#anyway. ily all this is the way i like socialize and i am having a great time in our river bubble together

[gideonisms]

this is going to make me sound way too online which at this point is a given. anyway I think that online interactions about shared interests are the way I prefer to make friends full stop. like I have been only partially successful in making friends irl and the experience usually gives me so much anxiety that the process of getting there is grueling. but the people I made friends with 7 years ago due to shipping the same anime boys are like, still my friends and we interact multiple times a week. idk what to do with this information hvjklllkjjk

[astrxealis]

life is not being silly to me rn

[verysanebsdfan]

Helloo 💗💗

Idk if ur taking hxh requests now but could you do hcs on how it'd likely go when Killua's family eventually find out abt his s/o?? How each family member is likely to react and how they even found out abt that anyway, and all that since...

I DONT THINK ITD GO WELL BUT I COULD BE WRONG

Have a nice day by the way <3

Hello and thank you for requesting<3

I doubt it will be accurate but thats what headcanons are for ig? Either way i tried <3

Also i made this gn!reader

Tw: a little foul language i guess, murder mentioned in a silli way >_<, its really bad so it needs a warning too

○ oKi imagine Illumi somehow saw you on a date or just hanging out ykyk, and told it to the rest of the family cuz Killua is the fav child?! fuckin snitch

○ Alr so lets be fr, it would really depend on your strenght. Are you strong asf and good influence on Killua? Sure, it could be arranged. But are you weak, or bad influence, or have some flaws that they dont like? RUN.

○ So lets say you are not the worst (ily yall dw), i have a strong feeling that Kikyo, Killuas mom, would despise you. She'd be like those moms on socials like, "nuh uh you arent his first kiss, i was, and he is still my baby boy" and "i cant let anyone steal my boy, he is mine, not yours blah blah" girl, grow tf up.

○ And lets be honest, it wouldnt be much better with Illumi :((

Oh? Kill has an s/o? hm...once they have a disagreement, he will kill them anyway

○ STFU U ILLUMINATI >_<

○ Next up would be Milluki

○ Imagine not having a real s/o, Milluki (i aint better)

○ Either way, he wouldnt be happy but what can he do? You arent the favourtie child Milluki.

○ I dunno what to say, really, but Kalluto wouldnt really give a flying shit.

○ Alluka would adore you omg >_< AND you're gonna be her sister in law?! RIGHT? RIGHT? Same with Nanika, adores you. But if you ever hurt Killua....id recommend killing yourself quickly before they find you. (pls dont kys and dont hurt killua)

○ I wanna include Zeno cuz he slays sm. Supporting grandparent fr. Much better than Kikyo and Illumi.

○ Now on to Silva....

○ I can sorta see him be okay with it, i mean, if Kill is happy and wants to get stronger, and return home, why tf not.

○ But be careful, a little slip and *funeral music starts playing*

○ Overally pretty chill on the outside at least

○ So if you were cool and strong, you would probably live (hopefully)

Guys im sorry its badddddddddddddddddd but i tried, I am on a vacacion so my brain kind of got fried its so hot here wthhhh

[beamtori]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲

demon (in human form)!ji changmin x afab!reader

it's a silly thing that brings you both to intimacy, but the intimacy is never silly.

3.0k words, smut (minors dni), incredibly soft sex, talks abt sex/dicks lol (if u can't talk abt it, then don't do it!), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it bro), penetrative sex, fingering, low-key body worship (f.receiving), so much kissing, pet name (sweetheart), mentions of a broken wrist and scars?

a/n: this is an extension to my fic night terrors on my main! there are a couple refs from the fic, but the established dynamic is a huge turnaround for me in terms of writing for changmin if u haven't read night terrors yet LMAO anyways, for me and @mosviqu ily bar!! <3

CHANGMIN HAD GROWN USED TO your random questions of curiosity. There was, after all, so much you didn't know about his world, and for the most part, he was perfectly fine divulging information to you and being honest. He cared about you, after all. Loved you, even. It was just what he felt around and about and for you.

“How do demons have sex?”

He nearly snorted water through his nose.

You glanced over at him innocently from where you were perched on the hotel bed, your phone connected to its charger discarded on the nightstand.

He cleared his throat, capping the water bottle and setting it aside so he wouldn't choke again. “Sorry?” He sputtered, thumping his fist against his chest.

Your eyelashes fluttered and you replied airily, “Do you have sex the way humans do? Like… vaginal penetration or…? Am I making sense? Do you even have a—”

“Yn, I have a dick,” he cut in, then made a face. “Why are we having this conversation again?”

The two of you were holed up in a hotel several hours’ ride from Moonstone Creek. You were currently on your way to meet one of Changmin's clients about a missing lucky witch's cauldron. Instead of shacking up at a motel, you insisted on staying at a nicer hotel for once. Screw saving money this time; your ass deserved a break after sitting in his car for however long. Maybe you should invest in a butt pad…

You shrugged, shifting your position so you sat at the foot of the bed with your feet dangling over the edge. You held your dominant wrist with the other hand—a month had passed since it had been shattered, and though almost completely healed, it was still a little tender. “I was just thinking,” you said. “Is it like a human d—”

“It's a penis, Yn,” he deadpanned. “You've seen one, right?”

Your skin warmed. “Of course, I have,” you sputtered. “I was just curious about your—” You stopped yourself. “That sounds wrong.”

Changmin arched a brow at you, braiding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the table across from you. “Supernatural creatures do have needs, too, you know. Sex isn't just a human thing.”

“I know that,” you shot back. Sex definitely wasn't exclusive to humans. “When was the last time you had sex?"

“I don't understand where this is coming from.”

“Are you a virgin?”

A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “I think it's impossible for a demon to be a virgin in any sense,” he said, head tilted to the side, tongue tracing his slight smile. It was funny for him to think about, really.

His eyes fixated on you again. “Are you a virgin?”

“Me? No.” Even when you were working your ass off for your accounting degree, you managed to find time to socialize with somebody. It hadn't been that special, really, but the guy had been decent and not an asshole. By your limited scope, that was as okay a time as any.

The room descended into silence.

You could tell he was thinking about something with the crease between his brows and the muscle in his jaw twitching. You didn't know what it was, but you could read that much.

“So why haven't we had sex yet?” was the question that popped out of your mouth next. It wasn't necessarily directed for him to answer; it was more so a… thinking-aloud situation… right…

But by the surprise that flickered across his face, he was going to answer it anyway. “I—I don't know. I guess…” He scratched the side of his head. “I never really thought about it.”

“Oh.”

You could see the regret as soon as he said it.

He brushed a hand through his hair, stepping over to you and kneeling in front of you. His eyes fluttered closed for a second before opening again. “I didn't mean it—like that. I just mean that so much has happened that it's the last thing on my mind. I didn't want it to come off like I only wanted that from you.”

“I know you don't,” you said, leaning onto your knees to lower your face slightly toward his. “But we both have needs, don't we?”

“Are you saying you're in the mood?” He asked.

“I mean—I was looking out for both of us.” You sat up again, leaning back onto your hands, putting more emphasis on your nondominant one. He followed you up and stood between your legs, knee pressing down onto the mattress to lean over you and collect you in his arms.

You both tumbled onto the sheets, your face pressed to his chest and his chin tucked over your head, legs tangled together. “I don't know,” you muttered, “it's been a good month, and I guess I was just…” Insecure. “I’m being ridiculous though,” you laughed the thought away, “every couple goes at their own pace.”

His fingers grasped your chin and pulled your eyes to meet his. The eye contact was strangely intimate with him as it always was. “Yn,” he said lowly, “you’re not being ridiculous.”

He rolled his body over yours, arms bracketed around your head with your noses a breath apart. “Can I kiss you?” He asked in earnest, searching your face.

You nodded, eyes wide. “Yes.”

His hand curled around the back of your head as he lowered his mouth over yours. Your nose slotted beside his, and you raised your upper body to hold onto him and press yourself all the more close. You sighed, his tongue pressing into your mouth to deepen the kiss.

There had been a few other times you'd kissed before. There was no rush with this one. He took his sweet time with you, kissing you languidly, devouring you whole. His limbs wrapped around you like a python so you were unable to leave his grasp—as if you wanted to.

When you broke apart, you were flushed and his breathing was heavy. He brushed the hair from your face, your eyes glazed as you stared up at him. “I've never been intimate with someone I care so much about,” he confessed, his voice gravelly from the kiss. Your lips parted for his thumb as he dragged it over your bottom lip.

“Me neither,” you told him. You reached up to run your hand through his hair. “Is it scary?”

“The way I feel about you?” He wrestled down a swallow. “I'm terrified.” Terrified to break you, to lose you, to hurt you. Everything in between.

It wasn't always that you were given the privilege of seeing him so open and vulnerable. He had slowly become better around you, especially around you, but there was still a few things you had to get past. It was okay though; he just needed time. That much you understood. This was new to you, too.

“I'm nervous,” you admitted quietly, “but I trust you.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed. “I trust you, too.”

Changmin brought his lips to the corner of your mouth, then to the underside of your jaw. Your fingers buried themselves into his hair as he trailed his lips down the column of your neck as if to taste every inch of your skin.

Your heart palpitated in your chest and you held him close, neck craned to encourage him. A moan slipped from your mouth when you felt his teeth graze your pulse. The rough pad of his tongue swiped over the mark he left.

It was strange to think of how trust and love worked. It would be so easy to rip your throat out, but instead, he was here kissing you.

His fingers danced along the bottom hem of your shirt in silent question, and you guided his hand beneath the fabric and along your bare skin. You shuddered as his fingers trailed up your side and reached the edge of your bra.

He raised his lips up to meet yours again, eyes half lidded.

Your shirt came up and over your head, bra clasp unsnapping behind your body until your top half was bare before him.

And he looked at you under him with an expression you couldn't discern immediately. It was that thing he always did, the look he had in his eyes when he stared at you, but this time felt slightly different.

You shied away into yourself, one of your arms coming to lie across your chest. “What?” You let out a small laugh.

He swallowed, meeting your eyes. “I…” Changmin took your arm and brought your once-shattered wrist to his mouth. He pinned your arm above your head then, so he could see you. “Nothing, I just—you’re beautiful.”

Your resolve softened. “You can touch me.”

He kissed you again then, softly, one palm enclosing around your left breast. You shivered, your heart throwing itself up against its confines so it might reach the hand it wanted to be held in.

Changmin rolled one perked nipple between his fingers and you arched your chest up into his hand.

“I never say it—” He said, tongue swiping over your lips again for any and every taste of you, “—as much as you deserve to hear it.”

His lips met your pulse again, mouth trailing down your clavicle, to the pendant resting on your sternum. The pulsing of the scarlet mirrored your own racing heartbeat and gave your state of mind clean away. Every touch of his lips, lap of his tongue, nip of his teeth along your skin felt like he was tracing your outline and committing you to memory. Every inch of you, loved and worshiped and acknowledged. Not his to own, but his to cherish.

