, but I was a gentleman, Redfly. Let her finish first ‘n’ everythin’.” Benny offers a shit-eating grin, and you are once again grateful for the distraction as the room descends into fond bickering, the back-and-forth culminating in Will whipping his sibling with a rolled tea towel for continuing to overshare, accidentally catching Tom in the crossfire. 

“Those dirty-minded individuals asked the questions, man,” Benny defends, jabbing his finger around in a circle at the rest of you in accusation. “They always wanna know what action I’m getting. Hell, no-one ever asks me what I’m readin’.” 

You snicker. 

You glance -briefly- towards the mouth of the stairs. 

“Of course not. We’re trying to live vicariously through you, man,” Tom interjects. “We don’t want to vicariously read things.” 

“Especially not the pretentious shit you read, Benjamin,” Frankie digs, before collecting up the plates and conveying them over to the sink. And, given a natural lull in the conversation, Benny takes the opportunity to grab your attention. 

“You still up for training later, hon? I’m tabled for a beastly session this afternoon.” 

It briefly crosses your mind to wonder where Benny gets his abundance of energy. You, on the other hand, can’t even be bothered to trace that train of thought through to completion. “Yeah. Maybe, Ben. I, uh, need to drive into town this morning though.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with a mouthful of streaky bacon, swivelling his cap to sit backwards on his head as though that will help him pay better attention to you. 

You glance once more -only briefly, of course- towards the mouth of the stairs. 

“Mmm-hmm. Need to grab something from the pharmacy.” You blink, attempting to look as innocent as possible, but your face burns with a flare of heat, and you can’t help but scratch your nose self-consciously. 

You feel as though they all know the purpose of your trip - somehow - even though that’s impossible. And, you pray that even if they do, that they will at least have the courtesy to let it slide. 

Unfortunately though, you suddenly remember that Tom exists, and that therefore, you’re likely not getting away with it that easy. 

“You and Pope all out of condoms or something?” he guffaws around the lip of his coffee mug as he takes a deep swig. 

“Tom,” Frankie warns, subtly shaking his head as he comes to retake his seat by you. 

Oddly though, Tom’s comment barely even manages to irk you. You pat your defender on the arm. “Frankie. I’m fine.” 

He surveys you regardless, to be sure, and you are grateful for it. Frankie knows fine well that Tom has a talent for rubbing you up the wrong way. The two of you have never quite seen eye to eye. 

“See, she can handle herself just fine,” Tom reminds him pointedly. He never did like the way the rest of the boys fussed so damn hard over you. His tone has the veneer of light-heartedness. “You can take a joke, right?” 

Your lips twitch around some halfway cruel retort, but, turns out, you truly have no ire left today. You’re all out - and besides, you’re not looking to burn any more bridges than you have already on this trip. 

“Listen,” you begin sincerely, cradling your mug of coffee between your palms. Deciding to nip this in the bud before it spirals. “Are we good, Tom? I was a little bit hot-tempered yesterday. I’m sorry.” 

Once again, you glance towards the mouth of the stairs. Your gaze lingers a fraction longer this time, until it ticks back to Tom. 

He looks at you levelly for a moment over the rim of his mug, before his brown eyes begin to shine with a dull, metered-out warmth. Nothing like the warmth of your sun, of course, but shining on your more brightly than Tom had deigned to in a long while, at least. “Sure we are. So long as you don’t wake me up in the middle of the night again. I need my beauty sleep.”

You hold your palms up in rare surrender. “You got it.” 

“What was all that about, anyway?” Tom needles, shuffling forward in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. Beside you, you can sense Frankie and Benny ready to knock him back should he dare to overstep. You wonder suddenly if you’re too harsh on the guy. If you need to loosen off, be a little kinder. 

You wrap both hands more tightly around your coffee now, letting the warmth bleed through into your interlaced fingertips and the steam rise under your chin. “The usual,” you dismiss, not wanting to go into specifics. That would involve replaying it all. Would call for a digging out of the shrapnel lodged in your chest - an activity far too involved to undertake alongside a lazy breakfast. “Sometimes a storm is what it takes to clear the air, right?”  

“And?” Tom cranes forwards a little more. You clock Frankie’s nostrils flaring subtly in annoyance. “Is the air clear now?”

You know what Tom’s asking. Was anything resolved? Are you two done? 

Is all this over? 

Apparently curious, all three of the men direct their gaze toward you, keenly awaiting your answer. You even reach for one -an answer- but you come up lacking, and your uncertainty carves a notch into your brow. Makes your mouth go dry. Your gaze flicks to the mouth of the stairs, and this time, you can’t look away from it. “I…”

Thankfully, unfortunately, you are saved and damned all at once as Santiago finally appears. Emerging from the spot you’ve been glancing intermittently at all through breakfast. 

All the faces in the kitchen turn abruptly towards him as his careless footfalls sound out, and suddenly his eager skip down the stairs entirely loses steam. His pace slows, dragging to a dead halt by the time he has reached the base of the stairs. 

Your eyes go as wide as they can, through no fault of your own, and despite being the focus of the whole group’s attention, Santiago stares straight ahead at you. Of course he does. Only you, as though there is no-one else in the room to acknowledge.

“Morning,” he addresses, solely to you, his expression impassive, yes - but certainly not harsh. Not angry. 

“Morning,“ you respond, as brightly as possible, your eyes still wide and unblinking, and it is a little unnerving as every other head in the room swivels simultaneously around to face you. Oh good. Because you’d worried this might be awkward. You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “Will has bacon,” you offer stiffly, your whole body so full of tension it feels brittle; like it could snap. 

As if the product of some hive mind, the heads swivel in unison back towards Santiago. He doesn’t drop his gaze from you, however. Doesn’t even blink - just looks between your left eye and right repeatedly. “Fabulous. Thanks.” 

Sure. Okay. This is totally normal. Except… you don’t think you’ve ever heard Santiago describe something as “fabulous” in his life. But why not start now, hey? This is fine. 

You watch him turn. Walk towards Will and the stove top, and when his gaze finally drops from yours it is like the taut line which was drawn across the room finally snaps, blissfully allowing some of the tension to sag with it. 

“Good timing, Garcia. Here.” Will doesn’t miss a beat, transferring the spatula into Santiago’s hand and shuffling him seamlessly into his position before he can clock what’s happening. “I’m officially passing the torch of Breakfast Duty into your capable hands.“ 

“Uh. Sure,” Santiago obliges, obediently beginning to move the sizzling strips around the pan as Benny stands, already crowding him to jostle for seconds. Will slaps the waffled tea towel across Santiago’s shoulder for good measure too, and you die a little inside at how goddamn domestic he looks. Especially since he’s still wearing his fluffy sheepskin slippers. Rocking his bedhead of gently tousled, greying curls. 

It makes you yearn. 

“Want a ride into town, soldier?” Will calls to you across the space, jutting his chin up at you and snapping you from your stupor. Immediately, you scrape your chair back, the gentle throb of nerves making you eager to animate. Eager to jump on any excuse to get the hell out of there. 

“Yes! Please!” 

You scoop up your plate and cutlery, and you attempt to take Frankie’s to the sink too. That is, until he protectively winds his arm around it like a bear defending its cub and begins actively batting your hand away. You guess he wants second helpings too. 

You sidle over to the stove then, where Santiago is dedicating himself to his latest occupation with vigour, Benny equally invested in hovering with his empty plate - and not above begging for scraps. 

“Where to in town?” Santiago asks in a hushed voice, his thick eyebrow arcing. You dismiss your plate into the dish bowl to soak, and he pauses his spatula duties momentarily to await your response. 

“Pharmacy.” You look at him pointedly. 

His face crumples with something resembling apology. Or - perhaps more likely - regret. “Okay.”

Your eyes lock for a moment, and he looks so different to you this morning than he had in the dead of the night. It is more than the gentle morning sun giving a soft glow to his features, the dusting of late summer freckles on his nose popping in the light. It is more than the wholesome appearance of him cooking up breakfast. More than the hush in his tone, and the way his chin dips down, making his eyes look big and round and gentle as he looks at you from beneath his long sweep of lashes. 

You suspect that he is purposefully making himself soft. Blunting his harsh edges so deliberately and so entirely that you fear he will sluice to the floor like the insides of a cracked egg. “You, uh… You need anything? Need me to…?” 

