#What if I was made to create and feel and love and hold joy in my heart

[vitaminseetarot]

Pick a Card: What's Rolling Into Your Life?

*･ﾟ✧Masterlist | *･ﾟ✧Ko-Fi

Hey y'all, welcome back to another nostalgia themed pick a card! Wow I'm finally back again in time for the next full moon [howling] I have no reason for being gone so long other than... work! Hopefully soon I'll reset back to a normal work-life-tarot balance. ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪

Today's reading is inspired by the Katamari Damacy / We Love Katamari games, featuring a few of my favorite cousins. The purpose of the game is to gather items, as many and as fast as possible. So each reading here comes with a bonus list of random things you could be manifesting or noticing as synchronicities, which will be "rolled up". Choose whichever cousin you'll play as and find out what you're rolling up this summer.

Pile 1 - Dipp ✨ Pile 2 - Ichigo 🍓 PIle 3 - June 💧 Pile 4 - Marcy 🌈

Pile 1 - Dipp ✨

Heart, Walrus, Incognito, 9 of Prisms - Lucent Stones, Sound - Resonance - Frequency, Chop Wood; 2 of Wands, Ace of Swords, 3 of Pentacles

How's it going pile 1! You picked the funky disco night owl Dipp, so it seems only natural you got the Sound card with all the vinyl discs! I'm also loving how the stars in the 2 of Wands fit this glamorous reading. I'm getting that you're becoming more of a local icon in some respects? Like your name is getting around more like a song on the top 20 charts. Perhaps for some this is due to your hobby in playing or listening to music, but it could be for anything. Maybe your genre or artist preferences aren't for everyone with the Walrus here (any fans of the Beatles in this here pile?), but it doesn't seem like you're caring much about what others think either way as you're jamming to your own beat this summer and you've got heads turning. Dipp is all about light, so in some area of life you're shining bright for everyone to see and talk about.

It's like at the same time you're being noticed, whether through admiration or envy, you're gaining this sense of chill and repose. With Incognito, your joy and talent are no longer entwined with how the public perceives your image. You're rolling up a quiet sense of confidence that's freeing your mind up for things you consider more important. Simultaneously, this relaxing of social pressure will somehow draw more people in. The way the man in the 2 of Wands holds the heart shaped globe reminds me of the King of All Cosmos and the Prince. Together they created new stars to fix up an old mess the King had made, but in doing so created an unexpected fanbase eager to be pleased with their requests. With Chop Wood, it's business as usual, but there's more word going around about what you're doing even if you're trying to play it cool.

I feel for a lot of folks in this pile, this is going to pertain to something that you're actively improving on. If you've been working out at the gym, you'll start to notice more comments about your muscles. If you're in school, suddenly people may seem more interested in what you're studying or getting a degree in. Some of you will find that you're content with doing things on your own, like traveling or engaging in a hobby, yet will still find that people are becoming interested and want to join even as you attempt to pull away. This may be a very socially busy period if you let it. If you start to feel concerned about your personal space, then be sure to clearly communicate boundaries and be sure that you meter out time for your comfort, as you might get asked to do favors or business out of nowhere. For those looking for work or clients, this is lucky news, but it's still important to consider how it factors into your need for privacy and self-care.

You Rolled Up: Box of chocolates, swings, glass figurine, intricate art tapestry, hearty frozen snacks like ice cream sandwiches, cards that play noise when opened, beach towel, bugspray, bandages, MP3 player, small stationary kit, glasses or eye contacts, seafood, vintage band shirt, bouquet, headphones, mini broom, glowsticks, palette knife and brushes, gardening shears, sparklers, wallpaper or poster, energy boosting drinks, vitamin supplements, musical instrument

Pile 2 - Ichigo 🍓

House, Squirrel, Alignment, 5 of Mechanisms - Wind-Up Galaxy, Levity, To the Sea; 3 of Swords, V The Guru (Hierophant), Page of Pentacles

Hello pile 2! You picked one of the most popular and diva cousin Ichigo, who's shaped just like a strawberry. I see this energy reflected here in the Guru (Hierophant), where LOVE is written above in big letters. I'm hearing the cliche "home is where the heart is" and I truly feel like your summer will make you feel cozy and cute at home. I'm seeing large pink blankets and coffee table set ups with the works like snacks and video games. I'm also seeing long bubble bath and spa sessions to unwind. With Alignment, you may also be getting the urge to redecorate your living space to make it feel more in touch with who you are. This theme for your season is ease and comfort, especially as I see this 3 of Swords sticking out. Perhaps the previous season or early half of this year has not felt so kind. This tarot card also talks about mending the heart, not just breaking. You're taking the time to stitch things back together (are some of you getting into knitting or crochet?)

Being gentle with yourself in whatever you're recovering from is essential. This includes not filling out every hour of your day with things to do. There's stillness in the Hierophant's pose as he holds his heart medallion. Take time to sit with how you're feeling and to check in whenever you feel your mood change, especially during the busier times. When the weight of everyday worldly issues creep in, set a reminder to pause when need be and enjoy what surrounds you. It might be helpful to spend time by the water, like at a beach or lakeside, to reconnect with your emotional flow. Although you may bring friends over from time to time, it's also wise to listen to your body when it's asking for quiet time to reflect. This will likely be a hermited summer, but the focus is more on letting go of stress rather than needing to stay stuck inside the house all day.

The Page of Pentacles reminds us that in this quiet space, new details might emerge that wouldn't have been as easily noticeable if there was more hustle involved. Stop to smell the roses in between walks to and fro. Take the astronaut from the first Katamari game, for example. He was so wrapped up in doing his work that he failed to see the news about the stars vanishing, or of katamari rolling through the streets attempting to replace them, until the last second. Had he taken time to look around, he might have seen what his children saw right away. This season, you're being asked to tend more to the little things that you have rather than what's being longed for. It's not enough to gather acorns; they have to be remembered and accounted for too, otherwise forgetting about it is the same as not having it any longer. Do some inventory, like going through your make-up collection to see what you want to keep or throw out. In doing so, you may find some old but pleasant surprises hiding in plain sight.

You Rolled Up: Decorative house lights, cairn, bubble wand, sorbet or popsicles, fresh fruit, multicolored yarn, unique or foreign coin, pink throw pillow, assistance ramps for homes, smartwatch, ferry ride, bonfire, tea or herb bundles, foreign snacks, antacids, heavy jewelry, windchimes, posture supports like shoes and backrest, books, a class just for fun, video games, swimsuit or scuba gear, lunchbox, bulk amount of your favorite snack, marathon award, scrying pendulum, rare collectible item

Pile 3 - June 💧

Tower, Peacock, Dissolve, Macroscoria, Go Your Own Way, Happy Happy; VII Chariot, 4 of Swords, 7 of Pentacles

Hi pile 3! You picked the nature loving cousin June, who some see as ditzy but is really happy in her own world. I see this energy in the Happy Happy card, with this joyous fairy being showered in bright blessings. She sits in between the patient 7 of pentacles and the "go your own way" card, showing that she's not afraid to grow at her own pace. Some in this pile may be neurodivergent or have an introverted personality that isn't always as quiet as you let on. In any case, you're content with doing what pleases you over always pleasing the crowd. There's a lot of excitement and energy here that wants to move towards what you desire regardless of what traditional structures hold. Some of you may be looking into an interdisciplinary major that doesn't neatly fit into an academic box, for example. Or you have an art style that tests the limits of how a style is commonly taught or what the software can typically handle.

You're rolling in a lifestyle change that will allow you to work at your own unique pace, pile 3. I'm hearing extra spare time, or a great flexibility in time. Somewhere you can't do the 9 to 5, or follow the usual itinerary of a vacation trip, but rather you'll find an alternative that works better for you. You'll be getting a chance to do things your way at your own time in some aspect of life. I'm getting that things may slow down a little bit or opportunities you were gunning for have fizzled or lost a spark here and there, but these are signals pointing you to recharge and realign with what you would rather be doing. If something lit you up but doesn't feel the same way a week later, it's okay to take a break and come back to it. You'll find the time to wrap up loose ends and finish what needs to be done, but allow yourself to enjoy the season. It's okay to have delays and hiatuses. It's also okay to cancel something you no longer want to do.

In the story, we look back at the King of All Cosmos, the Prince's father, and how he dealt with the pressure his father placed on him to be perfect at things he had no interest in doing. He didn't get to have a say whether or not he wanted to go to night school or practice fighting. When he went against his father one day, going down his own path, he found what would make him unexpectedly happy and rekindle his heart. Some of you may have felt the pressure from a prideful older figure who wants to project a certain image of who you are, but over the years as you age, it gets easier to create a new path that speaks more to your heart and the drop the expectations others have placed. If it takes you extra time to get there, remember that many of us have to spend adulthood learning things that should have been taught by parents and teachers ages ago. Don't feel guilty for needing this extra time, but see it instead as a blessing to get to know yourself and your passions again with reinvigorated confidence and renewed energy.

You Rolled Up: Potted plant, smartphone, pillow, dice tower, carnival food, toy car, sprinklers, chalk, shampoo, reclining chair, hand or cooling fan, eyeliner, map, salads, clothes for job interview, lava cake, suncatchers, fuzzy cat toys, video editing software, semi-permanent hair dye, mirror, white noise machine, funny bumper sticker, kaleidoscope, glasses or eye contacts, tour guide brochure, elaborately stitched dress, massage bed, commuting bus, hammock, organizing shelves, subway tickets

Pile 4 - Marcy 🌈

Clover, Coral Reef, Reflection, 6 of Bloom - Wings of Fae, Thrift Shop Magic, Observer; 6 of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, 7 of Cups

Hey pile 4! You picked the fun fashionista Marcy, who loves to explore her own personal style. She was purple in the first game and becomes more colorful in the second. The Thrift Shop Magic card shows this in the variety of clothes available for choosing, with a small rainbow painting above the coattrack. You're in a phase of exploration, especially in regards to what you like. You may have acquired a taste for the fanciful or unusual (or at least that's how some people around you may perceive it). I see also that you're exploring more than just aesthetics; with Coral Reef, you're diving deeper into what you value or choose to stand for.

You're the only pile in this pick a card reading that got an Environment card from the Buzzfeed deck, while the other three got the same type. So you're definitely standing out from the crowd this summer, pile 4. You may be getting vocal about the issues you care about, and "environment" kept repeating in my head so you may be deeply concerned over global climate or develop a strong sense of stewardship to the land you live on. Animal rights as well (my black cat really wants to lay on your cards). Fast fashion, poverty, and humanitarian crises inside and outside your country could also be topics deeply on your mind, even if it makes some around you feel uncomfortable to discuss. I think you have a knack for helping others reflect on what they care about way more, though, even if they won't admit it. You're rolling in positive changes to these circumstances affecting your life. You'll gather something that helps you stand back and find new solutions and new ways of expressing these solutions to your community.

There is a level in We Love Katamari where an activist wants to save the red pandas and urges the Prince (or Cousin) to gather the most expensive materials, only to spend just enough for the red pandas to feed them for a day while giving away the rest. It's clear he could have donated it differently. You may receive a windfall or something that will benefit you but if you wish to use it to help others, you must be wise in how you use this blessing. Some may not have the best intentions in mind with what you have, so always pay attention to details to make sure it's being spent properly. Do homework on organizations who claim to be directly serving the needy. How are they using what they are blessed with? Passion should not be mistaken for impulse, listen to where your heart wants to go while acknowledging the mind.

You Rolled Up: Telecope, fairy house, stained glass, donated goods, butterfly garden, lunar jewelry or decorations, new and green or red clothes, arcade games, cookies, fish tank, hybrid or electric motorbike or moped, raffle prize, generous tip, tea set, water purifier, hiking gear, science lab gear, vending machine, brochures, yard sale dinnerware, small plane, art depicting bird nests, personal lucky tokens, purse, board or tabletop game, shadowbox, jet ski, hors d'oeuvres, red hat or hair dye or meeting someone with red hair

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

みんな大好き, I Love You, Disco☆Tech, So Funky Night ~

2025, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[valentine-cafe]

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : passionfruit custard tart !! . . . artistic grim reaper ⊹ gn reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 9948e ꮽ  zhào hàoyŭ

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕an artist and grim reaper, with a heart full of retribution 

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... this piece is a tribute to my ( howl ) cat luna, who unfortunately passed away two weeks before turning a year. it deals with losing pets or any sort of living being at their young ages and the grief that comes with it. ⊹ cw ٬٬ self-blame . guilt . grief . losing a pet . 

The vet ruled it out as a run-over incident. Yet wasn't completely sure what really had occured. And the apartment has never been this quiet. It is not something that can be explained. The hurt when you lose a beating heart that has barely seen the world for an entire year.

It hurts even worse when you choose to let them go so they won't be in pain.

The last light in her eyes faded right in front of yours.

Haoyu and you had held your cat close as you had to say goodbye. She wasn't very old. Only a few weeks away from her birthday, as a matter of fact. Two weeks.

One moment the apartment had been full of laughter as you watched the bundle of joy run around chasing her favourite mouse toy. The most patient kitty you had ever had. She never bit, nor did she scratch. When she showed rejection to touch or wanted to be left alone. It was small nips, nothing that would ever hurt either Haoyu or you.

She'd jump into the bed and roll around between the two of you happily. Nothing was better than morning pets and sleeping between you both when night rolled around.

A curious cat with a big heart. And an insane sense of understanding. People have a tendency to say cats, and other pets among. Don't have feelings, or empathy. But this cat? She had something you hadn't ever seen before. There was so much soul in all of the things she did.