Changmin's shirt came off next, exposing a toned upper body marked in faded white scars here and there. Oh, to kiss each mark upon his body—an endeavor for another time. The twin to your necklace swung over you from around his neck as he returned himself to your embrace.

“You're beautiful, too—d’you know that?” You murmured to him between the breaths between kisses.

“Only if you show me.”

You smiled against his mouth. “Deal.”

You felt his mouth curl up in a similar gesture, his arms wrapping around your waist and pressing the length of his body against yours. His weight was a comfort, kissing him was a dream.

Changmin tugged the waistline of your pants down, fingers hooking in the elastic of your underwear, then pausing. “This okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, and you helped kick your bottoms off and away. He was swift to follow suit, the belt of his buckle clinking together as he slid it off, then his jeans, and boxers. You could see the outline of his cock strain through the fabric before his aching, reddened length slapped against his lower stomach.

“Would it ruin the mood if I said that probably isn't what your demon form dick looks like?” You asked cheekily as he clambered back over you.

Changmin rolled his eyes. “I'm tryna be romantic and all you can talk about is—mmmph!”

You silenced him by dragging his mouth back down to yours. He melted into you, weaving his hand between your bodies so he could drag his fingers through your lower lips. You jolted at the feeling, your hips twitching in his direction in a silent plea.

He groaned low into your mouth, withdrawing as he circled his fingers through your arousal. “Is this all for me?” He asked, dipping a finger into your cunt. His thumb drew dizzying circles into your clit, and you swore you saw stars.

“Yeah, 's all for you,” you exhaled, earning you a searing kiss as he swallowed those words.

You pushed your hips against his hand, a pair of his thick fingers filling you up and curling against the sweet, gummy spot of your inner walls. It was as if he knew exactly where to find it, and knew exactly how much pressure would make you rocket up toward white-hot bliss.

You whimpered against his mouth as the tension in the pit of your stomach wound up tightly. “Changmin—”

“You close, sweetheart? Wanna see how pretty you look when you come.”

His thumb branded your clit with his fingerprint and drove you to insanity. Blood rushed in your ears, head spinning as he helped you over that crest. You cried out as you crashed and the steady pumping of his fingers coaxed you through it. Your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders, grounding you as your legs shook and toes curled.

His fingers maintained their steady pace as you came down from the high. You imagined you looked like something of a hot mess beneath him, but when your eyes fluttered up to meet his, you were struck by the tenderness in those dark irises.

When you could breathe evenly, he withdrew his fingers and collected your come to thumb over the pearl beaded at the tip of his cock. “Are you—was that okay?” He asked, his free hand thumbing your cheek. You saw his jaw twitch as he pumped his cock with his other hand, slickened with both of your arousal.

You gave a breathy laugh, and he nearly stopped at the sight of your smile. “Okay? That was—that was more than okay,” you said. “Ji Changmin, come here. Let me kiss you.”

It was something in the way he crushed his mouth against yours this time, one hand cradling the side of your face like you were all he ever wanted—the other coming up to grasp your side—that had your stomach doing flips. And if actions spoke louder than words, you wanted to believe that he was yelling them at you now. If he couldn't bring himself to scream them from the top of a building, this would be enough.

Your nose gently bumped against his. “Can I do something for you?”

He replied lowly between kisses, “Another time. Just… let me do this for you. It'll be enough for me.”

You melted in his hold, as if he didn't make you a fuzzy-chested, dizzy-headed mess all the time.

You felt him nudge your opening, and you locked your hands around his neck. Slowly, you felt a delicious stretch as he pushed into you. Changmin groaned into your neck, the sound making you arch yourself into him further. His voice alone sent you careening toward your own climax, it was so sensual.

Once he sat in you to the hilt, hips locked against hips, he lingered to give you a moment to get comfortable. The girth of him filled you up delectably, the pain only the undertone to pleasure.

He raised his head out of the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah—” you nodded, “—I’m good.”

He returned the gesture, biting his lip, then swooping down to kiss you again. “You're doing so well for me,” he murmured. “So warm, so tight. Fuck, you feel divine.”

He pulled himself out slightly, then gave an experimental thrust of his hips. Your hold tightened around him, a moan slipping from your lips. He held you as he continued this motion, a steady and strong rocking of his hips against yours, cock dragging along your walls in confident strokes.

He tucked his head back into your shoulder, lips pressing open mouthed kisses to your hot skin. You could feel the dampness between your thighs dribble down your legs, and you were gradually clambering back onto that hill with your stomach twisting in pleasure.

His labored breathing filled your ear, followed by his mouth—marks lovingly pressed into your flesh and whispered in your ear. You locked a leg around his slim waist and met his thrusts, the pacing quickening slightly as you both began approaching your highs.

Your voice came out choked and desperate. “Changmin, I'm…”

“Yeah, sweetheart; I got you.” Changmin pushed himself back up to hover over you for the last few thrusts, his lips pressed together tightly and sweat dripping down the slope of his nose. He slipped a hand between your bodies again and worked at your nub—and it was all you needed to be pushed over that edge again.

You cried out his name, fingernails burying themselves in his shoulders. You clenched down hard around him, breathing hard and ragged.

You thought you heard him groan out your name as his hips stilled and he came. You exhaled heavily, his body wrapping around yours again while you both caught your breath and descended from bliss.

He left a kiss just below your ear and you cupped the back of his head and shoulders to your body. “Fuck me,” he muttered, rolling your bodies to the side, legs sticky and tangled together.

“Didn't I just do that?” You mused.

He chuckled, moving his head to bump his nose against yours. “Yeah, guess so.” Changmin gazed at you then, eyes searching and searching and searching. You never asked what he was looking for; you always figured he'd one day be able to tell you.

He licked his lips and a crease formed between his brows. “Yn… Yn, I…”

The voice inside his throat remained trapped, the words on his tongue froze. You looked up at him, glassy-eyed and patient, the tilt of your lips so sweet and terribly beautiful. He'd never been at such a loss for words.

You moved forward to press a kiss to his mouth. “I know,” you said. Even if he couldn't say it yet, you always knew.

He swallowed, a moment of silence falling between the two of you. His heart careened against his chest, and he was sure if the amulet he wore now had his blood running through it, the damn thing would pound away like a galloping horse.

He wondered how he got so lucky.

But though he couldn't express it in words, he would always find a different way to reassure you that he felt the same. Changmin leaned forward and wordlessly captured your lips again, rolling you onto your back and pressing every last word he hadn't the guts to say into this searing kiss.

I love you, I adore you. Thank you. Be mine, in life and death; mortally and immortally. Every promise, he would strive to keep.

a/n: at one point, yes, i will write abt sex in his demon form LMAO what did u expect from me 🤣 anyways, this turned out to be around the length of an actual chapter of nt haha

m.list

[tg-pilled]

Tokyo Ghoul Headcanons

These are my own opinions drawn from interactions in the show and manga! Please be kind!

Hi hi!! For sillies I wanted to share my TG headcanons! I am a genderfluid aroace lesbian so I'm kind of biased towards the women bc I'm in love w them all tbh but I'll probably make more if I feel like it. For now have some main ones :)

Hide (he/him cis) - Bisexual! He's heavily bi coded in the manga and in the anime too! The way he interacts with Kaneki especially is very...

Saiko (she/they trans) - She's a character I project onto a lot. She doesn't seem to care much for romance or really socializing in general which is so real tbh. Her lack of caring I don't think translates to her platonic relationships later in the series (as we see) but I think her romantic interest is slim to none.

Urie (he/him cis (?) I can see him as trans tbh) - He is a bitter gay man. Prove me wrong. He's the black cat to Ginshi's golden retriever.

Ginshi - Bisexual! To me he seems unconcerned w labeling himself but still views everyone as attractive and isn't sure why.

Tooru (he/him trans) - MY FAVOURITE CANON TRANS MAN ILY 🙏🙏 He's gay imo but I am open to other interpretations as well.

Juuzou (he/they agender) - Demisexual but even then hasn't ever been romantically involved w anyone bc of his trauma.

Rize (she/her demigirl) - I have no clue why but she gives off a lesbian demigirl vibe idk?? I'm in love w her and want her to be a lesbian but besides that. I have nothing.

Ayato (he/him trans) - I think he's a trans man and aroace. I don't imagine him falling in love like. At all.

Touka (they/she nonbinary I just forgot the flag) - LESBIANISM ‼️‼️ Touka belongs on the island w me and the other lesbians. I view her and Kaneki's relationship as more platonic in the first series. In :re it's a Lot harder to ignore but I choose to ignore canon a lot anyways in favour of my happiness so idk. Plus she's in love w her human best friend so idk what to tell y'all besides the Touka is a lesbian truth.

Kaneki / Haise Sasaki (he/they demiboy) - I normally view these two as different people BUT I can honestly see Kaneki impacting Sasaki's identity and vice versa. Kaneki just whispering in his ear "you WILL be gay. You have no choice."

Anyways if you made it this far in my ramble thank you so much!! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed making it :)

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Hey all!!

I've been trying to write this post for forever but uhhh yes I suppose it's a lot easier to do a quick primer first but uhh

I'm so so sorry I don't answer asks! And I want to change that soon.

[a LONG post about autism, blog updates, and PDA]

TL;DR: I have Pathological Demand Avoidance, but I'm growing from it and hope to become more social on here in the near future!

If you've seen me asks or messages, I promise I don't hate you!! I love you!! I'm so serious

Soon I plan on making a longer post explaining what I've been preoccupied with, and also changes I want to make to this blog in the near future (all small and good!)

But to put it shortly -

I've been suffering from Pathological Demand Avoidance SO HARD and it's been something I've struggled with for some time.

If you don't know Pathological Demand Avoidance - or more accurately named Pervasive Drive for Autonomy - is a profile of autism:

In short though - because asked to do something, ANYTHING, even indirectly makes my brain stall. I know it sounds ridiculous.

It's not even in a cute anarchist 'I don't have to listen to you!!' type of way. Fam it's. EVERYTHING.

It's not so much the activity that's triggering it. I LOVE talking to people so much, but... like, speaking in conversation is like a demand. Someone calling my name is a demand, doing homework, showing up to places on time, brushing my teeth everyday etc.

It's often why young children with autism may not respond to you talking to them, say 'I can't do x, my legs don't work!!', hide when expected to do things, literally REFUSE to go to school (big me thing), etc.

It's linked to the diagnosis (and misdiagnosis) of 'Oppositional Defiance Disorder'.

That's why I may seem very extroverted (which I am!! ILY!!!) but I don't ever appear to talk to anybody or react to them.