Santiago. Honey. You’ve done quite enough already. 

“No,” you say, but the word doesn’t audibly make it out the first time around. You clear your throat. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay.” 

Your gaze dips to the dried, rogue fleck of toothpaste right on the corner of his mouth. You can’t explain why, but this tiny, human detail makes your chest ache. “Talk later?” 

He forces his sober expression to twist into a halfway smile. His eyes grow big and earnest, that cup of coffee gaze gently warming you. “Okay.” 

Don’t, you inwardly plead with him. Don’t give me hope. Don’t break me again, Santiago. 

A niggle plays at your brow. It’s odd, really. You remember the words and venom spat from each of your mouths yesterday. Of course you do. But you can no longer feel the all-consuming ire that came along with them. That part -that feeling- is absent. Every scrap of anger consumed. It seems as alien to you as the raging storm must feel to the clear morning which follows. 

And so, you can’t help it. Really can’t help it. You dip forwards to kiss Santiago, softly. Right on the point of his beautifully high cheekbone, giving his tea-towel adorned shoulder a light squeeze. 

You leave, then, to the sight of that subtle crimson flush darkening his cheeks, your gesture evidently both confounding and flustering him. 

You leave too, to the sound of Benny yelling “Look alive, Pope! Don’t burn my goddamn bacon!”. The spatula has gone limp in his hand as Santiago’s gaze trails after you, and the tension is once again pulled taut like a string across the room. You imagine a festival of blush red balloons tied all along it, rising and dancing like your hope. 

You leave, with an answer to Tom’s question. 

You and Santiago? Is it over? 

No. It’s not done.

But you are done with being angry. 

You’re done breaking, and no longer will you throw yourself against those rocks. 

***

The time away from the house was useful, and the scenes of the open coast slipping by smoothed your roughened edges out like a tossed, worn pebble. The salt-saturated air humming through your wound-down window had you drinking in deep, energising lungfuls. Then, there was Will’s steady, reassuring drawl, and all the feelings of security that came along with it. 

Steady, dependendable, straightforward Will. You always knew where you stood with him. 

At least, that’s who he had always been to you. Not the volatile, ticking time bomb you’d heard he’d become since he’d gotten out. Since he’d almost choked a man out in the tinned produce aisle. 

It was good to have time to talk with him. You were endlessly glad to hear the ways Will was moving forward. You were glad -first and foremost- for him, of course; but you couldn’t deny it bolstered your own hope too. To know that there was a route out? A path onward - even when some things attempted to drag you back? It felt good. 

Speaking of things which dragged you to them, you were also grateful that Will didn’t press you (too much) on Santiago-shaped matters. In fairness, at this point the whole squad is probably sick to death of the topic. Regardless though, it was refreshing to talk about other things. About Will’s new life. His bizarro public speaking gig. His worry for Benny, as an unfailingly attentive and loyal big bro. His insistence that the “kid” is not living up to his full potential. 

Benny’s doing fine, you had assured him. Benny’s… buoyant. 

So, in sum, it was safe to say that despite everything, by the time you had arrived back to the house you’d felt decompressed. It made you wonder if - maybe - last night’s storm really had succeeded in clearing the air. Of course, that depended on Santiago too, and where he was at today. Whether he had any more drama brewing, up in that pretty head of his. 

From his vibe this morning though? You had gotten the sense that he was oh so tired too. 

It didn’t change anything of course. The fighting. The fucking. Not really. Not any of it. The anger, once given its release valve, had simply moved through you like weather. It had turned out, it was all mostly bluster. Ephemeral. Shifting. And it couldn’t touch the truth of things, could it? The permanence and depth of your love for him? Not really. 

It did change something in you though, that unforgiving storm. If nothing else, it had made you acutely aware of how powerless you are. Your weather cannot move the mountains, and Santiago is as stubborn and immoveable as a wall of rock.

You’d believed, at one time, that perhaps you could succeed in shifting him. Encouraging him. Convincing him.

But now you know for sure. 

The only way he’s running into your arms is of his own accord. In his own good time. 

When he’s ready.

If he ever is, of course; ready. And on that topic, you’re less and less sure that he ever will be. That Santiago will ever be ready to be loved by you. 

It’s sad in one way to realise that. But in another way, it’s freeing. To give up. To stop trying to shape things into what you’d hoped they could be, and to simply let things be whatever they are. To make peace with the truth of things. And peace? It may sound counterintuitive, but as a soldier, peace is all you’d ever really wanted. 

Perhaps that’s why you feel calm as you pace down the track back to the house. Why there’s a spring in your step as you fix up a sandwich for yourself and Will, heading out across the dunes to where the boys laze by that frilled edge of ocean. Perhaps you feel calm because you really have exhausted all of your options. 

Because there’s truly nothing else you can do. 

Because it’s out of your control. 

Because you cannot move mountains. 

And so, when you join the group and Santiago flashes you a tentative and oh so pure smile? You return it easily this time. 

You can’t change yourself and how you feel. You’ve tried that. You certainly can’t change him. You’ve tried that too. 

And… why would you want to, anyway, huh? To change him? In so many ways, you think, as you watch his rich, scratchy laugh bob in his throat, and see those delicious crinkles radiate from around his eyes, he’s perfect exactly as he is. 

After all, he’s your best friend. 

And, for the remainder of the afternoon, you simply want to focus on that. 

For today, you reckon you’ll simply have to try to see him in pieces. In fragments. 

You don’t want to admit to yourself that’s the only way you can make it through, but when you do realise, it strikes you. If you too find it hard to reconcile who he’s always been to you with all that he could be, then maybe you and he never were so different after all. 

He certainly could never grasp all of you at once, could he?

***

The rest of the day passes pleasantly - much to everyone’s relief, you suspect. After the card games wrap up, there is plenty more entertainment to be had. There is time whiled away goofing around with a football and a frisbee. There’s a grill session on the dunes and chilled beers and music. When the heat becomes too sticky, too intense, there are sea swims and splashing around in the waves and everyone trying to dunk Benny. There’s solitary time too. Time for sunbathing and reading and podcasting and naps; and, in between, there is the cyclical eruption and waning of amiable chatter - whenever someone sparks up with a talking point.

In sum, you all opt to just be with each other. No particular agenda in mind, and it feels good. Really good. 

You’ve missed them all. Hell, even Tom, though you’d never tell him that to his face. 

The stretch of beach you’ve claimed is stunning too. The sands are golden and fine-grained and the water is perfectly temperate; but, it’s a hidden gem, the patch not attracting a fraction of the stifling crowds you’d find along the main drag. Throughout the day, other people come and go, of course. There’s the family with the adorable little kids, for example. The little boy, in particular, who had seemed to take a real liking to Benny - and who’d even roped him into helping build sandcastles. You’d watched, fondly, as each of your squad’s faces had split with wholesome, eye-swallowing grins at the adorableness of it all. There was the lone woman who spent 45 minutes giving you evil eyes - apparently, you’d deducted, for daring to be surrounded by five attractive men. You’d even suspected she might march over and punch you at one point, judging from the hate seething in her eyes when Will had asked you to slather-up his milky-white back with his trusty factor 50. 

Mostly though, it had stayed pretty quiet, and you and the boys had more or less had the beach all to yourselves. 

Various members of the group would filter off every now and again, of course. To replenish supplies, grab a new book, or buy an ice cream from the truck which pulled up. But, there had always been a core contingent remaining, even as the intensity of the day’s heat had begun to burn off, replaced with a softer, gentler, and more oranged glow. 

Perhaps that’s why you didn’t realise it, until it had already happened.

That by now, you and Santiago were alone. 

You look up from your book and all of a sudden, you are the only one left lounging on the blankets. You look out to the water, and Santiago is the only figure to be found there too, currently floating on his back, bobbing over each gentle, orange-frilled wave which laps up to the shore. 

Christ. When did it get so late? 

Santiago must realise the predicament at a similar moment to you, you think, as by the time you have finished swivelling your head to scan the sands for signs of anyone else -finding no-one but a distant dog walker- he has already begun to wade out of the water. 

