#because i've been thinking about this one

[goldfades]

family ties | chapter one, DAYLIGHT | burrow⁹

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MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | the youngest kelce has spent her whole life navigating the chaos of her famous last name, always lingering in the background while her brothers took center stage. but when travis falls for taylor swift, she suddenly finds herself feeling like a third wheel in her own family. and after your heartbreak with an nba player, you never thought you'd find love again.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | just normal prologue stuff! kelce family bantering, mentions of jayson tatum, olivia h mention (IT WAS FOR THE PLOT I SWEAR), heartbreak (but no graphic descriptions), nothing else!

⟢ ┈ ev's notes: okay listen guys i had to think of a random basketball player and the first one i thought of was jayson tatum. if ur not attracted to him, just like... imagine someone else but the celtics are not mentioned so... it's fine!!!!! it's a minor little detail but yeah!

also, i might change some stuff that was from the OG fic just because it doesn't fit the plot i've made LOL. enjoy!

You were an accident in every possible way.

Born an astounding eight years after Travis, nearly eleven after Jason, you weren’t exactly planned. By the time you came along, your parents had been convinced they were done, their hands already full with two loud, competitive boys who spent more time wrestling in the backyard than sitting still. And then—there was you.

A baby sister in every sense of the word.

Your brothers treated you like some kind of rare, delicate thing at first, unsure what to do with you other than stare into your crib and poke at your tiny hands. But that didn’t last long. Before you could even walk, Jason was letting you sit on his lap while he played video games, and Travis had appointed himself your unofficial bodyguard, glaring at anyone who so much as breathed in your direction.

You grew up surrounded by chaos—loud dinners, backyard football games that almost always ended in someone getting tackled too hard, and a house full of laughter. Your parents tried their best to raise you with the same principles that had shaped your brothers, but you were different from the start.

Where Jason was responsible and steady, you were restless. Where Travis was loud and the life of the party, you were observant.

It wasn’t that you were quiet—no one raised in a Kelce household could be described as quiet—but you learned early on how to move through the world a little differently. Being the youngest meant you had to be quick-witted, fast on your feet, and always ready to hold your own. If you didn’t, you’d get run over.

By the time you hit high school, you had learned how to use your last name to your advantage. It got you free drinks at parties, easier conversations with teachers, and a built-in reputation before you ever had to prove yourself. But it also came with expectations—the kind that lingered over you like a shadow.

People expected you to be just like your brothers.

Maybe a little wild, maybe a little reckless. Definitely athletic. Definitely loud.

And you were some of those things.

You were an athlete, sure—your dad would’ve had an aneurysm if you weren’t—but not in the way people wanted. You had a sharp competitive streak, but you never cared about being the best. You played because it was fun, because it was expected, because you liked the feeling of winning, but you never had dreams of making it big. Not like Jason. Not like Travis.

And as for being reckless? You were a Kelce, so it was in your blood. But you were also smart. Calculated. Where Travis would throw himself into anything just to see what would happen, you thought three steps ahead. You weren’t scared of getting into trouble, but you were good at avoiding it.

That was the thing about growing up the way you did—watching your brothers carve their paths before you. You learned how to navigate things differently. You let them be the loudest people in the room while you played the long game, slipping through cracks unnoticed until you wanted to be noticed.

You didn’t date much in high school—not seriously, anyway. Not because people didn’t try (being a Kelce came with its perks), but because most boys were too intimidated by the idea of dating Jason and Travis Kelce’s little sister. You never really minded. Most of the guys at your school weren’t worth your time, anyway.

But you did notice the way people looked at you.

The way guys wanted to say they had a shot with you, even if they never tried. The way girls sometimes whispered about you, speculating if you were actually as down-to-earth as you pretended to be. The way teachers expected you to either be a slacker or a prodigy, like there was no in-between.

You weren’t sure when exactly you started feeling like an enigma—like people had decided who you were before you even had a chance to figure it out for yourself.

Maybe it was when your friends started bringing you to parties just because your last name got you through the door. Maybe it was when people started assuming you were only where you were because of your family. Maybe it was when you realized that, no matter what you did, you’d always be compared to the brothers who came before you.

By the time you graduated, you had perfected the art of keeping people at a distance. You knew how to smile just enough to be approachable, how to joke just enough to make people like you. But you also knew how to keep things yours.

And so you did.

You left home with the intention of making a name for yourself—outside of football, outside of the Kelce legacy. You weren’t running away from it, exactly. You just needed something that was yours alone.

And for the most part, you succeeded.

You built a life that had nothing to do with your last name. You found your own friends, your own career, your own world. You managed to exist outside of the NFL bubble, despite how often it tried to pull you back in. And for years, that was enough.

You were nineteen when you met Jayson Tatum.

Nineteen and reckless in the way only someone on the verge of something monumental can be—when success feels inevitable, and the world hasn’t yet taught you how cruel it can be. You had grown up in the shadows of your last name, in the periphery of stadium lights, in the echoes of your brothers’ roaring crowds. But Jayson was the first person who made you feel like the center of something.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what it meant to love someone like him—someone whose name was already in the rafters, whose presence carried weight before he even walked into a room. He was smooth, confident, charming in that way that made you want to believe him. And maybe that was the problem: you did.

It started fast, the way these things always do. Courtside seats, late-night flights, whispered phone calls from different time zones. He made you feel special, called you his “genius,” said he had never met someone like you before. But love with him always came with conditions. He loved you, but he wanted you to fit into his world, to mold yourself into the spaces left between his career, his schedule, his life. And you tried. God, you tried. You sat in the stands, smiled for the cameras, learned the rhythms of his world even when he never bothered to learn yours.

And it was never enough.

It was always push and pull, a constant cycle of breaking and rebuilding. He would tell you he couldn’t do it anymore, that you were too much, that he needed someone who understood his life. And then weeks later, he’d be back, whispering apologies, promising he had figured it out this time. And you—stupid, hopeful, nineteen, then twenty, then twenty-one—kept believing him.

Until December 2022. The last time. The worst time.

You had always been careful, always known how to exist just outside the spotlight, but this time, the breakup wasn’t just yours. It was public. Messy. Everywhere. Headlines dissecting your relationship, tabloids picking apart your heartbreak like it was something they were entitled to. Your face plastered across the internet, grainy photos of you leaving restaurants, ducking into cars, standing alone in a crowd. Strangers speculating about you, about him, about what went wrong, about whether you were as heartbroken as they hoped you’d be.

And the worst part? You were. You just didn’t want them to know it.

You had never cared about fame—not like that, not in the way the world suddenly seemed to demand from you. You weren’t built for it, for the attention, for the scrutiny, for the way people suddenly decided you were interesting now that you were broken.

It was the lowest you had ever been.

After that, you buried yourself in work, in building something no one could take from you. You stopped trusting the cameras, stopped giving interviews, stopped letting people in. And love? Love became something you didn’t have time for. Something you couldn’t afford.

Not until Joe. But that was another story.

⟢ JULY 2023

The Kelces did the Fourth of July the same way they did everything else—loud, chaotic, and with enough food to feed an army.

The backyard was still a mess from the day’s events. Empty plates stacked on tables, beer bottles scattered across the deck, remnants of water balloons forgotten in the grass. The kids had long since crashed, curled up in the living room after a full day of running around, and your parents had finally turned in for the night. That left just the three of you—Jason, Travis, and you—lingering in the kitchen, picking at the last of the food and settling in for what was, by tradition, gossip hour.

Jason was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking half-exhausted, half-amused as he nursed what was probably his final beer of the night. Kylie had gone upstairs an hour ago, throwing a “don’t let him stay up too late” over her shoulder before disappearing. Travis was still riding the high of a long day—barefoot, tanned from the sun, and grinning like he knew something you didn’t.

You, for your part, were perched on the counter, sipping a Coke because you had a feeling one of you needed to remain at least somewhat coherent.

“So, uh,” Travis started, reaching for the last deviled egg on the platter. “Speaking of cool people, guess who I started talking to?”

Jason shot him a tired look. “Oh, here we go.”

You glanced between them. “What do you mean, talking to?”

Travis grinned. “Taylor Swift.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jason groaned, running a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, Trav.”

“What?” Travis said, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s not a big deal.”

You snorted. “You just casually dropped Taylor Swift into the conversation like it’s the weather. That’s not normal.”

Jason pointed at you. “Exactly. Thank you.”

Travis rolled his eyes, shoving the deviled egg into his mouth. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been texting. I shot my shot, and what do you know? The Kelce charm works.”

Jason looked unimpressed. “Define ‘texting.’”

Travis chewed thoughtfully. “Like… texting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Travis.”

He smirked. “Okay, fine. I invited her to a game. She didn’t come, but she thought it was funny. We started talking. She’s cool as hell.”

You stared at him, processing. “Hold on. You shot your shot with Taylor Swift—arguably the biggest pop star in the world—by inviting her to a football game?”

Travis shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

Jason huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I hate that it worked.”

You leaned forward, intrigued now. “Wait, so what do you guys talk about?”

Travis grinned. “Oh, you know. Life. Music. Football. Friendship bracelets.”

Jason made a strangled noise. “I swear to God—”

“I’m serious!” Travis held up his hands. “She thought it was funny! That’s what started it, actually.”

You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. “And how often are you guys texting?”

Travis took a sip of his beer, clearly stalling.

“Travis.”

He sighed dramatically. “Every day. Okay? Happy?”

Jason looked at you, then back at him. “Holy shit. You like her.”

Travis scoffed. “Of course I like her, she’s Taylor fuckin’ Swift.”

“No,” you cut in, pointing at him. “Not just, like, ‘fan’ like her. You actually like her.”

Travis hesitated. And that was all you needed to see.

Jason whistled low, shaking his head. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “Or… it’s gonna be the greatest thing to ever happen to you.”

Travis gave you a look, something half-serious beneath all the usual bravado. “You think?”

You shrugged. “I think you have a long road ahead of you if you actually wanna date Taylor Swift. But if anyone’s got the balls to do it, it’s you.”

Travis sat back, considering that. Then he smirked. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Jason groaned. “Oh God.”

You hopped off the counter, stealing the beer out of Travis’s hand and taking a sip. “I can’t wait for Mom to find out.”

Travis laughed, shaking his head. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

And just like that, the topic shifted—because that was the thing about being a Kelce. No matter how big the news, how crazy the story, at the end of the day, you were just family. Talking shit in the kitchen, making fun of each other, and watching history unfold in real time.

The whole thing kind of unraveled in front of you.

One minute, Travis was dropping Taylor Swift’s name into a conversation like it was nothing, and the next, she was there. Not in a surreal, once-in-a-lifetime, see-her-from-a-distance kind of way—but in the real way. The kind where she was suddenly just… around. Sitting across from you at dinner, feet tucked under her on the couch, sipping a drink at the same backyard parties you had been going to your whole life.

It wasn’t weird, not exactly. It was just happening.

You had been close to fame before, obviously. Jason and Travis had built their careers in the public eye, and you had spent your whole life in and around that world, brushing shoulders with athletes and celebrities who treated your last name like a golden ticket. You knew how to navigate it, how to smile politely and act like it didn’t phase you.

But this was different.

Because this wasn’t just fame. This was Taylor Swift—and she wasn’t just a headline or a name on a stadium marquee. She was here, in your world, existing in it like she belonged. And the strangest part? She kind of did.

You liked her. She was easy to like. Funny, quick-witted, smarter than people probably even realized. She had this way of making everyone feel like they were the only person in the room when she talked to them. Even you, at times, when she wasn’t entirely preoccupied with Travis.

And, well. That was the thing, wasn’t it?

Because she was preoccupied with Travis.

That was the whole point.

She wasn’t your friend. She wasn’t coming around to hang out with you. She was here for him. And that was fine. It was great, actually. You had never seen your brother like this before—completely, stupidly, out-of-his-mind happy. He glowed around her, and you were happy for him.

But somewhere along the way, you started to notice it.

The third wheel feeling.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Not in the beginning, when everything was still so new and exciting and unbelievable.

But then came the dinners where you felt like a spectator to their conversations. The trips where you ended up walking three steps behind them. The inside jokes you weren’t a part of, the glances they shared across rooms like they were in on some secret that you weren’t.

And sure, Travis had always been larger than life. His presence had always been something you had to navigate around. But now? Now, there was them. And you? You were just… there.

It got to the point where even your nieces—who were still young enough to have no filter—started noticing. You’d barely sat down at one of your parents’ Sunday dinners when Wyatt, with all the innocence of a child, looked up at you and asked, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

You had laughed, mostly out of shock, but the sting was still there. And then it happened again. And again.

And that was how Elliot became your best friend.

At just over a year old, she was the only one who didn’t ask why you were always alone, or where your mystery boyfriend was, or when you were going to bring someone home like Travis had. Instead, she was just happy to exist beside you, happy to let you carry her around like a little security blanket when you needed an excuse to step away from them.

You spent more time with her than you did with the adults most nights, letting her babble nonsense at you while you tuned out the rest of the room.

--

Joe Burrow wasn’t born into greatness.

He was born into a world where nothing was guaranteed, where talent didn’t always mean success, where hard work didn’t always lead to the dream. He grew up watching his father grind his way through the football world, moving from coaching job to coaching job, never staying anywhere long enough to feel settled. He understood from a young age that football wasn’t just a game—it was survival. It was everything.

But for most of his life, Joe wasn’t the guy. He wasn’t the five-star recruit, the kid whose name carried weight before he even stepped on the field. He was good—great, even—but great didn’t always mean enough. Ohio State was supposed to be his shot, his moment, the place where he proved himself. Instead, it was where he sat on the bench, waiting for a chance that never came, watching other guys take the field while he tried to convince himself it wasn’t slipping away from him.

There were nights he thought about giving it up. That maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. That maybe football had already given him all it was going to. But he wasn’t built to quit, and when LSU came calling, he took the leap.

That was the moment everything changed.

LSU wasn’t just an opportunity—it was a resurrection. It was the first time he felt like the guy, like he wasn’t just taking up space on a roster but actually belonged there. The game slowed down, the doubt faded, and for the first time in his life, he thought: Maybe I can actually do this. Maybe I can be great.

Then came 2019. The season. The Heisman. The national championship. The moment his life shifted from maybe to inevitable. He went from overlooked to undeniable, from backup to first overall pick, from fighting for a shot to standing at the top of the football world.

And somewhere in all of that, there was Olivia.

She had been there from Ohio State, through the struggles, through the late nights spent questioning everything. She was safe, steady, someone who knew him before everything changed. And for a while, that was enough. They built a life together in the in-between spaces of his career—through the transfer, through LSU, through the draft, through the move to Cincinnati.

But something had shifted along the way. Maybe it was the fame, the pressure, the way football consumed everything in its path. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent so long chasing this dream that he didn’t know how to slow down, didn’t know how to be the kind of man who could put something else—someone else—first.

Or maybe they had just grown into different people.

The love had been real. That was never a question. But real didn’t always mean forever, and when the cracks started to show, neither of them could ignore them. The long distance, the late nights, the feeling of being together but not really together. Football had always been his first love, and Olivia had always understood that. But understanding didn’t make it easier.

By the time the breakup happened, it felt inevitable. A quiet ending, no messy headlines, no dramatic fallout. Just two people who had spent years trying to make something work, finally realizing it wasn’t meant to.

Joe had never been one for public spectacle, had never been the guy who wanted his love life picked apart. But that didn’t stop people from talking. From wondering when he’d date again, who he’d be seen with, what kind of woman would fit into the world he had built.

But he wasn’t looking. Football was still everything, still the thing that took up all the space in his life.

At least, until you.

[kedreeva]

I discovered the ability to play on "hardcore" mode in Minecraft, which is where the difficulty is set to hard and if you die, that's it. Which is weirdly enticing, so I gave it a shot.

The first time I tried it, I pretty immediately died. Like, I did not last an entire hour.

But, I recently had a world where I survived over 100 days, and almost all of those day were spent in a Dark Oak Forest biome, which is one of the more dangerous ones. I built a 3-story house with a greenhouse, a wine cellar, a mine shaft, agriculture and livestock farming and more. I was slowly exploring the verdant cave below my home. I stepped backward into lava and couldn't get out again, while I was on the phone with a friend. Don't chat and play, I suppose lol

I restarted on a random seed, and there were several nice biomes within view (jungle, flower, desert, badlands, birch forest). I could see a village in the distance, so I headed that way first and found a massive abandoned mine just outside of town. I didn't go too far in, but there were some chests of goodies near some of the entrances. I tamed a few wolves and a cat, and I just took off into the distance. I spent the first 20+ days just kind of wandering the wilderness with my dogs, camping out at night. I picked a random nice spot in a broad Birch Forest to toss down my stuff and build a home, mostly because my hands were full.

I'm close to 50 "days" in, and I've spent most of it out gallivanting. I went out to find a village to tame a second cat, so I could have more at-will, and to find a Striped Wolf out in those badlands (successful). I spent days looking for a Spotted Dog in the savannas that looked like plateaus (unsuccessful, and I lost my cat and had to go BACK and get ANOTHER one). I finally returned home and this is the view from my front windows, just before I logged for the evening.

Something about only having one life makes the game a little more charming than usual. I mean, it's always charming, but I've been taking more time to look around at the worlds I won't be returning to when I finally bite it. Making sure I take a minute to appreciate the views, pat the doggos, look in the nooks and crannies for things I might like, since I won't get to come back. I mean, I can come back but I can't Come Back, y'know?

The same is true of real life, obviously. There are an increasing number of things that want us dead, but there are still sunsets out the window, and doggos to be pat, and little treasures to be found if we're looking for them. I think that's worth sticking around as long as I can.

[atlas-of-andromeda]

Because I can, I'm answering all of them.

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

Alot of things, obviously, but if I had to pick, I'd say:

Being straight up bullied for expressing interest in things growing up by my brother

Being largely a social outcast for most of my life

And video games

show us a picture of your handwriting?

Yes, I know it looks like shit.

For any curious, it's the lyrics to Does The Swallow Dream Of Flying by Cosmo Sheldrake that I wrote at school a few days ago because it was stuck in my head but I was in math so I couldn't listen to it.

