#patchwork anon at it again

[mediocreanomaly]

Heya! Same patchwork anon here >:]

Im so glad you like the idea! And id definitely see Vash being so protective of it, but sir we need to clean that omg 😩

But i did wanna shoot another reply cause i had another thought (Its 3am, so its the perfect time for thoughts) but imagine instead of white solid thread for Nai's janky ass milk puzzle blanket, its instead stitched with colored thread to at least give it some more life :0

I do like the idea that Nai just keeps it hidden, but imagine Nai's mate finding it and wanting to improve on it more, so little by little theyve been hand-embroiddering stuff on each patch to give it more life, and Nai doesnt notice cause he doesnt really lay it out often, and one day he just has this urge to look at it again, maybe give it a chance and add it to the nest, afterall its the thought that counts right? but then he spreads it out and sees the different embroiderry, like hearts or flowers that Nai's mate saw in books~ Theres even an ongoing embroiderry that makes it clear that his mate has been stitching this behind his back lol

(okay thats all sorry for the ramble im just so weak for them huhu)

Authors Note: Oh my gosh??? I'm so sorry for being away everyone work is busy busy busy rn, gotta serve up some of my drafts fr...anyways! Patchwork anon strikes again! You know nesting hc's are my weakness I had to indulge, R.I.P. Knives milk puzzle.

In reference to both of these post: Nesting Hc's, Patchwork Anon

A Blanket of Many Colors, Knives x Reader

You run your fingers over the blanket you had gifted Nai, the patchwork of white making the blanket look more like a haphazard ghost costume rather than a gift you'd painstakingly sown together. You sigh, you didn't really blame Nai for hiding it away in fact you'd been a be relived when you found out your mate kept the scraggly piece of fabric at all. While the vision had been there the end result had ended up lack luster at best.

You groan, about to tuck it back away in its hiding spot for good when you pause over one of the squares. Although by itself it wasn't much...it'd be the perfect base for something else. You think of what you could fill the tiles with, you had more than enough colored thread to add a bit of life to it, you mull over a couple options before remembering the book of flowers Nai had shown you once, his expression had soften as he explained the differences between each species. Inspired, you quickly grab the blanket and march over to the large bookcase in the corner of Nai's room, running your fingers over the spines of the books trying to find the correct one.

"c'mon...it's gotta be here somewh- ah!" you say triumphantly, pulling out the book containing pictures hundreds of different flowers. You'd been amazed when Nai first showed you, plants like this didn't bloom on Gunsmoke, so the idea of their soft petals were all you had to go off of. You quickly flip through the book picking out one of the flowers and grab some red thread and a needle, ready to go to work.

Some where along the way this little practice had become routine for you. Every time Nai was away or you were bored you'd sneak over to the cabinet your mate had stored the blanket and add a small embroidery. Adding a different flower every time until the blanket was becoming a colorful tapestry of your own making. You weren't sure if Nai even knew what you were doing, if he did he didn't say anything about it. So you continued the harmless pass time figuring he had just forgotten about the gift to collect dust.

He hadn't. Nai was, admittedly, particular when it came to his nest and he knew it. He'd mull over the sheets over and over making sure they were the same shade of white and that they were both soft and large enough. When you had presented him with the hand made blanket...it wasn't that he didn't apricate a gift from his beloved mate, it's just that he cringed internally anytime he thought about it in his nest. He couldn't bring himself to throw away something made by your hands though, so he had stored it away for safe keeping, not wanting anyone else to get their filthy hands on something made specifically for him.

It wasn't until a couple months and one tedious day later that he found himself marching towards his quarters. His instincts where screaming to wind down and drag you into the nest with him but you were out in Ja'Lai, escorted by Legato. He huffs, thinking of grabbing some of your clothes to add to the nest for your scent but then grimaces at the idea of all that disorganized fabric against the white sheets and pillows. He pauses looking at the cabinet that contained the gift you had made all that time ago. Although he still bristles slightly at the idea of it sprawled out in his nest...maybe it's the thought that counts? No. Absolutely not. But he could at least drag it out for a little while, maybe it wasn't as bad as he remembered.

Nai opens the cabinet and reaches in for the blanket but when he pulls it out...his eyes go wide. He holds it up so that he had a better view of what he's seeing, flowers he had only seen as a child blossom against the white fabric painting a scene of an intricate garden that only his memories and dreams could recreate. Had his mate been doing this the whole time? He tilts his head and gently traces the patters of the petals and whining stems that adorns the blanket now, then...he glances up towards his nest.

"Nai? You you here?" you call walking towards your shared room. The others had informed you of your mates arrival while you were out in town and you were eager to welcome him with open arms. You pad in, cold floor beneath you feet. He must be curled up in the nest it's where he liked to recharge after being gone. You walk towards the bed where you know a heap of white blankets and pillows is waiting as you quietly peek in the room. Your mate is in the nest alright, but...instead of the usual stark white, a myriad of color litters the top. Your blanket, you realize, is now the main center piece of the nest, curled securely around your sleeping mate as he purrs in his sleep, plant marking glowing softly. It seems...he liked the gift after all.

[cherspastries]

Cher!! I love your writing and you aesthetic so much :)

You’re a graphic designer yeah? What driver do you think would work well with a graphic designer reader, and on that note, what occupation do you think each driver’s s/o would have?

And do you do emoji anons? 👀 If so can I be 🫧?

I LOVE HER AS SHE IS,

DOING HER THING!

WORK IT!

2025 Grid x Reader

SUMMARY 𐙚 What jobs I think each driver’s girlfriend would have + how you first met.

WARNINGS 𐙚 Fluff, reader is described with feminine terms, mentions of alcohol / handling alcohol, not proofread

WORD COUNT 𐙚 6.3K

A/N 𐙚 Hi!! Tysm I love my theme, and yes I do accept emoji anons! Hello 🫧 !! Also, before I actually write, I love all the WAGs and respect their jobs, but I wanted to romanticize this a bit so… All the drivers are getting hypothetical new girlfriends with weird and interesting occupations and personalities

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN

RedBull ෆ

Max Verstappen

Bartender

You cannot convince me this man isn’t always in need of a drink. Whether he’s celebrating or he’s upset, Max likes a good gin and tonic. Sure, he can make his own, but nobody makes it as good as his lovely girlfriend: a bartender. That’s right! He met you at a club in Monaco, of course. It was after he had won a grand prix, and he kept coming back for more and more alcohol until he was blackout drunk. You had to call him a cab home, and he kept mumbling about how beautiful and perfect you were. When he came back to retrieve his lost phone the next day, he apologized and properly asked you out.

But it’s also nice because Max’s favorite way to relax with you is to lay across the couch, drink in hand, and watching a show you both enjoy. He doesn’t want to overwork you, but if you offer to whip something up real fast, he’s definitely not going to say no to your hard work and encourage you to keep doing what you love. Side note, I genuinely think he loves being able to party at the club you work at. He loves getting to enjoy a night out, but also being able to visit you whenever he wants. His friends have stopped wondering where he’s ran off to after they found out who was behind the bar. They shouldn’t be surprised when he disappears every five minutes to go chat you up again. Sometimes regular patrons give him dirty looks because they think he’s hitting on you inappropriately, but then you flash the matching set of rings and they simmer down.

Yuki Tsunoda

Seamstress

I’ll be honest, I was unsure about this one, but I honestly think it makes a lot of sense. Yuki has really good style, so I had a feeling his partner should be related to fashion. However, seamstress was a bit of a stretch. I think you’d make a lot of clothes for him, which is why he has such great style to begin with. He’s wearing handmade, high quality patchwork hoodies and jeans and shoes that you decorated yourself, all made by you! So yeah, whenever someone compliments his very fitting form of fashion, he lets you know that the people are certainly admiring your work. Do we all remember when the internet went crazy over Yuki wearing his RedBull shirt unbuttoned? Yeah. All you.

He first met you when you were still just a fan. Some might argue the dynamic seems inappropriate, but you were never a huge fan of him specifically. Just… An F1 fan. You sewed shirts for the RedBull team, and they weren’t the typical tacky wear that the team usually received. These had lots of thought and enthusiasm put into them— He could only imagine how hard and how long you have slaved away making those, so he wore it with pride… Even if it was a tad bit too big. After that, he kept seeing you in the paddock, communicating with various engineers and drivers, collecting autographs like it was your job. He complimented your work, you introduced yourself, and the rest was history. So yeah, you ended up falling for the irresistible charm of Yuki Tsunoda, and honestly who can blame you?

Mercedes ෆ

George Russell

Graphic designer

Yes, okay. This is my line of work, and I honestly believe George would be the most supportive for a graphic designer out of everyone. I mean, he at least thinks he knows fashion and technology, so he assumes that he’s being helpful. I can see the two of you being high school sweethearts that pursued different paths, but stuck together. Of course you knew George was into racing at the time, because he was karting even back then, but you never expected him to reach such fame. He even managed to get to a job with the FIA, designing graphics for winners and podiums and such, so yeah. People have been silently appreciating your work for years. You’re the one who gets to see all the unused winner graphics.

Whenever you’re working on a project, you consult George. Even though half the time you don’t listen to his advice, it’s nice to get somebody else’s opinion and support. You know he’ll be honest instead of giving you that “it’s perfect the way it is” bullshit, so his unfiltered opinion is just what you need to get a sense of what the right direction might be. He used to sugarcoat it, but you eventually told him that his honesty wouldn’t hurt your feelings, and he started to be more open. Not that it was rude, because his opinions were still helpful and polite! He always tops it off with a kiss and a wish of good luck. He knows you’ll make the right decision.

Kimi Antonelli

Tutor

Alright. We all have fun joking about Kimi needing a math tutor, but what if he doesn’t. Because his girlfriend is one. You know? You’re still in school, just like him, so you make a lot of money by people paying you to help them out in classes. Yes, Kimi needs a nerd girlfriend I feel it in my SOUL. Now, contrary to popular belief, you actually don’t tutor him. Why? Because he gets distracted by you very easily. He can’t stop looking at your pretty eyes, your plump lips, and your soft hair. All he wants is to bury his face in your neck and lay on top of you 24/7/365, because you’re so soft and warm. So no, you don’t tutor him. You can’t tutor him. You’ve tried. You’ve failed.

He brings you to the Imola Grand Prix, happily showing you off and introducing you to all of his track mates with that huge boyish grin. He tells them all that you’re just his tutor, and that afterwards you’ll be in his drivers room teaching him the pythagorean theorem (which he doesn’t even know how to pronounce in any language, mind you, so he’s just stumbling over syllables to get the idea out.) You correct him and politely let them know you’re actually his girlfriend. They all tease him, insisting that this whole story was just an excuse to sneak you into his room for a cheeky make out session, which you both quickly deny with flushed cheeks and slight stutters. Looks like he’s been caught before he could even try.

Ferrari ෆ

Charles Leclerc

Fashion designer

Now this isn’t to say that Charles doesn’t already have good fashion sense, because he definitely does. However, I do think that after the two of you started dating, there was a noticeable change in his choices. He started to dress in a manner that was suitable to his… Well, everything. He had custom made clothes with logos pertaining to him on them, everything matched his face and body shape, and he was dressed to an absolute T. All thanks to you! He doesn’t even have to ask, you just quietly sketch up designs for jackets and shirts that he can proudly show off at races, and you’ve even helped him customize merch that is both affordable, and fits the aesthetic of most of his fans. Goodbye trashy t-shirts with a logo lazily slapped on, and hello well thought out designs.

You were definitely hired to design some of his merch after the team saw your concept sketches. He was completely clueless to your arrival, but once he saw you he knew there was something irresistible that surrounded you. Your aura was undeniably attractive, and you were a genius when it came to your job. Of course. He loved your sense of fashion, so Charles discreetly asked you out to go get coffee and discuss things some more. Except, the two of you ended up talking and laughing the entire time, so of course you had to reschedule. And then you had to reschedule again because the same thing happened. Then finally you realized what he was doing, and asked him out on an official date. From then on, he proudly showed you off as his girlfriend. No more hiding!

Lewis Hamilton

Makeup artist

Yes, both of the Ferrari boys have their fashion girlfriends. I think if they existed in the same universe they’d be really good friends, too. I think Lewis loves to listen to you rant about different qualities of makeup, and how different makeups can affect break-outs on skin, and how to prevent all that. There’s a lot that goes into your line of work, and he never gets tired of hearing it. I think his favorite thing is hearing you talk about different color palettes and how you decide what colors suit a client best. You’ve definitely done similar things on him, and he stays true to your advice and tries to mix those colors in to his outfits. He also refuses to hire anyone but you to do his makeup for events, and he brings you everywhere he can. Trust that you were attached at the hip during the Met Gala, and that he was announcing to everyone he met that you did his makeup, and how talented you are. Watch out because you’re gonna have so many clients coming your way.

Unlike Charles and his girlfriend, you were not hired to work for him when you met. It was actually more of a meet cute— He was asking for advice in your local beauty shop, because he figured you looked like you knew what you were doing and could tell him what the correct shade of blush was for his niece, who was clinging to his side. You were in awe because holy shit, the Lewis Hamilton was asking you for advice, which you gave while stammering to an embarrassing extent. He thanked you, and asked for your number with the excuse that he might need more advice in the future. You did not hesitate to give it to him, and while he didn’t call for advice, he did call to ask you out properly. Your dynamic is very much so “girlfriend who knows a lot about fashion and boyfriend who pretends not to so he can hear her ramble.”

McLaren ෆ

Oscar Piastri

Food critic

Oh yes, the two of you are most certainly bonding over a shared love of food. Oscar Piastri doesn’t present himself as a foodie, but it’s more of a hidden pleasure of his. I won’t lie, when you first mentioned your occupation he thought it was somewhat funny. Reviewing food for a living seemed like something simple. He took it at the base level ideation and assumed that’s all it was. However, when you got really invested with talking about it, Oscar was quick to learn there was so much more. You discussed about different types of recipes, and methods when it came to baking. You ranted about cuts of meat and how each one had its own taste. With your influence, he quickly became quite the enthusiast himself. So, every time you guys went to a restaurant, you both ordered something entirely new to compare and contrast to past dishes. It was fun getting to try new things with you.

When you first met, it was in a restaurant. One of those crowded places where you ended up shoulder to shoulder with a random stranger because of how busy it was. For you, that random stranger ended up being famous racer Oscar Piastri. Although it was awkward at first, you sparked up soft chatter about the meal. He told you he was having the same thing he always did: pasta. You explained your meal, which was exotic to the both of you. When you expressed your disinterest in the taste he teasingly asked what made you so qualified to comment on such a thing. That’s what he found out. Intrigued by your charm, and your passion for all things food, Oscar couldn’t help but ask for your number.

Lando Norris

Teacher

Lando, in my firm opinion, is fantastic with children. He’s a little immature himself, which gives him that natural charm that makes getting along with children easy. He has no troubles throwing on that enthusiastic tone that lights their brains up. One morning in particular, Lando’s dear friend Max had a huge favor to ask of him: Take Penelope to school. Kelly was out for work, and he was running a high fever, which meant ‘Uncle Lala’ was on duty for the day. Admittedly she was a little late, and she showed up with a smoothie from Lando’s favorite coffee shop and a brand new pair of shoes. While he’s good with kids, he’s terrible at saying no. He walked the young girl into her classroom, and he damn near lost his mind. You were perfect— radiant, kind, soft-spoken but not timid. The dream girl that mirrored him perfectly. Even though you playfully scolded them both for being late, all he could focus on was how beautiful you were.

