#anyways ig this means I also have to do more or whatever

[kieshartz]

Might digitalize and change a few things but first post is Pezzy.

[lovevalley45]

if ava and sara divorced at the point of the plot we left off in s7 i do fear that ava would be getting custody of most of the remaining legends

[perilegs]

i'm in part charge of recruiting people for my department at work, and for our hiring offer we were about to write "minimum of [x years] of experience required," but i remembered how people with audacity will apply regardless of what it says, but that wording will push away potential employees, especially women, who are considerate and value the time of both others and themselves, and think they can't apply if they have, let's say a few months less experience than what we required, so i asked it to be switched to "around [x years] of experience required." and it's such a small change but it makes a big difference. and man idk what my point is but often it's good when you listen to people and their problems, so you might come up with low/no effort ways of helping even if it's just a little bit, instead of going "well that shouldnt be a problem, you should just act/do/etc. different"

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

trying to finish reading dungeon meshi now that it's done and just seeing everyone in the comments talking about ships. gun to my head

[seaofreverie]

The Me who bought tickets to see TMBG in february 2023 and the Me who's going to actually go to the show next month are two completely different people

[kuiinncedes]

akjsndglidfligauhglsighoiurdfhg

[widevibratobitch]

.

[hana-bobo-finch]

i am one day late to my own character’s birthday but whatever better late than never. this image popped up in my head last night and I felt obligated to make it

for context Tornado is the name of the only social networking site on fincg island and C.C. is. very into the occult and would definitely think this is a halfway decent thing to do (it is not)

og

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But��she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

[merlucide]

HAIRCARE!~♪

notes: ‘this alien stage x reader was sponsored by free time in the car’😌

characters: all characters

warnings: cursing, not edited/proofread (idgaf)

She’s always had long hair, and has always preferred it this way

She does her very best to keep the tangle free- but at the end of the day it’s full of knots

This is why she loves hair days!

She’ll lay down on your lap and be all happy with your fingers combing through her pretty long hair

It helps her unwind from the day, it’s because apart of her daily routine ig :3

She just likes talking to you about whatever

Then when’s she’s had her full of love and affection she’ll pamper you endlessly heh

Loves twirling your hair around and making up hairstyles

She can do anything you want for the most part! She’s a bit messy but it always looks good :3

She doesn’t style her hair really, aside from combing it or putting it in a pony

When her hair was longer fans had you put it in braids then :3

Honestly she doesn’t like people touching her hair, gets it all greasy and messed up yk?

But she doesn’t mind if you’d like to play with hers time to time :)

At your time at anakt you’d both sit underneath the trees there and try to intertwine the flowers into her hair.

Sua was better at styling flowers than you were tho heh

She likes twirling you hair around her finger :3

You could look at Till and think ‘he dgaf about his hair’ —but he actually does gaf 😭🙏 he wants to look cool okay?? His hair is important to him 

He takes like 5 minutes in total making sure his hair looks good lmao

It’s just perfectly messy ya’know? :3

He likes brushing your hair

It’s very soothing for him

If he’s feeling creative he’ll experiment around with different styles but mostly just brushes lmao

Don’t gaf about his hair

But he has to gaf about his hair 😔 sad thing

Gotta keep that image up yk 🥲

Normally he just combs through it and calls it good (on a normal day anyways)

Likes it to look pretty neat tho

He likes making a rats nest of yours though!

Kidding, kidding (kinda..)

Likes ponytails:)

But yeah he just fucks up your hair for fun basically

True love? 

Oh boy 💀 THIS diva

As the star that Luka is, his appearance is the most important aspect of his product (well following after his voice but YK-)

Bro has a curl routine n all

I mean he’s basically an influencer?? in a way?? So id imagine he gets free stuff

Anywho he’s a scruncher then he uses that curl thing (I’ll look it up later)— It’s a process

Prefers you not to touch his hair, will smack your hand away LMAO

But when’s he’s utterly exhausted and burnout he’ll put your hand on his head (if he has the energy too anyways)

Lukas not like 😭 an affectionate person anyways?- well it’s weird? He’s touchy but not, affectionate

Ya get it?

