#and i am struggling with it about as much as i always have

[track-maniac]

#maybe this isn't my room to speak in #but as a cis girl. i simply exist as wanting to be a girl #much of that want as an adult is surrounded by wanting to be a girl in a world where it's safe and free and fair to be a girl #but there is always a sense i have of liking being a girl and being like yeahhh thats me #im not always at my most feminine but i am comfortable w how that fluctuates bc i feel at my core that Im Girl #yknow #so if you look in the mirror and look within yourself and you feel Girl then that is valid and that is true and don't ever let anyone #deny you that. especially not yourself. #afab cis girls already are questioned enough in society for not meeting the standards for being girl enough bc society thinks Girl is an act #but that's not true. Girl is a state of mind and a state of being and wholly true to your existence #you need to live that truth and try it on for size #also i think being a trans woman is such a beautiful thing because it. um #because it is. it just is and anyone who tells you otherwise is attacking from their own insecurities and their own places of hurt. #or it's from cis men who hate to see a woman who they realize isn't under their control bc they think a uterus is how they cam control cis w #anyways sry I'm rambling so much #but be trans be beautiful and be your soul says you are bc you deserve that #i may not understand what y'all go through but I understand the struggle to see yourseld in the light you have envisioned #xoxo #trans rights bitch

Not only is this everyone's room to speak in as long as they're respectful, this may also be one of my favourite additions. Because of everything you said but also because it serves as a reminder of something I lost track of when I started interacting with trans girls here: cis people like/want their agab and it's not cis to always think about hrt or different clothes

Idk who needs to hear this but you don't need "signs" to tell you you're a girl. You don't need it to hurt in your guts either. You can just want to try it, and you should.

In retrospect, many of my memories can be analysed as a sign of being trans. But the key point here is "in retrospect". I didn't see any of that before realising I'm a girl. I didn't even feel dysphoria before realising I didn't want to be masculine.

6 months ago, I just thought I was a good ally with every sign of being cis. If you feel like this and you love trans people and think they're so cool and think being trans is really beautiful, maybe just try new pronouns and a name online. No one who matters will be mad at you for doing it.

Had I seen a post like this, I would've figured myself out 3 years earlier

@gnome-de-official

[lavenderprose]

At some point, for some reason, Rook had misinterpreted the term 'letters'.

Perhaps it was because Bellara had said it so breathlessly--though Bellara says lots of things breathlessly, given she speaks at about the speed of magic itself. Perhaps it was the smile she'd used when she said 'the Professor'. But Bellara smiles most of the time. In the end it doesn't matter how it happened. The result was the same: Rook heard Bellara talk about these letters, this necromancer she was writing to, and figured they were passing love letters. Odd, very lingo-heavy love letters that contained a lot of side conversation about magical artifacts and the stability of the Veil, but love letters nonetheless.

Rook meets Emmrich and hears him call Bellara 'dear' and knows it must be true. Rook also meets Emmrich and wants to climb him like a tree, but she's always been into that kind of academic, willowy, never-met-the-sun kind of look. Necromancers. Rook's always been into necromancers. She is one. It's pretty normal.

"You must be excited to finally meet him in person," Rook says to Bellara while they're following Emmrich through the Shrouded Halls. Emmrich extols the wonder of life and death in between completely demolishing Venatori in a way that feels bone-shatteringly powerful.

"Oh yeah," Bellara says, and grins. "Arlathan is pretty far from Nevarra, so I didn't think we'd ever actually meet, but it's pretty cool that we did! Professor Emmrich is really knowledgeable, not just about the Fade, but music and art and--"

"Hmm neat!" Rook says, instead of Alright girl keep it in your pants because she actually really likes Bellara and she can't blame her. Emmrich Volkarin is six-foot-three, hazel-eyed and has a voice like candlelit red wine. He'd be a dream come true for any young mage with a little too much to say and a few too many nights alone in their recent past.

Of which there are two in the room.

Anyway.

It's not a big deal. The others don't really seem fussed over the fact that Bellara has brought her sneaky link into the fold and Emmrich is bonkers capable, so it doesn't really matter whether or not he's sourced from some horny letters. He also comes highly recommended from the Mourn Watch, and that's enough for Rook.

They keep things pretty subtle too. Rook never sees them kiss or even really touch, and Bellara seems too busy with the archive spirit to do much other than tinker with it outside of missions. Emmrich always seems to have something to be doing as well. If anything, he seems to spend more time with Rook than Bellara--and this is the source of the issue.

The spark of attraction in the Necropolis grows to nothing short of a blazing inferno. Emmrich invites Rook to the Memorial Gardens, performs the rituals with her, calls her recitation of the rites masterful. He takes her arm in the crook of his own as they walk the paths. He finds her in the kitchen in the evenings and sits next to her, legs crossed in that neat and proper way, and she sits there and lets the heat of his thigh burn into hers until she has to get up and go find something to occupy her hands. He does everything short of lay his jacket over puddles for her like some prince in a storybook--though even that, she wouldn't put past him. She sees him staring at her during a soaking downpour in Minrathous one time, but it's always raining in Minrathous.

Jealousy is an insidious emotion that the Mourn Watch warns against specifically. It will make a monster of the most benevolent, if it takes hold. Rook struggles not to let it. This gets harder and harder, the more time she spends in Emmrich's company and the more he seeks her out. He'll say, "I'm so pleased to have a fellow Watcher to talk to, Rook," and she'll smile and pretend she isn't actively resisting the urge to stare at his lips. He'll say, "I am continually impressed by your keen skills of observation, my dear" and she'll only be capable of nodding because she's trying to clear a daydream from her head. Something about him and one of the geothermal underground pools in the Necropolis and a mysteriously disappearing set of clothing. He'll say, "I find myself continually waiting for the next time we'll have one of our chats, Rook--they're becoming something I find great comfort in," and Rook won't even hear what he's saying, because she's trying so hard to shove him, the concept of him, into a little box in her head labeled Bellara's--Do Not Touch.

It gets a little ridiculous. She stops taking them on missions together, because the sound of them chattering on about Fade harmonics behind her makes her want to absolutely chew glass. On the off chance she sees one of them come out of the other's room, which does not happen very often at all but has, on a handful of occasions, she'll turn herself around and sit herself down on Solas' stupid fuck-ugly green meditation couch until she feels a little less like her head is going to pop off. One time, she falls asleep while doing this and has to deal with a particularly weird conversation with Solas where she's too keyed up to do much more than grunt along to his typical long-winded pontification and he ends the conversation with something along the lines of, "Perhaps you should reexamine some details of your situation that you have taken as fact. You may find them not so."

"Could you just say something that's not buried under five layers of innuendo," Rook thinks, and unfortunately also says out loud, because she's not actually allowed to think just in her head in these Solas-dreams. He scowls at her and rolls his eyes. They're both doing the Fade-space equivalent of blowing raspberries at each other by the time she wakes up.

It all comes to a head in Arlathan, because they've camped with the Veil Jumpers for the night and Rook needs to ask Bellara a question. She thinks nothing of whipping open the flap to Bellara's tent, because Bellara is almost always awake until the stars have been overhead for hours and Emmrich--who was obliged to come along, just this once, because they're in Arlathan specifically for haunting-related reasons--is visible across the camp, wiggling carrots through the bars of Gus the Nug's cage. There is a small, tender smile on his face as he listens to the nug snort and whuffle. Rook suddenly remembers the story about the pig he used to hug as a kid, and then her heart jumps a little, and--

Well, anyway, there shouldn't be a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

There is, in fact, a reason not to let herself into Bellara's tent.

That reason is named Irelin, whose body Rook now knows about in much more expansive detail than she did a few minutes ago. Bellara's too, though most of that was covered by--well, by Irelin.

"Maker!" they all three scream in unison, and Rook all but sommersaults back out of the tent.

"Sorry," she yells through the flap. "Sor--sorry, I didn't--"

"It's fiiine," Bellara yells back. Her head pokes through after a minute. Her hair is down and disappears somewhere back inside the tent. She looks like an almost completely different person with it framing her face like that. "Hey, um--you could, like...knock next time? I mean, I know you can't really knock on a tent--"

"Everything alright over here?" Emmrich has appeared, and Rook's tongue seems to grow three sizes in her mouth.

Oh shit! is all her brain will supply, so she doesn't really respond. She thinks she's willing enough to respect Girl Code, such as it is, that she won't tell Emmrich about the whole Irelin thing. Because maybe that's how their relationship works, or maybe Emmrich already knows, or maybe it's none of her business--

Or maybe something really weird is happening, because Bellara looks at Emmrich and her expression does nothing but get a little more annoyed, and she sighs, "It's fine. No worries, Professor. Just, could you guys--y'know, privacy?"

Then Irelin makes a noise from inside the tent, and it's pretty clear at that point what's just happened, but Emmrich just blushes a little and says, "Ah," and then wraps his hand around Rook's arm and leads her away, back towards the cage with Gus.

"Okay," Rook says, as Gus sniffs her boot on the off chance it contains carrots. "That was weird."

"I fear there are bound to be clashes when multiple cultures blend, my dear," Emmrich tells her, a low murmur directly into her ear. "We in Nevarra, especially amongst the Mourn Watch, are slightly more--shall we say, open? Don't take it personally that Bellara withheld the information of her liaison with Irelin. I don't think it was done maliciously."

"No, I mean--why aren't you--upset?"

Emmrich's brows furrow. "Whyever would I be upset? I'm hardly a prude, Rook. These are difficult times, and any small piece of comfort one can find should be readily taken. A tent in the middle of a busy camp is an...interesting location, but I understand our dear Bellara has history with Irelin, and should the object of my affections be willing--"

"No, no, I mean--you're not--are you okay with this? You and Bellara have some kind of..." Rook scrambles about for an accurate word. "Agreement? About this kind of stuff?"

Emmrich's eyebrows do an odd, fluttery sort of thing that reminds Rook of a puppet she once saw being manipulated by a group of playful wisps. Sort of like his face is trying to show half a dozen emotions at once.

"Why on earth would Bellara and I have ever spoken about her sex life," he says flatly, and far more bluntly than Rook is used to him being. Heat floods her body as she realizes that she has, somewhere along the way, wildly misunderstood something.

"I," says Rook, "have made a mistake."

"Rook," he says, with a voice like he's trying to diffuse a spell primed to explode, "Darling. If you thought Bellara and I were involved, would you mind enlightening me exactly as to...what you think my intentions were when I took you to the Memorial Gardens."

Rook wonders if Gus the nug could be persuaded to eat her whole.

"Enrichment?" she mutters.

"Enrichment," Emmrich sighs under his breath.

There is a long, gravid beat of silence.

"That clearing we passed earlier," Rook mumbles under her breath, once the world is done tilting on its axis. "Looked enriching."

"Quite," Emmrich says promptly. He grabs her by the hand and only grins a little when she releases a frantic, giddy giggle as he pulls her away from the camp.

[colorlessjay]

hello! may be a weird request but do you have any fanfic recommendations?

BUCKLE THE FUCK UP

OH DO I HAVE SOME RECS FOR YA'LL

Mind you, 90% are based on personal preference and fics I think about way too often than I should. A lot of them influenced the way I make characters interact

Some of them might not be your taste and that's cool!

First off, Gotta promote the fics that people wrote inspired by my art (I am truly honored)

Time Cast A Spell On You by bethefirstwhoeverdid

Cabin of Feathers by Featherpie (Izupie)

Return To The Past by faeryn

NOW FOR MY COLLECTION

Just any fic written by everandanon

I swear to you, all of their fics are worth a read. They are frustrating (In a good way for me) but the worldbuilding, comedy, dialogue, and character interactions always have me physically getting up and laughing. At one point during Quarentantion, I had to stop reading to rant to my friends about it because it made me feel so much that I went to 3 different friends about it. With Interest actually made my heart physically hurt at certain points. Expectations had me on a roller coaster ride But if you think their fics are a little overwhelming, I recommend reading Casicorn. It's the first ever fic I read from them and it solidified my love for this author. I swear I am on my hands and KNEES waiting for them to finish their newest fic

Where All My Journeys End - (a Twist and Shout alt universe) by Say_It_In_Enochian

Did reading Twist and Shout devastate you? Did it emotionally hurt your heart and make you wish there was something to make the pain lighter? READ THIS FUCKING FIC NOW I got so fucking lucky when I found it immediately after reading T&S and when I tell you the JOURNEY this fic took me? It healed my soul The struggles, the history, the relationships, the LONG fight to get to their happy ending I am FLOORED this doesn't have 1000 Kudos!

The Ed Sheeran Effect by tricia_16

It made me laugh. That's it. It's sweet and funny and really fun and just feels very campy, like it could've been a decent movie I would rewatch on days I just feel like feeling good Am I a sucker for HighSchool/College AU fics? Yes do I fucking care? No

The Best Years of Our Lives, My Ass by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)

I. fucking. love. this. fic The story alone was so interesting but it was the DIALOGUE that hooked me in. I swear I think about this fic in the middle of drawing and go "Damn, good times" like it's a long lost friend

Slide Away by Castielslostwings

It's the TENSION that got me. I can't explain to you how much I just love their hate-pining for each other Read it, love it, in my digital bookshelf

Sleep Without You by turningthepages

Hilarious. The density is so high it could float. I swear to god I've read this fic at least three times and think about it once a week I remember reading it and cackling so much that I woke up my mom

Should've Just Asked by Annie D (scaramouche)

I wish this fic had a follow-up that was just Dean's perspective because I would LOVE to read more of it. The situation is so absurd and I binged it all in one day (I'm a very slow reader)

Pinfall by crowleyo

I'm gonna say it. I'm so actually angry this fic doesn't get enough attention. It is so so SO well-written and heart-wrenching. Am I still a sucker for highschool sweethearts? YES! I OPENLY ADMIT THIS! But COME ON

Of fuming and partaking and so on by zation

This fic and literally any fic from Zation. I absolutely love the way this author writes. It's so funny and self-aware and the dialogue and scenarios always keep me entertained and laughing They have such a large catalog of fics that I'm pretty sure I have at least 15 saved on my phone

Mr. Blue Sky by anyrei, queerwolf79

This fic specifically and literally ANYTHING from these two. I swear, a lot of their fics are certified bangers. Mr. Blue Sky is probably a personal favorite of mine cause I actually teared up

Love Me More by Saiorse_Irvyne

I'm not the biggest fan of A/B/O stuff, but MAN this has me feeling things. When a fic makes me feel strong emotions, I just gotta recommend it

Lock and Key by tricia_16

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it's THAT good

Kind Of A Forever Deal by komodobits

It's FUN. It's FUNNY. It's so fucking campy and cute and the progression of their relationship was just AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It's Always the End of the World Somewhere by Annie D (scaramouche)

I can sit here and recommend Annie D's fics all DAY, but I'm recommending this one specifically because of this: “Get a room, assholes,” someone mutters. “Hey!” Crowley whirls on the offender. “I could set on you on fire!” And that's one of many fantastic quotes

Cinderwings by bendingsignpost

One of the first fics I've ever read from this fandom, and I recommend it to ANYONE regardless of whether they know Destiel or not. The story is so fucking captivating it makes me want to eat my foot it's so GOOD

--------------

Do I have a type when it comes to fanfics? Yes

But I like gravitating towards funny dialogue and silly shenanigans. I thrive off of fun fics that sometimes take themselves seriously, but still pull me back and make me laugh

If a fic can make me feel such a strong emotion that I PHYSICALLY have to get up? Then fuck yeah it's going in my archives

I would recommend some of the darker fics I have, but this is for fun

[anomalousmancunt]

I wasn't able to reply this in another post, for god knows what reason, but anyway I want to have it as a separate post. So.

I'm ftm, I'm from the global south, etc. I know what the transmasc struggles are - you will find I lived through them, I keep living through them. I was sent to offbrand conversion therapy, got told that clearly I'm just a confused girl who looks too much like a child and so that's why I'm identifying as a man (?). I am not going to be talking about all that. That's the deep lore.

What I am going to be talking about is how fucking meaningless the arguments against transandrophobia theory keep getting on this website. I cannot keep logging on and seeing people argue semantics (while not understanding a single thing they're saying) to define our experiences out of existence. I cannot keep logging on and seeing fucking USAmericans, because it's always one of y'all, who live in a sort of comfort I will never, ever get to experience or even see, try to tell me that somehow I have more power than any of them, because of how a fucking word is structured.

You are not arguing in good faith and I will not treat you like you are.

[smugblueenby69]

“It’s finished, it’s done. You can’t take loved away”

-excerpt from Nona The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

I lost my mom back in 2013. I was a few months away from 13 at the time, and no matter how long it’s been since I’ve seen her, no matter how fuzzy my memories of her get, no matter how many holidays or birthdays or big events she’s not there for, no matter who I become, I have to remember that I loved her, and that she loved me too.

I’ve found myself struggling lately to even remember if I ever actually knew her, but I did know her, and who I knew I loved.

I loved her laugh. I loved her smile. I loved how kind she was. I loved that she very genuinely cared about the world. I loved that she fought for people and the injustices they faced in her own way. I loved that she decided one day when she was 12 to become a vegetarian because of her love for cows. I loved that she wasn’t ashamed to sleep with a bunch of stuffed animals. I loved that she took photos all the time, like carried a camera with her all the time just to do that. I loved that she bought stuffies for my brother and never forced gender roles on me or my siblings; we could decide for ourselves what we liked and what we didn’t. I loved that she was a safe haven for all my older sister’s friends, no matter their race, gender, sexuality, etc, she just gave them a mother figure they could rely on. I loved that she did genealogy work for people, and would take us kids to cemeteries to find head stones for people. I loved that she encouraged my siblings and I to read, and that she made it so much fun, it was a way she could bond with us. I loved that she always encouraged us to create art, I’dve never become an artist without her and her family’s background and support in art. I loved her love for animals, that again she and her side of the family always seemed to have a special way with animals, especially sick and injured ones. I loved her desire to learn and grow and change, it reminds me that she would be okay with who I am now. I loved her nerdiness. I loved her love for star trek and eragon and other media, she’d love that I’m unapologetically the same when it comes to enjoying fantasy and sci fi.

I loved my mom a lot. And that love will never go away. That love will never disappear. Nobody will ever replace my mom, and I will never replace the love I had for her. And her love for me will also never disappear. Every tear she wiped away. Every scrape she tended to and kissed. Whenever she reminded me that she would always be with me, even when she was far away, like the story she told me about “The kissing hand” on my very first day of school, where I sobbed because they wouldn’t let her walk me into my classroom. Whenever she gave me a shoulder to cry on after every terrible day of getting bullied at school. After every ounce of praise she gave me for even the smallest achievements.

