#for people who are wondering what this is

[homunculus-argument]

Sometimes I wonder how some people on tumblr manage to operate in daily life. Like do they go to the store, pick up a box of green hair dye, read the text on the back saying "if your hair is dark, we recommend bleaching it before using this product!" and then go "um well excuse me, what if I like having dark hair?? Why would I even want gross bleach-fried green hair instead??" and become outraged by such fucked up thing to say, because the green hair dye box failed to clarify that this advice only applies to the people who want to achieve green hair. Do not buy this green hair dye unless you want to dye your hair green.

[solxamber]

I loved the platonic Malleus helps Yuu get Idia fic and I was wondering if you could so something similar with Cater or Trey or Vil or Leona or Floyd? You can choose, anything like that would be amazing my liege.

you asked and i answered, i love this concept so much

Fae Courtship 101: Romance for Dummies || Floyd Leech

In your desperation to confess to Floyd, you made the grave mistake of recruiting Malleus for help—now the only thing you’re courting is death.

For reasons beyond mortal comprehension—beyond your own comprehension—you have fallen for Floyd Leech.

Floyd. Leech.

The man who treats personal space like a suggestion, bites people for fun, and once chased a first-year across campus while laughing like a slasher villain because he was “bored.”

The man who once tried to sell you to Azul in exchange for a really nice hat. The man who could, at any given moment, be contemplating something as simple as “what’s for lunch” or something as horrifyingly chaotic as “what if I threw the prefect off the third-floor balcony to see how they bounce?”

It’s a bad idea. Objectively, scientifically, in every single way, this is a mistake.

Grim and Deuce have been holding interventions. The ghosts of Ramshackle have been looking at you like they’re already preparing to welcome you into their ranks. You're rapidly losing the moral high ground in any discussion about Ace’s bad life choices.

But the heart wants what it wants. And unfortunately, yours wants to make terrible decisions.

Which brings you here, pacing alongside Malleus Draconia, crown prince of Briar Valley, king of ominous nighttime strolls, and your designated therapist for the evening.

“I just—I don’t get it, Malleus!” you wail, gesturing wildly as you stomp through the moonlit campus. “I should like normal people! People who don’t consider attempted murder to be a love language! I should have instincts!”

Malleus hums in thought. “Hm. Concerning.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up. “I should be running in the opposite direction! Instead, I’m over here, wondering if he’d bite me gently if I asked nicely!”

Malleus stops walking.

You stop too, looking over to see him gazing at you with a carefully neutral expression. There’s a brief silence. A beat. And then, slowly—gravely—he nods.

“Understood.”

You blink. “...Huh?”

He turns to you with the air of a man who has just accepted a sacred duty. “You have chosen a perilous path, Child of Man.”

You stare. “I—??"

“But fear not,” he continues, raising a hand to his chest in solemn promise. “I shall help you attain your romance.”

Silence.

A breeze rolls through the courtyard. A crow caws in the distance. Somewhere, Grim is experiencing a deep sense of foreboding.

“…You’re going to what?”

Malleus nods again, expression determined. “Leave it to me.”

You suddenly have so many regrets.

Grim looks at you the way a doctor looks at a patient about to flatline. Gravely. With pity. With deep concern for the irreversible damage.

"Okay, listen hench-human, I’ve let a lot of things slide, but this? This I gotta ask—do you hate life that much?"

You blink at him. "What?"

Grim waves his little paws dramatically. "First, you fall for Floyd of all people. That’s already a death wish. And now, you’re actually listening to Malleus for dating advice? What’s next? You gonna ask Kalim for tips on financial responsibility?!"

You open your mouth. Close it. You… okay, you really have no defense. But before you can say anything—

There’s a knock at the door.

And you don’t even have to guess who it is.

You open it to find Malleus standing there, his expression set in earnest determination. In his hands is a book that looks older than your grandmother. The kind of ancient tome that looks like it holds dark secrets, forbidden spells, possibly even a recipe for soup made from human souls.

Standing right next to him, grinning like a goblin, is Lilia.

You feel your soul leave your body.

"Ah, Child of Man," Malleus intones. "I have found it. The ultimate guide to fae courtship rituals. You shall use these techniques to win the heart of your eel."

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," Lilia cackles. "Do you know how long it's been since I’ve seen these methods in action? The devastation! The absolute carnage!"

You stare at them. You stare into the abyss. The abyss grins back.

Grim looks at you, his face a perfect picture of someone watching a loved one make the worst life decisions in real time.

"You’re really doin’ this, huh?"

…You sigh. "Yeah. I’m really doing this."

You are simply minding your own business, walking to class like a normal person, when you spot Floyd approaching from the other end of the hallway.

As always, you smile at him, because you have fully accepted your fate as a fool with horrible taste in men. You expect him to either grin back or threaten to suplex you for fun—classic Floyd things.

What you do not expect is the sudden sensation of a phantom hand shoving you forward.

And just like that, gravity wins.

You crash into Floyd with all the grace of a drunk goose, smacking into his chest with enough force to send both of you stumbling. Floyd barely moves (because he is built like a problem), but you rebound like a cartoon character, nearly falling over before his hands land heavily on your shoulders.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you stare at him.

Then, slowly, your brain remembers what just happened, and you whip around—

Only to see Malleus standing at the end of the hallway, looking extremely pleased with himself.

He gives you a smug, regal nod.

He is also holding a book titled "How to Romance for Dummies."

You are going to throw hands with a literal prince.

Before you can implode, Floyd’s grip on your shoulders tightens. You turn back to him, only to find him looking entirely too displeased about being your impromptu landing pad.

“Shriiiimpy,” he drawls, squinting at you like a judge in a courtroom drama. “What’s up with that, huh? Tryna tackle me first thing in the morning?”

“I—I tripped!” you stammer, trying to collect the shreds of your dignity. “I didn’t mean to crash into you, I swear!”

Floyd hums, unconvinced. Then, after a beat of consideration, he shrugs.

“Aaah, whatever.” His fingers dig just slightly into your shoulders, a slow grin stretching across his face. “You still ran into me, soooo… you owe me.”

You blink. “Wait. Owe you?”

“Mhm!” His grin widens, teeth sharp. “Now ya gotta hang out with me today.”

You blink again. Slowly. You could argue, but you have a sneaking suspicion that it won’t get you anywhere, and honestly? Maybe this is exactly the opening you need.

Maybe… Malleus isn’t that bad at this.

You take that last thought back immediately.

Because not even a day after that whole hallway fiasco, Malleus finds you again, pulls you aside with all the gravitas of an ancient ruler about to bestow divine wisdom, and insists that, in order to properly court Floyd, you must—

Compliment Floyd’s strength three times. At first, you thought, okay, easy enough, I can just tell him he’s strong and call it a day. But then—THEN—Malleus, in his infinite wisdom, handed you a quill and parchment and declared, “It must be in verse. Poetry carries the weight of true devotion.”

And now, here you are.

Standing in front of Floyd Leech. Holding a piece of paper with the most cringe-inducing attempt at poetry you've ever written in your life.

Floyd, to his credit, was already giggling the moment you approached with a look of sheer suffering. But when you clear your throat and attempt to actually read the thing—

"Oh mighty Floyd, with hands so bold—"

He just. Loses it.

Absolutely wheezing, doubling over, practically using you as a support beam to keep himself upright.

You glare at him and continue, determined to power through:

"A force unmatched, a tale retold—"

Floyd: "PFT—!!!"

He’s straight-up crying at this point. Tears. You swear you hear Jade laugh somewhere in the distance.

You don’t even make it to the third compliment. You just turn on your heel and walk away before your soul crumples in on itself like a dying star.

Malleus, watching from afar, sighs in clear disappointment. “You lack dedication,” he murmurs, shaking his head like an elder watching the youth fail at life.

You absolutely regret everything.

You don't know why you keep letting Malleus give you advice. Actually, no—that's a lie. You do know. It's because the second he heard you liked Floyd, his eyes lit up like he’d just been given a personal quest by the divine forces of romance, and now he refuses to rest until your love is secured.

Unfortunately, this means you are currently locked in yet another horrendous discussion about fae courting rituals.

"Scent-marking is a vital step in courtship," Malleus declares with the kind of grim authority that should be reserved for battlefields, not this. "He must recognize you as his."

You blink at him. "Oh, like giving him my hoodie or something?" That’s normal. That’s doable. That’s the kind of thing people do when they like each other, right? You’ve seen couples swap sweaters before. Maybe Malleus is finally onto something not-insane.

Malleus shakes his head gravely. "No. You must present him with something you have personally scented. Ideally, by rolling upon it."

Silence.

Rolling upon it.

You stare at him. He stares back. Completely serious.

You try to process what he’s just suggested. What he has just, with full sincerity, told you to do.

"Malleus."

"Yes?"

"You want me to roll around on an object like a dog and then give it to Floyd."

"Precisely."

You briefly consider just walking into the ocean.

It takes twenty full minutes to talk him down from this absolute lunacy and convince him that simply giving Floyd a sweater you’ve worn will do the job just fine. He looks at you the way a disappointed coach looks at a failing athlete.

"If you are not dedicated to the craft," he mutters, "you cannot expect great results."

You pretend you don’t hear him.

Fast forward to the next day, and you are sitting in class next to Floyd, who is draped over his desk in a deep and powerful boredom coma.

You pull out the sweater and awkwardly nudge it toward him.

"Here."

Floyd immediately perks up. Dangerously interested. He tilts his head, peering at the sweater like you’ve just handed him a rare treasure.

"Eh? What's this?"

"It's mine. You can have it," you say, trying to play it cool, despite the fact that your entire soul is trying to flee your body from embarrassment.

Floyd picks up the sweater and—without hesitation—presses his face into it.

You almost die. Right then and there. Instant expiration.

He leans back in his chair, grinning way too wide. "Heheh~ You smell nice, shrimpy~"

You barely manage to hold onto your composure. You are barely hanging on.

Malleus, watching from the hallway, narrows his eyes and mutters, "It is not the worst effort... but it lacks the impact of true commitment."

You ignore him. You ignore everything. You're just grateful that—for once—this wasn’t completely unhinged, and that Floyd somehow seems to like it.

"Nothing says romance like a meal made with your own two hands!" Lilia declares, slamming an ancient, definitely cursed cookbook onto the table.

You blink down at it. The title is in some language that makes your vision swim just looking at it. The edges are charred, the pages stained with substances you’re 70% sure are not food-safe, and Malleus—Malleus Draconia himself, looks a little unsure.

That should have been your first hint.

But you? A fool. An idiot. A desperate, love-struck buffoon? You press forward.

“Alright,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, already regretting this. “What ingredients do I need?”

Lilia beams, flipping to a page that looks like it came from an alchemist’s horror novel.

"Let's see! We’ll need:"

• Moonshade Truffle,

• A pinch of Sablethorn Dust,

• Three drops of Evernight Basilisk Extract,

• Seven Tears of a Joyful Banshee,

• And a Love-Smitten Fire Spirit’s Breath!

…

You stare.

"Lilia."

"Yes, beastie?"

"These sound like potion ingredients."

"Oh-ho!" Lilia chuckles, waving a hand. "You humans always get so caught up in technicalities. But what is cooking if not a kind of magic?"

…No. No, this is actual magic. You are not making a love potion, but this sure as hell sounds like one.

