#but I got enough ones that I liked by the end to make it work

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

None of our hands are clean

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[readwritealldayallnight]

in case you missed it, little add on to this idea where Simon decides you’re his wife

When the Captain first overhears tidbits about how his Lieutenant is supposedly giving the newest recruits an especially hard time, he chuckles to himself, thinking that it isn’t anything they can’t handle, not if they’re going to make it in this line of work anyway

But then he catches the end of a conversation between two medics, complaining about how they’ve never had to tend to so many injuries from the rookies in training before, and he thinks maybe Ghost was having an off day at the time, needed to let off some steam, no real harm done in the end

Which is strange though, when one of his sergeants comes whining about how ‘LT’s gone right soft, pure gallus! One bonnie lass was all it took and he’s now got manners, ya ken! Absolutely braw sight I tell ya, Cupid’s arrow stickin’ out of his arse-’

Price wasn’t even entirely sure Simon knew how to use his cell phone, surprised to find him suddenly glued to the device, answering only for a specific chime, but always answering instantly when it went off

It isn’t all that long however, until Price walks into his office one day and finds Ghost already sat at his desk and waiting for him, wanting to know more about marital leave, and benefits for spouses, and how soon could the Captain become ordained because there’s a ceremony he’d like him to officiate soon if he wouldn’t mind-

You’re especially confused when the guard who checks your ID at the gate each morning tells you ‘Congratulations by the way, Mrs Riley’ as he hands you a new pass that- sure enough- has Riley written as your last name

Series masterlist

[eddiemunchem]

hiii!! i love your work so much and i was wondering about a little idea i haddd that ik you’d do justice (if you’re taking requests, if not then totally ignore this ☝🏽).

soo, i was thinking about dom!eddie getting pussy drunk? like he’s his regular babbling self, but when he starts getting close he loses it and starts begging A LOT to cum inside.

if you do decide to do this, thank you sm, i appreciate you and your work and i hope you have a lovely day <333.

━━━━━━━━ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ━━━━━━━━

📄 turned tables | eddie’s a dom through and through, but there’s something about coming in your pretty pussy that just reduces him to a complete mess.

⚠️ 1.1k words, fem!sub!reader, mean/hard!dom!eddie (srsly… pls heed this one), HEAVY d/s themes, rough sex, bondage/restraint, overstimulation, mean!eddie, m!dom to slight!m!sub, begging, whimpering, slight degradation, big dick!eddie, multiple orgasms, breeding/creampie, unprotected p in v, allusions to subspace, language, dirty talk, graphic depictions of male ejaculation (wtf is that tag), praise, i think i got everything

✏️ when i say the sub inside me QUIVERED while writing this… please fckin believe me 💀 also, i’m really not the best at articulating m!subs so i’m really sorry if that part isn’t the best 🙏

“oh, baby, look at those tears.” eddie cooed, large hands cradling your cheeks as his hips brutally slapped into yours.

you couldn’t speak, could only moan and whimper and whine as he used you, tears cooling against your temples as you just laid there taking it.

“hear how sloppy your lil’ pussy is? oooooh, she’s so greedy tonight, isn’t she?” eddie teased, thumbs swiping across your cheeks and lips pulled into that devilish grin. “think she wants my cum, angel?”

it was starting to border on too much — you were completely helpless as he ravaged you, hands bound to the bed posts by his pair of sterling handcuffs, the strain on your wrists less pleasant and more painful now. eddie had told you to count each orgasm he ripped from you, but your fuddled brain couldn’t make out whether this impending climax was your third or fourth.

“fuck, pretty girl. you’re clampin’ down on me; gon’a cum, yeah?”

you nodded fervently, hoping the action would be enough to satisfy eddie’s hunger for control — but it didn’t.

the gentle cradle of his hands turned to a firm grip, blunt nails biting into the skin along your jaws.

“use your fuckin’ words, angel. i know i’ve told you this before.” eddie growled, hips picking up speed and fucking into your sopping cunt with a punishing force.

the wail that ripped from your throat pulled a satisfied groan from eddie, who’s hips faltered for just a brief moment — but it was enough of a tell for you to know he was approaching his end, too.

fucking finally.

“yes, yes, i’m gon’a c-cum!” you blathered, fresh tears pooling in your eyes as eddie battered your cervix straight into your stomach. it was so painful, with no care to the impact on your body — the way eddie knew you needed it.

“mmhmm, yeah? how many, angel? which one is this?” eddie pressed, clearly referring to the amount of orgasms you’d been wrecked with and — shit, was it three? or was it four?

“i’m waiting, sweetheart.” eddie trilled, hips never stilling, driving into you with the force of a damn bull. it was sapping every bit of your strength, fogging your mind over with a haze of pain and pleasure so intense that you could hardly even mentally navigate through it.

“f-four!” you spilled out, lips, hips, legs and feet trembling — your stomach was so tight now, so painfully tight; you were going to die.

“oh… angel.” eddie whispered, tone saturated with what you could faintly decipher as disappointment. just two words were enough to have your stomach twisting in fearful knots, pussy quivering around the cock brutalizing it.

“maybe i’m fucking you too stupid… this is your third, sweet girl.”

the sound you released was downright pitiful — not quite a moan, not quite a whimper, but something in between. you’d gotten it wrong.

you’d answered his question wrong.

“‘m sorry!” you cried, hands pulling against the restraints. “‘m so sorry!”

that’s all you could do now — apologize and beg for his forgiveness, for even the slightest bit of clemency.

eddie hummed low in his throat, but the noise seemed strangled. his hips stuttered once more and his cock kicked against your walls — and it dawned on you that he was a lot closer than you initially thought.

“i’ll let it slide this once, angel.” eddie whisped, breathlessly. “but in return, y’gotta cum f’me. gotta get this cunt nice and sloppy f’me, ‘kay?”

you hadn’t expected to receive clemency so easily — but you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“yes, yes, thank you…” you babbled, head so pleasantly fuzzy and muscles weak with relief.

eddie groaned deep in his throat and whipped his right hand away from your face — you were almost completely unprepared for it when he planted his fingers over your clit and rubbed harshly, the slide aided by the creamy mess between your bodies.

“fuck! too much—” you cried out, back arching straight off of the mattress. it was all hot lightning, shooting all through your body and electrifying your muscles.

“it’s not — it’s not. just fuckin’ cum, already.” eddie demanded, though it slipped into something a bit needier at the end — as if he were begging for you to do so.

your ability to speak was robbed by the intense pain coursing through your body — there was pleasure there, of course, but between eddie’s cock bullying your cervix and his fingers abusing your swollen clit, there was very little chance for it to shine.

the orgasm building inside your gut wasn’t one of pleasure — rather, one that was being forced from your tired body, completely drawn through by your anatomical structure; you were built to orgasm after a certain amount of stimulation, and you’d do so even if it hurt.

“eddie, i-i’ll die!” you wailed, body quaking, nerves fraying — and all at once it stopped, eddie’s fingers disappeared from your clit and he was no longer hovering above you pounding you senseless. on the contrary, he was no longer fucking into your cervix with savage accuracy.

“fuck, it’s so good!” eddie groaned, hips bucking wildly. “so fuckin’ sloppy and warm — bes’ fuckin’ pussy — mmmm, yeah — shit!”

eddie had seemed to of completely forgotten about your orgasm — he was chasing after his own now, high off of your pussy, drunk on the sensations around his cock. you’d never heard him sound so… whiny, or needy before.

“god, please, please. let me c-cum in’ya, angel. le’me fill’ya up.” eddie slurred, voice thick yet airy, hips slamming into you without any real rhythm.

“you feel so good, i jus’ — jus’ wanna breed you. wan’a stuff you. can i?” eddie wasn’t even really giving you a chance to respond, more words and vulgarities tumbling from his lips like a waterfall.

“yeah, you’re gon’a le’me fill you up. fuck, fuck, yer so good, losin’ my fuckin’ mind—”

eddie was completely scrambled, eyebrows knit tightly together and eyes glazed over — he looked so fucked out, so crazed, that it left you starstruck.

“mmm — god, baby, yes, i’m-i’m coming!” eddie whined, slamming deep into your pussy once, then twice — and then he was spilling inside you, cock twitching and throbbing with every single shallow pump of his hips.

as always, his cum was thick, shooting out of his cock with such a velocity that you could faintly feel the way it splattered against your cervix — and the whole time, as your pussy milked him, eddie whimpered against your ribcage, body practically folded in half over yours as he rode his orgasm out in short, slow thrusts.

it took you a few moments to register what had actually just happened — and when it dawned you, you didn’t really know what to think about it. it was an idea that was just far too outlandish to consider, had you not witnessed what you had.

eddie may have the propensity to be a switch.

[aakeysmash]

prompt:

reader getting injured because she slipped in the shower, sukuna has to help her get to the hospital, where reader gets some pain meds making her kinda high. she confesses to him while being high

content: fluff, crack. reader is in the hospital and blood is named but there’s no gore. yuuji and sukuna are siblings. i love sukuna and i need him in my life so bad… someone PLS be my sukuna

“So, just to be sure: one margherita for me and one with sausage for you?” Asks you Yuuji while putting on his shoes.

“Yup,” you answer, popping the p. “Can I just have a quick shower while you’re gone?”

“Uhhh, sure, let me go ask Sukuna,” your friend tells you smiling and rushing up the stairs of his home.

You and Yuuji have been best friends since forever. You remember the first time you both cried your eyes out at the park in kindergarten because a lizard had just eaten the ladybug you had been watching for half an hour. Since that moment you’ve been attached at the hip, your homework filled afternoons in high school turning to pizza nights when both of your work schedules allowed you to now.

“Big bro said sure,” comes Yuuji’s voice from the end of the staircase.

“I did in fact not say that,” growls Sukuna from behind him. Sukuna is the same age as you and Yuuji, but he always seemed older. Sometimes wiser, but sure as hell more annoying than his brother. Hotter, too, but that’s a topic for another time.

“I didn’t ask you to join me, big boy,” you say sarcastically, fake smiling. He crosses his arms, leveling you with a bored look.

“Yuu, if you aren’t fast enough you’re not going to find her corpse when you get back,” he tells his brother, still staring you up and down. Yuuji sighs, tired, then opens the front door.

“Make sure to not kill each other. I have a shift after this, stop bickering. You two act like siblings more than I do with you, Sukuna,” he reprimands you both. You and his brother roll your eyes at the same time, then you push him out, closing the door in his face. You turn around and find yourself face to face with Sukuna's menacing grin.

“You have 5 minutes before I come knock at the bathroom door with a kitchen knife, doll.”

You’re scrubbing yourself clean with a random pine body wash you found in the shower when the playlist you put before entering the stall stops. You’re annoyed, because now you’re forced to listen to Sukuna’s ugly songs from the bathroom wall (that he’s blasting just to annoy you), so you try to reach your phone. You’re on your tippy toes, not wanting to get out completely, when you trip and fall since you didn’t wash the soap away from your body. You bump your head on the sink in front of the shower, hard, and you muffle a whine. You close your eyes as hard as you can and open the shower head with the room spinning inside your skull.

“Don’t open your eyes, don’t open your eyes or you’ll fall… fuck, it hurts so bad,” you tell yourself while you speed run the end of the shower and blindly put your shirt over your head. It’s not the first time you've bumped your head on something, you were a crazy kid, so you’ve learned to open your eyes only when you physically can’t function anymore or you'll start seeing stars immediately. You barely get to put your pants on when you notice your forehead feels wet, and you didn't even wash your hair. As you get out of the bathroom wobbling you touch your head. When you open your eyes, you see blood on your hand. The room spins. You barely have time to look up and watch Sukuna coming out of his bedroom frowning before seeing black dots in your vision.

You try opening your eyes, but they feel so heavy. Your body feels rather stiff. What's this smell?

"Oh, she's waking up," a female voice softly says from somewhere next to your right.

"Thank you, miss, I got it from here," a rough voice responds.

"Make sure she drinks a lot, and keep a couple of painkillers near you. The scans show she doesn't have any internal damage, but she hit her head pretty hard. She's going to have a big bruise for a couple of days," the female voice continues. You hear the man making a sound of affirmation.

There’s a brief pause. "Your wife is very lucky. It's not every day that a man takes a woman up four flights of stairs by simple arm strength," the woman concludes sweetly, getting out of the room after he responds with a grunt and closing the door behind her.