I can’t take her love away, and nothing can ever take the love I have for her away, not even after all these years, and not even after 100. As long as her name is remembered, she will be loved, because she made damn well sure through her kindness and care that at least one person would remember her fondly. She touched many hearts and left a warmth never to be diminished, and I love that about her too.

And in the future, as I remember her and even learn new things about her that I didn’t know before, I will love more things about her. That is the good thing about the passage of time I guess, is that there is always more time to learn, even though she’s not here to make new memories with, I will still learn more from and about and for her, and I will love her.

Thank you mom for loving like you did, and teaching me to do the same.

grief is so crazy like what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. does she know i loved her. i miss her so much. i catch myself doing things she used to do. i wish i could call her. i miss her so much. i do a crossword puzzle. i cry while washing the dishes. does she know i loved her? my heart feels like a hummingbird. i miss her so much. what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. what if i forget.

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Buried Secrets Chapter 1: Demons of Deception

Buried Secrets Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

Word Count: 6.2k

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles and past drug use (it's Frankie), there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

👉 Chapter Warnings: Badass OFC, there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, blood), a surprise appearance or two, brooding Frankie

Chapter Quote: “Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself.”

Mya’s POV

I had been in a lot of tight spots in the past, but nothing could compare to this. The most infuriating thing about it all, it wasn’t because of something I did. I was left to take the fall by someone that I thought loved me.

When I came to, I found myself suspended from the ceiling by my shackled hands. My toes barely touched the floor, just enough to help take some of the weight off my aching shoulders and wrist that stretched above my head. The room was empty and dark, only small hints of sunlight sneaking in through the thick tattered curtains.

Looking around, I saw no way out of this. There was nothing I could use to my advantage and my restraints seemed secure. They had done their due diligence in making sure I couldn’t escape. That was the downside to being taken hostage by people who were familiar with your unusual skill sets.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before the door creaked open, but it felt like hours. A very pissed off looking Miguel Collazo and one of his enforcers strode into the room, pausing several feet in front of me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach because I could sense he was beyond reason.

He gave me a menacing glare as he spoke with his thick Spanish accent, “I never thought I would find myself in this kind of situation with you, Mya. You are one of my best collectors, so I am torn on what to do with you.”

I was seething, “How about you unlock these cuffs and let me go. I had nothing to do with this, and you know it.”

He tutted, “I do not believe you. You and Damien have always been inseparable, so I know you know where he is. I want my artifacts and money back.”

Collazo was a pudgy little man with a crooked nose and curly villain mustache that rivaled Dustin Hoffman in Hook. He had a perpetually smug expression that I really wanted to bitch slap off his face as he smirked up at me.

“I don’t know where he is. What would he have to gain from leaving me behind?”

He shrugged as he began to pace back and forth in front of me, “I do not know, to keep me off his trail? It does not make sense to me that he would not tell you his plan.”

I scoffed, “Well I haven’t done that now have I? I have no fucking idea where he is. He was gone when I got home…his phone has been disconnected. I have no way of reaching him.”

The door swung open with a little more force this time. Comandante Veracruz entered, moving to stand next to Collazo. I could see his scruffy angled jaw ticking as his dark eyes looked me over from head to toe. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I could only hope he would take pity on me and talk Collazo off the ledge.

Veracruz was head of security for Collazo. Damien and I had gotten to know him well since we worked closely on several heists in the past. He had made his affections for me obvious but would never have acted on them because of Damien. Now that Damien was long gone, I hoped I could use his affections to my advantage.

“What are you thinking?” He asked Collazo in his Spanish accent.

Collazo smiled, “Still undecided…I am going to let Diego work his magic and see what happens. If she knows, she will break.”

Veracruz shifted his gaze to me. He looked conflicted, but didn’t say anything further. Collazo looked to Diego, nodding in my direction as he rasped out, “Comenzar.” (Begin.)

Diego stalked forward, then backhanded me across the cheek. I let out a threatening chuckle as I shook it off. “This isn’t gonna change my answer. I don’t know anything. All you’re doing is pissing me off.”

Collazo laughed, “Good thing we have you chained up then… Continuar, Diego.” (Continue, Diego.)

Diego gave me an empty stare before punching me in the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs. He went on like this for several minutes, punching and slapping. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I pushed through the pain. I refused to let them see how bad I was hurting, even as I felt my left eye swelling and blood running down the sides of my face. All the while Collazo continued to question me.

“Perhaps you could also fill me in on what happened at Lorea’s? Was Damien involved with that too? How much of my money does he actually have?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know anything about that. Maybe he was. If he’s capable of this, then why not? But I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me.”

Collazo inched forward, causing Diego to momentarily pause his blows and face him as he awaited further instructions.

“Are you sure you do not have anything you wish to tell me, Mya?” Collazo asked.

Clearly, this was going nowhere. It didn’t matter what I said. He didn’t believe me. I spit out the blood that was pooling in my mouth toward his expensive looking white leather shoes, “Yeah, fuck you.”

He didn’t seem impressed, “Still not breaking…I’m shocked. You are stronger than I would have guessed. Hora de tu especialidad, Diego.” (Time for your specialty, Diego.)

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Diego reach for the knife at his belt. A sadistic smile curling on his lips as he nodded in affirmation to his boss. However, he had made a mistake, standing too closely to me with his back turned. I reacted before he even realized what was happening, kicking the knife from his hand and using the chain as leverage to lift myself so I could wrap my legs around his neck. The adrenaline pumping through my veins allowed me to push through the debilitating pain, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hold him. Every muscle and joint in my body was protesting, but I still managed to clamp down tightly around his throat as he clawed at my jean-clad legs. He fought it for a time but eventually passed out from lack of oxygen.

Veracruz stood in shock as he watched Diego fall to his knees. Collazo let out a boisterous laugh and clapped his hands in amusement, “It’s always an adventure with you, Mya.”

I loosened my hold on Diego, allowing him to drop the rest of the way to the ground. I gave Collazo the best sarcastic smile I could muster in my current state, “Yeah? Why don’t you come a little closer so you can experience the adventure for yourself then.”

Collazo chuckled, “I am going to miss your feistiness.”

Veracruz finally interjected, “Perhaps she is telling the truth. It does not make sense that he would leave her if she knew something. Maybe he is planning to return for her?”

Collazo weighed Veracruz’s words, his eyes eventually narrowing in suspicion. “Then he will find that she is missing and that you wait in her place…Acaba con ella, Comandante.” (Finish her, Comandante.)

Fuck. How do I get out of this one?

Veracruz gave a curt nod, taking a deep breath as he drew his pistol and walked toward me. He made sure to stay far enough away that he was out of my reach, but I could still see the nervous sweat forming on his brow and conflict burning in his eyes as he aimed at my face. He held the weapon there, his nostrils flaring and jaw flexing as he clearly struggled with his instructions. I held his gaze, my eyes silently pleading with him in hopes it might sway him to help me in some way. If he didn’t, I was fucked.

“What are you waiting for, Comandante? Finish her,” Collazo ordered again.

I sighed. I didn’t want to do this, but it was the only card I had left to play if Veracruz wasn’t going to help me. I knew it would stop Collazo in his tracks, but I hated myself for it before the words even left my mouth. The Comandante’s finger slowly moved to the trigger, but he was still hesitating.

I flinched away from the barrel of the gun. “WAIT! Wait…” I finally called out.

Collazo sneered as he twisted his stupid mustache with his fingertips, “Better make it good, Mya. This is your last chance.”

I could feel the fight leaving my body as I finally shared the news that I hoped would save my life - at least until I could come up with another way out. “I know the location of Paititi.”

Veracruz lowered his weapon, then turned to give Collazo a questioning look. Collazo’s brows pinched together in doubt, “You lie.”

I shook my head, “I would never…not about this.”

He scoffed, “How do I know you are not just saying this so I do not kill you?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “Well, that’s exactly why I’m saying it…but it doesn't make it any less true. I’ve seen the Vatican documents. I know where to look.”

Collazo smiled contemptuously, “That’s impossible. They are inaccessible...How?”

This was the tricky part that was probably going to get me shot, “I-I can’t tell you how…but just know, if you shoot me, the knowledge dies with me. No one else knows about this, not even Damien.”

Veracruz smirked in my direction, “Well…it seems the secrets run deep between both of you then.”

I let out a sardonic laugh, “Damien never believed in Paititi…he said it was a wasted effort…a myth. I kept a lot from him...”

Collazo came closer but made sure to keep Veracruz positioned between us. “What are you proposing, Mya? How can I trust you after this?”

“Let me prove my loyalty. Let me lead an expedition to find the lost city for you. All I ask is that you let me do it the right way, the legal way. I just need funding…”

He didn’t seem convinced, but I was still breathing, so it wasn’t a no. I changed tactics, now playing the role of a hurt and scorned lover, “I swear, I had no knowledge of what Damien was doing. IF he comes back for me, I’ll kill him myself. He betrayed me too. I’m here because of what he did. I can’t forgive him for that.”

Collazo sighed, “If you want to do this the legal way, you know you cannot have any known ties to me…”

I had him. Death would not be taking me today, but I had to think quickly so I could talk myself out of this mess.

“I’ll figure out the logistics…Maybe I set up a donation fund through the gallery…you can donate anonymously to fund the project. I’ll give you access to whatever I find first before I report the discovery.”

This was far from how I wanted to do things, especially since I was hellbent on getting out of my life of crime, but I saw no other way forward at the moment.

Veracruz turned to Collazo, “If you’re willing to chance it, I can keep an eye on her…”

Collazo met my gaze, “Fine. One wrong move though…and you are done. You understand?”

I nodded, “Yes, I understand.”

My eyes shifted to Veracruz, who visibly relaxed, realizing the threat had passed. Collazo turned to leave and tossed him the key, “Cuida sus heridas.” (Take care of her wounds.)

He watched Collazo exit and close the door before he turned to me, leaning in close to my ear as he worked to unlock the cuffs, “I really thought I was about to have to shoot up the place to get you out of here. That was clever…how long can you keep this ruse going?”

The cuffs loosened, I groaned at the ache in my joints as I lowered my arms and leaned into him for support, “It’s not a ruse…I was telling the truth…”

My words trailed off as I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

I shook my head, my breath now shaky as the pain began to overtake me, “Fuck n-no. I-I think he cracked some ribs.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. I should have done something more…”

I winced as we began to walk, “No, I get it. It probably just would have gotten us both killed. You did what you could in the moment.”

Veracruz did have a soft spot for me, but I wasn’t a fool. He would never sacrifice himself for me. He wasn’t that selfless. He would only help so long as it didn’t put him in the crosshairs. He was an unreliable ally in the best of circumstances, and I knew that. At least he cared enough to see that I was taken care of while I recovered.

I knew I would have to watch out for myself as I plotted and planned because there were demons of deception around every corner. I could put my trust in no one, not even the one person I thought was safe. I was quickly learning they would all betray me in the end, which is why I wanted out of this life. I wanted to walk the straight and narrow again. The money was not worth death. It was getting too dangerous to continue living this way.

Six Months Later…

Frankie’s POV

I awoke with a groan, squinting toward the window to find the sun was just beginning to rise. The reason for my sudden waking, my cell phone incessantly pinging from incoming text messages on the nightstand. I didn’t even need to look to know that it was Pope. I huffed, reaching for the device to see what the hell he wanted this early in the morning.

Pope: We still on for the range today? I know we had a late night, but I’m still going.

Pope: Will and Benny are out. Apparently, Benny is feeling last night’s fight. He 100% got his ass kicked.

Pope: Which means Will is being his bitch today.

Pope: So, that leaves us. You better not stand me up, pendejo.

I rolled my eyes. Why can’t he just put all of that in one fucking message? He texts like a teenage girl.

Frankie: Chill the fuck out, pendejo. I’ll be there.

Pope: 9AM. Don’t be late.

Frankie: 🖕

Pope: 🖕🖕

I dropped the phone beside me on the bed and sighed. Without Benny and Will there, I knew Pope would start badgering me about going back for Lorea’s money. He was becoming almost obsessive over the idea. Not that I could blame him, having a little extra cash on hand would be a huge help right now. Supporting two households wasn’t easy, even if the new private security business was doing well.

I palmed at my sleepy face, trying to wake up. My eyes finally blinked open and surveyed my near empty bedroom. The bareness of the place was a constant reminder of how I had fucked everything up and ended up alone. Starting over was never fun, but this was torture knowing that my now ex-fiancé, Maria, had given me every chance and I squandered them. Now she was moving on, my young daughter now spending time with a new man in their life and calling him Papi while I fought for unsupervised visitation.

I had no one to blame but myself. I was the one who fell off the wagon and started a slow coke spiral after we got back from South America. What we had gone through, losing Tom, it was too much and we did it for nothing. We left with nothing to show for it but the body of our Captain. We got messy. I got messy. And it broke me. I should have put my foot down about how much weight that bird could carry. If I had, we might be living completely different lives right now. Tom might still be here.

I puffed air out of my cheeks before slinging the blanket off so I could go make some coffee. After padding down the short hallway of my very modest two-bedroom fixer-upper, I loaded up the coffee machine. I stood, leaning against the counter, scanning the space while the sputtering drips began to fall into the pot. I really needed to do something to make the place look less like military barracks and more like a home. Especially if I was eventually going to have my kid here. The mere thought of all the work that needed to be done made my chest feel tight. I had to shake my head to push the never-ending checklist out of my mind and focus on something else before it put me in an even worse mood.

Once my coffee was ready, I decided to sit out on the front porch swing to enjoy the calm of the morning. After getting comfortable, I let my mind run through several things that needed to be taken care of at the office. I was thinking through some budget requests while watching two squirrels chase each other around the base of an old Oak tree when movement on the street caught my attention. A blacked-out SUV crept down the road, eventually speeding up and disappearing around the corner. It put me on edge. It was too nice of a vehicle to be driving through this neighborhood.

I was probably just being paranoid, but the fear of one of Lorea’s business partner’s finding out who stole some of their money and then torched the rest was a very real concern - for me at least. The rest of the guys seemed to think we were in the clear. I wasn’t completely convinced, and it constantly had me on alert.

I sat for a while, my eyes scanning the quaint neighborhood I had chosen to settle down in, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Finding nothing, I eventually scoffed at myself, thinking that perhaps I was being ridiculous about this whole thing as I stood to go get ready to meet Pope.

A short time later, I found myself pulling into the gun range parking lot. This had become sort of a weekend routine for us. It served as an escape, allowing me to have a taste of the military life that I was so accustomed to before retiring. It was the only time I found that my mind was completely empty. There was something freeing about it, helping me to relax - most days. Today, however, was another story. I could tell from the look on Pope’s face as soon as he stepped out of his vehicle that he was cooking up some kind of plan.

He smiled as I approached, clapping me on the back in greeting, “Hey, hermano. You get enough sleep?”

I gave him a tight smile, “Could have gotten a little more if you weren’t texting me at the asscrack of dawn.”

Pope grimaced, “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Of course not... What did you book for us today?”

He turned to grab his duffel out of the backseat, “I got us two one-hundred-yard lanes. They only had one three-hundred open.”

I shook my head, “Figures. Alright, let’s go.”

The range was busy, for which I was thankful. It made it harder for Pope to get a word in. There was an eventual lull in the shooting, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He leaned in closer, pulling one side of his earmuffs away as we worked to reload. I did the same so I could hear what he had to say.

“I think I can get us into Columbia, off the radar. I’ve got a contact…”

I held up my hand, “Stop. I don’t wanna hear it.”

I could see the frustration on his face as his jaw tensed, “Come on Fish, this could work. I’ll cover the cost again…get the documents…everything. No one knows where that money is except for us. We shouldn’t run into any problems. There wouldn’t be any contact with the cartel. It’s a quick in and out.”

After inserting a fresh magazine into the rifle and replacing my earmuff, my lips set into a tight line. I gave him a tense look before stepping to the firing line to discharge at the target. My non-answer seemed to end the conversation, for now.

I took the time to get lost in the target, giving it all my focus as I peppered it with bullet holes in and around the center. My mind was finally quiet, and I reveled in it, wishing it would stay that way for the rest of the day. I knew that was wishful thinking though. It never did.

Once that magazine was empty, I returned to the table that separated my lane from Pope’s so I could reload. He joined me, staring off in the distance, seemingly distracted by something before finally turning his attention to me and removing his right muff. I did the same as I gave him a warning with my eyes.

“How’s it going with Maria? Any headway?”

I shook my head, “Nope. If she has it her way, I’ll get zero visitation. She’s done with me…won’t listen to anything I have to say. She doesn’t believe I’ve cleaned up my act.”

Pope sighed as he gave me a sympathetic look, “Sorry, hermano. I hoped she would come around. Don’t let it get you down though. We’ve got your back. Whatever you need…”

I nodded, “Yeah, I appreciate it. I might need you guys as character witnesses if it gets to that point.”

He gave me a soft reassuring smile, “Consider it done.”

His eyes drifted again as a larger caliber rifle began to sound off from the far lane. He seemed intrigued as I raised a questioning eyebrow at him. He glanced over at me, jerking his chin upward indicating I should have a look. It didn’t take me long to figure out what had his attention, or who rather. There was a woman in the farthest three-hundred-yard lane, lying on her stomach, shooting the high caliber rifle that had ended our conversation. She was wearing army green fatigues that definitely did not fit like military issue pants as they hugged her curvy hips and ass just right. She was also wearing a black ribbed tank top, black military style boots, and a black SWAT hat pulled down low over her aviators. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck. I could see why she had his attention. Aside from her attractive form, this wasn’t a sight we saw here very often.

As she stood, she turned toward us. Her eyes hidden behind the dark glasses with her lips set into a tight line, giving nothing away. I glanced at Pope, who seemed smitten already. I rolled my eyes at him as I stepped back up to the firing line. Hot women were always his weakness. He would disagree, but we all knew it.

When I returned to the table, it was clear Pope was still distracted as he continued to glance her way. His eyes finally met mine. “You been out with anyone since you and Maria split?” he asked.

I gave him an admonishing look as I shook my head. I didn’t feel like that was the best idea right now. I had too much going on.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, “Not saying you need to step into anything serious, but you do need to lighten up. A one-nighter might do you some good and help with that.”

I glared at him, “I’m not doing that. It always turns into trouble.”

He snorted, “Well…maybe you should be worse at it, so they don’t come back for more.”

I could feel my cheeks warming from his words as I flashed my middle finger at him, “Fuck off.”

He jerked his chin toward the last lane as the woman got into position again, hitting the three-hundred-yard target dead center when she finally shot off a round.

“You should go ask her out.”

I scoffed, “No. I’m not…”

Pope jutted his hip out, putting his weight on one foot, “Come on… Maria’s moving on. It’s time you did too.”

