#I know what happens and I know it can’t be changed

[obxanon]

Addressing the OBX drama and the speculations:

Was JJ’s Death planned?

No, Rudy asked to leave the show. It wasn’t something the writers planned. He didn’t want to renew, the writers were rightfully upset and then decided to kill JJ off.

Did the writers/producers create an uncomfortable set?

No, they didn’t. This post is not true. The brothers were never inappropriate.

Was Madison a bully on set?

I’ve seen a post going around of someone saying Madison was a bully, controlling the set, and bluntly treating Rudy and crew members like crap. That is NOT true. 

Was Rudy’s decision sudden?

Yes and No. No as in he let the Pates know ahead of time he didn’t want to continue (some time during the strike, so they had time to change what was already written). Yes, as in they were shocked by it.

Was there on set drama between Rudy and the Pates?

Yes, there was many disagreements/personal problems during s4. Yes, Elaine was involved and so was Lilah Pate. They are civil now.

Why did every ship but Jiara get a still?

The jiara still does exist but idk why it was not released. My source doesn’t know either and I don’t want to spread something not true. Rudy and Madison took pictures just like everybody else did.

Why did the cast chemistry seem off in part 2?

They shot episodes 1-5 first, THEN 10, then 6-9. The cast didn’t know rudy asked to leave until they received the script for episode 10. You can tell there was a drastic change between JJ and Kiara in part 2 because after the cast found out, Madison was upset with Rudy and his decision, so she didn’t put in as much effort into the scenes with him. She was upset because she knew that would mean the near end of obx and her character… in a way.

Was there alternate endings?

Yes, but that was only because they wanted to see if rudy would change his mind. There was even scenes where a funeral was shot (obviously they didn’t air it so I’m assuming they’re saving it for s5). From March-June of 2024, they spent the entire time doing reshoots of some scenes. That is why some things don’t make sense.

Did Rudy and Madison talk on set?

Yes, but not closely or anything. They’re not friends, they just did the scenes they had to do and that was it. All those people saying they’re hiding their friendship from the cameras or whatever… that is not true sorry. The pates can’t force them to act like best friends as long as they were doing their scenes.

Why did Jiara have “less” than everybody else?

It’s true that Jiara scenes were toned down. Part of it was Rudy asking for it. Madison didn’t care as much. Another part was just Rudy and Madison not doing more than what the script asked.

Was Elaine uncomfortable with Jiara scenes?

Yes, and she has been since s2. It got worse during s3 and obviously s4. That was part of the conflict.

What is the Rudy and Madison Drama?

Obviously what happened between them is private. It wasn’t the fans. The fans were more so the catalyst to something that had been brewing. 

It is true that the girlfriends are involved and that they weren’t happy. Madison hurt Rudy, but not by being a bully. It was emotionally. The feeling was then returned on his end and it just got worse from there. It didn’t help when the girlfriends and fans were involved. It is true that it’s not a coincidence this happened when they both got involved with relationships. Most of you have speculated correctly, that is all I will say. I think you know by now what I’m trying to say.

Also when I say fans, I don’t mean the “shipping.” They never cared about that. What I do mean is that all this drama happened when Jiara fans were at their peak. Them wanting to see those characters together put Rudy and Madison in a problematic situation because they knew they couldn’t avoid each other on screen. Instead they just did so off screen.

Should the Writers/ Directors/ Producers stepped in?

Yes, but what I need you guys to understand is that these writers were basically father figures to those actors. They watched them grow their careers, supported them, made them who they are now. It’s hard when you spent so much time with each other and became a genuine family. Even their conflict with Elaine was hard because Jonas knew her family, his wife treated her like a daughter, and lilah treated her like a sister. They had every right to be bitter because from their POV, it’s basically like “hey I trusted you to bring my project to life and now I’m being forced to go in a direction I never wanted to go in.”

What’s going on behind the scenes right now?

A mess. They knew it would be bad but infact it is worse and they know that.

Am I reliable?

Honestly I don’t care if you believe me or not. You didn’t before and I got attacked (literal death threats in my inbox). I’m just a messenger. I’ve given you info before and clearly I didn’t lie about it. It’s up to you to decide.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

Ok I’ve seen some doomerism post-election that has clearly lost touch with all reality but this is next-level. If you’re thinking this way:

1) breathe.

2) go get some sunlight and maybe talk to a human being offline and/or not about Trump

3) step away from the go bags and emergency plans, because I guarantee you that whatever you are packing and planning in that state of mind isn’t actually going to be what you need if/when you need it. He doesn’t come into office until January. You can do this tomorrow or next week, once you’ve taken care of yourself. You can’t prepare for anything if you’re spiraling this badly.

4) breathe.

5) there will be history books. I know this because there have been kingdoms, and dictatorships, and empires where accurate literature was outlawed. They all fell eventually, and we know about them because someone somewhere wrote them down.

6) Even if you or I or we don’t survive this, if there are people still left in the world this history will be told and remembered. If there aren’t people left in the world, our stories will still be visible on pages and in photos, even if there’s nobody to remember. The concept of recorded information is not going to disappear. Our records will outlast us in the end.

7) if you are so worried about there being no histories, no truth, no stories left from those who are impacted, then I want you to pick up a notebook or piece of paper or napkin, or open a word document if you know a place (like a public library or school) that offers free printing services. Write now, write later, write what’s happening, copy and paste screenshots from social media, and hell copy/paste whole news articles, and print them. Write in class, write at work if you can, write before bed and when you wake up. This is how stories survive when they’re illegal. Take your pages and notebooks and printouts and put them in something watertight and secure, that you can carry with you, or give them to a trusted person with a house and bury them in old clothes, or make a time capsule. If you are afraid of the history of this time disappearing, it is in your power to change that.

8) or don’t. You don’t have to do it now, or this week, or this month. It’s something you can do, not something you have to do. Do it if it makes you feel better. Do it if it makes you worry less. Do it if it makes you feel powerful. You can also write or draw about things utterly irrelevant. It’s still your voice. Otherwise? Rest, be kind to yourself now.

9) breathe.

[wstviewvidal]

birthday- w. maximoff

pairing: fwb!wanda x reader

summary: misunderstandings can change things.

a/n: hi all! i hope yall are good! i wrote this a little bit after the first part came out. i love angst! unsure if i want a third part. also, if you don’t like this literally don’t tell me because im sensitive and cry easily

minors do not interact

“i assumed you would’ve confessed to wanda by now” natasha says as she fixes a pile of papers on your desk, “you know, since you’re head over heels for her”

nat smirks as you give her the side eye and roll your eyes, you swivel your chair towards her.

“i’m not head over heels for her. i’m ju-“

“stupid?”

narrowing your eyes and tilting your head to the side, “okay, no”

meeting natasha was by far one of the greatest strokes of luck in your life. sure, she could be blunt at times— but when it comes down to it, she tells you what you need to hear.

unfortunately, this was also one of those times.

she has constantly insisted on the idea that you need to muster up the courage to tell wanda about your feelings for her. she always says that she believes wanda feels the same towards you, but your insecurities and doubt always get in the way.

except this would actually be the second time you confess, not the first. not that you even are aware of that fact.

you don’t really recall the first time you told wanda how you felt about her. you were drunk at a party, and only wanda has a clear memory of it. however, out of respect for you and your ability to get embarrassed quickly, wanda never brought it up again.

“i just feel like it’s a losing game, you know?” you say softly, rubbing your temples, “i always thought that if one of us were to tell the other if we caught feelings, it would be her. she’s always been more upfront with her emotions than i have. i think she really only sees me as what we’d agreed upon, nat. what if im just a way for her to pass time?

you pout softly, your emotions now coming forth in front of your long time friend and colleague.

“i just feel like she treats me like a girlfriend some days, and other days it’s just,” you take in a deep breath and groan out of frustration, “other days she tells me about a girl she saw, or someone she matched with on a dating app. do you know what i mean? i get mixed signals sometimes”

nat looks at you with a sympathetic look on her face, biting her lip slightly to keep from saying anything she really shouldn’t.

truth is, nat always had an feeling that you two would end up together one way or another, she’s always rooted for you two. the only way that could happen is if the two of you get your head out of your asses. in fact, she’d tried to get wanda to come forth about her own feelings.

however, wanda was dating someone at the time of said conversation— and out of respect for her then partner, wanda kept her quiet and buried her feelings deep inside. timing has never been on your side, will it ever?

“i don’t know if there’s anything i can say to get you to tell her, but,” she raises her eyebrows and makes her voice firm to try to emphasize her point, “all i can say is that wanda is a beautiful girl who’s got brains and a personality on her. she won’t be around forever. you know you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t at least try with her”

there it is, the brutal truth you knew that natasha was going to throw at you— and what sucks the most is the fact that it’s exactly what you needed to hear.

wanda has had to call off your agreement on a few occasions because she’d gotten serious with two girls; and each time it’d left you sobbing in natasha’s arms in her apartment because you couldn’t fathom the thought of wanda with another girl.

with a soft nod, “how should i even do that? or when?”

natasha begins another one of her long speeches about how you could be losing the person who could be the one, emphasizing how you’d be the one at fault if you let her get away.

on the drive home, you can’t help but replay natasha’s words in your mind, you aren’t sure why they they’re resonating this specific time.

“don’t wait too long, you know. you never know who could come along and sweep her off her feet. that’ll be the last time you have wanda like how you have her now”

those specific words echo in your head as you get home, unsure why they’re weighing heavy on your chest this time.

sighing softly, “come on, baby, i need to get you home,” wanda says as she guides you to her car with her hand guiding you by the lower back. she had your purse and coat in her other hand, ensuring she’d grabbed everything you’d brought with you.

you two were finally at the end of the road, officially a month from graduating college and decided to attend one last party together before you were thrown into the deep end of adulthood.

you had a few too many to drink that night and wanda knew by the fourth drink and the way you couldn’t keep your hands off of her, she had to get you home safely before you ran off somewhere as soon as she took her eyes off of you.

you reached for the handle of the car door before having your hand gently smacked away.

“you know better than that,” she started softly before opening the door for you and allowing you to get comfortable in her passenger seat. wanda knew you hated having your heels on in the car, so she crouched down to remove them before giving you a quick kiss to the cheek.

wanda pulls back gently to look at your face, your glazed eyes looking back at her with a look of.. adoration?

she smiles softly and places a gentle hand on the side of your face, “you’re beautiful”

rolling your eyes and trying to hide your blush, you giggle and nudge her shoulder in a playful manner.

wanda chuckles at how you’re easy to fluster with just two words. placing another small kiss to your cheek, she closes the passenger door.

you watched as she rounded the car and get into the drivers seat with low lidded glazed eyes, a small crooked smile on your face as you watch her. the maroon mid length dress she wore was nothing short of elegant. her curled dark hair and light makeup enhanced her features so beautifully that you feared you’d somehow spill your guts to her if she made one more right move.

but you couldn’t. wanda was seeing someone— granted, it wasn’t serious nor do you think they’d even slept together, but you were terrified of being that girl.

in fact, you were too. you had been seeing maria from your public policy course for the past two months but you could never bring yourself to feel for her what you so deeply felt for wanda. you two had a mutual break up a few days later.

wanda enters the car and shrugs off her coat, her arm muscles now showing even more with the street light illuminating the inside of the car in a specific way. she fixes her hair and puts on her seat belt before she looks over at you with concern.