From that day forward, Lando made it painfully clear that something was up. He offered nearly everyday to take Penelope to school, which Max and Kelly would not complain about. She always returned with a huge grin on her face, recommending that her uncle take her again because he was so fun. However, when she started talking about the flirty comments he’d exchange with her teacher, they realized why he was suddenly taking an interest in the life of their child. Lando loves hearing about your day and listening to the various interactions between the kids in your class. He’s smitten with you and your ability to flawlessly interact with children— Unfortunately this means your relationship is destined to be filled with baby fever from you both. 24/7.

Aston Martin ෆ

Fernando Alonso

Wedding planner

As expected, you meet at the wedding of a mutual friend. You planned everything from the venue to the number of flowers in each arrangement, and both the bride and groom were eternally grateful for your help. It was always much easier to have someone else do a majority of the planning for you while you got to sit back and nod along to every suggestion made. In short, your efforts paid off immensely. When you sat down at your assigned table, you were surprised to see the Spanish man in question not far behind you. He seated himself across from you, reaching a hand out to shake yours politely. He was charming right off the bat, his flirty comments flowing with ease. You almost wondered if you were intentionally set up to sit beside this guy, because your fun-loving personalities matched up nicely. He matched your vibe and you matched his.

Now you were going 20 years strong, each anniversary celebrated more profound than the last. You were teased nonstop by friends and friends of friends about the lack of a ring on your finger. “Twenty years and he still hasn’t made it permanent?” was something you heard more often than you were willing to admit, but in all honesty, neither of you were interested in the concept of marriage. Your love was all you needed to seal the deal. You didn’t require a fancy ring to know that. But finally, after years and years of waiting, Fernando dropped down to one knee to give you the opportunity to finally plan your own damn wedding, and you happily accepted. You harbored no anger towards his decision to wait, because ultimately it made the experience a lot more special. You finally got to be on the other end of things and understand firsthand why people hire you to begin with: Planning your own wedding is not all it cracks up to be.

Lance Stroll

Author

Lance needs the peace and quiet that an author girlfriend brings to his life. He’s a well known introvert, which has yet to go unnoticed by anyone that he’s met. Lance prefers to keep to himself, and tends to distance from individuals who are overly loud. While opposites tend to attract, such an ideal is not the case for this fellow. He dreams of a romantically quiet life, and you’re there to fulfill that for him. You meet in the most cliche spot possible: a library. He’s not even that big on reading, but the spot was quiet and it gave him an excuse to brood in a corner and listen to music. You happened to be doing a book signing that day, which made the joint just a tad bit louder than he would have liked. However, when he saw you sitting at a table with a line extending outside the door, a cute smile on your face… Lance was utterly captivated. Your voice was low, your smiles were awkward, and your hands were trembling. Maybe it was weird, but that was everything he yearned for and more. When people started to clear and you started to pack up, he made a move.

Safe to say that said move was successful. The early stages of the relationship were less than ideal with both of you waiting on the other person to initiate every single thing, but finally you warmed up to each other and fell into a comfortable rhythm with your everyday lives. He cherished the days where he came home from loud engines and bustling crowds to the soft clicking of your keyboard, and the occasional flipping of pages. At the end of the day, no matter how stressful things get, Lance will always be grateful for the safety of your warm embrace as you hold him close to you at night. You’re his rock and his anchor, keeping him safe from the extroverts of the world. The media finds the two of you to be the ideal celebrity couple. Matching aesthetics, personalities, and beliefs. Your relationship is private, but it’s far from a secret!

Alpine ෆ

Pierre Gasly

Social media manager

I thought I was funny for this. You’re not a very good manager, because you’re always sitting there beside him, giggling at every post he scrolls by that’s related to him. With that being said, you always reach out and double tap the screen, liking whatever stupid thing had you guys giggling to begin with. So, to the people who wonder why Pierre is always liking every F1 related post, it’s actually your doing. You’re less focused on your actual job, and more on whatever content other people have managed to come up with. It’s really funny, in your defense. You guys first met because you were hired as the Alpine social media manager, but you always ended up laughing just a tad bit too much with Pierre over your ridiculous ideas that he kept building on to. Half the time you barely were able to execute said ideas, and ended up going with something entirely different.

Pierre loves that he found someone to match his energy and be okay with his teasing, along with tease him back. You’re fun— sometimes even more fun than him. Everyone in the paddock would agree. He loves filming videos and taking pictures with you for social media pages, and he loves even more than you get a little bit more freedom with his personal account and have directly spiced up all of his most recent content. Pierre fans have been wondering why most of his stuff has been a lot more enjoyable. Little do they know, you’re quietly working your magic behind the screen. Sorry Pierre, you get no credit. Although, having a hilarious muse does make it much easier.

Franco Colapinto

Florist

With this little flirt, knowing a lot about flowers actually proves to have some value. Franco’s always going out of his way to impress you: fact. He loves bringing home flowers, especially after triple headers, or just generally weekends that felt extra long without you right there beside him. It’s a new bouquet every time. While it is handpicked and arranged by him, it’s safe to say that Franco actually has no clue what he’s doing; his decisions are based off the initial beauty level of the flower. But, we can’t rule out that he intentionally picks randomly, because he does seem to love hearing you lecture him about flower language. He’s got roses being romantic burnt into his memory, but he can’t quite remember that yellow carnations are supposed to mean rejection. He does remember your face the day you brought them home, though, so he decides based on that. You sounded so sad as you explained the initial idea, and Franco was quick to make something up. So now, you guys decided they meant the love of Franco Colapinto— Yeah. He got his own damn flower.

You, as expected, had a meet cute as well. It came straight from a tacky hallmark movie. You had simply been arranging your outdoor stand one day, when a particularly fast biker flew by, clipping the edge of your stand and sending flowers flying through the air. You were devastated to see your hard work flying through the air and drifting away from you. Thankfully, one kind passerby stopped to help you pick up the lost work. He was handsome in his own, unique way. Somewhat familiar, you were sure. He laughed with you as he helped you set things back up, dropping a few flirtatious remarks that had your cheeks growing increasingly warm. It wasn’t until he dropped a joke related to racing that you picked up on it and breathed out a rather distressed, “Oh my God you’re Franco Colapinto!” He barked out a laugh and nodded to confirm your suspicions. He insisted you take his number. You know, just in case you need help dealing with a runaway biker again. It had nothing to do with the fact he thought you were the most beautiful person alive. No, no way.

Williams ෆ

Carlos Sainz

Baker

Get this man a beautiful baker girlfriend who can make him all the sweets in the world. No, but I did have a thought process for this. First date, he still doesn’t quite know that you’re a professional baker, so he’s going on and on about his incredibly pancake recipe when you mention that it’s your favorite breakfast food. You have a recipe of your own, of course, but you’re intrigued by the way he seems so cocky with said recipe, so you let him make you some when you visit him. And honestly, they’re really quite good! You’re considering replacing your own recipe. You repay his kind offer by baking him sweets— and I mean you really got busy in that kitchen, because you’re probably about to hand over 10 large containers full of sweets with flushed ears that tell him everything he needs to know. He’s a little embarrassed that he was ranting about his tasty pancakes to someone who makes them professionally, but he was happy to hear you sincerely liked them.

Now imagine Carlos’ embarrassment when he recounts how the two of you met to begin with. After a long night, he stopped by a local café to pick up a pick-me-up. You were there, but you weren’t behind the counter. You were standing off to the side, leaning over it as you chatted to the barista with a cup of coffee in hand. He approached the register, and you both paused your conversation so said barista could assist him. When Carlos pondered on a dessert from the display case, you very casually suggested that he take a croissant with that ‘trust me’ sort of vibe. He teases you— asks you what makes you a master of breakfast pastries, and you just shrug nonchalantly and tell him that maybe you have ‘insider’ information. He assumes you’re a regular by now, and accepts your suggestion. He gets the croissant. And your number. And a first date… And the embarrassment of finding out way too late into your relationship that you’re the damn baker for the café. That was your insider info.

Alex Albon

Veterinarian

The more obvious choice, yes. While I was afraid this might be too on the nose, I think it makes a lot of sense, really. He has a lot of pets. What does a guy with a lot of pets often do? He takes them to the vet. Alex already takes great care of his pets, so this visit was a little out of the ordinary. His cat had fallen ill, and he needed to get the proper medicine to care for her. But there was you, the newest hire at the clinic who seemed so good with his pet. You gave her treats to keep her distracted as you checked her out, ensuring the man that this was just a common sickness and would pass, but if he wanted he could slip some allergy medicine into her food next time. He was forever grateful. But then, suddenly his pets were falling injured or ill left and right. A man who rarely visited the vet was now becoming a regular, always coming up with some sort of concern. “Doesn’t her leg look weird?” “Nope, looks good to me.” You eventually caught on, and told him that at a vet clinic there was no rules against dating clientele. Now, there was rules against dating patients, but that was because your patients were animals.

He works well with your nonchalant charm. You’re easygoing and laidback, and that’s just what Alex needs. He appreciates having someone he can chill with because his life is often so chaotic that it’s hard for him to take time for himself. Therefore, he has you now. Plus it’s always nice to no longer have to visit the vet when you can now just stop by his house for a quick check up. It becomes even easier when you move in with him, because instead of being worried he can just rely on you to tell him when things are wrong and need to be taken more seriously. All in all, he found an absolute keeper, and the internet won’t stop encouraging him to put a ring on it to ensure nobody else does. Although, not sure anyone needs a veterinarian quite like Alex Albon does. So, I think he’s safe for now.

Visa Cash App Racing Bulls ෆ

Liam Lawson

Actress

I like to think you actually met when filming the F1 movie. You’re a background support character in the film, and Liam was just there to play himself, much like all the other drivers. You two managed to bump into each other, and it seemed like day to day conversations started to take place. You’d share a joke you heard while standing behind him at the coffee making station, or catch him up on the latest set gossip in passing. He was charmed by your wit, and you were charmed by the way he cluelessly fumbled over words around you. Imagine how surprised he was when you asked him out. He felt somewhat disappointed because he had been hoping to have that honor for himself, but he was glad that you reciprocated his feelings.

I think Liam with an actress girlfriend just makes sense anyway. He’s all for the drama you bring to the table, and loves watching every single film you star in, whether it’s a big or small role. He’ll go to every premiere, red carpet, and gala you’re invited to as your plus one. Not only does he love to show his support, but he also realized early on that he gets to meet a lot of his own idols this way. You have lots of connections, and he now has a stack of autographs from famous celebrities at home. It’s a win-win.

Isack Hadjar

Photographer

Your first time meeting Isack was actually a little chaotic. The team hired you to shoot some shots from the first practice on Friday. It was experimental, because it was their first time hiring you, and it was your first time working for a huge company, let alone shooting athletic shots. When it started raining, you hadn’t even noticed. You were so focused on capturing everything perfectly, and with the right settings, that eventually you were completely drenched without a care in the world. It was really down pouring. Subsequently, teams were pulled in from the nasty weather to dry off and warm up. You, however, were still perched in the stands out in the rain, laser focused on your camera. Isack, ever the gentleman, came out with an umbrella and held it over your head. You hadn’t even realized he was there until you felt his shadow cast over you. You looked up, and nearly dropped your camera. You were stuttering all like “Oh- It’s- Oh no, it’s you- Gah, I’m so sorry!” Which only confused him more. You explained you were meant to be taking shots of his team today, but all the ones you got were bad. You were better with portraits. He was stunned by you too. You were beautiful, even with your wet hair plastered to your face and your clothes soaking wet. So, with red cheeks himself, he invited you in to take some portraits, which would hopefully give you a chance at staying with the team. And you did! Which then gave him enough time to work up enough courage to make a move.

You’re a little scatterbrained, it’s true. Every-time you come to the paddock, you’re in a panic as you ramble about how you accidentally left your SD card at home in your laptop, and that your whole reason for coming was now ruined because you didn’t have a way to take photos. Isack reassured you that missing one race wouldn’t be the end of the world. Besides, he ended up finding your SD card in your purse when you asked him to grab your phone. You’re lucky to have found him, because he certainly helps keep you grounded. You’d probably have floated off into space without Isack there to hold you down and keep you steady.

Kick Sauber ෆ

Nico Hülkenberg

Sommelier

You were evidently flawless at your job. You knew everything there was to know about wine, and all of its pairings with food. It was an elegant and refined drink to be saved for fancy events, much like the one you met your beloved at. Your relationship has been in the making for about three years now, and despite its… Awkward start, the two of you have been developing nicely. There was an event for F1 drivers hosted at a vineyard, and you were hired to take care of the wine: a rather simple job. Famous people weren’t a surprise to you anymore, but as you were sharing with your audience the history behind the drink you picked out, you felt your breath leave your body in an untimely manner. That was when he walked in, stealing away your attention. Salt and pepper stubble, a lazy smile, and an appearance that screamed ‘just woke up from a nap in the sun’ in the most endearing way possible. You, a normally charming and easygoing woman, were caught off guard and ended up muttering something stupid like “this wine is… fermented” followed by a nervous laugh, which cued your audience to chuckle along with you.

He teased you later. Of course he did, because how could he not notice the way you’d freeze as you quietly eyed him. When you were setting up glasses, he approached from behind, and you immediately turned around at the sound of his voice, which consequently sent one of the glasses flying. Nico, a man trained in his reflexes, caught it with ease that made your heart flutter. Thank God you managed to snatch him up, because nobody had ever made you feel such a way. It didn’t matter if he didn’t win on the track, because everyday he came home to the most beautiful woman possible, who’d shower him with lots of well deserved love. Plus, you always knew what wine would suit his mood. Yeah. He made the correct choice.

Gabriel Bortoleto

Streamer

We know how brain-rotted Gabriel is. You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a favorite streamer too. It’s you. Before you guys started dating he was a fan. He found your unique commentary on games to be interesting and the way you played— yada yada. Truth be told, he just thought you were pretty and funny. He even suggested through donations (under a secret account name, mind you) that you play one of the F1 games. With the money you earned from the donation, you bought it and showed the whole world just how awful you were. Gabriel secretly messaged you on instagram, claiming he had just found you when you were playing F1 24, and would love to come properly teach you how to play on stream. You agreed, of course. And it was a success. After the cameras turned off, he shyly admitted that he had actually been a fan of yours for awhile, because he felt bad for deceiving you. You just thought it was cute, and offered him the opportunity to come back if he so wanted.

Now, Gabi is a frequent feature on your streams. Not necessarily just as your partner in multiplayer games, but he can be seen on your face cam. Maybe he’s sleeping in the background, or he just happens to pass by. Sometimes he’ll even come give you a kiss in front of thousands of viewers, acting like he forgot you were streaming when in reality it was done intentionally. Sneaky bastard. Your fans love him, but Gabriel also loves to remind them that you’re a happily taken girl. You don’t mind anyway. It’s nice to see your longterm fanboy staking his claim in a way he thinks is secretive. Trust that you know… You always know what he’s up to. There’s no hiding it. Don’t be surprised if he starts spamming your chat with italian brainrot. Imagine having to explain to newcomers that it’s a regular thing, too.