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

Wolfwalkers

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Heathers (1989)

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

Piss

(It's a long story)

what made you start your blog?

P.M. Seymour

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

Best? The anonymity of it.

Worse? The anonymity of it.

what scares you the most and why?

People hating me. I couldn't tell you why even if I wanted to.

any recurring dreams?

Sometimes I have this dream where I'm in a massive... sinkhole? I guess? That's covered entirely in moss, grass, trees, and miscellaneous foliage. There's also a waterfall somewhere in it. Everytime I have the dream it's dark, little light making it to where I am from the surface. I'm stood on this little cliff edge on the side of the hole, and everytime I look over the edge, and fall. And the dream ends there. I've had it at seemingly random intervals throughout the past... maybe nine-ish years?

There's also this dream I consistently have once, every four years. Where I'm awake in my bedroom at like... maybe 04:00 or something. And it's the early winter, snow just dusting the ground. I leave my room and the washroom door is open, light on, but all other lights are off. I walk over to the entranceway, and I can hear my mother screaming from the basement. I proceed to leave through the backdoor. I walk out into the front yard and my brother is there, and the lights on my family's car are on.

It gets a little fuzzy from then on, but I know that at some point I go back inside and there's a spoon - like the utensil - is important is some capacity. And at some point the dream suddenly switches into another, unrelated dream; where I'm laying on my back, on the floor of a massive almost warehouse-like building, completely empty, and except of the white and grey metal normally in warehouses, this building is made out of wooden planks. There's a giant fan on the roof blowing straight down on me. Balloons are involved at some point.

So... feel free to psychoanalyze me if you so wish!

tell a story about your childhood

One time my family and I were out visiting my grandfather, and there was a large lake near where he lived, so we went swimming. Now, I was like, five or six when this happened; I was very small (still am, but less so). And my older brother (by like four years) was walking out into the lake, and I was following him, because I did that sometimes when I was younger. And because he was (and still is) a lot bigger than me, he went out just fine. But because I was so small, the water picked me up and flipped me over, and I started drowning. My parents came to the rescue (my brother ignored me (dick)).

would you say you’re an emotional person?

I've gotten better in the last year or two, but yes.

what do you consider to be romance?

Couldn't tell you if I tried.

what’s some good advice you want to share?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what are you doing right now?

Typing shit on Tumblr.

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

Come out.

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

A house.

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I'd make myself braver and less of of a push-over

name 3 things that make you happy

Music, drawing, walking in nature

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

Nope. Not even kinda.

favourite thing about the day?

Being on the bus to and from school. I'm not at school or my house and I get to talk with my friend.

favourite things about the night?

Nobody bothers you. You are left alone for hours on end. It's the only time you get peace.

are you a spiritual person?

Nope.

say 3 things about someone you love

You're always making such shit comments about LGBT+ and minority people, and I can't say anything in retort. You make it easy to forget what a shit person you are, and I'm happy until you make one of those comments again. You're the only person who seems to care about me, even if I know that that if I were to be honest with you that'd change in a second.

say 3 things about someone you hate

You can't shut up for five seconds and give me peace and quiet. You've ruined my life in so many ways for so long. I can't wait for you to be gone.

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

Going on for this long.

fave season and why?

Autumn. Cold, but not frostbite cold. limited amounts of bugs. Pretty colours. :)

fave colour and why?

Red. No reason, just like it.

any nicknames?

Pumpkin - my father.

do you collect anything?

Yeah! Rocks and breadclips! (Random. I know)

what do you do when you’re sad?

Depends. If I'm in public, suck it up until in private. In private, cry and read fanfiction.

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

Music.

are you messy or organized?

Pretty organized.

how many tabs do you have open right now?

...17...

any hobbies?

Drawing, writing, dancing, singing, playing guitar, playing harmonica.

any pet peeves?

People with no volume control.

do you trust easily?

Not really.

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

As many walls as possible.

share a secret

No. :)

fave song at the moment?

Vulture Culture by Fangclub

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

Rendog. Idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

any bad habits?

Biting my nails.

questions I think would be fun to be asked

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

show us a picture of your handwriting?

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

what made you start your blog?

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

what scares you the most and why?

any reacquiring dreams?

tell a story about your childhood

would you say you’re an emotional person?

what do you consider to be romance?

what’s some good advice you want to share?

what are you doing right now?

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

name 3 things that make you happy

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

favourite thing about the day?

favourite things about the night?

are you a spiritual person?

say 3 things about someone you love

say 3 things about someone you hate

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

fave season and why?

fave colour and why?

any nicknames?

do you collect anything?

what do you do when you’re sad?

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

are you messy or organised?

how many tabs do you have open right now?

any hobbies?

any pet peeves?

do you trust easily?

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

share a secret

fave song at the moment?

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

any bad habits?

(this post was stolen from @teenage-mutant-ninja-freak, since it couldn't be reblogged anymore)

[velvetwyrme]

now that we established vehicle prostitution and brothels in tf, WHO would go there?

OH MY GOD

hi apologies this took forever for me to reply to but hey. whatever.

part 1 - part 2 - ask that preempted this

I have Less Thoughts about this mostly because I've been busy thinking about other things and these are getting more and more specific so the numbers keep dwindling. that being said. notes under the cut.

Frenzy, Rumble, Jazz and Bumblebee were in the comic so jot them down. Thundercracker was also mentioned (implied to be the reason R&F found the dealership in the first place.) TCs there for both cars AND the humans though. Starscream would go to the Hangar version, because he wouldn't fuck a car BUT I think he'd fuck a plane.

Sideswipe is banned. Nobody has told Megatron about it but you can bet he'd be there if he knew.

Somewhere out there, in the vast multiverse theres a universe where the Scavengers star in their own TV show and I fully believe that there's an episode where they all go to a car dealership and shenanigans ensue. Misfire falls in love with a car there.

Originally the comic was going to end with Rumble and Frenzy going inside the dealership on another night (can't exactly go when there's obviously Autobots around...) only to get surprised by the one and only Optimus Prime, but then i was like. i don't actually think he'd go to one of these. (unless someone convinced him that itd be improving human-Cybertronian relations maybe sgfjfbdjdb)

Honestly if it were a more organised thing that you can Go To, I reckon you can probably add more bots to the "would they fuck a car" roster. I could list them but i'm gonna sleep actually. YOU guys can tell ME who you think would go to the dealership-slash-brothel but wouldn't go fuck a car off the street fhdmfbdmfbk

[pranabefall]

✸ — MISC NOTICE. ; minors dni. zhongli x reader. again, some pure fluff but as an mdni blog i'm holding repellent XD. mostly silly silly stuff ihgfghj reader is implied to have studied in the sumeru akademiya. not edited!!!

"You're awake."

It's more a statement then anything else, Zhongli's arm snakes round you, steady in it's grasp. "I know you are." he adds, in a way where the depths of his chest seemed to rumble slow, slow, slowly.

You crack an eye open and stare straight at him, a sheepish grin flickering across for a moment ( only for a moment. You're incorrigible, as Zhongli liked to say ). "I've been thinking." You begin, your breath half caught at the back of your mouth. An excited thrum dances over your fingertips and you're half dizzy from the buzz and the tire. So much, there's so much, your stomach feels like it's about to explode.

"It's too early." he glances over at you with a pointed raise to his brow. "You can barely hear the birds out. Go back to sleep now." His hands are gentle against your cheek and you're almost swayed by the rumbling timbre of his voice and the low cadence. It's lulling you, but by bit, deeper and deeper.

"I've been thinking." You repeat with a little more force, lifting your head up to state your point across. You collapse back down a moment later when the room spins a bit. Perhaps you were too hasty ( goddammit ) and you content yourself with settling into the mattress and pulling the blanket over your shoulders.

His lashes flutter. There is fond exasperation there, melting into his chest and his nearly-there smile like butter. Its the most Zhongli thing about him, the tiny moments and peeks in through. "Alas." He sighs, nudging you close, laying your head over his bicep. "Tell me then."

Zhongli watches the way your shoulders hunch and your lips quirk. "A willing audience? How grand..."

"A little too willing, I'm afraid. I spoiled you so."

Your hands splay against his shoulders. He's warm.

"It's only going to take a minute. In fact, it's only a question. All I need are answers and that will only take as long as you want it to."

Ah there it is, the narrowed squint, the subtle shift and the signs of a slightly more alert Zhongli ( the Zhongli who'd straighten his back and cattishly stare at someone who dares to mention the name of some obscure historic even or little known tea ). "Ask me, then."

You fall silent, looking for your words.

"I was wondering. Is geo resonance susceptible to tearing apart organic tissue? How little is needed for it to do so, and how little for it to...not...?"

You don't think there is a sane way of phrasing that, to be fair. But you'd ask stranger things, always digging and questioning and presenting the wildest little ideas on odd days of the week. It's a side effect of the Akademiya and a lack of sages sushing you into a corner with a pile of textbooks and dry edged annoyance. And maybe the very aforementioned abandonment of shame.

"And by organic tissue..."

"Human flesh, Zhongli."

"Ah."

"More specifically muscles, tendons, bones...maybe even neural tissue to be fair. Any of that stuff."

Zhongli has the grace to not react, or give much away in his contemplation. You knock your head against his chin in gentle assurance. "You don't have to answer of course."

"It's certainly a strange one." He admits.

"It is." You grumble.

"Well..." He trails off before a breathy little chuckle trembles past. "We'll, I can't say I know a proper answer to this one. It's quite specific isn't it?"

"Horribly so. Different tissue have different densities. You can afford to be a little rougher with bone, for example. But something softer like grey matter would require far more finesse."

His hand is steady against the small of your back. "And you ask this because..."

Your lips tug at the corners. "An old junior of mine sent a letter in. The boy graduated from the Spantamad Darshan in my absence and had plenty of news to share regarding a few new experiments with elemental energy and the like." You turn over a moment. "If we could find the precise frequency needed, we may just be able to utilize geo resonances for medical diagnostics."

Zhongli blinks. It's a slow, thoughtful thing.

"That is fascinating." He muses. "So you seek to map put internal injuries then? Or perhaps tumours?"

"Yes!" You eagerly nod at that. "There are Fontanian inventors...and skilled akademics. They're calling a few alumni in to aud in the research."

Your cheek tucks into the crook of his neck. You feel his warmth and the too-slow heartbeat carefully wrapped in his chest, between ribs and flesh — made of anything but stone ( You're filled with a hunger. Zhongli calls it endearing, your passion, as quiet as it can be sometimes ).

"You were invited too." He guesses.

"Yes."

His lips test against your neck. "How long?"

"A while." You look outside, to the balcony and the horizon in the distance. Then you see Zhongli's face, his hair undone and sweep against your temple as he kisses you proper.

"Then go, little love."

"Are you sure?" You suddenly feel awful, and small, and selfish. Liyue had stuck fast to the buttery feelings in your chest and Zhongli had made himself a home there as well. A part of you wants to sneak him into your trunk, sprit him away to Sumeru. It's greedy, immature ( he's always waited for you, patiently ).

"Quite." He kisses your cheek next. "What's a few months?"

"An eternity." You grunt.

Zhongli is silent for a long, long moment. "Right now...it would be, yes." He says in the afterthoughts. "And will miss you terribly. But I've waited before, and I don't see why I cannot now."

He laces his fingers against yours.

"I'll write to you every week." You promise.

"Every week." He promises and he smiles his almost smile. You kiss his forehead. He sighs. "For now...I will say it again. Go to sleep."

"Yes, yes." You mutter, snuggling in. Zhongli tucks his hand beneath your knees and swings one leg over his waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

Let me be greedy, he seems to say.

You let him.

TAGLIST ノ join the taglist. — @silentmoths @meimeimeirin @sleepynoons @iuzas @endursent.

@jessamine-rose @ofoceansandtombsanew @chiyoso @loveliluc

[midnightfict]

What History?

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Squid Game fans have been shipping two actors not knowing they have a history together.

A/N — aaaa, writer’s block is killing me. but the reqs i've been getting is starting to help. i promise i’m currently drafting for the other reqs.

request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

The room was brightly lit, cameras positioned at every angle, and a familiar nervousness settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t new to interviews, but something about these promotional videos always made you a little jittery. Maybe it was the anticipation of how fans would react, or maybe it was the fact that sitting next to you was none other than Lee Byung-hun—your former high school boyfriend and now your co-star in Squid Game Season 2.

The two of you walked into the room together, followed by director Hwang Dong-hyuk, who greeted the crew with a casual nod.

“Alright,” a staff member announced. “We’re shooting two videos today. The first segment is watching fan edits, and the second is reading fan letters. Just react naturally, have fun, and remember—no breaking into hysterics.”

Byung-hun chuckled beside you. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You smirked. “You sound scared.”

“I might as well be. Have you seen those AI edits of me and Lee Jung-jae?”

The staff gestured for silence, signaling that the cameras were rolling. You introduced yourself to the camera, followed by Byung-hun and Dong-hyuk. The screen before you flickered to life, and the first video started playing.

The first edit was cinematic—a high-energy montage of Squid Game 2’s most intense moments. Gunfights, chase sequences, close-ups of steely gazes. It had everything. The booming orchestral soundtrack made every scene feel ten times more dramatic.

Byung-hun let out an impressed whistle. “Did we actually shoot something this cool?”

You nodded. “Because I don’t remember looking this badass.”

Dong-hyuk leaned forward, squinting. “Wait—when did you do that roll behind cover?”

You snorted. “That’s the one where I landed wrong and bruised my entire arm.”

Byung-hun grinned. “Ohhh, right. And you tried to play it off like you meant to do it.”

“I did mean to do it.”

Dong-hyuk shook his head. “That’s not what you said when you screamed in pain afterward.”

Byung-hun burst into laughter. Your light punch to his side silenced him, earning a dramatic yelp.

“Give respect to your elders!”

You gave the camera a look. “He’s so dramatic. We’re literally only one year apart.”

The next edit was a deep dive into In-ho’s past, set in black and white with emotional piano music. It contrasted his life as a police officer with his role as the Front Man, highlighting the tragedy of his choices.

Dong-hyuk hummed thoughtfully. “This fan basically made a better teaser than we did.”

Byung-hun nodded. “Can we hire them?”

You pointed at a particular shot. “This scene—this is when you had to retake your mask removal, what, twenty times?”

Byung-hun groaned. “Ugh. The mask kept getting caught on my hood. Every time I tried to look dramatic, I just looked stuck.”

Dong-hyuk chuckled. “We had to cut out three takes where you sighed right into the mask.”

Byung-hun held up his hands. “No need to expose me like that.”

Then came the brainrot edit. An animation of Squid Game characters dancing to some bizarre, upbeat song.

You had the biggest grin—too silly not to laugh. The video didn’t even make sense.

Dong-hyuk had his brows furrowed, an amused but not entirely entertained smile on his face.

Byung-hun, on the other hand, sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the screen. No one could tell what he was thinking.

When it ended, you all exchanged an awkward glance.

“I mean… I like it. It’s an interesting video,” you said, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, still laughing.

Dong-hyuk fixed his glasses. “Is this what people see when they watch my show?”

Byung-hun crossed his arms. “They didn’t do me justice. Why is the Front Man not included in this video?”

The staff smirked. “Don’t worry, there’s a Front Man edit in the next one.”

The next video was different. The music was softer, the pacing slower. It highlighted your character’s interactions with In-ho—subtle glances, moments of hesitation, scenes where your characters moved in sync. It wasn’t obvious in the actual show, but with the way the editor framed it…

It almost looked like something was going on.

Byung-hun blinked. “What’s this?”

Dong-hyuk raised an eyebrow. “They created scenes that aren’t even in the series.”

You squinted. “Are we too old to understand what this is?”

It was a ship edit.

Silence.

Then, Byung-hun let out a slow, amused chuckle. “Well. That was unexpected.”

Dong-hyuk crossed his arms. “You two do have really natural chemistry.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, our characters have history, so—”

Byung-hun nodded. “Right, right. Former police officers.”

Dong-hyuk hummed. “Well, I had another love interest in mind for In-ho, but thinking about it… your characters being shipped makes sense. Maybe I should make it canon in Season 3.”

Both you and Byung-hun snapped your heads toward him.

“Huh?!”

The crew erupted into laughter. Dong-hyuk smiled and closed the segment with a thank-you and a Squid Game 2 promotion.

After a quick makeup touch-up, a staff member placed a stack of envelopes in front of you, Byung-hun, and Dong-hyuk.

Dong-hyuk stretched his arms and grinned. “Alright, let’s see what the fans have to say. If anyone insults my writing, I’m walking out.”

Byung-hun smirked. “I’d say you’re bluffing, but we all know you’re dramatic enough to do it.”

You laughed. “Place your bets, everyone. How many letters will be about Byung-hun’s attractiveness?”

Byung-hun scoffed. “Excuse me, I am a serious actor. Not just a handsome face.”

The cameras rolled.

You picked up the first letter and smoothed it out before reading aloud.

‘Dear Director Hwang, your storytelling is a masterpiece. Every scene feels like it has so much depth and emotion. How do you come up with such gripping narratives?’

Dong-hyuk’s face lit up. “Ah, A letter for me!”

Byung-hun immediately reached over, fingers grasping at the paper. “Skip it.”

You swatted his hand away. “No, let him have his moment.”

Dong-hyuk straightened his posture, adjusting his jacket with mock importance. “Well, since you asked… My process is simple. I think, ‘What is the most stressful, painful situation I can put my characters in?’ And then I do that.”

Byung-hun leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I knew you enjoyed torturing us.”

Dong-hyuk grinned. “Absolutely.”

Byung-hun exhaled, then grabbed the next letter from the pile, unfolding it.

‘Was filming action scenes difficult? Especially the parkour scenes.’

You didn’t hesitate. “Oh, definitely. That scene where I had to jump from bed to bed? I had bruises for days.”

Byung-hun winced at the memory. “Oh yeah, you took a pretty bad fall.”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your arms up. “And no one even said ‘cut’ when I landed wrong! I had to just lie there in pain.”

Dong-hyuk raised a hand in defense. “Okay, to be fair, it looked intentional.”

Byung-hun let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “You heard it here first, folks. The director is a masochist.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “It builds character.”