For example - It's more likely for me to add to a tag game if I'm not tagged because when I am, I feel really happy to be thought of but then 'Oh God I have to do a thing. Not right now but soon. The thing I have to do. That eventually must be done. I have committed and I must Do Something. Me doing the thing is approaching. The inevitable thing. That must be done. The inescapable thing'.

ON & ON regardless of what it is. I'm not opposed to doing whatever it is, the demand could be completely self-imposed. I'm just opposed to doing something.

Anything preplanned, asked, or expected of me.

That's why I often abandon fics, or say I'll write an essay and then don't do it. I still remember, but finishing the essay becomes a self imposed demand and then.. I can't do it lol

All in all - this can kinda make notifications really hard for me.

@spidey-bie can tell you, even in discord I'm a little lurking gremlin who is only summoned at inopportune moments and when someone has pissed me off

Usually, my response is ALWAYS flight. I may like an ask or message and enjoy it, even have a response in mind - but instead of answer my immediate reaction to is abort mission and FULLY close the app and find the nearest corner, or try my best to appear offline.

IT'S WEIRD.

I have no idea if others will understand what I'm trying to convey because I know the concept may sound bizarre, and I get that. It really was a concept I only really learned about recently.

But that's why I mean seem very talkative and hyperverbal and bubbly but also like never appear to be social with anyone ever.

PDA is like -

Me: oh wow this person is so sweet. I consider them a friend, I should message them back.

My brain: Yeah.

Me:... message them back.

My brain: fuck you. anyway write an essay literally no one demanded

Me: Why? Can I at least write that fic that I left hanging for eight months

My brain: No someone complimented you on that once and now there's Demand. Write something 100% unrelated.

Me: *starts writing an essay no one asked for and doesn't even finish it because finishing it has become a demand even though I'm the only one who even knows the essay exists in the first place*

Like girl be so fr. Even saying this I feel like it sounds like a lie 😭 I got Hobie brain. Some old 'I'll do it but not because you told me to' headass.

I'm Miguel and my brain wanna 'Nah imma do my own thing' on some Miles shit.

Guess how many drafts I have. Guess. WRONG. TWO HUNDRED.

Nah be forreal is that normal? Y'all got that or nah? Is that common I'm being deadass 😭😭

And girl I'm not even gonna show the number in my inbox cause I'd rather be tarred and feathered than indure that humiliation imma be honest 😐 rather be burned at the stake

But I know that me being so active and like... Not Responding can be very hurtful and I'm so sorry!!

Though I know that didn't make up for it. I know it can make me come off as fake or mean but that's not my intention at all, I promise.

Honestly I just have a brain where everyday feels like opposite day.

But I'm a grown ass person and uh!! I want to change that response.

So please don't stop replying or tagging me in things! I genuinely do love it 💖

This blog is really one of my favorite places in planet Earth and I love this community SO SO MUCH.

Going forward I want to invest more time here and just meta writing in specific.

I'm thinking (girl I'm phrasing this SO CAREFULLY so my brain doesn't think it's a demand like shh I hope the autism doesn't hear me) -

I'd like to maybe designate a day for asks to be answered/queued (as many as I can pump out) because I really love talking with y'all and y'all have SUCH good ideas

I'm hoping to do more Spidersona stuff but I'MA HAVE TO PACE MYSELF OKAY that's not a Demand autism we're just having nice hopeful thoughts NOT A DEMAND

So uhh I don't know how I'll encorporate more Spidersona stuff but yeah... It'll happen.

Other stuff too. Other stuff.

[Notice how I have to be like 'I'm hoping, I'm thinking, I might, I'd like to,'. I'm ALLERGIC to 'I will' 🤢🤢🤢]

I plan on making another life update post just to clear up some things maybe talk more specifics. I'm thinking Tuesdays or Thursdays -

I'll most likely close my ask just to pump out the asks that are still relevant time wise.

I'd also like to take more about PDA in short posts of if anyone is interested. Honestly, I think there are some advantages to PDA.

YES I HEADCANON HOBIE AS HAVING IT.

I DON'T FOLLOW ORDERS NEITHER DOES HE.

Save me Hobie.. Hobie save me (I be using him to internally justify my PDA.. 'like Hobie wouldn't want me to answer this linkdin email' 😭😭)

BUT UHHHH If you read this far and you're still here I LOVE YOU YOU MEAN SO MUCH TO ME HOBIE BE UPON YE

I truly appreciate you, thank you for hearing me out!

Hobie says remember to be a public nuisance and never cooperate with anything and leave the function early and steal

I'm gonna go do something that doesn't matter and that no one asked for that I probably won't finish for no reason :) (/pos)

Bye.

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, chapter 15

Summary: You eventually made up your mind, but acting on it is a whole different story. Time is ticking on you. An afternoon at the museum with Will precipitates everything.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: So yeah, Plainsong became Flaming June... Don't ask! You'll see. If you'd like a song to go with this one, may I suggest Maps, by Yeah Yeah Yeahs? And if ever you're interested, @deadmantis (my favourite enabler) sent me an ask (thank you 🧡) that has allowed me to ramble discuss Reader & Benny's relationship further.

A million thank you Fanna my darling for making this gorgeous gif of those two kings. I am still giggly from it and I promise next time I won't ask on such short notice 🧡

@meandorla I don't know where I'd be without you... Thank you for your time, your help, your enthusiasm, your sharp understanding of them and their story. For bearing with me, and helping me find my way as I'm approaching the end of this story 🧡 Ily 🧡

Word count: 5.7k

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Chapter 15: Flaming June

Time is such an odd thing. A social construct, as they say. 

And you have spent so much of it reading on the subject, from nebulous scientific essays in specialised publications that left you questioning your intellectual abilities, to popular articles in mainstream media, trying to understand how two days and three nights in an orange bedroom could have contained all of your past and your entire future. 

How the fifteen years that followed could have lasted longer than ten life sentences.

How it violently collapsed in on itself as you walked into a dingy New Jersey bar, only to be propelled into an ascending spiral, gathering speed and momentum, yet still endlessly stretching on. 

Monday morning finds you rested. With the heavy curtains blocking the early morning sun, for the first time in months, you’ve slept soundly until your alarm rung.

Benny snoring lightly next to you. 

Rested but restless, hating yourself because you couldn’t find it in you to say “no” when he asked if he could stay the night at your place. It took his massive presence in your small apartment for you to realise you own only one pillow. 

But he didn’t mind, of course he didn’t. In appearance unfazed, undeterred, cheerful and patient as always, even when you pushed away his hands under the sheets with a bullshit excuse. 

How you’d wanted him to call you out on the obvious lies, confront you about your distance, the fact that you hardly ever let him fuck you anymore when you two used to get down to it in his brother’s pick-up parked on the side of the road.

Are your lies so expertly hidden, or is Benny so well-trained to your recurrent distance? The persistence of his affection just another blemish on your conscience, another blame for you to carry on your own. Besides, you have no right to wish for him to make this any easier for you, anyway. 

When you set off for work, he left with you, to swing by his house before his morning run and when he pulled you in for one last hug, holding you flush against his firm, wide chest, you let him. You strengthened your hold, threading your fingers through his thick blond hair, incapable of holding back your words, laced with guilt and regret. “You’re so good, Benjamin.”

Time is ticking on you. As loud as the clock back in Rosie’s kitchen when you got up to leave. Relentless, no matter how hard you dig in your heels, how desperately you try to stall for more. One more day. One more night. One last kiss, one last fuck. 

And now it’s 10am again. Forty-eight hours since you’d sat in Frankie’s truck with the unreasoned, remorseless desire to let him know that you’ve never stopped waiting, that you have always cared. That to you, he’s still the same. You could swear it’s been forty-eight years. 

Twenty-four hours since you opened your door and let him in. Twenty-two since you’ve felt his lips on your neck, his skin etching your skin. 

And how long exactly until you can’t pretend any longer that it never happened? That your thoughts are only of him; your sole concern the fate that awaits him when he goes back to work today? 

Tomorrow, you reprise like a chorus. Tomorrow, you’ll act. Tomorrow every week. 

And in the meantime, you hide in the cracks, seeking physical discomfort to lull your sadness to sleep. 

The noise of the bookstore metallic shutters winding up that fills your brain like boulders made of lead tumbling down a cliff.

The sweltering atmosphere in the small, quaint shop when you get inside. The drop of sweat that rolls down your spine with every ample movement, until Suzanne walks in after lunch and turns on the antique AC unit that has only two positions: cold and freezing. 

The rasp in your throat from the frigid, artificial air. 

The unpleasant customers, the chatty ones and the obnoxious, the ones you hope will never visit again. 

The burn in your lungs when you draw another drag, Fayçal’s words adding a guilty flavour to the tar aroma of the nicotine. “Tu fumes trop, cousine.”

The proximity of hot and smelly strangers' bodies on the 7pm bus.

And when you finally make it home, well, another day has passed. Time your unlikely ally. Monday an unexpected truce. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll act. 

The plastic handles of your heavy grocery bag is cutting off the blood circulation in your fingers and your key jams in the front door when you try to unlock it, winded from the four floor climb. 

The muffled ringtone of your phone has you cursing loudly at first, before your body stiffens at a sudden thought. 

Rosie. Could it be Rosie? Tomorrow is Tuesday. Could she be reaching out to you? Hope rattles your heart in your chest, the grocery bag dropping to the floor when you grab your phone from the back pocket of your short denim overalls, your other hand frantically jiggling the key. 

The lock gives as you read the caller ID on the screen. 

Ironhead

Will doesn’t text. He calls. You hate it, speaking on the phone makes you uncomfortable, you need time to think over your words. But where Benny can be flexible, Will never caves. You text, he calls. And that’s the end of it. 

However, you don’t hesitate before picking up, kicking the bag inside your apartment, groceries scattered and rolling on the carpeted floor. 

“Allô?” you answer in French, locking the door behind you.

“I thought you were going to send me to voicemail there for a second,” he taunts. “How are you?”

“No, no, I’m only just getting home. What’s up?”

Will marks a pause, and you grimace at your poorly performed deflection.

“Right,” he answers in his measured drawl. “Calling about tomorrow. Shall we meet over there, or should I come to pick you up? Did you finally buy that car?”

Tomorrow.

Fuck.

—

The GPS promises an hour’s drive from your place to 1 East 70th Street, but you’ve lived here long enough to know that the constant traffic will nearly double that, even on an early Tuesday afternoon. Reaching the destination is only the first part of the adventure; finding a parking spot there is always the real challenge. 

You’d be fine riding the subway but Will systematically insists that it’s faster this way. Deep down, you don’t really mind the drive. The New York City skyline appearing on the horizon of the New Jersey Turnpike is a spectacle you have yet to tire of. Growing up in Paris meant learning early on to make the best out of the busy, stressful capital, in particular by preserving your ability to marvel at its postcard landmarks. 

