#i don't want to be mean but it bothers me

[mercvry-glow]

Hey Lover

parings. jack abbot x younger!reader

warnings. age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s/early 30s), hospital setting, reader has a sprained ankle, reader isn't treated the best by the ed, nothing too serious overall, reader is considered to be bratty, some suggestive parts but it’s just comments between reader and jack, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I love jack and younger reader, I felt there was a lot of me in this one lol! since so many of you requested this hopefully y'all don't find her demeanor annoying, I read it as the reader is a bit scared and defensive knowing that the ed doesn't particularly like her for whatever reason. but as always please enjoy and feedback is appreciated as always!

wc. 2200+

You could admit you weren’t the easiest person to get along with.

You liked your oat milk lattes extra hot, your lip gloss to match your water bottle, and your schedule planned down to the exact minute. You didn’t do chaos. And people around here—meaning, this godforsaken hospital where your fiancé worked twelve-hour trauma shifts—tended to mistake that kind of organization for being high-maintenance.

And Fine. You were a little high-maintenance. But you weren’t mean… And you definitely didn’t deserve to be sitting in some back hallway of the PTMC ER with your hair still in a claw clip, mascara running down your cheeks, and one ankle the size of a grapefruit.

You sighed dramatically, shifting on the gurney. Your baby blue workout hoodie was streaked with tears and did little to hide the shame you felt in this very moment. Your phone was cracked. And worst of all—your favorite pilates socks had blood on them.

Today was not your day.

“I’ve been here for forty-five minutes,” you muttered, crossing your arms and wincing when your movement tugged your wrapped foot. “And if one more person tells me to ‘just wait,’ I’m going to scream.”

The nurse behind the little desk—tight bun, tired eyes, and feeling high and mighty—didn’t even look up. “Ma’am, we’re triaging other trauma patients—”

“I am also a trauma,” you said, gesturing at your foot. “Just because it happened in pilates at 5am and not a bar doesn’t make it less traumatic. I heard a crack.”

From across the nurses’ station, someone mumbled, “No wonder Dr. Abbot keeps her a secret.”

You froze. The room spun a little, but not from the injury.

Jack.

You blinked hard, biting down on your tongue. You knew what they thought. What they always thought. That Jack Abbot—with his calm voice, sharp eyes, and salt-and-pepper curls—couldn’t possibly be serious about you. That you were too much. Too loud. Too shiney. Too young.

But he’d never made you feel like that. Not once.

You tucked your phone tighter under your arm and exhaled through your nose, preparing to wait another hour—until the door to another room swung open into the hallway.

There he was.

Jack in a white long-sleeve under his scrubs, his stethoscope around his neck, and his hazel eyes already scanning the room. When he saw you—half-dressed like a ladies health magazine, clutching a cracked phone and looking entirely out of place—his whole face changed.

“ Are you serious right now?” he muttered, storming toward you. “Why didn’t anyone tell me you were here?”

“She didn’t ask for you,” someone muttered.

Jack didn’t even look at them. He was crouched in front of you already, gently brushing his hand over your shin, checking the wrap someone had done.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you said quietly, lip wobbling just a bit. “It’s just an ankle. And, like… mild humiliation.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s not just anything if you’re hurt.”

“I fell trying to do that stupid split thing you like—”

He gave you a look.

“Okay, gracefully collapsed trying to do the split thing. And my instructor screamed, so then I screamed, and I cried in front of a room full of strangers.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I ruined my socks.”

Jack sighed and kissed the top of your knee, just above the bandage. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Take me home? Get me out of this place in a timely manner?”

His laugh was quiet but real, and he kissed you again, this time on the forehead.

Behind him, someone coughed pointedly. He stood, slowly.

“She needs a reevaluation. Now.”

The nurse gave a half-hearted “x-ray is backed up” shrug.

Jack’s tone turned colder than ice. “Then she’s priority after critical. Or get someone who cares and tell them why I’m walking my injured fiancée to get care, myself.”

That got people moving.

Jack helped you up, one arm tight around your waist. You clung to him dramatically, batting your lashes like you weren’t totally milking the attention—but under it, you could feel his heart racing.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing up.

His voice dropped low. “Not until you are.”

You smiled, a little smug. “Told you pilates was dangerous.”

He just shook his head, holding you closer. “I should’ve never let you sign up.”

“You didn’t let me. You said, and I quote, ‘try not to flirt with your instructor this time.’”

“Yeah, well. Next time I’m going with you.”

“You in pilates?” You snorted. “Please. Your hips are too tight.”

“I have very flexible hips, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Bed's ready,” a night shift nurse called.

You smirked at Jack. “To be continued.”

He groaned. “This is why they all hate you.”

You winked. “They only hate me ‘cause you love me, other than that I don’t know.”

And by the way he looked at you—like he’d walk through fire just to kiss you again—you knew you were absolutely right.

The space they gave you wasn’t fancy, but it was private. Probably borrowed from someone in observation or cleared just for Jack’s peace of mind. He didn’t say a word as he helped you onto the bed, tucking a blanket over your legs like you were made of glass.

“I’m not dying,” you said, wrinkling your nose as he fussed with your ankle.

“You’re really annoying,” he muttered. But his hands were gentle, steady as always, checking your range of motion and rewrapping your foot with crisp, even lines.

You watched him work, the little furrow between his brows, the tiny flecks of gold in his hazel eyes that always showed up when he was worried. His curls were a little messy, probably from running his hand through them a hundred times today, and his sleeves were pushed up, exposing the veins on his forearms you’d once drunkenly referred to as "your Roman Empire."

“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.

“You’re so hot,” you replied simply.

Jack huffed but didn’t argue.

He finished taping your ankle and stood, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s a sprain, not a break, but you need to stay off of it for at least a week. Actually stay off it, not your version of resting.”

“Which is?”

“Pilates in a boot.”

You grinned. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“I’ll cancel your gym membership myself.”

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I pay for it, try me.”

You didn’t win that stare-down. He kissed your forehead again instead.

“Get some rest. I’ll check in after I get off here in a few.”

You pouted. “You’re leaving me?”

Jack gave you a look. “I’m an attending. I can’t just disappear mid-surge.”

“Tell Robby I said please, I saw him walking around.”

That got a faint laugh out of him. “No more sass. Be good.”

You made an angelic face. “I’m always good.”

He was halfway out the door when you added, “And please ask someone if they can bring me an ice water! Or tell them you’ll do it.”

“I just said—”

You batted your lashes.

Jack muttered something under his breath and disappeared into the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, Jack was standing near the lockers, hands on hips, when Robby stepped in with two bottled waters and a raised eyebrow.

“Your girl okay?” he asked, handing Jack one.

Jack nodded, cracking the lid open. “Sprained her ankle trying to impress a pilates instructor, apparently.”

“Sounds like her.” Robby sat beside him, stretching his legs out with a sigh. “She looked like she was about to throw hands when the nurse offered her ice chips.”

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh. “That tracks.”

“She really hates being fussed over, huh?”

Jack shot him a look.

“Okay,” Robby amended, hands up in mock surrender, “unless it’s by you.”

Jack didn’t argue. He leaned back against the wall, letting the silence hang a minute before Michael spoke again—more careful this time.

“She’s got some… strong energy going on today.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. Just glanced down at the bottle in his hands, then back up. “You don’t have to pretend you like her, man.”

“I’m not trying to judge,” Robby said, more gently. “You know that. I just… never pictured you with someone so… you know.”

“She’s also the first person I’ve met who makes me laugh like hell and still checks if I’ve eaten when I forget to eat. And she always puts me first. Even when it costs her.”

Robby’s brow creased slightly, more thoughtful than anything. “I get that. I do.. She always asks if I’m looking after you, like I’m the one keeping you alive.”

Jack’s lips twitched. “You kinda are.”

“Okay, but—” Robby pointed a finger at him. “She brings you little smoothie things and reminds you to call your sister and randomly knows what you need on your worst days. I see that. Doesn’t mean I fully get her, but I’m not against her.”

Jack finally relaxed, his shoulders dropping a bit.

“She’s not always easy,” he admitted. “But she’s real. And when it’s just the two of us? She’s… soft. Like, the kind of soft I didn’t know I wanted. She brings out all this stupid shit in me.”

Robby tilted his head. “You’re kind of a sap.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Jack deadpanned.

Robby smirked, bumping his shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Just then, a nurse poked her head around the corner, clearly amused. “Dr. Abbot? Your fiancée says she can’t find her lip balm and her lips feel like they’re about to crack. She says quote—‘You know the one I mean.’”

Jack didn’t even blink. “Little pink tube, side pocket of her purse. Tell her I’ll grab it.”

The nurse grinned and ducked back out.

Robby blinked slowly. “You really do know her inside out.”

Jack shrugged, already standing. “She’d do the same for me.”

As he disappeared down the hall, Robby watched him go, still smiling. He might not fully understand your dynamic—but he didn’t have to. Jack was happy, the girl loved him, and honestly? That was more than enough as a friend. 

A bit later you had barely settled into your space—fluffy blanket over your lap, perfectly stacked hospital pillows behind your back, and a comically large cup a nurse had left on the tray—when a soft knock hit the doorframe.

You glanced up, lip gloss freshly reapplied despite the fact you were still in the hospital.

Michael leaned in with his hands in the pockets of his blue hoodue, looking not nearly as judgmental as you were expecting.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Jack’s finishing up his last consult, so I figured I’d check in. How’s the ankle?”

You gave a bright (but very practiced) smile. “Swollen, hideous, and humiliating. But I’m surviving. Thank you.”

Robby chuckled lightly, stepping further in. “Well, the good news is you’ll walk again.”

“Oh, thank god. I was already mentally rearranging my living room for crutches.” You paused, then added, “I promise I wasn’t being dramatic earlier. I just… hate being in here. Even not as a patient, hospitals just freak me out.”

His brow lifted slightly. “You hang around one enough.”

“Yeah, but usually I’m here with iced coffee and lunch for my fiance, not a bum ankle.”

He smiled at that, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “You really do come in like a hurricane when Jack’s on shift.”

You looked down, suddenly fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Yeah. Sorry if I’ve been too much. I know I’m not exactly… subtle.”

Robby tilted his head. “You’re not.”

You blinked, and he quickly added, “But you clearly care about him. And that counts for a lot.”

You looked up again, surprised.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” he continued, more thoughtful now. “You’re different from what I imagined for him. But then I saw how he talks about you. How he looks at you.”

You felt your face heat up.

“He’s a lot lighter with you around,” Robby said simply. “Which is wild, because I didn’t even think that was possible.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “He’s not really the warm-and-fuzzy type.”

