#I can’t believe some of what I’m reading

[salemlunaa]

𓆉 ˚∘YOU ARE NOT BOUND TO THIS REALITY࿐

stop acting like this place is your home, it’s not. Same thing with those trying to manifest things. You’re manifesting a new body but You believe that your home is the reality where you hate your body and that you’re doing something grand and groundbreaking by trying shift from that. You want your dream life through the void state. But you believe this reality you’re experiencing right now is your home. Your base point. Your starting ground. And you think that because you are so tied to this reality by scripting and shifting to a new life you’re doing something crazy and out-of-body like.

Let me tell you something. You aren’t. This is going to sound insane but you are as close to this reality as you are to your dream life. You are as bound to the reality where you have your dream green eyes than you are to the “current” where you have blue eyes that you don’t want.

The only reason that us bloggers use the term “current reality” is because this is the reality where your consciousness lies. I will say this again: there are multiple different versions of you reading this that you aren’t aware of and they’re probably not aware of you. Think of the country you live in right now. There’s a version of you that is from somewhere else and may know nothing about the place you call home and haven’t even stepped foot there. It’s so trippy to think about but what i’m trying to get at is that this isn’t your home. It’s nothing to be scared of, shouldn’t it be empowering and comforting to know you could be anyone you want to be?

like this is literally you:

(found this from @shiftinglea)

It’s so easy to shift your consciousness it’s not something you need to mentally prep for, there’s nothing to do. As soon as you want and intend the shift, it happens, regardless of what you’re seeing. You aren’t stuck here, and it pains me when you guys speak about circumstances as if they’re permanent. They don’t have to exist at all. There is no journey, it’s just immediate teleportation. Think as if. Think of your “desired reality” and your current. Place your awareness there.

The reason you have so much resistance is because you believe you have to. Deep down, you believe effort is needed to leave, you believe you need some extravagant journey as you’re leaving the place you felt bound to all this time. You don’t, you’ve left. you’ve shifted. You can’t grasp that nothing, absolutely nothing needs to be done to enter the state of pure consciousness, your literal naked self.

You believe it needs to be hard because it’s too good to be true.

Leave that belief behind. You aren’t far from your life. The life you intend to have. In fact, you’re right there. Think of all these realities like your children. All of them are related to you in the same way. You don’t have one child that you’re absolutely bound to, assuming you’re a good parent with no favourites. They’re ALL close to you in the SAME PROXIMITY. They ALL have the same relation to you. It’s YOUR BLOOD aka YOU running through their veins, all of them, the veins of all these realities, even the ones you aren’t conscious of yet. You aren’t just bound to one.

So you don’t need to work super hard for that body, that shift, that face. When we say it’s yours we aren’t just trying to be encouraging it’s just facts. I’m not the most well versed marvel fan, but does Dr. Strange have a hard time shifting or does he just know where he wants to go and opens those portal thingys? Be like him. Know where you want to go and leave.

Wash your hands of what you don’t want and think as if. Thinking as if = placing your consciousness in desired state = you are in desired state = 3d will follow.

This isn’t home base. There isn’t a home base. Take that into consideration when you’re struggling to truly “just be” while trying to induce the void.

THESE REALITIES ARE ALL THE SAME. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS DECIDE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE ࿐

[zomboivex]

Getting personal for a moment. But I feel it’s important to share, anyways.

When I was married, everyone in my life gaslit me to believe I was terrible with managing my money. Any personal expensive was noted as frivolous and wasteful. Bought some fabric for my hobby of dress-making with money I earned from a bonus?

That could have been used for the water bill next month!

Had a $1000 bonus? No. That’s for the house mortgage that he didn’t let my name exist on even though I paid for majority of the renovations because he was content letting the kitchen sit in disarray with thick dust in the air. Causing me to have severe allergy attacks every day.

Called off sick?

How could you? We have bills to pay!!!!

Go through extreme harassment at work?

No. You’re making it up. It’s an excuse to take a day off and relax.

Ignore the fact that he called off regularly because he had headaches while I was shamed into going to work despite having the flu.

Set up a joint account where only I contributed to put money in for bills to pay. Because he would pay from his account. Then he’d constantly drain the joint account for ‘bills’ and then spend his money on who even knows. We had 2 maxed out credit cards in his name.

But this was so normal to me. Because I grew up like this. I grew up with my ‘support system’ telling me this is normal. Telling me that I am the problem.

And I believed it.

I believed that everything that was wrong was me.

I didn’t know he was $7,000 in debt until our divorce where he was demanding I pay it off.

I never did find out what he used that money on. I suspect it was on his gaming addiction and my alleged ‘best friend’ he was sleeping with.

When I finally got out of that relationship, I was in financial ruin. I had nothing in my name. At 30.

I lost everything. (Except for the car that I begged for him to let me take and 3 of my 4 cats).

I lost the house I lived in for years. It was all in his name. There was nothing I could do about it. Because we were ‘only married for 3 years’ despite being together for 10.

I had no furniture to take with me. Save for a couch. That I couldn’t actually take because I had no place to go. I was couch surfing or sleeping in my car at this time.

I lost my dream job because my ‘friend’ worked there as well. And while they were beyond accommodating to my situation, I could no longer mentally handle being there nor could I handle the hour drive once I did find a place to live.

$1000 down on a new apartment.

Car broke down a month later. $1000 down on a new car.

Said car was stolen twice. Can’t even begin to tell you how much money that leeched out of my savings.

$23,000 (with health insurance) for surgery due to appendicitis.

All in a year after divorce.

It was defeating. It was so fucking hard.

In a span of a year I went through multiple life crises events. I can feel how it physically changed my ability to process information. In a way, I’ve become ‘dumber’ because of it. I can’t hold onto information. I have a hard time reading and staying focused.

Only reason I was able to even financially get through all of that was because I had some money saved from a lawsuit at the job that was harassing me that I wound up winning after the divorce. That and I finally caved in and got a credit card (my credit score was good) and a couple of personal loans.

I’m still paying it all off. It has been so fucking hard.

And I’ve been going through waves of hating myself for being so naive to feeling terrible for what I’ve been through because I didn’t see anything wrong with what I experienced as it was happening. And I’m finally coming to my own form of peace with this. But it was hard.

I had been with him for 10 years.

I don’t love easily. But I did love him. Even if I showed it in odd ways. I wouldn’t have married him, otherwise.

And then when everyone around me said I was the problem, I believed them.

Even now, I have an incredibly hard time understanding when I am truly in the wrong with a situation or if my reaction to things are justified.

I didn’t realize I was being put through mental and financial abuse by so many people around me.

I wish I could hug me from a few years ago and let them know they are so strong for going through all of this. But that they shouldn’t have had to be so strong for so long.

I wish I could hug every woman on the planet that has been through anything where they had to ‘be strong’ to survive while thinking it’s normal.

Baby, it’s not normal. You deserve so much more in this world.

You deserve your own freedom and a support system that values you and lets you know when you’re going through actual bullshit instead of painting you as the villain.

To all the women out there who go through these things; I love you. I see you.

maybe i’m a joyless bitch but i actually do NOT think it’s funny to see women being like “the house is just in my husbands name” or “my husband makes all the money” or “i don’t even know who our mortgage is with” or “the only bank account/credit card is his and i get an allowance” like i do NOT find that cute or romantic and i am begging these women to Stand Up. you should at least be named on the deed to your house and the title to your car and the bank accounts even if you don’t pay for them/earn all the money. you can’t stop existing in the eyes of the law and the credit unions simply because you have a husband. if you’re raising his children and washing his socks half of everything he’s got is yours and it needs to be yours LEGALLY BY NAME. "he takes such good care of me :)" girl you are a PRISONER!! that’s all

[luckykiwiii101]

THE DEVIL DOESN’T WEAR SUBMISSION! SHE WEARS PRADA, OH!- AND NARCISSISM!

| | THE 411 ON HOW TO MANIFEST YOUR DREAM LIFE! | |

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

ཐི keep your head & heels high, and your middle finger higher ཋྀ

ཐི TABLE OF CONTENTS ཋྀ

✰ BELIEVING IN THE LAW ✰

✰ “AND WHO AM I? BETTER THAN YOU” ✰

✰SELF CONCEPT; BE NARCISSISTIC, THE GOSSIP GIRL WAY✰

✰ YOUR WAY IS THE RIGHT WAY & THE ONLY WAY ✰

✰ SPIRALS ARE ONLY FOR STAIRCASES ✰

p.s. psssst!! hey “void” worshippers, this is also for you. so read it. To everyone, take a day off to let all this information settle, it’s quite a lot!!

Welcome back Upper East Siders.

It’s often said that, no matter the truth, people see what they want to see. Some people might take a step back and find out that they’ve been looking at the same big picture all along. Some people see that their lies have almost caught up to them. Some people may see what was there all along.

But because you’ve fallen to submission, chances are that you’re blinded from the things that are right in-front of you. I’d call you legally blind but it’s a different type of law that you’re breaking.

Talk about secrets of the universe, but you’re living proof that knowledge doesn’t always mean wisdom, and that money can’t buy style, or class.

And if there’s one thing we all know about fashion, it’s that before putting an article of clothing on, you have to take one off, usually with the intention of putting another one back on. Or you’ll end up looking like a complete mess! or under your best friend’s BF! I hope S is taking notes…but even the biggest superstars need a stylist. And luckily for you, I have a friend who’s into fashion, and not just any fashion, high fashion, Little J, come out, come out wherever you are…

Oh wait! Almost lost track of my endless talents but i’m also great at fashion, and i’m simply just better. You can go back to crashing runways little J, and also just…running away.

✰ BELIEVING IN THE LAW ✰

First of all, I want you to know that all your dreams are possible and very easy. So this is for those doubtful upper east siders who forgot that the law of assumption is actually real, and not some joke made up by teenagers online.

Spend some time going through my law of assumption proof gallery to help clear your doubts in the law -> CLICK ME!

Now that you’ve boosted your faith in the law of assumption, of course you can believe 99%, but you’re going to have to fill that 1% on your own, through your own success.

✰ “AND WHO AM I? BETTER THAN YOU” ✰

Do you understand the law of assumption? -> CLICK ME

And do you understand who you actually are? Cause when someone asks, your only response should be “god”. -> CLICK ME

So how does “the void state” & “reality” work? In your favour, as usual -> CLICK ME

✰SELF CONCEPT; BE NARCISSISTIC, THE GOSSIP GIRL WAY✰

Spotted: Lonely boy’s rude awakening. Upper East Side Queens arent born at the top. They climb their way up in heels, no matter who they have to tread on to do it. Now what to wear with those heels…

Well, we hear narcissism’s in fashion, and rumour has it, she’s here to stay. But as I said before, putting a new outfit on requires taking the other off, and I ask disrespectfully, WHAT is that outfit!? You need a serious makeover! -> CLICK ME

A wise woman once said, the most dangerous enemies are the ones we never knew we had. And then there are those assumptions you never knew you held.

Now that you know why you kept failing previously, it’s time for your new self concept! And your permanent self concept. I promise, you’ll never fail again. You can’t do something impossible like failure. And since you understand the law and who you are (I AM) you know that failure simply isn’t possible.

What to wear? Failure? No. Narcissism. She looks much better on you anyway. Choose to wear the ugly outfit? Well I’ve got a friend on cyberspace who knows exactly what to do. And those flashes of clicked pics definitely aren’t coming from the paparazzi.

But I know, I know. “Narcissism” Isn’t that a bad thing? Not when it comes to being who you want. And all I mean is putting yourself on the highest pedestal. You’re going to completely fall in love with yourself, by becoming your desired self. That includes you void worshippers! Stop being submissive to the outer self. You dictate her, not the other way around. You’re going to be your desired self who has their dream life, no matter what. You’re above everyone and everything! Narcissistic, I like it.

First of all, remind yourself of what your dream life is and who you’re going to dedicate yourself to being. All good? Perfect! So here’s your new self concept & reminders to self -> CLICK ME

With this, what you’re going to do, is make your own personalised self concept guide. The one i’ve given you is only generalised to everyone’s use. I’ve given “directions” on where to add your own ideas, but don’t remove my ones because they’re extremely important and shouldn’t be ignored!! To make your own personalised self concept guide, just copy & paste the text on the template, and add your own ideas to your heart’s content, and decorate it to your liking & aesthetic. No harm in making it look pretty. Use pretty colours, pretty pics of your dream life etc. I recommend making yours on either notion, or tumblr. If you do end up making yours on tumblr, make it a private & pinned post so that you’ll see it on your front page and remember to come back to it. The only time you should ever open tumblr is to view your self concept guide or this post or the other ones i’ve made!!