"Your ass is lucky I lied or they wouldn’t have let me in, dumbass. Open your eyes, I know you're awake," the voice you now recognise as Sukuna says, getting closer. You try opening your eyes, managing to focus your gaze on him. Everything feels so fluffy, apart from your throat. You cough, and you think you see him rolling his eyes before getting you a glass of water and sitting beside you on a chair. You gulp it down, still feeling fuzzy, then you blink a couple of times.

You gape at him. He's cute. “You look funny,” you say, poking his cheek. He’s so squishy. Like a little mochi. A little mochi filled with strawberries. Strawberries and cream. He slaps your finger away, and you put on a hurt expression. He huffs.

“Why am I here?” You ask. The more you look at him, the more heads he seems to have.

“You fell in the bathroom,” he says, straightening up from the chair and covering your right leg with the duvet the hospital gave you. You raise an eyebrow at his gesture, and he just rolls his eyes again. “Don’t want you to also catch a cold. Yuuji would kill my ass.” You just hum.

“I caught ya when you already fainted. Yuuji came back home and panicked, but he couldn’t back out from work, so I was stuck with your ass. Took ya here but the elevator broke down. And I ate your pizza, by the way. All this is gonna cost ya 200 dollars, cash,” he lists, sprawling back onto his chair, deadpan.

Silence engulfs the both of you, and you don’t know what to say. You heard what the nurse said and you are searching for a way to bring it up, but the words in your mind are all scrambled. It’s probably the morphine that you realise they gave you, IV still attached to your left arm. You open your mouth to say something along the lines of “I’d like to thank your gym membership for this,” but instead the words that leave your mouth are-

“I’d like you to be my husband.”

His eyes snap to your widening ones. “Wait that wasn’t what-“

“Huh?” He just replies, dumbfounded. You panic, waving your hands in the air between you two.

“No, what I meant was- like- thank you for getting me up here- can you stop looking at me with your weird 16 eyes?- not that you aren’t attractive! You’re super hot! But that’s not- oh god,” you whimper, rubbing your face, noticing how you’re just making the situation worse. You prepare yourself for his snarky comeback, closing your eyes, but everything is silent.

Suddenly, you hear him snort. You crack your eyes open, touching the big cotton gauze they put on your forehead. You must be hearing things. It’s definitely the morphine, there’s no way Sukuna is actually laughing.

“Yes, I’m laughing, doll,” he says, chuckling. You widen your eyes.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” You cringe.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” he responds, smirking. You groan.

“Take me out to dinner first, damn,” he yawns. You jut your bottom lip out, frowning and giving him your middle finger. Then you register his words.

“You’d come? I mean, if I asked you out.”

“Well, if you’re paying,” he responds, shrugging. That’s still a yes, isn’t it?

He ruffles up his pink hair, black t-shirt straining across his bicep. You can’t contain the urge to poke the muscle.

“Stop touching me like I’m made of play dough, doll,” he sighs, slightly less annoyed than 5 minutes ago.

“Would you let me play with you if you were made of play dough?” you ask, words a little slurred, still poking his arm, and he flexes it. “Don’t show off,” you mumble.

“You’re even weirder when you’re drugged,” he grins. He kinda looks scary, though. If you didn’t know him, you’d piss yourself by looking at his sharp teeth.

“But would you or would you not?” You whine, dragging out the last word, letting your hand fall next to you. He misses the warmth of your hand, so instead, he just puts his on your thigh. To be warm, of course. The room is so cold. Yeah. Definitely because of the missing heat.

“Yeah doll, I would.”

[whatbigotspost]

hey thanks, truly. I needed this.

And guess what? You may be us someday too and need this encouragement ❤️ Healing is so non linear.

I really thought I had done the bulk of my healing and reparenting in my 20-30s but then guess what? I finally got a proper AuDHD diagnosis and lots of stuff I thought I “knew” about myself is shifting again.

I’m not just a child abuse survivor, I’m one with AuDHD (and much of that abuse was related to my AuDHD behaviors specifically) and I had hit a wall in healing that was impossible to get past or ignore any longer.

It can feel so embarrassing at 40 to say to people who have known me for decades stuff like “oh hey I thought I knew me and so you thought you knew me but I had taken ‘fake it til you make it’ too literally and I actually have 55 million questions all the time.”

My psychologist said it would get worse before it gets better again and better than before and boy howdy was she right! But you see, I had to get well enough all these years before in order to be able to even open this whole new door.

I wasn’t ready for any of this before this moment, and I’m so glad that I am ready and working on it now because I can already feel how much the work and the weight will be worth it in the end. But it is so daunting to have this level of self discovery at this time of my life, and I’m really really grateful for this little note of encouragement.

stories of people suffering for a long time and then healing in their 30s or 40s or 60s or something are the most importanttt thignn in theworld and thingking about them is like wrapping my heart in a warm sheet

[coffeedragonart]

🍁🍂🍁

On Leaf Drakes, from the journal of Elena Hewett, research assistant at the Stagwick Institute (drake studies):

Leaf Drake observational study, day 1 (Summer’s End)

What a strange day! The weather has been quite windy, and today some leaf drakes were blown into the Institute gardens! There are already some floral drake species living in the gardens, but this is the first time we’ve seen leaf drakes. Like most garden drakes, they aren’t built for long distance flight, so they rely on catching wind currents to migrate and take up in a new area.

This species hasn’t been widely studied yet, so I’ve got some of the other assistants on board to observe them and hopefully expand our knowledge about these creatures.

Day 2

They seem to be planning to stay, and have claimed the big tree in the west side of the gardens. I’ve managed to book the use of one of the empty offices on that side, as it has a large window with a good view of the big tree.

From initial observations, there are five individuals in the group. They are quite social, and I have yet to see one go about by itself.

Week 1 (Autumn)

It has only been a few days, but they have really settled in. While still, they can be quite hard to spot as they really blend into the leaves, but they spend a lot of the day quite active.

They share a similar diet to the floral drakes in the garden, mostly insects and fruits, as well as absorbing magic from the environment and the aether-nectar in the garden feeders. But they are far more active hunters than the floral drakes.

From the window, I’ve been able to watch them hunting insects and even using cooperative tactics to hunt birds. They are quite small, and I would have thought that even the sparrows might have been a bit much for them as they are close in size.

The gardens are a popular spot for both students and institute staff to take their lunch, or just relax a few minutes in their downtime. The floral drake residents are quite shy, and generally either hide or watch from a safe distance, but the leaf drakes are far bolder.

They have no hesitation about coming to get a closer look at folk, even trying to beg food from them. However, they are a little territorial about their tree.

Week 3

Students and staff have been advised against eating near the big tree in the west gardens. No one has been seriously harmed, but after a few instances of people being harassed for their food, it was deemed necessary to cordon off that section of the garden. Their teeth and claws are quite effective, despite their small size.

There seems to be one drake in particular who instigates these ‘attacks’, and the others follow its lead. It is a little bit larger than the others, and has a rather striking dark band across the eyes.

Due to the interest in this field, we have been able to gain the support of the Institute to make this an offical study into the habits of leafdrakes. With that, we will have access to some extra resources to put towards their care, as well as make it harder for the gardeners to remove them for being a nuisance.

Week 4

Even as Autumn sets in, we are still having a few last warm days.

Our little office was quite stuffy today, so we opened a window to try and get some cool air or a breeze in.

I was soon interrupted in my work, by a pair of drakes alighting on the windowsill. We’ve seen them resting on the sill before, but have never been quite sure if they were looking in or just admiring their reflections. Up close, they are curiously birdlike in their movements, adjusting their wings and tilting their heads this way and that.

They were almost identical, with only slight differences in colouring and wing shape, like the leaves on the tree. One was the ringleader, quite a bit larger than the other, with the dark face band. The smaller one had the same facial marking, but far less stark. They sat and watched for only a few minutes, but leapt away when a door was slammed elsewhere in the building.

It was enough for me to correct and add a few more details to the sketch I’d been working on.

Week 6

After a few weeks of observation, it seems like only the one drake is growing, the rest of the flock have maintained their same size. After a meeting with the other assistants, we think that the study would benefit from being able to more closely track the ringleader.

We know that many of the Greater Drake species can continue growing throughout their lives, reaching immense sizes, but this trait has never been seen in any Garden Drake species, who remain small.

Week 6.2

It took some planning but we were able to capture the ringleader for a closer look.

A container trap was baited with aether-nectar and laced with a light sleep spell, and it didn’t take long for the drake’s greed to get the better of it. There was always the chance of trapping the wrong one, but like in a lot of pack dynamics, the ‘leader’ usually gets at the food first.

With testing, we found the drake is female. She is a healthy weight, and measures about 30cm from nose to tail-tip, we’ve estimated the others to be around 15-20cm. A small band has been attached to her leg to more easily identify her, enchanted so it will grow with her as needed. She woke up while we were attaching it, and my thumb bears the bloody mark of her displeasure, though she didn’t seem too put out once she was able to sit for a spell without being handled. She watched from the top corner of a cabinet while we finished the paperwork, and then we were able to let her back out into the garden.

I’ve nicknamed her Gertie.

Week 9

As the weather grows cooler, they are showing no signs of slowing down, but as the insects retreat, they have been more actively chasing the birds. Gertie appeared at the window, clutching a feather in her teeth, even as I was reading a note left regarding messenger birds going missing.

I would have thought them too large for the drakes, but Gertie has grown again, almost twice as long as the others.

I’m sure she can understand at least a little of what I say, and seems to be following our conversations. She doesn’t like being handled, but has learned ‘hold still’ and will pause and stretch out to let me measure her (as long as a treat is provided and the measuring doesn’t take too long).

Week 10

It seems like Gertie has some level of influence over the mood of the rest of the colony, almost like a hive. While she’s calm, the rest are calm and happy to sit near and watch. But when she startles..

Today, poor Rolf had the misfortune of tripping over one of the garden benches while I was working with Gertie. I think he was trying to see into one of the tree hollows. The bench rocked back and thumped down with a loud THUNK, and the colony took to the air in an angry cloud of claws and teeth.

We fled the gardens in haste, and were able to retreat into a toolshed until they settled. I got out with only a few scratches, but Rolf needed taking to the medic building. I’m sure he’ll look quite fetching in an eyepatch.

It took several days before the gardens were safe to re-enter.

Later that day, I received word that Rolf has quit. Understandably, no-one expects to lose an eye from a research job.

Week 12

An official complaint has been made regarding the missing birds. There isn’t a lot to be done, but I’ve reached out to enchanting to see if they can write a ward to divert the birds away from the air above the gardens.

One of the other assistants donned the protective gear to climb into the tree to inspect the hollows the drakes nest in. He returned, with a number of drakes clinging to his headgear, and three slightly chewed scroll cases. He noted that there are several more drakes in residence than we thought, though no evidence of eggs or breeding has been found.

The messages were quietly delivered (with apologies) and the matter dropped.

Week 13 (Autumn’s End)

The west gardens are severely overgrown. The gardeners have refused to go in at all since Gertie’s last grown spurt. She is now the size of a large cat, several times larger than the others.

Gertie still blends quite well into the trees, but has also started using the brambles and long grass to ambush rabbits and squirrels. As well as any passing ankles. I suspect it was one such ambush that drove the gardeners away.

Week 14 (Winter)

The floral drakes in the gardens have hidden themselves away to wait out the cold weather. The leaf drakes are a little hardier, but we’ve seen signs that they may be preparing to do the same, and have increased efforts to gather nesting materials. They have been spotted flying back and forth with all sorts of things in their claws, including feathers and shed fur, to small pebbles, coins, beads, even a few small aether-crystals. I didn’t get a good look, but I thought I saw one fly by with a pair of spectacles that I’m sure weren’t willingly donated.

Gertie still emerges when we go out, though a little more reluctantly. The area is too overgrown with brambles to get a good look, but I think they have dug out a space at the base of the tree to cozy up in. I doubt Gertie would fit into the tree hollow the colony were using previously, she is quite large now.

Week 15

At last measure, Gertie was just over four feet long. Her wings are a bit smaller in proportion and we don’t see her fly quite as much. However her hide is quite a bit tougher, starting to resemble pinecone scales in some spots. She still has her distinctive facial markings, though without the tag, I wouldn’t have recognised her.

There are concerns of what she will eat as she continues to grow, the gardens can only support so much, even with the feeders stocked. It has been a few days since we’ve seen her, or any of them, so I think they must be hibernating. If they sleep away the winter, that will give us time to sort out something with one of the local farms to get meat delivered.