Byung-hun rubbed his temple. “I worry for your future wife.”

You sifted through the pile and grabbed the next letter.

‘To Byung-hun, was it difficult wearing the Front Man’s mask for long periods of time? It looks heavy.’

Byung-hun groaned dramatically, flopping against the back of his chair. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Dong-hyuk snorted. “He complained about it every single day.”

Byung-hun sat up, pointing at him. “Because it was a legitimate problem! The mask was so heavy, and it pressed into my face so much that I had red marks after every shoot.”

You bit back a laugh. “And let’s not forget the time it got stuck.”

Byung-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, please, let’s forget that.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “We have footage.”

Byung-hun immediately turned to the camera, eyes pleading. “Dear editors, if you have any mercy, don’t include that clip.”

They did.

Dong-hyuk chuckled and grabbed the next letter. “‘Director Hwang, who is your favorite character in Squid Game?’”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Yikes. That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.”

Byung-hun smirked. “But we all know you have a favorite.”

Dong-hyuk tapped his fingers against the table, pretending to contemplate. “Well… I have a soft spot for In-ho.”

Byung-hun gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck. “You love me?”

Dong-hyuk’s deadpan stare didn’t waver. “I said I love In-ho. Not you.”

You burst into laughter as Byung-hun recoiled in mock betrayal. “Wow, I won’t return to Season 3 then.”

Dong-hyuk ignored him, his expression thoughtful. “I love complex characters, and In-ho has so much depth. There’s still so much left to explore with him.”

You leaned in. “So, does that mean he’s safe in Season 3?”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “I mean, it’s possible, but I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

Byung-hun cut in, laughing. “What do you mean you don’t know? You created the story.”

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “Let’s just say… No one is ever truly safe.”

The next letter Byung-hun picked up seemed harmless at first.

‘I don’t know what it is, but…’

He stopped mid-sentence, chuckling as he glanced at the camera, then at you and Dong-hyuk. “I don’t know if I can continue reading this without someone getting mad.”

Silence fell over the room.

Curious, you snatched the letter from his hands and scanned it. A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who’s gonna get mad over this?”

Byung-hun gave you a knowing look, subtly hinting at someone you had dated during filming.

Your expression faltered for half a second before you quickly masked it with a tight smile. Keeping your mouth hidden from the camera, you mouthed, “We broke up.”

Dong-hyuk grinned and leaned forward to peek at the letter over your shoulder. “Well, well, well. They think you two have some history together because you make the characters so compelling together.”

Byung-hun cleared his throat, spitting out a joke before anyone could dwell on the comment. “Have you guys ever considered we are both just very good actors?”

Dong-hyuk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Seeing how everybody seems to ship you two, maybe I should create a romance movie with you both.”

You and Byung-hun turned to him in horror, simultaneously shaking your heads.

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “What? The fans love it. I should give them what they want.”

Byung-hun laughed nervously and quickly faced the camera. “Okay let's end it! Thank you for watching this video. Don’t forget to watch us on Netflix!”

After finishing the shoot, the three of you parted ways—but the internet did not.

A week after the video was published, fans went crazy. The shipping theories got worse. Your social media was flooded with comments. Multiple media outlets invited you and Byung-hun for interviews together, riding the hype.

One afternoon, before another press event, you texted him.

Want to grab coffee before the next interview?

Thought you’d never ask.

At the café, he took a sip of his drink and smirked. “Remember how broke we were from getting coffee every other day in high school?”

You groaned. “Oh god, that was what? Twenty—no, thirty years ago? High school was rough. I don’t even want to remember that.”

“You’re mean. So I meant nothing to you?” He feigned hurt, holding back a smile.

“Oh, shush. You know what I mean.” You playfully pushed his forehead as he held the door open for you. “Besides, we lasted ‘til university, no—”

Click.

A camera shutter.

You froze. He froze.

Through the café window, a crowd had formed. Some held up phones. Others were whispering excitedly.

Fuck. They found you.

Byung-hun exhaled. “Well, I guess there’s no turning back.”

Then, with a smirk, he grabbed your hand, laced his fingers through yours, and yanked you out of the sea of screaming fans.

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

I mean the first two are tempting for obvious reasons. I think I have to pick never -having- to eat again, because I think the implication there is perfect nutrition from nothing... Can the 1500 be spent on things other than 'retail therapy' I do not like shopping, but it is more than my pension. I do not need the blue pill sorry. I have no interest in the last two [one billionaire or politician a month would be tempting]

Purple and pink raise interesting questions for me though. I could, potentially, in time, change laws to make the world more survivable not just for me, but for everyone like me, for everyone not like me too. I'd have to get much better acquainted with politics though. It would become my life's work... Do I want that?

If I took the purple pill though, being someone who isn't social and doesn't have many friends, would I then become morally obligated to try to make as many friends as possible? Could I do more by simply changing 12 laws per year? Would I rather try to become a social butterfly or start studying law all day?

I think the yellow and pink pill would have to be it, and then I'd spend the rest of forever, researching laws, forgetting to eat and crying that I could not also have the orange and red ones every time I had to do laundry or dishes. Get ready for rent control and ubi, free school and free medical care. Learn to say "trans right" or else. I've been wearing the same pants for a week and rinsing off the same plate and cup, but you're about to say goodbye to medical debt.

The pills meme but it's things i wish i had

[taylor-titmouse]

it's been across all my platforms that i keep getting asked whether vanesse will keep and wear the womanulet all the time, and i'm feeling some sort of way about this question, because it feels like an oversimplification of the trans experience, but also a flattening of her character. she is literally introduced in the book admiring her own naked body in a mirror, has no problem announcing in front of a stranger that she has a prick, and gleefully tops. this isn't a person who would ever feel the need to live full time as a cis-bodied woman. she thinks she's beautiful exactly as she is.

but metanarratively it's also like. the womanulet is clearly a toy. it's not a permanent story item or an event that exists on a timeline. it's just a what-if scenario. for it to be permanent would mean i'd be taking one of my most beloved trans characters and making her...... functionally cis. to what end? if i'm not exploring what that means for her, what would making that permanent actually say? and i'm definitely not exploring that in a 20-something page silent comic about having an aphrodisiac-induced orgy. so it would be a crazy choice.

i guess it's just because i've been asked like six times that it's started annoying me, because to ask it at all shows me you aren't thinking beyond the surface read of "trans woman has magic gender switch device" and are missing all the context of the character and the space in which the concept exists.

like how could the answer ever be yes?

[dio-icarticaae]

Being an active participant in democracy is not something you do every 4 years when there's a presidential election - and that attitude is a significant factor in how we ended up here. The Republican party made an effort to get its voter base to turn out and vote straight R for Every. Single. Election. for about 40 years - we need to do the same.

Also: voting is in no way the be-all end all of democracy. It's merely choosing, out of the options you have, who will get you closer to your goals. Democracy requires participation, you have to show up. Look into what your city council and local officials are doing, and when meetings are - and show up! Make noise at school board meetings against book banners. Support your local library board! Contact your local officials and tell them what you think about what they're doing!

And that last part is especially important - it can be easy sometimes to think that because elected officials have power they're the "boss" but it's the exact opposite. We The People hired them for the job by voting, and We The People can fire them by voting them out. THEY work for YOU. They are where there are to represent YOU. So make noise! If you like what they're doing, tell them that! It gives them the courage to keep doing so. If you don't like what they're doing, DEFINITELY tell them that - politicians get nervous when their constituents are angry at them. Make them nervous!! (but do be polite to the staffer taking the call, they don't necessarily agree with your elected official). This is helpful even with the most stubborn legislators - pressure works, and even if it doesn't flip their vote that time, it helps for the future.

If you're overwhelmed by this, I get it - it's hard and I've been doing this for a little under a decade and I still get tongue tied sometimes. I recommend having a script for you to follow - it doesn't need to be long, just an introduction of you as a constituent and a couple of sentences on what you're calling about and why, before finishing up. I also recommend connecting with activist groups for issues you're invested in - they often have lists of legislation they're supporting or opposing and are happy to send you an email when one of those bills comes up with a script and who to contact. It's best to change the script a little so that your legislator doesn't get a bunch of identical calls/emails, but it's a very good basis for your script AND you'll be advocating precisely and relevantly on that issue for specific legislation.

Anyway, back to the topic of elections and showing up for them; there are quite a few in 2025 and they are important:

I highly recommend Bolts Magazine for election reporting, especially on local elections and how they related to criminal justice reform - each year they have a breakdown of local elections and what the implications are. Bolts hasn't made their 2025 elections page yet, but they do have a list of prosecutor and sheriff elections in 2025:

All of these are important for a variety of reasons, but the incredibly important ones here:

WI has a supreme court election! This is CRUCIAL - it'll determine the political makeup of the Wisconsin Supreme court for at least the next year, and whoever is elected will be on the court for 10 years. The Wisconsin Supreme Court decides a lot of things and making sure Republicans don't gain control is critically important to dismantle the extreme gerrymandering in WI as well as who decides what is and is not constitutional in Wisconsin. I don't need to tell you how crucial that is.

NJ and VA both have Governor races. In NJ, the goal is to keep the governorship to maintain a Dem trifecta - controlling the state house, senate, and governorship. In VA, the goal is to gain a Dem trifecta with a Dem governor.

Americans, I know we're going through it, but why do I keep seeing stuff like "I'm sorry world, we'll fix this in 4 years"? But like... what do you mean "4 years"?

We have midterm in 2026, yearly local elections, special elections, primaries, etc.

We have the right (dare I say responsibility) to contact our representatives and the right to organize and protest if/when they don't listen.

We need to find a meaningful way to educate people about propaganda and media literacy. We need to convince people to be willing to educate themselves. The habit of only checking in to politics on presidential election years needs broken.

I understand how defeating today feels, but we, especially those of us who could conceivably make it through these four years unscathed, need to stop this proactive surrender.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Melting Pot IV

McFoord x Child!Reader

Ruesha Littlejohn x Child!Reader

woso-dreamzzz Kids x Child!Reader (Kiddo)

Summary: Sports day with a bunch of hyper competitive people

"Ouch!"

Caitlin sighs, massaging her temples as she comes down the stairs.

It had already been a loaded morning, crammed full of everything and nothing at the same time.

"Stop it!"

She'd only been upstairs for a moment, separating Gremlin's kitten from your own.

They were two vastly different cats.

Gremlin's Spicy was angry, a walking ball of fuzz that leapt first and asked questions later. He was liable to throwing up hairballs while making eye contact and bringing in dead rats from the railroad tracks.

Your Baby was the opposite, a demure little lady who groomed herself all the time and took naps on your blanket. She craved affection and wound herself around ankles whenever anyone even so much as looked at her.

Two vastly different cats like their vastly different owners.

"Hey!" Katie snaps as Caitlin turns the corner," Gremlin, knock it off! Leave your sister alone!"

A very clear bite mark is on your wrist as you sob, curled up on Katie's lap as she struggles to get your sister's shoes on her feet.

"I've got her," Caitlin says, nudging her girlfriend away," Go and put Kiddo in the car."

Usually, a Saturday morning meant a chill day.

Sleeping until noon and having some brunch. Most of the time pancakes, sometimes waffles if Katie could be bothered to get out the waffle maker.

But today was Sports Day at the school so you were all up bright and early to make it there in time.

Caitlin already knew how this was going to go though.

Gremlin would get hyper competitive and most likely push someone over in her haste to win and you would linger at the back of your pack of peers with no hint of athletic ability in you.

Your little sister was much younger than you so she was separated with the other nursery age girls while you were included in your class.

"That wasn't very nice," Caitlin says as she slips the leash straps over Gremlin's shoulders," You know your sister is sensitive. Why did you bite her?"

Gremlin shrugs. "Dunno."

"Well, I think you should apologise."

"Dragons not say sorry!"

"And dragons don't exist," Caitlin replies, hoisting Gremlin up onto her hip," Maybe you should think about that."

You've stopped crying by the time you're all in the car, a few fingers in your mouth and the other hand out for Katie to hold during the drive, Gremlin's ring of teeth marks displayed so obviously.

"Sorry," Your sister mumbles to you, kicking the seat in front of her.

"For?" Katie prompts.

"Bitin' you."

You mumble your thanks through your fingers just as Caitlin pulls up in front of the school.

She can see a few of the parents she knows well heading into the gates.

Life working at the fire station tended to bond people.

Leah is corralling Bean inside while Jordan (who used to work at the fire station but left after one too many near death scares) crosses the street with their Bug. Lia, their constantly exasperated admin person, is crossing the street with her Guppy as well, joining up with the two of them with a smile.

"Alright," Katie says, turning to look back at her two daughters," Remember what I said about today?"

"It doesn't matter if we don't win because you'll still love us the same," You recite through a mouthful of your fingers and Katie smiles.

"That's exactly right."

You hold Mammy's hand as you all cross the road.

Mammy holds Caitlin's hand. You hold Mammy's. Your little sister holds yours.

She raises your wrist up to her mouth and you tense but all she does is give you a little kiss on the bite mark.

"Sorry," She says again.

"It's okay."

Gremlin smiles at you and you smile back,

"Hey," Katie says, swinging your joined arms," Ma's over there."

It wasn't your week with Rue but she's still come to your sports day and the only hint of athletic ability you possess is put into running over to her.

"Ma!" You cry and she hoists you into her arms instantly.

"Look at you! Looking good, kiddo!" Rue says, bouncing you up and down as you lean into her, breathing in her familiar smell. "You ready for today?"

Your stomach suddenly starts swirling a little.

You know Katie's views on your sports day performance. You don't know Rue's.

"I won't be very good," You say softly, barely above a whisper.

"You don't have to be good," Rue says decisively," Listen, I've got permission from your Mammy that after this is over, we can go to that fancy bakery you like and get some cakes before I take you back to her. Would that be nice?"

"And we can get cupcakes?"

"As many cupcakes as you like!"

Like you thought, you don't do overwhelmingly well at sports day.

You lag behind in the races and in the big jumping. You do fairly well at throwing the beanbags into the hula hoops but that's about it.

Sports day finishes with the sporty girls winning like everyone thought and a big barbecue to celebrate.

Your little sister eats a lot, Caitlin gets you cotton candy and your mothers even end up being civil.

"Caitlin," You say as your eyes rove around the school field," Why are the mummies and big sisters stretching?"

"Huh?"

Caitlin has a piece of beef hanging out of her mouth.

You point.

Over on the far end by the fence, Alexia and Jenni are stretching their legs. Leah is a few feet away doing the same. Alessia is jumping up and down a few times, warming up her muscles.

Even Katie is doing the same, chatting away to one of Bear's mummies.

"Well that's for the parent race."

"Parent race?"

"Uh-huh." Caitlin takes a wet napkin to Gremlin's face. "So the mummies can all race each other to see who's the best."

"But why?"

"Because adults can be competitive too. They get bragging rights."

That sounds...

Well it doesn't exactly sound weird.

Mammy and Caitlin work at the fire station together and you know all the firefighters there are super competitive with each other.

You didn't know that other adults were competitive too.

"Be careful, Magda," You hear one of Princesse's mummies say," You're not as fit as you used to be."

"Please," Princesse's other mummy scoffs," I'm not letting anyone beat me."

"If you pull a muscle, you get no sympathy from me."

You turn back to Caitlin in alarm. "Is Mammy going to hurt herself?"

"No...Probably not...Hopefully not."

That doesn't fill you with much confidence as Katie takes her place on the starting line.

It's carnage the moment the start is called as adults shove each other and get their legs tangled and fall to the ground in heaps.

Katie goes crashing into the ground in a heap with Leah, Steph and Lucy. Alexia and Jenni collide with each other and Irene. Mapi somehow trips over herself.

Against all odds, it seems, Duckie's mummy Jessie comes first.

Squish's mummy Frida is second and Conejita's mummy Caro ends up in third.

"Get off!" Katie says, shoving the pile of people off of her as you, Caitlin and Gremlin approach.

You crouch next to her.

"It's okay, Mammy," You say," You didn't have to win. I still love you the same."

[hopepunk-humanity]

this is hope-punk to me but i'm not quite sure how this'll fit with the rest of the blog so i'm anon-ing. this is very heavy into the US's situation right now, so anyone that that may make spiral, maybe sit this one out

y'all know about the attempted "buy-out" of govt workers? my parents are govt employees. my mom told me the night before about the mass emails sent out basically saying "hey guysss if you quit now we'll pay your through september pretty pretty please quit"

mass emails don't usually get sent out from the OPM like this. workers receive emails from the individual department heads.

this is a massive fuck-up, because people knew it was fishy immediately. some even thought it was fake. people are confused and angry. my mom said "they're so tech-savvy yet they can't even write a convincing email", and thousands of other workers are saying the same. because this email is the exact same email that Melon Husk sent out to Twitter employees before he cut them

but this isn't Twitter. this is the entire US government workforce that hundreds of millions of people rely on to do their jobs every single day.

mind you, the govt is gonna run out of money March 15th (if the debt ceiling isn't raised). they CANNOT pay any workers who resign through september, if they pay them at all, which senator Tim Kaine (D-VA) is openly highly skeptical of and there is a video of him on the senate floor telling government workers to not take the deal, echoing exactly what federal unions are telling everyone

and now tens of thousands (probably hundreds, if i'm being honest) of govt workers are standing firm. they know what this means. the fed subreddit is just filled with "stand firm! hold the line!" posts and propaganda that i fucking love to see. one post has over 60k upvotes on it. saw dozens of comments that all say something like "i've been begging for a way out for the past few weeks but this email just reignited my passion for public service and upholding the law".

this is a war on the american people and they are ready to stand up to it. they know mass resignations will fuck up so much shit, and that there is NOT enough people wanting to work for the government to fill those holes.

as of 2pm today (1/29/25), a lawsuit has been filed by the AFGE about Trump trying to politicize the civil service, with special emphasis on how he's going about it. this will not go down quietly. add that to the list of every other lawsuit being filed against him

my mom sent out "keep calm and carry on" to her team and offered guidance if anyone was thinking about resigning (mainly, her younger team members who don't have tenure - understandable). this is a tumultuous time that is scary. my mom is never phased but she is so over this bullshit, as is my dad

this administration is trying to scare/threaten people into quitting because they know a gutting is not going to be easy or even possible and to be completely honest, that email was absolutely a threat to people's jobs.

this is a grand stand of solidarity to the american citizens these people took an OATH to work for. they are tired but they are re-fired up to fight this administration with everything.

and do you know what fighting tyranny looks like for government workers? doing their jobs well. making sure people get what they need. standing up for the constitution. because for some goddamn reason, the clown show believes that government workers just sit at a desk all day and do absolutely NOTHING

Donny may be smarter this time 'round and he knows what he wants, but he has no idea how to get any of it.

bottom-line is, a large chunk of federal workers are in republican-lead states in roles that encompass every department. a lot of government work involves blue-collar workers that get paid jack shit and are NOT partisan in any capacity. this is going to fuck people up, REGARDLESS of political affiliation

so stand behind the government workers who do so much. they need us just as much as we need them. and trust, WE NEED THEM.

if you want us to be okay, you have to believe that we CAN be okay first. and i'm believing that we will come out onto the other side of this. because american citizens hold all the power here, and not him, and this (so far failed) government takeover is just proving that even more. he is overconfident.

in the darkness, this is a spark of hope. people know what we have to lose and they are FIGHTING for it

As someone who was trying to get a federal job before this mess forced me to put those efforts on hold for now, I've been watching this situation unfold closely. I'm thrilled with what I've seen from the federal workforce. It makes me all the more confident that this is the career I want, because the people already there have the same mindset about it. It assures me, too, that there a huge swathes of the government (far more people than in congress) who have this country's best interests at heart.

