#and then there will be little spin off stories

[luvrrszn]

messy

RAFE CAMERON x FEM READER (18+)

summary coming back from college, the last thing hookup!rafe expects to return to is rumours that you’ve been sleeping with jj

warnings angst, happy ending though!, lowkey miscommunication, all characters r of age !! brief jj x reader but that's just for the plot okay...

a/n ok stay with me now basically reader is 18 (graduated hs, but taking a gap year) and she's the same age as jj/john b/everyone else while rafe is 19 and was having his first year in college !! yo why did this idea lowkey come to me in a dream during a nap Zzzzzz and ooc kelce for this one my bad

masterlist

it was supposed to be a summer thing.

something fun, fleeting, memorable yet forgettable. a secret, of course, because rafe would never risk his reputation by being seen with a pogue, would he?

but the sneaking around was useless, everyone knew that something was happening between the two of you. well, everyone that mattered anyway. they saw the way his eyes lingered a second too long on you, how his grip tightened just a little when he led you through crowded rooms. they noticed how you always left parties together.

but none of that meant anything.

it's casual, it's just convenient.

that's what the both of you told anyone and everyone who asked.

that's what you kept telling yourself when you found yourself wanting more.

especially when rafe told you he was moving away for college.

—

at first, you waited.

you told yourself it was a polite thing to do, waiting for some time before getting with someone else.

but in reality, you were waiting before moving on, in hopes that you'd get a text from rafe, who was hundreds of miles away, a text that would change your relationship.

but it never came.

then the daily check-ins and "miss u babe" texts lessen in frequency.

you're lucky if you get a text once a week.

you think maybe he's just busy. give him the benefit of the doubt right? maybe he's still trying to cope with the new workload, or making new friends.

you're proved wrong when you click on topper's close friends' story on instagram.

weekend after weekend, rafe's clubbing, partying, with a different girl on his lap each time.

well, if he's clearly not bothered to text, why bother waiting?

—

and when he finally remembers that his sweet girl is waiting for him, you're not waiting anymore.

you don't even bother to open his texts.

why?

because you're too busy having fun with jj!

it's casual, fun, spontaneous with jj. you don't have to worry about being seen "too close" in public, it's just you and jj maybank having fun!

you party, go to the beach, hanging out with your friends. you surround yourself with your people, always making sure you're too busy to be thinking about rafe. you bury your feelings deep, and do anything you can to take your mind off of it.

having grown close to rafe's friends too, you go to parties on both figure eight and the cut, always with jj. and you make damn sure everyone sees.

you secretly hope rafe's friends tell him.

—

in the weeks that follow, you're too busy having fun fooling around and partying with jj to notice the text from rafe that tells you he's coming back for winter break.

—

"hey, you gotta hurry a lil if you wanna get some of the good booze before the kooks get 'em all!" jj yells at you from down the stairs.

"i'm coming, just wait!" you huff as you struggle with your earrings as you walk down the stairs. you had spent the night at sarah's just so you could get to the party down the street more easily.

when you get to the landing of the stairs, jj lets out a low whistle as you do a little spin. you're wearing a short sparkly skirt that barely covers anything, and a very low-cut black lace tank. remembering that it was rafe's favourite outfit of yours sends a pang of sadness through your chest, but you push it aside.

the moment you step out onto the street, you can already hear the loud music blasting from the house down the street. you and jj race down the road, and of course you win! (he let you win...)

"yo! see you brought your little dog with you today." kelce chuckles, handing you and jj a bottle of beer each as you two enter through the front door.

"hey, y'know i'm just playing. good to see you, maybank." kelce says, arms up in mock surrender once you glare at him. he winks at you, and then he disappears into the crowd.

after dancing for what felt like an eternity, you slip upstairs to the bathroom to get a bit of air and space.

when you finally push open the bathroom door, the muffled bass from the party instantly flooding back into your ears. the air is thick with smoke and spilled liquor, the dim hallway lights flickering unevenly. as you step out, adjusting your top, your breath catches in your throat.

there he is.

rafe fucking cameron, back from college, standing at the bottom of the stairs like he never left.

he's leaning against the wall, one hand lazily gripping a red solo cup, the other tucked into the pocket of his jeans. his gaze is already on you—intense, unreadable. the kind that makes your stomach flip in a way you wish it wouldn’t.

you immediately look around for an escape route and you realise you're fucked, with no way out except down the stairs, past him, and out the front door. when you finally refocus your gaze on rafe, he looks different, somehow. sharper. more tired. tall, so tall. you don't remember him being that tall.

but despite everything, he's still the same rafe—the same cocky tilt of his head, the same way he takes up too much space without even trying.

you force yourself to keep walking, gripping the wooden railing as you descend the stairs, ignoring the way your pulse pounds in your ears. you won’t give him the satisfaction of stopping.

but of course, rafe doesn’t let that happen.

the moment your foot touches the last step, his free hand curls around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. the grip isn’t tight, but it’s enough—enough to send a shiver up your spine, enough to remind you that he’s right here.

"didn’t think i’d see you here, bug," he drawls, voice thick with amusement. his fingers skim down your arm, lazy and deliberate. familiar. "heard you’ve been keeping yourself entertained while I was gone."

your plan worked. he'd heard about you and jj. but why on earth were you feeling like absolute shit?

you wriggle out of his grip.

"get out of my way, rafe." you grit out before darting through the crowd and out of the front door.

but he's hot on your tail. he's not letting you go, not this time.

he grabs your waist and spins you around, holding you in place this time, so you don’t slip away.

"don’t act like you care now, rafe. let me go." your voice is soft, pleading almost.

his smirk falters for half a second. but then, just like that, it’s back—only meaner this time.

"oh, but i do," he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "see, i come home after months away, and what do i hear?" he tilts his head, eyes dark. "that my girl has been playing house with a pogue?"

the way he calls you his girl doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you’re too angry to care.

"but that’s the thing, rafe! i am a pogue! i’ve always been, and that’s the issue you’ve always had! you’ve always been too ashamed of that, so why do you care about me now? you can’t move away and expect me to turn my life upside down for you once you get tired of college girls and come back to outer banks!"

and for a while, rafe is stunned. he’s never seen you this angry.

rafe’s jaw tightens. his grip on your hip flexes before he snatches his hand away, like your skin suddenly burns him. his smirk is long gone now, replaced by something darker—something stormy.

"that’s not—" he starts, but he stops himself, exhaling sharply through his nose. he drags a hand down his face, as if physically trying to pull himself together.

because you’re right. and he hates that.

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of whatever he’s trying not to say. when he finally looks at you again, his eyes are sharp, frustrated.

"you think i don’t care?" his voice is lower now, rougher. "you think i came back and the first thing i did was find you because i don’t give a shit?"

you fold your arms over your chest, willing yourself to hold your ground. "i think you came back because you ran out of things to distract yourself with," you snap. "and now you’re just—what? picking up where you left off? you don’t get to do that, rafe."

before you can react, he pulls you into his chest. your enveloped by his familiar smell, his cologne, his shampoo. he has one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. his chin rests on the top of your head.

you don’t even notice you’ve started crying until you feel rafe’s grip tighten, his hand splaying against the small of your back like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"shh," he mutters, his breath warm against your hair. his voice has lost its usual edge, no more cocky drawl, no more sharpness. just rafe. just the boy who used to sneak into your room at night when he had nowhere else to go. just the boy who left, but still came back.

you try to push away, but he doesn’t let you—not completely. his hold loosens just enough for you to look up at him, your vision blurred with tears.

"you don’t get to do this," you whisper, voice shaking. "you don’t get to leave and come back like nothing happened. like i—like i didn’t—" you cut yourself off before the words spill out.

like i didn't matter

like i didn't miss you

like i didn't love you.

rafe stares at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. his thumb swipes gently over your cheek, catching a stray tear. the touch is so soft, so familiar, so cruel.

"you think i didn’t miss you?" his voice is hoarse now, strained, like he can’t believe you’d ever doubt it. "you think i wasn’t losing my fucking mind without you?"

your breath hitches.

when you finally regain your composure, you whisper, "you left for college, rafe. what was i supposed to do? wait around for you?"

rafe exhales sharply, shaking his head, "it's not about that. it's about you acting like you didn't care when i left—then immediately turning around and shacking up with jj!"

"you are mad that i didn't wait around for you!" you scoff incredulously.

you shake your head, scoffing again. "unbelievable." you turn to leave, trying to escape his embrace, because if you stay, you’ll say something you’ll regret. but before you can take a step, you're right back in rafe's arms again.

"i didn’t think i had to ask," he says quietly.

you freeze. his voice isn’t angry anymore—it’s something else, something raw, something that makes your chest ache.

"i thought you knew."

you swallow hard, refusing to look up at him. "knew what, rafe?"

he lets out a breath, tipping your chin up with his fingers so you look at him.

"that it was never just a summer thing for me."

rafe's confession leaves you breathless.

"and because i can’t stand watching you act like i don’t mean anything to you when i know that’s not true." he continues, voice softer, warmer.

your stomach twists. "you don’t know anything."

rafe steps closer, his hands settling lightly on your waist. "don’t i?" his voice is lower now, rougher. "you think i don’t notice the way you look at me? that i don’t feel it every time you’re near me?"

you shake your head, but your fingers have already found the hem of his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

"you’re full of shit."

"maybe." his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk, but there’s something softer in his expression. "but you still want me."

you hate that he’s right. you hate that no matter how mad you are, no matter how much you try to push him away, you still want him just as much as you always have.

and he knows it.

rafe leans in, his nose brushing against yours, giving you every opportunity to stop him.

you don’t.

the moment your lips meet, it’s over. the tension snaps, the anger dissolving into something hungrier, needier. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you let him, let yourself melt into him like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

because maybe it is.

"so what now?" you whisper, voice somewhat uncertain.

rafe exhales a small laugh, shaking his head. "whatever you want."

you roll your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"wow, i could feel you rolling your eyes."

he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "then here’s one: i want you. not just when it’s easy, not just when it’s convenient. i want you."

"no more sneaking around?"

"no more sneaking around." he smirks. "i’ll even let jj live."

you shove at his chest, laughing despite yourself, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight that’s been sitting in your chest lifts.