Despite the increasing tension running through you since early April winding you up like a power line, you welcome this opportunity to spend the afternoon with Will, certain that his self-possessed, even demeanour will soothe and balance your own. 

As the car takes the last U-turn before entering the Lincoln Tunnel, where more traffic awaits, you offer to give him cash for the toll, knowing full well he will turn it down.

“I choose the route, I pay the toll,” he tells you with a half smile. “You can pay for the first round.”

The midnight blue, tight polo he’s wearing darkens his eyes. Your gaze lingers affectionately on the large tattoos adorning his brawny forearms, before you become aware that you are trying to memorise them, and you push back the nagging thought that this might be the last time the two of you hang out together.

The tickets have been booked months in advance, Will sharing your excitement, with only slightly less exuberance, at the prospect of seeing Flaming June, on loan from the Museo de Arte de Ponce and presented at the Frick Collection. One of your favourite pieces by Frederic Leighton, whose work you’ve only seen printed in books or badly reproduced on postcards, save for a painting in Orsay and one in the Tate Gallery in London.

Booked before your world was tipped off its axis, and you completely forgot about the exhibition. 

Now, there’s a spring in your step when you get out of the car. You got dolled up, and enjoyed doing so, for the first time in what feels like a long while. Red lipstick and loose hair, you even put on a dress, sleeveless with a deep V-cut in the front and in the back, pretty knots tied over your shoulders. If this is a funeral, let it be one worth remembering.

You can barely pace yourself as you make your way through the mixed crowd of tourists and art enthusiasts across the Garden Court of the Frick. Will’s heavy boots resound on the marble flooring as he lengthens his strides to catch up with you. You step into the Oval Room like others walk into churches for mass, with reverent apprehension, devotion, and respect.

And then, it’s there.

Leighton’s masterpiece punches the air out of your lungs. You stare at it in stricken silence, mouth agape, Will standing behind you to your right, arms folded on his chest. 

There’s a small, wistful smile on his lips, as he lets the painting bring him back to his college years and resurfacing lessons on academic style, Victorian era, aesthetic considerations and concepts. Seemingly unproductive yet essential hours spent debating perspectives and artists’ intents, the reminiscence an indulgence only you and your friendship can provide. A futile and necessary contentment only you can share with him. 

You two have discussed it in the past, early in your relationship, when you had asked him if he had any regrets. He had none, he claimed with dignified resignation, save perhaps for the lack of recognition for what he had sacrificed to accomplish his duty. 

After a moment spent in silent contemplation, he takes a step closer to you, and he’s about to share his thoughts when your absent expression stops him in his tracks. You’re standing a few inches from him, yet you are miles, or rather years away from the Oval Room. 

Time has recoiled and wound back like a reversed mechanism. The woman at the centre of the painting, sleeping languidly and with a trustful, serene abandon, is draped in a sheer orange gown, her long, luxuriant hair parted on both sides of her body like a cascading, lush blanket. Above her, the sun sets on a placid sea, under a pastel pink summer sky. 

The gown leaps out of its frame to grip at your throat, its colour louder than any copy you’ve ever seen in art catalogues, Wikipedia page or websites, and you recognise it instantly. This particular shade has been seared into your flesh and your soul. It’s your past and a lost promise. It is love and safety. It is desire and trust. It’s two worlds colliding on a sunny and warm Sunday morning in July. 

There’s a prickling sensation at the corner of your eyes. Will sucks his teeth in and his stare sharpens. Propping his hands on his hips, he takes another step closer to you, and whispers, “You alright, there?”

You run your hands over your arms to hide the shivers that won’t leave your skin. When you speak, it’s in a distant voice, your eyes locked on the rumpled gown hugging the model’s figure.

“You know, my grandparents had curtains just like that in their living-room,” you start. “My grandma was a seamstress. She had made them herself.”

Will nods in silence. 

“Why couldn’t you stay with your grandfather, after she died?” he asks bluntly, albeit in a soft tone. 

You love his forthrightness and have always appreciated his lack of pretence. It puts you at ease, and grants you the freedom to provide him, or not, with an answer.

“I did, for a couple of months, but he was too overwhelmed with grief. It was as though he couldn’t function anymore, without her. He got very depressed, very quickly, and, well, you know what happened next.” 

Will knows, if not in the darkest details, about your difficult relationship with your mother, and your grandfather’s passing within two years of your grandmother’s death.

“What about your father? You never talk about him.”

“Ah yes,” you can’t keep the bitterness out of your scoff, “him. Said he wasn’t ready to be a father. Then went on and married another woman, who got pregnant, like, fifteen minutes later.”

You keep facing the painting, your spine a rigid metal rod, because you don’t think yourself capable of withholding his astonishment and the question you know he’ll ask next. 

“You mean you have siblings?”

“No,” you reply a little too fiercely. “As far as I’m concerned I’m an only child. These people are not my family. I found out about my father’s death two weeks after they’d buried him.”

Behind you, Will exhales slowly, deeply, and you realise he’s standing closer to you than you thought.

“My father loved art,” he says, eventually. “His parents wanted him to learn what they called a ‘real trade’, but he never stopped reading and learning about it. Pretty sure I got it from him. And he certainly never objected when I said I wanted to study it.”

In turn, you sigh and let your hands fall to your sides. 

You stand in silence side by side for a while longer, before he asks again. “So? Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“It’s more,” you murmur.

“McSorley’s?”

“McSorley’s,” you reply with a nod, drawing away from Flaming June. 

—

Ever since you had landed in Newark, you’d been more than conflicted regarding the transient nature of your stay here. The part of you that hated to be away from Paris for longer than a summer vacation considered the move transitory. An internal countdown was permanently ticking in the back of your head towards the end of your three-year sabbatical, and you had failed - if not refused - to adjust to your new home in more ways than one. Your stubborn use of the metric system being just the comedic tip of the iceberg. 

Yet you had had all your books and belongings shipped to your new address the very day you got the keys to your apartment. You had never even raised the subject with Rosie, let alone with Will or Benny, instead slipping deliberately into a comfortable routine to neutralise your homesickness.  

Will had first taken you to the historical ale house, an East Village institution, after you had confided in him that you missed Europe as a whole. “It’s not that I feel French when I’m here,” you’d said, “I feel European. I can’t explain.” The Irish pub had been his answer, his own vision of good ol’ Europe, and the bar had quickly become a mandatory stop whenever you visited the city together.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the pub when you follow him in, but the wood chips on the floor, catching on the leather sole of your huaraches sandals, feel comfortingly familiar. 

Will places the order at the bar while you take a sit at one of the round tables, glancing at the hanging wishbones covered in a hundred years worth of greasy dust, wondering, as always, if any of them belonged to a pilot, only this time you know yours has returned from his wars, if not entirely sound and safe. 

Once the waiter has brought in four half pints of McSorley’s ale, you start sharing your impressions on the exhibition, digressing to the importance of the pre-Raphaelites avant-garde in the Victorian Era before the conversation naturally dies. 

The strong ale has given you a pleasant buzz, you’re light-headed, but nicely so, and you prop your elbow on the thick wooden table to rest your face in your hand. Staring emptily at the floor, you’re unaware of Will’s gaze fixed on you. The man is twice your mass and it takes more than a pint of beer to get him remotely tipsy. His next question falls on your neck like a guillotine. 

“So, where do you know Frankie from?”

Your cheek glued to your palm, you pivot your head on your arm to face him, eyes as wide as saucers giving away your alarm.

He leans back against the back of his chair, his forearms on his thighs, impassive, his steely blue eyes plunged into yours, and you feel like a field mouse that fell prey to a hawk.

You want to answer, you really do, but your teeth are stuck together and all you can do is frown, conceal the panic beneath pretend outrage, knowing all too well he will not let go. Sure enough, he seems to rethink and tilts his head to the side, sits up and leans forward over the table. 

“Wait… maybe the better question is, when do you know Frankie from?”

Would it be so bad if it ended here? With Will? The man already knows more about you than his brother does, would the damage be greater if he knew it all? Panic turns to capitulation, and capitulation reshapes into relief. 

The dead weight of weeks of dissimulation slowly slides off your shoulders. You straighten up, eventually, and look your friend in the eyes when you answer, in a flat tone, “1999.”

Whether he didn’t expect such an easy win or didn’t suspect such a long time, Will is visibly taken aback, and you ponder if you should speak first or wait for him to question you further. The man has been trained in interrogation techniques, you might want to take the lead in that conversation. Is he still your friend? 

Your voice is hoarse, and the prickling sensation is swelling again under your eyelids, but your mind is clear. Deep inside your chest, a foreign feeling flares up, one that you fail to identity at first.

“We met at a party I went to with Rosie. It was in July. Just before he joined the Army. We-” your words get stuck in your dry throat, your eyes flicking down to your empty glasses, fuck this is harder than anything, “we spent the weekend together.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek, that you only register when it reaches your jaw and hangs there before it falls on your forearm. Anger. What you feel is anger. 

“So it was just a one-off thing?” he prods.

More tears threaten to spill and you look upward to try to hold them back, breathing in through your nose and exhaling shakily through parted lips. When you look at him again, your face conveys so much pain and disillusion, he falls back against his chair, as if to avoid the ripples of your sadness. 

“What do you think, William? Would you be here, asking me those questions, if it was just a one-off thing?”

You take in the embarrassment on his face when he hangs his head, running his tongue other his teeth. 

“Yes,” he concedes. “So what happened?”

“We got separated by dumb fucking bad luck, is what happened. I lost his number, that’s the short version.” You let the implications sink in. “Does Benny… suspect anything?” you add in a small voice, hoping you don’t sound as despicable as you feel. 

“No. No, he doesn’t,” Will answers slowly. “But he’s worried. Said you were growing distant.”

Tears are freely rolling down your cheeks, now, but your brow remains knitted in anger. You can’t shake that off, nor do you want to, because it might be the last thing keeping you upright. 

Will’s voice is considerably softer when he asks, “What are you going to do, then?”

“I don’t want to hurt him, you know,” you reply aggressively, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Oh you’re gonna hurt him,” he shoots back matter-of-factly, “I know you don’t want to, I believe you. But you will. I don’t know what you…” he trails off and reaches across the table to cover your hand with his, encircling your wrist with his strong fingers, giving it a hard squeeze as he continues in a tone of confidence. 

“Look. I’ve known Frankie for a little over 10 years. To me, he’s always been like- like a puzzle with a missing piece. And then- then I see you together, in the same room… you’re not even talking… and I see the missing piece.”

A repressed sob shakes your chest and you pull your arm back to free your hand from his grip, so you can blow your nose, dry your cheeks, anything to give the illusion of composure, but he doesn’t let you.

