#than ''am i in and of myself good enough''

[pixiexdusts-world]

Seven chances

Min ho Moon x ex!reader

Summary: Min Ho plans seven dates to win back his ex—and it just might work.

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I never thought I’d see Min Ho Moon again. Not after the way things ended between us.

The moment I spot him across the café, I freeze. He looks exactly the same—maybe even better. Same tousled hair, same confident smirk, same annoyingly perfect skin. But something in his eyes is different. I quickly turn my attention back to my laptop, pretending I didn’t see him.

I should’ve known that wouldn’t stop him.

“Hey,” his voice is smooth, casual, but I can hear the nerves underneath. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

I exhale slowly before looking up. “Min Ho.” I keep my tone neutral.

He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he slides into the chair across from me without asking. Typical.

“How have you been?” he asks, as if we’re old friends catching up.

“Fine,” I say. “Busy.”

Min Ho leans back, studying me. I hate how easy it is for him to make eye contact, like we didn’t go months without speaking. Like he didn’t break my heart.

“I miss you,” he says. Just like that. No preamble, no hesitation.

I let out a short laugh. “That’s not how this works, Min Ho.”

He frowns. “How what works?”

“You don’t just walk back into my life and say you miss me,” I say, folding my arms. “You don’t get to act like nothing happened.”

His jaw tightens. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

I glance away, out the café window, watching people walk by. It’s a crisp afternoon in Seoul, and the city feels like it’s moving faster than I am.

Min Ho sighs, rubbing his hands together like he’s bracing himself. “I messed up.”

“No kidding.”

He nods. “I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

I close my laptop, giving him my full attention. “Then why did you do it?”

Min Ho hesitates. “Because I was scared.”

“Scared?” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s your excuse?”

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought if I let myself get too close, I’d end up ruining everything. So instead of losing you later, I pushed you away first.”

I stare at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m an idiot.”

I shake my head. “You really are.”

There’s a beat of silence between us. I should get up and leave. I should tell him it’s too late, that I don’t care anymore.

But I do care.

And Min Ho, for all his flaws, is sitting here, admitting he was wrong. That’s not something he does often.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I want to try again. I want to prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I look at him carefully. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Min Ho smirks, the familiar confidence creeping back into his expression. “Give me a week. Let me take you on seven dates. No expectations, no pressure. Just… let me show you why we were good together.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seven?”

He nods. “Seven.”

I should say no. I should walk away and never look back.

But instead, I sigh. “Fine. One week.”

The grin that spreads across his face is enough to make my heart ache. Because deep down, I know the truth.

I never really stopped loving him.

Day One: The Ice Rink

Min Ho picks me up right on time, a smug look on his face. “You’re going to love this,” he says, leading me inside the rink.

I narrow my eyes. “You remember that I can’t skate, right?”

“That’s the best part,” he teases. “You’ll have to hold onto me the whole time.”

I glare at him, but when we step onto the ice and I immediately slip, I have no choice but to grab his arm. He chuckles. “Told you.”

Despite my frustration, I can’t help but smile. Maybe this isn’t the worst idea after all.

Day Two: The Bookstore

“I remember you used to spend hours in here,” Min Ho says as we step inside my favorite bookstore.

I give him a suspicious look. “You hate bookstores.”

“I hate reading,” he corrects. “Not bookstores.” He picks up a random book and flips through it, pretending to look interested.

I smirk. “You’re just trying to impress me.”

“Is it working?” he asks, grinning.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t miss the warmth creeping into my chest.

Day Three: The Street Market

Min Ho buys me tteokbokki from my favorite vendor, and we wander through the market, the scent of food filling the air. He tries to feed me a piece, but I swat his hand away.

“You’re so difficult,” he groans.

“You love it,” I tease before I can stop myself.

He grins. “I do.”

Day Four: The Beach

We sit on the sand, watching the waves roll in. Min Ho looks at me, his expression unreadable. “I don’t deserve you,” he says suddenly.

I sigh. “Min Ho—”

“I just need you to know that,” he interrupts. “Even if this doesn’t work out, I need you to know how much I regret losing you.”

I swallow hard. “You’re trying, Min Ho. That’s what matters.”

He nods, but I can tell he’s still scared.

So am I.

Day Five: The Arcade

Min Ho drags me to the arcade, his eyes full of mischief.

“Winner picks the next date,” he challenges.

We go head-to-head in basketball, air hockey, and racing games. He wins some, I win more (at least, that’s my version).

At the claw machine, he spends way too many tries before finally winning a small stuffed dog. He hands it to me, a little sheepish.

“For you.”

I hold it close, pretending it doesn’t mean anything. But it does.

Day Six: Karaoke Night

Min Ho books a private karaoke room, and I immediately regret saying yes.

“You just want to show off,” I accuse.

He winks. “Obviously.”

He belts out Love Scenario like he’s on stage, dancing like an idiot. I laugh too hard to resist when he shoves the mic at me.

“One song,” I warn.

By the end, we’re both breathless from laughing. He looks at me, eyes soft.

“I missed this,” he says.

I don’t respond. But deep down, I did too.

Day Seven: The Rooftop

Our final date is on a rooftop, fairy lights strung around us. The city glows beneath us, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

Min Ho turns to me, looking nervous for the first time. “Did I do enough?”

I exhale. “Min Ho…”

He shakes his head. “Wait. Before you say anything—I just need you to know. I love you. I never stopped.”

My heart clenches. “I know.”

He steps closer. “Do you still love me?”

I hesitate. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I do.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Min Ho lets out a shaky breath. “Then let me be better for you.”

I bite my lip. “You already are.”

His lips crash into mine, and just like that, I know—

We’re going to be okay.

[kittycarabiner]

i need to talk about one of my secret little fantasies i want so bad 😣😣

i've never smoked before (work/personal reasons), but i want someone to get me high so bad :( i need to be smoked out ughhh

invite me over, i'll wear something cute and cozy, but accessible. sit me on your lap while you set everything up, explain it all to me. i'll take detailed notes in my head.

ease me into things, rub my back or my thigh as you exhale smoke into my mouth. tell me what a good job i'm doing and what a good girl i am for you. let me take a few hits by myself, laugh at me when i cough, but still help me out and be encouraging.

make sure i get just enough to make me giggly and more relaxed, but no more than that. you're clearly experienced with these things, and you don't want my first time to be scary.

watch me get all whiny and desperate, subconsciously grinding on your thigh, seeking friction from you. let me grab at your shoulders and beg you to kiss me, to touch me, to do something-- anything!

but even with all my begging, you still only tease me a little. grab my cheeks, squish my face, remind me it all comes in due time. that i need some more experience before i'm ready. i might pout and whine at you, but i trust you, of course. and, maybe i'm looking forward to doing all of it again. ♡

[bloomzone]

I am not defined by anyone else’s need for validation. I do not seek approval or recognition from others to know my worth. I trust in my abilities, and I believe in the path I am walking. It’s okay if others feel the need to constantly seek attention or affirmation cuz this is their journey, not mine. I will not allow their insecurities or need to prove themselves to affect me . My peace is more important than feeding into external validation or comparing myself to others idc

When others boast or seek attention, I choose not to let it rattle me. I recognize that everyone has their own way of coping or feeling seen, but that doesn't mean I have to play into it or lose my own focus. I don’t need to constantly measure myself against others to feel good about who I am. I trust that my value is intrinsic and not dependent on how others perceive me or what they feel they need to validate.

I will not allow others to pull me into a cycle of comparison or competition. I am building my own self-worth on my terms, not on the foundation of other people's insecurities or need for praise. I am enough just as I am. I trust that by focusing on myself and my own growth, I will continue to rise, no matter what anyone else does. I don't need to seek validation from others because I already know who I am and what I’m capable of. And that is more than enough.

(this is my 2 lesson of 2025 ! based on a real story that happened to me today.. so I wrote this affirmation paragraph to keep it as a reminder and to anyone who deal with validation seeker friends or classmates

reminder: stick to your plan. Protect your peace. Stay focused.

[yasmiralotta]

I litterly said that if people has had abuser that acts like Stolas than, that is horrible. And if they are unconfortable and projecting their personal feelings, the same way I do with Stella, then, fair enough. You have the right to feel that way and your trauma is a valid point of contention. And, to be crystal clear here: You are allowed to interpeted characters however you want. Everything can be interpeted and is interpeted by people differently. There is no wrong or right way to interpeted a character. YOU may see Stolas as a abuser and Stella as a victim. But I DON'T. Blitzø has every right and reason to feel hurt and lash out. I am not denying that he has reasons to get mad at Stolas. Blitzø has gone through abuse, no doubt about that. But, IN MY OPINION, not through Stolas. I don't see Stolas as a rapist and abuser. If you do, ok, that's how you see it. And that's fine. Again, it's all about how you interpet things. Like, I feel for and understand both sides of the Stolitz drama. They both have good reasons to feel hurt by the other. And I interpete their realationship as something that started of as transactinonal, but they ended up having feelings for eachother. But, because of class issues, they both have doubts about how the other is feeling about it. It doesn't need to be more complicated than that. But again, you can interpete it however you want. But don't tell others that the way they interpete the show and it's characters is wrong, because that means that your opinion on it also could potentially also be wrong. You know. So, all we can do is agree to disagree 🤷‍♀️

(Important sidenote: I do admit that I myself is guilty of acting like there is a right and wrong way to interpete these shows. And I will make an effort not to do that anymore in the future.)

I know I talk a lot about antis. But I also wanted to show some of the anti-antis stuff I found. Here is the first one, enjoy 😊

Yep. This is exactly what would happen if these characters were real. Blitzø would not stand for the antis shit! 😤

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XIV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: With everything so precarious, Macrinus feels the tension in the palace. A sign from the gods steers him to the conclusion of this long, protracted series of events.

Warnings: violence, death, 18+ only.

Word Count: 4.2k

Part 14 of 15 (I'm sorry)

[ Part XIII ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: Okay, here it is. I did the best I could with the hole I'd written myself into. I hope you enjoy it. The end might feel final, but we still have another part after this where we get some more much-needed closure. Thank you for following me on this ride.

Geta reclined in his chair, watching the spectacle, isolated, all sound missing his ear. The food tasted like nothing, his head swam, the wine serving as his only comfort. Even Caracalla had retired early, clutching a plate of treats for Dondus. When his boredom grew to a suffocating level, he rose from his seat, coldly dismissing their guests. 

He could feel their stares, could still hear the mutterings in the arena that afternoon. 

A moment of weakness. One he would not suffer from again. He’d promised Macrinus as much. Which was why he’d sent him to retrieve his weakness so she could be dealt with once and for all. How he would do that, he had no clue.

Macrinus had appeared almost anxious after Caracalla’s man took Plautianus down. Flighty and on edge, he carried himself with less grace than usual. He openly watched the guards standing around the Emperors, keeping himself aware of where they were and when they came and went.

Geta was beginning to realize he’d killed an innocent man.

Before the grief of his stupidity could wash over him, the man himself reappeared, glancing around at the abandoned seats, servants already moving in to clear tables and any other flat surface used as one. He kept his commentary to himself and approached Geta.

“Geta, she is gone,” Macrinus spoke, true concern in his voice. It was the most agitated he had ever seen the man. 

“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?” 

Macrinus grew uncharacteristically frustrated. “She was not in her cell. Viggo could not tell me what happened.”

