#i hope the intermittent posting is also good enough

[namu-the-orca]

DEAR FRIENDS. My apologies for another enormous silence. After the Delphinus delphis colour anomalies poster I’ve been wanting to make something similar for, well... everything else. It’s a lot of fun going through all sorts of species!! However it’s also a lot lol. Maybe “draw everything first, then figure out how you want to organise this” isn’t the greatest strategy, but here we are. Hence the lack of uploading (though part of that is also just me being busy and scramble brained). 

Anyway, consider this a preview for all the ODD BOIS which are - slowly but surely - coming your way. I think they’re super fascinating and I hope you’ll find them too!!

[savventeen]

you say the stupidest (sweetest) things

pairing: seungkwan x gn!reader rating: 16+ (for swearing) wc: 4.5k prompt: seungkwan + "things you said at 1am" summary: you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession warnings: insomnia, mental health issues, dissociation mention tags: fluff, friends to lovers, first kiss, reader is a little unhinged but who isn't tbh, they're also highkey allergic to genuine expressions of love/affection but they're working on it, banter, stimming, wrestling like children to try and work through emotions, reader is some flavor of lgbt+ (they make an "i've never done anything straight in my life" joke), reader's pov is dramatic bc they're dramatic oops a/n: this is for @dokyeomin as a part of my emergency commissions (check out the post here) and this was only supposed to be 1k but it 100% got away from me... i hope you still enjoy the fluff and all of the attached nonsense <3

From: Y/n 🔪 [11:47pm]

yo kwannie if i impulsively decide to go to the 24h convenience store how harshly do u think they'll jusdge me for buying every flavor of gummy candy available *judge i wanna see if i can melt them down into one Ultimate Gummy u know for Science

Seungkwan pauses brushing his teeth and stares down at your messages.

To be fair, it's probably not the strangest thing you've ever texted him. He's known you since your second year of college, after all, so he has about half a decade of experience with all of your various y/n-isms under his belt now.

Which is how he knows to trust his gut when it tells him that this probably isn't your usual brand of nonsense.

He spits the toothpaste into the sink and dials your number. You answer on the second ring.

“Before you say anything,” you start, “I was only half-serious about the gummies thing. Like, it's a fun idea, you know? In theory. But in actuality? I do not want to deal with the mess that it would create. Or the smells. Well, the smells might actually be pretty good depending on—“

“Uh-huh,” he interrupts dryly. “Y/n, when's the last time you slept?”

The beat of silence that follows is enough to confirm his suspicions, and the hesitant “Um” that follows is just the icing on the cake, really.

He sighs. “The fact that you have to think about it says enough.”

“I don’t need to think about it,” you argue petulantly. “I just… don’t wanna tell you.”

“Y/n...” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I know, I'm sorry.” And you do sound a little bit sorry, at least. “I'm just. Having an episode. Don't worry about it.”

His shoulders droop as the words sink in. “Episodes” are what you've taken to calling your intermittent bouts of serious insomnia.

Generally speaking, you sleep about as well as the average twenty-something with a caffeine addiction. But every few months or so, it's like your brain completely forgets how to shut off and you end up staying awake for 40+ hours straight.

“Well,” he says, putting his toothbrush away and going back to his bedroom. “You know that ship has sailed, right? You know I'm gonna worry about it.”

Your deep sigh crackles over the line. “Yeah, I know.”

“So. Where're we at this time?”

He mentally braces himself. The two of you have done this enough times now that he knows that you know there's no point in trying to lie or beat around the bush.

“Uhhhhhhh, I'll be hitting the 46-hour mark in about 20 minutes.”

“Aish.”

The fact that you can say that so casually makes his heart hurt. He knows that whenever he doesn't get enough sleep, he makes sure everyone knows it and thus babies him accordingly. But you've always been so intent on hiding anything and everything you struggle with. It's taken years for him to bully himself past the walls you keep hidden behind shit-eating grins and an over-willingness to help.

“Okay,” he says, moving to the dresser to grab an extra set of clothes. “I'll be over in an hour.”

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me.” He tosses the clothes onto his bed before going to grab one of his duffle bags, firmly asserting, “You've got an hour to mentally prepare yourself for my arrival.”

“Honey, you've got a big storm comin',” you quote at him without hesitating.

“You sure do,” he assures with a snort. “Better get ready to feel the wrath of my friendship.”

“Why do you have to love so aggressively?”

He rolls his eyes while he throws his clothes into the duffle bag with one hand. “Because it's the only way you'll accept it, idiot.”

“No, it isn't.”

Your pout is so audible through the phone that Seungkwan has to stop and glance at the screen in disbelief.

“Y/n. Y/n L/n. Do not stand there and lie to my face like that.”

“I'm not lying!”

“Not—” He gesticulates wildly with one hand like he's going Can you believe this shit? to an invisible TV audience. “Okay, tell me this: what did you do the last time I sincerely monologued at you about how much you mean to me as a friend, hmm? No bits, no bullshit, just me telling you how much I love you and how amazing you are.”

A beat. “I'll hang up on you, Kwannie, don't test me.”

He barely resists the urge to shove his face into the bedspread and scream. “You're literally proving my point right now!”

“Kwannieeee,” you whine, because you know he's right.

“Also, because I'm never letting you live it down, I will remind you exactly what you did."

You say his name again, but it's muffled, and he assumes it's because you're hiding your face in shame.

“I gave you a sincere, heartfelt speech about how much your friendship has changed my life for the better and made me become a better person—” he ignores your wordless pterodactyl screech, “—and how do you respond? By staring at me like a deer caught in the headlights, slowly raising your arms to give me double finger guns, winking, and then slowly backing out of the room like an awkward mannequin!”

“...”

“Well?” He puts his free hand on his hip. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“… I’ve changed a lot since then.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes before moving to continue packing his overnight bag. “It was literally three months ago.”

“Yeah, and? Doesn't change the fact that I've changed,” you assert.

“Into even more of a nuisance? Yes, you're absolutely right.” He smiles when he hears you scoff playfully.

“Listen here, Boo Seungkwan. You know that well-rested Y/n is ready to throw down with you at a moment's notice. What do you think sleep-deprived, zero-impulse-control Y/n is going to do the second you get to their front door?”

“Stop referring to themself in the third person, hopefully,” he mutters, finally zipping up his bag and heading to the door. “And then after that, they're going to let me bully them into resting.”

“Hmm. The council has heard your proposal, briefly pondered it, and deemed it “unnecessary” on the basis of: they're a bad bitch that can't be stopped by neither time nor physics nor any god of your choosing.”

Seungkwan scoffs as he puts the call on speaker and sits to put on his sneakers. “Well, “the council” can go fuck right off.”

“What if the council would like to fuck right on?”

Pausing in the middle of tying his laces, he blinks down at his phone. “I'm— what?”

“Okay, real talk, what do you think it would mean in this case? Like, would this be like a 'hop on' versus 'hop off' situation? Or more like an 'I'm down for this' versus 'I'm up for this' kinda situation? Because it would have very different outcomes depending.”

Seungkwan decides that this is a debate better left for another time. “I think it means that I'm going to be at your house soon and that if you're not in your pajamas with hot Sleepy Time tea and the series Planet Earth ready to go, there will be consequences.”

“Booooooo, you whore.”

He finishes tying his laces and jabs his finger at the phone. “Consequences, Y/n.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“See you soon, love you, bye.” He hangs up before you can get another word in, but doesn't move from his seated position in the entryway.

Slowly, he takes a deep breath in and lets it out, taking a moment to lean back on his hands while he stares at the back of his front door. Specifically, at the large collage of sticky notes and pictures and doodles that have taken up residence there.

A few of the notes are ones he's gotten from other members of your shared friend group over the years (the one from Chan that reads "if u eat my rice i'll eat ur kneecaps xoxo" hangs proudly in the center, right next to a picture of him sleeping that Seungkwan managed to capture from an extremely unflattering angle). But most of them are from you.

Dumb puns, meme references, bullshit animal facts you made up just to get him to laugh… almost all of them are stupid in that extremely charming way that only you somehow manage to pull off.

But the one he's staring at now is almost completely hidden by other notes and pictures that have been added to the collage. It's a pale blue, the ink starting to fade a bit with time — the first note you ever gave him, back when you two were just people who happened to sit next to each other in an astronomy class.

Even though most of it is hidden, he doesn't need to be able to see all the tiny words you crammed into the small space to already know exactly what it says.

how do u make a space party? u planet :P u looked sad today, hope this makes u feel a little better also if this is 2 forward feel free 2 pretend i don't exist. or punt me in2 the sun idk u'd be doing me a favor tbh

He'd almost skipped class that day because of how bad he'd been feeling, but he'd decided to try and push through. And before that day, neither of you had interacted with more than a polite greeting and the occasional question about the homework.

But then you'd passed him that note, and he'd passed one back that said “that's dumb. but thank you” with a smiley face, and you'd passed another one back that said “do u think lizard people have ever been to space?” and the rest, they say, is history.

Seungkwan shakes his head with a sigh before standing up and grabbing his bag and his keys, striding determinedly out the door. He's got a best friend to take care of.

Seungkwan should be at your place soon, and you're not quite sure what to do in the meantime.

You have your laptop hooked up to the monitor in the living room with Planet Earth queued up, you have the kettle filled with water and ready to go on the stove, and you have mugs and teabags ready on the counter next to it.

The Required Tasks™️ have been completed as much as possible without the arrival of your best friend, and now all that's left to do is wait.