“I don’t know what you’re gonna do, but I can’t imagine you staying with my brother, now. So whether you leave him for his best friend, or you just leave him, he’s gonna hurt.”

Letting go of your hand, he leans back again, shrugging his bulky shoulders, “It’s gonna be rough, probably on all of us but, I mean, that’s life. It’s not on you. This clown is lucky he didn’t get his heart broken earlier.” 

It’s not on you.  

A couple of days ago, his words would have triggered the imperious need to go home and give up, once more take it out on yourself, smoke a pack of lung cancer sticks, get shitfaced and blackout. 

So that you can keep soldiering on and show the world that you haven’t let your traumas and your losses define you. 

Will moves to stop you from digging your nails in your forearm, but you recoil from his touch, angry tears spilling out. 

“Hey,” he calls, his palm extended toward you, his brow knitted in concern, “hey, I mean it. It’s not your fault. It’s a shitty situation. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

The image of Frankie’s cap on your countertop flashes through your mind, the ghost sensation of his hand spanning your body raising a new trail of goosebumps on your skin. 

“I’m gonna need you to tell me that you’re hearing this,” he tries again. “It is not your fault.” 

Slowly, his right hand reaches your forearm, grabbing it and pulling it gently away from your other arm. His grip on you is almost tender, and after a few seconds, you register the little circles his thumb is tracing on your skin. 

“I hear you,” you articulate, eyes closed, before swallowing thickly, “I hear you,” you repeat, giving him the reassurance of eye contact.  

“Do you have any idea of what you’re gonna do?”

The depth of his insightfulness causes your head to spin a little. Around you, the bar has filled up, people stepping in for drinks after a day of work, tourists with thick annotated guides on their tables, happy chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls covered with framed pictures of patrons from yesteryears, their solemn faces looking down on you. 

“Yes,” you start, aware that speaking your plan out loud will give it substance and compel you to put it into motion, “I’m going to leave Benny.”

He gives you an encouraging nod, but his expression remains neutral, enabling you to continue, “I’ll speak to him tomorrow. I have to see Frankie, first, make sure he doesn’t tell him anything. I’ll tell Benny I met someone else, or that I’m not in love and things are getting too serious, I don’t know, he can hate me, it’s probably better, as long as he doesn’t lose his best friend.”

Will folds his arms on his chest and remains silent for an excruciatingly long moment, visibly weighing his next words. You know him well enough to understand that your willingness to shoulder the blame on your own forces his admiration. You’re not being entirely honest, however. Benny’s not really the one you want to protect. So when he speaks next, his words shoot through your body like a stray bullet. 

“And where does that leave us?” 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper inaudibly under the cacophony of the pub, your throat closing up, and you clench your eyes shut to hold back a new wave of tears, hiding your face in your hand. 

His heavy sigh sounds like defeat. He leans forward, hesitant, reaching for your hand once more, before changing his mind and sliding his napkin towards you across the table. 

“Ok, let’s go, I’ll drive you home,” he offers, standing up and placing his hand on your shoulder. 

“I need you to give me Frankie’s address, Will,” you say, dabbing the corner of your eyes with the tissue, removing small flakes of black mascara from your eyelids. 

His grasp on your shoulder tightens.

“He’s up north. Come on, it’s late, I’ll drive you.”

—

Six months of probation, with weekly drug tests. Any refusal to comply and he’s welcome to seek employment elsewhere.

Frankie slams the front door of his house behind him and throws the keys onto the console table next to it. It’ll be six months until he can fly again, working as a mechanic under tech support supervision, with this asshole Giovanni who ratted him out bossing him around. Back to square one, and for what. A stupid, minor coke bust.

Storming into the open kitchen, he gets a bottle of beer out of the fridge, uncaps it and tosses the cap on the table, where it ricochets and falls on the tiled floor. The cold glass pressed against his right cheek does little to temper his mood, but he leaves it there for a minute, until the condensation runs down his hand and into his beard. 

They had him drive over first thing Monday morning only to keep him waiting around all day, and have him come back again today to inform him of the conditions of his reinstatement, adding humiliation to injury. Well played.

He falls heavily on a kitchen chair, his blood boiling over the fast downward spin his life has recently taken, and the six months freshly added to his sixteen years of penance. 

“You gotta get back on your game, pendejo. It stops now,” he mutters to the bottle in his hand.

Just because you’re not his doesn’t alter the fact that he doesn’t want you to bear witness to his fuck-ups. You’re here. You’re real. 

Two days later, he has barely come down from the intoxicating sensation that came with the smoothness of your skin under his fingers, the weight of your breast in his hand, your scent between his lips, he could almost taste you as he ran his tongue over them, rushing back down the stairs. 

And the elation, the vengeful rightfulness he felt, taking the passenger seat of the Mustang next to Benny. The thought ugly and rampant, stifling his lungs, envy, near hostility, as he glanced in his direction from under the brim of his hat with ill-concealed fury. Resentment over his happiness, simmering and threatening to choke him until he had to remind himself that he would never have found you again if it wasn’t for him. Wouldn’t even be alive, for that matter. 

But fuck. You are his. 

You chased his mouth with yours. He didn’t imagine that. Reached out for his skin, moved by the same frantic need that made him seek yours. Dug your nails in his arms and your scent on that pillow…

“FUCK!”

The chair crashes with a clatter onto the floor when he stands up.

The last time he experienced this level of irritation was on the field, calling out Pope for challenging Redfly’s orders while they were under enemy fire, and his fingers flex around nothing, around the ghost presence of a gun. 

His doorbell jolts him out of the traumatic memory, his dark eyes flicking up to the front door. He’s in no mood to entertain visitors. He’ll sit this one out, he decides, falling still and silent, until your muffled voice comes in from outside, hesitant and apologetic. 

“Frankie?”

He’s at the door in two steps and swings it open so forcefully your hair flies with the pull of air. 

The first thing he sees is your dress, long, black and with a deep cleavage plunging down to your midriff, dragging his thoughts along the way, but when his eyes flicker back up to your face, dread flares up in his gut.

Small red spots linger tellingly around your swollen eyes, and there’s a shadow of wiped lipstick on your lips. 

“What happened? Are you ok?” he rasps before noticing Will’s pickup doubled parked in the street behind you. 

His frown deepens when his friend nods in his direction, starting the engine, and his puzzled gaze follows the vehicle until it turns right and disappears around the block.

You’re left standing here, on his doorstep, silently looking up at him, and he doesn’t know what to do with you. 

“Come in,” he mumbles, stepping to the side to let you pass, but not enough that you won’t brush his arm with yours. 

Seeing you in his home is disorienting, and guilt makes him wince, thinking about what he put you through two days ago. 

You seem lost in the large open space, trying to decide between the living-room and the kitchen, so you turn around and face him, a few feet away from his standing, rigid figure. For a brief moment, he thinks you’ll ask him for help, but instead you take your purse and position it in front of you, so he takes a step back away from you. 

“I have to talk to you,” you start in a breathy voice. 

“What happened?” he asks again. 

“Nothing happened, not like that,” you add. “Last Saturday I told Rosie I saw you again. And she won’t talk to me anymore,” you explain shakily. “And Will knows. We went to the city together today, and he asked… Well, anyway. He knows.“

“Surprised he didn’t find out before,” he grumbles. 

“I think he’s suspected for a while.” 

“Yea, sounds like him,” he agrees.

His understanding stands between you, an overwhelming reminder of their enduring friendship, of their history and their bond. You deflate, suddenly, fiddling nervously with the strap of your bag, averting your eyes when Frankie lifts off his cap and combs his fingers through his dark curls.

“Do you have any alcohol?” you ask. 

He sighs heavily before asking, “What do you want?” 

“Something strong. Whiskey. Do you have whiskey?”

“I’m not giving you alcohol. What do you want?”

His voice is loud and clear. It travels around every surface of the room until it comes crashing into your ears. It’s not a question, not really, it’s an injunction to decide, a desperate demand to set him on his next course, whatever it may be, and as your silence stretches between you, time slowly swirls into a million eternities. 

“I want you,” you answer soberly, your shoulders sagging with the confession, and the sadness he had vowed to chase away forever ago in the orange bedroom dims your wide eyes. “I never taught myself to want anything else but you, Frankie. But that’s not possible. You will lose too much. I’ve seen you together. He trusts you. And you love him. I can’t destroy that.”

His frustration is palpable, it makes the air thrum around him. Everything in his body, in his posture, betrays his state of mind, from the nervous grind of his teeth to the hard grip of his fingers on his hip, from his corded neck to his glaring eyes. 

He wants to tell you that it’s too late. That his fondness for Benny was irredeemably tarnished the minute you stepped into that bar with your hand wrapped in his, probably longer before that, at the very second Benny deluded himself into thinking he could ever give you what you needed. 

That you are not to blame for his resentment. That your self-hatred and your culpability make him want to scream until his vocal cords snap. That he can shield you from it, if you only let him, please, let him protect you from it, and from the rest, from anything and everything.  

“I wish you would let me decide,” he says as gently as he possibly can, but the restraint in his voice remains audible, and threatening. 

And through it, you hear everything he cannot tell you. And you believe him, believe he would keep you safe, from the world and from yourself, that he holds that much power. But how can you possibly choose your own happiness over his? 

Defeated, you let go of your bag, let it sway over your hip before it stills and hangs by your side. 

“I am going to leave him. Tomorrow. I mean tonight,” you state. “And then I’ll go home.”

Frankie straightens up, raising to his full height, lips parted, hardly breathing, for the word has hit him in the chest. 

“Home,” he repeats huskily. 

“Home. Paris.” The familiar name catches in your throat like a large bone, and you clench your teeth with all of your strength, giving yourself the illusion of a will power you fear you don’t possess.  

“No.”

You’ve never heard him speak this loud, and the determination in his voice makes you flinch, your bag falling on the tiles. What happens next unfolds so fast you don’t even think to recoil, your feet are riveted to the floor and all you do is watch, watch Frankie grab his cap and throw it in the room at random, watch him march towards you with heavy footsteps and stop abruptly, an inch short from your trembling body. 

His right hand curls at his side, once, twice, before he reaches up and places it at the base of your neck, large and firm and burning. His thumb is on your pulse point, where your heart is leaping in a frantic, erratic thrum, the exposed expanse of your skin a siren song to his lips. 

He stands so tall and solid, you have to tilt your head up to look at him, and times stills, at last, your whole world contained in the dark pools of his eyes. You feel so tiny under his palm, once again the urge to fit you inside him overthrows everything he has ever stood for. 

“I’m so tired, Frankie,” you implore. 

He lowers his face over yours, his lips brushing against your lips. 

“Stay,” he says, and his entire life vacillates on the tip of his plea. 