But, like the fool you are, you go along with it. You spend far too much money (your entire savings) at Azul’s Most Definitely Not a Scam Emporium for all of these ridiculous ingredients. He knows you’re up to something dumb. He does not care. He simply profits.

And now, here you are. In the Ramshackle kitchen. Grim watches from a safe distance behind a chair. Malleus stands off to the side with his arms crossed, looking like he is rethinking his life choices. And Lilia, that menace, is watching you mix the ingredients like a proud mentor.

Everything is going fine. Suspiciously fine.

And then—

"Alright, time to bake it!" Lilia claps his hands. "It says here to bake at 350 for 20 minutes!"

You nod. This is reasonable.

"However!" He flips the page. "In the olden days, we used a slightly different method."

Malleus frowns. Your stomach drops.

"Instead of 350 for 20 minutes…" Lilia hums. "It says here—750 for 10!"

…

"What."

"Don’t be shy! Give it a try!" Lilia gestures for you to do it.

Malleus shifts, looking like he wants to intervene. Grim is slowly backing out of the room. You ignore all of this.

Because you are an idiot.

You turn the oven to 750. You shove the pan inside. You watch in real-time as your dignity burns.

The oven makes a sound ovens should not make.

Something explodes. The smell is indescribable.

When you pull the pan out, it is a pile of pure, blackened charcoal.

You are horrified. Malleus looks concerned. Grim looks betrayed.

"Are ya tryin’ to kill me, Henchhuman?!" Grim yells. "I thought we were friends!"

But Lilia? Lilia is nodding approvingly.

"Ah," he sighs, nostalgic. "Just like how I remember it."

…This man should not be allowed in kitchens.

But you, an absolute buffoon, take the charred remains of your so-called courtship offering and bring it to Floyd anyway.

You find him in the cafeteria, dump the plate in front of him, and sit down. Defeated.

Floyd stares. Pokes it with a finger.

And then, he looks at you.

With pity.

"Shrimpy." His voice is gentle. You feel a chill of fear. "You goin' through hard times or somethin'?"

…

You die inside.

Your cooking was so bad that Floyd Leech—FLOYD LEECH—was feeling sympathy for you.

You have never known such shame.

You sit there, staring into the distance like a soldier who’s seen too much. A philosopher pondering the futility of existence. A person who has scent-marked a sweater and written poetry at the behest of a fae prince who thinks you’re simply not dedicated enough to the craft of love.

You are contemplating life, death, and the many, many decisions that have led you here.

And then, Jade sits beside you.

You don’t even flinch. You should. You should be wary. You should immediately launch yourself into the bushes and prepare to be interrogated in some terrifying eel version of psychological warfare. But you don’t. Because you have nothing left.

So you just turn your head slowly, look at him with the dull, hollow eyes of someone who’s really going through it.

Jade looks positively delighted.

"My, my," he says, in that syrupy, knowing voice of his. "What could possibly put you in such a state?"

You inhale. Exhale. Consider your options. Death is looking really attractive.

"I don’t want to talk about it."

Jade hums, obviously entertained, but then—then—he decides to make it worse.

"You know," he muses, "even Floyd has started to get concerned."

You blink.

"…Huh?"

"Oh, yes," he says, resting his chin on his hand, enjoying every second of this. "Between the odd gifts, the unusual behavior, and your general aura of suffering, even he has begun to notice. Which means you are being particularly obvious, because he rarely pays attention to anything that isn't entertaining."

You don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed.

"What’s your point?" you mutter.

Jade smiles like a predator about to land a final, devastating strike.

"You should simply tell him. Because this…?" He gestures vaguely at your soul-deep despair. "This is rather pitiful."

You stare.

You process.

And, somewhere in the depths of your heart, you realize he’s right.

You are in shambles.

Like, properly, horrifically, soul-crushingly in shambles. You’ve been through so much. You've spent weeks engaging in increasingly deranged behavior at the behest of a well-meaning yet hopelessly out-of-touch fae prince. You've endured ritual poetry readings, scent-marking disasters, and a culinary war crime that left you emotionally and financially bankrupt.

And now, standing in front of Floyd Leech—the very cause of your descent into insanity—you finally snap.

"I LIKE YOU!" you blurt, voice cracking like a cheap mirror. "I LIKE YOU AND I'VE BEEN ACTING LIKE A LUNATIC BECAUSE MALLEUS SAID I HAD TO FOLLOW FAE COURTSHIP RITUALS AND I—" your voice hiccups, borderline hysterical, "—I THINK I LOST A PIECE OF MY SOUL WHEN I TRIED TO BAKE THAT DAMN CAKE BUT IT'S FINE, BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT'S JUST WHAT LOVE IS??? AND I DID IT ALL FOR YOU, FLOYD, BECAUSE I AM A DUMB IDIOT WHO LIKES YOU FOR SOME REASON."

You gasp for air, because this has been a lot.

And Floyd?

Floyd is laughing.

Not just a chuckle, either. No, this menace of a man is bent over, hands on his knees, actually wheezing with mirth as if you’ve just performed the comedy routine of the century. His shoulders shake. His teeth glint in the light. He looks absolutely delighted.

And you? You just stand there, a broken, hollow shell of a human being.

"You should’ve just told me, Shrimpy~!" he cackles, wiping a tear from his eye. "I like you too, y’know?"

...

There’s a moment of silence as your poor, battered brain struggles to process this information.

"WHAT."

Floyd grins, like you haven’t just endured weeks of psychological torment at the hands of a dragon prince. "I mean, you’re fun! You make me laugh, and I like squeezin’ ya. ‘Course I like ya!"

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, he lunges forward and grabs you in a hug so tight that your ribs beg for mercy. You are crushed, consumed, engulfed in the sheer force of his affection. Your spine may never recover, but at this point, what’s another injury to your dignity?

And honestly? You don’t care.

Because he likes you.

Floyd likes you back.

Which means—you realize, tears pricking your eyes in relief—you never have to perform another insane fae courtship ritual again.

No more humiliating poetry. No more dubious scent-marking. No more playing Russian roulette with your digestive system in the name of romance. You did it. You won.

And then Floyd leans down, cups your face, and kisses you.

It's a little rough, a little overwhelming, but you melt into it anyway, because Sevens, you earned this.

Somewhere in the distance, Malleus Draconia watches from the shadows.

Arms crossed, nodding sagely, he looks upon his greatest success.

"My expert techniques," he murmurs, pride swelling in his voice, "have secured my child of man their eel."

Behind him, Lilia wipes an imaginary tear.

"Beautiful," he sighs.

Masterlist

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK-A-CARD: How do strangers really see you ✮⋆˙

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I. II. III.

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How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

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ִ ࣪𖤐⭑Pile I

This pile is drama. This is walking into a room and immediately giving off main character energy, but not the soft, romantic lead kind—nah, this is the tortured, brooding protagonist who looks like they have a backstory. The type of energy that makes strangers take one glance and go, "Damn, what have they been through?" if I really had go give an example to an Immediate Thought a Stranger Has Upon Seeing You: "Are they okay?" (Which—valid.) There’s something about your aura that feels heavy, like you’ve lived a hundred lives before this one, and each one had some level of heartbreak, sacrifice, and major character growth. you’re giving poetic melancholy But in the most captivating way possible. it's like "sad but make it aesthetic"💅 At first glance, people don’t see you as someone easy to approach. Not because you’re outright intimidating, but because there’s an untouchable quality to you. You exude a quiet, mysterious presence, like someone deep in thought, caught between realities. People assume there’s something weighing on your mind, even if you’re just thinking about what to eat for dinner. Your vibe makes people curious, but also a little cautious. You give off the impression that you’ve seen things—felt things—that most people could never even begin to comprehend. You might notice that when strangers interact with you, they either: Treat you gently, like they don’t want to disturb whatever deep thoughts you’re lost in. Secondly, Lowkey test your patience, because they assume you’re detached or unbothered, and they want to see if you’ll react. Either way, people don’t take you lightly. You see things from a different perspective, possibly because life forced you to??? I can see a majority of this pile is a huge fan of art, poetry or sad music or they may even do these things. You’ve been through situations where you felt like an outsider like you were left in the cold—physically, emotionally, or even financially. The full picture? You carry the past with you, but you don’t let it define you. However, people can see the weight of your experiences, whether you intend to show it or not. You might be the kind of person who has learned to walk away from things before they destroy you completely. It’s not that you want to leave, but when you sense that something (or someone) is bringing you down, you don’t wait for the final blow—you detach, emotionally or physically. And that? That makes people fear losing you, even if they don’t know you well. Like, I want to grab you by the shoulders and be like, “Tell me everything. Who hurt you? Who made you strong?” You’re the kind of person who doesn’t seek attention, but you get it anyway. You don’t have to be loud—people just know there’s something about you that’s different. And they want to figure you out, even though you probably make that damn near impossible. There’s also an artistic, philosophical quality to you. Even if you don’t see yourself as an artist, you feel things in a way that most people don’t. i see that some of you may be even an INFJ???

You, my dear, are the walking embodiment of a Lana Del Rey song—tragic, beautiful, a little detached, but also dangerously alluring. Strangers don’t just notice you—they remember you. Even if they never talk to you, they’ll go home and be like, “That one person… I wonder what their story is.” So my advice? If you ever feel like people misunderstand you, don’t stress about convincing them otherwise. The right ones will see you without you having to explain a damn thing. And the ones who don’t? Well, they were never meant to get past the first page of your story anyway.

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ִ ࣪𖤐⭑Pile II

Alright, bestie, let’s talk. If I saw this pile laid out in front of me, the immediate thought running through my head would be: "Damn. This person has seen some things, done some things, and is probably carrying a whole season’s worth of plot twists in their aura." You, my dear, give off an energy that is intense, hardworking, and slightly intimidating, but in a way that makes people lowkey obsessed with you. Like, imagine someone walking into a room with the aura of a self-made boss—someone who’s been through the trenches, built themselves up from scratch, and now operates with that sexy, quiet resilience that makes people both admire you and fear you just a little. That’s you. That’s this pile. People take one look at you and immediately clock you as someone who does not play around. You exude discipline, endurance, and a "grind never stops" energy that can make people feel like they need to fix their whole life just by standing next to you. You know those people who just look like they have a five-year plan? That’s the vibe you radiate. you’re that person—always working on something, always strategizing, always looking ahead. You don’t give off ‘casual small talk’ energy—you give off ‘I have a deadline and no time for nonsense’ energy. You might have an ‘old soul’ aura—like someone who’s been knocked down a million times but got back up every single time. That kind of energy makes people admire you, but it also means they might hesitate to approach you because damn, what have you seen??? Ohhh, bestie. Here’s the tea. This card in the mix tells me that, despite your workaholic, ‘I have goals’ energy, you have this magnetic, lowkey addictive presence. People may see you as someone who tempts them—not in an overt, flirty way (unless you choose to be), but in a "I don’t know why I’m so drawn to them" kind of way. You carry an air of mystery, danger, or intensity that makes people want to know more, but also feel slightly afraid of what they’ll uncover.