The next moment, when you looked over your shoulder. She was gone. And tears came in the same velocity as the rain outside, pouring down to the city streets late-night.

It doesn't matter whether she was a cat or not. Losing something so young— A heart that barely made it to an entire year. Is tragic. And it hurts.

"I want her to come back." You sigh, lips trembling as you lean into your boyfriend. You're too weak to sit straight. And his arms find your body immediately to hug around to create a mutual sense of comfort. "I want her to come back, too."

"Was it our fault? Did we do something wrong?"

"No. No we didn't do anything wrong." You begin to rock back and forth with Haoyu's body as he murmurs reassurance into your ear. "We took care of her. She was loved, so dearly."

"Can we start over again?" It isn't as if your world could crumble more than it already has. It might as well be torn into shreds while you're at it when your words slip from your tongue.

"In due time." Haoyu croons, and takes a shaky breath. "But we have to grieve first. Darling. We have to grieve first. . ."

"Gods I'm so sorry. . ." Once more you're hushed and simply told to allow yourself to cry if needed, and let him hold you until the both of you can get up and move to the kitchen so you can have some food. Even if you don't want to. You'll need to eat eventually.

Haoyu knew how to deal with the loss of loved pets or people, but his world crumbles in tandem to yours. The second you break into sorrowful weeping once again. You don't know he ordered for an urn and ash jewellery for the two of you to keep her in your memory.

He wanted it to be a sentimental surprise for you. So you can always carry your baby with you.

"It's okay. It'll be alright. She's running around somewhere, even better now. Happily chasing her mouse toy."

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ ��𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[till-to-the-end-and-back]

Till listend carefully, his gaze soften and the tears stop. It all began to make a sort of sense to him. If you were born alone and made to survive, only to be seen as nothing more than a purse pet, what would the point of emotions be? Even if you were taken good care of, without expression or experience, you'll never grow. It would all be the same to you, a bland routine where you don't even care enough to end your own life to be free from it all. You just are..... But that's it.

Ivan's gaze didn't bother Till anymore, despite how intense it was. It did make him feel something, but nothing that was worth reacting to. "I was born in a breeding camp..." He began, he figured he'd be fair and share his origins too. "I was lucky enough to be handed to my true mother when I was a baby. I was lucky that she ended up loving me, despite everything." He took a gentle deep breath. "My mom... Io, had already had her DNA used to create a child. But she never saw that child, I was the first offspring of her's she was allowed to hold. And for 6 years, she raised me in her care. The place was awful, the floors cold and we were often forced to sleep there. The food was the cheap stuff only meant to satisfy hunger, but tasted awful." He looks down, the memories coming back like a bowl being slowly filled with water. "But I had her. I was loved. She encouraged my joy for music and art, loved my singing. But then........ The breeders heard me sing, and ripped me from her.......... I was shipped off to be sold, but having known love I couldn't accept this fate. I fought back, I bite, I growled. The lose of that warmth, of her, made me bitter. Once I learned about our cruel reality, I vowed to never be obedient. I knew it was stupid, and I could get killed for it. I had no end goal, I just refused to go silently along. Even if I got hurt I didn't care.... I refuse to be their pretty little pet."

As he says that, he looks back up at Ivan with determination in his eyes. His spark was back, still strong and rebellious.

"You say our fights made you feel. But what about this? The talk... The kiss? Does that spark anything else in you?"

"Motherfucker! What are you trying to pull!?" Till hissed with a deep blush covering his cheeks. "I know you like to mess with me, but fuck, man!" Till huffed and tried to push Ivan away from him.

@till-to-the-end-and-back

Ivan grinned at Till, only to hold onto his shirt with a resistance of his own, pushing forward even when the grey-haired boy attempted to shove him back. “Till!” He exclaimed, voice full of unadulterated glee, “I have no idea what you’re on about—“

Even as he said that, there’s a knowing glint in his eye because he, quite frankly, did know what the other boy is talking about. Though, Ivan can’t help but notice how much more flustered Till looks as opposed to his usual anger and frustration.

“What, did you like it? You’re blushing more than usual…”

[brittle-doughie]

I’ll Take You V1 (I’ll Miss You Alt)

Some things are not fated to last, but trying to push closer only makes love farther out of reach. Results can be fatal.

———————————————————————

Five Cookies were baked by the Witches, radiant beings graced with wisdom and power unparalleled. The Five were destined to reshape the tempestuous world and usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for all.

Seeing as how the Five were unlike most Cookies, they could live on for far longer, the Witches have decided to bake one more Cookie. A Cookie that wasn’t as strong or held great power like them, but rather…as a companion for any of the Five to cherish and love dearly.

The love blossomed into something more that could be considered as forever happiness…

———————————————————————

You’ve always looked up to the Fount of Knowledge to know many aspects of this world like the back of his hand! However, all of the knowledge in the world wouldn’t compare to the joys he would have spending time with you!

He likes to spend his time in the Spire of All Knowledge cuddled up next to you as he reads books with you, showing you the many wonders of Earthbread! He always kept the stories interesting with his mannerisms and funny way of speaking, you’re never bored when he reads.

He makes sure to always leave time away from writing in scrolls and books to have moments with you, why would he keep his cutie patootie waiting on him! The texts could wait, snuggling up to you by his tower window was much more preferable to him!

“Man, you always tell such fascinating tales, my fair Fount! It almost makes me feel dull in comparison!”

“Oh, don’t let those little words come out of your mouth again! You are way more fascinating than any of the books I have! I can write whole books on their own on what you’re just oh so great to me!”

“Oh stop, you’re just saying things.”

“Far from it, my little Cookie~ It’s the honest truth~”

The two of you share a laugh as you look out the spire window, leaning on each other…

———————————————————————

The Herald of Change always had that bit of a grumpy side to him when it came to getting him out of his temple to come look at the new civilizations and kingdoms being created everyday.

Everything was the same to him no matter the result, but he could never say no to your requests to visit these civilizations. Your enthusiasm to see what could possibly be different was pretty infectious, encouraging him to go with you in these visits.

He was quite the protective one too, insisting that in return of going with you, you are to stick by his side as you two walked. He makes sure of that by having one of his arms around your waist, he behaves himself but will shoot a glare anyone getting too close.

“Look at that spring the townspeople made, my Herald! Look at the flowers blooming from the water and the creatures that inhabit in and around it, isn’t it wonderful?”

“It’s remarkable, but it’s nothing new to me. I’ve seen many springs like this before, they come and go eventually. Just like the many civilizations we’ve visited today, there’s so much more that I can get done by now!”

“The destination may be the same, but the journey doesn’t have to. It can be different compared to another, so many different ways Cookies behave and act, environment changing with many different plants and creatures. Tell me just one thing that you wouldn’t want to change.”

The Herald, looking down at the ground, slowly formed a smile as he softly laughed, turning his gaze to look at you. One of his arms going around you to hold you close to him.

“I’d say….”

“It would be us that I would never want to change.”

“Aw….”

The two of you hold onto each other close as you both looked on at the lively spring.

———————————————————————

The Seeker of Volition was immensely patient and considerate of you, shaping and changing her realm to make you as comfortable as you can be. She knows things around the Ivory Pagoda may not too interesting or extravagant, but that was alright with you. So long as you were with her.

Her displays of affection were pretty subtle that no Cookie that visited her would’ve suspected that you and her had something close and in a way, it made it more special to her. The gentle hand holding, the way she caressed your cheek as she spoke to you, it was small yet held so much love that she shared with you.

She’s always wondered why you never asked for a wish from her, with how many Cookies that visited her wanting that exact thing. Well, you didn’t really want to wish for anything, the Seeker was enough for you. Being able to stand by her side like this was a wish come true. She didn’t understand your refusal for a wish, but…it touched her that she was enough for you.

“After all the Cookies that have come to me for a wish, I did not think you wouldn’t be one of them. Is there not anything you want wish for?”

“Oh, Seeker. We’ve been through this, ehe. I do not want a wish, I have all that I need here at the Ivory Pagoda. As long as there’s this, I’m happy.”

“You are? After spending all of your time here at the Ivory Pagoda with me, you must have some sort of wish you want granted. Please, say the word. I shall fulfill it to the best of my abilities.”

“Well….”

“Yes?”

“I wish to take a walk around the Pagoda with you. Just the two of us.”

The Seeker was not expecting such a simple and mundane wish, she would’ve seen it as a waste if it came from any other Cookie, but…

To hear it from you…it made giggle softly with a smile.

“Hm…hehe, very well. I shall grant you your wish, my dearest Cookie.”

The two of you hold hands as you leave out the doors to her Pagoda, intending to enjoy a peaceful walk together…

———————————————————————

But could that happiness really last forever?

As time went on, it felt the Cookies you once held dear to you had changed, no longer being the Cookies you once loved. It was as if the power they held was slowly warping their minds and ideals into something more twisted and dark.

“But we both know it’s ever too good to happen.”

———————————————————————

The Fount could never be truly honest with you, always masking his words that tinged with deceit, always making a game of things. Even the books and text he’d were how you remembered…

“Fount, this..isn’t how the story went the last time I’ve heard about it…”

“Oh, that boring ol’ story? I helped myself to make a few changes that really added to the pizzazz of it all, don’t you think?”

“But that never happened! It’s a complete fabrication! Real Cookies have gone through those events, I feel like we shouldn’t tarnish that to make it “interesting.”

“Oh my! I’m hurt! I just wanted to make it more good! Oh well, I’m sure those Cookies wouldn’t mind, right? Come on, let’s read another, shall we?”

“N-no, I don’t want to read another. I’ll just..be in my room.”

“Hey! Where you going?! I swear the details on the next one are accurate! Mostly! Maybe!”

———————————————————————

The Herald never could see how you see the many locations and civilizations you two see, always groaning and muttering that it was boring to him. It had gotten to the point where he ignored you and remain sat on his seat in the temple.

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

“I mean it. You say that all these places would be different in their own ways, but it’s all been the same! It bores me when I have to go through the same thing over and over again!”

“I-I promise that I’ll keep your interest piqued with this one-“

“NO!”

He destroyed a nearby table with a single hit.

“You can go on without me from now on. I have no reason to endure something so boring as another town visit…”

“R-right, okay, I’ll just…go.”

You hastily leave as the Herald looked at his fist that broke the table, he realized something as a large grin on his face formed…

“That…felt good….”

———————————————————————

The Seeker didn’t feel like herself anymore with the coldness and apathy she now radiated. She didn’t push you away when trying to be close like old times, but she didn’t really reciprocate your affections like she would back then. It felt like..she didn’t love you all that much anymore.

“Where you going?”

“I must return to the Ivory Pagoda in order to continue my pursuit of becoming a Leavened One.”

“I know this Leavened One status is important to you, but…wouldn’t that mean I won’t get to see you much anymore. I can’t bear that…”

“Oh, Y/N Cookie…”

She caressed your cheek, but it didn’t feel right. There was no sense of love placed into it, as if she only did it to calm you down by reminding you of the past.

“You should know that I hold this opportunity dear to me, but it does not mean I value you any less, it is meaningless to worry. I must go.”

“What about my wish to spend the day together…?”

“You should also know that not every basic wish will be granted. I am sorry…”

———————————————————————

Regardless, it felt like you were kicked to the curb as you walked outside during the night.

You were not happy. You look up at the sky, wondering if your Creator was looking down at you too.

You ask them how could things go so wrong. What purpose could you have now that the Cookies you were made for weren’t themselves anymore? Were they even the same Cookies at this rate?

You ask…what could you do…?

…

…

…

You look down, only now noticing a nearly invisible string flowing in the air, red in color as it looked like it came from your chest. You reached up to hold it and in doing so, the string was seemingly cut and it floats away into the sky…

That…oddly felt liberating. You looked at your hands and realized that..you did have meaning outside of your purpose. There was a whole world out there that you could now explore! Many things to see and Cookies to meet!

You felt rejuvenated and head off to rest for tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll be a new Cookie!

Surely, the “Virtues” wouldn’t mind if you were gone for a little while, right?

…

…

…

…

But you weren’t the only one who felt a change after that string was cut…

The spire trembled.

The temple shook.

The cocoon violently spasmed.

Their occupants having felt the full effects…

The Fount suddenly tore the book they were “changing” as he keeled over, clutching his chest where his heart was…he felt…empty.

The Herald started a rampage in his temple, the pain in his chest fueling his anger and muddied despair as he destroyed everything…he felt…lost.

The Seeker, once settled in her cocoon, was now clutching her head with both her hands as she lets out silent screams of anguish, the pain in her chest amidst a void of white too great to ignore…she felt…voided.

One by one, they fall….

They’d find you, and they’ll take you….

———————————————————————

You were just about to carry on in your boat out of the continent when a sheep wandered to you.

“Oh hello, little sheep. You lost your way from your herd?”

“Baaaaa….”

“Why are you looking down? Come on, look at me…”

The sheep suddenly jolted up to look you, it looked furious as it’s eyes glowed shades of blue.

“BAAAAAA!”

“What?!”

The sheep poofed into blue smoke, and in its place was now a very angry Cookie.

“My Fount?!”

“ERRR! WRONG! Now let me ask you a question. WHY DID YOU LEAVE?!”

Shadow Milk Cookie had found you right as you were about to leave Beast-Yeast.

“I’m sorry, my Fount. But…I can’t do this anymore. You are no longer the Cookie I know and loved. You lie to me, you twist things so badly, I can’t even tell what’s true and what’s not.”