Week 20

Our efforts have stalled over Winter, as barely a scale has been seen since the snows arrived. On one warmer day, some of the little ones were spotted, clinging to the bare branches to take in a few rays of sun, if only for a short while. There was no sign of Gertie.

If one good thing is come from a slow winter, we have been able to get a better look at the tree itself. Since the drakes have moved in, the big tree has also grown faster than it would otherwise. Its branches are thicker and healthier, and other trees nearby are showing similar flourishing. This is not unheard of, similar effects have been seen in plants occupied by floral drakes, so it tracks that trees could be similarly affected.

The ground around the base of the tree bulges, the roots that can be seen above the snow are dense and knotted. It forms quite the hill when the snows come down. I look forward to seeing the drakes emerge again come spring.

Week 24 (Winter’s End)

Not long to go, surely. No fresh snow for a week or two, so what’s there is starting to melt away. There are more sunny days, if still chilly. The tree is starting to show signs of reviving, there are hints of new growth and fresh leaves starting to bud, earlier than usual.

Week 28 (Spring)

The drakes returned with the leaves! The little ones at least, we still haven’t seen any signs of Gertie. There are quite a few of them, at least a full dozen now, but they move so fast they are hard to count. We still haven’t found any evidence of eggs, but it is possible they came from outside before the freeze.

As the trees fill out with leaves again, the west gardens are far wilder now. The branches reach overhead, almost touching in some places. The drakes flit in and out of the sunlight coming through the leaves. We have been able to clear most of the path, but the spaces between the trees are still full of brambles and shrubs.

Week 32

Something large has been spotted moving through the trees, though it is hard to get a good look. I suspect Gertie has continued to grow through her hibernation.

Through the deal made with one of the farms, we’ve been able to start leaving out chunks of meat, and they seem to be well received.

From the toothmarks in the bones left behind, we estimate that Gertie must be at least the size of a pony.

Week 33

Today, on the first properly warm day we’ve had in a while, I’ve finally been able to get a good look at Gertie since her hibernation. I was taking a break, to be out in the fresh air and away from the office for a bit. I’d stopped at one of the newly reclaimed benches, and only closed my eyes for a moment to rest. It only felt like a minute before I was woken by a huff of air on my face.

She is indeed the size of a pony, plus her tail. Tall enough to look me in the face.

Her body is thicker now, hide resembling thick tree bark. Her wings are much smaller in proportion, just ornamental now.

The little ones follow her, stopping to cling to her back and head, but she doesn’t seem bothered by them. They peered around her to chirp at me as I regained my composure.

Lately I’ve taken to keeping aether-candies in my pockets to offer the drakes on my walks, I’m glad I still had some on me as I was inspected. Gertie accepted the treat happily, rumbling deep in her chest. She rumbled and chirped back to me when I spoke to her.

It was a pleasant moment, she sat with me for a while, long enough to get a sketch of her lounging in the sun.

Week 40

Recently, we have been receiving reports of leaf drake sightings from outside the Institute, from other locations around the city. I can only speculate that something about Gertie’s growth is drawing them to the city.

Long have we pondered the origins of the Greater Forest Drakes, as they seem to just appear out of nowhere, with no documented nests or hatchlings, or even sightings of more than one in an area. But I have little doubt that this is what Gertie has grown up into. I still have questions about how the change occured, or why it was just her out of the group as at the start, there was little to differentiate her from the others.

This is still quite the discovery, and I look forward to publishing an official work with our findings. It could well be the start of further studies into the links between drake species, the garden and greater drakes, and maybe even how they relate to true dragons.

After updating the Institute heads on the progression of the study, they are overall happy with the discovery, but were asking some pointed questions on what we plan to now do with the Greater Drake that has taken up residence. She could well continue growing. I pointed out that we may have gotten off lightly, if Gertie had grown into a Greater Rock Drake or a Hooded Drake, things could have turned out very differently. They did not see the humour in that.

Gertie seems to be quite comfortable in the gardens, the other drake species do not seem bothered by her at all, and she shows no inclination to leave. She could well continue growing, but for now she seems to have slowed down at least.

She continues to develop her understanding of language and appears to follow along with a conversation, even if she lacks the ability to respond yet. A lot of the literature on Greater Drakes suggests that this may well come with time, but it might be something for my children or grandchildren to look forward to.

[always-just-red]

Hi!

Can I request a fic where the reader starts realizing they have feelings for Sylus and gets so nervous around him that they can’t resonate anymore?

And Sylus thinks that the reader is scared/disgusted by him again so the reader is forced to confess their feelings to not create a bigger misunderstanding

Thanks!

- 🌻

The moment I got this request I was like HELLO— sunflower anon, you just get me 😌 Anyway! Am back from my break and I hope everyone’s ready for some Vulnerable Sylus™️, because I have got him hot to go!!!

A Gentle Touch

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

Genre: Angst + Fluff (& some Luke and Kieran shenanigans because they were not feeling the angst)

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, injury detail, mentions of possible trauma, humour, some intimacy at the end 😘, Luke and Kieran are having the time of their lives

| Word count: 3.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

If you asked, Sylus would tell you.

You catch glimpses: dark, sharp flickers of something monstrous, maybe even infernal. Blood, everywhere— thick in your mouth and your nose. All over your hands. You feel it, too: a yearning, so intense, and you couldn’t say whom it belongs to. Then there’s death. Searing white. Bottomless black. In the middle of all of it— crimson eyes like dying stars.

Every time you resonate, it envelops you, is laid out bare before you: a nightmare you’re caught in the centre of but forced to watch from outside. An other, a spectator. It’s a show, just for you, but it isn’t quite ready yet; someone’s still rehearsing their lines.

If you asked, Sylus would let you see it. It’s a power you have over him, a constant, self-sacrificial: you want it? It’s yours. So you don’t ask. You never ask. Like words mumbled in a haze of wine or sleep, you let him hold onto it. His hands are open, yes, but you don’t have to take.  

Besides, you have your own, world-changing little secret, and he’s going to see it too.

He’s slumped in front of you, blood sheeting down from two bullet wounds just below his shoulder. He catches his breath— one, two— before he peeks over this desk you’ve overturned for cover. You should be peeking over as well: should be counting your enemies, scouting your next move.

Instead, you’re looking at him and holding back. One minute ago you had no idea where he was, how he was, and it’d been eating away at you from the moment you got separated. Now he’s with you— he found you— and the relief is desperate, gushing; it has to escape somehow. It drips: forbidden daydreams, one after the other, like…

How you want to hold his face and urge him to speak so you can just hear his voice.

How you want to press a hand to his heart and feel the beat of it beneath your palm.

How you want to kiss him, want to taste the blood on his split lip, because this is your story, isn’t it? Messy. Violent. Defiant.

He looks at you, that same blood carving a thin line through the pale of his chin. It drops down onto his silk shirt. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” he grins. His best guess: “This is a fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into, hmm?”

It’s a fine mess he got you into. “Yeah.” You make yourself look away from him, glancing over the desk to assess how much worse the situation is getting. The answer? Significantly. 

Sylus chuckles, drawing your eyes back as he reloads his gun. “Don’t say I never treat you to anything, sweetie.” He fires a few rounds towards the encroaching danger.

Voices go up across the room. Gunshots ring out, louder. Sylus slinks back down, wincing, holding his shoulder, and his fingers turn red. He deftly undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, peeling it back so he can examine his wounds. His jaw clenches; the punctures aren’t closing over fast enough. It’s too much blood, too quick, and he’ll—

He catches you staring. There’s a sheepish sincerity in the way he smiles, as honest and vulnerable as the holes in his shoulder. He holds out his hand. “Time for an energy storm, don’t you think?”

“No,” you snap. “Save your energy. We might need it later.”

“Oh?” An eyebrow perks up in interest, and it’s just like him to spot a double entendre in the midst of all this chaos.

But you’re staring at his chest through his open shirt and you’re such a hypocrite. “Things might get worse,” you explain.

“Worse?” he repeats as bullets fly over your heads, striking the wall across from you and scattering plaster over the floor. He watches it crumble. “Paint me a picture, kitten— what would worse look like?”

Even Rafayel might struggle with that particular creative prompt.

“Come on,” Sylus insists, using the excuse of your silence to push his hand closer to you. “Now’s not the time to play coy.”

“Sylus, I really don’t—”

He grasps your hand, his fingers locking with yours and squeezing tight. Your heart jumps at the touch. It strangles the protests in your throat and stays there, strung up by anticipation and dread.

You’re feeling so much that it takes you too long to realise nothing is happening.

Sylus’s eyes are fixed on your connected palms. He’s squinting, concentrating, and when that doesn’t work— when your hand is paling in the vice of his— he loosens his grip, his thumb feathering over yours as he mumbles a quick: “forgive me.”

He doesn’t let you go. You can still feel him, all of him, imploring to just let him in.

You don’t, and his eyes meet yours, for a moment— like another bullet has bitten through his flesh. Your mouth drops in fake surprise; you’re always so innocent when you pull a trigger on him.

This time, there’s no wound you can push your hands against in a guilty effort to staunch the bleeding. You have to apologise. Have to stitch it up with every word you’ve been guarding, saving, and it isn’t supposed to be like this. “Sylus, it’s not what you think. I—”

Something metal clatters across the floor behind you, bounces like a failing, stuttering heartbeat, then explodes.

…

“Good news, boss! We figured it out!”

Sylus groans, looking up from a report he’s not really been reading as two figures crash into his room. Not good, he thinks, as Kieran flings himself into the nearest armchair. Whatever this is, it’s not good. Luke settles on its arm.

With a sigh, Sylus removes his reading glasses. They stay, hooked on a finger, as he pushes his hair back like he can feel a headache coming on. His eyes flutter closed, and when they open, the twins are both leaning forward, bristling with excitement.

“Ask us,” Luke whispers in a way that makes Sylus think he might not realise he’s speaking out loud.

Another sigh. “What did you figure out?”

Kieran whips out a tired-looking notepad from behind his back. He clears his throat— “ahem!”— then starts to read: “Reasons why Miss Hunter was not able to resonate with you. Number one...”

“How did you find out about—”

“Sshhhh,” Kieran interrupts, putting a finger to where his lips should be. Sylus’s eyes widen in indignation, and Luke comes to his twin’s rescue, silently indicating Mephisto with a few tips of his head. The crow shrinks down on his perch.

“Number one,” Kieran repeats, matter-of-factly. “Your height.”

“My… height?”

Luke nods solemnly as Kieran continues: “humanityandconquer.com/power-dynamics describes tallness as a ‘natural advantage when trying to dominate a smaller individual.’ You are very tall. Try crouching when you speak to Miss Hunter.” He glances over the top of his notepad. “If you approach her at her level, she’ll know you mean no—”

“Nope. Next,” Sylus dismisses, waving his hand in a fast-forward motion. That headache is coming on.

“Reason two,” Kieran acquiesces, gaze falling, “your eyes.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake—”

“They’re red,” the twin pushes on, “and red means danger. In fiction, red eyes are symony—” he stops, spells it out— “synonymous with the supernatural. Vampires especially. Plus, lots of bad stuff is red.” He’s going off-script. “Blood. Fire. Sunburns.”

“Sunburns are pink,” Luke muses.

“No, like, bad sunburns, y’know?”

“Oh right, yeah.” There’s a shrug of agreement.

Sylus’s will to live is hanging by a thread, and they really don’t have a care in the world, do they? It must be nice. “Thank you,” he murmurs, “for your little investigation. If that’s all, I would—”

“Reason three!” Luke chirps, wiggling the same number of fingers, and Sylus’s head lolls back against the sofa.

“Miss Hunter is struggling to separate this version of you from your first impression,” Kieran says.

Sylus looks up. “What?”

Luke is rubbing his hands together eagerly, like they’ve finally gotten to the good stuff. “Well, you remember how you and Miss Hunter met,” his twin explains.

Words won’t do it justice, apparently, because the man begins to act it out. He reaches to grip Luke by the throat and Luke pretends to choke, fingers clawing at the grasp. Then Kieran stands up— throws Luke down into the chair and pins him there with his foot before snatching up his hand.

“See what I mean?” Kieran asks over his shoulder. “I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic. You kinda tore her away from everything she knew. Forced her to use her power, et cetera, et cetera.”