Which, normally, you're not the worst at. You're excellent at entertaining yourself, actually, mostly because there's always something to think about. Whether it be about cute dogs that you've seen over the past week (I wonder if the pomeranian down the street will let me pet him next time), potential plot twists for the new fantasy drama you're a little bit obsessed with (what if Gregothy was cursed the whole time???), or generic ponderings of the human existence as a whole (do souls have the metaphysical equivalent of a fingerprint?), you're pretty much always thinking about something.

Which is totally fine and dandy and cool or whatever when you have the ability to, you know, shut it off. For example, when you need to do something simple and necessary like, oh I don't know, go the fuck to sleep.

You also hate when that manic mental energy somehow translates into kinetic energy as well. It makes you feel like a hamster in a cage, watching yourself running and running and running on that stupid wheel until you exhaust yourself.

Tonight's metaphorical wheel: stimming like wild in the kitchen. Flapping, rocking, (gently) slapping, making weird and fun mouth sounds, the whole shebang.

And again, normally stimming is fun. Stimming is great. But stimming because you feel like if you don't stop moving you're going to literally vibrate out of your skin is, to put it lightly, Not It.

It takes you about ten minutes to work out all of the energy until you no longer feel like your blood was replaced with pop rocks.

With a groan, you lower yourself to the kitchen floor and lay down face first. Because despite how exhausted you feel in every possible way, there's still something like an itch in your conscious, a fucking pea underneath the miles of mattresses that refuse to let you just. Fucking. Sleep.

Your pity party must've lasted longer than you realized (or, more likely, you dissociated for a hot second there) because suddenly someone's knocking at your door at the same time you get a text from Seungkwan.

And you know it's a text from Seungkwan specifically because you got Vernon to help you change your notification settings so that whenever Seungkwan texts you, the "i love you.. bitch" sound clip plays instead of a normal text tone.

For a fraction of a second, you contemplate slowly inching your way to the door like an uncoordinated caterpillar, but you swat the thought aside like you’re swatting a gnat and you awkwardly roll to your feet and make your way to your front door.

Without hesitating, you unlock the door, swinging it open with a flourish and sticking a finger right in Seungkwan's face before he can utter a single syllable, forcing him to cross his eyes.

You open your mouth wide like you're going to say something, pause for a moment, then tap your pointed finger to his nose with a quiet "boop."

He blinks, expression turning deadpan, and sighs. "I should have expected this, honestly."

“Yep!”

You let him into your apartment, and he makes himself right at home, mildly bitching at you as he goes to get the tea ready, and something within you shifts.

The inside of your head is still a bit of a dumpster fire, unfortunately, but inside your chest... something clicks into place that you're not sure that you're ready to name. Whatever it is, though, it's soft and warm and kinda feels like your heart is being hugged.

Smiling to yourself, you follow him into the kitchen.

💤 💤 💤 💤 💤

It was pretty much straight to “business” after that, and it only takes Seungkwan one cup of tea and two episodes listening to David Attenborough's dulcet narrations for him to knock right out, leaning heavily against your shoulder on the couch.

Which means it's now the perfect time to sit there and Admire Your Bro™️.

It's rare to see him so still, you think. He's an active guy, in pretty much every sense of the word, and you always feel a little honored when you get to be witness to his quiet, vulnerable moments like this one.

He looks so serene, face smoothed out and painted in soft twirling shades of blue from the screen of the monitor, though you can't see too much of it from this angle. Mostly you just see his cheeks and stupidly adorable button nose.

And you've seen the same thing a million times before — in all kinds of states and expressions — and despite how much you've tried to ignore it, each and every time you've caught yourself noticing just how cute Seungkwan is, it's caused that thing in your heart to scrunch up, full of the L-word feeling that you've kept unnamed for what feels like forever now.

Except, maybe that thing in your heart is tired of scrunching up. Maybe it's decided that it's tired of forever.

Maybe that thing has finally decided to burrow itself out of the walls you've built up because you find yourself finally allowing yourself to think, Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

You don't realize that Seungkwan has completely stilled against you, but you certainly notice when he suddenly throws himself forward so he can turn around and stare at you incredulously. Only he overshoots a little bit and ends up falling off the couch with a squawk and a dramatic flail.

"Oh my god, Kwannie are you okay?!"

He stares at you from where he fell, wide-eyed like you've grown a second head or like the time you'd tried to convince him that birds weren't real and actually just a government conspiracy.

"Am— am I okay? No??"

Now it's your turn to move off of the couch, coming down to his level to see if maybe he hurt himself when he fell. "Fuck, okay, did you hit something? Do you need an icepack?"

Seungkwan being Not Okay is maybe one of the worst things that could ever happen in the entire universe and you're trying not to panic as you reach out to check for injuries.

"No, no, stop—" he bats away at your hands and you stop in your motions, now kneeling in front of him. "I'm not hurt!"

Your brain does the cartoonish screech thing as it comes to a halt, and you furrow your brows. "But.. you just said you're not okay?"

"I'm not!" His eyes are still wide in shock, but he also looks confused and maybe a little bit like he's about to cry?

Oh no. If he cries and it's somehow your fault (because it has to somehow be your fault) you think the world might actually end.

"Okay, uh. I am— confused,” you start, sure you must look as lost as you feel. “But, um, what can I do to help?"

He swallows, and a part of you realizes that he's looking at you with an expression you've never seen before. "Did you mean it?"

Knowing that it's significant but not yet knowing why, you maintain eye contact. "Mean what?"

"What you just said."

You blink. "...that I'm confused?"

He shakes his head. "No, before that."

You have a hard time remembering what you just said when you're not sleep-deprived and worried you've just somehow accidentally caused irreparable emotional damage to your best friend. "Uh... when I asked if you were okay?"

"No, fuck," and it's a shock for some reason, hearing him cuss right now. You hear him say much worse things all the time, but you think it might be the way he said it — with a kind of desperate vulnerability that you're not sure you've ever heard from him before.

That thing in your chest twinges and you think maybe you're the one who's gonna start crying.

He says your name like a plea, and then he's on his knees right in front of where you're kneeling on the floor, reaching forward to cup your face in his palms. "You said— Y/n, you said "holy shit I think I'm in love with you.””

Oh.

You're pretty sure your heart falls right out of your ass and bounces across the rug, judging from the way it comes to a dead stop. You blink at him. Full of new and sinking kind of dread, you whisper, "...I said that out loud?"

He laughs, but it's tinged with incredulity and sounds a little too close to a sob for comfort. "Yes! You did!"

And wait, no, your heart is still stuck in your chest, because you can feel it start pounding against your ribcage in double, triple, quadruple time. He must see the fear in your expression, because suddenly his eyes are narrowed in a determined scowl and he growls, "Oh no you don't."

Then you find yourself going down with a yelp as Seungkwan octopuses himself around you, trapping you within the confines of his surprisingly strong arms and legs as he basically tackles you to the floor.

You try and wiggle away even as you know it's useless, and he grits, "Y/n dammit, answer my question."

"Why were you even awake?” You deflect, getting an arm free and trying to give him a wedgie. “You were supposed to be asleep!"

"I was supposed to be asleep?!” He screeches, easily evading your reach and poking your ribs to get you to reflexively pull back your arm. “You're the one who hasn't slept in literal days! And stop avoiding my question!"

"No!" He has you trapped once again, and you resort to licking his arm.

"Oh my god!"

He muffles his scream into your shoulder, long and frustrated, and then he just... goes limp. He loosens his hold and just lets his full body weight kinda crush the parts of you he's ended up lying on and just... lays there.

This is your chance, you know — to wiggle free and escape and run away from your feelings just like you always have.

But, for some reason, you don't — that scrunched-up thing in your chest holds you back. You stay there, lying beneath Seungkwan on the floor of your living room at one-something in the morning, and the two of you just breathe.

"It's okay, you know," he murmurs after a moment, so quiet you barely hear him over David Attenborough still narrating softly in the background. "If you didn't mean it. It's okay."

Holy shit, I think I'm in love with you.

And you realize how easy it would be to play it off, to blame it on the sleep deprivation, the way you blurted it out like that — to say (to lie) you meant it completely platonically, like the way you propose to Mingyu at least once a month when he cooks you all dinner.

And you also realize, quite shockingly, that despite how a part of you still desperately wants to run away, the larger part of you wants to stay. Doesn't want to run. Doesn't want to lie anymore.

You swallow heavily, briefly close your eyes, and take in a deep breath. "And if I did? Mean it?"

This time, you do notice when Seungkwan goes still. Slowly, he lifts his head so he can look you in the eyes.

When he doesn't say anything, just continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, you try to continue.

"Would you— would that— would it be okay? If I meant it? When I— when I said that I'm in love with you? Is— because um, like you said, it's okay if it's not, and uh—"

Your nervous rambling comes to a stop when he once again cups your face, but it's gentler than before, closer to a caress. The whole time you'd been talking he'd been slowly sitting up, and now he's on his knees next to where you're still lying down on the floor, looking down at you like all the hope in the world is somewhere to be found in your expression.

"Y/n." he says your name like it's something precious, and you feel the absurd urge to burst into tears. "It would be very okay." His thumbs make gentle arcs across your cheeks. "And just to be clear: you mean it in a non-platonic sense, right?” He chews on his lip. “Hopefully, in a very much romantic sense?"

Staring at him staring at you, eyes bright with hope and a little bit of wonder... you can only imagine you must be looking at him the same way. Your chest feels like it's full of helium but also like something warm and gooey is sloshing around in there. And all that hope and wonder and holy shit is this actually happening? is causing your tongue to stick to the roof of your mouth, and all you're able to get past your lips is a breathless, "Hopefully?"

"Oh my god," he groans in frustration, but it's light and airy and makes you think of amusement park rides and fairy lights and how you want to annoy the shit out of this man for the rest of his life, if he'll let you. He's shaking his head, smiling, beaming, and he asks, "Why can you never give me any kind of a straight answer, huh?"