Haas ෆ

Oliver Bearman

Artist

This is a pair nobody expected, to be honest. The Haas team was directed by PR to show up to an art event. Apparently the establishment was sponsoring them for the next race, and it was the polite thing to do. Oliver didn’t really care— He wasn’t a fan of PR events and media. He was outgoing and charming, but he tended to keep his life private for the most part. But he was glad he went, because when he saw you on a shaky ladder hammering in a stubborn nail with frustration, he knew you were someone to keep him on his toes. You had on overalls covered in paint. Some was fresh, but most of it seemed deeply imbedded in the fabric, like you wore them just to get them dirty. Your arms, too, were covered in colors. It was quite the sight. When you saw him, you dropped your hammer. Right on your foot, and then it tumbled down the ladder to fall unceremoniously on the ground. You hissed as you descended the ladder, jittery with excitement. You greeted him with a very enthusiastic handshake, announcing how you didn’t think he’d show up. You kept rambling, and he kept listening. Eventually you asked him if he could sit still, and he said yes, to which you replied with, “I wanna sketch you, then. You have this beautiful angelic vibe and I need that.” So, if that’s not forward I’m not sure what is.

It’s true. You’re his joy, and he’s your muse. And, for what it’s worth, Ollie was right. You certainly do keep him on his toes because he never really knows what’s next with you. You’re vibrant and fun and you love nature— The stereotypical small town girl who falls madly in love with a city boy. You like to run through tall grass barefoot and paint in the middle of giant fields whatever your heart desires, and now you’re dating Oliver Bearman. But it’s a good thing, because you both have changed each other in the best way possible, and even though you’re so different, you work harmoniously in a healthy relationship. You’re both happier than you’ve ever been, truly.

Esteban Ocon

Model

This man is TALL. He needs a tall girlfriend to sit by his side, and that just so happens to be you. You met at a huge gala for F1, where various other celebrities were invited to bring more attention to the sport. You’ve always been a fan, so you were glad to have the opportunity to meet a lot of the people you had admired for so many years. One of those people was Esteban Ocon. He was hated by his own community, regarded as one of the least likable people around, but you saw through that. This was a sweet guy with a bad reputation over one incident that took place many years ago. He was a bit surprised when you intentionally sat down beside him and introduced yourself with a huge smile and a delicate handshake. You were beautiful. It was almost too good to be true. He couldn’t let go of an opportunity like this, so he clung to you the entire night and asked if you’d be willing to see him again. Of course you would.

He supports your career through and through. He admires your skill, and all the thought that goes into modeling. It’s truly impressive. In turn, you support his racing career. You frequently feature his races, and while you do try to avoid the cameras, it’s impossible to not be featured when reacting on occasion. You have a loving dynamic— almost the perfect couple, and everyone in the paddock knows it. You’re the type of people to solve every disagreement by calmly talking it out. You’re the type of people to live by the rule “never go to bed angry.” You both get bad reps. In his community’s mind, Esteban is cruel and vicious and impossible to like. In your community’s mind, you’re stuck up and bossy and rude. So, together you make a perfectly misunderstood pair that understands one another. Delightful, right?

[lady-luckk]

stop!! the farmer with the bimbo reader was too good!!

hi im the anon who made that request

i feel like you must secretly know me cause when i was first learning about cars i too was like “you have to change its oil??” cars always have seemed too high maintenance for me and i too would probs die on the roadside since i don’t know how to fix a flat tire

if not cooking or manual labor i hope reader is good at decorating or sewing or something

i wanna make Eli some new clothes and bedazzle them too

thank you my dear for the story!!

bedazzling the farm

# pairings: yandere cowboy farmer x bimbo / himbo reader

# synopsis: you can’t cook, can’t farm, and nearly lost a toe to an angry rooster—but luckily, you can sew. now you’re stuck on a farm with a grumpy, overprotective farmer and a bunch of chaotic animals wearing tiny outfits you made. survival? questionable. fashion? flawless.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI

# notes: reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!

even though you’ve proven time and time again that cooking and farmwork aren’t your strengths, you somehow found your niche in sewing and decorating—something even eli hadn’t expected. 

it started small, with you mending one of his ripped flannels after you “accidentally” snagged it while doing laundry. the stitches were neat, almost perfect, and before long you were fixing worn-out work jeans, patching holes in old quilts, and hemming curtains that had been dragging across the floor for who knows how many years.

the house started changing too; bits of you showing up everywhere—handmade pillowcases, new curtains that actually matched, and little decorations you’d put together from old supplies you’d found around the farm. 

eli pretended not to notice at first, but you caught him more than once just standing in a room you’d fixed up, his gaze lingering on the small things, like the way you finally got him to replace those ancient, ugly dish towels or how you’d hung a makeshift wreath on the front door. “looks different in here,” he’d mutter, always gruff, but his eyes softer than you were used to. “good different.” and maybe you weren’t built for chasing chickens or working heavy machinery, but this? making his house into something warm—into home—this was something you could do.

and just like that sewing became your secret weapon—your little rebellion against being utterly useless on the farm. you often used it as a way to kill time, something to keep your hands busy after dinner. you'd sit curled up on the couch with a needle and thread, tongue poking out in concentration as you patched a hole in eli's jacket or embroidered a little flower onto a pillowcase just to make him scowl and mutter, “what the hell’s this daisy doin’ on my bed?” but he never took it off. not once.

just like that, you had a whole basket of projects—mending shirts, sewing buttons, turning worn-out jeans into tool pouches. eli started leaving things for you to fix without asking, setting them quietly beside your sewing kit with a grunt like it wasn’t a big deal. but you knew it was. he even made a comment once, low and rough, “never met someone who could sew like that, not out here.” and the pride in your chest nearly burst.

you started making things from scratch too—throw pillows from old feed sacks, a little curtain for the chicken coop window (yes, it had a window now), even a new cushion for the porch swing you’d claimed as your afternoon throne. the farmhouse began to reflect you more and more, a blend of rough edges and soft touches. and even if you couldn’t dig a ditch or wrangle a goat, you’d found your own way to belong—needle in hand, threading yourself into every corner of his world.

eli wears whatever you sew for him, no questions asked. patchwork flannel? he buttons it up like it’s designer. a beanie with crooked stitching? he pulls it over his ears and pretends it’s the warmest thing he owns. god forbid anyone so much as laughs at your handiwork—eli’s jaw tightens, his eyes go cold, and if a glare doesn’t shut them up, his fists sure will. 

one poor guy at the general store sneered at eli’s hand-stitched vest, eyeing it like it was some sort of joke. “did you make that yourself? or did your grandma help you with the stitching?” he laughed, but eli’s face went stone cold. without a word, eli grabbed him by the collar, slammed him into the nearest shelf so hard the cans rattled, and growled, “you talkin’ shit about my clothes again, and i’ll make sure it’s the last time you ever laugh. 

he never says much about the things you make, but you’ve caught him smoothing down the hems or tugging a collar straight like it means something. he even started leaving little scraps of fabric on the table, like hints. 

you didn’t stop at eli’s clothes, either. once you realized the animals were basically your audience-slash-family now, it was over for them. the goat got a denim jacket with rhinestones that said “headbutt boss” across the back. the pigs each got tiny sunhats—though they kept shaking them off, so now they’re mostly just lawn decorations. the grumpiest rooster now struts around with a little bandana like he’s in a gang. eli walked out one morning, took one look at the cow wearing a pastel shawl and flower crown, and just rubbed a hand over his face like he aged ten years.

“you dressin’ ‘em up for a hoedown i wasn’t invited to?” he asked dryly.

“they have personalities, eli,” you said, tying a bow around the sheep’s tail.

"this one’s soft cottagecore, that one’s early-2000s pop star.”

he didn’t argue. he just muttered something under his breath and helped you adjust the goat’s sunglasses.

and when one of the town guys laughed at the pig’s polka-dot scarf, eli cracked his knuckles and said, “that pig’s wearin’ somethin’ made with more love and effort than your entire personality. keep talkin’.”

the guy shut up real quick after that—especially when the pig in question oinked and strutted past like it knew it had backup. eli just nodded solemnly like he was proud of the pig’s sass, and you swear to god the rooster winked at you. now you’ve got a whole barnyard posse in coordinated outfits and a six-foot farmer who’ll throw hands over crochet accessories. rural life? absolutely thriving.

[dancingbirdie]

I saw you did a new submission for Astarion. Is it okay if I ask for another thing for Astarion who’s very submissive and whiny for your touch?

Hi anon! I hope I did your request justice. I was feeling a little angsty today and this is what came out. Feel free to submit another request if this didn't scratch your itch, so to speak.

As always, comments and reactions are appreciated.

xoxoxo

Bring Me Back

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings/Tags: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), slight hand/finger kink, body worship, mentions of blood & gore, trauma/trauma response, disassociation, fluff and angst and smut, p0rn with a little plot.

Summary: Astarion just needs some love and comfort from you after a particularly brutal fight.

*****

There was blood on his hands. Too much. Dried and crusted, saturating the wrinkles around his knuckles. He sat on the edge of the bed you were sharing, hands limp in his lap. 

He’d killed so many today. You all had, but he more so than anyone else. It had been a vicious battle, the reality of which seemed to be sinking into his bones now. 

“Astarion?” you ventured carefully. You were carrying in a water pitcher and basin you had pilfered from the cook’s quarters downstairs. 

He didn’t seem to register your voice. You tried again, moving cautiously to kneel on the floor before him. 

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?” he responded, his glassy eyes finally sharpening enough to take you in. “Oh, apologies, darling. My mind… it must’ve wandered.”

“Are you feeling all right?” you probed in a low murmur. 

“I feel…,” he trailed off, his head shifting to stare vacantly out the dingy window near the bedside. “Numb.”

“Numb?” you echoed.

“Mm. Disconnected, more like,” he amended distractedly. 

“Hm, I see,” you replied, unsure of what more there was to say. 

Certainly you could understand the feeling. And certainly it was justified, after the carnage you all had wrought today. No matter how noble the cause, things had still ended in a tide of blood and viscera. 

You were at a loss for how to comfort him. But the rational part of your brain settled on addressing the most immediate problem before you. Namely, the blood on his hands. 

“Astarion,” you soothed, waiting until he turned back to look down at you again. “I’d like to clean up your hands before we rest.”

He stared at you blankly. Then slowly, his gaze drifted down to his hands. He turned them over, palms up, studying them absently.

“Is that okay? Can I touch you?” you pressed. 

You knew his displeasure in being touched without warning. You’d seen his reactions frequently enough, on the road with your other companions. Each clap on the shoulder from Gale. Each good-natured shove from Karlach. His response was subtle, but not lost on you. He would grimace and shrink away. Every time.

“Touch me?” he repeated now, brows upturned.

“Yes,” you nodded. “To clean your hands of the blood, love.”

He shuddered. You watched as his fingertips twitched. His bottom lip trembled. 

“Please,” he uttered in a broken plea. 

You nodded again and set to work. Gingerly, you lifted each hand, cradling it with reverence. You passed the rag soaked in tepid, rose-scented water over each digit, in between them. You swiped under each nail, over each knuckle, clearing his fingers of blood, one by one. You soothed over his palms, over the patchwork of calluses on the pads of fingers, over the delicate skin of the backside of his palms. He watched you in silence as you carried out your cleaning, mesmerized. 

The basin was colored deep crimson by the time you finished. Grabbing a dry cloth, you patted his hands dry. You squeezed them both gently before moving to release them. You prepared to stand and get yourself ready for rest. 

But Astarion stopped you. His hands, once limp while you were caring for him, suddenly clutched yours desperately. Your eyes whipped up to meet his in surprise. They were limned in tears that had yet to fall. 

“Please,” he whispered in a desperate sort of voice. A whine, almost. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop touching me.”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of what to make of his plea. 

He plunged ahead at your reticence. “I can’t… I want to be here. In this moment. But I can’t find my way back,” he croaked. 

His voice, so broken, so desolate, was rending your heart in two. It was more than you could bear. 

“Touch me,” he begged. “Bring me back. Please.”

You nodded, never breaking eye contact, as you rose from your crouched position on the floor before him. Tears streamed silently down both of your faces. Neither of you made a move to wipe them away. 

Slowly, carefully, you urged him to shift back on the bed as your legs parted to straddle him. Perched atop his lap, you threaded your fingers through his silvery locks. Pulled on them slightly. Tugged at them until he groaned. 

His hands grasped your hip bones, hard enough that you were sure there would be finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. You didn’t mind. You would cherish them, those marks from your lover. 

“Come back to me, love. Come back to me,” you whispered in between hot, open-mouthed kisses. Your tongues danced together, like old friends.

You nipped at the hollow place near his clavicle. You sucked on the skin where his neck met his shoulder. His needy, breathy whines only goaded you further. You hoped the fire that was igniting in your veins would transfer to his. If the way his hips were canting into you was any indication, you were both tinderboxes itching to be set ablaze. 

“Be here. Be here, in this moment with me,” you crooned in his ear, rolling your hips into his. You were both still fully dressed, but your bodies crested and fell together in perfect timing. A practice performance for what was to come. 

“Yes, yes,” Astarion keened, as you slipped a hand to brazenly rub the flat of your palm against his erection. The fabric of his breeches was strained to the point of stretching. 

“I’m here,” he panted. “I’m here.”

“Good, stay with me, I want to taste you,” you whispered. “Come back to me, let me taste you.”

“Fuck, please,” he moaned, his head drooping onto your shoulder. He was so pliant in this moment, like putty in your hands.

“Lie back,” you ordered, nudging him backwards with your body. “Untie your breeches.”

“Yes,” he agreed, all too eager to follow your command. Chest heaving, he reclined further back onto the bed. His fingers quickly set to work on freeing himself from his leathers. 

“That’s it, darling, yes,” you cooed, watching him bare himself before you. “Stay here with me. Watch me. Watch me keep you here.”

“Gods, yes, yes,” Astarion whined, lifting his head to witness you take him fully in your mouth. 

“Fuck,” you heard him bark wantonly above you. Felt his hips cant himself deeper into your mouth, until your lips were meeting the base of him. 

His dulcet whimpers and moans were music to your ears. As you worshiped him with your mouth. As you caressed him lovingly back into his body, back into this moment, back into this bed with you. 

You could sense he was close to climax as his hands gripped your hair tighter and tighter. You swirled your tongue around him with greater fervor, teasing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Let me come in your mouth, please, darling, please,” he keened, hips bucking erratically against you. 

Refusing to bring him down from this high with words, you met his eyes and nodded your assent, gripping his thighs tighter as if to say go on then, love. 

And he did. He spilled himself down your throat in delicious pulses. You swallowed every bit, relishing his release as if it were your own. 

With a soft pop of your lips, you released him. Licked him clean, before stretching out to lie on the bed beside him.

His chest was heaving as he recovered. You delicately traced the muscles of his abdomen as he came to. After a few moments, he lifted a hand to clasp your fingers. Stilled them with his own as they interlaced on his chest. 

“Did you find your way back?” you whispered. 

He turned his head to look at you. His lips upturned in a quiet, muted sort of smile. 

“Thanks to you,” he returned quietly. “I’m here again. Here with you.”

[sarkofagos]

can you explain what you hate about the bachelor's p2 design? i understand your opinion on the others, but i like both of the bachelor's designs, so i'm interested to hear your opinion on it!

Anon I'm sorry to say you've opened Pandora's Box here. I've been looking for an excuse to spew my hatred for P2 Bachelor and you've generously provided it.

^ putting these two images side to side so that everyone knows what we're talking about okay? Okay. And a moment of silence for the beautiful Persian rugs of Pathologic Classic now that we're at it. Okay.