Get into the state of being your desired self. Because that IS you. Embody your new self concept. Relish in it. Love it. You are going to fully immerse yourself into your new self concept. Finally, once and for all, be the real you. She’s been waiting for you.

✰ YOUR WAY IS THE RIGHT WAY & THE ONLY WAY ✰

A lot of upper east siders have been wondering. “What’s the right way to manifest?” Your way. Your way and only your way. Whatever you want is the right thing to do. You should already understand that from “enter the god state” post. That’s why it’s important that you personalise your own self concept guide!! YOU make the rules!

I hope you like the self concept template i’ve given you, and now you’re going to embody your dream self.

✰ SPIRALS ARE ONLY FOR STAIRCASES ✰

Need a wake up call? CLICK ME! They don’t call New York “the city that never sleeps” for nothing.

The purpose of the self concept guide and why it’s so important is to stop you from spiralling. Need guidance? Go back to the self concept guide and remind yourself of who you are.

Also, I have a post that really helps with spiralling. Come back to this every time you feel like spiralling -> CLICK ME

And don’t forget upper east siders, if you won’t do it out of love, do it out of spite. And you’re going to be bitch, at-least do it the right way. You’re the boss. The devil doesn’t wear submission, she wears prada, oh!- and narcissism. XOXO

- gossip girl

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

[miedei]

sick day

roommate!spencer is sick (and lovely)

a/n: wrote this in a fugue state i think, just couldn't get the thought of being spencer's roommate out of my head

cw: best friends who definitely don't love each other noooo why would you say that, spencer is sick and annoying but also the best

wc: 2k

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Living with Spencer Reid is usually wonderful. He’s relatively neat, but messy enough that you don’t have to walk on eggshells around him. He’s always willing to recommend you a new read, he doesn’t judge you when you spend an entire day slumped on the couch, and is always up to help you stress bake. 

It’s decidedly wonderful, until it’s not. A week into your living together, you’d realised what a workaholic he was. After the first time you’d caught him asleep on top of paperwork in the living room, you’d understood how much of a pain Spencer Reid really can be. 

Unfortunately, today is one of those days. Spencer returned from a case last night, and the moment you’d seen the slump in his shoulders, you knew you were going to have to work from home today. 

“You really don’t have to stay home. I don’t even have to stay home! I’m seriously not sick, I swear!” His voice is low, as if attempting to mask the rasp in it. It doesn’t work.

His rambling doesn’t cease, not the entire time you steer him away from the front door and into the living room. 

“Yeah? Spence, do you even remember the last time you got sick? I came home to find you lying on the dining table! I’m not going to leave and come back to you trying to climb out of the window or something.” You deadpan, watching him cross his arms and grumble something about ‘elevating the upper body’, and ‘actually very good for the immune system’. 

Having shoved him not-too-lightly onto the couch, you stand with your arms crossed, eyes narrowed on him.

“I can’t believe you were going to go to work! Living with you is like living with a child sometimes, god. You know you would have been sent home straight away, look at you.” You gesture wildly at him. 

He’s a pathetic sight, curled up on the couch looking distinctly sorry for himself. His hair is limp, flat against his scalp, his weak limbs shoved haphazardly in a button down and slacks. He hasn’t even knotted his tie, leaving it hanging loosely around his neck. 

Grabbing his phone out of his bag, you thrust it towards him. 

“Call your boss and tell him you need a sick day. You said it yourself, it’s just paperwork today, right? You can take a day off once in a while, Spence, it won’t kill you.” Once finished, you stomp out of the room, heading to his bedroom to grab him some clothes. Surveying his closet, you grab one of his Caltech hoodies and a pair of sweatpants, grinning to yourself when you hear his hoarse voice on the phone. 

As you walk back into the living room, he’s settled in, clearly resigned to his fate. 

“Yeah, Hotch, I need the day off. I’m sorry, I’m just- Oh. It’s okay? You’re sure? Um, okay. Thanks Hotch.” He hangs up, his eyebrows pinched as if he’s loath to admit you were right. 

You can’t help it, snickering as you dump the sweats and hoodie on his chest. 

“I told you so.”

“You’re so mean to me.” 

It’s nice, spending a day with Spencer like this, even with how whiny he is. Sitting at the desk in the living room, you’re not being incredibly productive, but Spencer’s fever-induced rambles more than make up for it. 

“So, some moron made a blog called ‘What Would Carl Sagan Do?’, and Garcia - remember her, my coworker? She showed it to me, and oh my god, it’s so ridiculous! I mean, to start, all the entries were lifted from different sci-fi movies and books, and they were all so inaccurate, like, ‘The Martian Chronicles’ were good, but it’s been debunked so many times! Carl Sagan debunked it!”

He’s laying on his back on the couch, slender fingers waving in the air above him, eyes lidded as he speaks animatedly. 

“Yeah? What was wrong about it?” You rise from the desk chair, heading into the kitchen. “Also, do you want tea?”

His voice softens, speaking slower as he answers your question. “Yeah, that black tea you brought home last week, please.”

You can hear the moment he slips back into his rant, words growing more and more spirited as he continues to rail against whatever that blog was. Puttering around the cramped kitchen, you let his words roll over you, balancing two mugs and a plate in your hands. 

He doesn’t stop speaking, but flashes you a grateful smile as he takes a mug from you, swiping a cookie from the plate before delving back into the topic at hand.

“So, Bradbury, and a lot of the other sci-fi writers of the time, believed that colonisation of Mars would be possible within the 20th century. And then, in 1960, Carl Sagan, along with a bunch of other astronomers, discovered that Mars doesn’t have an atmosphere, so humans living there long term is virtually impossible without a huge improvement in technology, which probably won't happen until the latter half of the 21st century. And this moron with a blog is pretending like Sagan wouldn’t care, and that he would advocate for irresponsible space travel and I hate him.” 

He finishes with a huff, taking a large gulp of tea and sitting up against the couch. His eyes are hazy with exhaustion, eyelids drooping as he looks at you. You can’t help but giggle. He looks adorably dishevelled, and his eyebrows pinching together at your laughter only intensifies it.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“I’m- I’m sorry Spence, you just look really cute right now, like you’re going to fall asleep.” You can barely get it out, body shaking with mirth. His eyebrows furrow further, a slight pout forming on his lips. 

His attempts to get you to stop laughing go unanswered, and he huffs once more, crossing his arms and settling against the couch cushions. 

It’s the late afternoon when a knock on the door stirs you from your reverie. Spencer is sitting next to you, your legs slung over his lap as he leans back, eyes trained on The Fellowship of the Ring on the television as his hands tap out something on your calves. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” He shakes his head no, not averting his gaze from the screen. 

You sigh, jostling his shoulder. 

“Spence. Spence, can you go get the door? It’s probably a salesman or something.” 

He hums, shaking his head once more. 

“Can’t. Too sick.”

You groan, tipping your head back in frustration before hauling yourself off the couch, flicking his shoulder as you walk past.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” His only response is a grin, before he turns back to the movie. 

Grumbling under your breath, you trudge through the room to the front door, frowning when you look through the peephole to see two figures. 

One is shorter than the other, a woman wearing a hot pink and orange dress that should be garish, but looks completely natural on her. The man next to her is grinning, holding several plastic bags in one hand, the other arm linked with the woman’s. 

Not salesmen. 

Concluding that they’re probably not a threat, you swing the door open, causing their heads to pop up. 

“Hey, Reid- Oh.” The man speaks immediately, but pauses when he sees you. 

“You’re not Reid.” The woman concludes. 

You tilt your head to the side, confused. 

“Yeah, I’m not. Um, how do you know Spencer?” 

They share a confused look.

“We’re his coworkers. Derek and Penelope. Sorry, who are you? Do we have the wrong apartment?” 

You brighten, recognising the names from Spencer’s many stories about work. 

“Oh, that’s who you are! No, you’ve got the right apartment, of course. Come in.” You turn to the side, allowing them to walk in, although their expressions remain bewildered. “I’m Spence’s roommate, Y/N. He’s in the living room.”

“Roommate?” Derek exclaims before setting his sights on Spencer, striding over to him. 

“Hey, pretty boy.” Spencer jolts, the haze of sickness having made sure that he didn’t notice them till now. His voice is higher than normal, squeaky. 

“Morgan! What are you- Garcia? Why- why are you here?” Penelope smiles mischievously, plopping down on the couch next to Spencer. 

“Well, we obviously wanted to check up on you, Boy Wonder. This is the first sick day you’ve taken in the last two years - don’t try to lie to me, I checked - and now, we’re very interested in your friend here.” Her smile loses its teasing edge when she turns to you. 

A grin spreads over your face, recognising the same teasing affection you feel towards him in the two newcomers. Retaking your seat on Spencer’s other side, you pull your feet up on the couch, tucking them under Spencer’s thigh. 

Penelope squeaks quietly, but averts her gaze when you look up at her questioningly. 

“So, you guys have worked with Spence for a while, huh?”

Derek sits in the armchair across from you, chuckling under his breath.

“Since he was 22. Back when he straightened his hair and wore those sweater vests that were three sizes too big.” Spencer lets out a strangled noise of protest next to you, but you both ignore him in favour of continuing your conversation. 

“Seriously? I’ve seen one photo of him back then, but then he started hiding them all from me. You got any?” 

Penelope perks up, pulling out a tablet from her work bag. 

“Yes! Oh my goodness, sweetheart, I have so many. Did you know, he used to do this thing where he would gel his hair back, said it made him look older but it was honestly just really cute, hold on…”

She shifts and moves to sit on your other side, huddling over the tablet with you and Derek. 

Spencer is suddenly left in the lurch, stuck observing the three of you from the other end of the couch. He feels like he should be irritated, angry even, but he can’t do anything but watch, eyes softening. 

“Oh my god, Spencer, you were so cute, what happened?” Never mind, he’s feeling a bit irritated now.

It’s not endearing, no. No matter how lovely you look, your face flushed with excitement. No matter how easily you fit in with some of his favourite people in the world.

It’s not captivating, not at all.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,” Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone now. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

[hirayalore]

Hi :) Can you read "Sirius Black x Mudblood!Slytherin fem!reader" story. It can also be platonic because of the home and blood status of the reader.

Thank you already

[ sirius black x slytherin!reader | fluff | 2.9k words ]

note. hehehe made a few alterations so that it’d make sense why the reader is put into slytherin despite being “muggle-born” since i don’t think a muggle-born would be placed in the said house (i blame my brain for being too invested that i can’t let it pass hsdjhsjdh).

this is also kinda unedited (unfortunately i too am lazy) and went way longer than intended because i couldn’t resist putting in a little backstory!!! ALSO did i mention that this sirius has me on my knees??????

Everybody always wondered how the Sorting Hat decided to put you in Slytherin.

In their eyes and in their mind, you were a Muggle-born—a filthy Mudblood—the exact kind of wizard that Salazar Slytherin detested and insisted not to invite in Hogwarts during its establishment.

Even now when it has been 7 years since the sorting ceremony, you could feel the curious eyes of everybody in the Great Hall whenever it was hard to sleep, could hear how those Slytherins murmured amongst themselves and asked which family you belonged, taking into consideration that the last name you bore didn’t sound familiar nor seemed like it came from the Sacred Twenty-Eight to be worthy of being part of their Hogwarts house.

But what they weren’t aware of—and what you only came to discover yourself many years later during adulthood—is that you actually came from an ancient and noble pure-blood family, a lineage that was acclaimed to be one of the oldest wizarding clans in Britain until its believed downfall in the late 1950s.

It was just that your parents, who have died for a reason that remained to be unknown (yet believed to be the cause of the Dark Lord), left you at the doorstep of an unsuspecting Muggle family just days before their passing, believing that you were safer at the hands of the non-magic folk.

They were right, of course. The Muggle family that raised you did their best in making sure that you were loved and cherished in every way possible. Hence when you received your Hogwarts letter at the age of 11, although they were confused as you were, they did the best they could to support you and lead you to the world they were convinced you always belonged in.