I could feel my jaw flexing at the mention of that, “No. Just let it go.”

Pope chuckled, “Yeah, I don’t blame you. That looks like too much woman for you to handle anyway. She’d probably kick your ass…I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

I shook my head, giving him an exasperated look, “What the hell does that even mean?”

He gave me a mischievous smile as he shrugged, then turned toward the firing line to begin shooting again.

Fucker. I was half tempted to talk to her just to prove a point.

I suddenly felt like eyes were on me as I glanced back over at the woman. I couldn’t tell because of her glasses, but it appeared that she was looking directly at me with a small smirk on her full lips. One eyebrow raised slightly as she picked up another clip, returning to the rifle to reload it. Now I was intrigued.

By the time Pope and I finished off our last magazine, she was gone. As we walked to the parking lot, Pope was quietly berating himself for letting the opportunity pass before he asked if I thought she might be back again. I shrugged, somewhat amused over his new infatuation because I knew he would be distracted by someone else as soon as he stepped foot into the bar later this evening.

After our goodbyes, I made my way to the local auto parts store to pick up a couple of specialty tools that I needed for a restoration I was currently working on in my spare time. I had inherited my dad’s dark red 1970 Chevelle SS 454 when he passed away several years ago. We always said we would work together to fix it up, but it never happened. Instead, it sat idle in his garage for years. It did the same after I took over ownership of it, not having the time or the energy for it. Now that I was alone, I found myself with plenty of opportunities and the need to keep myself occupied. It was another one of those things that helped keep my mind distracted when I needed it most. I was actually thankful for it even though it was turning into an expensive project.

With the new tools in tow, I returned home. After making myself a quick sandwich and scarfing it down, I sequestered myself away in the dilapidated shack beside the house that was meant to serve as a garage. It quickly became my refuge, and I had zero complaints about it - even if it did have a leaky roof and shitty lighting. It got the job done and that was all that mattered.

I spent all afternoon working, attempting to keep my mind from drifting to thoughts of the large bags full of money hidden in the Andes mountains of Chile. After the cluster fuck we got into last time we were in South America, I was having a hard time reconciling the idea of going back. Pope was right, we had no reason to interact with the cartels this time. We could easily sneak in and collect the cash without anyone knowing, assuming it was still where we left it.

What we should do about the money was a constant internal battle for me. I didn’t know if I should accept Pope’s reasoning over mine. However, the fear of losing another team member acted as a grey cloud that hung over my head and kept me from going back. I couldn’t go through that again. It affected every decision I had made since we got back. I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. The risk was too high without guarantee of a reward.

While I respected Pope’s attempts, I still had to consider outside forces that we had no control over. He had all of the trust in the world for his ‘contacts,’ but I didn’t. It would only take one of them to tip off the cartel if they got wind of what we were doing. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I had spent hours going through every angle, all the possible problems we could run into. All of his plans seemed too dangerous, leaving too many unknowns. He just needed to accept that as my final decision and stop trying to rope us into another one of his crazy plans.

That was my final thought on it - for today anyway.

Mya’s POV

I had been planning the expedition for six months, meticulously researching every detail. That’s how I ended up at the local gun range for the last three Saturdays, doing a little recon on the owner of the security firm I was looking to hire. Collazo offered to provide security, but I needed this to be as far removed from him as possible to protect the reputation of my Gallery and the Archaeology Preservation Foundation that I had set up to fund the dig. Veracruz would still be on site to keep an eye on things, but all other aspects of the project were up to me and that included keeping my team safe.

Delta 5 Security Solutions had been recommended to me by a number of high-profile locals. It was owned by a military veteran named Francisco Morales, who worked to keep other veterans employed. Because of this, Delta 5 Security Solutions seemed much more equipped to handle the dangers of the Peruvian jungle than other firms. Word on the street was that they even offered specialized air transport services, on occasion. I needed a couple of pilots, so they seemed to check all the boxes. It would save me from having to set up multiple contracts at least.

The more time I spent watching Francisco, the more I questioned if he was the right choice. He definitely didn’t have the brightest of personalities, often seeming frustrated and stressed when he arrived at the range - like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I could, however, see his focus and determination as he fired at the targets. He was a good shot and exuded authority and control with his weapon. Sure, he came across as a little disheveled and scruffy, but there was something under the surface that intrigued me just enough to see where things went.

Like most Saturdays, Francisco wasn’t alone for his latest outing. He was accompanied by one of his employees, Santiago Garcia. Santiago seemed a lot more easy going and appeared to enjoy pushing Francisco’s buttons based on the serious side eye that was being thrown his way. From the intel I had gathered, these two, along with the Miller brothers, all served in the same military unit and seemed to be close friends in addition to running the security firm together. I had been watching all of them over the last several weeks to get a feel for their dynamic. I could see that they were loyal to each other and worked well together. It was almost for those reasons alone that I felt they would be a good fit. At least they understood loyalty and it left me wondering how loyal they could be to me if things took a turn.

However, I knew this all hinged on Francisco accepting the job. I had been warned that he wasn’t big on risks and wasn’t afraid to turn jobs down for that reason. He really was an enigma that I couldn’t figure out. Aside from his gruff demeanor, he seemed quiet and introspective - a reluctant leader, but the guy in charge, nonetheless. He also seemed to be having some life struggles but appeared to be on the upswing from those. I was concerned that it could serve as a distraction for him, but I still found myself wanting him and his team. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. My gut told me there was more to him than meets the eye and I wanted the opportunity to peel back those layers so I could find out who he really was as a person.

As I positioned myself on the ground to shoot the high caliber rifle that I had rented from the range, I could feel eyes on me. It probably wasn't the best choice since I hadn’t intended to draw attention to myself. There weren't a lot of women at the range, let alone any shooting a weapon like this at three-hundred yards. After hitting the target with multiple rounds, I stood, adjusting my aviators as I glanced toward the two men I was here to watch, realizing that I definitely had Santiago’s attention. Francisco gave me a brief glance before stepping up to shoot his own rifle. I had to give it to him; he didn’t allow for distractions. Santiago on the other hand, seemed to have at least one weakness. Women. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes over that realization as I packed up to leave.

After running home to shower and change into more professional attire, I headed toward my antiquities gallery to open for the day. Soon after opening, a well-dressed gentleman with dark hair and a beard entered, immediately asking to speak with the owner. The first thing I noticed were his kind eyes and submissive nature. He definitely had the tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. Once I introduced myself, he got down to business with a polite smile.

“I apologize for showing up without an appointment, but I got a lead on this painting and wanted to follow up on it right away. I’m looking to purchase and pay cash if you have it…or can point me in the right direction.”

I returned his polite smile with one of my own, “If you can provide me with the details, I’d be happy to check our inventory for you.”

He pulled out his phone, tapping away to pull up a picture, “It's the Cazador (The Hunter), by Luis Magin…a 20th century Maya oil painting.”

I could feel my blood run cold as my body tensed. This was a missing painting listed in the National Stolen Art File. I was taken aback that this man would be asking for stolen artwork. He didn’t seem the type.

I laughed nervously, “Sir, I’m sorry…but we don’t sell stolen art. I’m not sure why you were sent here…”

He reached to pull a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, revealing Damien’s name scribbled on it. I could feel my breathing pick up as I fought to stay calm. Something felt wrong about this.

“I was told you could put me in contact with Damien Ravenwood…”

He seemed a little pushier now, like that name was supposed to magically solve the problem.

I shook my head, “I no longer associate with Damien Ravenwood…for obvious reasons. I don’t allow black market antiquities in my gallery.”

The man narrowed his eyes slightly, “My apologies. It must be a misunderstanding…”

His words trailed off as he reached inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a business card, handing it over as he continued, “If he happens to show up…for any reason at all, please give me a call. I’d love to lock him down for a few minutes of his time.”

I glanced at the name on the card, Vincent Delacroix. It was obviously fake - a mashup of two famous painter’s names. There was nothing else on the card but a phone number. I gave him a tight-lipped smile as I waved the card in the air, “Yeah, sure, Mr. Delacroix. I’ll be sure to send him your way.”

There was something seriously off with this guy. I wasn’t sure if he was a black-market buyer or working undercover. Either way, I did not want to be in the middle of it. ‘Mr. Delacroix’ nodded and smiled before moving toward the exit. He paused halfway to the door, turning back in my direction, “I’m assuming you no longer have contact with Miguel Collazo either then? Or Persephone, by chance?

I could feel my jaw clench at the mention of Collazo and my black-market alias. I shook my head, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve had any dealings with those individuals.”

He gave me a charming smile in return, “Yeah, I thought that might be the case. Never hurts to ask...Thank you for your time, Miss Carnahan.”

He hesitated briefly, still smiling as he turned to leave. Once he finally exited the building, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.

I was startled from my thoughts when my archivist, Emily, appeared at my side. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea…if he shows back up, come get me. No one else talks to him. Understood?”

She nodded in agreement.

The day was certainly taking a turn that I hadn’t expected. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about as it was, it felt like something else had just been added to the list.

Chapter 2: The Divine Source

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to shoot me a DM or leave a comment.

A/N: SURPRISE! I know I said I wouldn’t start posting until Closed Position was complete, but it’s taking me for fucking ever to finish that one and I think I’ve made you wait long enough. Since I’ve got a decent start with this lovey adventure, I’ll go ahead and start posting. 😘

Now that we’ve gotten the first chapter out of the way, what are your thoughts? How are we feeling about Mya and Frankie? We definitely started with a bang (no pun intended).

I know I teased that Veracruz would be making an appearance. It turns out…he may have a slightly bigger role than I originally planned. We need a little extra tension with Frankie and I think Veracruz will serve as an excellent plot device for that. How do we feel about him so far? 🤭

We had another special appearance too. Anyone want to take a guess on who Mya’s surprise visitor is?

In the next chapter: Mya will drop in to visit the boys, Frankie has a decision to make, Mya accidentally gets a little nerdy on Frankie, and Frankie and Veracruz cross paths. Please do share your predictions. 😏

Tag group 1:

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[yunholic-jongholic]

From Tension to Tenderness | J.YH x Reader

SUMMARY | You have been trying to get Yunho's attention all day, but he keeps promising you one more round or five more minutes on his game. It’s bad enough you are wearing his hoodie and you and Yunho have a big fight. A bit later, Yunho feels bad about their previous treatment of you and tries to make amends. This, somehow, ends up with soft, gentle make up sex.

PAIRINGS | Yunho x Fem!Reader

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | One Shot, Some Fighting/Arguing, NSFW, Smut, Make Up Sex, Fingering, Praise Kink, Hand Kink, Breast-play, Unprotected Sex (Don't do that.), Creampie. Drug-Use-Mentioning, Alcoholism-Mentioning (I might miss some, not sure... Sorry if I did!)

WORD COUNT | 2.2k

AUTHOR NOTE | Screaming, Crying, Throwing Up. Y'ALL I FOR REAL FELT LIGHTHEADED WRITING THIS ONE. ANYWAYS FINALLY A YUNHO STORY!!! I AM SO SORRY for being this late lmao. I struggled with wanting to make a Yunho story but every topic I kept finding I found for other members more. lol Anyways, hope you enjoy my fellow hotteok sister wives!

•

Yunho was sprawled on the couch in the living room, fully immersed in his video game. Meanwhile, you were in the bedroom, getting dressed after a refreshing shower. As you glanced around, you noticed his hoodie crumpled on the floor. Picking it up, you brushed off a bit of dust, the fabric still warm from his body. Without thinking much, you slipped it on, the faint scent of him lingering, a comforting reminder that he’d just worn it moments ago before diving into his game. You went to the living room and sat beside him watching him play his game.

"Hey," you said softly with a gentle smile, not really expecting a response since he was completely locked into his game. You moved closer, the familiar sounds of the game filling the room, and gently rested your head on his shoulder. The warmth of his presence and the steady rhythm of his breathing brought a comforting sense of calm as you relaxed beside him, content just to be near him.

"Yunho..." you hummed softly, your voice laced with a hint of neediness as you sought his attention. He glanced at you briefly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips but didn’t respond. Determined, you scooted closer, nuzzling into the curve of his neck, your voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "Can you take a break? I want to cuddle with you."

He let out a small sigh, fingers still moving swiftly on the controller. "Just one more round, we’re almost done. Don’t worry, I’ll be yours in five minutes," he replied, eyes glued to the screen. You let out an exaggerated whine, clearly unimpressed with his usual excuse. "That’s always your response..." you pouted, crossing your arms dramatically.

You took his half-hearted apology as a sign that he was done and ready to give you, his attention. Without hesitation, you gently reached out, turning his face towards yours, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. For a brief moment, Yunho melted into the kiss, his lips responding warmly to yours.

But just as you thought you had won, he pulled back slightly, a sly grin flickering on his face, and—without missing a beat—started a new game. You stared at him in disbelief, your mouth slightly agape. "Seriously?" you huffed, your pout returning with full force.

Yunho chuckled under his breath, clearly amused, his eyes never leaving the screen. "I swear, after this one," he mumbled, though you knew better than to trust that promise. Determined, you plotted your next move—because this wasn’t over. You waited a couple more minutes and around he was nearly done with the round of his game. You laid on his lap wrapping your arms around his waist smiling up at him.

"Fuck!" Yunho let out a frustrated curse as his game ended in defeat once again. His irritation was palpable as he abruptly set the controller down, gently but absentmindedly pushing you to the side as he stood up, running his hands through his hair in annoyance. You huffed out angrily as he pushed you to the side.

"No, I’m sorry, but I really need to beat this round right now," Yunho groaned, plopping back down on the opposite side of the couch. Frustrated, he snatched up his controller, ready to start a new game. But before he could, you marched over and snatched the controller right out of his hands.

"Okay, you know what? I’m only asking for five minutes to cuddle. Just five minutes. You easily find time to play your games, even though you’re on them all day when I’m at work and school. You could be playing then," you snapped, letting out a heavy, frustrated sigh, your patience wearing thin. He got up towering above you and stared down at you. You went silent, your lips trembling into a pout as you felt a sting behind your eyes, tears threatening to fall. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you finally spoke, your voice soft but laced with hurt.

"Yunho, I work every day to help us afford this life together. All I’m asking for is a little time with you. But it feels like you’d rather be glued to your games—you’re acting like you’re addicted." Your gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet his eyes as your heart ached.

In an instant, Yunho’s frustration shifted. His hand reached out, firm but not harsh, as he gently gripped your face, tilting it up so your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, sharp like daggers, filled with a mix of anger, guilt, and something else buried deep beneath the surface—something unspoken.

"I am not addicted, and if I was, you should be glad I’m not addicted to drugs or alcohol—something that could actually hurt you," Yunho growled through gritted teeth, his frustration boiling over. His harsh words hit you like a slap, and a slight shiver ran through your body. You pushed him away, the sting of his tone and the weight of his words sending tears streaming down your face.

"Well, I am glad you’re not…" you whispered, your voice trembling, thick with emotion. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. Your heart pounding, you turned and walked quickly to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you. The sharp click of the lock echoed in the silence that followed, leaving Yunho standing there, the air heavy with words that couldn’t be taken back.

About an hour had passed, the room now filled with the faint remnants of your quiet sobs, your tears soaked into the pillow you’d clung to like a fragile anchor. The weight of your first real fight with Yunho sat heavy in your chest, a painful contrast to the warmth and laughter that usually filled the space you shared. The man who had been your rock, your comfort, and your partner for three years now felt like a stranger—just on the other side of the door.

A soft knock echoed through the silence, hesitant and careful, as if Yunho wasn’t sure whether to disturb you or not. You closed your eyes, a small whine escaping your lips, the ache of the argument still fresh. You weren’t ready—not yet. Facing him meant confronting the hurt, the sharp words, and the emotions tangled in between.

Another knock followed, softer this time, almost like an apology wrapped in the sound. You pulled the blanket tighter around you, turning away from the door, fighting the urge to open it. The memory of his frustrated gaze lingered in your mind, but so did the warmth of all the moments you’d shared nights filled with whispered dreams, spontaneous laughter, and gentle touches.

But right now, all of that felt distant. You weren’t sure if you were ready to close that distance just yet. You heard Yunho's voice softly speak from the other side of the door.

"Y/N… can you please open the door?" Yunho's voice came through softly, filled with a hint of regret. You let out a heavy sigh, pushing yourself up from the bed. Slowly, you made your way to the door, hesitating for a brief moment before unlocking it. As you opened the door, your eyes met his, searching for something unspoken in his gaze. Without a word, he stepped inside, his presence filling the room as the tension hung in the air between you. Yunho hugged you softly wrapping his arms around your body. His warmth somehow comforted you.

"I'm sorry for the argument earlier..." he murmured with a sigh, his arms still wrapped securely around you. With a deep breath, you slowly lifted your arms—though they felt weighed down by lingering emotions—and gently wrapped them around his waist, returning his embrace. He slowly picked you up into his arms carrying you to the bed suggesting he wanted to cuddle and be comforted.

"I don't like we fought. I am really sorry baby." He whispered to you looking down at you as he softly pressed his lips against yours. You accepted his apology and continued to kiss him. You felt his arms lift your waist again now making you sit up on his lap.

"Let me make it up to you... I want you to know how much I love you..." he whispered and soon you felt his hands go up your body but underneath your clothes. He continued to kiss you, but it got more passionate. You felt his hand snap your bra off and he helped you take it off but leaving his sweater on you. You felt extremely warm feeling his hand caress your bare skin underneath his/your sweater.

"Yunho..." you hummed, shifting on his lap as he kept caressing your body. His lips now attached to your neck as he laid you on the bed and lifted the sweater to your chest exposing your breasts. Yunho softly placed his hand over one gently squeezing and rubbing the nipple with his thumb, causing you to moan softly. You pulled his face up from your neck to kiss him again. He then sat up and pulled your pants and underwear off along with his clothes. He was fully aroused in the moment and only needed you.

"I love you so much, you are so beautiful." Yunho whispered into your ear as he pulled u back onto his lap, now having your back face him as he lifted your legs up over his legs. His lips attached to your neck once again, now sliding his hand down your inner thigh caressing it. You felt the heat rush to your core getting you excited.

"I love you too Yunho." You moaned out as you felt one of his fingers rub against your cunt. You felt his other hand crawl up your waist onto your chest again as he squeezed and played with one of your breasts. You moaned a bit louder, feeling yourself melt in under his touch. Yunho finally slid one finger in between your folds commenting how wet you already are. You didn't respond only just so deep into this heating moment. Yunho groaned as he started practically fucking you with his finger causing you to moan louder.