It is something you have watched him do so many times today, but now that it is just the two of you, this time it hits just a little different. This time, you notice him. Really notice him. Can’t help it. You watch him rise out of the water in the golden glow of the descending sun, and shake the rivulets of water from his darkened, wetted curls. See his tan chest emerge first, the colour in his shoulders a deeper, richer brown already from a day soaking up the sun. That silver chain of his swinging and glinting in between his smooth, shapely pecs. And, you note the soft cushion of his tummy swelling over the waistband of his swim shorts, the garment sodden and clinging tightly to his ample hips and thighs. Even slipping down just a little as he wades from out of the water, revealing a hint of his happy trail as he beelines directly towards where you lay. 

Your stomach twists with a deep, hot yearning, and you are grateful that you have at least a moment to compose yourself before he arrives, sea-shined and dripping, at your now deserted camp. You have the wherewithal, at least, to throw him a towel as he reaches you, trying not to stare (too much) as he begins to dry himself off. 

“Thanks,” he offers, with a lazy flash of teeth, and you unconsciously rearrange yourself, very suddenly aware - now that you’re alone - that you are stripped right down to your flimsy bikini. 

You see a swallow sink down Santi’s corded throat as his eyes skim down the length of you, but he is quick to obscure it. He’s still playing nice. Softening himself, you think. 

With a laugh as roughly hewn as driftwood, he flicks some water at you after scrunching his hand through his sodden curls, spraying cold flecks across the bare expanse of your belly, causing you to tense and squeal. His shoulders shake with gentle mirth, and, once he’s towelled off and wrung out his shorts a little, he spreads his towel out next to you, parking his ample ass down. 

“Didn’t feel like a swim? The water’s nice.” 

“Nah.” 

His head swivels about, eyes traversing the length of the beach. He scoops a hand around his stubble, and you hear it rasp like sand. “Where the shit did everybody go?”

You shrug with one shoulder. “Beats me. I was far too engrossed in my trashy novel to notice.”  You dog-ear the page of said book and put it to one-side before leaning back, supporting your torso on bent elbows, legs still elongated before you and crossed neatly at the ankle. The position pushes your breasts out, and you swear Santiago tries valiantly to look just about anywhere else - more or less succeeding too. 

“Then… I think we’re alone now.” 

A mischievous smile catches the corners of your mouth. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.” 

You turn your head towards him, to see if he’s picked up on your song-lyric-inspired choice of words, but the solemnity of his expression catches you off-guard. His brows are drawn down, the sockets of his eyes all shadowed despite the golden hour glow still pouring over the horizon, lighting the stark contours of him. 

In unison, the two of you shift position, coming to sit cross-legged. Side-by-side, looking out over the ocean. It seems easier that way, you think. Not to face each other directly as you each say whatever it is you need to say. 

You know that it’s come time to say it. That it’s overdue. 

Besides, it’s undeniably beautiful, looking out across the view like this. Enjoying the lapping waves and the undulating, orange zest water stretched out below that burning sky. Now cooling, post-dip, Santiago reaches over for his trusty tartan blanket. Silently, he first tucks it around his shoulders, then he passes it around yours. It’s a stretch for the square of fabric, and so you huddle a little closer to one another, finding it is even more warming as your bodies press together. The wetness of his thigh, from those water-logged, sand-coated trunks contacts you too, but you make no effort to move away, instead resting your folded thigh just on top of his. 

You can smell the ocean on him. Salt and sunshine and sunscreen. He smells like summer.

You look out across the landscape with renewed concentration as you wait for him to speak, not ready to face whatever expression his features may offer. You look outward with vigour while you wait for him to look inward, and you worry that his words - when they come - will surely be more ugly than the sight before you. Will be bitter and not sweet. 

You even brace for it. 

You’re so used to the storm. 

Still, when he eventually speaks, you are surprised. Surprised that he is calm and steady. That his voice is like slow, warm sand pooling into your cupped hands. That his words are both bitter and sweet. “Hey. C’mere.” You link your arm into him. Lean your head onto his shoulder as his tone grows wistful. “Do you… Do you remember that night in Philadelphia?” 

You smile immediately. There had been only one such night in Philadelphia. 

It had been your birthday. You and Santiago had been catching a connecting flight, heading back from a deployment and en route to meet the boys off-base to celebrate. However, all the planes had been grounded due to some technical hitch with the tower. You’d been bummed that your plans had been ruined; but Santiago had come through. Had gifted you one of the best nights of your life. A very silly, drunken night, if you recall. 

You cringe, hazy, smooth-edged memories flooding back. You clap a hand to your face with residual embarrassment. “Christ. The karaoke.” 

Santiago chuckles warmly, and you feel his laugh reverberate through you. “It wasn’t karaoke! You hijacked the goddamn wedding band.” 

Your hand clamps in dismay over your mouth now, and you lift your head from his shoulder to face him. “Oh my god. You’re right.” 

Your laughs mingle together in the tight space between you, becoming indistinguishable, like the tide and the shore. “I still can’t believe you blagged our way into a wedding reception.” 

“I can’t believe it took us so long to get rumbled,” his hand settles over yours, where your arm is still hooked into his.

You beam at him. “Thank God I’m stealthy.”

He pumps his eyebrows, entirely incredulous. “You? Yeah right.” 

“I’m sure I must’ve helped, Pope.”  

“No, cariño, no. You were not helping.” He scratches at his layer of scruff. “Shit. What was it… What did you tell the kid on the desk your name was, again?” 

You try to recall, and when you remember you snort in a full-blown laugh. Your ensuing, chaotic giggle planes tears of joy out of the corners of your eyes. “Mariana Trench!”

“You’re fucking despicable. You know that?” Santiago laughs along with you, and God. It feels good. Really good. It feels effortless, your mirth sharing space like this instead of your anger.  Your laughs mingle then dissipate, withdrawing gently like the retreat of a wave. 

You lean your head back on to his shoulder, but your giggle fit is evidently not wholly through - not just yet. Your shoulders begin to shake up against him - gently at first, and then with a rising chuckle. “Whiskey in the jar-o,” you sing under your breath, wistfully recalling your drunken duet of choice. “Fuck, Santi. That was a good night.” 

He rests his head on top of yours, the weight of it a comfort. “Yeah. Yeah it was,” he agrees. “Jesus, I’m telling you though. They were lucky we showed up. Before we livened things up? The dance floor was as dead as a battlefield after one of Redfly’s sweeps.” 

You hum at the fond memory, a soft smile arcing over your face. He has you curious though. “What made you think of that night?” Why this memory, out of everything?

He stiffens noticeably up against you. Sits more upright. Presses his palms together. “That was, uh. That was the night that I-” 

“-Vomited into a soup tureen?” You interject with a snort, as another random memory flashes back to you.

“No. Nope,” Santi counters decisively. “That was Cat’s Oma’s 80th.” 

You giggle chaotically again. “Oh yeah. Shit.” You miss that lady. She was a sweetie. 

“Hey. Listen,” Santiago begins with far more gravity. Enough gravity that you shift, turning your body as he draws your gaze to him. You had been waiting for this moment to arrive; but, now that it’s here, you wish you could cling on to the sweet things for a few moments longer. Still, you settle opposite him now, the two of you still cross-legged but positioned face to face. He adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tugging on each corner. With a watery smile, you slide your palms on to his wrecked, perfect knees and give him a gentle squeeze there, seemingly pushing his croaked words out with the gesture too. “I want to say that I’m sorry.” 

You have nothing for a moment. No words, at least. Nothing but the motion of your hands smoothing back and forth over his knees. Nothing but the pained expression as your eyes swim with an ocean of feeling, deep enough to rival the vast body of water before you. 

You note that his eyes are wet too as he settles his own hands over yours, gathering them up into his grasp. He stares down intently at your hands, his brow notching with a deep frown. He drags in a slow breath and releases it. “This got so fucked up, and… that’s not it at all.” He looks back to you then, his umber eyes shining with remorse. Deep regret welling in his resonant tone. “That’s not how I want to show up for you.” 

Your tongue, too, reaches for an apology as readily as your hands had reached out for him. “Fuck, Santiago. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry too.” You had never meant to hurt him. You had never wanted that. 