"Because it's my life's purpose to be the bane of your existence until the day we die," you say, reaching up to hold his face too. "Also because I've never done anything straight ever in my life."

And then your body is moving before your brain can think it though, dragging him down until you can press your lips to his and finally, finally know what it's like to kiss Boo Seungkwan.

He makes a little noise of surprise, one that you can feel buzz against your lips before he melts into you. And oh, any thoughts you might have had are forcefully ejected from your brain because all you can focus on are his lips pressed to yours, the way they move slowly, gently, turning this chaste kiss into the most scorching experience of your life. His nose bumps against yours and the heat of his warm breath sends tingles throughout your body, and his hands, fuck, his hands are still holding you gently but also with a firmness that feels like he doesn't want to let you go.

And then he's pulling away, and you whine at him because this may be the cruelest thing he's ever done to you ever in your entire life. "Noooooo, why'd you stop?"

"Because, as much as I'd love to continue to make out with you on your floor while an old British man narrates about life on the Serengeti—” he mercifully ignores the way you choke on your spit at the way he talks about making out with you so nonchalantly "—it's past someone's bedtime."

Your mouth drops open in offended shock. Was he actually going to put you to bed like a child? Like you both hadn't just declared your romantic love for each other? "Are you fucking serious?"

He just stands up and crosses his arms, looking down at you with a single raised eyebrow. You take the part of you that finds it annoyingly attractive and promptly smother it, crossing your own arms from your position on the floor.

"I'm not a baby," you definitely don't pout.

"Hmmm...” And then the bastard fucking pouts at you. “But you're my baby."

You blink at him.

"Welp, that was nice while it lasted,” you grunt, rolling to your feet, “but I suddenly need to relocate to Antarctica and become a penguin herder.”

He pulls you into his arms with a laugh, and you let him, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“You know,” he starts after he's held you for a few moments. “This isn't how I ever imagined how us confessing to each other would go.”

You snort.

“But also,” he continues, “it feels very 'us' doesn't it?”

"Yeah,” you murmur, not bothering to lift your head from his shoulder.

“Mmm, is someone finally sleepy?” he teases, starting to waddle you both towards your bedroom. “Did all the emotions finally wear you out?”

Instead of nodding, you lightly kick him in the shin and the sappy part of your brain that is currently in charge of everything thinks that his indignant squawk is one of your most favorite sounds.

The sappy part of your brain is right, of course, and when you wake up in your bed 15 hours later and accidentally smack him in the face, the urge to run is a little bit smaller than it was before. And the way he flushes bright red after you sleepily kiss him on the cheek is an image you're going to cherish until the day you die.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Chapter Sixteen

Parings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 4.1k

Themes; isekai, eventual smut (slowburn), Canon divergence (wanted to add this)

Warnings; 18+ for swearing and some mature content, a teeny tiny bit of angst

Notes; I decided to post sixteen since I'm really excited for it and I'm currently working on chapter twenty-two! I think I'm going to convert back to shorter chapters in my later entries (like 3k-4k) instead of trying to fit 6-9k in one chapter. But this is a long one! I did re-look it over, but if there are any spelling errors and what not– Just know that I tried my best! 🩷

Also, believe me, I want to put smut as soon as possible, but I should probably mark this as a slow burn tbh. Especially since there's still no smut at chapter 22–

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Masterlist

Sylus, amidst the raging storm, remains nonchalant as he sits next to you. The racing vehicle leaves your enemies behind in the dust while intermittent light seeps through the window to obscure his silhouette and his goals. You never held onto the naive notion that Sylus assisted you in acquiring the aether core just so he could clean house. This kind of deal would result in him suffering a major loss, and it’s clear he’s anything but an ignorant businessman. Though that leads you to speculate…what exactly is his true motive?

For a moment, his expression as he gazed at the Deepspace Tunnel resurfaced in your mind. Then, you feel a growing pain in your palm. You’re still clutching the fragmented protocore, its jagged edge digging into your skin. It’s as if you’re subconsciously grasping onto an answer that has yet to be revealed. The linkage between your wrist and Sylus’ suddenly flickers, seemingly sensing the swirling thoughts in your head.

Then, your phone rings. You notice it’s Luke, one of the twins, calling so you answer with your cuffed hand and put it on speaker phone for Sylus to listen in, since he’s cleaning one of his guns.

“We heard you and boss took care of the traitors and thieves,” You hear Luke say and then, like clockwork, Kieran chimes in, “You even destroyed the aether core together! Good job!” You hear Sylus scoff across from you and you look in his direction, surprised to see a faint smile on his lips. “Just calling to let you know that we cleaned up at the Nest. No one will be causing trouble for you anymore,” Luke chirps. 

“Huh? When did..?” You murmur. “Our boss told us to do it. While he looks mean, he’s actually–” Kieran is cut off by Sylus, “See you later.”

“Oh, boss! I didn’t mean to–”

You hang up on Kieran before he can dig himself an even deeper grave. “So..What’s your plan?” You ask, keeping your linked arm close to him. “Chop it off.” He answers rather quickly and your eyes widen. “But it seems to be some kind of energy linkage. Can I even physically attack it?” You ask, confused. Sylus sighs and shakes his head, “I was talking about your hand.”

“Huh–” “Or you can also settle down in the N109 Zone. I have more than enough time to solve this problem with you,” He looks over at you as he leans back against the wall. “No thanks. Let’s use a more efficient approach.” You press your lips together in a forced smile and Sylus lazily drawls, “Let’s destroy the aether core in your body.”

He holds the gun up and you raise a brow, “You’re saying our aether cores created this link? Okay, why don’t we destroy yours then?” Sylus almost seems like he’s pouting before he looks down, “Nevermind. With your current level of resonance, it won’t last long.” “But before I started resonating with you, I saw a strange vision,” You say with a sigh, finally deciding to bring up something that’s been bothering you.

“It’s not a big deal. From now on, you’ll be seeing more things like that.” He says casually and your brows furrow. You sure hope not. You almost confused the vision for reality so if you get anymore, you might actually have a panic attack.

“So that...was real?” You clear your throat, trying to get more information. This must have something to do with past lives, especially since you know you share a past life with the other three love interests– well, not you but the original protagonist. “If I say yes, will you give me a sincere apology?” Sylus seems to be casually skirting past any questions you throw out, just like the other love interests would.

“Y/n, this world is different from what you see. But I’m not in the mood to tell stories at the moment.” 

As he says this, he uses his evol to take your brooch from you, holding it in between his fingers. “You should think about your next move after leaving the N109 Zone.” He holds the brooch back out to you, “And don’t forget our deal.” You take the brooch back, feeling a bit cold in your dress and Sylus sets his coat over your lap.

“Then, you should make sure I can leave safely. How about escorting me tomorrow?” Your hands subconsciously grip his coat on your lap, worried he’ll say no.

“The outside world is more dangerous now.” Well, he didn’t say no, so he’ll probably leave with you. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be careful,” You sigh, looking down at the coat in your lap before your gaze leads your eyes back up to his face.

“In any case, until the resonance issue is fixed, we’ll be meeting more often in the future.” Is all he says, and then the car ride back to his place is as silent as ever. Your eyes slowly close and you find yourself unable to stay awake…You fall asleep with more questions and no answers.

The next time you open your eyes, you find yourself in an unfamiliar, yet oddly familiar, place. A classroom? Though, you soon realize that you have no control over your actions. Your body follows through with whatever, as if this were a stage play. The only form of autonomy you have is your thoughts.

Your gaze drifts across the classroom before landing on a familiar silvery-blond haired man. Though before this, you pretend to look at the clock on the classroom wall so you’re not blatantly staring at him. Then, your gaze can slowly drift to his face. You have to calm down your beating heart and do your best to avoid his eyes, if and when he looks back in your direction. Otherwise, you’ll be caught red-handed.

Pretending to be nonchalant, you shift your gaze away from those tranquil eyes and turn around. According to the First Law of Cosmic Attraction, when a person unwittingly looks at someone, there’s a 98.8% chance it’s because he’s looking at you too. Perhaps you caught him red-handed as he stared at you.

What is going on? Why is Xavier here? What is this memory? Or…is it all a weird dream?

It’s not a dream. Definitely not, as unfamiliar memories fill your head and overwhelm you. Three years ago, when Xavier first arrived at the academy, it was a rare sunny day. It was the Year 214. Two hundred and fourteen years have passed since Philos’– Philos?– birth. It also means 214 years have passed since Earth’s demise. 

What? 

Your teachers, born during the Age  of Earth, said the people of Philos had substituted Earth’s extinguished core with a powerful, artificial one. This core holds fragmented land masses together, preventing them from scattering into the starry sea. So aside from more dust, more cloudy days, and cumbersome travel between tectonic plates, your planet isn’t much different from the Earth of years past. Your feet have never touched the soil of other places on Philos. Since your evol manifested early on in life, the academy is all you’ve ever known.

Also, unlike everyone else who were brought here after their evol awakened, Xavier was a transfer student.

The memory of meeting Xavier for the first time suddenly flashes before your eyes. It was a sunny day. He was tall, skinny, and wearing the white school uniform. His eyes were a shade of light blue, as pretty as the sky that day. He enters the classroom with a wooden sword strapped to his back and glances at the seating chart, then walks to the last row by the window and sits down without a word. Serene and precise like light itself.

Other than “thank you” and “excuse me”, the two of you barely talked. You only got to know him through your classmates’ words. He didn’t live on campus because his family background was complicated and he was always surrounded by bodyguards. The rumors got even more outrageous and mysterious the more they were passed around. Yet the more enigmatic he is, the more curious you were about Xavier.

