#hit mild burnout

[diremoone]

I finally caught enough fishies to get this damn weapon!!

Now for the freaking refinement mats 😭😭

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k (help???)

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Married couple, Wife!Reader, burnout, overstimulation (not sexually), arguing, angst followed by fluff, kiss and make up, virginal fingering, kisses galore, EVENTUAL SMUT, pregnancy sex, bit of body worship (he loves your pregnant body) cowgirl position, sensory deprivation sex.

𝐀/𝐍: I poured my heart into this one, not that I don’t always do but this one in particular just hits closer to home. And yes it’s a vent fic so very very self indulgent.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re tired. He’s tired. There’s only so much stress you can withstand before you reach your tipping point. Luckily your husband is here to keep you grounded

It started off with a throbbing in your head and as irritating as it was, it wasn’t bad enough to disrupt your daily routine. But as the week rolled on, the throbbing sensation began to get worse.

You were becoming easily irritated and it didn’t help with the workload you had to tackle. Even Miguel noticed a change in your mood but whenever he would bring it up and ask you about it, you would deflect his questions and tell him you were fine.

You couldn’t bear the thought of burdening him when your struggles especially when he had his own responsibilities and duties to fulfill.

You knew that if you admitted the stress you were feeling, he would insist that you rest, which was the last thing you needed, especially with how much you needed to get done this week.

You tried your best to ignore the nerves that were stretching to their limits now, but it was proven more difficult with each passing day. You would feel a sense of dread as soon as you got out of bed, mentally bracing yourself for the overwhelming day you had to face.

Your mind was preoccupied now as you reached over the high shelf for the spice jar. Your stomach was jutted out with the new life brewing inside of you, making it harder for you to manoeuvre around.

Just as your fingers brushed against the jar you were after, a sudden voice tore through the room, snapping you out of your trance.

“¿Qué dije sobre pedirme ayuda?” Miguel called out before he went over and stood behind you to take the spice jar you were reaching for. “What if something fell on you?”

“I don’t need help,” you insisted, reaching over to reclaim the jar back from him.

Miguel arched his brow in mild amusement. “You’re struggling to reach the spices, and you’re saying you don’t need help?”

“I’m fine, I’m trying to make dinner,”

“I know I know. But I’m here now so you don’t need to do that tonight,” You knew he was trying to emphasise the fact that he willingly took the time out of his day just to be with you.

Normally, you would be beyond appreciative towards his gesture. With his duties back at Spider Society HQ breathing down his neck all the time, it was a rarity that you both had an evening together like this.

He would either be saving the city or in another dimension, and although you would still be able to contact him through your watch, it would never be the same as having his physical warmth with you.

But right now, you were driven by your stress and too wrapped up in getting the job done to be in the right state of mind and properly enjoy the night.

“Why not? I can still cook you know,” you resorted, pouring some of the spice in the pot before stirring the content.

“And yet, I don’t want you to.” He said firmly before he turned you around to face him and rested his hands on your growing belly, silently conveying his concern for your wellbeing. “Now go sit,”

As the food continued to bubble on the stove, you retreated from his touch defensively. His face twisted in confusion as you questioned, “Why the hell are you doing that?”

His face fell further at your change in tone, “Doing what? Touching you?”

“No, treating me like I’m a basket case,”

“I’m treating you like the mother of my child. You’re pregnant and over exerting yourself,” he tried to reason with you. You attempted to conceal how much your senses were firing right now.

You couldn’t tell if it was the aroma of the cooking that was making you slightly nauseous but you were starting to feel agitated.

“I’m pregnant, not paralysed Miguel. I’m fully capable of doing this myself,” you could see the frown forming on his face and he definitely picked up the hostility of your tone.

“I never said you weren’t capable but I don't want you doing too much,” he argued back, his voice growing more insistent, mirroring your frustration. He wasn’t going to let your stubbornness sway him, even if it did irk you.

You could feel the heat of your vexation rising in your guts. You hated being interrupted in the kitchen especially when you were making dinner. Even if you were tired, you were still going to stand your ground and continue until you were done.

Throughout the last few days there had been a build up of tension that you have been bottling up and you refused to talk about it with him, even if he did ask you about it.

You had no safe outlet for your emotions and now you can feel it taking a toll on your daily tasks. It was almost palpable and you couldn’t control the sudden outbursts you were throwing at your husband right now.

A small part of you knew that he didn’t deserve this harsh treatment you were giving him. But that meek feeling of self awareness was quickly overshadowed by your clouded mind that was skewing your thoughts, unbeknownst to you.

Out of bitterness, you twisted the knob to switch off the stove before you turned to look at him. His annoyed expression didn’t falter, rather you could see his brows furrowed more. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn off the stove?”

“You wanted me to stop, didn’t you?” Now it was your turn to be confused, though you could still feel the lingering coldness.

He was so adamant on you not cooking so why is he still not satisfied when you turn the stove off? What was his problem?

“What are you trying to prove here?” He asked.

The question hit a nerve, the fact that he was insinuating that you had an ulterior motive just by a simple action. It was almost insulting. Was he trying to sound condescending just to throw you off?

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,”

Ouch.

“Oh please, enlighten me,” There was an obvious edge to your tone and he glowered at that. You could tell he was really starting to get annoyed when you saw his fangs started to emerge from his canines, something that was only stimulated in the height of rage or arousal.

“Cut the sarcasm. You’re purposely getting on my nerves and it’s working. Now, are you going to answer my question?” His voice demanded clarity from you and you weren’t sure if anything you said would satisfy him.

“Like I said, I’m doing as I’m told. Why are you getting mad?” You snapped back. You didn’t want to admit that what he said made the shadow of sympathy you felt early crawl back again.

He wasn’t aware of the emotions you were keeping inside of you and probably thought you were purposely reacting this way just to pull his leg.

“You know damn well that’s not how I meant with my words,” he was practically growling now and you could see the crimson in his eyes flicker like a flame.

With a weary sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose— a habit that you both seemed to share. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this argument now, it was clear that it wasn’t going anywhere.

The throbbing in your head was back, but now it felt like a pounding sensation reverberating in your skull. Without another word, you turned to leave the kitchen leaving the half-cooked food behind on the stove.

“Where are you going?” You heard him call out from the kitchen before he took a few steps in your direction.

“To the room, I lost my appetite,” You headed your way up to the bedroom. You didn’t hear his footsteps following after you as you closed the door behind you.

You climbed into bed with the blanket over you and made yourself as small as your pregnant belly will allow you. There was a sense of bleakness that was shrouding you now— the underlying stress you’ve been feeling was still there but it wasn’t as overbearing.

With the silence in the room, you’d think you’d be able to calm yourself down a little from the heated interaction you just had, but instead your mind was still racing. You couldn’t stop yourself from straining your muscles no matter how hard you tried.

You tightened your grip on the blanket and buried yourself deeper into the sheets, trying to block out as much of the lighting from the room as you could. You didn’t notice Miguel entering the room until you felt an additional weight on the bed beside you.

For a long moment, all you could hear was his steady breathing and the occasional bed creaking before he spoke out of nowhere. “Well, at least the silent treatment is an improvement from earlier,”

The sarcasm was uncalled for especially now. It made your blood boil. To make matters worse, he kept going. His voice, that you always loved hearing, now sounded like an irritating ring in your ear. “Are you just going to hide under the blanket until I forget about everything?”

“Stop talking….please stop talking!” you pleaded, your voice was quivering and on the verge of tears. You felt like you were at a tipping point, standing on the edge of something already breaking.

The sensory overload from the argument along with the tension was still present, and you desperately needed silence.

There was a long pause and your pulse was thudding in your ears. Even if you couldn’t see his face, you could tell he regretted his words just from his silence.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights and go?” His tone quickly switched, a soft caress. You poked your head out of the blanket to look at him.

You felt guilt tugging on your heart after everything that had just happened moments ago. Your husband didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all of this. The least you could do now was end the night on a civil note.

“Turn off the lights but don’t leave me,” you requested. Without wasting a beat, Miguel got out of bed to turn off the lights before he climbed back in to embrace you.

The room was dark but you could still see his silhouette against the Nueva York city skyline from the bedroom window.

“Could you hold me? Please?”

“Of course,” his voice was a soothing balm against your firing nerves. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the blanket away and moved onto his waiting arms as he leaned against the headboard.

You settled onto his lap and you felt his broad arms wrap around you. Your eyes started to leak with your heated tears and before you could stop yourself, you broke into a sob.

“Just breathe, I’m not going anywhere. Take your time,” He muttered against the crown of your head. You rested your head against his chest with his heart thumping softly near your ear.

The throbbing was starting to ease and the relief that followed after came in waves. All that weeks worth of pent up tensity was released in one night through your tears.

With the absence of the lighting along with the silence, it was easier to reach the mellow state that your body was screaming for.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” you rambled, a sense of remorse crashing down on you like a storm.

“It’s okay…I feel like we should talk about some things though,”

“Like what?”

“How we should handle potential fights in our marriage. I don’t really like the way we argue and get at each other's throats so quickly,”

You let his words sink in. The mere thought made your heart ache. The situation would’ve never escalated this far if you hadn't talked to Miguel earlier. Instead you let things boil over.

“It’s my fault…”

“Why do you say that?”

“I kept brushing you off when you wanted to be there for me,” you admitted, a bitter irony taunting your confession.

In retrospect, you’ve witnessed Miguel struggle to open up about his feelings while you were still in the early stages of the relationship.

Even during your marriage, it was a huge step for him to finally be completely emotionally open with you. You’ve noticed how much your relationship has flourished since then and how closer you felt with him.

But now the tables have turned tonight, with you leaving Miguel oblivious to the series of weary emotions you were experiencing. You knew it wasn’t healthy for you or the baby growing inside you to carry such stress alone.

“I noticed the way you were struggling the past few days. I just wish you were more vulnerable with me and not feel like you have to put on a brave face just for my sake,” Miguel explained.

“I dont…I don’t really know where to start,” You tried to rack your brain and coordinate how to express the tension you’ve been feeling the past few days. It was difficult to pinpoint on one thing and string the words together.

“Everything just feels so overwhelming and too much for my brain to handle…even the clock ticking makes me want to rip my head off,” you clutched onto his shirt, a feeble attempt to hold onto your crumbling composure. “I don’t know if it’s the hormones from the pregnancy or a burn out. Or maybe both,”

“I’m leaning towards burn out since you’re showing all the signs, you’re easily irritated and I can see you’re overstimulated from the smell of the cooking to the lighting in the room,”

“Maybe you’re right,” you agreed softly. A lot of issues could be contained just by not saying anything. You seemed to be acutely aware of your own hesitation when it came to voicing your emotions.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to share your feelings with Miguel; rather you didn’t know how to and feared the unknown reaction that may follow. You weren’t used to being this vulnerable.

You knew that you would rather hear Miguel share his emotions, even crying on your shoulder, than have him be silent. It was only fair that you took your own advice. Here you were advocating for openness, while grasping onto your own reticence.

“Could you do me a favour?” You asked in the midst of the silence that was shared between you.

“Of course,”

“I understand that you don’t want me to lift a finger especially while I’m pregnant but could you not try to intervene when I’m in the kitchen. I don’t like sitting around and I want to keep myself busy,”

You could sense the hesitance from him as he drew in a shaky breath before he spoke. “…yeah I can do that”

“You already have a lot on your plate,”

“I do, but promise me that you won’t leave me in the dark when you need something from me,”

“I promise.” You lifted your head from his chest to look at him. “I’m glad we’re on the same page Spiderman,”

Even if your view of him was obscured by the darkness in the room, you could still see his lips twitching up from your comment. “Mhmm that’s not an excuse for me to be a neglectful husband to you. So don’t act coy with me,”

“Oh I know. I’m just finding an excuse to be a smartass,” you teased him further by kissing along his jaw. Feeling his body tense from your touch, even if it was subtle, was a huge ego booster.

“Was that supposed to throw me off or something,” you could hear the groan he was trying to hide at the back of his throat as he spoke and it made your stomach flutter.

“Maybe,”

“Uh huh, you definitely did that on purpose,”

“I’ll do it again,”

“And I’ll kiss you right back,”

“Alright bet,” Before he could retaliate, you were bold enough to lap over his lower lip with your tongue. A low moan could be heard from him in response.

It was rare for you to initiate such a confident move like this but there was an undeniable spark and you didn’t want it to go just yet. The bleak mood from earlier was now forgotten and was replaced with arousal.

You pulled away to reposition yourself so you were fully facing him on your lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

His grip on your waist tightened in response drawing you closer to him until your bump was pressing against his torso. “You have no idea what you got yourself into,”

Finally with a longing that built in your stomach, you leaned in until your lips met in a fervent kiss. The weight of your doubts and anxiety was now completely diminished as you felt a magnitude that pulled you into bliss.

You felt him run his tongue over your lips and you parted them slightly in response. He took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, completely taking over your mouth with a low groan.

As you pulled away, breathless with desire, you couldn’t help but tease, “Too much or not enough?”