But contrary to your real parents who had great judgment in bringing you to a loving Muggle home, your Muggle parents were misled to think that it would be good for you to be with others like your kind, oblivious to the discrimination and hatred that you faced for merely growing up with non-wizards.

“That’s my seat, Mudblood,” Mallory Flint practically hissed at you upon finding you in the common room, reading on one of the leather sofas with the thought that you could have some peace and quiet even for a day.

You sighed, closing your book.

At this point, you were smart enough not to fight back and give people like Mallory the satisfaction of being affected by their harsh treatment.

However, as you stood up and attempted to walk past her, she grabbed your arm, holding you in place. “You have something you want to say to me, ____?” she taunted, smirking. “You look angry ‘cause I’m making you leave.”

You press your mouth together, your teeth gritting in self-restraint. “No, I’m not angry.”

Her smirk transformed into a sneer. “Is that so?” she said. “Good then–because you should really know by now that there’s no place for people like you here in Slytherin. Or perhaps do you still need a reminder? A little knock on the head to help you with what you’re always forgetting?”

At the word ‘knock’, Mallory tapped your head with the tip of her wand, leaving a slight sting that you couldn’t pretend didn’t exist.

You bit the insides of your cheeks, a scowl casting your features that she noticed.

She raised her eyebrows, understanding now what ticked you off, and without hesitating, tapped your head again, this time harder.

“Seemed like you do need a few little knocks to get your brain working. Must be due to being a Mudblood and all.”

Her minions laughed at the statement, the obnoxious and annoying sound of their laughter leading you to grow more pissed off than you should be.

It must have been that, and your impatience this evening—and the way Mallory didn’t stop sputtering nonsense, and how the initial peace you thought you were granted earlier was stolen, that brought you to abruptly whip your wand out at the motion of her attempting to hit your head again.

She paused, scoffing, eyes growing darker at the manner in which you pointed it in her direction in warning. “You sure you want to do that, ____?”

At your silence, she gave you another sneer and another hard knock.

On the forehead.

You no longer thought twice, your hand was already moving before you could properly think.

With a quick swish of your wand and a whispered incantation, a hex was sent to Mallory’s direction, hitting her on the front of her face and giving her a minor whiplash. 

“Bloody—” She began to scream in disbelief at your audacity, but her words cut off as her tongue started to change, elongating and hardening into a horn. It gave her the unsettling appearance of a twisted Pinocchio—only instead of an abnormally long nose, it was her tongue that had transformed.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the ridiculousness of how she looked.

But then Mallory’s friends turned to you (after fussing over their leader who was now red in the face and throwing some sort of tantrum), and you were immediately reminded that this standoff wasn’t over unless they already had their revenge.

So, in sudden fear for your life, you sprinted out of the Slytherin common room as fast as you could, hearing their footsteps follow after you with an even faster speed to catch up.

You had no idea where to go, and you were sure that it was past curfew already given the empty hallways that you darted past through. You kept on thinking of places to hide, of vacant classrooms you could run into for the meanwhile, yet given how your mind was in shambles and playing a loop of Mallory’s tongue turning into a frightening horn, you just couldn’t identify where the best hiding spot could be.

That is until you turned to the left corridor of the seventh floor and spotted a massive door you didn't recall ever seeing, its sight urging you to come closer and come in.

You took a pause, contemplating if it was wise to go inside a room you had a strange feeling about, but at the sound of your bullies’ footsteps getting louder, you deduced that you had no choice and grabbed the door handle, no time for second-guessing.

Quickly stepping inside, you tried to lock the door to prevent them from coming in if ever they realize that this is where you must have gone to. 

However, such measures didn’t need to be done because as soon as you were in the darkly lit room, catching your breath and making sense of what was happening—the door began to slowly deteriorate in front of you, slowly being absorbed in the wall and vanishing subsequently.

“Shite,” you whispered, panic bubbling in your system at the realization that you might be trapped here for the whole night.

You took a step back, examining the entirety of the wall, trying to see something that wasn’t there to help you with your case. But there was nothing, only granite or stale or whatever material it was that these stones were made of. 

“It’ll come back,” a sudden drawling voice interrupted your inner turmoil and made you freeze on the spot. “I’d say give it a few minutes or so.”

You swiveled around almost immediately, alerted by the presence of another person in this makeshift sanctuary the castle made for you. 

The moment you did, your gaze landed ahead to where a boy with dark mid-length hair was leaning forward against the balcony, his back turned to you. You couldn’t see his features clearly, even when he moved his head to the side to reveal a cigarette between his lips—yet the moment he looked in your direction and your eyes met, it dawned on you who this boy was.

Sirius Black, one of the four infamous troublemakers in Gryffindor.

You blinked in surprise while he kept his eyes locked on you, blowing a ring of smoke in the air with unusual ease.

The both of you have never interacted before despite being in the same batch and a few classes since first year. You were sure that the reason behind that was perhaps his great hatred towards Slytherins, as you were no stranger to how he often delivered biting remarks towards Severus Snape and yelled insults to your house at every acceptable opportunity he could find (e.g. Quidditch matches).

Nonetheless, you’ve always been silently thankful that his annoyance towards Slytherin never extended to you, as you reckoned you were already suffering enough with the majority of your housemates alone to deal with another menace like himself.

“I hope you’re not planning to stand there all evening,” he said.

At his comment, you forced yourself to march towards the balcony, not knowing how you should approach this peculiar situation. A part of you was convinced that being here was no better than being out there, but the other part was telling you that Sirius hasn’t hexed you yet so that must be a good sign.

When you reached the balcony, the cool air greeted you and tossed your hair back in the breeze. You squinted a bit, brushing aside the slight burning sensation it gave your eyes, and took in the beauty of the night horizon. You didn’t even think Hogwarts offered such a view, maybe due to how your common room was in dungeons and you were far too much of a coward when it came to extreme heights to reward yourself with this kind of scenery.

You could see the school grounds, the distant ridges of the Scottish Highlands… the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch Pitch, the Black Lake that appeared serene in the moonlight…  

“Wow,” you breathed out, not realizing that you said it loud enough for Sirius to hear.

He glanced at you. Then, his hand suddenly stretched closer to where you were, offering a cigarette with a casual gesture. “You seem like you need it.”

You didn’t know what that meant. Regardless, you took the stick from his possession.

Sirius waited, staring, and upon feeling like you were left with no option but to finish what you started, you hesitantly took a drag, inhaling far too quickly that as soon as the smoke entered your lungs, you were coughing it out—your throat burning and eyes watering alongside it.

A smirk flickered across his face. “You’ve never done that before,” he said, his tone making it very apparent that he was stating a fact and not asking for a confirmation.

You urged him to reclaim the cigarette with haste, still coughing while also fanning the smoke away. “Merlin, why do you lot—” cough, cough— “enjoy that? It’s like gulping down a mouthful of dragon's breath!”

“It can be therapeutic.” He brought it again to his lips and drew deeply on the cigarette, releasing a slow puff of smoke. “And you should have told me you’ve never smoked before. Peer pressure isn’t exactly my style.”

“I wanted to give it a go.”

“Which clearly, you hated.”

“Clearly.” You were still coughing, your mouth awfully tasting like ash. 

Sirius grinned. “Well, at least you know better than to take a cigarette without knowing how to smoke next time.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious.”

He watched in obvious amusement as you continued to cough, looking like you wished you could conjure water or whatever it was that would help the itching that you were still feeling inside your throat to go away. It was unlike you to go head on with something so unfamiliar and so… unorthodox as smoking, but there must have been something with the already unpredictable events of this evening or the presence of a mischief-maker as Sirius that coerced you to do it.

You twisted around once you calmed down, returning to your previous position to go back in admiring the starry sky, unbeknownst that Sirius was still staring at you. “Will it really take long before the door appears again?”

“Not too long.” He exhaled the last wisp of smoke away from you, then pressed the cigarette to the cool stone of the balcony, snuffing it out with a slow motion. “Just until the people you’re running from are far enough.”

Heat crept to your face. “I wasn’t running away from people.”

“Sure you weren’t.” That obnoxious smirk made a reappearance on his infuriatingly handsome features. “And I didn’t go here because I was running away from Filch.”

That made you scoff. “You were running away from Filch?”

“Yeah. James and I put Dungbombs in his office.” He seemed proud. “Then we almost got caught, and James ran back to the Gryffindor Tower while I went here to my favorite hiding spot.”

You looked at your surroundings, pretty much confused on which part of the castle you were supposed to be. “Where are we exactly?”

“No clue.” Sirius shrugged, unbothered by the fact that he indeed didn’t have a clue on where you two  were exactly. “Only thing I know about this place is that it’s here whenever I need it. The first time I found it, it was last year when I was sneaking out at night and almost ran into Professor McGonagall.”

“Of course, you were.” You mumbled.

“So, who is it?” He asked, going back to the main topic, curious. “Was it Filch too?”

You shook your head. “No, it wasn’t Filch.”

“A professor?”

“No.”

“An ex-boyfriend?”

A snort. “No.”

“Then who?”

You sighed, relenting on just disclosing who the person was since you reckoned it wasn’t information that needed to be kept secret at all cost anyways. “It was Mallory Flint—well, her minions, actually—but it’s because of her. Always been. I’m sure you’re well aware of who she is.”

“I am.” He narrowed his eyes, pretending to think. “She’s that Slytherin girl who looks like she might have been conceived from a troll, isn’t she?”

The unforeseen insult caused you to laugh out loud, your laughter slightly echoing in the walls. “Yes, you are absolutely right.”

Sirius laughed as well. “What’d she do?”

“Oh, you know, the standard. Insulting me, taunting me, rubbing it in my face that I’m a—” You abruptly stopped yourself, this sense of awareness that you were babbling too much hitting you hard.

This was Sirius Black for Merlin’s sake. He hated Slytherins, and you knew that he came from a lineage of respectable pure-blood wizards too (qualities of his that were awfully contradicting). Venting about the discrimination you constantly faced and the bullying you had to endure since you stepped foot in this school might not be the smartest decision to make.

“A Muggle-born.” He finished for you.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. That.”

“Typical. They always think that they’re bloody above everybody else.”

“You don’t think the same?” you asked. “I mean, you’re not much different than they are.”

Sirius scowled at that, like the implication of your words offended him. “Being a pure-blood is not something worth flaunting about.”

“It doesn’t look like it to other people.”

“Well,” he breathed in deeply, gray eyes flickering to the view ahead, “those kinds of people have nothing to brag about other than being a pure-blood. A bit tragic if you come to think of it.”

“I suppose.” Your fingers were absentmindedly scratching the material of your robes. “So, does that mean you have other things to brag about other than being in the noble house of Black?” You then added with a tease.

His lips curved up, displaying an expression that showed a combination of a smirk and grin. “Obviously. With a face like mine, do you really think anyone sees me and immediately thinks about my bloodline?”

The confidence, the way he looked at you, and the fact that he was goddamn correct made you blush. It led you to be speechless for a good minute, staring at him and his face that really could make anyone forget about his last name—something that you know he notices with how his grin takes its full form.

However, before he could comment about it and make you wish that the ground would swallow you whole, his gaze shifted to the doors, and you followed suit, exhaling in relief as the exit reappeared, granting you a chance to escape.

“Uh, I should go,” you said immediately, a statement that he raised an eyebrow at in obvious amusement. “Wouldn’t want to be caught or anything.”

“Sure, love. You do that.”

You ignored the hard beat of your heart. “And you? You’ll stay?”

“For a few minutes more, yeah.”

“Alright. Well…” You trailed, already inching towards the door. “Bye, then.”

You muttered curses under your breath as you made a run for it towards the doors, scolding yourself for appearing like a damn fool in front of Sirius. You were certain that he was making fun of you in his head, or that he was going to tell this encounter to James Potter, or that when you wake up tomorrow, your housemates will find another reason to torment you because of being chummy with a Gryffindor like Sirius.

“Hey, ____.”

You stopped in your tracks. Not only because he called your name, but because you were shocked that he even knew it in the first place.

With a slow turn, you saw him leaning backwards against the balcony, elbows supporting him.

“Hm?” You tried to act nonchalant.

He tilted his head slightly, smiling smugly, and carried on uttering the words that you’d come to replay in your mind over and over again.