He might twirl your hair around but that’s kinda it 😭🙏 hate to be a dream destroyer

Well I’ll give some crumbs…heh..heh

S

When you two are lying alone in bed together— wether it’s after a photoshoot or what not, he’ll like creep up behind you and start caressing you hair

It’s a bit uncomfortable at first because you can just FEEL him burning holes into the back of your head while twirling your hair 😭🙏 sweating n shit

It’s relaxing for him anyways, when he’s tired but not ready to sleep yet yk

Hyuna 🤤 hair goals fr fr

She usually just has it down or in a high pony/braid tbh

Her hair is LONG AF and is such a pain to deal with so I’d imagine she just puts it up and calls it good

She washes her hair like once a week anyways (the shower is full of grime JUST from her hair 😭🙏)

She dgaf (yesss Hyuna 🥹🗣️)

She’s really great at braiding!! When she decided to put her hair in a braid one day you would NAWT shut up about how she needs to have it styled like that more often (and she did hehe)

Hyuna also collects trinkets— whenever she goes out on raids/bounties or wtv she picks up/steals (LMAO) anything that catches her eye (Like a crow! heh)

She always brings smth back for you, any shiny things go to you, only the best for her babe 😌

Now!- when you asked her to braid your hair you brought up the trinkets suggesting that you put it in the braids- like as accessories!!

And she liked that idea vv much ofc and planted little coins and charms tied into your hair :3

Your head legit looked like a crows nest lmao

But it looks so pretty!! Two fishtail braids with shiny things in your haiirrrrrr!

She was proud af of her work 😌

You both went person to person showing off your head lol

DEWEY (I love him plsss)

His head is full of tangles, but he insists it’s just apart of his ‘look’

His really not picky with his hair- just prefers redoing his roots before they get too-too grown out yk

Which of course you always help him!

He sits on the floor criss-cross in his white tanktop and sweats while you mix the blonde dye

He stays still for the most part, but gets antsy staying in the same position for too long

He justs yap your ear off while you apply the color loll

“Yah so, I tried 85 arm-curls which that went friggin’ awesome as expected-“ “Yeah then Isaac went blackout drunk- Ha it was hilarious” “I think the showers broken ‘cause when I turned it on purple shit came out-“

Since his hair is all sticky and wet he like makes his hair stick  straight up lmao😭

Tries to convince you to use the left over dye on Isaac lmao

While he waits for it to dry he begs you to let him do your hair

He tries to do a Dutch braid, but fails lmao

“WHY ISNT YOUR HAIR WORKIN’?!”

And ur like ?! Everything good back there ?!

He keeps trying until your hair is a literal rats nest lol

He just looks at his mess like ‘oh shit’

Ur so pissed at him and he’s like: 🥺

So he just brushes out the mess he made lol

Which it freakin hurt bc OWWW KNOTS

After it’s all brushed out he just did a basic braid and called it good lmao

Then you take him to the showers to rinse it out and in fact- purple did come out

Probably should’ve thought about that before you stuck his head under the shower head heh..

You ended up using the sink in the bar and everyone just sorta was like ‘uh, okay’

Just imagine Dewey laying on the counter with his head in the sink lol- def stained the counter

Bro shakes his head like a dog to dry off, THEN gets a towel

Smh

In reward for you hard work he gives you a big fat smooch heh

Then goes around base to show everyone his hair lmao

Successful hair dyeing day with Dewey id say!

(Dewey j love you please I need more of him yall PLEASE.)

ISAAC (I LOVE YOU TOO!!)