Sylus has gone quiet. He’s vaguely aware that the twins are moving, saying more, but he can’t hear it. He feels sick. Then he feels something different: someone poking at his arm. A hand is waved in front of his face, but he doesn’t react.

“Oh, we so got it,” Luke whispers conspiratorially behind him.

“Hell yeah we did!” Kieran whispers back.

There’s the sound of them high-fiving, and it spurs Sylus into action. He’s up out of his seat, out of their shadows, and then the door as well— long before they can stop him. He needs to breathe. He needs the cold night air and the quiet, and his strides drive him towards it, but not fast enough.

He’s about to use his Evol. To let himself evaporate so he can be whole again somewhere else, somewhere easier, but then he stops. He’s by an open door, glancing in at a decadent living room, where you’re sprawled over a black leather couch. This isn’t easier. This hurts, and it hurts more as he forces himself to close the distance between you.

You’re still asleep. You’ve been unconscious ever since that grenade went off, and it’s for the best, really; getting out of that place was… messy. Sylus’s shoulder still aches, the blood on his shirt now crusty and dark. Some of it’s his. Some of it’s yours.

He’s not sure why he’s still wearing it.

The twins did a pretty good job of patching you up, but— looking over you— he would have done better. It was his role, after all. His duty to you, or maybe just a reason to get close to you. He couldn’t do it today. Couldn’t touch you, no matter how noble the intention. And a little part of him was glad for the excuse; his hands always shake.

A blanket is half on your legs, half on the floor, and Sylus stoops to collect the edge of it. He draws it over your shoulder, adjusting it around your arms— at rest by your face. He’s close, now, and he…

He can’t help himself. When has he ever been able to help himself? He lifts his hand slowly; he wants to kiss you. Even though your blood is still drying on his shirt and it’s all his fault.

…

Someone’s hand is on your face.

The touch draws you back into consciousness, tender, careful, then suddenly sharp. “Ah,” you hiss. “Sylus?” Always first on your mind and your lips.

“Not even close,” quips the shadow above you.

“Kieran?”

“Bingo.”  

You use your hand to block some of the room’s light as you open your eyes— a birdlike silhouette taking shape through the gaps in your fingers. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, teeth clenching as the twin applies a thin strip of surgical tape to a cut on your cheek. “Is he ok?”

“Sheesh, relax. He’s fine,” Kieran tuts, then seems to reconsider, “well…”

“He’s brooding,” chimes a voice from behind you. “Out on the balcony.” Luke.

You rub at your eyes, still drowsy with sleep. “Why’s he brooding? What did you do?”

“Told him he traumatised you,” they speak in unison.

“What?! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true,” Kieran shrugs. “That’s why you and boss couldn’t, you know…” He twinkles his fingers.

Resonate? Ugh. You slide your feet onto the floor, sitting up straight for a solid second before you bury your face in your hands, omitting a few, pained whines. This is such a mess, and it only got worse while you were asleep. First that stupid grenade, now the twins.

A hand pats at your back. “There, there,” Luke soothes.

You turn to glare at him. His hand retreats.

Forget it; you have to find Sylus.

…

You step out onto the balcony, head full of apologies you’ve had all of a minute to prepare, and it isn’t enough. It felt fitting, in the middle of a shootout— everything was allowed to be frantic and from the heart. Here it’s calm, and if you ruin something— break anything— it’s going to be obvious. There’s no other violence to blame.

Sylus must hear you join him, but he doesn’t turn. He’s leant forwards against the rail, one arm folded upon it, the other outstretched: sporting a glass of liquor that hangs from the tips of his fingers and that he swirls gently, his gaze far away.

The twins really weren’t kidding.

“Hey,” you greet, and it’s sort of pathetic, but you don’t know what else to say.

“Hey,” Sylus returns, “are you—” he looks back at you over his shoulder— “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “I mean, the twins are giving me a headache, but that’s, like, standard.”  

He smiles back: a courtesy. You’ve seen him grin through almost every type of pain imaginable, but this one is new. Think about what Luke and Kieran said. What he must be thinking. “Sylus, I—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he stops you, turning his body towards you. “Honestly, I’d… rather you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he chuckles, masking a deeper hurt as he lifts his glass to his lips. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

You are; you hold his gaze as he takes a deliberately slow sip of his drink. He smirks, surrenders at once and admits: “I’m really not that strong, sweetie. That’s why.”

“What if I want to explain?”

The smirk falters, and his eyes make their own, sad, silent confession. If you want to explain? He’ll let you. He’ll stand here, listening patiently while you call him a thing of nightmares. While you break him, bit by tortuous bit, by reminding him just how frightening he is.

He turns back to the view, shrugs, but none of the tension leaves his shoulders. “Go on, then.”

“Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t scare me, you know.”

His hand tightens around his glass. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me,” he grimaces. “I don’t need it. I know what I am. I’d just… forgotten what I was to you.”

Your captor. Your monster. Except that was a lifetime ago and he’s been so many more things to you since then. Tell him. “Sylus…”

“I felt it,” he snaps, because your voice is still so reluctant, and he’s going to save you the trouble. “When we tried to resonate, I felt it— your fear— just as deep as it used to be. I heard that same voice in your head, the one saying you wouldn’t let me in, couldn’t let me in, so don’t tell me I don’t scare you, sweetie.” The term of endearment tastes sour, you can tell. “I know how you feel. I know—”

“I like you, Sylus.”

“…What?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “I like you,” you say again, and your heart is beating too quickly for eloquence, so you just have simplicity. “You don’t scare me at all, Sy. I care about you. A lot.”

Sylus stares at you, his eyes wide. There’s no confidence. No smile or drawn-out breath of relief. He sets his glass aside on the railing, gaze leaving yours for a moment, and you get the feeling he needs that moment as much as he needed the drink itself.

Then he looks at you again. Asks in a way that makes you ache: “do you mean it?”

Look at him. Your throat stings. “Of course I mean it.”

“Say it again.”

“I mean it, Sylus. I care about—”

His lips are on yours and the rest of your words are lost in his mouth. You, you say with the way you kiss him back, soft and slow, like you’re relishing something that might slip away. You, you insist— your hand finding his face, his hair, as he kisses you deeper, and you, you, you, when he doesn’t stop.

“Is this alright?” he murmurs, his fingers around your chin and his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Mmm,” you confirm, equally breathless.

He laughs as he withdraws a little, still caressing your face like you’re something of a dream. “You’re not making this easy, kitten.”

“Worried you might traumatise me again?”    

It's a low blow. He scoffs. “Luke and Kieran said—”

“Luke and Kieran once bought arts-and-crafts feathers for Mephisto because they thought the colours would make him, and I quote: more aerodynamic.” You pinch his ear playfully. “I can’t believe you let them get to you.”

“I know,” he groans, lifting your hand so he can press chaste kisses along the line of your knuckles. “Not my finest moment.” He guides your palm to his cheek— leans into it as he leans into an idea. “They said you hated my eyes,” he pouts.

You can’t help giggling. He frowns. “I mean— aww, no,” you scramble, but you’re still laughing. You can’t stop. “Your eyes are… yeah. So pretty.”

“You had to think about it?”

“There were just too many adjectives, y’know? I was struggling to—”

He kisses you again, saving you: crushing your laughter with his own, lightheaded smile. His hand finds yours as his lips move against you, your fingers interlocking as you resonate— chasing an instinct, a need to be impossibly closer— and you let him see everything. Feel everything.

It’s a mad tangle of opposites. Heaven. Hell. Life. Death. You don’t know what any of it means, but it’s yours and it’s his and it doesn’t scare you half as much as it should. Sylus breaks your kiss. He pushes his forehead against your own with a sigh of contentment, and it doesn’t scare him, either.  

Savour each second. Think of some better adjectives, while you still have the time.

He’s going to earn every single one.

…

✨Epilogue✨

Inside, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that separate the room from the balcony, Luke and Kieran stand, looking awfully smug.   

“Mission accomplished,” Kieran nods, flipping closed his notepad, aptly titled: 101 Ways To Get Boss Laid! (There are only, currently, fifty-two.)

Luke’s arms are folded. “We’re like, the best wingmen ever.”

Kieran is silent. He repeats carefully: “Wingmen. Wingmen.”

The beaks of the crow masks gradually turn to face one-another. There’s a mutual epiphany, and both twins almost fall over laughing.

[silverb0wties]

Lemonade - Part 3

leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Summary:  You go back to school and you try and make yourself useful

Warnings: bullying, homophobia, misogyny 

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

PART 3

“30 days has September, April, June and November…”

You had set yourself the task today to make yourself a calendar.  Maths had never been your strongest subject in school, but you were excellent at remembering, so you knew the month song off by heart and were mumbling it to yourself as you began digging into your desk draw to retrieve some art supplies.

The decision to make the calendar had hit you last night when you were reading one of your new library books before bed and the return receipt slipped out of the back cover and onto your lap.  Normally, it was the very first thing you retrieved when you got home from the library, making sure to mark the return dates down on your big white board calendar on the fridge.  But you were still getting used an entirely new routine in your new house and you’d completely forgot to look for the slip.

Now that you had it though, you had to make sure you noted down the dates somewhere you could easily see them.  So, with a few pieces of paper, a ruler and some markers, you drew up a calendar for the next few months.  By checking the borrow date on the receipt and counting how many days it had been since your library visit, you managed to figure out what todays date was.  From there, and with the help of that handy month song, you’d managed to fill in the rest of the dates.   

When it was all completed you stepped back to examine your work.  If you were honest with yourself, your lines could have been drawn straighter and your handwriting could have been much, much neater.  But you didn’t have the energy to redo it, so it would have to do.  For now. 

You surveyed your room for someone to put it.  In your old house your calendar was on the fridge, out in the open for everyone to see and help you keep track of.  Here, it needed to be hidden from your Aunties, so that it was your responsibility, and your responsibility alone, to make sure you were staying on top of everything.

Everything.

A wave of guilt crashed over you as you remembered all the other things you would keep track of on your calendar.  Now that you were a big girl, you had been helping around the house and you had chores.  You would set the table and help take the cups and plates and spoons out of the dish washer (only Mummy and Daddy could touch the knives).  You would also check for mail every morning and there was a pretty purple watering can you got use to water the flowers in the front garden a couple of times a week.

But you didn’t do any of that here at your Aunties house.

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

Part of you worried that your Aunties didn’t trust you enough to ask you to help out around the house.  Perhaps they thought you weren’t smart enough or strong enough or big enough to lend a hand.  Or maybe they were secretly mad that you hadn’t insisted on helping and were keeping a top-secret list of all the times you didn’t help out and they would present it to you on a big, long scroll on the day they kicked you out their house.

You shuddered at the thought of that.  That was a day you thought about often.  You didn’t know how many days or weeks or months it was until the baby was here, but surely your time here at your Aunties house was running out.  You needed to do everything in your power to be good until then so that they didn’t kick you out any sooner.  

That night before tea, you made sure to wash your hands extra good before heading into the kitchen where your Aunty Lessi was cooking.  

“Aunty Lessi, could I set the table?”

“Oh sure!  If you’d like.  Just give me a moment and I’ll show you where everything is.”

You grinned in silent satisfaction, glad that it seemed like your Aunty wasn’t outright opposed to you proving your worth.  After your Aunty Lessi finished with whatever she was stirring on the stove, she led you over to various cupboards and drawers and pointed out where the placemats, plates and cutlery lived.  Whilst there were a few plastic cups in the same cupboard as the plates for you to use, the glasses your Aunties drank out of were on a higher shelf that were too high for you to reach.

“Don’t worry about those, I can grab them” she insisted.

“I could get a chair or something to stand on?”

“Don’t be silly, Bun Bun.  I’ll get them.  Thank you for getting everything else though.”

Silly. Silly. Silly.

Once you were all sat down for dinner, you watched your Aunty Lessi spin spaghetti around her fork before you took a deep breath in and began.

“Did I do okay at setting the table?”

“You did a great job, Bunny!” Your Aunty Leah was smiling big and bright at you.  She had a bit of sauce on her chin, but you thought it would be rude to tell her.

“Do you think I could do it every night?” you asked.

“Uhh… I mean, if you want to, sure.”

Victory.  One chore to add to the calendar.

“What about the post?  Can I be in charge of checking that too? Does it come in the mornings?”

You observed as your Aunties caught eyes with each other across the table, seeming to have a silent conversation.