"Yunho please!" You begged him gripping his wrist as he now shoved another finger in. It aroused him even more that you were weak and helpless when it comes to his hands, and he knew how to use them against you. You were now digging your nails into his wrists, moaning, and grinding upwards. He groaned at your actions.

"Fuck." he exhaled and kissed your neck deeply squeezing your breast even more as if it was a stress ball relaxing him. You threw your head back fighting the urge to moan extremely loud by biting your lip. Yunho couldn't take it anymore; he needed you so much now. He pulled his fingers out and laid you on your back hovering above you. You gave him a soft look in his eyes full of deep lust and love.

"You drive me absolutely crazy," he chuckles softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. Yunho lifts one leg as he aligns the tip of his cock right against your entrance. He slowly pushes in groaning at the feeling. He leans over you and starts thrusting into you. You moan nonstop now.

You slip your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your lips meet again, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that speaks volumes. His hands instinctively find their way to your waist, holding you as if afraid to let go, the tension from earlier melting away with every passing second.

Yunho thrusts in deeper causing you to whine from the pleasure. You felt your insides practically melting as his tip kissed your sweet spot causing you to let out higher and louder moans.

"Yunho!" You almost scream feeling him now practically getting sloppier with his thrusts. Yunho's cock was twitching inside you causing your sensitive insides to wrap around him nicely. He groaned whispering in your ear, "I am about to cum." He wrapped his hand over your neck sitting up as he was now pounding deep inside you.

"Please..." you moaned loudly, soon he gave one final deep thrust before cumming inside. You felt his warmth leave you as he pulled out. You were both panting exhaustedly. Yunho laid down beside you and kissed your lips softly wrapping his arms around you cuddling you.

"I love you very much Y/N." Yunho smiled at you. You smiled back kissing his nose, "I love you too Yunho." you giggled feeling better you both made up.

•

I am weak on my knees right now. I for real felt so lightheaded and dizzy writing this. this is absolutely insane. I am sorry for annoying y'all with stories... Lol.

[misshoneyimhome]

What’s up, buttercups! 💕 Welcome back to chapter two of The Benchwarmer! First off—thank you so much for all the love and excitement you’ve shared for this story already. Seeing your reactions has been the absolute best, and I’m beyond excited to keep unfolding this journey with you!

Now, in case you’re wondering—will there ever be any intimate interactions between Reader and Auston? Oh, absolutely ✨ Have I made this a painfully slow burn that’s torturing even me with the suspense? Also yes🔥 Happy reading, my darlings! 💕✨

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, no warnings

Word count: 6.3K Chapter one

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter two: #MysteryQueen

::

“Dearest Toronto readers, it seems we have a mystery on our hands. Last night’s charity gala gave us glitz, glamour, and a moment that has the internet on fire. Forget the perfectly tailored suits, designer gowns, and champagne flutes—because what truly stole the show was one unexpected stumble and the instant chemistry that followed.

Our beloved Ice King, Auston Matthews, found himself caught in an uncharacteristically warm moment with an unidentified woman whose presence has ignited more conspiracy theories than a Stanley Cup drought. A fleeting touch, a lingering gaze, and now a photo has been seen around the world. Toronto can’t stop talking about it, and #MysteryQueen is trending faster than you can say, ‘Hat trick.’

Could the Ice King’s frosty demeanour finally be thawing?

Now, let’s not forget the timing, dear readers. With Matthews stepping into the captain’s role this season, his every move has been scrutinised. A new relationship would add fuel to the fire, making the stakes higher than ever. But this columnist can’t help but wonder—does the man who keeps everyone at arm’s length finally have someone worth letting in?

Stay tuned, Toronto. This season has just begun, and the story is heating up – so you know I’ll be here to bring you every detail.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer.”

_

Monday -

The shrill sound of your alarm cut through the quiet of your bedroom, jolting you awake with a groggy start. You fumbled to silence it, groaning as you buried your face back into the pillow. The events of the gala were already slipping into a hazy blur—clinking glasses, polished speeches, and that awkward but fleeting moment with Auston Matthews. Another long night of work, another day ahead. Same routine, different Monday.

Except… your phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.

The incessant buzzing broke through your grogginess like a second alarm. You squinted at the screen, your vision struggling to adjust to the early morning light filtering through the blinds. Notification after notification lit up your phone, the vibration almost rattling it off your nightstand. You reached for it, dread prickling at the edges of your still-sleepy mind. Why was everyone blowing up your phone?

You swiped it open only to see your group chat with Jess and Maya was on fire.

Jess (7:23 AM): OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS?

Maya (7:24 AM): You’re all over X! #MysteryQueen is trending, babe!

Your heart skipped a beat, confusion settling in your chest like a lead weight. Trending? That couldn’t be right. With trembling fingers, you tapped the link Jess had sent, a sinking feeling in your gut as the page loaded.

It took a moment—your Wi-Fi felt sluggish, though it was probably just your nerves slowing time to a crawl. When the image finally appeared, your breath caught.

There it was: the photo. The one everyone seemed to be talking about.

Auston Matthews’ hands were firmly wrapped around your torso, his smirk that perfect mix of charm and confidence, while your face betrayed every ounce of surprise and embarrassment you’d felt in that moment. Cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide—you looked like you’d stumbled straight out of a romance novel and into his arms.

The lighting, the angle, the backdrop—it was all too good. Soft, golden hues framed the two of you like the culmination of a carefully planned rom-com climax. Whoever had captured the moment had turned a fleeting accident into what now appeared to be undeniable chemistry.

Above the photo, the headline read: “Has the Ice King finally been dethroned? Who is this stunning Mystery Queen?”

Your stomach churned as you scrolled through the attached comments. They were relentless.

“Who is she???”

“She’s gorgeous! Can we ship this already?”

“Ice King has a Queen! Loving this”

Memes were already circulating: the two of you photoshopped onto movie posters, side-by-side shots of you under headlines like “Toronto’s Hottest Couple?” Theories ranged from harmless to absurd—everything from claims you were his secret girlfriend to guesses about your astrological compatibility.

Your phone buzzed again.

Jess (7:26 AM): You broke the internet, Queen. Do we bow now, or…?

Maya (7:30 AM): You’re literally famous. Like, for real. Can we talk about how hot Auston Matthews looked holding you?

A groan escaped you as you tossed your phone back onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. “This can’t be happening…”

You stayed like that for a moment, letting the panic wash over you. Your mind raced as you replayed the moment in question. It had been nothing. A stumble, a quick save, a polite exchange, and you’d moved on. How had it spiralled into this?

Your laptop sat on your desk, its sleek, black screen staring back at you like it dared you to confirm just how bad things were. Hesitating, you opened it and typed in the dreaded hashtag: #MysteryQueen.

The search results were overwhelming. Page after page of posts, photos, and speculation. Your name hadn’t surfaced yet—thankfully—but that didn’t stop people from trying to piece together every detail about you. Some users had gone so far as to zoom in on your necklace, debating whether it was a gift from Auston.

You groaned again, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your temples. Stress bubbled in your chest, threatening to spill over. Jess and Maya’s texts kept pinging, a mix of teasing and encouragement that you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

Jess: “So… when are you introducing us to Auston?”

Maya: “Not to be dramatic, but if you don’t milk this for all it’s worth, I’ll be mad.”

You snorted despite yourself, though the laugh was hollow. You opened your email, desperate for a distraction or a sense of normalcy, but the subject line at the top of your inbox snatched that hope away: “We need to talk about last night.”

It was from your boss.

Your stomach sank further as you glanced at the clock. 7:45 AM. Not even time for coffee.

“Perfect,” you muttered, slamming your laptop shut. This wasn’t just damage control anymore—this was survival. You needed to get ready for work, figure out how to salvage your career, and pray the internet had a short attention span.

_

The soft hum of the city buzzed faintly in the background as Auston Matthews stood in his kitchen, barefoot on the cool tile floor. He scrolled through his phone with one hand while expertly cracking an egg into a sizzling pan with the other. The aroma of coffee brewing filled the space, mingling with the faint sound of the egg frying. It was a typical morning—except for the buzzing chaos of his phone on the counter, vibrating with relentless notifications.

His phone rattled against the marble again. He leaned over, smirking as the latest messages lit up the screen.

Mitchy (7:15 AM): “Nice work, Captain. Saving PR girls in distress now?”

Auston chuckled softly, shaking his head. Mitch’s commentary was always reliable.

A second buzz followed.

Willy (7:20 AM): “Does she have a sister? Asking for a friend.”

He snorted, typing out a quick reply: “You’d have no chance, Willy.”

Sliding the eggs onto a plate, Auston grabbed a bottle of Prime from the fridge. He leaned back against the counter, sipping casually while thumbing through social media. There it was—the photo that had set the internet on fire.

The hashtags were as relentless as the messages from his teammates:

#MysteryQueen

#IceKingAndQueen

#CoupleGoals

Fans were analysing every pixel of the image: the way he leaned slightly toward you, his smirk soft and almost intimate, the subtle tilt of your head that made it seem like the two of you were the only ones in the room. It was absurd, the way a split-second interaction had been turned into a viral sensation.

His phone buzzed again.

Mitchy (7:32 AM): “So? You bringing her to practice? Or is this another ‘one night and done’ thing?”

Auston rolled his eyes and typed back, “Jealous, Marner?”

The reply came instantly.

Mitchy: “Of you? Never. Of her? Maybe.”

Auston let out a low laugh, setting his phone down with a soft clink. The teasing didn’t bother him. If anything, it amused him. Let them speculate. Let the internet obsess over the photo. He had always been good at playing into the media’s games while staying one step ahead.

He finished his breakfast in thoughtful silence, his mind briefly wandering back to the gala. The night had been standard fare: sponsors, schmoozing, and carefully crafted soundbites. But then there had been you—stumbling into his space, equal parts flustered and sharp-witted. You had been anything but predictable, and that, more than anything, had caught his attention.

The photo had turned a fleeting moment into a viral phenomenon. Now, he was caught up in the swirl of speculation, but unlike most, he didn’t mind. It was fun.

For now, though, there was training to get to. Auston grabbed his bag and headed out, smirking at his phone one last time before silencing the endless stream of notifications. The Ice King wasn’t worried—he was just getting started.

_

Arriving at the office felt like stepping onto a stage where you were the unwitting star of a play you hadn’t auditioned for. The usual hum of activity—clicking keyboards, ringing phones, snippets of muted conversation—was still there, but today, it had a charged edge. Every sound felt sharper, every glance lingered a second too long, and the air seemed to buzz with anticipation, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

You pushed through the glass doors, clutching your bag tightly as your heels clicked against the polished tile. The receptionist, a chipper woman named Clara who usually greeted you with a bright smile and a cheerful good morning, faltered for a split second before recovering. Her eyes flicked to her computer screen, her cheeks pink as if you’d caught her mid-gossip. She returned your nod with a stiff smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, her hand nervously adjusting a stack of papers on her desk.

You offered her a polite “Morning” and continued down the hall, the weight of invisible eyes trailing you like static electricity. The whispers started almost immediately, barely muffled by the thin partitions between desks.

“Is that her?” a voice murmured, not even bothering to lower the volume much.

“I told you it was!” another hissed in reply. “She’s the one from the photo. Did you see how close they were?”

You felt your skin prickle, a flush creeping up your neck. It wasn’t just the whispers—it was the sidelong glances, the quick turns of heads as you passed, the way conversations halted the moment you entered a room. They didn’t need to say your name for you to know exactly what they were talking about.

The now-infamous image of you and Auston Matthews—locked in what looked like a moment of intimate connection—had spread through the office like wildfire. It had morphed you from a background player into the unwelcome centre of attention. Each step felt heavier than the last, your confidence sinking further as you imagined the scenarios they must be concocting. Yet, despite the murmurs, no one dared to approach you directly. They simply stared, whispered, and speculated, leaving you to endure the attention in silence.

By the time you reached your desk, your nerves were stretched taut. You dropped your bag next to the chair and slumped into the seat, staring blankly at your computer screen. The open layout of the office, which usually fostered collaboration, now felt stifling. Every glance felt like a spotlight, every quiet chuckle like it was aimed at you. Your chest tightened as if the walls were closing in.

A soft ping from your computer startled you. You opened your inbox with shaky hands, hoping for a mundane email to ground you. Instead, your heart sank as you read the subject line: “Meeting: 9:30 AM – Mr. Manion’s Office.”

Your stomach flipped. Of course. Your boss wasn’t going to let this slide without a formal discussion.

The clock read 9:30 AM sharp when you stood outside your boss’s office, taking a deep breath to steel yourself. The glass door reflected your image back at you—your blazer slightly wrinkled from the walk, your fingers clutching a tablet like a shield. You forced yourself to smooth down your hair, adjust your blouse, and plaster on a neutral expression. You knocked twice, the sound sharp and hollow.

“Come in,” came the brisk reply.

The door swung open almost immediately, revealing the imposing space. Your boss’s office was the epitome of professionalism—sharp lines, muted tones, and a sense of order that bordered on sterile. Framed photos of MLSE milestones lined the walls, alongside neatly mounted jerseys signed by players he'd worked with countless times - hockey, baseball, basketball. The desk was immaculate, save for a single folder that sat directly in the centre. You didn’t need to look closer to know what was inside it.

Mr. Manion, your boss, a no-nonsense man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetually stern expression, gestured for you to sit. You perched stiffly on the edge of the leather chair, gripping the armrests like they might keep you grounded. The silence in the room stretched, the tension palpable as he flipped open the folder and scanned its contents.

Finally, he looked up, his brows knitting together in faint disapproval. “You’re aware of the situation, I assume?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, your voice steady despite the unease twisting in your stomach. “I’ve seen the photo.”

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied you. “Good. Then you understand why this is an issue. This photo—and the ridiculous frenzy it’s caused—has overshadowed what was supposed to be a highlight of our season. The charity event. The teams. Not…” He gestured vaguely toward you, his gaze unyielding. “You.”

The words landed like a slap, even though you’d braced yourself for them. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. “I understand completely.”

“Do you?” His tone sharpened, his eyes narrowing. “Because right now, this office looks less like a PR department and more like the set of a reality show. And if there’s one thing I don’t tolerate, it’s distractions. Our focus is the client. Always the client.”

You nodded quickly, your cheeks burning. “I’ll fix it.”

He leaned forward, his gaze unrelenting. “Good. I’ve organised that you'll be at the hockey game tonight. You’ll work with the MLSE media team to redirect the narrative. Shift the attention back to the players, the franchise—anything but this viral nonsense. Understood?”

“Yes,” you replied, your voice firm even as the weight of his expectations settled on your shoulders.

“And another thing,” he added, his tone softening but his expression remaining stern. “You’ll be working with Chase.”

Your stomach dropped. Of all people. Chase, the golden boy of the department who had an uncanny ability to make every situation about himself. Smug, self-assured, and relentless in his pursuit of credit for others’ work, he was the last person you wanted to be paired with.

“Chase?” you repeated, unable to keep the dismay out of your voice.

“Yes,” Mr. Manion said with finality. “He’s handled high-pressure situations before, and I expect you two to work together professionally to resolve this. No more distractions. No more headlines.”

You forced a tight smile. “Understood.”

“Good,” he said, closing the folder with a decisive snap. “Don’t let me down.”

The walk back to your desk felt even longer than the one to his office. Chase. Seriously... You could already picture his self-satisfied grin, the condescending tone he’d use to offer “advice.” The idea of spending the evening with him—let alone relying on him—made your skin crawl.

You slumped into your chair, your head spinning. The whispers around the office seemed to grow louder, like static building to a crescendo. You wanted to disappear, to crawl under your desk and wait for the world to forget the photo. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t an option.

Maybe, you thought for a brief moment, this could be an opportunity. Not the one you’d envisioned, but a chance nonetheless. If you could handle the media circus, Chase’s smugness, and the weight of your boss’s expectations, you’d prove you belonged here—not just as a worker, but as a leader.

Straightening your spine, you smoothed invisible wrinkles from your blouse. No more photos. No more moments. No more headlines. Just fix this and move forward.

Easy enough. Right?

_

The Maple Leafs’ locker room was alive with its usual pre-practice energy. The air buzzed with the familiar sounds of hockey prep—sticks being taped with meticulous precision, skate blades being checked and tightened, and gear bags being unzipped with sharp zings. The smell of sweat, leather, and faint traces of menthol liniment filled the room, but today, the usual pre-game hum carried an extra spark.

All eyes were on Auston Matthews.

“Yo, Tony!” Mitch’s voice broke through the din, instantly commanding attention. He was perched precariously on the bench, one foot up like a man about to deliver the Gettysburg Address. “So, do we call her your soulmate, or was she just your ‘weekend highlight’?”

The room erupted in laughter. Mitch, ever the instigator, milked the moment with exaggerated gestures, holding his heart like he’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow. Auston, unfazed, shrugged off his jacket, hanging it neatly in his stall as though Mitch hadn’t spoken at all.

“Neither,” Auston replied, his tone so smooth and casual it bordered on bored. “But thanks for your concern, Mitchy. Really warms my heart.”

“Oh, I’m concerned,” Mitch shot back, leaping down from the bench with dramatic flair. “It’s not every day our Captain makes romantic headlines off the ice.”

Matthew Knies chimed in next, leaning back lazily in his stall. His grin, wicked and knowing, spread like wildfire across his face. “You gonna share the story, or are you keeping this one all to yourself? Come on, Cappy. Did you at least get her number? Or is this just another no-strings situation?”

Auston finally glanced over, one brow arching in mock amusement. “Don’t you have a mirror to stare at, Kniesy? Go admire yourself somewhere else.”

The laughter doubled, bouncing off the walls like a puck ricocheting off the boards. Even the more reserved players smirked as the banter escalated.

Reaves, stretching out his shoulders, added in his deep baritone, “Bet her phone’s already blowing up. She’s probably sitting there right now, trying to figure out if she’s ready to handle the ‘Ice King.’”

“Or,” Mitch interjected again, holding up a finger like a professor making a critical point, “she’s trying to figure out why she’s trending while he’s already onto the next one.”

Auston rolled his eyes, dropping onto the bench as he reached for his skates. “You guys seriously need better hobbies.”

“Hobbies?” Mitch feigned outrage, clutching his chest theatrically like he’d been mortally wounded. “This is our hobby! Watching you fumble around women like it’s your first time stepping onto the ice.”

Even John Tavares, usually the stoic leader of the group, couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he taped his stick with methodical precision.

“You’re gonna need a new nickname after this,” Conor Timmins called out, grinning as he adjusted his shin guards. “Something like… Loverboy Matthews.”

“Or Prince Charming,” Max Domi suggested, leaning against the wall with a toothless grin. “You swooped in, caught her mid-fall—classic fairy-tale move. You practicing for a movie, or what?”