“I do not lie to you! I never could! You weren’t supposed to leave me behind! You were supposed to stick to me like glue for as long as the two of us lived!”

“We all change, Fount. That includes you and me.”

“Is that it?! Are you just going to walk away from EONS worth of our time together all for my new change of style?!”

“You are NOT going anywhere! You are coming back with me to that Spire and we are going to adore and be mushy to each other like always!”

“I’m going, Fount. I’ve made my decision…”

“Oh…hehe….ehehehe~!”

“What? What are you laughing for-“

Your movements are stopped, you are horrified to see blue strings wrapped tightly around your arm. You try to free yourself, but you found that all your limbs were wrapped in strings too. You pulled into his arms as he giggled menacingly to you, a shadow over his eyes.

“Oh, you silly little thing~ I never would’ve expected you to lie to ME! My brand new style doesn’t mean my heart went out the window! If you can’t accept how deceit seeps into the very cracks of this world, then…”

He leans in real close to your face, whispering in a chilling voice…

“I’ll just have to take you, cutie~ Ehehehe~”

You were never seen again…

———————————————————————

You were having a peaceful time in the civilization you were staying at, enjoying a nice meal provided by the locals when…

“AAAAAH! Run for your lives!”

“He’s destroying everything in his path, watch out!”

“ARGH! It hurts!”

The screams of Cookies in the distance alerted you to turn around from where you were sitting to see Cookies running away from something.

And their screams weren’t the only ones you were hearing.

“COME OUT TO ME, LITTLE COOKIE! I KNOW YOU’RE HERE SOMEWHERE!”

The Herald(?!) shouted in anger as he was breaking and bashing through anything in his path up ahead.

Cookies that were in his way were simply hit back with enough force to send them into walls or sliding back on the ground, he didn’t give them any time to move.

“Ah! Please! Show mercy!”

“Mercy?! There IS no mercy for you WORMS!”

The Cookie on the ground from an earlier attack tried to get up, but groaned in pain as Burning Spice Cookie slowly raised his weapon, the Cookie covers their face to brace for impact.

“STOP!”

Burning Spice Cookie immediately stops to look in the direction of your shout and locking eyes with you, he heads for you.

“Please, don’t hurt any more Cookies!”

“So…you’ve been here all along, spending time amidst these ANTS! The tide of Change will sweep through all, leaving everyone here as nothing but dust in the wind!”

“Have you NO IDEA how long I’ve looked for to find you when you didn’t come back the temple?!”

“To not see you by my side for DAYS?!”

“I know you’re mad, but please, you don’t have to do this! I’ll..I’ll come back with you…”

“Will you now…? I must be sure!”

“What are you-“

Your talk was stopped when he grips your shoulders and brought you to a rough kiss that left you coughing spice when he pulled away.

“Hahaha! Yes! I remember this feeling now! I expect you to stay in the temple with me, for as long as we live! I promise not to break you too easily, ahahaha!”

You felt conflicted as you were dragged with him back to the temple. He’d never let you go as easily again…

———————————————————————

You say farewell to a close friend of yours as you head inside your home. You were ready to turn in for the night as you offed the lights, it was particularly foggy tonight, so you chose to keep things closed up before you turned in for tonight.

You close your eyes and drift off to sleep..or at least, you tried to before you hear a slight creak in your room. You sit up and look, only to see a pair of slit pupils staring right back at you in the darkness in the room.

Neither of you move….

…

…

…

“I may give nothing for your loyalty, but to see you offer your mind and soul to another, right after I had been free from my cocoon…you will learn that it was pointless to try and leave me…”

“My Seeker?!”

She barely gives you time to let the realization sink in before she rushed forward to hold your cheeks in her hands, lifting you up effortlessly to bring you face to face with her as she looks down at you. Her eyes wide open and pitch black, her slit pupils bearing down on yours.

She was as expressionless as ever, but her eyes told you everything you needed to know that she was mad. You felt weak, dough turning pale..

“I never forgot our bond, the years upon years that we shared…my rise to the Leavened One should not have been a path I walked alone…”

“Why are you saying..?”

“I should’ve shared my feelings with you, to show you that everything will be futile in the end. Just like your intentions to leave me as just a thought…”

“No, you don’t have to…”

“THIS is my wish. To have you see what I see, to feel how I feel. About everything, about you…”

“No, please…”

“I promise…I promise to not have us walk alone anymore…”

Everything was a blur as she took you away from your home, up the stairs; and back to the Ivory Pagoda. The last of the outside world forever a distant memory as the cocoon wrapped up once more, Mystic Flour clutching you close to her body.

Together in a world of white, that is what she always wished for…

———————————————————————

“I loved you

Even though I loved you

I’ll treat you like this

Like the traitor you are

Return my feelings

I loved you

Even though I loved you

Forever”

———————————————————————

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

The cut that always bleed✧.* - what was i made for?

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammatical errors that this story may have.

Y/n L/n was a far cry from Y/n Wayne. Despite both last names, each carrying the weight of a turbulent history, "L/n" felt surprisingly lighter. Both names reminded you of the haunting shadows cast by your mother and father, yet they bore different emotional tolls. As you stood before the mirror, a somber reflection gazing back, you pondered on the 13 years—a whole decade and three more—that seemed squandered on people who couldn't hold your gaze for more than fleeting moments.

Of course, the toll it took on your emotional health was immense, but there was nothing you could do about it. You knew that no matter what you did, you could never capture their attention, not even for a moment. By the age of six, you took up martial arts, hoping your family would be proud of you for sharing their passion. But all you received was a pat on the shoulder from Dick when you won a gold medal.

At ten, you delved into video games, hoping to bond with Tim. You spent four days learning all the rules and knowledge about the game, and two whole weeks mastering it. But when you finally mustered the courage to ask Tim to play with you, he stared at you with bored eyes, barely registering your presence. After twelve minutes of rambling about the game, he sighed, pinched his eyes, and said, "I can't. I'm busy, okay?" before leaving your small room. The video game stayed in a box, forgotten and dirty, for thirteen years, a testament to the same treatment you received over and over.

You took every opportunity, every chance to learn something they were talented in, hoping to catch a glimpse of love in their eyes. But all you got were bored, empty stares. Every hobby you had was dedicated to them, except for one: ballet. The art of dancing, with its sharp and strict moves, dancing on your tiptoes, chin up, and a graceful smile on your face. Nothing could take this away from you, not even Cassandra, who was the apple of her family's eyes as she danced on stage. You loved dancing; it filled your heart with joy and bliss. You believed this was the one thing they could never take from you. That's what you thought.

Ballet demanded strict poise and discipline, watching every bite you took and every drink you swallowed. Your mother was a beautiful woman, enchanting enough to enthrall your father. Her eyes could charm thousands of men and bend their morals to her desire. She was like a siren, captivating men with her ethereal beauty. Your father was no different, dazzling people with his money, perfect white teeth, and undeniable allure. He made heads turn and people giggle at his mere presence. So why did you feel as if you were nothing like them? Created by a goddess and a god, yet you turned out to be so unsightly that your mother sneered and threw you out of her arms, forcing you into the embrace of an unknown man.

You panted lightly, staring at your features in the mirror. Why? Why? Why? Why are you like this? Why can't you feel beautiful? Why can't you be beautiful? Why can't you be a sight for sore eyes like the men and women around you? Their features blended so well with their faces, but you? You felt like a pig with makeup on. You saw beauty in everyone but never in yourself.

Your performance is in about a few more days and you haven't eaten anything healthy for the past 3 days, you're starved, you're pressured, and your family hasn't even answered your text in which you, inviting them to please come watch your performance. Dragging your body to walk home, Alfred unfortunately can't drive you home as he is too busy with work (helping your family with their nightly activities) you hiss as the cold wind blew against your fresh scars-the result of you scratching your face with your nails due to resentment for yourself because of the question in the back of your mind: “why can't you just be good enough?”

The harsh glare of your ballet dance teacher only added more pressure, intensifying the burden on your weak shoulders. You carried the lingering thought that your family didn't care about you and the nagging feeling that you would never be good enough for them. The performance was just a few days away, and you hadn't eaten anything healthy for the past three days. You were starved, pressured, and desperately longing for your family's support. Yet, your texts inviting them to watch your performance went unanswered.

Dragging your exhausted body home, you felt a deep sense of despair. Alfred, who usually drove you home, was too busy with work, assisting your family with their nightly activities. As you walked, the cold wind bit into your fresh scars, the result of scratching your face with your nails out of self-loathing. The question haunted you: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

Your footsteps echoed in the empty streets, each step a reminder of your solitude. The streetlights cast long shadows, mirroring the darkness that seemed to envelop your soul. You could hear the distant laughter of families and friends enjoying their evenings, a stark contrast to the silence that filled your life.

But even though you're killing me

Arriving home, you unlocked the door with trembling hands. The house was quiet, as it always was when you were alone. The once warm and inviting living room now felt cold and unwelcoming. You dropped your bag and collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. Tears streamed down your cheeks, a release of the pent-up frustration and sadness. Gasping for breath as you dragged your shivering legs to your cold, small bed room as you dropped your exhausted form to your squeaking bed, staining your pillows with your tears.

I need you like the air I breathe

In your heart, you still held onto a sliver of hope that your family would show up to your performance. You envisioned them in the audience, watching with pride as you executed every move with precision and grace. But reality was harsh, and you knew deep down that their absence would cut deeper than any physical wound. But you needed them. They were the salt to your wounds yet you still crave for their attention. It's not too late right?

Please.

You spent the next few days in a haze, practicing relentlessly for the upcoming performance. Every pirouette, every leap, and every graceful move was tainted by the thought of your family's indifference. You pushed your body to the limit, hoping that the pain would numb the emotional agony. Again, again, again– again y/n! You need to perfect this! This could be the chance for you to prove to them that you're worthy of their attention! That you belong in this family just as much as they do! You can't give up. Stop trembling. Stop acting so weak. If you don't stop acting like a child then maybe they'll eventually throw you out of the house too.

Please

The day of the performance arrived, and you stood backstage, nervously adjusting your costume. Your heart pounded in your chest as you peeked through the curtains, scanning the audience for familiar faces. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear that your family was not coming. Your lips trembling, your brain can't fathom the idea of them not coming to this performance—of course you'd expect y/n to be unsurprised by this behavior but it's not fair! You worked so hard for this only for them to answer you with nothing but silence.

I need you more than me

You destroyed yourself for this; for them! You worked every bone in your body and stretched every limb of yours, starved yourself for days, just for them to dismiss your one request to just be there. You just wanted that family where they were all so supportive of you, they all loved and adored you. The worst part is they are just not to you. And you had to learn that the hard way.

I need you more than anything

Summoning every ounce of strength, you stepped onto the stage. The spotlight shone brightly, and for a moment, you felt a surge of confidence. The music began, and you moved with the grace and elegance you had practiced so hard to perfect. Each step was a testament to your dedication, a silent plea for recognition and love. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as a feeling of pain and happiness surged through your chest.

As you danced, the audience watched in awe. To them, you were a vision of beauty and talent. But inside, you felt empty. Every jump, every turn, and every sway of your limb was dedicated to them. With trembling lips you swallow the lump in your throat and ignore the pain in your chest as you play your part of the performance. The applause at the end of your performance was hollow, a reminder that the ones you longed to impress were not there to see it. Backstage, you received praise from your fellow dancers and instructors, but it did little to lift your spirits. You longed for a simple word of encouragement, a sign that your family cared. Instead, you were met with silence. You smiled faintly at them thanking them and exchanging a few compliments here and there. At this moment you couldn't feel anything. You were numb from all the pain you have suffered from this family.

Please, please

That night, as you lay in bed, the weight of the day's events pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing with thoughts of inadequacy. The question echoed once more: "Why can't you just be good enough?"

"Those days are over," you say to yourself as you pack your bags and place your belongings into boxes. You've grown, and after 13 years in the manor begging for scraps of their attention, you've realized that what you want will never become reality. It took you a whole decade and three more years to come to this realization. You shake your head softly and smile sadly. What were you thinking? Of course, they wouldn't care about you. Your normalcy and mediocrity never appealed to them, and you’ve decided those days are finally over. It was time to move out and discover what you were truly meant for.

"What was I made for?"

you ask yourself. This question feels so much better than constantly wondering, "Will they finally look at me?" You take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air of your new home. You breathe in and out, closing your eyes for a moment. This was it. You had made it. Slowly, you open your eyes and look at the people surrounding you, those who truly cared for you and saw you through your scars of insecurity, your perfect little hobbies, and your flawed personality. To them, you weren't Y/n Wayne, child of a billionaire, nor Y/n L/n, child of a prostitute. You were just Y/n, who tried so hard, failed, but ultimately succeeded.