[bonsaisboneyard]

Ok, story time

When I was a freshman in college, the laundry room was in the basement of the dorm, and they had gas dryers. Because it was a college dorm, the machines were abused while also not having the necessary upkeep done on them on a regular basis. This meant that the machines had quirks that you learned about pretty quickly out of necessity.

One day, when I was doing laundry, I loaded my fresh out of the washer clothes into what was known to be the “good” dryer (it was the one that actually lit consistently). I put my coins in, and press the button… nothing happened.

Being an engineering major at the time, I look around to see if there’s anything obviously wrong, and I find the machine has been unplugged (I figured it was either a prank or someone trying a novel way to “reserve” a machine). I plug it back in and press the button… still nothing.

I open up the little panel on the front (the one that shows the combustion chamber for the gas) and notice that the cable to the ignition mechanism is also unplugged, so I plug that back in too (it was keyed, so you can’t easily plug it in wrong). I press the button … the dryer starts spinning.

I’m starting to celebrate, but there is one more essential step in doing laundry with these machines; you watch to make sure the gas ignites or else you’ll come back to still-wet laundry. I’m watching through the aforementioned panel in the front, and I watch the igniter start to glow orange.

Typically, what would happen next is that a solenoid would engage and turn on the gas, which would ignite on the glowing wire and provided the heat for the dryer.

What happened to me was that I heard the click of the solenoid engaging, and a fireball shot out of the hole from the removed panel (seeing this video, I think if I had not taken the panel off to make sure that the gas lit, the explosion probably would have gone into the machine and popped the dryer door open).

Surprisingly, my instinct was to pull open the dryer door to stop everything, which worked. The gas stopped, and all I had to worry about was the wires that I had reconnected to get the machine working were on fire. I put it out with a piece of my wet laundry.

I unplugged everything again and reported the issue to campus services. Then I put up a sign that said “DO NOT USE! WILL EXPLODE” before cursing about how I had to use one of the janky-ass dryers instead… and that the exploding dryer ate my quarters.

And that’s how I almost blew up my college dorm.

[ktownshizzle]

Honey & Citrus | an myg drabble

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Meet-cute coffee shop!au, to be confirmed if Yoongi is an idol or not

✎ ˎˊ˗  Summary: You haaate your job, but at least there’s this sexy eye-candy at your favorite cafe to distract you from your miserable 9 to forever grind. Your simple, casual nods with him turn into a silent caffeine war when, after his small act of kindness, you buy him his coffee—and he refuses to let the favor go unanswered. Suddenly, you’re locked in a daily battle of who pays first, and just when you think you’ve reached a stalemate, fate (and a very nosy barista) throws in a twist you never saw coming.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: None ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.6k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 13, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Welcome to another unplanned story. Just a little something I whipped up for the boss babes and corporate girlies working in their city's business districts, desperate to find a semblance of happiness in their robotic working days–did I mention this was really self-indulgent? I am not sure if this stays as a one-shot or a series of drabbles? Idk. Anyways, enjoy!~

Series Masterlist | More Yoongi stories this way > Masterlist

There’s a rhythm to your mornings. The kind that makes life feel like a well-oiled machine—predictable, efficient, sharp. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway, as you sidestep a finance bro barking into his phone to push open the door to Honey & Citrus cafe.

Not Coffee Bean. Never Starbucks. Not even Compose—even though Kim Taehyung’s face could certainly make you wanna come (in).

But you don’t need the soulless corporate grind in your caffeine routine when you already live it from 9 to god-knows-when. Honey & Citrus has the good beans, the real baristas who actually know your order and don’t try to be fake-friendly with you, and the quiet that lets you inhale a moment of peace before stepping into the battlefield of bullshit board meetings.

And then there’s him.

“Iced Americano for Yoongi…” 

He’s always there at the same time as you. Every. Single. Day.

A handsome stranger with sharp, feline eyes and an ever-present air of quiet confidence. The very first time you see him, he was wearing a suit. A medium gray set with an interesting burgundy tie. He held a small suitcase, fit for a macbook air, maybe a thin stack of paperwork. Definitely some VC vulture or hedge fund guy, gifted with the face of a luxury brand model.

But then one day he was wearing… a hoodie and black slacks with headphones slung around his neck, the expensive kind audiophiles swear by. 

Hmm. With this look, your previous assumptions did not add up. Now, you couldn’t quite place his profession. 

Since then, it becomes some sort of game you play in your mind. To discover what this dude’s job is.

One day, he holds a notebook filled with messy, poetic scrawls—you catch a glimpse as he flips the pages, and your mind spins wild theories. Another morning, he reads a printout of a Shareholder Meeting report as he awaits his coffee. Then the next day, you spot a vinyl tucked under his arm, and something about that sends your curiosity spiraling further.

Music Executive? Writer? Producer? Who is this mysterious artsy type in a sea of wolves? But maybe is a wolf. Lawyer, City Prosecutor, some Start-Up Founder… who likes to dabble in poetry?

You’re fascinated. Man has aura. And on top of that, he sure looks like he can fuck.

Unlucky for you, your interactions so far are limited to polite nods, the occasional small smile exchanged as you both wait for your respective coffees. Maybe the universe has a sense of humor, slotting you into the same ten-minute window every day with a stranger who intrigues you far more than your own coworkers do. But of course, he is not interested in you.

You wake up with a migraine, and instantly, you know—it’s a morning from hell.

Your alarm didn’t go off. Your inbox is already on fire. Your boss sends a cryptic “let’s talk” email before you’ve even left your apartment, which is never a good sign. You forgot about the afternoon presentation you’re supposed to give, and your deck isn’t even half-finished.

The thought of quitting—of walking into that glass tower and tossing your resignation onto your boss’s desk like a dramatic K-drama lead—has never been more tempting.

This morning has no rhythm. More out of tune than drunk-you in a Coin Karaoke.

By the time you drag yourself into Honey & Citrus, it’s already a god-forsaken Friday. You’re barely holding it together, probably leaving a trail of smoke in your wake. Your hair is frizzy, your face frazzled—it’s just a fucked-up day all around. And it’s barely 8 a.m.

You’re so deep in your own misery that you don’t even clock the fact that your favorite stranger has been looking at you since you walked in.

Not until—

“Fighting~”

You blink.

He’s looking right at you, his dark eyes warm with quiet amusement as he mouths the word again, this time with double closed fists, like a cartoon character summoning energy. And then, just for good measure, he smiles.

A real one.

The disbelief must be all over your face because suddenly, you’re giggling—actually giggling, something you didn’t think you were capable of before noon.

Yoongi—the mysterious, unreadable stranger you’ve been quietly fascinated with for weeks—just gave you the world’s softest pep talk.

And then, as if realizing what he’s done, he quickly looks away, pulling a face mask over his mouth, his pink-tinged cheeks disappearing behind black fabric.

A second later, he’s heading for the door, stepping out into the cold like he didn’t just single-handedly save your morning.

Your eyes follow him until he disappears around the corner, but the warmth he left behind lingers in your chest.

Maybe because you needed to hear it. Maybe because no one’s said it to you in a long time. Maybe because he said it.

You take a deep breath, square your shoulders. And somehow—somehow—you make it through the day.

You survive. Without handing over your resignation letter.

Small wins.

The next Monday, you get to Honey & Citrus first. You don’t even think about it—you just do it. You buy his coffee.

And then you sprint out before he can react, because suddenly, the idea of watching his expression feels too embarrassing to bear. You tell yourself it’s just a small gesture. A thank-you for a kindness he probably doesn’t even think much of.

The next day, though, he beats you to it.

You walk in, and the barista just hands you your usual order with a knowing smile. “It’s covered.”

You blink, turn, and find him already at his usual spot, sipping his drink like he didn’t just declare war.

Because it is so obvious he did this just to one-up you.

You narrow your eyes. He lifts his cup in a silent toast, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

And so it begins.

For a week, you play the game.

One morning, you bribe the barista to let you pay first. The next, he somehow convinces them to refuse your card. 

You show up earlier to get ahead, but the next day he shows up even earlier.

Your schedule is screwed. You’re suddenly up way earlier than you like, but you like it.

It’s ridiculous. It’s fun. It’s completely unlike anything else in your day.

Until, finally, one morning, you both arrive at the exact same time.

You grab the door handle—he does, too. His palm brushes against your knuckles. Both of you freeze, eyes locking, realizing at the same time:

Shit. No winner today.

You swear you see his lips twitch, like he’s holding back a real smile. And then—before you can overthink it—you finally, actually, talk to him.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “we could just both buy our own coffee like normal people.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” His voice is deep, lazy, laced with amusement.

“Are you always this competitive?”

“Are you?”

You huff, trying to suppress the warmth creeping up your neck. He leans in slightly, and it’s the first time you’ve really, truly studied him up close—the sharp cut of his jaw, the quiet intensity behind his eyes, the scent of something subtly musky clinging to his coat.

“Since we’re doing introductions before the next round,” he says, “I’m Yoongi.”

Of course, you already know it. You give yours in return, and he nods like it makes sense. Like he already knew it as well. Which makes sense.

As you walk in, the barista snickers, clearly entertained by whatever weird silent war you and Yoongi have been waging for the past week. You’re about to step back, let him go first when the barista clears her throat.

“Actually,” she says, way too pleased with herself. “It’s on the house today.”

Both you and Yoongi blink in unison.

“What?” you ask.

“Why?” Yoongi adds, looking just as skeptical.

The barista leans on the counter, grinning like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Valentine’s Day promo.”

Your stomach drops. Your brain stalls. You look around and Honey & Citrus has little cherubs hanging from the ceiling.

“First couple to walk in together gets free drinks,” she further explains.

You feel the heat crawl up your neck, your face burning so hot it could brew the damn espresso yourself. Beside you, Yoongi makes a tiny sound—like an exhale caught in his throat—and when you turn your head ever so slightly, you see it.

His ears are bright red.

The barista just smirks. You are going to die here.

You should correct her, actually. You should explain. But words? Language? Coherent thought? We don’t know her.

But that’s when Yoongi does something absolutely insane.

He clears his throat, thanks the barista, and then—looking at one of the booths of the cafe, still not looking at you—he says, casually, like this isn’t the most absurd moment of your life,

“How about we have that first date right now?”

Your head snaps toward him, and he finally meets your gaze, and oh, he’s serious. 

Your heart stumbles over itself, but you manage a tiny, shy smile, and a quip, “…you mean this coffee? Here?” Because that’s all your pea brain can compute.