I mean he just puts his cap on and calls it a day sooo

Really couldn’t give two shits about it lmao

Doesn’t care if you mess around with his hair, so might as well go for it :3

You tried putting his hair into a piggy tail, which his hair is so short so it just kinda, stuck out 😭

He really does love playing with your hair :) it’s actually rlly cute he’ll be talking to a member and just be playing with your hair (the thought gives me butterflies gets me mushy SOB)

by the time he’s done talking to the person there’s like 6 little braids in your hair on on side 😭🙏

Best hair time w/ him is when yall are fucked up and tied from raiding and just lay together, you most likely on top of him

And he just holds ya and plays with your hair 🥹

Yall talk about the day, or some things you’ve been thinking about, just quiet words yk? :)

(Stop I’m like tweaking thinking about this wtf)

help so sorry for how short Till+Ivans is 😭🙏 no creative juice came for them (and I wrote theirs last so yk…)

Made December 20th 2024

[bucketgetter535]

I don’t even like her

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

CW: Swearing/Subtle internalized homophobia

WC: 1021

Notes: basically Paige is an angsty sixteen year old who “hates” this girl who goes to her school and vents to her therapist about it. (Lowk ooc for Paige but this is self indulgent) anyway this could be the only fic I ever write cause I’m also using it for a creative writing project at school so… give feedback if you want more ig?

The carpet in the office was too clean. That was the first thing Paige noticed every time. Too clean and too soft, like she wasn’t allowed to stomp on it. Like it would judge her shoes for having walked through a parking lot. Her chair squeaked a little when she leaned back too hard, and the window always had that little hum from the traffic outside. It wasn’t annoying. It was just always there.

Dr. Reyes sat in the chair across from her, the same leather armchair every week, ankles crossed like she had all the time in the world. She had that therapist expression that wasn’t fake, but wasn’t… not practiced, either. It was the kind of face Paige found herself trying to match sometimes. Even now. Even when she didn’t want to be here.

“So,” she started, not even looking at her notebook, “how’s this week been? Any change from what you were feeling before?”

Paige shrugged. Her hood was up. Her sleeves were pulled over her hands. “Fine.”

“You seem tired.”

“I guess.”

Dr. Reyes gave her a minute. She always gave her a minute.

And Paige hated that it worked.

“I’m just—” Paige exhaled, tugged at a loose thread on her sweatshirt. “I don’t know. People are annoying.”

“People, like… your teammates?”

“No. I mean yeah, but not really.” Another beat. “Just this one person.”

Dr. Reyes didn’t say anything.

“She’s just—God.” Paige sat up straighter, suddenly full of words. “She’s not even that great. Okay? Like people act like she is. People think she’s like this goddess or something. And she’s not. She’s just a girl. She’s literally just a girl. A normal girl. She’s not even that funny. She just—laughs at dumb stuff. Like it’s charming or whatever.”

Dr. Reyes stayed still. Just listening.

“And she’s not as good as everyone says she is. Like okay, yeah, she’s good, but she’s not better than me. I’m better. I am.”

“You’re talking about—?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying her name.”

Dr. Reyes smiled just slightly. “Okay.”

“She walks around like she owns everything. Like she doesn’t even know how pretty she is. It’s annoying. It’s so—manipulative. Like, don’t act all humble and act like you don’t know what you’re doing when you wear those stupid crop tops or laugh like that or—” Paige stopped, red in the face now. “Whatever.”

There was a silence. The kind that only existed when someone had just told a really big truth disguised as a rant.

“You sound like you think about her a lot,” Dr. Reyes said softly.

“I have to. She’s always there. Practice. School. Online. My friends won’t shut up about her. Even my dad likes her.”

“And you don’t?”

“No!” Paige’s voice cracked on it. “I mean—God, no. I hate her.”

Dr. Reyes raised an eyebrow gently. “You hate her?”

“Yes. I hate her dumb face and her dumb smile and the way she always smells like coconut conditioner and how she somehow makes basketball graceful. Like it’s supposed to be messy. It’s supposed to be violent, and she makes it look like a ballet or some shit and it’s infuriating.”

Paige was breathing faster now, curled slightly forward, like the truth was physically pushing its way out of her.

“And I hate how she looks at me like she knows me. Like she sees through all my shit. I hate how she’s nice to people. I hate how she’s mean when she’s mad. I hate how I know her favorite color is pink and she loves chocolate and eats some kind of treat every night because she’s got the worst sweet tooth. I hate how she texts with perfect punctuation. I hate that she doesn’t get pimples. I hate that she calls me ‘P’ like she’s allowed to.”

Dr. Reyes tilted her head just slightly. “She calls you that?”

