#ches writes

[partyinthemysterymachine]

hello, everyone. this will be my first and only time i will be publicly addressing this. i am not answering questions about this, and for the first time ever, i am also disallowing anons.

first of all, i want to say that i've chosen to address this now out of my own volition. because i do not find it fair at all that i have felt that i could NOT address it at any point in order to maintain peace and harmony during, and in the wake of the event.

however, i feel that due to the nature of what happened, and the absolute damage that it has done to my mental health, that i must, in order to further my own recovery from it all, and as so no longer feel bullied into silence.

there will be no names mentioned. this is not a vaguepost. this is my formal statement for my own peace of mind and progressing on my path towards recovery.

if you know, you know; and if you don't, you don't.

so.

let's talk.

throughout this past year i have been the target of a smear campaign concerning GOOMT. it actually began late 2022, but escalated long into 2023.

what entailed was nothing short of bad faith reading and interpretation from someone whose skill in character analysis was something i'd admired. in fact, i had agreed many a time with how they'd interpreted characters and the world of Silent Hill. although my interaction with said person had historically been minimal, it had been civil, and i strived to be respectful of them.

i am unfortunately unsure of what caused this, or why it happened at all; and i do not think they know either. what i do know is that many upon many lies were told about what i write, and that it turned needlessly personal on many occasions. people were turned against me for one reason another, and i'm saddened to have seen this happen.

i stayed quiet during it all. i did what many people facing ruthless targeted harassment do, and pretended i didn't know in hopes of minimizing damage, and in hopes of responsible parties losing interest; but this did not happen. i was sent bad faith anons, i was subject to lies, and saw hypocrisy.

and i understood who they were and why they were here. they were looking for "gotcha's!" that didn't exist, digging for reasons to further vilify me.

worse, the bullying was praised. it was encouraged, and it was near-constant. a whole tag was created. the intent was to hurt and isolate me, and it did. it did hurt me, and it did make me feel isolated, and i withdrew quite a bit.

but i did not stop writing. it took longer for me to post, but i did not stop writing.

and moreover?

i REFUSE to stop writing.

i write a fanfic for a fandom i love. i am as how you see me and how i present myself. i'm enthusiastic and encouraging to others because that is genuinely how i feel. i LOVE to see others create. i LOVE to see the vast amount of interpretations, and silliness, and new OCs and pairings and OC/canon pairings, and i LOVE to see others thrive.

and i am in competition with exactly no one.

i did nothing wrong. i KNOW i did nothing wrong. i also know that those involved know that i did nothing wrong, and i did nothing to deserve the treatment i received, no matter how they try to justify it to themselves.

the behavior i faced, and how others reacted with encouragement and cheer is becoming too common and too normalized.

and it needs to stop.

i've been in therapy for the better part of my life. although i've been without a therapist since i've moved, i've finally found one to not only continue my lifelong recovery in other matters, but to help myself recover from what i faced this year.

i am extremely hurt. i know that this was the goal, and it has succeeded. if hearing this fills those involved with pride and glee, then something is wrong, because that should not elicit that reaction. i am extremely, deeply disappointed in those involved for this, and all the hypocrisy, and all the contradictions, and all the willful bad faith asks sent and posts made.

and i have done nothing wrong.

i do not hate anyone. i do not hate who started this, or even who engaged with them; and i never did.

it is okay if someone doesn't like what or how i write. in fact, i have made multiple posts about how i view my attitude towards my writing. one of the points i have made is that i encourage people who do not like what i write, to NOT read it.

there is a very old saying on fandom internet: Don't Like? Don't Read. now, this should be obvious, but the practice of hate-reading is an extremely unhealthy behavior that has, again, become unfortunately normalized in the recent handful of years.

unlearn hate-reading. you do not read to read anything you do not like. it, in many cases, can actually constitute as self-harm. and if you choose to do this, it is not the author's fault.

it is yours. and you need to take responsibility for your own actions.

there are people here who were needlessly cruel to me and who i feel do not feel a lick of remorse for what they've done. i hope some day that they can reflect with a clearer head and understand, and take some responsibility for their actions.