“Same time tomorrow?”

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[trinityobsessesovatings]

DOMESTICITY~! {ARCANE HEADCANONS}

ARCANE CHARACTERS IN A DOMESTIC SETTING!

characters included; Caitlyn, Vi, and Mel

WARNINGS: me being a slut for domestic shit, lowercase, cursing, maybe miniscule punctuation usage, slightly suggestive (?), slight angst at some parts (?), LONG AF, and me just gushing for domesticity

hello! hello! i’ve been gone for a WHILE, i for the longest time have been wanting to write but two of my buttons on my laptop keyboard had broke 🥲 BUT i finally got my bluetooth keyboard came in and now i'm back!!! might be very long because i’m weak for these kinds of concepts! some might be longer than others. 

WOW WOW WOW WOW this one is a bit A LOT longer than my last one!

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!: for those who don’t know all of my writings, if a “reader” is involved they are most definitely female/have female anatomy! 💛

enjoy! 🥰

////////

caitlyn

LOVES HER LITTLE FAMILY DOWN!!

in the sheriff position

so she’s VERY BUSY but will always try and make time for her little family 🥰

DEFINITELY has twins!!

a boy and girl set to be more specific

her girl is definitely named cassandra in honor of her mother

i think her son would be named something fancy as well; callum? caspian? shit maybe even charlie! 🤷🏾‍♀️

i very much headcanon that the reproductive health care and science is VERY advanced in arcane universe

advanced hexstrap 🥴

so your kids are literally half of you and half of her

DOES NOT BELIEVE IN PUTTING YOUR CHILD IN FRONT OF A TABLET

that and it drives her crazy hearing ms. rachel repeatedly (speaking from someone who has a younger cousin who crashes tf out if ms. rachel is off) 

she tried it for a little bit after getting the suggestion from both vi and jayce

but it's a definite NO in her book

NEOW it’s not like she won’t ever let her kids use the tablet to watch kids channels and videos

she DOES they just have schedule and SHE IS AN ACTUAL PARENT WHO MONITORS ELECTRONIC TIME

her kids WILL not be exposed to shit they aren’t ready for

some of her favorite moments with her family is the days she's off work and she lets the twins help her with baking sweets

kids are covered in flour

giggles galore

you’re watching on with a fond smile

everyone helping decorate the sweet treats

just domestic bliss out the ass

now for some serious stuff…

y'all know how I said her daughter would be named cassandra…

YUH in the beginning she DEFINITELY had a problem with ✨favoritism✨ 

caspian (we gonna go ahead and name baby boy caspian) was for sure feeling left out at times a bit of a velcro baby with you because of it

you confront cait about and she genuinely didn't know she was doing it

fixed that shit real quick it took a bit of time rebuild caspian’s trust but after a little while and a lot of work everyone like this🤞🏾fr

I would say caitlyn is authoritative parent honestly

just the right amount of nurturing, responsive, and supportive but she knows where to draw the line and set them boundaries

like yeah she wants her kids to have structure… but she also wants them to have independence

VERY COMFORTABLE IN SAYING “No”

is a supporter of having kids sit at the table and write "I will ___" "I won't do ___" 100x and if she's really mad front and back TWICE

PLEASE TELL Y'ALL KNOW WHAT PUNISHMENT I'M TALKING ABOUT 😭

also very open to hearing her kids side of things

but you know… she has clear rules and expectations for her twins

vi

now would y’all hate me for saying after years of being a reasonable crash out… she would prefer to be a stay at home mom 🫣

like i can’t get out of my head how i just want this girl happy and thriving

SO FOR ME JINX AINT DEAD!!! WHYYYYY BECAUSE THIS IS MY WORK! NOW!

i feel vi would have boys for sure, triples specifically; khai (oldest), elio (middle), and ballar (youngest) ALL IDENTICAL TOO

not even gonna front with y'all… deadass would have trouble telling her boys apart at times

vi would be in the middle of lecturing who she thinks is elio but the entire time she's been lecturing poor khai who’s been minding his business the whole

elio is off to the side confused because vi keeps calling his brother…him??

khai is looking at vi like she’s insane and has lost her mine orange slice frozen in air as he was snacking on his fruit

then ballar who is so used to vi calling them the wrong names is like: “mama, that’s khai.” 😕

it was even worse when you insisted on dressing the three of them up in identical outfits for the first few months of their lives

she had to put a stop to that because really thought she was going insane

would also lowkey feel like she’s a bad parent because she couldn’t tell the difference between her boys

literally in awe with how you’re able to tell them apart

as they got older though and started developing their own personalities and styles it became a lot easier

a big believer in ms. rachel… LOVES MS. RACHEL DOWN

ms. rachel is her girl ON JANNA SHE IS

when she's behind on chores, sits her boys in the playpen in front of the tv and turns on ms. rachel to get housework done

some of her favorite moments is cooking and having dinner with her family 

isha and jinx are invited OF COURSE

i headcanon vi as a damn good cook SHE CAN’T BAKE but she can cook

teaching her kids how to chop veggies with those child friendly knife that can actually cut food but won’t injure the child

teaching her kids recipes

i have this small little headcanon that vi writes down recipes so she can hand them down to her children 🥹

now for some serious stuff…

now we know our girl vi is a retired crashout so she has a temper

NOW I'M NOT SAYING SHES LAYING HANDS ON HER KIDS❗❗

but there are moments where she hits them with classic;

“because i said so!”

“i’m the adult and you’re the child!”

or plain out just yelling out of frustration and anger

she always feels EXTREMELY guilty afterwards 

but after sitting down with her and talking with her she always comes back and doing so much better with controlling her emotions

when the triples were babies she was FOR SURE had an attachment style of parenting;

the boys sleeping in cots in that same room as you guys

always having them near her

skin to skin bonding as soon as they were born

as soon as SIDs aren't an issue the boys are in the bed with you until you have to tell her “hey they need to be in their own rooms now.”

as the kids get older develops more of a positive parenting style

very caring supportive and sensitive with her kids

like instead of focusing on the negative her kids do she focuses on the positive of what her kids do

for example; y’all remember when powder lost all of their loot in the first episode and instead of being mad she went “all that matters is that you’re okay.”

yeah like that

sets boundaries with her kids that supports their interests

does all she can to avoid punishment which in turn lowkey makes you the bad guy

but if need be she will take things away, give time outs, and worst of all grounding

cries in your arms after she has to ground the triplets after they get into a fight with some other kids

she also encourages her kids to be curious, have empathy for others, and just for them to be children

mel

MEL IS A GOOD MAMA!

I SAID IT!

i also feel she would be more of a one and done

mel 100% gives birth to her little twin fr 😌🤞🏾

all the good genes from her SHOVED INTO THAT LITTLE ANGEL SHE GIVES BIRTH TO

im talking gold freckles, eye color, perfect hair and all

DID YOU 🫵🏾 EVEN TRY!!!???

chile anyway

she’s still apart of the council y’all… but trust if need be… she pulling up with caitlyn for another 2v1 😈

has a little girl that she treats and dotes on

that’s her little princess

her little aurelia (which means golden child/golden one) 

takes her to work with her sometimes

definitely has one of those cute cozy baby carriers on and her baby always with her

isn’t really fond of sitting her child in front of a tv but does vibe with gracie’s corner

but she would much prefer reading to her child or doing other activities to embrace her child’s imagination and creativity and knowledge

her little princess is always dressed in the finest fashion and wearing name brand clothes

you lowkey don’t get it because… aurelia isn’t even gonna be able to fit those clothes in couple months

she tells you respectfully mind your business and shut your mouth 😌

“yes ma’am”

happy wife, happy life 🫡

mel’s favorite thing to do with her family… FAMILY SELF CARE DAYS

i'm talking waking up early because y’all got appointments all throughout the day!

first thing y’all waking up and taking off cold sleep masks

a nice breakfast out at y’all favorite cute breakfast spot

now y’all gotta go to your early nails appointments

right after that the nice calm family spa

after that you guys gotta head to your hair appointments

then y’all end the day with a nice dinner out 

serious tings neow!!!

now y’all know how i’ve been saying mel calls aurelia ‘“her little princess”

she lets her get away with EVERYTHING and ANYTHING

i feel it would come from her not wanting to have too many high expectations on aurelia like her mother had on her

and that leads to MASSIVE spoiling sprees 😬

it also leads to her stick up for her aurelia even when she is deadass in the wrong 🤦🏾‍♀️

it would get to a point where mel would get angry with you for giving aurelia any type of punishment

dare i say most the disagreements in your marriage came from you different views when it come to discipline for aurelia

like i’m talking arguments so bad y’all were sleeping in separate rooms 

which means FOR A LONG time she was a permissive parent

lowkey… she would be a mother-in-law from hell NO KIDDING

but back on her parenting type..

which is a mix of permissive/attachment and then when you guys had a serious talk

you informed her of trying to change her ways and she starting getting into more of a positive parenting style like vi

when it comes to mel’s attachment parenting;

constant skin to skin contact right after she was born

she walked around with aurelia in the baby carrier

had aurelia sleeping in the middle of both of you

constantly had her in her arms

aurelia finally had her own room at the age of 3

now mel’s permissive parenting;

mel is a really nurturing and emotionally responsive parent

but didn’t believe in punishing aurelia or putting her foot down with her

which ultimately lead to aurelia having poor self regulation skills

when sitting down with mel to talk with her about how you both were parenting very differently and not in a good way…

that didn’t exactly go well..

it lead to another serious fight because aurelia would act one way with mel and act completely different with you and no one else because she knew she could get away with pretty much anything with mommy mel 

the fight was so bad you stayed with your parents for a few days

so that meant mel was with aurelia 25/8

that’s when she started getting a glimpse of what everyone trying to tell her

because at some point in time keeping up that little princess facade for mel… aurelia would get tired of that and true colors show

after that you and mel sat down with one another and came to an agreement and the three of y'all went to family counseling 💛 

mel is starting to understand that she can parent her daughter without plain spoiling... but she did make a habit of it so it's something that she has to work on breaking

////////

hope you enjoyed! ○( ＾皿＾)っ Hehehe…

[mysims-mod]

Unused Essences - Part 2

As I mentioned at the beginning of Part 1. I originally wanted to discuss everything in only one post, but because I hit the 30 image limit. I had to split it into two.

If you haven't yet, you can read Part 1 right here.

So without further fanfare, here's the rest. Below the cut again.

It’s fish. Just fish

Now this is where the unused essences start to get… even less complete than what we have seen this far. While there is a flair model leftover, and even a palette of paints. That palette is incomplete, It has a patterned paint swatch, but only one. The second pattern swatch is black, pure complete blackness. And the rest are pure white like the other essences we have discussed.

Now while I have been showing a render of the swatches up to this point, I do think it is worth showing how it looks in-game as well. Because what would be the second patterned swatch is instead completely pitch black.

It’s also worth mentioning that the one (1) swatch we do have is very similar to the rainbow trout swatch visible in-game. In-fact they are virtually identical to one another.

Sad Bear is an interesting case, while every essence that we have looked at so far has had some paints and text tied to it, this one does not. The only thing that remains is this very cute looking flair model.

We don’t know exactly what this would have been. It’s possible that this was just an earlier form of the final sad essence, but we don’t have any definitive evidence, leaving this one as a bit of a mystery.

Burn is another even more interesting one, and is more mysterious than Sad Bear. 

This one is unique in that it does not have any leftover text, or even a flair model, but it does have two full pattern swatches. But this is even more interesting, with everything discussed before, the Material Sets that allow the paints to appear in-game could be brute forced and loaded in the PC version with no problems, this however cannot.

As a result, whether or not there are any flat paints to accompany the palette is completely unknown.

Ok hear me out on this one.

This last one is just the Cherry Blossom essence. Except under the name of Apple Blossom. Every bit of text, every paint swatch, every everything is the exact same as the final Cherry Blossom, but with ‘appleblossom’ as its internal name. However in the actual text that is displayed in-game, it is still referred to as Cherry Blossom.

Interestingly, while the duplicate textures remain in the game’s files. The material set to actually make them appear in-game seems to no longer exist. Creating another Burn essence situation, where they can’t be seen in-game.

Although it would probably just be a duplicate of the Cherry Blossom’s set as well.