“No, but he’s yours,” Robby said with a small shrug. “And that seems to be working out.”

You stared at him for a second, then leaned back against your pillows. “So… you don’t hate me?”

“I never hated you,” Robby said honestly. “I just didn’t know you.”

You let out a soft breath, genuinely touched. “Well. You’ve officially been upgraded to my favorite of Jack’s coworkers.”

“That’s a low bar,” he quipped. “But I’ll take it.”

The curtain rustled suddenly and Jack poked his head in, curls messier than beforer and his hazel eyes immediately scanning you.

“You good?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Robby said before you could speak, already backing up toward the door. “Being brave. And dramatic. But mostly brave.”

Jack gave you a long, warm look. “Dramatic is her default.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

Michael was already halfway out the door. “Later, lovebirds.”

Once it was just the two of you, Jack pulled up a chair beside your bed and took your hand.

“You okay?”

“I will be,” you said softly. “Especially now that I know your work bestie doesn’t think I’m a total disaster.”

Jack smirked. “You are a total disaster. But you’re my disaster.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me, Dr. Abbot.”

And he did.

mercvry-glow 2025

[bizarrelovetriangel]

interruptions.

all he wants is to have you all to himself but everyone keeps getting in his way.

fluff and slightly suggestive. brief references to chaotic velocity and his myth.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

He groans against your lips as his hands caresses your hips, urging you to grind against his thighs.

His bedroom is silent apart from the sounds of your exchange of heated kisses, your heavy breaths in-between, as well as the rustling of your clothes as your bodies yearn for friction.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Sylus thrusted up to let you feel his excitement, and you responded by palming him through his pants, earning a low growl from his parted lips.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You pulled away as the ringtone of his phone blares closely next to you. You gave him a look before he pinches his temples and reaching for the device on his night stand.

"You better have a good reason to interrupt me on such an important time."

This is the third time in just two days.

Sylus doesn't know how much more interruptions he can take.

"Looks like I'll have to cut our time short again." Sylus frowns as he gets up from the bed. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Don't worry about it."

Being Onychinus' leader can be demanding, so you're not mad at him at all. In fact, at the moment, you're doing your best to hold back a laugh.

"Before you leave, maybe take a cold shower first."

Two days later, as you were leaving your workplace, you ran into your lover who's dressed in his favorite leather jacket, bathing in darkness.

"Sylus?! What are you doing here?"

It's the middle of the week. You usually don't get to see each other until the weekends, unless spontaneous plans come up. You figured this is one of those special cases.

"Do I need a reason to see my girlfriend?"

"No, but you do need to be cautious when picking up said girlfriend from her job, which may or may not be interested in catching some suspicious people who love lurking in the shadows."

There's not an ounce of worry in his eyes at all. "Luckily, I have a strong kitten who'd protect me should anyone dare to put their hands on me."

You playfully punched his arm as you walked next to him. "You could've at least texted me."

"A surprise usually works out only if someone doesn't know what'll happen." He then taps your head. "There's a restaurant that I've been meaning to check out. Want to come?"

Your heart and stomach cheered happily, deeming him as your savior. After all, you're starving after such a long day at work. "Of course!"

Around ten at night, dinner was done and you ended up relaxing at an empty, quiet park. You sat down on a bench surrounded by red flowers and you rested your head on his left arm while he holds your right hand.

At first, the two of you enjoyed the moment of silence and appreciated each other's warmth and company.

You could've fallen asleep then and there.

If only Sylus didn't start leaving kisses all over your face. He dropped them one by one, slowly and softly, as if you're something precious that could vanish at any second if he isn't careful enough.

As his lips pressed against yours, his right hand brushes up and down from your knee to your thigh, warming up your body during the cold night.

Sylus' ragged breaths urged you to deepen the kiss while caressing his face, though your makeout session was short-lasted as a group of chatty, cackling teenagers had decided to hit up the very spot that you two are in.

Clicking his tongue, Sylus stood up and reached out one hand for you. "I guess this is our sign to leave. Shall we?"

"Yeah."

You couldn't even bother to hide your disappointment that your time together was once again shortened.

He came with you back at your apartment, though Sylus couldn't stay the night due to plans he has later on.

He wasn't even supposed to see you tonight; he forced it in his busy schedule because his urge to see you was just unbearably strong during these past few days, and the constant interruptions are absolutely not helping.

It's as if the world is purposely getting in the way.

The next interruption came during dinner at a restaurant that you and Sylus have been wanting to visit for months. You made a reservation two weeks ago, and you got to enjoy all the delicious meals and drinks that made the place worthy of Sylus' attention.

You were given the best seats in the restaurant, which would be the special table on the rooftop, decorated with dimmed, beautiful lights to illuminate the dark night, and flowers for your eyes and nose to feast on.

As you were finishing up your wine, you walked towards the edge of the rooftop to observe the scenery around you.

For a moment, Sylus remained seated, only shifting his position so that he could admire you in your beautiful dress.

It's one of his favorite views — you facing away from him, eyes beaming with happiness and lips curled into a soft smile, completely lost in the scenery around you and unaware of how bewitching you are and the trance that you always put him in.

He'll never get tired of it.

"Sylus, look!"

At your call, he appears behind you and immediately wraps his arms around your waist. He gave you a light kiss on the shoulder before moving his gaze to wherever you were pointing at.

Unfortunately, Sylus never got to learn what caught your interest because suddenly, you received signals that a Wanderer is nearby.

And so, dinner ended early and you spent the rest of your energy jumping in action.

The Wanderers certainly became Sylus' punching bags for the night.

At last, you finally won some time to spend in the N109 Zone.

You're at his house and you've just finished eating the dessert that you two made together a few hours ago.

And now, you find yourself trapped against the counter table with Sylus blocking all the ways to escape.

"Can't run from me now, kitten."

His lips touched yours.

"Boss, look what we found!"

"...."

"...."

"....oops..."

"...sorry!"

Luke and Kieran were frozen by the entrance of the kitchen, almost dropping the fancy looking weapon they were carrying.

You let out a laugh to break the silence. "Hey guys!"

Sylus sighs defeateadly. He did acknowledge the twins and the gift they brought to him by giving them a quick but sincere "well done" before turning back to you with a certain glint in his eyes. "I hope you're up for a midnight ride."

"Wait what?!"

He took your left hand and started leading you out of the kitchen.

"Right now?!"

Luke and Kieran only gave you a wave of their hands, still feeling guilty about the interruption. Sylus didn't look mad at them, but he does look frustrated.

Whatever he has planned out with you, they know not to interrupt. Even Mephisto stayed still after giving you a look.

"Here."

Sylus helped you put on a black and red helmet that matches the one he's about to wear.

You eyed the motorcycle and couldn't hold back your excitement.

"Blackrose Archfiend!"

The half-black, half-pink motorcycle with the trademark of a golden crow made you recall the first time you and Sylus rode it and race against other motorcyclists.

"It's been a while!"

Sylus smirks proudly. "I modified it again. I meant for us to test it out tomorrow when we have more time, but this is gonna be our ticket to peace and quiet so we'll use it now."

"Ticket to peace and quiet?"

He ascends the motorcycle and turns on its engine before reaching out a gloved hand for you, inviting you to join him.

"Will you let me be selfish for a little while?"

With a soft smile, you took his hand and sat behind him, holding onto his waist.

You didn't care where he'll take you or how long it'll take to get there.

Your heart races at the adrenaline rush from the roar and speed of the motorcycle, and the cold wind dances all around you as you dart across the moonlit, empty roads of the N109 Zone.

A high mountain roadside, underneath the stars.

That's where you ended up in.

Other than the noises made by the animals that live in the surroundings, there's absolutely no other sounds that'll disturb the comfortable, peaceful silence.

The only light source you have is the full moon right above you, but that's more than enough for you to see the look of content in Sylus' face.

His features are highlighted in such a way that makes him look like an artwork that deserves to be admired by many, and yet you're the only lucky one to see him like this at this.

"You're staring, sweetie."

"And what about it?"

He smiled and scooted closer to you so that your arms are overlapping as you sit on a giant boulder planted deeply on the ground.

"That means I get to stare at you as much as I want in return, right?"

You held up one hand in front of your face and used it as a wall to block his intense gaze. "No!" The way he gazes at you makes your stomach want to explode with various emotions.

No matter how long you've been together, he never fails to make you flustered as if it's just the beginning of your relationship.

Sylus laughed at your hand before intertwining his fingers with yours and putting your conjoined hands on your lap.

"You're mine for the rest of the evening, sweetie. Any objections?

You shook your head, melting at his words. "Not at all."

Despite your playful rejection earlier, Sylus' eyes were unable to keep away from you, finding you more entrancing than anything around you. While he could look at the moon, the stars, and the city lights, he can always see them every night.

He can't say the same for you.

Once upon a time ago, he lost you and you lost him. It was like having your entire world ripped away from you.

The day he found you again... he'll never forget the way that it felt. It was like seeing light for the first time in forever. Like gasping for air after holding your breath for so long.

He's reminded of how lucky he is to be given a second chance of a life with you. Even though he complains about the distance between your homes and your jobs sometimes get in the way of your plans, he'll always be grateful that he can spend any time with you at all.

He'll always cherish every second with you, and he will never take you for granted.

You didn't keep track of the time at all. You two sat there and enjoyed each other's presence, talking about whatever comes up in your head while admiring the stars above and the lights of the N109 Zone from below.

There were times when you two would pause your conversations and just embrace the silence, bringing nothing but comfort that made you want to cuddle — and you did.

At some point, your body had been enveloped by his arms. You're seated between his legs and your back is against his chest. You could feel his steady heartbeat that would occassionally lose its rhythm.

You're spared from the wind's icy kiss, but not from Sylus' warm, gentle ones.

It started off with him casually dropping kisses on random parts of your face. Sometimes, while you're in the middle of rambling, his lips will linger on your skin and you'd forget everything that you were about to say.

Then, his kisses gradually became more fierce. From the moment he fixated on your neck, you'd become a mess that's unable to talk.

After leaving a couple of marks, Sylus wore a satisfied grin before diving into your lips with his own.

He kissed you over and over and over again, taking full advantage of the isolation. Finally, no one can interrupt.

No one can take you away from him ever again.

[calamity-crows]

Title: I don't want to talk about this.

"I'm asexual."