Suffice to say, it's been really difficult to be hopeful about the U.S. government for the past several years. But for me at least, the federal workers are re-writing the narrative.

Hold the line. Don't resign.

[takumaswife]

first off, LOVE that you're coming back, I'm so happy that you've started writing again, good job 🩷

I've literally been so DESPERATE for a Bangchan smut fic (idol au)

what do you think of a 'one night stand/casual sex turns into something more' trope?

something along the lines of chan running into reader (or yn or whatever) at a restaurant when he's with the 97 liners and she's w her group, a late leaving situation turns hot and messy leading to sex at chan's dorm.

ik it's too specific but I can literally visualise the entire event taking place hehe

only work on it if YOU want to, no pressure love 🌻🚬

One More Taste - Bang Chan

Genre: idolxidol, fem!reader, SMUT, and some fluff.

Word count: 3063

MASTERLIST

A/n: I'm so sorry if this is bad. I wanted it to be perfect because this is actually the first smut I've written since I was like..14 and on wattpad (those were crazy times💀) but I hope you enjoy!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

"Come on, Y/n, we've been working so hard, we deserve a night out." Your group mates begged. It was true, the long nights of practice. The staying up until 3am to perfect the songs. To constant interviews that you just couldn't say no to. Being the leader was tougher than it looked. Looking at the four faces surrounding you, you sighed and nodded your head. "Fine, we can go. But remember, if you get drunk, you sleep in the bathtub." You spoke firmly, looking at each girl. There had been a few times everyone went out to celebrate special moments in your career, and someone always got too drunk that they would get sick.

Everyone decided to go to a nice restaurant in Hongdae. It was nice enough to have even a private area for idols and celebrities so they could also enjoy time out. Talking to your manager, you told him to be on call since the younger members tended to drink more and would need a ride at some point. You also just wanted him to deal with their antics while you got to relax. They did beg you to come out, so why should you have to babysit.

"Who else do you think might be there?" Dae asked. Everyone was currently in the shared dorm bathroom, doing hair and makeup. "Hm, what if we see Taemin, or even Johnny and Mark!" Yunhee shouted. You chuckled at how excited they were of the possible chance of running into their favs at the restaurant. "If you see anyone, you can say hi, but the moment you start getting crazy, you're out." You spoke to the two younger ones. They immediately started pouting. You understood how excited they were, but with being the leader, you had to keep your group in check and make sure they acted right for the groups image.

"Well, it's Saturday night, Hongdae will be filled with other idols, so I have hope!" Dae spoke with a smirk. You rolled your eyes, continuing on your hair. Your makeup was more natural looking instead of super bold. Maybe for a club you would do more bolder, but for a relaxing night, you just wanted something simple. You gave yourself loose curls and picked a long sleeve, short black dress with an open back. A little modest but little risky, just your style.

Taking a last look in the mirror, you smiled at the sight. You felt pretty, comfortable, and confident. The diamond set of earrings, necklace, and bracelet decorated your body. "Oh, someone looks like she's trying to find a man tonight." Venus spoke with a smirk as she peaked into the bathroom. You immediately shook your head and smiled at her. "Even if i did want a man, I don't think he's ready for four kids." You teased, causing her to laugh. You grabbed your bag and followed her out of the dorm. Your manager had a black SUV waiting for the five of you at the front.

The car ride was filled with the girls talking about the night out and how excited they were. You, however, scrolled through your phone, looking at Instagram. Despite the idea that Idols should only follow their company and members, you followed other idols and different celebrities. You just found it boring seeing only the few posts your members would make. You wanted to watch other idols' lives.

"We are here. Now, rules." Your manager spoke as he turned around to face everyone in the back seat. "No crazy stunts, stay together, if you feel unsafe at any moment, call me. And for the love of everything.. stay out of paparazzi's way.. we don't need a scandal just as your careers are starting to take off." He explained, rubbing his head as he was stressed. All making a promise to be good, you all stepped out of the SUV.

The restaurant had a special entrance in the back alleyway for idols and celebrities, away from fans and photographers. As your group walked in, yall were greeted by the private dining manager who showed your group to your table. "Ladies, take a look at our menu and your server will be with you shortly."

Looking through the menu, everyone was conflicted on what to order. "The wagyu sounds great." Yunhee spoke, continuing to look. "I might actually just do the Rosemary chicken, I heard it was pretty popular from reviews." Joli spoke. You, yourself was conflicted. Everything sounded delicious.

"Good evening, ladies." The waitress greeted as she sat glasses of ice water in front of each of you. "My name is Sohee, I'll be serving you tonight. Can I start you off with any drinks?" She asked as she took out her notepad to write everything down. Everyone ordered a little cocktail as well as appetizers to share.

So far the evening was going well, and the appetizers were amazing. When it came to ordering your entree, you were still indecisive. You asked to go last. But it was only a minute or two until she was back to you. "Uh.." you were still trying to decide. "I would recommend the 'Marry Me Chicken', it's very good." You heard a male voice behind you. Turning around, you were starstruck seeing Chan. He was someone you looked up to during your trainee days. You were always watching his lives when you had time and listening to their music. "O-oh, then yes, I'll try that." You responded. The waitress nodded and stepped away to put in your orders and get everyone another round of cocktails.

"Let me know what you think after you try it." Chan spoke, only earning a nod from you. You were flustered and shy, the girls of your group immediately teasing you. Chan smiled as he walked over to their table, the whole group waiting for his arrival. "At least one of us got to see our fav." Joli smirked, your cheeks heating up from the embarrassment.

Dinner was going well, the food was actually very good. The drinks were fantastic. It was more of an evening than you could have asked for. "Well, I told manager that I was going out tonight so. You girls in?" Venus asked as she stood up after collecting the card the company gave them to use for tonight. The rest of the girls agreed to clubbing, but you decided to skip out.

As the girls left, you got up from the table and walked to the bar the restaurant had. You sat on the stool and looked at the options. You didn't drink much during dinner so you thought about making up for it by staying a drinking a bit more. "Can I get a mojito?" You asked, the bartender nodded and started on your drink.

"So, how was the chicken?" You heard a voice behind you. You turned to see Chan taking the stool next to you. "Oh, it was absolutely delicious. Thank you." The bartender sat down your drink and you immediately took a sip. "I never formally introduced myself, I'm Chan." He held out his hand. You immediately took it and gave a small shake, "Y/n. I'm actually a big fan." You responded. You could see Chan's face turn red as he smiled softly. "Oh really? I could say the same thing. I like your recent comeback a lot. You guys have grown so much since your debut, you're doing amazing." The compliment took you back. He liked your music? He was a fan? "Well thank you, I appreciate it. Hearing it from you, definitely makes me feel like we're going in a great direction."

You and Chan spent about an hour talking and drinking. Both your groups had vanished and the two of you were left alone. Somewhere during the chat, the two of you started taking shots. And with you being not a casual drinker, you felt the effects of the alcohol fast. Even Chan was slurring a few words as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, guy, but I'm not going to be able to serve you two anymore." The bartender informed you two. You and Chan instantly frowned and started collecting your things. Chan ended up paying for all the drinks as you were taking out your card, making you glare at him. "Christopher, Nooo~" You whined. Chan only laughed and signed the receipt. "Come on." He laughed as he led you out the back door through the special entrance.

"I wish we could have drank more. I was enjoying your company." You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. An idea popped into Chan's head. "We can go to my dorm! We have lots of soju and a few hard liquors that Hyunjin won't mind us borrowing." He offered. You didn't think it was a good idea, your manager warned you about being caught for any scandals. But the alcohol taking over your body said, a few drinks wouldn't hurt.

Well, what was supposed to be a few drinks ended up with your body pressed to the wall and Chan's lips devouring your neck. Moans filled the room as he found your sweet spot. The sound only made the devil in Chan come out, marking the spot in the deepest shade of purple he could. The bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, his own moans flowing as your thigh rubbed against his hard on.

Chan realized the game you were playing and pulled away. He glanced your body up and down, biting his lip. He needed you. Chan picked your body up and threw you onto his bed before towering over you. His lips back onto your neck before trailing down to your chest. You felt him going further down until his head was between your legs, face to face with your clothed core. The wet patch on the fabric had his cock pulsing in the confinement of his pants.

Sliding your panties down your legs, he threw them aside, now lost somewhere in his room. He immediately started eating you out. His tongue moving through your folds to collect every drip of your juices. Your taste was addicting to him. Without thinking, you immediately started grinding your core into his face, wanting more of him. "F-fuck~" You moaned, your fingers finding their way into his hair. Chan tongue teased your clit, making your back arch from the feeling. Not having an orgasm in quite a while, you were already close. Chan knew you were close once your thighs tightened around his head. He wanted to make you wait, but he was enjoying your taste more than he thought. Within seconds, you cumming on his face to which you only recieved a groan. Chan pulled away from your core, your slick covering his lips.

Reaching up, you pulled Chan down with all your might, "please fuck me." You begged, you needed more. You wanted more of him. Chan enjoyed seeing you beg for his cock. It boosted his ego. Sitting up, Chan removed his clothes as well as yours, throwing them in the room to be lost like your panties were.

His cock was bigger than you thought. And definitely bigger than the last men you were with. He spit into his hand and stroked his cock, looking down at your wet core that was aching for him. "Are you sure you want to go this far?" He asked. You only nodded and spread your legs wider. Chan chuckled and aligned himself with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. A loud moan flowed from your lips as he filled you up. Fuck, he was big. Even your secret toys weren't this big.

Slowly, Chan started moving his hips against yours, wanting you to get use to the feeling before he picked up his pace. It only took one moan for him to lose himself. His hip were slamming against yours, the feeling almost immediately making him cum. You felt very different from his hand which is all he had lately due to being so busy and not really having someone in general to fuck. His hands held your hips up at an angle, fucking you deeper than before. The tip of his cock beating against your g-spot was pushing you over the edge. But even if you came, Chan wasn't stopping until he was pleased with how much cum he filled you with. Leaning down, Chan took one of your nipples in his mouth. Sucking and tugging on the sensitive bud. Your voice would be hoarse tomorrow from all the lewd sounds your were screaming out. Chan made sure your nipple was swollen and puffy before switching to the other. Your back arched from the pleasure and you could tell you were about to cum. "C-chan-" You tried to speak but we're just interrupted by your moans.

Chan ignored you, wanting to feel you cover his dick with your juices. All it took was for his thumb to tease your clit as he fucked you that gave you one of the most intense orgasms you've had in a very long time. Chan pulled away with a smirk. The man above you was different. His eyes were darker, his voice deeper. "I'm not finished with you." Sitting up, Chan removed his member from your core and moved off the bed, standing at the edge. He held your hips, growling as he pulled you towards him. Lifting one leg your rest up against his torso, he aligned his member back at your entrance, teasing with his tip. Chan laughed as he saw you whimpering everytime his tip passed your hole.

Once he was sure you weren't expecting it, he shove his cock into you, immediately rolling his against yours. The bed now banging against the wall with how hard he was fucking you. You really hope Hyunjin didn't come home because you would be so embarrassed having to leave and him seeing you in a messy state.

Chan's fingers began playing with your clit, your body shaking again with the amount of pleasure. You would have to remind yourself to tell him how it was the best sex you've had. You were but off when you felt a hand wrap around your throat. Looking up, Chan was staring down deep into your eyes. "Look at me. I want to see that look in your eyes when I make you cum." He growled lowly. Being the shy person you were, it was absolutely little hard to have a stare down with a man, let alone a gorgeous man. But everytime you looked away, Chan forced your eyes back on him. His fingers would tighten around your neck everytime you tried to look away as a warning.

Chan knew you were close as he felt your core constricting against his cock. It was pushing him to the edge just as much as the clit teasing was pushing you. The moment Chan saw you were on the edge, he slammed his cock up against your g-spot, mentally wishing he could leave a bruise. Almost as if he was claiming you in and out. Your body convulse with the orgasm, your eyes focusing on Chan's before rolling back. Chan released his load right into you, filling you up. You watch as his dark eyes started to lighten from his orgasm.

The only sound in the room was your two heavy breathings. You two just laid there for a moment, your eyes on each other's but it was more soft than lustful. Pressing a small kiss to your forehead, Chan pulled out, watching his load drip from your swollen pussy.

Leaning down, he locked the dripping cum up from your slit and smirked. Your mind was in a date. What the fuck just happened. You sat up and looked around, biting your lip. You were pulled from your thoughts when you saw blue fabric in front of your face. "Here, you can put this on." Chan spoke, handing you one of his oversized shirts. Quickly you slipped it on as you felt shy. He also gave you pajama pants to borrow as he also changed.

You were expecting him to kick you out, but when he laid down and pulled you into his arms, his hand rubbing your tummy, you got confused. Chan didn't say a word, he just continued to hold you before wrapping the bed covers over your bodies.

The next morning you woke up, an arm wrapped around you tightly. All the flashbacks coming back from the night before. You slowly turned around to see the male already staring at you. "G'morning." He spoke. His voice hoarse from sleep. You went to speak but your voice was almost non-existent. Chan chuckled and kissed the side of your head.

You and Chan laid there for a few hours before deciding to get up. You knew you needed to get back to your dorm, considering all the calls and text you missed on your phone. You texted your manager where to pick you up. "Uh, thanks for the...fun night?" You questioned, not really knowing what to call it. "Oh, no. Thank you. It was..very fucking good." He replied, causing you to laugh. As you got to the door of his dorm, you got awkward and didn't know what to say. So Chan took the leader. "Would you like to go to dinner sometime? Like just us? We don't have to do all..what we did last night of course. I just really enjoyed us talking at the restaurant last night." Thinking over his words, you nodded and handed him your phone. He put in his number and handed it back. "I'll text you." You spoke before leaving the dorm.

It was the walk of shame to your managers car. "You have to be kidding me.." He groaned as he started driving you back to your dorm. "At least we take birth control." You mumbled.

As Chan made his way back to his room, Hyunjin looked at him and rolled his eyes. "You could at least let me know not to come home. For fuck sakes, dude, you two sounded like actual fucking animals in heat." Hyunjin shouted as he went back to his room, slamming the door. Chan only laughed and walked into his own room, waiting for your text.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Been thinking about this for a while, but how about a scenario where reader is a muggle-born from a wealthy family who care much about their public perception. They ask her to bring Sebastian over for dinner because they wanted to meet the guy she keeps mentioning in her letters (she may not say it outright but they get the idea they’re dating) only to find out that he is in fact, poor, an orphan, and potentially not to the gentlemanly standard they expected for their daughter. (he tried this time to act good. He swears) How this ends can go one of many ways.

I don’t know if this is too complicated or fully formed as an idea but I think the drama could be fun

Enough | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I've never written anything quite like this but AH the drama was chef's kiss! I hope you love it <3

Words: ~10,400

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Romance

The morning started the way most mornings did—early. The Great Hall was awash with the usual clatter of silverware and the soft hum of conversation, students huddling over their breakfasts, discussing the latest Quidditch scores, impending exams, or whatever gossip had surfaced overnight. You had been sipping on tea, a half-buttered slice of toast on your plate as you flipped absentmindedly through a letter from home, the familiar script of your mother’s handwriting blurring before your eyes.

That is, until you hit the second paragraph.

You blinked. Once. Twice. And then you reread it, hoping you had misunderstood.

"We were intrigued by this young man you’ve been spending time with, darling. You’ve mentioned him in nearly every letter for months now, and it sounds like he’s been quite an influence on you. Your father and I agree it’s high time we meet him properly—this Sebastian fellow. What a charming name! Please invite him to dinner over Easter holiday. We’re so looking forward to putting a face to the name and getting to know the young man you’re so fond of."

Your heart stopped. Your stomach lurched.

Sebastian.

You’d written about him often, sure. He was your best friend, wasn’t he? Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself to avoid admitting the truth. And yes, you’d spoken of him in glowing terms—how could you not? But your parents had interpreted it all so horribly wrong.

Courting? Meeting him? Easter dinner?

The idea of parading Sebastian in front of your parents, of them scrutinizing him, made your hands tremble. Not because you thought poorly of him—Merlin, no. You thought the world of him, had thought the world of him since the fifth year. It was your parents. Their expectations. Their... standards.

You could hear their voices already: "He doesn’t come from a respectable family. What are his prospects? What on earth does he think he could offer you?"

The clatter of a fork on the floor startled you back to the present. You hastily folded the letter and shoved it into your bag, breathing deeply as you tried to collect yourself. Panic simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

You glanced across the Hall to the Slytherin table, where Sebastian sat, as he often did, leaning back with an infuriating sort of confidence that only he could pull off. He was laughing at something Garreth Weasley said, his grin sharp, his dark hair a mess that somehow still suited him perfectly. You felt your chest tighten, both with fondness and sheer, unbridled terror.

