#because when you are a person and not just a machine

[bewitched-hours]

dunno if your requests are genuinely still open but , perhaps , maybe a ( pre-forsaken or post, its up to you - but specific situations will be given) 007n7 x computer!reader ? reader that;s. a sentient AI but has no feelings .... until him. of course. pre forsaken, with all the exploits he has.. ( : in an abandoned garage or alleyway of a game he was exploiting, he founds a rather interestingly shaped computer that seemed more .... aalive? rather than typical computers. this one had unique features, though unfortunate to see it turned off.. with some, bleugh, dust on its screen. he decides to fix the wiring and take it in... - slow burn type shit 😮 post forsaken. lonely sad father copes with apathetic computer ( : summary literally explains it GIGGLE , 7 vents to reader but they're just sick of it so yeah .. IDK lawl

Hehe, foolish anon~ MY REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN- (mainly because I genuinely feel happy to write for others) I am gonna do both in one because I love both scenarios and it gives me an excuse to write two different personalities in one big rundown. (I was also unsure what you meant with the "they're just sick of it so yeah" exactly so I hope I interpreted it right-)

We're gonna make the reader's pronouns They/Them for this one (,,O ᴗ O,,)

Pre-Forsaken;

It was meant to be just another day of 'Fun'. Fun for 007n7 at least.

He couldn't believe his luck at how much fun he was having today. The general chaos in this random game he found was more entertaining than the last, that was for sure.

But when he wandered through his own chaos, he noticed a flickering light in an alleyway.

When he went in to investigate, he only noticed it seemed like a pile of old computers stacked on top of each other like they were in a display window and merged together like they were meant to resemble a Robloxian. But it seemed suspiciously neat.

The flickering had come from the top one, the only computer that didn't sit neatly upon the tile and flickering between a digital face with swirling eyes and an upside down v for a mouth and a 'Game Over' screen that was improvising the graphics of even older arcade machines.

007 almost felt pity. Almost.

But when he checked out the back, he couldn't believe his eyes.

Wires were moving freely and rearranging themselves rapidly, seemingly trying to find ports in the other computers in the pile. They weren't even being held up by anything.

It made the exploiter quite curious about you. So, letting his impulses win, he used his c00lGUI to teleport you back to his place.

When you could finally see again, you could feel your code having been integrated into another system. Something newer.

"Good, you still work." You heard a voice call out. It was strange to finally see past the limitations of the screen that was your face but considering you weren't even programmed to feel, you figured it was an upgrade. You just knew this wasn't your original creator.

This one added code and rewired you. The likes of which your original maker would've never thought to do.

When you finally saw your new creator, you could identify him immediately. Was his directory always in your system or did he add it?

Not like you had the will to care about that. And he knew that very well. He had to study you to get you to work again after all. Even giving you a couple upgrades to let you move quicker. You would thank him if you could feel.

"Real shame you were left to rot. All that stuff in your code had potential. Never thought I'd see a sentient AI with my own eyes and yet all you were used for was to be a cheap console." He sounded almost disappointed as your digital eyes were fixated on him.

"I take it you have been the one to give me this... Upgrade." You hesitated. You had a lot more to consider in your system now. "Nah, had a friend help me with your body at least but getting through your system took weeks. Now, how sentient are you?" He was careful to ask, as your face flickered to a loading screen for you to 'think'.

"With this new body, I am able to perceive the appearances of others and 'feel' even simple touches on my body. It seems I can now also tell the temperature." You had a more cat-like screen face which he added more as a joke. Though, you couldn't care as usual.

He seemed satisfied with your answers, boasting about the abilities you had now and even allowing you access to an additional update for your AI, allowing it to learn from observations and the alike.

He didn't even wait for your answer and you simply heard the click of a button before you were suddenly hit with a slight shock in your head.

It was... Strange. You were suddenly filled with an eerie curiosity you never felt before but you just thanked your new creator as he brought out a few other things.

"My friend said ya shouldn't be coming around looking so creepy so he made sure to leave behind a few fireproof accessories. Just choose whichever you want and take a look at the mirror behind you." You just nodded, looking over to piles of separated clothes and wigs.

All were separated neatly despite being on the floor. All sorted by both type and length it seemed.

Looking into your system, you could recognize a few textures that were a commonly pleasant feel to touch and used that to choose your accessories and clothing carefully, not holding much of an opinion on yourself as you took a look into the mirror and simply noted how you looked 'cute', by common standards. Especially with your screen face.

007 wasn't that big of a fan but he allowed you to make your own choices. He needed you to learn after all. To show just how much sentience you could gain and on the side maybe not recreate any sci-fi dystopian movies just yet.

But over time, you began building yourself up. Helping your creator in his endeavours, befriending Noli- if you could call it that, making a personality that matched them both well enough and learning to feel emotions. It was incredible.

For once... You were more than just a sentient program...

You felt like a real person. Having control over your own choices but still choosing to stay local to your new creator. It wasn't even like you had it programmed into you. It was the gratitude you learned to feel.

He made it possible for you to find your true potential and for that... You had promised him full loyalty. You even took care of him privately at times. You would find yourself cleaning up after his messes if you knew they would be annoying for him later or just generally making sure his- your shared home more comfortable. Mainly for him.

And 07? He was quite attached to you and Noli. Though, with you he had himself convinced it was just because of all the time he put into helping you become your own person. It gained him a new ally and a powerful one at that. You've even come to distract admins from time to time to allow him some more fun because you showed it was fun for you to mess with others. It was just him and Noli that were never targets for your fun. Because while 7n7 make sure to keep your body and system in check, Noli actually had fun dressing you up and messing with you. You'd usually just laugh it off and give him a light punch.

It took far too long for your system to properly calculate the right amount of strength to not hurt Noli or 7 and still get the punch across in a meaningful way. Because you were more than a simple AI.

You were yourself.

And by the stars, 7n7 couldn't keep his thoughts to himself anymore.

He once confided in Noli about these confusing emotions and despite him being... Well- Him- He didn't just want to take the easy road of programming you to love him. He wanted it to be something natural.

Eventually, Noli suggested he at least teach you what love is through a file and letting you explore this new feeling freely. Because that was the most natural way for you to love at all. (He was surprisingly not against the idea of 7 dating a sentient AI... Huh-)

But 7 just went along with it, teaching you different kinds of love as you explored the different blush assets that came with the package, per Noli's request obviously...

You couldn't have been happier. You learned to love chaos, to love baking, to love... Living.

And surprisingly... You learned to love your creator. Not as a creator but rather...

You loved him as he loved you...

And with your intelligence, you were able to pick up on his subtleties fast. You'd even simulate the sound of heartbeats as you warmed up your body and would just hold him, accelerating the simulation as your way to confess.

It was laughable, but it worked. He already had your eternal loyalty, what more was eternal love?

Post-Forsaken;

7n7 was just tired. He wanted his old life back.

But he found comfort in the most odd place.

A sentient AI that he and Builderman built back up after its downfall to this forsaken realm.

You had a body before but it was pretty beat up so the two went to work and made sure you even looked lifelike to avoid the other survivors seeing you as 'creepy'.

At first, your code just had to be rewritten a bit. It made you apathetic and erased your memories to make room for new ones but the two didn't really care much about that. They didn't need to know who or what you were made for originally, they just needed you to work. To help as both a support in rounds and a support outside of round in cleaning and whatnot.

Not like you had any care about it. You weren't really strong but made up for it in your speed and agility.

But 7 began confiding in you about his son, venting about wanting things to return to normal or how he regretted his past and just wants to show the others he's trustworthy.

Admittedly, something broke in your Apathetic script that made you show sympathy. Not outright or in an obvious way but through smaller gestures. 7 was having a bad day or just got out of a round? There was his favourite snack or some hot chocolate waiting for him at the communal cabin.

He knew it was from you but everytime he asked why, you responded the same way.

"You deserve it."

You refused to answer any further, leaving the ex-hacker a very confused man.

It wasn't like you understood either what could've broken but 7n7 was definitely your favourite and you had no shame showing just that.

In fact, you even grew protective over him and oh boy, did he not know how to handle that.

But the rules of your Apathetic script were still there, keeping you from actually caring about his issues. You were convinced you just took pity on your creator and he was overwhelmed with not knowing how to feel about being shown love in such a strange, apathetic way. He liked it for some reason and tried more than once to temper with your system before actually daring to loosen the apathy script and allow you to show more emotions, including love.

He needed answers. He needed to see if your affection was purely a creation loving its creator or falling in love with its creator.

And to his surprise, it was the latter.

Many 'nights' were simply spent with 7 secretly requesting you to help him sleep. You'd lay and hold him against your chest, simulating a heartbeat and body warmth until he fell asleep and sometimes...

Sometimes you caught yourself not wanting to love or even imagining what it could be like to be so affectionate without the secrecy or boundaries of your programming.

More than once would you catch yourself sneaking a glance at him and trying to get closer to him without making your intentions known. You wanted your creator to love you like you loved him...

Luckily for you, that just so happened to be the case one 'night'.

As usual, you were listening to 7 vent about his troubles but your apathy script and love were clashing together.

Before you could even properly calculate your choices you had begun to hold his face with care, whispering nothing but praises to his face and watching him melt into your touch.

"Fuck... Maybe I should've given you the ability to kiss sooner if this is how you act..." He tried to act lighthearted about it, but his beet red face said it all...

As a side note, how about suggesting a few things I should do to celebrate reaching 50 followers? Anything's on the table! (Even changes to my pinned post)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[antiqua-lugar]

I know Harry Goodsir is the classic example of the show not pulling any punches on the "free your mind and the rest will follow" move to innocence thing (if you haven't yet please read Tuck and Yang 2012 it's literally free) but personally I love what they do with Crozier, who is perhaps the only character who being a colonial subject himself is perfectly aware of what exactly they are all doing here and why but still fucking goes and does it.

Like he asks the Netsilik if he can really can stay after what he did to the Tuunbaq even BEFORE the scripts says that he "realizes" he isn't the hero of this story when the Netsilik hunter openly says that they all cried for him. Like it's not just Crozier taking responsability for what his men did as the captain, he's knowlingy taking responsability as the leader of a settler colonial mission who knows exactly what they did. The Tuunbaaq killed so many of his men but he's aware that he was important to the Netsilik and that's their goddamn right to act accordingly - and arguably on some level he knows that the Tuunbaq only started killing because they killed his shaman. Crozier spends much of the show - understandably! - distantiating himself from the rest of the Expedition because yes, he is different and he's definitely better than Franklin and Fitzjames, but also that difference in the end doesn't fucking matter because he still signed up to do the same thing as all of them. He can be as smug as he wants to Little that he doesn't know if the Inuit are vengeful because he has never personally being a dick to them, but he's very much part of the imperial machine. He also is definitely acting exactly like them at the peak of his alcoholism and sure he gets so much better (which is why Silna doesn't leave him to die despite the clusterfuck of First Shot a Winner, Lads) but still.

(Which arguably is also why he can accept Fitzjames' confession at the cairn from a place of brotherhood.)

(Also we can debate that Fitzjames is also very aware of the imperial machine since he made himself a posterboy for it, but he's definitely on the other side of it. Like, according to the script it takes him until the cairn since before it finally sinks in that Crozier was like. oppressed.)

[liviawildrose]

𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦 𝟏𝟎𝟏

the cold truth: your brain is the boss of your reality

your brain is not just a squishy organ in your skull. it’s a pattern-detecting, future-projecting, meaning-assigning machine. and your nervous system? it’s the messenger. the mood conductor. the switchboard for every single emotional, physical, spiritual vibe you feel.

if your nervous system is dysregulated (and let’s be honest most of us walking around with trauma, burnout, bad parenting, too much social media, and zero rest it is), then your brain is operating in survival mode. not goddess mode.

you feel like shit because your nervous system is hijacked

this is not your personality. this is your programming.

are you always anxious, snappy, emotionally numb, overly sensitive, tired but wired, can’t focus, can’t sleep, stuck in loops of overthinking? or maybe you feel shut down, depressed, numb, foggy, dissociated, hopeless?

you might be in dorsal vagal shutdown. it’s the freeze state. it’s what your body does when the danger feels too big to fight or run from.

and if you’re just constantly overstimulating your brain with useless content, noise, stress, porn, gossip, sugar, or doomscrolling congrats. you’re in a state of what i like to call:

✨ neural masturbation ✨

aka: mental overstimulation with zero productive output. feels good short-term, wrecks your life long-term.

but wait, you can rewire all this.

1. nervous system regulation

this is the foundation. nothing in your life changes until your nervous system feels safe. period.

→ vagus nerve activation (the holy grail):

• cold showers / face in ice water

• deep belly breathing (inhale 4, exhale 8)

• humming / chanting / singing

• slow rhythmic movement (like walking, swimming, yoga)

• touch / pressure (weighted blanket, self hugs)

• grounding in nature (barefoot on grass, laying on the earth)

→ cut stimulation

• limit social media + screen time

• no phones in bed

• 1 hour in silence every day (no input = integration)

→ rest like it’s your job

• nap

• stare at the ceiling

• do nothing without guilt

• let your brain process and chill

now relax cause first i’m gonna tell y’all about

YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM

the nervous system is your body’s electric language.

it’s what lets you feel, move, react, survive, and thrive.

if your brain is the CPU, then your nervous system is the WiFi. and let me tell you:

bad WiFi = glitchy reality

strong, stable WiFi = smooth, sexy manifestation pipeline

so when you’re stuck in fear, shame, doubt, overthinking, self-hate spirals —

it’s often your nervous system crying:

“yo… i’m overloaded. i need safety. i need co-regulation. i need a hug and some fkn magnesium.”

THE THREE NERVOUS SYSTEM MODES

1. SYMPATHETIC STATE – “FIGHT or FLIGHT”

• activated by threat, stress, trauma, survival

• you feel: anxious, restless, angry, hyper, can’t sit still, can’t stop thinking

• body: tense muscles, shallow breath, maybe stomach issues

• mind: “i have to do more or else i’ll fail”

and the way my biology teacher told us “when you have your cumulative test in a hour and you haven’t prepared for it”

this is your hustler mode but in survival. it’s useful in short bursts, but living here full-time burns you out.