and i genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, with full raw sincerity, hope that they do get to heal; that they do learn and grow; that they UNlearn these toxic behaviors; are able to move away from people who exhibit them; find the courage and strength to stand up for themselves and/or others, to end the cycle; and that they understand that i do not hate them, and that i wish them full success in their future health and endeavors.

that said, i hope all involved will never forget the harm they have done. i hope they cringe. i hope it keeps them up at night, and i dearly hope they actually regret their actions, or at some point come to regret it.

i do not hate any one of them, and i won't. i never will.

and never will anyone involved ever be forgiven for it either.

most of all - and on a much lighter note - i want to say thank you to those who supported me during this time. your patience and reassurance has been a saving grace that words unfortunately cannot do justice. you are precious to me, and i love you all, and i hope that i can be just as strong and supportive to you in your times of need.

thank you too to all my readers, my followers, and my friends. i'm sorry to have been largely absent this past year, but this was the reason why. next year it will be better, not just for me, but for all of us. i promise. i love you all.

i also love me, my art, my writing as a whole, and myself. i am a tough cookie. i may have cried a lot, i may have gotten frustrated and angry, but i am human. i'm allowed to feel this way, and i will feel this way for a while as i heal, yet i refuse to be bitter; and i refuse to stop loving what i do.

because i love GOOMT. i love developing GOOMT, i love drawing for GOOMT, and i love writing GOOMT. i always will love GOOMT, no matter how many years more it takes for me to write it. so thank you to all who have read and enjoyed GOOMT, and have matched my enthusiasm for it and its future. i am so, SO blessed to have you here, and i am SO excited to spin my story.

and i am so, SO glad to be alive to be able to share my piece of this silly foggy world with you.

cheers, mates. i look forward to a new year, better health for me and all, and to what beautiful things we can create and share together.

i love you - and i promise that we will be okay.

for we are alive, and with wounds that WILL heal.

[getoutofmytown]

[youssefguedira]

i dont know when ill get around to writing the larger fic this is part of but you know brain worms have this

Nicky offers to pick him up at the airport like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t been almost ten years since they saw each other, because he knows Joe hates planes and won’t want to try and navigate the two trains and two buses it’ll take to actually reach their hometown after the flight. And Joe doesn’t even try to protest, just texts him Thank you before he gets on the plane and then tries not to think about it for the entire flight. He fails.

When he arrives he’s exhausted, because it never really gets easier no matter how many times he does it. Moves through the airport like a zombie, operating mostly on muscle memory. He hasn’t been here in a long time. Still knows it well enough to navigate without really thinking about it. 

His suitcase is one of the last to come through on the carousel, but it does come through, and then he’s walking to arrivals with his heart in his throat. 

Nicky’s hanging back from the crowd, hands in his pockets. His hair is a little longer now, and at some point in the last decade he’s gotten his ears pierced, which Joe didn’t know. He’s wearing a dark green sweater and blue jeans. When he catches sight of Joe he smiles, small and restrained, straightens slightly.

“Hey,” he says as Joe gets closer, voice soft.

Joe has to swallow. “Hey,” he says hoarsely.

And he doesn’t even need to say anything else, because Nicky pulls him into a hug before Joe even has to ask, and Joe buries his face in Nicky’s neck and tries to breathe around the sob catching in his throat. One of Nicky’s hands comes up to cup the back of Joe’s neck, his thumb moving back and forth gently, and Joe is fragile enough that that gesture alone almost undoes him. 

Nicky pulls back first. Smiles at Joe. “You look good,” he says.

Joe has to swallow before he trusts himself to speak. “You too.” 

They linger just a moment longer, Nicky’s hand still on the back of Joe’s neck. Ten years ago, Joe would’ve kissed him; now there’s a gap neither of them quite know how to fill.

Finally, Nicky steps back fully, and Joe feels the loss of contact sharply. “We should go,” Nicky says. Joe nods, and follows him out of the terminal.