The manor has been noticeably quiet for the past few days. The silence weighting discomfort as if something was wrong–as if something was missing. It was surprisingly first noticed by none other than Richard Grayson himself. The first Robin of Batman, the irreplaceable side kick, the first son of Bruce Wayne, and the darling of the crowd whom everyone loves and adore. As he walked through the large halls of the home he grew up in, he felt something was out of place. Like something wasn't in place or rather something was missing. It took him some time to figure it out as the clock ticks

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Aha! He's got it! It was because there wasn't any classic orchestral music playing through the thick walls of the manor. The soft music of pyotr tchaikovsky wasn't heard anywhere around the corners of the walls. That's strange. The sweet melody of violins and cellos wasn't found in any room at all. He didn't know why but it bugged him. He sighs as he disregards it, nevermind he said, must be Alfred playing his favorite old songs. He walks around the manor to look for his siblings and father and somehow stumbled upon this.. Unknown and empty small room. “wow this is.. Something” he muttered under his breath. He inspected the room and saw multiple trophies decorating the room. It was impressive how someone can achieve this many gold medals and such. His gaze traveled across the room and saw a box full of webs and dust, and got interested as he opened it to see an old video game and thought that it must have been Tim's before he decided to throw it away out of boredom. With no more much to do he slid through the doors and whistled his way out of the room, unaware of how many memories a person created in that very same room withering away.

Tim and Damian recognized the absence of humming and the pattern of footsteps that used to echo around the house from an unknown room. The silence made them uncomfortable. They had grown so accustomed to the faint noise that it had somehow brought them comfort. The melodic lullaby of humming painted a serene picture of paradise, lulling them easily to sleep—a struggle they had faced all their lives as vigilantes, or in Damian's case, as an assassin. Their heartbeats aligned with the rhythm of the faint noise.

For Tim, it was a sweet form of salvation from the demons that haunted his nights and kept him from a good night's sleep. For Damian, it was the comfort he never knew, a stark contrast to the heavy stare of his grandfather and the weight of expectations placed on his shoulders by his mother's watchful gaze.

Jason couldn't care less about what happens around that manor. He hated that place. It made him rethink all the moments he wished he could take back. Jason Todd is a hateful man but a good soldier. He destroys in order to protect. He kills in order to let another live. A morally gray person. In his eyes he was what Bruce wayne–Batman couldn't be. But even a man who goes out at night to protect needs a break. So when he came to the manor and went straight to the library and saw that the usual piled up classic books weren't to be seen at their usual spot he found it.. Unsettling per say. The books written by Jane Austen that were filled with marked pages, sticky notes, and annotations not found in the main table of the room were strange to him. He didn't even know who did it but it made him feel like he was home. The silly doodles and random words written on the sticky notes, careful not to dirty the book, made him chuckle every time he saw it; so where was it now?

Cassandra was into ballet. She grew up silenced, observing others, forever cautious. as to why she expresses herself through dancing: ballet. A moment where she can breathe and let go. Where she can freely pour her heart into dancing. Every point, every movement, she releases her unsaid emotions. She was raised that way. Except then she was thought to swallow her words and release her pent up emotions into bad things instead of gracefully dancing. She was completely in love with dancing. Whenever she went to collect her ballet shoes there's always an extra bandage, extra shoes played on the floor. She never knew why and she never questioned it. Just ignored it. But now she somehow froze at her spot to see nothing but her shoes and not next to the light pink ones that had a small bow to compliment its design. Ever so stunning; the person who wears it must have been the same kind of persona-wait.. Person? There's another one.. Oh.

Bruce Wayne was a busy man. By day, he handled his company, Wayne Enterprises. His days were filled with paperwork, meetings, and managing marketing strategies. But by night, he never slept. No, he donned the mantle of Batman, the prince of Gotham City, the guardian of Lady Gotham. He didn't have time for anything he deemed unworthy of his attention. He noticed every tiny mistake, be it at work or on the streets of Gotham. At work, he spotted grammatical errors and unstraightened lines of decorative mugs. As Batman, he detected the slightest hint of lies in a criminal's eyes. So, yes, he noticed that something—or rather, someone—from the manor was missing.

As dick whistled his way out of the room unable to find his family members, he decided to go to the batcave and have a little fun while being alone. He did all things he could think of. Look for more cases to solve, dig some stuff out criminal records, blah blah blah.. Then he decided to check the manor's CCTV.

As dick was checking the cctv's of the manor out of boredom, he managed to catch a glimpse of footage-about 2 weeks ago of a person..? Packing their bags and putting things from the manor into a box and leaving. It must be a thief! But that's impossible.. The manor has many securities that even a skilled assassin could not pass through the gates, it's impossible. Unless..

Dick took another glance at the footage and zoomed the screen and squinted his eyes. And for a second, his breath hitched and his heart pumped fast, his hand trembled and his eyes dilated..

It can't be.

You.. Y-..y/n? What were you doing? Where are you going? He bit his lips harshly as he watched the footage like a hawk. His hands came to fidget with his hair. Was that really you? You look so grown.. Several thoughts ran through his mind as he pondered on what you were doing. After a matter of time he somehow remembers. Oh yeah! Your contact number. His hands trembling, in a hurry he pressed your name in his phone and.. Shoot. His eyes widened at the several missed calls and texts from you. Not even a single response from him. Come to think of it, when was the last time he talked to you? Like, really talked to you? He quickly text you “heyy baby birdddd I miss you! Let's hang out right now!” while biting his thumb as he bounced his thighs up and down from anticipation. And then suddenly.. He remembers! The room! It was yours! Before he even knew it, he was quick on his feet and ran like a mad man towards your room. He panted slightly at the face of your door and harshly opened your room unaware of his strength. He went through every corner of your room. He explored every side of your room to find something-anything that can give him even a spoil of information about you. And that was when he found a tiny pink notebook. He chuckled softly, out of breath, hair messed up like a mad man but dick didn't care, no because he finally found your one and only diary! Filled with bows and pink glitters.. Hah..you were so cute. He went through your diary, invading your privacy and saw all of the things you've said. The way you praised him, the way you adored your family, your little adventures, your previous ballet performances (you did ballet? Wow, you're just so talented.. Oh his little bird.) he suddenly heard a high pitched ping! And scrambled to his phone as he expected a response from you but instead all he was met with was “y/n has blocked you”.

What..? Why? Didn't you want to spend time with your precious big brother? His blood shot eyes twitched and sweat ran down from his face. The suddenly a deep voice said:

“dick? What's going on here?”

Note: as promised! Here is the chapter yall asked forrr tell me what you guys think!

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[shieldsfilemistress]

Lisa was quiet for a moment. She simply stared out at the city, silently wondering to herself how she had ever thought of this place as home. It felt so shallow, so cold, so numb to her now. Her whole life used to revolve around this place, yet now the only joy she found with it was when she'd walk into this apartment. It was an odd feeling. When exactly had this city told her it was time to go? It was long before she had packed up her bags and left the country. But thinking about that only made her sad, so she down the glass in her hand and closed her eyes.

"That's where you're wrong," she sighed. "I was the perfect wife. He was just an awful husband. But we both got what we deserved." A hint of a smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. "And you should have punched him in the balls. That's where his brain resides, so you might have knocked a few thoughts into him."

She wanted to tell him that when it came to Justin, her daughter knew everything going on with him, but frankly, that wasn't for her to say. It was no secret that the two of them were at each other's throats all the time. If she hadn't mentioned the incident to her husband by now, she probably was just keeping her thoughts about it to herself.

She listened to him closely, her heartstrings being tugged by his words, but there was one thing she felt she needed to clarify. "I didn't escape," she said, looking over at him. "Not fully. Some people are able to, but me..." She shook her head. "That is some trauma that I carried around for decades. It's like a third kidney. It's useless, but it's a part of me that I can't shake off completely. Akihiro--my second husband--he would do the kindest things for me and Becca, but I almost always interpreted it as him trying to hide something, since that's what Justin would do. Or he'd have to work late and I'd wait up for him all night until he got home so I could make sure his clothes were as pristine as when he left."

A sad smile formed as she turned, choosing to look at the glass door to the apartment instead of Sterling. "And he'd be so patient with me. I'd try to fight and he'd just listen. I'd check his collars and coats and he'd just hold them out. He knew what I needed and just allowed it to happen. He was the best. I love that man more than I had ever loved another man, but I always had to keep him at arm's length because I was just waiting for him to disappoint me. Instead, I was the one doing the damage." She shook her head again. "The point I'm trying to make here is that your trauma doesn't just melt away. You carry it. And some days, it carries you. Those ones are the worst. But there's no shame in having it. And there's even less shame in sharing it. The reason why Akihiro knew what I needed was because I told him everything that happened with Justin, so he knew why I was acting the way I was. Spouses can pick up on certain things, but they can't read your mind. And it's better to be vulnerable for a week or two than create a barrier between you, even if it hurts to show them."

"They never get easier," Lisa said rather bluntly. "The bad days. They'll still hit you like a semi. The only difference is you learn to feel less like roadkill and more like a mountain."

She was quiet for a moment, silently gathering her thoughts on how best to approach the topic. It was one that she hated talking about. Her first marriage was full of toxicity and bad memories, intertwining themselves with the few good moments so they could never be separated. She still felt the rage of every betrayal discovered, the pain of every argument, the hurt that always came afterwards. Her muscles still knew the training on how to hold herself in public so no one knew she was suffering and how to have a genuine enough smile so people believe she was doing okay, never knowing the cocktail of antidepressants and cranberry juice she had to take just that morning so she'd have the strength to even show up. The voices of her parents still nagged her some days, reminding her of how she was supposed to be the perfect daughter to them and a perfect wife to her husband. She never forgot their threats of disowning her if she failed, nor did she forget the pain when they actually did. Her love for Rebecca had been the one thing that had kept her going most days, and even then, she still felt like she failed her.

Taking a sip of her lemonade, Lisa's eyes shifted to another star. "Justin and I used to fight all the time. I know, next you'll be shocked to hear that water is wet." She forced out a small chuckle that sounded fake even to her ears. Sighing, she took a few steps forward to lean against the railing. "Most days, we could do it quiet enough that no one would hear. But sometimes...sometimes they got bad. Never physical, but loud enough that people would have to break us up before the neighbors heard." She closed her eyes, pushing back the memory of the time her twin had gotten between them. "One night, it was really bad. The worst one we had ever had. And I didn't know it at the time, but Becca had come down to ask for a glass of water. She heard it all."

Lisa forced herself to take another sip. "Anyways, next morning, I come into the bedroom and I hear someone rustling around in the closet. I think it's another one of his secretaries that he's shoved in there, so I yank the door open to scream at someone as I was still pretty riled up from the night before, only to see Becca in there instead." She'd never forget the terrified look her daughter had given her that morning. "She had heard me yelling at Justin about me having to clean his mistresses' lipsticks off his collars, so she stole one of mine to color on his shirts. She was covering for him without even really understanding what she was doing. And I was so mad. I have never been that angry at anything in my life and have yet to reach that level again. I yelled at her in a way every day I wish I could take back. And she broke down into tears, sobbing on the floor as I tried my best to console her, to tell her that I wasn't mad at her, but at her dad. But she couldn't understand that. She was seven. Seven years old and trying to save her parent's broken marriage."

Her eyes fell down to her glass as she swirled the liquid inside. "That was the moment I realized I had to get her out of there. I couldn't soldier on anymore. Couldn't pretend like if I just ignored the bad enough, it would go away. Couldn't be the perfect daughter or the perfect wife or the walking trophy anymore. I could let him ruin me all he wanted, but...but I couldn't let him ruin her."

[floweycidal]

i keep thinking about how flowey had to construct the very concept of cruelty from the ground up.

not from watching anyone else, not by osmosis, but by cobbling it together himself in the garden where he woke up. alone.

this was a child who fell asleep to his mother's stories, who knew every inflection of his father's laugh. who spent endless golden afternoons with his sibling, both of them doubled over with giggles as they filmed their silly videos, messing up on purpose just to hear each other laugh. again. and again. and again.

so warm. so safe. where the gravest offense imaginable was maybe tracking mud on the carpet.

the worst fear, disappointing people who would love you anyway.

where could he even begin?

save. say these words that once meant comfort, but twist them just so. watch their eyes dim as something inside them breaks. load.

save. make a promise—you remember those, how snug they once made you feel—then shatter it. document exactly how hope crumbles. load.

save. try another combination. another betrayal. watch what splinters differently this time. load.

the world's loneliest science experiment.

look at the cruelty he creates, it's all so personal, specific. so devastatingly asriel.

watch how often he comes back to the idea of being replaced. of being forgotten. how he taunts you with the possibility that none of your relationships matter, that everyone will move on without you. that none of your choices mean anything in the end.

your fault. your responsibility.

if only he you hadn't made anyone love him you. If only he you hadn't loved them back.

of course he'd fixate on all that. how could he not? his mother, who used to speak his name like it was sacred, those tender words she reserved for him—for THEM—are now handed out indiscriminately, like candy to anyone who asks.

all he can do is take note: see how easily love transfers? see how simple it is to fade away?

so, he sneers. taunts you with the thought that it's all dust. you're just another passing face in the crowd. nothing lasts. nothing is worth the weight of caring. but even as he pushes that narrative, as his voice drips with contempt, he is still out there. in the ruins. checking on her.

observing from a distance, like maybe if he watches long enough, his past will solidify into something he can hold again.

flowey develops his cruelty like he's trying to solve an equation. if this word plus this action equals pain, then surely there must be some formula that yields not caring anymore.

if he'd just gotten it right. if he'd just kept everyone at a distance. if he could just be flowey. save. load. the answer has to be here somewhere.

but how do you quantify the sting of hearing her say "my child" to someone else? how do you account for the absence left in the places where joy once thrived? how do you document, in clinical terms, why you keep watching over people you swear don't matter anymore?

you don't devote yourself to perfecting devastation unless you remember, with searing clarity, what it felt like to be whole.

you don't give so much of yourself mastering the art of ridiculing attachment unless you're terrified of how much you still have left to give.

unless every attempt to prove love meaningless just confirms how much meaning it still has for you.

