#idk a thing about coding so this will be a slow process...

[weirdgrrlgerard]

hmm thinking about making a neocities site again maybe this upcoming week if i have time i can at least start it

[twistedsistas-stuff]

R&B Breakups

Sammie Moore x Reader Modern Au

Warnings :Makeup smex- uh angst cause it’s me. Reconciliation? (I’m bad at warnings yall please bear with me) messy stack

You’d heard Sammie’s name before — mostly ‘cause of his cousins, them wild-ass Moore twins and that baby record label they got. Folks said he was church-bred, sang in the choir ‘fore he dipped out with his cousins to chase the dream. That’s where that name came from. Preacher Boy. Fit a little too well, considering the way he sang like salvation and rapped like sin.

He had a voice, though. No doubt. Those old clips on his socials? Whew. He ain't sing like his cousins, and they damn sure ain’t rap like him. You remember thinkin’ it was wild — a PK talkin’ nasty on a track like that. But then again, he a Moore. So.

You was up first — body gliding across that stage like smoke on glass. That other dude was rappin’ next to you, but Sammie ain’t hear a word. He was watchin’ you. The way you moved. The way you smiled mid-note and locked eyes with him like, Yeah, I see you too. Left the stage with a little wave like it was just another Tuesday.

Headed to the back where the Moores were posted up like royalty in a hallway too tight for all that ego. And then one of the twins stepped dead in your path.

“Whoa there, pretty thing. Where you rushin’ off to?”

You blinked hard. Couldn’t tell which one it was — Stack or Smoke. Identical and your high ass wasn’t helpin’ either.

“Uhhh... Smo–Stack... which one are you?”

He laughed loud, hand hittin’ his chest like you told the funniest joke of the year. “This Stack, baby. The cute one.”

You smirked, eyes rollin’ like dice. “Well, Stack... I don’t think we got any business, do we?”

You tried to slide past but he eased in your way again.

“Nah, but I ain’t here for me.”

That made you pause. You tilted your head, brows up. “Tell Smoke the same thing.”

Stack gave you that look. That girl, come on now look.

“What do you want, Stack?” you asked, dead in his face.

His grin widened like he had a secret. “Sammie wanna talk to you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well, just like you found me, Sammie can too. Hmmm?”

You patted his cheek and kept walkin’, hips talkin’ louder than your mouth. But truth be told? You damn near sprinted to the dressing room. Checked your face, fixed your hair, heart doin’ a whole beat set in your chest.

Knock knock.

You froze, whispered “shit” to yourself, then pulled the door open.

There he was. Preacher Boy Moore.

Tall, golden-brown with them locs pulled back just enough to see that smooth-ass hairline. He had a guitar slung on his back, biceps flexin’ like he meant to remind you he could hold more than notes.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He chuckled low. “I said... you told me to come find you. So I did.”

Took a second to process that. Took longer to accept this man was real and talkin’ to you and not one of them thirsty lil girls he sang about.

“That’s ‘cause you sent a walkin’ STD to find me,” you said, turning back toward the couch.

Door shut behind him. He leaned on it like it was part of his act.

“My cousin clean,” he said, laughin’ through it. “Y’all just don’t like his lyrics.”

You smirked. “I don’t like that he got lyrics about every woman in three zip codes.”

He stepped closer. “I ain’t like them dudes, you know.”

You tilted your chin. “Coulda fooled me.”

Didn’t say nothin’ else — just stared like he was seein’ through your whole outfit. That made you shift in your seat.

“What, Preacher Boy?”

He grinned. “Come watch me perform, baby.”

“Boy, I ain’t your baby.”

“You could be.” He stepped in, hand hittin’ your waist real gentle. “I’d treat you reaaaall good... if you let me.”

His fingers rose to your chin, all slow and tender like he was tryna ease you into a spell.

You was already caught. He knew it. He planned it.

“Come on,” he said, slidin’ his fingers through yours.

You wasn’t gonna go, at first.

Was gon’ head home, roll up, forget the way he smelled. That clean-sweat cologne and old incense aura. The way his voice dipped when he called you baby like he meant it. But by the time you hit the sidewalk, you was already textin’ your homegirl like:

"bitch... I think I just met my husband lol"

She texted back:

"U BETTA GET HIS FINE CHOIR-BOY LOOKIN ASS PREGNANT THEN 💅🏾"

Fifteen minutes later, you was back inside, leanin’ in a booth near the stage, and Sammie was up there talkin’ ‘bout, “This next one’s for somebody real special.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly popped out.

Stack caught you doin’ it and laughed from across the room.

But when Sammie sang?

Shit.

You ain’t roll nothin’ after that. Just sat there quiet, chin in your hand like a teenager with a crush, watchin’ his mouth shape every damn word like it was yours to memorize.

He didn’t look at nobody else. Not once. Not the girls screamin’ his name. Not the aunties blowin’ kisses from the back. Just you. Like the whole room fell away.

That night, he ain’t ask for your number.

He gave you his. Told you to hit him when you was ready for the real thing.

You waited three days. On purpose. Then you hit him up with just a 👀 emoji.

His response?

“Bout damn time.”

When y’all linked up it wasn’t even supposed to happen.

You was on FaceTime. Choppin’ it up ‘bout old music, ghosts, exes, the church. He was on the road — some baby tour in Little Rock or Baton Rouge. You was laid across your bed in a tank top, bonnet half-on, half-slid to the side.

He was shirtless. Gold chain catchin’ the motel lamplight, locs loose around his shoulders. He started talkin’ low, voice scratchy, like he been smokin’ or singin’ all day.

“Whatchu wearin’?” he asked, already smirkin’.

You looked dead at the screen. “Boy, you see what I got on.”

“Yeah, but what’s under it?”

You tilted your phone just enough to give him somethin’.

Not everything. Just enough.

His eyes dropped. Lips parted like he was gon’ pray. Or sin. Maybe both.

“Come here,” he said.

You laughed. “I’m three states away.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

That man sent a Lyft, a Cash App, and his hotel room number within five minutes.

And you? Packed a weekend bag like your name wasn’t nowhere on that lease.

Yall got close REALLL close so after that night you thought maybe — just maybe — this could be it.

Sammie walked different after y’all hooked up. Spoke softer, texted quicker. You weren’t somebody he was entertaining. You were it. Least, that’s how it felt when he pulled you into his arms at baggage claim, when he posted you with no caption like he ain’t have to explain shit to nobody.

And you ain’t press him about the DMs. About the whispers, the girls with they side eyes and slick tweets. You let it go. 'Cause he looked at you like you mattered. 'Cause you wanted to believe he was different from his cousins.

Different from the Moore boys who treated love like a punchline in a verse.

Stack noticed it first.

“Damn,” he said, grinning, twisted blunt between his fingers. “You really cuffed, huh?”

Sammie just smirked, focused on tunin’ his guitar.

Stack laughed again. “You ain’t been out with us since Houston. You in love or somethin’?”

“I’m chillin’, bro.”

“You actin’ like you scared to slip up.”

“I don’t wanna slip up.”

Stack rolled his eyes. “You actin’ like we back in church.”

That got Sammie’s attention. He looked up. Eyes darker.

“I ain’t no saint,” he said, “but I ain’t stupid either. I know what I got.”

Stack shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Cool. Just don’t let her turn you soft. Bitches love soft n***as... until they don’t.”

Sammie ain’t respond. Just shook his head, focused back on his strings.

But the words stuck. That’s how Stack worked. He ain’t push hard — just enough to leave a crack.

You flew home two days later. Left him with that kiss that lingered, that “I love you” whispered half-sleep into his chest.

You went back to your place. Lit your sage. Put on some Erykah. Started back recording, hummin’ little verses into your phone like maybe this time, love was gon’ be the one to hold you.

He texted. He FaceTimed. Called you “mama” in that lazy, slow drawl that made your knees twitch. Sent you pics from soundcheck. Some nights he was too tired to talk, but he’d still text, "I miss you next to me.”

And for a moment, you felt safe.

Until Saturday.

You were laid up on your couch, bonnet on, roller on the floor, your comfort playlist goin’ when your phone buzzed so hard it slid off the armrest.

Dozens of notifications. Your homegirl texted:

“bitch get off the internet now 💔”

Then:

“I’m so sorry I ain’t wanna be the one”

Your stomach dropped. Cold spread slow.

You opened Instagram.

Right there. Big, bold letters:

@theshaderoom
“Preacher Boy or Player? 👀 Sammie Moore seen in ATL last night gettin’ real cozy with someone who def ain’t his ‘main thang’ 👇🏾”

You clicked.

There he was.

In the club.

Sweat glistening on his neck. Lips at some girl’s ear. Hands on her hips. Rockin’ with her from behind like he was keepin’ rhythm with her heartbeat.

Her dress was red. Her smile smug.

You paused the video. Just stared.

Your whole body went still.

You ain’t call him. Not at first.

You waited. An hour. Then two. Then six.

He finally texted at 3:12 AM:

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

No explanation. No lie. No voice memo. Just those two damn words. Like sorry could wipe the image of his hands off another woman’s waist.

Like sorry could shut your DMs up, stop your mama from texting asking if “everything okay between y’all.”

You typed a long message. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that one too.

Finally you wrote:

“Don’t worry about it.”

And turned your phone over.

Two weeks passed. Fourteen whole days of silence — but not peace. Not when every app still knew his name. Not when every scroll felt like salt.

Sammie had been calling. Texting. Emailing even. Sent voice notes through people you ain’t even follow no more. You blocked him on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok. You turned off read receipts. You turned off your feelings.

You ain’t owe him a response, and he knew that. But he kept trying anyway. Then it happened again.

Not from TheShadeRoom this time. Nah — one of them side accounts. ShaderoomTeens. Petty, messy, loud as hell.

Your homegirl tagged you before you even saw the post.

@shaderoomteens
Artist Sammie Moore spotted with mystery woman in new video 👀

Being a PK, gotta know that he sinning right now, right? Right? He’s known to be in a relationship, even have a few cute collabs. #DoBetter #CheatingRoomies #WhatSheGonDo

You just stared.

No way this was happening to you. Not again.

Hand trembling, you tapped the comments. Shouldn’t have. But you did.

They tore you up.