You were in love with him, of course, but that hardly mattered now. You and Sebastian weren’t courting. You weren’t even close to broaching that topic. He had no idea how you felt, and you certainly weren’t about to admit it under these circumstances.

And yet, the prospect of defying your parents—ignoring their request—felt equally impossible. Their disapproval carried a weight you’d been trying to outrun your entire life, and the idea of disappointing them made your stomach churn.

You were trapped. Caught between an impossible expectation and a boy who didn’t even know he held your heart. And now, you had to somehow tell him about this invitation—a dinner he’d have no real reason to accept.

You made your way over to the Slytherin table, your palms sweaty as you clenched the strap of your bag. Sebastian caught sight of you before you even reached him, his grin widening as he straightened in his seat. His brown eyes narrowed on you—your nerves must have been written all over your face.

“What’s got you looking like that?” he asked, scooting over to make room for you as if he expected you to sit. He took a bite of his toast, completely at ease, while you hovered awkwardly beside him.

“I need to talk to you,” you blurted, your voice a little too high-pitched for your liking. “Alone.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but didn’t push. “Alright.” He stood, brushing crumbs from his hands, and slung his bag over one shoulder before nodding toward the doors. "Ladies first."

The two of you walked out of the Great Hall in silence, the weight of your impending confession settling heavily in your chest. Sebastian matched your pace, his usual confidence softened by curiosity as he shot occasional glances your way.

Once you reached the empty corridor just outside, you stopped, turning to face him. He leaned casually against the stone wall, his arms crossed, waiting for you to speak.

“Well?” he prompted, his tone light. “What’s this about?"

You inhaled sharply, clutching the strap of your bag as if it might ground you. “I got a letter from my parents this morning.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly, his smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let me guess—another lecture about how you’re tarnishing the family name by being at Hogwarts instead of some fancy Muggle school?”

You frowned. “No, not this time. This is... different.”

That seemed to catch his attention. His smirk faded, replaced by a slight furrow of concern. “Alright, what’s it this time?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. How were you supposed to explain this? It felt ridiculous, mortifying, and yet you couldn’t avoid it. You had to tell him.

“They...” You exhaled shakily. “They want to meet you.”

Sebastian blinked. “Me?”

“Yes.” You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “They think we’re... courting.”

For a moment, there was only silence. You risked a glance at him and found him staring at you, his mouth slightly open as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“They what?” he finally managed, his voice rising just slightly.

“They think we’re courting!” you repeated, your face burning. “I didn’t say we were! I just... I mentioned you in my letters—your name might’ve come up a few times—and apparently, they got the wrong idea.”

Sebastian stared at you for another second before his lips twitched. Then, to your horror, he burst out laughing.

“This isn’t funny!” you hissed, glaring at him. “Sebastian, they’ve invited you to dinner over Easter holiday. They want to meet you, and they’re going to expect you to—” You cut yourself off, your heart pounding as you tried to gather your thoughts. “They’ll expect you to act a certain way, to be someone you’re not.”

“Why? Would they think I’m not up to snuff for their perfect daughter?” he asked, his grin still infuriatingly wide. “You make me sound like some street rat.”

“Because to them, you might as well be!” you snapped, then immediately regretted your words. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly, your voice softening. “It’s just... they’re very particular. They have high standards, and they’ll be looking for reasons to disapprove of you.”

Sebastian’s grin faltered, his expression hardening just a fraction. “So, what? You don’t want me to go?”

“It's not that," you insisted, shaking your head. "I just… I don’t want to put you in that position.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Then, to your surprise, he shrugged. “Alright.”

Your eyes widened. “Alright what?”

“I’ll go,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Sebastian, you don’t understand,” you said desperately. “This isn’t some casual dinner. They’ll judge everything about you—your clothes, your manners, your background. And if they don’t think you’re good enough—”

“They’ll what? Disown you?” He smirked, though his tone was softer than usual. “Come on, I’ve faced cursed tombs and Dark wizards. I think I can handle a couple of uptight Muggles.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all—or maybe he was, in his own strange way.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said weakly.

“Well, lucky for you, I do,” he said, his confidence unwavering. “Tell your parents I’ll be there. And don’t worry—I’ll even wear my best shirt.”

You sighed, and Sebastian opened his mouth to say something else, probably another snarky remark, but you grabbed his wrist and tugged him along before he could. “Come on. We're going to the library."

He resisted slightly, his boots scuffing against the stone floor as he dragged his feet. “The library? Now? I wasn’t even finished with breakfast!”

“You’ll survive,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder to see him smirking again.

“I don’t know,” he drawled, letting you lead him anyway. “I was in the middle of a very important debate with Garreth about whether treacle tart or cauldron cakes are the superior dessert.”

You huffed, ignoring him as you hurried down the stairs, taking two at a time. The sooner you found Ominis, the sooner you could start sorting out the absolute mess that was your life.

“Why the library?” Sebastian asked after a moment, though he didn’t sound all that curious. He was just enjoying making you squirm. “If this is about your parents, shouldn’t you be writing them a letter to tell them how incredibly lucky they are to have me gracing their dinner table?”

You ignored that, your face burning. “We need Ominis.”

“Of course we do,” Sebastian said dryly. “Can’t have a proper crisis without Ominis.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed open the library doors. The room was mostly empty this early in the morning, the usual quiet amplified by the faint rustle of pages turning in the far corner. Ominis was easy to spot—or rather, his familiar posture was. He was seated at his usual table near the enchanted globe, his wand resting lightly in his hand as he read.

“Ominis,” you called softly, leading Sebastian toward him. “We need your help.”

The blonde lifted his head at the sound of your voice, his expression calm but curious. “And good morning to you, too,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What sort of trouble are we in this time?”

Sebastian dropped into the chair across from him, looking far too relaxed for someone about to be dragged into a week of preparations. “Her parents think we’re courting,” he said bluntly, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

Ominis’ brow furrowed. “They what?”

“They think we’re courting,” you repeated, sitting beside him and burying your face in your hands. “And they’ve invited him to dinner to... meet him.”

Ominis turned his attention to Sebastian, who looked far too relaxed given the situation. “And you agreed to this? Willingly?”

Sebastian shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

“And here I thought I’d be spending my week in peace,” Ominis muttered. “Fine. I’ll help you prepare. But don’t expect miracles.”

As expected, the days that followed were, quite frankly, exhausting. Between classes, Quidditch practice, and your usual routines, you and Ominis dedicated every spare moment to preparing Sebastian for the upcoming dinner.

It started with the basics. Ominis took the lead on etiquette lessons, drilling Sebastian on everything from proper table manners to the art of polite conversation. He even went as far as to mimic the kind of snide remarks Sebastian might encounter, forcing him to practice responding without sarcasm—a monumental task, to say the least.

“Let’s try again,” Ominis said one evening in the Undercroft, his tone patient but firm. “I’ll be her father, and you’ll be... well, you. He asks, ‘What are your intentions with my daughter?’ Go.”

Sebastian groaned, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “We’ve done this a hundred times, Ominis.”

“And we’ll do it a hundred more if that’s what it takes,” Ominis replied sharply, tapping his wand against his palm. “Now, try again.”

Meanwhile, you took charge of teaching him about Muggle traditions and customs, including the subtle differences he might not have noticed otherwise. You explained everything from the layout of a formal dinner to the kind of small talk he could expect. It was tedious work, but Sebastian humored you, though he often did so with a grin that suggested he found the whole ordeal amusing.

The real challenge came when Ominis insisted on taking Sebastian to Hogsmeade to purchase a proper suit.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian grumbled as Ominis guided him through racks of tailored jackets and waistcoats. “I already have clothes.”

“Your duelling robes aren’t enough,” Ominis replied, his tone brooking no argument. “You need to look the part. Now hold still.”

You stood nearby, hiding a smile as Ominis measured Sebastian with his wand, his expression the epitome of focus. Despite Sebastian’s complaints, the results were worth it. When he stepped out of the fitting room in a sleek black suit with a crisp white shirt, you were momentarily stunned.

“Well?” he asked, spreading his arms and spinning once for effect. “Do I pass inspection?”

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’ll do.”

Ominis smirked knowingly. “You look presentable. Let’s hope your behavior matches.”

By the end of the week, Sebastian had begrudgingly mastered the basics. He could navigate a formal dinner, hold polite conversation, and even manage a few compliments without sounding insincere. Whether or not it would be enough to win over your parents remained to be seen, but for now, it was the best you could hope for.

On the evening of the dinner, you stood in your dormitory, staring at your reflection in the mirror with growing unease. Your usual confidence felt oddly absent as you adjusted the neckline of your dress; a light blue gown from Gladrags, soft and elegant, flowing like water down to your ankles, the color reminiscent of a clear spring sky.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed your hands down the front of your skirt, grabbed your shawl, and headed out. The castle felt oddly quiet as you made your way to the appointed meeting place near the Floo. 5:30 sharp. You were certain you’d be the first to arrive—Sebastian had a habit of being fashionably late, after all—but as you turned the corner, you stopped short.

He was already there.

He stood near the fireplace, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his dark hair neatly combed for once. He wore the suit Ominis had picked out for him—black with a crisp white shirt—and his tie, much to your surprise, was light blue, perfectly matching your gown. The sight of it made your breath hitch.

For a moment, you just stared, taking in the way the tailored jacket fit him, the sharp cut of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He looked... different. Polished. But there was still something so unmistakably Sebastian about him, from the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought to the nervous energy in his movements.

...Nervous?

Sebastian Sallow, the boy who faced cursed tombs and duels with a smirk, who thrived in chaos and relished a challenge, was pacing slightly as he waited for you. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his jacket, and he glanced at the clock above the fireplace every few seconds.

The sight made your chest ache and your heart flutter all at once.

“You were early,” you said softly, stepping closer.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his brown eyes widening slightly as he took you in. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze sweeping over your gown, your carefully chosen jewelry, and finally settling on your face.

“And you're right on time” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “You look—” He stopped, his words catching. Then he smiled, the kind of smile that wasn’t teasing or cocky but genuine. “You look beautiful.”

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks, and you clasped your hands together to keep from fidgeting. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He grinned at that, some of his usual confidence returning. “Well, if I’m going to face the gauntlet, I might as well dress the part.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the soft crackle of the torches filling the silence. There was a weight to the air between you, a sense of anticipation that neither of you seemed quite willing to break.

Finally, Sebastian stepped closer, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You hesitated for only a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. His warmth was steady beneath your fingertips, grounding you as the nerves in your chest threatened to bubble over.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said with a weak smile.

Sebastian smirked, though the slight tightness in his jaw told you he wasn’t as calm as he was pretending to be. “Don’t worry,” he said as he reached for the Floo powder. “I’ve got this.”

He grabbed an adequate amount, and with one last glance your way, Sebastian guided you both into the Floo.

The swirling green flames spat you out onto the gravel drive of your family’s manor, the grand estate standing tall against the backdrop of the darkening sky. The familiar sight made your stomach churn with nerves.

Sebastian let out a low whistle, glancing up at the imposing structure. “So, this is home, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, half-defensive, half-curious.

He shrugged, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. “It suits you. Polished. Impressive. Maybe a little intimidating.”

You snorted softly. “Intimidating, really?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a grin. “You should see yourself when you’re angry."

You rolled your eyes, but his playful banter did little to ease your nerves. The thought of what waited inside—your parents, their judgment, the impossible expectations—made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Sebastian must have noticed, because his grin softened, and he stepped closer, his voice low. “Hey. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll behave. Promise.”

You gave him a weak smile, wishing you could believe him. “You’ll need to do more than behave.”

“Then I’ll dazzle them,” he said with a wink, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his own unease. “Shall we?”

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart pounding as you stared up at the towering manor. Then you took a deep breath, slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, and nodded. “Let’s go.”

Together, you climbed the stone steps to the front door, the sound of your heels echoing in the stillness. Sebastian reached for the brass knocker but paused, glancing at you one last time. “Ready?”

No. Not even close. But you nodded anyway.

The knocker fell with a heavy thud, and within seconds, the door swung open. A butler stood in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral as he looked the two of you over. “Welcome home, Miss,” he said with a slight bow before stepping aside. “Your parents are expecting you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, stepping inside with Sebastian at your side.

The manor was just as you remembered it—pristine and impossibly grand, every detail designed to impress. The faint hum of conversation drifted from the drawing room, mingling with the crackle of a fire. Your nerves tightened with each step, but Sebastian walked confidently beside you, his arm steady under your hand.

As you approached the drawing room door, your mother’s voice carried through, clear and sharp as she spoke to your father. “Do try to make a good impression, darling.”

You froze for a split second, glancing at Sebastian. He caught your eye, offering a small smile that was more reassuring than cocky this time.

With one last breath, you stepped into the room, the weight of the evening settling firmly on your shoulders.

This was it.

The drawing room was as stately as ever, bathed in the warm glow of a crystal chandelier and the flicker of firelight dancing across polished wood paneling. Your parents sat on the velvet settee near the hearth, the picture of poise and elegance. Your mother, ever the perfectionist, smoothed invisible creases from her gown as she glanced up. Your father, a tall man with a commanding presence, stood as you entered, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with quiet scrutiny.

“Darling,” your mother greeted, her tone light but laced with expectation. She rose gracefully, her gaze flickering to Sebastian. “And this must be Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian straightened, his easy confidence slipping into something more formal as he stepped forward. He bowed his head slightly, his movements smooth and deliberate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, his voice steady and polite. "And please, call me Sebastian."

Your mother’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The pleasure is ours,” she said, her tone cool but courteous. “Do come in and sit.”

Sebastian glanced at you, waiting for you to move first. You gave him a slight nod, releasing his arm as you both crossed the room. The chairs arranged across from your parents suddenly felt much too far apart, but Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He sat with perfect posture, his hands resting loosely on his knees, his expression calm.

You took the seat beside him, wishing you could shrink into it. Your mother’s sharp gaze swept over Sebastian, taking in every detail of his appearance—his perfectly tailored suit, his neatly combed hair, the faintest hint of tension in his jaw.

She folded her hands in her lap, her poised smile never faltering. "So, Sebastian," she began, her tone deceptively pleasant. "Tell us. How did the two of you meet?"

Sebastian turned to you with an easy smile. "We met during Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said. "My fifth year at Hogwarts—her first. Professor Hecat paired us for a duel."

Your father arched a brow. "A duel?"

Sebastian’s smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "Yes, sir. I was confident I’d win."

"And?" your mother prompted, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

Sebastian glanced at you, and though his expression was perfectly neutral, you caught the amusement dancing behind his eyes. "I lost," he admitted, the words coming smoothly, without a hint of shame. "Rather spectacularly, if I’m being honest."

Your mother’s lips pressed together, but she nodded as if accepting the explanation. "I see. And tell me, Sebastian, what do you do in your spare time?"

Sebastian exhaled lightly, as if considering his words carefully. "I enjoy dueling. I still train regularly—it keeps me sharp. I also read quite a bit, mostly historical accounts of magical warfare, defensive strategy, things of that nature."

"Interesting." Your mother tilted her head. “And tell us, Sebastian, where is your family from?”

You adjusted in your seat, hands smoothing over your dress in a futile attempt to steady yourself. This was exactly what you had expected—no lighthearted conversation, no genuine warmth, just the relentless, calculated prodding of your parents. Every question, though cloaked in civility, was a test. A careful dissection. They weren’t getting to know Sebastian; they were measuring him, scrutinizing every word, every movement, silently deciding whether he was worthy of the world they had so meticulously crafted.

Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch. His expression remained composed, though you didn’t miss the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee before relaxing again.

“I grew up in the Scottish Highlands, not far from Iverness,” he said smoothly. “My family lived there for generations.”

Your father leaned forward slightly, his expression still unreadable. “And what do your parents do?”

The air grew heavier. This was one question you’d been dreading, the one that no amount of preparation could soften. You risked a glance at Sebastian, your heart hammering in your chest.

“They were Professors, however my parents passed away when I was young,” Sebastian said, his voice steady. “It’s just my sister and I now."

There was a brief pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to be uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” your mother said at last, though the words felt hollow.

Sebastian inclined his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He was holding his own, but this wasn’t a conversation—it was an examination. And it was only going to get worse.

You could feel Sebastian’s gaze flick toward you, just for a moment, as if checking in. Making sure you were okay.

You weren’t.

Your father continued on, clearly not ready to let the conversation drift into safer waters. “And your sister?” he asked, his tone polite but probing. “What does she do?”

“Anne’s focus has been on her health in recent years,” Sebastian said carefully. “She’s unwell.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long, the weight of them sinking into the polished wood and embroidered silk of the drawing room. You knew your parents well enough to recognize the flicker of calculation behind your father’s eyes, the way your mother’s fingers twitched as she reached for her teacup, as if trying to mask the direction of her thoughts.

No parents. An ill sister. No meaningful connections to high society.

To them, it meant one thing: nothing to offer.

You clenched your hands in your lap, nails pressing into your palms as you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. It was maddening, sitting here while they dissected him like this, peeling him apart with careful, polite words, as they decided whether he was worth your time. As if he hadn’t already proven himself a hundred times over to you.

“Sebastian,” your mother said, breaking the brief silence, “our daughter speaks very highly of you. She’s mentioned your... intelligence and resourcefulness.”

Sebastian turned his gaze to your mother, his expression unreadable. He didn’t preen under the supposed compliment, nor did he flinch at the underlying weight of her words. Instead, he simply waited, letting her continue, as if he knew there was more to it.

Your mother took a delicate sip of her tea, the fine china barely making a sound as she set it back on the saucer. “I do hope she’s not exaggerating.”

Sebastian smiled—just a flicker of one, polite but unreadable. “I suppose that depends on what she’s said," he glanced at you briefly before continuing. “But if I’ve earned even half the praise she’s given me, I’d say I’m doing quite well.”

Your mother tilted her head, her smile tightening. “And what are your ambitions, Mr. Sallow? What do you hope to achieve?”

The question made your stomach tighten. They weren’t interested in him as a person. They were interested in whether he was worth investing in.

Sebastian, however, didn’t so much as blink. He exhaled softly, as if considering his words, then tilted his head slightly.

