#a design study i did about two weeks ago!!

[milkhorns]

Jetfire [SkyBound vers.] ✈️

[nomie-11]

My Clothes? Your Clothes

masterlist!

synopsis: 5 times Y/n stole Vi's clothes, and the one time Vi had to (consensually) steal them back

pairing: vi x reader

The Hoodie ‘incident’ 

The first time Y/n stole a piece of Vi’s clothes, she didn’t think too far into it. 

It had been a late night at Vi’s place. A long study session turned cuddle session turned fucking session that didn’t give Y/n the opportunity to go back home to get some sleep in her own apartment. And now Y/n was running late—again. Piltover University’s Department of Science and Engineering was relentless with their 8:00 a.m. lectures, and in Y/n’s rush to leave after oversleeping comfortably in Vi’s arms, she snagged the first thing she could find to throw over her tank top: Vi’s navy blue hoodie with ‘Piltover University Women’s Hockey’ splayed across the front in white and gold text. 

Y/n hadn’t even realized she had taken Vi’s hoodie until she was halfway across campus. The hoodie was comfortable, oversized, smelling faintly of Vi’s citrusy cologne and the laundry detergent her father still dropped off because ‘Vi would forget to use soap otherwise.’ Y/n decided it wasn’t worth turning back. 

Later that night, when Vi showed up for their gym time, she crossed her arms and smirked. “So… any reason you’re parading around in my favorite hoodie, cupcake?” 

Y/n flushed, but the grin on her face was both evil and radiant. “It was cold, and I was late.” 

Vi laughed, but pulled Y/n in by the waist, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “You look cute, keep it.”

2. Perfect sized sweatpants

The second time Y/n helped herself to Vi’s clothes, it was less about need and more about temptation. 

Vi’s sweatpants were infamous in Y/n’s mind. Every time Y/n saw her lounging around in them, they hung low on her hips, slung in that perfect way that revealed a teasing glimpse of her toned abs and the waistband of her boxer briefs. Y/n had always wondered if the magic was in the sweatpants herself, not the Vi’s v-line was irresistibly attractive. 

So one lazy Sunday, when Vi was out running errands and Y/n had stayed behind to work on her and Jayce’s aerospace project, she gave in. She rifled through Vi’s dresser, pulling out the dark gray sweatpants she’d been eyeing. 

Sliding them on, Y/n realized immediately they were way too big. The waistband hung dangerously low on her hips, and every step threatened to send them sliding even lower. But damn, were they comfortable. 

By the time Vi got home, Y/n was sprawled on the couch, laptop on her lap, wearing Vi’s sweatpants and a cropped tee. She didn’t notice the faint blush creeping up Vi’s cheeks when she walked in. 

“Uh… cupcake?” Vi’s voice cracked slightly. “You… comfortable there?” 

Y/n looked up from her lecture, grinning. “These? So comfy. You might not get them back.” 

Vi’s gaze dropped for a second, catching the hint of lacy black peeking out from the waistband. She quickly looked away, clearing her throat. “Yeah, uh… keep ‘em. They look good on you.” 

Y/n smirked, knowing exactly what caught Vi’s eyes. “You’re the best, babe.” 

Vi muttered something about going to get a drink of water and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Y/n grinning triumphantly. 

3. The tank top that burnt dinner

The third time was entirely accidental—or so Y/n claimed. Vi had left one of her gym tanks at Y/n’s place after a sweaty training session, and it had ended up in Y/n’s laundry when she did it for the week. By the time she realized it wasn’t hers, she was already wearing it. 

The tank was loose and cut wide on the sides, designed to give Vi full mobility when throwing punches. On Y/n it was long, the oversized armholes dipped low, showing off the soft lavender lace bralette she had on underneath. 

When Vi came over to Y/n’s apartment that evening, Y/n was making dinner in the kitchen, still wearing the tank. She didn’t hear Vi come in—she had given her a spare key two months ago—but she had definitely heard the low whistle from the doorway. 

“Damn, cupcake. You trying to kill me?” 

Y/n turned, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Vi gestured vaguely at the tank. “That. You’re gonna make me burn dinner, and I’m not even cooking.” 

Y/n glanced down, realizing just how much of her bralette was visible. A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face. “You like?” 

Vi didn’t answer with words. Instead, she strode forward, closing the distance between them in three long steps. Her hands found Y/n’s hips, pulling her close as their bodies pressed together. 

“You know I do,” Vi murmured, her voice low and teasing. Her fingers toyed with the hem of the tank, brushing against the soft bare skin underneath. “You’re lucky I have self-control, cupcake.” 

Y/n tilted her head up, her smile turning daring. “Oh? Prove it.” 

Vi’s smirk widened, and she leaned down, capturing Y/n’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It started soft but quickly deepened, Vi’s grip on Y/n’s waist tightening as her tongue teased against Y/n’s. Y/n sighed into the kiss, her hands sliding up Vi’s arms to loop around her neck, pulling her even closer. 

The simmering pot on the stove gurgled in protest, but neither of them paid it any mind. Vi’s hands traveled upward, brushing against the soft fabric of Y/n’s bralette, her fingers lightly grazing her sides. Y/n gasped against her lips, the sound sending a jolt of heat through Vi’s chest. 

Vi gently pushed Y/n back against the counter, her lips trailing down Y/n’s jaw and to her neck, where she pressed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made Y/n’s knees wobble. Y/n tangled her fingers in Vi’s short, soft hair, tugging lightly, which earned her a low groan from the taller woman. 

“You’re impossible,” Y/n breathed, her voice shaky with a mix of laughter and pure, hot desire. 

Vi grinned against her neck. “And you’re wearing my tank. Fair trade.” 

Another kiss, deeper and more urgent this time, and Y/n arched into her, lost in the moment—until the sharp sizzle of something boiling over on the stove broke through the haze. 

“Shit!” Y/n yelped, pulling away and scrambling to turn the burner off. The pot bubbled angrily, sauce spilling over the edges, and Y/n grabbed a towel to clean up the mess. 

Behind her, Vi leaned against the counter, her lips red and her expression smug. “Told you dinner was gonna burn,” she teased. 

Y/n shot her a glare, but the blush on her cheeks and the swelling on her lips betrayed her. “Maybe if you weren’t so distracting…” 

Vi snorted and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Y/n’s waist from behind, her chin resting on Y/n’s shoulder. “I’m the distracting one? Cupcake, you were begging to be kissed in this tank.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress her smile. “Guess we’re ordering takeout.” 

“Perfect,” Vi murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. “Leaves more time for dessert.” 

4. Leather jackets and Vi’s cologne

It was raining—hard. Y/n had forgotten her umbrella at the library, and by the time Y/n had run all the way to the hockey rink to pick up Vi after practice, she was soaked through. 

“You’re gonna get sick,” Vi scolded, shrugging off her leather jacket and draping it over Y/n’s shoulders. 

Y/n clutched it tightly, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and Vi’s cologne. “You’re my hero.” 

The jacket dwarfed her, the sleeves hanging well past her hands. But as Vi walked home, holding her umbrella between the two of them, she couldn’t help but sneaking glances at Y/n, who was snuggled into the jacket like it was the coziest thing in the world. 

“You look good in that,” Vi admitted as they rounded the corner to Caitlyn’s apartment complex for a study session. 

Y/n grinned. “I know.” 

5. Soft punk wannabe beanie

It wasn’t technically clothes, but it still counted. 

Vi had a favorite beanie—a soft black knit one she wore religiously in the winter. Y/n had always teased her about it, calling her a ‘soft punk wannabe.’ 

But one particularly cold morning after Y/n had spent the night at Vi’s apartment, Y/n swiped it on her way out the door. She was freezing, and her own hat was nowhere to be found (Powder took it on her way out of the door last night by accident after bothering Vi for three hours). 

When Vi met up with her and Jayce later that day, she didn’t say anything at first. She just smirked, watching Y/n pull the beanie further down over her ears. 

“Comfy?” Vi asked. 

“Very,” Y/n replied, unbothered. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Vi said, but the affection in her tone was impossible to miss. 

+1. The jeans rescue

The one time Vi had to steal something back, it was a matter of survival. 

Y/n had somehow ended up with Vi’s favorite jeans. How that happened was still a mystery, but now Vi was standing in her closet, staring at an empty shelf where her jeans should have been. 

“I’m coming over,” she texted Y/n. 

Y/n replied instantly: Kk. Why?

“You’ve got my jeans and I’m out of clothes.” 

When Vi showed up, Y/n was standing on the coffee table, taking in an overhead view of her physics notes sprawled across the floor, wearing the jeans in question. They were a little loose on her, the cuffs rolled up at the ankles, but she looked so effortlessly cute that Vi almost didn’t want to take them back. 

Key word being almost. 

“Alright, cupcake, hand ‘em over,” Vi said, crossing her arms. 

Y/n looked over, an evil grin on her face. “Take them off of me,” 

Vi’s smirk widened at Y/n’s challenge. “Oh, cupcake, you’re playing a dangerous game,” she said, her voice low and teasing as she stepped closer. 

Y/n tilted her head, feigning innocence while backing up slightly. “What? You said you needed your jeans, come and get them.” 

Vi closed the distance in a single stride, her hands landing firly on Y/n’s hips. “You’re so annoying, you know that?” her voice was a low rasp, full of amusement and affection. 

“Maybe,” Y/n quipped, her voice dropping a bit, “but you like it.” 

Vi’s hand slid to Y/n’s waist, gripping just enough to keep her in place. “Oh, I love it,” she murmured before scooping Y/n up in one swift motion, earning a surprised squeal. 

“Vi!” Y/n laughed, swatting at her shoulder as Vi carried her bridal-style toward the bedroom. 

“You told me to take them off, so I’m just following orders,” Vi teased, kicking the door shut behind them. She set Y/n down gently on the bed, pausing to let her catch her breath. Her gaze lingered on Y/n, taking in the way her low-rise jeans sat on her hips, the soft curves and lines of her waist, hips, and thighs that made her want to forget everything else. 

Y/n propped herself up on her elbows, her smile shifting from playful to something more inviting. “Well?” she prompted, raising a brow. “You gonna follow through, or were you bluffing?”

Vi leaned down, bracing herself with one arm on the bed while her free hand slid to Y/n’s waistband. “Cupcake, you know I don’t bluff,” her fingers deftly undid the button and tugged down the zipper, the sound filling the room like a signal bell. She kissed Y/n, soft at first, then deeper, her hand gently guiding the jeans down Y/n’s thighs. 

The denim slid easily, revealing more of Y/n’s skin with each movement. Vi broke the kiss, her lips trailing down Y/n’s jaw, her neck, and lower still, her breath warm against Y/n’s skin. She pressed kisses to the inside of Y/n’s thigh, her voice low and gravelly as she murmured, “you keep stealing my clothes, cupcake, and I’ll keep finding excuses to take them back.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her fingers tangling in Vi’s hair as her laughter melted into a soft gasp. “Maybe that’s the plan,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. 

Vi grinned against her skin, her hands sliding up to hold Y/n steady. “My smart girl,” she said, her lips moving in a slow deliberate path up Y/n’s thigh. “Let’s see how far this plan takes you.”

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[lilreidgirl]

Where do I sign?

Summary: You have a tattoo that you`re teased for by others but when it`s just you and Spencer, you realise that it`s all worth it.

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, tattoo, smut/sex briefly mentioned, swearing, alcoholic drinks, ownership kink??, English is not my first language

WC: ~1.2k

A/N: Came up with this a few weeks ago but only now wrote it, hope you enjoy!!

You knew, deep down, when you first got the tattoo that it would raise eyebrows. If anyone found out about it, you could already imagine the reactions: weird looks and perhaps a few teasing comments. You were prepared for the judgment. You understood that most people would likely think it was strange and that was okay.

What mattered was that you liked it and that Spencer did as well. After all, you are the one who has it permanently engraved in your body and he’s the one who’ll be staring at said print on your body for the rest of your lives.

As soon as Spencer mentioned the idea, you were obsessed. Not a single feeling of hesitance found itself into your body the day you got the tattoo. Only pure excitement made shivers run down your spine as you walked into the tattoo parlour, which Spencer had deduced was the best one courtesy of tons of hours of research on online reviews, distances and health department tattoo regulation inspections.

_________

The team had organized a little get together at a bar; family, friends and all, so naturally Spencer brought you.

Spencer wore a white button-down shirt, but it wasn’t a pure snow white—more of a faded off-white, as if time had softened the fabric just a little. The shirt was messily tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair, which was even messier than the cloth he tucked under his belt, lay unruly and untamed in tousled waves on his head, as if he had just rolled out of bed and let them fall where they may. It was the usual look for him, and you couldn’t help but love how effortlessly charming it seemed.

You chose a pair of blue low-rise jeans, the ones Spencer had always said were his favorite. You paired them with a light grey shirt with three little buttons at the top. You deliberately left two of them undone just enough to catch Spencer`s eye without being too revealing.

The bar was cosy but packed with constant laughs and conversation crossing the table you sat at. Unaesthetically pleasing lights shone from the ceiling a few flickering with the same rhythm as the nostalgic party songs that were played from the big speakers spread out all over the room. Rossi announced the first round be on him, no surprise there.

He and Emily had left to get the drinks, disappearing into the crowd for a few moments, only to return a short while later, their hands full of glasses. Rossi’s arms were loaded with tumblers filled with alcoholic beverages, while Emily was gripping a few more in her grasp. The sight of them juggling so many glasses brought a smile to your face as you watched them make their way through the room.

“Oh, you guys need some help?” you called out, already rising from the stool you’d been sitting on, eager to lighten their load. You moved swiftly, offering your hands to take a few glasses from their arms. He smiled, looking grateful for the assistance.

“Thank you, you`re the fucking best,” Emily praised, a soft chuckle leaving you at the sweet thank you involving such unfitting, vulgar language which infected her to let out a small laugh as well.

After you took a few drinks off their hands, the three of you started moving around the room, weaving through the different people and their conversations, delivering the drinks to their designated drinkers. Each time you made your delivery, you shared a brief exchange with the person before turning to pass the next drink along.

 “Okay, last one! Who ordered a bud light?” Your eyes studied the different faces, landing on Derek’s as his voice announced, “Me, pretty girl.”

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, matching to your boyfriend’s, you made your way to the smirking man, placing the bottle in front of him. “Hear ya go.” You smiled sweetly before turning around, looking to walk back to your seat but being stopped by Penelope’s voice.

“What’s that? Is that Spencer’s signature?” She asked, confusion and a giggle present in her tone.

You stopped dead in your tracks, the ones you had barely made your way down, the sneakers you were wearing making a slight squeaking noise against the friction of the sticky bar floor.

The rest of the teams and their companion’s faces turned to you, more specifically your back, even more specifically, the little sliver of skin revealed between the blue and grey materials of your jeans and shirt. The skin clad with a tattoo reading “Spencer Reid” in his finest handwriting.

Slowly, you turned around, an awkward expression on your face before you met your boyfriend’s eyes and widened your own as a bit of a distress beacon.

“Oh- um…” for a guy with an IQ of 187, he probably should have been able to come up with something to say in that moment, but god was it hard in that stuffy room with countless expecting eyes peering at him.

“Didn’t know you guys were… that. Gee…,” Emily chuckled, her black hair gliding over her shoulders as she turned to look at the both of you one after the other.