Auston didn’t miss a beat. “Just trying to remind you guys what grace under pressure looks like.”

The locker room erupted into hoots and cheers, players slapping their thighs or sticks against the floor in exaggerated applause. Even Auston, usually unflappable, couldn’t suppress the small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s not forget the most important question, eh,” Mitch said, raising his voice to cut through the noise. “Did you or did you not close the deal? Because if you didn’t…” He let the sentence hang, his grin turning mischievous as the room erupted again.

Auston shook his head, leaning down to lace his skates with deliberate precision. “You guys are fucking awful. It was nothing. She’s just a PR manager doing her job. That’s it.”

Reaves shook his head, chuckling. “You’re telling me that look she gave you was part of the job? Please. If that’s her work face, I need to hire her immediately.”

“Let me guess,” William said, his grin widening. “You gave her your best smoulder, and she melted, didn’t she? Ice King strikes again.”

“Smoulder?” Mitch nearly doubled over laughing. “He probably just stood there and grunted. That’s his move. ‘I’m Auston Matthews. Be impressed.’”

“Don’t forget the eyebrow raise,” Max chimed in, waggling his own brows for emphasis. “That’s his closer.”

Auston grabbed a towel from his stall and lobbed it at Mitch, who narrowly dodged it with a dramatic yelp. “Keep dreaming, Marner. You’re just mad you’ll never have my moves.”

The room roared with laughter as Mitch held his hands up in mock surrender. “Oh, please. I don’t need your moves, buddy. I’ve got personality.”

“Personality?” Auston repeated, finally looking up with a smirk. “That what you call it now?”

Before Mitch could fire back, a sharp whistle cut through the chaos. Chief’s voice boomed from the hallway. “Alright, enough! Let’s go! Save the soap opera for after practice.”

The laughter died down, though the smirks and knowing glances lingered as the players turned their attention to gearing up.

As soon as Auston stepped onto the ice, the locker room antics faded into the background. The cool air hit his face, sharpening his focus as he took his first powerful strides across the rink. The sound of blades slicing across the ice and sticks snapping against pucks filled the arena, a symphony of precision and power.

“Alright, boys, let’s dial it in!” Auston called, his voice cutting through the hum of activity.

His every movement on the ice was fluid and deliberate, his passes snapping perfectly to his teammates like they were guided by some invisible force. He commanded the flow of drills with the confidence of a seasoned leader, his focus razor-sharp.

Even when Mitch skated past during a drill, leaning in just close enough to whisper, “Hey, Prince Charming—don’t forget to teach us those moves later,” Auston didn’t miss a beat.

“Don’t worry, Mitchy,” he replied, his tone calm and cool. “I’ll save the lessons for when you finally learn how to backcheck.”

The nearby players burst into laughter, and Mitch groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. Auston smirked as he returned to the drill, his focus unwavering.

Back in the locker room, the banter picked up again as the players peeled off their gear and hit the showers. Auston wiped sweat from his forehead, grabbing his phone from his stall out of habit. The screen lit up with a flood of notifications, but one message stood out.

Mom: “Hola, mijo! Saw the news. You have a girlfriend now? Why didn’t you tell me? Qué sorpresa! Call me later. Besos!”

Auston groaned, leaning back in his stall as he rubbed a hand over his face. Of course, the rumours had made their way all the way to Arizona. His mother never missed a thing.

He quickly typed out a reply:

Auston: “No girlfriend. Just the media blowing things out of proportion. Promise I’ll call later.”

From the stall next to him, Mitch leaned over, his grin as wide as ever. “Let me guess—Mama Matthews wants to meet her future daughter-in-law?”

Auston groaned, tossing another damp towel at him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Marner?”

“Not until I hear how you’re gonna explain this to her,” Mitch quipped, dodging the towel with a laugh.

Auston shook his head, smirking despite himself. It was going to be a long day. The Ice King wasn’t just trending—he was thriving.

_

“Oh, Auston. A commanding captain on the ice, a knight in shining armour at the galas—tell us, is there anything you can’t do? From blistering wrist shots to a disarming smirk that leaves reporters and fans alike spellbound, you’ve mastered the art of being Toronto’s shining star. Perhaps Mitch Marner should take notes—not just on your hockey technique, but on handling attention with your signature, infuriatingly effortless charm. And William Nylander? He might need a crash course in keeping up with your knack for drawing the spotlight without even trying.

But every kingdom needs balance, doesn’t it? A king isn’t a king without his loyal support. The rookies may watch your every move, but the city is watching, too—an entire court of adoring subjects, dissecting every detail, every headline, every photo. Careful, Matthews. It’s easy to rule the ice, but when the lines between the rink and the spotlight begin to blur, kingdoms can crumble under the weight of their own grandeur.

Your throne is solid for now, but your court is hungry for more. What will you give them next? - The Benchwarmer”

_

The Scotiabank Arena buzzed with pre-game anticipation, the hum of excited chatter blending with the sharp sounds of skates cutting across the ice during warm-ups. Fans clad in blue-and-white jerseys filled the air with energy, their collective excitement palpable as they streamed through the wide doors. The aroma of buttery popcorn and sizzling pretzels wafted through the concourse, mingling with the chill that radiated from the rink below.

You adjusted your blazer with a sharp tug, clutching your tablet tightly as you made your way to the media section. This was your arena of expertise—coordinating interviews, ensuring the narrative focused on the team, and staying invisible in the process. But tonight, the stakes felt impossibly high. The viral #MysteryQueen photo wasn’t just following you; it was plastered in the eyes and whispers of everyone around you.

As you approached the media room entrance, Chase was already waiting, predictably pristine in his perfectly tailored suit. His signature smirk was firmly in place, the kind that always made you want to roll your eyes. He leaned casually against the wall, looking as though he were preparing to deliver a victory speech rather than assist you in damage control.

“Well, well,” he said as you reached him, his tone dripping with mockery. “If it isn’t Toronto’s newest viral sensation. Tell me, how’s life as #MysteryQueen treating you?”

You shot him a glare, your jaw tightening. “Let’s just focus on the job,” you replied curtly.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Chase said, falling into step beside you as you walked into the room. “I’m here to make sure you don’t turn this into an even bigger mess. You’ve done enough of that already.”

You clenched your teeth, your grip on the tablet tightening. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Chase.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Because from where I’m standing, you could use a crash course in PR basics. Like staying invisible and not ending up as the story. Rookie move, don’t you think?”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him with an icy glare. “Are you going to help, or are you just here to gloat?”

Chase raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin unrelenting. “Relax. I’m just here to keep you in line. Wouldn’t want you tripping over Matthews again and handing the internet more fuel for their fire.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at the jab, but you forced yourself to take a deep breath, counting silently to three. “Let’s just get through tonight without any incidents,” you said, turning on your heel and walking ahead without waiting for his reply.

The pre-game interviews began in a whirlwind of camera flashes and bustling reporters. Auston Matthews entered the room right on time, his presence commanding immediate attention. Every camera lens turned toward him, capturing his perfectly composed demeanour as he prepared for the barrage of questions.

You stood to the side, tablet in hand, observing quietly as he answered each question with ease. He was a natural—calm, polished, and confident. His responses were precise yet charming, a masterclass in handling media under pressure.

Chase leaned in slightly, his voice low but laced with condescension. “Look at him—perfect posture, perfect answers. You’d think he rehearsed this a hundred times.”

“He has,” you shot back under your breath, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

Auston’s gaze flicked in your direction, his eyes catching yours for a fleeting moment. For a split second, a glimmer of amusement danced across his face, as though he’d overheard your exchange. He smirked slightly, turning back to the reporters, but somehow the gesture felt like it was meant for you.

When the interviews concluded, you stepped aside to check the evening’s schedule, your focus shifting back to logistics. Of course, Chase remained close, ready to offer unsolicited commentary.

“You know,” he began, his voice teasing as he leaned against the wall, “if you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, you might want to stop looking at him like that.”

Your head snapped up, a frown forming on your face. “Like what?” you demanded, sharper than you intended.

“Like he’s the only person in the room,” Chase replied with a smug grin. “Just saying.”

Before you could respond, the crowd began to disperse, the pre-game atmosphere shifting as fans filed toward their seats for the national anthem. You let out a frustrated breath, forcing yourself to refocus. Chase wasn’t worth your energy. Not tonight.

As the game began, the arena roared to life, the crowd erupting with every rush down the ice and save by the goalie. From the media section, you watched the game unfold, your tablet propped on your lap as you took notes and ensured the schedule ran smoothly. Auston was, as always, in his element, commanding the ice with every stride. He directed plays with a sharpness that reminded everyone why he wore the captain’s “C.”

But even amidst the game’s intensity, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every time you glanced up, it felt as though the whispers of fans were louder than the cheers. You caught glimpses of people pointing in your direction, their phones raised discreetly—or not so discreetly—to snap photos.

The hashtag wasn’t going anywhere. If anything, the spectacle was growing.

Chase leaned over during a break in play, his smirk firmly in place. “You’re a hit, you know. The internet can’t get enough of you.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, keeping your eyes on the game. But his words lingered, gnawing at your already frazzled nerves. This wasn’t the kind of attention you wanted—or ever asked for. Worse, you couldn’t tell if Auston was ignoring the attention or quietly revelling in it.

As the final buzzer sounded and the crowd erupted in cheers, you exhaled deeply, the weight of the night still pressing down on you. But this was only the beginning. There was still so much more to face.

_

The buzz of the post-game crowd echoed faintly through the tunnel, a mix of jubilant cheers and the hum of arena staff preparing to wind down for the night. The air was thick with energy, but you barely noticed, your thoughts consumed by the task ahead. You stood just outside the media room, shifting your weight between your heels as if the motion could steady the whirlwind of nerves building inside you.

Your tablet felt heavy in your arms, not because of its weight but because of what it symbolised—your professional armour in a moment that felt far too personal. The image of the viral photo flashed through your mind for the hundredth time that day. The teasing. The whispers. The relentless #MysteryQueen hashtag that refused to die. You hadn’t asked for this spotlight, but it seemed determined to follow you.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and when Auston Matthews stepped out of the media room, your pulse quickened. His shirt was damped, the faint sheen of exertion still clinging to his skin. He exuded a casual confidence, as if he were entirely unfazed by the chaos swirling around him. His gaze swept the hallway before landing on you, and just like that, his professional mask slipped into something more playful.

Raising a brow, he smirked, his tone low and teasing. “Waiting for me?”

You let out a huff, trying to summon the last reserves of your professionalism. “We need to talk,” you said briskly, nodding toward a quieter corner of the hallway.

Intrigued, Auston fell into step beside you, the faint click of his shoes on the concrete floor adding to the tension. Once out of earshot from the lingering media, he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in a relaxed pose that was the polar opposite of how you felt. His posture was casual, but his eyes were sharp, watching you with open curiosity.

“Alright,” he said, tilting his head slightly, his smirk never wavering. “What’s on your mind, Mystery Queen?”

The heat rushed to your cheeks, and you resisted the childish urge to stomp your foot. “Can you not call me that?”

“Fine,” he replied, clearly humouring you, though the amusement in his voice only grew. “What’s the issue, boss?”

Taking a steadying breath, you tightened your grip on your tablet, the hard edges grounding you. “I need you to address the rumours,” you said firmly. “Publicly. Tell everyone there’s nothing between us.”

Auston tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to curiosity. “Why?”

“Because,” you said, struggling to keep your frustration in check, “my boss isn’t thrilled about the attention. I’m supposed to be behind the scenes, not… trending online. I have a career to build, and this whole spectacle is not helping.”

He nodded slowly; his expression thoughtful. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might agree. But then, a different light sparked in his eyes—something calculating, almost mischievous—and his smirk returned, sharper than before.

“You want people to take you seriously, right?” he asked, his tone almost too casual.

“Yes,” you said cautiously, narrowing your eyes. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“And you need to stand out? Get noticed by your boss?”

The suspicion prickling at the back of your neck deepened. “What are you getting at?”

Auston straightened slightly, his relaxed stance giving way to something more deliberate. “What if… we don’t deny it?”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“Think about it,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive tone that could probably charm half the city. “The attention isn’t going away anytime soon. If anything, it’s only going to get worse. So why not use it to your advantage?”

“You’re suggesting we… fake it?”

“Exactly,” Auston said, his confidence radiating like heat from a fire. “You want people to notice you? They will. You’ll look like the PR genius who landed me. And I get the media off my back for a while. Everyone thinks I’m ‘taken,’ and they stop asking me about my personal life. Win-win.”

You blinked at him, completely stunned by the audacity of his proposal. “That’s insane.”

“Is it?” he countered, his tone steady, his expression calm. “You said you wanted to build your name. What better way to get people talking? We use this Benchwarmer columnist to our advantage - the gossip she’s writing about me. Us. It’s pure strategy - something you’d know all about. Huh?”

Logic screamed at you to walk away, to tell him he was out of his mind. But another part of you—the part that had endured Chase’s relentless teasing, your boss’s stern lecture, and the whispers of your co-workers—paused. Was this really any more ridiculous than the situation you were already in? And if you played it right, couldn’t this be an opportunity?

You chewed your lip, your gaze darting toward the hallway where the faint buzz of the arena still lingered. “If this has to work,” you said hesitantly, “it has to be believable. No half-measures.”

“Believable,” Auston repeated, his smirk widening into a full grin. “That’s my specialty.”

You let out a resigned sigh, shaking your head. “This is crazy.”

“Crazy works,” he said with a wink, leaning in just enough to make your pulse skip. “Trust me.”

You searched his face for any sign that he wasn’t serious, but all you found was confidence and a glimmer of mischief. Against every ounce of better judgment, you nodded slowly.

“Alright,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s do it.”

The grin that spread across Auston’s face was triumphant, almost wolfish. “You won’t regret it,” he said, his voice low and assured.

As you turned to walk away, your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts racing faster than the cheers that still echoed faintly through the arena. You couldn’t help but wonder: What have I just gotten myself into?

_

“Dear Toronto readers, it seems we have yet another moment destined for the record books. The Ice King himself, Auston Matthews, and his so-called Mystery Queen were spotted in an intimate exchange in the depths of Scotiabank Arena, away from the roar of the crowd and the cameras—well, most of them.

Sparks, dear readers, are flying faster than pucks on a power play.

The city is buzzing louder than the boards after a hard check, and why wouldn’t it be? For a team as iconic as the Maple Leafs, even the smallest whisper of a new royal couple in their kingdom is enough to set the fandom ablaze. And this particular pairing? It has all the makings of a modern fairy tale—complete with a little mystery and a lot of chemistry.

But let’s not forget the rest of the court. The rookies may be loyal subjects, and the veteran players ever-watchful advisors, but every kingdom comes with its share of intrigue. Whispers from the locker room suggest a reign of strategy, while murmurs in the stands lean toward romance.

Whatever the truth, one thing is certain: this King and Queen have the entire city watching their every move. Will their story be one of triumph or turmoil? Only time will tell.

So, stay tuned, Toronto. The season is young, and the drama is only just beginning.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

[jeanie-beanie-98]

THIS🔥🔥 and the fact of the matter is, for me personally, I don’t like the label, ‘higher functioning’ because it seems that when those words come into play, many people seem to believe that higher functioning means less lesser maintenance. And this is totally untrue.

Just because I’m considered to be higher functioning, doesn’t mean that I struggle any less than someone else on the spectrum. I heard a quote from somewhere that describes this best for me,

“Just because I carry something well, it doesn’t mean that it’s not heavy.”

There are times where I get really bad sensory overload from too much sound. It can get so overbearing that I completely shut down and I’m unable to think. People tend to get especially offended if I put my headphones in, but honestly, it keeps me sane.

This is especially an issue when there are several people talking at once. It’s incredibly overwhelming sensory wise and very annoying in the sense that I’m unable to understand what a person is saying.

I also tend to learn a bit slower than my peers. This is led to so many people getting angry with me when I’m just trying to understand something. Some people have thought that I was doing it just for attention. It would be so frustrating up to the point that I would cry and have panic attacks.

I can definitely go on about how changes in routine genuinely give me anxiety sometimes, as ridiculous as it may sound.

And another thing that frustrates me too, is that when I was diagnosed, I’ve been told by literal doctors that developmentally. I am two years behind, so to see somebody walking around like it’s some joke or a party trick makes me want to scream. It’s not funny, it’s a very harmful and hurtful thing.

No one should ever have to prove a disability that they were born with. You can’t just flip it on and off like a switch!

To see someone pretending to have a disability just to seem quirky or cute🔥🔥🔥It’s just so incredibly inconsiderate and exhausting to me.

Like no, Jenny, it doesn’t make you cute to pretend to have autism and ADHD.

It’s not always fun to have autism and ADHD. Many times it’s overwhelming and I can’t frakking function.

I can’t comprehend why anybody would want to do this to another person. Be considerate.

Fake claimers are a much bigger threat to disabled people than fakers ever will be.

[z4ync]

We seriously need more GBA related fics so here it goes- I NEED a fluff fic where Hipswitch finally finds out Karmor likes him.

I have a small scenario suggestion, but feel free to indulge in creative ideas of your own!

-> The gang go out on a little event, kinda like a rodeo for bounty hunters and cowboys and such(ever watched Helluva Boss? Imagine that one EP of the harvest moon festival). After the games and events are settled, all of the participants engage in a salon dance thingie as well as free drinks, just a silly little after event for everyone to relax and enjoy some socializing.

Hipswitch decides to not participate since he didn't know anyone in the rodeo, and also bcs the owners of the small bar in there weren't particularly fond of Obscurans(even if there were some in the rodeo). But then Karmor/Partner comes along and asks Hipswitch to dance with him, which he's surprised.

He tries to talk Partner out of inviting him and tries to convince him to look for a more "organic" partner instead, but Karmor refuses. So they go to dance and from there you may decide how Hipswitch finally persuade his own feelings for Karmor :D

I did however really want to bring out the fact that Hipswitch is afraid to love, since he probably doesn't think he's worthy of such a thing. And seeing Karmor loving him just...y'know?🥺💞 <- I'm very normal about them(lie)

Sorry for the ramble! Again, feel free to do what you wish!! 🩷

- 🌟

Awe thanks for the request, 🌟. It's so cute :D absolutely twin I'm so normal about them (LIES)

Twistin' and Turnin'

I LOVE THIS REQUEST. Gods I hope Mr crazy man GBA sees this and makes this anon request an episode of sorts, I'd give him my first born

Fluff

QUICK NOTE BEFORE WE START! if you haven't watched BvZ (go do it now) Karmor/Partner is mute and for the most part, in my head, communicates in sign language and big facial expressions. (Also I headcanon him as autistic because I am so he is too)

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯

Big day. Or at least that's how Albus had been sarcastically saying all day. Apparently the boys had found out about some rodeo that was coming to town and as a joke both Albus— the bastard— had made the executive decision, that the other three didn't get a say in, that they were going for the shits and giggles.

