#AND I CAN SEE SO MANY THINGS OTHER PEOPLE MAKE!

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Theo's First Race

Having a child changes Max in a way he never could have predicted.

warnings: none, this is 100% self indulgent fluff. Pairing: max verstappen x podcaster!reader word count: 3.1k words

yourusername posted

459,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, jennythenanny, and others yourusername texas will always hold a special place in my heart. last year, we learned i was pregnant for the fourth time with what we hoped was our miracle baby. this year we get to bring that miracle baby to the track with us for the very first time. my entire heart is so full watching this all come full circle. i cannot wait to show theo how amazing his daddy is when he gets in that car. maxverstappen1 my two favorite people here this weekend. i can already tell this is going to a good race <3 user0198 i cannot handle the amount of dad max content we get. user111 max carrying Theo kangaroo style in a baby carrier??? sobbing rn >>>user0019 SERIOUSLY jennythenanny ah! so excited to be with you guys this weekend!!! >>>yourusername theo is so excited to be back with his bestie! >>>jennythenanny eeeee! cannot wait! >>>user020 why is this the cutest exchange i've ever read

“Maybe we should leave Theo here with Jenny today instead? Max says, concern settling into the corners of his eyes. 

You look over at him, eyebrow raised, from your seat on the floor of the hotel suite. In front of you, five month old Theo is on his tummy staring up at you with his signature gummy little grin. The three of you were in Texas for the US GP, which was supposed to be Theo’s first time in the paddock but apparently, your husband was having second thoughts. 

“What? Why?” You ask, confused. 

Max had checked the weather (multiple times) this morning and had declared that it wasn’t going to be too hot for Theo to be out and about. The sun was out and there was a gentle breeze whispering through the trees outside your hotel room. Max was leading the championship for the first time this season and he was starting on pole. COTA was historically a really good track for him and you were confident in his chances at winning. Plus, COTA meant a lot to you. It was right here in this very hotel that you had found out you were pregnant with the little elf that was babbling up at you right now. 

Max wrings his hands together, casting a worried glance down at his two favorite people in the world. With how dramatic Theo had come into the world so early, Max had found himself being a little extra protective over him. And you for that matter. He had refused to hear any talk about bringing Theo to the track before this weekend and after seeing all of the crowds at the track yesterday for the practice and sprint qualifying, he was having second thoughts 

“There were just so many people and I don’t want him to get lost.” 

You chuckle before reaching forward to take Theo in your arms. Standing up, you cross the room to where Max stands and hand him his son. Max instinctively reaches out, cuddling Theo to his chest. Watching Max become a dad over the last five and a half months had been one of the most rewarding things you’d ever been privileged to witness. He had slipped into the dad role so effortlessly it had surprised Max, probably due to his own childhood and difficult past with his father. You weren’t surprised though. You had known the moment that Theo was born that Max had been born to be a father. It really was that simple. 

“Baby, he can’t walk. He won’t get lost, I promise he’ll never be out of his sling for more than five minutes.”

“No one holds him other than you and Jenny?” 

You blow out a breath, unsurprised at how he’s gone into papa bear mode. You had seen it on his face yesterday during sprint qualifying. He had surveyed the paddock crowds with a deeper than usual frown on his face, making comments whenever he heard an errant cough or someone clear their throat. ‘Cesspool of germs’ was a phrase he used more than once, now that you thought you it. 

“Yes, my love. He will stay in the sling with me and Jenny no matter what. I have his ear defenders here too and we’ll keep to hospitality. But I know he’d love to see where daddy works. You know how much the sound of those engines sooth him.” 

Max pokes a finger into Theo’s chubby cheek, cooing nonsense at him as Theo giggles back. His mind flickered back to one particularly hard night right after you had brought him home from the hospital during the summer break. Theo had been a bit of a colicky baby back then and the hours between 1 and 3 am were often the worst. He would scream and cry for hours, unable to be soothed back to sleep despite all of his needs being met. This night, in particular, was difficult and you had been on hour four of trying to get him to settle. In a desperate attempt to try something, anything that might work, Max had turned on an old race, but just the ambient sounds of one of his wins from YouTube, without any commentators voices. The sounds of the engines revving had instantly calmed Theo down. 

Both you and Max had stood there in your apartment, lights dark with the exception of the glow emanating from the tv in front of you, as Theo had stared unblinkingly at the television, tears still puddled in his little neck folds, but totally quiet and enthralled. 

Max’s eyes dart over to yours and you smile, reaching out a hand to touch his elbow. “I know you’re nervous, baby but Theo will be fine. He’s going to have so much fun, and I know once you get to the paddock with him in your arms, you will too.” 

He sighs, knowing that you’re right. You usually are when it comes to matters involving Theo. “Okay, but first person to cough on him gets banned from the paddock.” 

The Miami sprint race had been your first race all those years ago when Max had swept you off your feet that very first weekend he flew you to him so it seemed fitting that Theo’s first trip to a race was also a sprint race weekend. Max parked the sensible but giant Ford Explorer that he had insisted on driving this weekend in his designated spot before hopping out, telling you not to move. 

You giggle to yourself, amused that even after all this time, Max still insisted that you never touched a door handle while he was with you. Even on hectic days like these, you and Theo were always in the front of his mind. 

When Max opens your door, his hand immediately finds yours as he helps you out of the tall car. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He asks, dropping a kiss onto your forehead before moving to the back seat to get Theo from his carseat. 

“I’m so excited to be back, it feels like it’s been forever.” 

Which was true. After Theo had been born, he had needed to stay in the NICU for quite a while. Max had nearly missed the race in Spain the weekend after Monaco because he had refused to leave your side. In the end, it had been Daniel that had convinced him that missing Spain would be detrimental to his championship hopes. Max trusted Daniel with his life and knew that his friend, someone who he knew had a good head on his shoulders, wouldn’t give him bad advice. He knew what missing a race would mean to everyone on the team and back at the factory. 

He had won the race with a 15 second lead. 

Your credentials hang heavy around your neck as you pull the diaper bag out of the back of the car, Theo already nestled securely in Max’s arms. It always made you chuckle, the way Max always seemed to have Theo. You swore whenever he was around, that baby never touched the floor or his crib. 

The pressure in your chest squeezes as you watch Max tote his little boy towards the paddock entrance. Both you and Max had made a conscious decision to keep Theo’s face out of your social media, with the exception of very carefully curated images that you and Max tightly controlled so this was the first time Theo would be photographed by anyone but you and Max. You knew the fans, both yours and Max’s, wanted to see Theo and you hoped that bringing him into the paddock despite him being so young was well received and a positive experience. 

“Max! Who’ve you got there?” A photographer yells the moment Max scans his badge at the paddock entrance. Several photographers are standing by the gates, waiting on the driver arrivals. Max is dressed in his team kit, of course, and you’ve got your traditional navy blue on, today in the form of a loose maxi dress that would allow you to maneuver while caring for Theo during the race. Even Theo had a Red Bull onesie on with gray shorts pulled on over his chubby little legs. 

“The best team mascot in the paddock.” Max jokes, a smile crinkling at the corner of his eyes as he pauses to show off a now giggling Theo. 

Your heart catches in your chest when you see the look of pure happiness on your husband’s face. There were few things that brought out a smile that bright on Max and the fact that him showing off your baby to the world was one of those things had your heart hammering in your chest. You watched as Max showed Theo off to several of the photographers and Red Bull staff members, seemingly forgetting all about his hesitations from earlier. Theo loved it too, the sights and smells and sounds were so much for him to take in and he was so content to be in his daddy’s arms just taking it all in. 

“Mon petit lion!” A voice rings out as the three of you walk towards Red Bull’s garage. You grin, watching as Charles fusses over Max refusing to give up custody of Theo but eventually relents. “Give me my godson, you heartless man. Keeping the poor little man away from the track for five months! Horrific!” 

“He’s a literal infant, Charles.” Max argues, a full on pout popping out of his full bottom lip. You suddenly have to quell the urge to bite it, he looks so handsome. 

“Your gorgeous wife told me how much he loves the sound of my Ferrari.” Charles argues back, bouncing Theo up and down, eliciting a peal of giggles tumbling from your baby’s lips. 

Max shoots you a glare that has ‘you’re a traitor’ written all over it. All you do is reach up on your toes to peck him on those full lips of his, completely ignoring the annoyed look he still regards you with. 

“It was the sound of my Red Bull that calmed him the first time.” 

“Keep telling yourself that, Max.” Charles chuckles before handing Theo back to you, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m so glad you two are here, the paddock ins’t the same without you.”  

“Thank you Charles.” You say, cuddling Theo into your shoulder just a little tighter. 

As the three of you continue on, your final destination being the garage so Max can check on the car, your pace is just a bit quicker than Max’s. He watches you for just a moment, the way Theo’s chubby arms wrap tightly around your neck as he takes in the buzzing activity of the paddock. His heart squeezes fiercely at the way your hips sway back and forth as you carry his baby on your hip. This was how it was always meant to be: his wife and his child at his side while he worked. He had always pictured this day in a way that always seemed like it would come sometime in the future. That was the strange thing about how life progressed. Suddenly, some day is here and you’re watching your wife cuddle your miracle baby. When Max thinks of that afternoon in London all those years ago when he made his way into the recording studio to be on some silly little podcast, he had no idea that this was where that interview would lead but here he was, every single one of the fantasies he had dared to hope for right in front of him. 

You turn back to Max, sensing that he’s fallen quite a bit behind. The look of awe on your husbands face as he watches you has your heart aching. You knew that the past few months had been hard on Max. He hated being away from you, had even tried to float the idea of retiring mid-season. You had flatly refused, saying that everyone in the factory and the garage was counting on him and eventually, he had agreed. But you knew being here was a balm to his lonely heart and you were wildly happy that Theo was finally old enough to accompany Max on this triple header. 

But looking at the way his eyes shined with unshed tears as he stands stock still in the middle of the paddock, just staring after what you know is his entire world, you feel something lock into place. Something that you’re going to have to discuss with him later tonight. 

“Come on, Maxie.” You call as you hoist Theo up higher on your hip. “You’ve got a meeting with Horner and I don’t want him yelling at me because you’re late.” 

Max seems to snap out of the trance he’s in then and chuckles. “Christian is terrified of you, liefje. He’d never yell.” 

You shrug, “I suppose you’re right.” 

Max slips his fingers into yours before giving them a squeeze. “Come on, let’s introduce the little lion to the garage.” 

Max wins the sprint that day, just like the first sprint you watched him win all those years ago. The nostalgia you felt watching him pull up into that first parc ferme spot had something twisting deep in your stomach. It was so satisfying watching Max do what he loved while you held his little boy in your arms. 

It was a whirlwind of media after his win and then he was swept off for race debrief before qualifying for the Grand Prix the next day. By the time Theo’s bedtime rolled around, Max was still busy in engineering meetings. You sent him a quick text telling him you were taking Theo back to the hotel to put him down. Max had wanted to tell you to wait, he’d be right there, but he had known this wasn’t true. He knew that it was going to take several more hours to wrap up all his duties on the track so he reluctantly agreed. 

This was the part of racing he hated. The late nights, the long flights to every corner of the world except to where it mattered most, the danger that lurked on the track. He hated being away from you, had always hated being away from you. Despite his reservations about you quitting your job all before you had gotten pregnant with Theo, he was glad that you had spent those few years traveling with him. It wasn’t about the fact that you ‘followed him around’ like some publications liked to taunt. It was the fact that Max was able to do what he loved while providing for his family and keep you close at the same time. 

But things had shifted when Theo had been born and his priorities had changed. Having you at the track wasn’t an option anymore, not with how little Theo was. And even now, at 5 months old, he knew that this wasn’t sustainable. The options of what to do after this season all played in his head as he got into the car late that night to head back to the hotel. He knew he had a big decision to make, one that had been many years coming. 

It’s dark by the time Max fishes the keycard to the hotel room out of his back pocket. You have a two bedroom suite booked this weekend so he’s not worried about waking Theo, although he still holds out a little hope that he might be awake. It’s been hours since Max has seen him and the only thing worse than being away from you for an extended period of time is being away from both of you. 