His lips twitch. “Mm. Unless you wanna go somewhere else?”

Huh.

You hate that he’s smooth about this. You hate that you kind of really, really like it. 

You swallow hard, shifting on your feet. “This place is fine.”

His smile curves, small but victorious. “Good.”

The barista practically vibrates behind the counter as she hands over your drinks, joyful even though two drinks are getting docked from her pay that week. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

With Yoongi, it feels like it's definitely going to be...

:)

A/N: To you, my dearest reader. I hope your heart is filled with joy today and forever. You deserve it!

Want more for our coffee shop couple? Let me know if you’re interested in me turning this into series of drabbles?? Look at me adding more stuff into my WIP list.  Caved! Here's the H&C masterlist

Thank you for reading this you lovely, beautiful human! xo

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

[samthedays]

So we got the trailer for crossworlds...

Aaaaaaaand we only got Sage...goddammit Sega...also there's only mobians (yes, I'll call them like that) now??? Like around the world??? The Metal Harbor (if it's Metal Harbor) only has mobians by what I seem...sometimes I'm not sure what Sega is trying to do...I mean it's a spin off but yeah...

Yes I know, maybe in the future we maybe will get new Characters...but you know, It won't be Honey the cat, it won't be Fang, it won't be the FF, I won't be Fleetway Characters, It won't be Sonia and Maniac, just the characters you have seen 1000th times in a roll.

I swear, just please give us Legacy or Heritage Characters, that goddammit franchise has so many characters with so many different personalities and stories and we can't even have them in Spin offs???

There's so many fans of other Characters than the usual ones that appear, but we never get them...

Heck even Tangle and Whisper! Like, I really hope they're there and Sega didn't show them in the trailer, because man...please Sega...I'm tired of playing Sonic Heroes cast over and over again in the spin offs...

At least we got Jet I guess...

Also no I'm not being hateful or telling to not play the game, I'll play it after lmao

It's just my opinion on it, just think Sega could care a little more about the franchise History...specifically in games where they don't need to care so much about lore...

Maybe I'll eat my own words? I hope so, I wanna play Ray and Might so bad in a race game and alongside the Modern Cast, like c'mooooon they can be in their classic style tho!

But all we get is Team Sonic, Team Rose, Team Dark and Chaotix all over again and again plus two different characters.

...Zavok and Zazz are first options...rest in peace Sonic's Elaborated and Huge universe...we miss you already...

[demigodofhoolemere]

Poll’s over but let’s play this again just for fun, shall we?

19th century China facing Tereleptils with Ten, Gabby, Cindy, and Anubis. I do NOT know any of those companions but okay, strength in numbers is good. And… oh. The TARDIS hates me. That’s not a good sign. I’ll probably live just because of how many of us there are but I’m not sticking around if the TARDIS hates me.

Let’s just do this again for characters I know and hopefully a TARDIS that does not hate me…

*spinny spin spin*

I’m on Gliese 581d… *looks that up*… oh my gosh, the Emojibot world. It had better be AFTER Twelve solved that problem already. Facing… THE FORETOLD ARE YOU KIDDING. Mummies are already an old and deep fear for me but this thing literally targets physical and mental illness to weed out the weak. My neurodivergent and severely chronically ill butt is DEAD. I’m with Fifteen and Ruby but I’m gonna be real with you, I don’t think they can save me. I think I’m gonna be the reason he cries in this episode.

*spins for condition even though the situation is hopeless*

… I LIVE???

Wow, okay, I guess I underestimated Fifteen and Ruby. Thanks guys!

After somehow saving me from the Foretold we’re gonna head to the Pirate Planet where we’ll face some Ood. Hopefully they’re friendly ones and we don’t have too hard a time.

Next up we’re headed to an Arctic research station and unfortunately run into some Kasaavin. That sounds pretty dangerous but luckily I have the plot armor of needing to be in the next episode, so we all make it out alive, though I suspect the people manning the station may not be so lucky. This one could be a cool story actually lol.

Finally we’re off for a holiday on New Earth, but we find a Pting wreaking havoc. Thankfully Fifteen should know what to do by virtue of having already been Thirteen, so we can probably solve this problem between the three of us. Assuming New Earth has advanced enough technology for it, we might be able to capture it using whatever tech existed in the RotD space jail that managed to keep that one contained. It’ll certainly take some effort but I think we’re good here and I’m not gonna die on my final journey. Honestly this kind of sounds like a zany little adventure that Fifteen and Ruby really would have.

I’ll gladly stay with them until I can get home but man, I’m already on borrowed time after the Foretold incident, I’m not taking my chances traveling full-time. It’s been great fun though, guys.

Spin the Wheel: Doctor Who Edition

You have been swept away in a Time Storm to some other place and time, where monsters stalk the streets! Fortunately, the TARDIS has landed there, too. Can you make it through this adventure? What will you do even if you can?

Spin for your location

Spin for Monster of the Week

Spin for TARDIS team

Spin for bonus condition

[gainercontent]

Thick & Thriving

I may be able to finish another story for Valentine's day tomorrow.... stay tuned.

On the evening of Valentine’s Day, Daniel and Ryan arrived at the tapas restaurant, the warm glow of candlelight flickered against exposed brick walls, and the air was thick with the scent of sizzling garlic, smoked paprika, and freshly baked bread. The place was called El Corazón, and Ryan had spent weeks hunting for the perfect spot—one that would remind Daniel of his year studying abroad in Spain, while still being a proper indulgence for their now bear-sized appetites.  

As they settled into their booth—a plush, red-leather seat near the open kitchen—Daniel’s eyes lit up. “Wait a second… You brought me to a tapas place?”  

Ryan smirked. “Surprise, babe. Thought you’d appreciate a little throwback to your Spain days.”  

Daniel practically bounced in his seat. “Okay, but you realize I’m about to order *everything*?”  

Ryan leaned back, rubbing his bearded chin. “Babe, that’s exactly the plan.”

*****

Daniel and Daniel met on a warm, humid summer night in Boystown, Chicago. The neon lights of Halsted Street reflected off their freshly moisturized, barely-legal faces as they danced shirtless at a bar packed with sweaty twinks and pulsing house music. Daniel was sipping a vodka soda when Daniel bumped into him, laughing apologetically as his own tequila shot nearly spilled.

They were both in their early twenties—thin, smooth, and wide-eyed with excitement for the nightlife. Daniel, with his shaggy blond hair and a crop top that barely covered his toned torso, locked eyes with Ryan, a dark-haired twink with an infectious laugh and tight jeans that left little to the imagination. The attraction was instant.  

A flirtatious conversation led to more drinks, then a first kiss under the orange glowing streetlights. That night turned into a weekend, which turned into a relationship, and soon, they were inseparable.

In their early 20s, they were the epitome of stereotypical twinkhood—lean, smooth, and perpetually clad in tank tops that clung to their toned frames. They were gym rats by day and party boys by night, dancing until dawn, brunching, and engaging in the occasional self-indulgent skincare routine.

They moved in together into a tiny apartment, decorating it together, and hanging pictures from a few vacations. But as their love deepened, so did their desire for something more grounded.  

As the years passed, their relationship deepened beyond the clubs and glittery chaos of their youth. Daniel traded his crop tops for slightly looser tees, and Daniel stopped counting calories every time they indulged in a delicious meal or Doordash haul. They still worked out but started skipping spin class for cozy nights on the couch.  

Then came a shift—Daniel let his body hair grow out, and Daniel stopped waxing his chest. They started lifting heavier at the gym, not to stay slim, but to build mass. Their wardrobe upgraded from Mediums to Larges.

One day, after a particularly indulgent Sunday brunch, Daniel pinched Daniel’s belly playfully. “Babe, I think we’re officially daddies-in-training.”  

Daniel smirked. “Correction: we’re bears-in-training.”  

They decided to trade their cramped apartment for a cozy two-bedroom in a neighborhood with a more mature scene—filled with more low-key bars, craft breweries, and a slightly slower pace. At first, they resisted the change, still attempting to cling to their past, but something was shifting. Their bodies, once sculpted by cardio and protein shakes, started craving comfort over aesthetics. The gym visits became even less frequent, and their love for food—good, hearty food—began to take precedence over calorie counting.

By this point, Daniel had grown out a scruffy beard, and Daniel followed suit, trading his clean-shaven face for a well-groomed but thick beard that complemented his increasingly broadening shoulders. Their tight crop tops were slowly replaced by plaid flannels and hoodies. Friends began joking about their “bearification,” but neither of them minded. They embraced it. Daniel learned how to barbecue on their new patio, Daniel developed a passion for craft beer, and their nights out at clubs were replaced by cozy gatherings at home with other couples, laughing and socializing.

*****

It had been a while since Daniel and Ryan had run into their old crew of twink friends from their early twenties. After dinner, they decided to stop by a familiar bar in Boystown, the same one they’d met all those years ago. The place still had the same lively energy, with music thumping in the background and laughter filling the air. They were barely through the door when they spotted them—old friends from their twink days, standing by the bar, looking much the same as they had when Daniel and Ryan first met.  

“Holy shit,” one of them, Alex, said, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the two of them. “*Look* at you two!”  

Daniel and Ryan froze for a moment, the weight of the moment sinking in. It had been years since they'd seen the group, and now they felt every pound of their transformation. Their bellies were fuller, their faces rounder, and their bodies definitely more muscular—but also softer in all the right places. Ryan’s chest had thickened with a soft layer of muscle, while Daniel’s love handles had expanded, adding a fullness to his figure that wasn’t there before.  

Alex grinned, though, walking up and slapping Daniel on the back with a hearty chuckle. “Damn, guys! Look at you two! You’re looking good! I mean, you’re... *thicker* now, but damn, thriving.”  

Ryan smirked, rubbing his own belly, which had grown comfortably round from their indulgent feast. “Yeah, we’ve definitely moved on from the twink phase,” he said with a grin. “Not sure if we’ve *quite* made it to bear status yet, but getting there.”  

Another old friend, Dakota, stepped forward, their eyes sparkling with warmth. “Y’all are absolutely thriving. Look at those arms, Ryan! Daniel, your chest... that’s not the body I remember, but I have to admit, I dig it.”  