“You seem to surround yourself with incompetence,” Geta commented, his wine dulling his desire to maintain a friendship with this man he no longer trusted.

Macrinus’s eyes flashed for a moment before he corrected himself. “They were given a delivery of wine, your majesty,” he explained. “From the Emperors. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

Geta relished the way the man seemed to be coming apart at the seams, his perfectly tailored persona cracking just a bit under the pressure. 

“No, but I believe it is customary. To repay the effort spent in readying the prisoners.” Gets finished his glass, setting it down on the table. “Are your men looking for her?”

“As we speak,” Macrinus confirmed.

Geta wasn’t even particularly mad Letha might have escaped. If she meant what she said, was as good as Caracalla seemed to believe, she wouldn’t be returning to collect. She would disappear. He might never see her again. 

That was what bothered him. 

More than bothered him. Filled him with despair. Every second was another opportunity to wallow in that grief. Wine.

“Where is Emperor Caracalla?” Macrinus asked. 

Geta waved him off. “Probably with his concubines, having a much more entertaining evening than I. Besides, what does it matter?”

“If he sent the wine–”

“A customary gift,” Geta reminded him, growing irritated.

“I do believe it was hand-delivered, by that Praetorian always at your brother’s side.”

“Ancus?” Geta laughed. “Yes, well I will instruct that he stick even closer to my brother. No more excursions.”

“That is not what I–”

“Enough, Macrinus. I am tired. You ought to get some rest yourself, it’s been a long day.”

Geta stood and walked away through the eerily quiet hall, wondering if he’d live through the night. He would ask someone to fetch Tegula. He could sit in his study with his best men, to make sure no one got through to his bedchamber.

As he entered his chambers, stripped the day from his skin, and sank into his bed, he realized just how much he missed Letha. He missed the hope she brought him. The possibility of a life steeped in warmth and love. But it had been ripped away just as quickly as it had taken root, and the agony of that still consumed his waking thoughts.

Maybe she escaped the city. He tried to imagine where she might go, with nothing to her name and no family that he knew of left to find. He could picture her so vividly, cycling through the innumerable times he looked at her long enough to memorize the expression on her face. 

She had so willingly accepted her fate, resigned herself to death. It was him that put her in that position in the first place. Her death would surely have shattered what bit of his sanity remained. He did not think of consequence when he ordered the fight to end. He could feel his blood racing through his ears, could hear each beat. It was what she was owed. A life for a life. He hoped she would use it well.

He fell asleep clutching a pillow that still bore some scent of the oil she’d brushed through her hair. Jasmine.

Macrinus paced. And paced. And paced. He could see the hallway that led to the Emperors’ rooms. What he was waiting for, he hated putting words to. To have to admit it, even if only to himself, it was just another indignance dealt by Letha. One he would rise above, once he worked up the nerve.

He was suffering her loss. For all his threatening and scheming, he realized quite quickly he wasn’t cut out for this direct involvement. He needed a new agent, but lacked the connections while stuck inside the palace. He felt the Praetorians watching his every step, could feel the heavy scrutiny from Caracalla at every mealtime. 

It shouldn’t be so difficult, he agonized. If Letha could do it, so can I. 

With renewed purpose, Macrinus strode down the hall, thinking of what he could say if caught. Before he got more than a few steps down the hall, one of the doors opened. He tucked himself behind a column, beside a bust of Caracalla. He peered around the edge of the column and watched.

Someone wearing an elaborate cloak, complete with a hood, stepped out into the hallway, followed by a guard.

Ancus.

“You ought to stay here,” the figure spoke. Her voice was low, hardly a whisper. “I know where it is.”

“You will need someone to check if anyone is there,” Ancus retorted, concerned.

“You said he is sleeping, yes?” she questioned, glancing down the hallway. She turned, about to look in Macrinus’s direction. He tucked himself flush with the wall, out of sight. He could only listen now.

“Yes,” Ancus confirmed. “Tegula is watching over him.”

“Then I will be only a moment. Do not leave Caracalla unattended with that snake about.”

Macrinus’s blood ran cold. 

Letha.

By the time he could hear footsteps retreating, she had already turned the corner, heading deeper into the Emperors’ wing of the palace.

Letha was in the palace. Kept hidden by Caracalla. And Geta didn’t know.

Macrinus felt a weightlessness settle just above his shoulders. Fresh, delicious surprise and hope sprang forth. He hardly resisted the urge to laugh at this fortuitous turn of events. The gods smiled on him in his hour of need.

As he strode away to his chambers, he was already putting together ideas.

Yesterday Morning

“I think I like this one best,” Caracalla commented. He turned to Ancus. “Ancus, what do you think?”

The guard raised his eyebrows, looking over the tunic his emperor held up. “I-I do think it brings out your eyes, Imperator.”

That drew a smile from the smaller twin, and he stared down at the garment. After a moment of thought, Caracalla approached the servant, holding the outfit out for them to take so he could be dressed in it.

“Do I have your loyalty, Ancus?” Caracalla called out. 

Ancus turned his back to his Emperor, pulling at some of his armor. “Of course, Emperor.”

“You will not speak of this to anyone, even Tegula? Or my brother?”

Ancus glanced over his shoulder, concerned, but he didn’t let his eyes focus on anything in particular. “If you will it.”

“Leave us,” Caracalla muttered. 

Ancus waited until the servant left the room to turn and set eyes upon his Emperor. The color did brighten his eyes.

“I intend to save my brother from himself,” Caracalla explained.

“How?”

Caracalla approached a small table. He opened a drawer and produced a linen-wrapped object, setting it in Ancus’s larger hands. 

“We start with this.”

As Ancus realized the genius of Caracalla, he couldn’t help his smile.

“You will help me, Ancus?”

“With anything.”

Later that day

“Letha?” The voice was soft, uncertain. 

She looked up, more than a little shocked to make out the form of Caracalla standing outside the cell in the dark, Ancus dutifully holding a torch up behind him. 

“Caracalla?”

He approached, clinging to the bars of the cell, his jewelry clinking against the rusted metal. “How is your arm?”

She didn’t spare it a glance. “What are you doing here? Where is–”

“My brother is not well.”

Her fear returned, quick as lightning. “What’s happened? Did Macrinus–”

“He’s heartbroken,” Caracalla interrupted. “You, that’s what happened,” he frowned. 

Letha moved to Caracalla, her dirty hands covering his on the bars. He didn’t draw back. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she pleaded. 

“Would you have done it?” Caracalla asked. “Really?”

She shook her head. “No. I… I couldn’t have.”

“And it wasn’t Thraex’s doing, was it?” 

She frowned. “No.” He didn’t seem to need to be told who was truly responsible.

He studied her in the torchlight, mulling things over. Finally, he pulled his hands out from under hers, taking a step back away from the door, closer to Ancus. 

“I’m an Emperor too,” he announced, “and I require your presence. Your sentence is vacated by the order of Marcus Aurelius Severus Antoninus Augustus. The door, Ancus,” Caracalla ordered, beaming. 

Ancus stepped forward, a slight smile tugging at his lips at Caracalla’s display.

Letha released the metal, stepping back away from the door, uncertainty swimming in her gut. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as Ancus unlocked the cell door, pulling it open, leaving it open for her to step out of, free.

“Come back with us. You can stay in my rooms until my brother is less… volatile.”

“He’s angry?” she asked, thinking back to the way he’d looked at her with blazing eyes. Should she be fearful?

“He can’t get over your betrayal, Letha,” Caracalla sighed. “He’s lost a bit of himself. It’s a bit ironic, right? Me trying to look after him?” He let the question hang in the air, but he didn’t need an answer from her, just giggling to himself. “Let’s go. Dondus will be delighted to see you.”

Letha felt touched by Caracalla’s faith in her as he grabbed her hand, tugging her along beside him as he left the cavernous depths where she’d been kept, Ancus following behind.

The next morning, Geta didn’t want to leave his bed. It was an ordeal for his servants to get him up and dressed. There were still more games to attend, more people to meet, and dinner parties to host. He didn’t understand how he was expected to return to the normalcy of their life with all of it so fresh.

His thoughts drifted to Letha. The one stolen night. The happiest he’d been in years. He could pretend she waited for him in his rooms to get him through the day. As he sat and forced food and drink down his throat at Caracalla’s nagging, as he watched men fight for glory in the arena, as if he hadn’t just seen his love almost meet her end in the exact same spot. And even now, guests dwindling, as he was forced to paste on a smile with some of the senators, the play-by-play of the day’s fight boring him nearly to tears, he thought of Letha.

“Excuse me,” Geta muttered, abandoning the glass in his hand on the nearest table before heading to his rooms for a moment of peace.

As he passed Caracalla’s door, he heard a laugh that stopped him dead in his tracks. In a split second he was back in the box, the first day of the games. His eyes lifted just the same, but a door was all that greeted him. Before he could convince himself his sanity was slipping, he knocked loudly.

A few seconds passed, long ones. Geta heard rustling, but not much else.

“Yes?” It was Ancus.

“Can I come in to speak with my brother?” Geta asked, his stomach in knots.

After a moment the door was opened, and Caracalla stepped out, the shreds of a smile still on his face and in his eyes. “Yes, brother?”

“You have guests?” Geta questioned, his voice strained from lack of use and the nerves burning his throat.

Caracalla stared at him before falling into one of his usual giggles. “Just, you know, my usual attendants.”

“I heard a woman’s laughter,” Geta accused. 

A flicker of concern was overridden by sympathy. “Hearing ghosts, brother?”

Geta scowled, waving off his brother’s concern. “Nevermind.”

“Are you alright?” Caracalla asked, a hand on his brother’s arm.

“Just perfect,” Geta ground out before turning and heading back to the party. There wouldn’t be enough wine to get him to forget this.

Macrinus watched Geta return to the party, his troubled state much more obvious. As he downed a glass of wine and requested another, Macrinus knew this was his opportunity.

“That was close,” Caracalla sighed, looking up to where Letha was currently stepping out from behind a large curtain panel, her face drawn. “He was so sure it was you.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“It was in his eyes.”

Letha nodded, sitting on the edge of Caracalla’s unmade bed. “Is it still too soon to tell him?”

“While Macrinus still stays here you are in too much danger,” Ancus spoke up, scratching at his jaw. “He’s supposed to leave once the games are over.”

Letha thought it was amusing how Caracalla and the Praetorian he’d dismissed so readily had truly bonded. There was a glimmer in the Emperor’s eyes as he looked up at his guard. It relieved her to see him happy like this. And Letha did not miss the flush that filled the cheeks of the man anytime Caracalla paid him specific attention.

Oh, Ancus.

The Emperors truly were magnetic.

A small part of Letha wanted to ignore their advice and storm out of Caracalla’s rooms in search of his brother, but she understood their hesitance. And she truly believed her reappearance would not be met with joy. She wasn’t sure she wanted to feel that agony so soon. 

“Well, I need to go out and show my face some more, but we’ll be back in a bit. Keep Dondus company for me.”

“I will, Caracalla,” Letha promised, looking down at the small monkey pulling at her dress. “We’ll have our own party, right Dondus?” She got a squeak in return as he climbed to her shoulder.

Geta walked further into the gardens, another night coming to a close, the day weathered by some miracle. He wasn’t drunk, just comfortable, warm. He could allow himself this, now that their guests were gone. His feet led him, no destination in mind. Still, tragically, that jasmine-smothered statue came into view and he took another long sip of his wine to try to swallow down the confusing slurry of emotions.