The door whispers open and Max spots you laying down on the couch, staring blankly at the tv in front of you. On the coffee table sits the baby monitor and a bottle of wine. 

When you hear the door snick closed, you pick your head up, blinking sleepily towards the door. “You’re home.” You whisper, sitting up so Max can join you on the couch. 

He immediately pulls you into his lap, nuzzling deep into your neck. “I’m home.” He breathes, letting your perfume settle over his senses like a warm, familiar blanket. 

“I’m so proud of you. Sprint win and P3 for tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, schatje. How was your night? How’s the baby?” 

You hum softly, your lips finding Max’s in the dark. They’re warm and inviting and everything that sets your soul on fire. You’re fairly certain that you’ll still feel this way when you’re 90 years old kissing Max late at night. “He’s good. Just finished his last bottle of the night, went down like a champ.” 

“That’s my boy. I’m sorry I missed bedtime tonight.” 

You pull away so you can look at Max’s clear blue eyes. You’re a little surprised to see a bit of sadness sitting in those baby blues you love so much. “It’s okay baby. He did just fine without you.” 

Max frowns before pulling you closer. “And that’s what breaks my heart. I don’t want him to grow up without me.” 

You chuckle, “Oh, Max. He’s not going to grow up without you. If you really want, you can do the middle of the night feeding. He’ll be up in a few hours anyway.” 

Max nods, he usually did those late night feedings anyway. He loved the way the entire world was hushed and asleep. He felt cocooned in the most calming way and those nights where it was just him and Theo were some of his favorite. 

Silence stretches out between you. Your heartbeat matches up with Max’s eventually and your eyes get a little heavy with his warmth pressed up against you. You’d missed this kind of calm presence that Max brought to your life. It was always there, of course, but sometimes it was a little further than you liked during the season. Having him here now was so soothing, making you feel like you could conquer anything that came your way. 

After a few quiet moments, Max’s deep voice finally breaks the silence. 

“I think I’m done after this season, liefje.” 

You’d had this conversation countless times over the years, so much so that the words don't even make your heart race anymore. There’s something different in Max’s voice tonight, though. He sounds tired, worked over, resigned. Like the years spent on the road are finally catching up to him and you know, deep in your chest that it’s time. 

“I know, Max.” You whisper, dropping your forehead to his before brushing a kiss against his nose. “Come home to us. Theo and I are ready to have you all to ourselves now.” 

And that's exactly what happens.

maxverstappen1 posted

5,039,504 likes liked by yourusername, redbullracing, f1, and others maxverstappen1 this sport has been part of my life for most of my time here on earth. i started in karting not long after i started walking. motorsport brought me to the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. 7 championships. the love of my life. my child. this sport has brought me to all of the most important milestones of my life. but all good things must come to an end. i've achieved everything i set out to do all those years ago and my priorities have shifted. at the end of may, i became a father and suddenly that pull to retirement got stronger. @/username knows how many times i threatened to quit mid-season so it wasn't a surprise to her when i came to her after texas and told her it was time. after twelve seasons racing in the pinnacle of motorsport, i'm officially announcing my retirement. to my team, thank you. you have forever shaped who i am. to my wife, i love you. you are all the good things in this world and i am so lucky you chose me to be your husband. to my theo, you changed me in a way no one else has. being your dad is the most important job i've ever had. i can't wait to watch you grow into the person you're destined to become. to my fans, thank you. your devotion means the absolute world to me and i would not have made it to where i am today. thank you, from the bottom of my heart. yourusername theo and i are so so proud of you. welcome home, my love. >>>user9292 *sobbing* charlesleclerc congratulations on a lifetime of acheivments. can't wait to see what you do now, my friend!! lando congrats GOAT. excited to finally not be asked 'how does it feel to lose to max verstappen?' EVER AGAIN >>>charlesleclerc now it'll be 'how does it feel to lose to charles???' >>>lando stfu redbullracing we're not crying, you're crying!!! lewishamilton you will be missed, max. enjoy retirement with that gorgeous family of yours!

Tag List: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @lestapiastrisgirl

[drchucktingle]

As an autistic person, did you struggle to make and keep friends? And have you found friends through the writing world? I ask because my mom always said i needed to find my people. I did finally find them (they are neurodiverse trans nerds, haha), but not until i was like 30. And i wonder if its true of other autistic people too. So i guess my question is: did you find your people, and when?

thank you this is good question. i have always had a LOT of CLOSE BUDS even from a very young age. i would actually say that i am unusually socially adept in my way and that it is partially BECAUSE of my autistic trot. LETS TALK ON THAT FOR A MOMENT

'BUT CHUCK YOU SAID YOU ARE ON THE SPECTRUM AND AUTISTIC BUCKAROOS CANNOT BE SOCIALLY ADEPT' some say. and sure it is UNUSUAL overall, technically speaking, but there is also an important reason we talk about this as a spectrum of buckaroos and not a monolith

when buckaroos ask me what it is like to be autistic i try to explain like this: there are certain cues and markers from the outside that serve as a sort of identification checklist but because of masking they are not always correct. instead i see it as question of WHAT IS IT LIKE INSIDE YOUR BRAIN?

internally my brain is different. its taking in way more information all the time, including the stuff that neurotypical buds block out, and that can become overwhelming. it is hard to navigate because i do not have that automatic neurotypical 'here is what is important here is what is not' function

so yes i can be easily distracted and zone out as i watch the patterns and fractals spin off. and yes i can miss certain things in social situations. in many autistic buckaroos this makes large groups overwhelming and the OUTPUT of behavior matches what we typically know as signs of autism

FOR ME however, same thing is going on inside, but i have managed to HARNESS that information. even from very young age i see that everyone is DOING THE HUMAN ACT but instead of rejecting that and shutting off i think 'well okay i am just going to do THIS because thats what they actually want'

in other words, most neurotypical buds say one thing that has a kind of spiraling social-cue-related OTHER MEETING (they do this ALL the time) and instead of rejecting that i have trained myself to be REALLY REALLY good at knowing the hidden meaning. it is EMPATHY but on a sort of LOGIC BASED level

and because i have always been pretty good at that, people like to trot around me and say 'wow this is a good friend they understand me'. now for ME that can be a little exhausting and there are things i need to do and stims and all that to release the effort, but overall it is worth it to me

OTHER THING is that i was a successful CREATOR AND ARTIST BUCKAROO from an early age which is socially seen as 'cool' especially when you are trotting around in your youth. it is not particularly FAIR but it is true that some level of fame makes buds treat you well even if you are 'weird'.

of course it can be a sort of FAKE 'treating you well' but as an autistic buckaroo it is still more of a chance than you might otherwise get. this timeline has sort of carved out a very special little sliver of social grace for the token odd artistic weirdo to have a seat at each cool kids table

ANYWAY that is the trot of my life. it is a unique trot that i dont get to talk on much but since you asked THERE YOU GO. every chance i get to say 'I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC' and talk on HOW MUCH IT HAS IMPROVED MY LIFE i try to take a moment and do that. when i was young i had few autistic heroes

and OF COURSE it can be difficult and overwhelming and we need to have space for those stories and voices, but i want young buckaroos who get this diagnosis to know there are ALL KINDS of stories and trots on the autism spectrum. MINE IS PRETTY DANG COOL and maybe yours will be too. LOVE IS REAL

[backofthebookshelf]

It's not a controversial take necessarily -- it's just that the particular environment of AO3, where you can see how many times your fic was loaded in a browser window and where the little heart button has a different meaning than it does on every other social media site, is uniquely bad for the human brain.

For the VAST majority of history, both the history of making art generally and the history of writing fanfiction in particular, you did not get to know how many people gave your work a cursory once-over, or how many people checked your book out from the library and never read it, or how many people overheard a line of poetry and thought "huh, neat" and never did anything else. These interactions were, as they should be, completely anonymous and uncountable. Even in the pre-AO3 days of fanfiction, there was an understanding that page hit counters were kind of crap (for one thing, they would count you every time you loaded the page, and you had to load the page to check the counter, so that was incentive not to look at it that much).

Even in other artistic contexts where you do now have page hit counters on everything, they're contextualized through marketing research, not consumed as a raw value. Marketing talks about conversion rate, which is the % of people who saw something who then went on to do the thing you wanted them to do - for a business that's probably buy the thing, for a nonprofit it might be donate or sign up for a volunteer session, for a fanfiction writer it's leave a comment. At work I work with multiple major companies you have definitely heard of who spend half a million dollars and 1-3 full time employees every year on something that increases their conversion rate by 1-2%. They do this because the conversion rate on our emails is 5%, which is INSANELY high.

And yes, leaving a comment doesn't cost money, but it does cost time and energy. Writers overestimate how easy it is for people to write comments--my coworkers are out here using chatgpt to write boilerplate work emails, I can't imagine ANY of them ever leaving a comment on a work of art they enjoyed. Verbally, yes--and "in a friend discord is much closer to verbally than in a comment form--but in writing? Absolutely not.

As for kudos, I can't help but think that the "likes don't do anything, you have to reblog" culture of social media like twitter and tumblr affects that too (and yes, by the latter days of twitter I was seeing people saying that on there, because the algorithm was so broken). Kudos is essentially a like button, and like the like button on twitter that used to be a favorite button before they changed it and some people never stopped treating it like one, it has meanings for people you'll never understand. "It's just a click!" It is a symbol with vague connotations but no specific universally agreed upon meaning; it tells you how many people clicked on that button, and that's all.

So yes, actually, I guess I am saying that as a writer, you are supposed to assume that many more people liked your fic than you will ever hear from or even know about. And that's a good thing! You have the chance to touch someone's life even though they have no idea who you are and don't think of you as a person so much as a semi-mythical figure called "the author". And that's part of the magic, to me, of creating things. You pour yourself into a thing and then you set it loose into the world and you hope it means to someone else as much as it meant to you. Sometimes, very rarely, someone will tell you so, and that's amazing, I'm not going to pretend it's not, but you have to have enough faith in yourself to believe it happens whether you hear about it or not.

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[fishnapple]

How you pursue them - how they want to be pursued

I made a "how they pursue you" reading (you can read it here) so I figured a version from your side is needed. After all, it takes two to tango. This reading was done with your future spouse/lover/partner in mind.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

STRAWBERRY QUARTZ

If you're someone who's more direct, action oriented and wants thing to move at a fast pace, you might need to slow down and adopt a softer energy towards them. They need to feel an emotional and spiritual connection with you first in order to slowly fall for you. And that connection can be built based upon many small bricks of consideration and practical actions.

The first practical thing that you can do for them is probably be practical and take care of their practical needs, especially when it comes to food, feed them, prepare food for them, and take them out to eat. A fulfilled stomach makes them feel more at ease with you. Displaying emotional stoicism is another way to show them that they can be at ease with you. Being calm in the face of difficulties, rolling your sleeves to solve the problems without complaining, not overreacting or being overly dramatic. They will feel that conflicts with you can be solved diplomatically without being emotionally draining.

They're attracted to consistency and stability, if you do act consistently, it should send a message to them that you're serious and dependable, that they can count on you to not change your mind and heart suddenly and be wishy washy. I think they are wary of unpredictability and emotional unavailability, this could be due to their past experiences, they would often attract this kind of people and the experiences left a deep scar in their heart. So now they look for predictability, even repetitiveness in actions of the other party. If you say you're going to do something, be sure to actually do it, and on time. The fastest way to turn them off would be to say you forgot to do something that you had stated or, worse yet, promised to do.

Sometimes they can feel lonely or pessimistic about the future, this is when you need to be their sunshine, bring more joy to their life, get them out of that gloomy mood. You can offer to do something together, not something that would make them uncomfortable or more anxious of course, things that they can relax yet focus on the physical reality, like making pottery, going for a walk, going to somewhere with many people around, but be sure to not leave them alone, stay close to them all the time. Then subconsciously, they will gradually feel a link with you, their heart will carve a space for you, tiny at first, but will expand gradually.