The car Nicky heads for is the same battered old thing he’s been driving since he got his licence. Joe wonders to himself how the car is even still going, and the look Nicky gives him tells him he knows exactly what Joe’s thinking.

It does something funny to Joe’s heart. He looks away, and gets in the car. 

“I brought you something to eat,” Nicky says before he starts the car, reaching for the bag by Joe’s feet. 

“You didn’t have to–” Joe begins, but Nicky cuts him off with a knowing almost-smile. 

“You hate plane food,” Nicky says, “and it’s almost two, and the other option would be whatever we can find on the way. I thought you might prefer this to service station food.”

It makes Joe want to cry a little. “Nicky,” he says, and can’t manage anything else. 

Nicky seems to understand. He pulls out what he had been looking for - a silver thermos, and a fork - and hands it to Joe. The contents are still warm when Joe opens it: pasta, warm and comforting. 

“Good?” Nicky asks, watching him.

Joe nods. “Good.”

“Okay.” Nicky looks at him for a beat longer, then turns away and starts the car. 

There’s a moment of delay before the CD player starts up, but when it does, Joe knows it from the opening note: he bought Nicky this CD from a thrift store the summer before he left for university, when they’d taken off for two weeks, just them and the car and the road. And there’s no chance that Nicky’s kept it in his car for ten years, but as they leave the airport and turn onto the motorway it makes it feel like they’ve done this a thousand times before, even though Nicky never picked him up from the airport when he came home, only met him at the station once or twice.

Joe finishes the pasta and tucks the thermos back in the bag. “Thank you,” he says, and it comes out a lot quieter than he means it to. 

Nicky glances at him. “We’re still a few hours away, if you want to try and sleep. I will wake you when we’re almost there.”

Joe might protest under other circumstances, but the flight was long, and he doesn’t sleep well on planes anyway. So he takes off his scarf and folds it into a makeshift pillow before leaning back and closing his eyes. Nicky drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat, hums along with the tune, and Joe lets the sound of his voice and the tapping of the rain on the window wrap around him like a blanket, carrying him off to sleep.

----------

Joe wakes to Nicky shaking his shoulder gently. “We’ll be there soon,” he’s saying. The rain has stopped; the radio is on, now, chattering in the way in the background. They’ve left the motorway behind for a much narrower road. Joe has to blink a few times before he catches sight of a sign and realises what Nicky means. 

He sits up. The position he’d been sleeping in hadn’t been great for his back or his neck, and he’ll probably regret it soon, but he’d slept a lot better than he might’ve expected. 

Being back always makes the rest of his life feel like a dream, like he’d never left at all. When the sign for their town passes Joe sits up, panic coiling in his stomach. He’s had days to prepare himself and still isn’t ready.

“Wait,” he says when they turn a corner two streets away from Joe’s parents’ house, “Nicky. Wait.”

“What?” Nicky asks. He doesn’t stop, but he does slow down.

“I can’t– I can’t do this.”

Now Nicky does stop, pulling into a lay-by. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, I just. Not yet. I need time.”

Nicky looks at him for a long moment. “When are they expecting you?”

“I didn’t give an exact time. Just sometime this afternoon.” He’d told his sister Nicky was coming to get him over the phone; she hadn’t said anything, but the silence had been enough. 

Nicky doesn’t say anything, but he’s got the look on his face that means he’s thinking.

“I’ll be okay by myself,” Joe says then. “If you need to work.”

Nicky shakes his head. “I have today off.” And then, before Joe can really think about that, he turns the car around and heads back the way they came. This time, he recognises the path Nicky’s taking almost immediately, turning away from the area Joe’s parents live in and towards the outskirts of town, where it starts to become mostly farmland.

“I can park the car by my uncle’s house,” Nicky says, glancing at Joe. “Then we can go from there.”

Joe doesn’t need to ask where; they’ve walked the same route so many times he could probably do it in his sleep. 

The sheep are out in the fields by Nicky’s uncle’s house, but he doesn’t see any of the lambs yet, though they must be coming soon. Nicky’s uncle let Joe try and help with lambing once, up until the point where Joe saw what exactly that entailed, and immediately lost his nerve. But he’d still let him help Nicky feed them every year.