Karmor tried his damn hardest to tell him that he'd much rather stay in one place, that he wanted to stay home and read, but he'd got the other two on their sides and it's a lot easier to ignore hands then it is to ignore a voice

▄︻デ══━一

"they got free drinks" Albus whistled as they walked around, the events were beginning to settle and Karmor kept dragging Hipswitch and Albus away from the games to prevent a dick measuring contest from starting.

"not a single one of us should be drinking" Karmor signed. He'd gotten better at signing quickly, mostly to combat Albus' quick mind. "And anyways Hipswitch can't drink"

"come on partner, I'm sure you wouldn't mind a drink or two" Hipswitch's southern accent made Karmor melt, it always did. It was far less harsh than Albus and Attila's voices, and more solid than Mahatma's.

"dancing maybe, drinking no, Albus is just going to get wasted and—" he looked at his hands, trying to remember the sign for "annoying". He ran through a few signs before just flipping off Albus in frustration, for a normally calm and sweet person Karmor was easily annoyed by inconveniences like forgetting.

▄︻デ══━一

Karmor stared longingly at the crowd of people dancing their hearts out, Kissing the people they love, singing their voices away. He'd never been good with his confidence, so he was struggling to ask the Obscuran at his side to dance.

He didn't have the words, literally and figuratively, and couldn't get Hipswitch to look at him. Maybe he was just—

"Partner, are you alright?" Hipswitch lightly poked Karmor's arm, scaring the living daylights out of him and causing him to fall out of the chair he was sitting in— knees up to his chest and the only thing touching the seat of the chair being his feet, obviously, so he was already unstable.

He got up quickly, nodding and sitting back down, before standing up again and forcing down all the nerves that bubbled up his throat and through his skin. "Dance with me." it was supposed to be a question, but it didn't seem like it was

"What?" The other man laughed "dance with ya? Partner, I'm not too sure I'm the greatest to dance with, you might want someone more... Organic, for that." He tried to de-sway the man from the idea, but Karmor is stubborn.

"dance with me" it was obvious he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Hipswitch sighed, his metal man's coming up to ruffle the mute man's hair "don't say I didn't warn ya" he said it like he had no choice in it— which was a lie, he could've said no, but Karmor would start sulking and wouldn't do anything else.

Hipswitch could've stayed there all day; Karmor's hand in his and the biggest smile on his face as he dragged him to the very edges of the dance floor.

But of course the second his foot hit the dance floor a partner song blasted through the pavilion, one of those slow ones reserved for couples and families. But Hipswitch agreed and he wanted nothing more than to make Karmor keep smiling.

"I'm gonna step on your toes" he warned, but Karmor only shook his head no, tapping the rhythm into Hipswitch's back.

Karmor's eyes were everywhere but Hipswitch, as it was so unbearably difficult to hold eyes contact with someone you liked.

Hipswitch always noticed that, and he'd ask about it but it would make Karmor let go of him and he'd already sunk into the warm metal man. Once he was attached it was hard to get him off, proven most by if you put the perpetually cold man in a warm bed, you wouldn't be able to get him out without luring him with Hipswitch and food.

A few girls had asked Karmor to dance, but just shook his head and signed "I'm not good company" or "I can't dance"

There was another thing, he always needed Hip— oh. OH.

The realization hit him like a run of bricks. Albus wasn't just playing with him, right? Whump— Karmor— Partner was always looking for Hipswitch, he was always near him, was what that what Albus was talking about

He took a moment to think, the feeling of the human's fingers tapping something into his back. It was a Rhythm of something no one knew, not even Karmor knew himself.

"Partner... I have a question" he looked down at the human. His eyes were on him expectantly. "Albus has been... Sayin' stuff, I want to know if they're true."

Karmor looked nervous, guilty, and his face was 6 times more red than before. He nodded, and had Hipswitch lead them out of the crowd. He longed to be back in it, no matter how loud crowds were, he enjoyed that.

"what has he been saying?" Damn Albus and his loud mouth.

"he's been saying..." It took Hipswitch a moment to form the words, mostly because he could ruin everything up to this and because of Karmor's unwavering stare. "Things about you likin' me"

Karmor wanted to run, to scream, to cry, to kill himself— but his voice was so shot that he can't really scream well and his hand was still in Hipswitch's so the other options weren't on the table

"and if they're true?"

"I wouldn't mind"

Karmor's eyes lit up, he thought that he was gonna have to take Hipswitch's gun and shoot himself, but he didn't! Hurray!

"it's true I like—" he stopped, he felt like a kid again, even if he didn't remember what that was like for him. Like felt too childish, to compare what he felt to just like was a crime, it was wrong

"I love you" Karmor's eyes squeezed shut, he couldn't open them. what if Hipswitch looked uncomfortable or disgusted.

Karmor was startled by arms wrapping him in an embrace. He started crying, he didn't know why he just did.

"I love you too"

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯

A/N. Sorry if this is all over the place, I'm not too good at writing and I actually haven't gotten to the most recent episode of BvZ yet because each episode is like an hour long and I end up passing out during them.

[redrayvenrr]

Y'all are sleeping on Sweets headcanons, so I am here to pick up the slack (which ended up becoming a long rant, and I'm not sorry)

-Sweets' bitch from another ditch Gael is a tattoo artist, y'all know Sweets is Gael's test dummy

Sweets is probably covered head to toe in the randomists tattoos. They got at least one full sleeve, 7 of them are incomplete, and maybe like 3-5 of them are actually ones Sweets wanted

But I offer you Nat coloring Sweets' tattoos to the point where Sweets buys her temporary tattoo markers for her birthday

-Essence Eaters live longer than the average person, right? So Sweets could easily be twice Law's age but is still making fun of him and calling him an old man despite him being in his 20's (imagine Sweets being born in the 70's-80's and Law 90's-early 2000's XD Sweets is very happy that ripped jeans are back in style)

I also imagine Sweets with longer hair because at some point they decided that going to get a hair cut every month or so is too much of a hassle for how long their life span is (and I offer you Sweets eventually needing to dye their hair grey to match Law's so they still look like a couple to non-attuned (I'm not sorry))

Also, remember that in the "getting patched up-" video Law says that "this doesn't look like one of the little scuffles you do for fun at the circle"???? Hello??? Street fighter Sweets??? Go kick ass Sweets you got this baby

-And scars?? I'd imagine they'd obviously have the few you get from childhood, and if we're going with street fighter Sweets, then they probably have a bit more than normal. Like on their knuckles and maybe one on their cheek/forehead/lip/ankles or something. But ya know, it's just for fun, and every once in a while, they're not addicted to fighting or anything

But then the fight with Joel? Joel was out for blood, and Sweets practically died. There are definitely scars, one of which I imagine being a scratch over their eye cause I'm edgy like that (plus it makes sense that Joel would use everything in his arsenal to take down the all powerful Sweets which means nails and playing dirty).

But there is definitely a bite scar since he drained Sweets' lifeforce, which is why they were so concerned about Law getting scarred after the train incident. They don't want him living through that pain they feel every time they see their own bite scar (and ya know they can't live with the idea of hurting Law so "please at least don't let my mistakes scar")

-And speaking of the train incident Law stated that Sweets is strong as all hell and I'm here for it and I need them to crush a watermelon and Law looses his shit (buff Sweets for the wiiiin)

-Sweets' heartbeat was already a comfort for Law, but after Joel, you'll often find Law pressed against their heart. Cuddling on Sweets' chest is a must. When Law has a bad day, Sweets immediately presses him against their chest. Hugs often are one of Law's arms wrapped around them and his other hand press against their chest. Law sitting in between Sweets' legs so he can lean his back or shoulder against their heart

-I think it would be funny if Sweets also had an accent (like Bitish or Scottish or some shit) and everyone enjoys watching Nat struggle with her own accent because she'd have the weirdest mix of her father's southern, her mother's average american, and Sweets' (maybe a bit of uncle desdes)

(And while we're talking about Nat, when are we getting her dog!??! Please, I need the household to just become Spy X Family)

-Can we talk about how good Sweets is with kids? Where did you pick that up? Cause I just always imagined them as an orphaned only child? Like I physically can't see them with a family before Law and Nat, but maybe that's just me

(Maybe they grew up in foster homes and were always the older sibling of the group? Idk)

-One order of Sweets being good at the guitar and singing, strumming their guitar while Law plays the piano and singing Nat to sleep please

Sweets being in a band as a teen in the 80's/90's sounds like good blackmail for Gage to abuse (especially the hair) (but like imagine them doing a killer rift then proceeding to sing Def Leppard)

-I think their job would be like a metal worker or glass blowing, and I don't have an explanation as to why

-Sweets honestly feels like the most responsible and mature person out of all the characters they're just shit at taking care of themself and, say it with me: ✨️traumatized✨️

-I also imagine Sweets as a male, but that's my own problem

But imagine Nat finally calling them dad, and they just combust

Plus Sweets feels like one of those dads who drops a piece of lore then never speaks of it again (whereas Law is the hands on hips, legs apart dad pose (you know the one I'm talking about))

The idea of Sweets being "one of the guys" with Law's coworkers gives me life (because yes Love/Newbie is also a male cause if Desmond isn't just a pure gay man then you're wrong (honestly like 90% the listeners are male in my head)idk)

[ominous-faechild]

OUT OF CONTEXT:

FAERIE'S DAWN

(actual writing for once lmao)

(tbh consider this kinda a teaser)

Aurik collapsed, but... did he ever stop falling?

Everything swirled around him and was still at the same time.

Where was he? Who was he? What was happening?

So much was moving, everything was moving, nothing made sense and—

A heat welled up in Aurik's chest—did he even have a chest? What is that?—and flooded out from the hole in his face. The heat wracked his body, begging, pleading to escape, but he couldn't let it.

He didn't have a choice.

The world was spinning, spinning, spinning!

At the same time, the voice that called itself God spoke above all. It was the only thing that made sense amidst all the madness.

"Right, so!" it started, hints of bitter amusement within it, "this is my heart, where my power is strongest!"

A whirling flash of colors and colours and colors. Thousands of hands spun in circles around him, and only about 300 of them belonged to him! They hugged and tangled around him, tearing into his flesh but leaving no wounds.

"Just about all of—well, me, but—Faewildes! Gods, that's such a stupid name, you know that, right?" it rambled cheerfully, either ignorant of his pain or relishing in it.

The earth split and ate him whole, but it never ate him. He'd always laid atop an endless field of green, but it wasn't grass—it was lava, burning him alive.

"Like, geez, you put together 'fae' and 'wild'???" the voice prattled.

The heat had finally escaped from his body; it was pooled around him. He laid with his back against the green lava, gasping painful breaths as he stared at the wobbly, dark hands jutting from the lava, and the void of blue they reached for.

"Like, c'mon, we're more original than that, and most of us give ourselves literal names!"

Except, the lava wasn't burning him. It was cool, calming. Soothing.

The man called Aurik closed his eyes, struggling to take a deep breath.

His throat and sides ate themselves alive.

God's voice fell silent, and ants crawled from Aurik's eyes.

Finally, as cold balls of fluff filled his lungs, a faint, awkward chuckle reverberated throughout the world.

"Oh, right," the voice said awkwardly. "Humans. You're not good with, well... me."

Where am I? Aurik found himself able to think.

Who am I?

God sighed heavily, then finished impatiently: "right, well. I guess I'll give you a second to… catch yourself or whatever. Take your time, I guess."

This was too fun, I had to share it.

So, I'm curious... what do you guys think actually happened in this scene?

I'm sure my color-coding probably helps lol

TAGLIST:

@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue @rae-butter @teamarine777 @caffeinated-starsailor @oliolioxenfreewrites

@corinneglass @thebookishkiwi @storyteller-kara @themongosianhorse @theburningeyeofdawn

@notyourlocalworm @write-with-will @mildlybizarrecorvid @forgottenvalor @huewrite

@vesanal @differentnighttale @plip-plap-plop @olliedoesthings @pupculture

@princessuncertain @mythicalmagical-monkeyman @i-do-anything-but-write @a-zendrial

@real-fragments @lunauphternal @sullymarlowe @aalinaaaaaa @yourpenpaldee

@dangerousbunnyking @milday-dewinter @hoerikwaggo @thestorywitch @simonnebethel

@keeping-writing-frosty @cedence @sodalysm @amor-vivere @lovelyfirebouquet

@shabbyshoebox @creative-creatrues-hub @black-cubes @brightyellowsprite @cosmic-demonartist

@summermaes (ask and ye shall be added)

divider by @thyming

[buck-up-buttercup]

Head-canons on how the Love & Deepspace men comfort a sad MC. I hope this helps anyone in moments of sadness, anxiety, or doubt.

Intro:

It's been a harrowing week. You're overworked, tired, and not taking proper care of yourself. Needless to say, your mental and physical health are lacking. Because of this, you continue to make small mistakes. You're embarrassed, frustrated, and so very tired. Jenna demands you take the next three days off to recuperate yourself. While this is supposed to be a relief, you can't help but feel the shame bubbling up inside of you, on the cusp of boiling over. "Rest well and don't forget to eat! Please call me if you need anything." Tara gives you a reassuring hug before seeing you out. Feeling at a loss, you are in desperate need of comfort. Taking care of yourself even feels like too much on your plate right now. Because of this, you dial the person you know who would do absolutely anything for you in a heartbeat...

Xavier

"Hey." Just hearing his voice answer the phone makes your heart swell and your eyes brim with tears. "...Hello? Y/N, are you there?" "Y-Yeah, sorry..." The moment he hears the tremble in your voice as you attempt to answer, his response is swift and his voice is laced with concern. "Where are you?" Your voice is quiet, "I'm sitting on a bench a few blocks from the association." "I'm on my way, sit tight."

You assume it's due to his ability to teleport that he's able to get to you so quickly. You keep your head down, trying to look as though you're distracted on your phone to hide the fact you have tears pooling in your eyes that you're barely managing to keep from spilling over. You notice Xavier once he kneels before you and immediately encircles you in his arms. He presses your face against the crook of his neck. "Let's go home, okay?" "Please."

Xavier brings you to your apartment. He makes sure you're seated on the couch before asking if you need something. "Just... sit with me..." He doesn't hesitate and immediately pulls you into his arms. He doesn't ask you any other questions. He knows you'll talk about what's upset you if you want to and that for the moment, you just wanted to be held by him. He'd stroke your hair soothingly. You couldn't hold the tears back anymore.

Xavier would hold you for as long as you wanted. Thinking about why you were in this state choked you up, but you wanted to finally open up about your feelings. "Xavier, how do you do it? How are you so good at everything you do? You make it look effortless, too. The only time I've ever seen you struggle is when you tried to beat that claw machine you were so suspicious of that one time." You giggle through the tears as you recount that memory, but Xavier knew you were being serious. "Hmph... I'm flattered you think so highly of me, but I've lived long enough to see my fair share of struggles and mistakes." You sit up to meet his eyes. "What do you do when you're overwhelmed from all your struggles and mistakes?" He pushes your hair out of your face. "Sleep." You couldn't help but to laugh and he smiles softly at that. "Yeah, I am lacking in that department lately." Xavier would take that as his cue to lift you bridal style and carry you to your bed. He'd pull out comfier clothes for you to change into while he went to fetch a glass of water for you.

Once settled in bed, you'd both snuggle up together. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for all of this," You'd mumble into his chest. "Definitely. Just because you're human doesn't mean you aren't one of the most capable hunters I know." You sigh. "Besides, not just any hunter is worthy of being my partner." He'd huff a small laugh and kiss you on the forehead. You'd laugh softly and hug him tighter. "Get some rest. I'll always be here for you."

Zayne

"Hello?" As guilty as you feel for calling someone as important and busy as Zayne, you are so grateful he picked up the phone to answer you. "Hey! Um, you're not busy, are you?" You couldn't hide the shrillness of your voice from the overwhelming emotions you were experiencing. You could tell Zayne caught onto this. "For the moment, no. What do you need?" You struggled to come up with a straightforward answer. "Well, I just... I..." He waits patiently for you to gather your words. "I guess I just am having a bad day and wanted someone to talk to." Your eyes well up as you try to get the words out. "I hate to bother you, you were just the first person I thought of to call." The anxiety in your chest hurt and you wondered if your voice sounded as shake-y as you felt. "You're never a bother, Y/N." Zayne's voice was gentle and soft. You feel like you can breathe again for a moment, though the tears start to fall as you relax at his words. You sniffle, "I feel like that's all I've been lately." "Y/N, where are you?" "I'm hiding in that cafe a few blocks from the association." You offer a weak laugh to try to play it off like a joke. "I'm on my way."

You're antsy until he arrives. He approaches your table in the corner of the cafe. You are thankful he has a calming air about him, his demeanor never fails to help anchor your emotions. "Do you want something to drink or eat?" He offers. You shake your head, "no, thanks." He observes your face for a moment and then nods. You watch as he goes to order something at the counter. You mull over what to even talk to him about as you wait. So much was on your mind and you wanted to avoid crying in public. He returns with a scone and coffee for himself along with your go-to order. "Just in case," he says before you can object. "You seem like you need a pick-me-up." You nod and meekly respond, "thank you."

You enjoy the food and beverage he got you as you sit in silence for a few moments. You're not decided on how to break the ice and truly just enjoy his company in this moment. As you seem to be lost in thought, Zayne nudges your foot with his under the table. You meet his gaze and he holds out his palm. "Do you remember when we were kids, you got upset the neighborhood kids wouldn't let you play with them? You tried really hard to hide being upset and went to play by yourself." You recall the memory. "I made you this to try to cheer you up." a small snow cat appears in his hand made by his Evol. You smile sadly and take the snow cat from him to admire. "You've always been good at making people feel better. It's what makes you a good doctor." His gaze is soft as a small smile graces his face. "I wish I could be half as good at my job as you are at yours." His brows furrow. "Is this what's caused you to feel this way? A bad day at work?" You nod and look away. "Not just one, unfortunately. I feel like I can't do anything right." Zayne takes the snow cat out of your hand and places it on the table. He softly grasps your hands in his. "We all have bad days, even I do. You shouldn't beat yourself up over it." You nod, squeezing his hands. "Easier said than done." "I know. It's because you care and caring is what makes you good at your job. You're a passionate person. You always strive to do your best." You groan slightly, "if this is my best, then I'm screwed." Zayne shakes his head, "sometimes our best is getting a full night's sleep. Sometimes it's eating a meal. How can you improve if you don't prioritize your own health?" Your eyes start to water, "I am so tired, Zayne." "Go home, clean yourself up, and change into something comfortable. I'll come over after work... Doctor's orders." You smile with relief knowing he cared so much for your wellbeing. "Sure thing, doctor."