He drops his gaze to your neat pairing of hands. Gingerly begins to smooth the rough, sea-pruned pads of his thumbs over your knuckles, your skin humming dully where he touches. “I mean it. I’m sorry for everything.” The tendons in his jaw clench, muscles slipping over bone. He drags your cupped hand into his lap, drawing an absent-minded spiral in your palm with the pad of his thumb. The sensation makes a pleasant tingle bed down beneath your skin. “I swear. I never meant for my bullshit to affect you. Christ - that was the whole fucking point. Thought the least I could do, after everything, was protect you from that.” 

At his earnest words, your chest tightens, and you abruptly halt the dance of his fingers by clasping his hands, gathering them between your own palms like a prayer. Your voice cracks in half like a broken promise. “Santiago. For Christ’s sake. You think I need protecting?” The implication in his words cleaves your heart in two. “From you?” 

He shrugs with one shoulder. Sniffs. The muscle in his cheek tugs up, and you feel his hands go clammy in your grasp.

He frees himself from your grip for a moment, before continuing to skim his fingers up and down your forearm arm in a gentle, tender dance. The lightness of his touch contrasts starkly with the heaviness settling into his brow, his wet, puppy dog eyes swimming beneath. “I dunno. I was always a better fucking soldier than I was a friend.” He swallows, his voice so soft you can barely hear him. “Than I was… anything else you might’ve needed me to be.” 

“No. That’s not true,” you respond adamantly, your head shaking vigorously from side to side. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“Except when it counted.”

“No!” you emphasise, the thrust of your words carrying your whole body forward. You shift position, transferring on to folded knees, crouching before him in the sand. Reaching, to slip your palms up to each side of his face, and you hold him like a prayer now. “No, Santiago. Especially when it counted. Believe me.”

He tries to turn away from you - you see it. He tries to begin his retreat, like usual, but this time, you capture his roughened cheek with one palm and you hold his gaze with yours. You speak firmly, willing him to understand. “Santiago Garcia. Idiota. You’re my hero.” 

He scoffs lightly. His face twitches with scepticism. With doubt. With this self-deprecation he always carries, usually so well concealed by his confidence and easy charm. And yet, as you caress his stubble-flecked cheek with your palm, he sinks gratefully into your touch. Leans against it, his eyes fanning closed and his long lashes splaying down towards his cheeks. 

“God,” he breathes softly in Spanish, barely audible. “No-one has called me that in a long time." He lives in a world of aliases and nicknames, and you see the weight of his grief twist his face at hearing his name fall from your mouth. 

“I mean it. Do you hear me?” you plead, snagging his eyes to yours as they drift open. “You have made my life more beautiful in a thousand ways. You’re not -and you never were- something I need protecting from.” You regard Santiago, and his pretty eyes glisten, wet with a well of scarcely contained emotion -starlight in his lashes. “I love you, Santiago. Whatever has happened. Whatever happens. I love you. Not when you’re this ‘perfect’ version of yourself you finally deem worthy of love.” You search his eyes “That’s bullshit. I love you. I love you now.”

Santiago slowly, gradually musters a nod, and you smooth your hands over him. Over his shoulders. the nape of his neck. His chest. Trying to plaster over the evident cracks as his emotion crashes like a wave against rocks. He scoops a hand around his stubble, his lower lip now downturned. Trembling with feeling. Fat, liquid tears shining in his eyes, threatening to overspill. “I love you too.” 

What a terrible, sad thing, you think. That you love each other. That there’s such bounty and abundance, but that at the same time… it is never quite enough. 

Maybe one day, it will be; enough. 

For now though, it is still something which causes you pain. And, you can see -more clearly than ever now- that it hurts him too. 

His eyes dance over everything but you. His face twists. Contorts and tightens as he wrestles with it, but he cannot hold back the tide a moment longer. Full, wet tears spill down Santiago’s cheeks, and he makes some attempt to fumble them away, until they grow too numerous. You reach for him instead, and for a moment he tries to gently bat your hand away. “Hey,” you scold, protest, smooth. “Santiago.” His eyes drop, and his gaze fixes intently on a spot in the sand as you gingerly scoop his tears away with your crooked forefinger. The finger you then trace lovingly along the length of his jaw. The finger you trace along his eyebrow. The point of his cheekbone. Every place the waning golden light paints him. Your eyes dance over him. Every contour. Every sharp angle and every hollow. Every soft, silver curl. And he stays perfectly still. Unmoving, as though he is afraid your touch will withdraw like a tide at any moment. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, and it is at once bitter and sweet. “It hurts. It… hurts to be without you.”

For a stretched moment, you do not believe he will respond, the only sign of movement from him a lone tear sluicing down his sculpted cheek. But, eventually, his words come. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I need to find a way it doesn’t hurt you to be with me.” You shake your head, a protest dying on your lips as Santiago drags your hands to him. “I know you won’t buy this. You don’t have to. But I do want out. I swear it’s just this one last job with Lorea. And then I can… Then maybe we can…”

He trails off, his words waning. Breaking on the rocks. 

He never could articulate a future with you, could he? Never could seem to dream that up.

You could be angry about that, you suppose, but you truly have no more anger left to give. You could be sad instead but, turns out, you’re out of that feeling too. All you have left to offer in this moment, in fact, is a small, resigned smile.

“It’s okay,” you smooth, and what’s more, you mean it. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Your fingers play over the leather and beads of his bracelets. Over the tendons in his wrist. The light hairs on his forearms.

You’re done with all of that now. Done trying to push him towards a future you’re not even sure he wants with you. Not sure he ever wanted. It’s funny almost, as you sit here, letting the future go. You sit here with him, so much history humming between you it’s like standing amidst ruins. Like you are two statues, memories and stories carved into your bodies. Sometimes, it feels like the past is all you have. But, you are thankful when the sinking, orange segment of sun draws you to it, reminding you there is one more thing you have. Something between the past and future. 

You have the here and now. 

You reach for it. 

It’s all you’ve got. Might be all you ever have with him. 

You twist your body, turning outward again, away from him. You fold your knees up to your chin and you loop your arms around them, fixing your eyes straight ahead on the undulating ocean. 

“That’s one thing I always loved about you, you know,” you push out. “How you always live smack bang in the moment. I’m constantly wishing it all the fuck away, aren’t I? Always thinking fifty steps ahead.”

Santiago follows your lead, swivelling to face the sunset too. His body becomes all right angles as he plants his elbows on the points of his spread knees, his butt and the soles of his feet flat to the floor, his hands loosely laced together in the space between his legs.  “You should. You should think about that stuff. You deserve all that. Everything you talked about last night.”

His words cause a tight lump to rise in your throat. 

Do you? 

Does he really believe that? 

Because, if so, then why in the hell don’t you deserve him? Why can’t he be the one to give it to you? 

You offer a theory. 

“Does it bore you, or something? The thought of a future like that?” The question emerges tattered, torn on hooks in your throat which try to hold it back; but it’s something you’ve wondered for too long to suppress it any longer. You’ve wondered without ever wanting to push that thought too far - too afraid of the answer. 

“Yeah,” he says levelly, not a hint of doubt in his voice, and you hold your breath. “With anyone else, yeah. But not with you.” You are relieved but that fades ever so quickly, your face crumpling into something halfway petulant. 

“Then… why?” 

Why is he still running? 

Why is he running from the life you could offer him if it’s something he wants too? 

You hear Santiago tug in and release a deep sigh. Out of the corner of your eye you see him lace his fingers together, soothing his thumb over his own hand like he’s retracing your comfort. “Because… I’m not brave like you.” His voice tips up at the end. Like a question. He reserves all of his doubt for himself, then? It’s not you he refuses to believe in? 

“You’re ridiculous. You’re the bravest man I know.” 

“Heh. Yeah,” he lifts a hand to self-consciously scratch at the bristle of hairs at the nape of his neck. You hug your knees more tightly to your chest. “Running into bullets. Eliminating threats, sure. But… running into safe hands? I’m a fucking coward.”

You hum, a neutral, bland sound which expresses neither agreement nor disagreement. Which takes you nowhere. 

There’s nowhere left to go. 

Perhaps the road ends here. 

Dead end after dead end. 

Only resignation. 

“Maybe we were on the same path, once upon a time, huh?” You throw the statement out with little conviction. You’re giving up on the idea that your words or your actions can make the slightest bit of difference to what could be. For now, you simply wish to make sense of what is. “Maybe - I dunno. Maybe I just ran too far ahead. Racing towards this dream of the future, before you were ready to go there. Maybe I just created too much distance.” 