"I don't like talking about my sexuality. Not in the no one will understand me woe is me way. I mean there's truth in that most won't relate. But mostly it's just inconvenient. I guess I should feel lucky because my family tends to leave it alone. They're more concerned with unmarried cousins who are almost thirty. I still get all the classic comments about 'giving it time' and 'being young. As if I wouldn't know by now. It doesn't help that everyone reminds me that I look far younger than I am. I am a sexless being to them, which is fine by me. Except sexless isn't the word I would use to describe my experience with asexuality. I don't like talking about this... because I don't know how to feel about this facet of myself. Or what it means for my future. The unknown is uncomfortable..."

"First, let's get the clinical shit out of the way. There are a lot of misconceptions about asexuality. Mainly that asexuals don't have sex, or that we don't want it ever. While this can be true, asexuality exists on a spectrum within a spectrum, meaning you can be gay, straight, bi etc. and also be asexual. Asexual simply means that an individual experiences little to no sexual attraction. This is also separate from Aromanticism, which is the same thing, but with romantic attraction. It is possible to be one without the other. For most, sex and romance are tied together but they aren't inherently combined but that's a whole other thing. I personally experience elements of both but don't bother with micro labels for my own sanity. I've wasted too much time on labels. So, in laymans terms, asexuals do not feel the attraction part of sex or it is at least very rare but this does not equate to not wanting sex at all. The best way I can think to explain it is the analogy of eating cake. Asexual people do not 'crave cake' but eating it can still be enjoyable, some asexual people might be neutral to it- like a take it or leave it situation- while some might outright dislike it. The nuance of asexuality is often hard to describe. For instance, Demisexuality (one facet of acespec) describes only feeling attraction after forming a strong emotional connection. This sometimes confuses people because it is normal to only have sex with those you connect with. The core of this misconception lies in the distinction between sex and sexual attraction. Asexuality describes the lack of sexual attraction, not the amount of sex an individual has."

"I grew up in a 'heteronormative queer' household. I acknowledge the contradiction. But I don't have a better way to articulate it. My childhood was split between two households; One queer, one straight, both nuclear. From a young age, I had outwardly queer friends. I was aware of the social stigma against queer people, but to me, queerness didn't feel much different from any other relationship. In that respect, I led a sheltered life."

"Entering middle school brought an abrupt change in house sex was presented to me. No longer was it this vague concept, but rather it became something rapidly tangible. For the first time there was pressure to understand, to enjoy sexual content. To participate. With the internet at my disposal I went from knowing nothing to being exposed to hardcore pornography. To say I was uninterested would be a lie, but I noticed my own curiosity did not line up with my friend's interest. I was simply emulating their behavior in a vain attempt to justify my standing in the group. Through it all, I felt isolated. As if I was on some other island entirely."

"I have since made several friends that happened to share similar experiences to mine. I did not seek them out, but I am forever grateful I found them. Still our society is built around the idea of a nuclear family structure and a part of me still yearns to fulfil that in some way. The idea that I will end up alone haunts me."

"See, here's the thing, I love romance as a genre. I love the feeling of reading a really good romance novel. Or watching a great romcom. But then, after I am left with this hollow feeling inside. Reminding me that I will never experience this. Forced to live vicariously through this fantasy. But this idealized form of love isn't real for anyone. And that soothes something in me. I don't know if I'll ever have even half of that. Logically I know this is okay. But it doesn't feel okay.... whatever. I'm tired of this edgy ass conversation..."

[End]

a comic about my experience with asexuality

[lukolathoughts]

Miss Nicola - supporting LGBTQI rights

Dearest gentle reader,

I have been itching to write a blog post now for a few weeks, but not really knowing where to begin. There have been frenzied weeks and days of activity, but then silence and the fandom meanders like a lost boat at sea. We are often rudderless without the reassuring presence of our ship captains - Luke and Nicola. This also tends to get the sub fandoms spouting nonsense claiming to have seen Nicola in Birmingham or some ridiculous crap. I didn't want to bother her by asking for a photo! No photo, no proof my friend.

I'll talk about me for a moment. I had a week from hell last week. There was something so upsetting for me to deal with, I couldn't go into work as I was crying that much. Try to explain this to your manager: that nasty comments on YouTube made you late for work. Luckily, she is an understanding person and I have told her about my YT channel. Saying some things out loud to real life people make me sound barking mad. But it is the price you pay for being public on YouTube. It also makes me an easy target. I am used to online trolls and people who hate me for saying that Jake is gay and believing in Lukola, but when the stab in the back comes from a supposed friend, it really is the ten of swords. My phone blew up that much, I opened my eyes that morning genuinely thinking Lukola had launched. My hope turned to ash, when I saw what was really happening. I share this with you all because, I have had to have a reckoning with myself the last week. My online life and my real life are not the same. My real life is way more important and I actually need my job, so messing it up because I've got people I don't really know online saying mean things about me, that are not true, shouldn't matter. But it still hurts. But I also realise, they are trying to stop me sharing and trying to ruin my credibility and reputation in order to send me off into my discord crying never to return again.

Well think again. No one tells a Sagittarius woman what they can and can't do. I am made of stronger stuff. Love will always conquer hate. No one puts Baby in the corner, and I will not stand for it. I have scaled back most of my online life now. It had helped me cope with the last year and losing my friend, but sometimes you have to go back into reality. I'm never leaving the ship though. You'll have to chuck me overboard and I'll still jump back on like Rose from Titanic. "I couldn't go, Jack! You jump, I jump, right?"

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about Nic. I love Nicola by the way and nothing I say here is a criticism of her or her choices. I see what you're doing though, miss Nicola. I said in my last blog that the shit would hit the fan when Jake has to start press for his new upcoming BBC3 drama What it feels like for a girl. I will admit I have not read the book. Regardless of who Jake is playing, it is reportedly an all queer cast, a queer director and at least one queer writer that I know of. Why would the director of an all queer cast hire a straight man in a homosexual role? If this show is as big as It's a Sin, that aired on Channel 4 a few years ago, then there will be press and a lot of it. There will be press from queer magazines also. Jake is currently in an awkward position, because some press believe he is in a romantic relationship with Nicola Coughlan, a woman who is also 14 years his senior. So, what will Nicola and Jake do?

Jake is holding onto his cash cow with both hands and Nicola needs Jake to continue to pose as her boyfriend to stop the media digging. But honey, they know. It was clear all the press at the SAG awards knew exactly what was going on and they were not afraid to say it. The 'happy ending' comment levelled at them directly by a reporter, had Nicola stunned and Luke smiling like all his Christmases' had come at once.

Nicola knows what is going on. She knows there is a deadline and she knows if she doesn't extricate herself from the narrative she is dating a gay man, she is screwed basically. What is she doing? She's getting out her, I love gays!! T-shirt, hats, scarfs, sunglasses, whatever. She is doing it. Look at me, I love queers! I love her for this and I already know she is an advocate for LGBTQI rights. She has a ton of gay friends. The fandom knows this of course, but do the general public?

At the Neutrogena event on 27th March 2025, there was a very tall drag queen doing some MCing. We know Nic loves drag queens and has been to many shows, so this is nothing new to us. I'm not being overly cynical that the drag queen might have been there for a reason, right? Neutrogena is a product that is targeted at women mostly for their skin products. What has that got to do with a drag queen? I just found it odd.

Next up we have Nicola's Pink Pony Club Post that she shared to both her Instagram stories and grid last Thursday 10th April. The song by Chappell Roan is synonymous with the gay community and one that Jake danced to at her concert last year in a pink cowboy hat. "You guys, remember when my old flat was a gay hotspot!" Nicola, posts 4 polaroid's of her looking fabulous in pink and lays them on a pink blanket. What made you feel so nostalgic, Nic? Or are you sending a message? Look at me, I have loved my gay besties for donkey's years. Prominent gay friends such as JVN and Jack Rooke commented all in agreement, that indeed, Nic's flat was the place to be. And, no I do not think Nicola is coming out herself as gay. Get real, she is supporting her friends and peers.

Then there was yesterday's selfie of Nicola wearing her black - 'I just wanted to say if you are trans and reading this, I love you and so do all my mates' T-shirt. There a few other details in that post that other bloggers such as @toriaaniin have covered beautifully, so I won't go into it here. My eyes sprung wide when I saw this post. I know she advocates for the charity Notaphase.org and I commend her for doing this, but two queer posts in a few days seems to be a lot for Nic, when lately she hasn't been posting at all.

There is also the male hairdresser Halley Brisker in her Opalex video on her Instagram, They make a big deal of letting us know he flirts with male makeup artists. Nicola is clearly good friends with Halley and it is an endearing watch. But to me this seems like a lot of overkill in the last few days for the general public to look at her Instagram and instantly know, yes Nicola does love the girls, the gays and Luke Newton. (FYI Halley Brisker is married to a woman and has children, but to the general public this conversation is implying Nic is comfortable with these conversations).

This, in my opinion, is setting the stage for the final act. I can see Nicola doing some sort of article or interview where she clears a certain narrative up. If you notice, Douglas has also been quite forceful again in implying certain things about Jake and Jake himself does not stop others from posting suggestive posts and videos of him. Nicola must remove herself from this mess in order to move forward with her own career and life. Hanging onto old connections are no longer serving her personally and professionally. Her engagement on Instagram is down by a lot, so I'm told and she is losing followers. She has done all she can career-wise for Jake now, he has to make his own way.

If this does not happen and we remain in this weird heteronormative bubble, I fear the press for What it feels like for a girl, will be a shit show. The truth will come out eventually and it will drag both Jake and Nicola down with it.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Eight of Simon Riley x Single Mother, they're really doing this thing <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

By the time Emma’s first birthday rolls around, Simon has a ring in a box that lives in his nightstand back at his apartment. He keeps it there, safe and sound, instead of slipping it on your finger like he really wants to.

It’s not because he’s still thinking about it — he knows exactly where that ring belongs. It’s because, all told, it hasn’t been all that long since you got together. And while he wants nothing more than to lock this down, to breathe a little easier with the help of a sturdy gold band looped around his ring finger, he doesn’t want to scare you off. Wants to give it time to make sure that you’re in the same place he is.

So he waits. And every day he wants it a little more.

What pushes him to act, to move past his fear of rejection, is a close call during a mission gone wrong.

It's strange, he thinks, because he'd definitely been in worse predicaments. He didn't even get hurt, just felt the whizzing of bullets flying past him, a little too close for comfort, and he can't get it out of his head. If he'd been a little less aware, even if the wind had been off, he could have died, and while that never bothered him before, it's unsettling now.

The thought of you on your own again, of Charlie and Emma wanting for anything, forgetting him ... it aches. It keeps him up at night, even when he's laying in your bed, your warm, solid weight resting against him.