The way you move through the world is purposeful. You’re not just existing; you’re building something, always working toward something bigger. You’re the kind of person who might be polite and civil, but have true access to your inner world? That’s earned, not given. And honestly? Good for you.( I am In LOVEEE with this pile lol 😂) Maybe people don’t expect it at first, but once they get to know you, they realize you are not as predictable as you seem. Oh, I love this pile. Y’all are the type of people who command respect just by existing. You don’t even have to say much—your energy does the talking for you.

You’re the people who bosses and authority figures actually fear a little( I always wanted that for myself😭), because you give off the vibe that you could overthrow the entire system if you really wanted to. You’re also the type of person that people regret underestimating, because when you prove them wrong, you do it flawlessly.That being said, I also feel like you don’t let yourself relax enough. Like, the Eight of Pentacles, Seven of Pentacles, and Nine of Wands together? Damn, bestie, do you ever take a break? Or are you constantly grinding, constantly proving yourself, constantly thinking, "What’s next?" (Go touch some grass. Drink some water. Take a nap, I beg.)

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ִ ࣪𖤐⭑Pile III

Alright, babes, buckle up because this pile? This pile is a walking contradiction, an experience. Pile 3 is the most intuitive & unreadable of all the three. You ever meet someone who’s all bright smiles and warm energy, but there’s this undeniable weight behind their eyes? You give off an aura that’s both guarded and inviting. You've faced betrayals, heartbreaks, disappointments—but you didn’t let it break you. Nah, you built walls, but not to keep people out completely… just to make sure they don’t get in too fast. There’s a hesitancy in your energy, a subtle checking-the-room moment before you fully let yourself relax. But then—BAM—the Sun bursts through. Ohhh, this is what makes you so intriguing. The Sun is the only major arcana card of this pile so your dominant energy is really bright and welcoming, it is pure, unfiltered light. When you smile? It’s infectious. When you laugh? It makes people feel like they just witnessed something rare, something precious. You radiate warmth, but there’s depth behind it. You’re not the type to sit down and trauma-dump to strangers, but your energy? It speaks. It whispers. There’s something about the way you carry yourself—the slight distance in your eyes when you zone out, the way your smile sometimes doesn’t reach all the way, the way you watch people instead of immediately throwing yourself into the chaos. You know things without needing to be told. You read energy like it’s your first language. Strangers can feel that you see through the surface-level bullsh*t. You don’t just listen—you absorb. You analyze. You clock people’s tells before they even realize they have them. And honestly? That can be intimidating as hell. But here’s the thing—you don’t use this power to manipulate or expose. Nah, you protect with it. That’s the Sun and the Nine of Wands working together. You radiate warmth and kindness, but if someone tries to cross you? They’ll quickly learn there’s a fortified wall behind that glow. A wall built from experience, from lessons learned the hard way. If you picked this pile, you’re the kind of person that leaves an impact. People don’t just forget you. Even if they only interact with you briefly, there’s this lingering thought—like, “What’s their story?” You make people curious, but you’re not out here spilling your soul to just anyone. And honestly? I respect that. But here’s the real kicker—you’re not just your past. You’re not just the heartbreaks, the lessons, the wounds. You are the Sun, too. And the Sun in this spread tells me that despite everything, you still believe in joy. You still find ways to laugh, to love, to spread warmth. That’s what makes you magnetic. That’s why strangers are drawn to you—they can feel that you’re not just surviving. you’re the mystery wrapped in light. You’re the soft warrior. You’re the one who sees but does not always speak. You are guarded but generous, intense yet kind, and above all, you are unforgettable. And honestly? That’s one of the most powerful energies a person can have.

I’d bet money that a lot of you, Have resting deep-in-thought face, Have had people randomly trauma-dump on you because they feel like you’d get it, Feel misunderstood in social situations, Have struggled with isolation (self-imposed or otherwise). Pile 3 is a perfect balance of both the above piles. No matter which pile, these are the kinds of people that others don’t forget.

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˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[neferaskingdom]

Valentine Hotline | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Running a Valentine’s hotline was supposed to be fun—until she accidentally helps Bob plan the perfect date… for herself.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

The last thing she expected to be doing this Valentine’s Day was running an anonymous emergency hotline for lovesick fools, but here she was—headset on, taking call after call, all in the name of charity. Her best friend had roped her into this, promising it would be “fun,” but so far, all she had done was talk panicked men out of buying last-minute gas station flowers.

Her latest call came in with a hesitant, almost nervous greeting. “Uh… hi. Is this Cupid?”

“That’s me,” she said, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous alias she’d been assigned. “How can I help you, caller?”

There was a pause before he mumbled, “I need help asking out my crush.”

She smiled, already endeared. “Of course! What’s your name?”

A beat of silence, then—“Bob.”

She snorted. “Bob, huh? Okay, Bob, tell me about your crush.”

Bob sighed dreamily, and when he spoke again, it was with a kind of reverence that made her heart melt. “She’s amazing. Like, so cute, but not in a way that she even realizes. And she’s really smart—like, she remembers the smallest details about people, and she’s kind, too. Like, the kind of kind where she doesn’t even think twice about it, she just does things that make life easier for everyone around her. And she’s so funny, sometimes without even trying. I mean, she makes me laugh over the dumbest things. And—God, she’s way out of my league, but I really, really like her. It’s ridiculous how much I like her.”

Her heart melted. “That’s adorable. Have you spoken to her before?”

“Sort of,” he admitted. “We work together, but I don’t talk to her a lot because… well, I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid. I get irrationally shy around her.”

That piqued her curiosity. “Coworker, huh? What do you guys do?”

“I can’t say too much, or it’ll be obvious who I am,” Bob said quickly.

She nodded, intrigued but respecting his anonymity. “Alright, Bob. First things first, you need to start interacting with her more—test the waters, see how she reacts to you. Start flirting a little.”

“Oh God.”

She laughed. “Relax! I’ll help you. We’ll come up with a plan.”

And so, over the next few days, she helped Bob craft the perfect approach. They planned small conversations, little ways for him to test the waters—compliments, inside jokes, light teasing. He seemed enthusiastic yet nervous, but she assured him he was doing great.

Strangely, around the same time, Lando Norris—someone who had never gone out of his way to talk to her before—started showing up more often. He’d stop by her desk with a cheeky grin, making flirty comments that left her flushed. At first, she chalked it up to him just being friendly, but it kept happening.

“Looking good today,” Lando said one afternoon, leaning casually against her desk.

She rolled her eyes but felt her face warm. “Are you just going around giving out compliments to everyone?”

“Only to the pretty ones.” He winked, and she nearly choked on her coffee.

It was weird. But she couldn’t say she hated it.

A few days before Valentine’s Day, she was finishing up some work when Lando hovered nearby, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He shifted from foot to foot before finally clearing his throat.

“Hey, um… can I talk to you for a sec?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

She turned in her chair, surprised by his serious tone. “Sure, what’s up?”

He exhaled, looking at the floor before meeting her eyes. “I… uh, was wondering if you wanted to go out with me. Like, on a date. For Valentine’s Day.”

Her brain short-circuited for a moment. “Wait. You’re asking me out?”

Lando winced. “I mean, yeah? But you don’t have to say yes, obviously, I just thought—”

She cut him off with a grin. “Lando, I’d love to.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The relief on his face was almost comical. “Oh. Oh, cool! That’s great. Okay, um, yeah, I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He left looking a little dazed but incredibly happy, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

That night, Bob called her one last time.

“She said yes!” he practically shouted through the phone. “I asked her out, and she said yes!”

She grinned, heart swelling with pride. “Bob! That’s amazing! I told you she’d like you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Seriously, if—no, when—we get married, you’re getting an invite.”

She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Have fun on your date, Bob.”

“Thanks, Cupid. You’re the best.”

And with that, her hotline duties were done.

The next evening, she met Lando for their date, dressed in a pretty outfit and buzzing with anticipation. He looked a little nervous, which was unusual for him, but she found it endearing. The restaurant was charming, the table setup romantic—candles, her favorite flowers, the works.

She took one look at it all and hesitated. The setup felt oddly familiar. Too familiar.

The restaurant. The flowers. The exact order of events.

Her stomach flipped as a ridiculous but nagging thought entered her mind. She looked at Lando, who was focused on cutting his steak, completely unaware of her staring.

“This is going to sound weird,” she began slowly, watching his reaction, “but do you know someone named Bob?”

Lando’s knife froze mid-slice. His head snapped up so fast she thought he might get whiplash. “W-what?”

She gaped at him. “Oh my God. You’re Bob, aren’t you??”

Lando opened and closed his mouth like a fish, looking utterly horrified. “H-how do you—how do you know that?”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Because I’m Cupid.”

Lando choked on his water, coughing as his eyes widened in horror. “No. No way.”

“Yes way,” she said, grinning at his absolute mortification. “I can’t believe I spent days coaching you on how to flirt with me.”

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m never living this down.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Lando.”

He peeked at her between his fingers. “Yeah?”

She smiled softly. “So… all those sweet things you said about your crush… they were actually about me?”

Lando groaned again, face going bright red. “I—uh—maybe?”

She felt her heart flutter, warmth spreading through her chest. “That’s honestly the sweetest thing ever.”

Lando let out a breath, rubbing his temples. “You must think I’m such a loser. Calling a hotline of all things just to figure out how to ask you out.”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “No. I think it’s endearing. You went out of your way to make sure you got it right. You wanted it to be perfect. That’s really, really sweet.”

He looked at her, expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their dinner was filled with laughter and easy conversation, and by the time he walked her to her door, she felt lighter than ever. He hesitated on her porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So, uh… goodnight?”

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “Goodnight, Bob.”

Before he could groan again, she kissed him, soft and sweet, smiling against his lips as he melted into it. When she pulled away, he was grinning like an idiot.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

She laughed. “Yeah. I think so too.”