You knew this was just a memory, but you felt so immersed in it. It felt like you were actually living through it. As the dream went on, you were slowly losing touch on which reality was originally your own.

In this memory, you also realized that the you of the past (or perhaps the future?) had a crush on Xavier.

You always thought you and Xavier would continue like this, coexisting yet separated by a wall of mist but then…during your astronomy lecture, your teacher mentioned a once-in-a-century meteor shower happening next month. Seeing a meteor shower on a planet, where clear skies are a rarity…It’s even a once-in-a-century event. If you could see it with someone you like then…You could die without regrets. Die?...You were dying?

As you sat under the scorching sun with your wooden sword, you watched Xavier train and wondered how you were going to ask him. You write down what you’d say in the dirt with your sword-tip, knowing you’d forget immediately upon actually speaking with him.

People like Xavier…They’ll experience many centuries, so a once-in-a-century event probably won’t be that exciting for him…As long as Philos’ core still has energy, their lives shall last forevermore like the planet, but if he learns you’re a person who can’t even live to see 100 years, then maybe he’ll do anything you say out of pity. But that would ruin everything, you don’t want his pity.

Once class ends, you look for Xavier, noticing he’s gone before spotting him in the crowd by the academy gates. You hurry over and notice many bodyguards surrounding Xavier at a distance. They weren’t wearing black like a bodyguard were, but they exude an air of oppression. Xavier, who seems like he’s used to being stared at, actually appears slightly upset for once.

It’s completely different from how he was earlier– looking so tranquil with the sunset behind him. You knew absolutely nothing about him, but all you knew was he was not happy at the moment and you didn’t like that.

“Xavier!” You hear your voice shouting as loudly as you can. You were still terrified at the realization that you really couldn’t control yourself. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been asleep. Whether it’s been a few minutes, a few hours, days even. You hope it hasn’t been long. You didn't want to worry Sylus.

Xavier turns around with a slightly puzzled expression that softens when your eyes meet. You quickly walk up to him, saying a teacher requested his presence. Then, you grab his hand and start running in the opposite direction. As for where you were heading, you hadn’t thought that far yet. Even though you don’t see Xavier’s expression, you feel his grip on your hand gradually tighten.

“They’re catching up.” His voice scatters in the wind and while you’re dazed, he pulls you into a round tower and enters an empty auditorium. The lights are off and you both are like animals who escaped their enclosure, breathing heavily in the dark. Some time passes and Xavier pulls out a nearby chair and sits on another desk. You stare at him for a moment before realizing that he’s asking you to sit. “Why did you help me?” Sitting on the table, he’s taller than you by a considerable amount. His eyes, swirling light in their depths, look down at you in the dark.

“You…appeared to be upset, so I thought you wanted to be free.”

“How did you know I was upset?”

“Well…We’re classmates, aren’t we? It’s normal for me to be able to read your expression!” You try to find a way to explain yourself and Xavier speaks, “You learned by sneaking glances at me during class?”

“...There’s a reason for that!” Xavier looks at you as though he’s expecting an explanation. “I wanted to ask..Oh no, I mean, I wanted to invite you to watch the meteor shower at Skymirror Salt Flat with me. I heard the lake is really shallow so when light reflects on its surface, it’s exactly like a mirror. It’s going to look stunning with the meteor shower! Besides, a once-in-a-century thing…There won’t be another next time!” You find yourself rambling in nervousness.

“It’s just another hundred years.” 

“For you, maybe! But for me..”

“Huh?”

“It’s nothing…You’ll…Do you want to go or not? It’s truly pretty!” You took your chance to ask, but you’re met with silence. You could feel your heart plummeting to the ground with a heavy thud as Xavier’s gaze became distant. He only responds after some time has passed. “I can’t.”

“Is it…because of those people?”

Xavier appears to be shocked, then he nods without saying a word.

Xavier…You can be so cruel. You sigh internally and even though you know this isn’t you, you can’t help but also feel hurt. Your chest feels tight and, if you had control, you might’ve even teared up.

You watch as your hand reaches out and pokes the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be sad. I’ll just go by myself! I’ll...bring your wish with me to the stars when I do. What’s your wish?”

“I don’t have one.” His response is as quick as ever. “How could someone not wish for anything? Oh! Do you want me to make a wish for you?” You quickly rise up from the chair and face him.

Then, you close your eyes with your hands clasped in front of your chest and wish with all your heart. “I wish Xavier is forever free to do what he wants.” He’s stunned for a moment before asking, “What about you? What’s your wish?”

“I wish I could be healthy, but I don’t even know if wishing on a star actually works.” You sheepishly laugh, rubbing the back of your neck before the room goes silent. Though, you don’t open your eyes yet, waiting for the shooting star in your heart to pass before you open them.

Suddenly, a flash of light appears and you look around in confusion, only to see it’s actually coming  from Xavier’s hand. It gives an almost romantic feel in the dark.

“This shooting star has made a promise to you.”

After that day, you and Xavier had gotten much closer. Borderline friends even. You don’t have much interaction because of his bodyguards, but you do pass notes between each other during class and wave goodbye to him when he leaves. He’d sometimes poke you in the back to give you one of his earbuds, sharing his music taste with you. He even helped you clean up the classroom whenever you were caught passing notes with him and gave you an umbrella when you had forgotten yours.

You start to think maybe Xavier had a crush on you as well in this memory…

You also learn he’s been trained with his sword since he was little, he doesn’t exactly enjoy it, so it’s implied that he’s being forced to wield a sword just because he’s good at it. And as he’s about to bring up the meteor shower, his bodyguards stand in the way...

With a heavy heart, you think that if a wishing star does make your wish come true, then you wish you could be healthy. Then, you could wait another hundred years to watch the meteor shower with Xavier.

Then, the memory jumps to you laying in the nurse’s office with Xavier sitting next to the bed. It seems that whatever was wrong with your heart was getting worse.

You could hear the rattling of pills in a plastic bottle as Xavier shakes it in his hands, before setting it down on the table.

“How long were you going to hide this from me if you didn’t faint in class today?”

You don’t reply, trying your best to play dead. “Don’t pretend to be asleep. I know you’re awake.” His tone is soft, but it makes it all the more difficult to avoid him.

You decide to tell him everything that was wrong with you and then wait for him to say something.

 “What’s protocore syndrome?”

“It’s probably…a terminal illness that makes my heart weaker and weaker?”

“Is there no cure?”

“There is but…we need a special protocore.” You let out a heavy sigh, not wanting to say too much and burden Xavier. You have already given up in extending your life at this point.

“What kind?”

“They say there’s a protocore that can cure any illness…” You can tell Xavier is thinking too hard about it so you sigh, “Philos is huge. It will take ages to find it. Don’t worry. I’ll be alright for now because of this medicine…Besides, maybe a miracle might happen and I’ll be cured.”

Quietly, Xavier turns toward the window and then looks back at you, “Let’s watch the meteor shower together.”

You’re not sure how long the dream goes on. Months pass, seasons change and it’s late autumn now. You’re completely lost in this dream. Your heart restless and unsteady as you found it hard to sleep in this dream, going 24 hours without sleep at this point. It was driving you crazy. All of these feelings and you weren’t even sure which was truly your own anymore.

You board the train to Skymirror Salt Flat, getting off at your stop, and then you walk and go from a leisurely stroll to a sprint. Running across the moonlit slope and through the winding path, you finally see the mirror-like lake that’s akin to a shard of a dream. And standing in the center of the flat, underneath the still starry sky, is a familiar figure.

This is the first time you’ve seen Xavier without his uniform and his figure is perfectly illuminated by the moonlight. You hurry to him, stepping into the water that doesn’t even reach your ankles. Xavier turns toward you and grabs your hand unexpectedly, taking you to the trestle bridge to sit. You sit with one leg over the other, swinging them over the edge. Then, you quickly look around for his bodyguards, worried.

“You don’t have to check. They’re not here.”

“Truly? You got rid of them?”

“Yes.” But you notice his gaze is being a bit evasive after he says this. His eyes seem even brighter from the light reflected on the ground. “Why are you thinking about others when you requested I watch the meteor shower with you?”

Before you can answer, a star flies across the lake’s reflection. “It’s starting!” You both gaze up as the dark, inky sky was illuminated with clusters of stars and various colours. You clasp your hands together and make a wish and when you open your eyes, you see Xavier is doing the same thing. You ask what he wished for, but he shakes his head and says he can’t tell you.

Silence falls over you both before you stand up, excited. “Wait, I want to give this to you.”

Internally, you’re shocked as you see the familiar sword tassel with a star-shaped charm in your hand. He…still has that on his sword in the present day…

“Can I hug you?”

“What?”

Thinking you misheard him, you look into his eyes for confirmation. “Can I hug you?” He repeats himself. His tone is soft, fluttering to your ears like the wind.

Before you can react, he takes a few steps closer and leans down to hug you, all in one motion executed with calm precision. You’re stunned, but then your hands slowly climb up his back.

“Thank you. My wish came true.” He whispers into your ear, “Next time there’s a meteor shower, let’s visit this place again.”

Oh…Xavier, you poor thing. You knew deep down, there’s no way that the you of this time period would live to see another meteor shower. Your heart aches at this thought.

Ever since the meteor shower, your health has been on the decline. Your trips to the hospital became more and more frequent until you practically lived there, unable to leave. You expected this, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

It was as if you were being punished for even a moment of happiness.

And as you got more and more ill, you didn’t see Xavier for a while. It was like he disappeared without a trace. You had tried to contract him, but to no avail.

One, two, three days passed in this hell...You began to get more and more anxious about how this memory was going to end. Would you feel the pain of dying? Would it even hurt? Would you die alone?

Did he lose his freedom when he went to see the meteor shower with you?