“Umm, yes I suppose you could do that if you like,” Aunty Lessi nodded.

“Great!  And I can help empty the dishwasher.  No knives of course, but I can do spoons and plates and bowls and cups and stuff.  And maybe I can water some of your flowers, or all of them?  Or I can learn how to do other stuff too.  Like I could figure out how to do the laundry or clean the bathrooms or anything you want really…”

You hadn’t really realised, but you had pulled your knees up to your chest as your rant had gone on.  Your head was now resting on top of them as you looked eagerly between your Aunties, waiting for their response.  They were doing the silent conversation thing again.

“You don’t need to do all those things sweetheart.  We appreciate you offering, but maybe we’ll wait until you’re a bit older to do things like the laundry and stuff, yeah?” your Aunty Lessi responded.

You felt your stomach drop.  Your Aunty Lessi’s voice was kind, but you knew what her words meant.  They didn’t think you were big enough to help.

“How about we start off with setting the table for tea and checking the mail?  You’re still just settling in here, so we don’t wanna overload you with too much stuff to remember to do.”

--

It may have been bright and sunny outside, but today was a day you had been absolutely dreading.  You had decided to hang your calendar on the back of your bedroom door so that nobody but you would see it, and you had made sure to mark this day with a bright red circle and big a sad face.  Today was the day you were going back to school. 

You weren’t sure how it was decided or who decided, but you’d had a couple of weeks away from school after the fire and now it was time to go back.

You had only been back at school for 3 weeks of the new school year before the fire happened, so your parents had only just bought you brand-new dresses and shoes to replace the previous ones you’d outgrown.  Your pencil case had been filled with fresh crayons and sharp pencils, and you’d only just put a really cool new bunny sticker that your Uncle Gio had given you on your lunchbox.  But now, you had to start all over again.

So today, as you sat in front office with your Aunties, you were wearing a brand-new school dress and shoes and socks and Aunty Lessi had done your hair in a pretty braid with some pretty ribbons.  You also had a brand-new backpack and lunch box and pencil case, and you even had a brand-new iPad in a shiny purple case. 

In theory, you were all set to go.

But just under the surface, just beneath the layer of hairspray and the stiff gingham fabric, you were absolutely dreading heading back to the big noisy classroom and scary, sticky playgrounds.

You didn’t have heaps of friends at school like most of the other kids seemed to have.  You did have one good friend though.  Nora.  She also really liked to read and was super into comic books and superheros.  You didn’t really understand why she liked them, but you were more than happy to listen to her when she wanted to tell you all about them.  You would then tell her some cool bunny facts in return. 

This year the school librarian, Mr Webster, had let you both work on a big jigsaw puzzle every lunchtime.  He kept it safe and flat on a special piece of wood that he hid on top of his bookshelf in his office when you weren’t working on it.  It was a really, really big puzzle with loads more pieces than any other puzzle either of you had ever done before.  You were both determined to finish it before Christmas, but you weren’t sure if Nora had kept going while you were away.  You hoped she had but you also secretly hoped there was still some pieces left for you to do.  

Unlike previous years, Nora wasn’t in your class this year.  You were in Mrs Green’s class, and she was in Miss Roberts’ class.  You’d both written a letter to each teacher requesting to be swapped into each other’s class, but it hadn’t worked.  You were stuck alone in the classes you were in, and honestly, you were miserable. 

You see, it wasn’t that you didn’t have any other friends, that didn’t bother you much at all.  It was the fact that a bunch of the other kids seemed to actively dislike you.  In fact, the thing they seemed to like most in the whole world was picking on you.  They called you names and pulled on your hair and threw things at you.  You couldn’r really pinpoint exactly when it all started, but your first and most vivid memory was when Mitchell Timms had snatched your copy of The Worst Witch out of your hands one lunch time.  He threw it in a muddy puddle and stomped on it until all the pages were torn and the words had jumbled together.  When you ran over to try and save the book, a gift you’d received on your latest birthday, Mitchell just laughed at you and called you a “loser weirdo”. 

For the first 3 weeks of school this year, you had been sat next to a boy named Ollie and it had been awful.  He kept bumping your arm on purpose while you were trying to write and had laughed whenever you got frustrated that you had to erase and redo your mistakes.  One time he had even pulled your chair out from underneath you when you went to sit down, leading you to land on your bottom on the floor with a thud.  The whole class had pointed and laughed at you.  You had run out of the classroom and hid under a bench to try and calm yourself down.

When the teacher came to find you, you were curled in a ball, rubbing your Pocket Arthur softly against your cheek.  Pocket Arthur was your school buddy.  When you’d moved up from Reception into Primary School, your parents had bought you a miniature version of Arthur that you could keep tucked away in your pocket.  They said that now that you were going to big school, Arthur could no longer come along with you, but they wanted to make sure you still had a little buddy to always keep you company.  So, he was your Pocket Arthur, or Pockie for short. 

But he died in the fire too.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

So, on the night before you went back to school, you’d searched through your room, trying to find something to fill the big empty space left by Pockie when he died – the pocket of your school dress.  You tried crumpling up a wad of tissues, but the texture of it was all wrong.  Next you tried a balled-up pair of socks, but it felt scratchy when you tried rubbing it against your cheek.  You looked over the stuffies your Aunties had bought you, but they were all far too big to fit in your pocket.    

One of the stuffies caught your eye however as your dug through the little pile of toys.  It was on the bottom of pile, and you hadn’t seen it since you moved here.  It was a lovely and soft grey kangaroo, with pointy ears and a long tail.  You rather liked kangaroos, because while they were a completely different species to bunnies and could only be found in the wild in Australia, they kind of reminded you of really big rabbits.  As you pressed the soft fur to your cheek, something small fell in your lap.  Picking it up, you realised it was a baby kangaroo.  It must have fallen from the big kangaroo’s pouch.  It was perfect.  The perfect size, the perfect feel, the perfect squish.  You rubbed it against your cheek.  Bliss.  Holding it gently in your little hands, you squinted your eyes and ran your thumbs across the soft fur trying to figure out the perfect name for your new pocket pal.  Bailey.  She seemed like a Bailey.

And it was Bailey who you clung to, you hand shoved deep in your pocket, when the Headteacher Mrs Brinley called you all into her office.

You watched as both your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah shook hands with Mrs Brinley and then you all sat down on big uncomfortable chairs across the table from her.  You’d never been in her office before, so you took a moment to look around, noticing a bunch of certificates in big frames on the wall, a huge bookcase full of books and some photos of who you assumed were her family.

“Well, while we were very, very sad to hear about what has happened, we are glad that Y/K is back at school with us.  Hopefully being back in class will help her with getting back to her regular routine and schedule and assist her in feeling more settled.”

Her voice wasn’t unkind, but everything she said always sounded like she’d been rehearsing for it like it was a speech she had to give in front of the whole school.

“We have both of your phone numbers, as well as the number for your workplace, and we will call you should there be any issues.  But I’m sure Y/K will do just fine.”

Your Aunty Leah gently squeezed your hand that wasn’t firmly stuffed in your pocket, clinging onto Bailey for dear life.

“Mrs Green is going to meet you just back out in the front office and she will walk you up to class.  So, unless anyone has any questions, I’ll let you all get to it.”

You all shuffled back out the front office, where your teacher was waiting for you.  Aunty Lessi knelt down and gave you a big cuddle.

“Okay Bunny. You have fun on your first day back, alright?  And if anything goes wrong, or you don’t feel good or you feel sad… you just let your teacher know to call us okay.”

Aunty Leah leaned over and gave you a kiss on the forehead and stroked your cheek.  “You’ve got everything you need in your backpack, so you’re all set to go.  You’ve got this.”

“Okay.”

“We love you.”

The walk to your classroom was mostly filled with your teacher telling you about all the things you’d missed while you’d been away from school.  A little bubble of dread was beginning to build in your stomach as you realised all the work you now had to catch up on.  But by lunchtime that bubble had been replaced by a boulder.

Holding your lunch box and book tight to your chest, you looked around the hall for a spare seat.  Normally, you and Nora would sit together to eat your lunch and then go to the library, but to make a bad day even worse Nora was away from school today.  You had spent a solid 5 minutes looking for her, but according to a student in her class she’d had to stay home because she a nasty tummy bug.

The hall was quickly filling up as students grabbed their hot meals or lunch boxes and sat down at their chosen tables.  It quickly became apparent that the only spot left was one on the end of a table filled with some of the children who didn’t like you.  You’d spent so long looking for Nora, you’d been left with no other option.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

With a deep breath, you headed over to the table.  You sat quietly in the seat, hoping you would go unnoticed.

You didn’t.

“Why you sitting with us, Y/K?  Isn’t there anyone else you can sit with?” Jessica asked as you unzipped your lunch box.  You just shook your head in response.  A chorus of grumbles followed from the rest of the kids sitting at the table.

“Eww yuck, why does she have to sit with us?”  

“Where’s her weirdo friend?”

“Maybe she can sit on the floor instead.”

You just tried to tune them out, grabbing a sandwich out of your lunch box to munch on.  Your first bite was interrupted when the boy sitting beside you, Max, nudged you.

“Hey, were those your new Mums who brought you into school today?”

You hastily swallowed your sandwich, wanting to explain. “They’re my-” It was no use.  The group quickly began announcing their thoughts on the matter before you had a chance to correct them.

“Two Mums?  How can someone have TWO Mums?  That’s not right.”

“Yeah, my Dad says that it’s disgusting when two boys or two girls are married or kiss and stuff!”

“Oh yeah, like, have you ever saw two lads kiss? It’s weird!”

“I saw two ladies kissing when my Pop took me to the football last week.  He said they were going straight to hell!”

“As if she wasn’t weird enough, now she’s got two Mums too!”

Something inside you snapped, and you found yourself with your fists clenched and your cheeks red, Bailey long forgotten in your pocket.

“Yeah, well, they’re not my Mums, they’re my Aunties.  And they’re really nice and really clever and super cool.  And they play football for England, and and for the red and white club with the cannon!  And my Aunty Leah is the captain and everything! So that’s cooler than any of your families, ever!”

There was a short silence before they all started laughing.

“Girl’s football!  That doesn’t count!”

“That’s not real football!”

“Arsenal!  Pfffft.”

“I can’t wait to tell my Dad about this.”

“One of them looked pregnant when I saw them outside the office.  There’s no way they let her play like that!”

“That’s why they shouldn’t let girls play!”

“Wait, how is she having a baby if there’s no Daddy to put the baby in her?”

Whilst the rest of the comments had begun to muddle together and fade into the background as you tuned them all out, this last one pierced through.  Your head shot back in the direction of Jessica, the girl who had asked the question.  She was looking straight at you with her eyes squinted, twirling a strand of her hair around her pointer finger.

You hadn’t ever stopped to think about this.  To be honest you’d never really been interested in where babies came from.  You knew that whilst it varied from breed to breed, bunnies were pregnant for an average of 31 days and had litters of babies.  You also knew that humans usually only had one baby at a time and they were pregnant for around 9 months.  But you didn’t know how either bunnies or humans became pregnant.  Honestly, you were stumped.

“Guess you didn’t learn that in any of your stupid books, huh? Loser.”

[cazort]

I think you've hit some of the big factors but not all of them.

I think a major factor driving people to Trump is reaction to left-wing extremism during the 2010's, so-called "cancel culture". My one friend who is a Trump supporter is like this. He had a bunch of people gang up on him and totally demonize him. Some of their criticisms were fair criticisms of bad things he had done, but that he had apologized for and he thought they had been resolved. He lost his entire social circle minus a few isolated friends like me who did not cut him off. It was traumatizing for him.

My neighbor, who is very liberal, has a son who is also a Trump supporter and he also became such a supporter because he got "cancelled". In his case, he made a single problematic comment about race publicly on social media. He was a freelance photographer. A whole bunch of people ganged up on him almost instantly and destroyed his professional reputation almost overnight. Again, he was traumatized. He moved back home with his parents.

Both of these people ended up going deep down right-wing rabbit holes. The right-wingers spoke to these people and empathized with their pain and listened to their concerns while the left bullied, condemned, and cut them off. It seems totally understandable to me that these people fell into right-wing circles based on how they were treated.

The thing is, each of these people did something wrong. But the mob's reaction to them was disproportionate, and it was condemning not supportive. Completely ruining someone's professional reputation and destroying their source of livelihood is not a proportionate reaction to making a single comment that people perceived as racist. And bringing up bad things a person has done in their past, that they had fully apologized for and thought were resolved, is not even remotely healthy in terms of ways to communicate and act. Even if the original action was quite bad. Neither of these reactions helped the person in any way shape or form to learn or grow.