[millysastroblog]

RANDOM ASTRO NOTES PT.2 🎋

🎋People with Mars conjunct/Square or opposite Jupiter can have a inflated sense of ego and pride just like Sun/Jupiter aspects (especially men since mars has a stronger and dominant energy in their charts)

🎋Tell me why every Aries Sun be waking faster than then wind ?😂 # you are to fast

🎋People with Taurus and Virgo mixed Placements are the most humble grounded individuals to exist they just exude „ZEN“🍃

🎋People with 1st house placement can sometimes feel left out or stand out from the crowd due to the focus being directed on their individuality and presence

SIDE CHICK INDICATORS:

🎋Venus square/ opposite Neptune ( lacking boundaries)

🎋Neptune in the 7th ( unreliable partners )

🎋Venus in the 12th (secret affair and relationships)

🎋Mars in the 12th (hidden sexual relationships)

🎋Venus / Chiron (low self worth)

🎋Venus Square /opposite/ conjunct Lilith ( lustful attraction to unconventional, shocking secret things like a married person )

🎋Mars conjunct Lilith (secrecy and power dynamics turn them on )

🎋 Venus conjunct /Square Uranus (unpredictable love life’s and entanglements )

🎋Lilith/ Pluto in the 9th house ppl can be scared of taking flights, traveling to foreign countries

🎋Sun/ Pluto aspects might be scared of their fathers or have huge respect for them 🫡

🎋Venus conjunct Chiron synastry: trauma bonding relationship vs. healing relationship

🎋Capricorn MC have a reputation of being the GOAT after their hard work has paid off

🎋Venus conjunct Jupiter is usually seen in charts of woman who marry wealthy partners

🎋Mars square asc look fierce

🎋Pluto Square asc look alluring, mysterious and dangerous

🎋 Moon in Scorpio/Moon conjunct Pluto stare intensely on pictures and camera angels

🎋While moon in Pisces/Moon/ Neptune placement look away or their eyes wonder to the the ceiling, they look sleepy, sweet and in another world

🎋Moon in cancer have doll eyes with little sparkles, round like the moon and comforting to look at

🎋A lot of child actress have Neptune influence on their Moon or IC

🎋Saturn in the 1st house have visible oval nostril where their nose kind of looks pointed and straight

🎋Mercury square Jupiter makes somone who doesn’t have a filter or lacks in reading the room they probably over share and reveal to much information

🎋Mercury/ Neptune aspects can misconstrued, antagonize, change information or get very confused, they also posses very imaginative creative mind that could inspires other people

🎋Moon/ Mercury have an internal need to express their feelings through their voice they are very emotionally intelligent and speak with their heart. They have a hard time taking critique and will voice their opinions whenever they feel like it

🎋Lilith /Mars in Pisces woman can be a unknown sugar baby or trad wife placement since they use illusion, charm and fantasy to get what they want (if they play smart and don’t get carried away)

🎋7th house in the 4th can show an family arrangement marrige or both peoples family being heavily involved in their marriage/ engagement

🎋Pluto/8th house synastry/Composite makes for an unforgettable relationship especially if both people have it. The separation is very painful and takes time to heal

🎋Saturn/ Pluto in the 6th house need to take care of their health, body, routine more than the average person, if not they will have to face harsh consequences

🎋Cancer mixed Leo Placements gives either a neutral balanced personality or drama queen they embody the most authentic expression off themselves and won’t hide for anything and anybody #period

🎋Venus in the 10th has a similar effect as Venus in the 1st house

🎋Venus/ Chiron hard aspects can usually show cheating and betrayal in a chart

Venus conjunct Chiron = being cheated on

Venus square Chiron = being the cheater

Venus opposite Chiron = vise versa

(Pls take it with a grain of salt, it doesn’t have to apply to you)

🎋People with harmonious aspected moons are emotionally stable and regulated, empathetic and understand people needs and emotionall nature

🎋People with Harmonious aspected Jupiter carry a sunshine energy everywhere they go and attract plenty people and opportunities towards them -> positive optimistic mindset -> Luck 🍀

🎋Aries mixed Cancer Placements = unhinged crash- out, impatient, anger issues, very loyal and protective, uncontrollable emotions, lovely and nice to the people that are close to them

🎋Libra mixed Virgo Placements = fashionista, life style influencers, perfectionist, good cooks, enjoy finer things with an hint of detail and excellent observation skills, a bit judgmental, very very very helpful people

🎋Scorpio mixed Virgo Placements = psychotic (just joking 😂), natural detectives and truth seekers, extremely intelligent people, literally know everything, extreme control issues and can be obsessive and a bit creepy when they like somebody, once trust is gained they are number one supporters for life

🎋Gemini mixed Capricorn Placements = Aloof (weirdly give Aquarius or Virgo vibes?) , Logical thinkers, like to think outside the box , can also be very responsible, less inclined to open up about emotions and would rather joke about them. Less lighthearted but also less serious, truthful and honest people

Thx for reading 🫶🏽

•~Milly~•

©2025 millysastroblog All Rights Reserved

[desertnightradiostatic]

I grew up with parents who were very emotionally unintelligent. Lots of clinging and oversharing problems and events that were not appropriate for my age from my mom. My dad had a lot of anger and an expectation that people around him could read minds, yet were choosing not to act on his wants, and so they needed to be punished via harm or (temporary) abandonment. So of course I developed a very insecure attatchment style where love is conditional upon how well you perform, you must be constantly emotionally avaiable and can lead to being left behind if you fail enough.

The greatest remedy to unlearning this has been learning how to have space from my lovely partner. It was very hard at first. I thought that he was angry and this was his way of showing it. That there was something I needed to figure out in order to make him want to be around me again. The truth was he is a person who needs his own space sometimes, and he would naturally come around to me when he was ready. There was no expectation of apology or appeasement because being apart is not a punishment.

I started to learn to use that time for myself instead of obsessing over how I am as a partner and if I could be doing better. I started to learn how tired I'd been constantly fawning and being attentive for the sake of being seen as useful. I learned how little I cared for myself or what personal projects I had. I learned that it's very healthy to have your own "you" time, and that it's not excluaive to things like self-pampering. And I learned how unfair I was treated by my parents and how unfairly they treat each other.

OP is right, it is a wonderful thing to be able to have total free space from time to time. But I disagree about it being something small, at least from my perspective, it's been huge. I love the idea of calling it "astronaut time", makes it even more fun.

so judging by how astonished people are by it every time we explain it to anybody, it seems like my wife and I might really be onto something here

during the pandemic, we invented something we call "astronaut time."

when it's astronaut time, it's like we are two astronauts wearing the big helmets, moving around the station on totally separate tasks. one of us is outside the space station and one of us is inside the space station. our radios do not work and we have no way of communicating with each other. we might see each other through the lil porthole windows, but we ignore each other because we both have different things to do.

"astronaut time" is how we get total privacy when we live in the same apartment. I will pretend you don't exist. You will pretend I don't exist. we have a nonverbal, zero-contact signal for when astronaut time is over (usually "I'll draw a smiley-face on the whiteboard in the kitchen when I'm done"). No talking, stay out of each other's line of sight, we are actively avoiding each other, unless you are currently experiencing a medical emergency goodbye.

it has been. a godsend. imagine living with your partner and being able to close every single tab in your brain related to social interaction. no fear of being interrupted by a "hey, quick question--" or "sorry to bother you, but do you know where the scissors are?" or "did you want something to eat, too?" Once or twice a month, we look at each other lovingly, hold hands, and say "baby I think I need some astronaut time tonight," and the other person goes "okay cool. bye! have a nice night!" and nobody's feelings are hurt and we both go and have a lovely evening completely by ourselves.

like idk it's a small thing but it's made our lives so much nicer, so if you and your partner/roommate are both people who sometimes need total privacy in order to recharge, maybe try it

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Regency Fashion

The Regency. The King is mad, the Prince of Wales is lording it up as the de-facto head of state. Napoleon is raging in Europe, Jane Austen is Austen-ning and the Bridgertons are on the prowl, waiting for their glow-up season. But what are they wearing during this period? Now, for this post, I am focusing on the actual Regency period (1811 to 1820). The before and after will come… eventually.

The Regency is a curious sub-era of fashion because it is bracketed between the early Victorian era with its large skirts and large puffy sleeves and the Georgian fashions with the court mantuas. I once read an article that pondered what the Victorians thought of the fashion of their grandmother’s and great-grandmothers during the Regency, wondering if they were scandalised.

Undergarments

The Regency undergarments have much of the same structure of those that came before and after, just with tweaks.

For ladies, the Regency was a time for natural silhouettes, so this meant that the long-structured corsets of the Victorians were a way off and the panniers of the Georgians were forgotten (except at court but we will talk about it later).

Chemise: This goes under everything. This is not up for debate. I am talking to you period drama wardrobe people, yes you, you know who you are. The chemise is like a big linen shirt worn under everything else.

Petticoat: This was a thin skirt worn over the chemise to keep the chemise from sticking to the skirts. These weren’t worn for volume as petticoats were and would be worn.

Corsets: The Corset in the Regency period was much shorter than you would expect but so were bodices. Regency corsets might make you think of modern-day bras since they sometimes spanned from the breasts to the waist rather than the hips.

Stockings and garters: Stockings are like long socks that go up past the knee, usually in muted colours and embroidered. Stockings were held up by garters, which were strips of cloth tied around the leg to keep them in place.

Drawers: Technically most Regency women didn’t wear any underwear, but the Regency period was the beginning of the interest in wearing them. Some women adopted the drawers which were modified versions of the drawers worn by men. Princess Charlotte, Princess of Wales was said to have tried them out which confused a lot of other women. In the later years of the Regency, some women adopted the pantaloons which were like drawers only longer. Drawers were short of linen or cotton shorts, only with a split in the crotch and a drawstring waist.

Gentlemen

Undershirts: Men wore their own kinds of chemises, but these were much shorter and tucked into the drawers. You’re thinking of Colin Firth aren’t you?

Drawers: Like I said, the lady’s versions are adaptations of the men, cotton/linen shorts with a drawstring. But during the Regency, the drawers were adapted to have buttoned flaps.

Corsets: Yes, men also wore corsets. The Prince Regent wore one for his back issues officially but there were rumours of him wearing one to try manage his considerable weight.  

Stockings and garters: Stockings are like long socks that go up past the knee, usually in muted colours and embroidered. Stockings were held up by garters, which were strips of cloth tied around the leg to keep them in place.

Gowns and Suits

The Gentlemen

The men of the Regency were just as interested in their fashion as their female counterparts and their predecessors of the Georgian period.

Tailcoat/Jacket: Jackets and tailcoats were tailored, with the tails shaped into a “M” shape. These were made to show the shirt, vest and cravat underneath.

Waist Coat: The Regency waistcoats were vests, usually single-breasted but double-breasted were popular too. The trend in the Regency was high collared vests.

Shirt: Men would have worn shirts over their chemise for warm, only this shirt would be of more substantial fabric and often embroidered.

Cravat: The cravat is like a tie, wrapped around the neck and knotted.

Pants: When not at court, men wore trousers. These were buttoned at the front and usually tailored.

Breeches: Breeches were worn more at court as they were considered old-fashioned.

Pantaloons: These were tight, fitted trousers that were worn with high boots.

Suspenders: Trousers worn with suspenders were originally a working-class trend – as all the best trends are – become popular in the years preceding the Regency.

Inexpressibles: Probably what you’re thinking of when you think of Regency pants. These were extremely tight fitting and have reputation.

Buckskins: These were sort of the equivalent of comfy pants for the men. They were made from deerskin and worn during down time.

Great Coat: The great coat is a long coat worn over the ensemble and could be as fancy or as plain as the gentleman wants.  

Shoes: Usually, leather dress shoes and worn to every sort of event except outside where boots might be the best option. Boots were never worn at night.

Ladies

The women of the Regency period were experiencing something new, something more aligned to the Romanticism of the day. Women took inspiration from the Classical world in their fashion. Bodices became shorter, sleeves shorter and silhouettes less structured.  

Morning Gowns: These were dresses worn in the morning or during the day time if one was staying at home. It had an empire waist, short sleeves and worn with shawls and bonnets if taking a stroll in the garden. These were usually made of light fabrics such as muslin or poplin

Visiting Gowns: Visting gowns were worn when calling on friends or family. They were made of more substantial fabric like wool, satin or silk and less plain than the morning gown. They would be long sleeved and worn with gloves.

Walking Gowns: Walking gowns are pretty much self-explanatory, worn when walking outside, so that means long sleeves. They were made of thick fabrics such as wool, cotton and velvet and always worn with a bonnet and a spencer or a pelisse and gloves.

Promenade Dresses: These are a fancier gown than walking gowns, usually more decorated and worn both for walking and for riding in a carriage. Worn with a bonnet and gloves. Usually worn when one is taking a quick trip by carriage.