Exactly one month after the meteor shower, you force yourself to sneak out of the hospital and back to the salt flat. You had a sinking feeling he’d be there.

Not too long ago, you could run and jump as much as you pleased but now, it feels like such a pain. It’s even hard to make your way to the trestle bridge you sat with Xavier on not too long ago. You knew your days were numbered. Who knows? You might even pass away today.

You’re not even sure how long you stayed at the bridge, but you waited there. Hoping, praying that Xavier would show up but after a few hours, you go to stand up and leave. But then, you notice a star reflected in the distance. It hangs on the pommel of a wooden sword, swinging back and forth.

It’s Xavier.

He’s running. To you.

He stops in front of you and that’s when you notice the wounds on his hands and face. Catching his breath, he holds out his hand to show you a small, glowing protocore.

This is the first time he’s looked at you with desperation in his eyes. When he moves closer, you notice a ring of light around his neck. It’s a striking, suffocating red.

“Did you…exchange your freedom for this?”

He doesn’t answer and instead says that this protocore can save you. He found it, but this withering heart inside of you was like a flickering candle about to go out at any moment, holding on only by your desire to see Xavier again.

“It’s too late. Return the protocore where you found it, alright?” You shoot him a small, pained smile and Xavier doesn’t say anything, clutching the protocore until his knuckles turn white.

“You promised we’d watch the meteor shower again.” He chokes out and his eyes are glossy with tears.

 “We have our own destinies…some things can’t be forced..” You reach out to poke the corner of his mouth, “Don’t be sad. I’ve been very happy this past month..” But you can’t help the tears that stream down your cheeks. You didn’t want to cry in front of him...you wanted to stay strong in front of him, but you just couldn’t.

You both sit down on the bridge and you manage to say, “If I wasn’t sick, would you watch the stars with me?”

“Yes...” Xavier puts his arm around you, letting you lean on his shoulder, “Not just the stars. I’d show you the mountains and rivers, the sun and the moon. We’ll see them together. I promise.”

“Okay, but…not the mountains. Hiking is a lot of work and I don’t want to–” Xavier cuts you off mid-sentence and squeezes your hand in his as he promises, “No matter what happens, I’ll be by your side. And no matter how long you rest I’ll wait for you.” “Alright, since you insist, I’ll just…have to..agree..”

Leaning on Xavier’s shoulder and dreaming of a disease-free future makes you happy. You feel your strength gradually disappear. You use whatever you have left to look up at the sky.

“It’s a shame…there’s no stars tonight.” You say, weakly. Your hand reaches up toward the inky black abyss.

“There is one.” He holds out his hands in front of you, his palm glowing. His shooting star is shining for you again. You pull your hand back to shakily touch the light in his hand with a finger. A smile tugged at your lips as your eyes felt heavier by the second.

You close your eyes and whisper your final wish. “I wish to meet you in my next life…I wonder if that will come true..”

“It will.” He holds your hand, giving you one last shooting star with his evol. It’s nice and warm and…it feels like someone is calling your name from above.

Your eyelids felt so heavy… And then, you suddenly can’t open them anymore. Before you fully lose consciousness, you hear a warm, gentle voice reach your ears like a shooting star.

“No matter how many times it takes, no matter where you are...I will find you.”

To be honest, it's really difficult for me to write about the reader actively looking into the past and being cognizant of it, but also having no control over their actions. Like the most I can do is have you comment on what is going on in your head, and even that doesn't feel like enough– but I tried and that's all the matters! I'm sure it comes off well enough. And I'm sure you know what this means...More past life dreams are coming very soon!

This is the big thing that inspired this story to begin with. I saw a TikTok where someone was talking about "what would happen if mc remembered her past lives? Would she blame herself?" Because everyone in the comments agreed that she had the saddest past lives because she's in all of them and is usually the 'reason' for bad things happening. So I wanted to do my own take on that, but with isekai, since that seemed that it would be fun! But now, it's turned into so much more than that. I can't wait to share more chapters with yall and Rafayel's myth is next!

Taglist; @orphicmeliora , @yoongi-tunes , @mitzkooni , @hiqhkey, @tanspostsblog

[taradactyls]

Progress of Janeuary Prompts and Chapter 43 of Trying to Tread Water

*Edit*

CHAPTER 43 IS UP

8/02/25 Update

Chapter 43 of T3W: As of right now, it's at 8.2k words (almost all of that increase was done within the last few days) and I'm in the home stretch! Between the illness and general busyness it's taken longer than I wanted (and I forgot to post an update last week because of it) but all that's past now so I fully expect it to be posted next week.

I was hoping to get it up looong before Valentine's Day but I suppose there's something fitting about that seeing as it follows directly on from Chapter 42. They're almost part a and b of the same chapter, so it might be a good idea to reread (at least the ending) of it just before this next one comes out. I should also start seriously considering getting the 'what if was smut' and higher-rated bonus/extended scenes into an uploadable state but I won't really worry about that until at least this chapter goes up because my brain is noisy enough right now.

Janeuary: No major updates here, since everything has been jotting down notes and planning. I've also been persuaded, by popular demand, to give 'Dear Lady Catherine' two more chapters to show the crucial moments of how that story unfolds, so that's been added to the to-do list. Everything's going to be uploaded intermittently whenever I finish them even though Janeuary's technically over, since the event still allows late submissions and these little plot bunnies won't leave my head until they're typed out.

I hope you're all doing well and thank you for following up with me and being understanding! Hopefully I'll be giving you lots of goodies soon <3

24/01/25 Update

No real change from last week. I've been busy with the twins turning 3 (!!) and we currently all have a cold.

The Day 20 Janeuary prompt is probably closest to being posted, but when I finish it is heavily dependant on how fuzzy my head feels. Btw, I don't think any of the prompts will be done on the right day but they're all still going to be posted, regardless. I laugh in the face of due dates.

18/01/25 Update

Chapter 43 of T3W: I'm about 5k words in and it's going well. I might have to do some heavy rearranging of the second section depending on how the last goes but I don't think anything has to be scrapped so that word count should only be increasing.

Janeuary: Very behind but still working away (before anyone comes for me: I'm doing this during the times I can't work on T3W because I'm too tired or there's too many distractions and I have to keep pausing, etc. The proper fic requires significantly more brain power and care than quick one-shots).

Also:

I can only see one of these, so unless you sent me a Day 20 prompt about Kitty/Colonel Fitzwilliam (an update on that below) please resend your ask! I think the inbox ate some.

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Janeuary 2025 Prompts done so far:

Day 8: Cravat 'Elizabeth Overestimates her Ability to Tie a Cravat' - Rated G, 3k words, Elizabeth/Darcy, sweet, first kiss, post-canon.

Over the period of their engagement, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy take many long walks. During an unseasonably warm late October day, Mr Darcy loosens his cravat and removes his jacket. Elizabeth finds this a very educational experience. But when it comes time to put them back on, she cannot for the life of her figure out how to knot the cravat properly after insisting she do the honours.

“My dearest, and loveliest, Elizabeth,” he gently began. “You have no idea how to knot a cravat, do you?”

Also Day 8: Cravat 'Inappropriate Use of a Cravat'- Explicit, 6k words, Elizabeth/Darcy, author's first smut, the prompt was from the wildest ask I have ever received but I made it seem normal, smut, established relationship, post-canon, the cravat is part of the smut.

After an absence of some weeks, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are very eager to be alone together and don’t even make it to the bedroom. As it’s been a while, Mr Darcy doesn’t think he’ll hold out very long if Elizabeth keeps lavishing attention down there – so she ties his cravat around the base of his shaft, to prevent an early end to their enjoyment.

Her surprised gasp was silenced by his lips, her own eagerly parting as she tangled her hands into his hair to keep his face pressed to hers. Pushing Mr Darcy against the wall – door – something, she melted against him, his hands digging into her waist, revelling in the taste and feel of her. “I missed you,” she said again, drawing back to kiss a line down his throat, “so much.”

Day 11: Card Playing Artwork- Which is the banner of...

'A Losing Hand' - Rated G, 2.9k words, Elizabeth/Darcy, canon compliant, falling in love and FIGHTING it, banter, awkward flirting, unrequited crush.

Mr Darcy is falling in love with Elizabeth Bennet, and he is not best pleased about it. His pov of that enlightening card game in Chapter 8 of Pride and Prejudice when they discuss accomplished women.

Darcy could only look at her – the light challenge in her gaze, the slight smile that accompanied it. He could debate with her all day.

Day 16: Gossip 'Dear Lady Catherine' - Rated G, 4.2k words, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley, Canon divergence, Lady Catherine is in peak form, and facing someone who's allowed to argue back, Character development, Speedrunning Darcy's realisations, Self-reflection

Following the Netherfield Ball, Mr Collins happily gossips in a letter to Lady Catherine that her that her nephew may be on the verge of matrimony… to Miss Bingley. He overheard his cousins talking of the lady’s attentions and quite misconstrued everything. Lady Catherine, as incensed as she could ever be, goes to confront her nephew in London… and arrives in the middle of the ‘Why You Should Not Marry Jane Bennet’ intervention.

Yelling ensues. And maybe more than one instance of self-reflection.

OR

In which Mr Collins has the sacred duty of sharing gossip he wasn’t supposed to know; Lady Catherine is of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use; Miss Bingley learns what all her attempts to secure Mr Darcy’s affections have amounted to; and Mr Darcy himself is full of pride and confronted with his hypocrisy.

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Janeuary Prompts in progress/ideas:

Day 13: Christian Name - A few people wondered what Darcy was really thinking in Chapter 42 of T3W when he was talking about how he imaged Elizabeth calling him Fitzwilliam:

“How did you imagine it?” she enquired with a frown. Mr Darcy blushed a deep crimson. “Mostly, mere casual use.”