It is worth noting that there are also a few other models in the game files bearing the Apple Blossom name, but none of them follow the standard convention for essence models which is ‘flairEssenceName’, but they do at least provide an alternative idea of what an Apple Blossom essence could have looked like.

And with that, these have been almost all of the unused essences in MySims. But believe it or not, there are still more unused essences to talk about! A whopping 27 that I could find at the time I’m writing this.

However they are… much less interesting compared to the ones discussed today. These have all had some kind of interesting leftover attached to them, whether that’s a model, textures, or text. But these remaining essences on the other hand…

Are comprised entirely out of very basic placeholder assets, which make them not very interesting to look at in comparison.

I do want to talk about them at some point in the near future though, and I can say with certainty that it will be before 2032!

[improbable-outset]

📂 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐩𝐭

↳ 📄 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

↳ 📄 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

Jayce Talis x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.9k

𝐂𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐖: established relationship, found family, child neglect, adoption,

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You bring home an abandoned baby from the Undercity, and Jayce helps you raise her, only to later uncover the tragic past she carries.

‘Please take care of her. I can’t keep her anymore’

The words on the crumpled note hadn’t left your mind since you found it, and now as Jayce read them, you watched his reaction carefully.

The first time you saw those words, standing in the alleyway with the cold biting at your skin and the baby tucked in the box, they filled you with an indescribable feeling. A sinking weight on your chest, a quiet fury.

Her mother hasn’t left any extra blankets. No food. No keepsakes.

Only two sentences, scrawled in rushed, panicked handwriting— like she couldn’t get away fast enough.

Now, watching Jayce’s reaction with fresh eyes, you saw how heavily the words weighed on him. His brows furrowed, his fingers gripping the edge of the paper like he was trying to make sense of something beyond senseless.

“What’s with that look?” you asked.

Jayce exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is… a lot. All of it.”

His gaze moved over the room, taking in the sight of the baby still sleeping beside you on the bed, the bottles on the nightstand, the new makeshift changing station you’d set up overnight.

You didn’t miss the surprise look in his face when he first noticed all the baby supplies the night before— the realisation set in that this wasn’t some impulsive decision.

“I wanted to show you the note when you got home yesterday.”

Jayce's eyes flicked to yours, his tone betraying his exhaustion and confusion. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because we were already arguing.” You shifted your weight, glancing toward the baby. Her chest rising and falling peacefully. “I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Jayce looked down at the note again, his jaw tightening. “I see…”

Silence settled between you both. Heavy and full of uncertainty.

It has been a long night, and neither of you have gotten much sleep. You were exhausted, not just from the baby waking every few hours, but from the weight of everything on your shoulders.

Jayce had tossed and turned besides you, restless and lost in thoughts he hadn’t spoken out loud. And now, reading the note, things didn’t feel any clearer. If anything, they felt even more complicated.

Jayce leaned back against the pillows, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. Once, you would’ve taken in the moment to admire him like this— soft and unguarded in the morning light. But not today. Not when you were both too drained to appreciate the small, familiar things.

“I can’t believe she was still alive in that box.” His voice is quieter now. “God knows how long she was out there, waiting for someone to find her.”

There was something different in his tone, something that made your stomach clench. A shift from last night’s argument. Less resistance, more contemplation.

The gears were still turning in his head, still trying to make sense of it all. But you’ve already made peace with your decision.

Your arms tightened around yourself. “She was lucky I got there in time.”

“Yeah.” Jayce paused and let out a slow breath. “And now… you don’t want to send her back out there.”

Your fingers curled slightly. “I won’t send her back out there.”

Jayce’s brows pull together, conflict in his expression. “I don’t want that either, but—”

“Jayce.” You turned to face him fully. The look on his face told you he already knew where this conversation was heading— but that didn’t mean he was ready for it. “I’m not asking you to help me raise her. I won’t force you into this. But please—don’t ask me to give her up to an orphanage.”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing slightly.

“I…” his eyes flickered towards the baby, impossibly small, curled up in her swaddle.

“Look at her.” Your voice softened. “She’s so fragile.”

Something shifted in Jayce’s expression.

“I’m looking…” he murmured. His shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in his frame easing a little. “We’ll figure something out.”

You studied his face, searching for doubts, for any more resistance. It was still there, but it was tangled with something else that you couldn’t name

Something softer.

You stepped closer. “Do you want to hold her?”

Jayce hesitated, his gaze flickered between you and the baby. You could see the conflict in his eyes— the weight of uncertainty consuming him. But underneath it, there was something else that you couldn't decipher.

Letting out a shaky breath, he finally answered. “…yeah.”

Settling on the bed, he waited for you to place the baby in his arms. His movements were stiff, uncertain, but still careful— like he was aware how fragile she was. You guided him, adjusted his arms and made sure he supported her head properly.

The baby looked so tiny against him, barely filling the space between his broadhands. Watching him like this— cautious, focused, gentle in a way you’ve never seen before— made your heart thud a little harder in your chest. Something you hadn’t felt in a while.

For a moment, a quiet awe settled on his expression as he stared at her. Then, the baby stirred in his arms, letting out soft whimpers. You recognised the signs immediately.

“She’s getting hungry,” you murmured.

Jayce looked up at you, hesitancy flickered in his eyes. “I don’t know…I’ve never done this before.”

“I’ll show you.”

Without waiting for the baby's cries to escalate, you headed to the kitchen. The last two days had changed something in you— sharpened your instincts you never knew you had. Every fuss, every tiny shift, you feel like you could sense it before it fully happened.

As you prepared the bottle, you realised how fluid your movements were compared to the first time. You’ve done this so many times in just two days, and it was already becoming second nature.

This has been a learning experience for you. And even if you never wanted to pressure Jayce into helping, a part of you wished he would.

When the bottle was finally ready, you quickly checked the temperature, then rushed back to the bedroom.

“Here you go! Breakfast,” you handed the bottle to Jayce.

His hand trembled as he took it from you, fingered brushing against yours lightly. He exhaled sharply, steadying himself before glancing down at the baby.

She was starting to fuss in his arms, so you adjusted his grip, guiding him. “Tilt it a little more.. and be patient. She’ll latch on when she’s ready.”

Jayce brought the bottle’s nipple to the baby’s mouth, but she turned her head away, letting out soft, dissatisfied noises.

He frowned. “She’s not—”

“She will,” you assured him. “Give her a second.”

After a few tries, she finally latched onto the bottle, her small mouth sucking eagerly at the milk.

The room lapsed into a silence, saved for the soft sounds of her drinking, the quiet suckling, the faint rhythm of the milk flowing through the bottle's nipple.

Jayce held back a smile as he watched her, his gaze following the way her tiny feet moved back and forth as if in response to the milk filling her mouth.

You could see his confidence growing with each passing moment. The way his shoulders loosened slightly, the crease in his brows easing a little.

There was something about watching your lover— the person that you had devoted the rest of your life to— feeding a small, helpless life, a child who depended on you for everything. Seeing them nurture something so fragile, sustaining them.

It was intimate in a way you hadn’t expected.

And now, Jayce was in that position. Cradling her, bottle in hand. You started to understand.

You understood why he had looked at you the way he did last night. Almost like something disarmed in him after your heated conversation.

He gazed back at you, catching you staring. “What?”

You shook your head softly, a small smile on your lips. “Nothing. Just…you’re a natural.”

He managed a chuckle at that, a sound deep and familiar that rumbled in your chest.

“You think so?” he asked, a sense of pride and hesitation in his voice. You could tell your words had an effect on him, even if his grip on the bottle was a little shaky.

“Yeah. She already seems to trust you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he murmured, but you saw the way his expression softened as he looked down at her. But just as quickly, a slight dread crossed his face.

“I don’t know the first thing about taking care of babies” he admitted, as if his confession carried some weight “How am I supposed to…give her everything she needs.”

You knew that feeling too well. The helplessness, the doubt.

You had felt it that night you found her— when you first picked her up from the box, her cries were sharp and desperate against your chest. The fear of not knowing what to do. Of not being good enough for her.

But Jayce had you to guide him.

When you first held her, you had no one. No voice to reassure you, no steady hands to show you the way. Just you and this tiny fragile life depending on someone— depending on you— to keep her alive.

Just like Jayce, your hands had trembled when you held her. At first, instincts had kicked in before your brain even caught up. You had pulled her close, shielding her from the cold, desperate to keep her warm.

And then the realisation settled in like cold water down your back.

The panic had clawed onto you, but somehow, you managed to push through it. You had to force yourself to think logically, one step at a time.

Bring her inside. Get her warm.

And after that, everything else had escalated.

“Jayce, you’re not alone in this, remember? I’m caring for her too,” you reminded him gently. “I’ve done this alone while you were gone. But now that we have each other, we can share the workload.”

“Yeah, but what if I mess up? She’s so…small.”

Jayce’s confidence from before was starting to falter. And then, something about his words caught your attention. Not the way he said it but the words he chose.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You mess up? Not we?”

Jayce stilled. His fingers twitched slightly on the blanket wrapped around the baby, his brows furrowing only realising what he said.

“Was that how it came out, or…” you pressed gently. “Were you thinking about raising her too?”

“I don’t know…maybe,” he trailed off, thumb rubbing absently over the fabric of the blanket. Finally, after a pause— “Yeah.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I don't know…” he said, his voice soft and sincere as he tried to search for the right words. “Maybe…maybe it's because I can't imagine letting anyone else do this. She feels...right, in my arms. Like she was meant to be here, with me…”

As his decision finally solidified, the baby finished off the last ounce of milk. Her sucking turned sluggish. You watched as her eyes fluttered, her belly now full. A little dribble of milk slipped down her chin.

Jayce lowered the empty bottle and slowly pulled it away before handing it back to you.

“Now you have to burp her,” you said.

“Burp her?”

“Yeah, to get any trapped air out of her belly.” You smiled, trying to disarm his nerves. “Sit her on your lap and lean her forward a little.”

Jayce repositioned the baby carefully, propping her against his lap. His hands— so much larger than her small frame— hovered awkwardly as he looked back at you for reassurance.

You guided him, showing him how to support her head and chest with one hand, making sure her head stayed stable.

“Now, pat her back gently.” you instructed, demonstrating the motion.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he placed his broad palm against her back. The first few pats were hesitant and too soft to do anything.

“A little firmer than that,” you encouraged.

He frowned. “What if I burp her too hard?”

“What?”

“What if I go too hard and I…you know…hurt her—”

Before he could spiral any further, his words were cut off and the baby let out several soft burps in quick succession. The tiny sounds were barely more than puffs of air, but she let out a content sigh afterwards.

“Did that count?” Jayce asked.

“Yeah, that counts.”

You laughed at his cautious determination, a warmth spreading through your chest as you watched him care for this new life now in your home.

“I guess…I didn’t do too badly,” he laughed softly.

You sniffed the air dramatically. “I smell something.”

“Smell something?” Jayce arched his brow. “What—”

“Is that…a newfound paternal instinct?” you teased, your lips growing to a grin when you saw the look of surprise and mild horror on his face.

Jayce blinked, caught completely off guard by your comment.

“What? No— I just…” his stammered before the baby let out a few grunts. Her face scrunched up right as a strong odour hit you both at full force

“Oh no, that’s her,” Jayce recoiled.

You burst out laughing at his expression, barely able to get the words out. “How could such a small thing produce something that smells this foul?”

Jayce held the baby at arms length, trying desperately to keep the baby’s contents from shifting. You could practically see the realisation dawn on him— the horror that you might ask him to change her. His eyes flickered back to yours, pleading.

“Here, let me. You can watch and learn,”

Relief washed over his face as he handed her off to you, though he was still grimacing at the lingering smell.

“Pass me the changing mat?” you asked, pointing towards a cabinet. Jayce found it quickly and passed it to you, his movements careful.

The smell only intensified as you set up the changing area— a station with neatly stacked diapers and wipes.

You gently unwrapped her swaddle, “P U, girl.”

Jayce stood besides you despite the olfactory assault, his eyes tracking every move you made, clearly trying to commit it to memory.

You made sure your touch was gentle as you unbuttoned her baby grow. But the second the cool air hit her skin, the baby let out a wail of protest. Her arms flailing, we face scrunching up in clear distress and clearly unhappy with being taken out of her warm swaddle.