ROSE QUARTZ

This person is attracted to the idea of fateful love or love at first sight. They want to feel a sense of spiritual connection with the other person. Love should feel transcendental to them. You will have better luck at capturing their attention by flitting in and out of their life than constantly being in their face all the time. A chance meeting stays in their mind longer than the face of someone they see every day, at least initially. When you guys have gotten closer, the opposite would be true, they need your constant presence to feel secure. This person can be hard to pin down with their myriad wishes and expectations, you will feel like walking in a maze when trying to find a way to get closer to them. Maybe it's their way to test your patience and resolve. Be consistent, but still show them some surprises now and then.

If you're already involved in their daily life and want to create that sense of serendipity and fatefulness, try to find any common points that you share and gently, subtly point to those in your conversation. Remember, those things have to be real, not made up just to score a point with them. They're good at detecting lies and pretense, so any display of those traits will go straight to their "stay away" list. When communicating with them, it's best to keep it real as much as possible. Be moderate with flowery words and excessive praises, it seems insincere and will trigger their suspicion, once they're suspicious of you, they will always in the mindset of looking for red flags, even when they don't exist, their walls will grow thicker around you. They actually like a more intense and straight to the point style of communication. When both of you feel comfortable enough with each other, talking about taboo or deeper psychological topics is welcomed, but mixed it with optimism and light-hearted banters here and there also. Remember, they can be a little contradictory, they welcome heavier topics, but they don't want those to dominate your conversations, they like a deep person but who won't drag them down. You can vent to them, spill out your darkest secrets, and they won't flinch. But they will begin to feel weary if that's the only thing you do without expressing any desire to make the situation better or refusing to get out of what's holding you back. Because through this, they can assess your ability to navigate future problems with them. They will also look at your aspirations, your hopes and plans for the future, it's okay if you're still confused about those, as long as you're open-minded, you can even ask for their advice and help, they like to be helpful.

They actually like it when you're the one doing the pursuing, or at least, show your intentions clearly to them, you can say to them outright that you like them or want to date them, marry them even. If they already have some feelings for you, they will reciprocate truthfully, if not, they will give an honest reply tactfully. As long as you're not being too aggressive about it, they're open to the possibility even if they haven't developed any feelings for you yet.

CITRINE

This person likes someone who is in their power and knows what they want. They like assertive and confident people. So they'll probably welcome it if you actively pursue them. But not in the desperate and clingy way, though, which is what they really dislike. Being showy for the sake of showing off is also a no-no, if you buff yourself up just to appeal to their type, they will probably sense it. They want true confidence, a little of haughtiness even. The assertiveness and directness I'm talking about here doesn't need to be directed only at them and the connection, if you show those traits outside of the connection, it's actually even better. In work, in executing tasks, in speeches, in the pursuit of knowledge, they like someone who has goals, one who dares to dream lofty dreams and is willing to put in the work to make those dreams real. You don't need to be a high achieving person or be a boss or anything, what they look for in a person is the authority over oneself, the drive to success and the vision. So sharing your dreams with them, being efficient, show off a little bit of your achievements, tastefully and subtly, mentioning them only in passing, don't emphasise them.

You can be intense and be romantic as much as you like. It might surprise them at first, but they will secretly like it. Write them notes, send them poems, share songs with hidden meaning, and give them gifts on random days, all of these will stir their romantic heart. They like the feeling of love and romance transporting them out of the boring, mundane world, like those love stories shown in novels and movies. The more repetitive their daily routine is, the more they want to feel the randomness and surprises given to them by someone else. You can do quirky things, invite them to creative workshops, somewhere they can relax and have fun. Be a little unpredictable and casual, but don't play hot and cold, you will find them disappearing faster than turning a page.

Showing your intention early on won't be a problem, but don't put any pressure and expectations on them, just state your intention like a fact, a truth that you want them to know. They will appreciate the freedom you can give them. They will also appreciate your wisdom, a beautiful mind turns them on more than any beautiful outer shell a person may have. Share the interesting things you've learnt, your experiences, especially your travel anecdotes, share what you find beautiful and touching, those things will bring you guys closer faster than any physical flirting.

RED JASPER

I think the best way for you to appeal to their heart is to show your vulnerability in the most authentic way. This person values authenticity above all else, all the messy emotions, the shame and guilt you hide, they want to see them all laid bare before them. This is a way for them to test your resolve and resilience, though they're also attracted to tenderness and vulnerability in a person. They're probably an intense person themselves, so they need someone who can match them, who's not afraid to be real with them. But don't dump your deep dark secrets on them when you're still in the initial stage of getting to know each other. They appreciate courage and a forthright spirit, but they don't want to be your therapist from the get-go. They probably need to feel appreciated too, being able to be real with you too, it's an equal give and take, an exchange between hearts and souls, not a confession session. When they feel that they can trust you enough to tell you their more private thoughts and feelings, this is a crucial and decisive moment, the way you would react and respond will be registered into their mind forever, almost like you're being observed by a judge.

Their mind can be quite heavy with dark thoughts and gloomy outlooks and they need someone who can bring more colours into their psyche. You can show they how to appreciate life's beauty more, gently lead them into a more bright place, let them have the chance to relax and be in the present moment. Something colourful will have that effect on them, you can surprise them with small gifts like flowers and plants, candies, hot drinks, soft pillows, cool water touching their feet, birds, cuddly pets, cakes, things you make yourself, things that can stimulate their five senses more. That would include your clothes or your scent. They need something to be of contrast to their grey inner landscape.

You can also stimulate their mind with conversations about all kinds of different topics, they would probably be interested in esoteric topics, spirituality, personal belief system, the unknown, travel, books. If you guys are not engaging in mental gymnastic, you can go for the physical one, swimming or skiing, roller coaster riding might be their favourites. They need to feel a sense of active and dynamic in your energy, almost like they need a warm light to surround themselves with, someone to add a touch of magical feeling to their mundane existence and introduce them to deeper facets of life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Hi hi hi

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't own many dresses, and those you do, are more office casual than date night. Still, you have no time to stall, no room for excuses. You pick out the only one you think you can still squeeze into.

A button-up black dress with long sleeves, a white collar, and white trim around the sleeves and ruffled hem. It's something that would look much better on Audrey Hepburn. 

You check yourself in the mirror. You shouldn't care but you have to. If you want to get out the other side of this, if you want Vaughn to, you need to go along with it. You need to keep Steve happy. 

You emerge, as content as you can be with your appearance after a day of work and an unsettling homecoming. You keep your eyes on the floor as you wring your hands. You need heels, something to match. 

Before you can pass him, Steve stomps toward you. He pinches the frill around your skirt. "You look amazing, sweetheart." He lets go and drags his hand up your thigh and hip. "Can't believe it's the real thing, right in front of me." 

"Uh, yeah," you agree weakly. "I need shoes." 

"Sure, sweetheart, take your time. Get dolled up," he moves away with a sultry sigh. 

You feel him watching you as you shift around and search the shoe rack. You bend over to take out the black vinyl kitten heels and he purrs. You wince and stand up, wobbling as you step into them. 

"Hate to be too forward but I was away a while. Pretty lady like you has me all hot under the collar," he snickers. "Gotta say that dress hugs you in all the right places." 

"Thank you," you murmur and untangle the thin strap of a small purse. You shuffle around your work bag and slip your ID and debit card inside, along with a tube of lip balm. 

"You don't gotta be so shy," he nears. "I mean, I should be. Being locked up, I forget the way things are out here." He steps close and spreads his hand across your ass. "Just so nice to touch you...but I'll be a good boy and take you on a date first." 

You shudder and resist the urge to shove him away. You force a smile, "where are we going?" 

"Somewhere close," he answers and peels his hand off of you. "Been a while since I had a date," he snorts. "If you can't guess." 

"Me too," you mutter as you back up toward the door. You grab your keys. 

"Oh yeah? How long?" He asks as he opens the door and gestures you through. 

"How... er..." you think about it.  

You've not been on many. Vaughn always kept the men away. Even if they wanted a second date, it was never many more than that. 

"At least a year, I think," you step into the hall and he comes out after you. 

You lock the door as he stays close. You tuck the keys into your purse and he offers his hand. "Ready, sweetheart?" 

You don't hesitate. No more of that. You can't keep pushing your luck. You put your hand in his. You can feel his strength. 

He takes you down the hallway and patiently assists you down the stairs as your heels make your steps unsure. Or maybe that’s him. He’s especially gallant for someone like him. A criminal. Wait, no, he’s been absolved, hasn’t he? 

He slips his hand along your lower back as you come outside. There’s a hitch in his strut. Victory. 

“Got her out of storage, fresh wax,” he announces as he approaches the white vintage car you noticed before.

It’s strange how you can pick every single thing that’s out of place but you can never put them together. It was the same with Vaughn. 

“It’s very nice,” you say. “I don’t know much about cars, my brother...” 

You trail off. You’d rather not think or talk about him right now. 

Steve opens the passenger door for you. You get in and he lingers at your door. He purrs. 

“You really do look just perfect, sweetheart.” he tickles your jawline then draws back.  

He finally shuts you in. You shiver as you watch him through the windshield. You fix the hem of the skirt as it rides up with the two sizes you’ve put on since you bought it. Or maybe it shrunk? You pinch yourself as you do, hoping you might wake up from this nightmare. 

No, you’re already awake. Painfully so. 

Steve gets in and you peek over for just a second. The seat emphasizes his size. Everything seems to remind you of his power over you. Over your family.  

You’re so stupid. You have no one to blame but yourself. What were you thinking? Thanking a convinct? A criminal? A murderer? Or not a murderer? 

“You’re tired,” he says as he backs out, “seat belt, sweetheart. Last thing I need is an accident.” 

You buckle up. You dab your nose as it tingles. Don’t cry. You have to play this right. Pretend. 

“A little, yeah. Work...” 

“At the clinic, right?” He prompts. 

It’s like the phone calls. That familiarity he puts on. Your head spins as you replay all those nights in your head. It struck you then how presumptuous he could be. How he said ‘we’. His presence then reframes every call, every visit. They were not the same to him as you. 

“Yeah, a lot of phone call,” you swallow as your throat scratches. “People don’t like waiting.” 

“Tell me about it,” he chuckles. “After how long I waited for this...” 

You stare at his hand. Huge, thick, gripping the slender wheel. You put your eyes to your lap and play with the ruffle. 

“We’re gonna have a good night, sweetheart. You and me.” He preens. “A lot of them.” 

You nod and turn your face to the window, “yes, Steve. Thank you.” 

⛓️‍💥

The restaurant is nice. As you’re greeted at the door, Steve snakes his hand down your arm and twines his fingers through yours. As he squeezes, you realise how strange it must be to him. You shouldn’t empathize with him, not with all the threats, with how he’s taken your life over in less than an hour, but you do. 

“Table for two,” he says. 

The hostess smiles, “yes, sir. I can find you something.” 

She grabs two menus and a smaller one from the desk. She turns and leads you into the dining room. You walk just ahead of Steve as he urges you on, though his hand stays on yours. She stops you at a round table framed with a crescent bench. 

“Booth alright?” 

“Sure is,” Steve answers. 

He holds onto you until you sit. You slide around and he follows. The hostess lays out the menus. 

“Drink menu,” she points to the thinner folio, “a server will be by soon.” 

“Thank you,” you gulp out of courtesy, Steve echoing you. 

You clasp your hands in your lap as he takes the wine list and opens it. You’re not very hungry. Or thirsty. You’re scared. 

You glance at him, the around the restaurant. To the other diners, to the staff, he’s just another man. The suit hides his true character. If you passed him on the street, you’d assume he was some refined businessman. 

“Red or white?” He asks. 

You look at him again. The silver strands woven into his blond shine beneath the chandelier lighting above. You drag your hand up your sleeve. 

“You know, I’m not much of a drinker,” you murmur. 

“Well, it’s a special night, isn’t it, baby?” He drawls and closes the folder. 

He sets it down and you shift forward on the seat. He touches your lower back again, tickling you through your dress. Your posture goes rigid as you open the menu and focus on the options. He pulls his menu down, leaning it on the table’s edge as he continues to pet you, his other hand cradling the folder. 