And I thought that made a great prompt for trying my hand at some more smut.

Day 20: Dearest - An anon sent a prompt for some Kitty/Colonel Fitzwilliam Fluff, and since I've never considered them before it was a fun exercise to think about how that would work! I started a draft of it as I worked out some ideas so this will definitely be happening.

Day 27: Cousins - Toying with the idea of doing a sweet glimpse of 5 or so years into the future, featuring little Bingleys and Darcys. Not sure if that's something anyone's interested in though.

Day 29: Carriage - A missing scene from Pride and Prejudice featuring Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam

Day 30: Garden - Another Pride and Prejudice missing scene with Darcy's pov of something Elizabeth mentions in passing.

[shinyhappysims]

Forum post on housewivesofsimerica.com by Mercy-Marie Morgan

Hey!!! I’m genuinely surprised that this site actually is still working. My mom said that her grandma used it… Anyways, I’m Mercy-Marie, but you can call me Mimi! I just got married to the guy of my dreams, Emery. We both have our own Simtube channels where we spread God’s word and His design for the two genders. Hopefully by posting here a few of you will be drawn to follow our channels!

My bridal party consisted of my sisters and my mom! My maid of honor was none other than my twin, Bless. This is the first time we’re in different seasons of life. It breaks my heart to leave her behind, so I hope she finds the one for her soon! My mom was kinda bitter that my wedding dress showed my shoulders, but I thought it was pretty, so I picked it anyways. I agree that it was a very immodest choice, but I think it got my new husband a little excited, soooo that’s a win in my book! We’re headed to our honeymoon in Tartosa. It’s going to be a quick one because my sister Sunday-Grace is marrying Emery’s best friend in two weeks and I’m her maid of honor. Of course I’ll keep you all updated!

Take care, Mimi <3

(And Gen 4 is off to a start! I regret to inform you, dear reader, that we are not free from Jamilah’s shackles just yet. We will get a couple of posts from Jamilah intermittently at the beginning of this gen. I never really had to do that for the last few gens because all of the younger kids conveniently aged up into teens right at the end of their parents’ gen but that’s not the case this time. I don’t picture Mimi caring enough about her younger siblings birthdays and life accomplishments to post them, and a few of them will have important storylines so I don’t want to stop posting about the Saelim kids, so Jamilah will post about them instead. Also Mimi’s life for the first couple of kids is going to be a tad boring, so I think it will be good filler until her gen gets more interesting.)

[reallygroovyninja]

I want to preface the story I am about to post is garbage. No, really, it's bad. There are moments in it you can see my brain think oh shit, I need to explain myself.

If you want to read a story I am very proud of, check out The Fallen. It does have a shocking ending, which I am very sure turns people off, but I stayed faithful to the story that inspired it.

Anyway, here is unfinished Word Document 20. It's so bad I had to hide it under a cut. lol

Lexa was seated in a quaint office adorned with countless baby pictures, each snapshot a vignette of new beginnings and cherished memories. The walls, a gentle palette of pastel hues, were lined meticulously with these joyful expressions, casting a soft, hopeful glow throughout the room. The ambiance was both serene and surreal, as if Lexa had stepped into a gallery of future possibilities. 

At the desk, a woman named Marlene, who ran the agency, extended a packet of papers toward Lexa. "Based on your criteria and the comprehensive tests you completed, these are the candidates we believe match your needs," Marlene explained, her tone both professional and empathetic. She knew that the choices contained in these documents could change lives. "Once you have a shortlist, let us know. We can then provide you with their photographs. This decision is profound—it should transcend mere physical appearances." 

Lexa appreciated the process's discretion and thoroughness. She had longed for a child, a desire unmet in her past relationships, none of which revealed an alpha compelling enough to share her life's journey. Now, she sought a different route—a sperm surrogate, an alpha who would contribute to the life she wished to create and then step away, allowing her the autonomy she desired in raising her child. 

They would meet intermittently, their encounters solely intended to achieve conception. It was an arrangement devoid of traditional romantic entanglements, focused instead on the singular goal of motherhood. 

Taking the packet, Lexa began to leaf through the pages. Names, occupations, medical histories, personal hobbies, and more—details designed to paint a picture of each potential candidate. Yet, as she skimmed the information, the details seemed to meld into a blur of text. She knew she would need time and quiet to pore over these sheets, to consider who these people were beyond the data. 

Marlene watched her with a calm understanding, accustomed to the weight such decisions carried for her clients. "There’s no rush," she reassured Lexa. "Take the packet home, think over your options carefully. We're here to support you every step of the way." 

Grateful for the empathy and professionalism, Lexa nodded, clutching the documents a bit tighter as she prepared to leave. The smiling, innocent faces of the babies seemed to bid her farewell and good luck. Stepping out of the office, Lexa felt the gravity of her decision resting on her shoulders—a burden, yes, but also a beacon of the profound joy and love she hoped to welcome into her life. 

Later that evening, Lexa settled onto her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, the soft hum of her quiet home enveloping her as she spread the stack of profiles across her coffee table. The light of her living room lamp cast a cozy glow, perfect for the introspective task at hand. She had decided on a methodical approach to review each candidate: she would create two piles—one for definite no's, and another to review again. 

Taking a sip of her wine, Lexa began. One by one, she carefully read through each profile, considering the potential of each candidate not just as a genetic contributor, but as someone whose traits might mesh well with her own for the child they would share. Her fingers brushed against the papers, shifting them between the two designated areas on her table. 

There was Jacob, whose profile intrigued her right away. His interests in environmental science and community gardening hinted at a thoughtful, perhaps gentle soul. Then there was Bellamy, a police officer whose tone in the self-description came off a bit too brash for her liking; his profile radiated a certain arrogance that Lexa found off-putting. He was promptly placed in the no pile. 

As she continued, a few others passed her review—some with potential, others lacking the certain je ne sais quoi she was searching for. Finally, she reached the bottom of the stack, where a profile named Clarke rested. At first glance, something about Clarke's description didn’t quite resonate with her, and she was tempted to add it to the no pile. Yet, something—perhaps a detail she had missed or a gut feeling—nudged at her to reconsider. 

With a thoughtful frown, Lexa picked up Clarke’s profile again. This time, she read slower, trying to capture the essence behind the words. Clarke was an artist, deeply involved in local community projects, which spoke to a creative and civic-minded spirit. His brief mention of a love for old cinema and classic books hinted at depth. Lexa waffled, her initial impression clashing with the intrigue now sparked by her second, more careful reading. 

Setting Clarke's profile down on the "review again" pile, Lexa decided not to rush her judgment. She finished her wine, her mind actively weaving through the impressions each profile had left. Tonight was just the beginning. She knew the importance of this choice, not just for herself, but for her future child. She’d return to these profiles after a night’s rest, perhaps seeing them anew with fresh eyes and a clearer perspective. 

The next morning, Lexa found herself with a phone pressed to her ear, recounting the previous evening's deliberations to her cousin Anya. Anya had always been more like a sister to Lexa, providing both support and candid advice whenever Lexa needed it. 

"So, I've got these two piles," Lexa explained, her voice carrying a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "The no pile is pretty straightforward—those profiles just didn't click for me. But the 'review again' pile, that's where it gets tricky. There’s Jacob, who really seems like a gentle soul, and Clarke, who I almost passed on but decided to give another look."  

On the other end of the line, Anya listened intently, her occasional hums of agreement punctuating Lexa’s detailed descriptions of the potential alphas. When Lexa finished, there was a brief silence, the kind that hinted at Anya's deep consideration before she spoke. 

"Lex, are you sure about all this?" Anya’s voice was gentle, yet probing. "I mean, it sounds like you're really trying to convince yourself here. Aren't you giving up a bit easily on finding the right alpha? You know, the traditional way?" 

Lexa sighed, a soft sound of mixed emotions. "I know it seems like I'm rushing into this, but I've thought about it a lot. I just haven't met someone who fits what I'm looking for in a partner... someone I want to share my life with. This way, I can focus on what I really want—a child. I don’t need a romantic relationship to make that happen." 

Anya was quiet for a moment, likely weighing her next words. "I get that, I really do. But it’s a big step, Lexa. Just make sure you’re choosing this path because it’s truly what you want, not because you feel it’s your only option." 

Lexa nodded to herself, appreciating Anya's concern. "I understand, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I’m not closing the door on finding someone someday, but right now, this feels right. I want to be a mom, Anya. And I feel ready to do this on my own terms." 

Anya’s response was warm, supportive. "Then you know I'm behind you one hundred percent. Just promise me you'll think on it a little more, okay? And whatever you decide, I’m here for you." 

"Thanks, Anya. That means a lot to me," Lexa replied, feeling a comforting sense of reassurance. She knew Anya only wanted the best for her, and having her support strengthened Lexa's resolve to move forward thoughtfully and confidently. 

After ending the call with Anya, Lexa set aside the 'review again' pile of profiles on her dining table, deciding not to revisit them until later that evening. She knew the importance of the decision ahead and recognized the need to approach it with a clear mind and a settled heart. 

The conversation with Anya had stirred a mix of emotions and considerations, reinforcing the gravity of her choice. Lexa felt it crucial to give herself space—to let her initial impressions simmer and her intuition align with her logical reasoning. This pause, she believed, would help her return to the profiles with fresh eyes and a more decisive heart. 

During the day, Lexa busied herself with her usual activities, allowing her subconscious to process the morning’s conversation and her own feelings about each candidate. She went for a long walk in the park, the rhythmic steps helping to clear her mind. She met with a friend for coffee, enjoying the distraction and the normalcy of casual conversation. 