He tries to sleep, but it's no use. It's his third day back after coming home, and he's exhausted, but he can't rest like this. He finds his fingers running lightly your arm, up and down and back again, and before long you're stirring, turning slowly to face him.

"Simon?" you ask, your eyes still closed. "Everything ok?"

On one hand, everything is ok -- more than ok. Everything is beautiful. He can hear a faint stream of white noise coming through the baby monitor by the bed, telling him that Emma and Charlie are fast asleep in their room. You're in his arms, too, and it's perfection.

But tonight, just like last night and the night before, it feels too fleeting.

He clenches his jaw, struggling to find the words, and at his silence you open your eyes, sleepy concern etched on your face. He lifts a finger to smooth out the crease in your forehead, then trails it down your temple and towards your jaw.

You're so delicate. Strong too, he knows that, but now ...

"Marry me."

It's not a question, but a plea. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he puts his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close.

"I ... really?" you ask. "You're really asking me to marry you?"

"Begging, love," he admits quietly. "Please."

He got the ring months ago at this point, and in all that time, he'd never landed on just how he wanted to propose. He never imagined this specific scenario. You deserve better -- than this, than him -- but he's desperate.

"... You sure?"

"Got a ring back at mine," he tells you. "Got it ages ago, never been more sure of anything."

It's hard to put into words how much this means to him, so he keeps his gaze steady, hoping you can, in that special way you always do, see it in his eyes.

And you do.

In a flash, you're pressing yourself against him, kissing him deeply. He pulls you closer, indulging you, but still, he needs words.

"If this is a 'yes,' I need to hear it," he says.

"Yes, Simon, of course ... yes."

That night, he sleeps better than he had in recent memory, and in the quiet of the morning, he slips away, just long enough to retrieve the ring from his place before you and the kids start stirring. When he's back, he slips into bed beside you, gently takes your hand and slides the ring on your finger.

It's a weight off his shoulders. He can't imagine how good it will feel watching you sign the marriage certificate.

This time, you don't quite wake up, you just snuggle up against him. But before long, he starts hearing soft sounds playing through the baby monitor: Charlie muttering what he knows are good morning rambles to his little sister. There's some rustling, and soon he hears two sets of little footsteps coming through the hall, then your bedroom door opens and Charlie and Emma are there, hand in hand, ready to start the day.

"Come on then," you mutter, still nestled against Simon.

The two children scramble up into the bed quickly. Emma tucks herself against your side, still sleepy herself, but Charlie is characteristically alert and energetic, and he throws himself across you and Simon, burrowing himself in the middle.

It's the morning routine now. The four of you stay in bed, slowly (or in Charlie's case, with minimal patience) waking up together. After a few moments, you finally notice the ring newly placed on your finger, and you smile, holding your hand up to get a good look at it.

"What's that?" Charlie asks.

"A present from Simon," you answer.

"But it's not your birthday or Christmas or anything."

"Doesn't have to be a holiday to get a present," Simon points out, and Charlie swiftly turns to look at him.

"Do I get a present too?"

You laugh, warm and happy, and tell him, "In a way."

Simon wants to do it all, and he wants to do it right. Marry you, then work on adopting Charlie and Emma. Sort out everything for all three of you, make it so that you're safe and taken care of, while he's here and, if anything ever happens to him, when he's gone.

But for now, this sleepy Sunday morning will definitely do.

[no-144444]

walk away happy- m.verstappen

꩜summary: max and you are on the rocks, despite the rock on your finger. he comes back from bahrain and he doesn't have answers, so you don't wait for them

꩜pairing: max verstappen x fem! reader

Max really didn’t want to go home. Bahrain was shit, and he was exhausted, but back home… well, he wasn’t sure if you were still there, to put it gently. 

And he knew he was being a dick. He knew he was hurting your feelings and he did it anyway, because of course he did. He’s Max Verstappen and for some reason he feels the need to push away anyone who loves him, the second things get hard again. And the off-season had been magical. He’d fucking proposed! You’d forgiven him for his awful behaviour during last season, and you’d accepted him as your life partner, and he was more than happy. 

How did he fuck it all up in less than a month? 

He opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside. It was quiet. The lights were off. He gulped. He left his suitcases at the door and started his tentative search. Living room was clear, kitchen was clear, his office was clear, your office was clear, both bathrooms were clear-

He found you curled up in bed, your glasses still on your face and a book in your hand. He chuckled lightly, moving the book to your side table, not before dog-earring the page. He carefully took your glasses off and placed them on the book, and he pulled the covers over you. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe you’d be less annoyed when you woke up. He stared at the scene in front of him, and he couldn’t help but feel that something was missing from your bedside table. 

The wedding planner. Fuck. 

He walked through the house as he went about his nightly activities in search of it. As he ate his dinner, he looked around the apartment for it. While he brushed his teeth he checked your car. 

Nothing. And his chest tightened. 

Despite his anxiety around the planner, he fell to sleep quickly. He always did beside you. 

You felt him before you saw him. His hands on your waist, his breath on your neck. You could’ve sworn you could still smell the champagne on his skin. 

You removed his hands as best you could, and quietly got up and out of bed. He woke up when he noticed how cold the bed was. 

There you were, sitting in the living room, a cup of tea in hand, your book in your other. And you were quiet. No waking him up with a kiss. No cuddling before the day started. No begging him to make you a cup of tea before you got up. No music playing as your day started.

Just sad, suffocating silence. 

“I’m sorr-” he started. 

“It’s fine,” you shrugged, not bothering to turn your attention to him. “I was being dramatic, it’s not a big deal.” 

‘Not a big deal’? This was your wedding, how was it not a big deal? He cautiously sat beside you. “Well, I’m still sorry,” he admitted, turning to you. You stayed with your head in your book. “I was being an ass and I’m sorry I made you less excited about it.”

Again, you just shrugged, and stared at him (finally). Though, it was that thousand yard, you’ve hurt me, stare that he hates so much. “It’s nothing. It’s just a wedding.” 

‘Just a wedding’. Wow. He really fucked this up, didn’t he? “Schat,” he took your hand in his, forcing you to give him your attention. “It’s not just a wedding, it’s our wedding, and I care about it. I’m sorry I was being mean.” 

You shrugged again. “It’s fine Max, I don’t care,” you huffed, turning back to your book. You very clearly cared, and he had no idea what to do. “Let’s just forget it.”

“The wedding or the fight?” he mused and you rolled your eyes. 

“Whatever you want,” you scoffed. His entire body tensed. What the fuck did that mean? ‘Whatever he wanted’? He wanted you to be happy, not be upset with him, he wanted- “Just go do some sim work or something, I have work today-”

“We need to talk about this,” he sighed and again, you scoffed. 

“What would that even do, Max? It’s not going to reverse anything you said or make me feel any less of a burden to you, so what would it solve? Please tell me,” your words were sharp, cutting into the ache in his chest, making it hurt worse. 

“You’re not a burden to me,” he shook his head. “You never are.”

“Exactly, I’m just your punching bag,” you met his eyes. Yours were cold. Calculated. Unknown. His were pleading. Insecure. Scared. 

He sighed. “I’m sorry-”

“Yeah, you’re always fucking sorry Max. Always sorry,” you chuckled, but it wasn’t funny. It was hurt. It was pain. It was a reflection of exactly what he did to you. “I’ll organise it on my own, it’s fine. Just… you didn’t have to be so mean about it. Saying all my ideas were stupid or silly.”

He sat there, still. “I was upset at the car-”

“But you took it out on me,” you shot back. “You always fucking take it out on me.”

“I know,” he nodded, his eyes glued to the floor. “I know I do. And it’s not fair.” 

“You always say that,” your voice was thick with emotion. “But I genuinely don’t think you believe it-”

“Of course I believe it!” 

“Then why do you still treat me like shit?!” you shouted back, tears falling down your cheeks. He didn’t have an answer. You waited for one. “Here,” you threw him your engagement ring. “No more headaches.” 

Neither of you walked away happy. You still loved him, and he knew he’d never be complete without you. But sometimes breaking up is the best thing to do.

navigation for my blog :)

redbull & vcarb masterlist

[worlds-bestest-kigurumi-princess]

i have nothing to add to this, this is perfectly said.

but fuck damn does it break me to live in a world like this. I can't marry both of the people I love. I love the two of them so much and yet ... i remember once staying up all night trying to see if poly marriage was legal or something and .. its just not. anywhere. never. it hurts to think about. I reject this, I reject marriage as an institution or concept or whatever because it cannot possibly accommodate (or rather explicitly excludes) my needs. I don't think such a system deserves to exist. and yet I still want to get married, because of what it means to get married, it means that the union between me and my partners is recognized.

fuck society, but still it seems like we have to live in it, and if we have to live in it anyway I still want to be happy. I want to be able to list these my wifeys in documents and wills and places where it matters because otherwise it feels like we'll never be able to do anything for them. it feels like i will always exist as single on my passports or leases or insurance or whatever.

and again, fuck all that I really wish i didn't have to deal with it. why do billionaires get to have babies with random people all willy nilly and keep it secret, but i can't marry two people?

and i call them that because it's cute and i think everyone should get to call the people they love whatever they want to call them, and be officially recognised as [idfk unified or married or whatever] to them

fucking ass rant it just becomes incoherent at the end and i can't be bothered to make it coherent, it's just really upsetting because we all live in different countries and itd be really fucking difficult to find a place where we can all live together forever

[Guy at the workplace having a midlife crisis but he's poly] She took the wife in the divorce

[bigsoggyboots]

miscellaneous ambessa headcannons

✮⋆˙ loves slit dresses. she believes it commands both power and respect. it reminds whoever she may be talking to that every being responds to temptation. will you be bold enough to look down or respect yourself enough to keep your gaze up?

✮⋆˙ ambessa's anger seethes and festers inside of her more often than not. she's not one to point fingers and direction blame but more or so a person who finds a petty way to make your life worse.

✮⋆˙ really likes jazz. no other reason.

✮⋆˙ believes the most romantic way to express love to your lover would be to embrace each other's nude form. showing every nook and cranny of bare skin to someone you trust is love a sign of trust beyond just kissing and hugging.

✮⋆˙ always doing something, even when her body needs rest the most. her thoughts become too loud if she's not distracted.

✮⋆˙ wears her wrinkles like a crown. age means wisdom to her and why defy the stories she could tell?

✮⋆˙ can and will check out someone. she's not ashamed of a damn thing either.

"don't be afraid, little one. you should be proud."

✮⋆˙ can only sleep in total silence. any little sound will rouse her senses. it also has to be completely dark. she's a warlord, she'll be fine if there's a sneak attack, so why bother with any sort of light source?