To which he responded, “Not even close to enough,”

“Good, then I’ll keep going. You’re not getting the upper hand here,” you were beaming at your own words.

But your confidence was cut short when you noticed his hand reach over and slipped under your pants and past your panties until his fingers were grazing against your folds.

Feeling the air that brushed against your slickness was enough to humble you. You didn’t realise how soaked you were until you felt yourself suction around him greedily as he pushed both his middle and ring finger in.

“You’re saying that now, just wait until I’m inside you,” he was taunting you, completely throwing you off but you would happily let his fingers do all the talking now, even if it was at the expense of your pride.

Your hand immediately reached to grapple onto his biceps to keep yourself steady. If it wasn’t for your restricted mobility from your bump, you would’ve started rolling your hips to ride on his fingers.

But instead you allowed him to do all the work. Your head rested on his shoulder and you moaned into his neck as the pad of his thumb rubbed against the sensitive nerves of your clitoris.

He dragged his fingers out, now wet from your arousal, and slowly ran it over your folds. The first thing you felt after he pulled his hands away from your cunt was his hard on, pressed against you.

You would’ve started grinding against him with how needy you were if he didn’t hold you still. He held you by the side and moved you off his lap so he could remove his pants and boxers before lying down flat on his back.

You didn’t need the light to know that his dick was standing on its end with beads of precum leaking from the tip. You removed your own clothes and felt the cold air slap on your cunt.

“Ven acá amor,” his voice was inviting and you’d be a fool to deny him.

You let him guide you, given his enhanced vision that allowed him to see in the dark. Both hands were on your rear, spreading your cheeks before you felt the tip nudge into your folds.

“Oh God-” you whimpered. You felt yourself stretch to accommodate him, sinking yourself lower until you were balls deep. Your hips flushed against him with your stiff clit pressed against the top of his groin,

“No divinity. Just your husband’s dick inside you,” A wide grin spread across his face. His hands were all over your growing belly, feeling the warmth of you and the occasional kick of the baby.

“Que bonita,” he said in awe. A sense of pride washed over him knowing he was the one who knocked you up, the woman he loved and the mother of his future child. “Muy linda tu barriga,”

You seemed to be more sensitive to his praises especially given the fact that you were getting cock drunk now.

Ever since your bump was starting to show, Miguel never missed the opportunity to praise you. He wanted you to feel proud of your physique and not be hesitant on your changing body.

His hands reached over to hold your waist before he piston his hips up and took control of the pace. You could tell he was holding back from going rough, handling you with extra care.

The feel of him thrusting inside was enough to knock the senses out of you until you were high from bliss. He was making sure you felt every sensation in full capacity, feeling every crevice of his dick being caressed by your silky walls.

His hands reached over to the back of your neck to pull you in until your lips met again. The kiss was disoriented and breathy as he was still trying to maintain his pace.

Each brush of his lips on yours was feeding into your ecstasy. You pulled away and nestled into his neck, taking in his dick so well.

“That’s it, let me make you feel good. Let me make you forget about your problems, amor,” he whispered lovingly in your ear.

“Miguel…” you couldn’t form a proper response, your moans of pleasure drowning out your voice.

He was so good at making feel this way, reaching optimal pleasure from his touches. With the absence of the lighting you allowed yourself to just physically feel everything he was giving you.

His broad head nudging into your cervix.

His soft whispers fanning against your ear.

His hands all over and worshiping you everywhere he could reach.

“God, you’re so easy to please,” You could tell he was reaching his peak. With one final buck from his hip, he dragged his dick to reach the depth of your cunt before he reached his climax.

You felt the contraction of your walls around him as he drenched his balls inside of you. His grip on you loosened and his dick slipped free from your grasp before deflating onto his thighs.

You whined from the sudden withdrawal and the muscles of your walls relaxed. There were still remnants of his cum that was sticking between your thighs but you would deal with that later.

Miguel kissed the top of your forehead before letting out a deep sigh. You both lay together in each other’s embraces, basking in the afterglow with your breaths merging together.

Amidst the tranquil intimacy, your stomach let out an unexpected growl, reminding you that you skipped dinner.

Miguel chuckled softly, “So, have you still lost your appetite?”

You huffed. “Well it’s suddenly back now that I’ve worked it up in other ways,”

Hot take: cooking together in the kitchen is NOT romantic 🙅🏻‍♀️🗣️ move out of my fucking way and let me work

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[coryndoll]

lies for lunch

rafe cameron x reader

— in which y/n returns to her hometown, the outer banks, to work as ward cameron’s assistant at cameron development, but living under his roof for the summer leads to unexpected tension with his son, rafe.

warnings: animosity, rafes daddy issues, safe !!

authors note: for the sake of the story i need y/n or you or whatever to have a person of familiarity whos hung back in obx to act like you’ve known each other for years, SO U HAVE A FICTIONAL BROTHER 😭

for the past ten months, you’ve been working at cameron development, helping ward negotiate deals and obtain permits. it’s been almost like being his assistant through everything. what started as an internship turned into a full-time job with actual pay after all this time.

they were right—hard work and determination can really pay off. you just didn’t expect to get so lucky with how quickly things moved. after a series of private meetings where ward discussed traveling back to north carolina to work in his hometown, he suggested you come along.

the relationship isn’t weird or inappropriate. you’re one of the few employees ward genuinely appreciates, which is more than he can say about the burnouts that float through the company. since you’re from the outer banks yourself, ward thinks it makes sense to bring you along to continue working for him and the company for as long as possible.

but anyway, you’re absolutely thrilled to be back in the outer banks. it’s more than just a job opportunity—it’s a chance to reconnect with everything familiar, everything that’s been tugging at your heart since you left.

the occasional visits have been fine, enough to keep the homesickness at bay for a while, but that constant, quiet longing for the place you grew up never really goes away. but now? now you’re staying in obx for the summer. no more fleeting weekends, no more rushed goodbyes. you’ll have time to breathe, to soak it all in. to be home.

the airport air is still fresh in your lungs when you slide into the backseat of the car, your bags dumped beside you. before the door even clicks shut, your fingers are already scrolling through your contacts. there’s only one person you want to talk to right now—your brother.

“hey,” you say, stretching out the word, a grin tugging at your lips as you hear the familiar click of him picking up.

“hey,” comes his easy, laid-back reply, his voice filling the small space around you like it always does. like home. “did you land?”

you bounce slightly in your seat as the car hits a bump, your grip tightening on your phone for a second. “yeah,” you confirm, digging through your bag absentmindedly. “i’m about twenty minutes from figure 8, so i’ll be there around noon. are mom and dad home?”

there’s a slight pause on his end, the sound of him shifting around, probably sprawling lazily on the couch back home. “nah, they’re not,” he finally says. “i swung by to check, but i guess mom’s out at lunch with her friends, and dad’s working today.”

you let out an involuntary groan, the disappointment settling in your chest. of course, it would work out like this. “this is what i get for trying to surprise them.”

his voice comes back, laced with mild amusement. “it’s your fault for not announcing you’re coming a day earlier.”

he’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. instead, you plow forward. “look, can you at least call mom and ask if she can be home soon? ward wants me to head straight to him as soon as i land, but i really wanna stop by as soon as i can. i can’t be there later than two.”

on the other end, you can almost hear the exaggerated sigh that you know is coming. the kind that’s loaded with all the typical dramatics. he’s probably rolling his eyes too, even though you can’t see him. “yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mutters, clearly unable to resist playing up his irritation. “i’ll take care of it. just text me when you’re on your way. still can’t believe you’re working for wc.”

with that, the call ends abruptly, and you pull the phone away from your ear, blinking down at the screen in mild confusion. wc? who calls him wc? you furrow your brow, lips tugging into a slight frown as you shoot off a quick text to your brother.

‘ 1st, nobody calls him wc. and 2nd, what??? ’

your phone buzzes again. his reply is as cryptic as ever.

‘ just a coincidence that in ny u ended up working for someone from obx still. don’t u remember him growing up? ’

you stare at the message, trying to piece together what he’s talking about, until another text follows almost immediately.

‘ he has like 3 kids. rafe, sarah, wheezie. i saw rafe down at the pier a few weeks ago. we used to see them at parties when we were younger. ’

rafe? sarah? wheezie? none of those names ring a bell. you rack your brain, searching for some kind of recognition, but you come up empty. a soft laugh escapes you as you quickly type back, ‘idk who that is lmao sorry’ and lock your phone, leaning back in the seat with a sigh.

ward cameron has three kids. it’s a strange thing to realize, that the man you’ve been working for these past couple of years has an entire family you’ve never heard of. but then again, work was always work. personal details were rarely exchanged unless necessary. and now, you can’t help but think—would you meet them? would they be anything like ward?

your brother mentioned seeing one of them recently, so you can assume at least one of ward’s children still live here. you wonder if the rest do too.

your thoughts wander as the car turns down another road, bringing you closer to the heart of figure 8. it’s been a long time since you’ve been back here, long enough for some of the details to feel fuzzy, but the feeling of the place—that never changes. the salty air, the warmth of the sun filtering through the car windows, the sense of familiarity that sits low in your chest, almost like relief.

you try to imagine what the next few months will be like. working for ward in the outer banks is worlds apart from working for him in new york. for one, the pace is different—slower, more laid-back. and for another, you won’t be disappearing into a faceless crowd when the workday ends. you’ll be here, surrounded by people who might actually know your name. or at least remember your face.

the car slows down, the gravel beneath the tires crunching softly as you near the cameron estate.

“thank you!” you call out, waving as the driver pulls away, leaving you standing on the driveway with your bags at your feet. for a moment, you just stand there, taking it all in. the cameron house looms in front of you.

you bend down, grabbing the straps of your bags and hauling them up, careful not to drag them across the grass. even though this isn’t your home, there’s an odd comfort in the way it feels.

you’ve been here before—well, not here exactly, but close enough. working summer jobs in figure 8 as a teenager had given you a glimpse of this world. a world where you were always on the outside, always temporary. back then, you were just a girl from the cut, doing what you had to do to get by.

no one looked at you twice. but now? now you’re here for something more. wanted, even.

the thought of it makes your stomach twist with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. you adjust the weight of your bags on your shoulder and step up to the door, knocking firmly before dropping your things to the floor with a soft thud.

a small sigh of relief escapes your lips as you straighten up, rolling your shoulders to shake off the stiffness from the journey. you’ve been lugging these bags around for hours, and your arms are starting to feel like lead.

as you wait, you take a moment to fix your hair, fingers smoothing back stray strands that have fallen into your face. it’s only then that you hear a rustle in the bushes to your left. your heart skips a beat, and you freeze, mid-motion, your eyes flicking toward the sound. you stretch your neck slightly, peering over your shoulder, but there’s nothing. just silence. your pulse settles again, and you let out a quiet laugh at yourself.

the door suddenly swings open, and you drop your hands to your sides, your face breaking into a smile. standing in the doorway is a girl, and instantly, you’re struck by how put together she looks.

her long blonde hair cascades down her back, and she’s dressed in a cozy white knit sweater paired with shorts. it’s casual, effortless, but there’s something about it that screams figure 8 wealth. but what really catches your attention are her socks—brightly colored, with little monster faces peeking out from the tops.

you smile a little wider at the sight. you’re starting to like her already.

“hey, i’m y/n,” you introduce yourself, stepping forward and extending your hand.

“it’s so nice to meet you! i’m sarah,” she replies, her smile just as warm as she reaches out to shake your hand. her grip is firm but friendly, and before you know it, she’s ushering you inside with a wave of her hand. “come on in! my dad isn’t here right now, but i can actually show you to our guest room. it’s, like, right next to mine. it’s so homey. you’ll love it.”

her energy is almost overwhelming, but in a good way. she’s excited, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved.

“i mean, yeah, sure,” you say, bending down to grab your bags again. but before you can get a good grip, sarah is already stepping in to help, lifting one of the bags with ease. you follow her inside, the door clicking shut behind you as you enter the home.

it’s everything you expected and more—bright, airy, with high ceilings and tasteful decor. it’s the kind of place that feels almost untouchable, like something out of a magazine.

as you make your way toward the stairs, you can’t help but glance around, taking it all in. the house smells faintly of lemon and clean linens, and the soft hum of the air conditioner is the only sound that breaks the quiet. it’s beautiful, but it’s also a little intimidating.

“so, is there anyone else home that i should worry about if i, like, wanted to shower?” you ask as you follow sarah up the steps.

sarah shoots you a smile over her shoulder as she leads the way. “i think you’re good. my brother and sister are here, but they won’t bother you. wheezie’s doing her homework, and rafe . . . well, he’s probably not even home.”

her tone is casual, like she’s talking about the weather, but you can’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity. you remember your brother mentioning a rafe in his text earlier, but the name still doesn’t mean much to you. maybe you’ll meet him later, maybe not. either way, it’s not something you’re too concerned about right now.

you reach the guest room door, and sarah twists the knob, pushing it open with a flourish. “here! this is your room for the summer.”

you step inside, and your breath catches in your throat. it’s . . . gorgeous. simple, but elegant, with soft cream-colored walls and wide windows that let in streams of natural light. the bed is large, with crisp white sheets that look impossibly inviting, and there’s a small sitting area in the corner with a plush chair and a side table. it’s more than you ever expected.