As the day turned into evening, Lexa felt more centered. She prepared a quiet space at home, with minimal distractions, lighting a candle for a touch of calm ambiance. She poured herself a glass of wine, similar to the night before, setting the stage for contemplation and decision-making. 

Sitting down, she slowly began to revisit each profile in the 'review again' pile. Lexa’s goal was to narrow her choices to two or three potential alphas—individuals who not only met her criteria on paper but whom she felt could genuinely contribute to the life and the values she hoped to nurture in her future child. With a deep breath, she delved into the profiles once more, ready to make one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

As the evening wore on, Lexa methodically revisited each profile, reflecting deeply on the characteristics and values of each potential alpha. Slowly, her list began to narrow until she was left with three names: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Jacob’s profile had an immediate and strong appeal. His dedication to environmental conservation and his gentle demeanor resonated with Lexa's own values. It seemed a natural alignment, one that suggested he would bring the kind of thoughtful and nurturing influence she desired for her child. 

Roan presented a different allure. His profile portrayed him as a resilient and ambitious individual, someone who had overcome significant challenges to achieve personal and professional success. There was a strength in Roan's narrative that Lexa admired, a testament to his character that she believed would be a valuable trait to pass on to her offspring. 

Yet, despite the compelling cases for both Jacob and Roan, Lexa found her thoughts continually drifting back to Clarke’s profile. There was an intriguing blend of creativity and intellect in his background— an artist with an Ivy League education, deeply involved in community service. His profile hinted at a complex, multifaceted personality; he was someone who valued both expression and academia, who understood the importance of giving back to the community. 

Clarke’s interests in the arts and his commitment to societal contribution painted a picture of a man who was not only educated but also empathetic and engaged with the world around him. These were traits Lexa admired and sought for her child’s upbringing. 

The more Lexa thought about Clarke, the more she realized how much his qualities appealed to her. He represented a balance of intelligence, creativity, and civic responsibility—elements that she valued deeply and imagined could foster a rich, nurturing environment for a child. 

With a thoughtful sigh, Lexa placed Jacob and Clarke’s profiles side by side, with Roan's just slightly below them. It was clear these were her finalists, each bringing something unique and valuable to the table. She knew her decision would not be easy, but she also felt reassured by the strength of her final choices. As she prepared to retire for the night, Lexa felt a quiet confidence that among these men, she would find the right partner for the journey ahead. 

On a quiet Sunday morning, with a cup of tea steaming gently beside her laptop, Lexa settled down to compose an email to the agency. The decision to request photos of her three final candidates—Jacob, Roan, and Clarke—felt like the next logical step in her carefully considered process. She knew the agency wouldn't respond until Monday, but drafting the email gave her a sense of progress and control over her choices. 

Lexa typed with deliberate care, her words reflecting the gravity of her request. She explained that she had narrowed her selection down to three potential alphas and would now like to see their photographs to aid in her final decision. Lexa stressed that while she understood the importance of not basing her choice solely on physical attraction, she believed that a certain level of physical compatibility was essential for her comfort and confidence in this unique and intimate arrangement. 

As she hit send, Lexa felt a wave of anticipation mixed with satisfaction. Each of her chosen candidates brought distinct and strong qualities to the table. Jacob with his gentle nature and environmental passion, Roan with his resilience and proven ambition, and Clarke with his creative spirit and intellectual prowess—each was appealing in a uniquely compelling way. Lexa appreciated the diversity in their profiles, which she believed would allow her to make a balanced choice based on a combination of intellectual, emotional, and physical attributes. 

Leaning back in her chair, Lexa allowed herself to feel hopeful about the next steps. She hoped that the upcoming photos would not only confirm the impressions she had formed from their profiles but also ignite a spark of attraction. The thought of conceiving a child necessitated a certain level of physical appeal, and she hoped to find that in at least one of these men, making the process of becoming a mother not just a fulfillment of a desire but also a comfortable and pleasing journey. 

With her part done for now, Lexa spent the rest of her day engaged in preparing for the new week, her mind occasionally wandering to her three candidates. The blend of curiosity and excitement for what Monday would bring was palpable, as she envisioned a future where one of these men would help her realize her dream of motherhood. 

In her office, Lexa found herself repeatedly glancing at her phone, which lay beside her keyboard—a silent testament to her growing impatience. Each time the screen lit up with a notification, she felt a jolt of anticipation, only to find emails unrelated to her personal inquiry. The response from the agency, it seemed, was taking its sweet time. 

Lexa tried to anchor her focus on the reports and spreadsheets that crowded her desktop. Her work, typically a realm where she excelled and found clarity, now felt like a cumbersome distraction. Her thoughts, disobedient and wild, fluttered incessantly towards the potential images of Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

She knew their basic features—hair color, eye color—but these details painted no vivid picture in her mind. What were their smiles like? How did they carry themselves? Were they tall, broad-shouldered, or had a more slender, athletic build? These unknowns spun around in her head, each a question mark adding to a mosaic of curiosity and expectation. 

Her concentration broke again, and she reached for her phone, scrolling through her inbox fruitlessly once more. With a sigh, Lexa set the device down and tried to realign her focus on a particularly complex data analysis. But even as she parsed through numbers and trends, part of her mind wandered, sketching imaginary portraits of the three men based on the scant information she had. 

The morning dragged on, each tick of the office clock a reminder of the waiting she had to endure. Lexa found herself tapping a pen against her desk, her gaze drifting towards the window, where the city below seemed indifferent to her internal turmoil. The blend of excitement and nerves was palpable, like the quiet tension that fills the air before a storm breaks. 

Finally, acknowledging her distracted state, Lexa decided to take a brief walk around the building, hoping that a change of scenery and a bit of movement would help her regain her concentration. As she strolled through the quieter parts of her workplace, she reminded herself that the decision she was about to make was significant and deserved this level of anticipation and thought. Returning to her desk refreshed, Lexa resolved to put her personal feelings aside and dive back into her work—determined to keep her professional prowess intact, even as her personal life beckoned with unanswered questions. 

As the end of the workday approached, Lexa had almost resigned herself to the idea that her eagerly awaited email from the agency wouldn't arrive until Tuesday. She felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, the delay giving her more time to prepare mentally for what those photos might reveal. 

She set her phone down one more time, focusing on shutting down her computer and organizing her desk for the evening. Just as she pushed back from her desk, her phone buzzed with the distinct chime of a new email notification. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sender: the agency. 

Quickly, she tapped on the notification, her eyes scanning the email's contents. The agency apologized for the delay, explaining they had taken extra care to ensure the photographs matched her request for confidentiality and respect towards the candidates. Attached to the email were three files, each labeled with the name of one of her potential alphas: Jacob, Roan, Clarke. 

Lexa's thumb hovered over the attachments. A part of her wanted to open them immediately, to finally put faces to the names and profiles she had been pondering over for days. Yet, as she sat in the stillness of her office, a wave of hesitation washed over her. Was this the right place to make such a personal, potentially life-altering discovery? 

Her office, usually a space of professional decisions and work-focused thoughts, suddenly felt too impersonal, too public for this deeply private moment. She contemplated the weight of what these images represented—not just potential genetic contributors but possible co-creators of her future child. 

Deciding she needed the privacy and comfort of her own home to experience this moment, Lexa locked her phone and slipped it into her bag. Once home, she could take her time, process her reactions in her own space, and make thoughtful decisions without the confines of her professional environment. 

As she walked out of the building into the warm evening air, Lexa felt a reassuring calm settle over her. Tonight, with a cup of her favorite tea in hand, she would meet, in a way, the men who might help her fulfill her dream of motherhood. It was a meeting that deserved her full presence and undivided attention, best done in the sanctuary of her home. 

Lexa's evening unfolded with a mixture of routine and restless anticipation. After a quiet dinner, she methodically washed her dishes, the warm soapy water running over her hands as she scrubbed. This daily chore, usually a mindless task, felt different tonight. Each plate rinsed and set to dry was a moment to stall, a brief reprieve from the decision that awaited her. 

As the dishes were put away and her kitchen returned to its usual tidy state, Lexa brewed a cup of calming chamomile tea. The steam curled into the air, carrying with it a scent that usually relaxed her, but tonight it was just another step in delaying the inevitable. 

Part of her meticulous post-dinner clean-up was borne from habit, but another part was driven by a palpable apprehension. She was about to make a decision that would significantly shape her future. The man whose image she was about to view might very well be the one to help her fulfill her deep-seated desire to become a mother. This wasn't just any routine interaction; this was about selecting an alpha who would provide the genetic material to conceive her child and then, as per the agreement, step away. 

With her cup of tea in hand, Lexa finally settled onto her couch, her usual spot for unwinding after a long day, but nothing about tonight was usual. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the warmth of the tea seep into her palms. Her phone lay next to her, an innocuous presence that now seemed daunting. 

Finally, she picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over the email app with hesitation. This action, so simple and routine, felt momentous. She opened the email once more, and there they were, the attachments waiting just a click away. Each file bore the name of a potential alpha: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Lexa tapped tentatively on the image file labeled "Jacob," her breath catching slightly in anticipation. The photo that materialized showed a man with boyish good looks, his smile gentle and inviting, eyes sparkling with a warmth that reinforced the impression of kindness his profile had suggested. Jacob's image aligned perfectly with what Lexa had envisioned—a friendly face that could bring comfort and reassurance. 

Next, she opened the file for Roan. As his image came into view, Lexa noted his longish hair and the unmistakable intensity in his gaze. His strong jawline and the serious set of his mouth gave him a rugged appearance, one that spoke of resilience and a certain sternness. Roan looked like a man who faced challenges head-on, a stark contrast to Jacob’s softer, more approachable demeanor. 