✮⋆˙ as a lover, she kisses your hands all the time. it may be a bit of a obsession. ask her why however, and she won't give you an answer.

✮⋆˙ loves sweets. there's probably some bag filled with milk chocolate somewhere. it's something Mel instilled into her.

✮⋆˙ probably at the age where she's beginning to loose her vision. she's ignored it since she is in the middle of a war and business needs to attended to. even if she was to squint to read certain texts.

✮⋆˙ after Mel's banishment, she begins to collect things that remind her of her children. a caramel perfume? she'll buy a box. a simple chain necklace? she'll go to the shop herself and order 10 more of those for "inspection".

✮⋆˙ definitely the type to do wine tasting. she'll take you with her to try every wine there is. she'll give you the ones she doesn't like.

"this tastes.. subpar. for red wine, i expected something richer. here, let me try yours. you seem to be nursing your drink as well."

(she'll find a way to buy all the wine bottles you enjoyed after the date is over.)

✮⋆˙ wants to own a garden one day. it's a silly distant dream she had long ago that she can never shake. ambessa knows it'll never have but sometimes, it's ok to dream of simpler times.

✮⋆˙ if you think she's the big spoon you're wrong. she doesn't do that. you both sleep facing each other, or she cradles you. no other way.

an: I'm going to basically be busy from the rest of the week up until Saturday. so, I'm putting something else out so you guys can blow up my notifications while I'm gone.

[dazedantics]

Mark doesn't like pair projects.

It's not that he's better at working alone. He'd much rather have one or more people there to help get the job done since he isn't exactly the brightest.

But every time the teacher starts, "Alright, this next assignment you're gonna be in pairs." He'll sit there, gripping his worn pencil praying to himself, "please pick our partners, please pick our partners," over and over.

He isn't often so lucky.

See, Mark doesn't have any friends in this class. Or in general. So he never has the luxury to make knowing-eye-contact with that one person he knows will always partner with him for anything.

If only William were here. Then he wouldn't have to look so obviously nervous as the seconds pass.

He'll sit at his desk pretending to be busy. Mussing with his notebook, digging through his backpack, fixing his shoelaces, a weak ploy that buys him some time for someone to hopefully come over and pick him first. Or at least enough time for everyone else to pair, the moving bodies distracting the teacher away from him starting the work. Alone. In the back of the classroom. The far back where he goes unnoticed as usual.

He thought the stares the pairs next to him give, whispering as he slumps into his chair to further get out of sight, were bad enough. They knew him as the lone weirdo at this point.

But lately his tactics of laying low have failed as his teacher started asking you to invite him to join your group.

You're kind enough about it. Smiling and taking his hand as you lead him over to your desk. Neither you nor your partner mention how the teacher told you to talk to him. And he doesn't bring it up either.

He's grown a little relieved actually. Still does his lingering-by-the-backpack thing until you come and drag him over. But at least he has the peace of mind knowing he won't be solving all these confusing packets alone.

But then you start bringing your stuff over to sit at his desk instead. Setting out your notes, reading over the instructions and asking him where you should start.

"We can split up the research part to make this faster. And it's a bit like that last assignment we had, so I'm pretty sure we could just paraphrase what we already wrote there instead."

He looks over your shoulder, searching for your usual partner, thinking they're about to come and join you. But they don't.

Okay, weird. Maybe they're just not here today?

"It's due by the end of the week, so we could take turns bringing it home for the artsy parts?"

He's a bit too distracted by the sight of your friend elsewhere in the room, working with their own partner already.

"Mark?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Sounds great. Um ... let's start?"

You work on the project together and it's not so different from doing it in a group of three. Just glad to have someone to split the work with, he decides he doesn't need to ask why you chose to go to him first this time.

Until you start going to him again. And again. And again.

You even choose to sit at the desk next to his once the teacher does that "pick your own seat" thing every quarter.

Then he just has to ask.

He watches you as your scrawl on the poster board. Hand nervously scratching his neck, biting the inside of his lip, foot tapping before he speaks.

"Why are you here?"

"Hm?" You finally look up from your work.

His stomach feels jittery. He fears for his phrasing in case you suddenly realize you had enough of him and decide to punch him in the gut.

"You know. Like ... why are you sitting with me? Don't you want to be working with your friend?"

You pause, pencil hovering above the page. "Do you ... want me to go away?"

What? He didn't just accidentally push you away from him, did he?

"No, no! It's not that at all! In fact, I'd love it if you didn't leave me ever. I mean- not like that! I just mean that, uh, you just- you never bothered to partner with me before? You know, if the teacher is making you stick with me for some reason, you really don't have too. And um, you haven't been around your friend much recently? Since you're with me."

He wasn't sure where to look as he awaited your answer.

Your sudden smile made his gut churn even more. Was that a condescending smile or?

"Well, the teacher did ask us to at first. But, you're actually kinda cool. I like working with you. And my friend has been busy trying to flirt with their crush. And I dunno about you, but I'd rather not be stuck as the third wheel for any situation." You chuckled.

His stomach seemed to be flipping. Was he feeling sick?

"So is that why you've been acting nervous this whole time, or are you really always like this?"

He cleared his throat, shifting to sit up straighter. "Um yeah, no. I, uh, that's ... that's all I ...," he sniffed. "Um, so problem five?"

You laughed again, scooting closer and placing a hand on his paper to shift it toward you.

You didn't seem as painfully aware of how close your soft hands were to his plain ones.

"What don't you understand about it this time?"

He was aware you'd gone over this certain problem over ten times already, but he was positive he wasn't going to be able to focus on it any better now that he had a whole slew of new questions to flood his mind.

You think he's cool?

Well, if you think that good about him now, what other good things do you think about him?

Do you think about him a lot when you're at home?

Could you start to?

[rafesbabygirlx]

hi im new hear but I absolutely love your smuts. I specifically love how they're written where you could imagine the reader any way but I was wondering if I could specifically request a plus sized reader? If not that's completely fine but I was specifically wondering if you could do a rafe's first time with a girl he actually loves and he's terrified to mess it up please. Also reader being a virgin and a pouge.

dont forget to take care of yourself love <3

Hi sweetie <3

I appreciate your sweet words. You have no idea how much they mean to me!

You're right, I don't usually give my readers any attributes for the reason of imagining whoever you want but I am always happy to write something that gives some sort of representation to some! I hope I do her justice and I hope you like <3

Coming back to note but I couldn’t help make this super sweet and sappy. Wanted reader to feel special and wanted Rafe’s nerves throughout the date and build up to their first time. I am a bit nervous to post this btw 🥲

𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 - 𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎!𝚙𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖, 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎

𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎- 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍

You sat at the beach with your friends, thinking about what Rafe had planned for you and him later that night. The cool breeze brought you back to reality, you wore a sexy red 2 piece that flaunted every inch of your curves.

You and Rafe had been together for 8 months now, and tonight you planned to get serious with him. You had never been with anyone the way you have with Rafe. Compared to the girls who you’ve seen him with before, you didn’t think he’d look once in your direction.

You’ve never been ashamed of your body. Even around your friends. You watch the way Kie and Sarah come up from the water with their slim legs and toned abs. But you just weren’t built like that and you loved that about yourself. You were a bit taller, thighs thicker, ass fatter, breasts were more filling in your tops, stomach poked out a bit. But you felt hot in your skin and that’s all that mattered.

What you’d never expect is to be with the Kook Prince himself. Looks matters to him. Image mattered to him. He worked out 5-6 days a week. You worked out with him from time to time. You loved the way his eyes would follow you up and down when you’d squat.

He was pure muscle. The girls before you matched his image. Long, skinny, and toned. Again, it didn’t bother you because the way he adores every inch of you, drowns any thought of it.

The day that he came up to you, palms sweating, avoiding eye contact, asking you if he could take you out for the first time you were taken aback. You’d never really interacted with him in the past. You’ve seen the way he acted though. You knew he was Sarah’s brother, you knew your friends hated him. But you were never mingled into all that mess. You’d stay quiet on the sidelines.

Your first date he took you to a small restaurant on the mainland. It was a simple place, cozy. He asked you a million questions, to learn all about you. You work a simple black dress, one that hugged you in all the right places. He couldn’t keep his hands off you.

The second date he brought you a gift of all the little things you mentioned on the first. He learned all about your favorite hobbies and even began to open up about him a bit.

The third date ended with his lips finally meeting yours and you both knew at that moment you were hooked.

Your friends weren’t happy at first when you brought up the dates. But Sarah mentioned a shift in his attitude and she saw how you meant the world to him. She didn’t see a shred of doubt when he’d speak about you. The other Pogues were going to have to get used to it because you know from that moment you kissed you were totally smitten over the Kook Prince.

His friends never understood how you two ended up together. Kelce and Topper would try to push his buttons about your size and how you were a Pogue. But nether mattered to Rafe. You made him feel seen and wante. Nothing anyone in his life had ever done for him.

Those dates were 8 months ago. Tonight was your 8 month anniversary. You were ready. Rafe was patient with you. He was kind and sweet and even made attempts to make amends with the Pogues for the sake of you. They could all see it by this point. You were so happy in your relationship.

Rafe was as nervous wreck making sure tonight was perfect. You had expressed your motives recently and knew you were finally feeling ready and he wanted to make every moment special for you tonight. What you didn’t know was that this was his first time too. He had an image as player but all those girls that hung around him and tried to get with him, he’d never let them.

He could feel his hands tremble as he drove to the other side of the island. He could already feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He needed tonight to be perfect. Just for you. For the both of you.

He arrived at your house to pick you up at 3, you emerged from your house in a silk sage green dress he’d sent to you for tonight. A slit so high up your thigh he thought he couldn’t faint from the sight of your leg peaking through as you strutted towards him. Adorned with the gold jewelry he’d showed you with over the past few months - you told him he didn’t have to but he was never one to listen. Once you met him, next to his truck, he was swarmed with the scent of you. Vanilla. Head to toe in vanilla. It was the first thing that drew him into you when he first approached.

The warmth of the sweet scent enveloped him when you wrapped your arms around his waist. He wiped the palms of his hands on the pants of his suit before wrapping his arm around you, running down yours feeling the softness of your skin. Taking you all in. You pulled back slighted to look up at him.

“Hi,” your eyes beamed looking into the ocean blue abyss of his.

Rafe smiled back down at you. “Hi. You look - wow.”

His eyes raking you in, mouth that’s stuck open, and loss of words has you giggling.

“Such a way with words, Mr. Cameron. Could you at least tell me what we’re doing?” You cock your head to the side in a teasing way.