Santiago hums now too. A tight, pensive sound. “Huh. Is that what you think happened?” 

You rub your palms over your own face. Dig the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. You have as much energy as a spent wave. “Uch. I don’t know.” Wordlessly, tentatively, Santiago reaches, retucking the soft tartan blanket around your shoulders. You manage to smile softly at him, surprised that it does not feel at all forced. “Maybe we just forget all that now. Maybe we just… I dunno. Live in the moment?”

Santiago’s palm draws slow circles on your upper back. You shuffle a little closer to him. “Okay. Then what do you want?” he enquires. “Right now? In this moment?” 

His arm weighs over your shoulder, huddling you closer. “Oh. I don’t know. What does it even matter?” 

“We leave here tomorrow. So tell me. What do you want right now?” 

You could imagine that you are tired of wanting. That all you want is a moment free of wanting anything at all. But that’s not true, is it? You want the very same thing you’ve craved for so long. You want him. Finally though, something in you has shifted. You find yourself able to envisage a future which is far more immediate. Something you can grasp now instead of distantly yearning for. 

The words feel hard and tight in your chest, but by the time they reach your lips, they feel so very soft and loose. Easy to sound out. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to hurt you. All this time I missed you so much.” Unconsciously, Santiago holds you just a little more tightly. “I just…”

“What?” he whispers. 

“I want us to fall asleep together. I want to hold you. I just want us to have one moment like that, Santi. Peaceful, you know? After everything, don’t we at least deserve that?” You tug in a breath to launch your next words, your throat closing protectively around them. Making them sound small. “And… And maybe…” 

“What? What else?” 

“Can’t we just fuck and feel happy about it? Can’t we have just one fucking moment together that doesn’t feel like an ending?”

You wait, your raw-wound words laid out in a line on the sand. You brace. You brace for them to be washed away. To have the salt poured in. 

“Okay.” 

Your eyes snap to his in surprise, and you find his soft, ardent gaze dancing over your features. “Okay?” 

Santiago’s fingers lace with yours, and he tugs you to standing. “Come with me. Come on.” 

He gathers up the remaining supplies, slinging the filled beach bag over one shoulder. Then, he folds his other arm around your middle. Tucks you into him. You let him lead you to the house, and it’s nice. It’s nice that for once, you’re not begging him to follow. 

You let him lead you up the dunes, back to the house, and up the stairs. 

You leave the golden, sinking sun behind you, but with Santiago’s warm, molten gaze shining on you, you still feel the sun on your face. 

[justabigoldnerd]

Thank you so much @the-golden-comet for the tag!!

My Words: destroy, sense, withhold, underneath

Your Words: Budge, Proper, Trouble, Trunk

These are tough ones! Let me see what I can find....🤔

Destroy - "The X-Men From U.N.C.L.E."

He learned he could manipulate smaller things when he threw a rock at a tree out of frustration and it blew a hole straight through the trunk, showering him with splinters. Illya sat up in the litter and stared in wild-eyed wonder at the hole. Trembling, he felt around for another stone and held it in the torn palm of his hand. Goosebumps pricked his skin all the way down his arm, and the strange pulsing sensation he'd been chasing thrummed through his veins, centering on the rock.  After a few seconds, it subsided and Illya wiped the dirt and tears from his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. He sniffled and squared his shoulders, reeling back his arm. Aiming at a different tree, he threw the rock as hard as he could. This time, the hole it blasted through the trunk severed it in half, and the top flipped backwards in its fall to the earth. Illya's mouth went dry and he looked from the destroyed tree to his shaking, bloody hand.

Sense - "How To Cook A Wolf"

“Yeah,” Solo rasps, “Deal.” He scrawls his name in jittery letters, right on the line, then lets the pen clatter to the desk. He looks up at the man he once respected, even admired, with enough venom to kill him in half a second if Solo had fangs. Sanders only smiles wider in return, sharp like the straight razor that had knicked his carotid. A foreboding sense of dread settles deep in his stomach. “We done here?” “Yes, Solo, I think that means we're done here,” the older man drawls, overly pleased. He takes the agreement and tucks it into a manilla envelope, undoubtedly on its way to being locked in a safe only Sanders knows the location of.

Withhold - "Which Side Of The Wall Really Suffers That Cost?" (Had to write this one in haha)

He heard Waverly breathe deeply and the creak of a chair as he leaned back, taking in the information, “How certain are you?” “There is only one way to know, sir.” “Right. Yes. Have you told your partners?” “No, sir.” “Good, good. I fear they may muddy things a bit. It's better that we withhold this information from them, for now. Mr. Kuryakin, it's up to you whether you wish to risk returning to Moscow. If you choose to stay, you will be protected here in London, to the best of our abilities, but they will know your intentions. If you choose to go, well….,” Waverly opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved a thick file, offering it over the desk to Illya.

Underneath - "Quietly, It Slips Through Your Fingers, Love (Falling From You Drop By Drop)" (this is a finished work, but I could NOT find this word in any WIPs LMAO)

“Peril,” Solo muttered, the word taking an immense amount of effort. “Don't talk. Save energy,” Illya scolded softly, glancing down at where Gaby had unbuttoned Solo's shirt. He moved his and Solo's hands from the wound so she could move the fabric and shove strips of the rags into the bullet hole. “Illya,” he groaned in pain, and the world went quiet, save for the shallow sound of Solo's breathing. He shakily slipped his hand out from underneath Illya's where he had moved them to Solo's chest, only to switch their places and thread their fingers together–directly over his slowing heart. “I forgive you.”

Phew! This was tough!! I liked the challenge!!!

No pressure tagging @huggiebird @happybean17 @falling-into-peril @heytheredeann @pippinoftheshire

@bighandsforabigheart @kcscribbler @yallwildinrn @cha-melodius @thattripleabattery

@too-young-to-fall-in-love @times-up-alone-tonight @vnyu73 @nicijones

And an Open Tag for anyone who wants to join!!! 💕💕💕💕

[maleyanderecafe]

Lucky Day! (Visual Novel)

Created by: JORDAN

Genre: Horror

Phew, really going with these yanjam games. Lucky Day! is the prequel to Dr. Morgan’s Counseling Session and I think that it is a major improvement in a lot of different aspects. What is really nice is that true ending into the events of the next game, which I really liked. If you are interested in more information on these games, you can find them at @verinefan for more information.

In total there are nine different endings you can get- one for discovering what Oliver is doing in every strange thing that happens, one for ignoring him, one for being completely oblivious, one neutral ending and one true ending that feeds into the next game. I'll be splicing the other endings between each day while writing the summary portion.

The story starts with the MC going to the pet store to buy somethings for their friend's pet. After grumbling to find the items, they bump into a strange man who seems to need help. The MC offers his their help to find where the hamsters are located before leaving and giving the items to their friend. They have a tough following week and hopes for a better following week.

Rejecting to help this man will lead to it's own ending where the MC just continues on with life.

The MC ends up going to a garage sale and finding one of their favorite plushes in the sale for a cheap price. The MC brings it home only to find a strange beeping noise coming from it.

Opening the plushie will reveal a camera inside of it and the MC removes the SD card on it to inspect it. They notice that the person was the same one they met in the pet store and that they planted the plushie in the yard sale. Oliver knocks on the door, and the MC escapes via car and runs him over.

The next day the MC is excited for a package they ordered. Opening the package reveals not what they bought but rather a USB. Within the USB are folders of different shows, games, music and other things that the MC likes. The MC notices a hidden unnamed folder.

Opening it will reveal countless photos and videos of things related to the MC. Scared, the MC tries to figure out what to do and if they should turn it to the police but instead decides to investigate it themselves. Looking through the photo properties, the MC is able to find the location of where it was taken. As it's close by, the MC decides to go to the location and finds a box to find some of the things that they had lost. Oliver ends up drugging the MC and taking them away.

The MC has a day off and decides to cancel some subscriptions to save some money. While going to cancel one of them, but realizes that something is weird and that all of the payment dates are off by a month.

Investigating further finds that all of the subscription have a Paypal connected underneath the MC's credit card. The MC is confused since if it was a hacker, why would they pay for all of them? The MC emails Oliver and Oliver response that they paid for them all because he likes them and hat they've been watching them. The MC cancels and blocks Oliver, locking the windows as well. At night, someone comes to knock on the door and runs into Oliver. The MC freaks out that he's broken in and the MC knocks him out and calls the police.