Paige blinked hard. Her voice dropped. “Only sometimes.”

The room felt smaller now. Warmer. Or maybe that was just her.

Dr. Reyes was quiet, letting it stretch. Letting Paige decide where to go next.

“I—” Paige’s voice cracked again. “I think about her too much. And I hate that.”

“What do you think about?”

“She’s just always there. In my head. Like I’ll be in math or on the bus or listening to music or brushing my teeth and she just shows up. And it’s not even like I want her there. She just is.”

“And when she’s there?”

Paige swallowed. Her voice went small. “Sometimes I’m mad. Sometimes I just want her to look at me. Like, actually look at me. Not like a teammate. Not like a friend. Like… like I’m special. Like I’m more than just good at basketball.”

Dr. Reyes didn’t move. Her stillness was the safest thing in the world.

“And that makes me mad, too,” Paige whispered. “Because I shouldn’t want that from her. She’s her.”

“What’s wrong with wanting that?”

“Because it’s her.” Paige’s eyes were glassy now. “And if it’s her then—then maybe I’m not who I thought I was.”

Dr. Reyes’ voice was gentle. “Who do you think you are?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

The room went still again. Paige wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“I hate her,” she said again, softer now. “I hate that I know she’s everything I want to be. I hate that she makes me feel safe and out of control at the same time. I hate that I see her name and my stomach flips. That I hear her voice and everything feels quieter. I hate that her hands are so gentle when she rebounds and that she lets me win arguments because she knows I need to. I hate that she smells like home. And I hate that Azzi Fudd might be the only person I’ve ever—”

She stopped. Bit her lip. Looked away.

Dr. Reyes let her.

When Paige looked back, her face was blotchy, and her voice was nothing more than a thread of air.

“I don’t even like her,” she whispered.

And for the first time, Dr. Reyes wrote something down. Just one word.

Love

[kuiinncedes]

aksndbdhdhdhhd

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

yeehaw

how spencer convinces reader to stay in rather than go out

MDNI | suggestive fluff!

word count: 1217

warnings & tags & stuff: fem!reader, def some nsfw descriptions of spence, all around suggestiveness, fade to black

author's note: second piece of writing yayy!!! this was originally gonna be smut but i got scared lol. anyway please lemme know your thoughts im DYING to improve. sooo yes i hope you have a wonderful day and here this is ig! 😚

Sitting alone in your room, you tugged on a pair of never-before worn cowboy boots. They were most definitely not broken in, and you knew you were in for an uncomfortable night of baby blisters on the bottoms of your feet. However, life is full of compromises, and these were too cute to pass on.

Especially for a night of line dancing with your boyfriend’s coworkers. Who knew that FBI agents got down like that?

You stand and plug in your earbuds, choosing to absolutely blast ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’ by Taylor Swift. Also known as the only tolerable country music.

Dancing out to the kitchen, you wrap your arms around your lovely boyfriend who was preparing a cup of tea, absolutely not dressed for a night of country conviviality. Spencer looks you up and down, a teasing smile playing on his face.

“Hey cowgirl,” he says, gently removing your earbuds. “Penelope has been texting me on average every 10 minutes about how excited she is for tonight. I hope you’re ready.”

“Oh god,” you laugh. “I wish you were coming too.”

“I know. But that sounds awful,” he says in his matter-of-fact way. “Hey, I do have something for you,” he mentions. You look up at him, and he runs quickly upstairs to grab his bag. He comes down and brandishes his very own cowboy hat. “From the times Penelope didn’t have you to drag along with her and I was her chosen victim.”

“For me?” You ask excitedly. He puts it on you. Although it’s a little big, it 100% completes the look. You look up at him. “Think I would make a good cowgirl?” He peers down at you, trying to tell if you’re joking.

“No,” He goes the serious route and you furrow your brow at him. “You hate the dirt. And the heat,” he explains, emphatically defending himself.

“I guess you’re right. I don’t really do well with horses either,” you murmur.

“You do make a cute cowgirl for the night though, even if it’s not your true calling.” He ruffles your hat.

“Yeah?” You smile. “It’s not too much with both the boots and the hat?”