“Can’t that’s a surprise. Come on now, we’ll miss the ferry.” He helped you grab your overnight bag, placing it in the trunk of his car. He raced back over to the passenger side before you could reach the handle, opening the door for you. Following every rule he drilled into his head.

“Such a gentleman,” you smirked as he helped you up into the car.

He got in and started heading towards the ferry. His hand was on your thigh. Kneading the supple flesh, it’s become some sort of coping mechanism for him when his mind races. You felt content. The car was silent and you peaked over to take a look at Rafe. His eyes were steady on the road, cheeks were flush and jaw was tense. Your hand loved on top of his rubbing soft circles into the top of it.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m perfect.” He forced a smile at you, fighting through the nerves.

“Are you sure, the quiet is normal but your never usually this tense around me.”

“I’m ok, I just want tonight to be perfect. For you. For us.” He took a sigh of relief, finally able to get that off his chest.

“Rafe, I get to be with you tonight. It’s already perfect. I promise.”

An hour later you reached the mainland. You and Rafe walked along the storefronts on the boardwalk, stopping in front of a pottery shop. Something you used to love to do before you had given up all extra curriculums to work to help your mom.

He lead you inside, your favorite music was playing, the lights were dim and a bouquet of your favorite flowers were sitting on the table. You turned to Rafe with a huge smile on your face. He cupped your cheeks pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

You each sat with a pile of clay in front of you. Rafe snickered as he pulled a screen in between the two of you. You fake gasped at the action, a giggle following after.

“Let’s surprise each other.”

You and Rafe got to work on each other’s pieces. It was about 3 hours to finish. Between making, painting, and firing, the two of you spent the time in a peaceful quiet.

When each piece was done. You couldn’t wait to present so you needed to go first. It was a ring holder painted in his favorite colors. Included was a small stand to hold a photo of the 2 of you. Rafe smiled from ear to ear, then placed a kiss on your temple.

“My turn, go ahead baby.” He placed the object in your hands.

It was a vase, covered in handmade seashells with the words - “yours forever and always. Rafey.” carved into it.

Tears welled into your eyes. 2 of your favorite things. Seashells- from when you told Rafe you and your dad would walked the beach collecting them before he passed. Flowers- the one extra thing you buy yourself with tips from the country club every week. That extra thing that became you and Rafe’s where every Sunday morning you were greeted by a new flower delivery.

“Thank you Rafe, I love it,” he wiped your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Leaving another lingering kiss on your lips.

“Come on Angel, we’ve got reservations.” You follows him out of the studio, gifts in hand.

The car arrived in front of the beach front restaurant where the two of you had your first date. You fought back tears as you realized where you were. Rafe greeted the host at the entrance, trying to keep his cool for you. You passed the table you two sat at for the first time and followed the host outside to a secluded patio rimmed with candles and flower petals. The two of you shared stories, ate in a comfortable silence and spent time just listening to the ocean waves embraced in each other.

You and Rafe made your way to the hotel. Nerves wreaking havoc through the both of you.

You feel ready. You know you’re ready. You’ve just never felt anything like this and that’s what made you nervous. Rafe has showered you with love these past 8 months. You dived into the deep end and you never thought anyone could love you this much. It’s making you over think. Getting to this point means everything and what if you end up ruining it.

In Rafe’s mind he’s worried HE’s going to be the reason everything gets ruined with you. He’s ashamed this will be his first time too. He thinks he should know something. How to make sure you’re comfortable, how to treat you, how to make you feel good and he knows nothing. His mind is whirling, his hands are sweating again. He’s terrified but too terrified to let you know.

The hotel room is once again littered with flower petals and candles, mirroring the serene scene of your dinner. You sat quietly at the edge of the bed watching Rafe place your bags on the couch in the corner of the room. He turned and just stared at you.

“Come sit,” you motioned by patting the empty spot next you.

Rafe obliged, crossing the room and taking the seat next to you. His hand immediately went to your thigh, kneading the soft skin.

“Okay, tell me what’s wrong.” You readjust to face him.

“Nothing is wrong. I’m perfectly happy.” He fakes but you’ve gotten to know his little tics since being with him. He’s lying through his teeth, pretending to be alright.

“You’re not and that okay. Just tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

“I’m nervous, okay? I want this night to be perfect for you and I’m a nervous wreck that it won’t be.”

“What would make you think it won’t be?”

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You’re taken aback just a bit by the confession. “You’re a..?”

“Yeah I’m a virgin. It’s embarrassing I know.” Rafe ran his hands up and down his face. Cheeks flushed a cherry red and hot to the touch.

“Why would you think that’s embarrassing? I’m a virgin too.”

“Because I’m not sure if I know how to make you feel good the way you should.”

You couldn’t believe it for a second. You were at a loss for words. The Rafe Cameron was a virgin? The same Rafe Cameron who had girl swarming him at every chance during a party? Your eyes softened as you took a real good look at him. He really was nervous.

“I think you hang around your friends a little too much. I’m just as nervous. But I’m ready. I was ready before you told me and I’m ready now. I want you Rafe, even if that means learning this together. Please?”

Rafe looked at you with wide eyes. He was so in love with you. He was so ready for you. The proclaimed player of OBX waited his whole life for someone to give all of himself to and that person was you. “You got me.”

“You’be been full of surprises all night. Now it’s my turn.” You stood from the bed, grabbing your duffle and taking it to the bathroom with you.

As Rafe waited he pulled your vase out with the flowers from the pottery shop and placed them on the table. Then he grabbed his new ring holder. Placing the three rings from his finger onto it admiring it for a few seconds before returning to the bed.

You returned to the bedroom a few moments later. Rafe lifted his head and his jaw dropped. You were a sight for sore eyes. A literal dream pulled from his sleep and brought into real life. An angel sent down from heaven to save him.

You stood there, one hand on the doorframe. The other resting on your full hip. In nothing but a two piece lace lingerie set. Your thighs thick and luscious, your breasts on full display for him.

You walked over to him and stood in between his legs. His hands ran from the back of your knees, up your thighs, to your butt giving it a firm squeeze. It was like all his nerves rushed out the window the minute he laid his eyes on you. He just wanted to be engulfed in your body.

“I’m ready for you Rafe.” You spoke softly but confidently.

“You know I love the way you look right? How I can hold you like this. I’ve never wanted anything more.” He said back before pressing light kisses along your stomach.

You moved past him to lay on the bed. Rafe stood and slowly removed his clothing until he was just in his boxers. He climbed on the bed and hovered over you. His arms a bit unsteady as the thought of what is about to happen settles in. But the excitement of making love to his girl means more.

He took his time making sure you were okay with his next moves. No more words were being shared. The both of you too indulged in the moment. The movements between you two were enough communication.

You arched your back as he undid the clasp of your bra. Revealing your large perky breasts. He holds both of them in his hands as his mouth slowly descends onto one of your nipples as his swirls his tongue around it.

He sat up and removed his boxers. Rafe was on full display and you gulped softly at his size. He reached the hem of your panties, looking back up at you for approval. Once you nodded he slowly pulled them down and off.

He leaned back down so you were chest to chest. He lined himself up with you and slowly pushed himself inside. You let out a gasp at the feeling. There it was, that infamous pop. Your cherry was popped. Your innocence gone. You thought you could hear it happen for a second. You had no regrets of it now missing from your life. The right person took it. Your person.

Rafe stalled for a second. Waiting for the discomfort in your face to leave before rocking his hips against yours. The sound of your skin rubbing together was music to his ears. All his nerves of wanting this night to be perfect were gone. Because this night turn out to be more than perfect.

He began to pick up the pace just a bit. You felt so good around him. He wasn’t bound to last long. But he wanted you to finish too. Rafe knew what to do, he’d just never done it on anyone before. He took initiative and sat up. He lifted your thighs to get you at a better angle. One hand kneaded at the skin of your plump hip, the other came down to your clit. His thumb started rubbing circles to the speed of his hips.

You let out soft moans letting him know how good he’s doing. You weren’t quite ready to get loud yet, but he got the point. He sped up a little bit more when he knew you liked what he was doing.

Eventually your back arched and you came. Your legs shook around Rafe’s waist and you let out the most beautiful sounds. This got Rafe to his point. He came and collapsed onto you.

Here you were, 8 months later with the love of your life. You were someone who was doubted by many on his side of the island. Talked about, talked down to. Made it seem like she wasn’t worth Rafe’s time or trouble. But now he was the one you were falling asleep with as he was nestled in between your breasts. Just like how it felt like it was meant to be.

Tags + some moots 💕

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @littlelamy @maybankslover @nemesyaaa @writingroom21

[onbearfeet]

I once spent a summer cleaning movie-theater bathrooms.

I wasn't told up front that it would be my job, personally, to clean the women's bathroom every 15 minutes for 8 hours a day. But the theater advertised its clean restrooms, and they required male cleaners for the gents' and female cleaners for the ladies' ... and because they hired as few women and girls as possible, this meant in practice that every shift was 5 to 7 teenage boys taking turns and one teenage girl who spent at least half her time cleaning the same giant bathroom over and over. (Another girl had the other half of the megaplex.) You wouldn't think a bathroom could get seriously messy in 10 to 15 minutes, but if you've ever set foot on the mysteriously sticky floor of an American movie theater, you have some idea of what eldritch forces are at work there.

I have many disgusting stories about my summer of shit, but one of the few I can tell in public was that a shocking number of people just don't bother, or perhaps don't remember, to flush. Other people then see a toilet full of human waste, assume it's clogged, and use another toilet. Some of THEM will forget to flush, and the feedback loop intensifies. The more this happens, the fewer toilets are in use, the more the line backs up, the more accidents happen ... you get the idea. So a big part of my job was walking from stall to stall, flushing toilets, usually with a plunger in hand in case the thing actually WAS plugged. (I was not supposed to have a plunger. I stole it from the facilities guys.)

98% of the time, the toilet flushed fine, so I developed the habit of just walking up to full toilets in public restrooms and flushing them as a matter of course. Over 20 years later, I still do this.

Because I have this habit, I have become The Flusher among my friends. When we're out somewhere and the toilet situation is dire, they call me over to flush a few and make room. There's nothing stopping them from doing exactly the same thing, of course; it's just that I spent 3 months desensitizing myself to the sight of floating shit, so I can do it without puking. (I wash my hands thoroughly afterwards.)

I've often thought about why so many toilets go unflushed. I'm sure some people just forget, or don't care. Others perhaps can't flush for themselves--little kids who can't budge the lever, people with disabilities that make twisting hard, etc. But on a practical level, the flush has to happen at some point, or we're all going to get cholera. Someone must flush, regardless of why the flush hasn't happened already.