“Steak. Mm. Been a while since I had a good filet,” he growls. 

“Sounds nice,” you nod. 

“What about you?” He wonders and traces his finger up your spine. 

“Hm, the pistachio crusted halibut sounds interesting,” you tap your nails on the page. 

“You don’t gotta peck like a bird around me,” his hand falls right back down, right along the top of your ass. “You really got a nice figure, sweetheart.” 

You fidget and flutter your lashes, “thank you. It’s not that. I was thinking... something light for dinner and the rice pilaf sounds interesting.” 

“Ah,” he trails along the cushion of your rear, “god, you’re so...” 

His voice peters off and a server appears across the table. He sits up and clears his throat. The man in his pressed white shirt and black slacks is amiable as he prompts you for your order. Steve lets you go first. You close the menu and hand it over after you order. 

“Of course, miss,” the server smiles at you. He’s young and handsome. These sort of restaurants only hire a certain type. 

“Bottle of champagne,” Steve begins, “we’re celebrating,” his arm curls around your middle, “and the New York Strip...” He finishes up his order and shoves the menu across the table. What’s that about? 

“Yes, sir, I’ll be back with the bottle and put your order in,” the server nods and glances between the both of you. 

He strides away and Steve growls. His fingertips dig into your side. He leans back and sucks his teeth. 

“Is something... wrong?” You twist to look at him. 

“That... guy. Looking at you like that,” he sneers. “He’s supposed to be taking our order, not ogling you.” 

“No, he wasn’t, Steve,” you assure him. 

“Sure as hell was. You’re just too sweet to notice. His eyes were all over you,” he huffs and his leg sways in agitation. “Judging me. Thinks I’m too old.” 

“Steve, he was perfectly polite,” you say, “please, you said it’s going to be a good night.” 

You bite your tongue as you examine his face. His sudden anger, his paranoia, unsettles you even more. His jaw ticks as he grits his teeth. 

“Steve,” you touch his sleeve, “please, I’m not here with the server, am I?” 

His blue eyes flick over to you. They search your face. You force a smile. 

You have to keep from wincing as he reaches for you. He frames your face with his large hand and grins, “you’re right, sweetheart.” He draws you closer. You let him. “All mine.” 

He meets your lips with his and you swallow a gasp. His nose brushes yours as he kisses you, softly, then his tongue glides over your lips. You resist for only a second then let him in. His hand slips behind your head as he locks you in. You brace his chest as he takes your breath away. 

“Ahem,” the server clears his throat. 

You rip away from Steve as he snickers. He wipes his mouth shamelessly as you shrink down in embarrassment. The server uncorks the bottle with a pop, his smile effortlessly hiding all judgment. He’s probably honed against all types of customers. 

He pours the bubbly and leaves the bottle. You watch him go and squirm. Steve sits up and takes his glass, “what’sa matter, sweetheart?” 

“N-nothing, I don’t-- I don’t usually do that... in public,” you sniff. 

He laughs again, “I know, you’re a good girl.” He hovers his glass. You take yours and he clinks his against it, “to us.” 

“To... us.” You echo softly. 

You drink as he does, mirroring him. It’s sweet and bubbly. He sets the glass down and reaches for the bottle. He grips it and drags it closer. 

“Only one for me, since I’m driving, so help yourself,” he says. “You deserve it. A nice night to let go.” 

“Oh, I...” you stare at the dark glass. Why did he order the whole bottle? 

He slaps his hand on your thigh and you squeak. Your hand falls over his instinctively. You look at him and lick the moisture from your lips. He growls and kneads your flesh. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps. “Aren’t you happy? I’m here.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth, “yes, I’m happy.” 

He pushes his shoulders back and his cheek dimples, he shifts on the cushion. His other hand tugs at the top of his belt. 

“Not gonna lie, gonna be hard to hold out all night,” he smirks. “Six years...” 

You blink at him. You won’t look down. That’s too much. 

“You gonna be nice to me?” He leans in to nuzzle your cheek, tickling the back of your neck so you shiver. “Huh? I’m so pent up, baby, you gotta take it easy on me.” 

You shudder and ball your hand up tightly. Your stomach is roaring but not from hunger. The more you think about what he means, what he expects, the sicker you feel. 

“It’s been... a while for me too,” you assure him. “We can take it slow.” 

“Slow, baby?” He hums. “Oh, I don’t think I can.” 

[sayhoneysiren]

What’s Your Siren Energy?

Welcome Sirens! This reading is for entertainment purposes only based on the downloads I receive. Do not attack me if the message doesn’t resonate. Keep in mind this is a collective reading, not a individual one. With that being said, enjoy!

xx Honey Siren🍒

⋆˙⟡♡

This reading will help you find out what type of Siren you are and how to awaken your Siren Energy — Your Siren Energy can help you to become mesmerizing, attract wealth, lovers and abundant opportunities.

CHOOSE YOUR PILE

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE I

Affirmation : 🍓I never do the pleasing. I am the one they aim to please.

You are The Office Siren🎱

“The office siren aesthetic is sophisticated, with a hint of seduction. It’s about strutting through the workplace in corporate garb that screams, ‘I mean business, but make it fashion.’ The office siren spices up the conference room with structured yet feminine pieces that radiate power and confidence. Picture a palette of chic neutrals with pops of red and femme fatale details and you’re halfway there.”

Many of you may resonate with the terms girlboss, boss bitch, ambitious, sassy, domanatrix, seductive, classy or baddie.

The taste of success is a delicious high. Independence and personal success are the things you treasure most.

This smoldering determination is felt in your powerful, sexy aura that screams regality and authority. Internally, you are the lioness that can be tame or feral depending kn the circumstances at hand. People easily get lost in your majestic beauty and become captivated by you.

Many of your coworkers are crushing on you. They admire that you are put together, self sufficient and sophisticated. There’s a high possibility that you work in a corporation or system where people look up to you and sort of worship your presence.

Things to work on: Since you are so driven, you could struggle with perfectionism, the fear of failure or the fear of being seen. Understand that there is a difference between hard work and productivity. “Done is better than perfect.”

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE II

Affirmation : 💋My influence on others is spellbinding.

The Miss Cherry {Coquette} Siren🍒

[ Lisa Rowe Scene ]

The Coquette by Robert Greene- "The ability to delay satisfaction is the ultimate art of seduction—while waiting, the victim is held in thrall. Coquettes are the grand masters of the game, orchestrating a back-and-forth movement between hope and frustration. They bait with the promise of reward—the hope of physical pleasure, happiness, fame by association, power—all of which, however, proves elusive; yet this only makes their targets pursue them the more. Imitate the alternating heat and coolness of the Coquette and you will keep the seduced at your heels."

What’s the first thing you think about when you see a 🍒?

Often times it is associated with sexual actives but it can also represent youth, playfulness, lovers and genius capabilities.

Cherry also rhymes with Fairy 🧚‍♀️. Which is similar to how your Siren energy is. Young spirited, mischievous and naughty.

As you can see in your tarot spread, you are a walking contradiction. One moment you are hot then cold, confident then insecure, extroverted then introverted. You have a dualistic charm that makes you deeply fascinating and magnetic.

You beauty is refreshing and you could have big eyes, pouty lips, a memorable laugh or an endearing smile. Many peiple fall in love with you by your smile alone. There is something forbidden and naughty about your personality that make you more endearing. Again, you may be meant for fame and fortune!

Things to work on: Since your personality is unpredictable learn to better control your moods.

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

⸻⊱༺  🩸 ༻⊰⸻

PILE III

Affirmation : 💌My lovers easily commit to me and are obsessed with me forever.

The Oceana Siren���

People see you as the ‘Quiet Storm’ which is similar to Sade Adu (an Ocean Siren), who is mystical and private but once she enters the spotlight, her presence is groundbreaking and sets the world into a frenzy.

You send people through an emotional mind-field with your Siren energy (especially your exes). Out of all the others piles, you are the most connected to the water elements. When it comes tonyour emotions, you can be a calm sea or a raging hurricane. Even if youndont intentianlly send you exes energy they seem to feel it somehow and want to beg for your forgiveness. They may have a difficult time letting you go and since you starve them of your energy, they end up stalking you to keep in touch with your energy.

Your are a difficult person to grasp. Think of trying to grab a wet fish with your bare hands. That’s how people experience your seduction. You are a hard catch and can never be caught completely.

You prefer to be a loner but you love love. You hold very intense emotions. People don't understand you often, since you’re quiet and quirky but your silence speaks volumes.

Things to work on: You are an old, deep soul and in love, you can easily loose yourself in matters that don’t serve you. Learn to maintain healthy attachments and relationships to people.

[ Important Tips and Affirmations for using your Siren Energy and creating the aesthetic here —Full Post ]

[nonotnolan]

No Regrets

My roommate's body keeps looking at me like I'm supposed to be making the first move. It was weird enough when my roommate and his girlfriend swapped bodies for the weekend, but the unspoken tension was starting to become unbearable. "Seriously, Tiffany, you're starting to creep me out. Don't you and Daniel have plans for tonight?"

She just smiled at me. "No plans. I'm still deciding how I want to spend my evening. Daniel, though... he's taking my body out clubbing tonight. He wants to see how many free drinks he can score, and I think he's also planning to get laid." Gross. I knew better than to say anything out loud, but my face must have given me away. "Don't be such a prude, Jeff. You know we have an open relationship."

I tugged at my collar. "I know, Tiff, I'm sorry. I just... body swaps that cross the gender line still make me uncomfortable. It feels wrong, somehow. And, I mean, technically they are illegal."

"Oh please, get over yourself," she said, tossing herself onto his bed. "Swaps over 12 hours are also illegal, but that didn't stop you from hiring someone to take your Calc exam two weeks ago. You need to learn how to relax. Not everything you were told on Sundays is true, you know. Some things aren't actually all that bad. You're only clutching your pearls because society told you that swapping genders was bad. What harm is there, as long as both people consent?"

I wanted to argue, but I knew Tiffany was absolutely correct. There wasn't anything wrong with the two of them swapping bodies outside of society telling us that men and women could only swap with other men and other women. Which... given the way that their open relationship also defied societal expectations, I suppose it wasn't too much of a surprise that the two of them thought so little about swapping like this. "You're right, and I'm sorry. I... I'm trying, really. You've heard how conservative my childhood was. It's a lot to unlearn."

"Well, maybe it's time to start unlearning," she said, beckoning me closer. "You want to know the real reason I'm still here? It's because of you, stud. I'm here to see you." Did Tiffany just call me a stud? She had to be mocking me, but I could feel myself blushing all the same.

Tiffany started to unbutton my shirt, brushing her fingers along my exposed chest as she did so. I could feel myself growing erect. Were we... were we really doing this? They were in an open relationship, after all, it wasn't like he was helping Tiffany cheat on his roommate. With his roommate? God, Swappers made things confusing.

"I've seen the way you look at Daniel," she said, rubbing a hand across the stubble on my chin. "I love the man, but he's too straight and too clueless to pick up on those stares. And honestly, I can't help but think that you're too sheltered to realize you're even doing it half the time."

"I... thought I was hiding it better," I said, trying to steady my emotions. Her fingers started to tease my nipples, leaving me squirming with raw pleasure. "I still don't know if I'm bisexual, or gay, or just... Mormon. But I didn't think it mattered. He's already in a relationship with you. What I want isn't important."

"He's in an open relationship," she said, staring at me like I was a hunk of meat to be devoured. "He's also not here right now. I'm in control of this body right now, and I want to fuck you senseless. If that's what you want too, well..." Tiffany slipped her hand inside my waistband, giving my manhood a firm squeeze that had me gasping for breath. "Tonight's a perfect night to let loose. No regrets."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I leaned in for a quick kiss, which Tiffany returned with tongue. The two of us stripped down as fast as we could, though I made certain not to let her pull me onto the bed with her. "Not on Daniel's bed," I said, dragging her over to my part of the bedroom. "His sheets reek of frat boy sweat, and I doubt he has any lube."