“wow,” you breathe, your eyes sweeping over the room. “this is . . . really nice.”

sarah grins, setting your bag down on the chair. “told you! if you’re gonna shower, i’ll leave you to it. but if you need anything, my room’s right next to yours.” she gestures vaguely toward the door. “the bathroom’s across the hall from mine. my dad will probably be home in, like, half an hour? him and rose just ran out to do something before you got here.”

you nod, but your mind snags on the name—rose. ward’s wife. it’s funny, now that you think about it, how little you actually know about ward’s personal life. you’ve worked with him for years, but he’s always kept things strictly professional. it’s only now, standing in his home, that you’re realizing just how much of his life is a mystery to you.

sarah gives you one last smile before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her. and just like that, you’re alone. you let out a long, slow breath, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the rings on your fingers as you take a moment to center yourself. it feels surreal, being here. like stepping into someone else’s life for a while.

you cross the room and pull back the curtains, revealing a stunning view of the island and for a moment, all your worries melt away. it’s beautiful here. peaceful. maybe this summer won’t be so bad after all.

you grab your bathroom bag and a fresh set of clothes, the weight of the morning starting to press on your shoulders as you make your way to the bathroom. you pause outside the door, hearing the muffled laughter of sarah and wheezie from across the hall.

their lighthearted chatter pulls a soft smile onto your lips, a sense of warmth in this house. it's comforting, in a strange way, to be surrounded by family—even if it's not your own.

the bathroom is sleek, modern, almost too luxurious compared to what you're used to. you lock the door behind you and let out a long, relieved breath. the hot water feels like an escape, like it's rinsing away the tension of the trip, the awkwardness of being in someone else’s home, and the nerves tangled in your chest about what comes next.

as the minutes pass, you try to calm the buzz in your mind. you know you need to hurry—the last thing you want is to be caught mid-shower when ward and rose return. you quickly towel off, pulling on your new clothes with an urgency that betrays your attempt to stay calm.

you grab your bag off the counter, unlock the bathroom door, and step back into the hallway. as you cross toward your room, you stop abruptly. there, by the door, are three guys, clearly in the middle of something. confusion furrows your brow—who are they? why are they here?

one of them has his back to you, looking into the room, while the others glance in your direction, the closest one nudging the other to signal your arrival. great. more people.

the one in the doorway catches your eye. his hand is rubbing his jaw, his stance casual, like he owns the place. for all you know, he does. his other hand is stuffed in his pocket, his expression unreadable as he turns toward you.

you can feel the weight of their stares, but you offer a polite smile, trying to act unbothered even though you feel a little out of place. honestly, the house is big enough for all of them, and you're too new to figure out who’s who just yet. you’re not even sure who lives here or if they’re just guests like you.

before any introductions can be made, ward’s voice booms from the front of the house, pulling you from the awkwardness of the moment. “is she here?”

you move past the tall boy, dropping your bag off in the guest room, and make your way downstairs. your heart leaps when you spot ward and rose. the grin that stretches across your face feels genuine, a relief after navigating the uncertainty of the last few hours.

“hey,” you say, stepping off the last stair to shake their hands. “thank you for letting me stay in your home, by the way. i met sarah. she’s great.”

ward gives you a friendly nod, his demeanor warm but business-like—he's already familiar with your work ethic and you know that he expects the same here.

“yeah, wait ‘til you meet rafe and wheezie, though,” he says, glancing at rose, who’s already inching away, clearly not interested in small talk, and it stings more than you’d care to admit. but you brush it off, focusing on the fact that you’re here for work, not approval.

“did sarah show you your room?” ward asks, guiding you toward the kitchen.

“yeah, she did!” you nod, falling into step beside him. “it’s really nice. i also used the shower, honestly. also super nice.”

he chuckles lightly, gesturing to the open space around you. “help yourself to anything while you're here. bathrooms, the kitchen, the living room—whatever you need as long as you're working with me here.”

when you reach the kitchen, ward turns to face you, and you're about to answer his question when the boys from earlier walk in, their presence shifting the energy in the room.

the tall one—who you now realize must be rafe—moves with an air of familiarity, heading straight for the fridge without so much as a glance your way, though his friends have sprawled out on the couch nearby, keeping half an eye on the situation.

“you grew up here?” rafe asks, pulling something from the fridge with a nonchalance that borders on arrogance. his tone isn’t rude, exactly, but there’s a challenge in his words, like he’s testing you.

you shift your weight slightly, feeling his attention on you now. “yeah, i did.”

“humor me,” he says before his father can talk, smirking as he continues, “figure 8 or the cut?"

there it is—the divide. figure 8, the land of privilege and wealth, versus the cut, where people like you are from. it's a question loaded with judgment, but you stand your ground.

you hesitate, unsure whether to entertain your boss’s son. “that’s . . .” you begin saying, noticing the small hint of a smile on his lips as he twists the bottle cap off. “i lived in the cut.”

ward quickly steps in, raising a hand to ease the tension. “y/n,” he says, using your name in a way that reminds you you’re under his wing here. “you don’t have to answer his questions.”

there’s a quiet pause before he officially introduces rafe, confirming what you already suspected. “this is rafe,” he says, nodding toward his son, who watches you intently. ward pauses as he brushed over it quickly, “and his friends,” like he doesn’t want to say it.

you give a small wave in return, feeling the awkwardness creep back in. you’re not sure what to make of the boys yet, but the dynamic between them feels . . . off. guarded. like there’s more going on than meets the eye.

ward claps his hands together, breaking the silence. “time for lunch. rafe, can you please tell sarah and wheezie to come down?” he asks, already heading toward the patio doors. “y/n, feel free to find a seat at the table.”

you murmur an ‘okay’ and follow ward outside, the breeze hitting your face as you step onto the patio. you take a moment to scan the setup, unsure where to sit, but ward motions for you to pick any spot. the table looks inviting, the outdoor space just as luxurious as the inside. it’s surreal, really, being here—like stepping into a different world entirely.

the table outside is a lavish spread, every dish meticulously placed as though the meal is a display of the cameron family's status. some of the food is freshly prepared, you can tell by the steam rising from the platters, while other dishes have clearly been delivered, probably from some upscale restaurant.

everything is pristine, almost too perfect for a casual lunch, but you remind yourself this isn’t just any ordinary lunch. this is a welcome—to ward’s world, to his home, and into the lives of the camerons.

this lunch wasn't really about you, though. it’s more of a formality for ward’s return to north carolina.

as you sit at the table, alone for now, your gaze drifts to the patio, the large windows giving you a glimpse into the house. your thoughts wander to art, and you can almost hear his voice in your head—his dry humor, his sarcastic quips. he’d love this, probably have a million things to say about the whole setup.

the camerons, so far, seem nice. well, most of them. sarah is definitely the easiest to get along with, the type of person you instantly feel comfortable around. but rose? you're not even sure she’ll show up for lunch. and rafe . . . you’re still figuring him out. there’s something about him, something unreadable that leaves you on edge.

as your eyes sweep around the room inside, they land on rafe. he's with his friends, the same group from earlier, laughing and talking like they don’t have a care in the world. there’s an ease about him when he’s with them, like he’s more at home in their company than anywhere else.

you can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about him feels . . . dangerous? no, maybe not dangerous, but unpredictable. like he could switch from charming to something much darker in the blink of an eye.

and then it happens—he looks at you. directly at you, like he knows you’ve been watching him. the way he smiles is almost smug, as if he’s aware of the effect he has on people, on you. your heart does a small flip, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze.

then, just as quickly, he says something to his friends, who erupt into laughter, and you feel the uncomfortable prick of self-consciousness. are they laughing at you? god, you hope not. the last thing you need is to be the butt of some joke you don’t understand.

you pull your focus away, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your cheeks, and you shift in your chair, suddenly too aware of how out of place you feel. this isn’t your world, not yet at least. you’re still figuring out the rules, where you stand, who you can trust. it's like being in a play without knowing your lines.

“i know my kids are going to be a handful when they’re all together, so . . . be prepared for that,” ward’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. there’s a warmth to his tone, something almost paternal. “but they’re good.”

you force a small smile and nod, though you’re not sure how much you believe him. you have a feeling ‘good’ might mean different things in the cameron household.

“you’re a year or two older than sarah,” he continues, and you turn back to face the table, focusing on the clean lines of the polished wood, the way the sunlight catches on the glassware. “you’re not that far off in age with rafe, either. sarah’s probably going to be your best friend. she can’t help it.”

there’s a lightness in his voice, and you get the sense that sarah is the glue that holds this family together, the one everyone relies on to keep things civil. “but rafe . . . he’ll warm up to you.”

will he? you can’t help the slight lift of your brows, amusement flickering in your expression as you consider his words. you don’t agree, but you can’t say that. something about rafe feels like he’s not the type to easily ‘warm up’ to anyone, especially someone like you—an outsider stepping into his territory.

“yeah,” you murmur, your tone filled with doubt, “i’m sure of it.”

the cameron family finally gathers at the long, polished table outside, sunlight filtering through the trees and casting dappled patterns across the plates. you take in the scene quietly as everyone finds their places, the quiet shuffle of chairs pulling out, scraping slightly against the patio stones.

it’s a family affair, but rafe’s friends have tagged along—an addition that seems unsanctioned by ward but tolerated nonetheless. ward positions himself at one head of the table, with you and sarah flanking either side of him like you’re all part of some carefully orchestrated tableau.

rafe is at the opposite end, far enough that the distance feels intentional, deliberate. you can’t help but notice how he’s checked out, his gaze drifting, uninterested. to your right, one of his friends, the blond one, settles beside you, and his presence feels awkward, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible, aware of the invisible tension in the air.

on the other side of him, the other friend sits, both of them quiet for now. down sarah’s side, wheezie sits next to her sister, then rafe at the very end. the empty chair beside wheezie feels like a gap. technically it’s rose’s chair if she were to have changed her mind.

“so what are you?” wheezie asks, breaking the initial silence, and you can see sarah’s immediate reaction, the quick glance she shoots her sister, a mild scolding in her eyes.

the phrasing is blunt, too blunt, but then again, wheezie is a kid—still learning the art of conversation, still figuring out the way words land.

before you can answer, ward steps in, his voice calm but authoritative. “y/n is my assistant,” he says, filling in the blank you hadn’t yet decided how to describe. you pause mid-chew, a small bite of food lingering on your tongue as you listen to him explain. “she’ll be working with me here in north carolina for cameron development over the next few months.”

you nod slightly, not sure how to react to being discussed like you’re not there. you’ve been in situations like this before, professionally at least, but it feels different now, being talked about in front of his family. a piece of you wants to assert yourself, to explain your role in your own words, but it feels like there’s no room for that right now. so, you stay quiet.

“that’s cool,” sarah says, her voice warm and genuine as she glances over at you, a small, encouraging smile on her face. she seems like the type who would get along with almost anyone, a natural mediator. “what do you do? as his assistant and all.”

from the corner of your eye, you catch rafe’s subtle shift, his gaze flicking toward sarah, his expression sharp for a moment, like he’s not interested in this conversation but is still somehow annoyed by it. you wonder what’s behind that look, what tension simmers under the surface.

you swallow and clear your throat, aware that everyone’s waiting for your answer now. “uh, yeah,” you start, your voice sounding more casual than you intend, like you’re trying to downplay your actual responsibilities.

“your dad has his job—he oversees the projects, handles the big picture stuff. i come along when he needs help with negotiating contracts and leases, hiring architects, engineers, contractors, all that. i also scout available land for potential developments.” you pause, glancing around the table. “just stuff like that.”

there’s a moment of silence, and for a second, you think maybe your explanation was enough. but then, like a crack in the veneer, rafe speaks, almost mockingly, “do you also get him coffee whenever he asks? do you fuck him, too?”

his words hit like a punch, unexpected and crude, cutting through the air with a kind of reckless confidence that leaves you momentarily stunned. for a second, the table feels frozen, like no one’s quite sure how to react.

the blond boy next to you nearly chokes on his food, a strangled half-laugh escaping before he catches himself, suddenly aware that rafe’s comment shouldn’t be funny.

your stomach twists, a flush of heat creeping up your neck as you force yourself to stay composed, staring straight at rafe from across the table. his gaze is fixed on you, unflinching, like he’s testing you, waiting to see how you’ll respond.

it’s infuriating—the audacity of it, the way he tosses out the insult so casually, like it’s no big deal.

ward sets his fork down with a soft clink against the plate, his fingers intertwining as he leans forward slightly. the tension shifts, thickening around the table, and you can feel every set of eyes on you, but your focus remains on rafe.