“What she expect messin’ with a Moore lol
“His whole bloodline allergic to loyalty”
“Girl just sing and move on 🙄”
“He was too fine to keep anyway, sorry not sorry”

Some took pity. Said they felt for you. That made you angrier.

You weren’t a damn victim. You knew who you were dealing with. But you let your guard down. Let him kiss away the doubt. Let him hold your face and promise he wasn’t like them. Swipe.

Next slide?

A still from your first video together. You and Sammie, forehead to forehead, laughing between takes. He had you by the waist. You looked so happy.

Your chest cracked open.

Not a little.

Not manageable.

That deep, whole-body kind. The kind that live in your bones. The kind your mama warned you about when she said “don’t love no man more than you love your damn self.”

Your phone rang. Him.

That same picture flashing up as his contact photo — it made you sick now. You declined.

Then it was Stack. Then Smoke.

Like clockwork. Every hour. Every day.

You ignored them all.

You weren’t bitter. You were hurt. That was the thing. You weren’t even mad at first. You were just gutted. And when that hurt started to rot in your chest, it grew teeth. Turned to something mean.

You wanted him to hurt, too. Just like you did.

That’s when your group chat rang. FaceTime. The real ones.

You stared at the green button. Then pressed it.

Your face hit the screen.

Blank. Skin dull. Eye bags deep and designer.

“Hey girl... we just checkin’ on you, how are you?”

“Yeah, that nigga ain’t shit.”

“What you wanna do?”

They all talked at once, like they’d been waiting to catch you before you fell too far.

You swallowed. Voice small.

“I’m still hurt, y’all... I really wanna beat his ass but I can’t bring myself to fight over a man.”

“You better than me,” one said.

“HELLO?!” another yelled. “Ass woulda been BEAT.”

You cracked a smile. Then a laugh. Shook your head slow.

“I know, y’all. I know.” You looked down, then up.

“Right now... I just wanna be distracted. Not by a nigga. Just wanna have fun.”

They waited. Let you say it.

You leaned closer.

“Shots and studio time?” Head tilting.

“OH BITCH YESS.”

“We makin’ a diss. Yep. Let’s gooo!”

You laughed loud — loud enough to rattle the stillness in your chest.

This was why you answered. They knew how to scoop you off the floor without making it feel like rescue.

“Aight. I’m finna get cute and get ready. Y’all do the same. I’ll send the address.”

You hung up. Headed for the shower.

Steam filled the room slow, thick as your thoughts. You stood under the water long. Let it drip from your lashes. Let it drown the ache.

Music. That was your safe place. Your weapon. Your church.

You thought about him — not just the man but the moment. What he could’ve been thinking. What made him fold.

Was it the club? The women? The spotlight? Or was it just him?

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t naïve. You knew what came with fame. With fine niggas raised in families that never taught 'em how to love without hurting somebody first.

You dried off. Got dressed.

Sat at your vanity. Lip gloss, lashes, liner. Your armor.

Just as you were about to press play on your playlist—

Your phone lit up again.

No Caller ID.

It swirled around your screen like a warning.

Your breath caught. What if someone leaked your number? People were crazy these days. You froze for a beat. Then exhaled.

You answered.

You put the phone to your ear. Didn’t say nothin’ at first.

But then—his voice.

“…Hey.”

Quiet. Raspy. Like it hadn’t been used right in days. Like he ain’t slept either.

You closed your eyes. That tone—it didn’t make you feel bad for him. But it did make your chest tighten. ‘Cause no matter how mad you was, it still hurt to hear him sound like that.

You didn’t say nothin’, just waited.

“I ain’t even gon’ lie to you… I fucked up,” he breathed. “I know what it look like, I do. I just…”

His voice cracked just a little.

“I was drunk. Stack was hypin’ me up, talkin’ ‘bout ‘one dance ain’t gon’ kill nothin.’ Then Smoke started pushin it too, sayin’ I needed to ‘remind the crowd who I was’ or some dumb shit…”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. Your stomach churned. “So you did all that... for them?”

He went quiet.

You leaned forward in your chair, voice cold and clipped. “You mean to tell me you disrespected me—embarrassed me—for some damn cousin validation?”

He exhaled, frustrated. “It ain’t like that—”

“Oh, it ain’t?” you snapped. “You the same man who had me scared to even post you ‘cause I didn’t want the internet in our business. Now you all up in the club tryna be seen, tongue damn near down some girl throat—for what? To look like Smoke?”

“She ain’t even kiss me—”

“Boy, don’t play with me,” you said, voice cracking. “You already played in my face enough.”

Sammie sighed heavy, like he didn’t even have the strength to fight. “I ain’t tryna argue. I just… I miss you, baby. I ain’t slept right since you stopped answerin’.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, makeup half-done, your gloss untouched. You shook your head.

“You wanna act like them niggas, go be with them niggas,” you muttered, trying to stay calm. “I loved you for you, Sammie. Not for who you was tryna impress.”

“I ain’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered.

“But you did.”

Silence. The kind that says everything.

You checked the clock. “I gotta go.”

“Wait—”

Click.

You let the phone fall on the vanity and stared at your reflection.

This niggas really had you thinking he was different.

But a Moore gon’ Moore.

The studio was already buzzing by the time y’all got there—neon lights low, incense burning in the corner, and bass leaking out the booth like it had a mind of its own.

Your girls followed behind you, all heels and hair and ready-for-war energy.

Soon as y’all walked in, Dre, your producer, spun around in his chair, noddin’ like he already knew the vibe. “Got somethin’ dark cued up. I heard the rumors. Figured you’d want blood on the track tonight.”

You smirked. No lies detected.

Y’all got settled—liquor got poured, joints got lit—and the girls crowded around the couch while you kicked off your shoes and leaned back.

“So,” one of them asked, her eyes sharp, lashes thick. “Did he call?”

You nodded slow, licking your lips before answering. “Yeah.” They all leaned in.

“What he say?”
“Chile what?” “I know he ain’t try play victim—”

You sighed nodding , pushing your hair back. “Said it was Stack and Smoke. That they got in his head. Said he was drunk and just tryna prove somethin’.”

They all looked at each other, then back at you, faces twisted like somebody farted.

“Nahhh, see, now I’m mad all over again,” your best friend snapped. “He risked all this—” she gestured at you like you were plated gold, “—for some cousin clout?”

Another girl scoffed, twisting the top off the Casamigos. “And that lil girl in the video? I know she know who you are. Y’all been hella public.”

“For real,” someone else chimed in.

“Y’all did that couple interview for Level Up, had folks screamin’ ‘#RelationshipGoals’ and all that. How she actin’ brand new?”

You shook your head, lips pressed tight.

Then the beat dropped.

It was dark. Angry. Heavy bass, low piano, something sinister underneath like a heartbeat turnin’ sour. You stopped talking.

“Dre…” you said, standing up slow. “Run that back.” He looped it, and the speakers trembled like they were mad too.

You walked toward the mic, paused with your hand on the booth door. “Y’all remember when I first said I loved him?”

They nodded, quiet now.

“Right here,” you said. “In this studio. he pulled me close, said, ‘Damn, I love you girl. I hope you know that.’ And I said it back. Just like that. Whole room smelled like weed him looking at me with them damn eyes.” “That was the first time.” Your voice cracked a little.

“I really thought…” You trailed off. Then shook your head. “Nah. Fuck that.”

You turned back around, picked up a shot glass from the console.

“To dumb bitches,” you said. “May we never be her again.” They all cheered. Glasses clinked. You threw it back. It burned, but not worse than this heartbreak.

Then you stepped into the booth, pulled the headphones on, and closed your eyes.

The beat kicked in again, your voice slid out raw.

All that hurt, rage, betrayal—it spilled into the mic like venom dressed in velvet.

And by the time the track ended… history was made.A hit. A warning. A reminder.

He played in the wrong girl’s face.

Sammie’s sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his phone with dead eyes and clenched teeth. That green bubble on your story stays glowing. Every loop of the video hits him harder.

Stack lounges nearby, dipping room service wings in ranch, TV humming low with a muted basketball game. Smoke’s in the corner on FaceTime with Annie, cracking up about something unrelated, but every so often his eyes slide back to Sammie, watching him stew.

Sammie spoke first voice laced with disbelief. “She made the whole damn thing about me.”

Stack laughed throwing his head back with a lil snort“She made a Billboard hit about your ass. Congrats, heartbreak muse of the year.”

Smoke leaned forward, FaceTime forgotten
“What she say again? ‘You gone be with tupac when I come blow up that studio…’ somethin’ like that?”

Sammie shook his head muttering
‘Yeah. That’s about me fasho”

Smoke spoke through a laugh 
“She in the booth talkin’ like she the Don, bro. That energy hit different when it’s personal.”

Stack spoke mouthfull with his greedy ass
“She out-rappin’ you and outsellin’ you. How’s it feel to get dissed on beat and make her rich?”

Sammie looks at him fast as fuck 
“You think this funny?”


Stack shrugged “A lil’ bit. - “But nah. I get it. She got her lick back. You was in love and fumbled. Ain’t nothin’ new.”

Smoke nodded towards Stack
“Like he can talk. Every time he catch feelings, he ghost like he doin’ a magic trick. That girl from Baton Rouge still lightin’ candles for him.

Stack pointed at his twin smirk on his face “Difference is, I ain’t lie to nobody face about bein’ solid. I told her I was no good.”


“I didn’t lie. I just... I listened to y’all. Let myself get stupid. Tried to play it like I didn’t care when I did.” Sammie spoke looking between the two.

Stack just shrugged his shoulders
“You grown, bro. Don’t blame us.”

Sammie swipes again. Next slide.

It’s a video. Your laugh, low and breathy. A flash of your legs, draped over someone else’s lap. A hand—light-skinned, casual, resting on your thigh like it belonged there.

Sammie sat up so fast he almost got vertigo.

“ Them ain’t my hands”

Stack grabbed the phone squinting
“That’s not any of our hands.”

Smoke laughed
“She out here living soft life. Passenger princess with a new driver.”

One thing sammie hated about these niggas they always had jokes for the wrong occasions.
“Nah. That’s my -

Smoke spoke fast cutting him off
“Was. She was your girl. Now you just the beat behind a Billboard single.”

Sammie stands, grabbing his keys off the side table. No hesitation.

He speaks low “Fuck this.”

This catches Stacks eye

“Where you goin’?”