Daniel chuckled, brushing a hand through his hair. “We’ve been enjoying our beatification. I definitely look different than back in the day, but we’re pretty happy with where I’ve landed.”  

“Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Ryan said, giving Daniel a playful wink. “We’ve got this whole new version of ourselves, and honestly, it feels pretty amazing.”  

Alex laughed again, giving them both a once-over. “You guys are like... *Thick and Thriving*, huh?” he said with a teasing tone, but there was no malice in it. It was more admiration. “I’m here for it. You look so much more... yourselves, you know? Like you’re *living* now, not just trying to fit into something.”  

Daniel smiled warmly, a genuine sense of pride flooding him. “Yeah, I think we’ve finally learned to embrace the change. It’s not about fitting into some artificial mold anymore.”

Dakota stepped closer, their voice soft and sincere. “I’m so happy for you both. Honestly, it’s like you’ve grown into yourselves, and I can see it—*feel* it. It’s great to see you so… comfortable.”  

Ryan laughed, a low, deep sound that felt so at home coming from him now. “We’re comfortable in every sense of the word, Dakota. *Way* too comfortable sometimes.” He glanced at Daniel with a grin. “But hey, no regrets.”  

The group all burst into laughter together, clinking glasses and sharing a genuine moment of appreciation for where everyone was in life. It wasn’t about how much had changed—they were still the same friends, but better. Happier. Mature. And Daniel and Ryan couldn’t help but feel proud of their own transformation, knowing that the journey had made them more of who they were meant to be.  

“Thick and Thriving, huh?” Daniel said, glancing at Ryan with a playful grin. “I kinda like the sound of that.”  

Ryan wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Yeah, me too.”

*****

A few months later and one would say they were full-fledged bears, complete with furry bellies and an unshakable confidence in themselves. They still danced—but now, they didn’t feel the need to suck in their stomachs. Their love had only grown richer, a steady, warm presence that felt as solid as their new physiques.

“Do you ever miss the old days?” Daniel asked one night, curling into Daniel’s arms on their oversized couch.

“Nah,” Daniel said, pressing a kiss to Daniel’s forehead. “I love every stage of us.”

The transformation was complete. Their lean frames had filled out—muscle, a bit of belly. Their chins rounded out under full beards, their twinkish giggles replaced by deep chuckles. They became regulars at a local gay dive bar down the street with free popcorn, embraced their newfound love for craft beer, and found a circle of bear friends who threw the best gatherings.  

Their love hadn’t changed—it had only deepened. They still danced in the kitchen, still held hands under city lights, but now, they were thinking for the future—maybe even a dog, or a bigger home with a yard.  

By the next year, the transformation was complete. Their lean frames had filled out—muscle, a bit of belly, a whole lot of comfort. Their beards were full, their twinkish giggles replaced by deep chuckles. They became regulars at leather bars, embraced their newfound love for craft beer, and found a circle of bear friends who threw the best game nights.  

Their love hadn’t changed—it had only deepened. They still danced in the kitchen, still held hands under city lights, but now, they were planning for the future—maybe even a dog, or a bigger place with a yard.  

*****

As February rolled around, Daniel woke up to find Ryan already in the kitchen, flipping pancakes.  

Ryan turned, grinning. “Guess what, babe? I got us a great dinner reservation for Valentine’s Day.”  

Daniel wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “And I got us tickets to a comedy show after.”  

Daniel had known the moment he tried pulling his jeans up before dinner that he was in trouble. The dark-wash denim had fit him *once*—back when he and Ryan were still clinging to the last remnants of their twink days—but tonight, as he stood in front of their bedroom mirror, struggling to squeeze his thick thighs into the stiff fabric, he realized those days were *long* gone.  

He grunted as he yanked them up, the material barely stretching over his powerful tree-trunk thighs. His quads flared out wide, the denim clinging desperately to their bulk, making every inch of movement feel restrictive. The seams at the sides looked strained, and the pockets, which used to lie flat, now flared outward awkwardly, warped by the sheer girth of his thighs and hips.  

Then came the real challenge: the button.  

Daniel sucked in slightly—not that it helped much anymore—and tugged the waistband together, but the button barely reached the hole. His soft love handles spilled over the sides, pressing against the waistband as he wrestled with the fastener. The denim groaned under the pressure, the tight fabric pulling against his round belly as he forced the button through the hole.  

The moment it was fastened, his stomach surged forward, pressing hard against the waistband, the metal button straining visibly.  

“Babe,” he called to Ryan, who was finishing up in the bathroom. “I think I’m in denial.”  

Ryan peeked out and immediately smirked. “Oh my god. Are you seriously trying to squeeze into those?”  

Daniel huffed, rubbing a hand over his bloated midsection, feeling how the waistband dug into his soft flesh. “They *technically* fit.”  

Ryan walked over and ran a finger along the waistband, grinning as he felt how painfully tight they were. “Babe, that button is one deep breath away from flying off.”  

Daniel sighed, shifting uncomfortably as the waistband bit into his stuffed belly. “I know. And the zipper won’t stay up.”  

Ryan looked down and noticed that, sure enough, the zipper had already slipped down slightly, unable to hold against the sheer pressure of Daniel’s packed gut. A sliver of soft, dark belly hair peeked through the gap.  

Ryan chuckled, giving Daniel’s side a playful squeeze. “Babe, why are you doing this to yourself?”  

Daniel exhaled, his belly pushing even harder against the unrelenting waistband. “Because I like these jeans. And I refuse to accept that they don’t fit.”  

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Daniel. They don’t fit.”  

Daniel pouted. “They fit *enough*.”  

Ryan smirked but didn’t argue. “Alright, but if you explode out of those at dinner, I told you so”  

Daniel rolled his eyes, reaching for his sweater in the hope that it would at least hide how unforgiving his jeans had become. But deep down, he knew Ryan was right—this was not going to end well.

They wasted no time at the tapas place. As soon as the server arrived, Daniel, in flawless Spanish, rattled off an order that made the poor guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “We’ll do pan con tomate, gambas al ajillo, patatas bravas, croquetas de jamón, albóndigas, chorizo a la sidra, pimientos de padrón, tortilla española, pulpo a la gallega, and… oh, let’s do the tabla de quesos. And bring two pitchers of sangria to start.”  

Ryan snorted. “To start? We’re gonna need to be rolled out of here.”  

Daniel grinned, his eyes gleaming. “You love it.”  

Within minutes, the first wave of dishes arrived, and the feeding frenzy began.  

They tore into the pan con tomate first—thick slices of crusty bread rubbed with ripe tomatoes, drizzled in olive oil, and topped with flaky sea salt. The crunch echoed between them as they devoured piece after piece, their fingers glistening with oil.  

Next came the patatas bravas, crispy cubes of golden potatoes smothered in spicy brava sauce and garlicky aioli. Ryan scooped up a forkful, groaned, and shoveled more into his mouth. “Holy shit, these are even better than I remember.”  

Daniel was too busy inhaling a croqueta de jamón to respond. The crispy breadcrumb shell gave way to a molten, cheesy béchamel filling studded with bits of salty ham. He closed his eyes, savoring the richness.  

Then, the gambas al ajillo arrived—plump shrimp sizzling in a dish of garlicky olive oil, red pepper flakes dancing in the heat. Daniel speared one and moaned. “This. This is why I fell in love with Spain.” He grabbed a chunk of bread, dragging it through the golden oil, soaking up every drop before stuffing it in his mouth.  

Ryan, meanwhile, was working his way through the chorizo a la sidra, smoky slices of sausage braised in cider. The juices pooled on the plate, and he used his fork to chase every last bit. “Why don’t we eat like this every night?” he mumbled, already reaching for another bite.  

Their tabla de quesos came next, an indulgent spread of Manchego, Idiazabal, and Cabrales, paired with quince paste and honey-drizzled nuts. Daniel made a little sandwich of cheese and honey, stuffing it into Ryan’s mouth. Ryan chewed, eyes fluttering. “You’re *so* lucky I love you.”  

By the time the albóndigas—juicy meatballs in rich tomato sauce—arrived, their bellies were stretching against their shirts, but they powered through, taking big, bear-sized bites, alternating between meatballs and sips of sangria.  

And speaking of sangria, they were deep into their second pitcher, the fruity wine soaking into their full, happy bodies. Daniel leaned against Ryan, laughing as he swirled the chunks of orange and apple floating in his glass.  

“Remember when we used to survive on vodka sodas and chicken breasts?” he teased.  

Ryan exhaled dramatically. “We were *so* small back then. This is *so* much better.”  

Even after devouring nearly every dish on the menu, Daniel refused to leave without dessert. “Churros con chocolate* or bust,” he declared, slapping the table for emphasis.  

When the churros arrived—piping hot, dusted in cinnamon sugar, and served with a thick, velvety chocolate sauce—they dunked, bit, and sighed in unison.  

“Best Valentine’s ever,” Daniel mumbled, licking chocolate from his lips.  

Ryan smirked, reaching over to wipe a stray bit from Daniel’s beard. “And it’s not even over yet.”  

They clinked glasses, finishing the last sips of their sangria, stuffed, tipsy, and utterly content.  This was love. This was indulgence.Stumbling out of El Corazón, Daniel and Ryan felt the weight of their indulgence settle deep in their bellies. The cold, dry Chicago air hit them like a wake-up call, but it did nothing to counteract the food coma rapidly overtaking their bodies.  

Daniel groaned, dramatically cradling his swollen stomach. “Babe… I think we made a mistake.”  

Ryan let out a deep, satisfied burp. “No, we made the best decision. But holy shit… I don’t think I can move.”  

Daniel waddled forward, his tight sweater now riding up over his bloated midsection. “We need to go home. Now. There is *zero* chance we’re making it to that show.”  

Daniel’s sweater—once a perfect fit when they left for dinner—was now betraying him in the most deliciously unforgiving way. The snug fabric, stretched taut over his swollen gut, had inched its way up, no longer able to contain the sheer fullness of his belly. His bloated midsection pushed out proudly, a soft overhang spilling ever so slightly over the straining waistband of his jeans.  

His once-flat stomach, the relic of his twink days, had long since given way to the plush, solid mass of a well-fed bear. His love handles were thick and grabbable, pressing against the waistband of his jeans, creating a subtle muffin top that only accentuated the roundness of his gut. The hair that covered his stomach was dark and dense, a far cry from the smooth, waxed look he used to maintain in his early twenties. It curled slightly where his belly creased, thicker around his deep, shadowed navel.  