The next day the MC goes biking with a friend. You two enjoy the outdoors and then take a rest- only for the MC's friend to realize that they were being tracked. Checking on the bike, they find the tag on the bike.

Contacting the owner will have the MC and the friend call at a nearby cafe only to hear the ringtone nearby. Oliver responds stating that he didn't lose the tag, and that he was tracking the MC on purpose wanting to make sure they were okay. Your friend offers to hold onto the tag for you and the MC goes home only to find Oliver there who declares happily that he had come to pick them up. The MC gets knocked out due to the drugged food they were eating and Oliver takes them away.

The MC finishes a project for work the next day and a coworker apologizes for the bad last week and offers to treat them out for food. The MC agrees, but upon reaching the location, the coworkers apologizes for ditching at the last second and sends them money for a meal.

Looking for the coworker, the MC walks around and tries to call them only to hear the phone ring in an alleyway. The MC picks up a metal pipe for protection and finds a bloodied coworker with a Oliver standing on top of him. Oliver attempts to apologize to the MC before attacking them to prevent him from going to the police. The MC strikes back knocking Oliver out and calling the police/ambulance.

Ignoring or being mostly oblivious will lead to the MC having a nice week with one ending wishing every week were this lucky or wondering if they should have looked more into other things.

The true ending occurs if you build the MC's anxieties up but never catch Oliver. The MC has a bit of a panic attack and gets an ad about going to therapy which is what leads to the event of the next game.

Like I mentioned before, I honestly do think that the creator has improved a lot since their last game in terms of story, UI, artwork and everything. This game feels a lot more full (if that's the right word) and more colorful- it's really nice to see creator's improvements as they move onto another project or game.

Personally, I think the ways that Oliver was able to "improve" each day for the MC were all done fairly creatively. From the USB with all the things that the MC liked, to paying for their subscription services to tracking them on their bike ride, each of them have a fairly unique spin on how Oliver was able to track the MC. I think it's also nice that Oliver doesn't always win in his encounters and that the MC is generally a bit more prepared even when they do lose. I'm very used to yanderes that are able to win in all these kinds of bad endings, so it's nice to have it where it's a bit more matched. I also really like how the True ending is able to tie the prequel to the events of the next game so that it really does feel like a prequel. It was a good touch.

As a yandere, I did mention that Oliver was a bit clumsy in his methods and it continues in this as well. In each encounter, the events are generally suspicious or obviously weird in some way or another. A lot of the times, he seems to not be prepared when some things happen, like when the MC discovers that Oliver had knocked out their coworker or he comes in at a point where the MC can very easily retaliate like when he knocks on the door and the MC ends up running him over with their car. Oliver does seem to be pretty opaque when the MC does find out, stating straight out for instance when the MC asks him why he paid for his account, Oliver straight up tells the MC it's because he likes them instead of making up an excuse, or when trying to return the tag, tells them that he put it there on purpose. Even in cases where he does win like when he chloroforms the MC, the MC at least is a bit more prepared on what will happen and had to do work to track where the items were. Generally, it does seem like Oliver only purposefully interacts with the MC either because the MC finds out or he doesn't want to be sent to the police, and is happy just staying in the shadows and giving the MC different "gifts" to make their week better. Relatively harmless to the MC except when caught, which is on par with his other game.

Other than that, it seems like a pretty good prequel. If you have played Dr. Morgan’s Counseling Session but not this game, then I highly recommend you play it. It really builds on Oliver's character as a yandere and is just a fun time.

[eldritch-spouse]

PINNIE...pinprick...pinpoint

Shapeshifter anon here, as a pardon for bombarding you with asks I give you ‘Chronicles of a Shapeshifter’ - I hope it’s funny and you have a nice laugh ❤️

Day 1: Morell - I tried to do a live version of Ratatouille, but I don’t think he was very happy. I managed to dodge the cleaver he threw by jumping out the window and grabbing on to Pebble.

Day 2: Gallon - Brought a fish tank with me and placed it on some spare table top on the bar. I turned into a Spanish Dancer Nudibranch and kept Gallon company during his shift. 

Day 3: Nebul - I wandered through Nebul’s shop as a desert rain frog. Whenever a customer tried to grab an item I popped out from behind and squeaked at them. Purpur tried to grab me, but I just hopped around the shop, through Nebul’s legs, and then around a customer a couple times (the whole day).

Day 4: Vinnel - I participated in Vinnel’s show as a polar bear. Accidentally hit a guy with some entrails, but I think he liked it? The temporary power outage didn’t happen because SOMEONE hit a severed head into a power box ACCIDENTALLY.

Day 5: Grimbly - Was a hedgehog in the halls and tripped Grimbly ONCE (maybe more, not too much, definitely fewer that 30). I let him put a big hot pink bow on me as an apology.

Day 6: Santi - Became a bird of paradise and seduced all his potential customers. Was a hit with bird monsters. Swimming in b*tches, but I’m a player not a lover, so Santi eventually got them back.

Day 7: Frank-e - Was THE goat at Frank-e’s rave. Ate a few monster’s hair, my mouth is still tingling (it’s been 3 days). 

Day 8: Sybastian - what better way to play hide-and-seek with the minimics (mini-mimics) then to become a chameleon. Had to hide from Sybastian when he came charging to the mimic that squeaked when I caught it.  

Day 9: Belo - I turned into a great potoo and had a staring contest with him. Later became a shima enaga and sat on his head for the rest of the day. Took a mouthful of feathers (the ones closest to the root of his wing) as a keepsake/trophy. 

Day 10: Patches - During the day I walked up to Patches as (surprise) a horse. I think he actually believed I was one because he tried to lure me in with some apple slices, like I couldn’t see the reigns in his other hand. I took the apple slices and a piece of his face. He chased after me with a lasso but I ran away every time he got close. —Stitches - Stitches stole some other horse and I tagged along (as a horse) to help cause some mayhem. He attempted to do some show pony tricks on me...

Day 11: Krulu/Admin - Was a raven and played with admin when she had some time to relax. Would repeat her words and roll around. Let her carry me and dress me up, as much as I didn’t want to be put in a raven-sized Clergy uniform. 

(Bonus) Day ??: I don’t know how long I’ve been down in this basement, the days have all blended together. The only consistent thing is the bagel shower twice a day(?). I’ve talked with some of the other basement dwellers and a plan is forming. With the stale, concrete tough bagels we hid under the floor boards we plan to-/\|//||\\|//\\| the rest of the entry has been torn out...

You plan to lay real fucking low and not give the others any dumbass ideas.

You know we have free Healthcare here, don't you?

[Cute stuff though.✨You're using all my titles, thank fuck you don't know my full name. *phew*]

[fanfoolishness]

A battle royale ensues...

Tagged by @dramaticmusicplaying! Thank you!

Rules: Make a poll of your top five favorite characters of all time and see who is the favorite amongst your followers!

Phew, this is tough!

Just so you know, I wouldn't be able to narrow it down myself XD

Tagging @just-here-with-my-thoughts, @novantinuum, @stardustandash, @apeacebone and anyone else who would like to join in!