Sammie snapped voice angry and sharp

“To my girl nigga”

He slams the door behind him. Silence.

Smoke pops a fry in his mouth, eyes still on the door. “Look what you did.”

Stack just shrugs, licking sauce off his fingers. “If every clover had four leaves they wouldn’t be lucky now would it”

You and your girls are splayed across couches, floor pillows, and a fuzzy throw rug—glasses half-full of rosé from brunch still sweating in your hands. Laughter fills the space, soft R&B spinning low from the speaker.

Someone’s talking about their sneaky link, someone else is scrolling through TikTok showing funny edits of your song. You’re halfway paying attention… until your phone buzzes again.

Your friends speak up hearing it too
“Girl, who is blowin’ you up like that?”

You flip the screen toward them. “Sammie. Again. I been ignoring him all week and now he wanna be consistent?”

They lean in. Another buzz. A message pops up

Peekay : Answer or I’m comin’ right in that mf house.

You hold the phone up, jaw dropped. They scream.


“Oh he real bold—he must really miss you.”


“Or he real crazy. Ain’t nobody told him we deep in here?”

Just then, another call. FaceTime. His name lit up bold. Your thumb hesitates.


“Y’all shut up.”

You answer. His face fills the screen—eyes red, jaw tight, lips pressed in that pout you used to kiss when he got like this.

He spoke serious, voice low
“Sit the phone up.”


“…Why?

He sat up readjusting in his seat.
“Just sit it up. Let me see.”

You sigh, propping it on a candle jar. Your girls dip out of frame fast like trained soldiers.

He waited his eyes flicking around the background looking for something , you don’t know what
“So… ain't no light-skin dude in there imma have to beat the fuck out of right?

You blinked hard

“What?”

He looked at you plainly
“You heard me.”

You glance behind the phone—your girls looking shook, mouths open, frozen in place.

You spoke slow, annoyed
“There’s nobody here. And even if there was, you don’t get to ask that. I don’t question the girls you been with, apparently.”

Sammie spoke instantly, eyes hard
“I ain’t been with nobody but you. Don’t play with me.”

You tilted your head, voice sharp
“Play with you? Oh you mean like how you played with me when you let Smoke and Stack gas your ego till you blew up everything we had?”

Silence. His throat works like he wants to say something but can’t.

You spoke final, icy
“Don’t FaceTime me with that jealous boyfriend energy when you wasn’t You hang up.

The room’s quiet for a second, the air thick with disbelief soft 
“…Did he say light-skin with tats?”
“He remembered the hand! This man really clockin’ your stories like it’s his job.”

Sammie’s parked a few houses down, low in the seat, window cracked. His phone’s still glowing in his lap from where you hung up. His jaw ticks. His chest rises, falls. He don’t move at first. Just stares at your contact. Then his fingers move.

Leave it open.

He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, flips the radio up loud—some old Boosie track—and sparks the blunt he’d rolled on the drive over. Leaning back in the seat, smoke curling from his lips, he watches the house like it’s breathing.

You and your girls are still downstairs, hollering.
“Nah, that nigga is unhinged. You really broke him!”

You laughed , mocking him
“‘Ain’t no light-skin dude in there with no tats?’ Boy, worry about your own tattoos.”

Y’all fall out laughing again. Then ping. You glance down. It’s him

Leave it open.

Your friends all look at you eyes wide
“Oh my God.”
“He outside. I know that energy.”


“Bitch, what do I say?!” You say looking back and forth between them

They all start talking at once, pure chaos:
“Say your man just pulled up.”
“Tell him the door already open—let him come see!”
“Ooooh text something spicy! You know he hate that.”

You nod, fingers flying across the screen.

It’s unlocked anyway. My man will be here soon. Send.

You toss the phone on the couch and throw your head back. “Amen.”
“Amen!!”

They scream and cheer, clutching their chests like it’s church.


“You gon’ die. But you gon’ die legendary.”
“Upstairs, now! We gotta get you ready. Just in case he come in here on demon time.”

They usher you up the stairs like you headed to war, grabbing gloss, edge control, and a fresh hoodie from your closet. Your heart beats wild behind your ribs—not

scared, just… alive.

Your bestie speaks smiling while doing your edges.
“Smile if you bout to ruin a man’s whole ego tonight.”

You smirk in the mirror. Below the window, a familiar engine cuts.

He’s coming in. You can feel it in your bones.

You’re fresh, feeling like a whole mood with your girls beside you—hair laid, gloss popping, outfit on point. You unlock the door and swing it open.

Sammie is already there, standing firm, hands down by his sides. No anger in the way he raises them, just presence. His eyes lock on you first—hard, serious, and something else you can’t name right away. Then he shifts his gaze to your girls.


“Wassup y’all.”

Your girls nod respectfully, eyes flicking back to you, silently saying, What now?

You just stand there, taking him in. Mad as hell, yeah. But damn… the way he looks—head to toe in black, gold chains catching the streetlight, that little flash of grill shining when he parts his lips—it’s hard not to soften.

You know he fucked up. But maybe… just maybe, there’s a fix here.

Suddenly, one of your friends clears her throat sharply. You blink, shaking off the moment, and glance at them.
“Bye, y’all. Be safe.”

They nod and slip quietly down the steps, leaving you and Sammie alone.

He looks past you, eyes scanning the house like sizing it up “Come on.”

He nods toward the door.

You hesitate—then step inside before your brain can catch up.

He closes the door behind you with a soft click and locks it.

Your heart skips.


Yo, man would be here soon ? Nah. His ass here now.

Sammie gestures toward the couch.

“Come sit with me.”

You walk over first, careful. He watches every step like he’s memorizing you. You settle on the edge of the couch, keeping space between you—safe distance.

He scoots closer, voice low but commanding. “Quit actin’ scary. Come here.”

You shift, inching your leg closer—now touching his. Your heart skips. It’s been a minute, and that tiny buzz starts crawling up your spine. He pulls his hood off, revealing that sharp, tired look in his eyes. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, eyes heavy-lidded but steady on you.


“I know I messed up, baby. I did everything you told me not to.”

His hand moves slowly, settling on your leg. You tense for a second, then relax as he straightens his back a little.
“I did that shit... bein’ childish. Tryna get approval from two lonely mfs.”

You let out a quiet laugh—half disbelief, half relief.


“I won’t ever do no shit like that again, baby. I can promise you. I’m sorry.”

He opens his arms slightly, inviting but vulnerable

You meet his eyes, voice steady but serious.
“I believe you... but don’t make me have to get outta character, Samuel.”

Your fingers twitch, lightly grabbing his gold chain hanging around his neck. The weight of it feels real—like a reminder. Sammie catches the movement, a flicker of both surprise and respect crossing his face.

He tightens his grip on your leg just a bit, his jaw clenched but his eyes soft.
“I ain’t gonna make you do nothin’ you don’t want, baby. I’m here... real this time.”

You don’t pull your hand away from his chain. Instead, you let your fingers linger, a silent test — how much does he really mean it? The room feels smaller somehow, just the two of you and the hum of the city outside.

Sammie leans in a little, voice dropping even lower. “ I done been stupid, but I’m tryin’ to be better — for us, for me. Ain’t just words this time. I’m done lettin’ other people mess with what we had.”

You study him, the weight in his eyes pulling at something inside you. A soft part you’d been trying to guard.
“That part of me? When I say ‘get outta character,’ I mean it. don’t want that.”

He smiles then — not the cocky grin, but the kind that reaches his eyes.
“Good. ‘Cause I ain’t tryin’ to fight you. Just wanna be right where I belong.”

You shuffle closer, legs brushing, breaths mingling.

You narrow your eyes, the tension thick now.
“If you ever — and I mean ever — pull some dumb shit like that again? I’ma beat your ass, then Smoke’s, then Stack’s for hyping you up.”

He throws his head back, laughing.
“Damn, all three of us? You on a mission.”

But that smile fades fast.

His eyes lock onto yours, voice low and solid now.”So who’s the nigga?”

Your breath catches.
“What?”

He leans in slightly
“Don’t play with me. Who. Is. The. Nigga?”

You hesitate. Your girls’ plan echoing in your mind. A distraction. A game. But the heat in his gaze ain’t playful — it’s boiling.


“Just… some dude.”

He tilts his head slow, like he can see straight through you.”Some dude?”

You nod, swallowing.

He leans back now, arms stretched wide across the couch, legs open, looking fine as hell and dangerous with it. You wish he didn’t look that good — this would be easier.

“So how long you known this dude?”

You look away, nerves buzzing. You answer low, a whisper really.
“A year.”

Before you can breathe again, his hand’s on your chin — not rough, but firm. He tilts your face to his, eyes burning through yours.
“Say it like you mean it. All that muttering and guessing shit? Pissing me off.”

Your cheeks heat beneath his touch. Your heart races.


“That girl in the club? A mistake. Drunk. Ain’t even mean nothin’. But you? You doing stupid shit with a clear head. And that’s different.”

You pull back a little, voice rising with your anger. “A mistake? Boy, fuck you. I was hurt! I ain’t no damn robot, Sammie.”

He lets go of your face, rubbing both hands down his own, exhaling like he’s trying not to snap.

“I know that, baby… but come on now. That dude been all up under your posts, sending you eyes, hearts… You ain’t say nothin’?”

You rolled your eyes
“I don’t have to, Sammie. You not my daddy. Go worry about your mystery bitch. Don’t come in here tryna check me like you been loyal. I should beat your ass my damn self.”

You shoot to your feet, voice raised, hand on your hip, heat rolling off you in waves.

He stands up slow, towering, unbothered, staring at you like you’re the only thing in the room.


“Come on then. You bad? Beat my ass.”

You was yellin' now, voice climbin’ with every breath.

“You think just ‘cause you showed up, I’m s’posed to forget all that shit? You think I don’t feel none of this? That I don’t dream 'bout you, cry 'bout you, bleed for you, Sammie?”

He took it. Standin’ there in all black like the funeral you never got to have for what y’all used to be. You stepped forward and pushed at his chest with an open palm. He ain’t move. You did it again—harder this time. Then again. His gold chain swayed with each shove.

“Fuck you, Sammie,” you spit, eyes full and wild.

He caught your wrist the moment your hand flew up toward his face. You watched his jaw lock, tongue pokin’ into his cheek, breath pullin’ heavy through his nose like he was tryna stop from blackin’ out. That look alone could’ve burned your clothes off, but you was too mad to care.