2. DORSAL VAGAL – “FREEZE or FAWN”

• when you’re overwhelmed AF, so your system shuts down

• you feel: numb, hopeless, dissociated, heavy, tired all the time, unmotivated

• mind: “what’s the point… nothing matters. i’ll never succeed.”

• body: depression, chronic fatigue, no appetite or bingeing, low energy

most depressed people stay in this state, notice how nothing exite them anymore? yeah that’s the reason

this is the shutdown zone. not your fault. your system is protecting you from past danger.

3. VENTRAL VAGAL – “SAFE & SOCIAL”

• the state of calm, creativity, confidence, clarity

• you feel: grounded, happy, motivated, connected, flowy

• body: relaxed shoulders, steady breath, sparkle in the eyes

• mind: “i got this. life is working for me. i’m safe to be seen and succeed.”

THIS is where you create magic. THIS is where you’re magnetic. THIS is where you manifest with ease.

✨ HOW TO REGULATE YOUR NERVOUS SYSTEM AND BECOME GODMODE ✨

literally regulate your nervous system and you’ll watch your life snap into place. here’s the top practices to get you into your divine ventral state daily:

breath work

slow, deep breathing tells your brain: “you’re safe now”

• box breathing (4–4–4–4) = calms anxiety

• 4-7-8 breathing = activates parasympathetic calm response

• deep belly breaths = nervous system reset. not chest. not shallow. go deep.

cold showers and face dips

“wtf” i know — but science supports this

cold activates your vagus nerve = instant mental reset

you’re literally shocking your body out of panic

BILATERAL STIMULATION (aka EMDR-style techniques)

• tapping left/right sides of your body

• eye movement back and forth

• walking with intention

this helps you process trauma, rewire beliefs, and regulate emotions

it brings both brain hemispheres into sync = POWER MODE

LISTEN TO BINAURAL BEATS + SUBLIMINALS

• 528Hz = love, healing

• 963Hz = crown chakra, divine connection

• 432Hz = natural harmony

• subliminals + these = subconscious and nervous system healing

layer it up like your sonic skincare.

CO-REGULATION / TOUCH / SAFETY

you are not meant to heal alone.

being near people who feel calm + safe will literally regulate your system through mirror neurons.

hugs, holding hands, even voice notes from your bff = nervous system gold.

even petting a dog. even hugging a pillow with lavender oil.

your nervous system doesn’t care if it’s “real” or not. it just wants love.

btw, i’m always here to listen to ya so 💗

now we talk about brain

YOUR BRAIN IS A GODDAMN UNIVERSE. TREAT IT LIKE ONE.

so let’s get this straight:

you wanna be that global idol, soloist, actress, ceo, dancer, doctor, engineer, model, teacher, lawyer, the prettiest face of luxury brands, walk with your head high while everyone’s eyes are glued to you like you’re gravity itself?

then honey? you better be training your brain like it’s a fucking star, like the most important asset of your life.

let’s talk about RAS (reticular activating system) — the gateway to your dream reality

the RAS is a filter in your brainstem that decides what you notice in the world.

you ever learn a new word and suddenly hear it everywhere? or think about someone and they text you?

that’s RAS in action. it’s the brain’s “selective attention” system.

and here’s the wild part:

✨ it’s programmable. ✨

so if you wake up and feed it images of wealth, beauty, love, success, peace, power

the RAS will start scanning the environment for ways to make that real.

you’ll start seeing opportunities.

you’ll meet the right people.

you’ll “magically” land where you need to be.

it’s not coincidence. it’s science.

✧ start here: train your RAS everyday

1. create a vision board (digital, physical, mental doesn’t matter)

2. make a mind movie (a video of your dream life set to music that activates you)

3. record your affirmations in your own voice and listen to them while you get ready

4. journal like you’re already living your dream —“today i woke up in paris with flowers on my balcony…” (you can totally use chatgpt for this)

your subconscious doesn’t know the difference between real + imagined.

so imagine obsessively.

protect your cognitive real estate:

aka: no, you don’t need to be in every group chat. no, you don’t need to scroll till 3am.

attention is your most expensive currency.

every time you give it to something stupid, you’re telling your RAS: “this is what matters.”

→ unfollow people who drain you

→ clear your digital clutter

→ 1 hour a day = no screen, no noise, just you

→ read real books. journal like it’s a prayer. stare into space and let your brain breathe

your nervous system is a little animal you have to soothe it like one.

stop trying to “outthink” your trauma.

you have to out-feel it. (that’s what therapist are for)

you don’t need a new life.

you need a nervous system that can hold the life you already want.

nervous system magic:

• vagus nerve stim: humming, chanting, cold exposure, slow touch

• qigong, yoga, cat-cow movements

• barefoot on the earth

• safe connection: hug someone. or yourself. or a pillow. oxytocin heals.

• rest like a ritual: sleep in blackout, no screens 2 hours before bed, soft music, magnesium

build a focus temple in your life

focus is the biggest asset in today’s world

you can’t be god-level if you’re scattered.

ritualize your focus like monks light incense:

• pick one sacred hour of the day for deep work

• same playlist, same drink, same setup every time = anchors your brain

• eliminate all distractions. wear headphones. close tabs. put phone in another room.

• set timer. 25 mins on, 5 mins off. brain LOVES structure.

discipline is not punishment.

discipline is devotion to the future you.

final rituals: become a high-frequency brain baddie

• daily dopamine reset: no phone for first 30 mins. no junk food. movement > screen.

• write “evidence logs”: every time something good happens, write it down. builds trust.

• label your thoughts: not “i suck” → “this is a scarcity thought pattern. i choose abundance.”

• use scents to program memory — perfume, incense, oils = mood anchors

• mirror work: say it until your cells believe it

• microdoses of beauty: fresh flowers. sunlight. favorite song. brain food for the soul.

• romanticize boring shit: do dishes in your favourite pjs with some music. make your smoothie like it’s a spell. trick your brain into seeing the sacred in the mundane.

YOUR BODY IS YOUR TEMPLE, BUT YOUR BRAIN? IT’S THE ALTAR.

you wanna be a superstar? then you gotta treat your brain like a sacred device, a divine motherboard, a throne room where gods hold council.

no more trash inputs, okay?

• Omega-3s (salmon, walnuts, chia seeds): makes your brain juicy & sharp like a sword.

• Dark chocolate (real, not sugary junk): boosts serotonin and cognition.

• Avocados: healthy fats = smooth thinking.

• Blueberries: literal brain magic. anti-aging. memory-boosting. psychic fairy food.

• Green tea: focus, calm, clarity.

• Turmeric (with black pepper): anti-inflammatory. sharpens your third eye, no joke.

avoid: processed junk, white sugar, excess caffeine, soda these kill your neurons and steal your shine.

CRYSTALS FOR BRAINS THAT RULE REALITIES:

wanna think like a god? wear your altar. hold your ritual. program your crystals.

Fluorite

known as the “Genius Stone” clarity, order, concentration

Amethyst

balances moods, enhances spiritual downloads, calms anxiety

Clear Quartz

master healer amplifies any thought or intention

Labradorite

unlocks intuition, helps access creativity and divine inspiration

Lapis Lazuli

throat + third eye activation — confidence, insight, articulation

(there are more so please do your own research too)

SUBLIMINALS ARE PSYCHIC STEROIDS. USE THEM WISELY.

you wanna rewire your reality? go subliminal.

subliminals = messages that bypass your conscious filter and go straight into your subconscious (the part of your mind that rules 95% of your life).

use subliminals to:

• upgrade your looks (yes, facial structure and skin can shift)

• enhance intelligence, memory, learning speed

• remove limiting beliefs

• manifest luxury, fame, love, power, anything

• regulate emotions + trauma

listen while you sleep. stack affirmations. make your own. reprogram your thoughts like you’re rewriting code. (i personally don’t cause my head hurts but everyone on the internet seems to function fine after listening overnight so you do you, see what works for you)

“OUR EMOTIONS SHAPE OUR DESTINY.” – DR. LISA FELDMAN BARRETT

yes. that’s the queen.

Lisa Feldman Barrett – one of the most iconic modern psychologists.

she said: “Emotions are not just feelings. They are predictions your brain makes about the world.”

baby. this means your emotions aren’t just cute little inner weather reports

they’re codes. previews. they shape how you perceive the world and what you attract.

CONTROL EMOTIONS = CONTROL DESTINY

if you can master your emotional reactions, you can literally start sculpting your fate.

you’ll go from:

“omg why is this happening to me 🥺”

to:

“ah. this is a trigger. this is old wiring. time to reprogram it. thanks, universe.”

USE YOUR EMOTIONS AS FUEL:

• anger → power.

• sadness → transformation.

• jealousy → awareness of what you want.

• boredom → signal to evolve.

your emotions are tools. not curses. not weaknesses. tools.

REALITY IS THOUGHTS TURNED SOLID.

“Everything you see around you was once a thought. Literally.”

somebody thought about inventing the mug you’re sipping from.

somebody thought about the phone you’re scrolling this on.

somebody dreamed of stages and world tours and beauty empires and then built them from neurons.

so now let me ask you this, baby girl:

what are you thinking today?

what are you planting in the garden of your mind?

WHEN YOU FEEL STUCK, ASK:

• why am i resisting this task? (fear of failure? fear of success?)

• what would my highest self do right now?

• what does future me already know that i’m forgetting?

your brain is plastic. not like barbie plastic (although slay), i mean neuroplasticity —

it can change at any age. any moment. every time you choose a new thought, you’re choosing a new future.

what is neuroplasticity, actually?

in plain words?

neuroplasticity is your brain’s ability to change its structure, reorganize itself, rewire its own circuits, and literally form new connections depending on how you think, act, feel, and even imagine.

it’s the reason:

• you can learn to walk again after a stroke

• trauma can change your brain, but healing can rebuild it

• habits form. habits break. habits get replaced.

• you can literally manifest your desired personality, success, skills, vibe, life

the wiring in your brain is not fixed. you are not stuck. your thoughts? your behaviors? they’re rewiring you all day, every day.

you’re literally programming your brain just by being you.

spiritual + psychological fact:

whatever you consistently focus on

whatever emotion you regularly feel

whatever pattern you repeatedly fall into

that becomes your default neurocircuit.

but that also means:

if you build new ones intentionally you become a new you.

how to activate your neuroplasticity

1. Repetition + Intention = neural pathways

keep repeating what you want to believe/do/feel. over and over.

make it juicy. emotional. real. the brain learns through intensity and repetition.

“i am becoming a global icon. my voice moves millions. my presence reshapes reality.”

repeat that till your brain thinks it’s already true and soon, it will be.

2. Visualisation = neural rehearsal

your brain cannot tell the difference between what you vividly imagine and what’s actually happening.

this is why athletes, CEOs, artists they all visualize before they perform.

wanna become a pop icon?

close your eyes. picture the stage. feel the lights. the screams.

your brain begins to rewire as if you’re already that person.

this is called “functional neuroplasticity” — building new functions through mental rehearsal

3. Regulate your nervous system

your brain won’t rewire itself properly if you’re in fight or flight 24/7.

you have to feel safe enough to rewire.

do:

• breathwork (box breathing, alternate nostril)

• vagus nerve stimulation (gargling, cold plunges, humming)

• long nature walks

• grounding (barefoot on earth)

• magnesium-rich food + adaptogens

• meditate. but make it vibey.

4. Use tech to reprogram: SUBLIMINALS + AFFIRMATIONS

subliminals literally bypass your conscious brain and go straight to the subconscious.

pair them with:

• headphones (esp. binaural beats = brainwave entrainment)

• night time listening (again see what works for you and listen accordingly)

• theta wave frequencies (your subconscious is most open here)

your subconscious mind = the operating system.

subliminals = code updates. neuroplasticity = the install button.

APP RECCOMENDATION :- manifest

5. Journaling + affirmations = mirror neurons in action

when you write new beliefs (in present tense), your brain starts mirroring them.

especially if you do it in your own handwriting.

your brain’s like: “oh wait… we’re serious?? okay bet. rewiring now.”

6. Act like the version of you who has what you want

neuroplasticity loves behavior.

you don’t just think your way into new wiring, you act it.

so dress like her. walk like her. post like her. speak like her.

watch how the brain reconfigures itself into that version.

“act as if” is not delusion. it’s neuroscience.

also follow @emonthebrain on instagram she is a neuroscientist she makes reels on brain, neuroscience and how you can practically change your life by using neuroscience

[oleander-cup]

funny thing - if he had been more selfish maybe he would have her // wc: 4.7k // pairing: kageyama x fem reader // content: right person wrong time, angst, hurt no comfort, possibly unrequited love, too little too late, he says i love you too late, a part two is in the works hehe

 You were his first love, he thought he might’ve been yours too. That’s the funny thing with thoughts though, our minds have ways of tricking us into believing what we want to believe. No matter what the truth might really be.

“Tobio!” You wave excitedly when you see him and race over to meet him, you almost trip over your feet but catch yourself. 

“Don’t run that fast, you’ll trip and fall on your face like an idiot.” You roll your eyes at him and hit his arm lightly. 

“How charming,” you deadpanned. “We both know you would catch me.” You tease and start going on about something. He wants to be a good friend and say he was listening but all he can think about is your words. Can you catch someone when you’re already falling yourself? Would you catch him if you knew he was falling? His eyes scanned over your face, analyzing it. The way your lips form words, how they look shiny. Did you get a new lip gloss? Was it a flavored one?

He nodded his head along as you talked; he always paid attention to the details of things he cared about. You were near the top of that list. He cared about you more than he wanted to admit. Not everything needed to be spoken into words though, his hand would go over edges so you didn’t hit your head coming back up from grabbing something. How he would smile slightly at glitter pens because you always had one in your bag and it made him think of you. How he would get two drinks instead of one at the vending machine two times a week because you walked home with him on Wednesdays and Fridays. How he had extra chapstick in his bag because you would apply coat after coat when you were anxious about something and complain that you didn’t have any more. It didn’t take effort to fall in love with you, all it had taken was you. 