That navel—once shallow and barely noticeable—had stretched deeper into the soft flesh of his stomach, a testament to how much he’d grown over the years. Ryan couldn’t help but reach out, tracing a slow, teasing finger around it, grinning at the way Daniel’s gut tensed under his touch.  

Daniel groaned, half from the pressure in his overstuffed belly and half from how good Ryan’s touch felt. “Babe, I *swear* this sweater fit me earlier.”  

Ryan smirked, giving his belly a soft jiggle. “Yeah, *before* you ate half of Spain.”  

Daniel rolled his eyes, but his breath hitched as Ryan’s warm palm slid over the firm roundness of his stomach, fingers brushing against the soft trail of hair leading downward. “Okay, but seriously,” Daniel murmured, voice thick with amusement and indulgence, “how am I even gonna get this thing off?”  

Ryan grinned wickedly. “Oh, *I’ll* handle that.”  

Daniel just let out another satisfied groan, too stuffed and too content to argue.

Ryan didn’t argue. They ordered an Uber, and the second they collapsed into the backseat, Daniel unbuttoned his jeans with a relieved sigh. Ryan followed suit, his gut pushing against his hoodie. “Jesus, I feel like I just ate an entire restaurant”  

Daniel leaned against him, burping softly. “You basically did.”  

As Daniel and Ryan waddled out of the Uber, their swollen stomachs leading the way, every step felt like a struggle. Their guts were stretched tight, stuffed beyond capacity with tapas and sangria, and even the cold Chicago air couldn’t shake the sluggishness weighing them down.  

Ryan groaned, rubbing the crest of his overfed belly. “Babe, I don’t think I’ve ever been this full.”  

Daniel chuckled, his own stomach straining against his sweater. “I told you we didn’t need that last plate.”  

Ryan opened his mouth to argue but suddenly froze mid-step. His face tensed, eyes widening slightly.  

Daniel turned, concern flickering across his face. “What—”  

Before he could finish, Ryan let out a low, rumbling fart that seemed to last forever. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep, the kind that only came from being absolutely *stuffed* to the limit. His face immediately flushed red, his eyes darting around the empty street as if someone might have overheard.  

Daniel’s eyebrows shot up before he clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh. “Oh my god, babe.”  

Ryan groaned, his free hand pressing against his gut. “I—I couldn’t hold it in,” he muttered, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “Sorry.”  

Daniel, still biting his lip to keep from laughing outright, patted Ryan’s back. “Hey, it’s fine. It’s *so* fine. Honestly, I’m impressed you lasted this long.”  

Ryan exhaled sharply, his face still warm. “I might explode.”  

Daniel smirked but took pity on him, rubbing slow circles on his back as they made the slow, laborious trek inside.  

The second they stepped through the apartment door, all energy left them. Daniel barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it, groaning as his overstuffed belly surged outward, no longer constrained by standing. His sweater had ridden up so much that half his gut was exposed, his navel deep and prominent against the soft curve of his stomach.  

Ryan, too bloated to even aim for the couch, simply let himself fall onto the plush rug with a heavy *thud*. He lay there, sprawled on his back, his unbuttoned jeans pushed down just enough for his stomach to fully spill out, free from the waistband’s cruel grip.  

“Babe,” he mumbled, staring at the ceiling. “I literally *cannot* move.”  

Daniel sighed, rubbing slow, soothing circles over his taut belly. “Same.”  

For a long moment, they simply lay there, breathing heavily, their stomachs gurgling in quiet protest.  

Ryan groaned softly, shifting slightly. “God, I can still feel the sangria sloshing around.”  

Daniel smirked lazily, letting out a soft belch before muttering, “Best Valentine’s ever.”  

Ryan exhaled, still mortified about earlier, but when he glanced over at Daniel, who looked so content despite their mutual discomfort, he couldn’t help but smile.  

“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing his stomach. “It kinda is.”

By the time they waddled through the front door of their cozy apartment, they were both groaning like two overfed bears preparing for hibernation. Daniel immediately flopped onto the couch, arms spread wide, his belly protruding proudly.  

Ryan stood in front of him, rubbing his own gut. “I feel huge.”  

Daniel smirked lazily, patting the empty space next to him. “Come here and suffer with me.”  

Ryan tried to sit, but as he bent forward, the pressure in his gut pushed out a deep, rumbling fart. He froze, blinking in horror. Daniel burst into laughter, which made him burp halfway through.  

“Babe, what the *fuck*,” Daniel wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You’re *so* gross.”  

Ryan grinned shamelessly, finally settling next to him with a grunt. “You love it.”  

Daniel poked Ryan’s belly, feeling how firm and tight it was beneath his hoodie. “Damn, you’re like a keg right now.”  

Ryan groaned. “So are you.” He lifted Daniel’s sweater just enough to expose his round, bloated stomach. He ran a warm palm over the stretched skin, tracing slow, lazy circles.  

Daniel shivered under his touch. “Okay, that feels amazing.”  

Ryan smirked. “I know you love belly rubs.”  

Daniel exhaled, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I *swear* I’m never eating that much again.”  

Ryan snorted. “I’ve heard that before.”  

Daniel gasped dramatically. “Okay, but this might be the fullest I’ve ever been. I feel like I’m carrying a food *baby*.”  

Ryan chuckled and leaned in, pressing a playful kiss to Daniel’s stomach. “A very delicious, very sexy tapas food baby.”  

Daniel lay sprawled across the couch, his overstuffed belly rising and falling with each labored breath. The shape of it was a perfect, round dome, firm from the sheer amount of tapas and sangria crammed inside. His gut spread slightly to the sides where it met his plush love handles, but the tight, overfed bloat made his stomach feel heavier than usual—pushing outward, stretching his skin taut. His deep navel sat at the center like a small, shadowed canyon, slightly puckered from the pressure inside. Dark, curly hair dusted his belly, thickest around his navel and tapering up toward his chest. His thick, meaty pecs rose above his gut, still strong but now layered with a soft cushion of fat, giving them a heavy, natural droop.  

Ryan, lying beside him, wasn’t much better off. His belly wasn’t as round as Daniel’s—it had more of a broad, weighty swell, stretching outward before settling thick over the waistband of his jeans, which were still unzipped to give his gut room to expand. He wasn’t as hairy as Daniel, but a noticeable dusting of fur covered his stomach, with a thicker trail running from his navel down past the waistline. His love handles spread slightly as he lay back, and his strong chest, once firm and solid in their twink days, now had a generous layer of bulk, his pecs resting heavily with each deep breath.  

Daniel groaned, shifting slightly and wincing as the movement sent another wave of fullness rolling through his packed belly. 

Ryan chuckled, moving his hand up to Daniel’s chest, kneading the thick muscle with his broad fingers. “This better?”  

Daniel let out a slow exhale, his heavy eyelids fluttering. “Mmm. *Much* better.” He reached out in return, running his hands over Ryan’s belly, feeling the way it curved outward, solid and packed tight under his touch. He gave it a slow, appreciative squeeze, feeling how the heavy weight of it resisted his grip.  

Ryan grunted slightly, shifting his thick, tree-trunk thighs to get comfortable. His legs were massive, covered in a layer of soft bulk but still strong from years of carrying their growing frames. Daniel’s thighs were just as hefty, pressing against Ryan’s, their warmth mingling as they lay there, completely stuffed and utterly content.  

“Babe,” Daniel murmured as he continued rubbing Ryan’s chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over the thick yet soft muscle. “We are so fat now.”  

Ryan smirked, letting out a deep sigh of relief as Daniel pressed into a particularly sore spot on his belly. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”  

Daniel grinned, rubbing Ryan’s gut one last time before letting his hand settle on his thick chest, his fingers idly playing with the soft hair there. “Same,” he murmured. “Happy Valentine’s, babe.”  

Ryan leaned in, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to Daniel’s temple. “Happy Valentine’s, big guy.”  

And with that, they drifted into satisfied, overfed bliss, their heavy bodies pressed together, warmed by each other’s touch.

Daniel groaned, shifting slightly. “Ugh, even moving is hard. I’m so *stuffed*.” He let out a quiet burp, covering his mouth, eyes widening.  

Ryan gave him a knowing look. “Babe. Just let it out.”  

Daniel hesitated for about half a second before he sighed, leaning his head back and releasing another deep, shameless burp.  

Ryan smirked. “*That’s* my man.”  

They laid there for a while, tangled together in their shared discomfort, exchanging belly rubs and the occasional lazy, open-mouthed kiss. Daniel ran his fingers through Ryan’s beard, murmuring, “This is the hottest we’ve ever been.”  

Ryan grinned. “Oh, for sure.” He gave Daniel’s belly a playful jiggle. “This? This is peak male performance.”  

Daniel sighed contentedly, his body warm, heavy, and relaxed under Ryan’s touch. “Happy Valentine’s, babe.”  

Ryan nuzzled against him, pressing their bloated bodies together. “Happy Valentine’s, my big, beautiful bear.”

[pinkhearteye]

Hello! Could I request an omegaverse story with a yandere!omega x alpha!reader? Totally up to you on what the story is lol

I thought I posted this sorry!! TW: Yandere, Drugging, Non consensual touching, non consent marking, if I missed any more then please tell me!!

The scent of vanilla and wildflowers clung to you, thick and intoxicating. It wrapped around your senses like a silken noose, sweet and suffocating all at once.

And the source of it?

A soft, trembling Omega curled against your chest, her delicate fingers fisting your shirt as if you'd disappear the moment she let go.

"Mine," she whispered, voice laced with something dark, something possessive. "You’re mine, right, Alpha?"

Your jaw tightened. You knew this wasn’t normal. Omegas could be needy, sure—but this? This was something else.

Something dangerous.

____________________________________________________________

It started small. Innocent, even.

Rin had always been clingy. As your childhood friend, she'd followed you everywhere—tugging at your sleeve, nuzzling into your side, whining whenever you got too far.

You’d thought it was cute. Endearing, even.

But then, it got worse.

Your jacket? Missing. Your scent-blocking spray? Emptied. Your bed? Always smelling of her, even when she hadn’t been in your room.

And the way she looked at you? It wasn’t just admiration.

It was possession.