"I, uhh... you're alright with being on top, right?" I asked, as I handed her the bottle of lube from my nightstand. It occurred to me that we hadn't actually talked through any plans, set boundaries, or anything like that. "The way you phrased it, I'm assuming that's what you meant, I just--"

"Stop. Thinking." Seeing Daniel's face looming over me, with a look of pure lust on his face, it was everything I never knew I needed. I started rolling over onto my knees before she yelled at me. "Not like that, stay on your back. I want to see your face as I fuck you senseless."

Tiffany spent the entire time telling me exactly what to do, and it was everything I could have ever wanted. She got me lubed, eased me onto her massive manhood, and railed me like there was no tomorrow. My chest was coated in strands of my own cum, while Daniel's cum slowly leaked out of my ass. I'd never had a no-hands orgasm before, but holy hell I could not believe how amazing that felt.

"I can't believe we just did that," I said, trying to catch my breath. She responded by scooping up some of the jizz off of my torso and putting it into her mouth. She was making an entire production out of licking it off of her finger, and I could feel myself getting hard again. "So, uhh... you... you'll be in Daniel's body for the entire evening?"

"If that's your way of asking me if I'd like to fuck you again? The answer is yes," she said, giving me a wink. "Even better, we might be able to make this a weekly thing," she added, standing up to grab some towels. "I don't think I'll have to fight too hard to convince Daniel to swap. What sort of straight man doesn't enjoy having boobs?"

God, I was falling for her so hard. What had I gotten myself into? Life was going to be a long, awkward hell once my roommate was back in his own body. And yet... I had to admit, I had no regrets.

[lexirosewrites]

Day One: Courting Rituals

for @stmarchmm

Before Eddie officially starts courting Steve, they’re together nearly every day.

Steve tends to hang at the trailer and watch movies with the alpha. Sometimes they go to the arcade with the kids or they host a DnD night at Steve’s place.

Everyone can see that they’re inseparable.

Robin even lightheartedly complains about how Robin and Steve time became Robin and Steve and Eddie time.

Steve wants to be around his new friend constantly and Eddie seems to want the same thing.

So they’re always together.

The funny thing is that Steve doesn’t even recall it becoming more than a friendship.

One day, they’re goofing off, cracking jokes, and getting high on Eddie’s rooftop.

The next, they’re holding hands at the movies and sharing milkshakes at the diner.

It’s an easy transition.

When people start asking about labels (Joyce keeps prodding Steve, reminding him that dating an alpha without clear intentions is a dangerous affair), Eddie beats him to the punch with a traditional bouquet of flowers.

Wildflowers. Hand-picked, colorful, and unique just like Eddie.

He’s received many attempted courting presents before, but these are Steve’s favorites.

Of course he agrees immediately to the unspoken request and that makes things between them official.

They can spend all the time in the world together now without speculation or judgement!

Only… now Eddie is barely around.

It makes no sense to Steve (or the other half of his brain, Robin). They’d been attached at the hip when it was casual and now that it’s serious, Eddie just up and disappears?

Steve is more than a little hurt, but he tries to be reasonable.

Maybe Eddie saw their official courting as a victory and he no longer has to work so hard to get Steve’s attention. Now he can put some space between them.

Or…

Maybe Eddie changed his mind.

Maybe Steve isn’t what he wants anymore and he’s delaying the pain of breaking it off by avoiding him entirely.

The uncertainty eats away at Steve. It’s one too many cancelled plans, dropped calls, and flimsy excuses.

Steve storms into the Munson trailer at 9PM, beyond panicking when Eddie didn’t answer his phone call they’d agreed to have at 8:30.

Eddie’s van is in the driveway.

In his rush to check for Eddie’s vehicle, he’d apparently missed Wayne’s truck.

“Evenin’, Steve. Eddie expectin’ ya?”

Steve’s anger deflates slightly in the face of the man he assumed would be as good as family soon.

Wayne has always been kind to him.

“No, I guess not. He was supposed to call me half an hour ago. I even tried ringing, but nobody picked up. I got—”

Paranoid. Angry. Hurt. Devastated.

“Worried. I was worried about him,” Steve explains truthfully.

Wayne pats the free spot on the couch next to him.

He hesitates.

If Eddie’s in his bedroom and willfully ignoring his calls, Steve would rather get this break-up over with.

The quicker his hearts breaks, the quicker he can start repairing it.

He sits anyway.

“I’m sure he lost track of the day again. Been happenin’ more and more lately.”

Wayne’s never lied to Steve before. It’s hard to imagine he’d start now.

“I just thought Eddie would want to be with me more since we started courting. It feels like he’s too busy to even see me anymore,” Steve confesses, a little shocked at his own honesty.

Wayne has that effect on people.

The old man hums thoughtfully, not outright agreeing or disagreeing.

“If there’s one thing I know about my boy, it’s that he’d give anything to spend every moment of every day with you, kid. He may not always do it perfectly, but Eddie loves you, Steve. Trust that much.”

He snorts.

“Well, he has a funny way of showing it these days. He used to at least make time for me, Wayne. Now, he’s practically avoiding me entirely. How else am I supposed to interpret that?”

The wrinkles of Wayne’s brow furrow deeper.

“Have you… really talked to him recently?”

Steve shakes his head briefly, trying not to let the tears fall.

“That would require him to pick up the phone for anything other than cancelling our plans.”

“Ah. I see.”

Wayne lets out a hearty laugh and Steve has to wonder whether Eddie’s uncle has lost his mind entirely.

“You should go see your alpha,” Wayne advises him with a smile. “Ease your troubled mind, omega.”

“What?”

“Go on, Steve. Just try not to startle him. That silly boy hardly sleeps as it is… I’ve got the night shift, but I trust you two won’t start on grandpups if I leave ya alone here?”

Steve nods frantically. His face is more than flushed at the idea of starting a family right now.

He’s not sure Eddie likes him anymore, let alone loves him enough to do that with him.

“Yes, sir.”

Wayne stands with a reassuring pat on Steve’s back, heading for the door after a pitstop for his keys.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Wayne.”

He stays on the couch by himself a little longer, working up the nerve to go confront whatever is waiting for him in Eddie’s silent bedroom.

Steve would rather face another demogorgon than deal with Eddie’s incoming rejection.

Still, he promised Wayne.

He treads lightly on the creaky floors until he reaches Eddie’s bedroom.

It used to be a place Steve loved being. Full of Eddie’s personality and warmth. Smelling strongly of his loving alpha. Music always playing on the radio or turntable.

He turns the handle slowly, heeding Wayne’s advice to not startle Eddie.

It ends up not being an issue since his boyfriend is completely dead to the world, deep in sleep.

Weirdly enough, he’s still dressed. On top of the covers and wrapped around a box that Steve’s never seen.

Steve doesn’t flip the lights on, but he leaves the door open enough to light his way so he can come further into the room.

His hands move of their own accord, reaching for Eddie despite his brain saying it’s a bad idea.

Instead of a t-shirt, he touches a collared button down.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie in anything so formal.

It’s a short sleeve shirt, but looks like nothing the alpha would ever choose to wear.

His fingers continue to wander until he finds a patch on Eddie’s chest. It’s ironed haphazardly.

He gets close enough to read.

‘Eddie.’ A name tag?

Steve continues to search Eddie’s shirt silently. He finds more words. Embroidering on the pocket states ‘Dan’s Auto.’

Dan’s Auto Shop is a garage in the next town over. Steve’s taken his own car there before. It’s decent, if a little rundown.

Does Eddie… work there?

Eddie has never held an honest to god job. Selling drugs to locals? Sure. But never a 9-5 blue collar hourly rate.

Why would he get a job and hide it from Steve?

Steve’s heart can’t take the suspense. He reaches for the strange box without care.

What’s inside makes him freeze.

A handcrafted brown leather collar with Steve’s name burned into it. And a ring. Simple, beautiful, elegant.

It matches Steve’s tastes exactly.

It has to be for him.

Steve lets out a shriek of surprise when an arm appears around his waist.

He’s pulled down onto the bed, Eddie’s strong hold tucking Steve right back against the alpha and keeping him in place there.

“Hi there, sweetheart.”

“Hi alpha.”

Steve doesn’t mention the missed phone call. Or the cancelled dates.

He’s missed his alpha too much to hold a grudge over such silly things.

In the morning, they’ll have a long and important conversation about proper communication and how Eddie doesn’t need to buy Steve any more fancy courting presents in order to impress him because he’s already in love.

Tonight, they just sleep peacefully in each other’s arms as (almost) mates.

[nightplvmes]

it'll be quick

sylus x fem!reader | nsfw, +18, MDNI!—explicit content, penetration, sex in public place | an : i don't know if I like this, any opinion is welcome... likes and reblogs are appreciated :)

"Sy..." She gasped feeling her breasts press against the wall in front of her. Her breathing was already heavy and it hadn't been more than a couple of minutes.

"It'll be quick," he murmured, kissing her cheek. She didn't stop there, too many things were going through her head at once. The place where they were. The bathroom door. Sylus' hands sliding under her dress to push aside her underwear.

"Someone can see us," she gasped again but she didn't even make an attempt to get away or stop from him, she didn't want to stop, she needed him as much as he did. Sylus placed a kiss on her bare shoulder and smiled. It was an auction or a fundraiser... or a fundraising auction, she wasn't sure yet. Sylus had been teasing her all night and she had barely paid attention to her surroundings. She didn't even want to be there, neither did he, he had mentioned how those events were nothing more than a farce but he needed people to see him.

And now there they were, in an empty bathroom (maybe), her boyfriend's hands on her and she was sure what would happen next. "Spread your legs." She complied and felt another kiss on her cheek. Someone could come in at any moment and see them like that, what would they do if that happened? Just die of embarrassment. "So pretty... embarrassed and needy." One of his arms went around her waist, pulling her close to him, and his other hand slid down to hold one of her thighs.

"We shouldn't do this," she repeated letting her head fall back, allowing Sylus access to her neck—sucking with the intention of leaving a visible mark.

"No, we shouldn't," he replied holding her tightly before sliding inside her. "So tight around me." He left a peak on her lips and began to thrust into her, trying to be fast without hurting her.

She moaned, holding on tightly to the wall in front of her. She had discovered two things about Sylus: He could be slow and gentle, careful as he whispered sweet things in her ear. But he could also be fast, he could be slightly rough without hurting her or making her uncomfortable. "Sy–ah..." She wanted to say something, the words were in her throat but she just wanted to moan and writhe in his arms. "Fuck, that's... so good."

"Shh" He gently cupped her jaw, causing her to turn her face towards him. "Someone can come in, remember?" She nodded, feeling dizzy from the pleasure. Her mind couldn't focus on anything else but her boyfriend's arms around her and the way he was thrusting into her.

Fast.

Slow.

Hard.

Then fast again.

"Oh god... Sylus-" She placed her hand against the wall and he took it to intertwine their fingers.

"I know." He nodded without letting her finish. He could feel it, the way she tightened around him. His hand dropped from her thigh but holding her waist tightly, his free hand sliding between her folds to her sensitive clit. She whimpered harder, bucking her hips against him. "So beautiful..." Sylus let out a growl and took her jaw again this time to kiss her in an attempt to silence her moans.

"Mmph!" She writhed in his arms, heat building in her body and it was only a matter of seconds before she finally came and felt her legs shake. Sylus stopped kissing her, held her hips tightly and thrust one last time inside her. His deep moans echoed in her ears as she felt her insides being filled. She held onto the wall again to avoid falling to the ground, it took her several moments to realize what they had just done... and where. "I couldn't believe we did this," she muttered after a few seconds, her breathing still heavy.

"I know." He smiled kissing her lips once more but this time it was a slower and softer kiss. He helped her adjust her clothes while leaving kisses on her cheek or forehead. She wasn't sure if anyone had seen or heard them, she hoped she hadn't been too loud.

Sylus held her in his arms to prevent her legs from collapsing. He helped her clean herself up, though not completely, as a reminder of what they had done. The rest of the night he didn't leave her side for a second, but that was normal. What was not usual was feeling the remains of his seed still inside her every time she had to move.