Carriage Dresses: Yes, the Regency not only had one dress for riding in a carriage, they had many. These were very similar to the promenade dress but designed for better comfort. Can be worn with gloves but definitely worn with a bonnet. One might wear this one on long journeys by carriage.

Riding Habits: This was worn by women when they were riding horses. They were usually made of thick cotton, leather of wool depending on the weather. This outfit was comprised of a long coat, riding gloves, high boots for the muck and stirrups and worn with a hat to keep the hair from the lady’s face.

Ball Gowns: Ball gowns were short sleeved, empire waisted and made from silk, satin and usually well decorated depending on the lady’s rank. They were always paired with long gloves. No bonnet worn here. Hair would be arranged under a tiara or an array of flowers or jewels or combs.

Shawl: Was a drape of fabric worn over the upper body against a chill. It may be made from wool or a heavier fabric but if worn to an event, it would be made of lighter fabric.

The Spencer Jacket: The Spencer is a fitted jacket, long sleeved and waist-length jacket worn over a dress when walking.

Pelisse: Is an coat dress which like the Spencer was close fitting but it was much longer.

Cloak/Mantelet: The cloak wasn’t dead yet in the Regency period. Women would have worn them in the evenings when attending balls, parties, the opera and the theatre.

Tucker: The tucker was a piece of fabric tucked into one’s bodice to cover as much as one’s chest and shoulders as possible.

Bonnet: The bonnet was usually a cap with a wide brim, trimmed with fabric flowers or ribbon and held in place by a ribbon tied under the chin.

Slippers: These look like a ballet slipper. They would be made from silk, satin, leather etc.

Boots: These were made of leather, often worn when walking distances in the city and country and usually only reached the ankle.

Pattens: This was a metal lift worn at the bottom of the lady’s shoe to keep her from ruining her shoes in rain or the city’s muddy streets.

When at Court

If you have ever watched Bridgerton, you might see that Queen Charlotte doesn’t wear the same gowns as the rest of the ton. This is actually historically accurate as Queen Charlotte was a traditionalist at heart and distrusted the new fashions, though we have a surviving empire-waisted dress of hers worn in private. When the ton descended on court, especially at the debut, they would not be wearing their short-sleeved, empire gowns. They would be wearing a wide hooped dress with a long train – but the Regency ladies weren’t about to give up on everything modern, they followed Queen Charlotte’s rules but kept the empire waist which lead to a ridiculous looking gown. I mean, look at it.

Bejewelled

The Regency era is a very important era for jewels because *trumpet sounds* it was the dawn of the tiara, or the renaissance of it. The modern idea of tiara came about during this era due to the women taking inspiration from the stephanes worn by the Ancient Greeks and Romans. Tiaras became a staple during this time, giving us some of our most famous and beautiful tiaras we still have today.

[lynnieverse]

Hey GORGG

I was wondering could we get a fic where bsf!rafe is an ass to his baf bc he’s going through shit and he’s just ghosting her and is mean and when she does the same he realizes he fucked up? Angst ans fluff?

tysm luv!

ooo I got you! thank you for this rec!! :)

ghostin' // rafe cameron

oneshot

asshole!bsf!rafe cameron x reader

You knock loudly on the large wooden door of your best friend’s house before stepping back, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Rafe had been going ghost for days––ignoring text messages, skipping out on plans––and while it had concerned you in the beginning, now you’re just pissed. You tap your foot impatiently as the minutes pass, and eventually you pull out your phone. You call him five times. Five times before he answers. 

“Yes?” his tone was sharp, clearly annoyed. 

“Open the fucking door, Rafe Cameron.” 

“Why are you here, Y/N?” 

“Why do you think I’m here?! You’ve been ignoring me for days, dude. What the fuck is your problem?” You start pacing around his porch, looking in windows trying to catch a glimpse of his stupid ass. 

“Maybe take a hint then.” The words are like a slap to the face, lips parting slightly. What the fuck? After a beat, you go cold. He’s messing with the wrong bitch. 

“Alright, sure. You go off and do your little broody, pouty, ‘woe is me’ routine because daddy doesn’t love you, and see where that gets you. Meanwhile, the people who do love you, that you couldn’t give a shit about, are worried and just want to talk. Not me. You’re not going to treat me like the dirt on the bottom of your shoe and think I’ll stick around. Have a nice life.” You end your rant with a satisfying jab and end the call. You shove your phone in your pocket and storm to your car, immediately driving away without a second glance. 

Within five minutes you hear a familiar ringtone and roll your eyes. This is what he always does. He pushes and pushes until people break, and then tries to make up for it with pretty words. Not today, not ever again. 

You send him to voicemail, immediately getting a second call. Then another, then another. Eventually you resolve to turn your phone off, cutting all contact at the source. Sighing, you pull into your driveway and rest your head on the steering wheel. You could do this. 

It was his turn to be ignored. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Rafe expects you to call back. You always do. 

But you don’t. 

He wakes up to silence. No missed calls, no texts…nothing. He can’t help but sigh at his own stubbornness. 

At first he tells himself it’s fine, that you’re just giving him space and you’ll come around. 

Then he sees you out with your friends. 

You’re laughing, head tipped back, smile wide. Instinctively he wants to approach, but knows he shouldn’t. Not after what he did. 

He really fucked up this time. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Three Days Later

Rafe shows up to your house shortly after the sun dipped below the horizon, draining all the light from your street. His hands are shoved deep inside his pocket, head hung low. 

He knocks. 

No answer. 

He knocks again.

Silence.

This continued for a few more minutes before your muffled voice could be heard through the door. 

“Go home, Rafe.” 

His stomach twists painfully. He doesn’t know how to deal with you shutting him out. It was always the other way around. 

“I was an asshole. Please, Y/N, just talk to me.” The words felt like ash on his tongue. He never apologized, not to anyone. “I took my bullshit out on you and I shouldn’t have. I messed up, but this can’t be how it ends with us.”

Silence surrounds him once more. He sighs in defeat before turning around, ready to lick his wounds back to his house. As he stepped off your porch, the lock clicked.

You open the door just enough to fit your frame, arms crossed over your chest. “Do you even know what you did?” 

Rafe swallows hard. He looks at you, really looks at you—the tired set of your shoulders, the frustration flickering behind your eyes.

“I pushed you away,” he says finally. “And then when you tried to pull me back, I hurt you.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, searching for something. He looked sincere, shoulders sagging and eyebrows scrunched. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “You did.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s enough for now. Enough to know you weren’t completely done with him yet. And Rafe will take whatever he can get. 

[paper-mario-wiki]

Can you and your followers who apparently "dont care about the geopolitical impact!! When fleeing Fascism!!" . like explain. how you moving to thailand . isn't gentrification.

sure dude.

here's the deal: im in the "woodchipper that kills you and all the people you love" country that has "dead trannies" as a pretty big priority among most of the higherups at the moment.

additionally, my girlfriend is a black trans woman, one of the most violently oppressed demographics on earth, and ALL of the money, 100% of it, that i am making off of streaming at the moment is going directly into the bank account dedicated to getting HER out of the country first.

thailand was chosen specifically because it is one of the few countries that aren't anti-black that are also possible for us to move to.

i wonder how much you have actually done research on thailand before telling me about how terrible our immigration there would be. i wonder, do you know what the annual cashflow in that country is? could you tell me what percentage of its income is reliant on agriculture, vs its tourism industry, vs its technology exports, to actually assess what "gentrification" i'd perpetrate by moving there, holding my remote job, and contributing to the local economy? have you considered the ratio of global refugees that already work themselves through its borders annually?

i dont think you have done that research. but i have. that's why im going there. because it's my best choice. and i know not everyone has that choice right now, and that is not something that i feel nothing about. obviously. but right now my priority is funneling myself and my loved ones to safety, and saying "im sorry" every time i bring it up is simply not an efficient use of my time. im sorry that you don't care to think about it enough to not see me as a villain in doing so.

you can feel any way you like about all of this, im still going to keep asking the people who give a fuck for their support, grateful for every kind word or dollar that is sent our way.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

Saw a thing about our new HHS secretary *shudder* Captain Brainworm... He said that he did not support Universal Health Care because he sees people who get cancer after smoking for 20 years of their lives as a drain and undeserving (paraphrase from the Yahoo article I read). I guess he thinks because they do an unhealthy behavior that they just deserve to die in pain. That is, honestly, how a lot of Americans think. I don't know if it's the underlying Calvinism of our culture, but it is how a lot of people think - you get very sick, you must have done something to deserve it somehow. I wonder where it ends - people eating unhealthy? Probably thinks that, too, even though the poor generally don't have a choice in terms of what we can afford and what is available in a lot of places. (How about we Make Organic Veggies Cheap Again, numbskull! Salad stuff, although I love it, takes up, like, half a paycheck for me! At the store I work at! Where I get a discount)! And while I do think smoking is bad and (try to urge family members to quit), it's an incredibly difficult addiction to kick, as are all addictions. My father is a recovering alcoholic. He's been sober for over 30 years now, but still calls himself "recovering" because he gets temptations whenever he sees a beer commercial. That's how it works. He didn't recover alone, he went through an extensive and aggressive rehab program after a non-fatal drunk driving incident. If anyone wants to Make America Healthy Again, Universal Health Care is the ticket because GUESS WHAT?! It will be the thing that pays for rehab programs to get people off junk like booze and tobacco. But, nope, nope, here in America, all the people in charge think about are those people (real and hypothetical) who don't "deserve" treatment for lung cancer or COPD. And, that, my friends, is why innocent people who do "take care of themselves" to the best of their ability are considered some kind of acceptable collateral damage while many of the "guilty" could be saved, as well.

[goatgoesmbe]

So about that post of Simons gf that's super kind. what if she's petty with her kindness. one time me and my mom got in fight and that same day she complained about how many house plants she had. so i bought her a miniature rose bush (roses being a hard plant to take care of) as make up gift. I've also made other people their coffee wrong, bought unbalanced pens, gave there cats cat nip, given their children obnoxiously loud toys, etc.

Tw : reader is morally questionable, mention of assault

OOOH ANON, I LOVE THISS-

Like- just because reader is sweet, that doesn't mean being a pushover. You have class, and your own way of handling assholes properly.

I imagine Simon would think he needed to be the one who protects you, seeing you're all sunshine and rainbow, always so nice and kind- and he just didn't want anyone to take advantage of you, you know?

But then he realized that you're actually not a damsel in distress.

The first time he saw it, was at a neighbor's baby shower..

"You've been with him for what? 3 years now- and still no ring?" 

Simon glanced at you,simply smiling  in response. He recognized that voice, Stella was her name. Or something along those lines. She was one of those people who always wanted attention, bragging about every little thing while also dragging people down just so she could feel better about herself.

Simon had to hold back from rolling his eyes when she previously arrived. Wearing matching designer clothes with her five-year-old son, Aiden. Which was a waste of money in his opinion, the little fella will grow out of them in a short time after all.

"I mean.. come on, you're not getting any younger.. better make it official soon before you expire - he might no longer  be attracted to you by  then" Before you could respond to the previous jab, Stella continued talking. You could see why she would ask something like that, it was just how she was like after all. 

You and Simon have reasons, but it was really none of her business. And you couldn't exactly explain to her that your boyfriend is legally dead so you couldn't marry him properly.