For every extreme case like this, there are hundreds if not thousands of minor cases.

One thing that I think has driven people away from the left is identity politics, specifically, the way the left does not embrace principles of "treat people equally regardless of their identity" but rather, has embraced ideas where certain groups are labeled "privileged" and others "oppressed" or "marginalized", and the left's general ethic is to give the marginalized groups more of a voice. Special treatment, so to speak. The worst is when people start feeling license to insult or talk down to people in the privileged group. I've been saying for years that targeting privileged groups with hate always ends up hurting marginalized groups the most.

I wrote that post 8 years ago. Not enough people have read it. It only has 24 reblogs. Seriously. You want to figure out why Trump won and prevent this sort of thing from happening again? Read that post. Reflect. Internalize it. Reblog it. Make new material that communicates the same ideas in your own voice. I'm wordy and make these long text posts that don't reach everyone...find new ways to communicate it that will reach others.

Seriously, people, we have a lot of work to do. The nation is hurting and it's not just the people who voted for Harris. The whole Trump movement is a big giant ball of hurt and if we can't see that and can't work to heal those people we will never get ourselves out of this mess.

If Harris loses, please try blaming real issues (Republican-driven voter suppression and intimidation tactics; billionaire-funded Trump-PAC’s and propaganda machines; a broken electoral system that hinges presidential elections on a dozen or so states instead of a simple popular vote; or the Democratic Party’s fumbled opportunities to respond to things like the corporate greed driven cost of living crisis, the housing shortage, the medical debt and healthcare accessibility crisis, the ongoing climate disaster, and the ongoing genocide in Palestine) instead of doing the Right’s job for them by blaming folks like climate protestors, Antizionist and pro-Palestine activists, Black and Brown people, jaded millennials living paycheck to paycheck, and tumblr users with an audience ⅛ the size of the average Christofascist MegaChurch Congregation.

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

my bad (paige x reader)

summary: paige accidentally hits you with a basketball and she feels bad so tries to make it up to you.

content warnings: none!

requested by: anon 💗

It was a warm summers evening in Storrs and there was nothing you and your roommate enjoyed more than ending your day with frozen yogurt.

You had walked to the dessert shop on campus, excited for your sweet treats but there was an unusually long line for this time off the evening. There was a group of girls outside of the shop and as you got closer, you recognised them as the womens basketball team.

There was six of them and all of their faces were familiar. Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd, Ice Brady, KK Arnold and two freshmen that, admittedly you didn’t know the names of. They had a ball in tow that they were bouncing and throwing to one another and every now and then, the ball would be dropped and it would roll away and one of them would scramble after it. You giggle as you watch the scene unfold, KK shoving herself into Paige, playfully trying steal the ball from her.

The team was somewhat famous on and off campus. They were the most successful womens basketball program in the nation with the longest winning streaks in college basketball, period. And more recently, the current team had shot to fame on social media and you could see why. Tall, muscular, athletic. The appeal was obvious.

You had been to a few games over your years at UConn and often saw the girls around campus and they seemed nice enough so you had no problem with how boisterous they were being while you waited in line.

“Be honest. Smash or pass?” Your Khloe asks you, catching your gaze focused on the athletes.

“Which one?” You ask back.

“I don’t know, any…the blondie?” She says pointing to Paige and you slap her hand down not wanting them to see her point.

“I don’t know.” You say but you do know and your roommate does too.

“Yes you do. That’s your type all over.” She teases and she’s right. That was your type. Tall, blonde, light eyes, athletic, there was no denying Paige Bueckers was your type.

“Whatever.”

“So…smash or pass?”

“Smash.” You say and your roommate grins but before can even roll your eyes in response, you literally get smashed, right in the face.

You’re thrown off balance and stumble back at the impact before you steady yourself.

“Paige!”

Your eyes are screwed shut as a sharp, stinging sensation spreads over your left cheek, that hurt like a bitch.

“Oh my God! My bad ma, I’m so sorry.” You feel two hands land on your shoulders and when you open your eyes, it takes a second for your vision to clear. When it does, you’re met with Paige, inches away from you, hands on your shoulders, a sorry look on her face.

“Does it hurt?” She asks, bringing her hand up to your face to angle it so she can get a better look at her handy work. Your cheek felt like it was on fire, it was definitely red as hell right now.

Your head spun and you wasn’t sure whether it was because of the unexpected impact or because of the beautiful, blue eyed girl with her hand on your face.

“A little.” You squeak out.

“I am so sorry, I feel so bad. You should ice it. I should get you ice. Where can I get ice? Someone get some ice!” Paige rambles out and you laugh at her frenzied words.

“It’s OK. I’ll survive.” You reassure her and she seems to calm down.

“Your frozen yogurt is on me.” She tell you and you shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do. I just threw a ball in your face.” She chuckles, finally dropping her hands from your face and shoulder.

“Well, when you put it like that...” You respond, rubbing your cheek in hopes to defuse the pain.

The line moved quick and soon, Paige and her friends were at the counter making their orders and you were up next. Paige insisted on standing beside you until you had ordered, even when her friends went to sit at a table, just so she could keep her promise and pay for you.

“Could we also get a bag of ice for the pretty lady?” Paige interjects after you give your order, “I accidentally smacked her face with my ball.” She over explains and once again brings her hands up to turn your face to the server so he can see the mark, “Look.” She says but the guy behind the counter looks like he couldn’t care less. “I don’t need ice, it’s fine.” You insist and he gets on, adding your chosen toppings to your frozen yogurt.

You’re thankful for your red cheek because the way Paiges slender, slightly calloused fingers held your face so gently and the use of the pet name pretty lady made you blush, hard. You had been single for longer than you’d like to admit so at this point you were touch starved and Paige was feeding you.

She had already started eating her frozen yogurt and as you glanced up at her to thank her for paying, you notice a blob of it on her cheek.

“Um-you- you kinda have…” You point at her face, “some yogurt right here.”

You hate to admit it but you’re mesmerised by the way she flicks out her tongue and wiggles it, trying to swipe the yogurt away.

“It’s still there.” You inform her and she dips her head down, more to your level, “Do you mind?”

Does this girl seriously want me to wipe her face? You thought to yourself.

“Come on, I don’t bite.” She chuckles so you take your finger and wipe the yogurt away, “There.” You say, her face now clean and her next movement makes you raise your brows, taken aback. Her mouth is open, tongue poking out ever so slightly, she wants to lick the yogurt off your finger.

“Seriously?” You ask shocked at her brazen attitude, “You don’t know where my fingers have been.”

“I can only dream.” She smirks and takes it upon herself to guide your finger to her mouth, licking it clean.

“You’re so nasty.” You playfully shove her shoulder.

“A nasty girl who pays for your yogurt.” She says taking your order from the server and handing it to you.

“For real, thank you.” You smile genuinely.

“For real, I’m sorry.” She replies and you tell her it’s fine before turning to leave the store, Khloe waiting for you by the door.

“You’re not sitting in?” Paige asks making you turn around to face her again.

“No, we have…a spot.” You say, referring to yours and Khloes favourite place to eat on campus.

“Ohh, a spot?”

“Mhm.” You nod, taking a spoon full of frozen yogurt into your mouth.

“Where is this spot?”

“I’m gatekeeping.” You tease and Paige pouts exaggeratedly, “Maybe I’ll show you one time.” You offer not actually knowing why you said that and you immediately cringe.

But Paige agrees, “Deal.” She says, holding out her hand for you shake and you do. For someone you only really met a few minutes ago, her hands have been on you quite a bit.

You begin walking to Khloe and by the grin on her face, you know what the topic of conversation will be this evening.

“Wait, how can I reach you?” Paige calls after you, “If it’s meant to be, it will be.” You call back, turning your head to look at the girl one last time.

“I don’t even know your name!”

You shout out your first and last name as you walk out of the shop.

“Did blondie just suck your finger?!” Khloe whisper screams once the door closes behind you.

You laugh, “It was more of a lick.” You say matter of factly.

“But her finger was in your mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Wow…slutting it up in the Fro-Yo shop. That’s the most action you’ve got all semester.” Khloe jokes.

“Alrighttt, not to much on me and my sex life. I’m going through a drought.” You defend yourself.

“Well, from where I was standing, it’s due to get pretty wet.”

“Shut up!”

You and Khloe head to your favourite spot and eat your frozen yogurt like you did most nights. Side by side on the grass, watching the sunset.

Your phone pings from in your pocket and you pull it out seeing a notification from Instagram.

paigebueckers started following you.

Another notification came through almost instantly.

paigebueckers: its meant to be

“Damn, she’s quick.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: please let me know if you have any requests, id be happy to do them! 💋

[bunnys-kisses]

the dnf club (vol. 4)

lance stroll

tags: smut/pwp, brazil gp '24, mating press, car sex, breast play, hickies & bites, semi-public sex, dirty talk, mentions of children

a/n: thank you for the warm reception for the others in this little series! i'm always open to hearing about what ideas you may have. my inbox is open <3

carlos edition // franco edition // alex edition // nico edition

you know this was defeating for lance. the kind of defeating that left you feeling horrible for your boyfriend. while he wasn't going to win the wdc, it was important to have a good season. and when you watched the red flag be drawn and him hauled back to the paddock. you only knew how to be there for him.

while he seated to cool off, you pressed yourself up against him. the level he was at meant that your breasts were in his face. and while it was an innocent action. lance grabbed your ass when no one was looking. you knew what would happen tonight, to get the anger out from a shitty performance.

you two barely got to the car before lance was all over you. he practically guided you into the backseat. the car was in a far part of the parking lot and with tinted windows. it was a tad cramped back there but you two would make due. especially when lance got his hands on you.

"you really are my number one fan, huh? but i guess you're much more than that. you're everything to me." he pushed up your t-shirt to expose your bra underneath. a black lacy number that made the blood rush south for lance, "anything i want, you give. quite an admirable thing." he got the bra off of you and his mouth on your chest. he tongue grazed across your nipples. he gave them both attention before he started to leave heavy marks across your chest.

he wanted to mark you. he wanted to see pretty bruises on your chest that'll last for days on end. and when they faded, he would just add more. he felt the disappointment of such a horrible loss. he didn't even get a place in the race, he couldn't complete it. and it made emotion swirl in his gut as he rubbed your thigh. soon enough you got your jeans off and your panties. you were left naked in the backseat with your lover at the track.

"you look prettier with my marks." he said as he pressed one of the bruises on your collarbone, "the kind of pretty that makes me go crazy. thank you, thank you." he groaned, "for letting me take out all the anger."

you cupped his face and looked into his dark eyes, you said to him, "you'd never actually hurt me, lance. so i'm not worried." then kissed him square on the mouth. you helped him out of his jeans and his aston martin t-shirt. you were pressed into the back corner of the backseat with your taller boyfriend crowded in your space. he took you by the legs and pressed them into your chest.

it allowed him to hit your pussy at just the right area, exposed in the air of the car. slowly the windows started to fog up as he sank into you. his cock really did hit every right place inside of you. the blunt head rubbed up against your g-spot as he started to move his hips up against your ass.

and then like butter over popcorn, the anger melted off of his shoulders. he groaned as he rutted against you. while it wasn't the more comfortable position, it was enough to get the two of you going. you felt the fire in your gut as he moved against you.

"fuck, baby." he said as he worked his hips against you, "you feel like a dream under me." his words were tense as pleasure combed through his body. there was something about you that just got him riled up. even on his worst days, he still had you. he had all of you. he allowed himself to bask in what made you amazing and fuck you until he got his fill. he could feel the pleasure on his tongue and seep into his blood.

you whined, "please, lance. we have to be quiet." then felt him hit just the right spots that made you tense up and moan. your bruised nipples got hard and the additional feeling made the pleasure run faster through you.

the air of the car got warm as the two of you moved together. the sex was hot and with your knees to your chest the pleasure only got more intense.

"next year.' you panted, "it'll go great. you'll get them next time." you moaned as lance continued to thrust up against you in just the right way. you felt the hammer in your chest as he continued to fuck you with heavy thrusts.