[hitomisuzuya]

husband scaramouche x fem!reader. head canons. fluff. soft!scara.

i really got the urge to write headcanons about husband scara, and how he would act with a pregnant wife. this is mainly cute headcanons. i may do the same thing with childe and aventurine.

when you announce to scaramouche that you are pregnant, he kneels in front of you and puts his hand on your stomach. "there is a cretin growing inside you?" despite his..unique choice of words, there is a hint of wonder and pride in his voice. once you scold him for said choice of words, and he tries again, he puts his ear to your stomach and says, "hello in there? are you a girl or a boy? whatever you are, i am waiting to welcome you into this world."

yeah, you definitely married him for a reason. looking down at him, your heart swells with so much love that you thought it might burst. this man, the feared balladeer, notorious for so many things is also your husband, the very same man hovering his hand so gently over your belly.

scaramouche would have this fierce need to be a good parent because he has already been the victim of having a shitty parent. there is no way he would do the same thing to his child.

that being said, he also takes being a husband very seriously. he even is a bit old fashioned about it. no wife of his would work if she didn't have to. of course, you could freely choose to work. he wouldn't stop you, but he certainly didn't have to like it. the way he sees it, his wife is strong, but if he can be strong for her, he can and he will. he is the protector. the provider and that was that.

his wife is the center of his world. he also married you for a reason. you don't let him get away with his shit. you argue with him, and back talk him without fear. you tell him what's what while still being patient with him. you have shown him qualities like being gentle and caring still exist. and he would burn all of teyvat and celestia itself if anything dared take you away from him.

whatever his wife wants, his wife gets, pretty much.

also, the kind of husband that says he doesn't want cats, but then you find him napping with said kitten sleeping curled up on his chest. you want cats and other pets, and he can't say no to you. but also know this, he genuinely enjoys having pets. you gotta know when to look at the right times to see them. moments like the one you took a picture of. they do happen. and often.

during your pregnancy, he is incredibly on top of things. he keeps all of your doctors appointments carefully noted. he makes them in advance on the exact day that they should be. if the doctor wanted to see you back in a week for some tests, the appointment was scheduled exactly one week later, at the same time as the previous appointment. he is incredibly particular.

really, the doctors and nurses have never seen anything like it before. this man would background check everyone if he could. twice.

literally fort knox level protection anytime you go out. there is not a chance anyone will come close to accidentally bumping into you. you had to have a talk with him about snapping at people he thought walked too close to you. twice. he struggles with improvement in this area to say the least.

if you have some crazy pregnancy cravings food in the middle of the night. it could be at 3am and he wouldn't care. he would be out the door getting it. in fact, man would start a war over it. "i don't care if that's what not you do. my wife is pregnant. i say you can do it, so you can do it."

when it's time for you to go on bed rest, he makes sure he is doing everything for you. if you needed anything, he got it for you.

when you found out you were pregnant, you also had this thought: 'god help the doctors and nurses working when i go into labor. i don't they will be prepared for scaramouche.' and you were right.

the nurses at your doctors office even put notes about him in your chart for the emergency room and hospital staff to look at in advance.

scaramouche makes sure everything is done straight to the letter. and that includes little things like your iv getting put in. he is even able to calculate the exact amount of time it takes for your iv drip bag to empty and is calling the nurse to change it. don't take this as being overbearing, he is just very nervous and scared. and this is how he deals with it. he wants to be able to help if the slightest thing goes wrong.

that just doesn't always show in the most polite ways to the staff sometimes.

the look on his face when he hears his child cry for the first time, and holds them for the first time is so soft. like he has seen one of the most beautiful things in this whole world besides his wife. it even makes the doctors and the nurses think that dealing with his colorful temperament was worth it just to see that look on his face.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

The Quick Guide of Taking Care of Yourselves

RIGHT ANYWAY, semi-functioning again. Here's some generic tips for Americans (and beyond) in these trying times.

Limit Your Social Media News Consumption

Seriously, you need to set specific times to be aware of what's going on, and then you need to put down your phone. Many of the things that are happening are beyond your control. Doomscrolling is paralyzing. Do not fall into despair loops. This helps no one and it especially does not help you.

Make a channel in your Discord group for dumping things in and leave it to that. Find ways to plug into your local community - talk to your local library, check your local subreddit, pay attention to local events. But you also must give yourself a break from all of the above for your own mental health.

Pick a set time at night and put down your phone. Don't scroll through it before bed, don't start scrolling the second you get up. Form firm habits that allow you to rest and take care of yourself. It's important to be aware of what's happening, but it does not require your constant attention.

Do Things For Yourself

In addition to making art, it's important to find ways to keep yourself grounded. Take a class you're interested in. Go to that book club. See if there's a local group into that hobby you want to start. Need to brush up on your technical skills? See if there's some online classes that you can take (and get a certificate for!).

Don't over-commit (I say, having signed up for three different activities this year), but it is vital to take time to do things for yourself to stay grounded. Having other things to focus on is going to help. I'm taking a strength-building exercise class and German lessons, and having to focus on squats and gendered nouns for certain hours of the day has been so helpful in keeping me going. Give it a try.

(You don't have to try German, just to be clear. I just think it's a neat language.)

You Do Not Have to Constantly Rearrange Your Priorities

I donate monthly to my local animal shelter. That's still going to be an important thing to do. I reblog things I don't have the funds to contribute to myself. That's still useful to do. I'm still going to pay for my patreon subscriptions, because I am supporting people I like and want to succeed.

There are some things you can do. If you are in a position to cancel Amazon Prime, you should probably do that. But some people can't, because they don't have a more reliable way to get certain necessities, and that's fine. If you're in a position to close your Meta accounts, that seems like a good call. However, while I've currently got mine locked down, I need my Instagram for professional reasons, and it's my only point of contact for certain people. I hate it, but I've made the decision to keep using it. There's no morally perfect options out there.

Think Local and Connect with Community

You cannot do anything about most of the terrible things happening. You can, however, make connections to the people around you and find ways to support yourself and others. You can find places to volunteer. You can participate in your local political groups and keep up-to-date on protests and political action. You can keep pressure on your local politicians with phone-calling and letter campaigns. Making connections to others will help you find ways to feel useful and help, even if it doesn't feel like you can.

Most importantly, though, MAKE SURE YOU ARE SAFE. If you're a vulnerable minority in a deep red state or desperately need to keep your head down at your job, you need to make decisions that are best for you. You cannot help others if you yourself are also drowning, and that is okay.

There are still some small things everyone can do. Boycotts of certain products and companies (shout-out to all of Canada, keep it up and I hope for nothing but the best for y'all) is something you can do that doesn't put you at risk. Stay connected to like-minded friends. Stock up on masks and get your vaccines. Have an emergency-prepared plan in cases of natural disasters (always a good plan).

Hang in there. Sometimes you'll spiral, everyone will. But keeping your head above water and building steps to pull yourself up from those holes will be essential.

[teambyler]

The most hypocritical anti Byler argument:

"Why can't two boys just be friends? Why do you have to make everything gay!?"

Whenever I hear this argument or some variation of it, I think back to my two cousins, one a girl and the other a boy. They were maybe six years old at the time, and they were innocently talking and playing and giving each other math and spelling-bee quizzes. ALL my family were giggling, saying they were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend.

I also think back to all the times I see young girls being judged on their physical beauty and told they're going to have a handsome boy when they grow up because they're so pretty.

From childhood, boys and girls have their sexuality assumed for them. Their SEXUALITY and romantic possibility are talked about openly in front of their face. They're made to look at themselves sexually before they even want to.

So when people yell at Byler fans saying "Why do you have to make everything gay?" I want to scream at them:

"Why do you have to make everything straight!?"

Why do you insist on sexualizing children to be heterosexual even before they're ready to start thinking of themselves in those terms?

Why do you have no problem with Mike kissing El in season 1 right after she asks him if he's like her "brother"?

Why do you idealize their relationship when they were children, while simultaneously trying to shame Byler fans for trying to "sexualize children" even though these are fictional characters and the actors who play Mike and Will are already adults?

Why do you shame any thought or possibility of homosexual romance, while imposing heterosexual norms on everyone?

This hypocrisy distorts how Milkvans view Mike and El. We're told that if Mike and Will get together, that would mean Mike "used El" and El would never be able to forgive him.

Not only does this disregard that people can have amicable break-ups and still be close friends: it also shows that the idea of a platonic loving relationship between a Mike and El is beyond their comprehension. To them, the only loving relationships boys and girls can have with each other are romantic ones.

(Now, before anyone objects: sure many people accept Robin and Steve, but that's because Robin is canonically gay. We all know that before she came out many of us (me included!) were shipping those two as a couple!)

If someone ships Mike and El WITHOUT her confronting him about his poor treatment of her in early s4, without there being an honest conversation about that, this definitely raises an eyebrow from me. The "love confession" didn't address this: fear of losing her did NOT explain failing to comfort her or failing to say he loved her. Theoretically it's possible for these two to repair things. (And if Milkvan is endgame I hope that they do!) But for some Milkvan shippers the need to do this doesn't even enter their minds because they're idealizing their relationship. In other words, THEY are imposing their idea of a relationship on these two, much in the same way my family was imposing their own ideas on my two cousins without regard to the people involved.

So if anyone asks "Why do you have to make everything gay?" it's purely hypocritical and dishonest. No, we just want THIS relationship between Mike and Will to be gay out of a sea of heterosexual relationships on TV. No: THEY are the ones who insist on imposing romance on a boy and girl when they're not ready; THEY are the ones who insist on "everything" being one way.

-teambyler

[suzukiblu]

. . . so like, no PROMISES for doing the whole month, buuuuut . . . day one of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh, should I? In all the spare space I’ve got in here?” Tim asks, still sounding wry. 

“Buy a bigger boat, babe, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bernard says reasonably. “How’re we gonna keep a kept boy without a bigger boat, huh? You want a big pet around, you gotta have a big space for him. Let him really stretch his legs, you know? Or spread ‘em, whichever.’ 

Kon buries another laugh in his arms and Tim rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. Jokes aside, they really are crammed in pretty tight on the bed–it is just not that big a bed to be fitting three people in–but Kon minds literally nothing about that. Not even a little bit does he mind that, in fact.

He likes it, more like. Likes being all up in someone else’s space even without anyone actually fucking each other or even making out or like–just, anything, he guesses. He doesn’t get to do that often enough, it always feels like. Everybody’s always–busy, or moving, or . . . 

He just wants to, like . . . get to do this kind of thing more often, he guesses. 

Doesn’t hurt that it’s Tim whose space he’s currently all up in, either. Like–he has definitely not gotten to be all up in Tim’s space too many times that weren’t directly related to one of them saving each other’s ass in a crisis situation. Or, like, occasionally being transportation to a crisis situation; that has also been a thing more than once. 

. . . actually, fuck, thinking too much about being Tim’s usual designated transportation or just being all shoved up in each other’s space while the world was trying to end while he’s gay is not something he’s gonna be able to be normal about, huh. 

Like . . . wow, yeah. Not even a little bit normal. 

Jesus. 

“Oh, I see, so this is just another excuse to try and get me to trade in my perfectly sound and perfectly outfitted boat,” Tim says, which sort of distracts Kon from his own personal Chernobyl: Horny Edition. Like, kind of, anyway. “Is there literally anything that we have not managed to do in this bed? Genuinely, please tell me what position you have in mind, I’m honestly curious.” 

“Well, what about letting your boy sleep at the foot of the bed?” Bernard asks even more reasonably, which actually just made Chernobyl: Horny Edition like, twelve billion times worse, probably. Just–Jesus, again. “You think you’ve got the real estate for that on this mattress? No you do not, because you’ve failed to plan ahead and you should be ashamed.” 

“Yeah, Rob, shouldn’t you have a Bat-contingency plan for that?” Kon teases past more laughter, and Tim sighs. 