Starting with the most obvious issue; only one of these guys looks 30 and it's not P2 Daniil. And hear me out here, for a while I let it slide, right? I told myself "A 30 year old lab owner, who allegedly was delivering lectures as early as three years ago was a bit extreme, they've probably aged him up to 45 or something so that his achievements match his age, makes sense" BUT NO!!!!! AS PER QUARANTINE, HE IS STILL 30!!!! ALLEGEDLY because I missed out on that piece of dialogue it seems, but I've seen enough people mention it by now. THEY MADE HIM HAGGARD!!!!!

I'm moving on to the absolute travesty that is the coat. I want you to look at the two coats side by side now, okay? Do you notice any difference? IT'S THAT HIS CLASSIC COAT ACTUALLY FITS HIM!!!!!! Not only that but the P2 coat is distasteful in so many fucking ways. The snakeskin patchwork. The asymmetrical lapel and sleeves. Gawwwwwd they took his edgy little coat and made it so ugly (and I am going to be so fucking real now, I do not love the Classic coat either but hell at least it fit him. At least the colors suited his complexion).

Likewise, the waistcoat just does not fucking fit him. It just doesn't. That's not how a properly-fitting waistcoat sits on someone's torso. I am not opposed to the mere concept of the waistcoat, okay? I'm really not. Though I also do not think I'm equally enthusiastic about it as other people are. But at least give him a waistcoat that fits, in a color that suits him for fuck's sake.

Same situation with the trousers, they slouch at the bottom and appear too tight near the crotch. The waist is also too low, which I think is what makes the vest look so ill-fitting. And like, his trousers were just cooler in Classic, okay? Low-waisted flare jeans in the year of our lord 19-something. Entrepreneur, years ahead of his time etc etc. There's a detail I really really love about his trousers in Classic, which is that each side has a zipper that can transform them into skinny jeans. Shit you'd find for 100 euros at a vintage store.

Then his boots MASHAYLA... OH MY GOD MAYSHAYLA... The zipper and buckle details on his classic boots MASHAYLA.... Literally give him his stompers back give him his Dr. Martens Jadons back...... In a similar vein; make him 1.70 again. And make him scrawny again too. I could go on an entirely separate side-rant about how vital being unconventional and non-conforming and not particularly masculine nor eager to perform masculinity is to his character and how his tiny stature was a good visualization of those character trait(s). And how his struggle to overcome the human body's limits could also take the form of neglecting to take care of it properly or simply just not being gifted in that regard. Juxtapose that with Artemy who is meant to symbolize the body and how he is visually clearly physically strong and well-built. Likeeee I'm probably looking into it entirely too much now.... But Am I? #makehimtiny. edit to add: I'm circling back to this point because allow us to also consider the importance of being childlike for his character (like the childish pursuit of defeating death and also being the only main character able to see something inside the Polyhedron) and how that character trait was also visually alluded to by him being short + skinny. Likeee I'd say it was a pretty major aspect of his appearance in Classic and I just cannot even come up with any good reason why they'd change it to him being TALLER THAN AVERAGE in P2.

And then the minor stuff I also like his fuckass bangs better than whatever that middle-part situation is trying to do. I prefer his patterned necktie than the red cravat, though I do appreciate the potentially accidental attempt at giving him a historically accurate indicator of homosexuality. That does not mean the color clashes with his complexion and less.

tldr: they took away his cunti 😢

[peachbubbless]

I have returned for more diego x vampire!reader hehee i luv how you write him :3

what if reader was already relatively clingy to him when they were kids but it increased tenfold with reader being a vampire? especially when reader tends to stay near him because he runs extra warm thanks to his stand? - 🦇

🦇 anon my love hii!! I'm so happy to see you again. This is such a cute request I hope you enjoy :3

Warmth like you – Diego Brando

Word Count - 3.5k | Day 3 SBR Fanfic Week

The sun hung low over the British countryside, casting elongated shadows across the sprawling farmland. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt path filled the air as you guided your horse alongside Diego’s. The two of you had spent countless hours traversing these trails, the landscape as familiar as the back of your hand.

Diego rode with his usual confidence, his posture straight, eyes fixed ahead. There was a time when you would chatter endlessly during these rides, filling the silence with stories and dreams. But today, a contemplative hush had settled between you.

“Diego,” you began, breaking the quiet, “do you ever think about leaving this place? Seeking something beyond these fields?”

He glanced at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Every day,” he admitted. “This farm… it’s a cage. I won’t be trapped here forever.”

You nodded, understanding his sentiment all too well. The farm had been both a home and a prison, a place of memories both cherished and painful. Your thoughts drifted to Diego’s mother, her unwavering strength, and the sacrifices she made.

“Your mother,” you said softly, “she believed in you. She saw your talent with horses, your potential. She wanted more for you.”

Diego’s jaw tightened, a shadow passing over his face. “She did,” he replied, his voice tinged with emotion. “And I won’t let her down.”

The path led you to a gentle hill overlooking the farm. From this vantage point, the entire estate sprawled before you, a patchwork of fields and pastures. The setting bathed everything in a golden hue, momentarily softening the hard edges of your reality.

You reached out, placing a hand on Diego’s arm. “Whatever path you choose, know that you’re not alone. I’ll support you, always.”

He turned to you, his gaze intense, searching. For a moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to waver. “Thank you,” he murmured. “That means more than you know.”

The two of you sat in companionable silence as the sun dipped below the horizon, the first stars beginning to twinkle in the twilight sky. The future was uncertain, the road ahead fraught with challenges. But in that moment, with the cool evening breeze and the steady presence of each other, there was a glimmer of hope.

As night enveloped the countryside, you both knew that change was on the horizon. The bonds forged in shared hardship would be tested, but the echoes of the past would always resonate, guiding you forward.

You always knew Diego would eventually leave the farm.

Not because he said so. He never had to. It was in the way he talked about horses - the way he looked at the track like it was a promise made just to him. The way he held the reins like they were a rope pulling him out of the muck you both called home.

And you? You never blamed him. How could you? It was his ticket out of this hellhole.

You just didn’t expect him to disappear so completely. Not after the two of you had been so close for so long.

No letters. No visits. No word.

And then, one afternoon, there he was.

London had been grey that day. Not unusually so - it was always grey, but this was the heavy sort of damp that settled in your clothes. You were leaving the grocer’s, arms full of soup tins and rationed bread, when the carriage clipped the curb too close and startled a man walking past.

You glanced up, annoyed, ready to huff something rude.

And you saw him.

Diego Brando. Real boots, real coat. Velvet collar. Cropped curls still untamed but neatly combed, like they’d been convinced to behave through sheer force of will. He didn’t see you. Or maybe he did, but didn’t flinch. Didn’t wave.

He was laughing at something the man beside him said - an older gentleman in a coat worth more than your entire flat. Diego’s smile was polite. Tight. The kind of expression you wore when you had to. But his posture was perfect, and he carried himself like he belonged to the road itself.

And just like that, he was gone. Around the corner and out of sight.

Your arms ached under the weight of the tins. You stood still for longer than made sense, the chill biting at your ankles, your breath clouding the air.

Then someone shoved past you and swore under their breath.

You blinked and kept walking, but you didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

The next time you saw him, he was in the paper.

You were helping your neighbour patch a broken stair in the alley behind your building when she passed you a crumpled society page. Something to read while the wood glue dried, she said.

JOCKEY PRODIGY WEDS WIDOWED HEIRESS

FROM TRACK TO TITLE: THE RISE OF DIEGO BRANDO

There it was.

Big, bold headline. Column after column of praise. He was a racing star. A golden boy with the right smile at the right time. The kind of rags-to-riches story people gobbled up like meat after a fast.

And there was a photo.

Diego stood tall beside a woman old enough to be his grandmother - eyes watery, smile stretched. Her gloved hand rested delicately on his sleeve. He looked straight into the camera. Not beaming. Not shy. Just… composed.

You traced his face with your thumb, and the ink bled onto your skin.

You didn’t say anything when your neighbour asked what it was about.

You just folded the paper and tucked it under your coat.

And when you got home, you read every word.

Twice.

It wasn’t bitterness, not exactly.

You were happy for him.

Weren’t you?

He’d survived. He’d fought for something and carved his way to it with blood and grit and no one to catch him when he fell. He deserved the headlines. The horse. The house with more rooms than memories.

But it still stung. A little.

Because you remembered the boy who raced you bareback in the fields behind the barn. Who stole apples and swore they were for you, even though he’d eaten half already. Who taught you how to ride with nothing but a knot of rope and a mouth full of trouble.

You remembered falling asleep beside him once, curled near the stable fire, while your mothers hushed the wind outside and traded stories about boys who wouldn’t stop running.

And now he was in suits.

In columns.

Married to money.

You weren’t jealous. Not of the fortune. Not of the woman.

You just missed him.

The real him.

And you wondered - not for the first time - if he missed you too.

Even a little.

Months passed.

You found yourself in London again.

There was talk of a new race - something mad and wild across America. The Steel Ball Run. Diego’s name was already attached, printed bold beneath headlines that made your chest tighten.

So you wandered. Trying to keep busy. Trying not to think too hard.

You should’ve gone home earlier.

That was your first thought, sharp and stupid and far too late.

London’s streets always turned meaner after dark - sharper at the edges, slick with fog and the stink of coal smoke. But you’d walked them a hundred times before, confident in your own legs, your own wits. The wits Diego used to call you reckless for.

He wasn’t wrong.

But he’d also never been caught like this - alone, cornered and bleeding.

You staggered backward into the alley wall. Your boots skidded on slick stone, and your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t just the man in front of you that scared you.

It was his eyes.

Red. Unnatural.

And the smile that stretched across his face wasn’t hungry. It was… grateful.

Like he’d been looking for something exactly like you.

“Easy now,” he said, voice thick with malice but smudged by time. “I won’t take much.”

That was a lie.

You could feel it in your bones.

He wasn’t dressed like a street rat. His coat was clean. Boots polished. His skin was too pale, too still, like he was carved from the night itself.

And when he moved toward you, there was no sound. Not a footstep. Not a breath.

You lunged left.

But he was already there.

Your shoulder hit the wall. You cursed, twisted, tried to strike - but he caught your wrist mid-air, easily, like it cost him nothing.

“You’ve got fight,” he murmured. “They always taste better when they fight.”

You spat in his face.

He smiled wider.

Then the world tipped sideways.

You didn’t register the bite. Not at first.

Just the cold.

It started in your throat and spread down your chest, crawling through your limbs like frostbite. The edges of your vision bled grey. Your pulse - thundering a second ago -slowed to something shallow and wrong.

You heard your own heartbeat once.

Then again.

Then silence.

Your knees hit the cobblestones. You were distantly aware of his hands guiding you down like a lover might, gentle and awful.

“There now,” he murmured. “Let it in.”

You didn’t want to.

You didn’t know how.

Your breath caught in your throat like a sob.

And then -

Fire.

Not literal. Not from outside.

It ripped through your chest like something ancient and furious had cracked your ribs open and poured itself inside. Your vision flared red. Your body convulsed. You felt your own humanity rip loose, piece by piece.

And when you opened your mouth to scream, the sound came out wrong.

Too sharp.

Too loud.

Like something no longer entirely human.

He was gone when the pain faded.

Just gone.

As if he’d never been there.

Only the blood remained.

Yours. His. It didn’t matter anymore.

That night you didn’t die.

But you didn’t live either.

You stumbled home through alleyways and side streets, every inch of you wrong. Your skin prickled at the sound of gas lamps hissing. Your lungs burned in the presence of warm food. Your teeth ached - not from pain, but hunger.

Glancing in the puddles lit by moonlight, you didn’t look any stranger, just a bit roughed up.

But your reflection… didn’t sit right. Like it lagged behind your movements.

You didn’t sleep that night. Again.

You sat on the floor with your coat still on and stared at your hands until the light changed.

And when the hunger hit again - real and deep and gnawing -  you curled your fingers into your palms and bit down hard enough to draw blood.

It didn’t help.

You never told anyone what happened. Who would believe it? Your closest friend was certainly no longer around.

You packed your bags three days later.

Not because you had a plan, but because London no longer felt like home and it hadn’t for years. Diego Brando was somewhere across the ocean, riding through sun-drenched deserts and chewing up glory with every mile. 

He always said you were too soft to run with wolves. He hadn’t seen you now.

You signed up for the Steel Ball Run with hands that didn’t shake and a hunger that had nothing to do with winning.

You were coming home.

You smelled him before you saw him.

Not in the literal sense - your nose wasn’t that good, thank god - but in that uncanny, magnetic pull way. Like heat drawn to cold, like tension pulled toward its snapping point.

It had been years.

But there was no mistaking him.

The wide stretch of Dust Bowl terrain made him look bigger than you remembered. Broader, taller. Shoulders squared in that blue coat like it was stitched directly into his ego. His horse glinted under the sun - clean, powerful, perfectly tempered.

Just like him.

Diego Brando.

Jockey, aristocrat, (alleged) murderer. Arrogant son of a bitch.

Your childhood friend.

Your first heartbreak.

And, right now, the only person in this hell race you couldn’t ignore.

You stayed off the path. Watched from behind the ruins of an old checkpoint gate as he laughed at a nearby racer falling off his horse - that laugh still full of teeth, still practiced. He didn’t look like someone grieving the life he’d torn down. He looked like someone remaking it in his image.

But when he turned his head, just slightly, the smile cracked for half a second.

Eyes flicked to the side.

Sharp. Searching.

Like he’d felt something shift.

Like the wind had changed and brought your name with it.

You stepped out before you could second-guess it.

Boots crunching on dry earth.

No ceremony. No introduction.

Just you.

You didn’t speak.

Not at first.

You just stood a few feet away - closer than a stranger, not close enough for a friend.

And when Diego’s eyes finally locked on yours, something behind them went very, very still.

“…You.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You gonna say my name, or are we playing twenty questions?”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

Then - “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You offered a faint smile. “Nice to see you too.”

He stared.

Like you were a ghost.

(Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate.)

“I thought you were-”

“Home?” You shrugged. “I left.”

“For this?”

“For you.”

That got him.

Unfortunately, not in the romantic way - in the what the hell did you just say to me way.

He took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “Don’t screw with me. This isn’t some vacation. It’s not a back-alley pony ride. You’ll get torn apart out here. This is a cross-country race and the few lessons I taught you will not allow you to win that. I, however, do intend to win, and I can’t babysit you through this.”

You stepped in, just one pace - enough to make the air between you crackle.

“I can handle myself.”

He looked you over like he didn’t believe that. But his gaze lingered - not suspicious, not predatory.

Searching.

He noticed the change. Of course he did. The paleness. The stiffness. The slight tremor when sunlight hit your knuckles.

But he didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

Instead, he leaned just slightly into your space - the way only Diego Brando could, like he wanted to crowd you out without touching you.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” he murmured.

“Guess you never really knew me.”

He scoffed. “I taught you how to ride.”

You smiled. “Yeah. And I remember every second of it.”

His eyes flicked down - to your mouth, your throat, your collarbone.

He didn’t mean to.

But he was close enough now that you could feel it: that heat.

It was radiating off him in waves. Not just body heat - something deeper. Stand energy, maybe. Or just… life.

And god, it made you dizzy.

You hadn’t been warm in weeks.

Not really.

He took a breath, like he was about to say something sharp - something Diego - but then he stopped.

Brows drew together.

His head tilted. Just a fraction.