...point IS! flowey did an interesting job creating his own idea of a bully. it's all pathological. so crudely stemmed from his own sorrows and fears. he's created his own textbook definition of meanness...but then every chapter's just him screaming in a mirror.

[spotsupstuff]

List of things that sparked joy in my little Ancient culture enthusiast heart:

The moths in the Ancient Urban are essentially pigeons, including the fact some of them are tagged.

Finally a proper and canon confirmation that Ancients really did have pets, positive relationships with animals and weren't Only stuck in glass cubes on display like Moon implies once. It can also mean that they did research into animal behaviour, such as tracking migrating and such. From how biologists are in real life, we can assume they were even genuinely passionate & happy about these type of things.

All the pottery and plates in that workshop room,

A confirmation that they did have paper and used scrolls for writing stuff down,

alongside with the pearls that they, too, could perhaps freely read or one of those things on the shelf there might be a pearl reader, if it is more technologically based (CDs type information keeping)

I also wonder if those things there are books- with stone tablet pages or paper ones? digital things hidden in hardcovers?- or something else entirely. Do they maybe hold orders for earthenware?

The masks on the wall, they feel so real compared to the murals.

Are they of the same person or is it of the workers there or maybe a family? Some of them look similar to those in the murals.

While at the concept of family, they had creches, but it doesn't sound like it was an outright job in the sense that they seem to have been community-raised (I fuckin' knew it I can put down my tin hat now).

They had hard beds, similar to what used to be used in old china iirc, along with that pillow/headrest

This kinda thing. They were made out of porcelain to keep the head cool in the night, but I think some where out of wood too.

The bustling of the city.

The normalcy of people going about their day, talking, the vehicles zipping by (they had some kind of motor vehicles!!!!).

The architecture, in both the Ancient Urban and the Outer Rim (those roofs made the right side worth it to me, that's how much I love these bastards)

I find it very funny that what looks to me like a REALLY poor ass cable management seems like the height of decorative prowess to them. Also some insight into how the void ,,bath" actually looked like.

The toys... just the toys.

Alongside these dialogues

And the one about him remembering the halls he ran through- oh when I say that I adore the fact that this Echo is a kid stuck here, lonely and vulnerable with polite speech not plaguing it.

The original Echoes combined with the Iterators' distaste for the species as whole painted the Ancients as these heartless things lazer focused only on the Ascension, religion and rituals. There wasn't much space for thinking about them in a more human manner and I feel like most of the fandom did depict the Ancients only as the impression was given. Bunch of posh full of themselves suckups, uncaring much for one another or anything around them.

I get kinda annoyed when there's an insistance that some kind of sapient species has done only bad. With humans, too, I just about had it with the demonization, negativity and staggering blindness to the beauty and good we can and do create- in both fiction and reality. Same goes for these dumbasses.

Disko kid here begs to challenge that impression. He's lost and alone and kind of scared, stuck here not knowing how to move forward. He mourns the regularity and simplicity of his room, the nostalgia of shelves and toys, the golden sunrays sneaking in through the windows. He brings a certain humanity into the consideration of Ancients.

That maybe, only maybe.. they deserve to be mourned.

[reidmotif]

birthday blues

summary: spencer hates his birthday. reader makes it a little better.

couple: spencer reid/fem!reader

category: fluff, no content warnings

wc: 1k

masterlist

Spencer Reid had never liked his birthday, plain and simple. 

There were a multitude of reasons from which this sentiment spouted from, but the overarching theme was always the same. No matter what he put into the day personally, the rewards mirrored back were limited and shoddy at best. 

It almost felt like fate, for the occasion to not be of his liking. His favorite holiday had always been Halloween, which followed shortly after the date. He supposed it was almost an act of mercy, a peace offering from some non-existent higher being. 

“Your birthday’s doomed, but here’s Halloween, at least.” 

No one really forgets Halloween. No one can really ruin Halloween. It was enough for him. 

Which is why come the day of his 30th birthday, Spencer had expected nothing. He found it easier to keep his expectations low, as to avoid disappointment when it would inevitably come. He hadn’t mentioned the date to coworkers in passing, and never expressed interest in a celebration. When no recognition came, he wasn’t surprised. It didn’t sting. It didn’t bother him. Just another day. 

Was it supposed to be special? Turning thirty? He reasoned that three decades lived on this Earth was probably worth something, considering you’d have something of a life made out by then. Some would be celebrating the families they’d created in that time, the love they’d cultivated by being here. Others would marvel at their success from when they began, at all the differences the time had brought to them. Maybe some would simply revel in the fact that there was a future at all to begin with, ready to live out the rest of it. 

What did Spencer have? There was no family for him to share his joys with. He’d been working the same job since his 20’s, no end in sight. His future seemed bleak. A monotonous repeat of the horrors he’d signed up for. 

Maybe it was good he wasn’t celebrating his birthday. He didn’t really feel like he had cause for celebration. 

That was, until a sound broke him out of his thoughts. 

“Spencer? I was hoping to catch you!” An unfamiliar voice called out to him. 

He turned around, and was met with a girl. A girl holding a .. chocolate donut? A girl whose name he could not recall, for the life of him. 

“It’s your birthday, right?” She asks, holding out the treat on a decorative napkin.

He nods, momentarily stunned into silence. His team members had forgotten. His mother had forgotten. Hell, he might’ve forgotten, but there she was. She remembered. 

She continues, despite his silence.  “You always reach for these ones on donut day. I thought it’d be a safe bet to bring to you.” She hands it out to him, a smile playing on her face.

He almost moves robotically, taking the treat from her hands and holding it, as if it was a precious jewel or maybe a ticking time-bomb. “Thank you.. Uh..” He freezes momentarily, realizing he’d accidentally revealed the nature of his forgetfulness regarding the figure in front of him. 

As she realizes what’s happening, she speaks with a teasing lilt. “You don’t remember my name, do you?” 

He sighs, nodding a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’m usually a little better with names.” 

She grins. “I’d hope so. Or is that eidetic memory they talk about around here all just a hoax? I never really thought it was possible, anyway.” 

Spencer laughs good-naturedly, his anxiety quelled by the easy-going nature of the woman in front of him. “No, no. It’s all real. I swear. I just.. have we met before? How did you know it was my birthday?” 

“The office calendar.” She replies, pointing to a small, almost forgettable scrap on the wall. It was fashioned with everyone’s birthdays from the start, but rarely anyone ever looked at it. Everyone but her, it seemed.

“And to answer your question- we have met. In passing. I’ve seen you out and about the office.” She informs, smiling softly. 

“And.. you just decided to give a gift? To a stranger?” He asks, continuously intrigued by the nature of events occurring to him at this moment. 

“Why not?” She retorts, shrugging a little. “I like giving gifts. I like birthdays. It seemed a bit like a no-brainer. You’re not really a stranger, anyway.” 

He smiles a bit at her admission. The straightforward nature of her words left him a bit delighted, almost giddy. While he still wasn’t magically convinced his birthday was a good thing because of a donut and a pretty girl, he appreciated her mindset. It was sweet. It made his heart flutter involuntarily as he took it in. 

“Well.. I appreciate it.” He says slowly, holding the donut in its napkin. “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

She seems to be disarmed by his words, understanding that somehow, this gesture means more to him than she anticipated.

“You don’t need to thank me. Enjoy the donut, and your day.” She says, voice sincere.

He nods in gratitude, now eager to dig into the delicacy in front of him. As she sauntered away, though, he realized he hadn’t gotten an answer to his first query. 

“Wait, hold on! I never got your name!” He calls out, walking towards her, trying to stop her from leaving. He had to know, at least. To maybe have a chance at speaking to her again, to understand the sweet demeanor that had been bestowed upon him, and whatever was underneath. 

She smiles, playfully, before shrugging and turning her head towards him. “Check the napkin!” She said nothing further, disappearing behind a corner to God knows where. 

He carefully lifted the donut, and besides a few smudges of chocolate, he noticed a name and a set of digits scrawled in black ink. Another present. He bit his lip, a little gleefully as he carefully folded and tucked the cloth into his pocket. 

It wasn’t as if Spencer’s birthday lost the connotation it had held for him for his whole life. The day still commemorated years of forgetfulness, from his mother, his peers, even himself- at one point. It wasn’t as if that would ever go away. 

Eventually though, the day gained new meaning for him as he ventured more and more into the remainder of his life, as Spencer would eventually remember the date– not for the disappointments and apathy it had brought to him, but rather as a much more meaningful and joyous day. One meant to be celebrated. 

The day he first spoke to his future wife. 

THIS ONE GOES OUT TO ALL THE PEOPLE WHO HATE THEIR BIRTHDAY! not me. love my birthday. but it was fun getting into the head of Spencer, who probably does <3. according to the google doc i pulled this from, i wrote this in the summer of 2024, so this is OOOOLD. i kind of never planned to publish it, however, i'm looking into cross posting all my works onto ao3, and wanted to make sure this one lived on, both on tumblr and ao3. so that's why this is here. also because this is an unserious post for crosspost reasons, i played around with the theming of the post. #html warrior. :nerd emoji:. anywayyyy like and reblog if you liked, ect ect, #support writers / reblogs are the lifeblood of Tumblr!!! YAYY!!! okay!!! bye!!!

[rafedarling]

𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: your 4-year-old son, rustyn, has decided that he needs a sibling—and he’s not shy about telling everyone. from grandparents to cartoons, rustyn finds a way to make his wish known, much to the amusement of you and drew.

warning(s): english is not my native language. pure fluff, toddler curiosity, family humor, and loving reflections on parenthood.

au: like, reblog and feedbacks are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rafeyslamb @tracymbcm @enjoymyloves @akobx @rubixgsworld @xoxohoneymoongirl @mileyraes @maybankslover @noobmazter69 @littlelamy @wearemadeofstardust0 @xoxosblogsblog @saviorcomplexrry @bisexualcvnt @stuffyownswrld @anamiad00msday @httpsdrewstarkey

It was the kind of peaceful morning that felt like a small luxury—quiet, warm, and full of simple, slow moments. Drew was seated next to you, scrolling through his phone with a relaxed expression, while your 4-year-old son, Rustyn, was already up and playing in the living room.

The sound of toy trucks rolling across the floor accompanied Rustyn’s imaginative play as he created stories for his toys, his little voice full of excitement. You smiled to yourself, feeling your heart swell at the simple joy of hearing him play. Life had become so much sweeter since Rustyn had arrived—a bundle of curiosity, energy, and love wrapped into one tiny human. You and Drew often marveled at how quickly Rustyn seemed to grow, learning new things each day and filling your home with laughter.

The peace of the morning, however, was soon interrupted as Rustyn toddled into the kitchen, clutching his favorite stuffed bear in one hand and dragging it behind him. His expression was serious, a little too serious for a 4-year-old, and it instantly caught your attention.

Climbing up onto Drew’s lap with determination, Rustyn placed his tiny hands on his father’s chest, his wide blue eyes staring intently up at him. “Dada,” Rustyn said, his voice laced with that innocent curiosity that always made your heart melt.

Drew blinked, setting his phone down and wrapping his arms around Rustyn. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked, smiling as he brushed a hand through Rustyn’s messy morning hair.

Rustyn shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on Drew’s shirt as if he had something very important to say. His voice was sweet but serious as he finally spoke again. “Dada, can I have a baby?”

Both you and Drew froze for a moment, your eyes widening as you processed the unexpected request. You had expected him to ask for another story or maybe breakfast, but a baby?

You exchanged a quick glance with Drew, both of you barely containing your laughter. Rustyn, however, remained completely serious, his innocent eyes blinking up at his dad, waiting for an answer.

“A baby?” Drew repeated, trying to hide his amusement. “You mean like a baby doll, Rusty?”

Rustyn shook his head quickly, his little brow furrowing in frustration. “No, Dada,” he said with the kind of determination only a toddler could muster. “I want a real baby. A baby brother or a baby sister.”

You nearly choked on your coffee, coughing lightly as you set your mug down and stared at Drew in disbelief. Drew, still holding Rustyn, raised his eyebrows in surprise, clearly caught off guard.

“Buddy,” Drew began, trying to navigate the situation delicately, “that’s… well, that’s not something we can just get right away.”

Rustyn looked confused, his big eyes darting between you and Drew. “Why not?” he asked, as if the concept of not being able to have a baby immediately was beyond comprehension.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how earnest Rustyn sounded. It was clear that he had no idea how big of an ask this was. And yet, his innocence made the situation all the more adorable.

Drew glanced at you, his eyes pleading for backup. You took a deep breath, deciding to step in and explain.

“Well, sweetie,” you began, leaning forward slightly to meet Rustyn’s gaze, “babies take time. They don’t just show up like toys or presents. It’s something Mommy and Daddy have to decide together, and then we have to wait.”

Rustyn’s expression softened slightly, but the determined look didn’t leave his face. “But I want one now,” he said, his voice filled with the kind of pure, heartfelt longing that made you want to scoop him up and promise him the world.

Drew chuckled softly, bouncing Rustyn gently on his lap. “I get that, bud,” he said, his tone affectionate but firm. “But like Mommy said, babies take time.”

Rustyn pouted, his tiny lips forming a small frown as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t wanna wait,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You exchanged another glance with Drew, both of you clearly realizing that this was only the beginning of the conversation. Rustyn wasn’t the type to let things go easily, especially when he set his heart on something. And from the look on his face, it was clear that Rustyn had already decided that having a sibling was at the top of his list.