There’s a little paved yard outside the farmhouse, where Nicky parks the car before grabbing the bag that had been by Joe’s feet. “I’m going to drop these off,” Nicky says. “You can come in, if you want?”

Nicky’s aunt and uncle have always been kind to Joe, but they will inevitably ask about his father, and Joe cannot quite bring himself to talk about that, not yet. 

“I’ll wait,” Joe says. 

It’s a few minutes before Nicky reappears, this time without the bag, but carrying a different thermos. He smiles apologetically as he jogs over. “I didn’t mean to make you wait long,” Nicky says. “But you know how they are.”

All Joe can do is nod. Nicky sets off down the path towards the woods that border the farm and Joe falls into step beside him. They don’t talk much on the way there, but they don’t need to: the silence is comfortable enough.

It’ll be spring soon. It’s cold but not cold enough to be uncomfortable, and the snowdrops are in full bloom, bright shards of white in the grass. The rain has stopped, but the smell of it still hangs in the air. They must’ve spent hours walking this path, enough that Joe doesn’t really need to look to know exactly where Nicky’s going.

This part of the river is just secluded enough that he can’t hear cars passing by anymore. The bench by the path is still there, though at some point they’ve built a shelter over it, which probably leaks but has kept it dry even after the rain. Nicky makes for it immediately. 

If he looked at the back of the third slat from the left he’d find their names carved into the wood, side by side. Joe very deliberately doesn’t look. 

Nicky sits down. Nods to the space beside him. When Joe joins him, he holds out the thermos.

“Tea,” Nicky says. “If you want.”

How many times have they done exactly this, over the years? In summer, they’d wade into the river; in winter, Joe always wanted to try skating on it, but the ice was never quite thick enough. Every time Nicky got into a fight with his father, every time Joe couldn’t bear to be in the house one second longer, they’d come here. 

Joe gives into memory and rests his head on Nicky’s shoulder. Nicky brings one arm up to hold him close, hand on Joe’s upper arm.

Joe closes his eyes, listens to the birds, listens to Nicky’s breathing. 

Nicky says, “When is the funeral?”

“Thursday,” Joe says. He doesn’t want to think about this, doesn’t want to think about the last conversation he had with his father, doesn’t want to imagine walking into his parents’ house and finding him gone. Of all people, Nicky will understand. It’s what brought them together when they were younger: being the only two students in their class who spoke English as a second language, and difficult fathers.

Silence falls between them, and Nicky doesn’t let him go, and Joe’s missed him, more than he really knew. He’d tried to stay in touch, and they had, for the most part, but it’s not the same as having Nicky beside him again.

Joe doesn’t think there’s anyone in this world who knows him the way Nicky does.

He doesn’t know why he says it, but they haven’t talked about it, and it feels like something they should, if only so Joe can lay this all to rest. 

Joe opens his eyes. “You, uh. You seeing anyone?”

Nicky doesn’t pull away, but Joe feels the way he goes still, tense. Slowly, softly, he says, “I don’t think this is the right time, Joe.”

“Is there ever a right time?” Joe asks, half-joking. 

Nicky doesn’t laugh. 

Joe clears his throat. “I’m not. So.”

Nicky exhales slowly, like he’s steadying himself. His thumb moves back and forth, back and forth where it’s resting on Joe’s arm, catching on the fabric of his coat. “Me neither.”

Joe’s not sure if that’s better or worse than if Nicky had said he’d found someone. If he had, perhaps Joe could put to rest the little part of him that will always be in love with Nicky. Not get rid of it entirely, but fold it away in a little corner of his heart and leave it there. This, though – this is possibility he doesn’t know what to do with.

“How long are you here?” Nicky asks quietly, moving his hand up to run his fingers through Joe’s hair, like he used to whenever Joe needed something to keep him grounded.

“I got two weeks off work,” Joe says. “After that I don’t know.”

Two weeks feels monumentally long and yet vanishingly short at the same time. And after?