“rafe,” ward’s voice is calm, measured, but there’s a warning in it. and yet, rafe doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. he stays locked onto you, like you’re locked in some kind of silent standoff, and part of you wonders what he’s trying to prove.

after a beat of silence, ward adds, “can i talk to you inside the house?” it’s not really a question, more of a command, and finally, rafe moves. slowly, he pulls the napkin from his lap, tossing it onto the table before rising from his seat.

ward turns to you, his expression softening into something apologetic, and you nod slightly, acknowledging his silent apology even though you’re not sure what to do with it. as they disappear inside, the tension lingers, heavy and uncomfortable.

you force yourself to take another bite of food, though it feels like chewing cardboard. the uneasy feeling coils tighter in your chest. this is off to a rocky start, to say the least. sarah and wheezie seem fine, but rafe . . . rafe’s going to be a problem.

sarah reaches across the table, her hand brushing lightly against yours, and you glance up to meet her eyes. there’s sincerity in her expression, a quiet kind of empathy. “i’m so sorry for him,” she says softly. “rafe has a tendency to act like an idiot on a daily basis. don’t let anything he says get to you.”

before you can respond, the blond boy—topper, you think—finally speaks, his voice quiet but carrying a hint of amusement. “he doesn’t have a tendency to act like an idiot every day,” he says, shaking his head slightly as he takes another bite of food, a small smile playing on his lips. it’s the first thing he’s said to you directly, and the casualness of it surprises you.

“oh, he absolutely does,” sarah retorts with a light laugh. “and i’m sure you get yours from him.” she turns to you, smiling again. “y/n, this is topper and kelce, if you hadn’t already been introduced.”

before you can say anything, wheezie pipes up quickly, almost as if she’s sharing a secret, “sarah and topper used to date.” her voice is soft, but the reaction from sarah and topper is immediate—they both look over at her, like this was something she wasn’t supposed to say out loud.

“what?” wheezie says, glancing around the table innocently.

you can’t help but smile at the sibling dynamics playing out in front of you. it reminds you of your own relationship with your brother, the way siblings know each other’s secrets, their histories, the things that outsiders wouldn’t catch unless they were paying attention. in this brief moment, amidst the tension, you find a sliver of familiarity, of something you recognize.

you pull your napkin off your lap, rising from your seat, feeling the tension still clinging to your skin like humidity. you adjust your clothes, smoothing down fabric that doesn’t need smoothing, but it gives your hands something to do.

“where’s the nearest bathroom inside?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but you can feel the strain in your voice, the way your words almost trip over themselves.

“once you’re in the kitchen, it should be the door in the hallway if you just keep walking straight,” sarah tells you, offering a small smile. you nod in response, forcing yourself to return the gesture, though it feels hollow.

you step away from the table, and sarah seizes the moment to nudge wheezie, probably to scold her for spilling her relationship drama with topper.

as you make your way toward the bathroom, your steps slow. it’s not like you really need to go. you glance behind, making sure no one’s paying attention, before diverting your path to the front door instead. the knot in your stomach tightens with every step.

the front door is slightly ajar, and through the opening, you spot rafe. he’s leaning back in a chair on the porch, his head tilted toward the sky as if it’s the only thing he can stand to look at.

ward’s standing near him, mid-conversation, and their voices pull you in, despite knowing you shouldn’t eavesdrop. you lean against the doorframe, just out of sight, your heartbeat quickening.

“you didn't have to fly out some girl that works at the company just because she’s doing good,” rafe says, lifting his head from the chair, his voice tinged with frustration, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “i could've taken the job, especially because i’m already here.”

there’s bitterness in his words, but beneath that, you catch something else—something raw. rafe’s trying to understand why he’s being left out, why he’s not the one ward trusts.

“exactly, rafe,” ward replies, his tone firmer than before. “you're twenty-one and you’re still here. she’s twenty and she's been working with me for nearly two years. don’t you think that says something?”

his words land heavily, and for a moment, there’s silence. you feel the weight of the comparison ward’s making, and it sinks into you too, even though it shouldn’t. rafe chuckles, standing up, but it’s not out of amusement. it’s a defense mechanism, a way to shield himself from whatever hurt ward’s words are causing.

“y/n is here because she’s good at what she does,” ward continues, his voice steadier now, trying to end the conversation.

“alright, dad,” rafe says, nodding, but his expression betrays his words. “let's say i believe that—because i don’t—why am i not in her place?”

ward sighs, shaking his head like he doesn’t understand how rafe isn’t getting it. “rafe, think about what kind of job she has. how could i trust you with that?”

the words sting, and even though they aren’t directed at you, you feel a strange sense of guilt crawling under your skin. you know you’ve earned your place, worked hard for it. but hearing it spelled out like this, in such a stark contrast to rafe, it makes you feel . . . uncomfortable.

rafe rubs his chin, his fingers brushing against the stubble there. he doesn’t say anything, just nods like he’s processing it all, or maybe pretending to. he turns to head back inside.

and that’s when he sees you, standing there, caught in the act of listening.

his eyes lock onto yours, and for a second, you don’t know what to do. your throat tightens, but you force yourself to keep your head high. you can’t apologize. you don’t need to. this is your job, after all, the one you’ve worked damn hard for.

still, the silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. rafe doesn’t say anything, just turns away, walking back out toward the patio. you exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath. the knot in your stomach only tightens as you push yourself off the doorframe and head toward the bathroom, your footsteps almost echoing in the stillness of the hallway.

you stop in front of the bathroom door, staring at it like it might hold some answers you don’t have. your hand reaches for the knob, your fingers curling around it, but you don’t turn it. instead, you stand there, replaying the conversation in your head, trying to make sense of what you’ve just heard. rafe’s resentment, ward’s trust in you—it’s a lot to take in, and you wonder if you’re supposed to feel . . . what? proud? guilty? it’s hard to pin down.

before you can figure it out, you hear footsteps approaching. your hand drops from the doorknob just as ward’s voice reaches you.

“hey,” he says, his tone softer now, though there’s still an edge of frustration lingering there, probably from his conversation with rafe. “you and the girls getting along good?”

you plaster on a smile, nodding even though your thoughts are still tangled from the scene outside. “yeah, we’re good.”

ward mutters a small ‘good, good’ as he walks past you, heading back to the patio. you watch him go, your arms crossing over your chest as if that’ll hold you together. you follow behind him slowly, a quiet unease settling in your chest. this family, with all its complications, feels like a storm you’ve just walked into.

and then there’s rafe. if he already resents you, you can only imagine how his friends—topper and kelce—will react. boys like them, they stick together, and you know that dynamic all too well. the chances of them giving you a fair shot seem slim.

you brace yourself as you step back outside, a small sigh slipping past your lips. this job, this place—it’s not going to be easy. but nothing worth it ever is, right?

“so you're from the outer banks?” sarah asks as soon as you sit back down. there’s an edge to her voice, like she’s making an effort to seem casual but is still trying to figure you out. you can’t blame her. she’s probably just trying to get a feel for who you are, maybe ease the tension that’s been hanging in the air since you got here.

“where from?” she adds, glancing at you over the rim of her glass.

you pause, fork hovering just above your plate, feeling a flicker of unease. it’s a simple enough question, but you can already feel the weight of your answer.

“near quinton,” you say, cutting into your food with deliberate care, keeping your tone light. “a little south.”

you don’t look up as you speak, focusing on the neat little slices you’re making in your lunch, as if perfecting that action could keep the conversation from slipping into uncomfortable territory.

“i’m surprised we haven’t met before today,” you continue, the lie slipping out so smoothly you almost believe it yourself. “my friends and i knew just about everyone before i left the island.”

but the truth sits heavily in your stomach. you don’t know them. sure, your brother mentioned that your families had crossed paths when you were younger, but the memories never stuck. whatever brief moments there were, they’ve faded into the backdrop of your childhood.

rafe, however, doesn’t let your words slide by as easily. he latches onto them like a dog with a bone, straightening in his seat, eyes gleaming with interest.

“your friends?” his voice cuts through the air, almost too eager, too sharp. it’s like he’s waiting for you to say something wrong, give him an opening to tear into you. sarah watches him warily, her eyes flicking between you and her brother. she’s looking for help—maybe from her dad—but the tension is palpable, thickening by the second.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and the vibration pulls you from the uncomfortable scrutiny rafe’s casting in your direction.

“who do you know here?” he presses, and his tone is challenging now, like he’s daring you to prove something to him. to justify your place here, in this house, at this table.

you lift your gaze then, meeting his eyes with a steady look, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. but there’s something in the way he’s staring at you that makes your skin crawl, like he’s already made up his mind about you, about what kind of person you are.

it’s fucking exhausting.

“hate to interrupt you, ray,” you say, letting a mocking lilt creep into your voice as you rise from your seat. you keep your movements controlled, measured, not too rushed. “but i have a phone call.”

you pull your phone from your pocket, waving it slightly, feeling a small rush of satisfaction when rafe’s jaw clenches ever so slightly. “let me just take that really quick so we can continue our conversation.”

you don’t wait for his response, because you know whatever he says will just add to the irritation simmering beneath your skin. as you step out of the way, you hear him mutter, “it’s rafe,” under his breath, like correcting you is somehow important to him.

“it’s actually my brother!” you whisper-yell back, flashing the screen of your phone in his direction, making sure he sees the call.

as you walk away, you feel the tension ease just slightly, but it’s still there, humming beneath the surface. this place—figure eight, tannyhill—it’s like a tangled web, and you’ve just stepped into it, with people like rafe already ready to watch you stumble.

you press your phone to your ear as you step out of the patio and into the cool air of the home, and you try to calm yourself, leaning against the wall as your brother’s voice greets you on the other end.

you know you’ll have to go back in there, face rafe again, but for now, you allow yourself a brief moment to breathe.

considering making this a few-part series (maybe) !! let me know if you’d be interested thru replies, anons, or dms <3

@tiaamberxx

[coffee-and-guitar-strings]

Studying with ADHD

Dear God. My activity on here is sporadic, as is fitting with my diagnosis, but I thought maybe this post could help anyone that's been struggling alongside me.

Warning: Long Post

Feel Free to browse the bullet points and stop if something catches your eye!

If you don't like any of these, don't use them! They're based solely off my experience, and everyone experiences ADHD differently <3

Content:

Setting up The Space

Study Snacks!! - No hunger in The Space

Compete with yourself

Ignore Pomodoro

Reverse the feeling of 'not being smart enough'

Active Recall

Unriddle.ai (not sponsored,,,)

Final Tip

Final Note

Here ya go:

1. Setting up The Space

Some sites say to create a 'distraction free zone' to study in. Screw that, it never worked for me.

My brain is the distraction. I'll stare off into space if there's no other option.

INSTEAD:

We set up a study space that both fulfils random urges mid-work session, and limits distractions away from the desk.

I.e. we don't get up until we need the bathroom.

You limit the amount you get up from The Space, you limit the number of things your attention span will switch to.

Snacks, fidgets, drawing, separate screen for watching stuff? Whatever works, stick it on the desk.

Food wise, I try to make a healthy lunch and then eat it at my desk while reviewing stuff, but sometimes I need a longer break.

If I am taking a break, I do it away from The Space. The Space is dead to me now.

Try to compartmentalise your area, work only in these spots, relax only in these, sleep only there.

We're trying to train our brains here, people, simple and clear relations of space to activity typically get embedded easier.

Also: work whenever.

Burst of energy at 9pm? Go for it, we sleep badly anyways.

Middle of lunch? Have a flashcard/ notes app on your phone, do it while you eat.

With friends? See method 5 <3

I'll link a separate post I'll be making on exactly how my space is set up, though most of the key points are in this one :)

2. Study Snacks!! - No hunger in The Space

One. Handed. Food. Only.

Also, food that doesn't get stuff on your fingers.

You can't work if you're constantly wiping your hands to keep going, and you need something you can absentmindedly grab while you keep your eyes trained on the work.

I recommend getting artificial sugar in your system, sweets, chocolate, give yourself a mild sugar rush to keep a bit of a buzz going while you work.

(try to be healthy about it, this won't be sustainable long-term, but I find a shot of sugar to the system can help prevent burnout)

Also caffeine! Please be aware of how much caffeine you're having for health reasons - I need to watch how much I have, since my medication is already bad for my heart, but even just having a coffee and some sugar at the start of the session, I get enough energy to start working

As long as I don't stop until I'm Done, I will be good.

3. Compete with yourself

I don't recommend competing with others, it toes the line of 'feeling like a failure' too much for my liking, but if it works for you, go for it.

Instead, I compete with myself. Mostly quizlet flashcards, but also 'how much of this have I remembered from yesterday?', and 'How much more can I remember today?'

Whether it's personality or hyperactivity, this gives a dopamine hit. Finding ways to make studying something you can score against is one of my favourite methods.

Video games are an ADHD staple for a reason, easily trackable progress and dopamine from rewards/hyperfixations/etc. make them addictive.

Turn the work into a video game (I think at this point I may sound insane to you guys but please trust me)

4. Ignore Pomodoro

ADHD students, we have to think like sharks: we stop, we die.

Once you have found yourself studying with (relative) ease, Do. Not. Stop. You keep that going as long as possible.