"it will." he said, "and then we'll celebrate the victory. you, me and a nice hotel bed. maybe some champagne, maybe i'll even tie you up." he chuckled, "i bet you'd love that. if i took my belt and put it around those pretty wrists."

you clenched around him and he got his answer. he continued to fuck you, bully the blunt head of his cock against your most softest areas. he knew exactly how to make you feel good. let the dirty words come off his tongue. you whined and he chuckled lowly.

"ah, i bet you'd love that. even if i lost next year. you'd still let me mark up your little body. let me ruin that sweet fucking cunt." he groaned, "fuck, you feel amazing. you know i'd give you anything you needed or wanted. everything i have is yours. and everything you have in mine." he shuddered with a heavy want as he continued to fuck you achy cunt.

the sounds of sex filled the car, and the scent of sweat paired with it. the car rocked a little as he moved and you tried to meet his thrusts. his weight pressed on you as he had you in a mating press. your pussy exposed in the low light coming from the parking garage. the sight of you under him was beautiful. you were so perfect for him, you'd happily give yourself over to him at any chance. let him use that sweet cunt for stress relief.

"fuck, lance." you moaned as the pace was picked up. you knew you weren't going to last much longer. the pleasure was a thick throb in your head as he fucked you. his lips captured any skin he could find. trailed them across your cheeks and jaw. he even laid a small hickey on the curve of your jawbone. which made you grow even more wet.

he gave a few more thrusts because he slammed his entire length into your achy cunt and finished inside of you. but he wasn't going to leave you without pleasure. he continued to rut up against you. he could feel the fire in his gut as he moved against you. your noises got a bit ore higher pitched as you felt the slam of pleasure inside of your needy core.

you whimpered and whined as he continued to rut up against you. he fucked you through your orgasm, and even a second orgasm for himself. he made sure that not a drop was wasted as he slowed to a stop. he pulled out and when your hips dropped, a bit of his cum got onto the leather of the seated.

you both panted heavily. lance eyed your naked body. you looked at him and his dark eyes soon lingered on you. he pulled you in for another heated kiss and you knew this wasn't going to be the only round tonight. you just hoped that the rest of them would be somewhere a little more comfortable.

-

you watched lance pull into second place at the 2025 brazil grand prix. you stood with the rest of the team and when he crossed the finish line, everyone cheered. and you looked to the baby in your arms.

he was sound asleep despite his father's near victory. your little escapade in the backseat of the car led to the eventually birth of your son three months ago. he was asleep in your arm, ears covered with noise cancelling headphones while lance was having a stellar season.

"he did it, daddy got podium." you whispered to your son.

you kissed the baby on his round little face and heard lance over the radio. you knew this year would be better, and that was becoming fact. <3

[theminecraftbee]

I did things and it didn’t work. I knocked on doors and handed out flyers and got people to vote. It all meant nothing. I’m exhausted.

first: for what it's worth i don't think it was for nothing. if nothing else, it means that you and the people you worked with tried. that you cared enough to do that. i don't know. i think we'd all be even more upset if no one had done it.

second: when i say "do something" i don't mean it as a moral imperative, as to imply you haven't done something. a lot of us have done something. i mean it for your own sake. from experience: i wanted to die the most in my life when i could not find anything to do about my situation. when i felt like there was nothing i could "do something" about. i felt helpless. right now, it's easy to feel helpless. the "do something" commandment is that if you find something to do, even if it's not much, you're going to escape that pit of despair.

third: the thing you "do", frankly, doesn't have to be what you've been doing. if you hate the dems right now or feel abandoned by the things you did, change what you're doing. maybe what you need right now is something like "driving fruit to your local food kitchen", even if that feels very, very small in the wake of everything, because it's something you can do that you will be able to see measurable impacts for. your "do" can be to bring soup to your siblings. your "do" can be to go over to a friend's and hug them. your "do" can be as simple as a donation. you don't have to be firing on all cylinders, and you don't have to do something big that will fix everything right now. trying to hard to focus on that will just lead to more despair. it's more about the doing.

four: a thing i've done for a long time that's helped me when i feel helpless is make a list of things i CAN do. that way, even if i'm too tired right now to do them, i know i can. when i feel like i am trapped, i have a list. i can follow the list. i know there are actions i can take. i know that i haven't exhausted everything yet.

five: "do something" is a long-term proposition. for now it is fine if you simply need to lie down and rest. the key is just not to lie down to die.

six: because it's not over. it never has been. it never will be. it never is. the trial never ends, whether we win or lose. kinda sucks sometimes! but it's also what is, and it means there's always more that can be done as well. even when it seems like there's not.

[plutoasteroids]

In Another Life- PAC

PILE 1 PILE 2 PILE 3

This reading is allegedly for entertainment purposes only. I am not responsible for any choices made in accordance to my readings!

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, G@MBLING AND G@NG AFFILIATON READ AT YOUR OWN RISK YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

This reading is to find out who your past life lover was

PILE 1

Your past life lover was someone very in control, they had a desire to always protect and be the one to bear all the burdens regardless of if they were male or female. This person felt like home to you they may be coming back as your lover again in this past life there is a soul tie between you both. Anyways, they have a lot of inner strength nothing really tore them down they constantly thrived to be better and honestly most of the time things never worked out for them but they never gave up they kept going, they were always so confident and held themselves with high regard no one could point anything out that could be remotely awful about your person, they were quite likable and attractive and was always the leader never the follower. In this lifetime they are bound to continue striving to be the leader and keep doing the best they can while also balancing being human as in letting themselves feel their emotions instead of living life like they are a robot.

For some of you it could be in the 1800's, In this lifetime they are born in the 90's or you were born in the 90's but 90's holds significance. England, Paris, Germany specifically Berlin, Japan, Switzerland

PILE 2

Your past life lover was very resourceful they could always turn a situation good or bad in their favour. they are quite smart and cunning, they were the type to run circles around you without you realising until the very end that they tricked you. Because of their ability to be able to talk themselves out of a situation they felt like they didn't need to work for anything. They could just trick anyone into doing whatever. They could have used any means necessary to get their way like their appearance and words which honestly may have led to a lot of issues for them down the line especially financially because eventually people caught up to what they were doing and in a way they were shunned and they needed to find a way to turn things around and change and I don't think they managed to do that in that last lifetime so in this new lifetime they will have to learn to be more humble and hard working instead of using deception to get their way. For some of you there is a chance that you will be with them again this lifetime but for the majority it's very unlikely.

(Bonnie and Clyde as well as Elvis Presly could point to just time eras not that they were affiliated with them but who knows maybe they could have)

England, early to mid 1900's, Elvis Presley, Bonnie and Clyde, France, Germany, World War 1, Cambridge, G@mbling, g@ng affiliation.

PILE 3

Your past life lover was constantly burdened by one thing or another mostly relating to not having enough money to do something else. Your past life lover may have been a sailor or fisherman and passed away quite young. Whatever they tried to do to make ends meet never seemed to work for them it was just loss after loss. They worked so hard with absolutely nothing to show for it after all that hard work and it was such a frustrating situation for everyone involved because they were always plagued by poverty and never having enough. At the end of the day when all that hard work was over their only source of happiness or peace was YOU. Things never seemed as awful with you around. Things did eventually get better, but it was a long and treacherous battle to getting to that stability and unfortunately, they didn't live long enough to enjoy it. They were plagued by illness at a young age and passed. Unfortunately, in this lifetime I don't see them being your future spouse.

Ancient Greece, Egypt and Rome, Papyrus, boats, tan skin, white, gold

[strawberrystepmom]

bnha ending fix it fic. healing!tomura who goes by tenko x f!reader. reader has a defined quirk (magnetism) and is referred to using the nickname sparkles. | word count: 2.3k reading time: 8 minutes

When a knock echoes through your small apartment, you’re up and running to the door before you are even oriented enough to figure out what’s going on.

You fell asleep at your desk. Again. Probably slumped over halfway through the last audit you vaguely remember working on which was for the Ingenium agency. It’s easy to lose track of time when you spend it stapled to your tablet and work bench, fretting over how to make the country you now call home safer. 

A second knock rings and you groan softly, stepping toward the door as fast as you can in a half awake and partially dressed state. Your tank top straps sag off of your shoulders, one of your socks has disappeared but there’s no time to search for it.

The door is in view. You twist the lock to unlatch it, pulling the door open. Blinking to adjust your eyes, they widen before you can think.

“Tenko?”

The dark haired man stands in front of you, clad in a hooded sweatshirt and dark colored sweatpants indicating he likely just got off patrol alongside Deku. There’s still around 6 months until he’s released from the fellow hero’s watchful eyes to act on his own though the prior 6 passed far more quickly than he expected. It turns out this hero stuff isn’t so bad.

He won’t meet your eyes, hands shoved into his pockets, obviously chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“Are you okay?” You ask in a rush, opening the door wider to invite him in. 

His eyes further avert their gaze toward something that must be very interesting on the corner of your building. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, awkwardly. 

“I, uh…is this a bad time?”

Shaking your head, you wave your hand over the space created so that he can enter the practical hovel you call home. He doesn’t look at you while he slips inside, careful not to touch you in any way as he passes, practically melding with the wall. 

“I hate to ask again since clearly you aren’t,” you begin once his back has turned and he’s slowly started making his way toward your workbench stationed in the living room. “But are you okay? Did something happen?”

There’s no response for a beat. The man clears his throat, looking over his shoulder before quickly averting his face forward again. 

“You’re…I thought maybe I interrupted something since you’re barely dressed.”

You look down to realize you’re wearing nothing on your lower half but your scandalously small underwear. There’s no sense in making a big deal out of it so you shrug although he can’t see it, padding back into the main living area to join him. 

“I mean, I was asleep but you didn’t interrupt that because I would have been up in a little bit anyway.”

Stopping, you take a moment to admire the outline of him illuminated by your desk lamp, the strenuous routine required by a hero clearly doing him some good as far as you can tell. His hair is healthy, his frame is broad, and he turns his face to look over his shoulder at you once again. 

“I’m alright though.”

Smiling at his confirmation that everything is as it should be, you pick your pace back up and slide into your stool while he leans against the side of your bench. You engage your quirk, Magnetism, as a reflex and a stray bolt sticks to your arm. 

The faintest hint of a smile comes across his face, now turned downward in your direction. You disengage your quirk with a sigh, the sound of metal dropping back down to metal accompanying it. The screen on your tablet lights up when you look down at it, the time across it in large white numbers. 

2:15 AM.

“I can see why you were worried you’d interrupted something, these are booty call hours after all.” 

You joke, twisting back and forth on the stool and looking up at him through your lashes. 

“So are you here for business or pleasure, Entropy?”

He’s too used to that look, full of appraisal and perhaps a bit of interest, but he never wants to read too much into it. Especially not right now while you’re scantily clad, an eyeful of what lies under your shirt no more than a simple shift in glance away, and indiscriminately running your mouth.

Tenko looks away, cheeks warming. Hands that were buried deep in his pockets are now tucked into the crook of the opposite arm where they’re folded over his chest. 

He has visited your apartment multiple times since the first night he formally met you at Izuku’s. The pair of heroes stop by when they’re in the neighborhood or come by to chat if they’re off patrol, usually being joined by Deku’s girlfriend if she can be pulled away from her clinical studies for long enough to come and giggle for a couple hours. 

“I had some issues with my gear tonight and wanted to have you look at it.”

It’s the worst excuse possible but it’s the best one he could come up with on the fly. 

“Oh. You should’ve just said so,” you continue to mutter to yourself while unlocking your tablet. 

Truthfully, he has no idea why he’s here. Some pull in his chest told him to go the opposite direction when walking home to clear his head so he followed it, landing right at your doorstep and standing outside of the door, too anxious to knock, for longer than he’d ever admit. 

Scrolling through the diagnostics app, you gnaw at your bottom lip and jiggle your sockless foot. You squint at the screen because he knows you need glasses and don’t have them on, probably due to the abruptness of his visit. There are all these little things about you that become impossible to ignore when it’s just the two of you.

“Ah! There you are. Let’s see.” You excitedly sing, while wiggling your fingers. He watches with a smile, so soft he may even just be imagining the feeling of it in his facial muscles.

Everything about you makes him feel…inexplicable. 

The unfortunate truth that he doesn’t know how to face is that your place has become one he associates with safety and warmth, something the grown man four years your senior fears he’ll always seek out no matter how distant Tomura becomes from who he is now. 

Tonight wasn’t a hard night but he didn’t want to be alone, pacing until adrenaline finally slowed down and let him sleep.