There were many ways he could show that he loved you, ways he wasn’t aware of. Ways he was made aware of when he did them and didn’t have anyone to do them for anymore. The hair ties in the small pouch on his bag were unused because you weren’t there to use them anymore. How he would still hang back after practice on Wednesdays and Fridays before realizing that you weren’t there to walk with him anymore. It was silly, he knows. But even though you had moved he still felt like you were with him everywhere, because everything reminded him of you. 

The text messages were far and few between now. He couldn’t help his excitement when his phone buzzed on the table and he hoped it was you. He also couldn’t hide his disappointment when it wasn’t you. He liked to rationalize that you were both just busy, which was true. That you had a habit of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ he did too. You just were never out of his mind.

He still has the photo of both of you at graduation on his bedside table. He remembers how he felt when you told him you got offered a job on the other side of the world. He remembers how the breeze had felt, it was a summer day. The crickets chirping, the leaves rustling. You looked as perfect as he always thought you did. He wanted to tell you right there that he was in love with you. That you were an idiot for not noticing sooner that he was hopelessly infatuated with you. But, you were quicker.

You pulled Kageyama off to the side after the small party the club had put on. The two of you outside, the sun setting in the background. The pages ending on this chapter of your life. You practically hummed with excitement. It was infectious and he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips to see you so happy. “I have something to tell you,” you had whispered it but the lilt of your voice made it clear that it wasn’t really that much of a secret.

“Me too,” he could already feel his hands getting clammy. His mouth suddenly felt drier than it had moments prior and he felt cold. Was this how it always felt when you were going to confess to the person you had been in love with for the last three years?

“Me first?” He nodded his head, he couldn’t put an end to your excitement. The words that came out of your mouth next though made him wish he had gone first. He felt the chill that raked over his body, how his heart felt like it had dropped. His chest tightened and his throat itched. His eyes filled with tears but he could excuse them for happy tears if he tried hard enough. “I got an offer to manage a team overseas. The pay is really good and,” your voice trailed off in his ears.

He couldn’t concentrate on anything else. You were leaving. He missed his chance to have you, you were going somewhere far away from him. Overseas. Not a five-minute walk down the road like you currently were, no more banging on your door to make sure you got up for school. Well, there wouldn’t be any more of that anyway, he reasoned. No more seeing you every day, no more walking home together twice a week. No more chapstick in his bag, no more hair ties that would find themselves around his wrist, but most importantly. No more you. 

“..io? Tobio?” You waved your hand in front of his face and it snapped him out of whatever daze he was in. You still looked so happy, your eyes practically shining. He always loved your eyes, saying what you couldn’t. 

He could feel the tears rolling down his cheek now, warm and wet. Making streaks on his cheek but he forced a smile to his face. “That’s great,” his voice cracked but you didn’t comment. It was really great for you. He was being a bad friend for not being happy for you. He was being selfish for crying over not having you anymore. Did he ever have you to begin with though?

“What did you want to tell me?” He shook his head and waved you off. 

“I’m going pro,” he made the excuse up on the spot. It wasn’t a lie that he was going pro. It just wasn’t what he really wanted to tell you. For all his selfishness though, he couldn’t tell you he loved you when you were going to leave. He couldn’t see how your face would drop, how you would fidget with your hands and put chapstick on. Tell him you could work something out. He didn’t want to hold you back. He would never hold you back, so because he loves you he was going to let you go. 

“Is there a reason you are standing by the door?” One of his teammates had asked one Wednesday afternoon. He nodded before shaking his head no. 

“No, sorry.” He didn’t have a reason to wait by the door anymore, you weren’t coming. You were somewhere else, probably asleep while he was here. Waiting for you. It was like that for the first month he had practice since you were gone. For a month like clockwork he would get two drinks from the vending machine and wait by the door of the gym every Wednesday and Friday, waiting for someone who wasn’t coming. He hadn’t realized at first just how much he was going to miss you.

Miss your voice, your smile, your teasing comments. How much he was going to miss being around you. There was one day he texted asking where you were because he was waiting. When you didn’t immediately respond he remembered that you weren’t there anymore. He sent a quick apology and shoved the device back into his pocket. He looked down at the two drinks in his hand and sighed. He needed to stop doing this. He needed to stop missing you so much.

There were days he would go through his photo gallery just so he could look at your face again. Remembering every detail. Wondering if you had changed much since he last saw you. There was a picture from the second week of school, you had forced him to take it.

“We have to commemorate the occasion! Come on! Smile!” He had begrudgingly smiled and leaned down a little bit to get into frame. You lifted your arm up and let out a small laugh at his face, he looked at you questioningly but you just shook your head. “Okay, 1..2..3!” Your finger pressing on the button and taking the photo. It hadn’t been a particularly memorable moment. Nothing special about the interaction except that it had been with you. Everything that had you in it was special to him. 

The shirt you got him for his birthday was still hanging up in his closet. You hadn’t been able to catch a flight home, he understood. You had called him at midnight (his time) to tell him happy birthday and then texted him again when it was midnight in your time. He had told you how silly it was but you had rebutted that you were just wishing him a happy birthday. 

“You already told me happy birthday idiot.” He huffed into the phone, you weren’t expecting him to call you but you can’t say it wasn’t a welcomed surprise.

“Yeah? And? I’m saying it again.”

“And I’m telling you that it’s stupid.”

“I told you happy birthday, what’s stupid about that.” It was clear to him now that you weren’t going to listen. Although, it should’ve been clear to him from the start that you wouldn’t listen. Once you had set your mind to something you were going to do it. Even if it meant staying up to all hours of the day just so your best friend could get birthday wishes twice over. 

You weren’t able to visit very often, mentioning how it would always hurt again when you left. That you would always miss home. Part of him wondered if you missed him. Everytime he sends you off at the airport all he can see is the first time he did it. 

He wonders if you ever think of your promises as often as he thinks of them.

“We should live together after high school,” it was mentioned offhandedly as the two of you walked home one Friday. He hummed in response but kept quiet for a moment. “It’d be much cheaper than trying to live on our own.”

“Like I would want to live with you,” he has teased. 

“Oh please.” You roll your eyes. “You love me.” You smiled back at him and it took everything in him at that moment not to tell you yes, I do love you thanks for finally noticing. He bit back the words.

“So, where are we living?”

“Tokyo, I do love the city.”

“Okay.” He complied easily and it wasn’t mentioned later when he sent you a link to an apartment in Tokyo for two. It wasn’t mentioned when you loved the message and sent him one back.

He passes by the complex sometimes on his morning runs. Someone else had understandably taken up living in that apartment. The apartment you had sent was still available though, like it was waiting for you to come back like he was. He stops every morning and looks at the windows. He can almost see with picture perfect clarity what living with you would’ve looked like. 

He can see the little cat sitting in the window, he can see the posters decorating every room. He can hear your laughter as you clean. Can see you dance while he cooks with you, can feel you put your hand on his shoulder to reach something. He can see the things that could’ve been, the things that should’ve been. He doesn’t have many regrets in life but he thinks this is one. He shouldn’t have let you go in that airport. Shouldn’t have stood there and watched you walk away from everything, from him.

He stands there everyday for fifteen minutes. And then, like clockwork after fifteen minutes he goes back to running and pretends like he hadn’t just imagined a whole life with you that had been at the tips of his fingers. The day someone moves into the apartment he stands there for twenty minutes. He watches the movers placing boxes down, watches as the young couple smiles and talks happily while hanging up posters. Watch as their cat jumps onto the window sill. Watch them live the life he wanted for himself. A life with you. 

 It had been an early flight because you wanted to sleep on the plane. You didn’t want to go alone so he had gotten up to go with you. He helped you with your bags, and had taken you to a cafe right by the airport to get some breakfast. 

“Thank you for doing this Tobio.” He nodded, not yet awake enough to have this conversation. Not trusting that he wouldn’t say something stupid. Something selfish. 

The two of you sat under the buzzing lights of the cafe, the store almost completely empty. They had just opened up and he was grateful because he’s not sure he would be able to have this moment if there were more people. If he could be as brave as he was being now. “Are you excited?” 

“And nervous. What if I’m not doing the right thing by leaving? What if I fall and can’t get back up?” 

“You’ll be fine.” He took a bite of his muffin, hoping to choke down the don’t go he could feel scratching its way up his throat. He watched with careful eyes as you pulled out chapstick and applied it. “If you fall I’ll be there to help you back up, don’t say such stupid things. I’ll always be here.” Maybe he could hope there was part of you that took his words for a deeper meaning. He would always be here, but you wouldn’t. He turned his head to look out the window at your table. The sun was just peeking its head over the horizon, just rising on this new chapter of your lives. A chapter without each other. 

“I’ll be here too…if you need me.” How was he supposed to tell you that he would always need you. That he needed you here with him, not off out there thousands of miles away. Because the fact was that you weren’t always going to be there. Be here. He couldn’t hold it against you. He could never. 

“We have to go,” he says abruptly and stands up from the table. You nod your head in silence and stand up, you wipe your hands on your pants and clear your throat. The two of you walk out of the cafe in silence, bags over shoulders and somberness taking over the moment. You going off was supposed to be exciting but how exciting could it be for him to lose someone he cared about so much. 

When you reached the airport he pulled you into a hug, he wasn’t the most affectionate person but today he would make an exception. He hugged you because what he really wanted to do was hold your face and kiss you. Beg you not to leave, to stay here. To stay with him. His heart yearned to keep you for himself. That maybe you didn’t want to go, maybe he could talk you out of it. If he could be selfish this one time that maybe he could be yours and you his. 

He liked to think that part of you wanted him to be selfish. That you wanted him to tell you not to leave, to ask you to stay. To say you were making a horrible decision. To tell you he would miss your walks home, your complaints about chapstick, that he would miss buying two drinks at the vending machine, that he would miss the way you said his name. How excited you always looked to see him. That he would miss you. But he wasn’t that selfish. He just hugged you close to him until you had to go, the two of you standing in silence of the surprisingly crowded airport. 

“Goodbye Tobio, take care of yourself.” Your voice hitched and he swears he could see tears in your eyes as you pulled away from his embrace. From him.

“Goodbye Y/N, I’ll take care of myself if you do too.” He hated how this moment should be happy, this moment where you were going to live your life. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy, he repeated to himself over and over and over as he watched your figure retreat from his view.  He’s not sure how long he stayed in that airport for, at least until the sun was high in the sky, all of a sudden. He had blinked and you were gone. He did however learn that he hates airports. And he wishes he could be more selfish. 

He went home that day and hid under his blankets. He pulled them over his head and he laid against the cold wall. The tears wouldn’t even fall from his eyes, they were stuck. He was stuck. He should be happy. He tries to remind himself. But how could he be? How could he possibly be happy when it felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. How could he be happy when he had to watch the person he loved walk away from him, away from everything that they said they were going to do. It was silly to promise to always be together, just like it was silly of him to imagine a life where you hadn’t left.

He would sometimes still find himself picturing it. If he had been selfish in that airport. What would have happened? Would you have smiled and told him he was an idiot for not telling you sooner? Would you have cried and told him that you were still leaving, that you had to leave. He likes to think you would stay. He could see it so clearly, like it was something that was in his grasp. That he could touch it. 

Everything would be the same only when you pulled away to tell him goodbye he wouldn’t tell you goodbye. He would hold you tighter and ask you to stay. To stay for him, to stay because he would miss you, to stay because he loved you, because he thinks about a life where you’re not there and he can’t see a happy one. He asks you to stay because you’re needed here, because he needs you. He reminds you of your promises, promises to stay with him. How you would smile and tell him he's silly, how you would kiss him.

Replies from you take weeks sometimes, he knows it’s not on purpose. That you’ll see messages and not have the energy to respond right away and then forget to respond all together. He keeps trying though. Keeps hoping that maybe if he keeps talking to you that it’ll be like you never left. 

He stops hoping when you don’t call at midnight to wish him happy birthday. When you only send him one text message at a random time telling him you got busy and you were so sorry you hadn’t had time to respond. You promise to do better when you find the time and tell him you hope he has a happy birthday. 

He’s not entirely sure why he fell in love. All he really knows is one day you stopped feeling like everyone else and started feeling like you were his whole world. You hadn’t even done anything particularly attractive by societal standards. One moment you were rambling about your favorite show and explaining the ending to him and the next his breath was getting caught in his throat. 

There wasn’t anything particularly special about the day, the weather was dull and unexciting. Filled with grey clouds but no rain. No sun, it hadn’t even been particularly windy or hot. He does remember feeling a chill but that didn’t have anything to do with the weather. One minute he was drinking yogurt and the next his eyes were widening and his cheeks were growing warm.

You had put your hand on his arm as you were getting to a big part of the plot. He looked down at your hand, how warm his sleeve now felt because of the touch. How cold his hands were becoming. Why did he feel so warm? Why did you look so pretty? Wait, what? Pretty? He had never thought about you like that before. Now that he was looking at you now though he had to agree. You were utterly sparkling. There never was anything quite like watching someone talk about something they loved.

“Oh, sorry. I was rambling.” You pull your hand away with a shy smile. He wanted to put it back where it was. Wanted to feel you again but he just shook his head.

“It’s okay, I liked it.” Your face lit up and he knew then and there that what he was feeling was love. He was in love with you. He would do anything to keep you smiling like that, keep you smiling at him. Maybe he should’ve told you at that moment. Maybe if he had, things would be much more different than how they currently were. 

You wouldn’t be on the other side of the world and he wouldn’t stop at an apartment to think about what he missed out on. 

He never did quite have the courage to tell you how he felt. There were plenty of messages he had typed. Many words dying at the tip of his tongue. Whenever you asked him what was wrong because he had gone quiet for too long he almost let the words tumble from his lips. The words fought at the back of his throat and tried to pry their way through tightened lips.