ADHD doesn't mean you can't focus, you can, you just have no choice in where that attention gets allocated. So, when a tomato-based timer tell you to turn off your focus and relax, after it took you half the damn time to start the stupid work, it can be a little counter-productive

(I may have some repressed rage for pomodoro, try to forgive me)

Please, ignore the pomodoro stuff. I know it's healthy to regulate the volume of work you do, but I find that once I start working, I can't stop until I run out of energy.

I time or video myself instead, I can track how long I've been working, feel proud of it, and I also can't use my phone during that session.

When my brain stops taking stuff in, I have an hour to 2 hour break, relax (away from The Space) try to reset my brain so it's back to baseline. Then I start again.

5. Reverse the feeling of 'not being smart enough'

I know I am smart, and it's on others if they don't see that, but having undiagnosed ADHD for 17 years did a number on my self image and confidence.

If you struggle with this, it's so, so helpful to try this method, and can start to reverse the negative internal image we've managed to cultivate <3

So, after you've covered a topic: tell someone about it (please make sure they're ready to listen to you rant for half an hour).

Not only are you reinforcing what you've just learnt, but you also get to feel competent, and teaching someone else about your topic helps to raise perceptions (internal or from others) of what you know/what you're capable of.

6. Active Recall

This one goes great with the whole, 'competing with yourself' method (no. 4);

Active Recall is just making sure you're going over old information and recalling correctly, once it's past short term memory. Trying to remember information without it present forces your brain to pull it from Long-term memory and reinforces the information in your brain.

I know it's been said a million times, but this + competing with yourself does wonders for me.

My favourite method is blurting ( read/write notes of one topic, wait ten minutes, do something else productive, and then try to copy that topic from memory. repeat until all key info is correctly recalled)

7. Unriddle.ai (not sponsored,,,)

Okay, this site changed it for me. 5 free uploads, 15 free inputs per month.

Download a copy of the fancy scientific paper/article/book you need to read through. Upload.

Ask unriddle to summarise key points, to re-write it as if you were 7, etc.

This genuinely saved my essays. Suddenly the procrastination of reading my source material was gone. It makes it so much easier to get through dense/boring text and then I wrote everything myself.

Please do not plagiarise, I am only recommending this site to make things easier to read, copying down what it produces is considered plagiarism by my uni, and likely most others.

8. Final Tip

Be kind to yourself.

When I got medicated, my friends were genuinely stressed by how much work I was suddenly doing.

One of them asked me about it, and I realised it didn't feel like I was doing any more than normal. I had always been working this hard, it was just that half the energy going in wasn't being wasted on trying to get myself to focus.

What you put in may not receive the same results as for others, but the reality is that you're likely working harder than they are. The irritating truth is simply that we have to compensate for the different cognitive functioning that neurotypicals get to take for granted

(no hate to the NTs, I'm glad ya'll don't have to think about it, but for someone with ADHD, it can be really tough to realise)

A Final Note:

You are smart. You can do this. We just need to modify the system a little to make it work for us. There is no shame in that, anyone telling you otherwise needs a reality check.

Genuinely though, I've noticed that people telling me I use my ADHD accommodations (required by law) as a 'crutch'.

1. If the world were set up by me, that same person would struggle just as much, if not more.

2. If Rishi Sunak's government is willing to GIVE ME FREE MONEY to access these accommodations, that implies that this genuinely is needed. Not because I think Sunak is intelligent or kind (my own political opinions, please just hear me out), but because there is no way, with the underfunding of the NHS, Public services, etc. that they'd be willing to give me money I don't need to repay if it wasn't a scientific fact that I needed it, and it helped.

Use the inadequacies of the government to your advantage in arguments, make the idiots see how integral our accommodations are. I'd have dropped out of uni by now without them.

For anyone in need of help trying to convince family/friends/teachers/etc. of the struggle with ADHD (or anything else, though I won't have as much experience with it), telling them what you need help with, or any other arguments, send me an ask. I do psychology for my degree, I am used to searching for research papers, and I will help you with the necessary scientific backing for your case.

You are not in this alone <3

Lots of Love!

Coffee + Guitar Strings

@chocolatelandgarden @chaoticstudyprincess

[screamingcrows]

Change of Pace - Dottore x reader

Note: Same reader as Tomorrow and all that. Approximately three weeks after 'Tomorrow'. "Fuck it all" *softens your Dottore*. I need this man to kiss my hand or I will murder someone. Keep this out of character ai bots or I'm sending you all Taenia solium eggs

Tags: fem reader, reader from Fontaine, burnout, overworked, soft, very mild gore (mentions taking brain samples), comfort, fluff, they're both bad at this

MINORS, AGELESS, BLANK BLOGS DNI

Your samples were long past saving by now. How long had you been staring at the plate containing the biopsies, twenty minutes? The light was burning through your vision, making everything swim in your mind. But it was needed for the fixation in the next step. If you ever made it that far.

Hours of work, wasted because of your own inability. The clatter caused by your head hitting the table echoed ruthlessly while you fought off images of a dismayed Dottore. One thing was anger, disappointment was another matter entirely.

Maybe doing tissue analysis of your own brain would've been more valuable, at least then someone might figure out what was wrong with it.

A hand wrapped around yours, gently prying open your fingers before taking the scissors away. Sight was unnecessary to discern the owner as only a single other warm body frequented this section. Your eyes remained shut, now empty hand feeling along the table for its previous quarry.

If nothing else, dead samples could still be used verify that the technicalities worked, even if the data would be misleading.

"You're barely lucid, in which case I'd prefer if this waited until tomorrow. You're supposed to be handling raimei angel extracts later in the protocol, and stunning yourself would be unfortunate," Dottore was clearly trying, voice so uncharacteristically gentle it felt all manners of wrong.

It only made you sigh in desperation, how hard he was trying compared to you, his dedication unwavering regardless of the objective he put forward.

"I'm fine, I just need a moment. You wanted the initial assessment this week," your voice was muffled enough that it would hopefully hide the exhaustion.

The low chuckle he let out caused a shiver to run down your spine. It was something he'd done more as of late, a pleasant change of pace since the talk. You could almost see the charming smile that would no doubt accompany it, the glittering light in eyes you'd been fortunate enough to glimpse once.

There was no time to open your eyes and check, a warm palm coming to rest on the back your head. The light tremble in his hands made your chest tighten so long as you imagined it to be caused by worry instead of damage.

"You've been staring at nothing for an hour, hardly the best use of your time, and certainly not an indication of someone who is 'fine'."

An hour? Oh, the samples were beyond salvageable if that was true. Everything would've died in the wells by now. A pit dug itself out in your heart, tearing at what had otherwise reluctantly been dedicated to the harbinger. Thoughts of disaster were many, magnitude rivaling divine intervention according to what little remained awake of your consciousness.

Dottore was tugging at your wrist, hand swallowing yours with ease. For being a scholar, his hands spoke of a much different past than others bearing the same title. Another question that would at other times stoke the embers of your curiosity.

Did he want you to stand? Begrudgingly, your body attempted to follow where he lifted your arm. At the feeling of warm lips pressed to your wrist your eyes flew open in disbelief. The visage was the closest to divinity you'd ever gaze upon, in this fact alone were you without doubt. From where you were, the light behind him formed a halo, illuminating his tousled hair. His eyes were closed in silent devotion for but a moment.

Without the beaked mask, he was a completely different man. The large burn that covered a quarter of his face drew your attention first, but it was the crinkles around his eyes that made him look so painfully human.

"You are in no condition to work, this can bear to wait a day or two," his voice remained steady, the only thing you could safely cling to, too lost in committing to memory what he showed of himself.

"Are you certain, Dottore? If I just… ninety minutes of rest, a full cycle should be enough and then I can start over. We still have-"

"We still have plenty of time, dear. I told you, this isn't my most pressing project, so working you to the brink of destruction would be folly."

And that was enough to pacify you. The fact that he'd used a term of endearment, however questionable the choice, kept you smiling through the familiar corridors of the Palace, tucked securely under his arm and away from view. Under any other circumstance, this would've felt humiliating, but for today there was no fight left, only a dull yearning that had tears prickling your eyes.

It never became more than dozing off against him on a couch in his chambers. But that was enough, the heat from his body and his low mumbling while he read from a book soothed your frayed nerves.

[mishasminion360]

Safe In My Arms

Ezra x fem!reader

Warnings: Language; light angst; feelings of insecurity; body dysmorphia; brief allusions to smut; hurt/comfort; fluff.

Summary: Ezra harbors a secret hatred for his absent arm, but his feelings come to a head when his newly acquired handicap fails to do the one task he vowed never to fail in: keep you safe from harm.

A/N: I’m back (but not necessarily better than ever). Sorry I’ve been MIA, folks. Between work and the stresses of daily life burnout hit hard and kicked all my creativity to the curb. But the summer has brought some much needed quiet and a little bit of recovery time, so I am slowly getting my groove back. I’ve got tons of new ideas, so let’s see how many I can get through before life gets in the way yet again 😊

A clean but savage scar. Puckered and pale flesh. A ghostly pain that haunts the vestiges of his dominant upper extremity; a banshee’s sorrowful wail that echoes throughout what remains of his blood and marrow.

He both admires and loathes the ruins of his appendage. Like the crumbling facades of lost civilizations and landmarks it is the brittle leftovers of something once great. At the time his right arm had seemed a necessary and middling sacrifice compared to his life, but away from the immediate threats of the toxic moon it’s become a piteous sight.

Ezra’s hands were his livelihood; his greatest strength. Without one where does that leave the other? In the quietest parts of his mind the darkest thoughts linger. Notions of weakness, inadequacy, and incompetency. He can no longer dig, he can no longer write, he can no longer please you with his touch.

Ah, you. You. You fault him nothing. You do not mourn his loss nor the resulting shortcomings. You do not look upon him with disdain or condolence. The initial sight of his drastically altered form prompted immediate shock, but the emotion fled your features as quickly as it had occupied them.

“Most of you came back to me. All the best parts of you returned,” you’d assured him. “You’re alive, you’re home, and that’s what matters.”

If you’re content then he will find a way to be as well. This new normal will take time; surely he will learn to adjust. Until then he will smile when he catches you looking. He will lie until it becomes truth.

***

Ezra is an artist in many ways. Any time he opens his mouth he paints you a picture with his words. He weaves sentences into daily conversation composed of words that most would never even think to utter, let alone heard of. He is a poet without even trying.

But he is a shitty actor.

You don’t miss the self-deprecating looks that ghost across his visage; the disgruntled mutterings of inwardly directed criticisms far below the standards of his lexicon. He hates what he’s become, though he hasn’t changed a bit. Not truly. An arm is nothing compared to a heart, to a soul.

He won’t let you see him cursing himself, so you don’t let him see that you’ve seen. When and if he’s ready to talk then you’ll be ready to listen. And until that moment comes you will carry on doing what you do best: loving him.

And nothing says “love” like baked goods.

You’d hypnotized him with your sweets when you’d first met; lured him to love like a witch with a house made of candy.

You’d just managed to fatten him up a little before he’d left for his excursion on the Green Moon. He’d lost that healthy weight and then some living off of rations and Kevva knows what else after being marooned. You had both been so dizzied by the overwhelming cocktail of surprise, relief, and bliss that had come with his sudden return that you hadn’t had a chance to celebrate him properly. Well, better late than never.

***

He pads into the kitchen just in time to see you pushing one of the rickety chairs from the dining table up to the cupboards and mounting it with a soft grunt of mild exertion. His heart seizes when the wood creaks.

“And just what are you doing up there, my supernova?”

Without granting him your full attention you respond. “I’m going to bake you a cake.”

“That is quite a precarious position in which one would craft a culinary delight, is it not?”

“I have to gather the ingredients first, wise guy.”

You lift yourself onto the tips of your toes and the chair wobbles to and fro.

“Nova, let me assist you,” he insists hastily. “Whatever you require from above I shall retrieve.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff. “I managed just fine while you were gone and I’ll manage now.”

He’s glad, for only a second, that your back is to him. You won’t see how deeply those words had cut him. But the effects of the unintentional slight are fleeting; any and all offense is cast aside when your toes curl over the edge of the chair and the motion proves to be disastrous.

The wobbling of the chair’s four unsteady legs reverberates up into your own extremities. The bag of flour you’d sought only now in hand, your body pitches to the right, and you have only a second to exhale a startled gasp before you are stumbling over the edge of the seat.

Ezra dives for you, hellbent on breaking your fall. His body sails toward yours as if pulled by a gravitational force. He reaches for you. He reaches for you with an arm that does not exist.

You drop through the space where there should have been a solid barricade of flesh and bone and strike the linoleum with a muffled thud. Your head bounces off the floor synchronously with the doomed bag of flour, which splits upon impact and showers the room in a white haze. Your cranium, by the grace of Kevva, remains intact.

“Ooooouch.” Somewhere in the middle your groan evolves into a laugh. “Well, now I feel stupid.”

And he feels….

“Supernova….are you alright?” First his upper extremities prove useless, now his lower ones are failing him as well. His legs nearly buckle as he kneels at your side to assess you for injury.

“I’ll survive,” you assure him. “The only thing wounded is my pride.”