“you okay, bub? what’s wrong?” wanda asks softly, placing a gentle hand on your thigh as she furrows her eyebrows at your distant far off look.

wanda had no idea what was going through your head, not a single clue as to what was about to come out of your lips.

“do you ever think meant to be together? or are we just destined to be some sort of parallel line that run close but never touch”

a flicker of panic come over wanda’s face and her gentle caress on your thigh stops abruptly.

the air in the car now feels heavier, as if the spoken words have broken the ‘casual-ness’ of your spoken agreement.

wanda always hoped you two would speak about this, but when you were sober and coherent.

it came out of your lips so naturally, as if you’d said it before.

like this has been weighing heavily on your mind for a while.

wanda’s heart clenched, especially at the fact that she had finally realized that you’d been wondering about the same thing she had for years.

“i-“

wanda was completely and utterly dumbfounded for the first time when it came to you. she often, no— not often, always had an idea of what would come out of your mouth.

she often found herself staring at you when you’d speak to your friends from across the room. she’d smile at how animatedly you’d react to people words and how you’d cover your mouth as you’d giggle at a joke someone said. she could easily pride herself in the fact that she knew you.

but this, what you’d just said, had her tongue tied.

she wished you were sober. she wished you were sober so she could confess that she’d been in love with you for so long, before you two even agreed to get into bed with each other. that ever since you two were nineteen during your first year of college, she couldn’t stop thinking of you in a way that friends shouldn’t think of each other in.

but you were drunk.

you were seeing someone and so was she.

so she made the hard decision to keep her silence and take you home safely, without any casualties.

“you’re drunk,” she says sadly, her eyes showing every ounce of emotion going in through her head, “let’s save this for another day”

that day never came.

walking through the door of wanda’s apartment to get into the party wanda said she’d throw you, you’re instantly greeted with a bunch of your closest friends and a few extra guests who happened to be their plus ones.

immediately, you found yourself scanning the room and smiling at the people who were in the space. you could hear chatter and laughter, warming your heart knowing that it all came from the people you knew and loved.

with soft music in the background and the smell of wanda’s cooking, you feel immediately at ease with the atmosphere of the party.

you walk in and are greeted by your friends wishing you a happy birthday. after thanking them and giving them hugs, you find yourself by the drink table to try and loosen up.

wanda was considerate enough, as always, to ensure that the people who were invited to the party were people you could actually stand to hold a conversation with unlike other parties where you had to endure endless small chat that rotted at your brain.

speaking of wanda, you’d yet to see her even though this is her apartment. you try your best to subtly look around the room for any sight of the girl who takes up space in your mind every day.

scanning the room, you look for the dark haired girl but come up short. pouring softly, you take another sip of your drink and go to find natasha who has a look of amusement on her face as she watches you search for wanda.

“how nice of you to finally make it to your own birthday party,” she teases, “you look nice. is this the dress wanda bought you?”

it was. in fact, you’d never been a fan of dressing too girly until wanda coaxed you into letting her buy you a dress, and this one happened to be the most recent one she’s bought you.

she was always a fan of how baby blue looked on you. she liked it so much on you that she took it upon herself to buy you another two dresses, each could be used for different events.

this specific dress fell just below mid thigh and you paired it with a simple pair of white heels. you kept your makeup natural and did your hair, subconsciously styling yourself the way you know wanda would compliment. i mean, she is the one who bought you this dress and threw you this party.

what are friends with benefits for if not that?

trying to hide a small blush at natasha’s words, you nod softly and try to look away to avoid her incessant teasing.

she laughs softly and nudges your shoulder, “i haven’t seen her”

you turn back to her with a furrow of your brows and try to act like you don’t know what she’s talking about.

“your girlfriend,” she says in a monotone voice, as if it’s obvious who she’s talking about.

a small pout forms on your lips as you realize that no one’s seen wanda. everything seemed to be flowing smoothly and it didn’t seem like she needed to go out to get anything for the party, so where could she be?

turning back to natasha and excusing yourself to go grab a quick snack from the kitchen, you turn on your heel to grab a quick breather before having to go back out and socialize all night.

while at the table, you feel a presence right next to you, staring. agatha.

“well, well,” she begins in that tone of hers, “it seems like your girlfriend isn’t yours anymore, huh? is that why you’re all alone?”

you quickly whip your head towards her. not yours anymore? your body feels like it’s gone cold and you can’t pry your eyes away from agatha, almost trying to urge her to say something else, to continue on with what she just started.

“what do you mean?”

agathas’s smirk widens as she realizes shes hit a nerve.

“well, she’s not glued to you like usual. no cozying up, no fetching you whatever you need, having you on her lap. i mean, what do you mean what do i mean?”

patience wearing thin and not wanting to deal with agatha beating around the bush, you step closer to her with a firm look on your face, “where is wanda? who’s she with?”

agatha is caught off guard by your sudden jealous and angry demeanor, she drops the act.

tilting her head towards the crowd, and giving you a look of pity, “sorry, babe. last i saw her she was cozying up with a girl with a green dress. you took to long to get your girl.”

your blood runs cold for the umpteenth time in just the past twenty minutes. it’s almost like your body knew this was coming but your brain didn’t. had you just lost wanda? was it for good this time?

you turn your head to look for natasha in the living room, she’s already looking at you with a look of pity. she nods her head to the opposite side of the living room, gesturing towhere wanda is with a dark haired girl.

a knot twists inside of your chest and it feels like the air has been knocked out of you. it’s like a movie you hate but can’t tear your eyes away from. wanda looks beautiful, happy.

and you hate it.

the two look comfortable together, sitting too close for your liking. wanda’s left leg is over her right and the girl has her hand placed on her thigh.

wanda’s looking at her with a look you believed was only meant for you. the softly smile on her face and the way her eyes drift down to the girls lips makes you sick.

they’re well into a conversation and you can see how wanda is laughing at her jokes, placing her hand on the girl’s forearm as she throws her head back in a fit of laughter.

it seems all too natural and intimate.

every interaction you watch them share feels like a blow to the stomach, the air feeling like it’s being knocked out of you again.

in this moment, you slowly begin to realize that wanda was never yours. every shared moment that you two shared together, every kiss and caress, was just a way to pass the time.

you feel nauseous.

you excuse yourself from agatha and quickly find a way to wanda’s patio, where it’s vacant and you can hide for a while out here.

wanda’s apartment had a beautiful view of the city. you two often sat outside together and cuddled with a blanket and a cup of coffee after work often. you found comfort in wanda, even if you were unsure of what you two were.

she worked hard for everything she had in life and it was something you truly admired about her. she didn’t have the easiest upbringing and the fact that she still remains soft after it all and continued to be a beautiful is something you love about her.

replaying the conversation with both natasha and agatha, you can’t help but feel like a complete idiot as you realize how everything almost felt as if it was foreshadowing to this very moment.

you hear the door to the patio open but don’t turn back, you already know who it is.

familiar soft footsteps stop right next to you and you immediately smell her perfume. it’s the same one you gave her a few years ago and for the first time, it makes you sick.

“you’re wearing the dress,” amusement in her voice as she looks at the city with you, “and you look beautiful”

you smile softly but don’t engage in conversation, just acknowledging her compliment. wanda frowns softly at your lack of attention, not used to you immediately turning around and throwing back a flirt remark at her.

watching you from the side of her eye, she can tell just by your body language that something is bothering you.

you two stand at the patio railing for another few minutes, just in each others presence, until she decides to point out the elephant in the room.

“are you okay?” she asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

wanda’s concern warms your heart, but you know it’s just meant to be in a friendly way. the way she always looks out for you always tugs on your heart strings.

you want to get angry with her. you want to yell and scream at her to get the hell away from you. ask her why she would string you along with pretty words and gentle gestures that screamed ‘i love you.’

but you can’t.

because at the end of the day, somehow you always find yourself back in wanda’s arms and you could never tell her you hate her. it just isn’t true. it couldn’t ever be true.

forcing the emotion down your throat, you force yourself to tell her you’re okay. forcing a smile as you look at her, you try to fake it.

but wanda knows you.

“bub,” with a soft voice, “what’s wrong?”

there it is. she knows exactly what to say, how to say it, and how to get her way.

“i just,” a deep breath, “i didn’t know you’d be bringing a date to the party.”

wanda’s face falters and she doesn’t know what to say. the girl back there was not at all her date, nor could she even fathom the idea of bringing another girl when today was supposed to be about you.

she dismissively waves a hand in front of her as she looks away, almost trying to deflect and avoid the topic, but she sees the way you’re trying to hide your hurt at the whole situation.

she begins picking at her finger nails, a nervous habit you’ve tried to help her stop. trying to figure out what to say, she stares at the ground. the last thing she’d ever want to do it hurt you, and yet here she was.

“she’s,” a slight moment of hesitation “she’s not my date. she just..”

her voice falters and she doesn’t know how to carry on so she just sighs and looks at you with an apologetic look.

wanda looks beautiful. i mean, how could she not? she’s wearing the outfit you love so much. the black pants and white top that you’ve always said makes her look sophisticated. you two always laugh at that, especially since the thought of you two now looking and acting like fully fledged adults is something that neither of you could never wrap your heads around.

“she’s just someone i’m talking to for the night, i swear” wanda fidgets uncomfortably, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. she’s never seen this side of you, the way your hidden jealousy wants to boil over.

you give her a sad smile and just shake your head, silently telling her she doesn’t have to continue. placing your hands over hers, you hold onto them tightly and bring them up to your lips to place a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“thank you for the party, wands”

wanda panics immediately, the way you said that felt like it had some sense of finality to it. anxiety fills her chest and she feels like her legs could give out at any minute. she tries to say something, anything, to get you to stay with her.

but she’s caught off guard and she doesn’t have anything on the tip of her tongue, except for the three words she’s wanted to say for so long.

giving her a hug, you hold her tightly and allow yourself to feel her touch one last time. you want to tell her you love her, tell her everything that you’ve been meaning to say.

but you fall short, like on every occasion you’ve wanted to confess.

you give her a kiss on the cheek and hold her waist as you pull back, smiling softly at her.

in this moment, you fully understand what natasha meant by telling you, “if you’re not going to tell her how much she means to you and you love her, you need to let her go. you know she deserves that much.”

wanda tries to hold onto you tightly, as if you’ll float away if she even let go for a fraction of a second. her heart was racing and she was on the verge of tears.

you release wanda as you take a step back, looking at her face and trying to take in as much of her as possible knowing this very well may be the last time you see her.

“i’ll see you.”

[azsazz]

Cold Shoulder

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: after sprinkles of luck and doubt i cant stop thinking of hockey!az being weird and distant and then comes in figureskater!eris to be readers skating partner and the jealousy that ensues ooooooooo

AKA Part 2 to Sprinkles of Luck and Doubt

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 2083

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown Shots & Spins Sprinkles of Luck and Doubt

_________________________________________

“Where’s your guard dog?” The boy you’ve been trying to ignore since practice started says. He skids to a halt at your side, his skates spraying shards of ice across the worn ice. It’s due for a Zamboni soon, and glancing at the bright red numbers ticking the time away, you have twenty more minutes of skating until you’re done for the day.