"I’ve always been drawn to subjects that require critical thinking—Defense Against the Dark Arts, for example," he said, his voice calm but deliberate. "My main considerations have been Cursebreaking or perhaps training to become an Auror."

Your father cleared his throat, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Cursebreaking and… Auror?” His tone was polite but clipped, as though he was carefully parsing the unfamiliar terms. "What would such professions look like?"

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replied carefully. “Cursebreaking involves uncovering and disarming magical traps, often tied to ancient artifacts or ruins. Akin to... archeology. And Aurors are... the magical equivalent of a detective, sir."

Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “Quite dangerous,” she said, her tone clipped as her sharp gaze flicked toward you for a moment before returning to Sebastian. “Do you find yourself drawn to danger, Mr. Sallow?”

“Not for its own sake, no,” he replied smoothly.

His response almost had you laughing—because if there was one thing Sebastian Sallow was drawn to, it was danger. You pressed your lips together tightly, trying to stifle the smile threatening to break through, but it was too late. Your amusement must have flickered across your face because your mother’s sharp eyes immediately snapped to you.

“And what, may I ask, is so amusing, darling?” she said, her tone as smooth as silk but edged with curiosity. Her gaze pinned you to your seat like a hawk spotting prey, and you froze, your mind scrambling for an excuse.

Sebastian’s gaze flicked to you, and for a brief second, you caught the faintest glimmer of a amusement in his eyes. But before you could respond, a knock at the drawing room door broke the tension.

The butler stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Dinner is served, everyone.”

Relief flooded through you so quickly you nearly sagged in your chair. Your mother nodded gracefully, rising from her seat with all the elegance of a queen. “Shall we?” she said, gesturing toward the dining room.

You wasted no time in standing, brushing down your dress as you avoided your mother’s lingering gaze. Sebastian rose smoothly beside you, his hand brushing against yours briefly as he offered his arm again. You hesitated for only a moment before taking it, his steady warmth grounding you as you followed your parents out of the room.

As you walked, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low. "It's unnerving how talented you are at lying."

Sebastian glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Who says I lied?"

You snorted softly. "You’d dive headfirst into a cursed tomb if someone dared you.”

He chuckled under his breath, his voice barely audible as he replied, “Not if it’s a boring tomb.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a laugh as the two of you entered the dining room. It was grand, of course—your family didn’t do anything halfway. The long table was set with gleaming silverware and crystal glasses, a centerpiece of fresh flowers and candles casting a soft glow over the room.

Your father took his seat at the head of the table, your mother settling in beside him with a practiced grace. You and Sebastian were directed to the seats opposite them, the distance between you making the table feel even more intimidating.

The first course—a delicate arrangement of roasted quail and glazed vegetables—was placed before you, the table settling into a brief silence as your parents inspected the presentation with the same scrutiny they applied to everything else. You glanced at Sebastian, your heart sinking slightly as you noticed the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his movements.

He picked up a fork, pausing for just a moment too long as he seemed to second-guess whether it was the correct one. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. He began to cut into the dish with the smaller dessert fork, and while it wasn’t glaringly obvious, it was enough to catch your mother’s sharp eyes.

“Not quite that one, Sebastian,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet but laced with condescension. “The proper fork for the main course is the one on your left.”

Sebastian froze for the briefest moment before smoothly setting the fork down and picking up the correct one. “Thank you for the clarification,” he said evenly.

Your mother smiled thinly, her eyes gleaming with something that made your stomach turn. “It can be so difficult to keep track of these things when one isn’t accustomed to formal settings.”

You stiffened, your grip on your own fork tightening as a surge of indignation rose in your chest. You wanted to say something, to defend him, but before you could, Sebastian beat you to it.

“Quite right,” he said, his tone still calm but now carrying a subtle edge. “It’s not a habit I’ve had the opportunity to form. I suppose that’s what makes learning new things so valuable.”

Your mother’s lips twitched, as though she couldn’t decide whether to be irritated or impressed by his response. “Indeed,” she said finally, her tone cool.

The meal carried on in uneasy silence, each bite weighed down by the lingering tension that clung to the air like a storm waiting to break. The clink of silverware against porcelain was the only sound, punctuating the unspoken challenge that had passed between Sebastian and your parents. Though the conversation had momentarily stalled, the scrutiny had not. It lingered, sharp and assessing, filling every quiet second with a pressure that made it harder to swallow.

Sebastian remained composed, his expression carefully neutral, but you could feel the way his fingers occasionally curled around the stem of his glass, the subtle flick of his gaze toward you—a silent check-in, a quiet assurance.

But it wasn’t him they turned their focus to next.

“Darling,” your mother began, setting down her fork with an air of practiced grace, “how are your studies progressing this term? I trust you’re excelling?”

You swallowed, already feeling the familiar prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. “They’re going well, Mother,” you said carefully. “I’ve been—”

“Well?” she interrupted, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Is that the best you can say? I sent a letter to Professor Garlick who indicated to me that you've been struggling in Herbology. I’m sure you could apply yourself more diligently.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip tightening on your knife. “It’s not my strongest subject, but I’m doing my best.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, a clear sign that your answer wasn’t satisfactory. “I see,” she said coolly. “And what about that... brutish sport you insist on playing? What’s it called again? Quilt... ditch?”

“Quidditch,” you corrected quietly.

“Yes, that,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I fail to see how spending your time chasing after a ball does anything to further your education.”

Your father chimed in, his tone gruff but no less pointed. “I suppose it’s her way of rebelling.”

You focused intently on cutting your food, willing yourself to remain calm. This wasn’t new; you’d endured countless dinners like this before. But tonight, with Sebastian sitting beside you, the sting of their words felt sharper.

Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t outwardly react at all. You were impressed by his restraint. His eyes stayed fixed on his plate, though you knew him well enough to see the occasional twitch of his jaw, the subtle shift in his posture.

Your mother’s next comment was the tipping point.

“And another thing, darling,” your mother said, her tone saccharine and laced with something sharp. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve put on a bit of weight since the summer. I do hope you haven’t been neglecting your studies in favor of… indulgences.”

The words sliced through the air like a knife, precise and deliberate, meant to wound in a way that could be brushed off as concern.

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck as every childhood insecurity came rushing back all at once. You knew better than to react—she wanted a reaction—but the sting of it lodged deep in your chest anyway.

You swallowed, unsure if you even wanted to look at Sebastian, afraid of what you might see—awkwardness, pity, maybe even silent agreement.

But when you did glance at him, what you found wasn’t hesitation.

It was fury.

Not loud, not dramatic, but cold—sharp enough to cut.

Sebastian’s hand had stilled around his fork, his knuckles just barely white with the force of his grip. His jaw was tight, his brown eyes dark with something unreadable as he stared at your mother.

When he finally set his fork down, it was deliberate, the soft clink against the plate somehow louder than any shouting could have been.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, "your daughter is one of the most capable, brilliant, and resilient people I have ever known. And if she carries any unnecessary weight, it’s the burden of expectations placed on her by others.”

The room fell silent, your parents frozen mid-bite as they turned to look at him. You felt your heart leap into your throat, a mix of shock and gratitude and anxiety rendering you momentarily speechless.

“I understand you have high standards,” Sebastian continued, his tone polite but firm, “but I can assure you that whatever expectations you’ve set, she’s already surpassed them.”

Your mother’s expression barely flickered, but you knew her well enough to sense the barely concealed offense in the stiffening of her posture. “How very passionate of you, Mr. Sallow,” she said, setting down her fork with quiet precision. “I suppose you believe you know her better than her own family does?”

Sebastian didn’t so much as blink. “I believe I see her clearly,” he said. “Which is more than I can say for most.”

It was a direct hit. You could see it in the way your mother’s shoulders tensed, in the way your father exhaled slowly, setting his silverware down with a pointed clink.

Your father leaned back, fixing Sebastian with a cold, assessing look. “It is quite bold to assume you have any right to comment on such personal matter," your father said, his tone sharp, “Perhaps you’d care to elaborate further on what exactly your role is in her life?”

The shift in their focus was immediate and ruthless, their pointed gazes turning back to Sebastian like predators zeroing in on prey.

"I’m simply someone who sees her for who she is, not who she’s expected to be.” Sebastian replied, a flicker of something dangerously close to amusement crossing his face. “And I have to say, sir, that seems to be a rare thing in this house.”

The air turned brittle, thick with unspoken tension.

Your father’s fingers tapped once against the table, his expression cool but unreadable. Your mother inhaled slowly, exhaling through her nose as she reached for her wine glass, taking a measured sip.

You braced yourself.

"How very poetic," your father finally said, tone devoid of any real warmth. “And yet, poetry has never paid the bills, nor built anything of lasting worth."

Sebastian’s expression remained calm, though you could see the tension building in his jaw.

“With all due respect, sir,” he said smoothly, “neither has cruelty.”

Your mother’s grip on her wine glass tightened ever so slightly. Your father’s expression remained impassive, but the temperature in the room dropped like a sudden frost. The moment stretched taut, every unspoken rule of decorum cracking under the weight of Sebastian’s words.

“Clever,” your father mused, his tone devoid of amusement. “But clever words don’t change the reality of things, Sebastian. You may think you understand our daughter, but understanding is hardly the same as providing for her.”

Your mother hummed in agreement, tilting her head as she studied Sebastian like he was an unfortunate stain on her pristine tablecloth. “Yes, and you do come from rather humble beginnings,” she said smoothly, reaching for her wine. “It's tragic, truly. No parents. A sick sister. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for you, growing up without proper guidance.”

Sebastian didn’t react, but you saw the barely perceptible flex of his fingers where they rested against the table. His posture remained relaxed—perhaps too relaxed—but there was a sharpness in his eyes, a quiet fury coiling beneath the surface.

“I imagine it taught me resilience,” he said evenly. “Self-sufficiency. Things I suspect not everyone in this room has had the opportunity to learn.”

Your mother’s lips twitched, something cold flickering in her expression while your father leaned forward slightly, hands threading together.

“You speak boldly for a man with nothing to offer," he said, his tone deceptively mild. "No wealth. No status. No respectable lineage. And yet, you seem to believe you deserve our daughter. How naïve.”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, your stomach twisting with anger.

Sebastian tilted his head, and though his expression remained perfectly polite, something flickered behind his gaze—something sharp, knowing. “And you speak as though she needs something from me,” he said smoothly. “As though she isn’t already more than capable of carving her own path.” He let the words settle before adding, “She doesn’t need anyone to provide for her, least of all me. But I imagine what she does need is support. Respect.” He smiled, a slow, deliberate thing. “I have no issue giving her both. I can’t say the same for others.”

The jab landed. You saw it in the way your father’s mouth pressed into a thin line, in the way your mother’s fingers twitched slightly before she masked it with a sip of wine. Her gaze flickered toward you, and in that moment, you saw it—annoyance, disappointment, maybe even frustration that you had allowed someone like him into this house. Into your life.

Your father recovered first. He inhaled slowly, his voice quiet, cold. “Let me explain something to you,” he said, his tone shifting from condescension to something far sharper. “This—” he gestured vaguely between you and Sebastian, “—is temporary. She’ll tire of whatever… fantasy you’ve spun for her soon enough.”

Your heart clenched. You opened your mouth, but before you could even form a response, Sebastian did.

He smiled. Not a soft smile. Not a kind one.

A sharp, knowing smirk. “Funny,” he said, tilting his head, “I was just about to say the same thing about your influence over her.”

Your mother inhaled sharply. Your father’s expression darkened. “You insolent scum,” he sneered, the veneer of civility finally cracking. “Do you honestly believe you can stand there and challenge me? In my home?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold, voice laced with something cruel. “You are nothing. A nobody. A street rat with no family, no future. Do you think some clever words and a polished suit change that?”

Your mother sighed, setting down her wine glass with an air of exhausted patience. “It’s pathetic, really,” she murmured, eyes sliding over Sebastian with a look of detached pity. “You must think yourself so noble, playing protector. So righteous.” Her lips curved into something resembling a smile, but there was nothing kind about it. “But it doesn’t change what you are. A boy who clawed his way out of the dirt, only to find himself desperately reaching for something beyond his station.”

Sebastian’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling subtly against the edge of the table. His expression didn’t waver—his mask of practiced ease was still firmly in place—but something about him changed.

Your mother took another slow sip of her wine, setting the glass down with a soft clink before turning her attention to you. “I trust this little performance has run its course?” she asked lightly. “Or shall we continue entertaining the delusion that this—” she gestured at Sebastian with a dismissive flick of her fingers, “—is anything more than a childish infatuation?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and gleaming, waiting to cut.

Your mother’s gaze was expectant, coldly patient, as if she were merely waiting for you to confirm what she already believed—that this was just another phase, another mistake she would soon correct. Your father, too, sat with the quiet confidence of a man who had never once considered that he wouldn’t be obeyed. That you wouldn’t bend to their will.

You looked at Sebastian.

The amusement that had once danced behind his eyes was gone. The sharp, confident smirk had faded. And for the first time that night, you saw it.

Hurt.

It was gone as soon as it came, so fleeting you might have missed it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking.

A sick sort of guilt coiled in your stomach, pressing against your ribs. Because Sebastian didn’t have to be here. He hadn’t asked for this. You had invited him—not because you wanted him subjected to your parents’ scrutiny, not because you thought he owed you anything, but because you had been too afraid to defy them. Too afraid to tell them no.

You had brought him into this house, sat him at this table, knowing exactly how it would go. Knowing exactly how they would look at him, dissect him, tear him down with a thousand polished, cutting words.

And yet... and yet he had fought. Not just for himself, but for you. For your dignity, your choices, your right to be more than just a perfectly groomed extension of them.

He had sat at this table, met their every challenge, endured every cutting remark. He had taken the blows meant for you, over and over, without hesitation.

Because that’s who he was.

And that’s why you loved him. Why you always had.

You inhaled slowly, then with careful, deliberate movements, you pushed your chair back. The legs scraped against the polished floor, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Your mother’s expression flickered, just slightly—her perfectly trained poise faltering for the briefest second. Your father’s gaze sharpened.

You stood.

Sebastian's head turned toward you, something wary in his expression. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just waited. Because despite everything, despite all the words that had been thrown between them, this moment wasn’t his.

It was yours.

You lifted your chin, meeting your mother’s gaze first. “Enough.”

A single word. Final. Absolute.

Your father scoffed. “Sit down.”

“No.” You turned to face him fully, voice unwavering. “You don’t get to speak to him that way. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

Your mother let out a breathy laugh, reaching for her wine. “Darling—”

“I love him.”

The words left your lips before you could second-guess them.

Your mother froze, her glass hovering just above the table. Your father’s expression turned to stone, his mouth pressing into a thin line. But it was Sebastian’s reaction that mattered most.

He went completely still.

You turned to look at him fully now, heart pounding, searching his face, because you’d never said it before. Not out loud.

But it was the truth.

And for the first time, you weren’t afraid of it.

“I love him,” you repeated, each syllable firm, unshaken. “And I won’t, for one more second, listen to your condescension, your cruelty, your endless judgment, not towards him.”

Your father scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re being ridiculous.”

You snapped your attention back to him. “No, I’m done being ridiculous,” you said, voice firm. “I’m done playing this game. Done pretending that what you want for me is what I want.” You exhaled, steadying yourself. “I just won’t sit here and pretend that what you’re doing isn’t vile. I won’t sit at this bloody table and let you look down on someone who is worth ten of any society man you’d rather have me with. And I’m done letting you dictate my life.”

Silence.

Then your mother’s voice, quiet but cutting. “You would choose him over your family?”

Your throat tightened.

“If you won't accept my choice, then yes. I would. And I will.”

The finality of it rang through the room.

Your mother’s lips pressed together, her shoulders going rigid. Your father simply let out a slow breath through his nose.

And Sebastian.

Sebastian, who had spent the evening enduring the worst of them, who had sat through every cruel, veiled insult and outright attack, who had stood his ground even when it hurt—

Sebastian looked at you like you were something impossible.

Like you had just rewritten the laws of the universe before his very eyes.

Like he had braced himself for battle and, instead, you had stepped in front of him and ended the war with nothing but your voice.

Your father made a low sound, something between exasperation and disgust. “You’re making a mistake.”

You exhaled slowly. “Then it’s mine to make.”

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “You’ll regret this.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “No. I won’t.”

You lifted your chin, offering Sebastian your hand. “Let’s go,” you said, voice steady, unwavering.

Sebastian didn’t move for a heartbeat. His fingers twitched at his side, his gaze flicking from your hand to your face, searching—really searching—for any sign of hesitation, of regret.

He found none.

And that was when he took your hand.

Warm. Solid.

Your mother let out a quiet breath through her nose, something unreadable passing over her face before she schooled her features back into perfect neutrality. Your father, however, wasn’t as composed.

“I will not be made a fool of in my own home,” he said sharply, his voice carrying an edge of finality, of command. “You walk out that door, you do not walk back in.”

The weight of his words settled in the space between you, heavy and suffocating. A lifetime of expectations, of obligations, of control—all crumbling with a single choice.

Your mother folded her hands neatly in her lap, watching you with a cool, detached expression. “Well, darling?” she said, tilting her head. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Sebastian stiffened beside you, like he was ready for you to turn around and stay. Like he was bracing himself for the inevitable.

But there was no decision to be made. Even if Sebastian didn't love you back, even if you weren't actually courting, even if he never felt the same, even if this all ended tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret standing here, choosing yourself for the first time in your life.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And with that, you turned.

You didn’t wait for another word, another cruel remark, another attempt to claw you back into the cage they had built for you. You simply walked away.

Outside the manor, the gravel drive crunched beneath your feet, the only sound in the otherwise still night. You didn’t speak. Neither did Sebastian. The weight of the evening hung between you, thick and suffocating, stretching into the quiet as you made your way down the long path.

When you reached the gates, Sebastian finally let go, of your hand, stepping forward to unlatch them. The metal groaned slightly as it swung open, and you hesitated only briefly before stepping through, leaving your childhood behind with the soft click of the latch snapping shut behind you.

The Floo loomed in front of you, smelling of ash and magic, thick with the weight of old decisions and new ones yet to be made.