“What is that-…,“ You tried to speak up but the rest of the words never even made it past the stage of being formed by your brain cells, the ones you were now hoping would explode so you could die before the situation got any more embarrassing. Defeated by your own inability to speak you looked down, gaze falling on the spotty floor of the bar.

“My man,” Derek grinned proudly, giving Spencer an encouraging pump of his prominent eyebrows as he laughed.

Spencer’s eyes met yours, both of your guys’ cheeks burning different shades of rosy and peach out of embarrassment, but the eye contact between the two of you communicated what you both knew.

It was worth it.

It was worth people thinking you were weird, every time Spencer laid his large hand on your lower back in public where his name lay written in the crevices between your skin’s atoms, reminding you what lay there, reminding you who you belonged to.

It was worth the embarrassment, every single time Spencer’s slender fingers, warm and delicate, gently traced the intricate pattern of ink that adorned your skin. Whether you were in the shower, the steam clouding the air around you, or snuggled up together beneath the soft sheets, his touch was always so tender, almost reverent, as if the tattoo held some hidden meaning only he could understand.

It was worth the teasing and the giggling, every time his eyes, barely hazel anymore because of his blown out pupils, stared intently at his signature, his mark, his claim, dug deep into your soft skin and your even softer soul as he fucked into you relentlessly.

It was worth it because it was proof you were his. Forever. The black ink sewn into your body that is immortally yours, always there to convey how no one could ever love you like he could and how you would never even have a trace of the same love for some other person that you feel for Spencer.

[veryintricaterituals]

When I was in school I went to a friend's house to work on a project on a Friday afternoon. At about 6 or 6:30 when the sun was about to set her mom called us over to the livingroom. She lit two candles with my friend and then they proceeded to put the lit candles inside of a little cupboard so no one could see them. Me, a young jewish teenager asked her, my catholic friend, why they did that and she shrugged, said it was a family tradition to bring peace and prosperity, that the women of the family did it every friday evening and then hid the candles. They were very catholic, so I bit my tongue and we went back to her room to study.

This is just one of many, many, crypto jewish traditions that still exist in my hometown of Medellín, Colombia and I want to share a little bit about them with you.

Medellín is the capital city of a region called Antioquia and it is currently the second biggest city in my country. Now the weird thing about my region and my city more specifically is that it is in the middle of fucking nowhere, like we are in a valley in the middle of the andean mountains and it would take over two weeks by river, horse and river, and dunkey and mule to even get here before the invention of cars or trains.

Now Medellín was founded over 400 years ago, and families had been coming to the region for way before then, so that means that for centuries getting to my city from the sea or from the other big cities in the country was incredibly hard. This was by design, because Medellín itself was founded by about 28 families and we know for a fact that alteast half of them were crypto jews hidding from the Spanish Inquisition, and both before and the foundation more and more jewish families arrived to the region.

This is a known fact, the DNA of the people from the region has a lot of sepharadic jewish mixed in there. Early Colombian literature dating up to the 1845 would call the people of my region the Neogranadine Jews or the Colombian Jews. But because they were crypto jews the religion and most of the traditions were lost during the 400 years that have passed, now over 90% of the population is catholic and don't really know about their origins.

But some things stuck. And I want to tell you about them.

On the 7th night of December there is this pre-christmas festival called "El día de las velitas" or the little candle night that started and was unique to Antioquia. It's supposed to commemorate the candles that people had in the streets and the windows on the night Jesus was born and that helped Mary and Joseph to find their way. Do you know how this unique festival is celebrated in my city? People take to the streets to light candles, small colorful candles that they put in wooden planks or directly on the streets, it's the night that people decorate and turn on the christmas lights and it is so important and popular that we have an actual day off on the 8th of december.

Let me show you a few pictures

I don't think I need to explain this one. Even most goyim will know about Hannukah. But it is the weirdest thing when the dates coincide and we are all lighting candles together.

My dad was in the Jewish community board and we needed to rent a place to put our jewish daycare. They found this beautiful old house that had belonged to a family in colonial times but needed a little TLC. We had them remove some wooden floors because they were too old and rotting and found a huge Magen David made out stones in the center of the floor. The house also happened to have two separate kitchens and a mikveh or immersion bath in one of the rooms. These a very traditional things that colonial houses have in my region.

My grandmother converted to Judaism so I have a side from my family that is 100% from here and didn't arrive during the 20th century. I had the pleasure to meet both of my great grandparents from that side though they died when I was young. My grandma tells me that my greatgrandmother used to have one of these immersion baths in her house when she was growing up. Women were supposed to bathe in them after their periods had ended, my catholic great grandmother respected the mikveh traddition more than I ever have.

(I wish I had photos from that specific house but this happened over ten years ago, I'll show you some immersion baths from a different colonial houses that are also in my city)

Now how about we talk about traditional clothes. I'm sure most of you have heard of Ponchos, which are traditional in the Andean region, well the one from Antioquia is a little different and it's always supposed to be worn with a hat. Let's see if you can spot what I mean.

A few years ago Spain decided to grant citizenship to the descendants of the Jewish people that they had exiled in 1492. To get it you had to prove through family trees that your family had been Jewish. My city got the most ammount of passports out of everyone in the world, more than Israel. I could have applied from both my family that came from Egypt in the 20th century (we still have the keys to our house in Spain) or through my catholic side, as both of my grandmother's last names applied. I didn't but I could have.

I don't really know why I decided to finally write this post. I have so many more stories. I just think it's both incredibly sad that so much Jewish culture and people were lost but also it's a little heartwarming to see what survived even centuries down the line.

[lostintransist]

Secrets Are For Grown Ups | Part 4

Mama MacTavish has arrived! Find part 1 here.

CW: None, this chaper.

Waiting for Nyla MacTavish turned into one of the longest bouts of anxiety you had ever experienced. Regret was not quite the word you would use for offering to pick her up from the airport, but it was close. Cousin levels of close, if not siblings.

It had taken her a week to arrange her life enough in Scotland to leave it behind for a time. Neither of you knew how long that would be but you happily offered to pay the outrageous amount to fly her here and home. She had been so kind when you could finally wrangle her into a phone call.

She had handled the news of an unexpected grandson with great aplomb. The offer to fly her out and host her in your home so she could meet the boys had taken flustered her though. You exchanged phone numbers and coordinated her flights and pickup time from the airport. Any cake decorating order you had for today had been prepped as far as it could before you left for the airport.

John, who stayed in the spare room next to yours, had walked out the door as you did.

“Heading to talk to Johnny and Simon. I’ll probably spend the rest of the day with them.” He studies your concerned face, hands wringing your keys between your fingers. “I will text when I will be back so you know whether to lock the door or not.”

“Thanks, John. And thank you again for coming so fast.” A lump forms in your throat as you think of how you would have handled this situation without him.

They deserved answers, were owed them. That didn’t mean you could face them alone.

John had shown up less than two days after you called and offered him a spare room to come and play negotiator between you and his former men. Seeing him again unlocked all the thoughts you had pushed away all those years ago, thoughts about him, Gaz, Roach, Simon, Johnny.

God. Those would be thoughts to discuss in therapy. You would also need to discuss the flutter of attraction that scared the shit out of you when John smiled at you from beyond your front door.

The boys, Jace and Mac, were at school and would be for a while yet. Fighting your way into the airport you cursed the signage that led you to make the loop three times until you could pull into the correct lane for parking. Having never parked at the airport before you were focused on finding the right gate and parking somewhere you would remember.

You managed to get twenty steps away from your car when you remembered you could take a photo of the number/letter combo near your car as to avoid getting lost. Huffing a sigh you turn and trudge back, snapping the photo you need before hurrying off into the liminal hell that all airports were.

You and Nyla had decided to fly her in through New York, giving her a chance to deboard and stretch her legs after the hours-long flight. The shorter flights were easier to schedule though she did have to change airlines once. Every time you saw her plane land you fired off a text asking how it was and if she had found her next gate.

Not a big texter, Johnny’s mom. She replied with one-word answers.

Johnny loved to chat, it surprised you a bit that he must have gotten that trait from his father.

There is no designated waiting space to sit near the luggage claim. You know the idea is ‘get your shit and get out’ but this is the only place to wait for someone arriving and frankly it would feel considerate to offer some seating options. You were spiraling. You knew it but seating arrangements, or lack thereof, in a high-traffic place like the airport seemed a more tackle-able issue than the Tarturus-sized pit in your center.

A new stream of people started to trickle in from beyond the TSA access point. Nyla’s plane had landed nearly thirty minutes ago. When you finally spot her the acid in your stomach jumps. Swallowing back the attempted jailbreak you wave. She is shorter than you expected. Johnny didn’t have too much height on you but Nyla stood eye to eye with you.

She wore the age of her years well. Nyla hugged you with a warmth you craved in any motherly figure. Fighting off tears you hug her back.

“Thank you for calling me lass. Now let’s get home and meet those bairns.” She pulled back from the hug, hands still holding your back.

Johnny got his blue eyes from her. The color brightened by the tears rimming her lashes caught you. She steps back to look for her luggage, you trail behind.

“They are at school for a few more hours but let’s get you settled. They know that a grandma they haven’t met yet is coming. John Price has already arrived.”

The look she sends over your shoulder tells you nothing of her thoughts but has you tucking your lips between your teeth.

“You’re expecting a fight from my boys?” She lifts a large suitcase from the carousel.

Rushing forward you offer to take it from her. Nyla holds you back with a stare that would put any grandmother in the area to shame. She lifts an arm to indicate you should lead the way. Working your way back to the parking structure you answer her question.

“I don’t know what to expect from them.” You shrug and fold your arms across your chest, “John said he had talked to them and they are willing to wait to talk about the whole situation until you arrive.”

“Ah, I am to keep my John in line,” she nods sagely.

You trip over nothing. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. Johnny was more of a hothead, and having his mom here would prevent him from getting too in the weeds of his emotions, at least in your house.

Nyla waits as you right yourself and continue to walk. She offers you a smile brimming with kindness as you glance at her.

The air changes as you step into the parking structure, crisper and coated in gasoline.

“Would you like to know about them? My boys?”

At her nod, you start your nervous babbling. You boys were your proudest achievement.

“They know about you, that you are coming and you are their grandmother. They know that my late husband, Larsen is their dad, but that he didn’t help create them.”

You catch the confusion that flashes across her face as you turn to look at a pillar not seeing the color or number/letter combo you need.

“Larsen and I were clear even from the beginning that the boys are ours but they needed to know and have room for meeting their biological fathers if that ever arose.”

“Ah, wise of you. Most would lie and deny the boys the room for anyone more.”

Seeing the right combo your chest and butt hole relax. Yours and Nyla’s footsteps echo out under the cars filling the vast space.

“I know, but I got lied to a lot as a kid and it ruined a lot of good opportunities for me. Larsen knew that and agreed that they wouldn’t think it was odd until they were old enough for someone to point it out and by then they could ask questions and get answers.” Stopping at the back of your car you pop the trunk. “This is me.”

Once the luggage and the people are settled you start the drive home, tales about the boys from infancy to yesterday fill the car with laughter and a growing shared love. You knew Nyla would love and claim both boys despite only being blood to one. She already felt like good people to you.

The boys took to her as if she had always been around. They fluttered around showing off their lego sets and their homework and their room. They shared the largest room in the house. You and Larsen had set that up when they were born along with a cot to split the care of them in the night. While Nyla settled spectacularly into the role of grandmother, Nan as she asked to be called, you missed Larsen with a fierceness that shocked you.

A text from John pulled you from missing your best friend. He would be home after the boys went to bed. John had also been surprisingly good with the boys, taking to their constant chatter and insistence to play with a smile.

Firing off a text of thanks you settle back into the chaos unfolding before you. Mac had taken one look at Nan Nyla and the gift of legos she brought and handed her a bag and an instruction book to help him and Jace build the Jurrasic Park set.

Part 5

Secrets Masterlist | Masterlist

@love-kha1 @bdbdhshhs @vmaxis @splaterparty0-0 @momowhoo @talia-the-gemini @redkarmakai @aethelwyneleigh27 @asexualbuthorny

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Rafayel)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Rafayel. The reason is because you hate being the destroyer of everything he loves. His kingdom. His people. His life. Maybe he is better off without meeting you.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&------+

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

| 1 [current] | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

"You did beta tester for what?"

You perked your ears to the sudden loud voice from the next table.

"Otome game. Yeah... Looks fun. Although the characters were super rigid. Only one looks innocent from all three choices. Ah, maybe there will be more once it's officially out."

You chance a glance and saw the duo friends discussing about an otome game. It does looks interesting. But so do your stares. You ended it before you were caught.

+----------------+------------------------+-----------+

"Wow. This is the one they have been talking about. Kinda wanna play it but..." The phone you were holding looks ancient.

No further necessacities to change as long as it still works one way or another. You were a closeted otome gamer. Feeling shame since your style was way out of the line for something fluffy with your thriller-looking appearance. You need this apperance to show you were not easily intimidated. Only your one bestfriend knew the true you.

"Hey, what are you watching?" Speak of the devil.

"The game that I told you about. But it can only be install on a phone. Don't get me started on my phone."

"That brick? I thought it was your weapon." She teased.

"Funny. Let me try it on you instead." They mocking running around then settled on the bench nearby.

"How about this, I install it on my awesome phone," a pinch, "-aww- first. Then, we can see it together. You need to divide your fund from all those PC games to a new phone. Just saying."

"Hmm... You know what. That's actually not bad. Now download it."

"What? It hasn't been realeased yet."

"It's called pre-registration for a reason. You just tap at it for auto install once it's out."

You friend nodded and proceeded to do so.

A few weeks past and you both finally sat down to view the game together in your room. You were blushing and squeaking. The design and animation was superb. Your friend join in on your joy. Sleep was not your friend that night because you both had a very panda eyes the next day. Worth it.

You bit farewell to her after your two days hang out session with her was over. She needed her sleep for work tomorrow and you need your shut eye for your study. Just a little bit more before you graduated.

You step into your shared house with your older sister. Lost. Heart thumping. Legs immediately went to her room.

"SIS!"

"GAHHHH! WHAT!?"

"Let me borrow your phone to install a game. I swear I'll collect money to get a new one as soon as possible and I won't bother you anymore. It'll be just at night when I'm using it.. and and-"

The phone was placed calmly on your hand. You stared at it then at your sister.

"Seven in the morning, on the countertop. Nine at night, find it on the countertop too. That's my curfew."

You hugged her to death.

"...re...lease me.. Haaaa..." She patted your head before continuing whatever she did before your heart stabbing interuption moments ago.

You quickly went to your room and tap your fingers gleefully to install the game. That was the second night your eyes turned to be the epitome of rock metal queen when morning come. You hide the fact from your friend to surpise her when the time come. Your arm will be bruised from her slapping out of shock. You can already see it coming.

Acting illiterate about the game when you talked together by reasoning you haven't install it and saying you knew the story progress because fans were sharing things on social media did the trick. Once the long-awaited phone with the game properly installed on it was in your hand, you handed it to her. She was elated about it. Being the more senior in the game, she swore to show you the tricks and explanation for every part of it to help a newbie like you. Her mouth was gaping when she saw the hunter level was already 80 once she log in. You grinned bigger. Chasing ensue together with good laugh.

She huffed once the both of you settled in a cafe, "So, any favourite?"

"Nah."

She quirked an eyebrow as she tap your phone to see how far you've been playing. Her brows furrowed.

"What's with Rafayel?"

"What's with him?"