It works perfectly for your schedule because you haven’t been able to focus since Azriel left you with a somber look after sneaking into the women’s locker room before his weekend away with his hockey team.

You don’t know what had gone wrong. Everything seemed fine when he pulled you into his body and you could feel the press of his thick cock in his pants against your stomach. He’d been more than excited to see you, and you’ve never felt more important than in his arms right then. Because he’d snuck into the women’s locker room to say goodbye. He could have easily left you with a text, or nothing at all—you knew his schedule like the back of your hand by now—but he felt inclined enough to break the rules to see you one more time before he left.

You get the saying now, because if he really wanted to, he would.

What you can’t grasp is the sudden change in Azriel’s mood. He’d gone stiff against you like the flip of a switch, and it wasn’t the good kind of stiff that reflected in his jeans. It was the kind of stiffness that you clocked immediately, fed on. When his body locked up, yours did too. When he refused to meet your gaze as he said a soft farewell, you didn’t have the heart to watch his off-putting demeanor.

It's been days since you’ve seen him. An entire week, almost. You’ve seen Cassian and Rhysand in passing, but they haven’t offered anything about Azriel and you hadn’t asked.

You’re not going to be that girl, even if the prolonged no-contact with someone you thought you could fall for is driving you up the wall.

“Practice,” you bite at the boy staring down at you. You wince at your tone. You answered much too quickly and with much to emotion for anyone to believe you, and you see it in the way Eris’ amber eyes soften a touch.

You don’t want his pity. You don’t need it.  All you want right now is to get off this damned ice—because of course it reminds you of Azriel, nearly everything does—and head back to your dorm to ice your throbbing knee.

You’ve known Eris since you transferred to Velaris University. He’s a challenge at the best of times and a menace at the worst, but he’s arguably your first friend outside of your dormmates, and even then, you’re not entirely sure they actually like you or if they just tolerate you because you all live together.

Maybe you need to start being a little friendlier.

“What happened?” Eris asks softly, and your throat grows tight with emotion. He’s the first person to ask, and for the first time since Azriel disappeared on you, you want to break down and let it all out. You want to spill every consuming thought you’ve had while you were overanalyzing and you want someone to feed into your delusion as much as you want someone to talk you off the ledge of crazy.

But you can’t do that, not in the middle of practice, because as soon as you open your mouth to spill, coach is shouting at you and Eris to run through your routine again.

You sigh in frustration, but it does nothing to ease the heaviness in your heart. After finally admitting that the injury you’re recovering from has been bothering you as of late, coach decided that working with a partner would help ease the stress on your knee while also keeping you working towards your goal.

You know you’ve had the option to work with a partner, but you’ve always been solo, and it’s difficult to allow yourself to put this much trust in someone else. The last time you put your trust in someone, he left you feeling like a wet towel abandoned on the shower stall floor.

Eris is well aware of your injury and how your recovery has been going, and he’s been more than happy to gently ease you into the routine. He’s been gentle with you during tricks, and you’re more thankful than you let on. As you get into position to practice one more time before you’re dismissed, you remind yourself to thank him properly by taking him to dinner or a movie or something he enjoys.

Eris counts you off and then you’re gliding across the ice together. His hand is a warm weight against your hip but it feels all wrong. It’s nothing like the hand you want there, the one that’s a brand against your skin.

You startle when Eris’ hand finds your other hip, preparing for your first trick. You wobble on your skate and he rightens you with a frown that you brush off with a head shake, taking a breath and focusing on what you do best.

Two, three, four, jump! Eris lifts you with ease, hauling you above his head. You engage your core and pose for a beat, two, and then he’s lowering you back to the ice with a gentleness that you haven’t experienced in pairs before.

This go-around, you’re mostly practicing lifts. Coach wants you and Eris to accomplish a triple twist lift, but you’re rusty working in pairs, and you need to work up to it. Plus, your knee screams in agony during your next trick, no matter how many times you’ve done a spiral.

Gods, you’re pushing it.

But to be the best, you have to.

You’re focused so intently on ignoring the pain flaring up your leg and the tricks you’ve yet to master to notice the figure across the arena. Hockey practice just let out, and a quick glance to the clock on the wall would have told you that if you’d been keeping an eye on it. Of course, you know the hockey schedule by heart. At first it was because you and Azriel would try to align your practices to get out on time so that you could find a dark place to touch each other, but now it’s because you wanted to escape any chance of seeing the broody hockey player you’ve decided you’re giving the cold shoulder to.

Azriel’s hazel eyes latch onto you and the hand he has wrapped around his hockey bag tightens until his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t know the guy whose hands are all over you, doesn’t like the way he grabs your hips to lift you, doesn’t like how close his face is to yours, how his eyes glitter with amusement when you curse under your breath. He doesn’t like the way your body looks molded to his when you jump or the way that you stare at each other at the end of your routine, both panting so hard that your chests nearly brush with every inhalation.

He definitely doesn’t like the ire flooding his bones like magma, nor the prickling sensations of jealousy that threaten to overtake his body, march him onto the ice, and beat the shit out of the guy that’s touching what’s his.

And he most certainly doesn’t like the way that you favor your uninjured leg as you make your way off of the ice.

Azriel can’t help himself, he’s a fool. A fool for leaving you. A fool for not messaging you that he needed time to figure his own shit out, that things with you were becoming too real. A fool for every doubting whatever you had in the first place.

He fucking missed you. All weekend, all week. He should’ve found you sooner, but with the loss against the Sparrows, coach has been making the team do double practice so they’re prepared for their next game tomorrow night, and with his classwork and personal life stacking up, he hadn’t prioritized you.

He’s realizing now that he should have.

Azriel doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s halfway to where you’ve come off the ice and are listening to your coach. Eris stands too closely to your side as you nod, and it takes you longer than he wants to admit to notice him.

He watches your pretty eyes go wide, drink him in from head-to-toe—which he secretly preens at because you still want him, even after he’s acted like a jackass all week—and then narrow in a glare so harsh his steps falter.

Surely, he knows he fucked up, but he hadn’t gauged just how angry you’d be.

Very, apparently.

Azriel’s still trying to muster up what to say when coach dismisses you. You turn to Eris instead of moving towards Azriel, and the black-haired boy bristles at that fact. He can’t hear what you’re speaking about, but when Eris graces you with a charming smile and an agreement, Azriel knows he doesn’t like that one fucking bit.

You snatch your towel from where it’s hanging over the edge of the bench and wrap it around your neck, following Eris towards the locker rooms. You have to work to keep your face neutral, but your knee is killing you. All you want to do is go home, prop it up and ice it, maybe even devour a pint of ice cream or two, but upon seeing Azriel waiting for you in the walkway off the ice, you hastily invited Eris to grab dinner with you instead.

You want nothing to do with Azriel at the moment.

He’s still glaring at your friend when you try to pass by. Azriel grabs your arm but it’s gentle, and sends a zip of lightning up your spine.

“Hands off, hockey douche,” Eris defends, but Azriel doesn’t pay him a second glance, his intense eyes focused entirely on you.

“Can we talk?”

His voice is so soft, eyes pleading, that you want to cave immediately. Crawling right back into his arms sounds like bliss right now because you know Azriel well enough to know that he’s noticed how badly your knee is bothering you, and he’d be a great caretaker. But that means he’s also noticed how he left you, by the remorse in his eyes, and how upset you are with him.

“I can’t,” you respond, sticking to your guns no matter how painful it is. Azriel’s hand is warm on your arm, and his touch alone is already battering through your weakened defenses. You lift your chin and reprimand yourself all in the same motion. “I have plans.”

“Cancel them.”

“I don’t think so,” Eris huffs, hovering by your side. Azriel’s face hardens and you manage to hide your wince when he turns his glare on your partner.

“This conversation doesn’t involve you, firedick.”

“Azriel,” you hiss, and he hates that you’re using his full name. He hates that you sound so upset. “Apologize.”

He sets his jaw, staring down at you. You stare right back, arms crossed fully over your chest. There’s a bead of sweat brimming at your hairline that Azriel wants to brush away, and it’s a struggle not to haul you into his arms and drag you back to the hockey house with him to talk.

After a few terse seconds of silence, you scoff. He’s not going to apologize to you, and he presumably liked you, there’s no way in hell he’s going to apologize to Eris for calling him a crude name.

You manage to sidestep Azriel, though you’re sure you only get away with it because he lets you. He’s a persistent man and usually gets what he wants, but not today.

If he wants anything to do with you, he’s going to work for it.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel says when you’ve taken two steps away from him. You know it isn’t directed at Eris, but at you. Your steps falter and your lip wobbles with emotion. You wonder if Azriel knows what he’s sorry for, or if he’s just saying it to appease you.

You glance at him over your shoulder, cursing your wet eyes for giving you away.

You say thickly, “Yeah, me too,” and continue down the hall to the locker rooms.

Azriel watches you go.

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13 @sunny1616

[lopsicle]

Arcane season 2 spoilers

/////

I have been thinking A LOT about Jayce and Viktor, mainly the scene where Viktor is reborn out of his pod of Hexcore.

Mainly because it means a lot for Viktor’s character. On a fundamental level, he never seen much worth in himself, but he did see worth in inventions, the things he made, it’s how he could prove himself to the world. This is why he becomes so concerned with his illness and the legacy he’ll leave behind on the world; he needs the Hexcore to work because he doesn’t have anything else.

But now, he is literally fused with his invention, his invention that he has grown to hate because it killed one of the only people who truly saw value in Viktor, and not the things he could, partly due to his own negligence. Viktor put it best, in his pursuit of greatness, he failed to do good.

He doesn’t really know how to process what happened to him at all, he’s a smart man, he can clearly deduce that his body has undergone some cybernetic change, he can probably remember the explosion in the council room, but other then that, he’s just confused, hence why he asks Jayce, “what am I?” Viktor’s body is entirely different and unfamiliar, and taking into context that the Hexcore, his greatest invention which he tied all his worth to, has failed before this, it’s likely Viktor had lost sight of who he was, and his new body only served to further that descent.

Jayce can’t think about any of that though, he’s just happy that his partner is alive and who wouldn’t be, he’d been waiting for days, possibly weeks for him to wake. Viktor’s mortality is one of the things that Jayce has struggled with the most in the series, which is what makes his survivor’s guilt so much more pertinent. A lot of people claim that Jayce grew up rich and coddled, and I think that’s true to an extent, but they forgot his family were workers, tool smiths. Jayce seemed to grow up with the idea that he wasn’t that fortunate, that he was a working, middle class man who was going to change the world, and then he meets Viktor, a “poor cripple from the Undercity,” and then he sees what the Undercity is really like and the conditions people live in. And that’s when Jayce realises; he had it good. I believe this is what encourages part of his admiration of Viktor; he is what Jayce thought he was.

Tangent aside, I feel that their hug is a very, very important moment, mainly because of Viktor’s reaction.