Sebastian stepped forward first, tossing a handful of Floo Powder before vanishing into the green.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then you followed.

The second your feet touched the cool stone floor of the castle, the weight of it all, of everything that had just happened, crashed into you.

It was sudden, overwhelming—like the entire evening had been held at bay by sheer force of will, and now, with no more battles to fight, no more words left to say, it all came rushing in at once.

Your breath hitched. Then another. Then another.

You were breaking.

The grief, the exhaustion, the anger—it clawed up your throat all at once, twisting into something ragged and uncontrollable. You gasped, pressing the heel of your hand against your chest, as if you could physically hold yourself together.

And then you were crying.

Sobbing, really.

Not the quiet, dignified tears of someone mourning something small, but the raw, wrecked kind.

It was too much. The fight, the way they had looked at him, the way they had looked at you. The finality of it all. The loss. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Walking away meant you had lost something, even if you had never really wanted it in the first place.

But you had gained something too. You knew that.

And yet, it still hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper, barely holding itself together. “I—I shouldn’t have taken you there. I shouldn’t have—” Your breath shuddered violently as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your body shaking. “I knew what they’d do. I knew. And I still—”

Sebastian moved before you could finish.

Warm hands found your shoulders, solid and grounding. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “Look at me.”

You did.

His gaze wasn’t full of pity. Not anger. Not resentment.

Just… Sebastian.

Soft. Steady. There.

And that was worse somehow, because it made you sob harder.

“I just—I don’t know what I was thinking,” you choked out. “I just wanted to get through it, to—”

“To satisfy them,” Sebastian murmured.

You nodded, another sob breaking free. “And I did. For years, I did. But I can’t anymore.” You exhaled sharply. "And now, now I've lost them, and I know it was right but—"

“It still hurts,” Sebastian finished for you, his voice softer now. "They're still your parents."

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, your nod barely perceptible.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

“...Do you really love me?”

His voice was quiet. Almost hoarse.

You stiffened, your breath catching. Slowly, you lifted your head, looking up at him.

Sebastian's expression was unreadable, his shoulders tense like he was bracing himself for the answer. His fingers flexed at his sides, but his eyes—his eyes were wide, dark, filled with something you couldn’t place.

You had never seen him like this.

Never seen him afraid. Not of a fight. Not of a curse. But of this.

Of you.

“Do you?” he asked again, softer this time. “Or was it just—was it just something you said to get them to stop?”

You blinked, your breath still shaky, your cheeks still wet. And yet, somehow, the weight in your chest lifted just slightly, just enough for you to see through the grief, the exhaustion, the fear.

And the truth was still there, waiting for you, steady and undeniable.

You reached for him, fingers trembling, pressing against his arm first—then his jaw, his cheek, the way you had always wanted to but hadn’t dared.

His breath stuttered.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Sebastian didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

He just stared at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he was trying to process the words—like he had heard them, understood them, but didn’t believe them.

“You—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I mean it, Sebastian.”

His whole body tensed.

“I didn’t say it for them. I didn’t say it to make a point. I didn’t say it to win.” Your voice was raw, stripped bare, nothing left to hide behind. “I said it because it’s true. It's been true for years."

Sebastian’s eyes flickered, something breaking apart behind them. His lips parted slightly, his breath uneven, and for a single, fragile moment, he looked lost.

And then he crashed into you, his arms wrapping around you with such force that it knocked the breath from your lungs. His grip was tight—almost desperate—like he had been waiting for this his entire life and still couldn’t believe it was real.

You barely had time to react before you were sinking into him, your fingers fisting into the back of his jacket, your face pressing into the warm, solid plane of his chest.

Then, his voice. Barely a whisper. Barely holding itself together.

"I love you, too."

You froze.

Sebastian only held you tighter.

His fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, gripping it like he needed something solid, something to keep him standing. His forehead pressed into your hair, and his breath was warm against your temple, coming in unsteady bursts, as if the words had taken everything out of him. Like they had been clawing their way out of him for years.

You turned your face deeper into his chest, squeezing your eyes shut as your arms wound tighter around him, your fingers pressing into the muscles of his back, warm, solid, real, yours.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, his whole body shaking. "You don’t—” His breath caught, like he couldn’t quite get the words out. “You don’t understand. I’ve wanted—I never—” He let out something between a laugh and a choked breath, his hands smoothing up your back, then gripping you tighter again, like he couldn’t decide if he should hold you gently or keep you locked against him forever.

“I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I never thought—" Another breath, another exhale, another shudder running through him.

"I never thought I was enough."

You pulled back just enough to see him, to look into his face, to make him see you. His eyes were wild with emotion, pupils blown wide, lips parted like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You reached up, cupping his jaw, thumbs tracing the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

“Then you’re an idiot,” you murmured teasingly, voice thick with emotion, “because you’ve always been enough.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He searched your face, as if he was still trying to make sense of this, as if some part of him was waiting for you to take it back, to wake up from whatever dream this must have been.

But then—slowly, carefully—he let himself believe it.

And that was when he kissed you.

Slow, deep, desperate—in ways that only years of restraint could make it. In ways that made it feel inevitable, like the two of you had been pulled toward this moment by some unseen force long before either of you had the courage to acknowledge it.

Sebastian kissed you like he was starving for you, like he had been holding himself back for so long that now, given even the slightest permission, he couldn’t stop himself. His fingers splayed against your back, pressing you flush against him, as if the space between you was unbearable, as if he needed to feel you to believe this was real. His other hand slid up, cradling your face with a reverence that made your chest ache, his thumb sweeping over your cheekbone.

You melted into him, into the heat of him, into the way his lips moved against yours like he was memorizing you, like he needed to commit every touch, every sigh, every trembling breath to memory so he could keep it locked inside himself forever. He kissed you with years of unspoken words, years of buried longing, years of wanting but never allowing himself to have.

You weren’t sure which of you was trembling more.

And then, slowly, like he was dragging himself away from the very thing keeping him alive, Sebastian pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice wrecked, raw in ways you had never heard before.

Your fingers loosened their grip, moving up, tracing along his jaw, mapping out every curve, every freckle, every part of him that you had never allowed yourself to touch before.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

His throat bobbed, his grip on you tightening, a smile splitting his face in two.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, soft but steady. He turned his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his lips warm and reverent.

Something inside you—something that had been wound tight for years—unraveled.

You had spent so long living the life that had been laid out for you, bending beneath expectations that had never truly been yours. You had spent so long trying to be what they wanted, waiting, waiting, for the moment you would finally be free.

And now—standing here, wrapped in his arms, his heartbeat thrumming against your own—you realized that freedom had never been something waiting for you on the horizon.

It had been yours to take all along.

[sirfrogsworth]

The Anger Returned

This is probably the most hurtful and infuriating paragraph I've ever read...

"As for taking care of dad. We offered many times to find a place for you and dad to live closer to us so that we could take dad to his appointments and have some skilled care available. He didn't want to leave you at the house alone, so my wife searched high and low for a place that could take both of you. Dad was open to moving closer to us and had said he would have done so on several occasions but you were unwilling to give up the house and ultimately dad said no based on your opposition to moving and that you both would remain at the house. You make it sound like you were taking on this burden to relieve the pressure off me, but in reality this was the only way to retain the house for you after dad's passing. Because if you were unable to care for Dad the current situation would be very different."

That is one of the last things my brother said to me way back in August of 2023.

I don't understand how two people can be so oblivious to what is involved in taking care of a dying person.

Taking him to his appointments was probably the easiest part. And that is what they were willing to personally contribute.

And "skilled care"? What does that mean? A nurse? House cleaning?

Within my dad's budget, we could have maybe afforded someone to come a few times per week. That would have been almost no help to me at all. Plus, they could have sent "skilled care" to this house. Why was that dependent on moving closer?

It feels like they think appointments and having someone come over for a few hours here and there is all it took to care for my father.

But accusing me of wanting to stay put so I could "retain the house."

I still don't know how to process that anger.

It repeats in my head in a loop. Sometimes I will forget about it for a few weeks. Maybe a month. And then tonight it just started looping in my head again.

First, my dad lied. He kinda screwed me. He probably didn't know he was screwing me. But he did not want to leave this house. He was surrounded by my mom's things. He thought her spirit was still here. He talked to her at night when he was trying to fall asleep. I don't think he knew I could hear him.

Oh, and he threatened to kill himself if we tried to move him out of this house. So there was that, too.

But he lied and blamed it on me so my brother would stop pressuring him to move. I get it. But it gave my brother an excuse to blame me. A way to justify away his guilt. Sure, he was only 45 minutes away. But if he were only 5 minutes away, that would have somehow solved everything.

My dad couldn't go to a nursing home because he was neglected so badly in rehab (which is a nursing home) that he had to call the police on them. He said "I'll die before I go back to one of those places."

And the fact they were even considering that just shows you how out of touch they were with the situation.

And, yes, I didn't want to move. That is true. But it had nothing to do with "retaining the house." I thought the stressful process of moving would kill my dad. And I asked the doctor what moving could do to my dad's health and he said, without hesitation, "Oh yeah, that would have killed him."

Beyond that, they had no plan. They didn't say how we were going to get our belongings out of the house. How were we supposed to handle the realtor or open houses? It took me months to configure this place to my dad's needs. Were they going to help me do that in a tiny apartment? Were they going to find my dad new doctors and a new pharmacy?

I built an entire infrastructure around this house to take care of my dad. They talk about all this work they did googling apartments but they did no research or planning on how to actually move us. Was that up to me? Was I supposed to figure all that out while giving him 24/7 care?

I was watching a new show called The Pitt and it had a woman taking care of her elderly mom. And she was so overwhelmed she abandoned her at the ER. And I started crying because that is so real. Taking care of a dying person is nonstop stress.

I had to watch my dad go to the bathroom every single time to make sure he didn't fall. Which meant I never slept through the night.

Not once.

I slept on a mattress on the floor next to the hallway so every time he got up, I would wake up. And if he fell, I would pick him up. In the final few months he could not tuck himself back into bed. So 4 times per night I had to get up, watch him pee, arrange his pillows so they supported his back, pull up the covers, and then tuck them under the pillows so they wouldn't move. He was so uncomfortable all the time and that was the only way he could fall asleep.

And those were the *easy* days.

The hard days involved cleaning up pee and poop. Sometimes blood. Sometimes mystery fluids. Before I got the special lifting device, if he fell, I had to literally drag him to his electronic reclining chair so we could use the footrest to help get him up again. I once had to drag him through two rooms and hurt my back for a week. I probably should have called EMS, but I didn't know my back would go out until it was too late.

And then there were the delirium days where he talked and didn't make any sense. How do you take care of someone you can't communicate with? He had a dead toe that needed lotion applied. Nearly made me puke every time. And then there was the time the urologist had to open up his urethra. With a metal spike. My dad screamed so loud I nearly had a panic attack. Every person in that office heard him scream.

But I think his depression was probably the hardest to deal with. He had a son that never spoke to him. Never visited. And a granddaughter he only met a few times. He cried himself to sleep so many nights. Sometimes it was so bad I had to lie with him in bed and just rub his back until he fell asleep. He was so lonely without my mom. And I tried to be good company, but I was often too tired to give him any attention beyond his care.

When things were hardest he would get suicidal. And considering his quality of life, I didn't blame him. Sometimes I regret keeping him alive as long as I did. He was ready to go as soon as he lost his wife. But we both held out hope my brother would wake the fuck up and realize there was not much time to make amends. To say goodbye. To install core memories of my dad in his daughter's mind. So she'd at least have one grandparent to remember.

It never happened and I feel guilty for letting him live so long in misery when deep down I knew that hope was foolish.

That's the kind of shit no one knows or thinks about when it comes to caregiving. The easy days are hard and the hard days are impossible and you feel awful for feeling overwhelmed because you aren't the one miserable and dying. Dialysis is nearly barbaric.

For over a year, I barely slept at night. And the only time I could get uninterrupted sleep was when he was at dialysis. So the only time I ever had to myself, I had to use sleeping so I wouldn't burn out.

Hiring a "skilled worker" does nothing to help me with that. And no nursing home is going to give him that kind of care.

Only love can give someone that kind of care.

My brother doesn't think I saved him from any burden by taking care of my dad. I just wish I could figure out a way to show him just how incorrect that is.

If I refused to take care of my dad and left it all in my brother's hands, he would have put him in a nursing home and burned through all of my dad's money in a few months. Then he'd either have to pay for his care or take him in.

Was he going to watch my dad pee 4 times a night and tuck him in?

Those who have never taken care of someone like this... have you ever thought deeply about what is involved? Does your common sense tell you it is a little more than driving to appointments and hiring a "skilled worker"?

Why does my brother (and my uncles) think so little of my efforts?

I honestly thought it was common knowledge that taking care of a dying person was super duper hard.

It was the hardest thing I will ever do. And the thing I am most proud of accomplishing. And for some reason I still want my brother to say thank you. I don't know how to find closure without that gratitude. And I'm pretty sure it will never happen.

[sangwookisser]

⭒AFTER HOURS- HWANG JUN-HO⭒

cw: switch dynamics, fighting, choking, piv, fem! reader, guard! reader, this is a bit non canon as junho already got his square mask before confronting you, creampies, praise, choking, not beta'd

a/n: thanos pt. 2 in the works cuties send me asks on what you'd like to see him do to you!

You screwed up today.

You'd worked here so long that every time you'd shot a player, or moved a body, or ordered a circle mask to clean up the area after a game, it felt unconscious, like a menial chore. Perhaps you'd gotten too careless and forgotten your place, because you'd frozen on the spot when a player, a woman, young and pleading and desperate, had crawled against your leg and pleaded with you to let her live after she'd cracked a side on her star Dalgona.

You froze.

A careless mistake. She'd taken your hesitation as an opportunity to grab your rifle and wrench it from your hands, trying to shoot you in the head and missing, before she managed to hit a soldier in the arm that'd been rushing over to pry the weapon from her hands. The entire playground was a mess now, with yells of terror and people cracking their Dalgona due to stress, all because of you.

Now you were following a very tall, quiet square guard to a private room, only meant for very important matters. no cameras are placed in here. He locks the door behind you and turned to face you. You hung your head, fighting the urge to wring your hands.

"Look at me."

You look up at the sound of a deep, distorted voice, placing your hands behind your back so you could hide the way they're shaking. He doesn't move, watching you through the thick black plastic of his mask, assessing you.

"Explain."

You inhale shakily, unable to hide your nervousness. You knew that you wouldn't have been brought here if you weren't about to receive a terrible punishment. There was no one watching, and the games were long over for the day. You pause for a moment, trying to find your voice, but he speaks again.

"Do you forget yourself, soldier? You answer promptly when asked to. The longer you try to wrack your brain to find a reason why you fucked up today, the less ill believe your stupid excuses."

You bristle at the condescending tone of his voice. You don't like being spoken to in such a way, even if its by a superior. Still, you can't come up with a good reason as to why you froze. Perhaps you'd seen a glimmer of yourself in the way the woman pleaded and searched for mercy.

You were weak and vulnerable once too. She'd cracked a part of the walls you'd built up around yourself to try and make killing players easier. "I'm just trying to collect myself, sir." You say, your tone a little too sharp for his liking.

"Collect yourself?" Jun-ho says in return. "I'm not playing games with you, soldier."

"And neither am I," You snap back, frustrated and scared enough to act with your emotions and not logically. You're not thinking about the repercussions of talking back to a superior. "I made one mistake in the five years I've been here, and you're just attacking m-"

"Take off your mask."

The order sent a chill down your spine. You weren't ever supposed to show your face around here, not even to your superiors. It usually meant you were about to take a bullet to the head.

You look around anxiously to try and spot any cameras, but most of them are turned off for this location since it is meant to be vacant right now. You step back and finally speak.

"S-sir, I can't. It's against policy."

"Don't give me any more bullshit. Take off your mask. that's an order." You grit your teeth but don't budge, refusing to go along with the inevitable that happens when you show your face. He growls and raises his hand, his pistol at your head in a second. "Now, triangle."

You let out a shaky exhale and reluctantly peel off your mask, letting it drop to the floor, along with the balaclava underneath.

There's a tense moment of silence as he looks you over, and he nearly groans in appreciation of how cute you are. Jun-ho expected an old hag with nothing to lose, not... you.

His eyes roam over the wide, sparkly eyes staring up at him and the soft frown on your face, as well as the way your lashes skim your cheekbones when you blink, your soft, pretty hair, your full lips...

You take his hesitation as an opportunity and knock the gun out of his hands, shoving him back and debating on running or staying to fight him.

He lunges to grab you, and you aim a kick to his chest to try and steer him off course again, but he grabs your ankle and kicks the back of your other leg to make you crumple. You curse, reeling back a bit as you stand straight again, punching his stomach to make him let go of you.

He grunts, but doesn't relent, so you aim a few more punches to his chest and stomach, but he grabs your arm and twists it, letting go of your leg and shoving you against the wall of the room, pressing your chest against the wall. You scowl, struggling fervently, but its hard to when he's a head taller and has the strength of a gorilla.

He pauses for a bit, smug at how easy it was to beat you when you had the advantage of disorienting him by making the first move.

"There, was that so hard? You're making me feel like a monster. Pretty girls like you deserve to be worshipped, not roughhoused like this." You growl at the implication, aching to demand what exactly he means, but you figured that if you play into the act a little bit, you might be able to get your advantage back.

You sniffle, making the slightly-exaggerated sounds of someone about to cry. "I-I know sir," You choke out, your voice breaking. "I... I d-didn't mean for it to come to this, I just... d-don't wanna b-be punished or killed for one mistake, I didn't mean to hesitate today, really. P-please don't kill me..." You make the soft sounds of crying, trying to imitate the feeling of desperation and hopelessness.

His heart aches uncomfortably, and he feels your little body shaking with tears. He feels bad now. He just meant to scare you a bit so he could get information about this place, but you attacked him, so he had to do this to you. But it feels wrong. He can imagine your sweet little face scrunched up and flushed with tears, and he sighs, turning you around slowly so he can help wipe your face and soothe you.

You don't wait a second, delighted that your plan worked to some degree, enough that he was willing to let go of you long enough for you to drive your knee straight into his crotch.