They don’t talk about much after that. Small talk, more than anything else: Nicky’s still living in the same apartment, still working the same job, but Joe knows he loves it from the tone of his voice when he talks about the shelves he built for his most recent client, how he’s starting to make more of his own stuff, how his boss has been talking about retiring and leaving the whole business to Nicky. Joe could listen to him talk about it for hours. Maybe he does. 

It settles the frantic thing that had woken in his chest when they crossed the town line, and eventually, Joe says, “I think I’m ready.”

Nicky turns his head inwards and kisses the top of Joe’s head. Lingers there for a moment. It isn’t anything; it doesn’t have to be anything. 

“Okay,” Nicky says. “Okay.”

The walk back to the farm is largely silent, just as the walk there had been, passing the thermos of tea back and forth between them. They get back in the car, and Nicky drives them back to Joe’s parents’ house. 

Nicky pulls up on the curb outside the house. “Call me, if you need anything. Or just– call me.”

“I will,” Joe promises. He has two weeks; he’s not going to waste them. They haven’t been in the same timezone in a long, long time.

Nicky smiles, small and hopeful, and there’s nothing really to say, after that. 

Joe gets out of the car, and prepares to face his family.

[doc-jim]

They gave me an extra sticker and I got inspired

[clacla82]

[kachawo]

Crack AU where Cangse and Wei Changze live to tell the tale to teenage Wei Ying and admits he wasn't a planned baby (but nevertheless very loved) and they were "distracted"

Cue Lqr one day yelling at him: You are the human embodiment of Chaos and Distraction!

Wei Ying: ...

Jc: Wei Wuxian.

Wwx: Is it

Jc: Wei WuXian.

Wwx: Is it a good time to tell him I was born because of distraction.

Lan Qiren coughed blood, Jiang Cheng developed a new type of migraine, no one heard the end of that joke from Wei Ying.

[calamity-aims]

11 with Thire and Fox?

It's a last resort. Fox doesn't want to do this, he'd rather have Hedge or Remedy or Hemlock - any of the Guard medics - take care of Thire, but there's just no time.

Thire's pulse is already thready, growing weaker. If Fox's armor wasn't red before, it certainly would be by now. He leaves bloody footsteps on every step leading up to the temple entrance.

There are two guards at the doors; they startle at his appearance, then rush forward as Fox staggers towards them. One speaks frantically into an internal comm as the other approaches Fox, hands outstretched for Thire.

Fox jerks back instinctively, tightening his grip on his youngest commander. He's here for their help, yes. But it's hard to trust, after every official request for help that Fox sends has been denied.

Hopefully the actual, physical presence of a dying person is enough to galvanize the Jedi into action.

The Guard steps back when Fox flinches, and opens the great doors. Fox is ushered through into a grand golden hallway, but the beauty of the architecture is lost on him. He just needs to know where the damn medbay is.

Rushing footsteps echo through the halls, and Fox turns to see General Windu barreling towards him, flanked by a small green Mirialan girl and a blueish Twi'lek.

"Commander Fox," General Windu says. Huh. Fox wasn't sure the General even knew his name. He signed all his rejected aid requests with CC-1010, as is protocol.

Surely the General can't ignore an in-person plea.

"You have to help him," Fox says, and then tacks on the final indignity: begging. "Please. I know you don't allocate resources - I know the Coruscant Guard should be self-sufficient, but. Please."

It's worth it. It's worth it to beg for Thire's life. Fox would go down on his knees and grovel if he wasn't bearing the full dead weight of Thire and his armor.

"Of course," General Windu says quizzically, and motions the other two forward. The Twi'lek lifts a hand; Thire is suddenly weightless in Fox's arms.

"We'll take it from here, Commander," she says with a sharp nod, and then Thire's body is drifting after her as she races down the corridor, snapping instructions to the girl. "Barriss, go prepare the surgical suite. We're going to need our reserves of clone blood and-"

They turn a corner. Thire disappears from view. Abruptly, Fox's exhaustion catches up to him and he crashes to the floor in a clatter of plastoid. He'd carried Thire here at a dead sprint; they'd been too far out for a Guard speeder to pick them up in time.