He isn’t relieved or uncomfortable, it’s just…nothing. Given what Viktor says about how he doesn’t feel that it’s cold and just recognises that it is cold, I believe this is the moment where it fully sank in how much his body had changed. He couldn’t feel Jayce.

And like, first off, that is such beautiful symbolism for what he says later about how they’re relationship was only held together by affection. Viktor physically cannot feel said affection anymore and know has no reason to stick by the side of someone whose views have become so contrasted to his. But more emotionally, it’s representative of Viktor’s belief that he is unloveable, his new body is merely proof at that, he can’t touch Jayce, he couldn’t save Sky, he couldn’t make the Hexcore work properly, he couldn’t even get Jayce to destroy the Hexcore. To himself, Viktor is a failure who is unworthy of love.

But, he still huge Jayce back. Despite not being able to feel Jaycee’s warmth anymore, despite it feeling like his whole life has crumbled, Viktor wants to give Jayce one last act of service. Perhaps to prove that he still has use, or maybe this was the moment where he decided he would have to part ways with Jayce, and just wanted Jayce to remember his touch, even if Viktor couldn’t remember his.

Anywho if enough people like this dribble, I may post my take on the rest of this scene because it shattered me

[7s3ven]

Hear me out guys… retired soldiers now bodyguards! task force 141 x spoiled heiress! reader

( just an idea )

You’re like, a nutcase. Your father adores you but sometimes you can go out of control. Like for instance, the time you jumped off a cliff into the ocean below to impress a boy.

Yeah, your father wasn’t very impressed with your behaviour.

On top of your recklessness, your father has enemies who always seem to target you. You’re his obvious weakness and he can’t spend another moment of anxiously wondering if you’re okay while he’s working.

So, he hires the best bodyguards he can find. And they turn out to be retired soldiers from an elite unit known as Task Force 141. Perfect.

You don’t take kindly to being continuously followed by four large men who don’t even try to be subtle. It’s not like taking care of you is easy either. You’re a troublemaker, you always have been since your mother left you for another family (your reckless tendencies tend to stem from the fact that you’re causing trouble to get her to notice you again).

Task Force 141 has had enough when you attempt to sneak out of the house to a party on a Friday night. But it seems apart from shopping and acting like a brat, you aren’t good at anything else.

They hear a crash and someone swearing loudly before you roll off the roof, landing in the bushes right outside the window where the four men have a perfect view of you. They were watching a football came until you interrupted.

Jonny bursts into laughter, slapping Gaz out of amusement, while Price fetches you and forces you back inside.

“You know, your house has a back door for a reason.” Simon utters as he cleans your scratches but there’s a mocking indication to his tone.

“Yeah but like, going out the window felt more cool.” You argue back, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Was it cool when you face planted into the ground?”

You can only pout in annoyance.

From then on, they don’t leave you alone, especially not on Friday nights. You have to deal with being squished between Price and Simon as they watch a boring documentary on… fish? Jonny definitely chose that one.

But hey, you aren’t exactly complaining. Being stuck between the two men means being able to feel their muscles and smell their strong cologne. You tolerate the four men more after they cleaned your scratches from landing in a bush and carried you to your bed.

And so what if you catch feelings? Anybody else in your position would have done the same.

“We can’t date ya, lovie. We’re too old and we work for your dad.”

Do you care? Not really.

“My dad literally hired you because I was a troublemaker. Ya think I give a shit? ‘Sides, the older the better.”

Jonny jabs a thumb in Price’s direction, “Even the captain? You should’ve seen ‘im in his prime. Way better looking.” He hands you a picture that he just happens to have of Price.

You glance at it then lift your head to look at Price. Your lips curve into a teasing smile. “Yeah, you’re right. What happened, Captain?” You joke.

INCORRECT QUOTES FOR THE LAUGHS:

Kidnapper, negotiating with TF 141: We have the annoying heiress. Give us ten thousand dollars and they will be returned to you unharmed

Y/N: Whoa, whoa, wait, you think I’m only worth ten thousand dollars. MAKE IT ONE MILLION–

Price: Y/N, STOP

Simon: Can I be frank with you guys?

Jonny: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Gaz: Can I still be Gaz?

Y/N: Shh, let Frank speak.

Gaz: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Simon: *turning to Y/N* How tall are you?

Price: Where's Simon, Gaz, and Y/N?

Jonny: They're playing hide and seek.

Price: Where?

Jonny: I don't think you get how this game works.

Y/N: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Simon: Several traffic violations.

Gaz: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Jonny: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Price: Also, that’s not our car.

[tswkento]

kind of arranged marriage au with gojo, where it is suddenly proposed during a big meeting that he attended out of pure convenience rather than his own desire and he is thoroughly disinterested in the idea until you come into the picture.

dragged into the room with two guards holding you up by your arms as you writhe in their hold, so bratty and feisty, unintentionally catching everyone’s attention as you curse the men by your sides — satoru finds your voice to be very familiar, but he can’t understand why because your hair is all over your face from your squirming.

and when you are not so gently put down on the floor, with your kimono in disarray while you are huffing and panting as you blow the strands of hair away from your face, satoru finally recognises you.

he watches as the guards let you go, cautiously watching you as you fix your kimono and smooth down your hair, and when an old lady approaches you they go away. some old man appears by his side, shakily introducing himself to satoru, but he completely ignores the man, still waiting for you to be alone to proceed. suddenly, this whole event becomes a lot more entertaining.

the old lady by your side points at the other side of the room and satoru follows her directions along with you — catching the sight of naoya zenin and the disgusted look you grant the lady before she whispers something into your and you direct your gaze at him.

the delight satoru feels at the sight of the death glare you send him is on another level. it is really you.

while he waits for the right moment, gojo takes in what the old man has been saying to him — apparently you were to be wedded either to him or to naoya, which could explain your previous interaction with the lady and the dirty look you gave the zenin guy.

the moment the old lady leaves you alone, satoru appears, languid steps approaching you as he shoves his hands in his pockets and bends forward, smirking down at you.

“oh i remember you. 2005, exhange event, fukuoka branch?”

you continue glaring at him, unwilling to dip into the memories he is sure he has brought back into your mind — your glossy lips twitch, though, so he knows you have a lot to say. he can tell you haven’t really changed from the first time he met you, but for some reason you are holding back now.

“haven’t changed, have you? the same bratty attitude, all bark and no bite.” he continues to rile you up, hoping that the condescending tone of his voice will bring something out of you. it seems to work because you hiss out a reply not even a moment later,

“and you’re still the same asshole, aren’t you?”

the sight of your balled fists, burning with potent cursed energy, makes his smirk grow, and he only chuckles.

“easy, tiger, we both know you are in no position to speak to me like that.”

your eyes widen at his words, feet taking you away from him as you gulp down whatever response you had in your mind. the fact that he has so much control over your life right here right now scares him just as much as it excites him, but the cruelty of his words is far bigger than what he has in mind.

at the end of the day, you are quite a pitiful sight.

he could just say ‘no’ and you will be basically sold to the zenin for your pretty face, very much aware of the tormenting you will be forced to go through to become a picture perfect wife for naoya. everyone knows that. you know that.

he looks down at your fists, seeing the unstable flickering of the energy around it, making him raise a wondering brow at that and causing you to hide your hands behind your back. your technique was something you were very proud of back then, and seeing you being self-conscious now was a confusing sight.

“what happened to being a sorcerer and all? did you give up so easily after your class lost that summer?”

you click your tongue at him, crossing your arms over your chest as you look around warily.

“i am forbidden from using my technique.”

“too bad at it?”

“no, asshole. i can’t work because i could hurt myself and it would be a liability to—” you close your mouth, a deep frown appearing on your forehead as you sigh. satoru, ever the patient, urges you,

“to what?”

you take a deep breath, covering your face with your palm, “to my reproductive system.”

oh. right. the clan heads are obsessed with him having an heir so it’s no wonder something like this even happened. though, satoru does feel pity brewing inside of him when he realises that you’ve been deprived of your life’s work and made to become something you clearly were not. he remembers your 16 year old self being very adamant on becoming the best of the best after losing to them for the nth time.

satoru makes a show of rubbing his chin, as if in deep thought, and then gasps, a wide smile appearing on his lips as he leans down to be on your eye level again.

“so, what do you think about becoming my wife?”

“everyone here knows that you don’t want to get married.” you glance at him in utter confusion, untrusting of his words.

satoru nods, smirking lazily, “i don’t. never said it’s gonna be a great marriage.” he takes a lock of your hair between his fingers, twirling it lightly while he continues, “it’s gonna save you, though.”

“what’s in it for you?”

“i get to save your day like the true hero i am and have the old geezers off my back,” he holds out his hand for you, an offer for you to take it and agree to this whole thing, “and you get to lead a semi-normal life with me. are you in or not?”

your eyes roam over his features before turning to the room full of people before you. everyone was staring at him and you, satoru already knew that, and as soon as you were to put your hand in his — chaos would ensue.

so you did. and thus, a different life started.

[chamomiletealeaf]

Omg I just thought of something for my fellow curly/black hair readers.

Going home with Simon after meeting him at a bar with your hair straightened, a tight little lowcut dress pushing your tits up and that you have to be careful bending over or lifting your arms too high in because it would expose your tiny panties and your ass hidden underneath it, and some strappy heels.

And god does Simon notice. He can’t keep his eyes off of you the entire night and the way you pull the hem of your dress down over your ass when it rides up. He’s already imagining bending you over and shoving his face into your clothed pussy from behind, letting your dress ride up to expose your ass.

He makes his move and he ends up in your bed a few hours later where you both cum like you haven’t in years. And when it’s time to shower, he invites you in with him.

“Oh- um- I can’t get my hair wet.” You say.

“Just put it up love it won’t get wet.” He responds, brushing a strand out of your face.

You both stand in the bathroom, water running and fogging up the room with the steam, and you don’t have long until the humidity starts to make your hair frizz up and shrink.

“Hm. I- no really I can’t. The humidity is-“

Simon laughs.

“Oh honey, you’re adorable. C’mon nothings gonna happen. You’ll live I promise.”

You looked at the way his body glistened with sweat and the steam from the room and you’d hate to miss out on seeing the water run down his rough, sexy body. You just gotta make sure your hair doesn’t betray you and give away your secret.

“Ok.” You relent.

Simon hugs and kisses you in the shower, running his hand up and down your body while you dodge your head out of water every time you get too close.

“You got a lot of brushes in here. What you got one for each strand?” He jokes.

You laugh nervously, hoping he won’t realize the dramatic ratio in shampoo to conditioner you have that would give away more of your secret.

“C’mon relax love. What’s the matter? I’ll get out if you’re uncomfortable.” He says concerningly.”

“No it’s- it’s not you, I just… you like me right? I’m pretty?” You ask.

“What? Love, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you weren’t, nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Nothing?”

He grips your chin and tilts your head up so you look into his eyes.

“Nothing. What are you an axe murderer or something?” He jokes with a smirk.

You giggle, feeling better.

“No.”

You bite your lip anticipating your next move, and you finally give in.

“Lemme get under the water for a second.”

And you move under the stream, soaking your hair. You watch how it shrinks up and curls, but Simon doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy watching the water run down your tits and how pretty your skin looks all sleek from the water.