“I know, sweetie, I know . It’ll be quick, I promise,” you cooed softly.

She continued to cry and flail, seemingly unconvinced by your words. Her small fists waved in the air, her cries sharp and insistent, as if protesting the injustice of it all.

The sound of her wails filled the room, mingled with the scent of her soiled diaper. The first time you changed her, the sheer volume of her cries had twisted something deep in your chest.

It was heartbreaking— cleaning her up while she was screaming, her small form trembling against the cold.

You could only imagine what it must be like— to go from the warmth and security of the womb of the harshness of the world, to suddenly being exposed when all she wanted was to be wrapped up and safe.

Even now, after doing it for two days, it still tugged at you. But you’d learn to push past the ache, knowing that it was only a momentary distress.

You lifted her lower body, cleaning her up before slipping on a fresh diaper and buttoning up her baby grow. The moment you wrapped her up in her swaddle again, her cries softened, then quietened to lingering sniffles until she was content.

It still fascinated you how quickly she went from a distressed bundle of tears to a calm, sleepy weight in your arms. She nuzzled against your chest, her body warmer through the layers of fabric.

Jayce watched the entire process, his expression unreadable. But as you held her close, something in his gaze softened.

He sat down in a nearby chair, eyes still glued to you and then baby, quiet and thoughtful.

“Do you really want kids?” he asked suddenly, tone soft and contemplative.

The question made you stammer, your face grew warm as you fumbled for a response.

“Are you really asking that now?” you asked. The situation alone should’ve answered enough.

Jayce chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I’m not being very tactful, huh?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but quickly faded. “I just…watching you, seeing how effortlessly you handle everything got me thinking.”

When you first got together, the topic of children had barely scratched the surface. Not because it was something you avoided or didn’t want. It just never felt like the right time.

Even after moving in together, you hadn’t revisited the conversation. But if you were being honest, the thought had crossed your mind more than once.

You’d imagined it before— having a child to cherish as your own, watching Jayce step into the role of a loving father. He was always fiercely protective, naturally warm, the kind of man who gave his whole heart to the people he loved.

And now, seeing him with the baby in his arms just moments ago, it was hard not to picture it.

“I do,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to the little one nestling against your chest. “And she’s the closest I have to that right now .”

A silver of doubt crept into your mind— was this really meant for you? Were you making the right choice? But you pushed it back.

“I know…it probably sounds selfish,” you murmured.

Jayce shook his head immediately. “It doesn’t sound selfish. It sounds human.”

The room stilled for a moment before you spoke again.

“We still haven’t got a name for her yet.”

He blinked. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’ve just been calling her the baby this whole time.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

Jayce exhaled, shaking his head. “I wasn’t exactly preparing baby names.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Fair point. What kind of names do you like? Anything specific in mind?”

“I don’t know…something that reflects her. Her bravery. The fact that she was lost and found. Or…new beginnings.”

“Brave…lost and found…new beginnings,” you echoed, mulling it over. “There are names like Faith, Trust, maybe even Hevan…”

Jayce brows furrowed, thinking deeply for a moment before his face lit up.

“Actually, I think I just thought of one.” He glanced at the baby and then back at you. “What about…Hope?”

Your lips parted slightly, the name processing in your head.

“She gives us hope that we’ll be good parents,” Jayce continued. “And she’s bringing new beginnings into our lives. Plus…it’s a nice name to boot.”

“Hope…” You repeated it softly, testing how it felt on your tongue. It was simple but strong, carrying the weight of new beginnings. And Jayce was right— it suited her. She had given you both something to hold onto, a hope for the future.

Jayce nodded, a smile growing on his lips “That’s a perfect name for her, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I guess that’ll be her name from now on. Our little Hope.”

“I think she’ll have the Talis name,” Jayce added, his pride swelling in his voice as he rose from his seat. He reached out and brushed a gentle finger over her cheek. “Hope Talis.”

“Speaking of Talis…how are you gonna explain this to your mother?”

Jayce visibly winced at the mention of his mother. His shoulders tensed. “Right….good question.”

You knew that Jayce and his mother, Ximena Talis, had a close-knit bond, especially after his father’s passing. She had raised him alone, molding him into the man he was today. But she was also practical— someone who thought ahead rather than letting emotions dictate decisions.

And suddenly deciding to raise an abandoned baby, without a concrete plan or any real preparation, was a lot for any parent to process. That wasn’t something she wasn’t going to take lightly.

It wasn’t that you were expecting her to outright disapprove— Ximena wasn’t the type to reject something out of prejudice. But naturally you did expect her to ask questions. To make sure her son had thought this through.

And then, there was you.

You weren’t oblivious to the difference between you and Jayce. While Jayce was born into Piltover’s upper echelon, raised with opportunities laid before him, you had to fight every scrap of stability you had, growing up in the Undercity, where survival overweighed ambition and dreams.

Ximena never outright opposed your relationship, especially coming from a humble background. But there had always been a certain hesitation in her approval. A subtle caution— not out of cruelty or elitism. But as a mother, she wanted what was best for her son.

And after a few days of having Hope in your arms, you understood that instinct more than ever.

You suspected she worried about the world you came from. When it could mean for Jayce. For his future. And now, here you were, deciding to raise a child together. A child with no name, no past and no certainty about what the future held.

Jayce ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “She’s going to grill me, isn’t she?”

“Oh absolutely,” you said with a teasing grin. “But let’s not worry about that now.”

Laying Hope back onto the bed, you turned back to Jayce, slipping your hand around his arm. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

~

The afternoon rolled in, and Jayce had to leave, leaving you alone with Hope again. You weren’t too worried— after all, you’ve spent two days caring for her alone before he even knew she existed.

As you held Hope in your arms, you couldn’t help but notice the way she kept sniffling and whimpering, little noises of discomfort that tugged at your heart. You weren’t sure if she was just fussy or something was actually wrong. Maybe the cold air from when she was abandoned had gotten to her.

You checked her forehead— no fever. You adjusted her swaddle, making sure she was warm but not too warm, yet she still squirmed restlessly. Her hands clenched and unclenched, her breaths coming soft, uneven puffs.

Maybe she was coming down with something. That would make sense. A little congestion, a little discomfort— babies get colds all the time.

You thought about steaming up the bathroom and sitting with her in the warm air. Would that be safe for a newborn? You hesitated. You knew the basics— feeding her, changing her, keeping her comfortable— but this was something else.

Instead, you turned on the heating and sat with her in the bedroom, holding her close and letting the warmth of your body soothe her. Her whimpers quieted, but every so often, she sniffled again and her nose scrunched up.

The uneasy feeling didn’t go away. Should you tell Jayce? Would that be overreacting? You didn’t want to worry him, not if it was something as simple as a cold.

Maybe you were just overthinking. That was normal for new parents, right?

You pressed a gentle kiss on Hope’s forehead, stroking a soothing hand down her back. Whatever this was, she just needed comfort. As long as she was with you, she was safe.

I always update this series on ao3 first. So if you want early access to the next chapter, you can find it here

[comfortyart]

I'm really curious how Fen, Solas, and Dorian first got together. Did two of them come first and a third joined later? How did they approach the conversation?

Ok I’m sorry this will probably be long winded, rambly, also just messily written - and, despite the fact that this moment is my planned next one shot about them - there are just so many moving parts that actually lead to them getting together.

Throwing this under a break because it's so long

When they were at Haven, there was some tension between Solas and Fen. Despite Fen’s best and continued efforts, Solas is very short with him at the beginning, a lot of it relating to Fen being a grey warden. On the other hand, from the moment Fen and Dorian lock eyes, it's flirting. They make easy friends, Dorian very taken by Fen’s happy-to-help golden retriever like personality, trauma bonded by the happenings of In Hushed Whispers and easily spending a lot of time together. Leading up to Skyhold, Solas starts taking to Fen’s late night “questionings”. If Solas considers Fen uneducated, he was going to ask and learn as much as he could. It’s true he didn’t have many opportunities to get “book smart” (he is precious), but he loves to learn, and we all know how much Solas loves to embark wisdom. So there they are, every evening - and to Solas’ surprise, Fen is very responsive to his teachings. He clearly considers everything he’s told, utilizes it in making decisions moving forward, and comes back with new questions. And before long he finds himself drawn to the way Fen navigates day-to-day. Perhaps he judged too soon, I mean, Fen can be and is foolish at times, but he sees how Fen uses the knowledge he’s given, and suddenly he’s hooked.  This turns into late evenings with the three of them as they all grow closer throughout the timeline of the game. Fen enjoys watching Solas and Dorian debate, likes watching Solas paint while Dorian reads beside him on the couch. Sometimes they’re both just listening to Fen yap about darkspawn or a weird looking tree he saw earlier that day while they sit around the fire. Its not really anything particularly even intimate, though it is to them to some extent because they don’t spend much time alone with anyone else - and they all sort of become inseparable- EVEN after Fen and Solas get together.

Dorian isn’t surprised. Even in their flirting he knew Fen was taken with Solas from before they’d met. And Dorian, who had spent a lot of time alone without really anyone close to him, was content to just have two people he held dearly, even if his heart was unfortunately growing more attached by the day. He sort of feels bad about it too, they’re a couple, but he’s always there.

And then, Fen starts hearing the false calling. And by and then, I mean, he’s been hearing it for a while - but its getting worse. He is all but inconsolable one evening, and Solas and Dorian are looking at each other not sure what to do. I mean what CAN they do right? They're just as horrified. And...We can ignore the added layer of Solas and his fuck this is all in a round about way my fault situation for now LOL

Following Here lies the Abyss, Solas and Dorian are sort of high alert, a bit more attentive, not that Fen needs it, but more in a way they were woken up to how important this idiot had become to them. They felt like they could lose him to this, selfishly, ignoring what the loss of Fen could do to the world, but now horrified at the idea of losing him - generally.

And It’s not long after this, a close encounter leads Fen to a near death experience by an ambush. Dorian and Solas are so panicked they can’t leave his side, and without ever verbally asking, they’re both with each other like a crutch - now both seemingly living through the fear they were really going to lose Fen.

It was traumatic, and Solas refuses to let Dorian leave his side, like he truly believes it may break him to deal with this crushing fear alone. When Fen finally wakes, Dorian’s relief is suddenly hit with the realization that he is not to them what they are to each other. Suddenly like the world is being crushed amongst the happiness Fen isn’t dead, he is quick to say he’s sorry for always being in their space and that he’d try to give them more alone time since he didn’t want to ever take the precious time they have together away from them.

Solas shuts it down, fast. A few glances between him and Fen and it’s a confession. Fen and Solas had been falling for Dorian, and were convinced he’d want no part, and so settled to always having him in their space. It was emotional, for so many reasons, and a lot of tears, and it became impossible to tear them apart for the next fortnight. 

[anotherblas]

i need a fight between annabel and ada

That's something I can't get out of my head. i thought i was getting it in episode 71 but it didn’t happen with the outcome i was expecting!! but maybe season 2 can make my wish come true. I just need to put my thoughts out. i don’t read fastpass episodes so if i’m completely missing the nail just ignore me

Through multiple episodes we see that ada cares A LOT about her looks (from wanting to impress prospero, her breakdown when annabel confronts her when she first manifested, her relationship with Montresor and most recently her flashback with Thomas Tamerlane where he basically sees her only for her body) 

Ada's self-worth is deeply rooted in her physical appearance. Her being seen as an attractive, pretty lady with class is what she thinks is her only way of existing and getting loved. She doesn't think she's smart, assuming from her social status and the time she lived in (probably 1930's) she probably didn't get a lot of education.

So she only has her looks, but what would happen if she’s stripped away from that? she’s going to confront the stag while manifesting and from what we were told that’s like the worst idea ever. I honestly don’t see her dying (i feel like that would be such a waste of character) but she could get severely injured, like ending up with some scars in the best case scenario and losing some limb or facial feature in the worst one. That could be the beginning of her breaking point, losing her “only worth” or atleast the key to getting what she wants… while Annabel ends up without a scratch.

I feel that her relationship with Annabel will change after this whole stag arc. I can even picture the outburst even if nothing bad happens to Ada.