So why are we so shitty (pun intended) to the goddamn heroes who save us from our own crap? I've made volunteer flush patrols in crowded convention centers and community theaters that probably prevented actual health hazards. I no longer do it for a job, but I see it as a responsibility that comes with the world's dumbest superpower. And it's always struck me as ridiculous to describe jobs like that as "degrading" and therefore jobs that no one should do.

You don't actually mean degrading. You mean icky. Poop gives you the ick, and you don't want to go near strangers' shit. Fine! You shouldn't have to--not as long as someone else does. I only developed my stupid superpower because of sexist hiring practices that forced me to get over the ick, but if someone tried to convince me that my dumb superpower was a reason to pay me less or exclude me from union membership, I'd punch them in the throat. (And then wash my hands, because that's MY ick.) Why the hell should my ability to do something that lots of people physically can't make me LESS valuable as a worker?

The toilets need flushing. If you luck into someone who'll do it all day, pay them like the treasured specialist they are. If you don't, hire enough people (of all genders) that no one HAS to flush all day.

And don't call necessary work "degrading". The only one degrading people here is you.

When the health food store unionized, something wild happened that I thought was just a goofy one-off, but makes more sense now.

There was a big push to eliminate "degrading jobs" but the strategy was to eliminate the position, then create a new position outside of the bargaining unit to do the work. So like, we wouldn't have dishwashers, but we'd have people who washed dishes that weren't eligible to be in the union.

I was like A) what the actual fuck? Dish washing isn't "degrading", it's fucking vital. B) What the actual fuck? You want to create a union just to exploit different people?

There were enough of us to be like "Absolutely the fuck not," and put a stop to it, but I was absolutely flummoxed that people involved in a union would say that out loud. Working with more leftists now, it makes sense.

[moodient]

(nsfw!!) imagine!ambessa and reader were relaxing in their humble abode, cuddling in bed, enjoying each other's presence. it was a good day for the both of you, neither of you had work even though, ambessa has told you time and time again to quit your job and just let her take care of you. but you didn't feel justified doing so, you wanted to feel needed or important or at least feeling like you're contributing in some way. but ambessa has no problem telling you or showing you how much you mean to her.

but you both needed a break from the chaotic world, endless amounts of work, and just overall stress. and cuddling was the perfect way to do it. no phones, no tv, no doomscrolling, only a recorder that plays soft jazz and just enjoying each other's company.

of course, ambessa needed you as a little spoon, feeling your back pressed up against her chest and your ass against her crotch. she absolutely loves it. she also can't keep her hands to herself. her hands trail from your neck to your chest, softly groping your breasts and kissing on your neck leaving you hickeys.

"mmh, you're so perfect, princess.." she whispered in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. she has such a way of making you melt and despite her turning you on, this is just how she gets "comfortable".

soft moans and whimpers escape your mouth, and you can't help but to place your hand in between your legs. rubbing your clothed bud, as she continues to leave her mark all over you. ambessa is absolutely enjoying herself, until she realized what you were doing.

"uh-uh, what do you think you're doing, darling?" she said, grabbing your hand and turning you to face her.

"i'm sorry, baby.. i just couldn't help it." you whimpered, feeling almost embarrassed that you got caught.. almost. she smirks and places you on your back, taking off your sleep shorts and your panties. and long and behold, a soaking pussy throbbing for her. she looveess your pussy. even curve, your blossoming bud, and your perfect lips. her mouth almost salivates, just by looking at it.

"don't apologize, baby. just let me take care of you." she said, lowering herself to taste you. she places her tongue on your clit, swirling it around slowly but fast enough for you to feel hot and bothered.

her tongue is sending you into cloud nine, you can't stop groaning and softly moaning. the pleasure is becoming too much for you, it's even overstimulating, and you haven't even cum yet. you're trying to keep your legs open, but you can't control and squeeze ambessa's head with your thighs. despite you being unable to keep your legs open, she's still eating you out. flicking her tongue on your clit more, slurping up your wet cunt.

ambessa's licks and sucks becomes faster and stronger, making you wince in pleasure. you even start grinding up against her face, holding her silvery curly locs. her eyes looking up at you, watching your fucked-out expression, teary eyes rolling back, mouth dry from keeping it open, face flushed from pleasure. and it absolutely fills her with determination, she wants to see more of it. taste more of it, feel more of it.

"ah~ ambessa, i-i'm getting close." you whimpered, looking down at her. and her eyes go completely dark.

she takes this as a challenge to make you cum as hard as possible, one hand, caressing your breast and squeezing your nipple. and other is fingering your perfect pussy, she started with one finger just to ease you into it and then she added another finger and another finger, thrusting into you fast and hard. she suckles and swirls her tongue around your bud, making you feel your climax closer and closer..

"a-ambessa!" you screamed out as you reach your climax, your eyes completely roll back, your back arched and toes curled. while you're still reaching your climax, she watches you, slowly thrusting while you're still cumming..

"that's good, baby.. good girl.." she says, cooing at you and kissing your head. your body finally relaxes and you're starting to feel sleepy.. ambessa slowly pulls her fingers out of you and swirls them around her tongue and pulls them out, making a 'pop' sound.

"delicious." she says, laying to the side of you. you giggled at her, and kissed her passionately. you loved days like this, and she always knew how to make it ten times better-

a//n: y'all this is my first time-ish making a smut fanfic and A GIRLIE IS HOT AND BOTHERED. hope you enjoyed, my ambessa fans.

[beevean]

I wonder if something could be said about Ashley's apparent penchant for drawing.

Leyley used to draw a lot. This, in itself, is nothing special: many kids draw as a hobby. The most noteworthy thing is that Leyley loved to draw so much, she'd do it on the walls, which Andy had to clean...

... and on Andy's notes, which made it difficult for him to study.

I don't need to say that this is just one of the many ways Leyley begged for attention and approval, which most surely had the opposite effect.

However, what made me pause a bit are three completely separate scenes.

This is in the very opening of the game:

We don't see Ashley drawing as an adult, but she doesn't seem to be very confident in herself. Then again, at this point in the game, it could be just goodhearted self-deprecation. It does say something, however, that she's still clinging onto that drawing, both because it's so old and not good-looking, and what it represents.

This is after Ashley, as a teen, has a meltdown over Andrew "seeing Julia":

Andrew is being mean, but to be fair to him, he's also angry and interprets the torn drawing as a way to make him feel bad, so I'll let it pass. The artstyle is so crude, I assume this is another old drawing: the lemon muffin is a reference to a way Andy celebrated Leyley's birthday when they were kids, so it's possible she drew it back then. And then kept it for years, before destroying it in a fit of heartbroken rage. It's how she conveyed her love for her brother, and it was that important to her, that apparently, she still had it in grabbing and tearing vicinity. Her hate for Nina is as important as her love for Andrew.

(the other option is, of course, that it's a much more recent drawing, and yes, this is a pretty abysmal way of drawing for a teen who apparently has been doing so for years. I still wouldn't call it garbage though, Andrew, she meant well :<)

Not much after that scene, Andrew also tells us this:

Whether Ashley still draws in her teen years or has stopped, at least we know it's more important to her than her homework, and enough for Andrew to comment on it.

And this is an offhand comment Renee makes to her mother while pretending she doesn't regret her life choices and children.

This is how Renee chooses to paint Ashley in a good light: by praising her art. Which is a lie, of course, because even back then she wasn't exactly Leonardo Da Vinci, but hey, grandma doesn't need to know about that. Worthy of note is that, despite doing everything in her power to interact with her daughter as little as possible, she did notice how much Leyley likes to draw (although afawk it could be because she once saw her drawing on the walls, so it's even more of a backhanded compliment).

So I suppose Leyley's cry for attention did work, in part.

It's a running gag that Ashley is a pretty bad artist. More than once, people point out she struggles to draw circles.

Speaking of attention seeking behavior, and how Renee keeps denying it.

So, what do I take from this?

That Ashley had a predisposition for drawing, clearly enjoying it regardless of her talent, and partially did so as a way to yell "look at me! I'm a person too! I have feelings, here they are!" at the world; but that predisposition was never nurtured, neglected as she was. Her art was ugly at best, a bother at worst. So she never developed her artistic skills, stagnated, and now she's a "bad" artist, which she resents. It's quite a shame, because of all the ways you could vent your feelings, art is by far the healthiest. Perhaps she would have been less destructive.

Naturally, this is part of one of the game's key themes: Ashley never grew up. She wasn't given the tools to, and now, she doesn't even want to. So she never developed past the "Leyley" phase of her life, still drawing in a childish way, still "playing" with her bunny plushies in her mind, still clinging onto her child self when Andrew wants nothing more than to grow up (or so he says). Much like her art, she too was seen mostly as an embarrassment, and so never improved. But every scrap of attention Andrew gives her? Means the world to her. And that's why she keeps going.

Lastly: every ending of the game comes with a crude crayon drawing.

It makes me believe that Ashley's art, ugly and childish as it is, is an important part of her, and her perception of the world.

[crystallizedtwilight]

Hello! This is not meant to be rude or pushy in any way, but why don't you like for your art to be reposted to other platforms? Any time I’ve seen it they always give proper credit. It’s your art and obviously I respect that you don't want it but like why not? It gives exposure to the really cool drawings and art you make.

Many reasons.

1. 9/10 times my artwork is NOT credited. Seeing it credited is truly an anomaly.

2. I’m already on all the social media platforms that I want my art posted on. People on those platforms can share it from there, where the credit stays attached to my account. I don’t want my art on certain platforms for various reasons.

3. I don’t want exposure. I’m a hobby artist and I don’t do this for money or numbers. I want the people who discover my art to find their way to my accounts because they already had an interest in the subject matter. I’ve had my art exposed to large groups/go viral before and found that it attracted people who didn’t understand it and who wanted to be mean.

4. Accounts that “curate” art sometimes take brand deals, and then other artists' work is being monetized against their wishes, with the funds going to the "curator" (reposter). Credit is not enough, artists' permission must also be given and most curating accounts don't bother to ask for it.

5. I’ve had people sell my art before.

6. I've had people repost my gallery and impersonate me before.

7. I've had people edit / trace / re-color my artwork and think that made it theirs.

8. When art is reposted, the artist's comments that originally accompanied the piece are removed, sometimes removing valuable context. Worse, sometimes the reposter adds their own comments/take on the piece, which changes the meaning.

9. In this growing world of AI and theft, I think it is harmful to take the power away from artists by divorcing the content from their accounts against their wishes.