“You’re cold,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

You looked away. “So?”

“So it’s the middle of the fucking desert.”

“I like layers.”

“That’s not-”

You cut him off. “You gonna invite me to ride with you, or just stand there sweating?”

He stared a second longer.

Then he moved.

One sharp click of his tongue, and his horse stepped forward. He swung up into the saddle in a single, practiced motion, then offered you his hand like it was nothing.

No pomp. No explanation.

Just: Get up here.

You took it.

And when your palm slid into his - warm, calloused, familiar - it felt like the first breath after drowning.

Even if you didn’t need to breathe anymore.

Diego didn’t speak much the rest of the ride.

That was fine. You didn’t either.

There was too much to say, and too little you trusted yourself to spill.

The desert bled into dusk. The heat folded inward, sun dipping below a jagged ridge, casting long shadows over the trail. You rode beside him in companionable silence - not close, not touching, but near enough that you could feel the warmth rolling off his coat with every shift of his frame.

By the time you made camp, the stars were peeling into the sky and your hands were aching from the cold.

You tried not to let it show.

Diego was fussing with his saddlebag, digging out rations and fire-starting tools like he did this every night. Probably did. His movements were efficient. Sharp. Almost rehearsed.

Like everything in his life had to be. Like relaxing might invite collapse.

You crouched nearby, letting the quiet fold in around you, the distance between your knees and the fire measured down to the inch. Any closer and you might shake. Any further and you’d freeze.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You still don’t talk when you’re uncomfortable,” he muttered, breaking a twig across his knee. “Some things don’t change.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And you still talk too much when you’re trying not to ask something.”

That earned you a glance. Dry. Impressed. Maybe a little amused.

The fire caught - first a crackle, then a burst - bathing his cheekbones in orange light. He sat back with a grunt, letting the warmth curl over his boots, arms draped across his knees.

You hugged your own tighter.

“Why are your fingers stiff?” he asked, not looking at you.

You stared at the fire. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not.”

“Maybe not for you.”

That made him turn his head. Not fast. Not accusing. Just slow and curious - the way Diego looked at things he wasn’t sure how to name.

His eyes narrowed.

“I run hot,” he said, almost absentminded. “That’s why I don’t get chilled at night.”

You didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

Because his gaze shifted again - not up, but across. To your posture. Your pallor. Your jaw working just a little too hard to stop the tremble.

He tilted his head. Thoughtful.

“You’re freezing,” he said.

“No shit.”

“You’re not trying to fix it.”

“I’ve handled worse.”

He exhaled, sharp and frustrated. “You’re not proving anything by pretending you’re fine.”

“Old habits,” you said, trying to play it off with a shrug that came out too tight. “They die hard.”

He went quiet again.

Long enough that you thought maybe the subject had dropped.

Then-

“I remember,” he said, low, “when you used to cling to me in the winter. Swore I was the warmest thing you’d ever touched.”

Your breath hitched. Barely.

“That was before you left,” you muttered.

“I don’t think you’ve stopped.” A pause. “You’re just trying harder not to.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

He shifted then, slow and deliberate, leaning back against a bedroll he hadn’t unrolled until now. His eyes flicked toward the spot beside him.

And that was all.

No invitation.

Just space.

Made for you.

You hesitated.

Your fingers were stiff. Your joints ached. The fire wasn’t doing enough. You could feel it deep in your bones - the chill that came not from weather, but from blood that didn’t pump the way it used to.

So you moved.

Not gracefully. Not shyly.

Just… moved.

You lay down beside him, careful and quiet. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace. His shoulder brushed yours. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t tease. Just exhaled - a low, steady breath.

You didn’t say thank you.

You didn’t have to.

A minute passed.

Then two.

Your hands began to thaw. Your breath smoothed.

And somewhere, in the firelit hush, Diego tilted his head - just slightly - and pressed his forehead to yours.

Not long.

Not heavy.

Just there.

Anchoring you.

His voice followed, low and rough, like it scraped its way up from somewhere soft:

“Next time, don’t make me say it.”

You swallowed.

“I won’t.”

And you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

His hand eventually shifted. Found yours, barely brushing across your knuckles before settling close. Not holding. Not grabbing.

Just there.

You exhaled into the dark.

“I’m glad we found each other again.”

Diego didn’t answer immediately.

But his grip twitched. Like his body was saying it before his pride could stop it.

“You’re the only one in this whole damn race who actually sees me,” he said eventually. “And still stays.”

You turned your head, forehead still grazing his.

“Right back at you.”

The fire crackled. A coyote howled somewhere far in the distance.

But here, in the quiet curve of night and memory, you and Diego lay curled just close enough to count as something more than warmth. Something steady. Earned.

And in that breath between silence and sleep-

You thought maybe he smiled.

Just a little.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Gross

Fic Idea (no pressure obviously) Thomas struggling with his self image and ego, and in response Roman ends shapeshifting all the time, fluctuating between the masculine beauty standard (lean, muscular, hairless) and what society considers “ugly” (pudgy, hairy). And based on how he looks, Roman will interact with the others or hide away – anon

hihi!! had this random idea for a sanders sides fic- something along the lines of- a while after Remus and Roman split, Remus comes back (when the dark sides start to get more involved) and confesses that he hoped Roman was doing better after he joined the light sides? that all he wanted was for his brother to be happy, away from the darkness for once? angst sadness ykyk :)) – can-you-hear-me-axhilles

hi, so I just read your wings series and I was wondering if we could have something with Remus and his tentacles? Like maybe him thinking they are ugly or something, I’m not really sure. Maybe Roman has animal characteristics too and they’re “prettier” or “better” so he gets insecure? Mainly focused on these two but I don’t mind if it’s all of them together. No pressure to write this tho! – anon

I’ve been reading your Sanders Sides stuff for the longest time and I was wondering if I could get some Roman angst with a side of creativitwins? – meandmacats

Read on Ao3

Warnings: non-consensual body modification, self-esteem issues, self-hatred

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5481

Or, five times Remus helped Roman out when Thomas's self-esteem issues change his nature, and one time Roman helps Remus.

 

”Remus?”

Remus looks up from his knitting to see Patton standing over him. “What’s good, Pat-Pat?”

“I’m, what’re you doing?”

“Oh, I’m knitting this patchwork sweater out of hair.”

“Oh…how cool.” Patton gives himself a shake. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’ve seen Roman? He was supposed to come down for lunch but he never showed.”

“Like, at all, at all?”

“Yeah. Neither hair nor hide! Or—well, I guess he did do the hide since he’s hiding from us, and you’re the hair!”

“Ah, Pat-Pat, never stop with the dad jokes. You’ll make all of us go into pun-withdrawal.” Remus carefully sets aside the needles and bounces to his feet. “I’ll go look for him, see if he needs to be pried out of the dragon’s gullet again.”

“Oh, thanks so much, Remus, I really—wait, ‘again?’”

“Gotta blast!”

Honestly, it’s not like Roro is known for missing deadlines, that’s Remus’s thing. Especially when it comes to things like meals and remembering to eat—well, Ro’s not exactly the pinnacle of healthy practices when he get absorbed in his work, but he’s better at it than some people give him credit for. Which means he’s either deep in the middle of something he’s keeping to himself, he’s asleep because the time zones in the Imagination are all kinds of wackadoo, or he really does need to be rescued.

Which isn’t Remus’s thing, come on, Ro, you’re ruining his reputation.

By the time he gets to the Imagination, he’s already pulling out his acid-proof gloves and sharpening his Morningstar. He stops dead, however, when he sees the doors are still locked from last night. That’s weird. Maybe Ro just used his personal gate instead of the main one? But that just takes him right to his little workshop area, that’s not anywhere near where the dragons are…

He’s about to go for his gateway when he hears a quiet noise coming from Roman’s door. Frowning, he turns. Roman’s door is only a few feet away. He glances up and down the hall to make sure none of the resident sneaks are nearby—Janus and Virgil—and knocks on the door.

“Uh, busy!”

“Ro, it’s me.”

“Oh. Did you, um, did you need something?”

“You weren’t at lunch. Pat-Pat’s getting worried.”

He hears a muffled curse and the door glimmers slightly. That’s Roman’s cue that he can sink in. He stows the acid gloves and the Morningstar and sinks in, expecting Roman at his desk or on the floor puzzling over some bit of a story he can’t quite get right, but instead he sees an empty room.

“Where are you?”

“Bathroom.”

Remus pops his head through the door and blinks. “Whoa.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Roman mumbles, already reaching for the bandages curled up on the counter, “you don’t have to say it.”

”That looks—“

“I said you don’t have to say it.”

Remus slams his mouth shut, but he can’t stop staring at the acne. Throbbing red pimples that look like they’re causing Roman pain every time he so much as breathes, bigger whiteheads that have already started to ooze, blackheads that litter every inch of skin that isn’t already covered, some of which look like they’re almost on top of each other…

Roman turns his back on him and hunches his shoulders. “What do you want, Re?”

“I, uh…well, now I want to help.”

Roman laughs. It’s not funny. “There isn’t any helping this. Not until Thomas feels better.”

“Whoa. Back up. What?”

“This.” He waves a hand at his face. “This is a thing, remember?”

“Oh. Oh, right, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Can I help make it less painful while it’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Then Roman’s head turns slightly. “Would you?”

“Shit, yeah,. Roro. You’ve helped me with stuff more times than I can count on my fingers and toes, let me help you.” He gets a small huff that might be an actual that-was-kind-of-funny-I’m-feeling-better laugh. “Yeah?”

“…yeah, okay.”

“Wonder-bats! Okay, I think I still have that stuff from when we had those sores from the poison experiments…where did I put that?”

“Did you leave it in your room or my room?”

”We cleaned up here, so it should be…aha!” He takes a big plastic case from under the sink. “Go sit your perky butt on the edge of the tub, I’ll be right there.”

“…thanks, Remus.”

“What’re brothers for?”

2.

The very first time it had happened, it had been well before Thomas had learned what it was to be attractive.

Remus had found Roman crying in his room, curled up under all the blankets he could find with tissues covering the floor.

“Ro-bro? What happened? Do I need to fight someone for you?”

“It won’t come off!”

“What won’t come off?”

Roman had peered out from under the blanket cocoon and Remus’s mouth had dropped open when he saw the words FREAK and LOSER written all across Roman’s face in permanent marker.

“Who did that? Was it Virgil? I’ll fight him!”

“No,” Roman had sniffled, “it wasn’t—wasn’t Virgil. It wasn’t any of them.”

“Did you do it? That’s more my kinda thing, isn’t it?”

“No!” Roman had wailed. “I didn’t do it! Someone—someone hurt Thomas!”

“Someone hurt Thomas? But nothing happened! We didn’t get into any fights!”

“Not like that! They were just mean. They were really mean and they said he looked ugly and they called him a f-freak and a loser and—and—“

Remus had scurried forward and wrapped his brother in a hug as he broke down in tears. “You’re not a freak or a loser, Roro. Neither is Thomas. They were wrong, you know that, right?”

”Then why won’t it come off?”

Sure enough, up close, Remus had seen the red and raw skin where Roman had scrubbed it with whatever he could find to make the words go away. Bits were even coming off on the blanket as Roman rubbed his cheek against it.

”Hey, hey, stop that. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care! I don’t like seeing my brother hurt!” Remus had given him a shake. “You don’t have to hurt yourself more on top of this, okay? Come on, come into the bathroom, I’ll help you.”

“Y-you will?”

“Yeah, Roro, come on.”

The twins had gone to the bathroom where towels and washcloths were still strewn around from Roman’s previous attempts. Remus had made Roman sit on the stool and reached for the soap, getting one of the washcloth more suds than cloth and trying to wipe off the words.

“That tastes so bad.”

“So keep your mouth shut.”

“But you keep wiping it over my mouth!”

“No, I’m wiping it over your cheek, which is next to your mouth. And you talking isn’t making it any better, so shush.”

Roman had grumbled silently until Remus accidentally went too roughly over one of the sore spots and Roman yelped.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,. I didn’t mean to.”

“Wash it off! Wash it off!”

“Okay, okay! Come here!”

They had stumbled over to the sink and Remus practically shoved Roman’s head under the tap. He had spluttered and flailed out, splashing Remus.

”Hey! Don’t splash me!”

“I’ll splash you all I want!”

“No, you won’t!”

“Yeah, I will!”

It had…devolved from there.

The bathroom had been sopping wet by the end of it, not a towel nor tile had been spared from the twin’s water war. Their clothes were just as soaked, their hair dripping like they’d just walked through a hurricane. The sink and the bathtub still ran as if nothing were wrong and the detachable shower head in Remus’s hand sprayed as merrily as ever.

”Whoa, hey!”

“What?”

“It’s gone!”

Roman had run to the mirror, touching his face. Sure enough, the words had vanished.

”It is gone!”

”You’re welcome,” and he had taken a big bow with the shower head still spraying everywhere, “I think that means I win.”

“Whoa, wait, no, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.”

”No!”

“Yes!”

It took a while longer for the war to end and even longer for the bathroom to dry.

3.

Someone says Thomas eats too much junk food and Roman can’t stop dripping oil.

Remus finds him sitting on his bathroom floor, the drain in the shower covered with a towel. He’s sitting on towels too, towels soaked and heavy with oil as Roman’s tears fight to get out from his eyes and through the slick covering his skin.

“The others are worried,” he says quietly, lingering in the doorway, “they want to know what’s wrong.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. Remus peers a little closer and sees the telltale sheen over his mouth too. Even just thinking about how it must feel to have that much oil on his lips makes Remus shudder. He summons a washcloth from his own stash and a bottle of soap.

“Just like old times,” he says as he crouches down in front of him, “I’m gonna wash off the oil on your face, okay?”

Roman manages a small nod and Remus gets to work. Normally when he’s washing oil off stuff, he scrubs at it like he’s trying to grind it with sandpaper and the soap foams up around his wrist. But this is Roman, not some metal piece of equipment, so he goes as gently as he can without suffocating him with soap or making no progress at all. He has to stop a few times when Roman lets out a pained noise or winces at the rasp of the cloth, just holding a blotting sheet there to soak up the oil as best he can while he waits for him to settle. He makes a note to work on the heavy duty blotters in case something like this ever happens again.

At last, when Roman looks like he’s about to cry for a very different reason, the space around his lips and nose is clear enough for him to gasp out a few words.

“Sorry, thank you, sorry—“

”Shh-shh, Roro, you don’t need to apologize. Just tell me what you need.”

”’S so gross.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m right here.”

Roman lets out a frustrated whine and Remus quickly pulls out his phone.

“If you tell me what Thomas needs to stop thinking about I can get Lolo on it.”

“No, then he’ll—“

“I’m not gonna tell him what’s wrong with you, okay? I’m just gonna prod them into getting Thomathy’s brain on the right track away from whatever-the-fuck-this-is-station.”

More oil starts to build up and he shoves his phone in his pocket, working on washing it away again. His presence seems to have calmed Roman down a bit; the oil comes in smaller waves this time, concentrated more around the naturally oily parts of his face rather than every inch of his skin. When he’s cleaned off the areas around his nose and mouth, he goes and starts moving to the rest of his head.

“Junk food,” Roman mumbles, as if saying it too loud would make the oil return with a vengeance, “saying bad stuff ‘bout Thomas…unhealthy…gross…”

Remus whips out his phone and sends a text to Logan about food not having a moral weight and how eating something was always better than eating nothing. He gets a text back a few seconds later that just says on it.