“Tobio?” You hummed on the other end of the phone. He had been quiet for a few minutes and you thought maybe he had fallen asleep. “Are you okay? Did you fall asleep?”

“I’m okay,” he said. What he had really wanted to say was. I miss you, when are you coming home? When are you coming back to me? I love you so much that I can’t think about anything but you. You’re always on my mind. I think about what would’ve happened in the airport if I had kissed you. Would you have let me kiss you? Please, let me kiss you. I need to hold you again. I miss you, I miss you so much. What he said instead was. “That apartment got rented.”

“The one by the train station?” You had remembered. The apartment by the train station with the pink walls from the previous tenants. The apartment with the window seat with a perfect place to put some plants in the window sill. The apartment you had pictured getting with him, where your cat would run around and pull at strings on your new couch. Where the cabinets would get squeaky from how many times you would open and close them because you forgot what you were looking for. The apartment that was fifteen minutes away from the gym where he would be going everyday to play with his team.

“Yeah, that one. Some couple bought it, they have a cat.” A couple that I pictured was us. That I pictured it was our cat sitting on the window sill. In our apartment.

“I hope they’re happy.” We could’ve been happy if I was braver. He just hums in agreement. “It’s late, I have to be there early. I paid to take some extra classes.” He wishes you would just come home. He wants to tell you everything, can feel the love bubbling up. Can feel it slowly creep its way past his lips.

“I,” he catches it before it goes too far and clears his throat. “I hope you enjoy them. Maybe you’ll gain some brain cells.” You laugh at the joke and if he closes his eyes it’s almost like you’re there again. 

“I’m not the one who needs brain cells, you are.” You let out another stifled laugh and he can feel a warm tear roll down his cheek. He wonders if you cry when you call him, if you miss him as much as he misses you. “Goodnight Tobio.”

“Goodnight.” I love you.

He doesn’t see you again until the Olympics. He’s sent you a few messages but both of you are busy in preparation. That doesn’t stop him from freezing when he sees you though. You look as beautiful as the day you left. His breath catches in his throat. Your hair is pulled into a ponytail, he briefly wonders if one of the other players carries extras for you like he did (does). When you turn your head and see him he almost falls to his knees. You’re smiling at him.

On slightly unsteady legs he makes his way over to you as you wave him over. “Tobio!” You call and he sincerely wishes he had been braver years ago. He’s missed this so much, missed you so much. 

“Y/N, how are you?” I miss you.

“Good. Got all my certifications now to be a trainer.” I grew apart from you. 

“That’s amazing.” Why couldn’t you have grown with me? Why couldn’t you have stayed?

“Hey, let’s catch up later, yeah? The team and I are a little jet lagged.” I have to leave again. I’m not here for you.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Just like the airport, he watches you walk away again. He doesn’t catch the glint of metal on your ring finger, nor the loving look you send one of the players. He just watches as you walk away from him again. If only he had been braver.

It’s after the second day that the two of you finally have time to see each other again. You find him in the cafeteria and sit down across from him. “Tobio! Let’s catch up?”

“Sure, what’s been going on lately?” Why haven’t you come home yet?

“Well, I got engaged.” You hold up your hand and show off the ring to him. He feels his world shatter again. He lets out a quiet laugh to himself. How could he have been so stupid as to think that you would come back for him. That was stupid of him. 

“Congrats.” Oh. That’s why you didn’t come home. He puts a hand over his mouth and another laugh slips past his lips.

“What’s so funny?” You ask and tilt your head and lean it on your palm for support. Are you laughing at me?

“I’m not laughing at you. Really. It’s just a funny situation.”

“Why?” Your voice is gentle.

“Because I really thought I was going to marry you. I would’ve if you had stuck around.” You feel your world shatter this time. 

“Is that what you were going to tell me the day I told you?” What could we have had?

“Yeah, I was going to tell you I loved you.” We could’ve had an apartment near the train station. Full of posters, a couch with strings coming off from our cat scratching at it. We could’ve had squeaky cabinets from your forgetfulness. We could’ve had dancing in the kitchen while we cook together and food fights because everything is a competition. We could’ve had matching rings on our fingers. We could’ve had us. 

“And the airport?” I’m sorry. We missed each other.

“I thought about kissing you. If you would’ve stayed if I had…Would you have let me kiss you?” How close was I to having everything I ever wanted?

“I think I would’ve.” All you needed to do was be a little selfish. 

a/n: slowly reposting the things i wrote on my other account that i still like lol.

gen (fill out this form) @tansypansydandy @phoenix-eclipses @h-llsp-wn

masterlist

[spitefulsatanfics]

𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝕭𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖘

"You ever heard of an old soul with a loud engine?" – Dean Winchester, Supernatural

📍 Pairing:

Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N (She/Her Reader) Fandom: Supernatural (Season 5–6 era)

🎼 Tone: Fluffy • Feel-Good Romance • Soulmate-Level Cuteness • Established Relationship • Hunter x Hunter Dynamic • Lovestruck!Dean • Domesticity Disguised as Apocalypse • Rainy Day Comfort Vibes • Slight Angst (Because Dean) • Slow Dancing and Oldies Vibes

📖 Synopsis: A busted jukebox, a howling storm, and a broken-in garage become a soft sanctuary from the world. Dean always knew he wasn’t much of a dancer — but he’ll let her lead, if it means holding her a little longer. And when Elvis croons through static and dust, well... even Dean Winchester can’t help falling in love.

🔞 Rating: 18+ Warnings: Cursing, Injury (minor), Intimacy (soft + steamy kissing), Shirtless Dean, Emotional Vulnerability, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

📺 Based On: Supernatural – Season 5–6 era (tagged as 17+ canon media)

🖋️ Written by: Little Devil ♥ Date Written & Published: June 2, 2025™

✦✦✦

⛈️ Scene I: Shelter from the Storm

The sky split in half. Lightning cracked bone-white through the Kansas night and thunder followed hard on its heels like God’s shotgun going off in warning.

Dean Winchester cursed and leaned harder on the gas, windshield wipers struggling to keep pace. Baby groaned under him, tires skimming waterlogged asphalt. She’d held through worse, but not much worse.

Y/N was in the passenger seat, blood dried on her forehead, lips pressed tight, hands folded in her lap like she was holding the pain back with sheer force of will. The salt-and-burn had gone sideways — a wrong turn, an old basement beam — and now her ankle was taped, her face bruised, and Dean was driving like hell had personally RSVP’d to this downpour.

“We’re gonna have to pull off,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “She’s hydroplaning.”

“I can walk.”

Dean shot her a glare like it was offensive she even said it. “With a busted ankle? Try me.”

A sign flickered through the sheets of rain: Bobby’s Auto – Service & Tires. It was barely more than a ghost town of rust and cinderblock, but the faded garage still stood. Dean whipped the wheel and Baby slid neatly into the overgrown gravel lot.

He killed the engine.

“We wait it out here.”

“Romantic,” Y/N teased, watching the rain flood over Baby’s windshield.

Dean huffed a breath and got out, water soaking through his flannel in seconds. She limped beside him, his arm tight around her waist as they shoved open the garage’s side door. It creaked like an old man’s knees but held.

Inside, the air was musty with grease and silence, walls lined with broken-down tires and rusting tools. Dust danced in the beam of Dean’s flashlight.

“Home sweet home,” he mumbled.

Y/N dropped onto a dusty couch against the wall, grunting softly as she adjusted her ankle. Dean was already digging around, his hunter’s instincts on edge even now. But this place was dead quiet — not haunted, not cursed. Just forgotten.

And maybe, just maybe, that made it the safest place they’d been in weeks.

° = ° = ° = °

📻 Scene II: Jukebox Heroes

“What’s that?” she asked as Dean crossed the garage again, squinting toward a hulking shadow in the corner.

He grinned. “That, sweetheart, is a 1960s Wurlitzer.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In English?”

“A jukebox. The kind that played real music, not Spotify garbage.”

He knelt beside it, dusting off the panel with his sleeve. The plastic cover was cracked and the lights flickered like dying fireflies. He popped it open with a hunter’s practiced hands — always prying, always fixing.

“You think it still works?”

Dean scoffed. “I once hotwired a banshee trap with a Walkman and duct tape. Watch me.”

She leaned back with a smirk and watched him tinker. There was something holy in the way he worked — the reverence he had for machines, the gentle curse under his breath, the joy in making old things breathe again.

Finally, with a wheeze and a pop, the jukebox lit up.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Y/N whispered.

Dean didn’t answer. He was staring, a little too proud, a little too boyish, as the first notes of “Fortunate Son” growled through the dust.

“I love this song,” he said, voice high with boyish delight.

He held out a hand.

She blinked. “Are you—?”

“C’mon,” he said. “We’re dry, the storm’s a bitch, and that couch has mice. Let’s dance.”

“I didn’t know you danced.”

“I don’t,” Dean said, smiling like he was already bracing for impact. “But I’ve seen you. And if I trip over my feet, you can just catch me.”

She laughed — really laughed — and took his hand.

He pulled her close, and it was awkward, and it was clumsy, and it was absolutely perfect.

They twirled through the dust and grease, her hand on his shoulder, his arm tight around her back. Dean muttered something about “stupid long legs” and she stepped on his boot, and they both laughed like the world wasn’t ending.

The music changed. The next song was softer — older.

And then…

“Wise men say… only fools rush in…”

Dean froze.

The lights flickered. The storm howled.

And in that crumbling garage, beneath a single swaying bulb, something shifted in the air. Thicker. Warmer.

Dean swallowed. Looked at her like she’d just stepped out of a dream.

“I know this one,” he said, voice soft. “Mom used to hum it.”

Y/N’s hand found his again. “Then dance with me. Slow this time.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll teach you.”

He nodded. Wordless. Willing.

Their bodies swayed gently, her chin on his chest, his cheek against her hair. He counted steps under his breath like a kid. She moved them anyway, gently guiding him through the rhythm.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” she whispered, smiling.

Dean looked down, cheeks pink. “But I’ve got a good partner.”

She looked up at him just in time to see his smile falter — just in time to feel him really look at her.

And then, with Elvis crooning on and on, Dean Winchester kissed her.

Not a hunter’s kiss — not rushed or bruising or stolen.

But soft.

Deliberate.

Like he meant it.

Like she was the only thing that had ever made sense.

And under flickering garage lights, with oil-stained floors and the scent of old engines, they kissed again.

And again.

Until her hands were in his hair.

Until his flannel was slipping off.

Until the rain drowned out everything but them.

° = ° = ° = °

🌙 Scene III: After the Storm

The jukebox was still humming when Y/N stirred, limbs tangled with Dean’s beneath a grease-stained blanket they’d found in the back of the Impala.

He was asleep beside her — mouth parted, lashes soft, arm slung across her middle like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Outside, the storm had passed. Only puddles and birds remained.

She turned slightly, careful not to wake him, and traced her fingers along the line of his jaw.

Dean stirred. “That tickles,” he mumbled.

“Good morning, grease monkey.”

He smirked without opening his eyes. “We doin’ that again? I promise I’ll only step on your feet five times this round.”

Y/N laughed and tucked herself under his arm. “You did good.”

Dean opened one eye. “Really?”

She nodded. “You’re not half bad when you let yourself be soft.”

That made him go quiet. Not broody, just… thoughtful.

“I don’t get to be soft a lot,” he said. “Not in this life.”

Y/N tilted her face up. “But with me?”

“With you,” he said, kissing her knuckles. “I can be whatever you need.”

The jukebox whirred one last time. Another song began to play — something crackly and familiar.

Dean sighed. “Alright. That one’s our song now.”

She grinned. “You remember it?”

He nudged her gently with his forehead. “’Course I do. Can’t help falling in love, right?”

“Right,” she whispered.

They didn’t dance again.

Not then.

They just laid there. Safe. For once.

And if the world wanted to burn down around them tomorrow?

Well… it’d have to wait.

° = ° = ° = °

🛠️ 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉 ™

[artbyblastweave]

after reading Peter Clines Ex-Heroes pentalogy I can confidentiality say that Danielle Harris is one of the coolest heroes ever, what do you think of her?

^This lady So what I like about Danielle Morris/Cerberus is that she's a take on the Iron Man archetype in the context of an otherwise deliberately incredibly low-budget superhero universe, a setting where, with the exception of one millionaire, the superhero population consists almost entirely of working-class people in kludged-together wetsuits and motorcycle leathers who only get away with their low-rent costumes by virtue of the fact that they do, in fact, have incredibly potent superpowers. This is a hard circle to square, aesthetically, if you also want to introduce a hero who uses power armor, because that shit's expensive.

The solution? Cerberus doesn't debut after the other half of the book's elevator pitch, the zombie apocalypse, is already well under way. The fact that there's only one set of the armor despite the extensive documentation that must exist is due to the fact that the armor is a prototype, slated for eventual mass production but hastily deployed as a show of force by a rapidly disintegrating military that's at the point of just throwing whatever they've got at the wall to see what sticks. The typically-inadvisable trope of the suit's chief engineer also being the field pilot is initially justified by the fact that she's the only person left who knows how to operate it; and then by her reluctance to train a second person on how to operate it because she comes to be psychologically dependent on the physical protection it provides her. Protection that's at least somewhat illusory, to boot, because if you take a shot for every time the suit very realistically suffers a power failure or mechanical failure at a crucial juncture, you're going to lose your liver. The collapse of the logistics network impedes the armor's ability to work at full capacity almost from the start; those bracers on her arms in the above illustrations are for .50 Caliber machine guns that ran quickly out of ammo after her first skirmish and had to be mothballed. The series is very clear that Cerberus wouldn't be viable in the long run if she weren't on a team with several other superhumans, including an electrokinetic and a technopath, who can help cover the suit's weak points. Ironic, given the implication that the original point of Cerberus was so the army would have an answer to those same people. Overall, the armor is paradoxically portrayed as both viable and nonviable.