"Your Affinity with him was lowest among the others. I mean. The stark difference was..."

She quitened. You quitened. She nudged you.

"...just like you..." you whispered.

"Huh?"

"Just like you with lover boy." She nodded.

"He... I... Because we... he met MC... a whole civilization crumble. I don't hate him. No. It's just. He better just... not meet MC at all."

She patted you knowingly, "It's okay. I'll send your love to him through my account."

You chuckled, "I'll count on you then."

+------------------------+----------------------------+

*Bling*

The game notify you about the second Stamina as usual. You were about to open the game when something urgent came up. It's not until you got offwork that you able to breathe in the safe haven of your room that the notification blares again.

Your brows furrowed, "Twice notification for the same thing? Is there a bug?"

Feeling weird but opening the game nonetheless and saw the one you've been talking earlier today. Dusky purple hair shone under the cafe light. Standing while pondering something. You sighed.

"Can't you just... sit at the sofa as usual. When you're standing there... I just want to unselect you from the choices of the character appearance in the cafe."

You noticed the past few days Rafayel had been standing rather than his usual lounging on the sofa. You quite like the lack of interest from him to start a conversation with you from before. Less likely to think about him. But now... maybe because the Affinity was getting higher now. You can't help it. The Battle stages need his prowess too and thus the decision to increase the level of his cards increasing the level of Affinity with him too.

"Let's just get on with the Daily Task." You tapped away your routine. Once over, you dreaded to see him standing there.

Except that he's not. Lounging on the sofa. You sighed but it died down immediately.

(I don't wanna leave this place. I hope today doesn't end.)

The non-talking bubble from him shook you.

You chuckled, "Me too. But you better off with someone else than a destroyer like me."

You exit the game second later, preparing to get a much needed sleep.

+--------------------------+-------------------+------+

He stared the empty space, reminiscing the gentle face stuck there just moments ago.

"Someday you'll see. Me getting through your negative thinking so that you'll only see the beauty you deserved, cutie."

He walked up to the empty space and trying to reach beyond it. His flames flickered with hope.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

| 1 [current] | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

[anikaluv]

I'LL BE THERE —

❤︎︎ pairing:  Miles (e!42) × fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff

❤︎︎ cw:  stalking , Miles being a barbie kinnie, reader realizing there’s no escape lmao

❤︎︎ summary: Miles was your ex from a year ago, and you had completely moved on, blooming in your new life. So, why was he just now popping up everywhere?

❤︎︎ w/c: 800

❤︎︎ a/n: Was thinking about how Barbie has a million different jobs and went like, “What if that was Miles?”

E!42 MILES getting so frustrated in an argument you two were having; looked you dead in the eyes and spat, "If you don't like that shit, you can get up and leave."

E!42 MILES being genuinely shocked when that is precisely what you did, thinking this was just gonna be another one of the little squabbles you two were used to having

E!42 MILES realizing in the next following months that you could live perfectly without him and move on, while he, on the other hand, was going through the worst turmoil of his life

E!42 MILES deciding that whether or not you wanted him in your life, he needed you in his. So he was going to get you back no matter what

E!42 MILES turning around to greet you with a cheeky grin on his face at the cafe you’ve been a regular for the past 6 years as the barista going, “Hello precious, ¿Qué será para ti hoy? (What will it be for you today?)”

E!42 MILES ignoring your look of surprise as he jots down your usual order that he already has memorized and then has the audacity to look back into your eyes and ask, “Can I get a name for the order, please?”

E!42 MILES a few days later watching as you pull in your cart full of groceries to checkout and couldn't help but laugh mischievously when your jaw dropped when seeing that he was the cashier. (He made sure to scan your items very slowly)

E!42 MILES becoming the bus driver of the bus you took every day to work. Pulling up to your bus stop, opening the doors, tipping his hat, and greeting you with a playful smile. "Mornin', mi vida (my life), pretty day, ain't it?", ignoring your eye roll as you stepped onto the bus.

E!42 MILES who “coincidently” ditches the home gym he’s been using since he started being the prowler and starts going to the exact same gym as you, sucking in his breath when he sees you squat in those tight seamless shorts

E!42 MILES who’s happy to treat you and your niece to some ice-cream at the park inside of the ice cream truck he now works at, playfully chuckling at you as you arrogantly shoved the money into his chest.

E!42 MILES sitting comfortably in a salon chair at your normal nail salon as a nail tech, ready to paint whatever design you desire on your delicate fingers

E!42 MILES who types into his computer at your local bank as your bank teller, prepared to enter in your weekly / monthly checks when you walk in. Taking your check out of your hand to observe it, acting shocked like it’s not its about the same amount every time. “Woah, cariño (darlin’) , did’nt know my girl worked this hard.” (He was proud of you, he knew his girl could achieve anything she wanted on her own )

E!42 MILES who welcomes you openly to his salon chair at your favorite hair salon when your usual stylist “happens” to be out of town going, “Hey mami, you want the usual?”

E!42 MILES at your library organizing books loudly while you’re studying for a important exam, holding his finger at your lips when you’re about to explode and scream and whispers, “Baby, this is a quiet environment, quiet your lips f’me aight?”

E!42 MILES clocking in as your yoga instructor at your yoga studio only on the one day of the week you go, wearing a purple headband with a tight tank top and yoga pants that showed the ass you didn’t know he had. You groaning as he does doggy style shouts, “Thats it ladies! You want to really arch your back like this!” while smirking. (Kelly Clarkson’s “What doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger” is playing in the back)

E!42 MILES who works at your local mall at Nike on one knee in front of you happily assisting you put on one of the pairs of shoes, locking eyes with you the whole time wearing that smug grin he always got. (When he was finished you kicked him in the face before he got up, but lets be honest, he probably fell in love more)

E!42 MILES being on the plane you were taking to move and get away from him. Wearing his flight attendant uniform and slowly making his way down the aisles. Finally getting to you and turning to you as that cute scowl appears on your face while nonchalantly saying, “Would you like some pretzels, ma? They gluten-free.”

E!42 MILES chuckling loudly when you downright ask him why was he following you everywhere like a stalking creep, amused that you haven’t gotten the message yet

E!42 MILES picking up your chin to make you give him all of your attention, leaning down to where your lips brushed against each other, and spoke in a quiet tone no one else heard,

“Doesn’t matter where you go or what you do conejita (bunny), I’ll be there."

ENDING A/N:  Is this really extra and extremely unrealistic, damn right. But its funny.

TAGLIST: @janaeby @bellstwd @nmgstuff @axeoverblade @zaddyskye69 @agstuffsworld @spidrstar @laylasbunbunny @missusmorales @popeheywardssecretgf @lumineliax @fukingsad @wisteriaflowersss @crxss01 @joliety @fiannee @sylisan

TAGS:

[therealcocoshady]

I also had an idea kind of similar to the arranged marriage plot maybe someone sets them up on a blind date… he keeps saying no but the person playing Cupid is very persistent and he ends up feeling obligated to go (idk, just a thought)

Oh, I actually had an thought about something similar to this, a while ago - please don’t mind me, I literally wrote this thing in less than 30 minutes and didn’t proofread. I just wrote it so that you’d get the idea.

After years of frustration with women and trust issues, Marshall has made peace with the fact that he’s going to end up alone. Even his friends have stopped trying to set him up on dates. Sure, they’d like to see him thrive in a relationship, and they can see how lonely he is, sometimes, but they also know he’s complicated. So they leave him alone on the topic. So he dedicates to his work and his role as a father.

And ironically enough, his girls are the only people that could get him to go out of his comfort zone. One of them is still in college, studying psychology. She has to do an assignment for one of her classes and she is searching for volunteers for an experiment on dating and relationships. The design is pretty simple : people sign up, fill some forms and answer questions. Then, an algorithm pairs them up for maximum compatibility and they have to go on a date, during which they will have to answer the famous 36 questions designed to make them fall in love. His daughter is a bit behind on work and she has to find one more volunteer. She doesn’t even believe in this whole thing, she just wants to pass the class. So she begs Marshall, who refuses at first. Because A) he doesn’t date and B) even if he did, he wouldn’t take part in an experiment, much less one involving his daughter in his romantic life. But she’s really desperate and she assures him that the whole thing is anonymous and clinical. « Please, Dad, it’ll take twenty minutes of your time. And who knows if they’ll even pair you with anyone for the date. I just need to pass the class and graduate. You’re the one who always insisted on me getting higher education ! ». Of course, he caves in. Because he did sacrifice a lot for his babies to go to college, and he’ll be damned if his daughter fails the class because of him. Plus, the people in charge of the experiment will probably see his answers and figure he’s a lost cause. Even science wouldn’t find a good match for him, right ?

Except that it does. Weeks later, he receives an email, informing him that he’s been selected for the second step of the experiment and that they’ve found him a match with 95% compatibility. At first, he figures he won’t go. With his luck, they paired him with another fifty-something man who’s just as lonely. No way this could be a woman. Not with the stoic and sarcastic answers he typed in the form. The email doesn’t even specify who they paired him with. They just ask if he’d be available for a date in two weeks time. Basically, it’s having coffee with the other person, answering the 36 questions unrecorded and then filling another form to describe the experience and say if yes or no they feel attracted to the other person and would consider actually dating them. He figures that, even though it’s anonymous, his daughter’s team wouldn’t have the data if he bails and he’ll be damned if his precious daughter doesn’t get her degree because of him. Of course he’ll bite the bullet and go on that stupid coffee date. Even if he’s paired with a 53 year-old name George.

But as it turns out, his date is not 53 year-old George. It’s you. You and your charming smile. You who agreed to take part in the whole thing because your little sister, his daughter’s teammate, begged you at the last minute. God, these college students need to learn how to do things in time and not to involve their family in their cringy psych classes experiment. You don’t even want to do this whole thing but when a charming man shows up, you can’t help but smile and introduce yourself, extending a polite handshake to greet him. He doesn’t seem too at ease in that little café, which you find odd because it’s actually quite lovely. Also, you swear you’ve seen him somewhere, but it’s Detroit and he’s a brown-haired, bearded, middle-aged man in jeans and a hoodie. Pretty generic. You’re not exactly surprised to have been paired up with someone older than you. You’ve always been told you’re an old soul, so of course « science » (or whatever software they used to compile data) would figure out that your perfect match is almost twenty years older. Anyway, you’re not really here for a date. You’re here for your sister to finally graduate. And you’re not one to refuse free Chai latte.

So the two of you exchange a few pleasantries, introduce yourselves and get to these 36 questions. You tell each other who you could have dinner with if you could choose anyone in the world, whether or not you have a secret hunch about how you will die… as it turns out, the thing is cleverly designed. The questions are increasingly personal and both of you end up sharing personal details, things you most definitely wouldn’t think of sharing with a stranger you were more or less randomly paired up with. By the time you reach the last question, you are looking into each other’s eyes, giving your undivided attention, leaning in. When you arrived, you were strangers but by the end of the date, you feel like you really know each other. More than some people you’ve known your whole life. And by the time it ends, you’ve had the time to notice how charming the wrinkles around eyes are, and you don’t find it too unsettling that he blinks a bit faster than most people you know. As for him, he hasn’t failed to notice that little birthmark near your eye, and the way your mouth twitches when you’re trying to think of the adequate word to answer one of the questions. You don’t know each other’s favorite color or the name of your first pet, but both know when the other last cried in front of someone else and by themselves and why. 36 questions and a cup of coffee later, and you’re not really strangers. You actually had a pleasant time. Too bad you reached the end of the questionnaire and it’s time to go. Too bad he doesn’t offer to take your number and call you. Too bad you’re too demure to ask for his. You wouldn’t have minded actually going out with him. Maybe even discuss that movie he mentioned in passing and thinks you’d like.

The two of you share a hug goodbye and agree that it was fun. You wish him well for his daughter’s wedding he told you he’s busy planning and he wishes you luck for that job interview you said you were nervous about. When you go home and it’s time to answer that final set of questions, saying how you feel about the experiment, you actually give the whole thing a solid 8/10. And when you’re asked if you’d actually date the person you met for coffee, you tick « yes » faster than you’ve ticked any box. You do the same when it asks you if you’d consent to the other person being given your contact info.

Weeks later, Marshall is ecstatic when his daughter tells him she got a good grade for that psych class and that she’ll be graduating with honors. He’s proud as can be. She thanks him profusely for helping her. « I know it’s a stupid thing. But hey, there are a few people who reported they had a good time. Who knows ? Maybe I helped someone find love. ». She has absolutely no idea that he is one of the people who asked for the other person’s contact info as soon as they were given the possibility. She doesn’t know he’s been on four more dates with you. People have been so used to him being single that it didn’t even cross his daughter’s mind. Not even when he mentioned he missed the last Lions’ game, which never happens. But she definitely gets a hunch when he attends her graduation ceremony and sees him smile to that beautiful lady who’s attending her graduation ceremony and came to greet him. « Oh, that’s my sister speaking with your dad ! », her friend says. « I convinced her to do the experiment and she told me she met someone charming. Can you believe it ?! ».

[robthegoodfellow]

Make Me Feel Mighty Real 1/?

follow up to praise kink soft dom Steve uber sub Billy fic (also on Ao3) from last year's Kinktober event. the boys play around with total power exchange. tagging @gigacat and @makeadealwithdean because i remember you liking the original 💛

no porn yet. pre-porn.

Billy didn’t want him to ask how his last exams went. Didn’t want him to mention his classes at all—a complete erasure of the last few weeks of compulsive flash cards and study guides and late nights at the library. He’d been mumbling psych terminology in his sleep, tossing and turning, and gnawed on so many pencils his desk seemed occupied by a tiny beaver.

Over the past however long since Billy had become his… well, his—his good boy, his baby, his first thought on waking, his to have and to hold in a sense felt more deeply than tying the knot, in a sense that transcended all he’d ever known of how two people could be together and frankly still knocked him breathless when he thought about it too much—anyway, since all that began, Steve had come to view his life as though through this peculiar prism.

Certain facets were as they’d been before, like now: soldiering through the numbers at work, making nice with surrounding cubicles, acting the part of the straight-laced office drone, diligent and dull as dirt. He’d been voted Best Hair at the office Christmas party not just because his hair was objectively magnificent but also because that was all anyone knew about him. By design.

He did his work, got paid, and the moment he left the building, Office Steve shut off. Some people centered their lives around a vocation, and some joined the rat race, scrambling to pull even, pull ahead. Then there were people like his dad, where career success determined your entire worth—your net worth all that mattered.

Steve was none of those things. Swore to himself he never would be.

So Office Steve had already been separate from the rest, from the facets of himself he valued most: the person he was with friends, with family, with girlfriends. The person he was just hanging out at home.

And he’d been content with those facets for so long… until Billy. Until something about Billy turned the prism and a flash of light unveiled a side of himself he’d never known was there, alongside the others, patiently waiting for that beam of recognition at exactly the right angle.

Billy dropping to his knees, face angled up, lashes low, eyes locked where Steve’s cock strained the denim.

Standing there, towering like he’d never towered before—looming, imposing, imperative—Steve had never felt so firmly seated inside himself. In command.

It was hard to explain. He’d been puzzling it through for months, but all he knew was that, these days, with every step he took up the stairwell to their apartment, something in him shifted, bestowed this clarity of need and means, so by the time he reached their door, crossed the threshold, he practically thrummed with it.

That day, knowing what he might find upon entering, the thrum heightened to a subdermal buzz, so intense he had to pause on the Welcome mat, breathe deep and slow. In control.