“Lolo cavalry is assembled, he’s going.” He tucks the phone away and keeps washing Roman off. “And I’m gonna stay right here until we get all this oil off you, okay? We can even do your thirteen-step skin care routine once it’s gone.”

“It’s not thirteen steps.”

“Whatever you wanna tell me, Roro, at least you’re not as bad as Snakey.”

It’s the first time Roman manages to laugh that day, and Remus makes sure it isn’t the last.

4.

When Patton and Logan have near simultaneous nervous breakdowns after someone calls Thomas lazy, Remus makes sure Virgil’s wrapped around the Mindscape’s padre and Janus has Logan in his little snake den before he goes off in search of Roman.

The Imagination door is covered in cobwebs that retreat as he approaches, a few spiders waving hello as they disappear. He runs his hand over the keyhole, checking to see if it’s just an affectation, or if Roman really hasn’t been using it. He knows he has, is the thing; Roman’s had more projects on the go this month than he’s ever had before and if it weren’t for Janus and Logan dragging him out of it to make sure he didn’t completely lose touch with the Mindscape, he bets his left barnacle that Roman would’ve been living there too just so he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to keep working. And sure enough, the keyhole glows red as soon as his fingers brush it and he carefully pushes the door open.

He walks into the most statistically average middle class sitcom home he’s ever seen. Needless to say, he hates it.

”Ro? Are you here?”

There’s a faint noise coming from what he guesses is the direction of the living room and listen, as little time as he has to spend in this painfully mediocre place, the better. Seriously, he can feel the whispers of white picket fences and PTA meetings lingering ominously over his shoulder with every second he walks through these beige walls. Snatches of TV dialogue becomes audible as he makes his way through the house.

He comes to a stop.

He tilts his head.

There’s certainly a person in the living room, but it doesn’t really look like Roman. They look like every Sunday cartoon about a husband and wife where it’s terribly misogynistic and heteronormative, recliner out, bag of chips in lap, staring vacantly at the TV. It’s only the fact that they’re crying at the paid advertising programs and that Remus would recognize his brother anywhere that he knows it’s Roman.

He sits down on the plastic covered couch and tries not to look at the soulless photos of smiling families perched on the dusty mantle. Roman doesn’t look away from the screen but the hand nearest Remus twitches slightly.

“Hey,” he calls, and Roman’s head turns a little, “hey, Roro. I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The TV blares something about a crockpot that cooks fancier meals than a normal crock pot.

“I know how shitty it is when people accuse you of being lazy. Especially when they’re just complaining that they haven’t seen anything from you.” He shuffles and the couch squeaks. “And we all know how hard you’re working. How hard Thomas is working.”

Roman’s eyes flick to his. Remus smiles and takes his hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“Giving yourself a break isn’t being lazy. Having a hard time doing things isn’t lazy. Not being able to work on something because it’s just covered in the fucking ooze isn’t being lazy. You aren’t being lazy, okay? You wouldn’t even be lazy if you decided you didn’t want to work on any projects for the next year.”

The TV glitches out. Static fills the room and it actually feels like Remus can breathe. He squeezes Roman’s hand again and shifts closer. Roman stares at him with wide eyes.

”I mean it, Roro. You’re not—I know we’ve gone over this and I’ll keep giving you crowbars for as long as you need them—“

The smallest smile appears on Roman’s face.

“—but you’re not—your worth isn’t in what products or content you can make. You know i love you because you’re my brother, because you’re funny and clever and ridiculous and there’s no one I’d rather make stuff with. You could decide that you don’t want anything to do with Thomas’s career anymore—“

Roman makes a devastated noise.

“Calm down, calm down, I know that’s not true, I’m just spouting a wild hypothetical, okay? If you decided to do that and I made sure it was really you and you hadn’t lost some sort of bet, then yeah, I’d still want you to be my brother. We’d still do stuff. I don’t give a shit what everyone else thinks.”

”…promise?”

Remus could sob with relief at actually hearing Roman’s voice come out, and he grins so wide his cheeks start to hurt. “I promise, Roro, I promise. You’re not lazy, you’re resting, and even if you were, I wouldn’t care.”

‘’M not trying to be lazy. It’s—I’m just—“

“Shh, shh, Roro, it’s okay,” The bag of chips falls to the ground and catches fire as Remus tugs his brother into his arms. “I’m right here. You’re doing so good, okay? Thomas is too.”

Remus doesn’t burn the house down because he’s had too many lectures from Janus about that, but he does get a big cartoon wrecking ball to smash the whole thing into smithereens.

He does burn the recliner though. And the plastic-covered couch. They deserved it.

5.

The latex gloves snap on as Roman sits on the edge of the tub with a grunt. He picks up the rest of the kit and sets it on the stool.

”Do you know what it’s about this time?”

“Someone said something about how immature Thomas is being about criticism and how he can’t take care of things, something like that.”

“Why did it manifest as acne, then?”

”I don’t know, maybe something about how teenagers who are hormonal and don’t really know how to take care of their skin get acne?”

Remus snorts. “Do people still not understand that acne happens and can happen to anyone regardless of age?”

‘Apparently not.”

“Well, they can go lick the Kraken’s crack.”

“Ew, Remus.”

“Just trying to keep the mood light.” He picks up one of the cotton swabs and a paper towel and leans down. “I’m gonna try and clean up some of the wet stuff first, okay? Then we can actually get onto some relief.”

“You’re not gonna pop any of them, are you?”

“I don’t think so. At least not right now.”

”Because I really don’t want this to scar.”

Remus hums, carefully running the swab over a particularly inflamed part of his cheek. “Can you give me a pain rating?”

”Like a 6? It’s not that bad but it’s not a pain I’m used to it’s…freaking me out.”

“Understandable, have a nice day. If it ever gets too much, let me know and we’ll switch to a cool pack, okay?”

Roman hums as Remus goes to work. A pile of discarded swabs and other trash accumulates at Remus’s elbow as he works patiently around the various, uh, ‘zones.’ They have to stop a few times when it gets to a point where Roman’s whole face just aches, waiting for it to subside enough that Remus can keep going.

“There are a couple down here that look like they’re ready to go, do you want me to just get ‘em out?”

”Be careful.”

“Sure, yeah. If it starts to hurt lemme know and I’ll back off right away.”

He gets a few of them, a few more putting up too much of a fight so he leaves them be. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roman heroically stop two or three whimpers before he lightly jabs him in the stomach and tells him to knock that posturing shit off, he doesn’t need it here.

“…thanks, Re.”

“I told you, it hurts too much, I stop.”

“I know.” He shifts on the tub. “I think it’s just…hard to remember.”

Remus frowns, glancing up at him. Roman fiddles with the hem of his prince costume.

“You know…with the others?”

”No. I don’t know, Ro.”

“They don’t—they’re—they want Princey, Prince Roman. Not…the rest of this.” He waves his hand to indicate the cotton carnage. “So it’s hard to…”

He trails off when he sees the expression on Remus’s face.

“What?”

”You mean they don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That this—“ he waves at Roman— “happens to you. Any of it.”

“I mean, they know I’m the Ego and it makes sense that I get hurt when Thomas feels bad, but—“

”But not how much.” Roman won’t meet his gaze. “Fuck, Ro.”

“…it’s complicated.”

“Shit, no, I’m not—look at me, Ro. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—this wasn’t what I’d hoped.”

Roman frowns. “What do you mean, what you hoped?”

Remus sighs. This is turning into way more of a conversation than he’d ever anticipated. Glancing around, he picks up the cold pack and hands to to Roman before taking a seat on the counter. His legs swing and kick at the cabinets with a quiet thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk.

“When the Split happened, and we went to the Dark Sides, I…dunno, I guess I thought it would be…better.”

“Because we were separated?”

“What? No, no, because I had the stuff like Deceit and Anxiety with me, so they couldn’t make any of this stuff worse—not that they would,” he says when Roman opens his mouth to protest, and wow, have they come a long way, “but just ‘cause…well, yeah. You had Logic and Morality, who were—doesn’t that make sense? That they would be able to help?”

Roman sighs. He picks at the edge of the ice pack. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“Logan’s thing is object impermanence, you know that.” Remus winces in sympathy. “But having someone tell you something isn’t real when you can feel it and it is real, to you, that’s not…that’s not helpful. It’s better if he just goes right to Thomas than coming to me.”

“And Patton?”

Roman lets out a humorless huff. “Thomas is feeling bad and Patton is Thomas’s feelings. How do you think that normally goes?”

…yeah, probably not great.

“It’s not all bad,” he continues, softer now, “they’re at least good when I tell them I don’t want to be disturbed. They don’t ask questions if I tell them I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That feels suspiciously like the bare minimum.” Roman shrugs. “I know I literally just said the opposite, but do Janus and Virgil…?”

“They’re both better at comforting the others. It’s okay, Re, I have you. I really only want you when it’s…bad like this.”

“Me? Why?”

“You get it.”

Remus chuckles, getting back up and picking up the next tool. “That simple, huh?”

“Sometimes it’s just that simple.”

”Aw, I love you too, Roro. You’re the specialist baby brother any Side could ever ask for.”

“You—what the hell do you mean, ‘baby brother?’”

“You’re the baby brother.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too. Now hush so I don’t accidentally poke your eye out.”

“I’m gonna get you back for this.”

“Oh, I’m so scared about that. Now hold still, Roro, let’s get this out of the way so you can feel better.”

“…love you.”

“I love you too.”

+1.

The Imagination is upset. Roman feels it the second he steps foot through the door and forgoes his normal prince costume for a rougher tunic and boots, strapping his sword to his hip and an emergency pack to his back. The wind blows frigid and punishing over the grass as he starts down the trail, squinting through the dust clouds whipping up around him. The clouds frown around the edges of the tree line, darkening to a stormy black near the edge of the coast. As he nears the black cliffs, rocks crumble beneath him and tumble into a churning sea.

He edges carefully around the craggy rock face, keeping his movements light and careful. Spray whips him in the face as thunder rolls in the distance. The chill near rips his fingers from their precarious handholds. He grits his teeth and keeps going, even as the wind howl so loudly his ears near split from the pain.

There, a little ways down the cliff, is a small cove. He inches his way around the edge of the bluff and drops onto a larger path leading him along the coast. There isn’t any sand here, only rough and unyielding stone. Froth and foam given them gleaming white teeth as the waves churn furiously around the mouth of the sea. He follows the path down, down towards he massive cracks in the sheer rock face, one eye on the black water below him. Despite being so close to the shore, there’s no sign of a bottom and he doesn’t want to risk how deep it is. There’s no telling what current might rip him into the open ocean if he falls in.

The cove is shaped like a spear’s point, the crack in the cliff at its very point as though some massive weapon had shattered the rocks themselves. As Roman nears it, the shadow at the base of the path slowly grows more and more defined, until he realizes that it’s a path through the cliff. The cove is an inlet leading into a hidden sea cave with a vast black lake in its center. Roman peers up at the glistening wet walls, hand on the wall as the wind whistles angrily by.

The water moves. He looks down. Something massive slips just underneath the surface, sending ripples to the shore. He crouches down and sees a huge shape getting closer and closer to the surface. An eye the size of a dining table glares up at him through the water and long arms with rows and rows of hooks reach up toward him.

“Ollie, it’s me. It’s Roman.”

The Kraken pause. The hooked arms retreat and he pokes his head up, letting out a mournful burble. Roman reaches over and taps the water. One of his other arms comes up and Roman pets soothingly along the skin.

“What’s the matter, buddy? What’s going on?”

Ollie burbles again and Roman suddenly realizes why the hooked arms were the ones to reach for him. Beneath the surface, the Kraken’s arms form a cradle of sorts, holding something close to the Kraken’s massive body. As the water shifts and ripples, the thing comes closer and closer to surface, slowly moving to reveal its precious cargo.

And there, nestled in the Kraken’s grip, covered in his own writhing tentacles, is Remus.

“Oh, Re,” Roman murmurs as his brother twitches and whimpers, “what happened? Who did this?”

Ollie burbles again, holding him out, and Roman balances on the edge of the shoreline and stretches to hold on. The Kraken lifts him up and into the cradle too, letting him touch Remus’s frigid skin and shake him awake.

“Re? Re, wake up, it’s okay, I’m here to help.”

The tentacles writhe as Remus stirs, blinking through a pained haze up at Roman. “…Ro?”

“Hey, Re, it’s me. It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay. What happened?”

“Thoughts got too loud.” A tentacle leaves a thick trail of slime across his arm and he shudders. “Sorry.”

“What could you have to be sorry for?”

“‘S gross.”

“You stop that,” Roman chides gently, running his fingers through Remus’s wet hair, “I don’t care if something’s gross, I care if it’s hurting you.”

Remus whimpers, clutching at one of Ollie’s arms. The Kraken squeaks back, trying in vain to warm him up, but there’s only so much he can do in this freezing cave. Roman glances around and bites his lip.

“Does it feel better in the water? Is that why you came down here?”

“Yeah. Ollie came and f-found me.”

Roman pats the worried Kraken. “What do we need to do? Is it like caring for Ollie’s arms?”

“N-no. Like helping the jelly—jellyfish with the twisted—twisted ones.”

He’ll bet just about anything that this frigid water isn’t helping Remus do that, and it’s not like Ollie has opposable thumbs. He goes to slide into the water himself but Ollie chirps in alarm, hoisting them higher.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to help.“

Remus shakes his head, more slime trailing across his shivering body. “Too cold for you.”

“Well, then it’s definitely too cold for you. Can we get you somewhere warmer?” Remus curls up a little more. “What about that pool near the glowstone trees?”

“That’s all the way on your side.”

“Ollie can take you. I’ll meet you over there.” Remus stays quiet. Roman leans down and brushes the wet hair from his eyes. “What else is bothering you, Re?”

Two of the tentacles glob onto Roman and start leaving trails of slime across his tunic. Remus whimpers and reaches out a hand to yank them away. It’s no use; the roiling mass just keeps smearing slime onto Roman as they try to pull him closer, no matter how hard Remus shoves them away.

Oh.

Oh.

“Re, you’re not too gross. You’re not going to ruin anything. I want you to come with me so I can help you. I care about you. Let me help, please?”

It takes a painfully long moment for Remus to peek up at him and nod. Roman can’t stop the way his shoulders sag in relief and he sits up, patting Ollie’s arm as the Kraken burbles happily.

“You…you really wanna help?”

“Of course I wanna help you, Re, you’re my brother.”

“Okay.”

“Have Ollie take you over to the pool, okay? I’ll meet you there.”

“How are you gonna get there?”

“I have my ways.”

Remus grumbles and he sounds just enough like his normal self that Roman has to reach down and ruffle his hair, no matter how much Remus squawks about it. He climbs back off to the shore and watches Ollie sinks below the surface before he makes his way out to the ocean proper. Taking the charm from beneath his tunic, he closes his eyes and concentrates.

A screaming cry and the massive thudding of wings splits the wind.

Roman’s dragon lands just on the other side of the bluffs and he climbs on, taking off and soaring over the stormy sea. The dragon calls out over the waves and far beneath, he can see the shape of Ollie swimming through the depths. The clouds begin to part as they near the opposite coast, sun rays splitting the worst of the storm as the glowing trees appear on the horizon.