Drew sighed softly, leaning down to kiss the top of Rustyn’s head. “How about we talk about this later, okay? Let’s get through today first.”

Rustyn nodded reluctantly, though it was obvious he wasn’t fully convinced. He slid off Drew’s lap and padded back into the living room, but not before turning back to you both with one last, pleading look.

“I really want a baby,” he said again, his voice full of hope.

You smiled, feeling your heart melt at his innocence. “We’ll think about it, baby,” you promised, knowing that this was going to be a long conversation.

As the days passed, Rustyn’s request for a sibling didn’t fade. In fact, it became a constant part of your conversations—at the breakfast table, during bedtime stories, and even when you were out running errands. It seemed like everywhere Rustyn went, he found a way to bring up babies.

One day, while you were grocery shopping together, Rustyn spotted a woman pushing a stroller with a newborn inside. His eyes lit up instantly, and before you could stop him, he was tugging on your hand and pointing eagerly at the stroller.

“Mommy, look! A baby!” Rustyn exclaimed, his voice full of excitement. “Can we get one too?”

You laughed softly, gently guiding him away from the woman and her baby, who thankfully hadn’t heard him. “Rustyn, sweetie, we’ve talked about this,” you reminded him. “Babies don’t just show up like that.”

Rustyn’s face scrunched up in frustration, and he pouted. “But I want one,” he said, his voice filled with longing.

You sighed, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “I know you do, baby. But you have to be patient.”

Rustyn let out a small, frustrated sigh but nodded, clearly not happy with the answer. “Okay,” he mumbled, though you could tell he was still thinking about it.

The next time Rustyn brought up the topic was during a family dinner at Drew’s parents’ house. You, Drew, Rustyn, and Drew’s parents—Todd and Jodi—were gathered around the table, enjoying a relaxed meal together. The conversation was light, filled with laughter and stories, until Rustyn, who had been playing with his food, suddenly spoke up.

“Gigi?” Rustyn asked, his voice full of curiosity as he turned to Jodi.

Jodi smiled warmly at her grandson, always eager to listen to whatever was on his mind. “Yes, sweetie?”

“Can I have a baby brother or sister?” Rustyn asked innocently, his wide blue eyes blinking up at her.

The room fell into a stunned silence as everyone processed Rustyn’s question. Todd choked on his water, coughing lightly as he shot you and Drew an amused look. Jodi’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she quickly recovered, giving Rustyn a sweet smile.

“Well, Rusty, that’s something you’ll have to ask your mommy and daddy about,” Jodi said with a soft chuckle, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I already did,” Rustyn replied earnestly, his little face serious. “But they said I have to wait. I don’t wanna wait, Gigi. I want a baby now.”

Todd let out a loud laugh, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Sounds like someone’s eager to be a big brother, huh?”

Rustyn nodded vigorously, his little face lighting up with excitement. “Yeah! I’ll share my toys and read them stories!”

You and Drew exchanged a look of amusement mixed with slight embarrassment. It was clear that Rustyn wasn’t going to let this go anytime soon, and now he was dragging everyone else into his mission.

“Well, Rusty,” Drew began, his tone gentle but firm, “we’ve talked about this, buddy. Babies take time, remember?”

Rustyn huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he pouted. “But I don’t wanna wait.”

Jodi laughed softly, patting Rustyn’s back. “Patience is a good thing to learn, Rusty,” she said kindly. “You’ll have to trust Mommy and Daddy to know when the time is right.”

Rustyn nodded, though he still didn’t look completely satisfied. “Okay,” he mumbled, clearly frustrated by the lack of immediate results.

Todd chuckled, ruffling Rustyn’s hair. “You’ll make a great big brother one day, kiddo.”

Rustyn’s persistence didn’t stop there. One evening, while the three of you were cuddled up on the couch watching a cartoon, Rustyn spotted a baby character on the screen. His eyes widened with excitement, and he turned to you and Drew, tugging on Drew’s sleeve.

“Dada! Look! A baby!” Rustyn exclaimed, pointing at the TV. “Can we get one like that?”

Drew laughed, shaking his head as he wrapped his arm around Rustyn’s shoulders. “Rusty, we’ve talked about this,” he said, his voice filled with amusement. “Babies don’t work like that.”

“But I want one,” Rustyn pouted, his big blue eyes looking up at Drew with a mix of confusion and determination. “I’ll take care of them, I promise!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, leaning in to kiss the top of Rustyn’s head. “Sweetheart, I know you’re excited about the idea of a baby. But you have to be patient, okay? Babies don’t happen right away.”

Rustyn sighed dramatically, his tiny shoulders slumping as he settled back against Drew’s chest. “Okay,” he mumbled, though you could tell he was still thinking about it.

Drew gave you a playful look over Rustyn’s head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Looks like we’re in trouble here,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You grinned, shaking your head. “He’s not going to let this go anytime soon, is he?”

Drew sighed softly, ruffling Rustyn’s hair. “Nope. He’s determined. We might have to start planning.”

Rustyn perked up at the word “planning,” his eyes wide with hope. “Does that mean we’re getting a baby soon, Dada?”

Drew chuckled, pulling Rustyn into a hug. “Maybe, buddy. Maybe one day.”

Rustyn grinned, clearly satisfied with that answer—for now. “Okay! I can’t wait!”

That night, after Rustyn had finally fallen asleep, you and Drew sat together on the couch, reflecting on the day’s events. Drew had his arm around your shoulders, and you leaned against him, both of you laughing softly at how persistent Rustyn had been about wanting a sibling.

“Can you believe how determined he is?” you asked, smiling as you snuggled closer to Drew. “He’s never been this focused on anything before.”

Drew laughed, resting his chin on top of your head. “I know. It’s pretty sweet, though. He just wants someone to share his world with.”

You smiled, nodding as you thought about Rustyn’s pure heart. “He’d make an amazing big brother,” you said softly, your voice filled with affection.

Drew squeezed your hand, his expression softening. “He really would,” he agreed. “And, you know… I wouldn’t mind giving him that one day.”

You looked up at Drew, your heart swelling with love. “One day?”

Drew nodded, his smile warm and full of love. “Yeah. I mean, we’ve got a pretty great thing going here, don’t we?”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss him softly. “We do,” you whispered.

As you sat there in the quiet of the evening, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, you couldn’t help but think about the future—the possibility of growing your family even more. Rustyn’s sweet persistence had sparked something in both of you, and though it might not happen right away, you knew that when the time was right, you’d be ready.

For now, though, you were more than happy to enjoy these moments—the love, the laughter, and the joy of having Rustyn in your life.

[norristrii]

Hii!! HBD!! Would love to see a lil Lando fic based on revolving door!! Maybe fluff/hurt/comfort or whatever you would like💖💖💖

REVOLVING DOOR.

“Life feels worse, but good with you in it.” — Despite the ups and downs, Lando finds comfort in you after a tough race in Hungary. And in those moments, you remind him—you’ll always be there. No matter what.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. angst (happy ending), ex dynamics, hungary 2024 aftermath (sorry, but i’ll never let u forget), talking about mclaren prioritizing oscar etc.. thank u for joining the event!! hope u like it, it’s mostly based on the bridge<3

music. Revolving Door by Tate Mcrae.

800 event. // event masterlist.

YOU KNEW LANDO BETTER THAN THE MOST. You had seen him at his best—confident, determined, pushing limits with a kind of reckless brilliance. But you had also seen the other side. The one the cameras didn’t always catch. The quiet moments when doubt crept in, when no matter how well he performed, it was never enough.

He worked harder than ever, relentless in his pursuit of something just out of reach. No matter how many laps he perfected, how many podiums he climbed, he was always searching for the flaw, the mistake, the fraction of a second that could have been better. Even when he stood on the top step, drenched in champagne and applause, there was a voice inside him whispering that it wasn’t enough.

Your relationship had never been simple. It was tangled in uncertainty, constantly shifting between moments of closeness and distance. You were on and off so many times that even you struggled to define what you truly were. It was confusing—not just for you, but for everyone watching.

People speculated, creating stories out of the fragments they saw, convincing themselves they knew the truth. But the truth was, even you didn’t know. There were moments when it felt like everything made sense, like there was something solid beneath the chaos. And then, just as quickly, it would slip through your fingers.

Despite all of it, one thing remained certain—you were there for him. No matter how complicated things got, no matter how many times you questioned where you stood, you never walked away. You stood by him in his victories, in his losses, in the quiet moments when doubt took hold of him.

“I mean it does… to me, maybe.”

Those words stuck with you, replaying in your mind long after the race was over. A quiet, resigned heartbreak hidden in a few simple syllables, slipping through the cracks of the moment, only truly heard by those who understood.

McLaren had made their call, and just like that, the win was gone. You had seen the frustration in Lando’s voice before, but this was different. This was deeper. He had known exactly what needed to be done, had fought for it, had asked for it. And yet, the decision had already been made.

Oscar’s first win—a historic moment, a milestone that should have been celebrated without question—was clouded in unfairness. Not just for Lando, but for Oscar too. Because it wasn’t supposed to be handed to him like that. He was good enough, fast enough, deserving enough. But instead, the world saw it as something gifted, something taken rather than earned. And that wasn’t fair either.

The weight of it lingered. Lando, standing on that podium, the cheers ringing out around him, knowing it should have been his. Oscar, caught between joy and discomfort, forced into the impossible position of celebrating a victory that carried the shadow of controversy. And you—watching it all unfold, knowing that no matter what anyone said, the truth wouldn’t change.

Some wins didn’t feel like wins at all.

Some losses hurt more than they ever should.

You stood beneath the podium, the cheers still ringing in the air, but to you, they felt distant—muffled under the weight of disappointment. You watched as Lando walked away, his movements tense, hurried, frustration simmering beneath every step. His fingers gripped the trophy, but there was no pride in the way he held it—just frustration, just anger, just the undeniable sting of knowing it should have been more.

Disappointed. That was what he was. Angry. Exhausted. Worn down by a race that had been his until it wasn’t. He had fought, harder than ever, put everything on the line, only for the strategy to fall apart beneath him. And honestly, you weren’t surprised. McLaren had miscalculated, fumbled the moment, turned a clear victory into something messy and unfair. It wasn’t right. Not for him, and not for Oscar either. A win should feel like a win. And this one didn’t.

His steps quickened, his movements sharp, almost careless. The trophy nearly slipped from his grasp, teetering for a fraction of a second before he caught it again, fingers tightening around it as if holding on to it could somehow make up for what had just happened. You saw it—how he pulled it closer, how he refused to let it go, not because it meant anything to him, but because it was all he had left of the race that should have been his.

The noise from the McLaren garage was deafening. Laughter, congratulations, the sound of champagne bottles popping—all of it felt wrong. They were celebrating. But celebrating what? A win that had been handed out like a favor? A strategy that had ruined everything? It made no sense. And yet, they carried on, oblivious to what they had done.

You moved through the chaos, past mechanics still buzzing with post-race energy, past engineers pretending like this was just another race. You knew better. You knew that behind that podium, behind the interviews, behind the forced smiles, there was only one truth—Lando had lost something tonight. Not just the race, but a piece of himself.

Finally, you reached his driver room. The door was shut, a barrier between him and the world that had failed him. You hesitated for only a second, your fingers hovering over the surface before knocking. The sound was soft, almost uncertain.

There was a pause. Then, from the other side—

“Come in.”

His voice was low, barely carrying through the door. Tired. Worn. Broken in a way that no post-race analysis could capture.

You pushed the door open, stepping inside.

He stood by the closet, the fireproof suit slipping from his shoulders, discarded with an exhausted pull. His movements were slow, deliberate, each motion carrying the weight of the race he had just lost. His muscles tensed as he pulled on a shirt, his body still warm from the effort, from the frustration. And for a fleeting second, your attention lingered—not just on the way he moved, but on the quiet strength buried beneath the disappointment.

You stepped closer, hesitant but steady, voice soft as you broke the silence. “Are you okay?”

A sharp exhale. A bitter scoff. “Guess.”

He didn’t look at you, but it didn’t matter—you could feel it. The frustration in the air, thick and unrelenting. The unspoken exhaustion in the way he held himself. The eye roll embedded in his tone, even though his gaze remained fixed somewhere else. His voice was harsher than usual, edged with something sharp, something raw.

“I’m not.”

And there it was. The truth, stripped down to the barest form. No hesitation, no forced optimism, no hiding behind polite words or media training. Just honesty. Just defeat. Just the weight of a moment that should have been his, slipping through his fingers, leaving him with nothing but questions and anger.

He sank down onto the chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. His breath was uneven, shallow, like he was holding back something too heavy to carry. And you hated it—hated seeing him like this, stripped of the confidence that usually carried him through even the worst races.

“I’m not okay,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for you to hear. His voice was raw, edged with frustration, exhaustion—something deeper. “This is an absolute circus. I hate it.”

Then, the sound—quiet, almost hidden. A soft sob, but not from sorrow alone. It was a mix of anger and sadness, disappointment tangled up with something he couldn’t quite name. He stayed still, shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I hate it here, Y/n.” The words hung in the air, heavy with everything unsaid. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

You took a careful step forward, your chest tightening at the sight of him—this version of Lando that felt so unfamiliar, so raw. He was always intense, always passionate, but this was different. This was broken in a way you hadn’t seen before.

He kept his face buried in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. You could still hear it—the frustration wrapped in sorrow, the quiet weight of everything that had been taken from him today. The words he had just spoken sat heavy between you.