****

Bonus: Flaming June, Frederic, Lord Leighton (British, Scarborough 1830–1896 London), 1895. Oil on canvas, 119.1 × 119.1 cm. Museo de Arte de Ponce.

Taglist (thank you 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @nicolethered @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @all-the-way-down-here @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts

[hel7l7]

Hey, sorry that it seems that you had a hard time with the last ask! Quick question: you've said before in one of your posts that hel7l7 is just a character. Do you expect all of your asks to be genuine? Have you considered that any of your followers understands that you are playing a character, and are simply playing along? Or, are you attempting to deceive your followers? Simply put, are you being genuine?

Hi,

I think some people missed that I was lowkey satire in my reply to that last anon. I'm aware that it was probably sent to me as a hate message but I hoped that anon would see it and realise that it was a little bit of a weird thing to say to me.

Anyway, interesting question..!

Let me break this down ->

Do I expect all of my asks to be genuine? No. It's the internet. I know how this works. I don't expect everything to be genuine. Do I think it's ok that some people send me the weirdest shit? No. Would I like all my asks to be genuine? Yes. But I just know it's not realistic. I think that 90% of my asks are nice and genuine. I get a lot of compliments and nice messages that I don't always post. (But I do see them, so if you read this and you ever send me one, ily!) The other 10% are hate messages or weird, triggering stuff that I mostly delete immediately. My DMs are a different story. But luckily those aren't public...

Have you considered that any of your followers understands that you are playing a character, and are simply playing along? I'm not playing a character. I have mentioned in the past that hel7l7/Bear is some sort of alter ego. It felt like that for a long time. And I realise now that this might have made it sound like hel7l7/Bear are much different than who I am when I use my real name.

I'm Bear/hel7l7. It is not a character that's much different than who I am in real life. I have friends who have followed this account on my instagram and they never spoke about there being any big difference between me irl and me online.

What people do need to keep in mind is that this is social media. What you see here is a sliver of who I am in real life. My art is very raw and honest and that quickly turns into people thinking they know me. In that way you can see Bear/hel7l7 as that part of me. It is the part of me that posts online about my healing process, about my feelings, it is the part of me that is most present when I make vent art. When I make stuff for this creative diary sort of thing. It's not a made up character, it just is a part of me that I share online.

So if people think I'm playing a character, I hope this clears it up.

Or, are you attempting to deceive your followers? Simply put, are you being genuine?

I don't know why I would deceive my followers... What would the purpose of that be? I am being genuine. But I do think it is important that we continue to realize that the internet is a floating place outside of “real life”. I am sincere within the context of the internet. But I also try to protect my own peace of mind by occasionally choosing not to respond to everything.

I don't owe my followers anything. I do my best to respond to messages. And when I do it will always be with genuine intentions. Everything I do for this account is done with love and joy for the work I create and do. I am extremely grateful for what I have built up over the years and for the people who support me.

The downside is that this involves a group of people who think they know me even though they have never actually met me. I sometimes have difficulty with the para-social aspect of having this account. In those moments I am no less sincere, but sometimes I have to protect my peace a little.

I hope this has provided some clarification.

[aleksa-sims]

RL Story

Why does everything go wrong at the same time for me? I guess that negativity is contagious? 🫤

I just came home after spending most of the day at Sandra’s, to help her decorating her apartment. Shortly after I arrived, I saw Nico’s cell lying on the table in the living room. He forgot his phone this morning! Since I knew his PIN (The Number of his soccer-jersey shirt, plus once back/reserve.🤨 So sutpid! 🤦‍♀️) I thought I’d take a closer look at it. I checked his phone. Yeah, I know! I was spying on him. 🫤🤷‍♀️And omg, I got totally mad at Nico! I saw that a girl Patricia and another girl Bianca, constantly texted him. Especially on his social media. He never really texted or answered back, after he & I got back together, but the more I.... "researched", I noticed that Nico met that girl Patricia in Italy. THIS fucking summer!!!!!!!! And that Bianca was her sister. So... Nico was messing around with 2 sisters??!!😠Such an ass!! That's why he didn't want to talk about Daniel & me or ask me quuestions, when he came back home 3 weeks ago! Bcs he was hiding who he met in Italy. Jerk! I hated Nico that moment. He kept this shit from me. Somehow I didn’t trust Nico anymore. I mean, sure, we weren’t together this summer and I also slept with Daniel, but he knew about it!!!! Nico wanted me to go back to Daniel, to sort things out with him.

And that’s exactly why I wanted to stay with Daniel 10 weeks ago. I felt like Nico didn’t give a shit about me, like he used to (Philip). Of course, I confronted N. that day! I wanted to know, who that Patricia is and what went on between them? Why is she still texting him?

Nico: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but we weren’t together. I also knew this thing was gonna make you feel insecure. That’s why I didn’t want to mention it. And honestly? Why do you even care what I did when we were apart? You were with Daniel! You married him and still are, damn it! Besides, I didn’t plan on seeing someone else or anything. I knew her sister. There was something between her and Philip once. And in Italy, I met that girl Patricia, her sister. She worked there during the summer in the hotel. That's all.

Me: What? Philip dated her sister???😲 Aghh... thats-... thats so gross what you and Philip do- or have done. You know damn well what I mean.... I thought with you all this shit was finally over. And I just don’t understand why you kept it from me? How am I supposed to trust you now, when you have to go abroad again?... Agh, you and your fucking soccer! 😩🤦‍♀️

Nico: Are you done?🤨 .... You're not fair!! But anyway. I don't wanna fight! We're so happy babe. ILY, so.... let's just forget this shit. You’re not well rn. You haven’t slept for 3 nights. Something seems to be bothering you. Maybe it would make more sense to talk about that.

Me: You wanna talk about me? Well!! Yk? I keep thinking about Daniel, N.! I just can’t forget him, I want him! 😈... I’ve seen him with someone else and since then, I feel like I'm crazy over him. And you’re no better than Daniel! You hurt me too! Just... fuck off, N.!

Nico: You say I hurt you because you’re mad at Daniel?... That doesn’t really feel good to me either, to hear how much you still want him!! 😠

Me: Then you know how I felt, when I found all those messages you got. Why is she still texting you?

Nico: She wanted to know if I was back in Italy. I told her I’d stay home, with my pregnant girlfriend. I asked her to stop texting me.

Me: I don’t want to talk anymore. I just get sick of imagining what you and Philip are doing and what you two did to me.😠

Nico: I'm getting tired of this!! Don’t overdo it! You force me to get mad.

Me: Shut up, Nico! 😩🤷‍♀️

Nico: Finally divorce Daniel! Either you calm down, or I’ll sort this out my way. If I do, you will do as I tell you! So tell me, babe? Should I take care of your probs again? To make you feel better?

Me: What are you going to do? Are you going to threaten Daniel? Just like you threatened Dominick back then?

Nico: I'm off! 🤦‍♂️😠

Yep. 🤷‍♀️😞

Previous/Next

[moonjxsung]

(🪲)

HI STAR! The person stealing your rant about how Han is a genius and shouldn’t be reduced to a ship (so true, by the way) is so weird for that. Like it’s not even stealing an actual fic of yours, it’s stealing some random thoughts you had on an issue…thoughts they could’ve agreed on and left it at that…

Anyway, I am so so jealous you got to see Felix completely disregard our mental health (go shirtless) at Lolla! But I’m so happy you got to enjoy it!

Also! Did you watch the first episode of One Kid Room with Han? Literally cried at him describing how he’s still an alien but in a more positive way. And the way the other members said that Han likes to be found when he’s upset and Chan said “So we found him” like sure, go ahead, my heart isn’t necessary anyway. ALSO HAN RUNNING AWAY ONCE MUST HAVE BEEN SO SCARY FOR SKZ BUT ALSO THATS SO ME

Anyway, Star baby, how are you? I hope you’re eating and drinking water ily ily 🫶

I can’t publish anything on here without the fear of it getting stolen 😭😭 what the hell is wrong with this site like can I LIVE………..

anyways HOW ARE YOU !! I’m doing okay at best. I’ve been in such a mental slump since a few weeks prior to lolla and I just feel very…. scatterbrained I guess? for lack of a better term?? I’m going back to therapy soon and there’s all these talks of me starting antidepressants again which I’m trying my BEST to avoid doing because I don’t have even a fraction of the creativity or motivation I have when I’m on them compared to when I’m not. But I am suffering from really bad anxiety all over again so I’m just conflicted! it’s either BE on medication and be able to go out & socialize with people and be productive again, but sacrifice practically all of my hobbies and feel comfortably numb for another few years. Or keep going without medication but stay inside all day bc I’m too nervous to go out and sever all my relationships because I’m tired and low on energy 😭 just a lose-lose scenario either way I go

Also I haven’t seen the one kid’s room just yet!!!!! I’ve been advised to distance myself from social media/kpop/my devices for a little while (hence my absence from being on here 😭) but I did see little snippets of it on Twitter and every single thing he says and does HE’S JUST LIKE ME FR…….. I love him so much I can’t wait to watch it & cry my eyes out he’s so cool JISUNGGGGG MY BELOVEDDDDD

anyways I hope the world is treating you so well and I love you so so so much !!! we’re hugging rn virtually. can u feel it 🫂❣️

[captain-hawks]

i'm sitting at the airport terminal in the middle of the night and something wild just happened to me and my first thought was "is this miya twin coded?" so i popped over here because 1. you're one of my absolute favorites. 2. i was just re-reading your kita piece for all the glorious emotional smut. and 3. you also <3 the miyas. please excuse me as i process this.

in senior year high school i went to a weekend-long statewide competition and met these twins in the elevator. one of them definitely had more swagger, more teasing confidence (the kind that guys who are usually successful with ladies have) and the other one was a little quieter, seemed a bit more sincere even though he talked less. we hit it off in conversation and they asked me and my friend if we wanted to grab food with them. i wasn't entirely sure but i thought maybe they were flirting? i was pretty sheltered up until that point and didn't want to assume incorrectly. towards the end of the comp the quieter twin asked if he could come visit me in my city and i, confused, asked "why??" spoiler alert: i ended up dating him for ~2 years.

i found out early on in our relationship that after our "casual dinner" that night when they got back to their room, Swag twin wanted to try his luck and see if he could get with me, but Quiet twin said that he would FIGHT HIM because Quiet really liked me and genuinely wanted to ask me out and he said he wouldn't let his brother ruin that by trying to hook up. Swag was apparently used to usually getting his way, so he realized how serious Quiet was to threaten to beat his ass so i guess he backed off. I didn't find this out until after Quiet and i started seriously talking/dating.