“You know, I did worry if you’d get along with each other or not, but I think it’s worse that you do get along with each other,” he muses, picking a peach slice up off the plate in his lap and eyeing it assessingly, because Tim is literally incapable of not assessing things, apparently, boyfriend-delivered breakfast or otherwise. “Actually, no, it’s worse that you encourage each other.” 

“I’m a very encouraging person, man, what can I say?” Kon says, flashing him a sharp grin. Tim rolls his eyes again, but with that little fond smile again, and Kon feels warm and heady and a little bit desperate to get his mouth on his cock again or, like–get kissed again, maybe. 

It’s maybe a little stupid, how he can’t really tell the difference between those things. Like–which one he really wants, he means. But like, in his defense, he is still experiencing his own personal Chernobyl right now and he’s just doing his best with the resources he’s got available, okay? 

“Oh absolutely, yes, I’m always so encouraged in your presence,” Tim says wryly. Kon grins at him, then sticks his tongue out at him instead. Tim drops the peach slice on his tongue like a weirdo, and Kon represses another laugh and pulls it into his mouth. What, it tastes good. And it’s not any weirder than getting hand-fed a protein bar was, either way. 

Well–maybe still a little weird, but whatever. 

Tim picks up a piece of waffle–Bernard cut them up in quarters, Kon guesses–and holds that out to him, and that . . . Kon hesitates a bit over that, because . . . 

“Sorry,” Tim says. “Don’t want it to get cold.” 

“That’s, like–your plate, man,” Kon says, his face feeling a little hot as he flicks his eyes up from the offered waffle chunk to glance at Tim’s face, because for some ridiculous reason his brain’s gotten stuck on that over a waffle, even after not really thinking of it with just the peach. Though that seemed . . . less deliberate, maybe, so . . . 

“No it’s not,” Bernard replies matter-of-factly, shaking his head as he picks up a banana slice off his own plate and pops it into his mouth. “Tim’s plate has way fewer waffles on it and blueberries instead of peaches. Also oh my god, Tim, don’t feed your boy dry-ass waffle with nothing on it. There’s whipped cream and caramel sauce over here, you want any, Kon? Also butter, if you’re feeling basic. I won’t judge, sometimes the vibe is just butter.” 

Kon takes a long moment to process the fact that Bernard put the plate he made for him on Tim’s lap, and also that Bernard went to the effort to make his plate different, for like . . . whatever reason. 

“. . . um. Caramel, if that’s cool,” he answers, a little belated, and wondering if Tim, like–told Bernard he likes peaches, or . . . well, he’s pretty sure peaches and caramel sauce are not standard waffle toppings, or at least not standard in most people’s usual breakfast setups, so like . . . “Uh–thanks.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Bernard says easily, reaching over to the tray and coming back with, weirdly, like a little, like–carafe, or whatever? pitcher? like the kind of thing people put coffee creamer in, except just full of caramel instead–and passing it to Tim. 

Which . . . okay, low-key weird that Bernard felt the need to pour out the sauce bottle into a fancy little pitcher, but Kon isn’t gonna lie, he’s a little charmed by it. Like, it’s just a funny little quirk, but . . . 

“You’re so fucking cute, man,” he says, laughing again and then grinning at Bernard in amusement. “Like, A+ hosting, don’t get me wrong, totally killer hospitality, but I wasn’t gonna knock down Tim’s Yelp rating if the bottle was sticky or whatever.” 

“Huh?” Bernard asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression, then seems to realize something and clarifies–“Oh, no, Tim only has the shitty cheap syrup that makes a shell when you put it on ice cream or whatever, I wasn’t gonna put that on waffles, I just made my own.” 

“You made it?” Kon says in bemusement, a little startled by the idea. That’s like–a thing? “Like–what, from scratch?” 

“Yeah, Tim said you liked caramel but again, the only caramel he had on deck was shitty cheap stuff,” Bernard replies with a shrug as Tim pours some sauce onto–Kon’s plate, apparently–and swipes the waffle quarter he’s holding through it. “Personally I’m more the whipped cream type but like, caramel is way less annoying to make from scratch when you don’t have a stand mixer, which your bestie continues to refuse to invest in because of some nonsense about ‘limited counter space’. So like, normally he whips the cream, because it’s his fault I gotta do it by hand anyway and also, you know, he’s got all those sexy, cream-whipping vigilante muscles that I was pretending not to notice but was not above taking advantage of. But we didn’t want you to come up without somebody around, so today my arm is sore, fuck you, babe, buy at least a hand mixer already.” 

Kon . . . blinks, once or twice, and feels–weird, maybe, because that rattled-off chatter makes it sound like . . . like Bernard made that sauce, like–specifically for him? Like . . . just because of him? 

Did he? 

[tallysgreatestfan]

It also comes across much more as "neurodivergent people should not exist and especially should not see anything positive or part of their identity in their disability" than "worried about teens diagnosing themselves with something inaccurate".

Best way to explain this is to use autism as an example. It is very difficult to get an autism diagnosis if you aren't a small child anymore and/or belong to literally any minority, and even getting a diagnosis doesn't necessary mean that you get any accommodations or actually useful therapy (diagnosed at eight, if anything this harmed me rather than help me). It is also something popular media and most neurotypicals perceive as purely negative outside of absurdly unlikely savantism, with close to no accurate portrays in fiction or even nonfiction googeling it for information.

Now, of course on TikTok, or other social media, misinformation spread my autistic people themselves does exist, but the bulk of the #ActuallyAutistic movement is centered around explaining the actual lived reality of autistic people, pointing out discrimination, and treating autism not as something shameful in need to be fixed, but a part of someones identity that has both positive and negative sides.

Popular culture and even most therapies wants us to look at our mistakes, flaws and weaknesses and blame ourselves for it, the Actually Autistic movement seeks to explain where this comes from and how the way all these systems are set up makes these problems worse, or sometimes even entirely creates them.

Can you see how threatening this can be for neurotypicals who need to believe that the way their brain works is the perfect and ideal one, that the way these systems are set up is ideal instead of unfair, and that they have it easier because they are more virtuous, more determined and overall better?

Have you seen all this talk about "glamorizing" and "glorifying" of neurodiversity the moment a neurodivergent person openly talks about their reality instead of whatever dehumanizing, inaccurate cliches they think would apply and doesn't hate themselves?

I was in autism therapy for almost ten years. I learned the most basic basics about what autism is there, framed in "this is why you are wrong and worthless". I learned to understand myself better, and learned more useful and in depth things about being autistic in one year of finding the Actually Autistic tag on tumblr than these almost ten years there.

This affects not just teens, but as first OP said, teens suffer the most of it because of their restrictive life circumstances, lack of money and power and just the general dismissive attitude towards them.

Hope this is not derailing first OPs point, but I think this takes a huge part in the general publics view on this and also why this feels so necessary for so many teens even additional to the already brought up points.

it's so funny to me when i see pearl-clutching articles about how "teenagers are diagnosing themselves with mental disorders via tiktok" because like. this is not happening in a vacuum. teenagers are severely and i mean severely medically neglected. i cannot stress this enough. teenagers do not have free access to medical care. those same news outlets would be clowning on women with housewife psychosis in the 1950's.

i sometimes go pale when listening to some of what my friends have gone through in their childhoods and teenagehoods. they talk about it so nonchalantly, things that would be considered straight up torture if done to an adult, can't fathom the effect this has on children. they are on multiple anti-psychotics and several antidepressants and anxiety meds now that they are adults. medical neglect has legally and effectively disabled them. a timely diagnosis and intervention could have saved them. of course teenagers are self-diagnosing using tiktok. if your knee-jerk reaction is to scoff at the idea and dismiss it as dumb teenager shit instead of being radicalized because the best shot young people have at attaining the mental health support they need is a fucking dancing videos app, you're categorically a political enemy of the youth.

[torturedreid]

Paid In Conversation

escort reader x spencer reid

w.c: 3.3k

not really sure if it needs warnings

(divider by @diviniyae )

The bar isn't the worst place you’ve worked but it's far from the best. It’s one of those dimly lit spots just off of the Strip, filled with a mix of tourists who wandered too far and locals who know better than to waste their money on casinos. The kind of place where the music is low, the drinks are overpriced, and no one asks too many questions.

You’re perched on a barstool, nursing a barely-touched cocktail you have no intention of drinking, scanning the room for potential business. A guy in an expensive suit keeps sneaking glances at you, but he’s already had too much to drink-- too sloppy. Another man at the end of the bar hasn’t looked up from his phone in ten minutes.

And then there’s him.

The man sitting alone at the corner table, fingers wrapped around a sweating glass of water like it’s something stronger. His shirt is buttoned all the way up but wrinkled, his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his tie is loosened just slightly. It's like he got halfway through shedding it and then gave up. Tousled curls frame his face, sharp cheekbones, a delicate jawline– handsome in a bookish way, but there's something tired about him. His hazel eyes are unfocused, staring through the glass instead of at it. His shoulders are slightly hunched, the posture of someone carrying too much weight. He’s not here for the same reason as the other men in this bar.

You know loneliness when you see it. 

He doesn’t look like the type to seek out an escort, but that's the thing about loneliness—it doesn’t discriminate.

It pays.

You pick up your now room temp cocktail and slide off the barstool, moving with slow, practiced ease. The kind that catches attention without looking desperate for it. His eyes don’t flick to you the way most people do. He’s not watching the way your dress clings to your hips, not tracking your movements in the mirror behind the bar. 

Interesting.

You stop beside his table, tilting your head slightly. “Mind if I sit?”

For a second, he doesn’t react, like he didn't hear you. Then, his head snaps up, blinking at you with an expression that borders on confusion.

“I–uh, sure,” he says, his voice softer than you’d expected.

You ease into the chair across from him, crossing your legs, letting the slow slide of the fabric against your skin do most of the work. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

“You look like you could use a drink,” you say, nodding to the water in his hands.

He glances at the glass like he’d forgotten it was there. “I don’t drink much.”

“Ah.” You take a slow sip from your own glass, watching him over the rim. “One of those rare men with self-control.”

His lips twitch in something that isn’t quite a smile. “It’s not really about self-control,” he says, fingers tapping lightly against the side of his glass. “Alcohol affects the hippocampus, which is responsible for memory formation. It also impairs the prefrontal cortex, which is involved in decision-making. And considering the human brain doesn’t fully mature until about twenty-five, habitual drinking before that can–”

He stops abruptly, as if realizing he’s been talking too much. His mouth presses into a thin line. “Sorry.”

You blink.

Most men in bars talk too much, but not like this. You were expecting an awkward joke, maybe some overconfident flirting– not a spontaneous neuroscience lecture.

“No need to apologize,” you say, amused. “You a scientist or something?”

He hesitates. “Not exactly. I work for the FBI.”

That catches you off guard.

You arch a brow. “Really?”

“Behavioural Analysis Unit. I study criminal behaviour to catch offenders.”

A profiler.

Well, shit.

Your instinct tells you to leave. You’ve learnt to be careful in this job, and you know better than to let law enforcement get too interested in you, but he doesn’t seem suspicious. If anything, he looks…drained.

“So you’re one of those guys who gets inside people’s heads,” you say.

He exhales softly. “I try not to. Not all the time anyway.”

“Why not?”

A shadow passes behind his eyes. He hesitates, like the answer is bigger than he wants it to be.

“Because it makes it hard to be alone with my own thoughts,” he admits.

Something about the way he says it– it isn’t dramatic or performative. Just honest.

For the first time, you reconsider your approach.

But you’re not a therapist, you’re here to make money.

You shift, adjusting the conversation. “Well, you’re in Vegas. For work assumedly but that doesnt mean you can’t enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t really know how to do that.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “It’s true. I’ve never been great at doing things just for fun.”

“Ever?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “I used to read a lot.”

“You used to?”

“It’s been harder lately,” he mutters as his fingers tighten around his glass.

There’s something there– something dark, something he doesn’t want to talk about. And for a second you almost ask.

But then he keeps talking.

And talking.