Simon wasn't even listening to the other lads around him anymore- not that he did in the first place. Looking at you directly from his spot, he observed the others who interacted with you. You were surrounded by the other moms from the neighborhood, yet none of them said anything against Stella.

He saw you giggle, brushing off Stella's words way too casually like it didn't affect you, or maybe you didn't get that she was mocking you- Simon wasn't sure.

"It's time to go, luv" His gruff voice stopped their conversation as he approached you. He could feel their eyes on him, some of them not hiding the fact that they found him attractive from how they looked up at him with a slight flush on their cheeks. He wondered how you were comfortable being around them at all, he could never exchange more than a few words with them without feeling  like he needed to commit  murder.

Well.. whatever, you won't be meeting them again anytine soon, since the both of you  were planning to move away.

You looked up at him with those big innocent eyes and pouted "But-". 

"It's late" he added, putting his hand on your hip and pulling you close to make a statement at the others who still shamelessly gawked at him.

Seeing that look in his eyes- the one that means he accepted no rejection, you sighed. "Alright, let me say my goodbye" You said before turning back to them.

Simon simply grunted and waited. And when he thought you were ready to go, he raised an eyebrow when you instead walked over to the kids who were busy playing. You told them about you moving out of  the neighborhood and the kids didn't seem to like that, you were their favorite after all.

"I have something for you guys to remember me by.." You chirped. Immediately, the kids looked at you with eagerness as you rummaged through your tote bag.

The side of his lips lifted under his mask when he saw you pulling out mini harmonicas. Before you could say anything more, a brat snatched one out of your hands. That was Aiden, Stella's spoiled boy. Which means it would be hard for the mom to get the noisy thing from him.

A cute little giggle escaped your lips as you watched the boy immediately blow on the harmonica messily, spraying spit everywhere.

After you made sure every kid got one, you stood up and held his hand before skipping away with him in tow. Cacophony of moms' frustrated yelling, children's laughs, and loud harmonicas left behind.

So you had planned your revenge all along, huh? Seems like you're not a total angel like he’d thought you were.

...

The second time was  when he visited you at work. While he provided  enough for you to stay home and do nothing, you still insisted on running  your own cafe. Saying that it had been your dream since you were little. And how can he say no when you look at him with those puppy eyes?

And while you do have people working for you, you still help around from time to time. "It's the best part about having a cafe," you said to him that one time.

He was sitting at a table close enough to observe you working in that cute little uniform you had designed yourself for the cafe, when a guy walked in. His appearance screamed 'douche', the kind of guy who would talk about how many body counts is too many for a woman in a podcast.

Despite that, you greeted him cheerfully like you do with every other costumer. Even when he told you to write 'daddy' on the cup after you asked for a name, a disgusting smirk on his lips.

Meaning you would need to yell out that word to call for him when the order was ready.

And while Simon was fuming inside, you were calm. Humming along with the music playing from the speaker as you prepared the coffee. 

But, instead of calling for the guy yourself, you turn to one of your employees. His name was Shane, written on the name tag clipped to his uniform. He was a big guy, not any taller than your boyfriend but still. A simple man who will be pleased spending the night scarfing down pizzas and beers. Now, Shane was known for many things, one of them being very gay, and being  totally not shy about it.

You smiled before turning away to take the next order, all while  secretly paying attention to what was going to happen next.

"Daddy..!" Shane shamelessly sing-sung the word loudly and even when Simon expected it already, he still choked on his tea. He also saw you biting down your lip to prevent yourself from laughing.

Shane went on for a while until the whole cafe fell silent except for the music playing that didn't fit the situation at all, which made it evenmore hilarious. 

'Daddy' finally walked over to get his order. Red in the face and looking very pissed. He was not stupid enough to cause a scene, however, and simply accepted his cup without so much as a thank you. And of course, Shane added the cherry on top by throwing a flirty wink.

And when you noticed the way he glanced at you after taking a sip of his coffee, tasting regular milk instead of almond- knowing full well he told you earlier about his lactose intolerance. You simply gave him that sweet smile of yours, a cheerful "Thank you, please come back again..!" Thrown his way like how it always is whenever a customer is leaving.

Simon chuckled under his breath and shook his head. Feeling proud (and scared, that was borderline crime) of his pretty bird being cruel in her own ways.

So when he saw you sighing after an argument on the phone with your mom, he didn't question it when you went ahead and bought a make up gift for her.

[goldfades]

never felt so alone───paige bueckers

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested by @wanderlusturous -> Paige x reader too 🤍 like maybe some teammate fics | i hope you enjoy, babe!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst to fluff, ACL injury stuff, paige being a cutie patootie, not sure if theres anything else but it has a happy ending!

The first time you let yourself cry about it—really cry, not just a few silent tears swallowed in the dark—you were alone in the training room, knee wrapped in ice, watching your team warm up on the screen mounted in the corner. The sound was off, but you didn’t need it. You could hear it anyway. The sneaker squeaks, the ball hitting the floor, the echoes of laughter and easy, thoughtless movement. It was the sound of a world that had moved on without you.

And you hated that it hurt this much.

It had been almost a year. A year since your body betrayed you in front of thousands. Since your whole life had changed in a single wrong step, your knee buckling beneath you in a way it was never supposed to. A year since you lay on the court, gripping your leg with hands that shook, blinking up at the overhead lights while everything around you blurred into background noise. A year since you had to sit in that tiny, sterile room with a doctor who didn’t bother to soften the news: ACL tear. Surgery. Recovery. Long, slow, brutal.

And just like that, everything you had been working toward, everything you had been so sure was yours—the draft, the number one pick, the future you had mapped out for yourself since you first picked up a ball—was gone.

You tried to be okay about it. You told everyone you were okay about it.

But you weren’t.

Because now, every time you walked into that gym, it wasn’t the same. You weren’t the same. You felt it in the way people looked at you, in the way their eyes darted to your knee before meeting your face. In the way their encouragement sounded more like pity, their reassurances empty, weightless.

“You’ll be back,” they’d say, and maybe they believed it. Maybe they didn’t. It didn’t matter. Because you knew the truth. You weren’t the same player. You weren’t the same person.

And you had never felt more alone.

But if there was anyone who understood, it was Paige.

She never said much about it, but she didn’t have to. She had been through it too. She knew what it was like to go from untouchable to sidelined, to watch the game you loved move forward without you, to wonder if you’d ever be the same again.

And lately, she was the only person you could stand to be around.

You had been staring at your phone for so long that the screen dimmed, and for a moment, you just let it. You let the notification blur into the background, just another soft glow in the otherwise empty space of your mind. But the words were already burned into your vision. You could still see them, could still hear them.

ESPN: The new projected #1 pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft has been updated.

You hadn’t even opened the article. You didn’t need to. The bets had been completely off for you for a while now. They had kept your name there at first, had held onto you like a favorite whose odds just kept slipping, but eventually, reality set in. You were old news now. Another cautionary tale. A talent with a question mark hanging over her head.

And now, someone else was in your place.

You stared at the screen, willing yourself to feel something other than this heavy, creeping numbness. You should be angry. Should be heartbroken. Should be something.

But you just felt… gone. Like the piece of you that used to care had been hollowed out somewhere along the way.

A year ago, you had been untouchable. A sure thing. The future. The kind of player people built franchises around. And now? Now, there was a chance there was no draft for you at all.

Because the truth was, you weren’t healing fast enough. You had tried. God, you had tried. You had pushed your body past the point of exhaustion, past the pain, past the doubt. You had done every stretch, every exercise, followed every rehab plan like it was a religion. But the clock was still ticking. And if you didn’t get back soon, if you didn’t prove that you were still the player they had once fought over, then what?

Then no one would draft you.

Then it would all be over before it even began.

Your fingers tightened around your phone, stomach twisting into knots, the weight of it pressing against your chest, against your throat, until you felt like you might choke on it.

And then, suddenly, it was gone.

You blinked, hands grasping at empty air as Paige plucked the phone from your grip, her movements casual but firm, like she had seen this moment coming before you even did.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just held your phone in one hand, looking down at you with those sharp, knowing eyes, the ones that had always seen through you too easily.

“It’s nothing,” you muttered, shifting on the bench, trying to sound bored, like your world hadn’t just cracked open a little more. Like you weren’t barely holding it together.

Paige didn’t buy it. Of course she didn’t.

She turned your phone over in her palm, thoughtful, before slipping it into the pocket of her hoodie. “You don’t need to look at that.”

The damage was already done.

Your chest still felt tight, your stomach still sick, your mind still racing down the same dark paths it had been on since the moment you read that notification. Paige could take your phone away, but she couldn’t erase the words from your head, couldn’t make you unsee them, couldn’t stop the way your pulse was pounding in your ears, reminding you over and over of what you had lost.

Paige must have seen something shift in your face because she exhaled, long and slow, before sitting down beside you.

“You’re still in this,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now, edged with something softer.

You laughed, but it didn’t sound like you. “Am I?”

She didn’t answer right away, just studied you like she was trying to figure out how far gone you really were, how much of you was still left.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure of the answer.

The locker room was dead silent. Everyone could feel the tension thick in the air, suffocating, pressing against their chests. No one wanted to look at you. No one wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

You sat there, jaw clenched so tight it ached, hands curled into fists on your knees, staring at the floor like if you looked anywhere else, the whole thing would snap you in half.

"You think this is easy for me?" Geno’s voice cut through the silence, sharp, impatient. "You think I enjoy calling you out like this? I don’t. But this attitude you’ve had? It’s not helping you. It’s not helping the team."

You felt your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down. You always swallowed it down.

Geno sighed, dragging a hand over his face before leveling you with that look, the one you’d seen him give so many players before. The one that usually meant tough love, a push in the right direction. The one that used to light a fire in you.

"You know what I’ve told you before," he continued, voice calmer now but still firm. "Half the battle is in the mentality. You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can prove to everyone that you’re still the player they think you are. It’s your choice."

That was it.

That was the moment you broke.

The moment you couldn’t keep it all bottled up anymore.

Because it wasn’t just about your mentality. It wasn’t just about your attitude. It was about how everything had been taken from you in one second, how you had clawed your way through recovery, how you had done everything right and it still wasn’t enough. It was about the way people talked about you now, like you were a what-could-have-been instead of a what-still-could-be. It was about the fact that you didn’t even know who you were anymore without basketball, and no one seemed to understand that.

Your voice shook when you spoke, but the words spilled out anyway, raw and desperate and unfiltered.

"Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t replay that moment every single night, over and over again in my head, trying to figure out how I got here?" You laughed, but it wasn’t funny. It was bitter, broken. "Do you think I don’t want to be out there? That I don’t want to be the player I was?"

Your eyes were burning now, but you refused to let the tears fall here. Not in front of him. Not in front of them.

"I’ve done everything I was supposed to do," you whispered, voice hoarse, barely holding it together. "And it’s still not enough."

No one said anything.

Not Geno. Not the team.

No one.

So you left.

You grabbed your stuff, shoved past the stunned silence, and walked out before anyone could stop you.

Paige was the only one who followed.

She didn’t call your name. Didn’t try to talk to you. Didn’t try to tell you it was okay, because she knew it wasn’t.

She caught up to you outside the gym, her footsteps quiet but steady, and the moment you turned to look at her, everything you had been holding in—the anger, the grief, the exhaustion—crashed into you all at once.