Let's suppose the night passes, everyone makes it out alive and Ada reunites with Annabel. i can totally see Ada wanting validation and gratitude from Annabel, getting recognized as the loyal best friend she thinks she is. But Annabel doesn’t see her that way and never will. To her, Ada is just another piece in her plan, as a matter of fact she’s probably a bit annoyed that Ada interrupted her encounter with the stag after seeing that it wasn’t a threat to her. She will not thank her, or at least not in the important, dramatic way Ada wants her to. 

I want them to fight, and not only because i love drama. To me the only way Ada will grow as a character is if she’s alone. A fight with Annabel will immediately put her in risk in the group. Prospero doesn’t like her for obvious reasons and is starting to consider Annabel a friend so he’ll side with her, Will can’t tolerate her so he would want her out but he’ll side with whatever Montresor wants. Montresor wants Ada for the same reasons as Annabel, he sees her as a piece in his plans, someone he can manipulate. But between her or Annabel, he’ll most likely choose the one who has blackmail on him.

Ada being on her own could be the beginning of her valuing herself, starts to accept the way she is, stops pretending and just realizes how much power she holds. At least for now she’s probably one of the students with the most threatening spectre and after her fight with the stag i wouldn’t be surprised if she starts to believe it. I can’t see her joining the misfits just now because it would be (in my opinion) kinda weird that they would accept her after everything that happened with Duke. I honestly don’t even care for her redemption arc. If her growth as a character means that she’ll become an antagonist to Lenore, Annabel and everyone else I'll take it without thinking twice.

Ada with confidence in her powers, in herself, could be a real menace. After all, what’s the point of being in a group if there’s only one life at stake?

[ivyues]

Chasing Yesterday | 3 | - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x lost connection trainee friend

Years after splitting paths, Bang Chan didn't expect a simple text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

A few weeks into your songwriting exchanges, with Chris texting at the oddest hours, late-night texts became a common occurrence. One particular night, around 2:37 AM, your phone buzzed. Squinting at the screen, you saw a message from him:

"What do you think about this for the chorus?" followed by a snippet of lyrics, raw but laced with his unmistakable poetic charm.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you typed back: "Ever the insomniac, I see."

His reply came almost instantly: "Only when inspiration hits. Or maybe it's your fault for making me think about this song all the time."

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you found yourself smiling at the screen longer than necessary. "Well, I can’t be held responsible for your midnight genius," you quipped.

There was a pause before his next message arrived. "Do you ever share your lyrics with anyone else, or just me?"

The question was casual on the surface, but something about it made your stomach flutter. You hesitated, trying to read between the lines, before responding: "Not really, just you. Why, are you keeping tabs?"

His reply had a playful edge, but the undertone was clear: "Maybe I am. Hard to keep up when you probably have someone else keeping you up at night too."

You blinked at the screen, your heart skipping a beat as the subtle question sank in. Was he asking what you thought he was asking?

"Nope, no one else," you typed quickly, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "Just you and your insomniac ramblings."

For a moment, there was no reply, and you wondered if you’d imagined the implication. Then your phone lit up again.

"Good to know," he wrote simply, followed by a winking emoji.

The fluttering in your chest lingered long after, his subtle words replaying in your mind as you turned your attention back to his lyrics – though focusing on the song was suddenly a lot harder.

-----

Weeks later, you found yourselves standing in front of the shop you used to frequent as trainees. The neighborhood had changed, but the nostalgia was undeniable. The darkness of the night making it feel as if time was turned back.

"I can't believe that convenience store is still here," you said, pointing to a brightly lit corner across the street.

"That place got us through some rough days," he said, smiling as he nudged your shoulder playfully. "I bet they still have those awful instant noodles you used to love."

"You mean the ones you kept stealing from me?" you shot back, bumping him back.

After a brief silence, he pointed ahead to a street corner. "Remember that time we got caught sneaking back late from practice? Right there."

"Oh, how could I forget? You tripped over nothing, and the instructor thought we were drunk."

"In my defense, I was exhausted," he said, holding up his hands. "And maybe a little lightheaded from laughing at your terrible jokes."

"My terrible jokes?" you shot back, raising an eyebrow. "I’m the reason you survived those trainee days, don’t even lie."

He grinned, bumping your shoulder gently. "Okay, maybe you were the reason. But you owe me for all those times I covered for you when you skipped warm-ups."

"You’re never going to let that go, are you?"

"Not a chance," he said, smirking.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, content to walk quietly in the comforting familiarity of the nightern neighborhood. The sounds of crickets and the occasional car passing by filled the silence.

At one point, he took to balancing on the edge of the curb, arms outstretched like a tightrope walker.

"You haven't changed," you teased, watching him wobble dramatically.

"Sure I have," he said, hopping back onto the pavement. He glanced at you, his expression soft. “You know, my members keep bugging me about you."

"Yeah?" you asked, hiding your smile.

"Yeah. They're dying to meet the person who's been making me stay up all night."

"And here I thought it was the music," you quipped playfully, but feeling a flutter of warmth as his laugh echoed in the quiet street.

As you came to a halt, a quiet hum filled the space between you – the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of a car engine. But it all faded as he lifted his hand, his fingers brushing tentatively against your cheek. The touch was warm, steady, and it made your heart stutter in your chest.

"I’ve been wanting to do this for a while," he said, almost in a whisper. His thumb gently traced the curve of your cheekbone, and his expression was so open, so unguarded, that it left you breathless.

"You always overthink," you teased softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray how your pulse raced.

He smiled faintly, the corners of his lips twitching as he leaned in, slow and deliberate. His eyes searched for yours, giving you all the time in the world to pull away. But you didn’t move. The space between you felt electric, pulling you closer and closer.

And then, as his lips hovered just a breath away from yours, you closed the gap. Your lips met his in a soft, delicate kiss, barely there but enough to make the world tilt on its axis.

When you drew back, your faces lingered close, his hand still cradling your face as if he was afraid to let go. His eyes fluttered open, and the awe in his gaze sent a fresh wave of warmth through you.

"I..." He laughed softly, a little breathless. "I really hope I can keep you in my life this time."

You smiled, your cheeks flushed as you covered his hand with yours. "Guess that means you’ll just have to try harder."

His grin widened, the playful glint returning to his eyes as he let his hand drop to your side. And as you resumed walking, his fingers found yours, intertwining them as if they’d always belonged there.

-----

One night, when you were halfway between sleep and wakefulness, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Groaning softly, you reached for it, blinking at the screen to see Chris’ name glowing against the darkness.

Without hesitation, you swiped to answer. “Hello?” your voice came out groggy, but warm enough to convey you didn’t mind the late-night call.

“Hey,” his voice came through, quiet but heavy. “Sorry for waking you... again.”

“It’s fine,” you murmured, sitting up slightly and tucking the blanket around your shoulders. “What’s wrong? Studio night?”

He sighed, and the sound alone made your chest tighten. “Yeah. I’ve been here for hours, and there is this song for the new album—" He paused. “It’s not coming together. I’ve tried everything, but something’s missing, and I just... I didn’t know who else to call.”

Your heart softened at his admission. He sounded worn out, like he’d been carrying the weight of it alone for far too long. “I’m glad you called me,” you said gently. “Tell me about the song.”

“It’s supposed to feel big—emotional—but also grounded. Right now, it just feels... unfinished.” His frustration was evident, each word edged with self-doubt.

“Why don’t you play it for me?” you suggested, lying back down and settling the phone beside your ear on the pillow.

There was a pause, and you could almost hear him hesitating. “You sure? It’s... pretty rough.”

“I don’t care. I want to hear it,” you said with a smile he couldn’t see, but maybe he could hear it in your voice.

“Okay, hang on.”

The faint shuffling of him setting things up came through, followed by the opening notes of the track. The sound was distant through the phone’s speaker, but even like this, you could feel the rawness in it. The melody was beautiful – aching and layered – but you could hear what he meant. It wasn’t quite complete.

When it ended, silence hung between you for a moment before you spoke. “It’s good.”

“Yeah, but it’s not enough,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what it needs.”

You thought for a moment, closing your eyes as you replayed the song in your mind. “What if you added something more... organic? Like a vocal sample? Something raw to balance the electronic layers?”

The line went quiet, and you worried you’d overstepped. But then he exhaled a soft laugh, the tension in his voice easing. “We can try it.”

For the next little while, you stayed on the line as he tinkered with the track, bouncing ideas back and forth. He’d hum a phrase or play a new layer, asking for your thoughts before adding it in. Despite the late hour, there was a certain comfort in hearing the way his voice shifted from frustration to quiet focus as you worked together.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth that made your chest feel lighter. 

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, and you hummed softly in response. “You’re welcome, Chris. I’m always here.”

“Still,” he continued, his tone soft but serious. “I owe you.”

The conversation lingered as he talked about the track, how much it meant to him, and the plans he had for it. His voice, steady and soothing, was the last thing you remembered clearly.

Somewhere between his words and the comfort of the moment, your eyelids grew heavier, while your phone still rested on the pillow next to your head.

“Y/N?” His voice broke through faintly, but you were already drifting. “Are you still—oh. You fell asleep, huh?”

You didn’t hear him chuckle softly on the other end or his quiet, “Goodnight, Y/Nnie.”

The line stayed connected, the faint hum of the studio bleeding through as he worked, glancing at his phone every so often to see the call still ongoing, a quiet comfort in knowing you were there, even in sleep.

-----

The restaurant buzzed with conversation and laughter as you and Chris stepped inside. He had picked you up for the long awaited introduction to your members. The guys were already gathered around a large table, and the moment they spotted the two of you, an eruption of greetings filled the space. Some were teasing, some warm, but all carried an easy familiarity that made you smile.  

Chris gestured for you to sit beside him, and as you settled in, you let out a nervous sigh, crossing your arms.  

"This feels like meeting the kids you didn’t know about," you mused, breaking the silence. 

Laughter broke out instantly. Felix leaned forward, grinning. "Yeah, your co-parent over here has been keeping secrets from you."  

Chris groaned, rubbing his face, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. "I knew this was a bad idea."  

Seungmin grinned mischievously. “You say that, but you have been talking about her a lot.”

At that, everyone turned their attention to Chris, their teasing grins widening.

Felix gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Oh, so much talking.”

“I wasn’t—” Chris started, but Hyunjin interrupted.

“Oh, you so were.” He turned to you. “He literally never shuts up about you.”

“Hyunjin,” Chris warned, but his ears were already turning red.

You couldn’t help but grin. “Well, I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” Chris muttered, shooting the others a look. “These kids are just out for some trouble.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that, the boys naturally pulling you into their dynamics. They were curious about your history with Chris, and you found yourself reminiscing about your trainee days together.  

At one point, I.N called Chrs hyung, and you blinked in surprise.  

"Wow," you muttered. "That still feels so weird to hear."  

Chris raised an eyebrow. "What does?"  

"You being a hyung," you explained, shaking your head. "When we trained together, he was always one of the youngest. And now he's got all of you younger members looking up to you." You smirked. 

Felix grinned. "That’s so different from what we know."  

Hyunjin leaned in conspiratorially. "Yeah, when I joined, he had this whole intimidating, dark aura radiation off of him."  

You scoffed. "Intimidating?"  

"Yeah!" Hyunjin nodded eagerly. "I was honestly scared of him at first. He was always focused, serious during practice, and since he was already leading the team, he had this whole don’t-mess-with-me energy."  

You snorted, looking at Chris with pure disbelief. "Where was that energy when we were trainees? Because I remember you misusing honorifics, offending your hyungs by accident, and playing way too many pranks."  

I.N gasped. "What?"  

Chris groaned, sinking lower in his seat as the table erupted in laughter. "Why did I bring you here again?"  

"You love me," you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.  

Reminiscing about Chris’ trainee days, they quickly started asking about your own time as a trainee.  

"Noona, how long did you train?" Felix asked curiously.  

"A bit over three years," you answered easily.  

There was a pause, followed by various sounds of disbelief as that was longer than most of them trained.

"You trained for three years and just quit?" Hyunjin gaped.  

You shrugged. "Yeah, well. Life happens. Things don’t always go the way you plan."  

The table fell quiet for a moment, a few of them exchanging thoughtful glances. Then Han, ever the mood-maker, leaned forward with a smirk.  

"That’s wild. And now you’re the mystery person keeping hyung up all night."  

Chris choked on his drink, coughing. "For music. Don’t get any weird ideas."  

"Sure, sure," Han teased.  