Billy was inside, would have finished his last exam an hour ago. And last night, as they drifted to sleep, he’d mumbled what he wanted, what Steve had been probing him for—what he wanted to do, how he wanted to celebrate, once exams were over.

Could we do… you in charge?

Like that evening in late summer, he meant, when they’d toyed with total obedience, Steve at the reins of every decision, free to follow any whim—unless Billy signaled yellow, they’d decided. Yellow to slow down. Red to stop.

Me in charge tomorrow night? Steve asked, his blood already rushing at the thought, the memory.

Maybe. Billy had turned, nuzzled into Steve’s side, more snuggly under his arm. And maybe… try for longer? At Steve’s enquiring hum, a teasing lilt, he’d huffed, finally said it straight out: You in charge all day.

Steve hummed again, low rumble in the chest, and trailed fingers up Billy’s spine to hook in his necklace, twine the chain until it hugged his bobbing throat.

Saturday? Steve asked.

Depended on where his head was at, Billy said. If he was up for it, they could start early. Start Friday. And see how it went.

Baby’ll be honest?

Billy nodded—more accurately, rubbed his cheek at Steve’s ribs.

Baby’ll be where he wants? When I get home?

On his knees, if he wanted to start.

Billy nodded.

On the welcome mat, Steve exhaled once more. Unlocked the door.

Billy didn’t move from where he knelt on the floor, facing the couch, his shoulders at ease, hands on his thighs. He was in the same clothes from that morning—jeans and sweater. One of Steve’s.

The TV was on, volume low, a blurred murmur beyond the pulse pounding in his ears.

Steve closed the door behind him. Locked it.

“Look at me,” he said, and Billy did, turning his head, gaze skirting the floor to find Steve’s shoes. Watched as Steve toed off the shoes, as he approached, silent socks on the soft blue carpet.

Steve sank fingers into messy curls, angled the head to see Billy’s face. Thumb brushed beneath his eye, and though the lashes rose, the baby blues were soft and spacey.

“Color.”

Not a question. Billy blinked, slow to process. Steve stroked his hair.

“Green.” He said it quiet, on a breath.

Even unfocused, his boy had this ravenous quality, like his eyes, his ears, his every sense were sponges primed to soak it up, suck in Steve’s smile, the pleased curve, and Steve’s words, just as pleased, and soft.

“Good boy.”

Next

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi. I’m sending this anonymously but if tumblr glitches and it isn’t anonymous please don’t post this because I’m absolutely completely entirely mortified.

I’m 20 FtM. About a year and a half ago, when I moved out and started at college, I discovered fandom, and began to get really into reading fics on AO3. My parents had heavily restricted my internet access growing up, and as new adult I began to discovered the barrage of content online.

Soon enough, I was spending about an hour or two every night reading smut fics. I never thought anything of it, because, well, it’s just words, it’s not *actually* porn, right?

Recently I did start watching some explicit videos but tried to limit myself to only once or twice a month because the shame I felt as well as the strange dissatisfaction just wasn’t worth it.

After doing some research, I found a study that said that watching porn for more than an hour a week was unhealthy. I thought, yeah, okay, fair enough.

Then I realised: does my fanfiction reading count as pornography?

I kept thinking to myself that because it was text it didn’t count, but —does it? Is that the reason that lately I’ve been feeling strangely dissatisfied and empty after reading/watching? Will I feel like this when I eventually have sex?? (still a virgin, mainly for dysphoria reasons)

I found all this stuff online that says porn addictions can screw you over for life, that you can’t find sexual satisfaction with a partner.

Should I cut back?

I don’t normally masturbate while consuming porn. I feel too ashamed. I normally just sit there and read/watch.

Am I a porn addict?????? Should I quit reading smut? Help.

If you can’t tell, I wasn’t raised in a very sex positive environment and I feel very ashamed. I don’t really know who to talk to and I just feel very guilty so I’m resorting to an anonymous ask on Tumblr.

If you read this, thank you for taking the time. I appreciate it.

— Jason

hi Jason,

I don't think you're a porn addict. I think you're probably just an anxious 20 year old from a pretty restrictive background and now that you have a little more freedom you're kind of nervous about it, which is very normal.

I want to be super clear: written porn is porn. porn is any sexually explicit material designed to titillate; it's existed since WAY before the moving picture existed and it will exist long after the internet has crumbled to dust. people like porn! and it's okay to like porn. the text-based stuff is particularly high on the list of porn that's pretty unambiguously fine, morally-speaking, because you never have to worry that the performer you're watching has had their video stolen by pornhub or that, god forbid, anyone onscreen isn't a willing participant, but I want to be super clear that liking sexually explicit photos or videos of real people is also 100% fine.

obviously I have no idea what study you read, but I'd be cautious about any study being boiled down to such black and white, attention-grabbing headlines. you can interpret a study to mean virtually anything if you want to, and there are a lot of interest groups with a vested interest in demonizing porn. if reading smutty fan fic makes you happy and isn't interfering with the rest of your life, you should do that.

unfortunately it sounds like it's not making you happy lately, dissatisfied and empty feelings. in the kindest way possible, I don't think much of that is being caused by the porn itself. it sounds like it's coming from your gnawing worry that you're a porn addict. maybe it's best to take a little step away from porn and smutty fic for a while, if only until you feel able to engage with it without feeling bad.

also, speaking of porn addiction: that's a very dubious condition, and one that's not scientifically or medically recognized. to be certain, people can develop a reliance on porn that disrupts their daily function and can wreak havoc on their lives, but that's true of anything that causes your brain to spit out happy chemicals. anything that become a maladaptive coping mechanism, including and especially things that are fine and even necessary in small doses. sleeping, exercising, and going shopping are all things that can be life-ruining if done to harmful excess, but that doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong if you like to sleep in, go for runs, or browse your favorite online stores every once in a while.

if reading smut isn't causing you to skip out on your more important obligations, fail to take care of yourself, or bringing on bankruptcy, I think you're probably alright. the biggest danger I see here is you beating yourself over the head with your own anxiety about this, which may be a sign that it's a good idea to take a step back for entirely different reasons than you were worried about.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not comforting a child after her science project didn't work?

( 💞💥 to find)

Okay this was a while ago but I still think about it sometimes and I'm genuinely unsure of if I did the right thinh.

So I (15F at the time) was a part of a science league thing facilitated by my school. Basically, you would meet after school once a week to study/work on projects, and then go to a competition in the spring against other schools. There were a bunch of different categories and activities but they were primarily separated into ones you had to study for (and would then take a test on) or build for (like a wheeled vehicle or a model plane, which would be graded). It was really fun and low-key compared to the sports programs at my school, so I liked it a lot.

A friend of mine, who we'll call S (15F) was also in the science league. We did a lot of study based competitions together, and usually placed in the competitions. During our third year, her youngest sister, M (12ish), joined the league. She was a really sweet and smart kid, and she was interested in trying a building based event. You needed two people to enter an event, so I volunteered to build a marble rollercoaster with her. M also grouped up with a girl in her grade for another building project (I think it was a plane).

Because M was doing two building events (which were predictably a lot more time consuming than the study events) and the school musical, we agreed I would create the plans for the rollercoaster and get the materials together. Now, each building events came with a printed copy of parameters and optional features that could get us bonus points. I decided on attempting for three bonus features (two jumps and a loop). Between designing on paper, adapting for the parameters, measuring out the track lengths, and gathering materials (that of which I had to switch out half way through), the whole process took me about four months to complete, and that was just the planning. We were getting pretty close to the competition date when we started to actually assemble the damn thing (at this point she had finished up her other stuff and was able to help me more consistently), and we were having a lot of issues with getting the track pieces to fit together. As I remember it, the problem came from having to fold the track over a bunch of times so it would stay in the 30cm-somethingish width parameter. The Thursday before the competition (which was in Saturday), M volunteered to take the coaster home and finish it there. I was honestly so relieved when she said this, because I knew through S that her dad was really handy, and like mini trebuchets and stuff for fun.

Flash forward to the event, when we're boarding the bus going to the school hosting the competition. She gets on with a cardboard box, and excitedly shows me a marble rollercoaster that is absolutely not what she left with at all. For reference, the original plan for the coaster was made of pvc pipe, which I spent around three weeks measuring out and cutting with a band saw in the shop room. This rollercoaster was two pieces of plywood with tinfoil tracks that you leaned against the cardboard box she was carrying it in. She hadn't included any of the extra features I had implemented to get us extra points. While I was shocked and admittedly pretty pissed I didn't say anything because she was a) a kid and b) I assumed that there was probably some issue that had arisen in testing that necessitated the changes. When we went to impound she struggled a lot with setting it up and the three pieces weren't attached with anything and were literally just leaning against each other. At this point it was also visually obvious that the width want way beyond 30 cms, and when the judges came around to measure, it turned out that it was above the allotted height too. M was looking really nervous about now, so I assured her that most of the time, the marbles don't even make it down the coaster tracks, and as long as our marble makes it to the end we should be able to place. Except, when it came time to release our marble, it moved for about three seconds before getting stuck in the tinfoil. We were allowed to try two more times, and it got stuck in the same place each time.

M was very visibly upset, and looking back I think she was on the verge of tears. It can't really remember what I said; I know I didn't say anything malicious or accusatory, though. Honestly, I think I might have just stood there in silence, because I was honestly really fucking angry that she ditched my design for no apparent reason and didn't bother to check any of the available rules or even test her design. But I don't think that anger justified leaving a little kid without support when she was upset.

tldr: When I was a teenager I didn't comfort my friends little sister after our marble rollercoaster didn't work because she had ditched the design I had made for one that broke parameters.

[afreakingdork]

Attempted Execute of Non-Executable Memory - Chapter 9

RotTMNT Michelangelo x Kendra

We're in for a bit of introspective and @shmokeymoe absolutely stuns in this week's chapter art!

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings/Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Revenge, Falling In Love, Love, Romance, Dating, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Love Confessions, Human/Turtle Relationships (TMNT), Step-Parents, Neglect, First Kiss, First Generation Immigrant Kids, Acculturation, Loss/Removal of Cultural Identity, Incarceration, Prison Time, I flesh Out Kendra’s Character, Character Exploration, Character Study, I Give Kendra a Backstory

Synopsis: After hitting the lowest of lows, Kendra has carved out a simple life for herself. She’s content enough to live this way until opportunity walks through her place of employment in the form of an orange turtle mutant. She just needs to get close enough to him to plant a virus in his infuriating brother’s servers, but will she be infected long the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 🧡 Previous

April was in her life now. 

Kendra wasn’t sure how to feel about that as she let her phone fall. The device now lay on her chest from where she had just checked. April had sent some sappy message about having gotten home safe and that she was glad to have had their talk. She had a lot to think about and would be getting back with Kendra in a few days to start working out how best to deal with her apartment situation. 

April O’Neil. 

April, who had her phone number, O’Neil.

April, who she had gone to school with from kindergarten to whenever she dropped out, O’Neil.

That April O’Neil. 

It was weird. 

There was no other way Kendra could think about it. 

She tried to put it into perspective. Long ago, it had been less of a decision to leave April behind. It had been a choice of growing necessity. Instead of one day deciding she wouldn’t speak to the other girl, it was more like the distance between them grew and grew. They were never really close enough to have gone to each other’s houses, but they had talked as kids. They had played, but it was on school grounds. 

Kendra supposed there was a rare occasion they did something after class, but it was never to really hang out. It was a quick trip to a bodega or to join the other kids in some game that escaped campus. It wasn’t on purpose and that should have been by design. When Kendra climbed the rungs of her personal ladder, it wasn’t like she gave thought to whether April would be in it.

The thought had never crossed her mind. Her journey was one that was achieved in placement. The constant up and up was jumps in academic record. She hadn’t really considered April stupid necessarily, but April wasn’t making the same marks she was. She didn’t overly excel in computer science, Kendra’s prime pursuit, and so moving into those territories naturally moved Kendra away from April. 

Except she was here now. 

She had squeezed into some space in Kendra’s life like some long lost buddy. 

Was that what she was?

She guessed by definition April fit the childhood friend mold, but Kendra didn’t believe it matched up with the trope. April had been relegated to a category that was almost a background character. Avoiding the all too demeaning connotations that had, April had just enough screen time that she avoided the label completely. Instead she was something of a supporting character. One that existed early on for social development and was always meant to fall off after a certain point was reached. 

That’s how growing up was. 

It was a simple fact. 

It was only because of Mikey that April returned. 

Said man had been particularly ostentatious, Kendra thought as she laid against him. After the AC unit was safely installed and had gone through rigorous testing, April had headed out. Kendra thought she would take Mikey with her, but instead the two shared yet another strange conversation on her fire escape. She hadn’t meant to listen, but it wasn’t her fault the walls were thin. They mostly spoke of an exhausting level of familial support before Mikey decided he wasn’t done with invading her apartment. 

He returned all smiles, washed up from the mechanical grease, tossed his shirt off as it was unsalvageable from just that, and fell onto her bed like it was his. 

She almost kicked him out. 

She was tired. 

Instead of laying next to him, she laid on him. She scolded him for his presumptuousness by using him as a pillow. He had just the space across the flat of where his stomach should have been so she laid perpendicular to make use of it. He squirmed to get situated beneath her and they were still laying like that. 

It had been awhile, Kendra guessed from the faint orange hue that cracked through her unsealed door frame. They were a stain of Mikey leading into her bedroom where his reach had expanded. Lines were drawn up of space he now literally took in her life. 

He was bringing luggage. 

In the form of people, she knew she would deal with his family eventually. 

They were a unit and had been for years. 

Their years of seclusion had made them codependent. 

The harsh world kept them that way. 

Kendra understood enough that Mikey was a sort of package deal. 

He was also currently keeping her separate. 

For what reason, she idly wondered?

The seal had been broken by April. Before her, he had pretty much exclusively toted her here so there must have been a reason. It might have been a signal that he was ready to let her in, but she hadn’t felt like he excluded her. He was open enough with himself outside of his odd tendency to put others' well-being before his own. He really needed to be a little more selfish. 

She had almost closed her eyes when they shot back open. 

Was he tricking her into meeting his family?

He had a hell of a way of doing things, so it was always possible. He of all people would spring a meeting like this on both parties without thinking of the ramifications. To him, he probably assumed April was the safest bet to start with amongst introductions since they had history. He probably didn’t even know if it was positive or negative, but had gone solely based on an acquaintance at best. 

April was in her life now. 

She had plans with April. 

That was strange. 

Kendra thought repeating the idea would make it less odd, but it never did. 

It wasn’t April, but what she represented. 

She was Kendra’s past. 

The one she had put to rest. 

With each major life event, pieces of her history flaked off. It was a carving knife taken to her person until a shiv was formed. She was the sharp point that warned others away and that had kept her safe. Then some knucklehead who thought that laying down on someone else’s bed was fine showed up. 

No, a heavy hand in her brain was trying to rewrite the past few months. 

She stared up at some water stain on her ceiling. 

There was a point she needed to acknowledge. 

Michelangelo could have passed through her life as a wisp. 

He should have been a floating piece of pollen that she blew away. 

She had instigated what was happening now. 

That damned virus. 

That moronic plan. 

She felt stupid for ever bothering.

Risking everything on some guy both by framing Mikey and his infuriating brother. 

Her little raft of peace. 

She had almost blown her life up yet again. 