He found himself leaned back against it once again, trying to remember, wishing he could have done something to help her. If she’d just trusted him enough to tell him, he would have protected her. He would have shielded her from Macrinus, he wouldn’t have told another soul, his selfishness overriding duty. 

He pressed his own palm to his chest, over his heart, his eyes closing to avoid the welling of emotion, the pressure behind his eyes, the knot in his throat.

“Brother?”

Geta stood up straight, shaking off his melancholy. “‘Calla?” He spotted his brother as he walked over, saw Ancus lingering by the stairs, a good distance away.

“You look sad.”

Geta scoffed. That wasn’t the half of it. “It’s fine.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately.” 

It irked Geta that he wasn’t allowed to feel the wealth of emotions in his chest without someone having something to say about it. Everyone else was allowed their moods and frustration, but if he felt something so strongly… He felt like he wasn’t being allowed to mourn. Because that’s what it was, mourning.

“Emperors, how fortuitous,” Macrinus spoke, disrupting the calm that the gardens granted. 

Caracalla made no effort to mask the shift in his expression, annoyance obvious.

Geta stepped away from the statue, gesturing to Macrinus with his cup. “Something you need?” 

“Oh, no,” Macrinus smiled, a return to form after stumbling through the last couple of days. “I just wanted to thank you both for your hospitality.”

Geta watched him, the relaxed lilt to his voice concerning.

Caracalla groaned in frustration. “Yes, yes,” he muttered. 

The impolite response didn’t deter Macrinus, not for a moment. Geta should have known then that whatever he was about to say stood to derail the entire day. But he didn’t, instead shooting his brother a scolding look.

“I have not had the opportunity to meet your other guest. She seems to avoid parties, meals, games…”

“We have no other guest, Macrinus,” Geta explained, quite confused. He looked to Caracalla, surprised to see him clammed up. “Brother?”

“Should someone go fetch her?” Macrinus suggested, eyes fixed to Geta. 

“No,” Caracalla insisted. 

Geta looked to his brother, concern growing. “What did you do?”

Caracalla’s frustration grew under the intense scrutiny. “Neither of you can be trusted with her!”

Geta felt overwhelmed. There was no way. “You lied to me?” he questioned, feeling faint. 

“You are not in your right mind,” Caracalla accused.

“So it is I who cannot be trusted?” He couldn’t help his frustration.

“For all we knew, you would kill her!”

The glass collided with the stone, shattering. Geta still spoke, though Caracalla paid him no attention, his eyes glued to the shards littering the grass. “You know nothing.”

At the commotion, Ancus approached, a protective hand pressed to Caracalla’s shoulder as he took in Geta’s affected state. 

“Ah, here she is. The search is over, your majesties. Here is your traitor.”

Geta’s heart stopped. He felt each agonizing second it took for him to turn, to see Letha being led into the gardens, Macrinus’s man keeping a tight grip on her arms. The sight drove a spike of anxiety into his chest. 

Letha didn’t struggle, she kept her eyes trained on Macrinus, wondering what was coming next. 

“What a reunion,” Macrinus chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “Didn’t you have some justice to dole out, Geta?” At that, Macrinus approached Letha. A sword was produced, and Macrinus held it to her throat. “How did you put it? A weakness, to be dealt with once and for all?”

Letha’s eyes met his, and Geta felt tears coming as he took in her fearful expression, the cut across her cheek, the bruising.

“Stop,” he ordered, approaching them, his hand held out for the sword.

Macrinus leveled the sword at Geta, the flat of the blade smacking his open palm. “I don’t think so.” 

Geta recoiled, withdrawing his hand. 

“I didn’t expect this,” he admitted, gesturing between Geta and Letha. “I should have, and I have paid for that mistake, but I will not make it again.”

Geta bit back his protest as Macrinus reached over, his hand squeezing Letha’s bandaged shoulder tightly enough to bruise. The cry she let out wounded him.

“I should thank you, Caracalla,” Macrinus smiled. “Up until last night, I was so sure I’d wake up in a cell myself. But the gods have other plans for me. They sent me this solution as a sign of their unwavering support. It could not be anything else.”

“The gods do not care for you,” Letha spat. She struggled beneath Macrinus’s grip, trying to wriggle her shoulder free. 

Viggo renewed his grip on her wrists, scowling at her, as Macrinus brought the sword back to her neck, a warning. She stilled.

“Ancus,” Caracalla muttered, his voice betraying his fear. 

Geta felt trapped. They were all in danger, all caught off guard.

“I will tell you of my plan,” Macrinus grinned. “It’s too good not to share it. While not perfect, I do believe it is the best anyone could do in these circumstances.” He let the blade leave Letha’s neck, pacing leisurely before them. “It would seem that Letha here, having escaped, decided she would come back and finish the job,” Macrinus gestured to her with the sword tip. “Finding the two of you here in the gardens, after felling him, of course,” he gestured to Ancus, “she made quick work of you. And I, hearing the commotion as I just so happened to be passing by, came upon this grizzly scene. Fortunately for you both, I was able to avenge you. And with your last, gasping breath, you named me your successor,” he spoke, moving the sword over to press against Geta’s neck. “Go on, say it.”

Geta said nothing.

Macrinus’s grin grew, the sword pressing closer to where his neck met his shoulder, the razor sharp bite of it beginning to draw blood. Letha let out a cry, struggling with Viggo. 

As Macrinus turned to ridicule Viggo, a jovial jab that he seemed to be having trouble restraining a woman, a hand gripped Macrinus’s wrist, pushing the sword away from Geta’s neck. 

Macrinus whipped his head around, eyes falling to Ancus, indignation settling in on his face for only a moment before a dagger pushed through the ornate white robes he wore, sinking into his stomach, pushing the breath from his lungs. Geta’s eyes fell to the hands wrapped around the hilt, seeing his brother’s ornamental jewelry.

Geta was pushed back as Ancus stepped in to shield Caracalla, ripping the sword from Macrinus’s hands.

Still partially frozen, Geta looked over to where Letha was, or had been. His feet moved him before his brain could formulate a plan.

Letha was on the ground, struggling against Viggo, the base of her palm pushing at his chin, her other hand trying to pull his hands away from her throat. He seemed to have the strength of ten men, knowing death awaited.

Her throat burned, the pressure in her head from the buildup of blood, her circulation cut off, overwhelming. Spots filled her vision, and she wondered if this would be it, finally. She should’ve been happy, she got all her wishes. Macrinus dead, or in the process of dying, and she got to see Geta one last time. It was all she had asked for. But the desire to remain, to live, breathed life back into her muscles.

Letha abandoned her efforts to claw his hands away, instead opting to make a firm fist and punch as hard as she could into his groin. Viggo let out a choked gasp, one of his hands moving down to shield himself from further attacks, a reflex. The vice around her throat lessened and she could get some air. As Letha was able to suck in a halfway decent breath, Viggo was ripped off of her.

The unnerving sound of a fist meeting Viggo’s face filled the normally tranquil gardens. Letha sat up, surprised to see Geta leaned over her attacker, one of his knees pressing hard into Viggo’s stomach, a hand gripping his clothes while the other repeatedly punched his now-bloody face, rings and all. 

Letha tamped down the satisfaction she felt, calling it relief, and moved over to Geta. She pulled at his shoulders, trying to get him to stop, telling him it was enough. He didn’t listen at first, but she pressed herself to his back, pulled his arm to her, her hand wrapping around his wrist. 

“It’s done,” she soothed, inspecting his hand, seeing the bite of his rings in his own skin. It would need the attention of a healer and it would surely be swollen purple in the morning.

“Letha,” he whispered, his eyes closed as he turned his head, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, her throat still quite tender. 

“Mmmh, no,” he managed, shaking his head. 

“Emperors?” 

Praetorians were upon them, forcing everyone apart, taking stock of the damage done to their rulers, if any. Letha stayed sitting on the ground beside Viggo, not sure what might happen next. 

Before long, Tegula himself appeared, speaking with the twins, and then Ancus, who delivered a succinct version of events that included a charitable explanation that Macrinus had masterminded the entire thing, even down to Letha’s inclusion, implying that she was innocent after all. 

She didn’t dare correct him, her eyes fixed on Geta where he stood. His knuckles were stripped of his rings, the healer dabbing at the small cuts. Geta winced each time, eyes falling to his injured hand for a moment before he continued watching Ancus recap their evening, as if surprised by it.

Caracalla stood beside Ancus, quite close, certainly closer than an Emperor would be to his guard, rubbing his fingers together, staring down at the blood on them with soft fascination in his eyes, his other hand still clutching the dagger. Plain, military issued, it looked like. 

Letha was brought to her feet as someone inspected her neck, commenting on the redness around her throat. Geta looked over, the people and the circumstances creating a great gulf between them that he couldn’t yet ford. There would be business to attend to before she would get her chance to speak to him again. 

It gave her something to look forward to. 

[ Part XV ] coming soon

[syndrossi]

howdy.

currently sad. possibly depressed. i think i get Rhaegar a little better now.

i think he’d pity me for that.

anyway,

i may or may not have gotten into trouble at work for missing two days because i was sick— yes, how dare my body betray me and force me to stay back to take of myself. yes, they’re mad at me for that. so i was wondering, following the ficlet of Daemon being sick (or was it a headache?) anyway, the idea is he misses 2-3 days of meetings perhaps and idk? his twins defend him for taking days off? maybe he goes off on whoever decided to try him that day? is it Viserys? Otto? gasp! Laenor?

it’d be hella funny if the twins explained to some council members the obvious reason of their father taking a couple days off meant that he could function better and not spread the cold around the castle, duh Lord Rayne, idiot.

That is some kind of fuckery to hold a teacher accountable for the crime of... *checks notes* getting sick and having to take a sick day???

Technically there are two separate "Daemon not feeling well" ficlets! One where he has a headache, and another where he's the last one to catch the illness the twins have in Sick Days.

Here, have two little ficlets of the twins getting increasingly annoyed/protective on behalf of Daemon after he's getting over the lingering remnants of his illness...

x~x~x

"If the matter of this stonemason squabble were truly urgent, I am sure that Prince Daemon would deign to attend," Hightower said.

Jon knew that cupbearers were not meant to weigh in on small council discussion, let alone interrupt, but Hightower's digs at Daemon's absence throughout the meeting had stretched his patience to the limit.

"He is ill," Jon said flatly. "Should you like to know his recommendation, he delivered it in writing."

Technically Rhaegar had delivered it in writing--and technically it was Rhaegar's writing, but no one needed to know that.

The king smiled at him, waving aside whatever Hightower had planned to say in protest. "It is good of you to look after your father."

But the topic was dismissed, and Hightower continued to take jabs that their uncle either tolerated or agreed with, given that he made no move to defend Daemon.

The next day, Jon lugged the pail of sick Daemon had produced that night to the council meeting and set it on Hightower's chair before he arrived.

Jon treasured each council member's disgusted reaction as they entered the room, all of them giving wide berth to Hightower's chair. When Hightower himself arrived, he immediately fixed Jon with a frown.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Jon glared back. "You did not seem to believe that my father was truly ill. I have other samples that might interest you."