I hate it here, Y/n.

It wasn’t just about the race. It was about the pressure, the expectations, the constant cycle of being good enough but never quite enough. It was about the team making decisions that didn’t feel like his. About standing on podiums that should have felt like victories but somehow didn’t.

You swallowed, unsure of what to say. What could you say? That it would get better? That he would win next time? Empty reassurances wouldn’t help. He already knew all of that, and it didn’t make today any less painful.

He sat there, unmoving, his fingers still tangled in his hair as he let out a slow, unsteady breath. The weight of the race, of everything that had gone wrong, pressed heavy on his shoulders. The defeat clung to him, settling deep into the parts of him that wouldn’t let go, twisting its way into his thoughts, his emotions, his belief in himself.

“I’m just not good enough,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words hit harder than if he had shouted them. He still refused to look at you, his gaze locked on the floor, as if avoiding your eyes would somehow make the pain less real.

But it didn’t.

It broke you to hear him say it. Him? Not good enough? It was ridiculous. Impossible. He was everything—strong, brilliant, relentless. He wasn’t just talented; he was the kind of racer people admired, the kind of person people believed in. At least, you did.

You felt your chest tighten, frustration mixing with sadness as you knelt down in front of him. Your hands found his knees, a grounding touch, something solid in the storm of doubt he was drowning in.

“Hey!” Your voice was firm, sharper than you had expected, but necessary. Your eyebrows pulled together, frustration flickering across your face. “Look at me, Norris.”

Silence stretched between you for a moment. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, his tired eyes finally meeting yours. And that was when you saw it—the raw defeat, the exhaustion carved into the lines of his face, the quiet desperation clinging to him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

You didn’t think—just acted. Your hands moved to his face, gently cupping his cheeks, holding him there, forcing him to stay in this moment with you.

“Don’t ever say that,” you whispered, your voice softer now, steadier, filled with something more than just reassurance. It was truth. Your truth. “Not to me. Not to yourself.”

Lando shook his head, his jaw tightening as frustration laced every breath he took. His hands were still curled into fists at his sides, his body stiff with lingering anger. The weight of the race, of everything that had gone wrong, pressed heavily onto his shoulders, dragging him down into a space you weren’t sure how to pull him out of.

“No, Y/n,” he muttered, voice rough, strained. “Just look. I did everything I could, and they still chose to prioritize Oscar.”

His words were laced with bitterness, with the kind of hurt that went beyond losing a race. It was the sting of being overlooked, of knowing that no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how much effort he poured into each lap, they hadn’t put him first. They hadn’t chosen him.

You felt something snap inside you, frustration bubbling over, unable to keep it bottled in any longer. Your fingers tightened around his face, palms pressing against his cheeks, holding him there—forcing him to see the truth beyond the doubt clouding his mind.

“Oh my god, Lan. Fuck McLaren,” you burst out, voice sharp, passionate, unrelenting. “You did your best, and if it wasn’t good enough for them, then they can go fuck themselves.”

Lando’s voice was softer now, no longer edged with frustration, no longer laced with the weight of disappointment. Just raw honesty, spoken into the quiet space between you.

“I love you, Y/n. Seriously.”

His eyes didn’t waver, didn’t flicker with doubt or hesitation. He meant it. Completely, fully, without restraint.

He was glad—so damn glad—that he had you. Because no matter how much he messed up, no matter how many times he had let his emotions get the worst of him, you had never walked away. You never gave up on him, even though everyone else had, even though he had given you every reason to.

You were still here. Even though your relationship had been messy, complicated. Even though he had hurt you more times than he could count. You hadn’t abandoned him—not when he fell short, not when he doubted himself, not even now, when the world felt like it had turned against him.

His throat felt tight, the emotion settling somewhere deep inside his chest, heavier than he expected.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

And for the first time all night, something shifted. Not just between you—but inside him.

Maybe he had lost today. Maybe he had been overlooked. Maybe McLaren had failed him.

But you hadn’t.

© norristrii 2025

[avocado-writing]

if you are taking short fic requests for wade n logan, how about one where typically sunshine!reader comes home sad and while the both of them have that frenemy thing going, they agree on fucking up whoever made reader unhappy :o btw i love your work ❣️

You fill the apartment with laughter and light and life. You: all parts sunshine and joy, making things a bit brighter even when the world feels so dark. You’re a bit of levity at the end of a day which is usually bathed in blood. A reminder of what’s worth fighting for. 

So when you walk in that night with your jaw grit tight and eyes watery, it’s pretty damn noticeable. 

“Hey. You okay?” asks Logan, voice gruff but full of concern. He’s on the couch, patching himself up from no doubt getting the shit beaten out of him, hopefully not staining the new throw blanket you bought. You head to the fridge wordlessly, grabbing a beer and getting annoyed when you can’t immediately find a bottle opener. He holds his hand out silently, and you give in, allowing him to use one of his claws to help. 

“Long day,” you manage, trying to bite back tears. You hear the bathroom door open and Wade sticks his head out, the sound of conversation irresistible to him. 

“Hey sunshine! How’s my favourite—?” he starts, but trails off when he sees the state you’re in. He goes to jump over the back of the sofa to get to you but immediately falls on his face because he’s missing half a leg. Despite everything a laugh bubbles up from you, inescapable. 

“I’m glad my dismemberment is just a slapstick routine to you, cupcake,” he pouts up at you from the floor. You wipe your eyes furiously with your sleeve and go to help him up, settling him into an armchair - and giving him the opportunity to sweep you into his lap. 

“What’s the matter, honey? Seriously. Who do we need to kill?” he asks. “Is it Deborah? Tell me it’s her. She’s been asking for a knife in the kidney ever since she swiped your lunch two months ago. I’m surprised you haven’t done it yourself, you know we’d help you hide the body.”

“You’re sweet,” you sigh, “but it’s not her, actually. I just had a lot to do today and nobody was cutting me any slack, you know? It got too much.”

“If you need us to talk to anyone,” says Logan, fixing Wade with a look which suggests murdering your colleagues will probably create more problems than solve them, “we’ll do it.”

“Yes! Good-boyfriend, bad-boyfriend routine. Oh, or charismatic-boyfriend, grumpy-but-sexy boyfriend. Or even, slut-boyfriend, slut-but-doesn’t-know-it-yet boyfriend. Maybe that one’s better suited for tonight though…”

Logan growls a warning but Wade just grins, blasé. You giggle. 

“Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be a lot more bored and horny,” Wade muses, as Logan mutters “hmph. Apartment would be quieter…”

You drink your beer and smile.  

taglist: : @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse

[apoemaday]

Tea

by Leila Chatti

Five times a day, I make tea. I do this because I like the warmth in my hands, like the feeling of self-directed kindness. I’m not used to it — warmth and kindness, both — so I create my own when I can. It’s easy. You just pour water into a kettle and turn the knob and listen for the scream. I do this five times a day. Sometimes, when I’m pleased, I let out a little sound. A poet noticed this and it made me feel I might one day properly be loved. Because no one is here to love me, I make tea for myself and leave the radio playing. I must remind myself I am here, and do so by noticing myself: my feet are cold inside my socks, they touch the ground, my stomach churns, my heart stutters, in my hands I hold a warmth I make. I come from a people who pray five times a day and make tea. I admire the way they do both. How they drop to the ground wherever they are. Drop pine nuts and mint sprigs in a glass. I think to care for the self is a kind of prayer. It is a gesture of devotion toward what is not always beloved or believed. I do not always believe in myself, or love myself, I am sure there are times I am bad or gone or lying. In another’s mouth, tea often means gossip, but sometimes means truth. Despite the trope, in my experience my people do not lie for pleasure, or when they should, even when it might be a gesture of kindness. But they are kind. If you were to visit, a woman would bring you a tray of tea. At any time of day. My people love tea so much it was once considered a sickness. Their colonizers tried, as with any joy, to snuff it out. They feared a love so strong one might sell or kill their other loves for leaves and sugar. Teaism sounds like a kind of faith I’d buy into, a god I wouldn’t fear. I think now I truly believe I wouldn’t kill anyone for love, not even myself — most days I can barely get out of bed. So I make tea. I stand at the window while I wait. My feet are cold and the radio plays its little sounds. I do the small thing I know how to do to care for myself. I am trying to notice joy, which means survive. I do this all day, and then the next.

[yellowocaballero]

There's a genre of post that I see pretty frequently, which can overall be summed up as, "Modern fandom has a culture problem where fanfic authors are treated as content producers instead of community members and their fanfic is treated as a commodity to be consumed instead of a high-effort labor of love that deserves attention and compliments given directly to the author". I agree with 3/4ths of that. I find the part I disagree with very interesting, the same way I find a lot of writeblr interesting, because it's a perspective that I had to work very hard to actually understand.

Because the posts have such a warped view of what writing is and why we post our writing! They say that fanfic fights against the commodified internet we live in, but all they're doing is changing the currency of payment in this attention economy. Another way you can summarize about 70% of these posts is, "My payment for writing and posting my fanfiction is compliments, and if you do not give me those compliments you are not paying. If you give those compliments behind my back, or talk about them privately without giving them to me as well, then you are stealing from me." I don't want to put it like that, but a lot of these posts use words like 'deprive', as if the reader who enjoys the fic without commenting is withholding something from them that they deserve. They use the word engagement, and they do talk about how part of that engagement is just the joy of talking about AUs and ships with other people, but when people say that comments are their motivation to keep writing, what they mean is that validation is their motivation to keep writing. Which is compliments.

I understand that, because I understand that fanfic writers are not immune to the attention economy. But I don't understand how almost every one of these posts talk about how this lack of attention makes them stop writing - that this act of theft is killing their desire to write. I could understand this if they meant 'desire to POST fic' (I don't post fic I think zero people would read.), but they talk about how lack of payment stops them from writing at all.

IMHO, that is what creates a commodity from fic. People want to treat fic as art, but an artist makes art for themself. Art is made because we want to hold parts of skills and ourselves in our hands. If you won't make art if you get no payment, then you have devalued the art completely.

We think of AO3 as this unique site that's born entirely from passion and is filled with fics written for love of the game. But guilt-tripping posts that shame people for not commenting on a fic they enjoy, and that describe how there's no point in writing fic if it's not getting attention, are directly contributing towards the culture of treating fic like a commodity.

I also really want a fandom culture where the relationship between artist and reader is reciprocal, where it feels like a community, and where I get to talk about my fanfic with people. My favorite part of posting fanfic is rambling about it on my blog, because I can talk about my art all day and I love it when people stop and listen. But I love that because I love my own art. If you love your own art, then it'll always have value.

Also Google your username, just trust me, that's how you find The Secret Discussions. Someone made a TikTok fansong of me once. WHAT?

[hoshifighting]

Anklet Adorned

Preview: "You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he resumes his relentless pace. "You like it when I fuck you so hard that even your anklet can't stay quiet." he refers to the charms from the anklet he made for you, making little noises continuously synchronized with his thrusts.

Warnings: Smut, hard slutty smutty hard awesome sex, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, squirting, degradation, praising, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, fingering, messy sex, sloppy, chocking, crying, aftercare, doggy style and etc.

Word Count: 3.7k

This smut was created through a request, thank you anon, I LOVED writing this one! (click here to be sent to the request)

Joshua, with his deft fingers and boundless imagination, had a passion for crafting bracelets. Be it beads or strings, he could weave magic with his hands, creating intricate designs that sparkled with personality.

Every day, Joshua would surprise you with a new bracelet, each one a unique masterpiece that told a story. He'd fill you with joy as he slipped it onto your wrist, his eyes gleaming with pride and love. From vibrant colors to delicate patterns, each bracelet was a reflection of his affection for you.

What made Joshua's gesture even more endearing was his knack for matching the bracelets to your outfits. No matter how last-minute your wardrobe choices were, he always managed to craft a bracelet that perfectly complemented your look. His dedication and attention to detail never ceased to amaze you.

One Friday evening, as you curled up on the couch watching a movie, Joshua sat beside you, his fingers busy at work with his latest bracelet creation. You watched him intently, admiring his skill and dedication as he meticulously threaded beads together, lost in his own little world of creativity.

But then, just when you least expected it, Joshua leaned over and gently slipped something around your ankle. Startled, you looked down to see a delicate anklet adorned with an array of pretty charms dangling from it. Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected surprise.

"Surprise," Joshua whispered, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he admired his handiwork.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of warmth flood your heart. The anklet was exquisite, a perfect blend of elegance and whimsy, just like Joshua himself. Each charm seemed to hold a story of its own, and you couldn't wait to hear the tale behind this new creation.

Joshua adored the moments when your legs rested gently on his lap, your smooth skin inviting his touch. With tender affection, he would run his fingers along the length of your legs, reveling in the sensation of your warmth beneath his fingertips. But what captivated him most was the anklet adorning your ankle, its delicate charms dancing playfully against your skin.

As your legs lay draped across his lap, Joshua found himself mesmerized by the contrast of the anklet against your skin tone. The intricate charms seemed to come alive with each movement, casting dappled shadows across your legs as they swayed gently to the rhythm of your breathing.

"So, what do you want to do tonight, babe?" You ask.

"Hmm, I can think of a few ideas." Joshua trails his fingers along the curve of your thigh. "Well, we could keep watching this movie..." his hand ventures higher, teasingly brushing against the hem of your shorts, making you shiver at the touch, biting your lip. 

"Or we could find something... more entertaining." you suggest, brushing your thighs together sensually, immediately capturing his attention.