That evening, he brought you dinner, watched TV shows with you, and did everything to ensure you were comfortable. Having someone prioritize you like Zayne did made you realize just how much weight was on your shoulders before being lifted by him. "Next time you start to feel overwhelmed, tell me. I am always here to help you."

Rafayel

"What's up, cutie?" You can't hold back the sob as you hear his voice. "Whoa, Y/N, what's the matter?" "Rafayel, I need you to come pick me up." "Tell me where you are, I'll be right there." Your voice is weak and hushed as you try to regain control of your emotions. "Ah... I'm hiding in the lobby bathroom at the association. Just tell me when you get here, I'll come meet you outside." "I'm coming."

It isn't long before you get a text that he's here. You clean yourself up and walk out of the association. Rafayel is waiting right outside the front doors. The moment he sees you, you can see the look of worry on his face. He gives you a brief hug, kissing the top of your head before he leads you to his car, opening the door for you. You feel somewhat uncomfortable, probably due to your embarrassment at struggling not to cry. He sees this and gives you a knowing look, reaching for your hand and holding it the whole ride to his place.

Once at his home, he sweeps you up in a full body hug, picking you up by the underside of your thighs. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He carries you to his bedroom, laying you down and showering you in kisses. "Wanna talk about it?" You sigh, looking up at Rafayel as he hovers above you. He strokes comfortingly along your hips. "I might cry if I do." "Nothing wrong with crying." You hum. "Sometimes..." you hold your breath as you try to keep in a sob. Rafayel crawls onto the bed, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. "You need to let it out, cutie. You might be my bodyguard, but you don't have to hide from me in order to act tough." A dejected laugh escapes you and you meet his eyes with yours, fat tears finally spilling over and falling down your cheeks. "Sometimes I feel like all I'm good for is making messes for the association and making a fool of myself." "That's not true. Our mistakes don't define us. Besides, some of the most beautiful things are made out of the biggest messes. Don't overlook your good qualities and all the wonderful things you do just because you can't see past that mess." You can't keep a small whimper from escaping you as you hug his neck and cry into his shirt. He rubs your back and holds you tight. After a few moments, you try to lighten the mood. "You're pretty wise and poetic. Maybe you should be the next Bob Ross." You giggle and poke his side. "Pfft. As if. No one can replace Bob Ross." You laugh.

Rafayel would make sure you're well fed and run a bath for you. The bath makes you realize just how tired you are. Rafayel wouldn't leave your side, making sure you're tucked into his bed and feeling as loved and pampered as possible. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever met. Don't belittle yourself anymore, okay, cutie? I won't allow it."

Sylus

"Hey, sweetie." You can't help but to sigh in relief that Sylus is available and awake to answer your call. "Sylus, can I come over?" "You know you don't have to ask. You sound upset. What's the matter?" "Ah, I'll tell you later. Are you gonna be at the base? I don't... want to be alone right now..." Sylus sighs before speaking with a voice that seems almost too soft for the leader of Onichynus to be capable of using, "sweetie, do you need me to come get you? Are you okay?" The tears begin falling, overwhelmed by just how sweet he's being and how badly you needed his comfort. "I don't know..." You hate how helpless you sound but you're so exhausted and so desperate for Sylus, you can't hide it. "Okay. I'll be there in 10. Don't stray far." You sit at the top of a parking deck not far from the association while you wait on Sylus. He seems to always keep tabs on your location and never follow speed limits, fulfilling his promise of arriving at your location in a mere 10 minutes on his motorcycle. You're pulled from your sitting position right into his arms with the use of his Evol. You cling to him of your own volition, comforted by his arms wrapping around you. His helmet is off and he kisses the top of your head. "Sylus..." You mumble his name into his chest. "It's alright, kitten. I've got you." You whimper as the sobs begin to wrack your body.

Once your crying begins to cease, Sylus puts a helmet on your head as well as one on himself before driving you back to his base in the N109 Zone. You're thankful that you don't see the twins in your current state, either their absence being due to a coincidence or Sylus having them give the two of you space. Sylus carries you into his bedroom, not letting you go for even a moment. He doesn't press you for an explanation and you're grateful since you still aren't sure how to put your feelings into words. He helps you strip out of your uniform and into one of your more comfortable outfits he keeps for you at his place.

Now feeling more at peace and comfortable, you reflect on your feelings with some clarity. "Jenna gave me three days off because I've been overworking myself." Sylus listens intently, his eyes soft as they read your expressions. "What's frustrating is that I don't even have very hard assignments with my job right now. I get behind on sleep and I lose time in the day for a meal because I keep making mistakes on small tasks which then fill up all my time trying to fix or redo, and... ugh. I just can't get a grip on anything and I'm overwhelmed and I'm tired, but I feel so stupid..." Your eyes begin to water again. "You're not stupid for struggling, sweetie. Jenna did the right thing giving you time off to take care of yourself. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself." Sylus pats his thigh for you to come sit on his lap on the couch. You oblige, though you feel shy under his scrutinizing yet loving gaze. He tucks your hair behind your ear. "What starts as a small problem avalanches into multiple problems so quickly. I just feel embarrassed and like I shouldn't even make such small mistakes in the first place... It's become so much on my plate, I don't even know where to start." "Mm..." He appears thoughtful as he analyzes your words. "You need to start with prioritizing your own needs. You can't expect to be on top of everything when you haven't had the proper food or sleep." You nod your head. "I haven't had an appetite or a good night's sleep in maybe a week or so. Most of the time, I'm just getting a few hours and running on caffeine and a few snacks throughout the day." Sylus clicks his tongue. "Next time this happens, kitten, you need to use your resources better. Anything you could possibly need, I can help provide." "I know, I just am not used to asking others for help. It's not that I don't want it, I just forget it's there." "Well, that can't be a plausible excuse anymore." Sylus carries you to the kitchen and sits you on the counter. He throws together something filling yet quick and easy. You thank him for it before eating it.

After eating, he takes you to the bathroom to wash up. You brush your teeth while he changes clothes. Once you've washed up, he sweeps you up to carry you to bed over his shoulder. You laugh and he's happy the notion was able to illicit some humor out of you. Once in bed, he kisses you from your shoulder to your jaw. "Use me whenever you need, sweetie. Everything I have is yours."

Caleb

"Heya, pipsqueak. What ya up to?" His voice was something that could always help ground you when you felt overwhelmed. "Oh. Uhm, well... I'm headed home early. Wanted to see if you were able to talk for a little?" "Hmm? What's the matter? I can tell something's wrong." Ah, Caleb... Always able to see through you, even over a phone call. Though a part of you wasn't sure what to tell him, you knew you wouldn't have called him if you weren't seeking his comfort. "Well, I have been having a rough time at work lately, so they gave me the next few days off. Honestly, it's... embarrassing." Your throat burns as you realize how ashamed you are to tell someone as smart and capable as Caleb that you've been told to take days off for not doing your job well. "Hey, it's okay. Wanna come stay with me these next few days? Give you a chance to take your mind off of things in Linkon?" Your tears fall as you smile at his offer, knowing that was exactly what you were hoping for. "Yes, that sounds great."

You didn't even pack your bags, you felt so tightly wound and desperate to see Caleb, you immediately made your way to Skyhaven to see him. You use the code Caleb gave you to his place to unlock the door. Once inside, you smelt popcorn and followed the smell to the kitchen. There, you found Caleb putting together a tray of your favorite snacks. "Hey, pipsqueak. I thought you might like to watch some of our favorite movies together? Help wind down some." You paused for a moment, letting his words and actions sink in. You were so grateful for someone who knew you and cared for you as much as Caleb did. Overwhelmed by how touched you felt, the tears started streaming again. Caleb immediately frowned and reached for you. You met him halfway and you both embraced each other in a hug. "That rough, huh?" Caleb asks. "I just feel like such an idiot." Caleb cupped your face and made you look at him. "Don't say that, Y/N. It's not true." "But it's how I feel. I can't help how I feel." He wipes your tears with his thumbs before bringing you in closer for another hug. "Then let me help you feel what's really true." He kissed your head and backed you towards the couch before sitting you between his legs and pulling you against his chest. "Y/N, you're amazing. You're bright, stubborn, funny, kind... beautiful. You should never think any less of yourself." You nuzzled your face into his neck and let out a shake-y breath. Your voice was small, "...thank you, Caleb. I'm just overwhelmed. I'm not my best self right now." He pet your head. "It's okay not to be okay, pipsqueak. It doesn't make you any less amazing. Just take it one step at a time. I'll be with you every step of the way, too." You tearfully smiled and nodded. He kissed you so gently, so lovingly. You were finally starting to feel grateful for the three days you received. You wanted as much time with Caleb as possible.

[helvegen-s]

crossing lines | five

index

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC

Summary: In the dizzying world of Formula 1, where speed and competition dominate every second, Carlos Sainz Jr., a young Spanish driver with undeniable talent, struggles to find his place amidst the pressure and expectations. Livia Visconti, heiress to an Italian fashion empire, moves with the same determination in a universe of elegance and power. Two opposing worlds, two strong personalities, an inevitable clash that will ignite a spark between them. But in a world where image and success are everything, can they risk it all for a love that defies the rules of the game?

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: emotional abuse, verbal abuse, toxic relationships, past trauma

A/N: this is coming to an end!! i planed this story to be short (two more parts), since it's the first time i've ever written anything f1 related. i hope you are liking it :))

Livia sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers gently swirling the wine in her glass. Her friends, gathered around the room, watched her with curious smiles, waiting for her to speak. The night had been magical, and now it was her turn to share.

"So... what happened?" Chiara asked, leaning forward with excitement. "Tell us everything!"

Livia smiled, her heart still fluttering from the events of the evening. She took a deep breath, her gaze distant for a moment as she remembered Carlos's touch, his tenderness. It was as if everything felt... different now.

"It was... perfect," Livia began softly, her voice betraying the happiness she hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel in a long time. "We walked along the harbor, talked about everything and nothing... It just felt... easy, you know? Like we were on the same page. And when he kissed me..." She paused, a smile tugging at her lips. "It was like everything else faded away. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could just... breathe."

Her friends exchanged knowing glances, their smiles widening. Chiara raised an eyebrow. "So, what does that mean for you and him?"

Livia took a sip of wine, her thoughts momentarily drifting to the man who had made her feel like this. "I don’t know. But for the first time in... forever, I feel like something can actually go right. That maybe, just maybe, I can have something real, something that makes sense. It’s... refreshing."

"Real?" Serena asked, tilting her head slightly. "I thought you didn’t do real anymore."

Livia smiled, but there was a quiet sadness in her eyes. "I didn’t think I could, either. After everything..." She trailed off, the weight of her past suddenly clouding her moment of happiness.

Chiara looked at her closely. "What do you mean?"

Livia’s gaze lowered, as though searching for the right words. "My ex... He destroyed so much of my trust. I didn’t even realize how much until recently. It wasn’t just the relationship; it was everything that came with it. The way he controlled everything, manipulated me. It was like I was suffocating, and I didn’t even know how to breathe on my own anymore." She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "That’s why I’ve always been so guarded, why I kept people at arm's length. I didn’t know how to let anyone in after that. I was too scared."

Her friends sat quietly, taking in her words. Chiara finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. "I get it, Liv. But Carlos... he’s not him. You know that, right?"

Livia nodded, her heart swelling with a mix of hope and hesitation. "I know. That’s the part that scares me. But with Carlos, it’s different. He doesn’t want to change me. He just... gets me. For once, someone isn’t judging me or pushing me to be something I’m not. He understands what it’s like to always have eyes on you. It’s like... like we don’t have to explain ourselves to each other."

Martina smiled knowingly, her voice teasing. "Well, it sounds like someone’s already falling."

Livia laughed, a playful lightness returning to her tone. "Maybe I am. But I’m taking it slow. I don’t want to rush into anything."

"Of course," Chiara said with a knowing wink. "But don’t forget to enjoy it. You deserve to feel good, Liv. After everything, you deserve something real."

Livia smiled at her friends, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time. For the first time in years, she felt like she could truly embrace the possibility of something better. And maybe, just maybe, Carlos was the person who would make that possible.

The Amalfi sun bathed the coastline in its warm glow, and Livia began to notice something she hadn’t felt in a long time—her laughter came naturally, free of any weight. Every day with Carlos felt like a little adventure, and as they explored together, she felt the walls she had built around herself slowly crumble.

They filled their days with all kinds of plans. One morning, Carlos rented a small sailboat, and not far from the harbor, they found a hidden cove where they spent the afternoon swimming and laughing. Another day, they drove to a nearby town, wandering through its narrow streets and poking around in charming souvenir shops.

Each day brought a new excuse to steal kisses, share subtle touches, and enjoy the thrill of discovering each other in ways they hadn’t before.

The idea of horseback riding came up casually over breakfast on a terrace overlooking the sea. Livia had mentioned, with visible excitement, how riding had always been one of her favorite activities growing up—a source of peace.

Carlos, not one to back down from an adventure, agreed to the plan but confessed he’d never been on a horse before.

“Never?” Livia asked, both surprised and amused.

“Never,” Carlos admitted, laughing. “But I’m willing to give it a shot. Just don’t laugh if I fall.”

At the stable, nestled among green hills with breathtaking views of the Mediterranean, Livia took the lead. Dressed in light riding pants and boots, she greeted the owner, an old family friend, with a natural confidence. She quickly picked out a calm horse for Carlos.

“This is Nero,” she said, stroking the neck of a dark brown horse. “He’s gentle and perfect for beginners. Don’t worry—he won’t bite.”

“And what if I outrun you?” Carlos teased, eyeing Nero as if sizing up an opponent.

“Then I’ll have to show you what years of practice can do,” Livia quipped, mounting her white horse with ease.

The ride started slowly, with Livia explaining the basics. “Sit straight, but stay relaxed. Keep the reins firm, but don’t pull too hard. And please, don’t try to go faster unless you’re sure of yourself.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Any more advice, or are you just trying to prove I’m a rookie?”

“Don’t get defensive!” she shot back with a playful smile. “Come on, Nero’s your teammate now.”

Carlos moved stiffly at first, every step of the horse making him wobble awkwardly. Meanwhile, Livia glided gracefully, her years of experience evident.

“Having fun?” she called back, pausing to let him catch up.

“Absolutely,” Carlos replied, feigning confidence. “Though I think my legs are going to hate me tomorrow.”

After some practice, Livia suggested a gentle trot. “Come on, try to keep up,” she challenged.

“If I fall, you have to promise not to laugh.”

“No promises,” she said with a mischievous grin before urging her horse forward.

To his credit, Carlos managed to keep up, his determination earning Livia’s admiration. By the end of the ride, with the sun setting over the hills, he dismounted clumsily but with a genuine smile.

“Well, I survived. That counts as an achievement, right?”

Livia approached him, still laughing softly. “You did well for your first time. Though I think Nero deserves most of the credit.”

“So the horse is the favorite, huh?” Carlos teased, brushing dust off his pants.

Livia smiled warmly. “You might have to visit Amalfi more often. I never thought I’d see you on a horse.”

Carlos shrugged. “What can I say? For you, I’ll try anything.”

As they walked back together, the horses trailing behind, the fading sunlight painted the sky in shades of gold and pink. Livia felt a rare sense of contentment, knowing these moments with Carlos were what truly mattered.

They didn’t spend all their time alone. Some nights, Livia joined Carlos at gatherings with his childhood friends. One evening, at a beachside bar, a group of musicians began improvising a song, and Livia, encouraged by the wine and the festive atmosphere, joined in singing. From his spot at the bar, Carlos watched her, captivated by the ease and joy she radiated.

“Is she always like this?” one of his friends asked.

“Not at all,” Carlos replied with a smile, his eyes never leaving Livia. “But I love seeing her this way.”

On another occasion, Livia introduced Carlos to her friends. They spent an afternoon at the beach, playing volleyball and sharing stories. The day was perfect—the sun glittering on the water and laughter filling the air. As they sat on the sand with cold drinks and a relaxed vibe, Chiara decided it was the perfect moment to "interrogate" Carlos.

“Well, Carlos, since you’re the most interesting person at the table and, clearly, the only man here, I have some important questions for you,” Chiara said, her grin wide enough to make Livia immediately suspicious.

Carlos leaned forward, amused and intrigued. “Go ahead, Chiara. I’m ready.”

Chiara shifted in her seat, as if preparing to moderate a press conference. “First: how many drivers on the grid are single? And if there are any, who would you say is the most handsome? Purely professional curiosity.”

Carlos burst into laughter as Livia covered her face with her hand, caught between embarrassment and amusement.

“Well,” Carlos began, trying not to laugh too hard, “there are a few single ones, but I’m not sure who’s looking for someone... Or should I just tell you who’s the most handsome?”

“Please!” Chiara exclaimed, raising her hands. “Let me make it easier for you. If you had to play matchmaker, who would you pair me with? I want options—and phone numbers.”

“Chiara, for the love of God…” Livia interjected, attempting to sound serious but failing to hide her smile.

Carlos took it in stride. “Alright, let’s see. I think Pierre would be thrilled. He’s fun, loves fashion, and always has a joke ready. Or maybe Lando, if you’re into younger guys with charisma.”

Chiara pretended to jot down notes in the air. “Hmm, interesting. Though I’m not sure about the ‘younger’ part.”

One afternoon, while Livia and Carlos were relaxing on a terrace overlooking the harbor, Livia glanced at her phone and noticed a message from an unknown number. A wave of unease washed over her instantly. Opening the message, its contents struck her like a blow from the past:

"So, you're in Amalfi with a driver now. Looking for another story for the public? You know how these things end."

The message was brief, but its intention was clear. It was her ex. The carefully chosen, stinging words disrupted the peace she had been building.

Carlos, sitting across from her, noticed the change in her expression.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

"I don’t know," Livia admitted, vulnerability creeping into her tone. "He stopped bothering me a while ago, but he always knows when to reappear to..."

Livia looked up, attempting a smile, but it didn’t convince him. She hesitated for a moment before showing him the message. Carlos read it, his jaw tightening as his eyes scanned the words.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked calmly, though his voice carried an edge.

"To try to control your life," Carlos finished, his gaze sharp and protective.

Carlos set the phone down on the table and leaned closer, taking her hand firmly. "Livia, you don’t have to deal with this alone. If he bothers you again, we’ll handle it together. I’m not going to let him drag you down again."