He helps you up to the best of his ability before striding with purpose to the utility closet to fetch a broom. Wordlessly, he gets to work cleaning up the sea of loose powder flooding the kitchen floor. The silence that fills the room is as awkward as his movements. He’s struggling with the simple task that much is obvious, but he seems determined. The veins in the graceful slope of his neck pulse with effort.

“Ezra, let me—“

“I’ve got it, nova.”

“I made this mess with my foolishness, so I’ll clean it.”

“You just took a serious tumble, love. I can weather a simple snowstorm.”

“Ez, I don’t mind. Why don’t you—?”

“Dammit all! Don’t placate me like I’m some kind of invalid,” he shouts. He never raises his voice, speaks in harsh tones, or uses course language. Such things are beneath his beautifully woven vocabulary. “I may not be able to do much these days but I can manage a simple sweeping!”

You remain stoic in the wake of his outburst; any kind word you could dare to breathe may be horribly misconstrued. Instead you watch impassively has he continues his fumbling efforts, the mess never lessening, until finally he hurls the broom to the floor, the wooden handle colliding with a thunderclap.

He pounds his fist upon the countertop as his body vibrates with an anger you’ve never seen. Your lungs surrender the air they’d been harboring only when he at last sags under the weight of a heavy sigh.

“Forgive me, supernova. I did not mean to address you so barbarously.” Ezra’s voice rattles inside of his chest like a songbird dashing itself against the bars of its gilded cage.

“I know,” you answer gently.

“I just find myself….confounded by this new and unwanted deformity. I feel….beyond inadequate. I can no longer work efficiently to provide for us. I can not complete the most meager of household tasks.”

That delicate sparrow trembles within the clutch of his ribs. He’s white knuckling the edge of the sink.

“I can not protect you in this fragile and ruined state. I can not….I can not even hold you properly.”

You don’t need words to tell him just how wrong he is. With a commanding but gentle hand upon his shoulder you turn him to face you, taking his solitary arm and wrapping it snugly around your waist before melting into the wall of his chest.

“This works pretty well.”

You feel the huff of his breath against your hair as his chin meets the crook of your neck. His lips brush a bump on the back of your head that you hadn’t even realized was there until his kiss bruises the flesh.

“You would still have me this way, Nova?”

“Ezra, you are more than a pair of arms or legs or a body. All the most important parts of you came back to me.”

You press a kiss to his sternum, relishing the the quickening thump of one of those “most important parts” as it buzzes through your lips, each beat a gentle reminder that he is alive and home.

“So long as your beautiful spirit remains unchanged and unmarred, then you’ve lost nothing you can’t truly be without. The rest is just a bonus.”

A one-armed embrace proves more than enough. Ezra holds you just as close as he’d ever managed with two. Closer yet. He cradles you with more than just extremities.

“You are the only thing I can not bear to lose, nova. The one truly precious thing.”

“And you will never lose me,” you vow. “So long as you never lose yourself, you’ll never lose me.”

“I think, my love,” he whispers, “you got that backwards.”

@grimeylady @rav3n-pascal22 @mamacitapascal @insomniamama1 @pedrosbisch @emmaispunk @lv7867 @reonlouw @hawaiianmelodies @pascalsky @pascalpanic @heythere-mel @healingstardust @delorena @pedropasxal @caesaryoulater @fangirling-alert @fromthedeskoftheraven @axshadows @dragon-scales88 @spacepastel-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @pbeatriz-blog @hauntedmama @mswarriorbabe80 @horton-hears-a-honk @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @a-trial-run-on-paper @oonajaeadira @foli-vora @dhadiirah @felicisimor @practicalghost @luz-introvertida @amneris21 @hb8301 @tanzthompson @littlemisspascal @dobbyjen @supernaturalgirl20 @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @neganwifey25-blog @twistedboxy @emiemiemiii @energeticspookyshark @thevoiceinyourheadx @pedr0swh0r3 @anamiad00msday

[paymechildsupport]

Yuji Itadori // x Reader [Nights with You]

-!! Yuji is aged up a wee bit, this is domestic-ish fluff + hurt n' comfort

-!! CW: insinuations of mild depression and burnout + slight mental breakdown (Yuji helps you <3)

-!! Gender never specified.

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

-

You sit up and look out the dark windows. Droplets of rain covered the entire surface making it impossible to see out of. The slow and steady beat of the drops hitting the glass soothed your body. It gave your heart a beat to match. Your lungs a pace to breathe at. 

Moments like these were the most peaceful. 

But it was getting late.

You feel the empty bed below you in the darkness. If you could feel sadness in this moment you’d imagine it to be heavy. 

If only nights like these could be shared. 

You lay back and pull the covers over your head. You stare straight up into ceiling and yawn. You can feel yourself slipping away. 

As you were about to close your eyes and let oblivion take you under, the door opened faintly. 

It closed with the same measure of low volume. 

Although it was pitch black inside the room, albeit from the faint glow of the window, you already knew exactly who it was. 

“Yuji”, the words softly leave your lips in a quiet whisper, barely a breath.

“Hi,”

You smile into the dark.

“Did I wake you?” He whispers, now at the side of the bed.

“No, I was just about to go to sleep”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you” He sounded so guilty it almost made you laugh. 

“Don’t be sorry, really. It’s been awhile since you’ve come to bed this early”

“Love, it’s three in the morning”, Yuji walks over so he is at your side of the bed, he crouches down to your eye level. His words are gentle but you can hear concern laced into them. 

He leans in. He’s so close now you can make out his soft facial features. His gentle eyes, his fluffy pink hair. You’re glad the darkness conceals your warm face. He is so, so beautiful. 

“Have you not been sleeping?” He asks softly, the question snapping you back to the present. 

“Hm-? Oh-, Yes… I’ve been sleeping.”

“…” You briefly make out his face crinkle into a frown.

“Maaaybe just a liiiittle bit later than usual though” 

“Love, is everything okay?”

“Yes” You stare back up at the ceiling. Both of you say nothing else, opting to lapse into silence. The rain seems to beat down even heavier- though not too heavy it’s loud. The light from the window flickers for a moment. The raindrops slip from the glass and tumble to the floor. So, so peaceful…

You sigh. 

“I don’t know”

Yuji says nothing.

“I- to be honest,- I do not know if everything is okay.” You confess, still not looking at him

“I do not even know if ‘stable’ is even a correct definition for what I feel right now. Everything is just going so fast and I can’t seem to-“ You pause, hearing Yuji quickly move from his spot. 

You track the movement in the darkness as you hear him hastily change clothing. 

He comes closer again, though this time on his own side of the bed, and lays down. 

He gently takes you up in his arms, pulling you close to himself. 

“Shhhh,” He softly urges, the words whispered into your ear. “It’s alright. It’ll all be alright. Just tell me what you need. Just tell me what to do. Please, just tell me what to do to make you feel okay” You’ve seldom seen Yuji desperate, so the raw emotion in his pleas startled you. He touched you as if you were made of glass, and would shatter at any moment. He was so, so gentle, so sweet. 

“Its- I- I just-“ You swallow, “I’m so tired, Yuji. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore” You’re shaking by now, caught off-guard by the sudden surge of emotion. You hate yourself for ever letting him see such a vulnerable state.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise I’ll make it okay.” He says softly, so, so softly. “Cry, if you need to. Or sleep, please sleep. You deserve it. You’ve done enough.” He pauses, taking a breath to calm his own nerves,  “More than enough. No one needs you to do anything more. No one, not me, not Nobara, not Megumi, not even Gojo-sensei  expects more from you.” 

You lay there for awhile, you and him. 

“You’re very strong, my love” Yuji whispered. One hand carefully strokes your back while the other runs through your hair. You feel yourself nearing the end. You’re going to collapse and you finally, finally, have somewhere you can do it. 

Yuji bends his head down and kisses you, once, on the forehead. Kisses butterfly down your forehead to your cheeks, where they eventually go down to your lips. Soft, as if he were kissing feathers instead of another human. Mere whispers of a kiss tease your neck. You quietly suck in a breath as Yuji kisses the bottom of your neck and collarbone, then your shoulders.

“Mmph-“

“Shh,” Yuji gently urges. He presses two fingers to your lips, smiling softly. You smile back. 

His face lights up adorably.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, snuggling his body up to yours. You almost laugh. You smile at your vulnerable position, his frame clinging to yours. You have no idea what kind of feelings you elicit out of the poor boy. 

You hold him close and lay your head on his chest. 

You’re so, so very tired. So, so very done. 

You silently take in the dark room, the soft light from the window, the pitter patter of the rain outside, and of Yuji, who has already fallen into a deep sleep. 

You slowly close your eyes and let yourself slip into oblivion. 

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

((An older piece I slightly reworked. Yuji my dear, I would die for you, ong, I will personally fistfight Gege for you 🥰😾))

[crowtheboneman]

I'm starting to go into burnout and have hit the wonderful stage of increased sensory sensitivity. Foods that I used to eat daily are now unbearable. The clothes I used to wear constantly now cause pain and sounds I used to find comforting now cause intense headaches. I feel like I'm constantly bordering on a meltdown, even when I've just had one. The world around me is significantly more irritating and unbearable than it was previously. I find myself hitting my tolerance for input daily, I'm having frequent anger outbursts and times of uncontrollable sobbing, which I'm slightly hesitant to classify as a mild meltdown but honestly might be. While I'm normally hyperverbal, with frequent variations in my inflection and tone, and becoming anxious when I don't speak for long periods of time. Verbalizing my thoughts is now exhausting, my voice slowly becoming more monotone, and I'm having more trouble speaking for long periods of time. It has become nearly impossible for me to feel empathy toward anything, which my ability to empathize has always been debatable, things that I think are empathetic actions others view as selfish or self absorbed, but now its almost like my heart is just empty. When I was diagnosed, it was decided I was not eligible for disability. Namely, due to the fact that I am capable of masking, despite the difficulty I face in my day to day life, I'm able to cover it up. I'm now seeking a reevaluation from a new psychologist. And despite my desperation to take a break from everything, I am unable, because if I do, I risk losing a roof over my head. Though I'd have to say one of the worst parts of all of this is the unbearable feeling of being completely alone. The fact that no matter what I do, no matter how desperately I try to describe my feelings, there is almost no one who will fully understand that almost no one who will know the constant overwhelm state I am in. Sure, there are other autistic people in my life who will, but those people have no ability to actually help due to them also being in a similar situation. Since my diagnosis, I have come to the realization that this world was not made for us, and we will always either be infantilized or treated as lazy and hunting for excuses. Because this world is catered to allistics, and accommodations for invisible disabilities are viewed as unfair and nothing but an inconvenience.

[bonefall]

Your talk about Briarlight's mobility device is super cool, so i wanted to ask for your opinion, if a cat was missing a single back leg (amputated at the heel), would a mobility device be helpful? I'm assuming no, i've seen cats with only two legs hopping around, which leads to question #2.

The character in question got injured and their leg needed to be removed, a Cinderpaw situation of sorts. The clan begins pushing the use of the mobility device on them, parallel to irl people pushing the use of prosthetics to make amputees look 'normal'. Paired with a severe case of gifted kid syndrome, where their missing leg made training difficult and they begin to burn out because they're suddenly struggling, they get shoved/shove themself into the cleric role. They're miserable about this; They loved being a warrior, but simple training they used to breeze right past suddenly became difficult, so they've resigned themself to picking leaves and chewing herbs.

I'm mostly worried that it will be read the wrong way. The character COULD complete their training, they arent lesser than anyone else, but the gifted kid syndrome hit at the same time, along with a mild dose of peer pressure and internal ableism. It IS a case of 'disabled characters go in the square hole medicine cat den!', and thats the whole point because I wanted to explore the ableism in that situation. They just think that if they can't get something right in the first few tries, they cant get it right ever, so they resigned themself to the metaphorical square hole.

I'm just worried though that by trying to comment on it by adding it to the story that im instead encouraging it. Any advice is 100% appreciated, it's just a thin line and im super worried about walking it. Anyways sorry for invading your ask box i just really wanted to ask for second opinions and i have absolutely no one else to turn to.

A mobility device would not be useful, nope! I'm planning a "mobility device that is just for everyone else's comfort" with Thunder Storm too, though that arc is ending with Thunder pulling it off (and then finding out that Tall Shadow exiled Bumble and flipping his fuzzy little lid)

I think what you need most is clarity of your message, and confidence. You know WHAT you want to say about this-- so start thinking about how to show it. How do you impart this to your audience?

The cat in question doesn't need to realize it. They can have friends, mentors, family, other people who come to the right conclusion. Set up their Gifted Kid problems early, and SHOW that they give up and do as they're told when they struggle with something.

You seem to be doing well by establishing that Examplepaw doesn't like the cleric den, and so this was NOT the right choice for them. In my opinion, that's something that muddies Jayfeather's arc in-canon. He's forced into it but ends up just... fine with it and good at it. The fact Jay was pushed there against his will doesn't actually result in negative consequences.

And people argue, "ah, well, authorial statements say ACTUALLY he ALWAYS would have liked it but he felt like he was fitting a stereotype by going in there so actually it's good that they did an abelism because he wouldn't know what's best for him" and like... they don't see the problem in that lmao. Don't Be Like Them People.