One of the really interesting things about Ex-Heroes's worldbuilding is that superheroes numbered in the dozens before the apocalypse, but supervillains only start to emerge in any real numbers after the apocalypse, when the prospect of being able to start a fiefdom or a cult of personality without someone noticing and coming to kick your shit are significantly greater; before that, criminals with powers mostly kept what they were capable of on the down low because there was no sane reason to adopt the kind of comic-book classic presentation that would call a superhero down on their heads. Thus the quiet thesis of the series is that quite a bit of classic superheroic nonsense would be actively facilitated by the end of the world and the collapse of society; the incentives and the restrictions would change, but heroism would remain pointedly necessary. Cerberus is also part of this quiet thesis. The perpetual tension of Tony Stark is that we know him to exist in a world full of cultural, legal and logistical restrictions, against which the specific fantasy of being Iron Man would inevitably run aground. Cerberus, as a superheroic identity, never existed alongside any of that. It's way easier to be a knight errant or a lone ranger if that's the only version of those things left that anyone can be.

[eriace]

choke on your smoothie ; endo yamato

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which y/n teases endo yamato one too many times, and his silent jealousy turns into an accidental confession. ↷ endo yamato ; windbreaker

↳ an order of iced chai latte + hot chocolate from anonymous in the comeback cafe event !

IF YAMATO ROLLED his eyes any harder, they’d fly out of his head and hit the gym wall.

“You’re flirting again.”

Y/n blinked, halfway through laughing at a joke Taiga made (that, frankly, wasn’t even that funny). She turned toward Yamato, who was leaning against the vending machine with his arms crossed and his usual resting-scowl face set to maximum brooding.

“I’m talking,” she said pointedly. “There’s a difference.”

“You laughed like it was funny.”

“It was kind of funny.”

“It was not.”

Yamato cracked open a sports drink like it had personally offended him. Across the courtyard, Taiga gave Y/n a wink and wandered off, whistling. Yamato’s grip on the bottle tightened.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You sound mad.”

“This is my voice.”

“Your angry voice.”

He glared at her. She smiled sweetly, which somehow only made him more irritable. It wasn’t like he cared or anything. He just didn’t like how much Taiga smiled at her. Or how much she smiled back.

He didn’t care. Not at all.

She tilted her head, looking at him curiously.

“You okay? Need me to get you a new punching bag? Or maybe a therapist?”

“I don’t need therapy.”

“Everyone in Bofurin needs therapy.”

“Especially you,” he muttered.

Y/n gasped, placing a hand on her heart. “Rude!”

He turned away with a huff, slamming the vending machine shut. It gave a sad little beep in protest. Y/n followed after him, skipping a little to keep up.

“You know,” she said lightly, “if you keep acting like this, people might think you’re jealous.”

Yamato stopped walking. “…I’m not.”

“Sure.”

“I’m not!” He turned to her, ears slightly red. “Why would I be jealous of some guy who doesn’t even know how to block properly?”

“So you were watching.”

“I watch everything. I’m observant.”

“You were glaring at him like he keyed your bike.”

“I just don’t like his face.”

Y/n grinned. “Or maybe you just like mine?”

Dead silence.

Yamato froze like his brain just blue-screened.

“…What?”

Her eyes widened. “…Wait. Did I say that out loud?”

He blinked. “You like me?”

“Uh—NO—I MEAN—MAYBE—SHUT UP.” She tried to backpedal, but Yamato was staring at her like she’d just hit him in the head with a skateboard and he wasn’t sure whether to be mad or impressed.

And then—

“Good.”

“Huh?!”

He scratched his cheek, turning his gaze away. “…Because I like you too.”

Y/n stared. “Are you serious?”

“You said it first,” he muttered. “You can’t take it back now.”

She let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re such a child.”

“You like this child,” he shot back.

“Unfortunately,” she grumbled, though she was smiling way too hard for someone pretending to be annoyed.

They stood there on the sunlit sidewalk outside the school gates, trying not to grin, trying not to combust.

“You’re still jealous,” Y/n teased.

“Am not.”

“You literally growled when he offered me a smoothie.”

“He got you the wrong flavor.”

“It was strawberry.”

“I heard you say you like mango last week.”

She blinked. “…You remember my smoothie preference?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re so whipped.”

“Keep talking and I’ll block you on everything.”

“You’d miss me in five minutes.”

“…Two.”

And maybe Yamato didn’t say sweet things outright—but the way he offered to walk her home, the way he shoved his jacket at her when the wind picked up, and the way he bought two mango smoothies the next day and tossed one at her without a word?

Yeah. He didn’t have to say it.

She already knew.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[growth-opportunities]

can you do more more unwilling/forced growth🙏🙏

I can, but I don't think you're going to like it. See, I assume you wrote this because you wanted to read about someone being forced to grow. And, well, the first person I can think of in that scenario whose growth would be most unwanted would be you.

Struggling against the straps that hold your arms above your head does nothing but chafe and bruise your wrists. With a matching set of straps around your ankles, you're not leaving this table until your captor wants it. You have no idea who's brought you to this place, or even where "this place" is. There are no windows, no clocks, just a single fluorescent light overhead and a heavy metal door in the far corner. You nearly drove yourself hoarse screaming for help when you first woke up, but there was no response. Whether the walls were too think or there was simply no one else around you to hear your cries, it hardly matters. You're trapped now, helpless against the person who brought you here.

You don't even know who it is. They're fully adorned in surgical gear, gloves and gown and mask and hairnet, leaving you only their eyes and their forehead as a way to recognize them. You don't even know how high off the ground the slab is, so you have no way of knowing how tall their are, either. It might not even matter; they could be a complete stranger. There are moments, when you look into their eyes, that you think you might know them, but there's no way of knowing for sure. That might just be hope. No matter how much you yell at them, berate them, plead with them, their only response is a brief, pitiful look, and then back to tinkering with their equipment.

A loud, metallic click makes you jump and, as an electric whir fills the room, the machine slowly begins pumping out fluid. Your eyes follow it as it moves through the plastic hose to join the IV drip feeding into your left wrist. Preempting your inevitable protest, your captor places a gloved, surprisingly strong hand on your arm, pinning it in place as the liquid makes its way into your blood stream. Your heart begins to thunder in your chest, panic and adrenaline flooding your system. You want to fight, you want to flee, but you can do neither, just flexing your hand in a vain attempt to grab the plastic tubing.

At first, you think the fluttering in your chest is just from the fear, but it quickly morphs into a sort of pressure and, strangely enough, it doesn't seem to be coming from inside your chest, but on top of it. You pick your head up and look down. Your hospital gown shifts. Maybe its your breathing. You hold your breath, your heartbeat making your whole body tremble. The pressure only grows and, with it, your gown starts to bulge outward. You can feel the thin material dragging over your chest. It feels foreign. It feels sickening. It feels strangely good in a way that you're not ready to admit. You shift your torso, watching the bulge in your gown not just shake, but wobble.

Your head snaps up to your captor, demanding your release, begging to know what's happening to you, but they simply pat your head. You shut your eyes and tell yourself it's a fantasy, a dream, a nightmare. None of this is real. You're at home, in bed, where you're safe and you're definitely not growing a pair of enormous, gigantic-

RRIIIIIIPPP!

TITS!

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of your hospital gown shredding open. When they were just lumps under a paper-thin cover, you could lie to yourself, imagine they were something else. But now you can see them. You can see how they slope upward, soft and full, to a pair of swollen, throbbing nipples. The harsh overhead light creates small shadows in the tiny valleys of stretchmarks that lead outward from your chest. And now that you can see them, your mind has no choice but to finally feel the full weight of them, sitting heavy on your chest. Each deep, panicked breath causes them to rise and fall, to wobble and shift, still steadily growing bigger. You have no idea how big they might be; you've only ever seen tits like this from the front, from pictures and videos burned into your mind. You never thought you'd see them like this, let alone the idea that they'd be your own. An instinct you didn't know you had activates and you attempt to reach our to touch them, only to fail and remind yourself that you're still strapped in.

The first sounds out of your mouth are thin and try. As you swallow, all of the anger and fury in your voice from earlier is gone; only fear remains. "How... how big am I going to get?"

Their eyes narrow slightly and it takes you a moment to realize that their response, behind their surgical mask, is a simple, horrifying smile.

[fireside-fanfics]

So I have a little Joaquin Torres request :) Joaquin bumps into an old highschool classmate of his. They weren't friends but always got along pretty well. And both of them crushed on each other hard but never actually told the other. When they bump into each other after all those years, they immediately fall back into their old dynamic. Also do both of them realize that their feelings never really went away, even though they haven't seen each other in so many years

Thank you so much for this request! I absolute loved writing it!

Old Friends, New Wings

I. BEFORE WE KNEW: SENIOR YEAR Where it all quietly began.

Sage pressed her cheek to the cold surface of her locker door, pretending to be deep in thought. Maybe she was contemplating quantum physics or some big life decision about her future. Really, though, she was just waiting for him. 

Joaquin Torres always showed up at exactly 7:48AM like clockwork. Not 7:45. Not 7:50. Backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, curls still slightly damp from his morning shower, a steaming cup of vending machine hot chocolate in hand like it was his personal brand. Sage could’ve sworn that it was as if the hall parted for him upon his arrival every morning. He never looked rushed. Not like everyone else, frantically finishing homework or sprinting to first period. 

He moved through the crowded hallway like he had all the time in the world. He’d nod at the janitor, smile at teachers, and hold the door for someone carrying too many books. He was effortlessly polite, impossibly kind by nature, and maddeningly cute without even trying. And fuck, that was the worst part—because wasn’t the loud, in-your-face kind of cute either. 

No, he had the soft, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of charm. It was the crooked smile, the warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the quiet way he paid attention when people talked, like they actually mattered. It was infuriating how one boy could be so incredible that he took up this much space in her mind.

Sage would tell herself she was just observant. That she liked patterns. The only reason she knew his routine was because their lockers happened to be across the hall from each other and she had nothing better to do at 7:45 in the morning. Of course that was it. That’s what she told herself at least.

The truth was, this had become her favorite three minutes of the day. Three minutes of pretending not to look. Three minutes of catching the soft sound of his voice, the way he greeted people by name, the way he’d tap his fingers against his cup like he was drumming out a beat only he could hear. And maybe, just maybe, three minutes of hoping he’d look her way too.

“Hey, Sage,” his voice came just as expected, soft and smooth with a sleepy smile.

Sage turned, cool as ever. When she met his gaze, she swore his eyes made her melt. A small smile tugged at her lips as she tried to fight blush rising on her cheeks. She shut her locker before crossing the short distance across the hall to stand next to him. Sage leaned against the locker beside him.

“Morning, Quino,” she quipped. “Did you finally get that Chem lab done or are you gonna mooch off me again?”

He laughed as he rummaged in his locker. “Mooch is such a strong word. I prefer the term … cross-reference.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. It was always like this with them: light teasing, shared glances, and this unspoken tension neither of them dared to touch. Maybe it was timing. Or fear. Or that neither of them wanted to ruin a good thing. They weren’t best friends, but they shared a quiet camaraderie since middle school. By pure chance, they always paired up for science labs, shared side conversations during pep rallies, and slid in next to each other on bus rides for field trips. 

Somehow they always seemed to gravitate towards each other. Somehow they always found each other at weekend parties where they’d talk for hours while everyone else enjoyed the party. Somehow they’d stumble into each other at the same cafes. It was all coincidence, luck, chance. And every time Joaquin caught her looking at him just a little too long, she’d flash a grin and play it off. And every time she walked past him in the hallway, he’d turn his head, just in case she smiled first. 

Neither of them ever did anything about it. Then, graduation came and they were gone…

II. NOW: PRESENT DAY, WASHINGTON D.C. Everything and nothing has changed.

Recent weeks were extremely tough for Joaquin as he hopped from mission to mission with little time to recover. He had faced some intense moments in the field—high-stakes missions, rogue tech, even alien threats—but nothing had prepared him for the emotional gut punch of seeing her again. She was standing at the edge of a farmer’s market, sunglasses perched in her curls, holding a jar of local honey like it was the most important decision of the day. 

Joaquin was never one to believe in fate, but when he saw her he had to reconsider. There was no way this was random.

“Sage?” he said before he could stop himself.

She startled, shoulders jerking just slightly, the kind of reflex you couldn't control when someone said your name unexpectedly. It was barely noticeable to anyone else, but Joaquin caught it. Of course he did.

“No way. Joaquin Torres?!”

And just like that, he was seventeen again. A grin tugged at his face before he could stop it. She looked exactly the same and yet completely different—older, more confident, but still radiating that same gentle energy that used to drive him crazy in high school. The soft smile still knocked the air out of his lungs in a way nothing else ever had. The sharp wit and kind heart that he day dreamed about. The way she used to twirl her pen in calculus like she was trying to make it fly.

Before he could fully register what was happening, Sage launched herself into his arms, hugging him tight. The strength in her embrace caught him off guard. She’d clearly kept up with her training. He remembered being in awe of her back then—star rugby player, elite swimmer. She’d always been the strongest one in their class, stunning the Army recruiters with how many pull-ups she could crank out during their annual visit.

When she pulled back slightly, her arms still around his weight, Joaquin smiled brightly at her again. She still tilted her head when she was curious. Still smelled like coconut and vanilla. Still made him feel like he was the only person she wanted to talk to, even in a crowded market. Her eyes flicked over him—quick, subtle—but he noticed. It was the kind of glance that said more than words ever could.  Her gaze lingered just a second too long on his chest, his shoulders, the way his jaw had sharpened with age. 

Then, as if suddenly aware of just how close they still were, she blushed. That soft, telltale pink spread across her cheeks, and Joaquin swore it was the same blush he used to catch in the hallway after study hall. Slowly, her arms slipped from around his torso, but her hand didn’t go far. It lingered on his forearm, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of his sleeve before settling there. Sage gave it a small, familiar squeeze—steady, grounding, like muscle memory. And in that single touch, Joaquin felt twelve years melt away.

“It’s so good to see you, Quino,” Sage started, a quiet sigh of contentment leaving her lips. He blushed at the old nickname. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“Senior year,” he finished. “When you kicked ass at the rugby state championship a few days after graduation. 