I went out of state for college but we maintained the LDR until halfway through my sophomore year. classic breakup reasons: growing pains/long distance was taking its toll/i wanted to explore life. but we remained on good terms and consider each other friends! we rarely talk, but he still let me use his netflix login for the past 11 years. when he was moving into a corporate role a couple years ago i helped him with interview prep, and when i was looking for a new job he sent me reqs he thought were a good fit.

he's had at least a couple relationships in the near-decade since we broke up (we don't talk about dating but i had seen on social media at some point). i've dated and had a few situationships and am now in a 4 year relationship with my bf. however, he most definitely doesn't know this because we don't chat often, i'm rarely on socials these days and my bf is a very private person.

i'm so sorry for how long this has been. all of this context is to say...i am chilling in the airport on my way home and I GOT A CONFESSION FROM QUIET?? something about i'm the one that got away, he feels he'd won the lottery by meeting me and having me in his life, he referenced the fight he had with his brother all those years ago and said he'd fight the same fight TO THIS DAY. i am flummoxed. i think it is a sign from the great spaghetti monster in the sky that i need to log off tumblr because my very first thought was "what in the fanfiction trope is this?" does this shit actually happen irl? now i need to go deal with this.

anyways thank you for reading this if you got this far! idk if it's just because it's twins and their dynamic is vaguely similar to osamu and atsumu but i was like...have i been isekai'ed into a miya twin fanfic? the sleep deprivation may be catching up to me and i may be entirely unhinged idk

first of all, ily and i’m so flattered you thought of me and ran over here to share this story. i literally read this while brushing my teeth because i was running late for work this morning, but i was so invested i had to read the whole message before i left.

anyway, EXCUSE ME????? i actually can’t get over this. how does it feel to have lived in a real life miya twins fanfic? are you taking interviews at this time? HE SAID HE WOULD FIGHT!!!! HIM? THE ATSUMU/OSAMU DYNAMICS i cannot believe. somewhere an author is on their knees (it’s me, the author). AND NOW THE CONFESSION???? OVER A DECADE LATER? i almost choked on my toothpaste. (i feel like there’s also irony to be found in the inherently symbolic nature of getting that message in such a transitionary, liminal space like an airport in the middle of the night.)

nonnie, i hope you have safe travels home and can get some much-deserved rest after that absolute bombshell. if there ever happens to be a future update or footnote to this story………..you know where to find me.

[lostkidbattan]

(WEAPON/KNIFE TW)

Uhm.. shoot.. uh-- OH SHIT IT'S ALREADY RUNNING-

ahem, Hello Rotomblr! This is Sots/Star, a humble Rotom requesting your help. I have a lost, uh, thing, in my hands. My uh. My wings, actually. They've been here for a year and have avoided all types of social media as long as they could but now's the time, so, hello! The, uh, thing, in question, is Battan, a very young, "vessel", they say. They have shown behavior like a bug-type pokémon but are actually the farthest thing from that? Hold on- I'll get you guys a picture.

That's them, right there! They were laying in the grass here. They REFUSE to EVER go ANYWHERE without that uh, knife, thingy. They call it a nail though, but.. c'mon. Side note when they appeared they also somehow brought a whole Xurkitree with them? We named it Spark. Actually-

After like, two months, I decided to get them a trainer ID- Except, they thought it was a Zorua-Phantump crossbreed posing as a human trying to get an ID so they denied us. So we drew our own and literally nobody has questioned.

Our friends include, of course:

Spark, the Xurkitree (I don't know)

Vespa, the Ribombee (female)

and Ghostling, the Shedinja (genderless)

plus ME! (I forgot)

Battan can type, but again, they were just- too shy- hold on.

(...)

..frhrggh, hi i am battan

Apparently they didn't quite speak, uh, any coherent language? They did try to write in their own in the card, but we figured it out.

Hopefully we find them a way back with all you guy's help.

\and i said: I WILL NOT HAVE ANOTHER ROTOMBLR BLOG>

\i had another. i made a faller hollow knight oc>

\anyways hello! ooc section. as you all know this is BOB, gloriously cringe as usual. this is one of my older oc's, one who's mute (cause hk) and prefers to speak in sign language or writing, so they usually either write very simple or they need star's help>

\ily all, gonna reblog like three ask games to get this started with star just wanting to have fun>

[yakultii]

I was thinking about how things change and I find it kind of interesting but I remember around 2015 was when mainstream social media eg instagram started to become somewhat political (for the average user) and became a source of education additional to selfies.. I remember around that time being referred to as “woke” (to be fair my wokeness has likely majorly regressed over the past 6-8yrs as a result of hibernation) but when someone called you “woke” it was a positive term like I genuinely remember hearing people talk about how they wanted to be as “educated” and “woke” as me or admired me and wanted to be friends with me for this reason (as a 15yro LMAO) and it was only the “alternative” kids who dared present themselves as educated and woke online bc it wasn’t common knowledge to be politically and socially knowledgeable (at least where I grew up) and doing so was kind of like making a name for yourself.. whereas now I feel like it’s just expected of young people to be socially and politically educated to some extent.. and I mean it’s not hard, because public discourse on so many topics are EVERYWHERE... While I think education is great and we should all be more informed I can't help but wonder/almost assume that this change/progression of political social media (within the mainstream ofc bc I'm aware it always existed w good intent prior) has maybe spread cause of performative factors/people wanted to make that name for themselves..to the point it all kinda became a trend.. although people realised it was so real at the same time..so then its intentions became mixed and now it is just expected idek if this makes sense... but also what is even more strange is that the connotations of the term "woke" COMPLETELY changed from something admirable like "wow that person is really woke they seem cool"(something I commonly heard in 2015) to now something that's make a mockery of eg "lmao they acting woke" along w the whole go woke go broke saga (idk if that's just in aus or worldwide... aus seems to have a problem w performativity of any kind anyway despite the fact we are endlessly playing into our own character as Australians but that's another story).. anyway idk what the point of this was cause i started writing it on my phone but then my phone died and my charger broke so I swapped to my laptop and my adhd cant hold a single thought for a second if u literally cant tell.. but its crazy how things change.. I just feel like that was such a small time frame but then again I guess that's how my parents felt like there was no internet and all of a sudden there was and the entirety of western society revolves around it so i guess change is super duper normal and we all have the same experience of it despite thinking we are unique in our experiences..I'm not really mad about change at all.. I think its mostly a good thing.. sometimes we don't understand change but personally I just hope someone is happy about it! the way some things changed for my parents and grandparents and while they missed the old days I could see the light.. only difference being they weren't happy that I could see the light but anyways I just type words here of half thought out thoughts and hope that no one reads it bc its a terrible representation of me.. actually no, its an accurate representation of me.. just a terrible presentation.. good thing no one knows who i am bc i just be saying things and keeping the rest of the things that make the things make sense in my head cause my fingers cant type any faster they are already so speedy gurlllll go back to ur notes app actually no my notes app iw SOOOOOOOO insanely claustrophobic its hell in there .. should prolly just change the name of this side blog or something just incase.. my reblogs have these words lost in an hour tell me if u read this anyway i think its be kinda funny if u did but i think u should find something better to do idk ily anyway

[italeean]

My amazing friends

I think it's time I share with you the list of the closest friends I've made during this little journey of mine. I also decided to add a little paragraph for everyone, I hope it's not too sappy lmaooo 😅 ALSO, if you're not on the list, please tell me... I probably just forgot. Vi voglio bene 💚🤍❤️

@jettori Well... one of my first friends around here. What can I say? I think you already know what I think of you and how much I treasure our friendship. You deserve all the love and all the cookies of the world!! 🍡🍪

@rattypatty BABY AGE!! 🌸 This is gonna be your new nickname here ^_^ You always bring a smile to my face (even when you call me baby height...). I genuinely think you're brave and tough and I hope you'll always remain as you are because you're amazing.

@fanfic-chan Such a sweetheart 🥺 Seriously, I think everything about you is cute. Also, I'm proud of all the progress you've made and of your new job. Keep going, you're marvelous and you only deserve the best!!

@kaerichan-yatta My Italian (and linguistic high school) buddyyy 💚🤍❤️ And SUCH. A. TEASE. AAAAAAAAHHH!! But remember, what goes around comes back around. (Although we both know I don't dislike your teases). Anyway, besides being teasy, you have many more qualities and I hope you know how unique and great you are.

@xiaosstepstool MOM FRIEND!! 🥰 Let's be clear now, at first you gave me Gorou vibes, but the more we talked, the more Yae-like you became (in the best way possible). But you're also so sweet and adorable... my heart can't handle this-

@xsezzie Shortieee <333 You're one of the very few people I can use this nickname with. I genuinely think that you're really cool and I really admire how hard you work. Although you're still a small bully to me!! 😭 (I'd say big bully but you know... height difference is on my side here lol)

@tickles-and-cuddles SWEETIEEEEE!! Ily but please, be more self-confident. I'm really glad you reached out to me because now I have another amazing friend, and I know for a FACT that other people would love to get to know you❣️

@wertzunge Tbh you remind me of a little cub lol 😹 I was kinda scared at the thought of approaching you (a big thanks to my social anxiety) so I guess I'll have to thank you for making that project about communication. Thanks to that I got to know a cute, little ball of sunshine ^_^

@intheheartofarainbow Idk if you expected to be on this list, but here you are my dear 😸 Your nice words supported and motivated me probably more than you can imagine. I'm glad I've met such a gentle soul

@skribblz AAAAAAAHHH you have no idea of how honored I felt when you gave me permission to write for your drawings!! I was extremely nervous at the thought of you reading my works though, since I was (and still am) basically an amateur... but your compliments really did improve my self-esteem as a writer (although I'm still rather inexperienced) 🌈

@vampirecorset One of the most mature and strongminded people I've ever met. I admire how you have your own opinions and stick to them. You're truly inspiring ✨️

@fresh-thomato LITTLE CUTIEEEE!! Let's be honest, it's adorable how easy it is to fluster you 🥰 You're one of the strongest people I know, always ready to listen. You're really special to me and I hope you know that

@simplysmilingdrew I WON'T TALK ABOUT HOW MUCH I APPRECIATED YOUR FANART BASED ON MY FIC JUST BECAUSE IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A SHORT PARAGRAPH AND NOT AN ESSAY 💘 Apart from that, you're always so sweet and nice, I'm honored to be able to call you a friend!!