“Fuck me?” he said low, still holdin’ your wrist. His voice ain’t rise—but the heat in it made you pause.

“Yeah,” you said louder, chest heavin’. “Fuck you.”

He nodded slow, grip loosening as he let your arm fall.

“You better watch how you fuckin talkin’ to me,” he said, voice steel-hard. “And if you bold enough to say it, you better be bold enough to make good on it.”

You turned, walkin’ fast toward the bedroom. You ain’t know if you wanted to scream into a pillow or tear the sheets up. You ain’t even hear his footsteps, but you felt him right behind you—tall shadow heat pressin’ close.

“Sammie, fuck you. I hate you nigga deadass. You ain’t shit. Just like the rest of ‘em. Dirty. A liar. I don’t know why I thought you was different. Why I thought you’d love me for real.”

That stopped him cold in the hallway.

You could feel it—the shift.

Then you felt him.

A hand closin’ ‘round your wrist, pullin’ you back, pressin’ you up against the wall in one smooth motion. His palm came up, firm ‘round your throat—not squeezin’ too tight, just holdin’ you in place.

You looked up into eyes that was all storm and no light.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, voice rough. “I been sayin’ that like a broke damn record. But don’t you ever stand here and act like I ain’t never loved you.”

His grip tightened just a little. A soft gasp left your lips. Your smaller hand came up, fingers restin’ over his.

“I love you more than anybody ever could. But you think that give you the right to hit me, disrespect me, throw my name in the dirt like I ain’t bled for you too?”

You swallowed hard, breath catchin’.

“I’m gon’ show you,” he murmured, voice low but heavy. “By the time I’m done, you gon’ feel all the shit I been carryin’. All of it.”

Then he stepped back, hand slidin’ away slow, lettin’ you breathe again. You stayed there, chest risin’ and fallin’, vision blurry—but not from tears this time. From how hot the air between y’all had gotten.

He tilted his head toward the bedroom door.

You was still breathin’ hard when he locked that bedroom door, slow and sure. Always did that. Said it made his nerves settle knowin’ he was closed in with just you.

“Sit down,” he said again, voice low but thick now, dark like syrup.

You ain’t move right away. You just stood there, lips still tinglin’, chest tight, still hearin’ him say he loved you like it was a vow and a warning all at once.

“I said,” he took two steps forward, slow and solid, “sit down, baby.”

You ain’t know if it was the way his gold caught the low light, or the way his drawl wrapped around that word “baby” like he’d never stopped sayin’ it, but your knees moved on their own. You sank onto the edge of the bed, hands in your lap, eyes trackin’ him like prey.

He came closer, pulled his hoodie off, chain swingin’, his whole chest breathin’ deep like he was tryin’ to hold back somethin’ fierce. He stood in front of you, thumb and two fingers slid under your chin, tilted your face up.

“ you hate me,” he murmured, brows pullin’ together just a little. “Say it again.”

You opened your mouth, but nothin’ came. Your lips quivered, jaw tight. He looked down at you, real slow, takin’ you in. His hand moved—thumb draggin’ across your bottom lip, just enough pressure to make you tremble.

“That what we on now?” he asked, voice even. “Hatin’ each other?”

You shook your head slow, breath catchin’.

“Nah,” he said, lettin’ go and standin’ tall again, lookin’ down at you like he already knew. “You mad, yeah. Hurt. But hate? That ain’t in you, not for me.”

You couldn’t deny that. Didn’t want to. He leaned down, mouth close to your ear now, lips just brushin’.

“Gone lay back, baby. Let me make it right.”

You hesitated. He waited. Then you did it, breath shaky as your spine hit the sheets.

He peeled his shirt off slow, belt next, every movement deliberate. He wasn’t in no rush. You watched him like a storm was comin’. And it was.

He climbed over you, arms on either side of your head, breath fannin’ across your neck. His voice was lower now, Southern syrup and smoke.

“You gon’ feel me,” he whispered. “Feel every word I couldn’t say right. Feel every time I shoulda chose you louder.”

His hand slid under your shirt, and you gasped—‘cause this wasn’t soft. This wasn’t sorry. This was claimin’. This was a man tryna repent with his whole body.

And baby, you let him.

He slid down slow, mouth still on yours ‘til the last second. His hand pushed your thigh open again, wider this time, and he looked at you—dead in your eyes, like this wasn’t just lust. It was penance. Worship. He kissed the inside of your knee first, then lower, taking his time.

“You been actin’ like I forgot how to treat you,” he muttered, voice thick as molasses. “Let me remind you what it feel like to be taken care of.”

You barely had time to gasp when he pressed his mouth to you. That first pass of his tongue had you archin’ off the couch. He gripped your hips tight, keepin’ you down.

“Nah, don’t run now,” he said low, lips glistening. “You was talkin’ all that shit a minute ago. You gone take this.”

And you did.

He licked slow at first—broad, hungry strokes that made your breath catch. Then faster, tongue focused right where it needed to be, two fingers slid in easy, curling just right. You cried out, and he smiled against you, tongue never leavin’ you.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice damn near feral now. “Let me hear that shit. Don’t hold back, not with me.”

Your hands were in his hair, pullin’—not tryna stop him, just needin’ something to hold on to.

He brought you to the edge and over with no hesitation. He wanted you there. Needed to feel it. You shook under him, legs tremblin’, but he didn’t let up, even when you tried to push his head away.

“Sammie—baby I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he said, voice thick with hunger. “You gon’ come again. Open back up for me.”

He spread you with both hands, dove in again like he couldn’t breathe without you on his tongue. This time, he kept his eyes on yours the whole time.

“Don’t look away,” he said, breathin’ against you. “Wanna see your face when you fall apart.”

And you did—again, harder this time, back archin’, his name fallin’ from your lips in broken, breathless moans.

When he came back up, his mouth was wet, and so were his eyes—just a lil’ bit.

“Tell me right now,” he said, leanin’ in close, lips ghostin’ yours, “that you ain’t mine. Say it with a straight face.”

You didn’t say a word. You just pulled him in, kissin’ him deep like you ain’t need no damn words at all.

He lined himself up, slow and steady, slid in deep on the first stroke, and stayed there.

You gasped, grippin’ his shoulders.

He didn’t move at first. Just let you feel it. All of it.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your mouth. “That’s me. I been here. Ain’t never left you, baby. Not really.”

You nodded, eyes damn near rollin’ back.

He started movin’ deep, slow strokes that filled you up and made your toes curl. One hand on your thigh, the other flat on the bed keepin’ him grounded. But his eyes never left your face.

“You still mad?” he asked, voice shaky with restraint.

You shook your head.

“You still hate me?”

“No,” you whispered.

He kissed you again, harder now, hips pickin’ up pace. The couch creaked under y’all but neither of you cared.

“Say you mine.”

“I’m yours, Sammie. Always was.”

“That’s right,” he said, buryin’ his face in your neck. “That’s right, baby.”

And when y’all finally came, it wasn’t just heat—it was every ounce of anger, pain, love, and regret burnin’ out at once. Both of y’all shakin’, holdin’ on like the world might end if you let go.

He didn’t move for a while. Just stayed there, buried deep, head on your chest, heart beatin’ fast against yours.

“I love you,” he said again, voice hoarse.

You kissed his temple, stroked his hair.

“I know, Sammie. You looked at him laughing a little. This made him look at you now “what”. He spoke laughing a little too. “Nothing you just barely made it out PK”. He ain’t say a word just say up looked at you real slow.

Your body was folded under him now—face in the pillow, back arched just right, his weight pressed firm and familiar behind you. Sammie’s hand gripped your hip like he owned it, other one flat on your lower back, steadyin’ you as he moved inside you slow… deep… like he meant every stroke.

“That shit you said…” he muttered, breath hot against your shoulder, “'bout me barely makin’ it out…”

You gasped when he pushed in harder, hittin’ that spot like he been rememberin’ where it was.

“Say some slick shit like that again,” he growled low, “and I’ma show you just how bad I can not make it out.”

He gave a rougher thrust that had you grabbing at the sheets, teeth bitin’ the pillow to keep from cryin’ out too loud. His hand slid up your back, fingers spread, keepin’ you grounded.

“This what you wanted, huh?” he grunted. “Actin’ like you ain’t need me, like you could just walk off and forget—nah. You mine, baby.”

You tried to speak but the rhythm—slow but mean—had you breathless, body trembling under him.

“I’m not gon’ leave you,” he said softer this time, voice thrummin’ deep in your ear. “Don’t care how mad you get, how loud you yell, how many times you hang up on me. I’m not leavin’. I’m here.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, teeth grazin’, breath hot.

“It’s just us. Always been just us. Can’t no clout, no bitch, no dumb shit change that.”

His strokes slowed down but sank in deeper, hips grindin’ like he was tryna leave pieces of himself inside you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissin’ your spine. “Sorry if I made you feel like it wasn’t you. Like you wasn’t enough. You everything to me.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. The way he was movin’, talkin’, lovin’—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded into the pillow.

“That’s all me. And I’m yours too.”

He stayed buried deep, arms wrapping ‘round your waist, chest to your back now, lettin’ y’all melt into each other.

“I ain’t lettin’ go,” he whispered again. “So don’t run no more. Ain’t nowhere to go that I won’t follow.”

A month later, everything had shifted. You were back together—solid this time. Sammie had taken you on the most beautiful date, the Delta sky lit up behind him as he dropped to one knee with a band you damn near cried over.

Of course, the messy-ass Shaderoom posted it too, caught the whole moment in 4K, and while everybody had something to say… you could care less.

It was just you, your man, and music now.

You sat across from each other in the studio, separate mics, hearts synced.

Stack and Smoke were on the other side of the glass, watching like it was a damn movie. Smoke nudged Stack, a smirk on his face.

“See that? That’s how you get your woman back,” Smoke said.

Stack shook his head slow, arms crossed. “Nah, bruh. That’s how you stay soft.”

Smoke laughed, “Yeah, but they soft in love.”

Stack rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed the intercom.

“Aight,” he said, voice dry but eyes warm, “seein’ as this whole thing was kinda my fault… I figured y’all could take it out on the track, leave it in this booth.”

He let go of the button, nodding at Smoke to hit play.