After your shower, Simon goes back into your room and waits for you to finish up in the bathroom. Your hair is drying up, and you can’t leave it without styling it or at least putting in some leave-in conditioner, but doing all that would take too long, but it’s too late to hide it now.

After about 10 minutes Simon knocks on the door.

“Hun? You ok in there?”

“Yeah! Um- one second.” You panic, looking at the curls on your head refusing to work with you.

“You sure? You’ve been acting kinda weird. I know we just met but you don’t have to hide anything from me.” He says.

You put one of your styling brushes down and sigh. You might as well just let him see now. You really liked him, and if he didn’t like all of you, better to learn that sooner than later.

You walk over to the bathroom door and open it, still in your towel, and Simon doesn’t say anything.

You look up at him after a second and you see him wide eyed, a smile forming on his face.

“It- doesn’t usually look like this. I haven’t finished styling it so it’ll be better when-“

“I love it.” He cuts you off. “As if you couldn’t get any prettier.” He says as he cups your cheek.

“Is this why you were worried about the water?” He asks with a laugh.

“Um- yeah, I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh love, I would’ve made a move sooner if I knew this was what was hiding, not that you were any less sexy before.” He says, booping your nose.

You giggle, feeling a little stupid that you had no problem letting this stranger man fuck you senseless, but you were too nervous about him seeing your natural hair.

“You think it’s pretty now? Just wait till it dries. It’s just gonna get bigger.” You joke.

“Can’t fucking wait.” He says with an excited expression on his face, then he picks you up to bring you back to the bedroom where you both spend the rest of your night.

Hopefully this one night stand won’t be just that.

:)))))

[capquinn]

Omg, I loved the hand behind the seat! I’m loving the driving Quinn! It has me daydreaming of driving with him and him being all protective us when we are in the car. Like someone cuts him off and he puts his arm out to stop us from flying forward and him being all angry and worried about us 🥺

Quinn is focused as he navigates through the thick evening traffic, his gaze darting between the mirrors as he edges into the next lane. In the rush, he doesn’t signal, too intent on finding his way through the crowded streets. Suddenly, a sharp honk blares from behind, and without a second thought, he slams on the brakes, his body tense.

His arm flies out instinctively, pressing across your chest as he steadies you in your seat, his eyes wide as he quickly glances over his shoulder, trying to assess the danger he might’ve missed, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face, jaw tight.

“What the f—” he mutters, barely catching himself, his heart racing.

His arm is still braced protectively across your chest as he checks for anything that might have caused the blare of the horn. But after a moment, he realises it was just a close call — a near miss. There’s no accident, no crunch of metal, just the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel, his breathing shallow, and there’s a quick, frustrated flicker in his eyes as he checks the mirrors again, his attention finally settling back on you.

“You good?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse as he gives you a thorough once-over.

His gaze sweeps over you — taking in the rise and fall of your chest, the way your hands grip the seatbelt tightly beneath his outstretched arm, the startled look in your eyes. Finally, he meets your gaze, holding it for a beat, waiting for your answer.

You nod, swallowing as you try to settle your own racing heart, still startled by the sudden stop and the blare of the horn.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel, though you can’t help raising an eyebrow at him as you catch your breath.

Quinn lets out a long exhale, his arm slowly retracting from where it braced you, the tension starting to ease, and he lets his hand drop to his lap as he glances up to see that the traffic light is still green.

“Unbelievable. People drive like maniacs,” he grumbles, his brows furrowed.

You hesitate, then clear your throat gently, and he glances back over at you, catching the barely-contained smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, the shock already giving way to humour.

“Actually, Quinn… you didn’t use your blinker,” you inform him, trying to keep a straight face, but the amusement slips through.

He pauses, the colour rising to his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at you. “Maybe,” he mumbles. “It’s fine. Just… city driving, you know?” He tries to brush it off with a casual shrug, though his sheepish smile gives him away.

Quinn glances ahead as he shifts gear, eyes fixed on the road, but he’s still a bit rattled from the close call and embarrassed it had been his fault entirely.

In his mind, the light is still green, exactly as it was a moment ago. Without thinking to check again, he eases off the brake and begins to roll forward, oblivious to the fact that the light has changed to red in the last few seconds.

Halfway through the crosswalk, a pedestrian steps forward, quickly noticing Quinn’s car approaching and slapping a hand against the hood in alarm. Quinn’s eyes widen as he slams on the brakes again, finally realising what he’s missed.

“Quinn,” you hiss, a horrified laugh bubbling up as you glance at the dashboard. You clutch the edge of your seat, feeling a rush of disbelief as you try not to meet the pedestrian’s glare through the window.

Quinn freezes for a second, his grip tightening on the wheel as he processes what just happened. He glances quickly at the pedestrian, his face a mix of apology and embarrassment as he raises a hand and mutters, “sorry, I’m sorry,” hoping they catch the sincerity in his expression.

Without much choice, he eases the car forward, finishing the turn to clear the crosswalk, his eyes flicking back to the road as he settles back into his lane, visibly flustered.

Once he finally clears the intersection, he lets out a long sigh, cheeks flushed.

You can’t help but stifle a laugh, watching the relief and embarrassment play out on Quinn’s face. His shoulders drop slightly as he settles back in his seat, but the pink in his cheeks betrays just how rattled he actually feels.

After a beat, he peers over at you, brow furrowing as he catches the amusement flickering in your eyes.

“Stop,” he groans, running a hand through his hair, clearly self conscious about his driving skills.

He can’t believe he’s just messed up twice in the span of seconds, and all with you sitting right there. That’s never happened before.

“How do you still have a license, Hughes?” you tease, trying to hold back your laughter.

He shoots you a wounded look, the colour on his cheeks spreading down his neck. “I’m usually good at this, you know,” he mumbles, glancing at the road with renewed focus.

You snort, raising an eyebrow. “Sure. Maybe the city should just issue a warning when you’re on the road.”

Quinn can’t help but crack a reluctant smile, though he tries to hide it.

“Alright, so I’m not exactly ‘Driver of the Year,’” he admits, giving you a sidelong glance. “But we’re alive, aren’t we?” There’s a playful glint in his eye now, still a bit embarrassed but finding the humour in it too.

You burst into laughter, the kind that bubbles up unexpectedly, filling the car as you shake your head in disbelief.

“Barely.”

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requests are open - let’s daydream!

[britcision]

I do also agree with OP, although I am gonna throw in a little reframing

TTRPGs and RPGs in general are games; they work based on chance and mechanics which tend not to change based on what would be narratively convenient, because the game doesn’t know what would be narratively convenient

(Notable exception: Abnimals, Travis McElroy’s game which explicitly includes a pool of My Time To Shine dice, which players can add to rolls they think are narratively important.

The dice still don’t care and will still dish you up all failures, but you do get to juice to improve your odds)

And what this means from a narrative perspective is that all the players and the GM need to be ready for big moments to go wrong. For the vital roll to fail, for the wrong character to get the last hit on a BBEG, for a dramatic and impassioned speech to fall flat

And that’s especially a challenge in a short campaign or series of oneshots, where you can’t necessarily just extend and expand the story until the Grand Finale is actually just a Big Character Moment

But it is still a big character moment

As the McElroy’s say… a failure is more interesting than a success

A failure adds free depth, free angst if you’re lucky!

Because… is anyone actually upset and unsatisfied if the story goes too well? If you succeed in a place where a failure might have been more exciting and dramatic?

The key is the kind of story the players (especially western players) are expecting to tell, and will find satisfying… because again, these are games

We go into them expecting or at least intending to win

This means various things for different games, you don’t play Call of Cthulhu for a happy feel good ending where everyone rolls off into the sunset, but you still want to win

It’s a lot more likely for people to feel it was a narratively satisfying story once they’ve gotten the end they wanted, even if some areas fell flat

And trust me, it’s something my players very much also struggle with; it feels bad when we fail something we wanted to succeed on. It feels worse if we built it up to be a big narrative moment… and it doesn’t work

But that is still a big narrative moment

If you’re going to play a game, where chance and mechanics decide the fate of all your dramatic moments, you need to be prepared to tell at least two stories:

- One where it all goes well

- One where it fails

(Maybe one more for a natural 20 equivalent and the stars quake at your passing)

It is hard to lean into failure, but when we do it… what would have been an unsatisfying ending is now just another twist. Free depth and character development, something to wallow in

And we know that those types of stories, even ones where everything goes wrong and the heroes lose, can be so very satisfying

Just look at the prevalence of whump and hurt-no-comfort on AO3

It’s normal and expected to feel bad and dissatisfied when the story doesn’t go the way you wanted it to, but it is your choice to leave that story as something unsatisfying and feeling bad about it

Every unexpected failure is another microwave to toss your blorbo in

Every moment that falls even a little flat is an opportunity for a genre-savvy quip, for a “well that just happened”, for someone to fall to their knees and scream and re-amp the tension

The key is in the player’s flexibility, not the game’s

Even if you are doing a short campaign… you can imply the rest. Let the story not be over, even if your time playing it is.

Let the beaten heroes be ground underfoot, crawl away from the dungeon, have to work and suffer but grit their teeth and know… so long as they’re alive, they can try again

They can have their revenge

(And then you can run the campaign again later, maybe with the same characters a level or two higher than you started last time, and thrive on the new dark and bitter story)

Or let your past characters be an inspiration, either for friends and loved ones who come to avenge them, or to the new heroes who heard their story and heard they failed, but that’s no reason not to try

Prev is also so right about a lot of modern dnd basically expecting the DM to tell a mildly interactive story live to passive players; it’s definitely one a lot of my players came in with, and it’s part of the problem

To tell a narratively satisfying story, you cannot just passively go along and expect the dice rolls to conform to your narrative

You need to actively engage, embrace the rolls as crossroads in the path of destiny, and be prepared to build the narrative no matter which path you take

You don’t go in expecting the right results at the right time to make a satisfying story; you go in knowing where the key moments will be, and what will happen if you succeed or fail

I have told my players several times, and I’ll tell y’all until I die:

I as the DM am not telling the story

I the DM have made the world, the NPCs, the background and setting of events

You the players are telling the stories of your characters, in that setting

There is an overarching plot that the party as a whole will also be telling the story of together… but not only are the players the ones who pick the theme music, you’re the ones who chose the main characters

There’s a reason a prefab campaign will be different for every group that plays it, even with the same GM

Even if you have no idea what’s coming next in the main storyline, you need to know what is coming next for your character

How you want them to grow, what you want them to learn - and then any unfortunate rolls aren’t a let down or a problem, it’s an opportunity.

Sakura has to learn something important about herself and others before she can ever collect a card - which means something usually goes wrong

She tries and fails, and then looks at that failure and learns from it and grows as a person, and that’s what makes the narrative satisfying

Sticking your feet in and sulking if the game mechanics don’t follow the narrative you want will make an unsatisfying story no matter what game you play

Gleefully and enthusiastically stuffing your blorbo into the blender of fate, hitting Purée, and turning every stumble off the narrative path into its own adventure will give you a much deeper, more compelling, more complete story than you might have expected…

But that’s the fun part

The truest mechanism of an RPG or TTRPG has nothing to do what is written into the rules of the game

It’s your own skill at improv, and if you’ve ever been even remotely stage shy, avoided drama class, or thought improv was hard, let me reassure you:

Improv comedy is not the only improv. You don’t have to be funny

And it’s a lot easier than you might think

So long as you know your character, actually really know them beyond the backstory you created… so long as you take the time to think “well what do they do when things go wrong? What would they give to get what they want? What would it take to force them to do the things they’d never do?”