A gentle hand falls on his shoulder, and to Fox's shock, General Windu is kneeling next to him. "Master Che is our best healer," he says reassuringly. "Your man is in good hands."

Fox nods dumbly. It's all he can muster.

The General continues delicately, like Fox is something fragile. "Commander, I have to ask - what did you mean by 'we don't allocate resources?'"

"Is this some sort of trick question, sir?" It's got to be.

General Windu shakes his head, and Fox sighs inwardly. He knows better than to refuse to answer a superior's question, and he knew coming to the Jedi temple would hold some degree of awkwardness, but this-

It's almost cruel.

"Sir," Fox says tonelessly. "Every request the Guard has made for supplies or assistance has been rejected with the response that we, as military police stationed on Coruscant, are not subject to the supply chain of the GAR proper and thus only require the current number of supply shipments."

Which would have been fine, if the Guard had just been military police. Fox would have made it work. But over the course of the war their responsibilities had expanded to include guarding the Senate, accompanying Senators off-world, and taking over any case the Coruscant Security Force could even vaguely link to the war. Which they did, all the fucking time, because apparently clones were just there to do everybody else's job.

Eventually Fox had stopped sending the requests.

"Commander, I assure you, we would never-" the General breaks off, breathing harshly through his nose. Fox tenses. If Windu got angry, he could take it, but with Thire in such a precarious position-

"Commander Fox," Windu continues. His voice is carefully level. "I have not seen any such requests from the Guard."

No. No no no, this couldn't be happening. Fox wasn't a liar. He knew what he'd written, he knew what he'd seen, he-

He has to agree. For Thire.

Fox stares at Windu's left ear and says in a dead voice, "Of course, sir. My mistake."

"No," the general responded, that level voice cracking a bit. "No, Commander, I believe you. And I promise you, we will get to the bottom of this. And we will help your men."

Hesitantly, Fox meets the Jedi's eyes, reads the fierce intent there. It goes against his whole being to trust this man, after all the rejections and rationing, but -

They helped Thire, without even a question. Maybe they could help the rest of the Guard too. And Fox would never forgive himself if he turned down anything that could help his men.

"Yes, sir," he says finally, and Mace smiles.

(ok this one got away from me a little bit)

[thepersonalwords]

I would rather die standing up to live life on my knees.

Ernesto Che Guevara

[fanficistherapyandcanonismybitch]

People talk about how fun it is to write fanfic and see comments and blah blah blah and they’re right! But no one never talks about the like anticipation that comes with writing some like foreshadowing/metaphor stuff. Because all the comments on my latest chapter are like I love the funny vibes and I’m like “yeah that’s great. Glad you like it. Now how about my star metaphor/foreshadowing”😂

Like please? Get it? Obi-Wan is a star??? Please!

[softceleste]

The fact I honestly thought I'd pull off playing College Craze and being normal about it, and then less than a week later I've already played it multiple times, made a duel MC au, a Pinterest board, and recreated some of the PopMe pages, is genuinely not lost on me.

[partyinthemysterymachine]

i want to just take a moment and give a big, BIG long-overdue and belated THANK YOU to EVERYONE for your support on that Big, Serious Text-Post i had made earlier this year.

it truthfully means a lot, more than beyond the everlasting reaches of the WORLD to me how many of you had shown your support for me, either in comments, reaching out, or simply taking the time to read and like my post.

i cannot thank you all enough for your generosity and understanding, and all the incredible patience and love that you have shown to and for me within my years being active in the Silent Hill fandom and on tumblr, and for showing me such kindness and enthusiasm that i have always tried to match not only in just my daily life and blogging here, but for GOOMT as well.

your trust and support in me, and your support of my endeavors and in GOOMT is truly, TRULY remarkable and HIGHLY cherished, and incredibly HEALING in my time of need.