The bass hit like it knew your name, low and dirty and full of space. You closed your eyes and let it pour through you, your voice slipping in smooth—raw, emotional, laced with love and pain. Smoke looked at Stack with a raised brow, Stack just nodded, lips curled up. Sammie watched you, head bobbing slow, admiring the way you moved with the beat, your sound—his favorite place.

Your eyes found his as you sang directly to him now. That verse hit different, full of everything you couldn’t say in the mess. He slid one headphone down, nodding with the beat, then walked up to his mic with that same locked-in look.

The beat dipped darker, slower. He didn’t even glance at the paper—just went in, voice low, controlled. That whole verse sounded like an apology without ever sayin’ the words. Just you and him, pain and promise, trading bars like vows. Music wrapped around y’all like smoke.

You joined in, harmonizing with him—two voices, one body of hurt, healing, and heat. It wasn’t just a song. It was y’all. A reckoning. A release. A hit.

Later that night, Shaderoom posted a snippet of the session:

🎤🔥 Y’ALL HEAR THIS??? That tension in the booth got me sweating. Sammie & his girl locked in again, for real this time. Engagement, a studio session, and now a collab? Whew 😮‍💨

Comments flooded in:

• “They arguing on the beat and I love it 😭”

• “You can HEAR the makeup sex in her vocals.”

• “He really said I’m sorry through a 16-bar verse 🥲”

• “Soft men winning 2025 fr.”

And somewhere under it all, a pinned comment from Sammie’s burner account:

“Only one mic I’m sharing like that. Forever.”

Hit. Made. Hearts mended.

—————————-

Hey yall omg this took a minute- so enjoy this from me on my way home from therapy😏 hopefully it’s all cohesive ngl Im a little high.

Thank yall for reading sexies😏🤞🏾🎀

[forsaken-headcanons]

OH MY GOD ASKS ARE BACK I DIDNT EVEN NOTICE

You're now getting hit with the random 07 hc i had cooking in my head for a while (if you saw me post this in discord before no you havent idk what youre talking about /silly)

Anyways

007n7 has a prosthetic arm that's connected to the c00lgui. Constant exposure to unstable code is dangerous, and his arm had to pay the price for it by corroding and going limp. Since he obviously isn't welcome in any medical facility (considering his criminal record and how he's being hunted down), he had to make do and remove the corroded arm himself. It was a messy and bloody job, since the guy has little to no experience in amputation and would probably have basic medical knowledge at best, but it worked and the corrosion didn't further spread to his body. He then made an entire prosthetic out of scraps since hacking with one hand is a hard thing to do and there's no way he'll willingly go through that painful process again.

- Obviously the first version was somewhat functional, mainly made on a whim in order to not suffer doing things with one hand. The gui is still a little dangerous, so having an easily disposable arm saves him time from performing another amputation job.

- After (illegally) gaining more money, he's able to upgrade and get something that can at least do basic functions and has more precision than the last one. The code has since been less unstable, making the replacements and repairs few in between.

- Before he was unwillingly given the title of 'Dad', he got a realistic-looking prosthetic in order to blend in better. He messed around with it and managed to connect the gui to it, allowing him to easily access the panel without harm. Since then, the gui has been stabilized and won't induce any negative effects when using either arm.

- His last upgrade was made a few weeks after c00lkidd's dissapearance, a prosthetic almost able to perform exactly like an arm, save for a few precise movements. He only got it upgraded as he noticed the low performance of his former model, which was slowing down his search. Even though he quit hacking, he connected it to the gui in case of emergencies.

Bonus: he does eventually get medical attention for the stub/whats left of his arm and the doctors are really shocked that this dude managed to amputate his arm without professional assistance and live

Apologies if this is realistically innacurate btw

I'll expand on this later, for now this is all you're getting :]

- ✨️ anon

AAaa waiter!! waiter!! more disability baased headcanons please!!

I'm sure its fine if it's not realistic or medically accurate, 'cause the c00lgui isn't real and all :P

[dspd]

Help my extremely picky ass ears find another audiodramedy podcast to listen to

ft. an ADHD professional musician with (mouth sounds in particular) misophonia, auditory processing issues, & a physical reaction to certain audio sensory overstimulation.

Loved, Adored, Hell to the Yeahs:

Magnus Archives (loved pretty much everyone and the slow paced plot, ngl Melanie's VA voice type caused physical pain & cringing sometimes when she had a particularly strident/aggressive tone. Unpleasant physical sensation to the audio clipping/distortion.)

Wolf 359 (ADHD rep, tragic backstories, & *waves at everything Dr. Hilbert* Hell Yeah, wish I had my own plant monster to hang out with.)

Aftershock (high-end production is high-end. Loved the lapping waves & the fast paced writing)

Impact Winter S1 (good production value, liked it even though I'm not really into vampire apocalypse or the prophesied savior thing in a vampire apocalypse, Darcy's VA scratches an itch I didn't know I had. Adored Rook's VA)

Unseen (I felt my blood pressure lowering while listening, very interesting & engaging stories but ended so soon & wasn't as big of a fan about the collection of short stories because I couldn't get too attached to anyone. Absolutely obsessed with the timbre of Karin Konfli's voice in particular)

Neutral, Liked, & Liked but didn't finish:

Wake of Corrosion (it was a bit tedious/cliche by the end & a couple VA habits annoyed me but I was sufficiently intrigued by the sci-fi & horror to complete it)

Malevolent (struggled with staying interested sometimes & haven't gone back after the time travel. The Butcher & Yorrick were my favorite characters. Ended up skipping about a dozen scenes due to the eating sounds.)

The Phenomenon (good VAs, loved Jesse, fun alien invasion concepts, loved the little Survivor stories after the main story ended)

Zero Hours (Gabriel Urbina and Sarah Shachat really pull me in but, again, I'm not really into the short stories format. I need a longer format to poke myself with the dimensions of the characters)

Silt Verses (v calm, soothing voices but I'm not into religious stuff)

Welcome to Night Vale (it's really good & I love the comedic horror. Somehow I keep forgetting to go back & listen, so I've only listened to the first 20 episodes or so?)

Archive 81 (at some point I realized I listened to nearly the whole but had no idea who was what)

SCP Archives (thought it would be my thing & loved the first spooky episode but all the redacting & code name string of numbers & letters was a struggle for the easy listen I'm looking for. Felt like I needed a transcript or to take notes)

The Amelia Project (pleasing VAs, interesting, quirky, odd, sneakily fun but somehow never started ep2, will go back & try again sometime)

Hello from the Hallowoods (I liked the VA/sound production stuffs but somehow I didn't feel a pull to go back. Will probably try when I'm in a different mood)

Huh? To Definitely Not For Me:

The Bright Sessions (didn't even finish the first episode. Not formatted in a way that interests me I guess?)

Under Pressure (stopped mid-episode 2. IDK if I was in a mod or what but everyone seems like their own flavor of unlikeable asshole & the sound production was odd. Too bad. I like deep sea scaries)

Ars Parodoxica (after 5 episodes I still had no clue what was going on plus did not play well with my auditory processing struggles)

White Vault, Red Valley, re:Dracula, The Sheridan tapes (according to Spotify, I listened to multiple episodes but I don't remember anything about them????)

I'm looking for something that's got character development like TMA and Wolf359, has humor like Wolf359 and Welcome to Night Vale, and has a compelling overarching story like Aftershock and The Phenomenon. It doesn't have to be supernatural or horror (in fact I'd prefer some lighter stuff like wolf359 or Aftershock to the horror/gore of Impact Winter with graphic, auditory deaths. TBH I haven't gone back to TMagP s2 for this reason). I just want something my brain will actively engage with while I clean or organize with some silly/laughs without being slapstick.

[play-rough]

what do you think the babys thoughts on asmr are? like those cranial nerve exams, or better yet, cat asmr, where its like, its just asmr with a cat. people groom the cats and theyre purring with asmr sounds, etc. just in general!!

i think hed love it, and chuuya would be over the moon because its a perfect way to get the baby to calm down for the night and settle down before bed :D

also i saw this one video of a mom doing asmr on her baby, like lightly brushing her face and tracing her fingers and tapping gently and whispering, im totally imagining chuuya doing that to babyzai and him eating it all up like a plate of canned crab 🌚

i think babyzai would also love it because of autism/sensory processing disorder (ik some of the things youve written about him with his sensory issues are autism coded- idk if that was your intention but just in general even in canon i headcanon dazai to be autistic!) because soft and gentle sounds are the perfect stimulation to get dazais nervous system to calm down (also now that i think of it, it would probably would help with his ptsd/trauma symptoms with calming his nervous system!)

i ended up ranting my thoughts hahaha, but what do you think the babys (and subsequently chuuya) would think of it :3

Perhaps this is a biased answer because I’m an asmr lover, but I do think he would be calmed and relaxed by the visuals or the sounds! (I have too many projects I want to tackle and not enough time but I would love to try making asmr one day 😭🩷 sorry tangent but my favorite ASMRtist is ASMR Rebecca, she does a lot of focus games and asmr for adhd, and I think because she actually has adhd she really understands how the brain works. I’ve seen some ‘asmr for adhd’ vids where the clips of the triggers are just cut together weirdly and it’s very jarring, Rebecca does continuous shots and just lets her own adhd go crazy playing with objects, I absolutely recommend her if you haven’t seen her vids)

Holy shit the cat asmr vids, Dazai would especially like those!! I also think he would enjoy the kinds of asmr vids where people make different wax seals or play focus games, he wants something to entertain him he’s not as much of a fan of just slow scratching on the mic for slow scratching sake

As far as CHUUYA doing the relaxing motions, I’m absolutely a fan! I’ve actually got some scenes written in upcoming chapters with Chuuya just trying to help lull the baby to sleep with relaxing touches or little things to focus on. Absolutely the kind of attention and affection that Babyzai would love, he’d feel so safe and relaxed. He really likes one on one attention like that, I’ve never thought about it as doing asmr on someone but it describes it perfectly 🥺🩷

I can totally see then snuggling into bed together and watching some nice relaxing videos on Chuuya’s phone, or even late at night when Dazai can’t sleep (literally I was watching asmr at 330 am last night because I couldn’t fall back asleep 😭)

The fact that Dazai reads as autistic in the au really makes me happy 🩷 I’m not necessarily trying to make him autistic coded, I’m just trying to do what I feel is right for the story while also being ‘in character’ (which is such an oxymoron with agere fics, in canon Dazai would never cry and hold a stuffed animal so I’m already working at a disadvantage haha), but i am also a personal believer in autistic Dazai so 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Thank you for the wonderful ask 🩷🩷🥺

[sofieartz]

[ AFK Journey ]

More Sinbads, this time in doodle form ^^

Missing my Merlin (Emrys) like a fool right now, I need them so bad...