But anyway, that's enough advice rambling on my part. @The Audience, if you guys have advice for this anon, feel free to RB it with commentary or reply to it, especially if you have experience with burnout and physical disability

[knowlessman]

"shigaraki has become too powerful. we need to bring in the one person we know who can disable him from a distance." "you can't mean -" "I do. Contact Mr Smiley." (bnha s6e7-10)

I forgot Aquaman or wever his name is was keeping Eraser Head's eyes wet so he could stare at Tomura 'XD that's just, a thing. that's how this show works. that's just a thing in this show

"he even has all might's power and toughness" blinks in Magic player I wonder what those might be. Maybe like 7/7? or he's a 1/1 that can pump?

"'little brother?' I didn't say that. I don't want to be like you, teacher, I want to surpass you. my will is my own" yeah, I don't think you read all the fine print back when Super-Satan took you in. gifted powers from vague-talking benefactors have a tendency to not care what you want in the end

"Vanishing Fist" is a cool name for an attack. wonder what they cribbed it from (turns out they didn't, it sounded like something that coulda been from something else tho imo)

(midnight got got by mr compress and is telling momo to use a forbidden technique or something to stop bigfoot) hmmm. so midnight had yaoyorozu analyze her sedative stuff so she can make it? yaoyorozu's quirk may be a strict upgrade over some of the pros', then.

ngl, mt lady hasn't seemed to be slowing bigfoot down worth a damn so far. dint even try to get him off his feet, he was just pushing her ahead of him like a plow for the longest time

figures, acid girl remembered bigfoot from her origin story or something and it made her fumble the shot. or he just reminded her of it? not sure, I don't remember the details that well (could swear her origin story was literally about a "monster" looking guy just asking for directions but idk). anyway, kirishima to the rescue? like they do have that shared backstory bit kinda thing so like sure

…what the.

-- fucker just. …fuck is that called? gurning? yeah. mfer just won the universe gurning championship of all time out of nowhere. swallered his nose. and ears. and eyes.

(tomura got eraser head with the dart) I don't guess our guy's wearing dartproof shinguards under them trousers or summat? -- BRO.

-- BRO. when is this that kind of show

(OP starts up again) okay, get this upbeat… get this lewis carroll denver jam band shit outta my face, a man just cut his fucking leg off with a knife with one swipe, my man has a vorpal fucking sword specifically for chopping entire legs off and you are playing stuff that would sound too tame and mild and childish for fucking burnout 3. "lazy generation" wouldn't come close to cutting it for this shit, get outta here -- hell, what was he gonna do if it hit him in the gut? chop his entire fucking self in half? -- sweet from atlantis: "the catalog says this little beauty can cut through a femur in twenty-eight seconds. I'm betting I could cut that time in half"

"the giant villain is expected to pass through eleventy different cities on his way to wherever he's going" see, now they got sad twangy strings in the background, it sounds like "In the Woods Somewhere." this is appropriate music for the context -- also the kids really did go through all that for fuckall. : | apparently he can Tarrasque in his sleep or something

robotnik: "that one mistake will bring about your demise!" fucking cyclops with his stupid dinky eye lasers. and writers not knowing what defibrillators are for.

oh yeah, this episode's named after bakugo for some reason. writer really does act like he's fucking enkidu when he's just extremely simply a bad person, it's never gonna make sense to me

flashbacks of bakugo "helping" deku figure out the black whip ig -- wait shit, so deku now also has an ability called Float that just lets him Peter Pan. …or just levitate ig, apparently he needs the other stuff to actually move -- all might: "you're helping him learn his powers to atone for your past actions. but he probably never thought about it" these two make no goddamn sense. bakugo is still every bit as abusive, not only towards deku, but towards every person he interacts with, as he was when we first met him. he's never shown any trace of regretting being that way. hell, he also just got done spelling out that he can't understand that deku values and cares about other people, that that quality of deku's is repulsive to him. -- bakugo is just… is just wired in such a way, whether by nature or nurture or both, that he needs help becoming anything but several kinds of danger to other people. and he'll never get it, and he'll somehow continue to be portrayed as some kind of, for lack of a better word, "quirky" hero.

cyclops's cape is completely gone now, dang. is tomura gonna get a new one after this fight, or what? that thing was his whole wardrobe, now he's just Ben Swolo with wrong hair and chapped lips.

welp, here comes Super-Satan, Tomura, here comes your benefactor to take over the reins. toldja. -- (bakugo took the hit) there'll be no living with him after this. not that there was any before

"I finally got you" ah ah ah. if I didn't know any better, I'd think the Avatar Spirits might have something to say about that. I know you gave this power away, all that time ago, but it might not want to go back. it's got several minds of its own now

the villain team's hacker guy has visual on the fight? while riding on bigfoot's back? how shit is the good guys' tech if this nobody with a laptop can see shit and nobody else knew anything until bigfoot started moving?

"I need to ask sakuraraka why hawks killed twice" yeah because she'll definitely have any damned idea what you're talking about (did he die? I mean they kinda played it like he did but they do that a lot and it very rarely seems to take) -- "you're not the only one who's mad about twice" …what IS spinner doing here? what is his whole deal? does he have one? why is his sword twenty swords taped together in a pile, and why haven't we seen him do anything since like season two? at least, I could swear he hasn't done anything, for having such a distinctive design he's such a nothingburger of a character

"what are you going to do to me?" 'XD fucking nothing, the best her power can do is levitate you and you know it

oh goddammit, the next one's title is literally That Bit with the Gifs and the Hall & Oats Memes, the bit I been waiting for this entire time, but I just watched four in a row (four HEAVY ones) and I wanna stop. I'm just gonna have to save it and open on it (and Knife Girl's BS) next time

[fenmere]

Just what is burnout?

Something that really irritates us and troubles us about discussions of burnout is that there are different kinds and levels of burnout, and everyone is always talking about their own without specifying what it is. And that gets confusing. There's professional burnout, where you lose your ability to be creative and make decisions at a given job or task. This might happen outside of employment, but it's kinda rare. We could just call it artistic burnout for that, though. But what happens is that you work too hard at this one thing and then your brain just can't do it anymore for a while.

It might effect the rest of your life in other ways, but mostly, you just really need to move onto something else for a while.

This has happened to us regarding art, for instance, and switching to writing allowed us to continue being productive and seeking nice brain chemicals.

Then there's systemic burnout, which is usually called autistic burnout, but it can happen to people with ADHD, and we think it can happen to anybody. It just happens to autistic people and people with ADHD more because we tend to overload faster, and we have more social and sensory demands on us constantly that most other people don't experience. And maybe it's the same mechanism as professional/artistic burnout, but it happens to your whole damn mind and body.

When it hits, you might not even be able to dress yourself in the morning. It can vary.

And both types of burnout happen on a spectrum of length and severity.

Some people talk about burnout that means they have to rest for a couple of hours. Like a daily limit. We don't consider that burnout, honestly. It's more like a brown out, or just a loss of that days spoons. It's a warning sign for longer burnout. If you keep hitting it, it's gonna get way worse.

But, a lot of people call it burnout, and we can't stop them.

Then there's burnout that lasts a few days. That's more like something we'd call burnout, but, we gotta tell you this, it's still really just a warning sign.

Like, your life and career can bounce back from that. You can call in, rest, and then get back to it.

But, if you keep hitting that wall and keep going back to your usual grind, it's gonna get worse.

Then you'll see a few autistics talking about burnout that lasts a couple weeks to a few months. There you're getting into dangerous territory. That can get you fired from a job, maybe even end your career. It can definitely put you in financial dire straights. But you might still be able to take a two week vacation and hobble back to what you were doing.

Then there's what we got: Burnout that lasts years, or is maybe permanent.

We hit systemic burnout in 2012, but we didn't know what was going on and we kept trying to push through it at half pace until 2014, after which we became permanently disabled. And we started having regular meltdowns and picked up involuntary stimming habits we never had before.

And we're still in it.

Unmasking and crying for help, finding a place where we could live with most of the accommodations we needed, all helped us to recover some of our previous function. And we also now know better never to try to act neurotypical again. But even if we tried, we could not possibly perform like we used to.

Part of our permanent disability is that we've also developed a number of chronic illnesses. More than one. They were actually already there, growing since childhood, but they got much, much worse from the stress.

But our burnout itself shows itself in lower thresholds for all tolerances, emotions, senses, everything. And a frequent blank mind most days.

And we're really starting to feel like it's pretty important that people learn to recognize these different types and levels, because a lot of the time they'll write shit like, "Burnout is like [this]. [This] is what happens during burnout." And they'll inevitably be describing something way more mild than what can actually happen, and they'll make it sound definitive.

And that's not doing anybody any good.

[ghost-town-story]

Hokay, I already know this isn't gonna be a fun update :P

TL:DR: I'm taking a sorta hiatus from writeblr. Basically a hiatus except for a couple of events at the end of November/beginning of December, and FebruarOC. No clue when I'll be back.

Longer version:

If you've been around here for any NaNo season since 2020, you may have noticed something weird happening, aka I stopped posting daily snips, and stopped giving excuses for it after the first two times. It was just a lotta hitting roadblocks with Knighttime Dreams and not wanting to push myself into writing something I'd be okay with sharing, and then falling out of the habit by the time I was writing stuff I'd be okay with sharing.

Which is probably because of the mild/major problem I've been having for at least the last year where me and actually writing down the shit I've plotted in my head have not been getting along. At All. And it really fuckin sucks! I took a break after last year's NaNo and after FebruarOC, and that didn't seem to do shit, and I tried writing every day and that still didn't do much (tho the fact I stopped when I went on vacation probably didn't help, but also. they were contextless snips. I like writing those, but there's a difference between that and Actually Plotted Shit), so. yeah. I dunno.

So yeah. Gonna step back from writeblr and make it official this time rather than just vanishing. I'll still be lurking as usual, I might try and fill some of the Find the Word tags and other assorted not-last-line tags I have sitting around, but I'm gonna be pretty quiet in terms of my own stuff. I'll do my usual NaNo roundup at the end of the month, I wanna do some Spotify Wrapped drabbles again, I have a thing planned for Dec 1 that I've been looking forward to since like... July, and I'm gonna come back for FebruarOC bc if I want it to become a widespread writeblr thing then goddammit I gotta do it myself (also it's fun. I'm not just doing it outta obligation lmao it's just a longer form of the contextless snips), but yeah. Other than planned events that I'm actually hella excited about despite this burnout/whatever the fuck my brain is doing to me, I'm just gonna dip for a while. Can't say when I'll be back for good, I don't wanna make promises and then feel bad when I can't keep them.

I'll be hanging around Discord tho, with my usual level of lurking/occasionally popping in for a comment, so in order of my likelihood to engage, you can still find me in CANS, North Haven, or WTW. I have channels in all those servers and I've been using the CANS one more for stuff that hasn't made it to tumblr, so uh. If you really wanna keep up with my writing you might have better luck there lol

So yeah. Sorry for rambling. There's a reason I put this under a cut lol

[violetjedisylveon]

SW Sapphic Week Day 5 - Sparring

Summary: Omega offers to teach Miara how to fight properly, giving her a chance to open up to someone, and if that someone happens to be the same someone she's been harbouring a crush on, it's a win win.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mild angst, implied abuse/medical abuse, trauma.

A/N: i have ap/may/school burnout rn(why days 2-4 are missing), but I still got this together! This is sorta a prequel to day 1, explaining how Miara and Omega got together!

I have little knowledge of fight choreography or stuff like thst so it's choppy but I gave it my best. If anyone knows or has a resource on learning how to write fight choreography, especially if it has all sorts of combat like swords and stuff, let me know!

Day 1, 6, 7

Ao3 link here.

________________________________________________________________________________

The last training droid hit the ground with a loud clatter, a few sparks sputtered out of it. Miara clapped, Omega was just as good with her hands in combat as she was with a blaster and her bow. Watching her take down the droids with nothing but her hands and witts was entrancing.

Her clapping startled Omega, who's head shot up in alarm. Her whole body went tense for a moment until she recognized her, then she relaxed. For a second, her cheeks flushed, but it faded quickly.

"Like the show?" Omega asked with an impish smirk.

"Yes, you're very good at what you do." Miara said, walking into the training room.

Omega smiled at her compliment. The bright grin made her seem far more alive and happy than she typically was. She always had an air of sadness around her, to be fair, most in the rebellion did, but Omega's seemed to go far deeper.

The Mandalorian usually kept to herself. Most rebellion members had at least one friend they spent the majority of their off time with, giving them someone who understood their pain or a distraction from it. Omega had nobody, yet she seemed to be fine with it.

Omega wiped the sweat off her forehead with a towel, for once, she wasn't wearing her signature red bandana, said bandana was tied around her water bottle. Without it, her bangs were falling into her face and sticking to her forehead. She swiped at them with an irritable grunt. Miara chuckled and received a short glare.

"Are you just going to stand there staring?" Omega asked.