"By the way," Changbin started, eyeing Chris suspiciously. "There’s this song he has been working on, but he won’t show us."  

"Yeah," Han chimed in, pointing his chopsticks at Chris. "Every time we try to listen, he closes his laptop or changes the subject."  

You didn’t even have to look at Chris to know. You felt his eyes on you instantly.  

You turned slightly, meeting his gaze.  

And you knew. They were talking about that song. The one that, since you were teenagers, was kept between just the two of you.

-----

Hours after the dinner with the members, you laid sprawled out on your bed, staring at the ceiling, still replaying moments from the night. 

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a message from Felix who you had freshly exchanged numbers with.

Felix🐥: Noona, it was really nice meeting you. 😊 I hope you had a great time!

Felix🐥: You mean a lot to him, you know.

You blinked at the screen, suddenly more awake. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you typed back.

You: That obvious, huh?

Felix🐥: Painfully. The way he looks at you? It’s different. Like you’re the only person in the room.

Your heart skipped.

Felix🐥: I’ve known Chan for years, but I’ve never seen him like this.

You swallowed, staring at the message for longer than necessary. There was a weight to Felix’s words, something deeper than just casual teasing.

Felix🐥: Just thought you should know.

You bit your lip, warmth blooming in your chest.

You: Thanks, Lix. ❤️

pt.4 | pt.5 | masterlist

[luckykiwiii101]

SLEEPING MONSTROSITY

| | IF THIS DOESN’T WAKE YOU UP, NOTHING WILL | |

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

ཐི you might just live this life forever…ouch ཋྀ

And for you extra failure desensitised east siders -> CLICK ME!

Hey Upper East Siders.

Lately i’ve been thinking about how big of failure you are. And how you keep coming up with more stupid questions to ask bloggers because you can’t accept that life is just easy. I’d call you sleeping beauty, but unlike you, she actually woke up.

I want you to ask yourself how it feels knowing that even though you have all the power, you still don’t have the will to save yourself. Yet you think it’s all going to be okay. You still think you’re going to eventually manifest your dream life, and that this nightmare will come to an end.

Pardon my harsh words but that’s pathetic. Why? Because you told yourself the same thing months ago, and look where you are. You haven’t gotten anywhere. You may understand the law better but you haven’t done anything with it. And knowledge is useless when it’s held by…well, you. A lazy, hopeless, pathetic dreamer.

What actually makes you think that you’re going to be living your dream life by the time it hits 2027. You’re just staying still, and you’re going to continue to. You’re not on an escalator, you’re on a treadmill. Getting absolutely nowhere.

And as i’ve said before, leave those Pinterest boards on Pinterest. I can’t imagine how painful it must be to doom fully stare at something you know you’ll never give yourself. And save your dreams for nap time because that’s the closest you’ll ever get to seeing them.

The amount of people that have left this app, without their dream lives…and you’re just going to end up being another one of them. Another day you take to procrastinate turns into a week, then into a month, 6 months, a year, two years, five years…twenty.

“I’ll persist later!!!” Yes. Exactly. You’ll persist “later.” Later as in, next week? next month? next year? Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days, days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, months turn in to years, and years turn into decades, and decades turn into small little segments of your tragic little life, spent doing what? Trying? Procrastinating? Sulking? Or living the life of your dreams? Call it Russian roulette, but YOU’RE the one holding the gun to your head. Nowhere to run.

“I’ll try to enter the void state again tonight.” Yes. Exactly. You’ll TRY again. And you’ll try again the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that. and so on…and so on…

But you know what’s the most shocking of all? The fact that you actually believe that everything is going to be okay. “I know i’ll win in the end.” Are you sure? Because you don’t win by staying the same. And that’s all you’ve been doing since forever.

You’re going to wake up tomorrow and make the same decision you’ve been making all your life. You’re going to deliberately and willingly choose to be someone you don’t want to be. As usual. Because that’s what’s comfortable to you. What can I say. You’re only human. And that’s all you’ll ever be.

But for someone like Blair Waldorf, failure is the end of the world. Because she’s uncomfortable with something she isn’t used to experiencing. But it’s only if she gets used to it, that she gets comfortable, and starts to let it in. And take over her. Sound familiar? Because it’s exactly what you’ve been doing to yourself. You’re so desensitised to failure that you read wake up calls in your sleep. Shrug them off, and move on. As if the words on this screen aren’t literally your reality.

If this doesn’t make your heart sink, i’m not sure what will. For some, the pain of knowing this might be too intense to ignore, for most of you, you’ll feel nothing. Your desensitisation to failure will be the death of you. What have you done to yourself…

Ouch!

- gossip girl

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

[pinkiemachine]

Wait a minute, I didn't see gills on Kaldur's neck like where he usually has them. Where are his gills? Or does he not have any?

Also I saw the little detail of him having scales on his tattoos- ☆Noice detail☆

Oh yeah! The gills! I think I’m still in the process of deciding how I want to handle Atlantean physiology. Like, I’m deciding between keeping them like basically mermaids without the tails, or keeping them more or less human and Atlantis has more of an air-pocket sort of design—it’s been a whole thing in my head for the past year, and I haven’t had the time to really sit down and map everything out. Whenever I do that, I’m going to be reading Plato’s telling of Atlantis as well as all the years of comics for Aquaman, and every other scrap of ocean-related stuff, and finally decide how I want to design Atlantis and the people. Because where I left off (I think) was… the kings of Atlantis were direct descendants of Poseidon, and so there’s human Meta genes there, but then there are also a lot of ocean-dwelling creatures who also live in Atlantis, like Sirens and… others I can’t remember the name of currently. So perhaps there was intermingling, some half-n-half kids—idk—I thought about it, didn’t think about it very hard, then left it there for me to come back to and eventually tidy up.

I think the main thing for me is: what’s the coolest way to design Atlantis? Because if everyone can breathe underwater, then they’re basically mer-folk, and this essentially Atlantica, and then Aquaman is just The Little Mermaid. If we do it to where Atlantis is, say, a normal-ish city hidden under the ocean waters by some super cool, magical means, and not wet, then I feel like it harkens back to the Justice League cartoon of yore, and I always thought that approach was much cooler than the other one, personally. Also, I am one of those people to whom the physics of things matters far too much. Like, the comics would have you believe that because the Atlanteans live in the water at such great depths they have, like, greater density or something? then when they’re on land, they have super strength, and I’m just over here like… if they live on the bottom of the ocean, they’re gonna have blubber, or be very, very small, and they are going to look like a blobfish on land. Because that’s how water pressure and deep sea fish work. They are gelatinous and squishy so that when they are at such deep depths, the water pressure squishes them into one, neat, happy, healthy ball of fish. So… I don’t want to imagine Aquaman or anyone else like a blobfish…

…where was I going with this post….

I had a point…

I think the bottom line is, I don’t know yet if my Kaldur will have gills, but thanks to this post, I will probably be thinking about it all week, so you might have your answer soon, lol.

And the markings on his tattoos are actually spear heads, to symbolise strength and bravery on the battle field (inspired by Polynesian tattoos).

:)

[prettygirl-gabi]

"Just Us"

Pairing: Jana El Alfy x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Genre: Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

POV: First-person

Summary: life's hard but Jana makes it easier

I don't know when the weight of everything started pressing down on me, but now that it has, I feel like I can't breathe.

It’s been building all day—longer, if I’m being honest. The stress of school, practice, and life in general creeping up on me like a shadow I can’t escape. I held it together in front of everyone else, but now, sitting in Jana’s dorm, it feels impossible to pretend anymore.

She notices, of course. She always does.

“Habibti,” she murmurs, tilting her head as she watches me from across the couch. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head quickly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “I don’t know.” My voice is small, breaking on the last word.

Jana’s eyes soften, and in one smooth motion, she shifts closer, pulling me into her lap. Her arms wrap around me, warm and steady, grounding me even as the emotions threaten to spill over.

“Talk to me,” she whispers.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the tears from falling. “I just—I feel like I can’t keep up. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.” My voice cracks, and I hate how small I sound.

Jana doesn’t say anything at first. She just holds me, her hand running soothingly up and down my back as I bury my face in her shoulder.

“You’re allowed to feel like this,” she says finally, her voice steady and sure. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

I clutch at her hoodie, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. “I hate feeling like this,” I admit, voice muffled against her.

She sighs, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I know, habibti.”

Her gentle words unravel me further, and before I know it, I’m sobbing. The kind of deep, gut-wrenching cries that shake my whole body. But Jana doesn’t flinch. She just holds me tighter, murmuring soft reassurances in Arabic against my hair.

“I got you,” she whispers. “I’m right here.”

We sit like that for what feels like forever—me crying, her holding me, the room filled with nothing but soft whispers and quiet comfort.

Eventually, the tears slow, and exhaustion creeps in. My body feels drained, but lighter, like I’ve let go of some of the weight I’ve been carrying.

Jana shifts slightly, moving to tuck me against her chest. “You okay?”

I nod weakly, my fingers still gripping her hoodie. “Just tired.”

She hums, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. “Do you wanna lie down?”

I shake my head. “Just wanna stay like this for a little longer.”

She smiles against my hair. “As long as you need.”

And in that moment, wrapped in her warmth, I finally start to believe that maybe—just maybe—I’ll be okay.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[lore-grandma]

How the dorm leaders would up realizing they like reader/ when their feelings started to change (idk anymore)

Notes: I’m sure some of these aren’t accurate, it comes with the territory. Yuu is reader. I think if you’ve seen my posts about these kind of games, that you’ll notice a pattern that the mc is always reader. Idk what else. Um i might do the other characters, I will likely make a cop out and make ortho’s section platonic. Also I’m pretty sure that night raven will accept students at any age as long as you can read. So the reader’s age with change depending on the canon character’s age. At minimum reader will be a year younger than the guys. Now let’s go.

Riddle

Riddle gives off such love at first sight vibes, but would be in such denial. I think realistically Riddle would come to terms with his feelings after his blot. I mean if the magicless student stayed while he was at his worst, then there’s a bond there. You basically saved him and even if his mother does not approve, in his mind he sees you as a worthy partner. It’d take the whole dorm to force him to confess, he’d only confess if he knew for sure you liked him.

Leona

Dear lord this guy would be such a slow burn. He definitely wasn’t fond of you before his blot. Of course after the beat down, he probably felt slightly indebted. Only a little. The he was probably was feeling those fuzzy feelings around the time you stood up for your friends. Like that takes balls, to risk it all. It’d take far too many close calls on both of your lives for him to finally confess.

Azul

Probably like a love at second sight. Like was definitely when he met you during the whole contract situation. Now he genuinely wasn’t considering it until the whole Jamil situation. Would’ve probably confessed after that, in his office, was basically forced by the tweels because of how much they teased him.

Kalim

Honestly despite how open he is, I don’t think he genuinely understands how love works. Shit just happens. Like somehow y’all are married. Probably got into a relationship a few months after Jamil’s overblot.

Vil

This one happens after a life long friendship, maybe starts to be planted in the ground during the training arc during his story. But it def took awhile.

Idia

It didn’t start because he knew you irl. I mean canonically reader doesn’t have much of an online presence, but I can’t imagine that idia makes any realizations during his whole overblot. Maybe his feelings start around malleus’s overblot but that story hasn’t ended yet so Ive yet to make that decision.

Malleus

I do believe he just either sees you as a friend or that human that he so happens to see on his walks to see gargoyles. Of course by the time that reader actually knows his name. Then malleus considers them a friend. I see malleus as oblivious to love but not in the way that kalim is. He’s probably more familiar with familial love than romantic love. The moment he probably realized it officially was when he realized he could lose his support systems i.e. lillia and you. Sure silver and sebek are fine company but there’s definitely a feeling that they’re treating him with respect because he’s their future leader. Also I know that so that I said that reader was going to be at minimum to be a year younger than the characters that’s being talked about. But like reader is human (I’m sorry guys) and doesn’t have any magic in their world, so unfortunately we’ll have to stick with a human age that would probably be a rough equivalent to the age of draconians. So likely ehhh 22 maybe? I’m not sure if the fae just age slowly or just age fairly normally (still slow but not to the point where in a hundred years malleus is still a literal baby) and matures mentally at different rates. Anyways I’m putting reader at a safe young age but not so old it feels like we’re pairing a teenager with an adult. Age is weird in these situations.