*currently thinking about their lore rn

+ One more doodle, Crackship art (Sonja/Sinbad)

Honestly, idk since when I like this pairing.

They're like enemy to lovers coded, but it's a bit more complicated than that... Since they're not really enemies to begin with, they're both fighting for similar things but for different reasons.

And they both have reasons to dislike/distrust one another, but by the end, Sonja was willing to give Sinbad a chance as a Captain, and Sinbad was willing (If not a bit surprise) to give her a chance as well. Specifically, to improve the relation of Rustport with Brineville.

Both of them are unconventional enemies (Because of their background), and in turn during Scandia isle, unconventional allies (Because they're both stranded, and needing each other's expertise).

I can honestly see a relationship forming between these two, one that is strained from the beginning, but both are willing to mend it, even if it's a slow process.

I can find it especially difficult for Sinbad, but seeing the genuine kindness, and help she wanted to provide, to heal the pain that Tesio caused to all of them.

It gives him hope, maybe maybe this can be done.

Even not romantically, their friendship could still be very intriguing, I'm still playing with it.

But at the end, I could see these two having a genuinely lovely relationship.

Or, maybe I just like shipping 2 of my favorite characters together, and imagining domestic content with them—

[g0dspeeed]

1, 4, 5, 8, and 15 for Cappie and Nik for the ship asks please <3

Thank you! I was hoping someone would ask about them 😍 From this Ask Game

OTP: Respite

Cappie De La Costa x Nikolai

1. What made you first ship them?

Pairing Cappie with Nikolai just "made sense". After coupling Cappie with Eli Palmer in Far Cry 5, to have her with a personality that was more charismatic and outgoing was new territory. I view Nikolai as someone she could go toe to toe with, another bullshitter, another who was as dangerous as he was charming. Also, not to minimize the other COD characters, but I could see her flippant disrespect towards the military complex and its loyal soldiers as a point of steadfast contention. It often comes up as Cappie enjoys stirring the pot, and more deeply, isn't afraid to voice her disdain for corrupt government bodies.

True, Nikolai has his loyalties to the 141 and their cause, and yes, Cappie is ultimately an ally, but I think their moral gray areas and shadiness are more fitting for one another than it would be for anyone else on the task force.

For real though, I wanna pair her with Ghost but I honestly think he would scare TF out of her. And I'm in the boat that says Ghost is awkward and quiet, which I head cannon Eli Palmer to be, too... So I gave her Nikto as a situationship because that mask and hot mess of a personality is less scary? IDK

4. Where/How do they live? (Together/Separate)

Due to their roles, they are often separate, tending to be in different parts of the world at any given point.

However, they do make a point to reconnect. Maybe it's only once a month. Maybe it's a week tucked away somewhere remote, phones on silent and in bed all day. Maybe they seek each other out on base, make up a reason to spend time with one another ("comparing notes", "talking business", "I'm translating for her, Price").

Nikolai has a key to her house in Amsterdam. She knows the code to his hangar. You know, "just in case", whatever that means...

5. Biggest in-universe supporter of the ship?

I want to say Laswell, only because the relationship motivates Cappie to better cooperate with the task force. As Cappie's handler at the CIA, Laswell deals with a lot of kicking and screaming from the smuggler. Manipulative, sure, but if a romantic interest keeps Cappie leaning on the side of the "good guys", Laswell will take it.

Skelly, in a world with Rory in it, I hope it's her.

8. Who makes the bigger romantic gestures?

Nikolai does, but it was a learning process.

Nikolai has a lot of money--A lot of money. And he is interested in someone who does not give a single shit about it.

What worked in easily impressing women in the past (international travel, piloting his own helicopter, boundless access to the finer things in life) only succeeds in making Cappie roll her eyes. Cappie has her own money and her own resources. His military background is uninspiring. She would rather die than ask anyone let alone Nikolai for anything beyond her basic needs.

Nikolai learned very quickly that buying things like fancy gifts was not the route to Cappie's heart. Time was. That's why reconnecting was so important because time is worth its weight in gold to her. To her, a "big romantic gesture" is sitting in the corner booth at a family-owned restaurant and hearing stories about his mom. It's sitting in bed with pajamas and messy hair, blowing the steam off the coffee he made her while talking about cooking dinner together. It's taking shots of tequila at the dive bar while they compare war stories and times they evaded the law, all pink cheeks, and lingering touches under the table.

A big romantic gesture is Nikolai slowing down and being authentic with someone who craves who he really is like sunlight.

15. What's something they love to do together?

Eat. Both Nikolai and Cappie are well travelled. They come from different backgrounds, but they share an appreciation for local cuisine and culture. I'd like to think that when they're in each other's orbit, they find that one hole-in-the-wall in town, the place where the locals go, no tourists. Maybe one of them "knows a guy", can order something off menu, stay late even after the kitchen closes.

And if they're lucky enough to spare the time, Nikolai will cook for her. Something hearty and warm, like his love for her.

[burning-academia-if]

Hi again. If you've been around a while you're probably going to be like "Em, again??" But guess who got sick for the 6th time this year and this time it was a full on chest infection!! It has been three weeks, and somehow I am still Not Free!!

Anyway, BA fell to the wayside this month because it was Velox Fabula time and I've yet to miss a Velox jam (also...chest infection). I also needed to get my sudden and newfound Pirates of the Caribbean obsession out of the way so! I made a short pirate visual novel for the jam and I'm normal again. I also released the prologue of my side IF To Taste Sweet Silver (@sweetsilver-if) just to have it out. Feel free to check it out if you want, but it likely won't be updated for a while as I'm shifting gears back to BA for September!

I don't have much to report but:

UI update should be out in the next week or two depending on how I'm feeling. It won't look like much to y'all since it's more for my sake via cleaning up the code LOL but there were things added (friendship indicators, open dyslexic font option, character page updated, stat page updated, glossary page added) I'm not a graphic designer but it's better organized I think. There won't be an Official Post about it because it isn't new content, but I will make a small announcement when it's out. It'll also include the originally deleted Lars/Zoe/Nevio lunch scene in Chapter 2 as well. Sorry this is taking so long, I just really struggle with the coding side of things which has made the process slow.

Writing in August was also slow, and honestly, I think I really needed those few weeks off not thinking about BA. My inbox being very quiet helped as well, so I really did take a real break from BA. When I opened up the writing doc, I felt a whole lot better about working on BA again, and we have hit 100k words finally!

Anyway, I don't want to lament much, but I did have a personal goal of releasing up to Chapter 4 this year which obviously is Not Going to Happen. It honestly sucks I got sick so often this year because it cut into so much time for creative projects, be it BA or anything else.

I'm not really going to be hard on myself for it, though. I think releasing 3 chapters this year considering everything that kept Going Wrong this year is actually pretty good. I just think its annoying when I know I could have done it but the universe said no instead akfjalfa Anyway, I'm not sure when Chapter 3 will release but I do have a good feeling about September and I think I'll be able to at least get a decent chunk done this month!

Finally, September marks the one year anniversary for this blog and October marks the one year anniversary of BA releasing!! I feel like I literally just started writing this, the fact it's September already is wild.

I was going to do art commissions, but due to surprise car issues, I don't really have the money for that now (next year for sure though!!), so I was thinking of maybe doing character Q&As to celebrate? I've also seen some authors do raffles, but I'm not entirely sure what I would raffle off? Maybe personalized short stories with readers MCs if there's interest in that? I'm not sure yet, but I have a month to figure it out lol

But also thank you to everyone who has followed along!! It's been a really fun time both writing BA and on the blog. I know I say this a lot, but I'm really glad this is such a chill place. It's nice for me the author obviously, but it's also nice because I always want the spaces I have to feel like safe places for others as well so! Thanks again!

Lastly, I normally would end on a little snippet or preview but since most of what I wrote was just the two different openings, I feel like I have nothing fun to tease (or maybe I'm too picky about snippets idk). Hopefully Zoe's bday post tomorrow makes up for it, and I'll post some snippets later in the month instead!

Thanks for reading!

[veiledlinks-vn]

So I randomly stumbled across this and it looks really neat!! Are you still working on it? How are things going? It looks like the last update was around New Years, do you have any more news (even something small, if you don't have anything big)? I'd be super interested to hear!! (P.S. godspeed soldier, idk much about it but I know coding and game-making can be a huge task)

Oh, hello there! Thank you for your kind words. ;w;

Yup, I'm still working on it, the only reason progress is so slow is because real life has kept getting in the way, sadly enough. It's been many frustrations and disappointments these past months. If I'd had it my way, I would've finished a demo last autumn at the very latest.

We'll get there eventually, and I have to stop beating myself over it. I do apologise for the wait, though, and while it's not much, I still want to share what has been done since the last update:

Ryouken's part of the demo is in its final editing stage, so he's so close to being finished!

I found the last audio files I needed, and one of them was something I've searched a long time for, so that was a huge relief.

I've decided on how the cover images will look like and have sketched up one of them and started inking and painting the other.

I've managed to finish another CG, as well as make 3 sketches for Yuusaku's route. He still needs some proper planning with how many more branches he has compared to Takeru and Ryouken, but I'm having so much fun with it.

Future drinking games for players: take a shot every time Ryouken deems something as irrelevant, Yuusaku shrugs, or Takeru says "what".

I'm not sure how interesting the coding process can be, but I did some editing to the randomise function and now, it works splendidly while looking neater!

I promise coding is fun and not as complicated as it might look like!