What an exhausting process she was doomed to repeat. 

No tech. 

No code. 

This was better. 

This was safe. 

She was thankful that Mikey being here now was fine. 

She had been lucky in that regard. 

April. 

April might be a threat. 

She was something else. 

She was persistent. 

Tenacious. 

She was famed for her news. 

Kendra had to be careful around her. 

April wouldn’t give the same grace Mikey did. 

Mikey had the leisure of only being told of her worst and not when she was at it. 

April knew it all. 

April had seen her act out. 

April knew her before turmoil. 

April could align those devastating life events with her personality traits like pairing up a dossier for an interview. 

There was no fumbling around O’Neil. 

April was representative. 

She was an embodiment of the system. 

Media hand in hand with someone’s idea of justice. 

As futile as it was, part of her wished she could keep her world small. 

Keep it to only Mikey. 

It would be so much easier that way. She hadn’t made much headway in truly understanding his actions, but she was starting to get a feel. As random as his patterns seemed to be, he was staunch in his core beliefs and she found that reliable. If he mentioned something, it was on his mind. If he wanted to do something, he did. There was no guesswork in whether he wanted to be here. 

He laid on her bed because he did. 

She was laying on top of him because he let her. 

He had just as much choice as he always offered in return.

It was basically all he asked for besides her time. 

A friend. 

The word made Kendra cringe. 

It wasn’t like she had never had those, but it had been a long while. The last genuine friends she could trace back to had to be one from elementary school and she had left all of those behind. They had still been there, in school, sometimes glaring at her for having ditched them, but to her, they were gone. They were bygone entities that no longer fit her goals and after that, that’s all anyone was. 

She interacted with beings that were useful. 

Friendship was a dirty word. 

Mutual affection that was agreed upon. 

By whose standard?

Mutual beneficence was decided by symbiosis. 

What you could get from the other person. 

Not random attraction and quality time. 

Again, that disgusted chill tickled her spine. 

Is that what Mikey was?

He was an entertaining creature on some level and the bane of her existence on another. 

He pushed her, she knew that much. 

For better or for worse, she had to admit she was curious to see. 

She wanted to know the same from him. 

There was something there. 

Something about him. 

Something she couldn’t name. 

She almost groaned. 

His mentality was wearing off on her. 

She refused to agree with his random desires. 

There was a reason; she just hadn’t figured it out yet. 

For now he was here. 

They would keep going on. 

Maybe they’d kiss again. 

She liked this. 

She liked laying on him. 

Closeness. 

Affection on her terms. 

The space to turn her brain off and churn all these thoughts. 

This was far better than when she rotted in bed. When that happened it was out of necessity to move time. She would lay down with her phone and scroll to literally roll the hours away. It was either that or sleep and she could only do the latter so much. She needed fast travel to her next event, usually work, and doing nothing was the best, safest, and cheapest way to get there. 

Mikey was there now. 

Mikey was warm. 

He would be a great heater without having to spare electricity in winter. 

That was a timeline and chilled Kendra further. 

Would April be around that long?

Would Mikey?

She hadn’t thought about the future in any sense in years. 

It was always scraping by month to month. 

She barely covered her rent and fed herself. 

Having to keep another person was–

Mikey took care of himself. 

Mikey didn’t try to take care of her. 

She liked it that way.

There was still so much to account for even if that was the case. 

Would he want to stay?

Would he still be interested?

That meant taking relationship steps. 

Did she want that?

She wasn’t sure. 

What they had done so far was nice. 

What they could do didn’t make her want to hurl. 

Thinking about it now only filled her with fear. 

Commitment. 

That wasn’t her. 

That wasn’t. 

What was?

She had long rebooted in safe mode.

She was an image to uphold without all the errant programs. 

That had changed. 

She felt stupid for not truly registering what that meant. Her hair was different ergo it made sense that she was different. She had been fired up in the bathroom mirror earlier this same day. It was the allure of something new introduced to her person, but that change meant she couldn’t keep going on the same. 

What else could she change?

The overwhelming sea of possibilities stretched out so far that it looked endlessly on the horizon. 

She needed to focus. 

Mikey. 

April. 

If she made room, who else could think they deserved her time? 

Flashes of Jeremy and Jase shot through her and tore flesh in her brain. 

Not them. 

It couldn’t be them. 

They wanted nothing to do with her. 

They weren’t like April. 

She had moved on from April. 

She had surgically removed the Purple Dragons from her person. She soaked those bridges with a can of gasoline and lit the match to toss in front of their faces. Her person was not excused from those flames. She had never meant it as self-immolation, but instead had done so with some grand and stupid goal in mind. 

No. 

They wouldn’t come. 

They were parts of her that had been carved off by the blade. 

Lost to time. 

Lost to her point. 

Mikey was the choice. 

Mikey was her current course. 

Mikey was her friend. 

That was weird. 

So, she dated Mikey.

She wished that conjured nausea. 

Her imagination painted a picture well outside her era. 

She saw herself back to black basics and without her trademark cyan locks. What was left of her natural hair was pinned into curls and form cinched in a purple a-line dress. It swished annoyingly around her calves and her ankles wobbled in petite white heels. She greeted Mikey at the door with a Martini and told him all about the pot roast she made. It was her only event of the day. 

The trad-wife dream was her nightmare and landed somewhere beyond revulsion. 

The only way that existence ended was her burying an axe into Mikey’s skull within the first month or so. 

She would be back in prison after that, but free from those shackles. 

That wasn’t her. 

She would never. 

Could never. 

Mikey wouldn’t. 

The bubble of faith upset her more than the vision. 

Mostly because it was undeniable. 

Mikey would never put her in that position. 

So what was left?

Kendra felt the liminal space. 

It surrounded her. 

She knew exactly where to look. 

For the first time in what felt like a decade, she peered into the dense white matter in the back of her mind. It was a negative space where she shoved everything she couldn’t deal with. For most, she guessed they would choose somewhere dark, but Kendra despised stark white fluorescents. They spoke of hospitals or parole rooms. The hum signified clerical space where time was judged and everything was supposedly illuminated. That was where decisions were made of others and Kendra hated them the most. 

Darkness was easy. 

A shroud to move in. 

It was the light that antagonized. 

It was the bright that showed too much. 

She barely reached the space before she mentally winced. 

The assault would come and she prepared. 

Time ticked without a clock and she cracked an eye open to the physical plane. 

The same water stain stood above her. 

Mikey was breathing evenly below her. 

He might have been asleep, but she didn’t dare check. 

She was okay. 

She needed to keep going. 

She closed her mind and was right back in the white space. 

A tentative touch conjured a memory. 

A fact from the past. 

Her mother was a missionary before she met her dad. 

It was because of her job that they met. 

That wasn’t enough. 

Mikey had rightly inferred there had to be more. Her parents didn’t just meet and become a cohesive unit. That was the stuff of movies. Perfect fairy worlds that didn’t exist and Mikey was right to reject them. Reality differed and, as much as Kendra hated to admit it, her parents had been rooted in reality. 

They were sensible. They left everything behind when necessary. They moved to America with a plan. They stuck to it and were never sloppy as they built their lives. They waited to have a child until they were financially stable. She had been their pride and joy. They continued their discernment in not rushing to have another. 

Each step was taken methodically. 

Always with great care to the larger world. 

Purpose. 

When?

When had they figured out they were romantically compatible?

When had they gotten past awkwardness?

When had the growing pains of their relationship ceased?

When had they learned to read each other’s minds?

Kendra had never heard the phrase, ‘go talk to your blank.’ 

It didn’t exist. 

Both her parents had known and always knew. 

Everything. 

Until half the equation ceased. 

Kendra reared from the thought to focus. 

She must have asked them the innocent questions all kids’ ask. There were the ones about babies and the ones about where they came from. For her age, she was given the typical speech about when a mommy and daddy loved each other. None of it revealed anything she didn’t know now. There was no mention of dating and their marriage was done at a courthouse. The witnesses had been one of her uncles and a man who happened to be present in the lobby. It was a simple affair. 

As it always had been with them. 

No, there had to be more. 

The startling lack of details meant something. 

Kendra dug deep into her knowledge banks. 

There had been great civil unrest in Indonesia in the 90s. 

That’s what her parents had fled from. 

She felt chilled by something unsaid. 

Iced by what she had been told. 

Her mother was a missionary before she met her dad. 

It was because of her job that they met. 

They moved to America because they had to. 

They got married for the same reason. 

The last sentence was new. 

The last sentence fit like a weird puzzle piece. 

The quiet of her parents' life took a new shape. 

A life of necessity. 

A life of what needed to be done. 

A life out of what little choice was given. 

Did they love each other or did they know each other?

Had they been friends?

Had they gone on dates?

Had they had a kid because that was what they were viewed as needing to do?

Those nagging community members might have nagged them too. 

Her father’s words about Deborah Ricci rolled in. 

How she was his type. 

Different from her mom. 

Kendra opened her eyes again and felt the sorrow. 

She didn’t cry.

Not because she fought against it, but because there were no tears. 

She felt some crazed form of relief. The freedom from a denial she had refused to see her entire life washed over her. She decided she would thank Mikey someday. Whether he knew it or not, his LPC title sure was something. By simply existing and saying words in that way of his, he had helped her put together something she had never been able to see. 

Wouldn’t have seen. 

Not without him. 

She would date him. 

She would have her full choice. 

There was no necessity with him. 

In fact, there was the opposite. 

He was random chance incarnate. 

She could have let him go, but got mixed up with him. 

Instead of dealing with that consequence, she had freely chosen at some point to keep him around. 

She liked the choice. 

She allowed herself that. 

What was another revelation when her last was one she would be reeling on for years to come?

Mikey being hers felt like a pittance in comparison. 

He was easy. 

He wanted to be with her. 

She wanted. 

Her body bobbed with a faint chuff. 

She wanted to be with him. 

She wanted to be his friend. 

She wanted him to be hers. 

Was that a thing?

Did people learn to be friends and date at the same time?

Were those things mutually exclusive?

She didn’t care. 

As soon as the thoughts popped up, she found she couldn’t care less about them. 

They were asinine blips in some world that told her how relationships should go. 

How movies and society told you things needed to be gone about. 

No, she would do this how she wanted. 

Whatever she felt was right. 

Whatever Mikey felt comfortable with. 

She would do the same for him. 

That was the mutual part of affection. 

It was going to be hard. 

She felt exhausted just acknowledging it. 

She guessed the trauma thoughts had some play in her fatigue. 

Some failed counselor had tried to equate all her wrongdoing to her dad’s remarriage. 

Yawn. 

She felt the same eye rolling at the thought now as she had back then. 

What a boring box. 

He could have at least been creative about it. 

Blame public school or something. 

Mikey shifted. 

It moved her head, but not her thoughts. 

She ruminated on the many morons that weren’t half as good about encouraging her mental state as Mikey was when said man twitched a second time. 

Kendra turned to look at him. 

“I can’t do this anymore!” He looked like he was in pain. 

She didn’t bother moving. 

She completely halted her thoughts. 

She had to talk to Mikey about phrasing. 

He had the worst timing. 

What an odd thing it was to have to rely on someone so ridiculous. 

“I’m not good at sitting still! We’ve been still for too long! I know you were thinking, but ahh! If I don’t move I’m going to puke!” He literally vibrated. 

She sat up. 

He sprung to his feet and did a few bouncy laps around her room. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes! No joke!” He jogged in place. “I could maybe chill if we had a really good album or something, but I prefer talking! I need stimulation! I gotta have something! Do something! Peace is great and necessary, but holy shit!” 

She laughed. 

He returned to plop down beside her. “Ugh! Let’s go! Do you skateboard?” 

“Skateboard?” She shot him a sharp look. 

“Yeah!” 

“No. I don’t skateboard. What am I? Twelve?” 

Mikey gave an offended gasp. 

“You are, so I’m not surprised.” 

“No!” He pointed right into her face to boop her nose. 

She almost bit a chunk out of his finger. 

He cackled as he pulled away in time. “Skateboarding is not just for kids! It’s for pros! Adrenaline junkies who don’t waste time at theme parks! The feeling of a board and the land and laughing at gravity!” 

“You do that… by design or whatever.” 

“But I also do it on a skateboard.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

“It’s like…” She had to check her forgotten phone. “Nine PM something.” 

“Damn.” His brow ridge creased. 

She watched him. 

He stewed and knocked his feet together to keep moving. 

“Wanna… go?” She tried and heard how awkward it sounded. 

She should take it all back.

Give up.

Move on. 

His forehead smoothed and he was slow to look at her. 

She shot her gaze away. 

He clearly waited. 

“I don’t know!” She huffed with warm cheeks. “We can go… as a date or… whatever… I’m not gonna beg so just decide-!” 

He kissed her cheek. 

She jolted with offense and slapped a hand to the spot. 

“I’d love that.” He was still leaning in.

He looked like he was partaking in something precious. 

She didn’t know what and pursed her lip. 

“Yeah, well…!” 

“When’s your next day off?”  She flicked her eyes towards and away from him a few times before she shared her schedule.

🧡 NEXT 🧡

Everybody's working for the weekend is the theme at Dork Headquarters with betas @tmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup

[pcrushinnerd]

Headcanons: Your Daughter Dressing Up As A Clown for Halloween

Summary: You and Arthur dress up your girl as a clown for Halloween upon her request.