How unlike him. 

You hum and continue to orate to yourself, squinting at charts he couldn’t even pretend to get. How you manage to do all of this, accurately, safely, and without breaking a sweat, is truly amazing. 

“It says everything is fine. Can you tell me what issues you were having?” 

Sitting up, you fold your arms over your chest and swing back and forth on the stool. He watches you turn small half circles, realizing he may have been caught. Smiling up at him, you raise a brow. 

“My wrist cuffs felt tighter than usual I guess but that might not be an issue you can fix,” he mumbles, trying to explain himself in any way that he can to cover his lie. 

Rather than torture him by forcing him to dig this little hole he’s found himself in deeper, you change the subject. 

“Have you eaten tonight?” You ask, brow quirked. 

He shakes his head. It was a busy shift and he doesn’t have a lovely girlfriend at home to make bentos with him like Deku does and he managed all evening on the half assed late lunch he packed for himself that was mostly made up of the type of shit he used to eat when he was still Tomura. It’s hard to learn to take care of yourself. 

“Alright. Let me see what I can find to make.” 

You stand, walking into the kitchen. Glancing over your shoulder, it’s hard not to get caught up in how intimate this feels. Your face warms and so does your belly, floored by how handsome Tenko really is in that low light that envelops his profile. 

There’s no way your work would’ve failed him tonight. It means too much that it works well

“Next time, come up with a better excuse. Or just text me and tell me you wanna come over.”

You confirm that he has been caught, literally and figuratively. He debates showing himself the exit but instead follows you into the kitchen. There’s no point in backing away now. His heavy footsteps echo after yours while you dig through the fridge and continue to hum, bopping your head along to a completely made up song. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Glancing over your shoulder while pulling out a carton of tofu, you nod at his question. He keeps his eyes as averted as he can, floored by how exposed you are now that you’re not in a dimly lit room, and clears his throat.

“Why do they call you Sparkles? Is it a hero name or something?”

Snorting, you shake your head and shut the fridge. Making your way to the counter that he leans against, you look up at him and slowly start to get to work while contemplating how to best answer the question.

“I’m surprised the Midoriya’s haven’t told you that story,” you joke about Izuku and his girlfriend as one, despite the formality of marriage not yet being completed. 

“I’ve never really asked them.”

Tenko has asked Izuku many other questions about you, namely about the nature of your friendship with Lemillion and how close you two really are.

“They just like each other’s attention,” Deku comforted his unlikely friend with a pat on the back the last time the entire group of you went out and Tenko watched the blonde man hug you a little too tightly. 

But beyond that, he has managed to feel you out himself. Perhaps against his better judgment and here he is again, desperate to learn a little more. 

“Well when I was a third year my final project to graduate from the support course was a glitter bomb.” 

You finally start, finishing chopping one item and moving onto the next. 

Graduation came not long after the Meta War ended. The project was something you’d worked tirelessly on for months before that, a sophisticated piece of equipment with a state of the art fireless ignition. Safety has always been the reason you wanted to invent and this was a golden opportunity to invent something that had no possible chance of hurting its user. No backfiring, no risk. 

“Honestly, nobody really found the invention that funny except for me given, you know…” you wave your knifeless hand around and raise your eyebrows hoping he gets the message without being insulted. 

Tenko tilts his head to the side, unfolding his arms and bracing them on the edge of the countertop. He picks up what you mean and doesn’t wish to pull the thread, eyes darting from his feet to your hand and back.

“But long story short, Hatsume told me once that they are still cleaning glitter out of the 3A classroom carpets and now everyone calls me Sparkles. I ended up selling the schematics to the support item manufacturer that one of my other classmates works for so it worked out.”

The lack of response worries you although it’s a bit silly to care in the first place. You don’t want his presence to be impermanent but you know that once his time trailing Deku around like a puppy is through, it’s likely he’ll never stop by again. It’s something you’ve kind of resigned yourself to over the last several months after finding yourself a little too invested in what you can do to bring a smile to that handsome face that looks a little more lively every day.

That’s a concern for a few months from now. You’ve always prided yourself on the ability to live in the moment so here you are, choosing to ignore an uncertain future to embrace what’s right next to you.

With an exaggerated sigh, you gather up a pile of green onions with the back of your hand and look up at him with a wry half smile. “Why did you think they called me Sparkles?”

Shrugging, he smiles down at you.

“Guess I always thought it was because of your personality.” 

Biting back a smile, your cheeks warm while you drop the tofu and a bunch of sauces into a now hot pan. 

“You really think I sparkle?”

Chuckling, he lifts himself away from the counter and walks to your other side to gently shake the handle of the frying pan. 

“I think there’s no way you don’t already know that about yourself.”

No sense in arguing with a man who is right. Giggling, you reach for the frying pan handle and gently shove him with your shoulder.

“Hey, you’re my guest. Let me handle it.”

Side stepping, he finds himself looking downward at the slope of your back and once again at your very visible derrière. That same ache that led him to your front door returns, his mouth drying out as he realizes it. 

Why does he feel comfortable enough to stand here? Is progress, improvement even, supposed to feel this terrifying?

“Go sit down Ten,” you nod toward the living area with a smile. “I can handle it.”

Ten.

It has been a long time since someone he considered a friend called him that. He doesn’t recall anyone he’d ever considered more than saying it. 

“And what if I stay right here?” He asks, smiling when you look over your shoulder at him again. 

Is he flirting with you?

“Then I won’t stop you.”

[heavypressure]

I'm very familiar with constipation, even week-long clogs are a usual occurrence to me. By the end of such week I'm already used to the heavy amount of waste and churning gases in my swollen guts, but it usually ends there with me finally being able to go to the bathroom and empty my bowels, my belly shrinking back to it's normal size. But not this time... I don't know what exactly caused it, but it's been 9 days since my last successful unloading.

I'm sitting in my cubicle at work, my thoughts fixated on my abnormally full middle. My belly looked 7 months pregnant at this point, so tightly packed with waste, gas and food that there was almost no movement inside. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt either so far, just heavy discomfort from all of the weight pulling my belly down, and extreme bloating that began from the fermenting waste deep in my lower intestines.

I gave up on buttoning up my pants a few days ago, forced to expose my lower belly, which was the most round and tight part so far Embarrassed, i decided that i need to take action, but was scared of taking laxatives right away, with blockage that big i was afraid i will literally burst..

I'm probably just not getting enough fiber, so I'm gonna fix it today, and this situation will be finally over!

I came home from work and started working on several smoothies and salads, making sure to add prunes to everything. I figured just one drink wouldn't be enough, so i needed to cram another big meal in my already overfilled stomach... Burping loudly, i chugged another prune smoothie, my poor guts stretching painfully this time. I moaned and rubbed my rock-hard belly, telling myself to hold on just a little bit more. After finishing my meal, i slowly waddled to the bed, exhausted from the painful stuffing, but hopeful that my plan will work.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a dull pain in my guts. I opened my eyes, and was instantly horrified: my belly looked ready to burst, even rounder than it was before i went to bed, gas roaring loud inside my clogged guts and sending vibrations through my whole body... Well, it seems my fiber idea worked?...

I got up and a loud BBWOOUURRP was forced oit of my mouth uncontrollably, releasing just a tiniest bit of the pressure inside. I waddled to the bathroom and plopped on the toilet, gently rubbing my enormously stretched gut and observing the damage that was done to it over a week ... Oh god, i could see some stretch marks formed near my belly button, how embarrassing... But this is finally going to be over now,...right?

I sat on the toilet for over an hour, listening to my bubbling cauldron of a stomach, trying to push anything i could out, but .. nothing came out but a few tiny (but very rancid) farts... The bubbling soon stopped, and i was left with an even bigger stomach than i had before... Now i had all of the gas that formed from my huge fibre meal stuck inside of my intestines, unable to find it's way out and only bloating me further. I got up and immediately felt every single gas bubble inside, gas cramps shooting through my whole body... Great, i only made everything worse... I waddled to bed again, maybe my belly just needs more time?... Hopefully the next morning things will finally get going....

I woke up feeling like a blimp. Thankfully it seems my belly hasn't gotten any bigger, but it definitely hasn't gotten any smaller too. Over this night i managed to go from looking 7mo pregnant to looking slightly overdue. Thankfully the pain died down significantly, and the noises occured only if i made some sudden movements

Unfortunately i still had to go to work, abd there was no way I'd fit in my regular work trousers this time... I looked around for some old sweatpants, embarrassing and slobby choice, but still better than going out naked

I could feel the mass inside my belly jiggle and grumble with every step i took, but i hoped that maybe agitating my belly more would help it.

I was definitely getting some weird looks at work, some people asking what happened to me. I was too embarrassed to answer that I'm just overfilled with gas and shit, so i tried to change the topic and get back to work so the day would go by faster.

Even i was overwhelmingly full, i still felt intense hunger after not eating anything for the whole day at work.... I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't eat until i deal with my massive constipation, but thought that a small quick snack wouldn't hurt...

While eating a cheeseburger and washing it down with coke, i decided that i should finally try a laxative, no matter how much it scared me.

It was embarrassing, asking for the strongest laxative at the pharmacy, while my balloon of a gut was hanging out for all to see, probably telling the whole story.

I got home and downed several pills instantly, not even reading the instructions. I tried to relax while i waited for the laxative to work.

After an hour, it finally kicked in .. The intense bubbling in my stomach could be heard throughout the whole room, and i felt my guts inflating once more. I went to the bathroom,sat there and massaged my tight gut, letting out a few rancid burps and farts. This gave me hope, finally I'll be back to my normal self!.. I could feel the diarrhea bubbling with gas in my bowels, my stomach roaring with needing to be finally emptied... I pushed and pushed, but the enormous rock-hard log in my ass just wouldn't budge, only allowing for small farts to slip out... i was desperate, it can't be all in vain! I clutched my belly and continued to push, belly still bubbling with gas, but not getting any smaller..

After it seems like two hours with no results, the movement in my belly began to calm down , seemingly ending my chance to let anything out... I was exhausted, my distended middle only seeming even bigger than before... What can i do now?.. am i doomed to bloat and swell further and further?

I waddled to bed again, noticing that i got used to the gas pains, and it didn't bother me that much... My stomach was so swollen, but at the same time, i couldn't deny that it felt somewhat good... Feeling such heaviness, being inflated from the inside, with no way out of this predicament.

One thing that laxatives also do, is they make me really hungry. And i got a day off tomorrow, so ....

One month later....

--GHHHUUOORRRP - Day 29 of my week-off! It feels so good to relax at home, even though i soon need to get back to work.... somehow

Empty paper fast-food bags and wrappers cover the whole floor of my living room. I sit on the couch in the middle, but you can barely see me behind the huge sphere of flesh that's covered with sweat and stretch marks. By the look of an outie belly button, you can guess that this is what became of my belly... My sides are bulging with build-up gas, all that i can feel inside is immense pressure and heaviness from the weeks-worth of food that i crammed inside of my guts. My clothes are of course long gone by now...

Turns out, being constipated for month and a half isn't as bad as it seems to be ...

[nadvs]

Do you think even though obx is ending the rafe fandom on here will still be prominent? I’m scared bc I literally just worked up enough courage and confidence to start writing for him on here but now I think it’s too late bc everyone will move on and won’t be as active in the community anymore.

i think so!! of all the fandoms i’ve been in, this is one of the most active. i joined in february between seasons and even then, i was so surprised to see how many rafe girls we got here 🙂‍↕️

we have until the end of next season for the show to be airing and i think the fandom will continue to be active. i have heard that across tumblr in general that fic interactions are going down though. i’m not sure if it’s readers leaving or just not interacting with what they read. my numbers have dropped drastically and it’s easy to fall into the trap of comparing and feeling sad about lack of feedback and support, but it’s important to remember writing is all about having fun. i once had a side-blog with like 50 followers and was writing a 25k word fic that had seven readers following it lol but i was having a good time and that’s what matters 🥰 that being said though, PSA TO READERS TO PLS SUPPORT WRITERS WITH COMMENTS AND REBLOGS!! IT’S WHAT KEEPS US GOING!!

my advice is if you want to write, do!! it is not too late. there are fandoms for old movies and cancelled shows that are still v active because the fans keep it alive 🙂‍↕️ even if the rafe fandom slows down, there will always be people who want to read and write for it, so don’t let it stop you from writing and don’t be shy to reach out and make friends 💘