Roman’s dragon sets him down just on the edge of the shimmering pool. He pats its snout and it huffs, lying down on the sun-warmed grass and closing its eyes. As he walks toward the pool and begins to take off his boots, he spots Ollie’s shade moving through the inlet into the warmer water. He chuckles at the way the water vibrates with the Kraken’s pleased rumble.

Clad in just his boxers, he slips into the water and through the tangle of arms to draw Remus into the warmth. Remus immediately tuns and clings to him like a limpet, shivering from the temperature change.

“I know, I know,” Roman murmurs as he starts to work his hands patiently through the mass of tentacles, “just hold onto me. I can still kind of stand here, I’ve got you.”

”You gonna take care of me?”

“Yeah, Re, I’m gonna take care of you.”

He’s rewarded with a sleepy hum and Remus snuggles into him. “You’re the best.”

“No, you’re the best. The best baby brother anyone could ever ask for.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

Remus might mutter an am not back, but it’s muffled by his tired slump into Roman’s arms. Roman just chuckles. He’s sure it’ll come up again at some point.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[echosoftheunseenaskblog]

"Echos from those forever gone unseen."

AHAHAHAH!!! I convinced my partner in crime to make this blog with me. This is the OFFICIAL EOTU ask blog!! Any other ask blog that says it's official... uh.. ask the owners of EOTU if it is. Mainly run by @rockparmesan but will occasionally be posted on by @cursedppotato

This is inspired by other ask blogs; this is our first ever ask blog we've made!! Please bear with us.

~Some general info for everyone~

Stuff will be added as this blog gains more asks; this is not all set in stone. This blog includes ALL EOTU characters. Dead and alive. So yes, you can interact with the character "Roblox" if you really would like to. All interactions are fine!! However, if you'd like to RP, please do mention either at the start, or in OOC at some point that you would like an interaction, we aren't very good at telling.

The owners are minors, don't be weird. A good majority of this can be considered as CANON. This includes any interactions from characters outside of the EOTU universe... I'd like to know if anyone can get an interaction that shows how exactly they can get there. There MAY be art, there MAY not be, it's all up to how the owners are feeling. Characters from other games like Forsaken, TR:UD, etc, are allowed. (If I see a daybreak character I'm going to have so much fun with it) If there is an interaction, OOC will either be written like (This) or (This) Green usually means @rockparmesan replied, Purple usually means @cursedppotato replied. Magic anons aren't allowed, sadly. EOTU has very strict unspoken rules on how magic would work.

~Characters~

Survivors

Builderman StickMasterLuke Telamon/Shedletsky Noob Bacon Hazard Jane Doe John Doe Drakobloxxer Glitcher

Dev survivors

Glitched Purity Ambrose

Killers

Guest 666 1x1x1x1 G0ner Archer Patchwork

Dev killers

Unfamiliar Voice Buzzkill

The Sword Holders

Noob (yes we know this is double) - Linked sword Last Guest - Firebrand Tofu - Venomshank Darcel - Darkheart Kandi - Illumina Spirit - Ghostwalker Cassandra - Windforce Eirwen - Icedagger 1x1x1x1 (Once again, we know this is double) - Daemonshank

Other characters

Aurora Auren Meddie Algen Acorn(Deceased) Roblox(Deceased)

~Silly tags~

An echo (Ask)

Here's some food (art)

The goofy goober gods are here (OOC)

Welcome back to another episode (rp)

Let's not talk about this (lore)

~Final notes~

If you have no idea what this ask blog is about, we suggest joining the Cosmic Cheese Studio discord, which can be found here.

https://discord.gg/mkpfHnmWdt

Echos of the unseen is an ongoing roblox game project roughly inspired by games like Forsaken, The Robloxia until dawn, Daybreak, and more.

[ptn-imagines]

how do you think Cinnabar would treat her lover f!chief who has lots of scars on her face and body (not related to self harm or anything) and is extremely insecure about them? you might write an imagine or just a couple of headcanons as you please. thank you!

Here you go, anon! These kind of turned into... some sort of mix between an imagine and headcanons at the end. Imagicanons? Sure. Well, they still classify as headcanons due to the format, but I digress. I probably would've finished this sooner, but you know... My body decided "No Write, Only Sleep" for several days in a row.

Incidentally, ya'll love Cinnabar so much that I think it's rubbing off on me LOL. I feel like I could write for her in my sleep at this point, which isn't a bad thing.

Cinnabar comforting her lover F!Chief who is insecure about her scars

Cinnabar has a lot of scars; it's a natural consequence in her line of work. She doesn't pay them any mind, so they don't really bother her.

Chief also has a multitude of scars, brands left by both Mania and close calls during combat. Many of them can be hidden by her clothes, and careful application of makeup can more or less conceal the rest, but they're nevertheless quite prominent, and their odd shapes leave no doubt of their unnatural origin. Looking at them leaves Chief sick to her stomach.

When Cinnabar first noticed Chief flinched away from being touched in certain spots, she didn't think much of it. Maybe Chief just didn't like being touched there; it was a perfectly normal boundary. Scars were far from her mind.

In fact, she discovered the scars through a complete accident. Cinnabar usually knocked before entering the Chief's room; naturally, the one time it slipped her mind was the one time she walked in on the Chief changing.

She noticed the scars, but as an afterthought. Her brain had mostly screeched to a halt, eyes going wide, heat rushing to her cheeks; Chief, for her part, was madly scrambling to cover herself with a towel.

“C-Chief, I'm so sorry, I-”

Chief interrupted Cinnabar's frantic blubbering with a raised hand. Her tone sounded resigned, and her gaze was pointedly averted. “It's fine, Cinnabar. I guess I couldn't keep it a secret forever.” She sighed again; before Cinnabar could ask what was bothering her, she continued. “So… what do you think? They're awful, aren't they?”

Cinnabar blinked a few times, trying to figure out what her girlfriend meant. Was… there something she should be noticing? (Scars were so natural to her that she didn't even think to consider them.) “I'm sorry, Chief, I don't understand…?”

“My scars.” It clicked into place, and Cinnabar's gaze returned to the patchwork of Mania marks left behind on her lover's skin. Sure, Cinnabar wasn't going to lie and say they were pretty, but they really didn't seem… Okay, they were bad. But in Cinnabar's eyes, that didn't matter at all.

However, for Chief, it clearly did matter, and quite a lot at that. The last thing Cinnabar wanted to do was dismiss her feelings just because she couldn't relate, so it took her a moment to come up with an appropriate response.

“Chief, scars won't ever look pretty.” That was… still blunter than she would have liked, but Cinnabar worried that if she was any more direct, it would only worsen the problem. “After all, they're your body's marks of survival. When fighting death, or Mania, your body doesn't care about how you look; it cares about staying alive.”

Chief seemed caught off guard by this answer, but Cinnabar could see by the look in her eyes that she was not fully reassured. “I suppose. It doesn't stop me from feeling like an ugly monster, though.”

Cinnabar frowned, approaching and sitting a respectful distance from the Chief on the bed. Her dark hair curtained her face from this angle, yet Cinnabar could still see the most prominent of the scars peeking through. “If it helps at all, I don't see you that way, Chief. You're… wonderful. Incredible. I'm heavily scarred too, you know, so… I don't think anything of it. The only thing that your scars make me feel is… relief, that you're still here. That you're still at my side.”

Another long silence from the Chief had Cinnabar fearing that she'd said the wrong thing. Just as the bodyguard was about to try saying something else, her lover finally spoke. “Have I ever told you you're amazing, Cinnabar?”

Cinnabar couldn't help blushing a deep red. She was no stranger to these words of praise from her girlfriend, but no matter how much time passes, they always got the same reaction from her. “Y-You've mentioned it a time or two…”

Chief laughed again, and before Cinnabar could recover, the smaller woman had curled up against her side, head on her shoulder. Instinct led Cinnabar to quickly gather the Chief up in her arms. “Well, I'll keep saying it. It's true. I don't think I'll ever really be at peace with my scars, but… hearing you say these things does make me feel a little better. Thank you.”

Cinnabar suppressed an audible sigh of relief, hugging her closer. Her girlfriend let out a happy noise and snuggled against her. “It’s no problem, Chief. I'd do anything for you.”

And she would; to Cinnabar, Chief was the most important person in the world. Even if it meant betraying everything else she stood for… Cinnabar would always love, cherish and protect her beloved Chief.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - May 7

Insta Anon (new), outed anon, ap test anon (new), no worries anon, financial anon (new)

Insta Anon

Hi, I'm not sure if I'm upset for absolutely no reason here and I'd love some input if possible.

My best friend is VERY active on Instagram. Like, posts Instagram stories for every occasion, always makes collages at the end of the month about everything she's done, tags everybody she's spent time with that month. It's prompted me to do a very similar thing, and I post little collages at the end of the month too now. I posted one a few days ago that had two photos of the two of us and I'd tagged her in it. I only had like seven or eight photos, so those two were a considerable chunk of the post.

She posted hers today, with around twenty five photos on it, and I didn't appear once. We've seen each other multiple times, and talked on facetime a lot (I live in a different city so that's mostly how we interact.)

She posted everything else that she did, posted people multiple times, multiple pictures from the same night and not a single picture of us together.

I know that it probably wasn't malicious, and was probably just an oversight, but it's really upset me. I just feel a little overlooked.

I feel stupid being upset, because it's literally just a post. It's just that I know how much she cares about and scours over those posts, and it just makes me feel a little forgotten about.

Is it dumb to be upset about it?

Hi!

Honestly I’d be annoyed too! Like yeah social media shouldn’t be a big deal but she’s not acknowledging your friendship and that’s hurtful. I’ve had friends do similar things and it really sucks because it feels like you’re putting more effort in.

If you feel like she would be willing to listen and hear you out, I think you should talk to her. Explain that it's not just about the actual post, but like...acknowledgement. But if she doesn’t take it seriously, or tells you you’re being silly...I would reevaluate how much she's prioritizing you compared to how much you're prioritizing her.

Sending love!

__

outed anon

GOOD MORNING 🗣 (its outed anon)

Im making a patchwork sweater for my friend for her bd and im so done

LIKE HOW MANY SQUARES IS IT GOING TO TAKE

I MAKE 84 SQARES

I DIDNT NEED THAT MUCH

(No like i love her shes so sweet but never again)

Honestly if I was her I'd be so honored though. That is the sweetest gift, and I'm sure she'll love it. (And if she doesn't, I'll take it. Fuck.)

____

ap test anon

hi cas my first ap test is in around 2 weeks and i haven’t started studying yet im going to start today but im taking two this year and i only took one last year so i need to study twice as hard but last year i started studying like a month beforehand and im actually so stressed i feel constantly on the verge of tears but i keep procrastinating because there’s just so much to do and its overwhelming and i really need to pass both these tests and idk idk idk

i don’t even know this is all such a jumble of words i’m just really stressed i don’t even know

Hi!

I totally understand the feeling of being overwhelmed like this. Remember though--any studying is better than no studying. Even if you do ten minutes a night, you're giving yourself a much better chance of passing. Don't push yourself to the point of refusing to do anything. Just do little bits and remind yourself that those little bits are still HUGE. Set a timer, study for ten minutes, then take a ten minute break, and see how you feel. Repeat if you can. You got this, I believe in you!

___

no worries anon

No worries anon here

So… that friend hasn’t talked to me in some time. Like actually tried talking to me.

I miss having friendship with them, because they were my only irl that I had done rp with, they cosplayed and would understand my ships. They were in my fandoms and liked jegulus

Anyway

Despite that, I feel kinda free.

I do only have like… three irl friends tho, which is kinda sad. I mean, yeah, sure I’m introverted, but I like having friends.

Hi!

I totally understand this feeling. It's like, the loss of any friendship sucks because...it's a friend, and they once meant something to you. And when you have a small group of friends, it hits extra. But when that friend wasn't always respectful to you, it's also a relief. So it's a lot of mixed feelings. But maybe you can look at it like...now you have room in your life for someone who is better for you, you know?

Sending love <3

___

financial anon (new)

hi cas, i want to complain about my mother for a bit :(

she and my dad don’t have very high paying jobs, and we live in a pretty expensive area to live in, but we still have enough to live a comfortable life

however recently we’ve had less money and my mom seems to keep getting pissed at me for it (for context i cannot remember the last time i used her money for did something she needed to pay for other then like eating and shower ig)

my younger brother does THREE sports throughout the year and is also in boy scouts. the actual activities and equipment cost so much, and honestly that’s the reason we haven’t had as much money in the past few years

however, it’s always me she comes complaining to, never him. and it makes me so mad.

she complains about money when she should just idk take my brother out of one of his three sports??

and then she says she doesn’t have a favorite child like bsfr

oh and then of course when she’s mad about money she takes her anger out on us (not psychically but like verbally)

i have felt like a financial burden ever since i was eight becuse of her and she sometimes just makes me so angry

idk this rant probably doesn’t make much sense but yeah

Hi!

I'm so sorry your mom is taking those stresses out on you. You're right, it's not your responsibility or your fault. And while I do think it's probably a bit more complicated than just taking your brother out of sports, it shouldn't be something that you have to worry about.

I'm guessing you're the oldest? I feel like it's very common that parents pick one child, usually the oldest, to sort of...turn into the third parent. But that's not fair to you at all. And it's NOT your job to worry about those things. Is your mom the type of person who would get mad if you said something like "I'm a kid, so I don't really understand a lot of this finances stuff, maybe you can talk to x about it?" next time she talk to you? Because like....she really should be talking to an adult about it.

Sending love!

[sickofthistoxicshit]

It's hard to take the Tommy storyline seriously especially knowing that it was supposed to be Eddie and Tommy. People say the chemistry is through the roof with Buck and Tommy, but I barely saw any and most of it was cringe. (They had three scenes together and people are throwing Eddie out. Yeah just prove that it's not buddie they want, but more kissing other guy. They don't accept girlfriend, but the first guy is the perfect one. Be for real.) The way they wrote episode 4 was done for Eddie so all of this comes out of left field with the Tommy and Buck.

I can't take it seriously and honestly I hope he's gone soon. Like usual Buck gets all the storyline and Eddie is left with barely anything. Also I'm sorry, but I find it funny that this was all last minute planning and Buck got Eddie coming out storyline.

Sorry I had to vent. It's feeling like the Buck show again.

My dear Anon,

I have to admit, it is kind of hard to take the pairing seriously when we know Tommy was supposed to be with Eddie originally, another "fine patchwork" from the 911 creative team.

I hate last minute patches, those make for dumb storylines, like a nun Marisol, like wtf? Most men catholic or not usually fantasizing about nuns, religious or not. - I'm guessing gay men, don't lol

I have to say that both Oliver and Lou are giving it the old college try, but to be honest, the "platonic" bromance we saw between Eddie and Tommy had more chemistry than Buck and Tommy.

And even if they decided, last minute, to get Tommy with Buck, they could have written it so much better, than Buck OOC hurting Eddie physically for attention from the virtual stranger Eddie hung out with for two weeks. (Speaking of dumb storyline and patches).

I do agree that the whole TommyBuck became a thing very quickly, like buddie never existed and Tommy and Buck have been together for almost a season, which would have been more time to actually prove this match worthy of the praise it's getting after a couple of episodes.

Also, not to antagonize anyone, we all know if they'd brought back Lucy like it was originally planned (though how it was supposed to lead to a gay storyline is beyond me) Arielle would have gotten so much backlash that it would make ppl wonder about the selective feminism in this fandom. (though I have to say that Lucy being besties with Eddie could have been epic).