i am EXTREMELY also, and very happy to report that said healing is going well. i have found a good therapist that i can connect with on a fandom level, who understands the interconnected community very well and has a good standpoint from which to help me through the trauma i endured in relation to the event. time will heal more wounds and i don't imagine it won't come up to affect me again in the future, but at least then i will be better prepared, and with a solid, and professional support system to seek further assistance in.

but as for you, and as for EVERYONE who has ever shown me your support, and shown me kindness, and shown me faith and trust and given me (and GOOMT) so much of your time, even if it was just anyone might call fleeting -- THANK YOU.

thank you so much for all of your efforts, and all of your love. i love and support you all in all of your creative and lifelong endeavors too, and i hope that you are all doing well, and healing from whatever has been hurting you, and/or WILL be healing in due time.

thank you, and i hope to be around more often again, soon.

just.. thank you.

thank you SO much, and i LOVE you all. 🙏🙏💖🥚🥚🥚💖🙏💖🙏🙏🙏💖💖

[alliddewrites]

could you write any hcs you have for lifeline? she really deserves more content ♡ love your stuff btw.

General Romantic Ajay 'Lifeline' Che Headcanons

Masterlist

Ajay just wants to be taken care of and appreciated by you. She takes care of so many people all the time, when she's with you, she wants that to be different. She's not asking for much at all! Cook her some food, cuddle with her, take her out on dates, etc.

That doesn't mean she won't reciprocate those actions however. She'll take you to concerts and arrange at home dinner dates with candles and music.

She's one of the best people to go to if you need encouragement of any kind. She always knows what to say to help people!

Very protective over you. You better not do anything dangerous or she'll have your head! (She loves patching you up, she just doesn't like the reason she has to do it, and hates to see you hurt.)

She teaches you some basic medical/first-aid stuff, just in case she's not there to be able to help.

If you happen to know how to play an instrument, she would want you two to make music together. If not, she'll make a song dedicated to you by herself.

Women c:

[drabbles-mc]

Degrees of Separation: Chapter Index

Taza Romero x M!Reader

Summary: You transferred out of Yuma and into Santo Padre in a last-ditch attempt to outrun old ghosts and old problems. The small charter, located in an even smaller border-town, seemed like the perfect place to try and shake off everything that had happened to you so that you could start over. You were ready to live with your old secrets. But the deeper you get into the charter, the more you realize you may have simply traded in your old secrets for new ones, and this time you wouldn't be going down for them alone.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[mwebber]

WRESTLING IN DIRT PITS seb/mark, seb/jenson, seb/mark/jenson | E, 5k words

Mark has no idea what she’s ever talking about, what she’s ever thinking about in that little head of hers. Sometimes, he fantasizes about undoing her ponytail, and breaking her skull, and plucking all the pieces of flesh and bone off until he can see into her brain. Maybe they’d understand each other, then.

tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, always-a-girl!seb, japanese gp 2011, Double Penetration, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Denial of Feelings, sooooo many feelings i mean so many. it's a little ugly how many feelings there are, Additional Warnings In Author's Note

[kqluckity]

qcellbit è impiegato del mese e spero vivamente che non siano tirchi alla federazione e gli paghino tutti gli straordinari e la tredicesima quattordicesima quindicesima (lavora quasi quanto walter bob, se le merita un paio di mensilità in più), che è padre di famiglia e ha un marito casalingo (ha tre lavori in nero ma questo non diciamolo alla finanza, i tempi sono duri per tutti) e un figlio da mantenere, e gli alimenti all'ex marito (che è più ricco di lui ma qui nessuno dichiara nientebcome è giusto che sia), e la tari e la tasi e l'elettricità e L'IMU CHE IL CASTELLO È SECONDA CASA costano più di un rene ogni volta, poi se gli devono portare anche l'acqua perché è palese che suddetto castello è in zona di campagna e ci sono anche tutte le spese per i permessi, l'acquedotto, la fognatura e la manutenzione... no no pover'uomo, meglio se non lo lascia il posto fisso, che poi magari deve anche versare i contributi per la pensione...

[quotelr]

I would rather die standing up to live life on my knees.

Ernesto Che Guevara