A/N: Arthur and his fans could use some fluff about now, and this idea popped into my head a few days ago.

~~~

Yours and Arthur’s daughter is as cute as a button.

Each of you says she has the best features of the other.

But mostly, she just naturally has a bubbly personality. She's the ray of sunshine that chases away the dark clouds for you and especially Arthur.

She saw things with a child’s wonder and awe, especially the holidays.

LOVES Halloween. Before she’s even old enough to comprehend fully what it is.

Her first costume of sorts is a cat, her first Halloween of her young life. Which mostly consisted of a leopard print onesie and whiskers drawn on by Arthur with one of your eyebrow pencils.

Thereafter, you both let her “choose” her own costume for several years by showing her different pictures or buying whatever costume she eventually pointed to at the store, to whatever had struck her fancy that particular year.

Her choices had largely been pretty standard: ghost, witch, pumpkin, ninja, princess.

Around age six or seven, she had spied Arthur in full clown mode one day, and she was instantly enamored.

"I want to be a clown this year!"

Arthur nearly fainted, he was so over the moon at that response to your yearly costume query.

You had asked earlier that year, because you had a funny feeling she was looking to do something more elaborate, from how closely she would look through your sewing patterns and craft supplies around that time. So the three of you had time to put together something good.

Arthur sat her down one day shortly after with a bunch of crayons and colored pencils so she could start to design what she wanted. He had his own input on things--mostly the finer details of traditional and newer clown costumes, the why behind things, aesthetic choices, etc., that you could tell he himself studied up on at some point, but he offered them as helpful tips and suggestions, and made encouraging comments on whatever your daughter dreamed up.

Finally, they unveiled the final design to you one day after you got home from work. 'Ta Da!!!' your little girl announced as she held up her drawing.

You slipped off your hat as you took it in hand. "Aww, baby, I'm so proud of you! Let's see what we got." You were surprised at how many frills it had in its skirt, and unfortunately you had to say no to the high heels she'd drawn (Arthur had also scribbled something about that), but you informed her that you should be able to make it work.

And so you dusted off your sewing machine. You preferred working with your hands, but you knew the machine would be quicker and the end result with it would likely look better. So after a bit of struggling to get the bobbin to work, you took your girl and Arthur with you to your favorite hole in the wall craft store nearby.

All sorts of pastel colored fabric samples were purchased, along with bows and bells and some fake flowers. It was a bit of a splurge for the two of you, but both of you did have a hard time saying no her.

It took you about two weeks, but you managed to put together a dress with a full, frilly skirt made of the colorful and sometimes glittery or shiny fabrics bought, as well as a matching headband.

Arthur had managed to find a smaller clown horn with a pink bulb to match for your daughter's costume. Mostly, his contribution came in doing her make-up the day of. Each time he added a circle or triangle, he let her review his handiwork in the mirror and, with her approval, continued on.

Her final look wasn't too different from what Arthur would wear--just a bit neater and cuter.

"Daddy, won't you dress up too?"

Arthur was a bit hesitant at that, but he couldn't bring himself to say no to her. "Of course Darling."

You couldn't help but smile broadly when you saw Carnival enter the room, holding your girl in his arms.

The two of you also splurged a bit to have a car take you to the nicer suburbs west of the city for actual trick or treating. Besides a handful of nice neighbors in your building...you generally don't trust the people in your own neighborhood enough to go knocking on their doors.

Your daughter gets a lot of compliments on her outfit, and Arthur gets quite a few as well.

A few of the people passing out candy give you a curious look--as you were the only one dressed normally in your little family.

You would quip that you were ‘the driver’ or ‘the assistant’ or the like.

Your daughter managed to snag quite the candy haul that night. After both of you carefully examine them, you let her have a few pieces on the car ride back.

Yet despite the sugar, your girl is asleep on her Daddy's shoulder when you arrive back home, she's that tuckered out.

You and Arthur stay up for a bit, after he's de-clowned, to watch a classic horror movie or two and try to avoid eating your girl's candy stash. You mostly succeed.

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART FOUR: THE ESSAY

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Mentions of Depression, Anxiety 

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE REWRITTEN THIS STORY AND PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE (rewritten).

A week had passed and you had settled back into drama school without any problem whatsoever which, to you and your best friend Emma, was a surprise.

You had told Emma everything. You told her about the night you spent with Cillian three weeks ago, you told her about who he was and you told her exactly how you felt about this man being your lecturer now. It bothered you and you desperately wanted to quit, feeling torn about the attraction you still felt towards him while being with James.

Luckily for you, however, Emma was the voice of reason. Like always, she supported you, retained your secrets and reminded you that it would just be for four months and then he would move on and so would you. The semester would be over by the end of November. It was your final one and you would probably not see him again after that.

“Don’t forget that you are on a scholarship. You need this and, no doubt, this class will help you with your acting skills” is what Emma reminded you of and, since you were grateful for the place you were in these days, you agreed with her. She was right. You needed this in order to leave your past behind as, just like Emma, you went through the so called “foster system” in the US which was nothing short of horrific.

Both, Emma and you immigrated to the United States without a family to support you. You arrived as refugees at the same processing centre when you were just ten years old, making you both unsuitable for adoption which was largely due to the fact that most families approved for adoption wanted babies or toddlers under the age of three.

As such, you both moved from one foster home to another and the last of them was the worst for you. Your so-called foster parents were strict and any time you did not obey to their rules, you were punished for it. Food was withheld from you and, on occasion, you were even beaten to the point where your skin turned blue. During this time, you had been to hospital five times and no matter how often you complained, nothing changed until you ran away.

You had nowhere to stay for a while and then, when you turned sixteen, you moved out into a home designed for girls like you. It was a home for young women who went through abuse and this was exactly where, after several years, you reunited with Emma.

The facility provided excellent care for anyone who needed it but, on occasion, you felt somewhat worthless and ashamed about having lived there. Thus, you eventually took not one, but three jobs while furthering your studies at night through a state-run school. You moved out shortly after that and the college you went through helped you and Emma to apply for a scholarship abroad.

Together with eight other students in the state, you received some funding to attend different universities and schools across Europe, for which the ones based in Dublin became your choice.

Unlike London, Dublin was affordable for you both. You were now sharing a tiny studio apartment, and the money you received alongside your scholarship helped a lot.

You were an excellent dancer and, because of it, you now only had to have one rather than three jobs to support yourself, making your life relatively easy in comparison to your past.

In accordance to James and Lorraine however, who were rich and entitled, you still worked too hard. You had nothing in common with them and, even though James had been dating you for years, he always criticised you and your life choices.

He criticised you for having run away from your foster-home. He criticised you for working forty hours per week and he criticised you for saving money almost religiously.

On occasion, he also criticized your looks and the fact that you dressed too plainly. Your clothes were largely second hand, a mix of denim, sneakers, and plain coloured shirts. You owned two dresses, both black and wearing make-up was a rarity for you and you were told by your boyfriend that you should be making more of an effort for him.

But then, why should you? He never made an effort for you and being with him made you wonder whether you could ever leave your past behind. He had no idea how good his life had been while the memories of your past kept haunting you, playing with your mind.

You reflected on your past quite often. It was what kept you grounded even when you were around people like James and Lorraine. But speaking about this pain was something you struggled to do ever since you opened up to James about your upbringing. It was almost like he was embarrassed by you because if it and this hurt more than the bruises you sustained all those years ago.

Unfortunately for you though, reflecting on your past was something you were required to do as part of your first essay in PRAC300. You had to write about yourself, in a creative kind of way, drawing parallels between any painful events you encountered and a fictional character you were reading about. You had to write about how you felt in the midst of a difficult situation and then describe how you would show your emotions about such events in front of others.

Why this was relevant to your acting skills you did not know, but you wrote down what you thought anyway without putting much effort into your work. You made something up and when you submitted the paper to Cillian, you also chose to ask him about the curriculum for this unit moving forward. Again, you were playing with the idea of quitting now, but you weren’t quite sure how.  

Until such day, you had largely ignored him and he had ignored you. In class, he pretended that you did not exist and rarely ever called you out to answer any questions. Without your knowledge though, this was his very own defence mechanism. It was his way of coping while he adjusted to the fact that he was meant to be teaching you now and by asking him about the essay and upcoming unit content, you took him off guard.

**

In addition to your questions about the curriculum though, today was also the day where, even if this particular essay was not in play, you could no longer have ignored him as, just last night, photos of him on a date with a fellow actress emerged on Twitter.

Of course, you took no interest in Twitter, but other disappointed students like Lorraine shared this information with you before class. The actresses’ name was Sophie O’Callum and she was currently filming in Dublin. Sophie was in her late thirties which, to you, seemed like an appropriate age for Cillian. She was blonde, skinny and incredibly good looking, creating a fair bit of jealously amongst your peers and this emerging jealousy quickly became evident to you during class.

Usurpingly, after hearing the news, Lorraine was rather upset about the date. She was now trying it on hard with your fellow lecturer and this, in itself, became amusing when Cillian shut her down.

It was obvious to you that he was annoyed by her and whilst you felt sorry for her, you also secretly enjoyed the fact that he retained his professionalism in class especially when Lorraine made advances towards him.

But, that’s not to say that you were not a little jealous too about Cillian’s date with an equally famous actress and you did not know why. You only ever slept with Cillian once and the fact that he was seeing someone else should not have bothered you. But did it. It upset you and, thus, when you finally walked into his office after class to ask him about the essay and unit content, you had to put on an act. You had to pretend that you did not care about his date and, for all you knew, he probably bought it.

***

“Hey Y/N, how can I help you?” Cillian asked after you walked into his office before shutting the door behind you.

“You look like you had a big night” you observed while watching him rub his eyes for the millionth time that day. He did this all throughout class and now he did it again, right in front of you.  

“What makes you say that?” he wondered.

“You look a bit dusty” you pointed out with a giggle in order to lighten the mood.

“I may have had a few too many pints, but don’t tell the dean, alright?” Cillian teased, knowing that you would not say a word to the school’s principal.  

“As if I would” you pointed out nonetheless before bringing up his date. “Although, you do realise that the pictures of you and Sophie O’Callum are all over the internet, right? You both looked drunk and knackered” you laughed but Cillian simply furrowed his eyebrows.

“Seriously?” he asked after picking up his phone and googling himself.

“Don’t you follow yourself on socials?” you wondered as you watched what he was doing.

“I don’t have social media” Cillian chuckled before telling you that he was too old for it, which was a comment that amused it.

“Oh please” you laughed which was when he quickly and somewhat unexpectedly addressed the rumours he was reading.

“Just for the record though, this was not a date. We went out for drinks and then we went our separate ways” he pointed out and, whilst you secretly felt relieved about what he was saying, you put on your acting hat and furrowed your eyebrows.

“And you are telling me this why?” you asked as if you were not interested in what he had to say and Cillian bought it and snapped out of it.

“Good question” he said before asking why you were in here to see him.

“I have a question about the essay which I handed in earlier today” you said before carrying on. “How are my emotions relevant to this class?” you asked and, before you could point out to him that you felt uncomfortable with the essay topic, Cillian began to explain.

“Well, learning how to act starts with learning about emotions and how to display them on screen or on stage. Often actors can draw from their own experiences and…” he said just before you interrupted him.

“But this stuff is personal” you blurted out to which Cillian simply shrug his shoulders.

“It’s part of the curriculum Y/N. I didn’t write those essay templates. I don’t even get to grade them” he informed you, causing you to sigh.

“But you will read them?” you wondered.

“Yes. I will read them and then pass them on for grading, with my comments…” Cillian began to explain and you interrupted him again.

“Fuck” you spat. “We slept with each other and I don’t want you to know about my past and my fucking emotions” you told him and, to your surprise, Cillian reacted in a gentle kind of way.

“Y/N, I won’t judge you for whatever happened to you in the past. What you write in your essay is confidential and whether we slept with each other or not is irrelevant. We both agreed to put this one-night stand behind us and that is what I am doing, alright?” he said and this was all you needed to hear before storming out of his office.

Three days later…

Three days had passed and, like most Mondays, you arrived at school early that morning. You had just been for a run, showered and sat down with your lunchbox, which is when you saw Cillian walk into the lecture hall with a cup of coffee in his hand.

He was surprised to see you there and, after putting down his mug, he approached you.

“Y/N,” he murmured almost nervously.

“Cillian. Good Morning” you smiled and, after engaging in a little small talk, he addressed the elephant in the room.

“After class, could we, maybe, talk about your essay submission please” was what he said and your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Yes. Sure. I will see you at your office then? What time works for you?” was your response and, within seconds, you locked in a time while, the truth was, that you had no idea about what you were going to tell him. What was it that he needed to hear from you, you wondered? The truth? You weren’t going to give him that. He was better off failing you and get the professor to give you a bad grade.

So clearly, this was not going to go anywhere and, just as you were sitting in Cillian’s class again, you reflected on all the pain you felt when thinking back at when you were a young teenager.

It was this kind of pain you did not want him to know about so you sat there, awkwardly, like a pathetic loser, raising your hand, answering questions, to make up the credits that you would need after he failed your essay.

You put on act and, luckily for you, he never called you out that day. He left you be, sitting quietly at the back of the class room and then, without giving it any thought whatsoever, you were the first one out the door after a two-hour session, wanting to avoid him at all cost.

Yes, you needed to go and see him at his office. But you had no intention to actually do so, at least not now while your heart was racing and anxiety took over your anxious brain. You had no idea what to tell him and simply wanted to be left alone right now.

“Will I see you in ten?” Cillian reminded you nonetheless in passing as the students behind you were all hanging back, chatting and joking with the others. Lorraine, in particular, attempted to put on an act of her own, flirting with Cillian again.

“Yes, I will see you then” you confirmed nervously before you quickly made your way to the ladies room.

The lady’s lavatory followed a dull theme of light green. It was dated and made you feel a little nauseous.

You were nervous about meeting with Cillian about your essay and thus splashed some cold water on to your face before taking deep breaths. Then, when you looked into the mirror you saw the ghost of a girl who had died a long time ago.

Your face was gaunt and all your features were sunken in. Your eyes, once your best feature, were the only things that seemed to stand out now, as if you were just that, all vacant and lifeless. There was nothing else to look at. You were already disappearing and realised that you were all bones and baggage now, made up of shadows and secrets and nothing, nothing at all.

Then, you recalled what your dance coach had said to you just recently, telling you that you were one of the best dancers in class, but you lacked emotion. You lacked expression and you certainly lacked happiness. It was obvious to him, which is why he suggested an acting class to you. But perhaps acting skills were not what you needed. Perhaps you simply needed some happiness in your life, but felt as though you were not entitled to it.

Then you remembered, that, just a few weeks ago, you did feel alive and happy for one night only and this was the night you had spent with Cillian.

It was strange, exciting and sensual and certainly felt different to when you were with James who did not help the way you felt within your own body. You were insecure and, at least in your mind, there was nothing special about you.

Being with James was like a bad habit, just like smoking. You kept him around and went back to him simply for the fact that he provided something to you which you were familiar with. He provided structure, security and you adored his family.