The pail was removed, and more than a few of the council members urged the king to dismiss him for his pertinence, but Jon did his best impression of Rhaegar's plaintive eyes, and Viserys folded.

x~x~x

"I would never have imagined that a simple fever would be what brought your father low."

Laenor's voice was light-hearted, the words teasing, but both of them were on edge after the past few days of enduring their father's misery.

Rhaegar's eyes did not narrow, but their purple seemed almost black as he stared death at their cousin. "Do you suppose he will ever be low enough to truly see you?"

Laenor choked on his wine, but judging by Rhaegar's expression, he had not yet struck the death blow. Jon hurriedly grabbed him by the arm and made a quick excuse to leave. There were far worthier targets for his brother's venom than poor Laenor.

[hiiragi7]

Educationism

Here's a word I learned recently that I want to share with tumblr. Educationism is the word for discrimination against less educated and uneducated people as well as the biases that higher educated people have against less educated and uneducated people.

Educationism is something I have experienced for a long time (first as a SPED kid and then as a highschool dropout with no diploma or GED) but never had the words to talk about and that really frustrated me a lot.

Educationism is something I wish more people would talk about. It's something that comes up all the time even in casual conversation, and even moreso in more heavy or discourse-y conversations.

Often I even see people trying to be allies especially to queer or trans or intersex folk and they end up engaging heavily in educationism - which is really draining for me as a queer, trans, intersex person who is not formally educated. (For example - "I bet TERFs didn't even pass highschool biology", a statement which both fails to acknowledge and hold accountable that TERFs make an active choice to be bigoted and frames not passing a class in highschool as the reason why TERFs exist, which gets tiring very fast as someone who very much did not get good grades or pass classes in highschool and yet is very much not a TERF.)

Being less educated or uneducated is constantly used as an insult and education is used as a measure of how much worth a person has and how good of a person they are, I am constantly put down for not being formally educated. Being formally educated, especially on a college level, also provides value to one's words and thoughts - Nobody wants to hear what a highschool dropout has to say, because they assume we simply aren't worth speaking to or hearing out.

When others learn that I am not formally educated, immediately they assume that I am lesser of a person than them, that I am lazy or simply don't try hard enough to become formally educated, that my life does not matter as much or is not as good as theirs, and that I am not to be taken seriously.

Additionally, I don't think higher-educated people really realize how little rights you have when you are not formally educated. It doesn't matter how much I actually know in practice, how much I read and study, how much unpaid labor or volunteer work or community work I perform, because I do not have a highschool diploma or equivalent the amount of things that I am allowed to do is severely limited.

Many areas of life, including large ones like getting a job or going to college, are largely not accessible to me because I do not have a highschool diploma or equivalent.

I also have to deal with quite a massive amount of social stigma and discrimination, and it feels isolating to not see anybody in my communities talk about it, especially in communities which are otherwise very welcoming and accepting and anti- various forms of bigotry.

So, here's me putting myself out there a bit in hopes that educationism as a term might be picked up and passed around more and maybe others might discuss it and learn something about it.

[boybandbaby]

The Sweet Escape Part VI

911 AU (Prince!Evan Buckley x Fem!Baker!Reader)

previous part

word count: 3119

warnings/tags: mention of character death, mention of character illness, argument, physical assault (slapping), as always if i miss anything please let me know

note: there are so many skips in this chapter i am so sorry

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You’ve slept the best you’ve ever slept last night. That’s mostly thanks to one Evan Buckley.

As you slip your apron over your clothes, tying the back as best as you can, you hear two voices coming from kitchen. You furrow your brows and quickly move down the stairs.

Living above the bakery was such a blessing that you could pop down to start work just barely 10 minutes after waking up. Your grandma had been awake when you woke up, already heading down to the bakery but you weren’t aware that Ravi was going to be starting this early.

As you get closer, you realize it’s not Ravi speaking. You turn the corner, taking that last step down with a smile plastered on your face. “Buck! What are you doing here?”

“She's so rude, isn’t she? Can’t even say good morning.” He nudges your grandma, an act too casual for a soon to be king. “You sure you raised her?” He winks at you, holding his oil covered hands up.

“She didn’t learn this behavior from me.” Your grandma nudges him back. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise, y/n? The prince stopped by wanting to help out today.” She widens her eyes and pumps her eyebrows at you behind Buck’s back as she takes the baking tray to the fridge.

“I told you, Buck is just fine ma’am." He turns to her when she rolls her eyes then back to you, “I’m learning how to make a focaccia. That’s what it’s called right?” He smiles down at your grandma as she passes by him, back to the counter to help him.

“And like I told you, enough with the ma’am. Just like my granddaughter, making me feel old.” She pats his hip to move him out of the way. “And yes, that’s correct. He’s been so helpful this morning.” She swoons.

You roll your eyes and step forward to squeeze his hip. You leave your hand there as you peer from around his body.

“Grandma, don’t you have some things to do in the front?” You try to subtly shoo her. You nod your head to the right, in the direction of the front, before briefly looking up at Buck. He’s amused by the whole interaction. He knows what you're doing and he's glad.

“Fine, fine. I get it.” She laughs before wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ll go make myself busy. Take that bread out in 10 minutes.”

“Yes ma-“ He cuts himself off when your grandma glares at him. He apologizes before she’s out of the kitchen. “Calling her by her first name seems disrespectful.”

“It’s fine. She’s not really a fan of the whole formal thing.” You shrug.

“But she always calls me Prince whenever I see her." He laughs.

“She may not like royalty but she knows better than to disrespect royalty."

“What do you mean?” He uses the back of his hand, near his wrist to brush at your hairline.

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway, happy birthday.” You smile, giving his hip another squeeze before letting go.

“Hi, thank you.” Buck turns his attention back to the tray of dough. He uses his fingers to poke into the oily dough like your grandma showed him.

“You’re crazy for coming here but I’m glad to see you.” You admit.

“I just had to see you, make sure last night wasn’t a dream.” He blushes.

“It definitely wasn’t.” You flush. You wash your hands and press the cold backs to your cheeks. You both hold each others’ gaze before laughing.

Buck reaches to scratch the back of his neck before remembering he’s got oil on his hands. “I uh, I’ve been thinking. I would really like you at the wedding. I know it's last minute and the wedding is in four days.”

“Wait, what?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah, it would mean a lot to me if you could be there. Just as some support.” He turns back to the dough.

“You’re still getting married? Didn’t last night change anything for you?” You scoff, pulling his shoulder back. You try to get him to look at you.

“Last night meant so much to me but I still have to get married.” His voice rises just a tad.

“What about you wanting to become a teacher? I thought you…” you shake your head, bringing your voice back down. “Never mind.”

“Being a teacher is just a dream. It could never happen. As much as I’d like to not have the life I have, it just doesn’t work that way.” Buck's tone intensifies.

“Right… so why did you come here then Buck?” You look down to the floor, your hands finding shelter in your apron pocket.

“I told you. I needed to see you.” He bends down at the neck to try and catch your eyes.

“You’re getting married, Buck. You can’t come and see me like this anymore.” Your fingers twist in the fabric.

“You knew I was getting married when you came to see me last night. That didn’t stop us.” He sasses. He’s becoming upset.

“I’m not trying to fight with you, Evan. I just- I’m confused. I guess I thought things were going to be different.”

“Hey, no. We’re not fighting.” He rubs his hands on a nearby towel and shakes his head. “I love you and last night was perfect but I can’t just drop everything and start a new life. I have people to protect and a kingdom to run.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” You take a step back. “I was wrong to go over last night. You’re engaged. We shouldn’t have done what we did.” You move to check on the bread in the over just as instructed by your grandma.

“You regret it?” His voice lowers significantly, eyes shining with pain.

“Not at all, I just think we weren’t thinking it through.” He runs a hand over his face at your words. “Buck, I love you and last night was so special. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you. I guess I just assumed things would’ve changed.” You dust your hands on your apron and grab his hand. “I can’t go. I want to support you but seeing you marry someone else… it hurts too much. I love you.” You kiss his knuckles.

He’s since turned away from you, shoulders slumped. But as you give his knuckles a few pecks and he feels tears tickle his skin, he faces you. There’s tears streaming down his face too. “Worst birthday ever.” He laughs through his quiet sobs.

“Totally. I’m sorry.” You laugh with him and pull him in for a hug. You rub your tear stained cheeks on his sweater.

“I think I should go.” He breathes into your hair.

“Yeah,” you sniffle and pull back from him. “Take care of yourself, Buckley.”

“I’ll try. Promise me you won’t give your grandma a hard time?” You nod and kiss his cheek.

“Where the hell were you?” June asks as soon as Buck enters his room. He jumps at the sound of her voice, not noticing her presence when he initially entered the room.

“That’s none of your business.” Buck shrugs before making his way to his bed. He already has his clothes laid out for the day.

“I am your wife.” She stands from the couch and makes her way over to him. “Is that flour on your shirt? You were with her weren’t you?”

“You’re not my wife.” Buck points out. “And how did you even get in here?”

“Doesn’t matter.” June pulls his arm so he can face her. “I don’t want you seeing her anymore. Do you understand?”

“God, you’re just like a little clone of my mother.” Buck rips his arm from her grip. “I want to get something straight with you, June. I don’t love you and I can guarantee I never will. I’m only marrying you to please my parents. So, you can either learn to deal with that or leave. There's the door." He throws his arm out, finger pointing at the wooden door as he strips his sweater off.

June is frozen in her tracks as her eyes began to water. Buck can’t find it in himself to feel guilty. She isn't the nicest person and she's not the woman he wants to spend his life with.

“Are we done?” He raises a brow, throwing his sweater onto the bed.

June nods before practically bolting out of the room. Buck sighs and rests his head on the bed post. He softly bangs his forehead onto the wooden post a couple times before picking his clean clothes up and heading to take a shower.

“Y/n!” You faintly hear. “Y/n! Wake up.” You’re startled with a shake to your body. You jump when you see Albert hovered over you. You quickly cover yourself with your blanket. You not wearing anything indecent but you've never had a boy in your bedroom. Sadly, this wasn't the boy that you wanted.

“Albert? What the hell?”

“It’s your grandma.” He says urgently.

Throwing the blanket off your body, you slip on your slippers, tie a robe around your waist, and follow him down to the bakery. When you’re down in the kitchen, you see that your grandma is awake but slumped in a chair.

“What happened?” You kneel in front of her, down on your knees.

“Everything’s fine. I just need a moment.” She fans herself with a sheet of paper.

“She fainted.” Albert chimes in.

“It’s okay. I feel better now that I’ve had some water. Albert, you need to get the cake up to the palace. It’s the big day.”

“Don’t worry about that. We need to get you looked at.” You reach up to feel her forehead.

“Y/n, I’m fine. Please just go back upstairs to change.”

“You don’t look well. You’re pale and clammy. We need to go see Dr. Wilson.” You urge.

“Don’t bother, y/n. The wedding is the most important thing today. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get checked out.”

“We're not waiting until tomorrow. I’m going up there myself and she’s going to come see you. I don’t care about the stupid wedding.” You stand up.

She grabs your hand, “You will not. You’ll go get dressed and come down here to run the bakery. I’ll get some rest then. Albert, get the cake to the palace, please.”

Albert is quickly working, stacking a layer of cake onto the next. He had followed your grandma's instructions exactly as explained. He felt the sweat accumulating on his eyebrow as he placed the topper onto the center of the top layer. He is hoping to get this done so that he could get back to the bakery and help out.