[lpsotd]

hopefully this isn't too weird to say but - i read the tags on your last post, and you said you were on your last year of childhood – don't worry about that!

im currently 25 and im starting to collect lps again, and ill tell you, even though there's more responsibilities, you still get to be a kid! no one ever truly grows up! my 67 year old grandma keeps one of her ragdolls from when she was a kid and always sews it new dresses. one of her favorite hobbies is watching anime with me! my 46 year old mother loves tv too, but one of the things she's crazy about is boardgames! we have a big collection and we all always play together. (she's got crazy competitive spirit btw. i never win). my 28 year old sister goes out with her friends just to wander around town and eat fast food like she did back when she was a teenager. you're never too old to have fun :) you just gotta let yourself have it. <3

thank you for this !! tbh it's kinda hard to let myself be a teenager when i seemingly have so much to do kgjdnbkjgb, and it doesn't help that i have less-than-supportive around me (not friends. i mean family) who are quick to belittle me or dismiss the things i'm interested in. i just can't stop thinking about the time my aunt saw my lps collection and started laughing, it hurt a lot especially since she's (usually) the more understanding one, and it may have been a "woah??" kind of surprised laugh instead of a "i'm making fun of you" laugh, but it felt that way kjgsnbkjgsfbn

i did have friends who actively made fun of me for what i was into (i no longer associate with them, so phew), and they're one of the main reasons i'm always so hesitant to share and infodump about the stuff i like kjgnbkjdbnkdfgjb

i feel like kids shouldn't be pressured to grow up fast. like, once you reach a certain age, you shouldn't have to stop playing with dolls or watching cartoons. you can stop doing those things when you aren't interested in them anymore, not when people tell you that you should stop, because they don't know anything.

in february i'm gonna be 18 and it's a tough concept for me to grab. i've always been told that i am ""mature for my age"" (i am not, by the way.), and i think that also kinda warped my perception of myself, because i've always felt like i Had to act a certain way, or else people are gonna see me as childish instead of this serious and mature person, but i was only like, what, 14, 15 ?? i should not have felt that way !! i should've been doing what young teenagers usually do, not feeling the need to impress middle aged adults.

it's only now that i feel like i have a sense of self because i'm trying to distance myself from certain people (ahem. family) who made me feel that way, and i'm trying to embrace who i really am: i am not mature or serious at all. i'm 17 years old who enjoys toys, cartoons, coloring, and playing video games with my friends. but i'm also ready to embrace my up and coming adulthood, and i'm serious when i need to be. i'm me and i think that's good enough.

very sorry i went on a bit of a mini tangent there. your ask made me very happy, so thank you !!

[scyllas-revenge]

20 Questions for Writers

Tagged by @lordoftherazzles and @i-did-not-mean-to (although compared to idnmt's 550+ fanfics this will look pretty sparse XD

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

14! One is a collection of a couple of short fics, the others are all stand-alones.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

204,153

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Tolkien, pretty exclusively. I don't know many other fandoms well enough to be comfortable writing in them for now

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Burn Like Cold Iron takes first place for everything as my only long fic. Then How to Cope with a Middle Earth Bed Shortage, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?, Customer Service, and A Helping Hand.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! There are a few here and there that slip through the cracks when I just don’t have enough spoons to reply, but I do my best!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I write happy endings as a rule lol, so this is tough. The closest to angst might be Burn Like Cold Iron just because it will have some bittersweetness thrown in alongside the happy ending, but I definitely wouldn't call it an angsty ending.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Considering most of my fic endings are pretty equally happy, my favorite is The Floor Is Molasses, because I just want Boromir to be happy and hanging out in the Shire.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

A few times on FFN in the past. I’ve been lucky enough to avoid it almost entirely on AO3. Which is good bc it does not take much to make me cry 😂

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have posted one (1) explicit fic and we shall NEVER SPEAK OF IT (I am easily embarrassed and it’s a miracle I posted it at all)

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nooooo, they've always intimidated me. Between all the canon characters and OCs I don't have room for anyone else!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Oof I hope not

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I would be honored!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I haven’t done much more than brainstorm with fandom friends about plot points and stuff. But it sounds like fun and I hope I can cowrite something with one of my much more talented mutuals someday!!

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I haven’t been super obsessed with a ship in years, so this is a tough question, especially since I’ve been focused on OC pairings lately. I’ve been pretty into Boromir/Theodred lately (but it’s such a tragic pairing and my poor heart can’t stand it), but hmm...my all-time favorite?? I'm a big fan of Nina and Matthias from Six of Crows, and Katniss and Peeta from the Hunger Games, and OOH Jaime and Brienne from Game of Thrones! There that's the one. All-time favorite. I did it. Phew.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I fully intend to finish my one ongoing WIP, Burn Like Cold Iron, and beyond that I really don’t want to start a fic I don’t think I’ll finish.

But I’ve written bits and pieces of a Middle Earth murder mystery I was really excited about, and I don’t have high hopes for actually fleshing that one out. I’ve never plotted out a murder mystery and would need to do some hardcore planning and plotting and scheming for it first and my brain is just not there right now XD

16. What are your writing strengths?

Aaahhh I am not good at complimenting myself (my therapist made me compliment myself last week and I almost cried lol) but I think I’ve gotten pretty good at writing engaging dialogue. I also am happy with a lot of my OCs, especially in my all-OC fic Something Burrowed, Something Blue, although I want to keep working at developing more complex characters in the future.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My writing speed. I’m so slow. So so slow. Dear lord.

That and detailed plots and worldbuilding. Basically I need to brainstorm more before I start writing, and get a better sense for where things are going and how they'll turn out.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I could probably throw some Italian into a fic without much trouble lol. But Tolkien languages like sindarin honestly intimidate the hell out of me- I will jump through SO many hoops to avoid it. I am a coward

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Warrior cats. I was 12 and submitted it to my English teacher for extra credit. I had no shame 😂

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It’s probably unfair to my other fics to say Burn Like Cold Iron since it’s so much longer than everything else I’ve written. So besides that one, probably What Could Possibly Go Wrong? I had fun exploring different characters’ points of view and sprinkling in lots of foreshadowing and dramatic irony for future plot points.

Tagging: @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book, @hobbitwrangler, @jaimehwatson, @frosticenow, @fishing4stars, @sotwk and anyone else who wants to play!

[bearlytolerant]

makathi - all of th-- ugh fine, just 12, 33, 45, 48, 66, 71, 77, and 82 (totally fine to answer any of these just for makon if you prefer, btw)

😁

Thank you friend! Phew! You chose tough and painful ones! But I appreciate them. Two…I had no idea what Athi would say so you can fill me in on that lmao

12. What is something their S/O does that makes them flustered?

Makon: Acknowledges my existence.

Athi: Maybe at first but we both know that’s a lie now.

33. Which one of them gives "that look" when the other is acting like a fool?

Makon: What is—

Athi: Hands down. It’s Makon.

Makon: *gives her that look*

45. What's the worst thing the other can say to one?

Athi: “I’m driving.”

Makon: “I am dying.”

Athi: Well that took a turn.

Makon: *gives her that look again*

48. If they ever had less that 5 mins to tell their S/O something before never seeing them again, what would they say?

Makon: I refuse to acknowledge this thought and therefore cannot provide you with an answer to such a hypothetical question.

Athi: Not even a goodbye?

Makon: Goodbyes have never been my strength.

66. Have they ever been caught in the act? What would be their reaction if they were?

Makon: What act? Thieving? I do not— *leans over to listen to Athi whisper* Oh—an act of intimacy, I see. Only by the eyes of nature and my reaction was of pure ecstasy as I relished in Athi’s satiation.

Athi: Well, there was that one time at the apartment and Sera walked in—

Makon: Mmm yes, and the reactions all belonged to her if I recall correctly.

71. If someone were to insult their S/O, how would the other handle it?

Makon: Call them a fool and turn away, reassuring Athi that she is nothing like whatever insult is thrown her way.

77. What is something they would never forgive the other one for doing/saying?

Makon: Forcing the relationship out of obligation in an attempt to spare my feelings. I will always want Athi to pursue her happiness and to never be held back by me.

82. Make their relationship into a list of A03 tags.

Fluff, friends to lovers, smut, slice of life, (I know I’m missing more but I’m bad at ao3 tags I’ll be honest)

[damseljamsel]

15 Questions

I was tagged by @eljeebee and @hause-of-pancakes to participate and I adore them both! If you haven't checked out their simblrs, please go look NOW!! @eljeebee has an amazing story with incredible dialogue that has me on the edge of my seat! @hause-of-pancakes has a great blog that is so vivid and beautiful, I love their updates and pics so much!!

1. Are you named after anyone?

No!

2. When was the last time you cried?

A week ago..

3. Do you have kids?

Nope!

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Who, me? *looks around innocently*

5. What sports do you play/have played?

Well...between my large butt that gets in the way of walking and running in a straight line, and my inability to catch or throw...that's a NO!

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

Always their face, their eyes and expression. That tells me how I should proceed..

7. Eye color?

Dark Brown

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy Endings, always. Life is tough, give me the good stuff!

9. Any special talents?

Hmmm...not special really? I play a few instruments. OH...I can touch my toe to my nose, does that count LOL?!

10. Where were you born?

The city, but now I’m def country!