But he did not excite you. Life did not excite you. It never did. It was painful to be who you were and, thus, you wanted to break every mirror in the bathroom. Every time you saw yourself you saw the sad little girl you used to be and still were, caught in this viscous cycle of negative thoughts. You were afraid to take risks because it had been enshrined in to you throughout foster care that taking risks was wrong. You lacked your very own family and love and often wondered whether your life would change one day.

Then, eventually, you locked yourself into a stall to get away from your reflection. You knew that you were nearing another mental breakdown any minute now and began to scream, quietly, but loud enough for others to hear.

It was quarter past ten now and you had been there, inside the lavatory stall, for fifteen minutes. You put your head in your hands, your fingernails digging into your face, wanting to scream but not having the nerve to do it.

Traumatising thoughts about your past visited you just like bad dreams did at night. You were losing your mind or maybe you have lost it already.

Some time passed, but you could not tell how much. You just let yourself slip away from reality for a bit but then, suddenly, the sound of the restroom door swishing open made you jump, startling you out of your mad, mad thoughts. A familiar pair of brown leather shoes came to stop outside of your stall.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" were the words you heard next and, suddenly, time slowed. Your skin burned and your voice was shaky when you spoke.

"Please go. You are not meant to be in here" you said although you were not even sure if you really wanted him to, but you said it anyways.

"But I am in here now and I am not leaving. Lorraine said that you have been in the lavatory for over half an hour. So, please come out before I tare the door open and embarrass myself in front of the entire school” Cillian chuckled, but with great concern in his voice. He knew that you were simply hiding in there and he was clearly worried about you and your wellbeing.

“Fuck. Seriously?” you stammered as you got up slowly and opened the stall door.

“Yes! Seriously Y/N! Clearly, you are avoiding me and I thought that we talked about everything that we needed to talk about. But, I supppose I was wrong as, first, you submit this ridiculous paper to me and now you are hiding from me…’ Cillian then said quietly as he was facing away from you in what you presumed to be an effort to give you some privacy, but his eyes then met yours when you looked in the reflection of the mirror.

You saw yourself too, standing in front of him with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, fuck, are you okay? Did something happen? Should I call the student counsellor?” Cillian then asked anxiously when he noticed your tears and you tried to hold his gaze, but his eyes were too intense so you looked down at the tiled floor.

"God no, please. I just had a moment. I am okay” you stammered quickly but Cillian looked sceptical.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he then asked politely but you shook your head.

“I think I embarrassed myself enough already” you then told him but his eyebrows furrowed quickly.

“You are afraid of your own emotions and I get that. Most people are. But you know what I have learned throughout many years of acting?” Cillian said quietly again but, this time, with a warm and gentle smile.

“What?” you asked, wondering where he was going with this.

“That accepting and dealing with your emotions is an integral part of life. Unless you do that, you are not going to be happy and you most certainly will struggle with the line of work you chose. So, if you need to talk with someone about the way you feel, then talk to me. I am here to listen and what happened between us doesn’t matter, alright? I am not the kind of person who sees things superficially and, I don’t know why, but I do care about you. I want you to be okay” Cillian then explained while gently rubbing his palms over your upper arms and you were glad for his words and the way he spoke them, in a gentle and caring way.

“Thank you, Cillian” you cried before taking a deep breath. “Can I redo my paper?” you then asked. You still did not want to talk with him about your past just yet and hoped that he would accept your offer in lieu of an explanation as to why you were so anxious right now.

“I was hoping that you would and I want you to know that, when you do, I will not judge you or think any less of you for what you write” Cillian reassured you and, after you gave him a quick nod and wiped away your tears, he walked towards the door of the lavatory and held it open for you.

“Can you redo the paper by Wednesday? I need to pass it on to the unit co-ordinator” Cillian then said with a slight chuckle and unbothered by the fact that he just came walking out of the ladies’ bathroom with you.

“I can. And I am sorry for my slobby work” you then said and Cillian smiled. God, he was so beautiful and you stared shamelessly at him. He should not have become a lecturer at school full of young female students. Temptation was going to come knocking at his door, hordes of twenty something year olds begging to be noticed, to be loved, to be fucked. It was insanity and, just like Lorraine and some others, you wanted him and that was another form of madness.

 A few days later…

 Eventually, Wednesday came about and, when it did, your first stop was at Cillian’s office. You had promised to hand in your revised paper by nine and so you did.

This time, your effort was six pages long and included a large spiel about the foster care system in the US and how it shaped you from an emotional perspective.

It also included an array of emotions you believed many others like you felt when dealing with every-day life and you drew an analysis about them to the character you read about.

It was a paper which you had prepared with great care and thought and, in the end, the references to pieces of literature within your writing impressed Cillian so much so that, on Thursday evening, he sent you a message on the school’s online portal.

“I am impressed. This was certainly worth the wait” he said with an emoji on the end and his message certainly made you laugh.  

“I am glad, because it wasn’t easy to write knowing that you would be the one reading it” you responded quickly after you saw Cillian’s message pop up as a notification on your phone at around 10 o’clock that night and, the fact that he wrote to you that late made you wondered whether he was thinking about you.

Clearly, he had read the paper on Wednesday morning already before making his notes on it and sending it to the unit co-ordinator, so why did he only message you now? There must have been a reason for it, right?

Unbeknownst to you, there was most certainly a reason behind this message. Cillian had, indeed, been thinking about you and the truth was that he was taken by what you wrote in your essay.

He saw the care you took in writing down your every thought and your very own emotions and, whilst he could sense that you were hurt by the system, he did not consider you to be weak. To the contrary, he considered you to be much stronger than you thought yourself you were. You took matters into your own hands after the system had failed you. Unlike James, Cillian was impressed by your courage and soon realised why it was you who had been chosen for the scholarship.

You were determined and, whilst you struggled to come to terms with your feelings about what happened to you, you were emotionally intelligent. You knew what you needed to do and you knew about the bad influences in your life. You just had to act upon your desires, follow your goals and leave your pain and restraints in past.

As such, Cillian had nothing to add to your paper and thought about it every night since. There was something about you which intrigued him even more now and his thoughts about you were not just sexual anymore. His interest in you was on a different kind of level now and the feelings he was starting to have for you bothered him, causing him to supress his very own emotions.

He had to put on an act of his own, pretending that he was not interested in you but, every time he had a pint with his best mate Dermont, Cillian’s true feelings surfaced as, suddenly, the conversations they shared were about you.

Even though Cillian assured him that he had forgotten all about your short lived fling, Dermont did not believe him as his friend spoke about you with a lot of admiration.

In addition to that, Dermont also knew that Cillian was not the type of guy who would engage in one-night stands and then never think about them again. He must have liked you if he took you home, to his house that night. And he most certainly had not forgotten about you now that you were his student as every conversation about his work was also about you, your talent and the way you interacted with him.  

A few days later…

Eventually, Friday came around and it was another day where you had a lecture in PRAC300 before commencing your on-stage experience for which you were each given an on-stage character role and a script to read.

The roles were allocated randomly and when you were assigned the role of a mother who had recently lost her child, you could not help but sigh. It was not a role you were confident to act out and, yet, you knew that you had no choice. You had to take the role just as the other students had to take theirs. This included James who, also, ended up with a role that he was unhappy about but, unlike you, he spoke about it in Cillian’s class.

“Cillian, man, I think there is a mistake” he said in an arrogant way. “This role should be given to a girl” James determined, causing Cillian to furrow his eyebrows.

“Why?” Cillian asked, seeing that James had been drawn for the role of a character named Tina.

“Because Tina is a girl. I am playing a fucking girl” James laughed but Cillian did not think that his comment was funny and neither did you.

“Not exactly James. The role is non-binary” Cillian explained before telling him that this was an acting class. “It is important for you to step out of your comfort zone” Cillian furthermore said before pointing out that two female students in the class are portraying male characters as well.

“Now, if I can get everyone to schedule a time with me for the next week so that we can go through your role, one on one, that would be fantastic. I intend to allocate half an hour to each student” Cillian said and, of course, Lorraine and some of the other female students were quick to snap up the first available spots, leaving them with next to no time to prepare.

Luckily for Lorraine, she was portraying a young female teacher who was in love with her student. It was a role based on a book you had read quite recently and the fact that she got this role was rather amusing to you. She had an interest in Cillian and it was basically a matter of roles in reverse, if only Cillian had known.

When it was finally your turn to book in a time with Cillian however, you realised that your work schedule clashed with his remaining availabilities and it was at this point that he made an exception for you which was something that got you talking.

“I give dance classes from 3 o’clock to 6 o’clock each day and I cannot get out of them. It pays the bills and I am teaching ten teens for their upcoming dance competition in Cork so I have no idea what to do” you told him after the last student left the room and, sure enough, he remembered your passion for dancing.

“You teach dance? I did not know that. Are you enjoying it?” Cillian asked surprised and you nodded.

“Yes. I love it” you told him while he looked at his calendar.

“Alright, so how about 7 o’clock on Thursday then? It is after hours but I could come in and see you here” Cillian offered and you were surprised by his suggestion.

“Is that not too late for you?” you wondered, knowing that he had children as well.  

“Well, generally speaking, Thursdays and Fridays are good for me. My ex has the kids those days and, even if they were to come over, they are old enough to look after themselves for an hour or two” Cillian responded before telling you that they often do their own thing now that they are older, meeting up with friends after school and playing games at the local arcade.

“So, where do you teach dancing?” Cillian then wanted to know, being more chatty than usual.

“At the Dublin School of Dance. I teach contemporary dance and ballet” you told Cillian who, again furrowed his eyebrows.

“My daughter goes to that school twice a week” Cillian told you before showing you a photograph of her which he took during her last class.

“No way! I think I have met your daughter then” you said while Cillian was sliding through the photographs and you could immediately see the resembles of him in his daughter. They had the same pale freckled skin and light-coloured hair.

“Really?” he asked with great surprise and a hint of concern.

“Yes. She is in Miriam Mill’s class, isn’t she?” you asked and Cillian nodded before telling you that Miriam was leaving soon. She had an offer from another Dance School in London which she took.

“She is leaving, yes. But, your daughter will get another pretty awesome teacher soon, so don’t you worry” you then teased and Cillian furrowed his eyebrows quickly.

“Really? Is that new teacher good?” he asked without realising that you were going to be his daughter’s new teacher.

“She is the best” you joked before telling him that you would be taking on the classes for her age group in a couple of weeks.  

“Talking about awkwardness” Cillian then said with concern, seeing that this may become a little weird but, to you, it meant nothing. If anything, you were looking forward to meeting Cillian’s daughter properly and preparing her for the dance competitions.  

“Yeah, I mean, you could enrol her into another dance school if you like” you said nonetheless but he chuckled.

“And explain this to my ex how?” Cillian asked while cocking an eyebrow.

“Well, you could tell her that you slept with the ballet teacher who also happens to be your student at drama school. I am sure that would make quite a story” you joked and Cillian quickly reminded you to be discreet.

“Y/N, please…” he said while you laughed.

“God, relax Cillian. I am going to make sure that she has fun and excels with her routine for the finals. There is no bad blood between us and, like I said, nothing ever happened right? It was just sex, a one off, that is it. No one will ever know about it. My lips are sealed” you promised him and Cillian gave you a reluctant nod.

“Yes, it was just sex” he repeated quietly after ensuring that there was no one around. “So, Thursday, 7 o’clock then?” he then asked and you confirmed.

“Yes, 7 o’clock is great. Thank you. But I must go now. I am already late for training. Thanks Cillian” you said before grabbing your things and walking through the door.

To be continued… Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please! Tag List

@fastfan

@elenavampire21

@dolllol2405

@allie131313

@cilliansangel

@coldbastille

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@cdej6

@kathrinemelissa

@landlockedmermaid77

@crazymar15

@damedomino  

@lauren-raines-x

@miss-bunny19

@skinny-bitch-juice

@odorinana

@cloudofdisney

@weepingstudentfishhorse

@allexiiisss

@geminiwolves

@letsstarsfalling

@ysmmsy

@chlorrox

@tommyshelbypb

@chocolatehalo

@music-lover911

@desperate-and-broken

@mysticaldeanvoidhorse

@peaky-cillian

@lelestrangerandunusualdeetz

@december16-1991

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

@romanogersendgame

@randomfangirl2718

@missymurphy1985

@peakyscillian

@lilymurphy03

@deefigs

@theflamecrystal

@livinginfantaxy

@rosey1981

@hanster1998

@fairypitou

@zozeebo

@kasaikawa

@littleweirdoalien

@sad-huffle-nerd

@theflamecrystal

@0ghostwriter0

@stylescanbeatmyback

@1-800-peakyblinders

@datewithgianni

@momoneymolife

@mcntsee

@janelongxox

@basiclassy

@being-worthy

@chaotic-bean-of-smolness

@margoo0

@vhscillian

@crazymar15

@im-constantly-fangirling

@namelesslosers

@littlewhiterose

@ttzamara

@cilleveryone

@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon

@dolllol2405

@pkab

@babaohhhriley

@littleweirdoalien

@alreadybroken-ts

@masteroperator

@stevie75

@shabzy96

@rainbow12346

@obsessedwithfandomsx

@geeksareunique

@laysalespoir

@paigem00

@lkarls

@vamp-army

@luckystarme

@myjumper

@gxorg

@eline-1806

@goldenharrysworld

@cristinagronk16

@stylesofloki

@faatxma

@slut-for-matt-murdock

@tpwkstiles

@myjumper

@cloudofdisney

@look-at-the-soul

@smellyzcat

@kittycatcait219

@theliterarybeldam

@being-worthy

@layazul

@lyn07

@kagilmore

@50svibes

@mainstreetlilly

@ourthatgirlabby

@bitchwhytho

@takethee

@registerednursejackie

@sofi128

@mrkdvidal1989

@minxsblog

@heidimoreton

@laylasbunbunny

@laylasbunbunny

@queenshelby

@camilleholland89

@forgottenpeakywriter

@vintagecherryt

@indierockgirrl

@mrkdvidal1989

@bluesongbird

@dudde-44

@gasolinesavages

@kissforvoid

@bluebird592

@1eugenia1isabella1

@esposadomdp

@lulunalua23

@lovelace42

@bookklover23

@iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

@moonmaiden1996

@marlenamallowan

@cyphah (cannot tag)

@majesticcmey

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@throughgoeshamilton

@alessioayla

@elenavampire21

@justforfiction

@cilliansangel

@alannielaraye

@satellitelh

@pandoramyst

@duckybird101

[bed-chemist]

❝you've never been to heaven, have you?❞

A/N: this is my first time writing something for tumblr, or like this in general. feedback is greatly appreciated. this also isn't edited so ignore any mistakes. as a baking girly, i couldn't get this story out of my head. i legit would lay in bed at night and dream about hard-ass chef miller and the sweet baker. enjoy ♡

Prelude Summary: the sweetest baker has a birthday lunch with her friends, effectively humbling the chef in the process.

Chapter Warnings: death of a parent (mentioned), language, alcohol, slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), threatening (brief, joke between two girl friends in an established friendship).

Key Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, slow burn, dual-pov, fluff, flirting, friendship, eventually established relationship, eventual smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.

⋆ word count: 3.7k ⋆

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist ⋆ spotify playlist ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

JUNE 30TH

“Welcome to The Austin. I assume you have a reservation?”

Of course, we had a reservation. 

This was one of the hardest restaurants to get into. The reviews are excellent and they’re rumored to be gunning for a Michelin Star. Luckily, my best friend Madeline was what you considered Chicago pretty. Her charisma and beauty make her a shoo-in for being a model.

The long and wavy blonde hair cascades over her back as she flutters her lashes at the host behind the stand. “Yes. It’s my best friend’s birthday and we have a reservation under Madeline Crown,” she speaks for our small group, shoving me forward as the designated birthday girl. A mischievous twinkle flashes in her blue eyes and her smile takes over. 

Raising my hand, I wave awkwardly at the host. “That’s me,” I admit shyly, adjusting my falling crown and sash.

He flashes me a small smile. “Happy Birthday,” he breathes quickly before tapping the screen. “Just the three of you, Ms. Crown?” he asks Maddie, looking behind us at the group.

The phrase makes me grimace. My parents died in a car accident five hundred fifty-six days ago. And for five hundred fifty-six days, I’ve been suffering. They were the closest people to me and left me alone in this world as an only child. The only family I have left is the one I’ve created with Madi, Leo, and their families. I didn’t want to burden them with my birthday festivities, so Madi and I opted for lunch with just the three of us. 