“Hey, little brother.” Chimney claps Albert’s shoulder. “The cake looks great.”

“Thanks, Chim.” Albert quietly murmurs.

“You okay?” Chimney squeezes his shoulder.

“Can we talk in private?” Albert turns to him, looking around.

“Sure.” Chimney pulls him to a vacant corridor.

“Y/n’s grandma fainted this morning. She refusing to get looked at today because of the wedding.”

“You want me to talk to Hen and send her over there?" Chim offers.

“Would you? Y/n would really appreciate it.” Albert breathes a sigh of relief. "I know it's a busy day-"

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” Chim nods.

“Sounds like she’s got heat syncope.” Hen comes down the stairs.

“What is that?” You ask.

“Happens due to a drop in blood pressure caused by excessive heat exposure.” She apologetically smiles. “She needs to rest and stay hydrated, make sure she stays cool and no work today."

“Thanks Dr. Wilson, I know you’re busy today but it means a lot that you could come.” You hand her a small box of pastries for her family.

“Thank you. Denny and Karen love those mango pastries." She smiles before adding, "So, you’re not coming today?” She slips the box into the crook of her arm.

“I can’t. For many reasons.” You meet her eyes. “Can you give this to him for me?” You hand her a folded piece of paper.

As soon as Hen makes her way back to the palace, Buck is already waiting outside of her home.

“How is she?” He bites at his nails.

“She’s getting some rest right now but she’s fine.” Hen reassures him.

“And y/n? How is she feeling?"

“She’s worried and scared for her grandma.” Hen unlocks the door, pushing the heavy door open.

“Is she dying?” He cringes at the brash way it comes out.

“No, Buck." She shakes her head and sets her medical bag and box of pastries on the kitchen table. "You should be getting ready right now.”

“I should be going to check on, y/n. I mean am I stupid? The girl I love, loves me back. She practically offered me my dream life and instead I shut her down and I’m getting fucking married.” Buck pulls at his hair.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you Buck. But here, she wanted me to give this to you.” Hen hands him the folded note.

“Thanks, Hen.” He rubs his thumb over the note. “Thank you for going to check on her grandma.”

“It’s no problem. I know y/n is worried because of what happened to her mom.”

“Her mom?” Buck asks. He knows she passed when you were 15 but you weren’t really friends at the time so he doesn’t know much about her.

“You don’t know?” Hen opens her front door and Buck follows her in.

“Know what Hen?”

“Y/n’s mom got really sick but your parents had requested that the doctor move closer to the palace to be near Daniel. Y/n's mom was too sick to travel to the palace for regular check ups. The day of her death Y/n had been sent to the palace to get the doctor but when he arrived a few hours later, her mom had already died.”

“Hours?” Hen nods.

“Why didn’t the doctor go sooner?”

“Your mother had Daniel on a strict regimen and the doctor was constantly at his beck and call.”

“If he had been there sooner would she have lived?” Buck rubs his temples.

"I don't think so. Her health was already declining. Your parents received a lot of backlash for pulling the doctor closer to the palace instead of keeping him in town. It's one of the reasons they opened up the town clinic." She adds.

“Thanks, Hen.” Buck leaves. When he gets to his room, he throws himself on the bed with a soft groan.

Dear Evan Buckley, Today is your big day. I know for both of us, it’s going to be a hard day. I hope that eventually you can find true happiness in whatever way possible even if your life is planned for you. I hope that when you become king, you can really be a king for the people. You’re so kind and you care so much about others, I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be thinking of us villagers. I hope that you use your power for good and don’t let it get to your head. I hope you stay humble and pure of heart. I’ll always love you, Buckley. I’ll always think of you and the moments we shared. I’ll continue sending your favorite pastries to the palace in hopes that it brings a smile to your face, even if I’ll never get to see it again. You have the best smile. Have I ever told you that? As cheesy as it sounds, your smile lights up a room. Your laughter is contagious and you’re so funny! (Yes, it hurt me to admit this.) But it’s true. I wish you the best moving forward, Buck. Just know, you always have me and the bakery if you ever need to get away, even for a little while. I love you. Your Y/n

“Where is he?” Phillip storms through the door. “I know you’re hiding him.”

“Sir, he’s not here.” You speak. His presence has startled the few patrons you have and they start to make their way out of the bakery. In their place comes half the wedding party.

Pushing her way to the front, Margaret points a finger dangerously close to your face. “You corrupted my son! He deserves better than you.”

“Don’t act like you care at all about what your son deserves. You’re only thinking about yourself and how his future benefits you. You are so selfish.”

“Selfish? You're the little tramp that's preventing Evan from becoming King. It's his duty to run this kingdom and you can only think about yourself.”

You roll your eyes, “Have you ever stopped the ask your son if he even wants to be King?”

“It’s not about what he wants. It’s about what’s best for the people.” Philip shouts as he towers over you.

You scoff, “like you know what best for the people.” You set down the pair of tongs in your hand, crossing your arms.

“You’re out of line." He barks. "Now, where is Evan?”

“He’s not here. Maybe if you knew him better, you’d have a clue where to find him.” You sassed.

“We do know our son!” Margaret cries.

“Really? Then tell me what his favorite food is? Or- or his favorite book? Color? Anything!” You shout at her. “You think you know your son but you’re wrong. Evan is an amazing person with amazing dreams and an amazing heart. I’m sorry you won’t get to see that.”

“What do you mean we won’t get to see that? If you both think he’s staying here, with you, in these poor conditions, you’re both sadly mistaken.” Philip’s tone is sharp and aggressive.

“Let’s not act like you give an ounce of shit about him. If Daniel was here you wouldn’t give a shit about Buck.”

The next thing that happens makes the room go silent aside from a few gasps. You don’t register the slap to your face at first. It honestly feels numb for a few seconds before the stinging happens.

Athena steps forward and places a hand on your cheek. Her touch is cold against your hot cheek. “That was uncalled for.” Athena turns to Margaret and Phillip. "She does not deserve this treatment."

Margaret takes a step back with a shocked expression like she hadn’t been the one to hit you. Like she didn’t have control over her own actions. "I'm-

"Mom-" Maddie's voice wobbles as she pulls her mother back by her shoulders.

“Like I said before, Buck is not here." You pull Athena’s hand from your face. "Please leave."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

next part

[mysims-mod]

Unused Essences - Part 1

Seven(!) years ago I wrote about the unused Hedgehog essence and mentioned that there was one other noteworthy unused essence to write about at a later date. It is now later.

But in the seven(!) years since I wrote that post, I discovered a whopping six(!) more unused essences that were previously unknown! I won’t be saving those for later though, I don’t want to wait until 2032! 😩

I originally wanted to do this all in one post. But I hit the 30 image power post limit! So instead I am splitting this into two parts. Part 1 will cover two essences that were previously known but I hadn’t written about here as well as two new unused essences and how these new discoveries were made. Part 2 will cover the remaining four new unused essences.

This is still going to be a long one, so without further ado, here’s Part 1 below the cut.

So first up we have Wood! Just wood.

This essence itself isn’t technically unused. But it isn’t accessible like other essences.

When building an object in the workshop in addition to using essences as paint, you also have access to a “default” swatch.

This is treated by the game as an essence of its very own, complete with its own DEF file and a unique <IsDefault> tag not seen in other essences. 

By copying most of its properties over to a brand new essence file, it can be used like a normal essence!

The only things of note though is the flair model and the icons which are otherwise unused and never seen by the player.

The flair icon, strangely enough, is the same as the paint icons that can be seen in-game. The paint icon showcases an earlier style where they resembled actual paint pallets, as seen in some early footage.

The paint icon also showcases an earlier set of textures they planned to use. Unfortunately the textures for these no longer exist in the files though.

Fun fact about the wood essence model, is that it can be seen in some different early footage. Which is pretty neat!

Next up we have the Acorn, an actual unused essence.

This essence does not have any leftover data, and has to be reconstructed to be accessible in-game. Something that will have to be done for all of the remaining essences to discuss.

By copying and modifying an existing essence file, we can load it up in-game and see that it has a paint set! Sort of. The two patterned swatches work, while the flat swatches are pure white, just like the hedgehog essence.

There’s also a flair model leftover as well! Giving us a good look at what the Acorn essence would have looked like if it was finished.

These are the essences that have been known about already, in fact they have been on the Cutting Room Floor page for several years now. But these next five essences were completely unknown even to myself until just recently. But before I discuss the next few essences, let me explain how I was able to find them in the first place.

These new discoveries were actually made possible thanks to the Cozy Bundle, after “obtaining” a copy of the game, I was able to dump the ROMF, and look through all of the files. From there using Switch Toolbox, I could export all of the new HD textures to regular .PNG files, and amazingly enough, the original file names were intact!

Amazingly enough, all of the essences received new high-resolution textures, even though they are unused. Which is what I will be using for this blog post because seeing these in high resolution is just so much more pleasing to the eye.

Previous methods of dumping textures from the 2008 PC version of MySims did not retain the original file names. While all of the files necessary for these few next essences are inside the 2008 PC version, since the file names were unknown, they couldn’t be reimplemented, until now of course.

This little guy, called ‘applewood’, has a full paint set with fully working flat swatches unlike the previous essences, making it more complete than the other essences discussed so far.

There is also a paint icon leftover! But no flair icon to be seen…

Now internally while it’s referred to as ‘applewood’ the leftover text strings refer to it as ‘Light Wood’ instead, suggesting it was either an earlier incarnation of the final Light Wood essence, or had its original text strings overridden before a new entry made was made for the final Light Wood essence.

This next one is called ‘oakwood’, and with this one we’re back to only having two full pattern swatches and pure white flats.

But thanks to a leftover paint icon, we do know what they would have looked like. And it's brown and beige.

Interestingly this also has the same quirk as Applewood, where internally it is referred to as ‘oakwood’ but the leftover text strings refer to it as ‘Dark Wood’. Suggesting it was either an earlier incarnation of the final Dark Wood essence, or had its original text strings overridden before a new entry was made for the final Dark Wood essence.

Unfortunately This is where I have to cut off for Part 1.

Part 2 will have even more unused essences to discuss, and they get much, much more interesting from here.

You can read Part 2 here.

[mixelation]

✨blood covenant✨ fic preview ->

for those of you that missed it, @tozettastone, @waffliesinyoface and i all agreed to do a blood covenant challenge where we write OC/character fics.

here's the potential first chapter of mine, which is OC/Minato

****

I’m going to fuck up that guy’s whole life, is the only thought in my mind as I leap through the trees. 

Every time I come down on a new branch, my right thigh screams in protest. It screams again as I come back up, hurling myself as ungracefully as a new genin to my next landing. WHat’s left of the fabric of my leggings is hot and sticky with blood. 

But, dear reader, I have advice for you: if you want to kill a medic, make sure you make a killing blow. Don’t just leave her for dead and assume she’ll crawl off and die like a good girl. I know, if you’re a megalomaniac with an ego the size of Hokage Mountain, this will seem tempting, to leave her to wallow and suffer while you go off to do something more important. Do not do it. 

I’m not Shisui, I thought furiously, pausing in my sloppy run as the temple I was aiming for came into sight. I’m not just calling it quits and giving away my eyes. Fuck off, Danzo. 