11. What are your hobbies?

Sims, photography (just learning), hiking, dancing!

12. Do you have any pets?

Two lovely pups, one cutie kitty

13. How tall are you?

5'5

14. Fave subject in school?

Band/Music

15. Dream job?

Can I play Sims for a living? Professional dog photographer? Before life kicked my ass I wanted to be a nurse but I think now running a little dog kennel would be wonderful.

Phew, done!! I think it's easier to talk about my sims....LOL!! Anyways! I would like to tag, @minmin-sims, @igotsnothing, @bloomingkyras, @nurbsfirby, @charmingmushroom, @sweetsimapples, @king-indigo, @carterscowplants, and @satureja13. Do it if you want to! If not, fuck it, there's no pressure at all! I adore all of u!

[writingannyred]

Writer interview Game 🔥

Thank you for tagging me @gingerlegacy07 and @galaxiasgreen ❤️

When did you start writing?

I started writing in my mid-twenties, it was some sort of Game of Thrones fanfiction. Then I wrote some stuff about my LARP-characters, and Skyrim MCs, but never published anything. My urge to write came back with Hogwarts Legacy and my MC Eliza. I hesitated some time, but then decided to publish it. Since then, I am addicted to writing, and my characters, and I even think about writing original stories and make a career out of it.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I read fantasy, history novels and romances, and I think what I write is a mixture of it. I plan on writing history novels though, since I don’t see myself coming up with entire worlds (I would compare myself always to the big masters J.R.R. Tolkien and George R.R. Martin). I am a history geek, thanks to my dad.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Like I said, George R.R. Martin is one of the big masters to me. If I can write stories like he does one day, I’ll be the happiest writer in the world. I recently found Penelope Douglas, and I love how she writes tension between characters, so I’d love to write like she does one day.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I have a study where I spend most of my writing time. It was formerly my sewing space and still can be used as such, but I have everything there, including the kitchen and the coffee machine next door. Sometimes I take my laptop and move to the living room aswell.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Next to (classical) music: Move my ass. Do some chores, go for a walk, visit my horse, stuff like that. Or taking a nap xD

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

I love feral, feisty female main characters. I love to make them sassy and annoying and reckless and smart mouthed. That is probably the most recurring theme. I also have a soft spot for Gryffindors dating Slytherins, just love the combination. And anything history related.  

I want to write a Enemies-to-lovers story soon since that is my favourite trope.

What is your reason for writing?

To get the story out of my head. To give the characters I love so much the opportunity to evolve and thrive. And to feel. I love it when I feel with my characters, even if it’s sadness or anger. I wrote a chapter about Sebastian that got me into a dark place for several days just because I felt his pain so much.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I find every comment motivating, but I love theory comments! That gives me the impression that my readers are really into the story and think about it.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Phew, that’s a tough question. I want to be seen as someone who gives everything to entertain them and give them a good story but stays true to myself aswell. I also love it when I submit to server events and people are hyped during the reading to hear my stuff.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think my dialogues are one of my greatest strengths. I love writing gialogue, giving every character his own voice and letting them interact with each other.

How do you feel about your own writing?

It sucks! Haha, just joking. I think it’s good. There are some icks in the beginning, some stuff I would like to change or improve, but overall, I think I am a good writer.

Thank you for reading my answers! I tag @sallowskeeper @svmbino

and everyone who is in the mood ❤️

[annepi-blog]

Describe yourself in 5 characters

Describe yourself in five fictional characters and then tag five more people to do it, too!

I was tagged by @esilher, thank you so much!

Phew, tough decision, I went with the softer and geekier, but kind and loyal characters.

I've lost track of who's already did this, but perhaps @mynonah @daisyishedwig @special-bc-ur-part-of-it @bitbybitwrites @spaceorphan18

[rwac96]

BBTAG prompts: Izuku x Jaune

Intro

Deku: *tightens his gauntlets* These guys look tough. Ready? *gets into fighting stance*

Jaune: *unsheathes Crocea Mors* Ready!

Victory/Cross Tag

Jaune: *exhales* Phew, that was a close one.

Deku: Man, that nearly went pear-shaped.

Victory Screen

Jaune: Whoa! Those scars! I don't know if my Semblance can heal...um, that.

Deku: It's alright, even if I may break my own body. It's the choice I've made when I walked down this path.

Jaune: I would say somethin' about that, but it'd be the pot callin' the kettle black.

[sagiow]

15 questions

tagged by @tough-n-dumb, thanks friend!

Were you named after anyone?

Not “after”, per se, but my dad “discovered” my name after making a new friend in the glorious Montreal Red Light Disco District... who turned out to be an Italian exotic male dancer (he never told my mom that’s where he got the inspiration from until 30-some years later)

My middle name is my mom’s because my frazzled, mid-20s, overwhelmed first-time parents hadn’t thought of one before he went to register my birth so he kinda blanked and went with hers and she was pissed off because she doesn’t  like her name.

0/2, Papa.

When was the last time you cried?

Some time in the last month.

Do you have kids?

Two, elementary school age, although the eldest is solidly in his tweens and giving me a fantastic preview of the fun years ahead.

Do you use sarcasm?

Just did, didn’t I?

Actually, much less than I used to when I was younger. Mostly for joking around  or ranting about our incompetent colleagues with my work wife.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Not to sound like a hippie on Main, but I’d say their energy? Their vibe? Some people come off as very warm, and others colder (and some, downright antipathic). Some have this bubbling, crackling energy to them, others are super chill and calm. Some have this spark of intelligence or quick wit about them, and others make you wonder if there’s anybody home. So a bit of all of that.

A smile, greeting and eye contact (can all be super quick, just acknowledge you see the other person) go a long way in giving off good vibes, so we’ll definitely start on the wrong foot if the other person doesn’t do any of those. Be polite.

What’s your eye color?

Brown

Scary movies or happy endings?

I don’t like scary / horror movies with gore and torture. I do enjoy a good ghost story (the Gothicker, the better) and some psychological horror.

Love happy endings although unhappy ones definitely inspire a lot more fanfic.

Any special talents?

I never look at the picture when doing jigsaw puzzles and WILL complete it before you do.

Where were you born?

Province of Québec, Canada

What are your hobbies?

Phew... there’s a few, and they tend to be seasonal. Summer is reading, hiking, baseball, gardening, camping. Other seasons have baking, crochet, watching TV, playing old-school computer games, and getting ready for whatever holiday or birthday is upcoming. Puzzles and writing year-round (if inspiration striked and fellow fans are around!)

Have any pets?

2 cats (and often at least another because we are a foster family to our local rescue), 2 rabbits and 4 3 chicken (found one dead yesterday after that major storm / tornado passed. Her ancient 3 year old heart couldn’t handle it. RIP Matante.)

What sports do/have you played?

Phew... there’s a few there too. I’m always down to play pretty much anything with a ball (beach volleyball! street ball hockey!), but on the other hand, will probably get my Canadian citizenship revoked at some point because I do no winter sport except for snowshoeing and some shitty skating.

I played provincial-level softball and badminton in school. I did recreational synchronized swimming, various styles of dance, varsity basketball. Now, I play softball, tennis (although my dad is aggressively trying to draft me into pickleball), try to get in a game of golf or two per summer (every addition to this sentence makes me feel 10 years older). In non-summer, I practice aikido, and love hiking, especially in the fall.

How tall are you?

5′7″, or 170cm

Favorite subject at school?

History and Drama in High School, Anthropology and some of my Forensics classes in University (”no applied science”, you ask? meh, not really. Science was me playing Life on Safe Mode).

Dream Job?

I would’ve loved to study Anthropology further and become an archeologist (although I did take one Biological / Genetic Anthro class that was absolutely fascinating and made me reconsider Things) but I’d had enough Academia back then. I wanted to get a job, stop being beyond broke, and travel.

Nowadays I get this massive urge to dump everything corporate and move someplace with shorter, kinder winters, ideally not too far from the sea, and get a bunch of goats and chicken, fruit trees and grapevines, grow a shitload of tomatoes and eggplant, bake bread daily, and write in the evenings. Just need to win the lottery first but then I’m makin’ it happen.

tagging (apologies for the double tags if you got them, I lost track) @jomiddlemarch, @tortoisesshells, @fericita-s, @combat-librarian, @divinecomedienne, @luarenah