10. I like having control over where my art posted because one of my greatest joys is knowing where I can check for the interactions of those who did find it by way of their passion for the subject, and I love being able to read all of those interactions in the places I expect that art to be.

At the end of the day, I know I can't stop my art from being reposted. And it feels like now, more than ever, artists are fighting to be treated with the simplest respect. If you want artists to keep creating, please do not repost our without our permission. Thank you.

[thatcryptidinthesea]

So I've been thinking way too hard about the ISAT role!swap aus by @anxiousapplepie (hi! hope you don't mind the tag :]), especially the Housemaiden!Siffrin AU, and I was planning to draw fanart with my ideas but my university assignments have been looming over me *head in hands*. So in the mean time here's all my thoughts rambled out onto paper so maybe they'll stop haunting me while I'm trying to do work.

Starting with some HCs:

• Having depression is an inherently Siffrin trait, the different Sifs just deal with it differently. HM!Sif was able to get access to antidepressants due to being in the House of Dormont, but wasn't able to take them with him when he had to flee from the King's curse. So like OG!Mira, they had to go through their journey unmedicated. Isabeu and Odile's ractions to finding this out was something like

• All Miras are medicated for their anxiety, and most of them were able to have access to their meds throughout their journeys (OG!Mira and T!Mira I'm so sorry but you had to do it scared). F!Mira made double sure she brought her's knowing HM!Siffrin didn't have their's.

• Once T!Bonnie started warming up to and trusting the party, they'd hide behind the others' legs when they didn't want to be seen. Hiding behind Siffrin had the added bonus of being able to hide under his cape.

• When T!Bonnie has had a particularly rough night, they'll go sleep next to Siffrin because they know Sif WILL end up cuddling them in his sleep and it makes them feel safe. <- I imagine a lot of their sibling relationship was built on Bonnie going to Sif and just silently clinging and Sif just letting them and not forcing them to talk.

• C!Odile is the best fusion cook ever. This woman can take any two cuisines and mix them together flawlessly. Even things that arguably should never go together.

Ok now for a character ramble under the cut because Housemaiden!Siffrin is that one character I want to put under the microscope like a beetle. Argh. The angst of being the Universe's walking talking religious contradiction...

There's so much potential for HM!Siffrin's inner struggle with the Change belief. For one thing he doesn't really get to choose how he Changes much, he doesn't really have control over it. You can't decide how you'll be a different person if you have no idea who you originally were. Yet the Change belief has this whole thing about choosing to Change yourself and choosing to leave your past self behind. Can you imagine being Siffrin and being told you have to decide to be a completely different person when the only info you have about yourself are the clothes on your back, your accent and a love for malanga fritters? Meanwhile everyone else can choose to Change however they like because they know who they are and how they can be different, and they get to choose to get rid of the mementos of their past because they still ultimately have the memories if they ever want to go back for whatever reason.

And the fact Sif can't really choose to Change kinda shows in the ways he does decide to change because they're all physical changes. They recut their cloak into a cape, they dyed their hair and then let it regrow, they trade weapons or headgear with Mira. Those are all things that he can actually control, and thus can actually make choices about.

Which also makes me think about how he got the "worst/laziest Housemaiden ever" title. It probably felt to any outside perspective who knew the Change belief that Siffrin wasn't putting in any effort to Change and was instead skirting around the rules by just physically changing. So people started to say he's lazy and not following the belief right, and because Siffrin didn't have an identity he internalised being the Worst Housemaiden Ever as his identity and kind of stopped trying because why bother? Which SUCKS because can you imagine losing literally everything about your home/culture/language/family and then trying to make a new home and identity with another community only to be told by that community "hey you're terrible at this actually"? That's awful. Siffrin can probably never really feel truly, confidently part of the Change belief because they were alienated from it from the start.

And then to finally top it all off when Euphrasie chose him to save Vaugarde it's likely no one believed that Sif was the saviour because he's known across the Houses as the Worst Housemaiden Ever, why would the Head Housemaiden of Dormont choose him?!? Which probably only cranked up Sif's self-esteem issues because they'd also think Euphrasie could've picked better.

So yeah *head in hands* Housemaiden!Siffrin feels like a character locked in a constant feedback loop of "can't be part of the community despite their efforts because the system is inherently flawed for them" and "doesn't bother trying so the community disregards them".

[kabsey]

Hey, I really love your thoughts and writing... how about "Boys Night" from the Wholesome Prompts? 🙂 Anything come to mind?

Thank you so much! <3 I had so many different thoughts for this prompt, but this is the one that stuck. Not quite a boys' night per se, but it is a boys' chat and it is at night 😊

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When the knock came, Viago glared at the door over the top of his reading glasses. The runner wasn't due for another hour, and he could not imagine who else Marta would allow to approach his study when she knew exactly how tall the stack of his correspondence had grown (she was the one who brought him the post, after all). Rook or Teia wouldn't have even bothered to knock.

Which left Viago no choice but to pause in his writing with a stifled sigh and a curt "Yes?"

The door opened, and the figure who entered explained all: the First Talon went where he liked. If it had been Caterina, Viago would have set his letter aside and risen to greet her.

Instead Viago resumed writing, though he paid Lucanis the courtesy of asking, "Is this urgent business, or can it wait a moment?"

"It can wait."

Lucanis crossed to the bookshelf, his near-silent footsteps drowned out by the scratching of Viago's quill. From the corner of his eye, Viago watched him peruse the shelves with his hands clasped behind his back. Two fingers on his right hand twitched in an uneven rhythm, a fidgety agitation that no lesser Crow would dare display in front of a Talon. From Lucanis Dellamorte, whose knuckles were striped with crisscrossed scars from Caterina's cane, it either spoke to his comfort with Viago or a mind very ill at ease. Possibly both.

Viago ended the letter with the correct signature (he had a variation for each of his regular correspondents, making a fake easier to spot) and set the page atop the outgoing post to let the ink dry. He wiped the nib of his quill, capped his bottle of ink, and placed both items in his desk drawer with his glasses. The soft sound of the drawer closing drew Lucanis's attention, and Viago gestured for him to take the seat across from his desk.

When he was seated, he opened his mouth to speak, but Viago cut him off with a raised hand.

"I can guess why you're here," he said, folding his hands back over his desk. "You want to make Rook a Dellamorte."

Lucanis raised an eyebrow, but a corner of his lips lifted in a self-deprecating smile. "I suppose my intentions have been fairly obvious."

Viago huffed a laugh. "Yours and half of Antiva's."

Lucanis's smile vanished. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I have received inquiries from the head of every House and even some of the merchant guilds besides." As if Rook would stoop to playing bodyguard to some bloated princeling.

For a brief moment, Lucanis's eyes flashed violet. Viago tensed and curled his fingers around the knife strapped to the underside of his chair arm, but Lucanis shook his head and turned to the thin air to his right, one hand lifted in a placating gesture. "Calm down."

"Apologies," he said as he looked back to Viago, and Viago relaxed his hand. "We're just surprised to hear it. Does Rook know? She's never mentioned it."

Viago frowned. "Of course she does. Do you think I would simply ship her off somewhere with no consideration for her opinion?"

"No, of course not," Lucanis assured him. His gaze dropped to Viago's desk as he fell silent. Viago wondered what the demon had to say about the matter. He probably didn't want to know.

"As far as I'm aware," he said, and Lucanis's eyes immediately returned to his, "Rook has no intention of accepting any of these other offers."

Some of the tension left Lucanis's frame, and Viago felt almost reluctant to continue, though he knew frankness was the better road.

"But you should know, I don't believe she intends to accept yours either."

Lucanis stiffened, tense again to the point of shock. "You... What makes you say that?"

"She's expressed to me that she's happy in my House." Viago was not one for providing comfort, but he knew his words were a blow to Lucanis, so he attempted to choose less direct phrasing than he might have. "She's endured a great deal in the past year. You both have. For the moment, she seems to crave the stability of the familiar rather than jumping into something new."

Lucanis's eyes fluttered briefly shut, in an attempt to control either the demon's reaction or his own. But when he opened them, he nodded.

"I'm glad you told me," he said. "It's something I hadn't considered. Perhaps I should have." A hint of a sad smile crossed his face. "You have to be the one to break it to Teia though. She was so sure Rook would say yes."

Viago raised an eyebrow. "You spoke to Teia about this?" Before Lucanis could answer, he shook his head. "Don't listen to her on the subject of Rook. She's always wanted her for herself."

Lucanis stared back at him, lips parted. "She has?"

"Does that surprise you?" Viago asked. Perhaps Lucanis had not paid much attention previously to the movement of Crows between Houses. Teia was notorious for attempting to charm away promising talent.

"A bit," Lucanis admitted. "You don't seem troubled by the idea."

Viago waved a hand. "We have an arrangement."

Lucanis looked even more nonplussed. "You do?"

"Of course." Viago stroked his beard as he considered the future. "We should probably include you as well moving forward."

An odd red flush crept across Lucanis's face. "Include me? In your... arrangement with Teia?"

Viago frowned. "You don't wish to be involved? Your grandmother always—"

One of Lucanis's hands shot up to stop Viago's words, while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. "Viago, I am starting to think—and really, sincerely hope—that we are talking about two different things."

Viago's frown deepened. "We're discussing Rook joining your House."

Lucanis's shoulders shook with silent laughter, and when he looked up, he was smiling. "We're discussing Rook joining my household. I'm going to ask her to marry me, Viago."

"Oh."

That had been such a foregone conclusion that Viago usually forgot it hadn't been formally settled, except for the moments when Teia griped about Lucanis taking too long. They'd already spent whole evenings with her sharing her thoughts on centerpieces and color coordination and other details that Viago couldn't follow, though he attempted to appear interested enough that he would not be kicked out of their bed.

He looked at the rest of the correspondence he had meant to address in annoyance. The runner would arrive any moment.

"You don't need her Talon's permission for that," he groused.

Lucanis only laughed again. "Of course not. But I would like to know that we would have the blessing of her family."

"Rook isn't—"

The automatic denial died on his lips at Lucanis's knowing look. He much preferred when the First Talon bestowed that smug expression on his rivals. Viago closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

"Fine. Yes. You have it. Go find her and let me work in peace."

Ever a wise man, Lucanis said nothing more but simply rose and left Viago alone in his study. For all that Teia enjoyed the idea, he had a very difficult time reconciling Rook with a word such as "wife." When he tried, all his mind would conjure was the memory of an underfed girl with a messy braid and bare feet. But not that long ago, he would never have been able to associate the word "hero" with Rook either.

Since he'd managed the one, he was fairly certain that with time, he would manage the other.