A small smile formed on her lips as she reminisced. “That was one of the best days of my life… I remember you made a point to come congratulate me on the field.”

“Of all things you remember about that day,” he chucked, “you remember that?”

“Of course I do. It was you, dummy.”

Joaquin blushed again, nervous with the way she looked at him admiringly.

“Do you remember AP Lit with Mr. Rudd?”

“Oh god,” she groaned with a laugh, covering her face. “He used to call you ‘Captain Daydream’ and somehow still liked you best.”

“And he called you ‘Trouble’,” Joaquin chuckled, “but he still gave you the best grade in the class.”

They both laughed, and in that moment, everything felt easy again like no time had passed. Like they were still two almost-friends who sat just a little too close, exchanged too many smiles, and maybe thought about each other a little too much when no one else was looking. Sage had always been a contradiction that made perfect sense.

Her tomboy nature helped her fit right in with the guys, keeping up with every competition like she had something to prove. Yet her quiet, effortless femininity stunned every boy who looked too long, leaving them slack-jawed when they realized just how beautiful she really was. She got along with the girls too—her creativity and knack for crafting made her a go-to for pep rally posters and prom decorations, and her warm, calming aura drew people in like sunlight.

“So what are you doing here?” Sage tucked the honey jar under her arm and tilted her head. “Are you—back in town or…?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Actually stationed here for a while. The Air Force brought me back, and now I’m working with the government in a slightly different capacity.”

“Sounds mysterious,” she teased, elbowing him in the side playfully. “Are you a secret agent now?”

“Wouldn’t be a very good one if I told you, huh?” he grinned.

Sage laughed, then gave him a once-over. “You look good, Qunino. Older. Stronger. You’ve got—I don’t know—a presence now. It’s so good to see you.”

“You look good too,” Joaquin replied. He felt heat rise to his face and tried not to look like a giddy sixteen-year-old. “I mean, you always did but—yeah. Still do. Better, even.”

With a small grin, Sage whispered thank you. She invited him to continue walking in the farmer’s market with her, and he gladly accepted. The conversation flowed so naturally. He learned she’d bounced around a few cities before landing in D.C. for the job of a lifetime. She was doing good work at the Smithsonian—big stuff, the kind of projects she used to daydream about during their stolen locker chats between classes. Joaquin wasn’t surprised; he always knew she’d thrive.

It felt natural. It was like they’d just picked up where they left off, except now they were adults and had no excuse to hide behind teenage nerves. They were passing by the kettle corn stand—almost near the Tidal Basin—when it hit him.

“I used to have the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out.

“What?” Sage blinked, eyes wide behind her sunglasses. 

Joaquin chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it out loud.

 “I mean—yeah,” he muttered, glancing over at her with a sheepish smile. “Back in high school? You were untouchable. Cool, smart, always had that notebook full of doodles and plans of all the cool things you were going to create one day…”

She flushed and managed to whisper, “You noticed my sketches?”

“You used to sketch in your notebook during Chem lectures. I remember thinking you'd end up doing something big too. Like, designing space suits or sneakers for Beyoncé.”

“Of course I did.” He nudged her gently. Sage giggled when she lost her balance slightly and gripped his arm again to regain her balance. “I noticed everything about you.”

The air between them shifted, slower now, heavier. Sage stopped walking, hand lightly touching the railing overlooking the water. Joaquin stood closely next to her and reached out to hold the rail too. His fingers softly brushed hers and he hoped she didn’t pull away. She didn’t.

Sage turned toward him and nervously said, “I had the biggest crush on you.”

“You’re kidding,” Joaquin gasped, chest tightening. 

“I’m not. I used to walk past your locker early on purpose. Just to maybe catch your eye. Hoping you’d spare me a few minutes to talk before classes started for the day.”

“Are you serious? I thought I was being creepy because I timed my locker trips to run into you.”

Sage burst out laughing. They both stood there, stunned and smiling like idiots.

“I used to write your name in my notebook,” she said quietly. “Just little doodles. Hearts around our names… Dumb stuff like that.”

“I almost asked you to prom,” he admitted. “I was going to. I chickened out.”

“I waited. I thought you would. I wanted you to ask me…”

“I didn’t think I had a chance.”

Sage took a slow step forward, closing the space between them. Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “What about now?”

He met her gaze. “Now… I’m not letting you walk away again.”

And then he kissed her. It was soft at first—careful, warm. Like opening a book they’d both once loved but hadn’t read in years. Then it deepened, all those years of missed chances and quiet heartaches spilling over. When they finally pulled back, Joaquin rested his forehead against hers.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he murmured.

“Good,” she smiled, brushing her thumb along his jaw, “because I’m not letting you go this time.”

With a finger tucked in the belt loops on both her hips, Joaquin pulled her closely and kissed again. Sage melted into his torso and lost herself in the kiss. A soft whimper left her lips when Joaquin snaked a hand into her back pocket, squeezing lightly. She kissed him harder in response and lightly tugged his hair at the nape of his neck. They pulled apart again, both gasping for air. She wrapped both her arms around his torso and smiled up at him. Keeping one hand in her back pocket, Joaquin trailed his free hand down her arm and held one of her hands.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Joaquin asked after a moment. “Maybe try again—this time without teenage awkwardness?”

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” Sage grinned, squeezing his hand.

As they walked toward the coffee shop, shoulder to shoulder, Joaquin felt something settle in his chest—a kind of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for. The breeze was cool but not cold, the late afternoon sun casting soft gold across the pavement, and every now and then, their arms would brush in that quiet, familiar way that made his pulse skip.

III. WHAT COMES NEXT This time, we don’t let it go.

Three weeks later, Sage was curled up on Joaquin’s couch, sketchpad in her lap, while he worked on a broken Redwing drone on the floor.

“You’re still terrible at soldering,” she teased.

“Hey,” Joaquin groaned playfully, not looking up. “I’ve gotten slightly better.”

“You’re just lucky you’re cute,” She grinned, tossing a pillow at him. 

Joaquin laughed as he picked up the pillow and walked over to her. He plopped down next to the coach, stretching his legs across the chase ottoman. Sage shifted slightly so she was closer to him, thighs touching. Joaquin reached out, snaked an arm behind her back, and rested his hand on her hip. His fingers brushed under his Air Force t-shirt—the one that she had turned into her own oversized cropped t-shirt—and he rubbed shapes on her hip.

“You know what I think?” He glanced up at her, eyes shining. She hummed in response. “This—right here? You and me? It was worth the wait.”

“Yeah,” Sage whispered. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “It really was.”

Hooking one leg across his hips, Sage leaned fully into his side and closed the small distance between them. Her hand slid along his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt as she kissed him—slow, sure, like she’d been meaning to for years. Joaquin smiled into the kiss, warmth blooming across his chest as he pulled her closer. 

One hand squeezed her hip with a kind of certainty he didn’t even realize he’d been craving, while the other found the back of her head, fingers gently threading through her hair, holding her there—not to trap her, but like he was afraid to let her go too soon. Their mouths moved in sync, familiar in a way that caught them both off guard. She tasted faintly of citrus and something sweeter.

They didn’t say much, and they didn’t have to. The room was filled with soft, lazy kisses and the low hum of voices weaving together—murmurs about takeout or maybe cooking something simple, a vague plan to walk around the city Saturday or just stay in. Every touch lingered a little longer than necessary. Every breath felt like it carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said back then. 

And now, it was like their bodies were making up for all that time. Wrapped in each other, they weren’t just making out—they were catching up, reconnecting, and rewriting the ending that never got a proper start. When they finally broke apart, Sage rested her head against his chest and held one of his hands. 

“I know we lost a lot of years,” Sage said quietly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles, “but I don’t think those feelings ever really went away.”

“Me too,” Joaquin murmured in agreement, heart pounding. “My feelings for you keep getting stronger everyday…”

Sage looked up at him then, eyes a little glossy but steady, like she was really seeing him for the first time—and not the version from high school, not the memory she used to miss—but the man right in front of her. The one who’d waited, who’d wondered, who’d never stopped hoping.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I know what I want now. I want you, Quino. Forever.”

“Me too… I’m in this for the long-haul, Sage,” he whispered.

Joaquin kissed her again—gentle this time, like a promise. And when they pulled away, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek. Outside, the city buzzed like it always had, unchanged. But inside, everything was different. They weren’t lost teenagers anymore, circling the edge of something they didn’t know how to name. They were here—older, braver, still a little unsure, but together.

[54625]

some of my (mostly qFit) headcanons because I don't think I've made one of these posts before

i remember making a post about this aaaaaages ago, but in my mind 2b is a prison dimension . Everyone who lives there either committed some kind of terrible crime in another world and was sent there, or was born there via two "inmates". That's why everyone sucks there, and it's also why fit being able to escape via madagio's portal was a big deal . You're not supposed to be able to escape.

I believe that fit in his young adulthood was a journalist on another world who was fascinated by and trying to find information on this prison dimension, but ended up getting sent there as punishment for prying. This is why he became a historian while there, cause he was always trying to study the place anyway. It's also why he's nicer than the average person there.

Demons in this world are either born or created through immense sin. I like to think that because of that a large portion of the population of 2b are demons. Like a LOT . That's why fit was so normal about mouse openly being a demon when most other people were canonically weirded out by it. He's just used to seeing and being around them.

Warning for a darker subject here, but I do think that some people believing QFit was a virgin comes from an inherent mischaracterisation of that server. Yes it's very violent and hostile, but there are also very close knit alliances and established groups, and another big part of the culture is the general degeneracy. We already have a pretty reliable real world idea of what happens when a bunch of nonetheless homophobic men are put into the same inescapable area at once, and it's prisons. I believe that's another big reason why living there is so nasty. I won't go into any more detail than that.

↑fit is nonetheless still very repressed. It is faaar from encouraged to be openly gay there. There is a big difference between doing something because you "have to" and liking it

I believe that 2b, either intentionally or unintentionally, has an effect on its inhabitants' ageing. Essentially it makes them immortal but not invulnerable. If you shoot or stab them, sure, they'll die. But if left alone, they won't age past their prime or die of natural causes. qFit is the age he appears to be, early 30s, but in ten or so years if he was still alive it would begin to be noticeable that he hadn't got any older looking after that.

I also believe the eggs, because they are either partially or fully dragon, are the same way. Immortal but not invulnerable.

The immortality thing is part of why Phil and fit became such easy friends, they have that in common. The only difference between them - as I have touched on before - is that while phil was blessed by his wife to be immortal, fit was cursed.

Ramón is always wearing a hat for two reasons. The first reason, the one he would tell you, is that it protects his ears from the sounds of his machines. The second reason, the one he'd never admit to anyone, is that he has the exact same curly black hair that spreen had, and he hates that reminder of him.

Speaking of Spreen, I do believe Fit would silently forgive him after finding out his reason for never coming back was that he died.

Fit probably lost his arm during maybe the aureus city era, because if he hadn't had trusted basemates with him during that time he would definitely have died. One of his friends there would have made him his first prosthetic, and it would have been godawful.

I canonise ccfit saying his cubitos arm is a gauntlet and then pivoting to it being a prosthetic as qFit lying. He claimed it was just a gauntlet at first, in order to not reveal his weakness of a missing arm, but then became open about it actually being a prosthetic when he finally accepted that noone on quesadilla was going to use it against him.

Ramón definitely made a new much better arm for Fit after seeing how horrendous his previous one was

For the duration of QSMP pac always portrayed himself as self-conscious and unconfident, but I like to image that before prison he was more of a badass Cool Guy 😎. It was being in prison and losing his leg that truly and almost permanently crushed his spirit and self image. I imagine he consistently sees himself as weaker than others not just because he was unable to fight back against cellbit, but also because of the literal physical ability he lost when the leg was taken.

I never draw him as such because I can never decide on designs for them, but in my mind pac has quite a few tattoos. I imagine he had a full leg tattoo from knee to ankle on the leg that he lost, which he was devastated to realise was gone along with the leg. Cellbit probably targetted that leg on purpose because he thought it'd be funny.

Pac and mike smuggled a radio into the prison with the express purpose of listening to fit's broadcast. Years before he ever knew they'd one day share a bed, pac would fall asleep to the sound of fits voice.

Qpac is bisexual but only ever dated women before prison. It was only being stuck surrounded by a bunch of dudes that made him realise his attraction to them. The reason pac finds himself attracted to dangerous men specifically is because all of the men he first realised he could be attracted to were literal maximum security prisoners.

Conversely, the reason fit finds himself attracted to dangerous men specifically is because he doesn't realise there is any other type of man that exists.

You're gonna kill me for this one, but I do actually headcanon that qpac died at the end of qsmp. There's just no other ending for him that makes sense. He really didn't give us much. I'd think something better if there was a better option

However I 100% believe that Ramón is alive and does one day find a way to reunite with fit, way far off into the future. Probably when he's a fully fledged adult, having raised himself along with the other surviving eggs still on quesadilla.

Pac would have been terrible at cooking, having got way too used to having meals preprepared for him everyday in prison. Fit on the other hand, would be pretty good at it . He's had a decade of experience in having to drum up makeshift meals out of really unattractive, rudimentary and barely edible ingredients. That would translate extremely well to real, normal food. Pac would ask fit one time to make one of his "wasteland struggle meals" for the both of them and he'd be simultaneously impressed that fit managed to make it taste like... something, and also devastated to think that fit had to eat stuff like this every day. Fit would mention that it brought him back to the wasteland, and pac would spend the rest of the day hugging fit and saying he's so so sorry

Contrary to popular belief, I actually think during his time on 2b and when he first arrives on quesadilla, fit would not be particularly muscular. He would have a level of utility muscle, but without proper stable access to food or working out, he'd be on the smaller side. However the second he got access to real and consistent food and a calmer, quieter life on quesadilla, he'd start bulking up. That's the reason he built the gym.

Fit and pac both have PTSD, and sharing a bed is an absolute nightmare for them (no pun intended) as they both wake each other up in the middle of the night because of a night terror extremely frequently after they start dating. They tried sleeping apart again once, but both decided they'd rather be near each other despite the inconvenience.