Spencer blinks.

“Have you met Penelope? She always has a lot going on. More than this.”

You giggle.

“They’ll all adore you, JJ, Emily,” he reassures, stroking the side of your waist.

You had known Penelope for a few months, ever since you started dating Spencer. But you had yet to meet the rest of the girls on his team. You were definitely excited, they seemed really cool. But you were definitely also nervous.

Spencer, jarring you from your thoughts, whips out his very outdated phone that he somehow still manages to operate, and opens the camera.

“Smile.” You do so, showing off all your teeth. You move to look at the picture, and Spencer tilts the screen toward you. “See? Adorable.”

You stand on your tippy toes for a kiss, and he complies quickly. A little too quickly to not have any meaning behind it. Your eyes flit down, and you notice a slight bulge in Spencer’s pants that wasn’t there a few minutes ago.

You raised your eyebrows and looked up at him. “Can I convince you to stay?” He whispers, half smiling. You tilt your head.

“Maybe” you say shyly.

“What if I told you that the chances are slim to none that you are actually going to line dance tonight? Penelope and JJ always end up sitting at the bar, and Emily always gives up half a song in and joins them. Without fail,” he says. You purse your lips, heart beating a little faster for whatever reason.

“That could still be fun,” you reason.

“Not in those shoes,” he says, rubbing your hip softly. “I know they must hurt; they’re brand new and you’re already shifting your weight between your feet much too frequently.”

You look down at your feet. He was not lying. “You’re too observant. This is why you basically always have your way with me.” You exhale.

“By caring about you? I could keep going. I know that you hate country music. And no, Taylor Swift does not count. She’s an outlier. And she was born in Pennsylvania. That’s barely real country music. You’d be miserable all night.”

“Yes, you would know about ‘real’ country music, Mr. Las Vegas,” you counter.

“That would be Dr. Vegas to you,” he quips, bending down once again and giving you a kiss. You reciprocate, kissing the corner of his mouth. “What if I told you I really wanted you to stay? Bad?”

“Bad? I guess I’ll stay, if it’s bad. But you have to be the one to text Penelope,” you say begrudgingly. As if you weren’t as releived as can be. And as if Spencer didn’t know that.

He smiles and allows his arms to wrap around your waist. Spencer’s kisses become slower, you could feel every aspect of them. His lips, of course, but also his stubble. The air being pushed out of his nose. The hand swiping it’s typical resting spot, your cheek. His tongue delicately tracing your mouth. It all feels so calculated for you, so measured.

And you, on the other hand, are a mess, trying to keep up. Your heart is pounding and you’re sure your face is noticeably hot. And by the time Spencer leads you to your room and sits you down on the bed, its temperature has only increased.

You kick off your boots. He sits next to you, his hands holding your waist, ever so firm. He brings them up, thumbing the inside hem of your tank top.

“All good?” He checks.

“Yeah,” you say, head spinning with all the good chemicals.

“Deep breaths for me, okay? Gotta keep your blood flowing appropriately,” he reminds you, leaning back and taking you in. “Pretty girl.” You blush and his hands move to your lower back over your tank top, delicately brushing over in a way that gives you goose bumps. You shiver.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You’re sensitive in your lower back. God, there’s still so much more to learn about you.” He breathes out.

“Good. I was scared you’d get bored, with your perfect memory and all,” you joke.

“Bored? The human brain is limitless. Your brain is limitless. I wanna know everything I possibly can that goes on up there. Everything that makes it feel good. It’s the least boring thing I can think of.” You blush and look down.

You lean in for another kiss, this time to his jawline and neck. Your hands slide up his stomach under his shirt a little and and you look up to him.

“Okay?” This time you ask.

Spencer nods. “Okay.” Your hands trace up under his own shirt, and you immediately lean in to kiss him, holding his chin.

All of a sudden he’s everywhere. Even sitting next to you, he manages to take over every ounce of your body. He’s kissing your mouth and forehead and cheeks, one hand is holding your face, and the other is mapping your stomach.

“Can we try something new then? If we wanna do and learn everything?” You whisper. One quick tête-à-tête later, you’re sitting on his lap, shifting your hips softly as he held your waist for you.