Her golden eyes would flicker with something unreadable whenever another Omega got too close—too friendly. She’d press into your side, lace her fingers through yours, and glare daggers at anyone who even thought of stealing your attention.

But the moment you asked if something was wrong?

She’d smile. Soft. Sweet. Innocent.

Lies.

____________________________________________________________

Then came tonight.

You woke to the scent of Omega heat.

It was overwhelming, thick with need, curling around your instincts like a trap. Your body felt wrong—heavy, sluggish. Every breath made your head spin.

And above you?

Rin.

She straddled your waist, her soft thighs caging you in, her flushed cheeks glowing under the dim light. The oversized hoodie she usually wore had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the smooth, delicate skin of her scent gland.

"Rin," you groaned, trying to move—only to realize your limbs wouldn’t listen.

A giggle. Sweet. Sickening.

"Shh, Alpha," she cooed, fingers tracing lazy patterns over your collarbone. "You're always so busy, always running off. I just wanted you to stay with me."*

Your stomach dropped.

"What did you do?"

She tilted her head, golden eyes gleaming. "Just a little something to make you relax..." A soft hum. "You were restless lately, weren’t you? Talking to other Omegas, smiling at them—"

Her scent spiked. Jealousy.

"I didn’t like that,"* she murmured, voice small. "But it’s okay now. You’re here. With me. Where you belong."*

Your pulse hammered against your ribs. You had to get up, had to leave—

But you couldn’t.

Your body refused to obey.

Rin leaned in, her breath warm against your skin. "I know you love me too," she whispered. "I can feel it. The way your scent changes when I touch you..."

Her fingers trailed up, brushing against your bare throat.

Unmarked.

Her expression softened, filled with something twisted and desperate. "You need a mark, Alpha," she purred. "My mark. So everyone knows you’re mine."*

You struggled, muscles trembling, instincts screaming—

But then, her lips grazed your scent gland.

And your body melted.

No.

You had to fight this. Had to—

Sharp little teeth pressed against your skin.

Your vision blurred.

And as Rin let out a soft, content sigh—

You realized you might not have a choice.

[procrastinatingwritersblog]

Little Wolf Part One

13 months 

"Mama! Mama!" Telemachus giggles. Penelope stops weaving for a moment to smile tiredly at her son and pick him up. A month ago, he said his first words, she thinks, playing peekaboo with her son. Her smile is genuine, but Odysseus left three months ago, and already she's feeling the effect of his absence. His first words were 'mama'. How am I ever going to teach him who his papa is…? 

She glances out the window. Telemachus is quiet. Maybe he can pick up on her melancholy mood–looking at the sea will always remind her of Odysseus, of those last moments standing on a high hill with their son in the brightest chiton she had, waving goodbye to the figure at the back of the leading ship. She didn't cry then, but she made up for the tears in the following months (years and decades, although she doesn't know it yet).

She's tired. She's so tired. She has the servants to help with Telemachus but she wants to raise him, not a nurse. And only she can remain as regent–the nobles have been pressuring her to give that up, but she's staunchly refused. She has to do well, too, or they will have reason to dethrone her. She has a hundred things to do and she's not quite sure who to trust. The nobles in the court are slippery snakes serving their own purposes. The servants can't help, and whatever Penelope says to them could get back to the court. 

Clymenstrata has been ruling over Mycenae in her own husband's absence, but they can't confer too often. It would look like they were both disloyal to their own kingdoms, and that civil unrest is something neither of them can afford. Penelope is alone, more so than ever, and–

"Mama…?" Telemachus asks softly, blinking at her with Odysseus' eyes, only they are more innocent than his ever was. She picks him up again and spins him around the room, Telemachus laughing in glee. When Penelope hears that sound, she can sometimes forget the fact that she is alone and terrified, because she will always have this little boy. 

After they're both dizzy, Penelope sets him down. Unsteadily, Telemachus rolls off the bed and Penelope dives to catch him, heart racing. She puts him on the floor for a moment to catch her breath and calm her heart. While she's bent over, Telemachus stands. This wasn't that unusual, as he did that a lot, usually falling down after attempting to take a few steps. He does so again, only this time he unsteadily puts one foot on the ground. Then another. Then another, until he's toddling up to the window and blinking at Penelope. 

She's so shocked for a moment that she can't speak. "Telemachus!" she finally gasps. "Telemachus, you wonderful little boy–you walked!" Her baby's taken his first steps and she's too excited to care about the court or anyone else. She grabs him and hugs him and spins him around in the air, face flushed and smiling. He giggles, like he's not quite sure why his mama's so happy but he's happy anyway. 

Once Penelope puts him down, he tries to walk again, but stumbles and falls halfway to the window. He crawls the rest of the way and points upward, to the window. "Mama!" he exclaims. 

Penelope tips her head. "Do you wanna see the ocean?" she asks him. 

"Ocean! Ocean!" he says, waving his arms. He giggles again. "Papa!" 

At first, Penelope's sure she misheard him. How could he have learned that term? And how did he know that Odysseus was at sea? Then he says it again, and Penelope has no more room for doubt. She smiles shakily and grabs a chair, bouncing him on her knee, looking at the ocean together. 

After a few seconds of peaceful silence, Telemachus turns around and insists, "Papa!" Oh no, Penelope thinks. Does he want his papa? I do too, but he won't return for a long time… Does he remember Odysseus? Did he really learn 'papa' that early? "Your papa's away right now…" Penelope explains vaguely, wiping and blinking away her tears. Oddly enough, Telemachus seems to settle into her. 

Does he want a story? Penelope wonders, and sure enough, that made sense. She mostly tells stories about Odysseus, always calling him Telemachus' papa, and she always told them looking at the ocean… So those associations would make sense. She swallowed the lump in her throat and began, 

"Your papa is a brilliant man… He is chosen by Athena, goddess of wisdom herself!" she says, whispering in Telemachus' ear, causing him to giggle and flail around. "He was her mentee–is her mentee–" Come on, Penelope, losing hope so fast? A teasing voice sounding just like Odysseus flits through her mind. 

Never, she responds fiercely, slightly tightening her hold on her son. I will never lose hope. He is coming back. 

"Mama..?" Telemachus whispers, and Penelope realizes she'd gone silent. "Ah–where was I? Oh yes, your papa was a student of Athena, and he was smart most of the time, but there were times when he was not-so-smart, like when he met me…"

As Penelope tells her story, Telemachus relaxes, staring at the ocean's waves. Penelope looks at them too, and for a moment they are not Prince and Heir of Ithaca, Son of Odysseus, they are not Regent and Queen of Ithaca, Sage Penelope, Wife of Odysseus, but a mother and her son, waiting for his father to come home.

When Penelope finishes her story, she can see Telemachus drifting away into the realm of Hypnos. She searches through her mind for a lullaby to sing, and comes up with one that Anticlea taught her that Telemachus seemed to love. 

She, Anticlea, Laertes, and Ctimene were all Telemachus had, really. Anticlea and Laertes were wise advisors, but Penelope always got the feeling that they didn't like Spartans too much. Ctimene was kinder, and they held each other in the early days when they turned around to look for their husbands but they were gone. 

Telemachus had them. And they would be enough until his father came home. 

"Waiting," Penelope sang softly. "Even if you're the last thing I see I'll be waiting, oh…"

NOTE: Hi! Thanks for reading this! As you can see, this is going to be about Penelope and Telemachus' relationship throughout the ages. There is no posting schedule for this and I'll probably procrastinate, but that's what I do! (Also, the lullaby at the end is a combination of the Underworld Waiting motif and a softer version of the end of WYFILMA. Penelope changed it to be her own, slightly.)

[skulls-and-wishbones]

Hiiii so I recently came across your Lost Girl AU and I don’t have the time to scroll through everything to find all the info on the AU right now would you be able to just go over the basic info/lore of this AU? Sorry if this comes across as a bit snobby I can’t think of words right now. Love what little bits I have seen of the AU tho BYEEEEEE

oh dear, I hope you don't mind me dumping everything into your ask, I think this would probably be a valuable thing to have on my page!

The Lost Girl AU is a kotlc au that takes the original storyline and puts a more adult/young adult spin on it. I am also (along with my team) focusing on filling in the plot holes that come up with someone writes such a long series and (let's be honest) doesn't know what the ending is going to look like when they start.

there are two major changes i've made

Plot

The AU is fit into 3/4 'arcs' which will eventually be found on my Ao3.

arc 1, which is already started is called The Girl from Across the Waves and will follow Sophie through a modified events of the first three books.

(arc 2 will be books 4-6 and so on)

Sophie is 13 when she is kidnapped by a 'black swan' (neverseen) and in the panic, awakens her dormient telepathic abilities, calling out to Fitz, a strange boy she has befriended.

Fitz and Keefe had a falling out pre-fic. While Fitz is the golden child of the purest blood, Keefe is more guarded; scorned by adults, sharp as a thorn brush. he is as close to a faery as one might get, in this new world.

Linh and Tam were banished to a human realm (exillium does not exist in this AU).

Foxfire is a school for the nobility, it is much less like a traditional school, it is preparing the students for school for life as keepers, councilors, and regents. Each year there is a tournament and final exams - the bottom 10% are expelled from the school.

Sofitz does happen, however, the endgame ships in this AU are fedex, sokeefe, and marelinh.

Lore

the changes in KOTLC lore are the most important part. some of you might've guessed this from the designs i've shared, but elves have a very different history in The Lost Girl AU. I'm a big Celtic and Germanic mythology nerd and the elves in this au are the ultra eugenized versions of fae from the legends of long past.

once upon a time they were one with the natural world - their shapes fluid, their minds wicked. they were beings that resided entirely off magic. some of the ancients still bare remains of this time (Fintan's goat horns and cloven hooves). There are stories, passed down carefully between families, the Dinzee's used to be sly foxes, the Heks were once borne of unicorns, but the power they once had has dissipated.

The Council, in an attempt to maintain order and control, has placed each species, each ability user, into ranks and levels when once all lived together. Keeping ones bloodline pure is held in the highest regard. Marella suffers from this, as a elf/pixie hybrid, she struggles with discrimination everywhere she goes, Dex as well, but too a lesser extend (Kesler is probably a hyrbid, I'm not sure what from yet, thinking ogre?). Sophie is called a changling, in truth, she is something far grander.

the other species are going to be more mythological as well, gnomes are pretty much a slave race after the elves killed their ruling class. goblins are tricky little beasts, etc. I care about preserving the mischief of fae.