And without a single word, Paige wrapped her arms around you.

She hugged you tight, like she was holding you together, like she could feel the way you were unraveling, thread by thread. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry. Really cry. Not just a few tears wiped away before anyone could see, but the kind of tears that shook your whole body, that made it hard to breathe, that carried everything you had been too afraid to say.

Paige didn’t let go.

Not when your shoulders trembled. Not when you gripped the back of her hoodie like a lifeline. Not when your sobs turned into ragged, uneven breaths.

And that night, she didn’t leave your side.

She didn’t say much. She didn’t need to.

She just stayed, close enough that you could hear her breathing, close enough that, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel completely alone.

Paige had always seen you as untouchable. As unstoppable.

Seeing you like this? Broken, vulnerable, hurting in a way that even she couldn’t fix?

That broke her, too.

You had always been the one. The kind of player people whispered about before you even stepped onto the court. The kind of talent that didn’t just demand attention but held it, bent the game around you like gravity. Paige had seen it from the first time she played with you, the way you moved, the way you thought the game three steps ahead of everyone else. You were special. And everybody knew it.

That was why, when it happened, it felt like the world had cracked open.

She remembered it too clearly. The sharp sound of your body hitting the floor, the way you clutched your knee, the way your face twisted in pain. She had never seen you like that before. Never seen you down and not bounce right back up.

At first, she thought—hoped—it was just something minor. A bad landing. A scare. You’d get up, you’d shake it off, and everything would go back to normal.

But you didn’t get up.

And when they helped you off the court, when she saw the way you wouldn’t even try to put weight on it, her stomach dropped.

Because she knew.

She knew before the MRI, before the press release, before the hushed conversations about recovery timelines and worst-case scenarios. She knew the second she saw your face.

And that night, when she found you sitting in the locker room long after everyone else had left, staring down at your knee like it wasn’t even yours anymore, she realized something else.

You weren’t just scared of being hurt. You were scared of what came next.

Paige understood that fear. She had lived it. She knew what it was like to sit on the sidelines and feel like the game was leaving you behind, like the thing that made you you was slipping further and further out of reach. She knew how isolating it was, how no amount of support or encouragement could touch the parts of you that ached the most.

But this was you. And in her mind, you had never been touchable, had never been stoppable. The idea of you being anything less than that—it wasn’t something she could wrap her head around.

So she had told herself, You’ll come back. You have to come back.

But months passed, and she watched the way you changed. The way your fire dimmed. The way you started retreating into yourself, isolating, pulling away from the team, from her.

The way your name slowly started disappearing from draft talks.

The way you looked at yourself like you weren’t sure you belonged here anymore.

And now, sitting beside you, holding you as you finally let yourself fall apart, she felt helpless.

Because this wasn’t a game she could win for you.

She could fight for you on the court. She could hit big shots, make big plays, try to keep the team moving forward. But she couldn’t fix this. She couldn’t make your knee heal faster. She couldn’t take away the doubt, the fear, the loss of everything you thought was certain.

She hated that.

She hated that all she could do was hold you, that all she could offer was her presence, her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing against yours.

But if this was all she could do, she would do it.

Because you weren’t alone.

And as long as she was here, as long as she had anything to give, she would make sure you never felt like you were.

--

It started with an alarm.

A shrill, relentless alarm at 5:30 AM. The kind that made you want to throw your phone across the room.

At first, you thought you had set it by accident. But then you heard the knocking.

No. Not knocking. Pounding.

You groaned, pulling your blanket over your head, willing whoever it was to just disappear.

No such luck.

"Get up," Paige’s voice rang through the door, clear, firm, unmovable.

You shut your eyes tighter. "Go away."

The door opened.

You peeked out from under the blanket just in time to see Paige standing in your doorway, arms crossed, dressed in workout gear like she had been up for hours.

You glared. "Do you not believe in knocking?"

"I knocked," she said, unimpressed. "Then you ignored me. Now get up."

You scoffed, rolling onto your side. "Not happening."

You should have known she wouldn’t just accept that.

Paige walked over, grabbed the edge of your blanket, and ripped it off you in one swift motion. Cold air hit your skin, and you practically yelped, curling into yourself.

"Jesus, Bueckers—"

"You can cuss me out later," she said. "Right now, we’re going to the gym."

You stared at her like she had lost her mind. "Paige, it’s five in the morning."

"Yeah, and you’ve got work to do," she shot back, unfazed. "Season starts in a few months. You wanna be ready or not?"

You hesitated.

Of course you wanted to be ready. Of course you wanted to get back to where you were before, to prove that you weren’t just some washed-up has-been before you even got the chance to be a someone.

But that want—that need—was buried under months of frustration, self-doubt, exhaustion. You had pushed yourself so hard for so long, and it still felt like you were running in place.

And now, here she was, asking you to choose again.

Paige must have seen the hesitation in your face, because her expression softened. She sat down on the edge of your bed, nudging your knee lightly.

"I know you’re tired," she said, quieter now, more serious. "I know this hasn’t been fair. But you’re too good to let this stop you. You know that."

You swallowed, looking away.

She sighed, leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees. "You’re not doing this alone," she continued. "I’m gonna be here every step of the way. If you have to push yourself, then I’ll push you. If you fall, I’ll catch you. But I’m not letting you give up on this. I won’t."

Something in your chest tightened.

Because she meant it. You could hear it in her voice, in the unwavering steadiness of it.

Paige had always believed in you. Even when you stopped believing in yourself.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to get you out of bed.

You exhaled through your nose, rubbing a hand down your face before finally, finally sitting up.

"Fine," you muttered. "But if I pass out halfway through, it’s on you."

Paige grinned, already victorious. "You’ll live."

And with that, she tossed you your sneakers, stood up, and waited—because she already knew you were going to follow.

The next couple of months were hell.

But not the kind of hell you had been drowning in for the past year. Not the slow-burning, isolating, empty kind of hell where every day bled into the next, where the weight of your own expectations crushed you before you even got out of bed.

No, this was different.

This was the kind of hell that left your muscles aching in the best way, your lungs burning as you pushed through another sprint, your hands gripping your knees as you bent over, gasping for breath, feeling alive again. The kind of hell that reminded you why you had ever loved this game in the first place.

And it was all because of Paige.

She didn’t go easy on you. If anything, she was worse than the trainers. She forced you out of bed before sunrise, dragged you through drills that made you want to collapse, and refused to let you quit.

"You’re too slow," she’d say, breathless, as you tried to keep up with her full-speed cuts. "Use your damn left hand," she’d scold when your layup was just a little too stiff. "Again." That was her favorite. No matter how many times you told her you were done, she’d look at you with that infuriating smirk and make you do it again.

And somehow… somehow, you needed it.

For the first time in forever, you felt like a player again. Like you were clawing your way back to the person you used to be. And with every day that passed, with every extra rep, every bead of sweat rolling down your spine, every time you beat Paige in a shooting drill and got to see the way she rolled her eyes, shoving your shoulder with a muttered, "Whatever, lucky shot,"—you started to believe, just a little, that maybe you still had a chance.

It was exhausting. It was painful. It was the hardest thing you had ever done.

And you had never felt more alive.

But then there was the other problem.

Because somewhere along the way, between the early morning workouts and the late-night film sessions, between the inside jokes and the way she always, always knew exactly what to say to get you out of your own head—something shifted.

You caught yourself watching her too long. Not just as a player, not just as the Paige Bueckers that the world knew. But as her. As the person who had seen you at your absolute lowest and refused to let you stay there.

As the person who had held you when you broke. Who had stayed up with you on the nights where the doubt crept in too deep, the one who knew, before you even said a word, exactly what you needed.

And it scared you.

Because Paige Bueckers wasn’t just some random person. She was your teammate. Your best friend. The person who had dedicated months of her life to making sure you didn’t give up on yourself.

And you couldn’t risk losing that.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way your heart picked up when she brushed against you. The way her hand lingered on your back whenever she guided you off the court. The way she looked at you sometimes, like she was trying to figure something out.

You ignored everything.

Because preseason was coming. And you weren’t where you needed to be yet.

You had made progress—real progress. You were moving better, sharper, stronger than you had in months. But you weren’t there yet. Not fully healed. Not fully you.

But baby steps, right?

You weren’t giving up. Not anymore. And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as alone as you thought you were.

--

The gym was nearly empty when Paige found you.

Late night, lights dimmed, the faint echo of bouncing balls from the other side of the facility. You had just finished your last set of shooting drills, your knee wrapped tight, sweat dripping down your back, exhaustion clinging to your limbs. It was another long day of almost being back, almost being who you were before.

But almost wasn’t good enough. Not yet.

You heard the door open but didn’t look up. You knew who it was. Paige had a presence, an energy that filled the space before she even said anything.

"You really gotta stop sneaking in extra workouts," she called, footsteps slow as she crossed the court. "What if I tell Geno? He’ll make you sit out of practice for real this time."

You rolled your eyes, bending down to grab your water bottle. "You won’t tell Geno, because that would make you a snitch."

She scoffed. "I think it makes me a responsible teammate."

"You dragged me out of bed at five in the morning for conditioning all summer, but now you wanna be responsible?" You shot her a look. "Little hypocritical, don’t you think?"

Paige grinned, coming to a stop a few feet from you, spinning a ball lazily in her hands. "That’s different."

"How?"

"Because I was supervising. You out here by yourself?" She made a tsk sound, shaking her head dramatically. "Reckless. Careless. Dangerous, even."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Whatever."

Paige took a step closer, that knowing look in her eyes. "You know you don’t have to do this alone, right?"

Your grip tightened around your water bottle. It wasn’t the first time she had said something like that. And every time, it hit the same.

"I know," you muttered.

She studied you for a second, then nodded, spinning the ball again before flipping it toward you. You caught it out of reflex.

"One-on-one," she said casually, stretching her arms overhead. "First to five."

You narrowed your eyes. "You just had practice."

"So?" She smirked. "I still won’t go easy on you."

That shouldn’t have made your stomach flip, but it did.

You licked your lips, tossing the ball between your hands. "I won’t go easy on you, Bueckers."

Her smirk deepened. "Good."

And just like that, the banter faded into the familiar rhythm of competition—the kind where words weren’t needed, where the only thing that mattered was movement, instincts, the game itself.

But even as you tried to focus, as you tried to lock in, you couldn’t ignore the way Paige’s eyes lingered a little too long. The way her hands brushed against your waist when she reached for a steal. The way she grinned every time you scored, even though she hated losing.

The way the tension between you two had started feeling different.

And you weren’t sure what scared you more—losing the game, or what would happen if you stopped ignoring it.

--

The sun was starting to set as you and Paige walked back from physical therapy, the sky streaked with warm oranges and purples, the air crisp against your skin. Your knee was sore, but in the way it always was after PT—stiff, a little swollen, but manageable. You were used to it by now. What you weren’t used to was the fact that you didn’t hate these sessions anymore.

Not since Paige started showing up.

At first, you thought she was just being nice—checking in on you, keeping you accountable, making sure you weren’t wallowing in self-pity (even though you totally had been). But then, she started coming every time. She sat in the waiting room during your sessions, tapping her foot impatiently like she was the one getting worked on. She cracked dumb jokes when you winced through exercises, flipped through old magazines and read the worst horoscopes out loud just to make you laugh.