"Fuck!" he curses, doubling over. "Shit, you fucking maniac!" You get the rifle off your back that all triangles are equipped with, astounded that he didn't disarm you at the first opportunity, and you shove the barrel under his chin.

"On your knees, square." You sneer at him, and he grits his teeth, dropping down to his knees with his hands raised.

"You're fucking crazy." He says angrily, panting as he massages his aching privates, his gaze roaming over your pretty face, and he scoffs, in disbelief that he, a trained cop, ended up in this situation.

"Now you take off your mask too. So we're in this together." You say coldly, nudging the gun at his neck. He freezes for a bit. He didn't know what you'd do if you found out he was a stowaway posing as a guard, and so he hesitated, but with a gun to his face, what more could he do?

Slowly, he took off his mask, letting the black plastic clatter to the floor as he pushed thick black hair out of his eyes, eying you warily.

You too, as he did, paused for a minute at the sight of his face. You didn't expect your manager to be so handsome. His features were soft and handsome, like some pretty boy you'd see on TV, not at your feet with your rifle to his head.

"Who are-"

He took a dive for your legs, realizing he couldn't go through the process of revealing everything to you. Even showing you his face was going too far. You squealed, tumbling to the ground, and he stuck his hand under your head so you wouldn't crack it open under the concrete, and he quickly straddled you, putting one hand around your throat and moving the other to hold your hands together above your head.

"The hell's your problem, huh?" He sneered, holding you down without much struggle even as you thrashed under him. "You don't listen. If you just shut up and answered a few questions, you'd be out of here in no time."

You choke, panting a bit, and he squeezes your neck a little tighter, fascinated at the way your cheeks warm and your eyes darken. His cock twitches a bit in his pants, excited by the way you look so helpless. The way you're squirming under him and rubbing your body unintentionally against his dick isn't helping. It's already tender from you hitting it with your knee earlier, and his hypersensitivity is just riling him up more and more.

"Shit..." He murmurs, loosening his grip just enough for you to get a big gulp of air, before he puts the same pressure on your neck once more.

"I'm not afraid of you," you hissed, despite the nervous flutters in your stomach. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours.

"I don't care. You put yourself in this situation, and now look where you are." He mocks you, no longer caring about your feelings after your earlier deception. Your lips press together in a scowl.

You let out an infuriated growl, trying to shift your body up to attack him, maybe bite him, but he slams you back down with his grip around your neck. Your vision sparkles around the corners, and you pant, gasping weakly for air, and he lets go just before you pass out.

"Let... me go." You wheeze, inhaling unsteadily. He leans closer, about to say more, when you shove your lips against his. It's not a good tactic, and you hate doing it, but it's a last resort, and you needed to wind him so you could get your upper hand back.

To your disbelief, he moans, his grip on you loosening so he can lean down and kiss you deeply. He's pleasantly surprised, to say the least.

You're gorgeous, of course, and with the soft taste of strawberries that linger on your mouth, he's not complaining at all. He squeezes your face in his hands, rubbing his tongue over your lips to try and coax your mouth to open. You grit your teeth, annoyed by how enjoyable this is.

His lips are soft, and he's good at kissing. You enjoy the way he parts his lips and slots his mouth over yours to search for the best angle. However, you try to stay present enough to try and find the right moment to throw him off you. He, however, was lost. He's managed to get his tongue in your mouth, and he groans at your taste, one hand going to stroke your hair softly as he rolls his tongue over yours slowly and sloppily, almost savoring the feeling.

You grunt, squirming a bit as his long tongue pushes deeper in your mouth. He's getting way too excited for someone who was just trying to suffocate you, and you start to worry that you made a mistake by riling him up like this.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel something hard and thick poke your thighs, and he lets out a full-blown moan into your mouth, his hips beginning to rut against you. You've had enough. With as much effort you can muster, you bite his lip hard enough for it to be uncomfortable, and he lets out a yelp, smoothing his tongue over his now bleeding lip.

You desperately try to push him off you. His eyes are wide and shiny, like a puppy aching for a treat, and he pants a bit, before frowning. "I want more," He says gruffly, upset at your denial. He leans down, wanting to kiss you again, but you hook your legs around him and flip him over, using the element of surprise to your advantage.

He tries his best to try and buck you off, but once you get his hands pinned beside his head, he stops struggling, staring up at you with wide, glassy eyes, his breath coming out in tiny gasps.

"W-wha..." He starts weakly, but you tug his hair to shut him up. He doesn't oblige, moaning at the feeling and returning to humping you, his hips thrusting up against your ass as you straddle him.

"Stop it," You hiss angrily. "Acting like a fucking dog, have some shame."

He doesn't listen, his hands clenching into fists as he aches with the need to touch.

"F-fuck me..." he breathes out, and you try to put your hand over his mouth to shut him up, but you can still hear his loud groans as he ruts against you, dry humping you through his pants. "Fuck me, please." He insists. You squeeze his wrists with frustration, pissed off by his excessive neediness, but you start to lift his shirt, your hair tickling his cheek as you lean down. You pull it above his head, reveling in the sight of his soft, creamy white skin, and plush pink nipples.

He shivers as the cool air of the room hits his skin, and you slowly start to drag your fingers up his chest.

Unfortunately for you, that, paired with the constant feeling of his clothed cock rubbing against the juicy fat of your ass causes him to still, and he tears his hands out of your grip with little to no effort, places them on your butt, and rubs you fervently against his dick until his hips stutter, and he squeezes you tight.

"Oh G-god... mmh, fuck, fuck... fuck... 'm cumming, im cumming now..."

You can feel him throbbing against you as the sticky liquid of his cum stains his pants. You look down at him as he slumps down, keening loudly as he tries to catch his breath. his chest heaves hard.

You look down at him in shock, scowling down at him. "You dirty little..."

He doesn't let you finish your words, flipping you over.

Panting harshly, he loomed over you, his eyes wild with desperate, primal hunger. His large hands roamed feverishly over your curves, grasping and squeezing at the fabric of your guard uniform as if trying to rip them away from your body. "Please, baby... I need... I need to feel you... all of you..." he babbled, his voice ragged with urgency.

Fumbling fingers made quick work of the zippers, scattering them haphazardly across the floor. Jun-ho's breathing grew louder, more labored, as more and more of the your soft, supple skin was revealed to his ravenous gaze. "Please... let me... let me see you... touch you... taste you..." he begged, his words spilling out in a whining, desperate litany.

Hie hips undulated, grinding his clothed erection against the your core, seeking some measure of relief from the throbbing ache that consumed him. "I'm so fucking... so fucking desperate for you..." he whined, his hands finally succeeding in baring your breasts to his hungry eyes.

"My god... look at you... so fucking perfect..." Jun-ho dipped his head, peppering your newly exposed skin with desperate, open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips. You moan, squirming under him at the unfamiliar yet desirable sensation. He's worshipping you, obsessing over your body

"Tell me... tell me you want it too..." he urged breathlessly between kisses, his hands roaming lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, your panties. "Tell me you need my cock...almost as much as I need to be inside your tight, wet little cunt..."

His desperation was palpable, his body trembling with the force of his desire as he awaited your response, praying you would give him the green light to plunge forward and claim you. He shoves his pants down, his slick cock, tender from his recent orgasm, hits his belly, and you try to sit up.

"Fuck, you bastard, get off," You try to protest, to hide how bad you want it despite the risk of you losing your job or being killed for doing something so reckless and idiotic. But your pussy can't hide how you crave to have his fat cock deep inside you.

His mouth watered at the intoxicating scent of your arousal, ripe and heady and consuming. He lavishes your breasts with desperate, open-mouthed kisses, his tongue swirling around one stiff peak, lapping and suckling greedily, before switching to its twin, determined to taste every inch of your succulent flesh. You cry out, keening dumbly. You hate how good it feels.

"Mmm... you taste... fuck, you taste incredible..." he praises between slurping kisses, sending vibrations tingling through your skin.

Below, Jun-ho's aching cock jerked and throbbed against your soaked pussy. Each twitch of his sensitive flesh against your core drew a guttural groan from the man's throat, and a soft whine from you, his hips rutting instinctively, chasing more of that exquisite friction.

"You're so pretty," he panted, the words tumbling out in a desperate, incoherent jumble.

He could feel the heat radiating off your cunt, could sense your body's readiness, yet still you held back, trying to retain some semblance of control.

He whimpered in frustration, his cock pulsing urgently against you as he gazed up at you with pleading, lust-glazed eyes. "Tell me... fuck, tell me you want it too..." he rasped, his voice breaking on the desperate words. "I can't... I can't hold back much longer..."

For a moment, you remained silent, your expression an unreadable mask. But then, with a sharp inhale and a barely audible hiss of air through gritted teeth, you finally uttered the word he craved to hear. "Yes... " you gasped, your voice tight with barely restrained desire. "Yes, I... I want it..."

Relief crashed through him like a tidal wave, and he released a shuddering sigh, his body relaxing slightly as the tension drained from his muscles.

And then, with a careful, deliberate movement, he positions the dripping, weeping tip of his cock at the entrance to your pussy.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he began to press forward, his hips inching closer, the sensitive crown of his cock parting your slick, swollen folds, eliciting a shaky gasp from you as your hands fly to his broad shoulders.

"Ohhh... fuck..." He groans, his voice a low, drawn-out rumble as he felt the exquisite, silken walls of your pussy clenching around the invading head of his dick.

You're so incredibly tight, so deliciously snug, that he had to pause. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the way your body resisted, then yielded, then resisted again, as if trying to suck him in deeper, to swallow him whole.

His hands clench on your hips, fingers digging into the supple flesh hard enough to leave bruises. Sweat beads on his brow as he focused all his concentration, every ounce of his willpower, on the slow, tortuous process of sinking into you.

Inch by excruciating inch, he invaded you, feeling your slick, plush walls flutter and clench around his sensitive cock, as if trying to draw him impossibly deeper.

"Goddamn... " Jun-ho groans, his breath coming in harsh, tortured pants as he finally bottomed out, his pelvis flush against yours, causing his heavy, full balls to nestle perfectly into the curve of your ass.

He could feel every ridge, every vein, every throbbing, pulsing beat of his flesh as it was engulfed in your sloppy little pussy. It took every shred of his control not to cum then and there, to spill his seed deep inside you. "Atta girl... squeeze me just like that..." He murmurs lowly, beginning to withdraw, feeling your walls drag against him, before plunging back in, starting a deep, deliberate rhythm.

Unwillingly, your composure starts to waver, your cool demeanor cracking. Soft, breathy moans leave your lips insistently, making his cock twitch inside you. "Y-you sound so pretty, you know that?" He chokes out through moans, thrusting steadily into you. "So good... S-so good for me, baby. I got you."

He talks you through it, feeling you flutter and clench around his sensitive flesh, as if trying to draw him even deeper. "Shit... fuck... so fucking tight..." he grunted, his hips pumping in a slow, deep rhythm that had your body jerking and bouncing beneath him.

You could feel your mind starting to go fuzzy, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind as the pleasure mounted. "T-too deep, so deep..." you say, your words slurring together as you struggled to form coherent sentences.

Your fingers scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin as you clung to him, anchoring yourself against him. Jun-ho could feel your body starting to tremble, could sense the desperation building in your touch and your breathy little cries. They spurred him on, urging him to thrust harder and deeper.

"That's it... fuck... take it... take my cock... take every fucking inch..." he growled, his voice a low, feral rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His mind could barely process the feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock, watching the way he'd stretch you out with every thrust.

The obscene sound of your arousal filled his ears, each deep, powerful thrust eliciting a lewd plap, plap, plap as your dripping walls struggled to accommodate his girth. "Fuck, listen to her... listen to your greedy little pussy sucking me in. She doesn't want me to go anywhere, does she? Wants my cum to fill her right up." he bends down, panting hotly against your neck, his lips and teeth and tongue working over your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks and kisses.

He could feel you trembling, could sense you trying to hide your face in the crook of your shoulder, no doubt an instinctive move to hide how good you feel, but he would not allow it. He hooks his hand under your chin, tilting your face back towards him, forcing you to meet hungry gaze. "Don't you hide from me now," he cooed, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see your cute little face."

You whimper, a deep blush covering your cheeks as you were forced to confront the his blatant, almost reverent adoration of you. "I'm not... I'm not cute..." you protested weakly, even as your hips begin to move up to meet his, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"You're not?" he asks, punctuating his words with a sharp, deep thrust that had you seeing stars. "But look at you... taking my cock like you were made for it... like your perfect little pussy was molded just for me..." His hand slid down, fingers splaying possessively over your lower belly, feeling it clench and quiver as he filled you so completely. "That's right, baby... this is your pussy's purpose... to milk my cock dry."

He could feel you starting to tense, your thighs beginning to quake around his pistoning hips, your belly fluttering beneath his splayed fingers. Your breathy moans and whimpers rose in pitch and volume, blending with Jun-ho's guttural groans and ragged pants to create a symphony of carnal bliss that echoed off the walls.

"Fuck, yes... that's it, baby... Come with me." the man urged breathlessly as he drank in the exquisite sight of you lost in ecstasy. "I want to feel this greedy little cunt squeeze the cum out of my cock. You miss a drop, and we do it all over again, you hear me?" He delivers a sharp snap of his hips, a brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt in you, kissing your womb so sweetly.

You size up suddenly, letting out a cry as your pussy clenched down hard, rhythmically, milking his throbbing cock for all it was worth as you rode out the crest of your climax.

The man threw back his head with a groan, a feral sound, as he felt your velvety walls spasming around him, sucking him deeper, urging him to fill you with his cum. He slams into you one last time before his own release overtook him. His cock jerked and pulsed, erupting as he pumped you full of his hot, thick seed, painting your insides white.

You collapsed together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heaving chests, the aftershocks of their shared climax leaving you both breathless. You could only cling to him as he leaned down and pressed a gentle little kiss to your temple.

"Don't try and beat me up ever again."

"Fuck you."

"Just did, baby."

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

The reason the high tops work is that the canvas and the lacing limit "wobble". If you need more support, look for a shoe with a firm/hard counter (the hard, half moon shaped bit that goes against the heel). It's like stabilizing a house's foundation instead of the listing upper floor. You can still combine this with an ankle high shoe of any kind, but if your lower legs swell, you can get a low sneaker or even ballet flats that will stabilize you. Th!nk, El Naturalista, Wolky and Rollingsoft/Gabor are a few brands that have this feature on durable shoes with a modern design. Gabor does widths. If you find the top of the counter is cutting into your skin, go to a cobbler and kindly ask if they could run a hammer over the sharp edge a few times. No shoes are worth bleeding for.

If you've got chronic diarrhea, a bidet will be kinder to your backside than toilet paper. If you can't access even a travel bidet, or forgot it at home while traveling, I once got the advice "at some point you just take care of the worst of it and take a shower". Not only is this true, but 10 minutes of hot water on your lower half while breathing in warm, moist air tends to also calm down (at least a little) whatever in your belly has decided to run on horse software today.

One good thing that came from covid is that the TP shortage magically revealed unto recycled TP manufacturers that they can get quilty TP money by making quilty TP. If you do find yourself using a lot of toilet paper, look into finding some high quality 100% recycled stuff. Less because of saving the rain forest, or the lacking logic in buying new material with the intent to throw it out, but because it's less likely to clog your toilet. If you're running to the toilet every ten minutes, you are not having a day where you will have a good time with the plunger, or concoctions involving dish soap and boiling water.

If you're the kind of person who can get away with wearing dresses: you can hide a lot of bloated tummy under an A-line dress. Also, people think you put effort in your appearance if you wear a dress. I've got a few in knit jersey with flutter sleeves for days when I need to see a doctor for a vaccine, blood sample or BP reading. I've also got a few ankle length dresses if I don't have wfh days left but can't fit into anything but oversized jogging pants. You can sneak the jogging pants on underneath if it's cold.

If you've got a really bad bloat day and your underwear won't fit, but going commando is not an option... Adult diapers are surprisingly accommodating to waist fluctuations. Most supermarkets and drug stores have them near the period products. They are fully plastic, so either make sure you have times where you can let your skin air dry, or look into ways to prevent diaper rash for your skin type. They're also good for anxiety about soiling yourself if you've had accidents when sick/exhausted/in too much pain.

Sometimes you need a pain killer. Sometimes you need a spasm reliever. Ask about this to your doctor if you have cramps or muscle pain that has the same response, or less, to ibuprofen as it does to m&m's. Some of them work on smooth muscle, like in the GI system and uterus, others work on skeletal muscle, like those in the abdominal wall and limbs.

Pregnancy pillows are a friggin godsend for sleeping on your side after abdominal surgery or if you're prone to joint pain. If those are too expensive, too difficult to find or too heavy... I've used an Ikea Blåhaj in a pinch. The big, 100cm one. Put a cotton T-shirt or pillow cover over it in summer if its polyester body gets too warm.

Endocrine system making you feel like you're overheating even after everything has been checked out and deemed fine? Sweating a lot? Get some natural fiber clothes or underlayers with a high linen content. Or hemp. Or ramie. These are fibers from plant bast cells (instead of cotton fluff or pulped plant waste, like viscose or bamboo), and are better than their already comfier brethren at absorbing and wicking away sweat. They're also great at slowing down BO. You'll still feel hot, but not being sticky, stinky and hot will help. They don't have to be woven clothes or fancy clothes. My 55/45 hemp-cotton blend T-shirts from Up-Rise usually go for standard-affordable slow fashion prices... But they have decent promo codes at least three times a year, so at least half of my shirts were bought at "will not immediately dissolve" fast fashion prices.

The best medical aid or medication is the one you can use. Talk to your doctor/pharmacist/ortho tech if something isn't working for you. That's telling you doctor how bad side effects are, sure, I've mentioning I couldn't take a liquid medication on time because I needed to be near cutlery I could sanitize to take it, and got switched to the tablet formula. My compression wear compliance in hospital skyrocketed by being switched to knee-high ones as opposed to thigh-high. I've found out my tech can separately bill my insurance for the orthodic shoe inserts prescribed, and me for the "medically unnecessary", extra thin, carbon fiber witchcraft that means I can buy off the rack shoes.

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!