You can bullshit through basically any situation

Because there’s no rule against playing ahead in your mind

Daydream your character into any situation you think might come up, write the fanfiction version of the perfect narrative in your head, and then do the tragic version. Do the slapstick version. The gritty noire version

Because the greatest secret of improv and playing your own character is that you will never be wrong

Only you define success or failure

So long as you know and understand your characters and can be flexible with the mechanics and the story, you can always build a satisfying narrative

This is a lot more work than just being reactive and expecting the GM to tell a story for you, and just rolling dice and “hit big monster” when prompted

That’s what makes the story actually satisfying though; taking ownership of it yourself

The game belongs to the designers

The story belongs to the players, GM and PC alike

There's this idea floating around the general TTRPG space that's kind of hard to put one's finger on which I think is best articulated as "the purpose of an RPG is to produce a conventionally shaped satisfying narrative," and in this context I mean RPG as not just the game as it exists in the book but the act of play itself.

And this isn't exactly a new thing: since time immemorial people have tried to force TTRPGs to produce traditional narratives for them, often to be disappointed. I also feel this was behind a lot of the discussion that emerged from the Forge and that informed the first "narrativist" RPGs (I'm only using the word here as a shorthand: I don't think the GNS taxonomy is very useful as more than a shibboleth): that at least for some TTRPGs the creation of a story was the primary goal (heck, some of them even called themselves Storytelling games), but since those games when played as written actually ended up resisting narrative convention they were on some level dysfunctional for that purpose.

There's some truth to this but also a lot of nuance: when you get down to the roots of the hobby, the purpose of a game of D&D wasn't the production of a narrative. It was to imagine a guy and put that guy in situations, as primarily a game that challenged the player. The production of a narrative was secondary and entirely emergent.

But in the eighties you basically get the first generation of players without the background from wargames, whose impressions of RPGs aren't colored by the assumption that "it's kind of like a wargame but you only control one guy." And you start getting lots of RPGs, some of which specifically try to model specific types of stories. But because the medium is still new the tools used to achieve those stories are sometimes inelegant (even though people see the potential for telling lots of stories using the medium, they are still largely letting their designs be informed by the "wargame where you only control one guy" types of game) and players and designers alike start to realize that these systems need a bit of help to nudge the games in the direction of a satisfying narrative. Games start having lots of advice not only from the point of view of the administrative point of view of refereeing a game, but also from the point of view of treating the GM as a storyteller whose purpose is to sometimes give the rules a bit of a nudge to make the story go a certain way. What you ultimately get is Vampire: the Masquerade, which while a paradigm shift for its time is still ultimately a D&D ass game that wants to be used for the sake of telling a conventional narrative, so you get a lot of explicit advice to ignore the systems when they don't produce a satisfying story.

Anyway, the point is that in some games the production of a satisfying narrative isn't a primary design goal even when the game itself tries to portray itself as such.

But what you also get is this idea that since the production of a satisfying narrative is seen as the goal of these games (even though it isn't necessarily so), if a game (as in the act of play) doesn't produce a satisfying narrative, then the game itself must be somehow dysfunctional.

A lot of people are willing to blame this on players: the GM isn't doing enough work, a good GM can tell a good story with any system, your players aren't engaging with the game properly, your players are bad if they don't see the point in telling a greater story. When the real culprit might actually be the game system itself, or rather a misalignment between the group's desired fiction and the type of fiction that the game produces. And when players end up misidentifying what is actually an issue their group has with the system as a player issue, you end up with unhappy players fighting against the type of narrative the game itself wants to tell.

I don't think an RPG is dysfunctional even if it doesn't produce a conventionally shaped, satisfying narrative, because while I do think the act of play inevitably ends up creating an emergent narrative, that emergent narrative conforming to conventions of storytelling isn't always the primary goal of play. Conversely, a game whose systems have been built to facilitate the production of a narrative that conforms to conventions of storytelling or emulates some genre well is also hella good. But regardless, there's a lot to be said for playing games the way the games themselves present themselves as.

Your traditional challenge-based dungeon game might not produce a conventionally satisfying narrative and that's okay and it's not your or any of your players' fault. The production of a conventionally satisfying narrative as an emergent function of play was never a design goal when that challenge-based dungeon game was being made.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

A Fair Exchange -Aemond T.

(A little warning at the end for what is probably Aemond and his wife becoming mass murderers…?)

‘They’ve taken something of mine, I shall have something of theirs.’ Aemond spoke, stopping his mother from attacking Rhaenyra again and his father seemed to deem this acceptable.

‘What is it that you wish for then?’ He asked and Aemond smirked, looking over at the boys before tightening his grasp on the hand holding his tightly.

‘I will have their sister as my wife.’ He declared and no one moved, it seemed that everyone was shocked though at the same time no one was shocked at all.

Y/n and Aemond had been close since they were babies and they refused to fall asleep for a nap without the other until they were nearly 4 years old. Everyone thought they would end up together except their mothers who never wanted it. Also Daemon of course, who was her father though no one “knew” as he couldn’t claim her and admit Rhaenyra cheated on her husband, though he had admitted in the past that if he could without ruining her life, he would in a heartbeat.

‘I don’t see why not, perhaps it will bring our family together as they should be! My son Aemond Targaryen and my granddaughter Y/n Velaryon will be married when they come of age, and this matter is now finished! This infighting will cease now!’ The King limped his way out of the room and everyone was silent, not knowing what to say before Alicent spoke.

‘Are you sure this is what you want, my boy?’ She asked. Alicent didn’t have malice towards the sweet girl who had been her lonely sons only friend but she worried he would have his heart broken and for her sweet boy, that was the last thing she wanted.

‘It is all I want and you know it. Y/n will be my wife…all is forgotten.’ Everyone knew as Aemond said it that it was very untrue, even his sweet girl felt the tension before speaking.

‘In that case, it is my duty to tend to my betrothed. You need to rest, it is the only way you will heal.’ Aemond just smiled despite the pain in his face as she pulled him towards the exit and led him back to his room. ‘Here, you change, I will wait in the hall.’ He rolled his eye as she did this but allowed it, changing quickly before calling her back in with his shirt half on.

‘I can’t see it right.’ He lied, making her believe that he couldn’t tie his shirt closed and she moved quickly, taking pity on her best friend. ‘Thank you for taking care of me, Byka Zaldrīzes.’

‘Of course my love, I will always take care of you.’ Aemond pulled her into his bed with him as he laid down, painfully.

‘They’re going to take you from me again, especially now…promise me this feeling won’t die. No matter how many days or years we spend apart thanks to your mother. Swear it. Swear you will not stop loving me!’ He held her hands tightly as his mother and a maester walked into the room, bringing him milk of the poppy to sleep.

‘I swear it my Dragon, now it is time for you to sleep. You must take care of yourself-‘

‘Don’t leave me!’ He demanded. ‘You will be here when I wake, promise me!’

‘I will promise if you sleep now, drink.’ She holds the jar out for him and he does as she says, drinking the jar before clutching her hand and allowing himself to drift off.

‘You know your mother will want to leave again in the morning, as we must?’ Y/n nodded to the Queens question, sighing heavily and moving to snuggle into Aemond’s side as they had done hundreds of times over as children. ‘I will check on him in a few hours. If anything happens you send for me immediately, especially if he wakes, he will need something for the pain for quite some time.’

‘Of course, you have my word, your grace.’ Y/n agreed and watched Alicent walk to the door.

‘Don’t hurt him. You’re the only one who hasn’t yet, I don’t think he could survive unscathed.’ The Queen left before the Princess could respond but she thought on her words, knowing that she would never purposefully hurt her best friend and soon to be husband.

For the rest of the night Y/n was in and out of sleep, too worried about Aemond to sleep soundly until he awoke just as the sun began to rise. ‘Ah!’ He hissed, moving to grab at his face only for her to catch his hand before he could.

‘Don’t touch it my Dragon, you need something for the pain. Wait right here-‘

‘Don’t leave!’ He pleaded, tightening his grip on her hand.

‘I won’t leave the room, give me a moment.’ She jumped up and opened the door quickly. ‘Guard! Send for the Queen, inform her that Aemond is awake and in terrible pain! Go Now!’ She demanded and one of the guards at the door jumped to do as she shouted. Y/n may have been a sweet girl but she’s still Daemons daughter and has his rage inside of her tiny body. ‘She’ll be here soon.’

Aemond didn’t speak for a moment, just gazed up at her. ‘You are beautiful, my love…are you sure you wish to marry me?’

‘What is this nonsense, Aemond?!’ She laughed but he didn’t, he just stared straight ahead before speaking again.

‘I know I must look a fright, and you deserve a strong, handsome husband to-‘

Y/n cut him off with a swift slap to the non injured side of his face before moving to straddle his lap and force him to look at her. ‘Don’t you ever speak that way about the boy I love again, do you hear? You are strong, handsome, capable and in a few years you will make a wonderful husband and father to our children. If I didn’t want it I would have spoken up last night…losing your eye does not make you less of a man, my Dragon. And I would be heartbroken if you were to call off the wedding.’

Aemond looked more relaxed now before leaning in and pressing his lips to Y/n’s delicately before pulling back to see a dark blush on her cheeks. ‘I needed to do that…just once before you’re gone.’

‘Well then, do it right.’ She spoke, pressing her lips back to his. Aemond loved how soft her lips were as he wrapped his arms around her firmly for several seconds before pulling away and moving her to sit beside him.

‘Thank you for calming my worries.’ He kissed her hand tenderly and saw no malice or disgust in her eyes as she looked at his butchered face and it brought him comfort, a comfort he knew he would need for years to come.

Those years came and went very slowly as both of them were forced apart. It was assumed that Y/n would come back to the Red Keep once she was a women but that came and went as well, the Queen finally putting her foot down and ordering Rhaenyra to send her back when Aemond and Y/n were 17 (having heard rumors of her trying to find a different husband for her daughter). She had mounted Vermithor several years earlier so rather than her family bringing her and ending up in a huge family squabble, she flew herself to Kings Landing and her mother and family would join before the wedding.

She landed in the courtyard, people scattering like rats as the second largest dragon in the world descended from the skies and by the time she was greeted she was off of Vermithor’s back and petting his face just how he liked.

‘Princess! We are honored to see you back.’ Y/n turned to find the Queen and the hand of the King waiting for her at a safe distance, eyeing the dragon before a silver haired man came running from the castle behind them, stopping short to see her as she did him.

‘Hello Aemond.’ She greeted, stepping away from her dragon so that he could take her hand and he did, kissing it firmly, his eye never leaving hers and noting that once again her gaze held no disgust or fear.

‘My beautiful Bride, it is wonderful to see you again. I have missed you.’ He admitted and she couldn’t hide her smile.