At first, it’s about work– how difficult it is, how he spends most of his days analyzing patterns of human suffering, how he sees the absolute worst of people. Then, somehow, he transitions into an explanation of cognitive dissonance, which leads into the psychological effects of chronic stress. By the time he starts explaining the history of gambling addiction, you realize you’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes listening to him going on tangents.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even seem to notice.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling through your nose. Yeah. This isn’t going anywhere.

“Well, this has been fun, but I should probably–” you start, but then something shifts.

His eyes flick downward– towards your wrist. You glance down instinctively, but there’s nothing there except the delicate diamond bracelet you wear. Nothing incriminating. But when you look back up, he’s frowning, like something just clicked in his head.

He glances towards the bar, toward the bartender who gave you a subtle nod when you got up. Then at your dress– expensive but not flashy. He blinks at your drink, still barely touched, and finally his gaze lands back on yours.

“Oh.” His brow furrows slightly. “You’re, um…you’re working.”

Finally.

“Took you long enough.”

He blinks rapidly. “I–I didn’t–” his ears go a little pink. “I wasn’t trying to waste your time.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it.” You push back your chair, ready to make your exit. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Wait.”

There’s something desperate in his voice that stops you. You look down at him, arms crossed.

He swallows. “Would you– could I pay you? Just to stay? To talk?”

You hesitate. That’s not usually how this goes. But then again, nothing about him is usual.

“You want to pay me to listen to you ramble?”

He looks away, exhaling softly. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

For some reason, that hits you harder than it should. You let out a slow breath, studying him, trying to figure out what the hell is compelling you to say: 

“Alright.” You sit back down. “We can do that.”

The silence between you is oddly comfortable. 

For a man who just spent nearly half an hour rambling about neuroscience and criminal behaviour, he is surprisingly quiet once money enters the equation. He pushes a few bills across the table – a lot more than what you would’ve asked for, especially just to sit and talk– but he doesn’t even look at them.

You glance down at the crisp hundred dollar bills.

“You’re sure about this?” you ask.

His fingers drum absent mindedly against his glass. “I don’t want to be alone right now,” he repeats, softer this time.

There’s something about him– something different that you can’t quite pinpoint, and as the silence stretches, you can’t help but say, “You still haven’t told me your name.”

You wait for him to say something, but instead his lips twitch, just the slightest bit. “Right,” he says, finally meeting your gaze. “I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

You smile, “Nice to finally know you, Spencer.”

The way his name rolls off your tongue feels significant, like a small but important shift. It’s no longer just an exchange of words– it feels like something personal.

He seems to relax slightly, and though he doesn’t offer more, you can sense a change in the air. There’s a quiet vulnerability now. He’s not just a stranger. He’s Spencer, and you find yourself wanting to know more about him.

“Sorry,” he says with a small awkward laugh. “I don’t usually talk to strangers, let alone…um…” His silence hangs in the air, but you know what he means.

You’re used to men throwing money at you. But usually they want something more than this.

Most of the time, you know exactly what you’re walking into. You know how to adjust your approach– when to play coy, when to be charming, when to pretend a man is the most interesting person in the world just to make him feel like he matters. But Spencer isn’t like anyone else you’ve ever dealt with.

This isn’t about sex.

This isn’t even about companionship, not really.

This is about something else.

Something that made him sit in this bar with only a glass of water, staring at nothing. Something that made his voice crack just a little when he asked you to stay.

You let the silence stretch between you before you finally slip the money off the table and tuck it away.

“Alright, Spencer.” You settle back into your seat, crossing one leg over the other. “You’ve got me for the night. What do you want to talk about?”

His lips press together. “I don’t know.”

You resist the urge to sigh.

He shifts in his seat, looking down at his hands. “I don't…usually do this.”

“You don’t say.”

That gets a small huff of amusement out of him– not quite a laugh, but close.

“So what do you usually do when you don't want to be alone?”

His fingers trace the rim of his glass. “I work.”

“Okay. And when you’re not working?”

“I read.”

“You said you don’t do that much anymore.”

He flinches, just barely. “Yeah.”

You let the moment pass, let him decide whether he wants to fill in the gaps or not. He doesn’t.

“So you’re telling me your entire personality is just work and books?”

His mouth twitches like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

“I—” He exhales through his nose. “I guess so.”

“Jesus, Spencer,” you mutter. “No offense, but that’s a little sad.”

His lips part slightly, like no one’s ever pointed it out before.

You study him for a moment. You’re trying to piece together how a man like him—smart, oddly endearing, and surprisingly good-looking in an awkward, too-tall, too-skinny kind of way—ended up here. Alone in a bar, offering an escort money just to talk to him.

“So, what’s stopping you from reading?” you ask, steering the conversation back.

His jaw tightens slightly. His fingers curl against his palm. “I used to do it for comfort. But lately, every time I pick up a book, I feel like my brain just… won’t focus. The words blur together. I get halfway through a sentence and forget what I just read.”

That’s not normal.

But then again, nothing about this situation is normal.

You consider that for a moment. “That ever happen before?”

He hesitates. “No.”

“Could be stress.”

“Probably.”

You hum, not entirely convinced.

You don’t know him well, but from the way he talks, Spencer’s the type of guy who prides himself on his intelligence. If he’s struggling to read—to do something that’s always been second nature to him—that has to be messing with him.

“You ever talk to anyone about it?”

His expression shutters slightly. “I’m talking to you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not a big deal.”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would throw money at a stranger just to avoid being alone if it wasn’t a big deal.”

That lands harder than you expected.

His jaw goes tight, and for a second, he looks like he’s about to shut down entirely. But then, instead of getting defensive, he exhales sharply and shakes his head.

“You’re… perceptive,” he murmurs.

“Kind of my job.”

He glances at you, his eyes flickering with something curious. “I guess it is.”

The two of you lapse into silence again, but this time, it’s heavier. There’s something between you now—a strange, almost reluctant understanding.

“I lost someone,” he says suddenly.

That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.

You don’t ask who—not yet. Instead, you let him go at his own pace, watching the way his fingers trace the condensation on his glass like he’s distracting himself from the words coming out of his mouth.

“I don’t… talk about it,” he admits. “I mean, I do, I guess. My friends—they know, but they don’t… I don’t want to put this on them.” His throat bobs slightly as he swallows. “I don’t want them to feel sorry for me.”

You nod slowly. “So instead, you come here. Find a stranger. Someone who doesn’t know anything about you.”

His lips press together. He doesn’t confirm it, but he doesn’t deny it either.

“She was in danger,” he says quietly. “A stalker. She—she took Maeve, and I—I tried to save her, but…” His voice cracks just slightly. He clears his throat and looks away. “I watched her die.”

The words land like a gut punch.

You don’t know this man. You don’t know Maeve. But God, you can feel the weight of it pressing into the air between you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and for once, it’s not just something automatic. It’s not just something you’re supposed to say. You mean it.

He doesn’t acknowledge it—not directly. But his jaw tightens, and he nods once, like he’s filing the words away.

You exhale slowly, drumming your fingers against the table. “Okay,” you say finally.

His brow furrows. “Okay?”

“You don’t want to be alone tonight? Fine. You won’t be.”

His throat bobs again, like he wasn’t expecting you to just accept it.

You offer him a small, lopsided smile. “So. You’re an FBI profiler and a neuroscience expert. Tell me something interesting.”

He blinks at you. “What?”

“Something interesting. Something I don’t know.”

For a second, he just stares, like his brain is struggling to switch gears. Then, after a long pause, he says, “Did you know that people who experience significant grief sometimes show altered activity in their anterior cingulate cortex? It’s the part of the brain that processes pain—both physical and emotional.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what? Your brain thinks you’re physically injured?”

“In a way,” he admits. “Grief doesn’t just exist in the mind. It exists in the body, too.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Huh. So you’re saying this isn’t just in your head?”

His lips twitch just slightly. “Something like that.”

You lean back. “Well, in that case, I’d say your treatment plan should probably include getting out of your own head for a while.”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve just suggested robbing a bank.

“You want me to do what?”

You sigh, exasperated. “Come on, Spencer. It’s just a little fun.”

His eyes flicker with uncertainty, scanning the neon-lit street outside the bar like he’s searching for an escape route. The Las Vegas night hums around you—laughter, music, the distant ding ding ding of slot machines, and the low murmur of a city that never really sleeps.

You’d left the bar after two more rounds of conversation—more tangents, more rambling, and just enough teasing from you to make him smirk, just once. That had been enough to convince you he needed more than just a talk.

He needed to get out of his own head.

Which is why you’re now standing in front of an old, slightly run-down arcade tucked between a 24-hour diner and a tattoo shop, trying to convince a grieving FBI agent to play a damn game with you.

Spencer crosses his arms over his chest. “I haven’t been in an arcade since I was a kid.”

“Perfect. Then you’re overdue.” You nudge him toward the door. “Come on, smart-ass. Show me what you’ve got.”

He hesitates. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He falters.

You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to find a logical excuse, but you don’t let him. You just grab his wrist—lightly, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wants—and tug him inside.

The arcade is loud.

It’s a mess of flashing lights, ringing bells, and old-school game sound effects. The air smells like popcorn, sugar, and whatever industrial cleaner they use to scrub sticky soda spills off the floor.

Spencer looks completely out of place.

He stands stiffly, hands in his pockets, eyes darting around like he’s trying to analyze his surroundings instead of just existing in them.

You sigh, shaking your head. “You really don’t know how to have fun, do you?”

“I have fun,” he argues, weakly.

“Uh-huh. Name the last fun thing you did.”

His mouth opens—then closes.

You raise an eyebrow.

“…I enjoy chess?”

You groan. “Oh my God.”

Before he can protest, you grab a handful of tokens from the counter, shove some into his palm, and steer him toward a Skee-Ball machine.

“Okay, Spencer, listen up,” you say, pulling him into position. “The goal is simple. Roll the ball up the ramp, try to get it in the highest-scoring ring. Winner gets bragging rights.”

He stares at the machine, then at you. “This is just applied physics.”

“Great. Then you should be fantastic at it.”

He still looks unsure, so you demonstrate first. You roll a ball up the ramp—it lands cleanly in the 40-point ring. Not bad.

“See? Easy.” You gesture to the machine. “Your turn.”

Spencer hesitates for a second before stepping forward. He grips the ball, aims carefully, and rolls it.

It bounces off the side and lands in the 10-point ring.

You snort. “Wow. Applied physics, huh?”

He scowls, grabs another ball, and rolls again.

20 points.

You can see his brain working now, adjusting his angle, recalculating. His third roll lands in the 50-point ring. By the time he gets to his last ball, he nails the 100-point shot.

You let out a low whistle. “Damn. Alright, genius, I see you.”

He pushes up his sleeves, and for the first time tonight, his eyes spark with something that’s not grief or exhaustion. “Best of two?”

You laugh, handing him more tokens. “Oh, now you’re into it.”

The next round is closer. He’s competitive—not in an obnoxious way, but in that quiet, methodical, determined way that probably makes him terrifying in his actual job. You beat him by a single point, and the look on his face is priceless.

“That’s impossible,” he mutters. “I recalibrated my angles—”

You cackle. “Guess I’m just better.”

His eyes narrow, and you see the exact moment he stops overthinking and just lets himself enjoy it.

You play a few more games—Pac-Man, Air Hockey, some type of shooting game, though he proceeds to talk about real-life firearm handling (and promptly wipes the floor with you).

You don’t rush him. You don’t push too hard.

You just let him be.

Somewhere between the Skee-Ball and Street Fighter II, you see something shift in him—just slightly. The tension in his shoulders eases. The crease between his brows smooths out. He’s still Spencer, still him, but for the first time tonight, he’s not just a grieving man sitting in a bar, haunted by ghosts.

He’s just here.

Just alive.

And when he lands a winning combo in Street Fighter, and you groan dramatically about letting him win, he actually laughs.

It’s quiet. Small. But it’s real.

And it’s probably the best sound you’ve heard all night.

[l48yr1nth]

Hi. Just wanted to say I really like your art. The way you use shapes is truly amazing and I love every art piece that comes up on my dash. :).

I AM. GOING. TO CRY.!

thank you and i love you and ur awesome and . i love you. :) :) :3