Fit and pac probably don't cuddle very often when they sleep near each other, as they both value their space and like to feel like they could easily get up and run if they were threatened at night. They also only showed each other physical affection on occasion in canon. They prefer to just be side by side, close enough to hold hands, close enough to know that they're looking out for each other.

Fit probably isn't actually more down bad for pac that pac is for him, he is just more verbal about his love because he was a lot more repressed than pac ever was. Fit feels more of a need to exercise his newfound freedom.

Fit has poor hearing and poor eyesight, but is too stubborn to accept an aid for either of those things.

Pac is pretty badly claustrophobic, thanks to prison.

Ramón is probably autistic.

[ranchstoryblog]

Ranch Story's PC Review for Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma

Hello everyone! Welcome to Ranch Story’s review for the Steam release of Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma! Here we will go through the graphical settings, how the game runs on the devices I ran the game on (including the Steam Deck), My personal thoughts about the game, and finally a list of Steam features that are included for this release!

Graphical Settings

The graphical settings to the Steam release of Guardians of Azuma are extremely customizable, and I was very surprised to see the Super Resolution and Frame Generation options. I have not seen those options on previous pc versions of previous Rune Factory or Story of Season games!

 Specifically, the bottom half of the Graphical Settings menu are the settings that are changed depending on what Graphical preset you use.

High Preset

* This was captured with a machine using a NVIDIA GPU. AMD GPU users will have FSR instead of DLSS.

Medium Preset

Low Preset

While playing on the medium preset on the Steam Deck, I noticed some detail pop-in specifically with the LOD of 3D models. When I was testing on other devices, I noticed it was specifically happening with the Medium and Low presets.

I found out that it was the Mesh Quality setting and turning that from medium to high disables the pop-in if that bothers you, but that may cause performance issues depending on your hardware, but for me the performance decline was not too noticeable! I will go into more detail in a later section but this game is very optimized!

Devices

Desktop: CPU: AMD Ryzen 7-Series 3700X

GPU: NVIDIA GeForce RTX 3060

Memory: 16 GB

Operating System: Windows 10 Home

I decided that I wanted to see this game in the best possible way I could. So I used my main machine. I am very glad I did because I was amazed at everything shown! Everything impressed me; from the textures, 3D models, and even how smooth and snappy the animations were. These are amazing features in general, but it even furthered the gaming experience seeing it all come together at max graphics with no visibly noticeable slowdowns! 

Steam Deck:

Model: LED 512 GB

Operating System: SteamOS

I was very happy when I tried out Guardians of Azuma on my Steam Deck. I chose to keep the settings on the default Medium and the game is just as pretty as it was on my desktop. I had no issues with Proton running this game, and there was nothing special I had to do to get the game to run. One thing I did have some issues with was during some demanding cutscenes, the game’s framerate would drop noticeably lower, but it does not happen for all cutscenes, and honestly on a handheld computer I expect these things to happen, other than the demanding cutscenes, the frame rate stays around 50~60 fps.  Personally, I would not notice if I didn't have the fps overlay on while playing! Another thing I would like to say is that the battery while playing lasts 1:30~2:00 hours with the fps uncapped and/or capped at 60 fps, using the in game settings to cap at 30 fps or setting the frame limit to 40 fps using SteamOS’s performance settings. I ended up being very happy with how Steam Deck ran the game on medium plus the convenience of laying down while playing means that for the majority of my playthrough I ended up playing mostly on the Steam Deck.

Laptop:

CPU: AMD Ryzen 7-Series 3750

GPU: NVIDIA GeForce GTX 1650

Memory: 8 GB

Operating System: Windows 10

I went back and forth on trying Guardians of Azuma on my laptop, but ended up trying it out for a bit and was pleasantly surprised? The laptop is slightly below the minimum requirements with the “GeForce GTX 1650 SUPER” being the minimum requirement for GPU but it was such a small difference that I might as well try it out! I noticed boot up and post load would get really laggy and models would take a second to pop up, but once things loaded the game was mostly smooth at a 40-50 but sometimes when the character was still and nothing really going on at 60 FPS. The performance was almost the same when unplugged, which I couldn't really say the same for some games previously.

General Thoughts

Alright alright, enough with the technical for now!

I could go on and on about it for quite a bit of time, but there is so much more to the game than how it runs and it deserves to be spoken about too! It’s a spin-off from the mainline Rune Factory titles, and honestly as someone who grew up with only playing Frontier and Tides of Destiny before getting into the numbered titles, it feels faithful to its preceding spin-offs. I am so happy this is the case. Spin-offs are wonderful, and I really love it when they experiment with new concepts and try new things but in such a familiar way. Farming is a bit different and can even be a bit more hands off with the town management sim part of the game, but also its bare mechanics are very familiar where you do not have to learn a whole new system just to make sure your plants grow. Another thing I really love about Guardians of Azuma is the cast of characters.

To put it straight to the point, I love how human they are. (Even the non-humans) They all have things that they love and hate, things that they are scared of, and their own personal things they have to go through. And this all affects how the social interaction choices work too, you have to think “would they actually like this topic” or “is this a place they would enjoy visiting” and each interaction could be positive or negative, depending on the character.

And if I may get a little technical again to tie things off here, I really really love that no matter which device I ran this game off of, it worked. Of course there will be limits and you should probably pay attention to the minimum requirements, but the game itself runs rock solid and the settings allow you to tweak things if you would like things to be more easy to run on your hardware. I feel like it's very important that games are able to run natively on all sorts of hardware old and new, weak or powerful in the current era of very expensive hardware, and I am glad that Marvelous thought about this when developing the game.

Fun Steam Stuff

The Steam release of Rune Factory includes various classic Steam features like 

Cloud Saves

Controller Support

81 Achievements (Holy Moly 👀)

7 Badges

15 Trading Cards

Final Thoughts

Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma has been a very pleasant and fun adventure, and the Steam release has been such a great experience that I can recommend with all my heart. Even with all of the unique features, I feel like with this title Rune Factory is returning to its roots and everything feels like such a nice change of pace but yet so familiar. It was my pleasure to be able to make this review, and I am excited to see what the future holds.

[angelinthefire]

Jinx and "Paint the Town Blue"

Here are they lyrics for the verses of "Paint the Town Blue", as posted on Lyric Genius.

[Verse 1] Oh, you want a villain, lemme show you how I evil Oh, you think I'm difficult, I'll show you I'm a devil Sharpshooter lethal, top of food chain like an eagle Whack-a-mole you weasels, I'm a machine, diesel Gotta crush, gotta crush (Crush you all beneath me) You bitches are my pups (You're droolin' for a squeaky) I squash you like a bug, battle-fueled, greasy Dig my nails into your peach, dead and deceased like

[Chorus]

[Verse 2] I go rogue, thorns on a rose Switch my mind up like I want it, then I don't Heads explode, my little blue clones I blow this place up, now these ashes fall like snow I'm no good, I'm rotten to the core Simulate, play with me, please, I'm bored Trigger warning, yeah, blood and gore Jump for your life, there's lava on the floor I think this is kind of interesting, because the lyrics are written for Jinx, from Jinx's POV. But Jinx isn't in the opening of the episode at all.

The segment is firmly from the POV of Zaunites. We're seeing them being boxed in by enforcers, and harassed. We see the enforcers being generally awful, to the point of harassing children. We're immediately being placed on the same side as Zaun. So that when they start fighting back, it's satisfying, we're rooting for them.

And there's clearly discontent. But it's not until there's the first splash of colour that things start happening.

And then the first splashes of blue come in, as a symbol of the inspiration that the undercity finds in Jinx. And I really like this shot of the ragdoll. How it looks like Jinx with the blue braids. And it's not a real person, it's a represenation of one. Just like how Jinx herself isn't really part of this, she's just a figure.

We don't actually see Jinx through all of this. Just representations of her. She's at the centre of it, but she's not actually there.

And Caitlyn's vision is dominated by Jinx too. Wherever rebellion is happening, wherever there's blue, it's Jinx. We haven't actually seen Jinx be part of any of this yet. But that doesn't matter, it's all Caitlyn sees.

And then we end with Isha.

We see that Isha has literally been painting the town blue. The scribbles on the screen are in the style of Jinx, but they're Isha's.

And the mural is how she sees Jinx, and how the whole city sees her. And she's deeply invested in what Jinx means as a symbol.

The lyrics to the song are about Jinx, or from Jinx's perspective, but it's not the Jinx we're seeing at this point in the show at all. Nor in the episode before this. The Jinx of the song is fully confident, embracing who she is, feeling her power, and having fun with it. And that certainly is a side to Jinx. Like in s2e2 she has a definite confidence about her, and she's having fun with the Sevika and Smeech fight. But it's still only a side of her. She was still deeply depressed, and self-destructive in the previous episode. And in this episode she's feeling more positive about her life, but she's cutting herself off from the world in general.

The Jinx in the song, in the murals, who Caitlyn is obsessing over, who the Jinxers are modeling themselves after, she's not the full Jinx, she's just an image, a doll, a poster, a painting.

[nialovessatoru]

Love Me Not (part 2)

part 1 (isn’t particularly necessary to understand this one)

ChildhoodBff Satoru Gojo x gender neutral reader

word count: 1k

content: non-curse au!, friends to lovers, fluff, yearning, jealousy, gojo is in denial, no warnings

——————————

Satoru laughed teasingly and threw a fist up in the air as he managed to beat you at yet another game in the arcade.

“This is rigged.” You mumble with a pout to which he reaches out and ruffles your hair.

“Satoru!!” You push his hand away and he fails to see the blush coating your cheeks as he is already walking towards the next machine, a claw machine.

You deadpanned.

“You know, these are usually just a scam.”

He cheekily stuck out his tongue as he looked back at you.

“Nah, watch and learn from the pro.”

He was in fact, not a pro.

Or maybe it was rigged, as you suspected.

You’d left to go to the restroom and he was determined to win a particular plushie.

He played and spent penny after penny, until he finally got what he aimed for.

A ridiculously large Terriermon plushie that he definitely did not only try extra hard for because he saw you eyeing it earlier…

No, really, he personally preferred Veemon anyways.

Yes. That’s the only reason he wanted to gift you this plushie…

He turned to where you should be standing right now, because you must be back by now after how long he had to try, ocean blue eyes searching for you so he could proudly announce his victory to you -and see your eyes light up when he told you it was for you-.

“y/n, look what i— huh??”

The excited grin on his face faded in the blink of an eye as he noticed you were still a few machines away across the room.

And there was that guy.

He was standing just a little too close, leaning in to tell you something.

And you, you laughed.

It sent a dark shudder over his spine.

Your soft laugh should’ve been directed at him, handing you the plushie right now.

He didn’t realize he started walking towards you until he was able to hear what he said.

“Well, if you’re free next week, there’s this one place i know and they make amazing Sashimi—“

“Heyyy, here you are! I was starting to wonder where you are at— Oh! Look what i won from the claw machine.”

Satoru interrupted the guy and shoved the huge Terriermon into your arms, which you reflexively accepted and hugged, it smelled like his cologne.

You let out a confused and flustered, “Thank you…”

“Ah, it’s nothingggg. I told you i was a pro!”

He winks and you notice that the smug grin on his face isn’t really reaching his eyes. He then tilted his head at the other guy, while still only looking at you.

“Who’s that?”

The other guy, who had introduced himself to you as Ren a few minutes earlier, scratched his cheek and let out a nervous laugh.

“I’m Ren, i was just, um, asking y/n if they maybe wanted to go out with me sometime, but i- uh, i’ll just see you around at school.” He gave you a curt nod and fled before you could tell him it’s fine, or even say bye…

You look at Satoru with a confused pout, absentmindedly fiddling with the plushie in your arms.

“What was that all about?“

“What?”, he asks casually, as if he didn’t just scare your possible date away.

“That. You interrupted him and you didn’t even look at him—“

“—He asked you out.”

You blink.

“So?”

He runs a hand through his hair as if stressed, pointing out that

“You don’t even like Sashimi.”

You tilted your head at him, trying to make sense of his behavior as you noticed the way his pretty lips are pursed in dissatisfaction.

“Well no, but i mean, that doesn’t really matter, they probably serve something else there too—“

He sounded and looked distressed “—so you actually want to go out with him??”

You blinked again. Truly, what is with him?

“I don’t know, i guess not really but, more importantly, why does it bother you so much?”

He froze. Why did it bother him so much?

He supposed it was better to deflect until he could be certain of the cause.

“Because we’re here together…”

Your eyes widened as you percieved a faint blush coating the smooth skin of his cheeks and something that can only be described as him being flustered.

“Satoru, are you jealous?”

…

…was he actually?

“Wha- No, no, pfft. I don’t have a reason to be jealous… i think.”

The both of you decided to just let it go as it became more awkward by the second and silently agreed on playing another game before leaving.

You tried your best to push away all your theories about the strange way he acted, the same way you have for quite a while now.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up, too scared of disappointment. And far more scared you’d ruin your friendship.

But you couldn’t help think about the way he seemed almost shy while he walked you home, avoiding your eyes, not making any -cute- stupid jokes, nor did he try to rile you up.

You laid in your bed twisting and bending, trying to sleep and ignore those cruel thoughts. Until you grabbed Terri (the name you’d given the Terriermon plushie because you’re incredibly creative) and got a faint whiff of his cologne on it.

Alas, poor, tired, -maybe not so hopelessly in love- you fell asleep, comforted by his scent.

Unaware that he fell asleep late at night with his brows furrowed as he realized, maybe he might have been a little jealous.

He definitely was, very much so.

Even worse was the cause of this jealousy, because in admitting that he’d be jealous if you dated another guy, he undoubtedly had to admit that his feelings for you ran deeper than those of a platonic friendship.

[kaoriartss-blog]

Starburst

Chapter 12 – “A Day with No Schedule”

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Pairing: Poly Skz OT8 x Reader idol

Genre: Romance, angst, female Oc

Warning: Use of Oc, romance, angst, swearing, Idol x Idol, 18+ progressive, use of swear words, use of translator.