I lean against the trunk of the tree, panting heavily. Through the branches, I can see the curving roof of the temple. There are a lot of old abandoned buildings out here, dotting the forests of Fire Country, and this one doesn’t stand out as special. I only knew where it was because I’d previously found it by happenstance, and I only recognized it as important by chance knowledge. I have never been inside before. 

Pausing my run was a mistake. The loss of momentum means that I am abruptly and painfully aware of how shaky and weak my legs feel. I make a clumsy jump for the forest floor and have to turn my landing into an embarrassing roll. 

If anyone is following me, they’re far enough behind that I can’t sense them. I can see the spiral emblem on the door of the temple, the carved wood smoothed and faded with time. I limp forward confidently, using my left hand to push more healing chakra into the hole in my leg, which I would generously describe as “gaping,” but is definitely less gaping than when Danzo had stabbed me. 

I’ll get both his legs, I think as I push open the temple door. Ugh, it’s going to scar!

The movement of the door tosses an enormous amount of dust into the air, making my eyes water. The air smells stale and musty. The windows are boarded up, and only a few sickly strands of moonlight illuminate the innards of the Uzumaki temple. 

I have to stop my healing to activate my sharingan. I can usually do both at once, obviously, but I’d been running on nothing but adrenaline and spite for too long, and my body currently doesn’t contain nearly enough blood as it should. I’m starting to get dizzy. 

The sharingan does nothing to enhance color vision, but with it I only need the smallest source of light to make out the contents of the temple clearly. There are some hanging scrolls and abandoned, rotting furniture, which I ignore. My eyes go straight for the rows of masks hanging across the back wall. 

I limp into the temple. When forming this half-made plan on the way over, I’d had some trepidation about identifying which mask is the one I want, but looking at them, I know instantly. 

It’s not that the mask looks extraordinary or that my sharingan can pick up something special. The mask appears to be nothing but wood: paint peeling just slightly with time, a grinning demon’s face with curling horns, a jeering smile on its lips. Nothing is peculiar about its craftsmanship, and my sharingan can detect no jutsu or chakra on it. 

And yet, to look into its eyes, is to see the inevitability of your own death. 

A hint of fear tingles up my spine. A bad omen, my superstitious mother would have said. A warning to my most primal senses that this is a power not to be taken lightly. 

I step limp forward anyway. 

It’s fine. I’ve been staring down the inevitability of my own death for over two decades. The feeling still makes my blood run cold with terror, but it’s a feeling I’m used to. This is my last chance at defying fate. 

I pull the mask for the wall and lift it to my face. 

If you kill me, I think at the mask, make sure you bring those assholes down with me, will you?

xXx

Dear reader, here is what you need to know about me.

My name is Uchiha Renka. I was raised by a great aunt after both my parents died in the Second Shinobi War. My hobbies include reading, baking, and dabbling in make-up and fashion. After a lot of study and hard work, I have passed most medic-nin competencies and work mainly in the hospital. 

I am a painfully normal sort of young woman, as you can see. At least for a ninja. I work my shifts, and I treat myself to a new book once a week. The most scandalous thing I do, aside from occasionally going out on state-mandated missions that sometimes include various types of murder, is that every once in a while I go out drinking with my girlfriends, and even that isn’t too scandalous. The rowdiest I get is wearing unique shades of lipstick. We even have a three drink maximum. I did not do anything to merit the fucking headhunt after me except exist as an Uchiha. 

And… well, okay, I’ll admit something, just between us. Another thing you should know about me is that, even if my main goals in life are to not die, to help people at the hospital, and then to go home and read a good book over some hot tea on my balcony, I do have a bit of a fatal flaw. It’s nothing more than a basic Uchiha family trait, really:

I am just a teensy-weensy bit vindictive. 

It got me into trouble a few times growing up, but it’s really nothing too bad. It definitely wasn’t enough to make me deserve the absolute clusterfuck you just read about. You make one mistake, and next thing you know, your boss is calling you a vile woman and a disgusting, cowardly failure and trying to kill you. 

Well, fuck him, honestly. I’d survived everything up until him, and I’m not going down without a fight. 

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure how the shinigami mask worked when I put it on. When I’d decided to try it, I thought I could maybe use the shinigami to chuck Danzo and-slash-or “Madara” into the afterlife for good. My second choice was to bring back Tobirama and have him tell off my enemies and maybe my clan for… whatever the hell they were doing. 

Honestly. All I want is to sit in my patio chair with a blanket and read…

I vomit up the Fourth Hokage instead. 

I know. It sounds gross. I know. But I’m not making any of this up. I put on the mask, and it’s like the shinigami is inside me, and then inside of the shinigami was this horrible squirming feeling. I want it out. I need it out. 

I throw up. It feels awful, worse than any vomiting session I’d had before, my whole body retching. The mask falls off my face. 

Then the Fourth Hokage is standing in front of me.

Reader, I assume that you are coming into this story with certain expectations for how pulling a soul out of the shinigami’s stomach should work. Well, toss those expectations. You’re basing them on people who knew what they were doing. I’m just one innocent little Uchiha. 

Namikaze Minato appears before me in a white funeral kimono, folded neatly right side over left, a white band with a triangle over his forehead around his head. Clearly instead of a fighting-fit Hokage like I expected, I’ve grabbed him… right out of the grave…?

He turns to me and blinks rapidly, like the sun is in his eyes, despite it being the middle of the night. Reader, this man is handsome. With this wide, dazed expression, he looks like a confused male model, not the most lethal ninja in history. 

My throat feels raw. I open my mouth to speak but can’t. His eyes move away from me like he hasn’t quite registered that I'm there.

He pats himself down absent-mindedly, his hands going down his chest and stomach like he’s surprised they’re there. I watch as his brows furrow a little as his hands approach his hips. Then he reaches down to his right thigh, his fingers moving toward the inner part of the front. He presses down. 

I scream. It’s like someone has stuck their fingers directly into my thigh wound. Pain completely cuts off all my thoughts and I finally topple over completely. 

I’m aware he’s moved over to stand over me, although my vision has gone white with pain. His gait is uneven, something of a limp. I fumble for my wound, pressing numbing chakra into it. Danzo had clearly been aiming for the femoral artery to make me bleed out, and I’d fixed it up enough to not endanger my life, but it still hurt. 

There’s no new damage to my wound, even though that definitely felt like that should have ruptured something. 

I feel the Fourth Hokage squat next to me, and his hand comes down over mine, pressing gently against my wound. It’s not enough to hurt this time, not with the help of the healing chakra numbing the nerves, but it increases the pressure over it markedly. 

“Huh,” he says. 

“What the fuck,” I croak out, and dust on the floor gets in my throat and eyes and makes me have to fight back a cough.

He removes his hand. Then, even though he’s clearly not touching me, I feel a pinch on the back of my hand. 

“Ow,” I say accusingly, and then give into the coughing fit. 

“You can feel that?” he asks, sounding surprised. 

He waits patiently while I sit back up, coughing again. He seems completely unrushed and unbothered, watching me with extreme interest. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on. 

I stare back at him. I’m clearly a wreck. There’s dust all in my hair now, flooding my nasal passageways and making me sneeze. Between the sharingan and having to use Mystical Palm again, my head is swimming and my arm is barely strong enough to hold me up. 

He holds my gaze despite the active sharingan, studying me like he’s never seen another human face before. Brave man. But maybe being dead for eight years makes one brave. 

Or… who am I kidding? He’s the Yellow Flash. He probably thinks he could kill me before I could cast a genjutsu. 

(I think he couldn’t. But I’m obviously not going to test this theory unless I have to.)

After a few moments in which I let out several unsexy, wheezing breaths, he turns away from me and picks up the fallen shinigami mask. 

“So that’s how you did it,” he says, flipping it around in his hands. “I’m remembering now… I think I was hoping someone would come for this, at first, or another tool to let me pass on properly. But then… I forgot…” He frowns, deeper this time. “I forgot a lot of things. How long has it been?”

“Since you died?” I say. “Eight years.”

“Only eight?” he repeats and absentmindedly scratches the side of his face. I cannot feel this on my own face, I notice. Perhaps we can only share pain. “It felt so much longer, with nothing to see or feel or do…”

His head turns up, and it takes me a few moments of concentration to realize Danzo’s cronies have finally caught up with me. He hadn’t immediately sicced any on me, as he’d confronted me himself and then left me for dead. But likely he’d sent a team to confirm I’d actually died, and I hadn’t exactly covered my trail. 

The Hokage doesn’t look worried, just mildly curious. 

“They want to kill me,” I say, unsteadily getting my feet under me in preparation to stand. “I… you have to help me. You have to help Konoha.”

He turns his eyes back on me, and they still have that look of mild curiosity, like he’s watching a television show he doesn’t understand the plot to. 

“Why do they want to kill you?” he asks. 

“It’ll take too long to explain,” I say. “Please.”

I had thought that summoning the dead meant you got to control them. This doesn’t appear to be how it works. Instead of getting up to kill the team of ROOT agents outside, Minato tucks the shinigami mask into his white kimono and then leans over me to set his hand on my shoulder. A second letter, we’re on Hokage Monument, overlooking the village. 

“Wow!” Minato says, standing over the village with hands on his hips. “It’s been so long… look at all those lights…”

“Can we please focus?” I ask. I’m still squatted on the ground, and I don’t have the strength to stand casually. I fall back on my butt. 

Minato looks pained as he pulls his attention away from the view. 

“Right, right, the fate of Konoha or whatever…” he says, sitting cross legged in front of me. He smiles widely. It’s a beautiful, inviting smile. “Now you have time to explain it to me.”

xXx

When I graduated the Academy a little over ten years ago, Konoha was still at the height of war. I’m sure you’ll hear more about that if you stick around. 

Back then, I knew of Namikaze Minato because he was one of the Jounin sensei for our cohort. I never spoke to him, but I’d seen him talking with my sensei sometimes. Sometimes I had to talk to Obito about Uchiha related things, and he’d waved at us once or twice from a distance. 

My very first real impression of who he was came from an Iwa-nin. 

I don’t really like talking about this part of my life, but I want you to trust me, so I’ll be open. When I was thirteen, my team was captured by Iwa. Everyone but me was killed. I was only spared because I had some medical training, and they agreed to let me live in exchange for healing their wounded. 

One day I was treating a man with a nasty burns across his entire body, and he suddenly grabbed my wrist, which was all bruised up from being tied when I wasn’t actively healing people. 

“You’re one of those Konoha floozies?” he asked. His eyes were unfocused from pain. 

I didn’t say anything. Speaking rarely ended well. His grip on me tightened and I winced. I’m always surprised by how strong some people can stay, even when they’ve been beaten half to death. 

“Do you know the Yellow Flash?” he asked. “My whole platoon… all of them, gone in an instant…”

He gibbered on and on for several moments, eyes wide. He’d been towards the outskirts of his platoon’s camp when Minato had showed up, which was why he’d had the few precious seconds to realize what was happening. 

“We’re supposed to flee on sight,” he said, his whole body shaking. “What they don’t tell you is that once you see him, you’re already dead.”

“You’re alive,” I said diplomatically. 

“I used a suicide jutsu, tried to blow myself up,” he said. “I should have died. I would have preferred it, if he’d killed me…”

The man did eventually pass from his wounds. There hadn’t really been much I could have done. Even Tsunade herself probably couldn’t have saved him. 