Miara turned her head away slightly, her cheeks heating up slightly. She was keenly aware of Omega's suddenly sharp eyes on her.

"How are you with melee combat?" She asked.

"Uh, why?" Miara responded.

Omega looked her up and down, then wrinkled her nose.

"You look like a fighter pilot, and only a fighter pilot." Omega pointed out.

Miara scowled at the Mandalorian.

"What are you saying?"

Omega rolled her eyes and gave her an exasperated sigh.

"Can you fight? How are you in close quarters? Can you defend yourself from and armed opponent without weapons of your own?" Omega asked.

Miara didn't say a word. She was mostly a fighter pilot, and when she was on the ground, it was usually long ranged and utilizing explosives. She did have some basic self defense training but that was it. She knew for a fact she couldn't do any of what Omega had just done.

"I'll take that as a no." Omega rolled her eyes and tossed her towel down onto the bench.

She gestured for Miara to step onto the mat.

"C'mon, I'll show you how to fight properly." Omega said with a smirk.

Miara frowned and took off her sweater, she just had a dark green tank top on underneath, matching Omega's mostly black tank with patches of red on it.

"What exactly does that mean?" She asked, walking into the ring.

"I'll show you exactly what I'm talking about." Omega grinned.

The Mandalorian took a fighting stance, Miara adopted the basic self defense stance she had been taught. Feet at a side angle, knees facing feet, get the alignment right. Weight on balls of feet. She held her arms in a position ready to block any strikes.

They slowly circled each other. Omega's sharp eyes examined her, darting back and forth, Miara could see her clever mind working out the strengths and weaknesses of her stance, determining the best place to strike. Miara knew for a fact she would have no chance if she struck first, her best bet was to react to whatever Omega did, being a pilot meant she had an excellent reaction time, so she at least had something.

When Omega did strike, her movement was swift and fluid, Miara hardly had the time to block the swift strike, but Omega had anticipated that move and easily shifted from striking to grabbing and had both of Miara's arms pulled away from her body almost effortlessly. With a quick flash of a grin, Omega pinned her arms behind her back, gently but firmly so Miara couldn't shake loose.

"Okay, fine, I don't know as much as you do about fighting." Miara grunted.

Omega chuckled and let her arms go. Miara stepped back and faced the Mandalorian.

"I could teach you, I mean, if you want to learn, that is." Omega said with the slightest hint of embarrassment in her voice.

Miara swore Omega was blushing for a brief second then her cheeks color returned back to their normal tan. She made note of that possible advantage.

"Sure, I obviously need it." Miara said.

"Great! Er- what do you want me to show you? I know a couple fighting styles from training with different people." Omega said.

"Like what?" Miara asked, walking back into the room.

"I know some standard combat forms, Mandalorian combat, Echani, Teräs Käsi, and some other stuff. When I actually have to fight someone, I mix em up to confuse the opponent, it works pretty well." Omega explained as she demonstrated a starting defensive stance, it was similar to hers but different in the position of legs and body.

They spent the next couple of hours talking and training, just the two of them. By the time Omega decided to call it a day, Miara was out of breath, sweaty and exhausted but she felt great. Some of Omega's shell came off while they were training, her eyes had brightened, she laughed more, and was more open to talking. It was nice to see her so bright and joyful.

Omega grabbed her water and took a long drink, clearly, she was done for the day.

"So, same time tomorrow?" Miara asked.

Omega shot her a surprised look and almost coughed on her water. She sputtered for a second, then wiped her mouth and stared at her.

"Scuse me?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Should we do this again tomorrow?" Miara repeated.

"You want to do it again?" Omega asked.

"Of course, why wouldn't I? You're a great teacher." Miara smiled to herself as she headed off, unknowingly leaving Omega flustered and staring after her.

XXX

Miara sat down next to Omega on the break bench. It was her seventh day of training and she was improving, it wasn't nearly as exhausting as it had been a week ago. All the extra time around Omega had given her the chance to learn more about the elusive Mandalorian.

She hadn't gotten into any meaningful details about her life for a couple of days. Miara was content with just learning what she liked and didn't like, her favorite foods, books, planets she really wanted to visit, just normal conversation stuff.

Omega drank from her bottle, Miara found herself staring at the other woman. All this time around her had also allowed her to see her up close, Miara had already begun to notice things she wouldn't have otherwise.

Omega had a preference for her right arm, it was incredibly subtle and she had only begun to notice the small, nearly invisible marks on her arms, maybe because her muscles were distracting, but there were also small round marks on her shoulders, barely perceptible but there. She knew that someone with the training Omega had would be into dangerous lines of work so the injuries had a simple explanation.

That didn't stop her from wondering.

Omega seemed down today, she looked like she was weighed down by a huge load. She looked tired.

"Have we been doing too much?" Miara asked.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Omega raised an eyebrow at her.

"You look tired today." Miara pointed out.

"Oh, I'm just, today's not a good day, ya'know?" Omega flashed her a false grin.

She knew it was false because when she was really happy, the tattoo around her nose scrunched up slightly. She didn't bring it up.

"Where'd you get those?" She asked.

The intricate tattoos were only drawn on the right side of her face, the left half was left purposefully blank aside from one over her nose. Miara had never seen anything like them before.

"These?" Omega asked, pointing to her face.

Miara nodded, Omega brightened.

"They are Dathomirian tattoos. Nightsister. I spent some time on Dathomir as a teenager. I wanted isolation… instead I got a sister. I met a nightsister, Merrin, she's my age, she was alone and wanted company and I guess I was too, so I kinda just stuck around…"

"We became friends, good friends. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't run into her, probably dead. So we stuck together, got each other through the worst of it. We traded information, I taught her and she taught me." Omega sighed and touched the bridge of her nose lightly.

"This one here roughly means 'sister'." She said, pointing out the tattoo on her nose.

"It's the first one she gave me, so that I could look at myself and know someone cared. Then she gave me more as I got better with the Magick, she always added some extra meaning to them." Omega said wistfully.

"Wait, Magick?!" Miara exclaimed.

Omega blinked and glanced at her, then chuckled and snapped her fingers. A small, glowing green flame appeared above her hand. Omega waved her hand and it followed, leaving a small trail of glowing green embers. Miara found herself staring at Omega again.

Damn. She is impressive. She mused.

"She sounds really nice." Miara said.

"She is, like you." Omega said.

A subtle blush rose to her cheeks, the flame adopted a darker color in the center.

"I mean, you're nice too." She said slowly.

Miara chuckled and stood up, ready for another round.

"Wanna go again?" She asked.

"Are you sure you wanna fight me?" Omega asked with a lot more confidence in her voice.

She made a show of the glowing green flame in her hand. Miara smirked.

"I think I can handle you." She said.

"Oh really? Getting cocky, are we?" Omega rose from the bench and put the green flame out.

They stood opposite to each other, slowly circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Omega, again, struck first, instead of blocking, Miara ducked to the side to avoid her. She kept her eyes on Omega as she backed away. Omega smirked, impressed. Miara smiled back.

I can't wait to see how she reacts to this. She giggled internally. Admittedly, her grand plan was a little childish, but she wanted to do it and knew it would work.

Omega tried to charge her a few more times, Miara dodged her attacks. She only struck when it was safe to do so, like when Omega's back was facing her. She played it carefully and kept her distance.

Just a little longer. She thought. Omega would anticipate a dodge now, and she could let herself get caught. She'd get caught eventually.

This time when Omega charged, Miara didn't dodge and did let the Mandalorian pin her. She hadn't expected to be knocked into the wall behind her though. Omega pinned her arms and gave her a suspicious look when she just smirked. Her plan was going great.

"What are you smirking about?" Omega asked.

Miara grinned up at her.

"This."

She shot her head up like she was going for a headbutt, and gave Omega a quick kiss on the cheek. She felt Omega stiffen and her hold on her loosen, she pulled back and smiled at the blushing Mandalorian.

She was able to easily free her arms, using the distraction to her advantage but not pressing it like she could. She didn't want to trick Omega.

"Personally, I think I did better this time." Miara said.

Omega came out of her shock and scowled down at her.

"That's not gonna work with anybody." She scolded.

"But it worked on you." Miara pointed out.

Omega turned her head away in an attempt to hide her blush. Omega took a breath and glared at her.

"It's a cheap trick." She said.

"I think you liked it." Miara stated.

"And if I did?" Omega asked, the edge in her voice melting away.

"Well, we could do it again." Miara suggested, feeling heat in her cheeks.

She was comforted by the fact that Omega's face was turning red.

"I'd definitely like that." Omega said.

"Me too."

________________________________________________________________________________

Gay space witch Omega go brr

I don't care if you need to be Force sensitive to do Nightsister Magicks, Omega is gay and that gives her the ability to use it.

Also Omega is 100% taller than Miara.

I am very tired and finished this quickly so don't know if it's the best but it's fun and I like it so, eh!

I hope you all have a good day, whatever that is for you!

VJS Out!

[miruneal]

(mild digital blood under cut)

mini absence here T_T burnout hit hard halfway through artfight and i just havent been able to do anything. i think im slowly getting out though (knock on wood....) but have some avien art

[selfkaiharness]

Updated Roleplay Rules (2024)

Okay i have a sudden itch to do roleplay now. The more i ignore it, the itch gets more potent as it goes on. Weird but okay, i can handle this. If you're willing to do RP with me, be my guest and it's on the house for you!

Here's my updated roleplay rules:

I don't like smut RP at all. Don't make me do them or otherwise i'll ignore your request and block you for good measure. I'm also not good with that so there you go.

NSFW is allowed but to a mild degree. Anything that is heavily NSFW i won't do.

Please follow the rules of Roleplay before you send in Roleplay requests! No auto-hitting, power-playing, meta-gaming, godmodding, etc.

I'm fine with underage OCs so as long you are not sexualizing them. I heavily don't condone any sorts of highly illegal shit both in my roleplay sessions and in real life. I will never interact with you if you're in that sort of thing. Expect an insta-block from me if you keep on crossing moral lines here.

I'm mutuals and everyone, however most of the time i'm mutuals-only (those who followed me back). Have some patience as i'm very busy playing games (mostly modded games) and watching movies.

I'm a roleplayer with 13 years of experience, i go from mostly literate to full on novella at times. I take my time roleplaying interactions with your characters/muses, so please be patient while i'm taking my time here. Mood takes into an account here so if i'm not in the mood or having burnout issues you might as well wait until i can get my bearings.

I'm mostly a OC player with a few muses that i can roleplay as such as Spazmatic Banana (Youtuber, i'm a fan btw), Sorcerer (Modded Risk of Rain 2 character), and Chibidoki (Vtuber, personification of brainrot maximus). So if you're willing to have me roleplay a muse that i'm not famillar with, oh well can't do shit in ohio i guess.

I'm extremely in favor of crossover-friendliness so yeah. I fucking love crossover roleplay sessions so if you're in that sort of thing, hit me up if you're bored.

It's fine if you use gender pronouns on my OCs during roleplay sessions but i hate it if you forcibly change the gender on my characters for no good reason. You'll be insta-blocked the moment it happens. I don't tolerate it.

I don't condone the r word in my roleplays ever (you know what i mean by that and no it's not space racism it's something much worse) so don't do it.

Please no minors are allowed here. 18+ only, no exceptions.

Referring to rule 3 here: If you call me out on roleplay suddenly OOC saying that i'm breaking the rules of roleplay when i'm clearly not, i suggest you quadruple check my roleplay posts before jumping into any conclusions. Keep on calling out shit that is NOT rule-breaking by any factors and i'll have you blocked without any second chances. The same goes towards your alts.

[goldennika]

2023 was a challenging year for me. it some ways, i’d say it broke me.

i stubbornly overstayed with a toxic boss and messy company despite realizing just a few weeks into the job that it didn’t feel right, and i ended up paying for it with burnout that eventually led to a mild depressive episode, leaving me exhausted for weeks. i let my people pleasing and shame get in the way of seeking a healthier, more supportive workplace.

it didn’t help that my skills have stagnated in that role, making me feel like i had wasted almost a year of my life professionally.

i was sick almost every month. the worst of it was being sick for almost an entire month — being hit by back-to-back-to-back illnesses that finally made me hunker down and focus on myself so i turned in my letter of resignation as soon as i was coherent enough to do so.

i’ve had to witness bidding farewell to two beloved pets, just months apart. the intensity of the loss hitting harder as i would be coming home from a holiday each time. only to cry and cry and cry over our last whispered thank you’s, you’re a good boy, and goodbye’s one final time.

it felt like a cruel joke. thinking i would be coming home, only to end up with the house a little quieter, no longer having to carefully tiptoe past sleeping dogs by my bed.

still, there were saving graces to be had.

i got to travel more this year. saw my favorite artists live. went out of my comfort zone to make new friends. processed internalized shame. allowed myself to be myself — allowing myself to use accommodations that i now know i needed — even if others thought it was “weird”

there is still a lot i wish that had gone differently and i carry a lot of grief, anger, and regret to this day. but i am taking solid steps to bettering myself and hanging on to the belief that things will work out in the end.