That's it for now. Hopefully, the summer will be better than it was last year. Thank you again for stopping by, I appreciate it! ♥♥♥

[theswisscheeserag]

A little info post on things I’ve learned from processing donations at a thrift store for a few years bc I’ve seen a few info posts and there’s some stuff that’s missing from them that I feel like sharing, in the hopes that some of y’all find it useful:

-I volunteer at a small medical charity shop so some of my advice is specific to stores with very limited square footage

-The posts that say don’t donate stained/ragged/unwearable clothes are all true, HOWEVER, DON’T JUST THROW THEM OUT. If there are clothes you’re just uncertain on, I say go ahead and donate them anyways. Don’t donate an entire bag of maybes, but if you have stuff you know is good, mix in the maybes, you never know. Most thrift stores have a plan to get rid of bad clothes- bad donations, stuff that is nice but won’t sell in this zip code, stuff that has been out for ages and never sold. If we don’t sell your maybes, we can take care of them, and we will be grateful for the good stuff

(At my store, we send them to the big Savers down the road, and if they don’t like them, we take them to a fabric recycler that pays 10 cents a pound, which all goes to charity.)

-If they are just terrible, or a big bag of maybes don’t give up! Find a fabric recycling center near you if possible. If you live in an area with H&M, they do fabric recycling, idk how much gets used but it is but it’s better than just throwing it out, and it slows down the fast fashion machine a lil. Maybe call your thrift store and ask if they know one? Idk no one has ever asked me this at the shop.

-If you’re donating to a smaller shop (housing works, American cancer, hospital benefit) please call ahead of time to see if we’re accepting donations, especially if you have 3+ bags or furniture. If you’re donating to goodwill/savers, that’s probably fine, I don’t know, I don’t work there

-DONATE HOLIDAY ITEMS 1-2 MONTHS BEFORE THE HOLIDAY. DONATE SEASONAL CLOTHES RIGHT BEFORE OR DURING THE SEASON. We will throw out your Christmas decorations that you give us in January. We will throw out your winter coats you donate in April. I just threw out an entire dumpster of winter coats. Donate Christmas in October, Easter in February, when we can put it out in time. If you go through your stuff in January and find Christmas things you want to donate, save it for next year. When we can use it.

-DO NOT DONATE EXPLICIT MATERIAL. I shouldn’t have to say this but no matter how scholarly,historic, or funny it is, we can’t sell it, we just send it home with an employee who thinks it’s funny, or toss it. Bodice ripper romance is an exception, our old lady customers eat it up and it’s discreet. “Book of Erotic doodles” is not.

-Wash everything. Please.

-if you accidentally donate something bad we will not hunt you down and kill you, or bitch about you being your back. We’re still glad you thought of us. Come back again with better stuff or to shop. Don’t stress about the time you donated a ripped shirt bc you didn’t know. We’re a chill people. We already forgot.

-if you are donating something vintage and have information on it- year, maker, relevant history, tell the person you give it to, or better yet, write it on a note and attach it to the item. I’ll probably verify the material later, but it helps to have somewhere to start

-if there’s historically irrelevant family gossip attached, tell me, the employee. I want to know.

-don’t try to haggle. Yes, we accounted for the damage when we priced it. This isn’t a flea market

-if you don’t mind handwashing dishes, entire sets of china come very cheap, esp at more boutique-y shops like mine

Share if you find it useful, or don’t, I’m not a cop! If I think of more I’ll add them

[bizarremachinist]

Capstone #11: Final?

<-<- FIRST || <- PREV || NEXT ->

First off, Capstone is done done and just waiting on graduation. Next up, our capstone won us a little award! We did our little poster session and showed off the assembly. But lets show off something I wish I had done under the cut

The Arduino doesn't have the ability to process more than one thing at a time, it doesn't even have threads. It's single core, single thread. So when the gantry wants to move, it needs to do all the math of where to go, then move the stepper motors. The entire time where it's calculating, the motors aren't moving, and the entire time the motors are moving, the cpu is sitting there doing jackshit nothing. And it has to do this for each and every stepper step until it reaches the end position. (The speed of this is dramatically slowed. The actual stepper step takes about 3 milliseconds, and the calculation takes maybe a few clock cycles (idk exactly how long, but lets just say ~0.005 milliseconds)). Point is, 3 milliseconds is an eternity to a cpu.

In that 3 milliseconds we could do a lot of things. Lets use time more efficiently...

In the project I had coded the gantry to not use a queue and event handler. This is mostly because of a lack of hindsight. But had I, it would something like this: The "math" process does the math and drops the result into the queue, the "gantry" process picks up the next thing in the queue and executes it. In the meantime while the cpu is waiting for the motor to reach its position, there's plenty of time to do plenty more math and start filling the queue. Because math is fun and it can't wait to do MORE math (:

All this makes this run far faster by doing 2 things at once. It gives you more control over how fast the gantry moves, because its speed depends on how fast you read from the queue. Once the queue is filled you could even spend that time doing literally anything else, like blinking lights, updating screens, or read from sensors.

There ARE even more clever things you can do, but this is just one that I feel like I totally could have done if I wasn't already nearly done by the time I thought of it

[johnslittlespoon]

HI I'M ALIVE i swear this is a pattern at this point, i post a new fic/chapter and disappear for a phat day (or two) lmaoo i literally get The Fear and i have to avoid notifs/comments for a bit <33

that being said, wept reading the comments on TAS, i'm so so thankful y'all are vibing with it because i was NERVOUS about posting my first ever modern au and i wanted to make sure it still felt true to the characters but everyone's been so unbelievably kind i'm so wahhahhhh :')) i appreciate the sweet words SO so much, it's so reassuring and so motivating <33

so motivating actually that i'm already halfway done ch2... whoops? litch rally buzzing with how excited i am to write, i don't think i've ever experienced this which sounds strange but like. okay hold i can already tell i'm gonna go on a tangent so let me cut myself off with a read more lmaoo

idk, does anyone else ever sometimes feel like even though obviously we all write fic for enjoyment because we do it for free, sometimes it feels like a chore? not in the sense that i feel obligated to write, but just that even though i feel passionately about what i want to write, it's just hard to get my brain into gear (adhd aside) even when i really want to. i'm just thinking out loudddd now but my concerta just kicked in so it's inevitable LOL word vomit and thought processing is apparently a necessary part of my writing process smh

writing yad(iym) has honestly been so helpful with this because one of the biggest things that i struggle with when writing is that i have a super vivid imagination and can picture exactly what i want to portray/convey, but sometimes i don't know how to get there, but with the dog coded fic i have the timeline of the actual show to follow, so it takes a lot of pressure off in that sense! it's sorta like filling in the gaps because i have something base level to work with.

but 99% of the time when writing, i don't have that, so i end up avoiding my docs often because i feel stuck in terms of progressing the storyline, and my writing process drags on so longgg. i'm finding too now that i'm writing my first (and second oops) actual long fic that oneshots are actually more difficult for me to finish for some reason despite most of mine being shorter than a singular chapter in my fics, which is funny because i was so terrified of commitment starting a chaptered fic but i've ended up being more consistent.

anyway point is, i adore writing yad(iym) and it's been the most fun experience i've had fic writing, but now that i've sorted out the world building aspects for tough and sweet, everything is just flowing and instead of having to sit myself down at my desk and kinda just force myself into the zone, i cannot drag myself out of my docs?? and i've never had that happen but i'm definitely trying to take advantage of it while it lasts and get as much written as possible!

i think it also helps that it's so lighthearted compared to the angst of yadiym (tho i've got some angst planned for tas too lol sry) so i don't have to think as much about the weight behind certain dialogue, or carefully plan out the progression of the relationship dynamic the way the time period/setting of yadiym requires. it's a nice breather from the constraints of the mota–verse (as much as it's still my favourite thing to read/write with these boys), but i also enjoy getting to sink back into that doc when i want something deeper than the little biker boys.

i'm still very much working away on yadiym tho to be clear!! i was scared to start tas before i finished it in case i hyperfixated on tas and my updates got slow on yadiym, but it's genuinely helped me find a balance because i'm always working on one if i'm not working on the other <3 i'm about half done ch6 too for yadiym (how many times can i type that in one post jfc), i'm just at an internal emotions heavy part which i Hate. writing lmaooo give me dialogue or smut and i can type away for hrs but introspection?? internal conflict? hell

ok that's all my fic related rambling thank uuuu/apologies if u sat thru all of that LOL lmk if your writing process/mindset is similar or not bc i'm always curious about how other people's brains work with this stuff!! also how does one get over feeling obnoxious about rambling on their own acc like. this is my acc. i could post 100 times a day if i wanted. i need to Relax good god

[worryingthing]

tyn 2/10

The subway was extremely messed up this morning, but because of that I was late to work (nbd, I arrive half an hour before everyone else, also I did not get this week's building code at the time, so I would have had to stand there and wait had I been on time) there was no line for a croissant from Bourke Street Bakery. They have probably the best Pain au Chocolat I've ever had (outside the ones I had in Montreal as a kid when we visited), but the regular croissant is also stellar. As a true Taurus, I can bear the miseries of overlit banal office work if I have pastry.

Because the R was running on a Saturday schedule (?????) I took the M, which means transferring at 53rd. The escalator at mid platform is broken, and I accidentally walked all the way up it last week, resulting in barely being able to breathe at the end (it's like four stories, I am old and post-covid have asthma now). So now there are hundreds of people in line for the other, working, escalator and right in between is the elevator. I have never used a subway elevator, but this is also the first time in my life experiencing a physical disability. So I squeezed into the elevator, and it was fine. I think A LOT about accessibility since joining Access Oasis, a local community garden founded by a friend that has a mission to create an accessible outdoor space. It's done wonders for me as an audhd person to find community and understanding with others who have experiences similar to my own. Also digging in dirt is just, really, really good for you! I love plants. But yes, the angriest I get is usually about how inaccessible the subway is for anyone who would require a mobility aid. It makes me so angry, and so sad, but also in the last few years both of my home stations (previously Brooklyn, now Queens) have gotten upgraded with elevators. They're in process, and it's only two sets of stairs, but it still means more life for the people who need it. Change is slow!! Every station should be ADA approved already, but it's happening.

Oh and because I took the M and transferred at 53rd, there's a corridor you pass through to get to the 6. Many days there's a man standing in there preaching about God to 100s of in transit New Yorkers who are probably, like me, thinking "fuck my life, fuck this job, fuck the MTA" while a man shouts at us to thank Jesus for our lives. BUT he was not there today, and I will take that as the win it was. Sometimes I do begrudge him that he's right I should be thankful for my life but also fuck off.

Things are really wonderful with my friendships, community, and relationship and I'm not sure I've ever experienced that or felt so at ease and comfortable. It's really wonderful.