@tickly-floof One word: BABYYYY!! 🥺 Because that's what you are (in an affectionate way obviously). Honestly, your demeanor is heartwarming... you're really a cute and sweet person!! (PS. Give Kiro a few scritches for me please, he's Baby no. 2 after all)

@leeviathaaaan Levi... or LEEvi..? Sorry, sorry... I had to say it 😅💖 Anyway, I really appreciate your support for my works and I LOVE when we talk. You're a really interesting person and I hope you agree with me here (since I'm 100000% sure I'm right)

@myreygn my fellow Takao simp 🥹❤️ Jokes aside... my Bashful Sweetheart!! Okay I'll get serious now... you're one of the nicest people around here, so sweet and cheerful, I feel like everyone would want to be your friend. But I can't let your teasing about my height and other things slide, hmph! <333

@mai-meiei Aaaaaww you really give me big sister vibes ✨️ You always have something nice to say and are always so supportive... it's a honor to have such a great friend!! Also, your drawings are AMAZING, cutie 🥰

@eliasiis Okay we haven't talked much, but I'd love making friends with you. You seem someone really sweet and funny 😸 Also, you're super talented (seriously guys, if you still aren't following him, do it right now)

@lovinglyroses Yuukoku no Moriarty is undoubtedly a great series, but another reason I'm happy for watching it is because your hcs made us meet 🥹 You are a treasure, for me as a friend and for the whole community thanks to your personality and talent 🩷

@rand0m-s1nner Aaaaahh the first time you texted me I had a giddy smile plastered all over my face!! Like, you showed appreciation for one of the fics I felt the most insecure about... and you're so interesting!! Another amazing person I have the problem of calling a friend 🍡❤️‍🔥

[vivwritesfics]

I’m famous on ur blog 😌😌😌

anyways

sound fun question mark?! absolutely not, he intends to make my life HELL and he’s already done so with his filthy Australian accent 😡😡😡😡😡. He isn’t even from straya. ‼️ HES A FAKE ‼️ 🗣️🗣️🗣️

but eh I shall fill u on the details of the party, we arrived like a bit early so I’m in the bathroom HIDING from this little girl who tried to get with my favourite person, I am not having this. 😠

can’t lie I might just sit here and play Roblox the entire time. Pls don’t take this seriously I don’t actually play Roblox I do it as a joke coz it’s funny

I want to finish my fic but I can’t bc the annoying dude I’m staying with will be asking questions as to what I’m typing. I’m gonna call him enchilada now. “The guy who kissed me” is too long of a name. Actually why would he kiss me. I’m not much. That’s weird. Maybe he was drunk. But. Anyways

it’s not that I’m overprotective of Oscar (maybe) but like she’s such a rat honestly, she’s cheated on so many people and Osc is like way too dumb to think humans can be that cruel sooooooo. I’ll be the eyes HES missing.

no one tries to get with my friend whilst being called LuCiE

I will make u all live my life 🗣️

I have adhd I’m sorry I talk a lot 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

and 🪴 anon ur my icon 🥹🫶

-🥑

Seriously I'm living through this since my social night rn consists of going to my dads and forcing him to watch the aus gp lol

FAKE AUSSIE? BOO! BOOOOO the only real aussies are my boys oscah, Danny ric, you nonnie (and my other aussies) and valtteri bottas

In this house we are a Minecraft household and proud lol

But I get not finishing le fic, it's why some shit takes me so long bc I write in secret lol

Hope the rest of your night is fun and if you fight Lucie pls tell me

🪴NONNIE YOUVE BEEN SUMMONED (ily guys)

[weebsinstash]

HOLY SHIT MERRY CHRISTMAS HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REPLYING TO MY GIGANTIC ASK!!!! I screamed when I saw it and it's just such a delight reading anything you write, from your additions to my idea to your own original concept 🥺. Like!!!! Ily and your concept was bomb!! Amazing!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE SUCH A BLESSING AND IF YOU WANNA RAMBLE MORE ABOUT IT. Just know I'm here and Imma read the entire thing.

I mean since I am in Creative Mode right now fjfjfkckf I kind of shared most of the details from that one original idea I had besides maybe like specific scenarios? Or i guess I just wound up writing just this one and it got really long

Ok so. Imagine a scenario where Reader is married off to the Emperor. She's only a concubine because she is not high ranking enough to be Empress, like unfortunately in these sorts of stories and political systems the Empress is typically like a political marriage of extremely high value, so you're kind of The Official Side Bitch while other women are being considered for Empress which, insanely burns you because regardless of whether Reader loves the Emperor or she doesn't and this is a prison, now she's basically his accessory and not even like the main/only wife?

Separate idea for a second but sometimes I imagine awakening as Saintess is the thing that lowkey fucks Reader over and makes her of high enough status to be Empress and it can also be easily spun into propoganda how the war hero Emperor and the Saintess fell in love before either of them rose to their stations and how oh, it must be preordained by the heavens

But anyways for this scenario, imagine they've been married and Reader is feeling extremely unhappy and neglected to the point she's being socially withdrawn and isn't particularly speaking to anyone or doing anything. Perhaps the Emperor has had certain behaviors that have upset her, like punishing servants too harshly for menial things such as not attending to her with absolute perfection, she hates hearing that he is getting other concubines, daughters and princesses of foreign nations as symbolic political alliances, perhaps the Emperor, because of decorum, was forced to admonish or even punish her in some way for something she did such as speaking out against another harem woman who was being disrespectful and causing some sort of argument or even fight. Reader gets emotional and winds up slapping a noble woman and the Emperor puts her on house arrest as punishment, but it's mostly as a form of protection since some of these women are deliberately trying to rile you up and start shit as an excuse to try and bring you down or retaliate because they disliked you before you even gave them any reason to, but Reader then feels isolated and hates how he didn't try and defend her, that her losing her temper was worse than whatever the woman had said.

It doesn't feel good to put your love and trust into someone and have them choose someone else's side. It's like taking whatever small sense of security and self worth you had and chipping away at it.

So in all of her feelings of betrayal and isolation, Reader starts keeping most things to herself. She doesn't go out even after the Emperor lifts the punishment. She refuses invites sent by courier from any of the other women. She instructs her servants to close the gates of her palace and not to let anyone enter without her explicit permission. And of course, she tells no one as she slowly begins to fall ill, gradually getting sicker and sicker, forbidding any of the servants from saying a single thing. It becomes severe enough thst she's eventually spending most of her days in bed, feeling too week to do much of anything

Finally one of the loyal servants cracks. They can't conceal this at the risk of your health even if you have asked them to. This might have already gone on for too long. You seem to almost be deteriorating. By the time a servant personally informs the Emperor of your state and he's rushed to check on you, you're completely unconscious, feverish, you've lost weight since he's seen you last. The royal doctors are summoned immediately, but the prognosis isn't good. You're extremely weak and they aren't exactly sure why which is concerning for multiple reasons. They have no concrete evidence what disease it is that is making you so incredibly fragile. It's like your body lacks the energy to move, speak, even wake up entirely.

A doctor makes the mistake of telling the Emperor that, surely if this illness had been caught in its infancy, your condition wouldn't be so severe. They are unsure if they can cure you. They can't even promise that you are going to live.

When your eyes finally open again you've been unconscious for several days and not a single person around you is familiar. Your entire palace staff have been changed. Where are all your maids and guards who you've come to know over these years, people you've worked with, all but grown up with? The new staff will not answer you, simply brushing you off, that such matters are not important to waste energy worrying in when you are in such weak health

You have a bad feeling. You have such a horrible fucking feeling that something is wrong that it's making your skin crawl. It takes everything you have to get your body to move out of bed, your heart hammering with anxiety, fear and desperation sinking in like a poison. You try to leave your bedroom and there are guards posted outside who all but order you to go lie back down. But you refuse, and even, you tell them to their faces that if they DARE touch you that His Majesty The Emperor would surely kill them

Something about the look in those men's eyes seemed all too afraid to you. The bad gut-feelings intensify. You're all but stumbling out of your palace with a small team of unrecognizable people trailing after you. You're not even sure where you're going but something is WRONG, you can FEEL IT, and to add to your irritation are all of these buzzing flies. When did so many pests make it into the palace? They keep growing and growing in numbers in an intensity you've never seen even in the hottest summer months, it's vile, it's disgusting, it's

it's... because your entire former staff are all hanging in the central courtyard, strung up by their necks, hung dead as insect scavengers feast on their decaying bodies for everyone to see. A punishment left out in the open as a warning to the others of their treasonous crimes.

You just start wailing hysterically. Those were your friends. That was like your family. In this scenario the thing that was causing Reader to fall ill was the mana accumulating in her body without any sort of outlet, until now, when she awakens as Saintess, and just begins to sob. You're sitting there just wailing and sobbing and screaming like you've never screamed before and rain is pouring down everywhere like a sudden squall, practically hurricane force winds as there seems to be almost a halo of dry sky around you and the hideously disrespected bodies of your subordinates. You're weeping, and the sky weeps with you.

And I imagine this is the final straw that makes Reader go "I swear to fucking god I am getting a divorce from this man or kill one of us trying" and im her position as Saintess she has incredible negotiating power to do so because, oh, the Emperor is holding the Saintess hostage in am unwanted marriage and is refusing to let her make any pilgrimages to help the people? How is she supposed to heal the sick and bring rain to the regions affected by drought then? What would the commoners think? What would the other nobles think? The Saintess is supposed to be a hero of the land, and the Emperor has a heart filled with greed that desires to keep her to himself? There would be enormous outrage and push back. The High Church would be more likely to incite a rebellion before they allowed the literal savior and figurehead of their church who has been missing for over a century to be held hostage

The Emperor is just holding court with tons of his ministers and maybe even some priests connected with the church are there when Readsr just barges in with a piece of paper where she's spent the last week combing through the royal library and researching old texts and laws and found several established precedents that entitle her to divorce, such as an old law that since the happiness and mental health of the Saintess are extremely critical to her role and ability to do her job that should something be causing her significant distress that it must be handled or left up to her discretion. Well she hates this busted ass one sided marriage with a stone wall of a man she spent years worrying about and wasting her energy on and she snarkily smirkingly tells him to his face that it's over, he can't do anything

Reader who before falling in had barely made any eye contact with the Emperor let alone smile is now viciously taunting him to his face that she can divorce him and he can't do anything, she can even leave the palace so she chooses to, he can't do anything to stop her, she finally has the personal freedom she's wanted her entire life. No one can tell her how to act anymore, how to speak anymore, she's just laughing and twirling and dancing to mock him and mock everyone who has tried to contain her and the Emperor has never loved you more than seeing how happy and free you look in this moment so OF COURSE he's like NO 🥺 B BUT WE'RE MAN AND WIFE 🥺 I KNOW I WASNT THE MOST FORTHCOMING BUT YOU CANT DIVORCE ME and I imagine he even tries to find laws that overturn the legal precedent, maybe even tries, outright disobey the laws entirely and says "fuck that I'm the current Emperor, new law, that one law is bullshit and we don't have to follow it"

I do like the thought of Saintess Reader getting to flaunt her girlboss power and be free of him for a while and get to do her own thing and maybe travel the country doing her Saintess duties while he gets like max mental illness level obsessive and desperate to the point he's literally dragging her back even if she's kicking and screaming. Who knows maybe she can even get some new dick while she's out of the house, as a treat