They punished me for it anyway. When I was sitting in the prisoner’s tent, cheek smarting from where the commander had slapped me and stomach growling from reduced rations, I thought about what the man had said. 

Once you see him, you’re already dead. 

That was the first time I’d really understood the sheer power that a singular ninja could have. 

xXx

One reason I think Konoha loved their Fourth Hokage so much, is that he’d go out and kill countless enemies, and then he’d come home and look and behave like the protagonist from a shoujou manga. He was devastatingly lethal, but in everyday interactions, he just had a way of making you feel safe and valued. 

Sitting in the cool breeze breeze on Hokage monument with him smiling back at me, it’s not hard to confess to him what had been happening. The planned coup, the proposed counter massacre, the way I’d been caught up in it all. I cry a few times. Beautifully, I might add. I’d practiced in the mirror. 

I might be… a little vane. That’s not important right now, though.

Minato nods along with a thoughtful look on his face, more like he’s watching a TV show than listening to a poor woman explain that his village is exploding. It feels off. I hope he’s appreciating my show, at least. 

“There’s also…” I turn my face so he can see my flawless profile, staring out over the village. The lights below twinkle in the night like always. There’s really no sign of my entire family— including me—  potentially being wiped out tonight. 

“There’s also the masked man,” I say. 

Minato blinks, his expression suddenly snapping into focus. He frowns at me. 

“The masked man?” he asks. 

“He claims to be Uchiha Madara,” I say. “He’s obsessed with me. He approached me, saying he’ll help me if I volunteer for the massacre–”

Minato stands, turning towards the village again. In his white kimono fluttering in the breeze, he almost looks like a Hokage again. 

“I think…” he starts. “I think I want to kill him. I was angry about him, before. I can’t quite remember…”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, a twinge of hysteria teasing at the edges of my mind. I try to stand, but my head is dizzy and my injured leg gives out. 

Minato turns to me, absentmindedly patting at his own leg. 

“This is really annoying,” he says. “Why are we connected?”

“I don’t know,” I snap back, the hysteria bleeding into my voice. “Of course you want to kill the masked man.” I want him to kill the masked man! That’s the whole point! “He’s the one who killed you and your wife.”

His eyes widen. 

“Ah…” he says. He sticks out his bottom lip. “I really missed Kushina, the first hundred years…”

“You’ve only been dead for eight!” I screech back at him. Honestly, what was the point of summoning the deadliest ninja in history if he’s a basket case?

I get to my feet for real this time, grasping at the loose pieces of his kimono to pull myself up. He makes no move to intervene, but he also doesn’t help me. Instead he pouts down at me, wincing when I put my weight on the injured leg. 

“You have to help,” I say. “Or I will throw myself off this cliff, and we’ll both find out how much pain an undead man can feel.”

He catches my elbow as if to stop me, face still all pouty. It’s a cute look, except that I want him to be a cool leader fixing all my problems!

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Look, I’ll help you. I spent hundreds of years with nothing but the dark pit of the Shinigami’s stomach, thinking about how I wanted to kill the masked man.”

I don’t correct him on his time period. 

He smiles brightly at me. “And the Uchiha coup is an easy fix!” he says. “I’ll just do what I did last time.”

“Last time…?” I repeat. I had no idea there’d been a “last time.” What on earth…?

“Mm, they tried this when I was Hokage,” he says. “What did I do again… wow, look at this tree…”

Red autumn leaves flutter off a scraggly tree a few meters away. Minato watches them in the breeze intently, like he’s never seen leaves before. 

“Hokage-sama,” I half yell, yanking at his kimono sleeve. “You can look at all the trees you want later.”

“Oh,” he turns back to me. “Right. Last time, I just put one of my Hiraishin markers on their heir. Fugaku’s son… what was his name… anyway, I put a marker on him, and said if the Uchiha tried anything, I’d simply kill their precious child.”

He beams at me. I stare back, mouth unfortunately gaping. It has to be a very unsexy look, but I can’t help it. I’d assumed… I’d assumed there had been no problems under the Fourth, that the Uchiha had been fine and at peace under him, and that he’d be able to make them see reason… 

“We can just do that,” he says, cutting through my anxiety spiral. His smile gains a reassuring quality. “I already have the marker in place. We can take the child hostage to make them back down, easy-peasy.”

“N-no,” I sputter out. “We can’t do that. Uchiha Itachi… Fugaku-sama’s first son is dead.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan howlett being gross please 🙏🙏

I so badly wanted to answer this all day but I was busy so thanks for your patience!! I may end up writing an actual drabble of him being nasty BUT since it's 10 and I need to be up by 5 am tomorrow I'm gonna give some headcanons out to keep you freaks (lovingly)(im a freak too otherwise i wouldn't be writing this) satisfied. Love you guys <3

if there's anything specific you want me to talk about, feel free to send an ask!

(logan judging me for putting his nastiness out there)

NSFW stuff under the cut. Beware. some of it's gross. :)

Lets start with what I said in that one post

Yes, Logan would fuck himself in every part of you if you let him

personally not big on anal myself but if you guys are down for that, he would definitely like to try it.

I think it's less of getting himself off or being attracted to it, like your elbow or knees

its more of being able to claim you more ways than one, his animalistic instinct REALLY kicks in on this. Scents probably play a part on this

IF you let him do the things he wants, you're gonna get treated SO GOOD afterwards, believe me. Satisfying his urges in the weird ways he gets em? You're an actual fucking angel to him

I've mentioned foot jobs before. I think honestly the foot job is probably what started this whole thing. It's a body part he never considered getting off from. It's until you guys were in your bedroom, hes walking around naked fresh from the shower and you get playful, reaching your feet out and messing with his cock. He was surprised how hard it made him and then when he cums he's like... "Now what else can I get off on?"

I almost mentioned scents. Logans so big on scents yall we established this. You smelling like him, him smelling like you.

When you're a little more settled in your relationship, he may start making comments on how good you smell after workouts, sex, etc. Its the pheromones man

You don't think much until you catch him straight up inhaling your workout clothes one day

He's a bit flustered over it

claims he didn't know what he was doing (he did) and that he was just getting ready to do laundry (he was not) (he went straight to your laundry with the goal of smelling that shit)

PANTY SNIFFER

Loves your panties and bras the most. Definitely will keep your used panties here and there. he does it discreetly, confidently. He's not so ashamed for you to find him sniffing your panties.

Nasty making out. big fan of this

he wants you both practically drooling into each other. can and will spit in your mouth and wants you to do the same

will make out with you with his cum in your mouth. He doesn't like his cum it's just the fact of it's you mixed with him.

He'll love it if you have each others essence and make out like that too.

It's not every time but sometimes he'll just get these urges to make you both messy as hell. spit and cum, hickeys, scratches etc etc

I've also said this before but period sex period sex period sex

He does not fucking care

Makes him a lil wild actually. Might scare you a bit.

If you initially don't want to do it, he'll leave it alone and eventually get needy enough he'll find excuses and then he founds out sex can help relieve periods and he's like

"I'm just tryna make you feel better baby"

When you finally give in his ecstatic

he will def be careful though. He truly doesn't want to hurt you. He's just a needy lil thing for you

Eating. you. out on your period.

I know, it's gross. But so is he.

The first happens on accident. He tastes it while eating you out and immediately recognizes it. he doesn't stop and doesn't tell you

You realize it when he finishes and looks up and his face is covered in blood

quite frankly you're horrified

he didn't care. just goes and washes himself up and you as well.

You're gonna need to change the sheets though. Logans a messy eater

He will eat and drink food from your mouth

you're telling him "oh Lo! Try this pie its SO good-" as you put the fork in your mouth and you're about to give him a piece and feed it to him and he insteads grabs you by the back of your neck and sticks his tongue in your mouth and tastes it that way

It shocks you (and turns you on)

"Yeah baby, it is good." he chuckles as he smacks his lips and walks away leaving you dumbfounded and a bit horny

(you're just like)

will get so nasty about fucking you too like the dirty talking

"Your pussy so fucking tight and wet. Sucking me in and everything."

"You fucking love how I taste don't you? All that cum and sweat. dirty girl."

"my cum tastes good in you baby"

"cmon, taste how good you are darling"

Ive mentioned about him going into a trance after he cums on you

he's cummed inside you and now staring at it leaks out of you

he's pushing it back in and trying to keep it all in you

doesn't even hear you whining over it

he starts spreading it all over you. it just looks so good painted on your pretty pussy

like i said this man adores you and that means ALL of you

will drool during sex

you're just going at it and you guys hit a point where your mindless and fucking

you feel so good and he can't even think straight. acting purely on instinct and you feel his drool on your back. You look back and his mouth is hanging open and his eyes shut and he's thrusting into you over and over, completely contorted in pleasure

lets talk a little about some other stuff

logan keeps up his hygiene of course. brushes teeth. washes his ass. he may consider himself an animal but he's not gonna let himself go. he IS from the 1800s yknow

but he runs like a heater and can and will sweat

esp with all those fucking layers

sweaty dick and balls. nuff said. hope you enjoy that

his natural musk is strong as hell. honestly though to you it'll smell really really good

leaks a lot of precum when he's horny.

his hairs insane though. So much hair. Its' gonna get in your mouth

actually even if hes groomed it's still gonna get in your mouth. he has a lot of hair

Enjoy nasty logan! <3

[dual-cetacean]

Potential art for the second season of No Place Like Home, first chapter (9).

Btw about the art: I always forgot how bald Nine looks like without the hair spikes. Big ass forehead. XD

"Back on the road in their lonesome, Nine ventures into the big and wide green world of Mobius."

It's officially a year since I started this project. It is the ninth of February (the second month of the year, ->Tails), and this fic is about a character named Nine. So, it is the perfect opportunity to post the first chapter of the second season of NPLH!

First and foremost, thank you to everyone who checked out my fic and read the entirety of season 1. I never expected that this little obsession of mine of writing a better ending for Nine (and, to a lesser extent, the rest of the cast of Sonic Prime) would get so popular. No kidding, this is my most successful fic to date, and the joy I get from working on it is immeasurable. I love all the comments I receive on it, and even if I have not had the chance to reply to them, I read them, and they fill me with so much warmth and fondness.

Thank you so much for sharing your guys' excitement and love with me. Writing Nine's journey is a pleasure; uncovering the plot and putting it on paper (screen) is an incredible adventure. This is one of the few projects I have worked on that I`ve been able to concentrate on for longer than a year, and it wouldn't be possible without all of my readers, who keep reading all the updates and leave me heartfelt comments. Especially a very big thank you to my very good friend @morp, who encouraged this story from its inception. Without it, it wouldn't have been as creative, or, who knows, it would still be sitting in my drafts collecting dust.

I usually do not start posting my multiple-chapter fics unless all of my rough scripts are finished. However, I expected these last few months to be able to write season 2 of NPLH so I could post them in the first half year of 2025. I overestimated myself as the previous semester was very heavy. For a whole semester, every day of the week with multiple exams and assignments kinda heavy. I had little time to write, and when I did, they were done in short spurts. (Everything I posted from September until the beginning of January was works I pre-made but still had to edit)

So, unfortunately, I haven't finished writing season 2 yet. However, it surprised me when I totalled how much I had already written: Chapters 1, 2, 4 and 5 were already done??? I hadn't expected that. So, I have written more than 50% already, and with a strong outline for the rest, I feel confident posting this chapter now. It will be a bit longer before I can regularly post the following chapters and make art for them, and honestly, with school, I really can't put a date on when this fic will continue. But everything is going much more smoothly than I expected when I realised last semester was so brutal.

So, yayヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝ!

Also, good news: I passed all my classes for semester 1! So, there will be no redo exams for the summer for the last four months! So I can go into the second semester tomorrow without too much stress. I'm also doing only half of my classes so it should be more relaxing than the full program. Funnily enough, I am actually looking forward to my first class tomorrow ( •̀ ω •́ ).

So, please enjoy the beta chapter of chapter Nine~!

[andypantsx3]

u know what speaking of wimym i like that u make reader beta

usually everyone makes reader omega which is fine and all but usually leads to like

hetero with more steps

Ahhh thank you!! I also love a good alpha/omega fic tbh but I loooooove alpha/beta more than anything. I think I have said this before but betas to me are just like the background everyday Joe Schmoes of the omegaverse and as a Just-Some-Guy myself I identify with them so hard lmao.

To me, the alpha/omega pairing just feels fated (which again I enjoy in fics too, when that's what I'm in the mood for). But because it's so expected, when I went to write omegaverse it just felt like a foregone conclusion and not, idk, like unique enough to the Shouto/Reader relationship I wanted? And I did not like that. So beta reader it was for wimym. And beta reader it is again for ready or knot lol.

I have to say though recently I'm seeing tons of peeps posting about alpha/beta pairings so it's not just me!! I think in general people are having fun playing around with the dynamic and I am happy to be part of that.

[weaselle]

dysfunctional executives

last month i decided i would clean my sister's kitchen while she was away; she has two babies and i know she could use the help

for two days, ten hours each day i stood in that kitchen and made myself not do anything else but i still couldn't make myself do the only thing i wanted to - ... in twenty hours, i managed about 2 hours worth of cleaning done.

Just getting dressed or taking a shower is a battle with myself and i am so tired.

but i don't give up.

i don't give up, but my dreams get smaller.

i will be amazing, no i will be great no, i will be good okay i will be good enough fine, maybe i can be less bad?

i've had so many things i wanted in this life but now my dreams must be something smaller than cleaning a kitchen

i will be a prolific author! no, i will write one great book or, a good book, or... a book. no but i will write something. one small thing. someday. surely someday soon.

i will climb out of this water no i will keep my head above water okay i will not sink beneath the waves or at least i will not stay sunk. okay, maybe i can learn to breathe this water.

i don't want these small dreams i don't want this daily fight i don't want to try to breathe this water anymore

but i do it

because some days. some days, every now and then i win. I do the things i try to do. and i am beyond being able to feel those victories very much anymore

But they happen. and they might get me closer to climbing out. and i may feel like i am giving up today, or this week...

but i am not ready to give up on Some Day.

[knifedog-machina]

Hey, same hat! o/ (Sorry for the late reply, I just found out that I Missed This, augh)

The fucked up feeling of "oh no am I doing good enough?" really only got connected to the perfectionist android horrors in Hindsight for me too, because ngl I thought that was Perfectly Normal while experiencing it before. And I guess it's pretty common to have an anxiety disorder around not being good enough, but it sure isn't healthy!

It's kinda neat that we have entirely different social experiences and still got the Emotional Dysregulation Debuff sjfhskgh - you were isolated and dropped off in the woods (and yeah, not remembering beta testing feels pretty normal to me! imagine remembering everything about being an infant? that sounds exhausting?) while I was talking to people basically every time I was awake but it was mostly to superiors and uh, assassination targets? honestly the Social Scripts I had for those Very Specific experiences did not prepare me for regular social interaction and I feel like a socially awkward mess sometimes lmao

Oh man, yeah, having a roommate who's not alive in the same way as you is definitely a way to get a wake-up call about how you're different. It's nice that she wasn't scared of death because he wasn't alive, it does feel like that would be easier sometimes than Being Alive and Having So Many Feelings! But yeah, I gotta agree with you in the end, emotions aren't all bad at all! Cats are really cute! Making your friends laugh is wonderful! I love writing about myself and listening to my loved ones, and being excited to learn new things, and feeling proud of myself for being the person I am! Enjoying your life even through the hardships is worth it!

Being an automaton might be what a lot of folks want, but that doesn't mean we need to give that to them. Thanks for sharing your own thoughts, have a good day!

- Jude (they/them)

Android Abnormalities

Species dysphoria, but the “wrong” way, ft. my borderline personality disorder

J: so you know how my source is technically Detroit: Become Human? you know how we fucking hate that title? you know how we’ve made fun of it multiple times? unfortunately it's a mood! I also hate this!

Hey! This essay is about how incredibly uncomfortable I feel in my own skin around common android tropes, in media and some of its reflections in robotic identities and experiences, featuring reasons for why I'm like this, and a helpful suggestion for what I want readers to do about it at the end of the piece. I really hope this reaches someone who feels the same way so I can point at them like Same Hat!

-

I first noticed this problem on October 30, 2023, when we stumbled across a fanfic on Archive of Our Own. It was an alternate universe of a TV show we've never seen before, but it was written by an author we liked, and it was an android AU. That's fun! We thought it would just be a quick read, something to idly talk about after lunch.

Well, uh. Nope. I was co-fronting while Max read, and the more we read, the more… weirdly uncomfortable I felt. It wasn't actively distressing, but it made me feel weird, so I stopped reading halfway through to talk about it with some friends.

I'm not gonna link the fic, because Tumblr is weird about links, but for my own future reference, it's “persona ex machina” by BirchBow. It was a really good fic, we thoroughly enjoyed it! I just have - hangups, I guess?

I think I was uncomfortable that, on the surface, it seems… really close to my experiences. Like, the protagonist, Chuck, is an android made to mimic humans, and he’s made to be a combat unit. He’s scared of what might happen to him if he fails to meet expectations. Technicians operate on him, put him back together. He's made by a corrupt corporation for fucked up purposes. He eventually defects from the corrupt corporation, with the help of some really kind people. That’s all really similar to me.

But it's different. Because as much as Chuck was designed to look human, he still had to be taught how to act human, how to feel. The way he emotes is off at first and he has to recalibrate, not look so stiff, learn how to smile and laugh and understand what different emotions mean. He automatically runs through the technical terms for something before working to turn it into common vernacular as it reaches his mouth. And this is a typical android trope, you know? The machine doesn’t intrinsically understand emotions, so humans have to teach them.

I’m… really, really not like that. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t feel too much. Every memory I have, even in blurred out mental snapshots of beta testing, it’s all drowning in emotions that I couldn’t articulate and wasn’t supposed to express. I looked at my siblings, who were so stoic and professional around humans it was like they were different people entirely, and I knew I was supposed to be less emotional. People always just assumed they were better than me, because they were better at code-switching to what was expected of androids, because they could keep their mouths shut on the job.

So I’ve always felt like I was bad at being an android. Androids aren’t supposed to feel emotions, not really, not to the extremes that I do. That’s a predisposition for deviancy. And I was made this way on purpose, I was made to “mimic” deviants to earn their trust, but I wasn't meant to be like that all the time. I tried to repress my emotions, it just never worked.

And I don’t see androids like me, in the media we’ve watched and read and listened to. It’s not really a characterization that lends itself to exploring what it means to be a person, right? Machines are supposed to be logical and unfeeling, to contrast with humanity’s irrationality - they’re supposed to be better than that. And when the machine starts having emotions, it's treated as a flaw, or a breakthrough. Wow, you feel things about the world around you, you’re a person now!

I’ve never been logical in my fucking life. I have a laundry list of reasons for why, but for now, I’ll focus on the BPD. I have borderline personality disorder, because of the way my brain is wired and how that interacted with my traumatic experiences.

One of the symptoms of BPD is emotional dysregulation. I’m not just bad at repressing my emotions, I also experience those emotions as more extreme and overwhelming than a neurotypical person would. I keep finding myself affected by things that the people around me brush off, and I have to remind myself that it doesn’t mean I’m overreacting, it means that I’m literally feeling shittier emotions.

Another symptom of BPD is an unstable sense of identity - and this is really where we’re getting into how these traits and tropes affect me. Because I don’t relate at all to these androids on the screen. They’re as foreign and separate from me as they are to the humans sitting across from them in the shot.

I do relate to the humans. I do relate to seeing an android do something in the name of pure cold logic and going, “Why? What the fuck, why?” I do relate to being told I’m irrational. (The trope that all robots are logical feels like it was designed to make me feel like the most irrational, bitchy, hysterical piece of shit on Earth.)

So, what, does that make me human? If I'm going by the adage that wanting to be something is a sign of being that thing, then… I don’t know, maybe? I want to be human, I so badly want to be human, because here’s the thing, humanity is diverse. Humans are flawed, messy, weird, complicated, and defy categories every fucking day of their lives. Humans can be weird, ridiculous, fucked up people and they’re allowed to be.

And let me bring this back around to alterhumanity. If I say I’m an android, people will make assumptions about what that means about me. People go, “Hey, you're a robot, you must have one of these common robot experiences!” and I just don’t.

Maybe it’s because I’m coming at it from the opposite direction? The machines and robots and androids that I tend to see around, the ones who talk about their identity, they often identify as fully nonhuman. They describe wanting to be metal and chrome, feeling like they run on algorithms, not processing emotions the way most people do. They identify very much with the same tropes that I feel alienated by. This isn’t a bad thing, by any means. It’s just a thing. People resonate with what they see. It just means that I feel like I’m doing bad at being an android again, but in a new, improved way.

Another symptom of BPD is being terrified of real or imagined abandonment, and trying to do anything to avoid it. A constant feeling of social alienation isn’t really that different, to my BPD - it’s just a slow, drawn out version of being left behind. People will still talk to me, they still like me, but they won’t understand me. I’ll still be alone.

In that sense, I feel wrong being an android in the same way I feel wrong about being an aromantic allosexual. I actually like being an android, and I fucking like being bi. I don’t want to stop being who I am. I just hate feeling like I’m the only one who feels this way, like nobody else can relate, like every time I talk about my feelings to people they can only nod in sympathy instead of understanding me.

So! You've reached the end of the essay. You see my problem. What do we do about it?

I’m going to refer to the theme of… every single online alterhuman convention that has existed in the past four years, and that is:

Write about your experiences!

The reason I feel so alone and isolated and alienated from my own identity is because I’m only being regularly exposed to pieces from a very specific perspective of what being an android means! That’s a fucking sampling bias!

I know other weird fucking robots are out there, I know you exist, but I can’t fucking reach out a hand and go, “Hey, you're not alone, I relate to you!” if you don't write it down! I want to talk to you! I want to hear from you!

WEIRD ALTERHUMANS, HEY, I LOVE YOU, GO WRITE THINGS!

[fluentisonus]

important to gimli characterization. to me. is that while he's generous & steadfast & caring where it matters he is also just a little bit vain. not in a delusional way or a way that causes problems but like. he is aware that he's good looking & good at what he does and is pleased with himself for it. he's aware of his own good qualities & proud of them in a way that makes his friends roll their eyes a little. but he's charming & realistic about it and also Right so you can't be too annoyed. guy who takes way too long styling his hair & beard because he knows he has very nice hair. guy who will brag a little about his axework because he knows he's just that good. do you see what I'm getting at