This is where Sophie comes in, the Black Swan created someone who is quite like the elves of old - she has no limits on her powers, and as she grows, she becomes more and more connects to the land of the Lost Cities. She learns to draw her power from it.

[sosa2imagines]

Undercover model.

Warning- Drunk reader, pure fluff.

The bar hums with laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft thrum of music. You settle into your seat, surrounded by friends who’ve coaxed you out of your usual routine.

You sip your drink, the taste more comforting than you expected. One drink turns into two, then three. It’s easy to lose count after a while, to lose yourself in the warmth spreading through your veins. The night is a soft blur of faces, stories, and the glow of neon lights outside. You laugh too loud, talk too much, but tonight, you're too carefree to care.  

As the night stretches on, your thoughts begin to blur with the alcohol in your system. You stand up, feeling the familiar wobble in your legs. You tell yourself you're fine, giving yourself a confident nod in the reflection of the bar's window. You’ve got this. You can make it home.  

The cold air hits you like a slap in the face as you stumble out of the bar and into the street. You laugh at the way the ground seems to sway beneath your feet. Your body tells you it’s time to go home, but your mind can’t quite process how to get there.

You take a step forward, but the world tilts too far. Before you can even register what’s happening, a firm hand grips your arm, pulling you back just as a car speeds past, its headlights blinding. 

“Careful there.” a voice says, low and steady.

You blink, trying to focus on the man who’s just saved you from a messy accident. His jaw is sharp, his eyes intense beneath the shadow of his brow, his body built like he could’ve crushed the car that almost hit you. A figure of power and authority, but also… something more. Your head spins.  

“Thanks,” you mumble, your words slurring, your lips curving into a smile that feels a little too flirtatious given the circumstances. “You’re…uh…you’re a lifesaver.”  

The man raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching, but it’s clear he’s not impressed. “I’m Detective Walter Marshall.”  

You frown. “A detective? Huh.” You giggle. “You look more like a Greek model than a cop!”  

He blinks, clearly thrown off by your slurred words, but he doesn't let go of your arm. “You’re drunk, miss. I’m going to take you to the station.”  

“No need,” you say with a grin, trying to stand taller but wobbling instead. “I’m fine. I’m just, uh, walking home. Really, I’m okay?”  

Walter doesn’t seem convinced. He shakes his head and sighs, leading you toward his car, your feet barely keeping up with his steady pace. The lights of the station blink in the distance as you both arrive.  

Inside, things get even more amusing, or at least, to your drunk mind, they do.

Walter sits you down on a bench, trying to ask your name, your address, something to help him figure out how to get you home. You, on the other hand, can’t stop smiling at him, your words tumbling out in a haze of flirtation.  

“Are you sure you’re a detective?” you ask, leaning a little too close, your voice low and teasing. “You’re far too good-looking for that.”  

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think you might’ve actually flustered him. But he doesn’t back down. “Please, Miss…”  

You laugh. “No, seriously. Who are you trying to fool? I think you just wandered in here from a runway somewhere. Do you model on the side?”  

And it does not stop, you go on a drunk ramble.

“Do you want my address, to come to my place?” “You are asking my number to sext me?”

“Versace? Hugo Boss? Come on, I know you are a model…”

The officers around you exchange glances, some chuckling softly. Walter looks exasperated but still incredibly composed, which only makes him more attractive in your eyes.  

You continue to flirt, oblivious to the serious conversation Walter’s trying to have with you, until a familiar voice cuts through your haze.  

Just then your flatmate and best friend enters the station.

“Damn, dear...” Tyler says, shaking his head as he steps into the station. “What did you do this time?”  

You blink at him, smiling widely, happy to see a familiar face. “Tyler! You know this guy? He’s a detective! A model detective!”  

Tyler just sighs, walking up to Walter. “Yeah, that’s my best friend. Sorry about her, she’s had a little too much to drink. Thanks for looking out for her.”  

Walter looks at Tyler, and for a moment, you swear there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He nods, his demeanor still professional, but there’s an unspoken understanding.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safe!” Tyler adds.  

You blink again, realizing that the spell of flirtation is wearing off. You try to stand but fail, your knees buckling beneath you. Tyler catches you with a laugh, guiding you out of the station with Walter watching from a distance.  

“Goodnight, Walter! You sexy undercover model!!!!” you call back, waving with a sloppy grin.  

You hear a low chuckle in response, and though you’re too drunk to fully understand it, something tells you that won’t be the last time you see him.  

And with that, Tyler helps you out into the cool night, the memory of Walter’s sharp gaze lingering in your foggy mind.  

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the pounding in your head. It’s like a jackhammer drilling into your skull, and your mouth feels as dry as the desert. You squint against the sunlight streaming through the curtains and groan, wishing you could crawl back under the covers and forget everything that happened the night before.

But as the fog of sleep clears, the memory starts creeping back in, and your eyes snap open.

Oh God.

You remember Walter. You remember the way you’d drunkenly flirted with him, the way you’d practically melted in his presence, calling him a “Greek model...” and teasing him in front of everyone at the station. Heat floods your cheeks, and you bury your face in the pillow, groaning. How could you have been so… embarrassing?

“Tyler,” you mutter, still half-dazed, “Please tell me it was all a dream. Please tell me I didn’t actually flirt with a detective.”  

Tyler’s voice comes from the doorway, the same teasing tone he always uses when he’s about to spill a little too much information. “Oh, no, that was real. You definitely flirted with Detective Marshall. The whole station heard it.”  

Your body stiffens, and you push yourself up into a sitting position, eyes wide in horror. “What?!”  

Tyler walks in, grinning like he knows exactly how mortified you are. “Oh yeah. You had a whole routine. I had to come in and bail you out before you started asking him to take his shirt off or something.”  

“No!” you gasp, trying to remember the specifics. “Did I… did I really say that?”  

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Well, you did call him a model. And you told him he was too good-looking to be a detective.”  

Your face turns crimson, and you bury your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare. I can’t believe I did that.”  

Tyler chuckles and pats you on the back. “Hey, you’re not the first person to flirt with a cop, but you’re definitely the first to do it while wearing a drunken smile like you’re auditioning for a rom-com.”  

You groan again. “I’m so embarrassed. I have to fix this. I have to apologize to him.”  

Tyler raises an eyebrow. “You’re really going to go after him after that? Bold move, dear. Bold move.”  

You ignore him, grabbing your phone to look up the police station's number. The plan is clear! You’re going to make things right. You can’t just leave things like this, not after acting like an absolute fool.  

Later that afternoon, you find yourself standing outside the police station again, clutching a tin of homemade cookies you’d baked in an attempt to smooth things over. You’re nervous, your palms sweaty, but you tell yourself this is the right thing to do.  

The officers at the front desk look at you with a knowing smile when you walk in, clearly recognizing you from the night before. They exchange amused glances, clearly enjoying the spectacle that was your drunken escapade.  

One of the officers, a woman with short, spiky hair, leans forward, eyeing the cookies in your hands. “You here for Detective Marshall?” she asks, a little too cheerfully.  

You nod, trying to stay confident despite the gnawing embarrassment in your stomach. “Yes. I, uh… I wanted to apologize. I… uh… wasn’t myself last night.”  

She smirks. “I think we all noticed that. But don't worry, he’s around. I’ll point you in his direction.”  

With a wink, she leads you down a narrow hallway to where Walter’s office is. You feel the butterflies in your stomach flare up again as you approach the door. This is it. This is your chance to make things right.  

You knock softly before pushing the door open, your heart racing in your chest.  

Walter’s sitting behind his desk, his back to you as he reads through a pile of paperwork. When he hears the door open, he glances over his shoulder, his sharp gaze locking onto yours.  

“Miss…” he says, his voice as calm as ever, though you can sense a faint amusement behind his words. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”  

You swallow hard, stepping forward with the cookies. “I, uh, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I was… drunk. And embarrassing. I’m really sorry about all the flirting and the ridiculous comments.”  

Walter studies you for a moment, his eyes softening just the slightest bit. “You don’t need to apologize. You were… amusing.”  

Your cheeks redden again. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.”  

He chuckles, finally standing and walking over to you. “Well, in that case, thank you for the cookies.” He takes the tin from your hands, his fingers brushing yours just for a second, making your heart flutter.  

Before you can say anything else, the door to his office swings open, and a few of his fellow officers step in, including the spiky-haired woman who guided you here.  

“Oh, look who it is,” one of them teases, a grin on his face. “Marshall, I didn’t know you had a fan club.”  

Another officer smirks. “I guess you’re more popular than we thought, huh?”  

Walter’s face tightens, but his lips twitch slightly as if he’s suppressing a smile. He glances over at you, and you’re sure you can see a flicker of something behind his eyes.  

You turn to leave, feeling like you’ve done the best you can to fix things, but just as you step out of the room, you hear one of the officers tease Walter again.  

“You’re not going to tell us you’re really just a detective, are you? We all saw how she looked at you.”  

Walter’s voice is low and controlled when he responds, though you can hear the subtle edge to it. “Keep it up, guys. Keep it up.”  

You exit the station, a small smile playing on your lips. Things weren’t as bad as you thought, and as much as you had tried to avoid it, something tells you that this won’t be the last time you cross paths with Detective Walter Marshall.

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@mrvl-addict @mercurial-chuckles

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@pattiemac1 @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[f1-tennisgirlie]

okay may not be my best work (idk how to write cosy shit but I tried)

hope you like it <3 (you'll be happy to know that since I read this idea of yours yesterday I haven't been able to do anything but think about them which in turn forced me to come out of my self imposed writing break 😭)

Everyday Moments with Jannik, Carlos, and Amara

Morning Routines and Tiny Competitions

The Sinner-Alcaraz household always started the day with movement—whether it was Carlos bounding out of bed with the energy of a thousand suns or Jannik methodically making his way to the kitchen for his much-needed coffee. And then there was Amara, the unpredictable element who could either be a whirlwind of giggles like her papi (Carlos) or stubbornly burrowed under her blankets like her dad (Jannik) on his days off.

Today, she was the whirlwind.

“Papi! Dad! Who can get to the kitchen first?!” she shouted, already halfway down the hall in her socks, her little feet skidding across the wooden floor.