‘I have missed you something fierce as well. I would like to spend time getting to know my future husband again, however I would like out of my riding clothes first.’ She spoke, removing her gloves and Aemond couldn’t hide his smirk before holding out his arm.

‘I would be happy to show you to your temporary room.’ Y/n knew he was hinting at her moving into a room with him once they were married, one larger than either of them has now which was probably already being prepared.

‘Dinner will be served in an hour, I’m sure you can escort her there too my son.’ Alicent smiled, happy to see her second son smiling once again. It was something she hadn’t really seen since Y/n left apart from the occasional conversation with Helaena.

Aemond walked her to her rooms and waited in the hall until she had changed into a dress, unable to take his eyes off of her as she walked back out of the room and suddenly he felt like Aegon. Drooling over a women like a dog, desperate to rip her clothes from her body.

He had never felt like this before.

‘You are a vision, my love.’

‘Apparently you would like me to spend all of my time here blushing.’ Y/n teased, taking ahold of his arm.

‘I thought we would take a walk in the gardens before dinner.’

‘That sounds lovely.’ She agreed, happy to follow wherever he led her, knowing she would be safe. ‘We used to tease couples that took a walk in these gardens every day, do you remember?’

‘I do.’

‘And now we understand, it was just to get away from prying eyes and ears.’ Aemond snorted, knowing that she was right.

‘You’re in Kings Landing my love, even the flowers have ears here.’ Aemond held her to his side firmly as if terrified she would disappear again but she clutched onto his arm just as firmly.

‘I am glad that your mother sent for me. I thought I was going to have to flee on my own, my mother was trying to form a bond between myself and the Wolf of the North since we met last year. The last thing I need is to be sent to freeze with Northerners for the rest of my days.’ She teased but Aemond did not find it funny.

‘She tried to take you from me?’ He tried to control his tone so he did not sound like he was angry with her but she could see his upset clearly as they sat on a bench by the cliff overlooking the ocean.

‘My mother wanted me to want to break our engagement myself, she knew that is the only thing you would have respected. Clearly she does not know me very well to assume I would be willing to leave my Dragon alone.’ Her soft smile settled him a bit but he still had the urge to set all of Dragonstone ablaze.

‘I would have needed to hear it from your lips my love, they will never take you from me again. You are mine, tomorrow we will be married and anyone who tries to come between us will be burned alive.’ Y/n’s eyes lit up in excitement and it shocked Aemond a bit. Any other Lady would have been put off by that but not his girl, not his soon to be wife, rider of the second largest dragon in the world.

‘Promise?’ She questioned and he tilted his head in question. ‘Promise me you’ll burn them, anyone who comes between us, every one of them, because I would…any women that tries to take you from me will be Vermithor’s dessert. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve fed him several guards dumb enough to think they had a chance with me. I truly believe my dragon finds it amusing.’ She teased, giggling as if he had told a hilarious joke and not just heard her admit to feeding the guard to her mount.

‘I promise. However, you will need to stop doing that here. This is not Dragonstone, someone will notice.’ Aemond laughed, his bride surprised him, she is not the sweet, shy little thing he remembered and he enjoyed it quite a lot.

‘I can do that. We could feed peasants to them though…’

‘You really want to watch your dragon eat people.’

‘It’s one of the best perks of having a dragon. If someone is mean to you, you feed them to the beast, except family cause my mother would frown on Vermithor eating Jacaerys…have I scared you away?’

Aemond shook his head, leaning close and resting his forehead against hers. ‘Never my love. You are all mine, you have a strange hobby to be sure but I think a few peasants could stand to go missing…I want to give you something. Obviously I’ve missed quite a few of your name-days-‘

‘And I’ve missed yours. Let’s just say they cancel each other out and go from here.’ She proposed.

‘Yes, but! I have gotten you an early wedding present that I hope you will like…it is different admittedly but I had it commissioned just for you.’ Aemond nervously handed her the box and she grinned in excitement, loving presents and he knew it. She gasped loudly upon opening the wooden box to find a thick necklace covered in sapphires along the front with a large one sitting right in the middle. She took it out and noticed it would sit across her throat rather than down her neck and as Aemond helped her put it on it put pressure on her throat in a strange but nice way.

‘No one will ever doubt that you are mine again.’

‘Most assuredly not…I love it Aemond! It’s beautiful!’

‘Really?’ She nodded quickly, touching the large sapphire. ‘Good, because I had hoped you would wear it to the wedding…and after the wedding…?’

‘You want everyone in attendance to know that you own me.’ She giggled. ‘I will wear it everyday for the rest of my days…husband. A symbol of my dedication to you and our lives together.’ With that Y/n leaned over and pressed her lips to Aemond’s, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close to deepen the rough, desperate kiss.

Y/n did wear that choker for the rest of her days, never taking it off. Aemond often found himself looking at it, reminding himself how much his wife loved him.

He stared at it when they were married before their family and the Gods.

He stared every time she was abed giving birth to one of their 4 children.

And he found himself staring when they got away from everything to engage in their hobby, which became their favorite thing to do as a couple…besides fuck of course. Y/n was wonderful at finding willing men and even women to follow her down to the dark beach with promises of rich food and sex only to find themselves being eaten by one of the largest dragons in the world.

Everyone “knew” when they were children that they belonged together…they had no clue how right they all really were…

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

[honey-tongued-devil]

HEYY

i saw the vi x chubby user and as a chubby girl I NEED more of the girlies x chubby user. please 🙀

[Arcane preference (girlies)] with a chubby s/o

I made you wait so long for nothing, I’m sorry if it’s short, BUT I haven’t forgotten about you!

Jinx:

- Forget that thing called “personal space.”

- If you want to sleep with her, you’ll be the little spoon, and she’ll even throw herself on top of you. She loves feeling human warmth, and with a partner with more body mass, it’s not painful to stay in a long embrace because no (or almost no) bones are attacking her.

- She pinches your love handles and thighs, then bursts out laughing. It's done with tenderness, she loves it to bits, and it’s something extremely rare in Zaun.

- If you can't find anything your size, she'll sew it for you from leftover fabric, or by beating up a passerby to steal their clothes. Either way, you don’t have to worry.

- If you even try to say the words "lose weight," she’ll furrow her brow, deeply offended: you’re hers, and if you lose mass, she has less of you for herself, which means you’re trying to take something from her.

- Which means for the following week, she’ll do everything to make you eat more, terrified that you might lose weight.

Vi:

- What’s the point of being so strong if not to lift you into her arms effortlessly?

- She makes you stay on her back while doing push-ups, carries you to the bedroom, and holds you on her lap on the couch.

- She’s a fighter, not a coward. If she can’t lift you, it’s not that you weigh too much, but that she’s too weak. And within three days, she’ll make sure she fixes this shortcoming.

- But it never actually happens. Vi never misses an opportunity to show you how strong she is and how special you are.

- When you talk under the blankets, she often loses herself playing with your soft spots, almost as if she’s relaxing.

Caytlin:

- She sits on your lap, but if you want, you can sit on her without any issues.

- She loves your body to bits, and if you try to hide it, she might put on a little show just to take off your shirt and enjoy what you were hiding, like your belly.

- Clothes aren’t a problem; she’ll have them made so that they not only fit you but also highlight your best features.

- No jokes here—when you go out together, she wants the world to see how proud she is of her partner and how attractive they are. So, she takes care of your preparation herself, even stealing a kiss here and there, but letting you choose what you want to wear.

Mel:

- She has a personal tailor who makes coordinated outfits for every occasion. She can’t let you look bad, and she wouldn’t want to, so she personally ensures every detail reflects you.

- She knows what you like and dislike, so she can correct the sketches herself, so when the clothes arrive, they’ll be a complete surprise.

- When you're in public, she likes to sit on your lap, if the occasion is casual enough to allow it. Otherwise, she’ll leave subtle lipstick marks on you before leaving, just enough to discreetly remind people you’re with her.

- She likes being the little spoon, feeling protected and vulnerable at least in one place, even though, subconsciously, she changes position while she sleeps. But in any case, feeling your softness against her gives her comfort.

Sevika:

- Think you’re big? Be more humble.

- She lifts you like you’re a little bunny, carries you around on her shoulder, takes you to bed in her arms, and constantly pulls you onto her lap, always keeping one hand on your waist.

- She loves skin-to-skin contact, and she’s strong enough to lift you completely onto her shoulders, with your back against the wall, and hold you like that until her ‘hunger’ passes (or until you can’t take it anymore).

- She’s still terrified of hurting you, so she always keeps you on the side of her good arm, so she doesn’t damage your body with her prosthetic limb.

- When you’re resting, she pulls you completely up onto her, no matter how tall or heavy you are, constantly reminding you that she’s big and strong enough.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Blue Collar Abby x Fem! reader HCS

—CONTAINS 18+ CONTENT!—

Blue collar Abby who loves to spoil you. She may not be rich, but best believe she’ll keep her girl happy. She’ll pay for you to get your nails done especially because she says, “my baby looks so gorgeous with a set of pretty nails.”

Blue collar Abby who asked you to move into her apartment so she could come home to you everyday. You have your own job, but you get home way earlier than she does. She works long hours, so getting to see you doing something cute like cooking for her or watching tv on the couch makes her long days worth it.

Blue collar Abby who hates cats. Abby’s more of a dog person, so naturally, when you BEGGED to go to the shelter and pick out a cat, she said no at first. She immediately changed her mind when she saw that cute downcast look on your face and the next day, you had an orange cat running around the house.

Blue collar Abby whose favorite thing is the nights she can spend with you where you just watch cheesy romance movies SWEARS she hates(she cried during Titanic and The Notebook) and eat take-out with you. A box of orange chicken and fried rice and her sweet girlfriend beside her is enough to make her feel like she’s winning in life.

Blue collar Abby who absolutely adores you. She is exhausted at times and spends unfortunately hours away from you, but when she can, she’ll worship you. Not just in sex, either. She loves pulling you onto her lap and admiring that cute flustered face you have. She’ll rub her roughened hands all over your hips and waist, whispering in your ear about how “you’re such a sweet girl.”

Blue collar Abby who does love sex, too though. I see blue collar Abby as not a stone-top but loves to give. A lot. She’ll let you ride her face until you physically can’t anymore, tease your throbbing cunt with a vibrator but never for too long because she just doesn’t know how to deny you. She can’t find it in her to tell you no. She loves using a strap-on on you because she is really fit from her job and feels extremely skilled with it. She’s active too, so her stamina is unmatched. I just imagine her even attempting to let you ride her strap-on and she can’t stay restless for long, so she’ll buck her hips up, eliciting a strangled moan from you.

Blue collar Abby who is mostly a stone-top because sometimes she does need a little attention, too. If she’s had a long day, you’ll catch on to her needs and cheer her up by letting her grind her cunt all over your face. She loves the sight of you on your knees, it’s a rare one but it truly does drive her crazy. Sometimes, she’ll fall asleep after and feel so bad about it, even though she was so exhausted that day. On those occasions, you’ll get some mind-blowing morning sex before she has to leave for work. She’ll always take care of you.

Blue collar Abby who really wants you as her wife. She wants to propose with a ring you’ll love and be able to help you plan the wedding of your dreams. You’re her princess, and all she wants is to make your dreams happen. She’s saving up, half-way there right now. All she wants is a future where she can provide everything for you and spoil you rotten. She daydreams at work about adopting or finding a sperm donor and you being her beautiful wife.