“Yeah. And we need a booth away from eyes,” the third voice in our trio, Leonardo, blurts out. He shifts, anxious to get to our table and out of the lobby. Out of the three of us, he’s more likely to have to be bombarded by people during this lunch given our current surroundings.

Why on earth did I choose to be friends with a socialite and a senator? I don’t like attention and as of now, all eyes are on us. The sash and crown Maddie forced me to wear don’t help.

His two secret service agents stand upright a few paces back. We’d planned for weeks to get clearance for this lunch, so having them tag along was only a slight damper. “Right this way,” the host snaps me out of my spiral, grabbing a couple of menus and motioning us to follow him.

My feet carry me forward through the restaurant behind Madi, who stops to exchange pleasantries with an acquaintance. Softly brushing past her, I continue to follow the host with Leo and his team trailing behind me.

The restaurant is situated on the top floor in the middle of downtown. The open windows allow natural light in and the faint smell of steak wafts through the air as we weave through the open floorplan. My back hunches forward feeling slightly out of place in a room full of the fabulously wealthy.

Although I’m not entirely broke, my bakery just got in the black. If it weren’t for the parental death and what they passed on to me, I’d still studying to be a nurse. But after their death, I decided I’d only do things that would make me happy. Now the glaring separation between me and the rich and powerful feels like a slap in the face.

We reach a square table near the corner of the space. We’re still in view of everyone, there’s just room for Leo’s secret service to stand between us and them. Leo pulls a chair out for me closest to the window and I thank him, sliding into my seat.

The host puts the menus down on the table in front of us before letting us know our server will be with us shortly. Leo thanks him before taking his seat next to me, with his back towards the majority of the restaurant.

Leo sighs as Madi joins us again. “What did I miss?” she huffs.

Rolling my eyes, me and Leo open our menus, “Literally nothing. We just sat down,” I tell her, jokingly.

After some time of reading the menu, the tips of Madi’s fingers twinkle on the table out of the corner of my eye. Her sparkly white nail polish immediately catches my attention. “Well, this place is to die for. What is everyone getting?” she beams.

Flipping back and forth between the sides and appetizer pages, I furrow my eyebrows. “Why the fuck would you bring me to a place with no fries on my birthday?” I ask her begrudgingly.

Leo flips back to the appetizer page and slides his menu over. “They have baked potatoes,” he mansplains, pointing at the page.

Pushing the bound leather book back before him, I shake my head. “I hate to break it to you but that’s not french fries, Bookie,” I counter.

Madi puts her hands up in defense. “They’re a potato. I thought you’d be good with any potato,” she explains.

Leaning back into my chair, I rub my eyebrows in frustration. “Yeah, but I don’t even like steak and we’re at a steak restaurant on my birthday. You know what, fuck it. I’m getting Mcdonalds after–” I start before cutting myself off, noticing the server approaching the table. I don’t want to be rude in a nice restaurant, especially one that’s been so accommodating to my friends.

A brunette woman stands near us. “Welcome to The Austin. My name is Lisa and I’ll be your waitress today. Can I get you all started with something to drink?” she asks the table.

Sitting up, my mouth opens to speak, but Madi cuts in. “3 margaritas, and keep them coming,” she instructs Lisa.

Lisa nods, flashing a smile towards us. “I’ll be right back with those for you,” she chirps, shifting on her heels to walk towards the back again.

Leo tilts his head at the blonde after we’re left alone. “I can’t drink on the job, Mads,” he scolds Madeline.

Madi shrugs, giving him her signature smirk. “Good thing no one has to know but the three of us, golden boy,” she says, twirling her finger around the table.

Leo seemingly takes the statement to heart, scoffing and crossing his arms. “Oh fuck off. I’m not golden,” he counters.

Shaking my head, I rub his arm so no one snaps a photo of Senator Torres all pent up. “No, you’re not. You’ve just become Mr. Americana to the rest of the world. But we know who you truly are,” I attempt to comfort him. The holes being stared into the back of my head are proving to be lethal.

Leo’s dark brown eyes involuntarily squint as he smiles. “Thank you, Miggy,” he gushes and his body language softens.

And suddenly, I have the ick from the mention of my nickname. How the fuck did Madi date Leo? It was years ago but still. I would’ve thrown up every time he opened his mouth.

Removing my hand from his arm, I raise my eyebrow. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?” I remind him.

“Might want to ask my assistant about that. I wouldn’t know,” he jokes and I resist the urge to smack him in the chest. 

Not in public and not around bodyguards who could take you down in seconds.

Lisa returns with our drinks and I pick the glass up, taking a sip of the lime-flavored beverage. “What can I get you to eat today?” she asks, glancing back and forth between Madi and me.

Madi chirps her order to Lisa as my eyes scan back and forth over the page. None of the entrees were less than two hundred bucks, and I didn’t have breakfast. 

I can’t drink on an empty stomach. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it,” Leo leans over and murmurs to me.

Shaking my head, I lean towards him to close the gap. “No. Fuck no,” I whisper yell.  He could put it on his card, but I’d still Venmo him for lunch afterward.

He nods with a toothy grin taking over his face. “It’s your birthday and you’re not paying. Get whatever you want,” He objected with finality, turning towards Lisa to order.

Leo’s deep voice drifts to the back of my mind as I scan the menu one last time, finally ready to order. Lisa comes over to me and I decide to try the steak and crab, hoping it’ll change my mind.

Two more rounds of drinks into the lunch, the appetizers arrive at the table. The muscles and oysters taste okay, but the escargot is orgasmic. The buttery breadcrumbs combined with the sourdough has me forgetting I’m eating a snail. Leo and Madi graciously allow me to finish off the plate, offering to order more if I’m interested. Instead of accepting, I fight the urge to lick the plate clean.

When our steaks arrive, Madi claps with excitement. The whole presentation of the meals is rather dramatic. Each dish and its components are read before the plate hits the table. 

My mouth waters as my filet mignon and grilled king crab leg is set in front of me. Madi snaps a photo for her social media while Leo and I dig into our meals. 

My face soon changes from excitement to a grimace as I try the main course. This is fucking disgusting. The grilled crab is burnt and the filet mignon tastes like rubber. My mouth is only able to chew a few bites before scrambling for my drink.

Leo peers up from his plate, tilting his head. “The fuck is your problem?” he questions me.

Shaking my head, I finish off my third margarita. “Nothing,” I murmur. I should be grateful that I’m even here at all. This place is way out of my budget.

Madi seemingly decides to join the conversation and put her two cents in. “It’s not nothing. If you don’t like the food, they’ll remake it. Look, here comes the owner,” She scolds, nodding to the area behind me.

My upper body slowly twists around to see who she’s talking about. The man in question is walking towards us dressed in crisp white chef attire. My eyes drink him in and I notice his curly chocolate hair. I notice a stray curl falling in front of his face and suddenly, I have the overwhelming urge to reach up and fix it. 

I continue my shameless perusal of his body, down to his cuffed shirt hugging him so perfectly and tightly that I can see his muscles. My breathing slightly speeds up. 

That is a beautiful specimen of a man.

I’m jolted out of my stare as Leo stands from the table, nodding to the security. “He’s good. It’s his restaurant, for god's sake,” he barks.

My body becomes stiff as the tall man moves smoothly into our area. “Senator Torres, Sir. Thank y’all for your support,” the stranger smiles slightly, extending his hand for Leo to shake.

Leo’s hand tightens its grip, with his other coming up to smack the man’s elbow. Oh, they know each other well. “No, thank you. The catering you made for my election gala was the reason I won the election,” Leo boasts.

So this is the famous chef they’ve been ranting and raving about. I was out of the country securing the last of my parent's affairs when the gala was thrown; something Leo was gracious enough to let me miss.

The handsome man smiles softly, moving his attention to Madi. “Nice to see you again Ms. Crown. Everythin’ tastin’ great, I see,” he charms her with a smirk on his face. 

My eyebrows furrow trying to pin down his southern accent. Chicago is a metropolitan city, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he were from Louisiana or Florida. Especially with that beautiful tan, he’s adorning.

Madi straightens her back like a cannon ready to fire. “With mine? Yes. But with Ginny’s not so much. Chef Miller, meet the birthday girl, Imogen,” she introduces us and I’m rendered speechless. His deep brown eyes seemingly stare a hole into my soul.

Anxiety creeps up my spine feeling put on the spot and having to give a bad review in person. “Hi,” I wave shyly. 

Chef Miller’s eyes squint in suspicion, focusing down on the food before fixing his gaze back up on me. I silently thank the gods above for a brief break from his intense stare. “You don’t like the steak, darlin’?” he asks, pointedly.

Oh, fuck off. The man is gorgeous, but his food is shit. But, his use of the word darling has me hanging on to every syllable he utters. Shaking my head, I roll my shoulders back a bit. Put the lonely and horny brain away for a second, Ginny. “Or the crab,” I answer.

Chef Miller’s eyebrows raise and I start to etch the details of his face into my brain mentally. He might be early thirties, but the wrinkles on his forehead hint that he’s been through some things. “Nobody has ever complained about my cookin’. What’s wrong with it?” he questions me in his deep husky voice.

Clearing my throat, I bring the plate back in front of me. “It's dry and burnt,” I pause, beckoning Chef Miller over to stand beside me. He walks a bit closer and when he leans over, I can feel his body hovering over mine. When I take a breath, I can smell smoke on him with an undertone of cedar. 

Moving the food around on the plate, I show him his shotty work. “Look,” I point out with my fork.

Chef Miller grunts, reaching forward and effectively caging me in between his body in the table. “I’m sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. Can I get you somethin’ else?” He apologizes, swiftly removing the plate from my view.

Shaking my head, I replay reading the menu in my mind. “No, it’s fine. I don’t like anything on the menu,” I explain solemnly, turning towards him. I don’t want him to feel responsible for my picky eating habits, either.

Chef Miller frowns, “It’s your birthday, honey. I’m not sendin’ you out hungry and upset,” he counters.

Reaching out, I put my hand on his exposed forearm in an attempt to get him to listen to me. “I’m not upset. I wouldn’t lie to you,” I loosely promise him. His eyes snap down to where my fingers are connected to his skin then back up at me. 

My hand quickly retreats as Lisa comes back around to refill our drinks. Chef Miller turns to hand her the plate and she accepts it before grabbing some glasses from the table. “Why don’t you come back into the kitchen with me and I’ll make somethin’ special for you,” the offer drips from his lips as sweet as whiskey caramel. 

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks when I think about being in a room with him. Alone. “No that’s alright. These two have to go soon anyways,” I use the bullshit excuse, hoping he’ll buy it.

He nods, before putting his hands up and conceding. “Ok. Let Lisa know if you change your mind. She’ll bring you back,” he informs me. 

He turns his attention back to the entire group. “Y’all have a good day. Hope to see you soon,” he smiles, turning to leave the secluded area.

Both Leo and Madi bid him a hushed goodbye before turning their attention toward me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead this second.

Madi squints her eyes at me, before shoving her empty plate out of the way. “I’m going to murder you,” she threatens me. 

My head jerks back in shock. “What? Why?” I ask her.

She sighs, taking a sip of her margarita before slamming it back down on the table. “That was your birthday gift, you dumb cunt. You don’t think we know they don’t have fries. They don’t need fries when they have fine-ass Joel Miller. He was practically fucking drolling on your shoulder and you didn’t even notice,” she fumes.

Joel Miller, the hot single chef, is interested in me. I mean, I’m way out of his league. He’s like the working woman’s Timothée Chalamet. “What?” I ask in disbelief again.

Leo crosses his arms and leans comfortably back in his chair, having finished his meal. “Does she have to repeat herself or are you processing?” Leo picks my brain.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean forward a bit. “Processing, give me a moment,” I tell him, closing my eyes.

“You don’t have a moment. We’re ditching you while they turn over for dinner. And you’re going to go back into that kitchen and have a hot chef whip you up a meal, alone. Then you’re gonna have him whip you up, at home,” I hear Madi scheming. 

Suddenly I feel hot, like my whole body just got stuck into an oven. “Madi! I’m not,” I start off shouting a bit at her before realizing we’re in a public space. I’m not even angry at her, I just feel overwhelmed. “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” I bear my soul to her, blinking away tears.

I haven’t had sex since the death of my parents and the cobwebs are tumbling back there. Knowing that my parents would never meet my future partner was a pain that felt soul-crushing. The feeling is just now starting to subside.

Leo reaches up and scratches his curly scalp. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he scolds Madi. 

When I make eye contact with Madi again, her face is soft and warm. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean to push you too hard,” she apologizes profusely.

Tucking a stray curl behind my ear, I shake out the spiral of anxiety in my head. “It’s fine, can we change the subject?” I plead with the table.

Madi claps her hands in excitement. “Yes, okay!” she cheers. “You know what? Redo gift. Let’s go shopping,” she proposes. 

Nodding, a smile starts to creep onto my face. Hours of mindless walking up and down Magnificent Mile is just what I need right now. “Now that, I can get down with,” I point at her with a grin.

Leo chuckles, standing up from the table. “I’ll see you two this weekend, I have some work to do. Happy birthday, Miggy. I’ll give them my card on my way out,” he bids us goodbye.

Madi waves at her ex-lover. “Bye Leo,” she flirts.

Giggling, I shake my head at her antics. Eventually, they’ll end up together. “You’re the best,” I thank him.

Leo turns around, shooting me a wink. “Anytime, darlin’,” he mocks  Joel.

Madi’s hand slaps to her chest and she fakes retching as he walks away. “Something about him. When Joel does it, it makes my pussy quiver. But when he does it, I want to throw up,” she confesses.

Nodding, I finish the last drink before we can say goodbye to this restaurant for the day. “Ditto,” I sigh, grabbing my purse from the back of my chair.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

part 2

[citizenstephie]

The TikTok thing. You’ll hear about it a lot and a lot of the people who never used TikTok can’t really grasp why the dispossessed users are so upset.

Sure, as of right now (1/19/25) some people can use it. It’s no longer in the App Store though so if you were proactive when it went dark and deleted it- you can’t get back in. Not a lot of people know that. They’re like, “It was shut down for less than 24 hours, why are you acting like it’s the apocalypse?” - and I’ll wager that was by design. ‘Trump saved TikTok’ … he didn’t. He necromancied its dead husk and is puppeteering it around until it’s no longer of use to him.

I’m upset because 5 years of my life were spent on that app and I’m not sorry that I spent it there, I’m sorry for what it’s going to become.

The algorithm learns YOU and it learns you fast. Pretty quickly, within the first few scrolls it starts giving you content it thinks you’ll enjoy, and generally it’s right. There might be a hiccup here or there, but generally it was on the money, and the more you interacted and told it what you liked the more it would give you.

Sometimes it would surprise you. “Listen Steph, I know you don’t really listen to KPop or Scooby Doo chase music, but trust me you’ll like it” and then it served me up videos of Stray Kids and Ghost and it was right.

Sometimes it served you videos like “Hey girl, no one has said anything to you before, but you probably have ADHD- you should go check with a doctor to be sure” And the algorithm was right. The algorithm told me I had Ménière’s disease before my doctors did.

Sometimes, the algorithm thought you were a little too comfy, a little too complacent, so it would serve you up news that you otherwise would never have heard of… from different angles… with duets of other TikTokers who can read lips interpreting what’s being said by the people in the video. I’m not talking about channel 4 kind of news - I’m talking on the ground right there in the dirt just happened to have my phone on me or no one would believe me news. The kind of news you might wave off otherwise.

I was learning sign language. Creole. I was learning about black hair and braiding. This is all stuff I never would have encountered in the echo bubbles of other apps. I tried new recipes and they were awesome. I learned history that my bum fuck back country high school never taught me. I learned about other people.

One of the most heartbreaking things for me is the loss of connections. I watched people make families, make lives and loves. I watched people learn and share- become the people they wanted to be. It was fun, and funny. It was happy and tearful.

Pretty quickly the app learned ME. I was on Booktok, and Witchtok. I was on D&D tok, and Pedro Pascal tok. I was watching videos in other languages that the app was auto translating for me… then two weeks ago I stopped getting foreign and other language videos. Booktok disappeared from my For You Page completely and was replaced with ads for Bible study guides and trad wife content. D&D tok disappeared and was replaced with ProBan TikTok’s. The braiding videos disappeared and were replaced with blonde makeup influencers. I didn’t change anything, the algorithm was changed, and then the plug was pulled.

I was shown all the colors in the world and suddenly I’ve been knocked back into black and white. It sucks!! That’s why we’re so upset. It wasn’t a stupid little dancing app, it was access to the world.

I have never been so seen, I had so many amazing connections and friends. I was learning so much and it was taken away.

That app got me through the deaths of two of my best friends- I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next four years.