A slow grin spreads across Joshua's lips as he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours. "I like the sound of that," he murmurs huskily, grabbing your thighs harder.

You find yourself lost in the moment, your breath catching in your throat as Joshua's lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue dances against yours, igniting a fiery passion that courses through your veins.

Before you realize it, Joshua is already on top of you, his weight pressing you into the soft cushions of the couch. With a gentle yet firm touch, he guides your legs to wrap around his waist, drawing you closer to him in a fervent embrace.

His hand finds its way to your throat, applying a slight pressure that sends shivers down your spine. It's a delicate balance of pleasure and restraint, a silent communication of lust between the two of you.

As you melt into his touch, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours and his hand on your throat, you feel a surge of desire coursing through your body. 

Desperately, your hands roam over the hems of Joshua's clothing, driven by a need to feel every inch of his skin against yours. With eager fingers, you fumble with buttons and zippers, determined to strip away any barrier between you and Joshua. 

Joshua chuckles at your needy antics, his eyes alight with amusement and desire as he watches you. Sensing your urgency, he reaches behind him, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

The sight of his toned torso, bathed in the soft glow of the room, steals your breath away. Muscles ripple beneath smooth skin, evidence of his strength and vitality. You drink in the sight hungrily, your heart racing with anticipation as you marvel at the beauty before you.

With a low grow, Joshua leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hands roam over your body, as he undresses you with skillful hands. Garment after garment falls away, discarded to the floor in a heap of forgotten fabric.

Lowering his head to meet your dripping pussy, until his gaze meets yours, Joshua captures the expression of excitement in your eyes. He latches his mouth onto your cunt, and you melt on the cushions. 

As Joshua's warm mouth works its magic on your cunt, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, you can't help but surrender to the sensations washing over you. With each flick of his tongue and gentle suckle on your clit, he brings you to the brink of ecstasy, coaxing soft moans of pleasure from your lips.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, you instinctively wrap your legs around his head, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the rapture of his touch. The charms of your anklet sway rhythmically against his back and he moans, as he feels the weight of your legs around him, Joshua's excitement grows, fueling his desire to please you even more. With a renewed sense of urgency, he redoubles his efforts.

His tongue slipped inside of your cunt, while he sucked you sloppy, you can feel the slick heat of your arousal dripping down your thighs.

As you feel the impending rush of your orgasm building to its peak, Joshua suddenly pulls his mouth away, leaving you panting and desperate for release. Your legs tremble around nothing, aching for the touch that was just tantalizingly close.

You whine in frustration, your body still thrumming with the echoes of pleasure, craving the exquisite release that eludes you. With a glistening chin and a cocky smirk, Joshua looks down at you, reveling in the sight of your desperate desire.

In moments like this, his softness gives way to a confident dominance, his cockiness taking charge as he watches you squirm and beg for more. He loves to see you in this state, your cries and pleads only fueling his desire to push you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.

With a teasing glint in his eyes, Joshua leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers words of encouragement and promises of pleasure yet to come. 

"You're so close, aren't you, babe?"

"S-so close!" You protest, your voice tinged with need.

"That's the point," Joshua counters, his tone dripping with confidence. "I want to make you beg for it."

You groan, the ache between your legs growing more intense with each passing second. "Please," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joshua's smirk widens, his gaze darkening with desire as he watches you squirm beneath him. "That's it, baby," he murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin. "Beg for me."

You bite your lip, your body trembling with anticipation. "Please," you whisper again, your voice thick with desire. "I need you."

With a satisfied grin, Joshua leans in close, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss. "I know you do," he whispers huskily. "And I'm going to make you feel so good."

"Don't stop now Josh, please…"

Joshua's smirk widens, his confidence palpable as he revels in your neediness. "Oh, I won't stop, sweetheart," he murmurs, his tone dripping with promise. "Tell me how badly you want to come."

You swallow hard, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and arousal at his command. "I want it so bad," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Joshua, I need to come."

"That's better," he says, his hand trailing teasingly along your thigh. "But not yet. I want to see you beg a little more."

You whine in frustration, but there's no denying the thrill that courses through you at his words. Despite the ache of desire that burns within you, you find yourself craving his dominance, eager to submit to his every whim.

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Joshua leans in close, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizing kiss. "You're so beautiful when you beg, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I could watch you squirm all night."

Joshua tilts his head, his gaze fixed on the globs of arousal dripping from you. There's a hunger in his eyes, with a slow, deliberate movement, he reaches out, his fingers trailing through the slick wetness between your folds. You shiver at his touch, a low moan escaping your lips as he explores your arousal with a confident, knowing touch.

"You're so wet for me…" Despite the embarrassment that floods your cheeks, there's no denying the raw, primal thrill that courses through you at the sight of Joshua's arousal.

With a confident smirk, he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. "You like it when I make you this wet, don't you?" he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "You can't get enough of me, can you?"

As you lie there, too aroused to think, Joshua takes control with a firm yet gentle hand. With a deft movement, he turns you around, pressing your chest against the couch while raising your ass up for him to see. You whimper at the sudden change in position, your body trembling with anticipation and need.

"Look at you," he murmurs softly, his voice laced with desire and dominance. "All spread out for me like a good little slut."

His words cut through the haze of desire, sending a shiver down your spine as you feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal overwhelming your senses.

But even as you cry, you can't help but feel a sense of surrender wash over you, knowing that in this moment, Joshua's dominance is all-consuming. His soft degradation only serves to heighten your arousal, the delicate balance of pleasure and pain driving you to the edge of ecstasy.

As your tears wet the fabric of the couch beneath you, Joshua's expression softens, a hint of tenderness in his eyes as he coos at you. "That's it, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice gentle against your ear. "Let it all out for me. You know I love it when you're so responsive."

As Joshua's tip teases your entrance, you can feel your core ache with longing, craving his touch with an intensity that consumes you. Every teasing brush against your slick folds sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, heightening your arousal to dizzying heights.

His words send a shiver down your spine, your core fluttering in anticipation as you feel him slowly entering you. The sensation of him stretching you open, inch by delicious inch, is almost too much to bear, but you revel in the exquisite pleasure that courses through your veins.

With each slow, deliberate thrust, Joshua pushes deeper into you, his cock filling you completely as you cling to the couch beneath you, lost in a haze of ecstasy. Your walls clench around him, eager to be filled with every inch of his length as you surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure.

As Joshua fills you completely, you're so tight around him that he can hardly move, every inch of his length enveloped by the delicious warmth of your core.  Joshua almost loses himself in the sensation, his breath hitching at the sheer intensity of your grip. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy, a sight that only serves to fuel his desire further.

"You're so tight, baby," he murmurs, his voice laced with awe and desire as he continues to move within you. "I can barely move... but I love it. I love how you grip me, how you take me so eagerly."

With a hard thrust, Joshua elicits a little sound from you, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he drives into you with unbridled force. But it's not just your reaction that catches his attention—it's the tinkling sound of the anklet adorning your ankle, its charms dancing. With each powerful thrust, the anklet chimes, a sweet melody that fills the room with the rhythm of your pleasure.

"Hmm, what's this?" Joshua muses, his cocky smirk widening as he hears the anklet chime with each of his powerful thrusts. "You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he resumes his relentless pace. "You like it when I fuck you so hard that even your anklet can't stay quiet."

You can only moan in response, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to slam into you, hitting your g'spot with precision each time. The combination of his cocky demeanor and the relentless stimulation has you teetering on the edge of ecstasy, your moans of pleasure growing louder with each passing moment.

As the knot tightens in your stomach, signaling the imminent arrival of your climax, Joshua senses the impending release building within you. With each thrust, he can feel the tension mounting, your body quivering with the promise of ecstasy.

He glances down, his eyes widening as he notices the telltale sign of your impending orgasm—a white ring forming at the base of his cock where it meets your slick heat. It's a visual confirmation of your impending release, a signal that drives him to push you even further towards the edge.

"I can feel you getting close, baby," Joshua murmurs, his voice husky with desire as he continues to pound into you. "I want you to come for me. I want to feel you clenching around me as you lose yourself in pleasure."

And then, with a guttural cry of release, it happens—the knot in your stomach unravels, sending shockwaves of pleasure cascading through your body. Your walls clench around Joshua's cock, milking him for all he's worth as you ride out the waves of your climax.

With a primal hunger still burning in his eyes, Joshua shifts positions, laying you gently on your back. You gasp as the change in position heightens your anticipation, your body tingling with excitement as you await his next move.

Licking three of his fingers, Joshua smirks down at you before slowly sinking them inside of you. The sensation is electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you arch your back in response to the overwhelming sensitivity.

You moan softly as his fingers delve deeper, filling you completely and stretching you to your limits. The wet sounds of your arousal fill the air, mingling with the rhythmic swaying of the anklet adorning your ankle.

Your breath catches in your throat as Joshua curls all three of his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot that sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. With a high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you arch your back, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that threatens to consume you.

Joshua smirks triumphantly, his eyes alight with satisfaction as he watches you writhe beneath him, lost in a whirlwind of pleasure. He knows exactly how to push all your buttons, how to drive you wild with need, and he revels in the power he holds over you in this moment.

With one final, powerful thrust of his fingers, Joshua abuses your g'spot relentlessly, driving you over the edge into an explosive climax. You scream in ecstasy as the overwhelming pleasure crashes over you, your body convulsing with the force of your release.

In an uncontrollable surge of pleasure, you squirt, your essence spraying out onto Joshua and the couch beneath you. The sensation is electrifying, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through every fiber of your being as you surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming bliss.

Joshua's eyes widen in surprise and delight as he feels you drenching him with your arousal. He revels in the feeling of your release, knowing that he's the one who pushed you to such dizzying heights of pleasure.

As Joshua feels the arousal surging through him at the sight of you squirting, a wicked idea forms in his mind. He can't help but wonder if you could do it again, this time around his cock. With a primal hunger burning in his eyes, he wastes no time in sliding his length inside you once more.

But as you feel him filling you effortlessly once again, you can't help but cry out, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation. "I-I can't take it," you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to accommodate his size.

But Joshua is quick to reassure you, his voice soft but commanding. "Yes, you can, baby," he murmurs, his hands gentle yet firm as he guides you through the discomfort. "You can take it. Trust me."

Joshua's voice is a husky whisper as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel so good, baby," he murmurs, his words sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. "I can feel you stretching open for me again, taking me so eagerly."

Despite the mess of white cream coating your pussy, Joshua's cock throbs inside you, pulsing with desire as he continues to drive himself deeper into your clenching warmth. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensation.

With each movement, the tightness of your grip around him only serves to heighten Joshua's arousal, driving him to push you even further towards the edge of ecstasy. He revels in the feeling of your slick walls clenching around him, milking him for all he's worth as you both surrender yourselves completely to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

As the intensity of your pleasure peaks, your nails dig deliciously into Joshua's back, leaving marks of desire in their wake. His cock buried deep inside your cunt, you feel every inch of him pulsating with need, driving you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy.

With each thrust, the anklet around your ankle sounds ever louder, a symphony of pleasure that fills the room as you ride the waves of your climax. Joshua can only moan in response, his own desire reaching a fever pitch as he feels you tightening around him, your walls gripping him with a desperate hunger.

Feeling the spray of your arousal drenching him and the couch beneath you, Joshua's cock throbs with anticipation, the sensation only serving to heighten his arousal. He can't help but groan in pleasure as he feels you cumming around him again.

Your throat is already sore from the screams of ecstasy that have torn from your lips, your hair clinging to your face in sweaty tendrils as you ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

With a guttural groan, Joshua releases himself inside of you, his hot seed filling you completely and adding to the mess already coating your pussy. The sensation of him pulsating within you sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body, driving you to the brink of oblivion once more, your vision turning completely black.

As your vision slowly returns, you find yourself enveloped in soft covers, the lingering haze of pleasure still clouding your mind. Confusion washes over you as you take in your surroundings, realizing that you're now clean and showered, the evidence of your passionate encounter with Joshua washed away.

Just as you begin to wonder how it all happened, Joshua appears suddenly in the doorway of the bedroom, a cloth draped casually over his shoulder. His eyes light up with a warm smile as he takes in the sight of you, peaceful and serene in the aftermath of sex.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," he says with a gentle smile, crossing the room to sit beside you on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

You blink up at him, still trying to process everything that happened. "I... I don't know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "What happened? How did I get here?"

Joshua's smile widens as he reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "I took care of you," he explains softly. "After... everything that happened, I wanted to make sure you were okay. So I cleaned you up, gave you a shower, and tucked you into bed."

You smile gratefully at Joshua, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at his tender care. "Thank you for taking care of me," you say softly, your voice filled with appreciation.

Joshua returns your smile, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Of course, baby," he replies, his voice gentle. "I'll always be here for you."

Then, he adds with a chuckle, "Oh, and I took care of the couch too. It's all clean now."

Your smile falters for a moment as you gasp, a wave of mortification washing over you as you realize what he's referring to. For a moment, you had forgotten about the mess you made on the couch in the heat of passion.

"Oh no," you exclaim, feeling embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot..."

You feel a rush of relief flood through you as Joshua cuts you off with a reassuring smile, his warm hand squeezing yours gently. "It's all okay," he reassures you, his voice filled with understanding and love.

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling grateful for his understanding and support. "Thank you," you murmur, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you relax into his comforting embrace.

But then, Joshua's words catch you off guard, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he adds, "And you know what?" he adds, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You looked so hot while you squirted."