I'm back working at the last temp gig I had. I had been looking for work the entirety of November, December, and January. It was terrible, probably the lowest I've felt since I got out of my last relationship. But now the sun is setting after 5, and being busy and tired and active is good for me. But I'm here because the person who is normally here is sick. They do not know when he's coming back, but they like me and say I do good work. I don't really want to work in an office or open/sort/send out mail for an office of 200 people. But I want a work/life balance, and I would really, really like to have health insurance. Idk, it's an upswing and I needed it and I'll take it.

PITCHERS AND CATCHERS REPORT TO SPRING TRAINING TODAY!!! T O D A Y!!! FOOTBALL IS OVER, BASEBALL IS NIGH!!!! The golden period is coming (longer light, games on most nights, listening to radio broadcasts of games, going to the Coney Island Cyclones Pride Night every summer!!) During my worst periods of deep depression/suicidal ideation I would try to keep a mental list of names to stay alive for and things to look forward to. It helps and it works, and then I started to try and think of three things I was thankful for daily and one thing I am looking forward to (usually watching movies with friends or whatever plan). Anyway I went long and it's time for lunch, and I THINK it's sunny today? Blessed.

[infriga]

What's interesting about House of Usher is that Flannigan usually has likeable protagonists, at least in my experience. Granted I haven't seen all of his works, but I've seen several (Bly Manor, Hill House, Midnight Mass, and I've heard summaries of others) and most of them are generally pretty sympathetic from my understanding, even the ones with more blood on their hands, so to speak.

In House of Usher however, almost none of the main characters are good or likeable people to much, if any, degree. Their spouses/partners are decent people, for the most part (dunno how the siblings landed such nice SOs despite being so nasty), and the granddaughter seems alright (I'm only on episode 5 btw so idk if anything happens regarding her or the other non-siblings, no spoilers pls), and Auguste seems like a decent person (maybe not the best family man, but he at has his heart in the right place especially compared to the Ushers), but all the siblings, and Roderick and Madeline themselves, are pretty horrible people.

But like, they're not one dimensional bad people, they're complex, they feel emotions, they care about people in their lives even if they don't tend to treat those people well, they have fears and insecurities and passions and hangups just like regular people do. So while usually I dislike when the protagonists of a show like this are unlikable, in this show it's actually quite fascinating because like I can't say I hate them either, they feel like they could be good people if they really wanted to be. Especially if they had better influences and were taught better lessons by their father and aunt. They feel human, not evil, but I'm also not rooting for them either. I don't know who to root for tbh, except maybe people like Julius, Tammy's husband, and the granddaughter, who are all side characters lol. Idk who the weird supernatural lady is (death? The devil? God? A witch? No idea) so I don't know her motivations or what kinda person she is, she seems to be collecting on some sort of debt but that's the best I've got on her. I do think it's interesting how she tried to spare Morrie from the acid by telling her to go like she did with the wait staff, but she didn't do anything to help Ali later when she was killed, so was it strategic or does this lady have some sort of code of morals? Does she care about whether people are innocent or not? Why spare the wait staff from death by acid shower but not the other party goers? Is sparing Morrie more about the potential role she'll play in Freddy's death? I guess I'll find out.

But I do think it's interesting that we start off the show knowing who's going to die already, since usually stakes in this genre come from wanting characters to survive (hence why I usually prefer likable protags in horror/suspense media), but it makes sense that since none of these people are very likable, the suspense needs to mostly come from something else on that front, such as wondering how they're going to die or which innocent people they might take with them in the process, as well as wanting to know what caused all this.

Roderick, ironically, is probably the most sympathetic member of the family aside from his granddaughter, which doesn't mean much but I mean, I wouldn't begrudge anyone going through what he witnessed in episode 5. Like gaddamn that's fucked up. He seems like someone who deep down has the potential and even the buried desire or instinct to be a good person, but was too much of a coward to put in the work it would take to be good and stay good in a harsh world when he wants so badly to be someone big and successful and important just like, well, his father. But ultimately he does obviously love his children so I do sympathize with him in that regard.

But the show is making the unlikable protagonists thing work for it, somehow. I don't like most of these people, but I am fascinated by them and what's going down and how they got here. It's like watching a car crash in slow motion.

[aroaceofthesea]

Hi! So the other day i was thinking about how useless dating apps are for me as an aroace and why are there dating apps but not apps to make friends so I said why not make one myself? So now basically I plan on making an app that's like dating apps but to make friends. It will be a very slow process bc I have a lot of work this year but I wanted to start getting on it so that next summer that I won't have so much work I can try to code it....

Anyway since doing this isnt easy I wanted to ask if you guys see any obvious flaw in this general idea that Im not seeing (which is 100% likely so pls help me lol)

A bit more specification (i would make a cut here but i dont have my computer srry):

At first it would show you people from anywhere across the world bc i dont expect a lot of people to use it and online friends is better than no friends (there would be a language feature or smth i guess too)

I'm thinking one pic x person (idk if this was already assumed idk how dating apps work) at least at first (bc i assume using more would be harder to code)

A bio with like spaces for hobbies and idk things like that (think like the typical OCs created by 13 yo idk where they do the character info things? Idrk but yeah)

Idk basic dating app things ill have to do some research before i start lol

If you can as i said point any obvious flaws or have any ideas can u pls leave them in the comments or smth pls?

Also disclaimer: i may end up not doing that app but for now im rlly motivated and rlly want the end result so yeah (i also have a lot of work though so dont expect basically anything to start before like may 2023 so yeah)

[phoenixyfriend]

Chip Reactivation AU

With help from @atagotiak @thisarenotarealblog and @kestrel-cat

Palpatine leaks info to Dooku about how Anakin used to be a slave, with a general intent of just causing psychological trauma to Skywalker. Dooku passes the job off to Ventress because he's got other things to do, and she takes it Way Too Far.

She hunts down Watto for more information, picks up just the right codes, and mid-battle reactivates Anakin's slave chip.

She taunts him about it. Tells him he has an hour before it goes off. Enjoys the horror as he realizes what she's done, but nobody else has the background info to parse the threat.

"Tick tock, Skywalker."

It's literally the only thing she's here to do, so Anakin is in a position to call off whatever team he has and sprint back to the ship, calling frantically for Kix to get ready to perform a surgery on a time crunch. He can't protect his men if he's dead, after all, and Padme is waiting for him.

Anakin doesn't know where his chip is. There's lots of Dawning Horror among the troopers and Ahsoka. They get the chip out in time, if barely, because the run back ate up over half the time and Kix had maybe twenty minutes to locate and remove the chip.

Various fallout as Anakin has to explain why he had a remote-controlled bomb in him and why he wasn't surprised it was there.

I just think it would be a Fun Way for the situation to come out

Ventress: I have spoken to Watto of Toydaria-

Anakin: WHAT?!?

Ahsoka: Who?

Ventress: And he gave me a very interesting set of codes. You're a bit far out of range, Skywalker, but I got them to work. You have one hour before the trigger hits.

Ahsoka: Master, what the kriff is she talking about?

Ventress: Master is quite the apropos term. Tick-Tock, Skywalker.

Ventress is playing it up but internally she wants to STAB someone, preferably Dooku, because she also used to be a child slave, and this is a very tone-deaf assignment, sir.

Dooku figured that by having Ventress do it, he could kill two birds with one stone. She needs a bit of extra trauma to cling to the dark side! Anger is good for her!

Maybe she tweaked the Codes and stuff to give Anakin more time, and says something cryptic to him about it later.

Ventress: Did you like my gift?

Anakin: If you mean the resurgent trauma, yeah it was great, I loved feeling like a piece of meat again.

[some time later]

Ventress: He took out your chip.

Anakin: Yeah, no thanks to y--

Ventress: Could he do the same to mine?

All jokes aside, Ventress probably doesn't still have the chip in her, maybe never had one in the first place if Rattatak was different enough from Tatooine, but.

Kix: Ok... Miss. We found it and it should be out fairly simply. I understand that you may prefer local anesthesia, but I am compelled by medical professionalism to offer-

Ventress: Oh just get it over with.

Kix: Ma'am I do have a knife.

----

Ventress: Why are you doing this anyway?

Kix: Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.

Ventress: Oh, that's wild coming from you.

Kix: Hey we don't have any... chips... why are you looking at me like that?

Ventress giving him a "oh you sweet summer child" look of pity, just a raised eyebrow of "oh, you actually believe that?"

She's actually very well positioned to have that insider knowledge! It's a great way to slide into a fix-it!

I like the idea of Ventress telling them about the chip, partly as a way to buy favor with them when she defects.

I like the reason she’d defect here is how concerned everyone is for Anakin, y’know? If Obi-Wan is nearby that’d include like, people in a position of power (or maybe even better, another council member being concerned, one that’s not so close) Just like, seeing people being concerned for other people, not for their usefulness y’know?

Like yeah sure they’d try to get the chip out, Anakin is valuable but the way they’d react would go beyond that.

It’d be a hell of a mood whiplash bc in many ways the initial everything about the chip would be extremely validating to her bitterness?

(Callous holier than thou bastards but they don’t even do anything to help one of their own, well if they’re going to leave so nice an opening for me I might as well take it)

And then it's just like, no, Anakin just didn't tell people, figured "it's inactive and that's enough for me" because... IDK he didn't trust anyone to anesthetize him at first and after that it was too late to not be awkward.

Just consider, though, Anakin's thought process as time runs down-- Kix can do it, he can't believe otherwise, he has faith in his men, but- Stay back, Snips! Master, what's going on? Let me help, what can I do? This isn't something you can help with, I need you to stay out of range of the bomb-- BOMB?! No time, where's Kix, we have to move

"I'm not leaving you Skyguy!" "Snips, please, don't come any closer, I can't..."

He's immersed deeply in the Force, listening for the first hint that they've run out of time (because I can't really see them having a perfectly accurate countdown, even if Ventress did give them an accurate timeframe) and preparing to throw everyone around him out of range if he has to (because they won't go willingly if it comes to that...)

It's not even really realistic to worry about the range, necessarily: I was under the impression that it was about a foot of effect, enough to kill if it's in the shoulder or neck or something, but a slow death if it's in the chest, and possible survival if it's in a limb. But that objective knowledge doesn't necessarily help when you're in the thick of things, does it?