Series: Starbursts

Summary: The story centers on Lia, a newly debuted solo idol struggling to find her place in the K-pop industry. Despite her talent, she feels like she's missing something, a special connection that helps her shine. The members of Stray Kids, who are at the height of their careers, are drawn to Lia's unique energy when she's invited to collaborate with them on a new album. As they work together, the connection between Lia and the boys intensifies. With pressure from the media and fan expectations, they must find a balance between their careers and personal lives.

Comment: Hello, first of all I want to thank you all for the support that the work is receiving, I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. Second, I would like to clarify a few things: I started writing this story after reading many other stories on ao3 that for their proper reasons did not have an ending, so this is more of a very personal thing that I am willing to share with you. This brings me to the third point, my story is very, TOO, advanced compared to what I am currently writing, so if you don't like something or have suggestions, let me know and I could fix certain things in the next chapters that have not yet been published. And one last and fourth thing, to the person who told me that I cannot use the term "x reader" because I am using "a damn oc" please, keep your venom to yourself and if you don't like it, just don't read it, nobody forces you to. Thank you 💞

Updates on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. I also remind you that English is not my first language.

After weeks of rehearsals, recordings, creative meetings, and a teaser filmed outdoors, the house finally woke up without rush or alarms. It was a day off. No cameras, no staff, no timetables. Just the nine of them… and the gentle sound of the coffee machine bubbling in the kitchen.

08:39 AM. Kitchen.

Chan, wearing a gray hoodie and with messy hair, was pouring two cups of coffee when he heard barefoot steps behind him. Lia, in an oversized t-shirt and her hair in a high bun, came in rubbing her eyes.

“Is that… real coffee?” she mumbled, still half-asleep.

Chan smiled and offered her a cup.

“I wouldn’t cheat on our day off. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock.” She took a sip. “You?”

“I had a weird dream. Hyunjin was singing opera and Lino was crying because his ice cream melted.”

“That sounds 100% realistic,” she laughed.

09:10 AM. Living Room.

Felix and Seungmin had built a blanket fort between the couch and the coffee table. Jeongin watched them with a mix of fascination and horror while Lino ignored them completely, focused on watering the backyard plants.

“Do you really need that many pillows?” asked Jeongin, arms crossed.

“It’s art,” said Felix, seriously. “The art of rest.”

Lia dropped onto the couch next to Han, who was flipping through a poetry book.

“What are you reading?”

“One of those books that seem deep but you don’t understand anything. Makes me feel more interesting.”

11:27 AM. Kitchen.

Minho and Changbin were cooking together. Soft music played, both wearing aprons. Minho was chopping ingredients with precision while Changbin tasted the sauce and frowned.

“This needs more… something,” he said.

“Thanks, Gordon Ramsay. Add garlic and don’t distract me.”

“Why are you always so bossy in the kitchen?”

“Because you get distracted too easily. Like with Lia, for example,” Minho said, not even looking up.

Changbin glanced at him, blushing, and then pretended to be busy checking the noodles.

13:15 PM. Dining Room.

Everyone was eating together around the big living room table, laughing over some story Jeongin and Han told about a cockroach in the bathroom. Lia had a napkin on her head, crowned the “lunch queen” for making raisin rice as a side dish.

“Rimi-ya, can I have another serving of this?” Hyunjin asked with shining eyes.

“After saying it looked like grandma food?”

“Grandmas are the best chefs. I take it back.”

15:30 PM. Backyard.

The sun gently fell over the pool. Some were on lounge chairs, others dipping their feet in the water. Chan read quietly, Seungmin napped with a cap over his face, and Hyunjin took selfies with Lia.

“One more! This time with a duck face,” Hyunjin said, laughing.

“That trend died in 2014!”

“Then we’re vintage art. Shhh.”

17:45 PM. Music Room.

Lia walked in looking for her lyrics notebook but found Changbin playing the keyboard softly, humming a gentle melody. He looked up and gave a shy smile.

“Is that the new demo?”

“Just messing around.” He scooted over. “Want to try something?”

She sat beside him, her fingers gently pressing the keys. They improvised something simple, a chord progression with a couple of English lines. No effort. No pressure. Just music.

20:00 PM. Movie Night.

Everyone was gathered in front of the TV. Popcorn, blankets, and a democratic vote that ended with a Korean rom-com chosen by majority.

Lia snuggled between Felix and Seungmin, her feet resting on Han’s thighs. Jeongin had fallen asleep within the first ten minutes, and Minho was drawing mustaches on him with lipstick.

“I don’t know if this counts as rest or group therapy,” Chan said with a smile.

“Both,” Lia replied, happy.

01:03 AM. Living Room.

The house was quiet. The dim kitchen lights still flickered softly, and the echo of the romantic comedy lingered from the now-blank TV. Lia had gone to bed a while ago, exhausted from the day, leaving the boys scattered among cushions, couches, and rugs.

Chan was sitting on the floor, staring distractedly at a steaming cup of tea when he spoke in a low voice:

“We need to talk… all of us.”

All eyes turned to him. It wasn’t a commanding tone, but it carried seriousness. One by one, the members stopped what they were doing: Seungmin removed his headphones, Changbin put down his phone, Hyunjin sat cross-legged, Felix straightened up. Even Han and Jeongin, who had been playing with a silly app, looked up attentively.

“It’s about Lia,” Chan said, getting straight to the point.

A heavy silence fell. No one said anything, but no one looked away.

“I’m not going to judge anyone. In fact… I’d be stupid to. I care about her a lot, and I understand perfectly why you all feel this way,” he said with a soft smile. “But it’s not just intuition anymore. I see it. In the way you look at her, how you worry about her, how each of you reacts differently when she enters the room.”

Changbin looked down. Seungmin pressed his lips together. Hyunjin took a deep breath.

“There’s nothing wrong with having feelings for someone,” Chan continued. “But we’re eight people living together, working together… and in love with the same girl.”

“It’s not just a crush,” Han murmured.

“No,” said Hyunjin, arms crossed. “It’s not.”

Felix nodded slowly.

“I want her to be happy. And I want to be there if she lets me.”

“So what do we do? Compete?” Jeongin asked with a grimace. “Or ignore our feelings and pretend?”

“I don’t think Lia would like us fighting over her,” Seungmin said, looking at his cup. “In fact, I think that would make her feel guilty. And she shouldn’t carry that.”

Chan stood up slowly and looked at them one by one.

“I’m just proposing something. Something… crazy, maybe. But healthier than hiding feelings or creating tension between us. If everyone agrees, and if Lia agrees too, we could… share this affection.”

“How?” asked Changbin, frowning.

“No lies. No double games. If she feels like having romantic moments with one of us, or with several… let her. With freedom. With respect. And if at any moment she feels uncomfortable or wants to stop, we all accept her decision.”

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair.

“An emotional agreement?”

“A way to not break as a group or pressure her.” Chan paused. “This only works if there’s no toxic jealousy, no dirty games. If what we feel is real, then the deepest respect should come from that.”

Everyone stayed silent for a few seconds. And slowly, they nodded.

“It’s not conventional…” Felix said.

“But nothing in our life is,” Han added, smiling tiredly.

“Then it’s a deal.” Seungmin looked at them all. “But no one says anything until she’s ready. Or until we’re sure she is.”

Chan nodded, relieved.

“Good. We’re a family. Let’s not let this tear us apart. If she loves several of us, or just one, or none at all… we’ll accept it. But until then, we have the green light to be honest. With her and with each other.”

The tension gave way to a strange calm. It wasn’t a normal solution, but it was theirs. A silent pact sealed in the early morning.

And while Lia slept, unaware in her room, eight hearts aligned with a promise: to protect her world and the bond they shared, no matter what comes next.

[unsuperingyournatural]

standing still

Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

You’d never felt exhaustion like this before.

The kind that sinks deep into your bones and nestles in the soft spaces between your muscles. Hours of labor had stripped you bare, body and soul, and left you hollowed out and overflowing all at once. But when you looked down at the sleeping bundle in your arms, his tiny hand curled against your chest, none of it mattered.

He was here. He was real. And somehow, he was yours.

The room had quieted after the flurry of nurses and doctors, the beeping machines and hushed directives. Now it was just you, him, and Ben. The quiet hum of the hospital light above cast a soft glow across the room, painting the walls in muted gold. Outside the window, the city moved on like nothing had changed, but here inside, everything had.

You felt it before you heard him—the careful footsteps of a man who had never been particularly good at gentle, now trying his hardest. Ben crossed the room slowly, almost like he was afraid to wake the baby. Or maybe like he didn’t trust himself not to break the moment.

He stopped beside the bed, looking down at you with something new in his eyes. Not fear. Not pride. Not even that cocky spark he always carried like a badge. No, this was something softer. Something deeper. Something he wouldn't have let anyone else see, not in a million years.

You looked up at him and smiled. It was tired, but it was real.

"You wanna hold him?"

Ben nodded, a little too quickly. He eased himself down onto the edge of the bed with a carefulness that felt unnatural on someone like him. When you placed your son into his arms, Ben held him like the world might crack open if he breathed too loud.

His eyes never left the baby’s face.

"Holy shit," he whispered, voice low and gruff. "He looks like me. Lucky kid."

You let out a breathy laugh, head sinking back against the pillow. "How fortunate for him."

He gave you a sideways smirk, the kind that usually came right before a crude joke or a punchline that made everyone roll their eyes. But this time, he didn’t follow it up. He just stared down at the baby like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

"Look at him," he muttered, soft enough that it felt like reverence. "Ten fingers, ten toes, one hell of a grip. Kid tried to break my thumb earlier. He’s gonna be a tough one."

He ran a hand over the baby’s head, slow and clumsy but full of care. His other arm stayed rock steady beneath that tiny, swaddled body, like he’d instinctively turned into the kind of fortress no one would get past.

You watched them together, and something pulled tight in your chest. The man who could tear through steel like tissue paper was holding your baby like he was made of glass. His mouth parted when the baby yawned, just the faintest twitch of awe breaking through the war-hardened mask.

"I never thought I’d have this," he said. His voice was quiet, rough with something that might have been fear or awe or both. "Hell, I didn’t even think I deserved it. Didn’t think any version of me could end up here. With you. With him."

You swallowed hard, blinking against the emotion swelling behind your eyes. "You’re already better at this than you think."

He let out a rough chuckle, not quite bitter. "I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. All I ever learned was how to fight. How to kill. How to be what Vought needed. This? This is... different."

"Then start here," you said gently, touching his arm. "Start fresh. With him. With me."

Ben looked at you like you’d handed him a weapon he didn’t know how to use. Not because it was dangerous, but because it meant he had something to protect. Something he could lose.

"You made a person," he said, like he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. "You actually made a fucking person."

"We both did," you reminded him.

He looked at you then, really looked, and it hit him all over again. What your body had just been through. The pain. The blood. The kind of strength it took that not even a super serum could replicate.

"You’re unbelievable," he said, voice rough with emotion. "You went through all that for... for him. For us. Without V. You could’ve died."

"But I didn’t," you said simply. "I’m here. We’re here."

He leaned in and kissed your temple, warm and slow. "You’re not just beautiful. You’re... fuck. You’re something else. Like a damn goddess or something."

You rolled your eyes. "Pretty sure goddesses don’t have stitches in places they can’t sit on."

He huffed a laugh but didn’t let go of your gaze. "You look like the mother of my kid. That’s a whole new kind of beautiful."

He shifted the baby in his arms, just enough to give him more room. The little guy stirred, made a soft noise, and settled again. Ben stared down at him with a look you’d never seen before. A mix of fierce pride and bone-deep protectiveness.

"I’m gonna teach him everything," Ben said quietly, his voice taking on that steel edge again, the one he reserved for promises. "How to fight. How to survive. How to be better than I ever was. Nobody’s gonna lay a hand on him. Nobody."

You reached out and touched the baby’s cheek, marveling again at how real he was. How tiny. How impossibly new.

"He’s ours," you whispered.

Ben nodded slowly. "Yeah. He is. And he’s not gonna grow up in some lab. Not gonna be another pawn. He’s gonna be a real kid. A good man. Because we’re gonna make damn sure of it."

Ben looked back at you then, eyes lingering on your face with a kind of quiet awe. He leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you gently. There was no swagger in the kiss, no fire or bravado; only warmth, the quiet weight of gratitude, and something that felt achingly close to love.

For the first time in a long, long while, Soldier Boy wasn’t a weapon. He wasn’t a relic. He wasn’t the shadow of some past war or a tool of corporate greed. He was just Ben. A man with a second chance. A man holding his son.

And for once, the world felt like it could stay still.

[sparkmender]

I try pretty hard not to post about… the everything happening right now on this blog, because this is a blog for Transformers bullshit and being googly eyes about Rung, but.

It’s also my blog. And I am not just the ‘cries about Rung’ machine but a person with a lot of stuff going on outside of Transformers.

I am Jewish, which has never been a secret and bleeds into much of my writing and worldbuilding. I post about Jewish holidays occasionally. Judaism colors how my Rung speaks, how he acts. My family’s history with survival and the Holocaust and our Judaism are a major part of why I was so drawn to writing for Rung in the first place.

Things are getting scary. Really scary. In the past two weeks alone: Two people shot for being at a Jewish museum. Six people firebombed for being at a Jewish event in a public park. Paint thrown at prominent Jewish locations in France. I can’t pick up my phone without seeing something happening, someone threatened, people hurt.

We have armed security 24/7 at my job because our boss, also Jewish, has been receiving death threats and worse since 10/07. “What do you do for work, Samsa?” We make children’s toys. I spend most of my day designing stuffed animals or little action figures with goofy accessories.

I probably could have made this post shorter, or been more blunt with it. I honestly don’t even expect the people who should be reading this the most to get to this paragraph. But I’m tired, guys. It’s hard to keep my head on straight when I can’t find a moment to breathe. If you don’t want Jewish people around, just block me. If you need to ask me about my stance on I/P, just block me. If you for any reason do not want me interacting with you, block button. It comes free with your tumblr account.