Carlos shot up immediately. “You’re on, princesa!”

Jannik groaned from under his blanket, refusing to move. “Carlos, don’t encourage her.”

But Carlos was already sprinting, and Amara squealed as he caught up to her, scooping her up mid-run and spinning her around before setting her down at the kitchen table. “Winner!” Carlos declared dramatically, flexing his arms.

Jannik, finally making his way in at his usual measured pace, arched an eyebrow. “That’s cheating.”

Amara, arms crossed, nodded seriously. “Yeah, Papi. That’s cheating.”

Carlos feigned offense. “Cheating? No, that’s called strategy—you gotta use your strengths!”

Jannik handed Amara a glass of orange juice and smirked. “Which, in your case, is always over-the-top dramatics.”

Carlos gasped. “Rude.”

Amara giggled, sipping her juice. “It’s true, though.”

Dancing in the Kitchen

Cooking in their home was always an event, mostly because Carlos couldn’t do it without music. The kitchen was their stage, and breakfast prep turned into an impromptu dance party.

“Alexa, play something fun!” Amara called, and soon enough, upbeat Latin music flooded the kitchen.

Carlos, never one to miss an opportunity, grabbed Amara’s hands and started twirling her around the kitchen while the pancake batter sat forgotten on the counter. Amara laughed, spinning dramatically before running up to Jannik, tugging his hand. “Dad, you too!”

Jannik rolled his eyes but let himself be pulled into the chaos. “Fine. But I’m not twirling.”

Carlos laughed, placing a hand on his hip. “You’re no fun.”

Jannik smirked. “I’m practical.”

That didn’t stop Amara from forcing him into a tiny step routine that Carlos promptly hyped up as though Jannik had just won a major dance competition.

Lazy Afternoon Fort Building

Some days, the Sinner-Alcaraz family enjoyed being homebodies. Amara, armed with all the blankets and pillows she could carry, was determined to build the "best fort ever."

“Dad, hold this!” Amara commanded, tossing a blanket at Jannik, who sighed but complied.

Carlos, meanwhile, was enthusiastically constructing the structure with couch cushions. “This is going to be legendary.”

Jannik surveyed the mess. “It’s going to collapse in ten minutes.”

“It’s about the journey, not the destination,” Carlos quipped, tucking a pillow into place.

Once complete, the three of them piled inside, flashlight in hand. Amara grinned up at her dads. “This is perfect.”

Jannik hummed. “It’s surprisingly stable.”

Carlos smirked. “See? I’m an architect at heart.”

Bedtime Stories and Debates

Bedtime was where Jannik’s precision met Carlos’ flair. Amara, comfortably snuggled between them, was always given a choice: a dramatic retelling from Carlos or a calm, precise one from Jannik.

Tonight, she had a request. “I want Papi to start and Dad to finish!”

Carlos gasped. “A mix?”

Jannik nodded approvingly. “She’s learning balance.”

Carlos started with wild voices and exaggerated expressions, making Amara laugh so hard she nearly fell off the bed. Then, Jannik seamlessly took over, smoothing out the details and giving it a satisfying conclusion.

As Amara’s eyes started to droop, Carlos kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, princesa.”

Jannik followed with a quiet, “Sleep well, Amara.”

As they turned off the light, Carlos whispered to Jannik, “She’s too smart for her own good.”

Jannik smirked. “She has to be. She has you as a father.”

Carlos nudged him playfully as they walked out. Another day, another series of tiny, perfect moments in their little world.

Suddenly had a CSI Jannik x Cop Carlos idea where they work with each other frequently because of cases and because of their professional behavior on site with each other no one knows that they’re married and adopted a baby girl.

[gojonanami]

did me and @gaylatteart just plot out all of part three of prof geto?

…maybe

[egophiliac]

tsum events really are just the best, huh

[hollymacycomic]

Holly & Macy and Everyone Else

Chapter 4: Page 37

Start at the Beginning | About the comic | Tip-jar 

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[the-stove-is-divorced]

Scar erasure is horror is so peak, never seen it used? Lil bit of body horror. Give it to Mark Grayson, why not <3

Debbie be defined by something OTHER than men challenge (failed). I am so tired. Make her a person. Please. Can she ever be a person? Can she please?

Oliver does scream plot device, which I feel neutral for, small children tend to be I suppose. Tho it irritates me more when his actions/thoughts don't actually reflect how he's parented by Debbie and/or Mark. Which we've discussed before already, but what really ticks me off is why he looks like a purple human child. Cosplay dye gone wrong ass baby. Who dunked him in grape juice. NOBODY IS PURPLE. And I KNOW this isn't a unique mutation thing because they NEVER bring up how being a hybrid impacts their biology/culture/genes/what have you (at least in show?). THRAXANS ARE ALL BLUE. They're not even different shades of blue. HE'S PURPLE. I am calming myself down. I am calm. Back to the point, Cecil raising Oliver is such a concept...scribbling that down for a oneshot cause, truly, what would that look like? Though, there's something so funny about Oliver still being a little shit and Mark blaming himself anyway. He's such a guilt magnet (affectionate).

AND GASP. Mark failing so hard at raising Oliver, rather than dragging Debbie into it, it's CECIL? The fucked up parental/mentor dynamic of the CENTURY? HELLO? You can't just say this to me, my brain is spinning. At what point does he realize he's over his head? Like, does Cecil get an emergency call only to realize it's a sleep deprived, painfully frantic Mark trying to ask him how to put a shrieking, fussy toddler to sleep? Cecil refusing to change diapers. What does that look like, omg. Does Oliver live there at the GDA and Mark starts visiting like crazy, and there's in-house babysitters designated to Oliver? Shared custody omg. I can potentially see Cecil agreeing only to use as leverage, Mark owes him, and Oliver can be potentially loyal to him?

Why would Oliver be so aware? And, yeah, it's the framing of his origins that's driving my curiosity, here. Because yeah, if he remembers the utter destruction of his own home and his dad's people killing others, would he not have some hostility towards Nolan? Like, is Nolan just described as a "bad guy"? A hero who did "bad things"? Have they ever tried framing murder/death/etc in a way Oliver can understand, he's a child, no? Like how does Oliver like his dad so much? HOW???? Is Mark telling Oliver the fun stories about their dad as he processes how he feels about Nolan? Like it'd be one thing if Debbie doesn't talk about it at all + Mark can't process the full what Nolan did, thus telling romanticized stories. Then it makes Mark's inability to articulate why it's so bad make sense, because he has to face what Nolan did to others/him/Debbie/etc himself. But that's not what they're doing here? This is why this show makes me squint. They just have a dynamic but not how we got here, and it's not quite clear why they'd even act that way to cause this outcome.

CHEW HIS FOOD? I FORGOT THAT?? JUSTICE FOR DEBBIE? WHAT ABOUT A BLENDER BRUH? Also fr, Debbie did SO MUCH for this AFFAIR CHILD and this mf names himself Omni-Man Junior/The kid whatever. TRULY WHERE DID HE? It can't even be a "oh viltrumites genetically/biologically find it difficult to emphasize," 'cause look at Mark??? HE'S ALSO A HYBRID? Why wouldn't Debbie point out Mark used to be the same way if she's raised both? Nolan, like you said, ruined lives. Ruined Andressa's! Oliver would REMEMBER THAT ??? Oliver would SEE any article / post / video about Nolan is HIM DESTROYING ANOTHER CITY? Outright trying to kill his BROTHER. If anything, Oliver could've been so hostile to Nolan he'd want to kill him, just SAYING that, and not quite understanding the depth of death/murder, THUS Mark's inability to refute that THEN stems from a) the shock b) dealing with the thought he doesn't want his Dad to die and still misses him c) acknowledging his Dad has continuously hurt people and hasn't stopped yet, would that be right? Boom, morality dilemma. Or, solidify Mark TRYING to be consistently anti-kill, batman style.

Like this can work, at least for me, but the current setup is confusing????

Also give Oliver ability to make insect-like sounds. Like legit anything. I'm trying to push through wip's, and I keep including Oliver makes a clicking sound (like predator movies) as a baby 'cause it's a noise Thraxans can make, like give me something different??? WHY IS A PURPLE CHILD.

Also curious how you're finding the newest 4th episode! :)

Mark agreeing to go hang out on a beach w Debbie instead of refusing and the beach is Beach City (am now officially thinking too much about this crossover lol)

The way I got caught up on our back and forth I almost forgot this, lol! AND OH MY GOODNESS, IMAGINE? I forget exactly what which point Debbie makes the beach offer, but I’d love when exactly in SU/SUF-timeline they’d go? There’s something so fucking funny to me about them going during the SUF-timeline and always narrowly missing the strange, Steven-shaped mental breakdowns in the back. I know those don’t occur in a single day, but it’s tickling me. How could they miss anything? I don’t know I just think it’s funny.

Though, post-SUF is interesting if Gems can see the similar “world on your shoulders”, Mark has going on! Steven can shunt the narrative in the Gems’ minds, which I think is neat, if I’m not misusing the phrase since the guy’s on the road far away. Or maybe it’s just before Steven goes and they stumble into each other. I’d kinda love Pearl and Debbie interacting, honestly, if they could talk about loving someone who hurt you, hide things from you, even when you thought you knew them so deeply, and they left you to raise a child. Pearl being in a well adjusted space, and Debbie still grieving.

Honestly, the gems could help train Mark, they’re got experience and similar-ish powers in strength, sturdiness, and they can jump/run fast enough for flying to be vaguely similar enough to lecture about, I think. Or Lapis Lazulis, haha! Peridot with her trash can lid! Garnet, I’d love to see if she told Mark anything about his future in vague, well meaning advice. Or even giving relationship advice considering Amber. Or, importantly, how to convince an entire reign to end their colonizing ways, lol. Is Mark perhaps willing to start a war, take advantage of being related to any leaders, or fake his own death to varying results?

In general, there’s something so fucking funny to me about Nolan, in the sake of comparison, being Pink Diamond coded. Like OH, did an important or well respected of the colonizing empire come to earth and learn the beauty of its people and nature, including faking/lying/omitting things about his identity and background to being in, only to feel conflicted when his responsibility still remained, and he tried to free himself from them? Yikes! We’ve been through that before! Like gimme Pink Diamond and Nolan outfit swap rn. This is tickling me so much oh my goodness.

[corpish]

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