“I guess I was wrong. You’re gonna be an amazing cowgirl.”

[lime1991]

Sims 2 lore that nobody really thinks about that I find interesting: Olive’s maiden name is Muenda, which translates from Swahili means to “go to” or “you go to” (and I’m getting this from google translate forgive me) her father’s name is Peponi Muenda, which according to google translates to “go to heaven/paradise”

Olive’s mother, Lerato Muenda, has a first name that according to google translate is a word in the Southern Sotho language for “love”, accompanied with her last name meaning “go to”, we can assume her name would translate to “go towards love” or something similar to that, but her first and last name are two different African languages.

What I find interesting about this isn’t even necessarily the names themselves, but the fact that the sims 2 team decided to make Olive Specter non-debatably African, with a Swahili maiden name and everything.

And all of this is really to bring up Nervous Subject.

The Grim Reaper is his father, however Grim isn’t human and therefore has no genes to pass down (ignoring game logic where he needs to have genes) which should essentially make Nervous a clone of Olive, which ig would also make him trans so do with that what you will.

But anyway, I never see anybody talk about the fact that Nervous and Olive are canonically African. The sims fandom feels very White and even if not white, erases the canon cultures of the characters without thinking (i.e “it’s my dollhouse game they can be whatever I want them to be!!!”) and even though I’m not African (I’m a black American) this feels like really interesting character lore that people ignore.

I saw someone on twitter imply that Olive Specter wasn’t black, because I guess her maiden name made them assume she was latina? (Which you can be both lol) but upon looking into it myself I noticed not only is she black, she’s AFRICAN. People see the maiden name Muenda and go “oh that looks like Spanish, she’s latino!” When in reality it’s Swahili! In the lore of Olive’s family, her parents are both African though likely from different areas seeing as her mom’s name implies she’s from South Africa.

But all of this makes it even more confusing why the sims team chose to keep Nervous white for like 20 years? You know he’s not white, even if the Grim Reaper had genes to pass down, Nervous would still be half black. So why did it take until Sims 4 Life & Death for them to actually make him black, when from the start they knew his mother was African? It’s honestly weird and annoying and do NOT let EA brainwash you into thinking it didn’t happen, they absolutely love whitewashing.

[marscantread7]

Idk where I'm going w/ this but mdni😭🙏🏾

But like, basically js imagining u finally convince all the LIs to have one crazy orgy w/ u. Like, honestly here's what I'm thinking.

Rafayel and Sylus would be like a little jealous and confused bc like??? 😭⁉️ ur my girl, wtf do u mean an orgy w/ 5 other men, two being ur childhood best friends???? But they live w/ the mindset of "if u like it, I love it ig" and they'd agree to it. They're both some really horny, freaky fucks and not to be on that cuck shit, but they'd lowkey really enjoy watching u get fucked by the other guys bc they're js freaky like that idk. And ngl, Rafayel getting passed around too, Sylus having the honor of fucking the brat out of him first😛😛😛

Caleb and Xavier would flat out refuse bc??? Bitch do u even know me😭⁉️ I'M CRYING AT THE SCANDALIZED LOOK THEY'D GIVE U. Like??? Bro ur insane for even asking that, genuinely. But then they think on it, and they're like actually tweaking out, Xavier crashing out the worst, but then it's like... lowkey it might be kinda hot... bc like... idk they freaky like that too. Like honestly, as long as they can constantly touch u at any point or u touch them, they might be able to handle it. I can imagine Caleb and Zayne bumping heads for whatever bs reason, and Xavier side eyeing Sylus the whole time. Rafayel and u wondering wtf these niggas got beef for when y'all not even naked yet😭⁉️ I imagine Xavier would also be passed around too tbh.