She was like your own personal emotional support dog. If emotional support dogs talked a lot.

And the thing was? She made you feel less bad about all of it.

The injury, the rehab, the endless cycle of progress and setbacks. It didn’t feel so heavy when she was there.

Now, as you walked side by side, your duffel slung over one shoulder, Paige stuffed her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, gaze flicking toward you before settling on the sidewalk.

"You know, I’ve been here before," she said after a beat, her voice quieter than usual.

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"This place," she nodded back toward the therapy clinic, her expression unreadable. "I came here after I tore my ACL. Same time, same days. Same routine."

You blinked. You knew about her injury, obviously—everyone did. But she had never really talked about it. Not like this.

"That was before I got here," she continued, exhaling, her breath visible in the cool evening air. "Before I really got back. And it sucked. So bad." She huffed a laugh, but it wasn’t really funny. "I don’t think people get how… alone it makes you feel. Everyone’s moving forward, the season keeps going, and you’re just stuck in the same place. Trying to convince yourself you’re still the player you were before."

Your stomach twisted at how familiar that sounded.

Paige kicked a loose pebble down the sidewalk. "I didn’t really have anyone who—like, I mean, I had people who cared, but no one who really got it. Not like this. I wanted someone to be there for me the way I’ve been here for you."

You stopped walking. Paige took a few more steps before realizing and turned to face you, her brows furrowing slightly.

"You never told me that," you said, voice softer than you meant it to be.

She shrugged, a little sheepish. "It wasn’t something I talked about much. Didn’t think it mattered."

"It does matter," you insisted.

Paige held your gaze for a second, something flickering behind her eyes. Then, she took a step closer.

"You know what else matters?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "The fact that you were the only person who actually pushed me to get my ass back on the court."

You blinked. "What?"

She smiled, but it wasn’t teasing. It was real.

"You don’t remember?" She shook her head, laughing to herself. "I do. You were a freshman, and you wouldn’t shut up about how I needed to get back out there. You kept saying I was too good to waste it, that I had to stop feeling sorry for myself. It pissed me off so bad."

Your eyes widened. You… vaguely remembered that. You remembered standing outside the locker room, Paige still moving stiffly, not fully cleared yet, and you had said something—something blunt, something stubborn, something about how she was going to regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t push through.

"You were annoying as hell," Paige added, smirking. "But you were right. I don’t know if I ever told you that."

You were still trying to wrap your head around it. You had no idea you’d made that much of an impact on her. That you had been the one to push her the way she had been pushing you now.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

Then, finally, you huffed, shaking your head. "So… what you’re saying is, this is revenge?"

Paige snorted. "One hundred percent."

You both laughed, but beneath it, something else settled in your chest. Something warm.

She had been there before. She understood.

And maybe, just maybe, that meant you could come out on the other side of this too.

--

The doctor barely got the words out before Paige exploded.

"Let’s goooo!" she shouted, jumping up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. She clapped you on the back—hard, like she forgot her own strength—before pulling you into the tightest hug you’d ever been in.

You were still processing it. Cleared. Cleared. After nearly a year of waiting, of doubting, of pushing yourself until you couldn’t breathe, you were finally back.

You let out a breathless laugh, gripping the back of Paige’s hoodie as she squeezed you tighter. "You realize I’m the one who just got cleared, right? Why are you more excited than me?"

Paige pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes bright, that signature smirk tugging at her lips. "Because I knew this would happen," she said like it was obvious. "I told you. You’re too good not to come back. It was only a matter of time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling warmer than you should’ve in an air-conditioned office. There was something about the way she was looking at you—like she had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. Maybe more.

The doctor cleared his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. "Are you two done celebrating in my office, or do I need to step out and give you a minute?"

You and Paige both whipped around like guilty kids, muttering quick apologies, but the grin never left her face.

And it didn’t leave the rest of the day, either.

She refused to let you go home without celebrating. Took you straight to your favorite restaurant, ordered way too much food, and every time you even thought about checking your phone, she smacked your hand away.

"Tonight is not for film. Or texts. Or stressing," she said between bites of fries. "It’s for you. And me. And this delicious meal I just paid for."

"You literally stole my card to pay," you pointed out.

"Yeah, but I swiped it," she said smugly, sipping her drink. "Which means I paid. Which means you should be grateful."

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach flipped, and you weren’t entirely sure it was from the food.

Because here she was again. Paige Bueckers, making you feel like the most important person in the room.

And that feeling hadn’t gone away.

The first practice back, you were expecting a normal warm welcome. Some pats on the back, maybe a few sarcastic finallys thrown your way.

What you were not expecting was to walk into the locker room and see balloons tied to your chair, a giant cake sitting on the bench, and the entire team yelling, "She’s baaaaaaack!" the second you stepped inside.

You stopped in your tracks, wide-eyed. "What the—"

"Surprise!" Paige called, stepping forward with an exaggerated bow. "Courtesy of your personal hype woman."

You looked at her, then at the cake—white frosting, piped-on basketballs, and the words WELCOME BACK, SUPERSTAR in bright blue icing. You could tell she definitely decorated it herself, because one of the basketballs was slightly misshapen, and the lettering was just a little off-center.

Your chest felt tight, but in a good way. A way you didn’t quite know how to explain.

"You did this?" you asked, already knowing the answer.

Paige shrugged, but her grin was unmistakable. "Figured you deserved it."

The warmth in your chest spread.

"Alright, get over here and eat before I do it for you," she added, shoving a plastic fork into your hand.

The rest of the team dove into the cake, laughter filling the room as people threw icing at each other, teasing you about how they were gonna light your ass up in scrimmages.

And through it all, you kept sneaking glances at Paige.

Because this was the part that was messing with your head.

The way she always knew what you needed before you even said it. The way she was so damn proud of you, like this wasn’t just your win, but hers too. The way she looked at you sometimes, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

And suddenly, you couldn’t keep pretending that your feelings for her were just friendly.

Because they weren’t. Not even close.

--

The second the buzzer sounded, the roar of the crowd barely had time to register before Paige was on you.

You didn’t even have time to celebrate properly, barely had time to process the fact that you had just played in your first official game back, before she grabbed you—hands firm on your waist, tugging you straight into her.

"You killed it," she practically breathed against your ear, voice thick with something deeper than excitement, something that sent a full-body chill down your spine.

You barely had time to respond before she pulled you closer, her arms locking around your back, holding you like she was afraid to let go. Her heart was pounding against yours, fast and erratic, and you swore she was holding on for longer than a normal post-game hug.

Not that you were complaining.

Your hands hesitated for only a second before finding their way to her back, gripping onto the fabric of her jersey, still warm from the game.

"You act like we just won a championship," you teased, but your voice came out softer than you meant it to.

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips. "We won your first game back," she corrected, like that was the real victory.

And the way she was looking at you—the way her eyes were scanning your face like she wanted to memorize it, the way her fingers were still gripping onto you like she wasn’t ready to let go—made your stomach flip so hard you almost felt dizzy.

It was so obvious.

So obvious in the way she refused to move more than a step away from you during the entire post-game celebration, always lingering close, her hand brushing against yours, her shoulder bumping into you.

So obvious in the way she reached for you again when the cameras swarmed, her arm slung around your shoulders like it belonged there.

So obvious in the way she beamed every time she looked at you, like she was the proudest person in the damn world.

And it should have been overwhelming, should have felt like too much.

But it didn’t.

Because if you were being honest, you didn’t want her to let go either.

--

The ice cream shop was packed, buzzing with late-night energy—fans still wearing jerseys, kids on sugar highs, groups of students laughing loudly in the corner. The air smelled like waffle cones and melted chocolate, and the whole team was crammed into two booths, talking over each other, hyped from the win.

And through all of it, Paige wouldn’t leave your side.

She had slid into the seat next to you the second you got there, pressing close enough that her knee knocked against yours under the table. And she stayed there, so damn close, even when there was plenty of room to move.

Not that you minded.

She was warm, practically radiating heat against your side. Every time she laughed—really laughed, head tilting back just slightly—her shoulder bumped into yours. Every time she reached for her cup, her fingers brushed against your arm like she forgot how much space she was taking up.

Or maybe she just didn’t care.

"Alright, we’re making a bathroom run," one of your teammates announced, and the rest of them quickly followed, leaving you and Paige alone at the table.

The shop was still loud around you, but suddenly, everything between you two felt quiet.

You tapped your spoon absently against your cup, not looking at her. "You planning on sticking to me like glue all night?"

Paige scoffed, leaning back like she was just now realizing how close she was. But she didn’t move. "Psh. Please. If anything, you’ve been following me."

You raised a brow, finally meeting her gaze. "Oh yeah? That what you’re telling yourself?"

She smirked, like she had been waiting for this exact opening. "Well, you do like me, so."

Your spoon paused midair.

Your brain short-circuited.

She had said it so casually, like it wasn’t the biggest bomb she could have possibly dropped. Like it wasn’t the exact thing you had been trying not to admit to yourself for months.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Blinked. "I—what?"

Paige just grinned, stirring her ice cream like she didn’t just say that. "Relax, it’s not that deep," she teased, but there was something lighter in her voice, something testing.

You swallowed. "So you’re just out here saying stuff?"

She shrugged, still grinning, but you could see the shift—the way she kept glancing at you, like she was trying to gauge your reaction. Like she was actually nervous.

You inhaled slowly. "Paige."

She finally stopped stirring her ice cream, finally let the teasing drop just a little.

"Okay," she said, quieter now, tapping her spoon against her cup. "Maybe it is a little deep."

The air between you shifted.

You could still hear the noise of the shop, the hum of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from across the room. But none of it mattered. Not when Paige was sitting this close, looking at you like that.

Like she had been waiting.

Like she wasn’t scared of saying it anymore.

Your chest felt tight. "Oh."

Paige let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Oh? That’s all you got?"

You swallowed again, your heart beating way too fast. "I mean—what do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know," she murmured, voice almost playful but not quite. "Maybe that you like me too?"

Your mouth felt dry.

Because you did.

Of course you did.

It had been obvious for so long, in the way your heart jumped every time she touched you, in the way you gravitated toward her like it was second nature. In the way she made the worst year of your life bearable just by being there.

So, really, what was stopping you?

You let out a breath, then shook your head, smirking just slightly. "You are so full of yourself."

Paige rolled her eyes but leaned in just a little closer. "Am I wrong, though?"

You huffed, pressing your lips together—trying to hold onto the last shred of self-control you had, but it was so hard when she was right there, when she was looking at you like she already knew she was right.

And then—

She reached out, fingers curling around your wrist, lightly, like she was giving you an out.

She didn’t need to.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

And before you could second-guess it, before you could talk yourself out of it—

You kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, like neither of you could believe it was actually happening. Like months of unspoken tension had suddenly snapped all at once.

But then Paige exhaled against your lips, like she had been holding it in for so long, and you felt her smile into the kiss before she kissed you again, deeper this time, her fingers tightening around your wrist, pulling you in.

You felt weightless.

Like everything—the injury, the doubt, the fear—had led to this.

And, for the first time in forever, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You weren’t thinking about the future.

You were just here, with Paige, and nothing had ever felt more right.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!

[veradragonjedi]

[pencilscratchins]

sorry i stopped posting, i got medicated and also engaged

[da-janela-lateral]

Seven-headed beast.