Carlos gave her a small smile, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "I don’t know if I always do, but I know this: I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not while I’m here."

Livia looked at him, surprised by his determination. She had expected discomfort, maybe even a suggestion to ignore the problem, but his response disarmed her.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say."

The Amalfi vacation came to an end faster than either of them would have liked. On their last afternoon together, sitting by the sea, Livia and Carlos discussed what they had started to build.

"What do we do now?" Livia asked, gazing at the horizon. The breeze gently played with her hair, and while her voice was calm, there was a note of uncertainty in it.

Carlos looked at her, his fingers idly playing with a small shell he had picked up on the beach. "I think the best thing is to keep this between us, at least for now. The press always finds a way to ruin something good."

Livia nodded, relieved that they were on the same page. "I don’t want what we have to become a spectacle. I want us to decide when, how, and if we share it with the world."

Carlos took her hand, intertwining their fingers. "Then that’s what we’ll do. Just us. At least until we’re ready."

Back in their respective lives, Livia and Carlos found ways to stay connected. Long nightly calls filled with laughter and spontaneous messages throughout the day became part of their routine. Carlos sent photos from the circuits, often with sarcastic comments about paddock gossips, while Livia shared images of her latest designs or small everyday moments she thought might make him smile.

It didn’t take long for eagle-eyed fans to start noticing coincidences in their Instagram posts. A photo of Livia enjoying gelato in Amalfi suspiciously matched another of Carlos at the same spot, posted just hours apart. A sunset on the beach, an Italian restaurant... the clues were enough for theories to start swirling.

Despite this, neither Livia nor Carlos commented publicly. When journalists tried to broach the subject during interviews, both deflected with calculated responses.

Months later, the Italian Grand Prix at Monza was a whirlwind of emotions. Ferrari secured an incredible home victory with Charles Leclerc crossing the finish line first, while Carlos finished a respectable fourth after an intense battle on track. Although he didn’t make the podium, his performance was solid, and the paddock buzzed with pride and celebration.

Livia had followed the race from a private hospitality suite, staying discreet but feeling every moment of excitement. When Carlos crossed the finish line, she couldn’t help but applaud, admiring his determination on such a demanding circuit.

That evening, Ferrari hosted a gala dinner in Milan to commemorate the triumph. Livia received an invitation through her professional circle, and while she knew attending could fuel rumors, she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to be there.

The event took place in a luxurious palace in the heart of the city. Golden lights illuminated the façade as elegantly dressed guests arrived in sleek cars.

Carlos was already there, surrounded by teammates and industry figures. He wore a flawlessly tailored Visconti dark blue suit, though his attention was clearly divided. He couldn’t stop glancing around, wondering when Livia might appear.

The sound of animated conversation filled the hall as Carlos chatted with Lando, George, and Charles. Then, the grand doors opened, and Livia entered, arm-in-arm with her father.

She wore an elegant black dress that enhanced her natural poise, her smile lighting up the room. Carlos couldn’t help but watch as she moved with that unmistakable grace he had always associated with her. But now, there was no trace of the skepticism or irritation she had once inspired in him. Instead, he found himself captivated, unable to look away.

"You’re missing something, Sainz," Lando said with a sly grin, following Carlos’s gaze. "But don’t worry, just keep staring. That’ll fix it."

Carlos rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the comments, though his focus remained on Livia as she greeted familiar faces and exchanged pleasantries with her father.

Moments later, Livia approached their group with a warm smile, her tone bright yet composed, as though she had always belonged in their circle.

"Good evening," she said graciously, greeting the group. "First of all, congratulations, Lando. McLaren has been making quite the impression lately."

"Thank you," Lando replied, beaming with pride. "We’re working hard to stay competitive."

"And Charles," she continued, turning to Leclerc. "An amazing victory today. Ferrari needed that in front of its home crowd. It was thrilling to see you on the podium."

Charles nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Livia. Monza is always special, but winning here... it’s something else entirely."

The conversation flowed naturally as Livia spoke with a mix of knowledge and charisma that captured everyone’s attention. Carlos, though silent, couldn’t stop admiring her. There was something about the way she navigated the discussion, making everyone feel valued, that left him utterly entranced.

The evening seemed perfect until an unexpected voice shattered the harmony.

“You always knew how to be the center of attention, didn’t you, Livia?”

The sharp tone made Livia tense instantly. Slowly, she turned to find Matteo, her ex-partner, walking toward the group. With his impeccable suit and false smile, he radiated the arrogance that Livia had long learned to despise.

“Matteo,” Livia said with her characteristic poised air, straightening up immediately. “I didn’t know you were invited.”

“I’m surprised you were,” Matteo replied, his smile turning even more bitter. “Then again, you���ve always known how to sneak into places you don’t belong.”

“If I’m here, it’s because I earned it,” Livia shot back, not losing her composure. “Unlike others, I don’t need money to open doors for me.”

The pilots exchanged surprised glances. The tension was palpable, but Livia continued to project that unwavering confidence she was known for—or at least seemed to.

“Always so quick with words,” Matteo continued, stepping closer. “But behind all that charm and facade, you’re still the same insecure little girl who needs everyone’s attention to feel validated.”

Livia narrowed her eyes, her jaw tightening, but she didn’t miss a beat. “I’d rather be an ‘insecure little girl’ than someone incapable of entering a relationship without destroying the other person’s life.”

The group fell silent, processing the blow Livia had delivered. But Matteo wasn’t finished.

“Relationship? Call it what it was, Livia: a performance, and you were the star. Always so good at pretending everything was fine. And look at you now, with your new ‘friends.’ What are you doing here? Looking for another name to add to your collection? The richer, the better, right?”

Matteo’s words hit like a sledgehammer. For a moment, Livia seemed to lose her breath. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The scars from her past with him, which she thought had healed, suddenly tore open again.

“That’s enough,” Carlos intervened, stepping forward. His tone was calm, but there was a sharpness in his voice that made Matteo sneer.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” Matteo sneered, turning to face Carlos. “Another idiot who buys into her act?”

Lando joined Carlos, crossing his arms. “I think we all know who the real idiot is here.”

Charles added coldly, “What I don’t understand is why you’re still here. It’s clear you’re not welcome.”

“Welcome?” Matteo laughed mockingly. “How amusing. None of you know the real Livia. Always so good at pretending to be strong, but let me tell you something: no matter who she surrounds herself with, she’ll always be the same broken person.”

Matteo’s cruel words made Livia take a small step back, as though they had physically struck her.

Carlos stepped closer, his gaze fixed on Matteo. “That’s enough. If you have a problem with Livia, this is neither the time nor the place. And believe me, it’s not in your best interest to continue.”

“Oh, really? And what are you going to do about it, guard dog?” Matteo provoked, stepping toward Carlos.

Before the situation could escalate, Charles placed a hand on Carlos’s arm, holding him back. “Leave it, Carlos,” he said in a low but firm voice. “He’s not worth it.”

Matteo looked around, noticing the defiant expressions of the pilots surrounding him. Despite his arrogance, even he knew when to back down.

“This isn’t over, Livia,” he said finally, throwing her one last look before turning and walking away.

When Matteo disappeared into the crowd, Livia stood still, her eyes glassy but fixed on the ground. Carlos turned to her, his face filled with concern.

"Livia," he said softly, placing a hand on her arm.

She looked up, but the words seemed trapped in her throat. Finally, she murmured, "I need to get out of here."

Carlos nodded immediately. "Let's go."

Without letting go of her, he guided her toward the exit under the curious gaze of those present, leaving the noise of the hall behind. Once outside, the cool night air wrapped around them. Livia took a few steps forward, pulling away a little, trying to control the tears that threatened to overflow.

"Livia," Carlos said, approaching her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I didn't want this to happen... I didn’t want..."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Carlos interrupted firmly. "He was the problem, not you."

The tears finally fell, and Livia tried to cover her face, embarrassed. But Carlos wrapped her in a hug, allowing her to lean on him as her emotions overwhelmed her.

"My God, how embarrassing. Why do I always end up crying when I'm with you? You should know that this isn't usually me."

Carlos chuckled softly as he looked at Livia, wiping her tears with the handkerchief from his suit. With his hand still on her back, he leaned slightly to meet her gaze. "Are you feeling better?" he asked gently, as though fearing to push too much.

Livia weakly nodded, carefully wiping her tears. "I'm sorry for ruining the night. I didn't want to..."

"Hey," Carlos interrupted, placing a hand under her chin to make her look at him. "None of this is your fault, okay? And the night isn’t ruined. I'm here with you, and that's all that matters."

She looked at him, her eyes still shining with emotion, but now there was something else: a warmth that came from Carlos's words, from his presence. He kissed her forehead as he hugged her again, enjoying the way their bodies fit together perfectly.

"You always know what to say, don't you? Is it a natural talent, or have you practiced a lot?" Livia said with a small smile, though still a little shaky.

Carlos laughed softly, gently brushing Livia's hair. "Let’s say it’s something I save for special occasions."

Livia let out a small, more genuine laugh this time, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes. "Thanks for not leaving me alone in there. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I should go back and thank the guys too, it was really sweet of them to stand up for me."

Carlos tilted his head, seeking her gaze. "You don’t need to thank anyone. I'm here because I want to be. And I’m not going anywhere."

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted the moment.

"Wow, now this is a dramatic scene. Should I be worried?"

Livia quickly turned to find her father, watching them with a mix of humor and curiosity. He was swinging his cane in his right hand as he slowly approached them.

"Dad," Livia said, her voice still weak but with a hint of concern. "What are you doing here? You should be inside."

"And miss this?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. "I've been bored all night listening to men in suits talk about engines. At least out here, it seems like something interesting is going on."

Carlos, feeling uncomfortable but maintaining his composure, took a small step back. "Sir, I apologize if we’ve caused any worry."

Livia's father studied him closely before flashing a smile. "Worry? Not at all. Though I must say, you’ve handled this situation better than I would have. If the scene had lasted any longer, I’d have kicked that rude Matteo’s ass with my cane myself."

"Dad," Livia interrupted, clearly embarrassed.

"Relax, my love," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just saying I’m impressed. This guy has style. And patience. Something, if I’m honest, that’s not easy to find."

Carlos let out a small chuckle. "I do what I can."

Livia’s father turned to her and, with a tremendous physical effort, kissed the top of her head, his tone now softer. "Are you okay?"

Livia nodded, although her eyes were still shining. "Yeah. Thanks, Dad."

"Good," he said, looking back at Carlos. "Then I trust you’ll take good care of her. Because if not, you’ll have to face me. And believe me, I can be a lot worse than Matteo."

Livia let out a laugh, though still moved by the moment. "Dad, don’t scare Carlos."

"Scare him? No way," her father replied, smiling knowingly at the driver. "This guy has more guts than I thought. I think he can handle anything."

Carlos smiled, nodding in a gesture of respect. "I’ll do my best not to disappoint."

Livia’s father watched them for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I guess this is the moment where I say something wise and profound, right?"

Livia raised an eyebrow, confused. "What do you mean, Dad?"

He looked at her, then at Carlos, and gave a mischievous smile. "I mean that this gala is terribly boring, and after everything that just happened, I think we need something… more authentic."

Carlos looked at him curiously. "Something more authentic?"

"Exactly," the man said, crossing his arms. "There’s a place not far from here, a little joint I used to frequent when I was young. They make the best burgers you’ll ever taste. No foie gras or carpaccio. Just meat, cheese, and fries. What do you say? Shall we get out of here?"

Livia blinked, clearly surprised. "Are you suggesting we leave the Ferrari gala to eat burgers?"

"Exactly that," her father replied with a wide grin. "Come on, Liv. You said yourself the night’s already been pretty eventful. Why not finish it off in an even more memorable way?"

Carlos let out a laugh, impressed by the man’s spontaneity. "Sounds like a good plan, sir."

"That’s the spirit!" her father exclaimed, giving Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "See, Livia? He gets it. Plus, after everything you’ve been through tonight, I think you deserve a good burger. I’ll call the driver. Or are you driving, pretty boy?" he said, pointing at Carlos.

Livia couldn’t help but laugh at her father’s comment, and Carlos laughed along with her.

"I’ll go get the car," said the Spanish driver.

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[gingiesworld]

Untitled Drabble

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: TW: Suicide, character death, not a happy one

AN: If you are uncomfortable or triggered with reading things associated with the warnings topic, feel free to miss this one. Also remember to talk to someone if you ever have feelings or thoughts similar to what's in this drabble. Also remember to keep on fighting, you are stronger than you know. Although this is going to be my only post for a while, I am not entirely sure when I will definitely be coming back. But remember your feelings matter, as do you.

MINORS DNI 18+

It had been months since the accident, since Y/N had lost their entire world, struggling with grief and purpose. Always putting on a smile and a brave face for everyone of their friends and family. Little did they know what lies beneath the fake smiles.

Y/N was always one who struggled with expressing their feelings, always answering everyone with “I’m okay.” But no one really saw the pain behind their eyes, the emptiness that they felt, the lack of purpose they had felt. That’s why they had written letters, hidden them away in the drawer of their night stand.

Every night, for months without fail they went out, heading towards the one place where they felt they had belonged, after drowning themselves in booze or drugs, hoping to get rid of the pain somehow, but nothing had truly worked, the pain they had felt only grew day by day, becoming unbearable. Although one night on their walk, they had reached their limit. Sitting on the edge, overlooking the overpass, watching as cars and trucks passed by underneath, wanting to finally be free, they rose to their feet, their heartbeat increasing slightly, although they had found peace in that moment, free of the pain as they stepped off of the ledge.

It was the middle of the night when Wanda had gotten the call, lying peacefully asleep beside her husband before the phone rang. Once she had heard the words she feared the most, the loss of her best friend. Jarvis was quick to pick up the phone once she had dropped it, finishing the call before wrapping his arm around his wife, trying to console her.

As the days went on, preparations for their funeral were ongoing, but Y/N’s mom had asked for Wanda’s help in finding their suit, the one they had bought for the wedding that was cancelled. Once she had the suit hanging, she had took a moment to gather herself as she sat on Y/N’s side of the bed, her eyes soon fell on the nightstand, the drawer slightly ajar, her curiosity peaked as she opened it, revealing sealed envelopes, addressed to different people, although she had come across one addressed to her. With shaky hands, she opened the envelope nervously, her eyes soon drawn to their handwriting. She had always admired their penmanship, seeing how neatly they had written in cursive. She chuckled at the memory of them telling her that they hate writing in print, always telling her you can see how much effort had gone into the words just by the neat handwriting. She then took a deep breath before reading it.

Wanda,

I’m sorry to be telling you this in a letter, but I am not okay, as you already know if you’re reading this letter. I tried to carry on, taking everyone’s word that it gets easier in time, but in truth it has only gotten worse. The pain has become too overwhelming, I have tried talking to someone about it but the words just get stuck, it’s like I know what I want to say, but on another note, I don’t know how. I don’t know how I’m supposed to carry on, I just don’t have the will to keep fighting anymore. I feel like I am drowning, in my own grief and the thoughts that come with it, but there have been moments where I don’t feel a thing, not a single thing. I don’t even recognise myself anymore, and I hate the person that I have become. I had become the liar that I never was, because everytime I said that I was okay, I was barely holding on. I hope that you can have the life you have always wanted and I know you will get through this, because you have people to help you, you have people who give you purpose, especially those two boys of yours.

I just want you to know that I am at ease now, I’m no longer drowning in my own pain, I have found peace. But most of all, I want to thank you for being the best friend that anyone could ask for. You were truly more than I deserved and I will always love you for that.

Y/N/N

No one truly knows what others are fighting, whether we can see it or not. No one knows what thoughts or feelings we have, but it’s not always easy to express them, it can be difficult to find the words to say, even if we were to say a simple “I’m not okay.” Doesn’t exactly say what kind of battle we are facing alone.

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[turgidscum]

the usage i have for turgid is a literary usage, meaning boisterous or pompous primarily. it used to be theatre, but i'm not into musicals very much anymore.

you seem to misunderstand me. i don't believe it should be easier for cis women or nb people to get phallo. i believe only men - cis or trans - should be able to get phalloplasty, as the penis is a male organ. while yes, i am aware that trans women are obviously born with penises, i believe that you need to have sex dysphoria in order to be trans. if you would not wake up tomorrow with the opposite genitals, i would not consider you a transsexual. transgender, sure, but not transsex.

if cis people started getting trans surgeries, the regret rate would increase due to people who aren't dysphoric about their genitals (i.e. okay with their genitals) having to pay thousands, go through emotionally and physically intense surgeries, and now having genitals different to what they were already okay with. they will actually feel the sex dysphoria that trans men and women experience every day alongside taking resources such as appointments, doctor attention, and creating even longer wait times.

i am a transman who has gone through hysto with minimal push back and is currently going through the phallo process because i am incredibly dysphoric. my hysto took six months after the consultation to do, but my phalli consultation hasn't even been scheduled due to the overwhelming amount of people seeking this surgery.

i don't say this because i'm a republicans or because i think genitals look a certain way. fuck that. republicans are stupid and need to fuck off over obsessing over peoples' junk and just let me get my passport changed ffs, and who gives a fuck what peoples' junk looks like. i don't think cis women should be getting phallo, just like i don't think cis men should be getting vaginoplasties, as they're going to be dysphoric about it later.

what's hurting trans people is the idea that we're choosing to do these things for the fuck of it. its why republicans think they can just stop us from transitioning, because it's an aesthetic. but a lot of us are genuinely struggling wirh dysphoria, and while i support people who choose not to get bottom surgery for whatever reason, that doesn't mean i support cis people getting unnecessary surgeries that make the wait line to alleviate dysphoria longer for actual transsex individuals.

i struggle with the idea of autonomy and where the line should be drawn at enough. obviously, people with biid shouldn't be able to disable themselves because of their mental disorder, not do i believe we should allow individuals who don't have diabetes or chemo to get insulin or chemo/radiation just because they feel like it. those are medical conditions, as is gender/sex dysphoria, and i believe care for it should be limited.

but we have things like botox and face lifts that people always compare transitioning to. those are aesthtic. they don't cause distress like having the wrong genitals can have. those have higher regret rates than trans surgeries are are routinely botched, but we allow anyone to get them.

i don't know. we can't let anyone get everything they want. we can't just pass around hrt and insulin and cokr like they're cocktails for whoever wants them, but we should restrict all access like reputards do. there is a middle ground somewhere, and i think the idea of allowing open access to trans surgeries under the name of bodily autonomy has a possibility to classify these legitimately lifesaving surgeries as aestbetic.

(in case any of your followers know about these kinda stuff)

Can a cis woman get a phalloplasty simply because she wanted a peanits? Are there any records of that happening?

Good question!

Does anyone know?