Zayne would honestly be the most chill w/ it. Like, "Is this what u really want?" And ur js like, "I mean, it'd be cool to have u all in the same room, doesn't necessarily have to be sex." And he js shrugs and is like, "Nothing against ur other friends, but I think we should all use protection." And u readily agree😭🙏🏾 anyways, Zayne would be chill w/ all of them. He thinks Rafayel is a little annoying, and he doesn't quite know where tf u found Sylus at, and he's almost asked to check Xavier's vitals like 20 times within the first fice minutes, but they're cool. Where his problem lies is Caleb... bc why is bro tryna size him up??? Buddy we were childhood friends too what😭⁉️ I think Zayne would eventually get sick of it and put Caleb in his place bc let's be honest... Zayne topping in that relationship, let's not be dumb...

Anyways, let's js say evb would leave w/ e/os numbers and a gc would be made, private messages would be sent, secret link ups that really aren't that secret bc all these niggas suck at lying😭😭😭 especially Rafayel. "Hey raf! I didn't give u that hickey?" "A turtle bit me." "Okay man."

And if this ends in one giant poly relationship then well. Uhm. Idk man, that's between y'all and God or smth idk💀💀💀

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

Oh yeah, and in this, u don't have an established relationship w/ any of the boys. Ur literally friends w/ all them and js so happen to be a little more than friends and u decide to spice things up😛😛😛 js silly thoughts that I have😭😭😭 ik some of these might be ooc, but it's js lil headcanons and thoughts LMFAOO

[ijwtbap]

ㅤㅤ★ㅤA promise — Bakugō

— Bakugō x GN! reader.

You like Katsuki, he likes you — is a fact not a maybe. He doesn't seem to believe it thought.

a/n. I had to keep my promise ig. Is VERY short, so im sorry, also Im bad at english, and it is my first one shot, so have some mercy plz.

You were going insane. Just a little bit. Well, actually, you were ready to rip out your hair and scream into the void, standing naked as flames consumed you. That's kind of insane.

Every time Bakugō referred to you as his friend—even if he only said you weren’t that annoying and didn’t mind having you around (which was close enough)—you wanted to disappear.

You had done everything but treat him platonically. Sure, you could see how holding hands, cuddling, or crying together might seem platonic. But kissing in bed and saying “I love you” in a completely serious way?

You were completely lost.

At first, you thought it was a joke, then maybe just a game to him.

But now? Now you’re convinced he’s just... dense.

You could tell Bakugō you love him dead serious while looking him dead in the eyes, on your knees and with a big sign that said 'plz marry me,' and he would still think you're joking.

And it was killing you.

"Are you going to study or what?"

You were in his bedroom, "studying." Yeah, right—studying. You just wanted to be there with him. You’d barged in without warning, and yet, he hadn’t even questioned your presence.

"No."

You knew he liked you back. There was no way he didn't, but fuck, he refused to acknowledge it.

"I like you."

His eyes widen for a second before he looks back at his notes.

"Shut up."

"I really do, tho."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I love you."

"If you don't stop, I will kick you out."

"I love you."

" __________ "

"I love you so much."

"Stop it."

"I want to marry you, one day when we're adults. Small or big wedding, or none at all, whatever you prefer."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

You two look at each other, him holding his pen so hard that it looks like it's about to break and you looking at him as if he were the most wonderful and prettiest dense idiot you have seen in your life.

"What do you need me to do to make you believe me?"

He ignores you. Mostly because he knows that paying attention to you would just make him more annoyed (because you clearly weren't going to stop) and because he didn't want to accept it.

"Die."

A small smile comes to your mouth. How many people would get offended by that? A lot, but you knew Bakugō didn't mean it.

"You want to recreate Given now?"

Bakugō rolls his eyes, making more notes in his notebook, but you were able to notice a small smirk.

You had forced him to watch it a couple of months ago, and he swears he didn't cry. You knew the truth, though.

"Shut up."

"Shut me up yourself, you coward."

He lets out another scoff, and he continues to avoid your eyes.

"Study already."

You loved Bakugō Katsuki, and he loved you back.

No matter how much time it would take you, you were going to make sure to take his last name and hold his hand in a not-platonic way.

One day.

"I love you."

I totally didn't use like 3 grammar online correctors, and re read this like 20 times (It will still have an issue, and I know it). I also didn't copy inspired my introduction (?) from a random post.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my bad writing style. Im not doing this again, unless I get REALLY bored.

521 words.