I also have to say that dazed and confused Buck is so not how I thought bi!Buck would look and I thought by Maddie's comments over the years that it would be anything but surprise for her. Sometimes the continuity of the show is a bit... wonky.

And indeed episode 4 that was originally written for Eddie does feel a bit left field with Buck, but I think Lou and Oliver handled it well. I love Lou's expressions to be honest, they tell a lot that isn't being said. - So much like Ryan now that I think about it.👀

Making it all about Buck again, is indeed a bone of contention I have with the writers and showrunners. This story was tailored for Eddie and they should have followed through, the catholic guilt, the internalized homophobia, and all the mixed feelings would have been delicious and made more sense than the nun crap we got.

I have a lot to say, some flattering, some less.

On the bright side this season have hope yet, I doubt we get much of Tommy for long, I was already spoilered that he is not here to stay, but he will play a part at Chimney's rescue, I love that idea.

I just hope he doesn't get killed off.

Also I wouldn't mind a threesome before we get buddie, if we get buddie lol

So yeah, the Evan Buckley show indeed, but Buck has always fan favorite so no surprise there.

I love Buck, but 7 seasons later demand that there will be some growth that sticks, what drives me crazy that we're still getting the same childish pouting mannerism from him and that it is all good somehow because that's Buck. 🤷‍♂️

I do love Lou/Tommy, he's perfect for this storyline. As someone who is observing without the "OMG TOMMYBUCK" glasses, 7x05 pretty much seals the fate of TommyBuck, Tommy's "You're adorable" is a death sentence for a relationship in any standards, many things could have been said, "I find you hot/sexy as hell" "I would really like to be with you" anything except you're adorable, adorable is a thing you say about babies and puppies, and though we all consider Buck a golden retriever puppy, he's a "hot hot firefighter man" - not adorable. - adorably confused maybe. An Ally if you will 😂

Also, I have yet to gif it, but in that last scene between them Tommy's smile looks like he's happy, but his eyes tell a different story, one that says "As much as I would like to believe I am the one you want I know better." He knows they won't last long.

And that "Evan" felt to me more like, "We have barely made it past the first date, and we barely know each other, A WEDDING? Are you serious rn?"

Obviously everyone else would disagree with me, but COME ON, who invites a failed first date to a wedding? Like Buck lost all sense of direction in his effort to prove his okay-ness with his new bi-ness.

At least he has a rainbow in his instagram lol

Anyway, all that's left is set the clock and wait for Madney's wedding, a wedding has a way to rectify things or just throw everything into utter chaos, either way we get a married Madney and an adventurous wedding. - That will be an episode I watch, solely for Maddie and Chimney. - Anything else would just be bonus ;)

[sapphire-weapon]

i know most people don't know anything game dev and even i don't know much but some of your anons really need to documate themselves about what it takes to make a game and especially AAA games

because anyone knowing the strict minimum would know it's like impossible to have perfect work life balance when working on a AAA games... that’s not the kind of job where you clock in at 8 and clock out at 4, with plenty of time to unwind… and that is true for most artistic jobs actually

that's sad but it's like that

i was literally just ranting about this to @godtier lmao

here's the reality of what we're looking at with RE9. either:

the project has been scrapped and rebooted multiple, multiple times at this point due to a lack of coherent vision by management (which is kind of what the director told us -- that it took them a long time to decide what to do next after RE7), leading to dev burnout and an underwhelming, patchwork product as pieces of the old versions of the game get slapped together in order to save on dev time and cost, or

the team keeps trying new ideas that aren't working, leading to massive changes in narrative direction, level design, enemy encounters, and gameplay flow and mechanics that will eventually erode the core message and experience that the game was supposed to convey

or both.

i've said it before and i'll say it again:

if we do not see RE9 by the end of this month, you should be very, very nervous about what that product ends up being.

[britts-galaxy-brain]

I’m not going on anon for this, because knowing you, you would blame Heloise or Milena for it. Just to be clear, they didn’t send me to say this either.

Why are you getting involved with the Poppy stuff? Given everything that’s gone down with Lily, you ultimately cause more harm than good. I know that’s not your intention, but it’s the truth. Why don’t you step back and let her primary victims handle this?

I didn't choose to get involved. Poppy chose to get involved with me.

Two years ago, she had her mod at the time reach out to me regarding the documents against Lily. She ultimately got in contact with me, Lizzy, Cypher, and Patchwork Heart while she was doing some of her Lily streams.

She got involved again when Courtney came forward. Poppy then proceeded to attempt to coerce Courtney into breaking up with his boyfriend and moving in with her, sent her furry incest porn, started sexually harassing me and trying to get me to erp with her despite me making it clear I wasn't comfortable with it, was utterly nasty toward and victim blamed KP after she'd just found out about everything, and ended up stabbing everyone in the back and spreading bullshit about us to her server.

Now she's rescinding everything she's said in regards to Lily, has been putting the integrity of all of us and the evidence into question, and is trying to get on Lily's good side.

I didn't start any of this but I'll be damned if I'm going to ignore it.

[definitelynotshouting]

okay 3am anon again (although you likely have more than one of those, the most recent 3am anon) after some sleep, still thinking about the overlap between the player Grian’s last memories of his code being devoured and the pre grian larval watcher’s memory of doing the devouring. in this au there’s no concept of the soul, it’s just code all the way down? so like… player grian’s code didn’t get shucked off to the greater universe and recycled. it’s still *there*, making up watcher grian. like he’s a fusion of the two, chimera like— or worse, a stranger wearing player grians corpse.

side note: while ik the listeners aren’t that well known (if known at all) to the players, i think the process of becoming a listener and becoming a watcher artificially are eerily similar. the difference to me being that one has a clear delineation in the before and the after, the player and the watcher, while the other leaves outsiders wondering exactly how much of their friend is left. you’re giving ME brain worms.

side side note: re: Doc’s Mystery Solution: think it would incredibly funny for it to be a radio tower broadcasting the Watcher Food Frequency. Many jokes to be had. Fortunately i’m making all of them:

1) grian simply thinking real hard at the air to eat call that Same-Second Delivery

(like that one telekinesis pizza image)

2) *Incomprehensible static noises* “YOU’RE LISTENING TO—“ *Rapid screeching and clicking* “— THE WATCHER RADIO—“ *hissing, skittering, shrieking* “—THE BEST (only) ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET ON AIR!” *three seconds of the time honored watcher classic Maneater by Nelly Furtado blares before being subsumed by crushing static*

3) No one gets to change the station on road trips it’s crushing static or grian gets the munchies and throws them into another death game.

side side side note (side x3 note?), grians specific set of issues around feeding is so interesting to me— knowing that what helps you will directly hurt others, imo, really validates the fear a lot of ill— mentally and physically— people have about being a burden on those they love, and getting themselves hurt in the process of attempting to protect their loved ones. it also follows that up by saying “you might be a burden! But it’s the choice of others to help you. What a world it would be if all we meant to each other was the burdens we give and take.” idk i could be grossly misinterpreting it. but it is an interesting thought to me.

additionally, i like the rounded focus you have on everyone— seeing how everyone is 1) handling this extreme situation, 2) what they do with the little information they have/have figured out is so wonderfully twisty. it grounds the fic in an emotional reality, whilst using scifi/fantasy concepts to form the set on which that emotional reality is played out. immaculate.

side x4 note:

imagine some therapist phones grian and is like “ay so i got a patient that’s emotionally repressed out the wazoo can you come take a bite so they can figure out how to label the emotions they’re feeling thanks”

grian: how did you get this number.

side x5 note:

all i’m saying is that TECHNICALLY player grians code is still inside watcher grian :) in pieces :) like a gruesome patchwork making up his memory code and surface code :) that must look soooooooooo silly from xisumas perspective. incredibly silly. lethally silly even. 14 dead 62 injured silly event.

side x6 note:

the approach your world building has for the ethical implications of genetic modification and self driven evolution is simply. chefs kiss.

like watchers changed the cores of themselves to escape over hunting by the seekers. players recreationally change their skins. listeners meld and learn from their hosts code just as much as they impart themselves on their hosts. It’s normal at different levels but also held in a higher regard than just the irl concept of “what if rich people could design their babies :) surely nothing can go wrong with that” i mean it’s more nuanced but i gotta write abt that for a lot of my classes so i will spare you the ramble (IN THAT REGARD SPECIFICALLY. YOU ARE NOT SPARED IN ANY OTHER. MY APOLOGIES)

intelligent design but the maker and the molded are one and the same. in the words of half-alive’s hit song “creature”, every living thing here is “creation both haunted and holy”, the universe experiencing itself, through infinitely recycled code.

side x7 note:

you mentioned the dev crystals blowing up if there was too much stress on the system w too many abandoned worlds. call that chernobyl the way that— *loud incorrect buzzer sounds*

anyways that’s not all the thoughts i have but i need to fuel my body with something that’s not brain rot and ideally has some protein in it lmfao.

hope you enjoy this ramble, and have a wonderful day!

ANON I LOVE AND ADORE THESE RAMBLES THIS IS SO ENRICHING FOR ME TO READ ALSO YOUR JOKES ARE SO ON POINT IM LOSING MY MIND RN SKDNAJFNSKDNSJDJDJ

Genuinely its so so lovely to read people's thoughts and analysis' for hunger au-- i am utterly obsessed with what everyone's different takeaways are, and the common thread between them. And like!!! What you're reading into it is stuff i have done my best to carefully insert and im SO HAPPY its coming across!!!! Watcher!Grian does have an exact copy of Player!Grian's memory code-- he's pretty much the exact same person in my eyes, just... different. Idk its hard to explain. But my thought on the whole ship of theseus situation has ALWAYS been "its still you if thats what you choose." and thats ultimately what i want to portray for Grian as well.

Smth smth "show me a permanent state of the self" and "trauma changes you irrevocably but so does healing" and "sometimes you replace your host (hi fellow systems im waving)" and also a little of that good old trans "i killed and ate the person i was and became something different but im also still me" flavour all at the same time. There are a ton of different things im referencing in the entire idea of Grian killing and replacing himself and containing those trace amounts of that original code and they are all SO integral to the story for me. I think at the end of the day its very much a "i was changed and theres nothing i can do about that but i can keep moving forward as i grieve" type situation. Taps mic is this thing on. This room is so dark

Im so glad youve made all the Grian munchies jokes bc these are STELLAR

For the mental health thing!!! Yes!!!! Yes oh my gods it is SO important to me to have that as part of this portrayal, that yes sometimes we hurt each other and sometimes we hurt each other badly-- but we are still a COMMUNITY and that means there is a deliberate choice in choosing to provide support anyways. I'll fully admit that i didnt necessarily go into this fic with like, a moral in mind?? In its most honest form, this fic is just a depiction, as is most of my work-- i really enjoy exploring the messy realities of terrible situations, often without any good answers, and navigating the maze of their ugly results when everybody is just trying their best. But i'll never say im not glad that this is something being taken out of reading this fic-- its about the community of it all. Its about how sometimes you hurt people and they can love you and support you anyway. Its about how sometimes people hurt you and you can also continue to support them. Like youve put so elegantly here: where would we be if we only measured our relationships in how much of a burden they are to us???? If we only gave a shit about the transaction of it all???? idk its all so deeply human to me and thats ultimately what i like about this fic, is the humanity in it, and the nuance, and the complexity of a terrible situation where everything is understandable and just plain sucks.

Im genuinely so glad that you're enjoying how rounded everything is-- ive been working really hard to make sure everyone gets a little bit of a spotlight, and that spotlight is going to expand SIGNIFICANTLY once we get to hermitcraft again. My work is cut out for me LOL especially because i have an obsession with doing right by every character, but i do genuinely enjoy taking that deeper dive into hermits im far less familiar with-- im having lots of fun lowkey studying Welsknight in particular rn via Iskall's hermitcraft vault hunters series. Im hoping it pays off when i eventually get to his little spotlight :]

Also okay MAN i will candidly admit i didnt even THINK about genetic modification ethics when coming up with this worldbuilding. I think my thought process on it was more or less that i wanted to do something more unique than hybrids but without sacrificing the aesthetic options and so i came up with "everybody is functionally a shapeshifter, there we go, cool" and my trans ass slammed the IMMEDIATE ACCEPT button bc gods. Ideal fucking world i would like to be a lion. U kno how it is. But im very glad you find this so interesting and!!!! Thats SO COOL that ive managed to connect to smth youre so passionate about irl!!!! Also i find just what youve mentioned here to be a very very interesting subject so if you ever want to ramble more about it i would love to hear!!!! :D

Gods okay this got long but i adore this ask and also the "YOU'RE MOLDY??????" TRULY GOT TO ME AKDNWKDNSKDN IT LEGIT SENT ME INTO A COUGHING FIT HELP,,,,,,,, tysm for sending these, they made my day and im glad i finally got the chance to respond to them :]❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[geeheartsu]

I just opened Tumblr and bam, there you are replying to my anon. So, hi!! Me again!

I need neeeed you to tell me about your tattoos. If you're fine with it of course!

- ✴️

i’m sorry it took me a while to reply to your previous one but yessss hi :’)

hmmm well in a nutshell i’m covered in tattoos. i think i’ve lost count at this point but if i remember right there’s like 60+ if counted individually oops. some are little fillers tho. but they’re patchwork style and pretty much all hold some kinda meaning to me, some are really personal. i love how they’re part of my story and i truly wouldn’t be me without them!

[modlings]

ooc: I’m glad to hear you’re no longer cold!! i love these silly guys so much aaaaa

*it didn’t mind having Skin join the conversation. A friend of the modlings was a friend of it, after all, and though it was many things it tried its best not to be hateful. The creature had seen the trust they had in each other, and didn’t wish to disturb either of them.*

Huh. Seems we have more in common than I thought we did. Things made of parts that never belonged to us. If it’s any comfort to either of you, I’ll try my hardest to make sure this home isn’t lost as well…

*it hums, and there’s a flash of desperation in its expression when it speaks of home. While not as obvious as the seams of the patchwork beast or as subtle as the disguised modling, there were still places where you could see the pieces of its carapace connect. Stitches holding the skin together, nails keeping the exoskeleton in place, and ball bearing joints in some of its legs.*

As far as caring and understanding goes, you have a lot more than you realize. You’re one of the only things I’ve been willing to risk being seen by. You helped others when the dark hindered them. You’re more than just monsters or errors, even if it seems like that from the inside. You’re amazing, truly, the two of you.

*the anomalous anonymous does its best impression of a smile. Mandibles aren’t exactly good for expressions, but the intent is still there.*

Dove is a good name. You’re a great peacekeeper, and you didn’t hesitate to help the other anons or help Cheeky. And if either of you need help or just someone to talk to, I’m always here to help. I owe you, anyways, but even if i didn’t, i still want to assist you.

*it’s still subconsciously trying to hide itself, but the amalgamation is a lot more at ease than it was in the vents.*

You let me stay, gave me a name, gave me somewhere to call home. You’ve made friends with things most would call monsters. So if it wasn’t already clear- and this goes for both of you-

I care about you. I care with all my heart.

~ Anomalous Cereal Anon

Dove couldn't help but smile more. " You two really are too kind. " she murmurs, shaking her head in a fond sense of amusement.

" I care about the both of you just as much and more. Not only are you wonderful guests, but you're also wonderful friends of mine, " she said, looking from the centipede amalgamate to the patchwork creature and back again.

" Thank you, " she murmurs, " ...for the pep-talk. "