Blue collar Abby who finally reaches her goal, and takes you out to this nice restaurant. You look all pretty and she knows the moment’s perfect. After dinner’s over, she’ll walk you around this botanical garden and when you’re not paying attention, she gets down on one knee and reveals the most beautiful ring you’d ever laid eyes upon. It wasn’t some standard diamond ring, either. It was something that was tailored just to what you loved, the most perfect ring just for you. Of course, you said yes, and all those day dreams about seeing you in a beautiful wedding dress are a reality.

[sur-i-ki]

7/20

Scissors, paper

The moment he tells you, you feel like the floor has fallen out from under you. It's a sinking sensation in your stomach, a heaviness settling in your chest that makes it hard to breathe. You look at him, waiting for him to tell you that it isn’t true, that he didn’t mean it, that he would never choose someone else over you.

But his face says everything you’re afraid to hear.

There’s a tension in the air, thick and pressing. You can feel your heart pounding in your throat as he stares at the ground, refusing to meet your gaze. He’s looking at his hands, clasped tightly in front of him, his knuckles white as if he’s holding on to some invisible thread that’s keeping him from falling apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask finally, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You want to sound angry, to make him feel even a fraction of the hurt that’s tearing through you, but all you hear is your own desperation.

He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “Because it doesn’t change anything. I didn’t want you to feel… like this.”

“Like what?” The words are sharp now, as they slice through the silence between you. “Like I’m not good enough? Like I was just… convenient for you?”

He flinches, his face contorting with guilt, but he doesn’t argue. And that hurts more than anything else, more than any explanation he could try to give. The truth is there, hanging between you, raw and unspoken.

You stare at him, feeling an ache so deep it feels like it’s carving a hole inside of you. “Tell me,” you say, barely managing to keep your voice steady. “Tell me that I wasn’t your first choice.”

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he looks up at you, his eyes glassy with something you’re afraid to name. “You weren’t,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t… it doesn’t mean I didn’t fall in love with you.”

The words wash over you, cold and sharp, a twisted comfort that only makes the ache grow stronger. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. You’ve shed enough tears over him already, over this fragile connection you thought was solid, that you thought could hold you both.

“Then why?” Your voice breaks, and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop. “Why did you stay with me? Why did you let me think that I was enough?”

He rubs a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping, and you realize he looks as broken as you feel. “Because I didn’t know how to let you go,” he admits, his voice thick with regret. “I thought maybe… maybe I could make it work. Maybe you’d be enough to make me forget.”

“But I wasn’t,” you say, the words bitter on your tongue. “I was never going to be.”

The hurt in his eyes sharpens, and for a moment, you see his own pain, his own helplessness. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean for you to feel like a second choice. I wanted to love you as you deserved.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through you, leaving you raw and vulnerable, but it’s not enough to heal the wound he’s opened. Because no matter how much he wanted it, no matter how hard he tried, the truth is clear. You were never his first choice, and you never would be.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat almost unbearable. “Do you even know what it feels like?” you ask, your voice trembling. “To be with someone who can’t give you their whole heart?”

He shakes his head, but you can see the remorse in his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, and his voice is so soft, so pained, that you almost believe him. “I tried to love you completely… I really did.”

“But you couldn’t,” you say, finishing the thought for him. “Because there’s a part of you that still belongs to her, isn’t there?”

His silence is all the answer you need. It’s an emptiness that fills the room, suffocating, a quiet confirmation that cuts deeper than any words could.

You take a shaky breath, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “Do you even understand what it’s like?” you ask, the anger finally breaking free, a wave of hurt and resentment that’s been building up for far too long. “To be someone’s almost, someone’s maybe, but never… never the one?”

He looks at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and for a moment, you think he might say something, that he might offer some comfort, some reassurance that would make this hurt a little less. But he stays silent, his gaze dropping to the floor, and you know that there’s nothing he can say that will change the truth.

“I thought I could be enough,” you whisper, the words more for yourself than for him. “I thought if I just loved you hard enough, it would make up for the parts of you that weren’t mine. But love doesn’t work like that, does it?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, and the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. He tried. Maybe he wanted to love you as deeply as you loved him. But there’s a difference between wanting and being able to, and you’re realizing now that he was never able to give you everything, no matter how much he wanted to.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and painful, until finally, he speaks, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry,” he says, and there’s a brokenness in his tone that makes you wonder if he’s hurting just as much as you are.

But sorry isn’t enough. Not for this.

You take a step back, your heart aching with every movement, and you watch as his face falls, as he realizes what you’re about to do.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say, your voice shaking. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with being second best. I deserve more than that. I deserve someone who looks at me and doesn’t see a compromise.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching out, but you shake your head, holding up a hand to stop him.

“No,” you say firmly, swallowing the tears threatening to spill. “I love you, but I can’t keep losing pieces of myself just to fit into this space you made for me. I can’t keep being your second choice.”

The finality of your words settles between you, and you see the pain flash in his eyes, the realization that he’s losing you, that he’s already lost you. But he doesn’t try to stop you. He knows, just as well as you do, that there’s no fixing this, that the damage has already been done.

You turn and walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you’re out of sight, and the silence closes in around you. And even though you know you did the right thing, even though you know you deserve better, the emptiness lingers, a hollow ache that will take time to heal.

But for the first time, you know that you’ll find a way to move on, that one day, you’ll find someone who doesn’t just settle for you, but chooses you wholeheartedly. And until then, you’ll hold on to that hope, a small but powerful light in the darkness of this heartbreak.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰n

Finally clearing drafts

[7ouls]

im REAAAAALLY sorry for the likje longest wait ever but in the meanwhile i've wiorked on my oc too so i'll prob post abt it soon. sorry if this is short or bad but it took me a long time to get motivation to write this 😓

(this isnt proofread so if u see any mistakes dont mind them i’ll correct them tomorrow cause im too tired)

fem! reader btw

Daisuke never liked to rely too much on other people, he was always told how annoying he can be so that would make him even more of a weight than he already is.

Although he can’t complain when his girlfriend is the one who gets to take care of him. After what happened at the Tulpar you could see big changes in his attitude, he tried to smile at you but you can see that it’s not the same genuine lovely smile he used to give you in the past, when he was still on earth with you.

You were his girlfriend before he got the news from his parents about the internship and no matter how much you tried to convince him to not leave he still did, promising you that he’d come back for you. He wasn’t wrong, but this isn’t what you were expecting.

He had many scars around his body, barely able to move. He was put in a wheelchair for a few months, just until the scars have healed and he could get back in feet.

Daisuke’s parents found him a therapist, ignoring the boy’s wishes not to. Because after all he had you, you were the only one who he opened up with about what happened to all of them, about how guilty he felt for them. You were the one holding him in your arms after he cried on your shoulder for hours, you were the one changing his dirty bandages but most of all you were the one that loved him.

At nights like this you liked to wait until Daisuke was sleeping to leave him on your shared bed and go out your balcony to watch the sky filled with the city’s light, and when days were harder you took the hidden pack of cigarettes and light one up.

As you were watching the sky above your head you felt moving inside the house but didn’t think much of it, as it could be your pet just wandering around.

Your presumption turned out to be wrong as you heard your name be yelled from your bedroom, you quickly get inside to check on the voice and found your boyfriend on the floor. You run to him and slowly get him back on your bed. He pouts seeing your worried face checking for any damage.

“Are you okay? How did you get down there, most importantly why were you th-“ He stops you before you can bombard him with even more questions.

“I’m sorry Y/n, i just needed to drink something and when i saw that you weren’t here i tried to take it myself but i couldn’t...” You could see the disappointment in his eyes, you thought he might be feeling like a weight on your shoulders so you tried your best to comfort him.

“Daisuke look at me. You don’t have to apologise, it’s my fault. I should’ve been there for you but i wasn’t and i’m sorry about that. You shouldn’t force yourself to move too much, the doctors said that your body is still too fragile to sudden movements.” The boy looked at you, the mention of doctors saddened him.

“I’m so tired of these doctors, i sometimes wish you could be the one treating me instead. And the therapist girl always keeps trying to make me spill stuff, is it wrong that i don’t want to talk about it? She keeps asking about you a lot too, she might be thinking that you know more than her.”

“She wouldn’t be wrong, if it makes you feel any better i could try speaking with her.” He tiredly nodded at you and you both get back in bed, drifting off into sleep while holding him.

“Goodnight Y/n, i love you.”

IDK HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS. i weote it in 2 hours so maybe that why its so bad and yea im so tired idek what im saying

[revelboo]

you producing first so quickly has me inspired to start writing again

That’s awesome! Writing is an escape for me. It can feel like work sometimes, but these are just for fun and I missed writing things that didn’t need to be perfect or meticulously planned out

My Favorite Accident Pt 3

TFP Knockout x Reader

• Slowly following at a distance, he can’t understand why you wouldn’t just let him permanently take care of the problem, namely that other human who’d dared lay hands on you. And because that man’s still alive, he’s had to tail you to make sure you get home safely. While he doubts the man will go anywhere near you after a run in with him, it still bothers him. That uncertainty that something might happen to you if he’s not there as he keeps remembering the fear in your eyes. Realizing that you’re not as tough as you act. No one gets to frighten you like that, except maybe him.

• Pulling into the apartment complex, you press your head back against the headrest. Your nerves finally catching up to you during the drive, leaving your hands faintly trembling at what might have happened. At what likely would have happened if not for Knockout. And maybe he’s right and you should have let him take care of Ricky, but siccing your big, alien racing buddy on that idiot didn’t exactly sit well with you. And there’s that baffling, snarling protectiveness of Knockout’s to figure out, too. He’d been furious, more than ready to stomp the guy just for touching you. Like having your own giant, psychotically violent bodyguard.

• This is where you live? Headlights dimmed, his engine snarls. While he doesn’t claim to know much about human dwellings, this building looks like it’s seen better days. Actually, it looks like burning it down would be doing you a favor. Especially when he sees the other residents lingering outside watching you. Absolutely not. Shifting on his tires, he watches you park and get out, lifting a hand in greeting to the group hanging out. But also reaching back to where you keep that pitiful little knife. That unconscious gesture rubbing him the wrong way and driving home that this place isn’t safe for you and you know it.

• A few more race wins and you’ll have enough for a down payment on a better apartment. Letting yourself inside, there’s time to shower and change, then you’re falling into bed. Too aware that your little extra rendezvous with Knockout have cut your sleep time to five hours, then it’s up for your day job. Every penny you can get going toward getting out of here. Because what would that be like? To not be scared all the time, shuddering as the guys hanging out in the front start yelling at each other and you pull a pillow over your head. Eventually someone calls the cops on them as another unit gets off third shift and cranks rock and roll to rattle your windows.

• He knows he’s been gone too long from the Nemesis, that he’s going to be missed, but hates leaving you here in this pit forsaken cesspool you apparently call home. It bothers him enough he stays the night, watching the drama unfolding right outside your door and getting angrier and angrier, because this is unacceptable. And he’s going to have to do something about it.

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