Finally, Lexa clicked on the last image, labeled "Clarke." She expected to see another male alpha, similar to the first two. However, as the image slowly loaded, her expectations were upended. The photo revealed not a man, but a striking woman with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Lexa stared, taken aback, as she processed the unexpected sight of a female alpha. Clarke’s presence in the photo was compelling; her gaze was direct and confident, radiating a strong sense of self-assuredness. 

Lexa’s initial shock slowly gave way to a mix of emotions. Clarke’s appearance was stunning, and there was an undeniable beauty in her features that Lexa found herself unexpectedly drawn to. This twist in her journey made Lexa pause, her mind racing through the implications. She had not considered the possibility of a female alpha, yet here was Clarke, challenging her preconceptions and expanding the horizon of her choices. 

Sitting back on the couch, Lexa took a moment to reflect. Each candidate brought something unique to the table: Jacob’s kindness, Roan’s intensity, and now Clarke’s unexpected presence—a female alpha who exuded strength and allure. Lexa knew this decision required more than a cursory glance at photographs. It was about finding a connection, a match that felt right on multiple levels. 

As she continued to gaze at Clarke’s image, Lexa felt a curious pull, a fascination that urged her to reconsider what she thought she had been looking for in an alpha. Clarke’s striking blue eyes seemed to beckon for consideration, asking Lexa to step beyond the familiar and entertain the possibilities that lay in unexpected quarters. 

As Lexa continued to sit on her couch, the images of the three alphas lingered on her phone screen, each one offering a different possibility, a different future. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside her window. Lexa found herself lost in thought, trying to envision what a child with each of these individuals might look like. 

First, there was Jacob, with his warm brown eyes and dark hair, features that gave him an approachable, boy-next-door charm. Lexa imagined a child with similar soft, dark locks, perhaps inheriting Jacob's easy smile and the inherent kindness that seemed to radiate from his expression. 

Then there was Roan, with his intense blue eyes and dark, slightly wild hair. His features were sharp, his presence in the photo almost commanding. A child with Roan might inherit those striking blue eyes, Lexa thought, along with a likely strong-willed spirit and perhaps that same sense of resilience that Roan seemed to embody. 

Finally, her mind drifted to Clarke. The image of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed alpha with a distinct chin dimple was vivid in her mind. Lexa found herself particularly curious about this feature—a charming little dimple that added so much character to Clarke's smile. Would a child with Clarke inherit that same dimple? Lexa pictured a little one with light hair and those piercing blue eyes, maybe running around with a mischievous grin punctuated by that adorable dimple. 

Each mental image brought a smile to Lexa's face but also added layers of complexity to her decision. This wasn't just about choosing a partner for conception; it was about choosing half of the genetic makeup of her future child. Each alpha not only offered different physical traits but also different backgrounds and personalities that would influence their child. 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling both overwhelmed and excited by the possibilities. As she sipped her tea, now lukewarm, she realized that this decision would shape not just her future, but that of her child. She knew that beyond looks, she needed to consider which values and qualities she most hoped to pass on. The process felt daunting, yet the thought of motherhood filled her with a profound sense of purpose. As the evening waned, Lexa knew that these reflections were just the beginning of her journey towards making one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

After a period, Lexa felt the need to share her thoughts and get some feedback. She reached for her phone, dialed Anya, and quickly forwarded the email with the images of the alphas she was considering. 

"Hey Anya, can you check your email real quick? I sent you something important," Lexa said as soon as her cousin answered the phone. 

"Got it, let's see these candidates," Anya replied, her interest piqued. They started with Jacob, whose soft features and kind eyes made a good first impression. Then they moved on to Roan. "He looks exactly like what you’d expect an alpha to look like, doesn’t he?" Anya remarked, clearly impressed by his strong, intense demeanor. 

Lexa chuckled, "Of course, an alpha would pick the most alpha-looking of the three." 

However, the conversation took a turn when Anya opened Clarke’s image. "Oh, wow, this is a female alpha. That’s unexpected." 

Lexa nodded to herself, feeling a mix of emotions. "Yeah, it adds another layer to Clarke. I've always been attracted to female alphas, but I was open to a male alpha, thinking it might be simpler for the whole baby process." 

Anya paused, considering Lexa's words. "How do you feel about Clarke being in the mix now? This is a bit of a curveball." 

"It is," Lexa agreed. "But honestly, seeing Clarke in there, it kind of stirred something. My ex was a female alpha, too. There’s a familiarity there." 

"Sounds like Clarke’s presence is challenging some of your initial thoughts," Anya said thoughtfully. "But Lex, this is about what you want and need right now. If Clarke resonates with you more, maybe there’s more to think about here than just going the straightforward path." 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling the weight and truth in Anya’s words. "I guess you’re right. I need to think about what each option could really mean for me and the future. Clarke being a female alpha isn’t just a detail; it’s significant to how I feel about this whole process." 

As they wrapped up their conversation, Lexa felt grateful for Anya’s insight and understanding. Discussing each candidate openly had clarified not just the practical considerations but also the emotional ones. Now, more than ever, Lexa knew her decision would not only be informed by what was expected but also by what felt right for her personally. 

With the images of the alphas now in her possession, Lexa faced a self-imposed deadline: by Friday, she needed to make her decision. The choice she was about to make was not just about selecting an alpha but choosing a co-contributor to a life-changing journey. It would set the course for her long-held dream of becoming a mother. 

Over the next two days, Lexa immersed herself in deep reflection. She had swiftly eliminated Roan from her list of potential candidates. His intensity, though initially striking, felt somewhat overpowering upon further consideration, and she realized it didn't align with the kind of parental influence she envisioned for her child. 

Now, it was down to Jacob and Clarke. Jacob, with his gentle demeanor and environmental passion, seemed like a safe and rational choice. His traits aligned well with Lexa's values, and she could easily envision him as a positive genetic influence on her child. Yet, despite the logical fit Jacob presented, Lexa found her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to Clarke. 

Clarke's presence in the selection process had been unexpected and impactful. As a female alpha, she brought a familiar dynamic that resonated deeply with Lexa, reminding her of the past. Lexa had to admit, there was a certain allure and comfort in the idea of choosing a female alpha. 

Sitting at her dining room table with both profiles laid out before her, Lexa pondered whether her inclination towards Clarke was primarily influenced by her being a female alpha. Was it the novelty and emotional resonance of Clarke's status that drew her in, or was there something more substantial in Clarke's profile that connected with her own aspirations and dreams? 

Lexa spent hours dissecting every detail in their profiles, weighing not just the emotional but also the pragmatic aspects of each choice. She considered not just who they were on paper, but who they might be in her life while conceiving a child. As she mulled over her options, Lexa tried to separate her feelings about their alpha status from what each could potentially offer as a co-contributor to her child’s genetic and cultural heritage. 

By Thursday evening, a decision began to crystallize in her mind. Lexa realized that her choice needed to be based on a balance of emotional resonance and practical considerations, a decision that felt right both in her heart and her mind.  

Friday morning dawned with a sense of resolution for Lexa. She had made her decision, and though nerves fluttered in her stomach, she was ready to take the next step. Sitting at her dining room table with her phone in hand, she dialed the number for the agency, her finger lingering over the call button for a moment before she pressed it. 

"Marlene speaking, how may I assist you today?" came the familiar, professional voice from the other end. 

"Hi Marlene, it’s Lexa Woods," she responded, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of anxiety. "I’ve made my decision regarding the alpha. I wanted to discuss it with you and see what the next steps are." 

"That's great to hear, Lexa," Marlene replied warmly. "I know this has been a thoughtful process for you. Who have you decided to go with?" 

After a slight pause, filled with a momentary doubt, Lexa affirmed, "I’ve chosen Clarke." 

"Clarke, excellent choice," Marlene said. "She brings a unique perspective and strengths. What ultimately led you to this decision?" 

Lexa hesitated, feeling a brief resurgence of her earlier indecision. "Well, there’s a lot about Clarke that resonates with me, her background, her values... and I guess the fact that she's a female alpha adds another layer of connection. I just hope I’ve made the right choice," Lexa confessed, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words. 

"Choosing an alpha is always a significant and personal decision, Lexa. It’s normal to have some last-minute doubts, but it’s important that it feels right to you. Let’s arrange a meeting with Clarke. You two can discuss everything openly, and it will also be a chance for you to address any concerns you might have before moving forward." 

"That would be very helpful," Lexa agreed, feeling reassured by Marlene's calm and understanding tone. "I think meeting her will give me the clarity to move forward confidently." 

"Perfect," Marlene responded. "I’ll arrange for you both to meet and discuss the details. You’ll also have the opportunity to sign the contracts, ensuring everything is transparent and agreed upon. I’ll look for some potential dates and get back to you as soon as possible." 

"Thank you, Marlene," Lexa said, relief washing over her. "I appreciate all your help." 

"You’re welcome, Lexa. We're here to make sure that you are comfortable and confident in your decisions. I’ll be in touch very soon with some dates for the meeting," Marlene assured her. 

As Lexa ended the call, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and a plan was in place. The thought of meeting Clarke and discussing the future brought a mix of excitement and a newfound peace. Lexa knew that whatever doubts she had would likely be settled once she and Clarke could sit down and talk face to face. 

Marlene had been efficient and considerate in her arrangements. She set the meeting for two weeks out, giving Lexa and Clarke ample time to prepare for their first encounter. The date was marked on Lexa’s calendar, each day inching closer filled with a blend of anticipation and nerves. 

Finally, the day of the meeting arrived. Lexa stood in front of her closet in the morning, her mind racing with the unusual complexity of choosing the right outfit. "What do you wear to a meeting with someone you are contractually going to be sleeping with in order to create a child?" she muttered to herself. The question was as surreal as her situation. 

After much deliberation, Lexa opted for something that struck a balance between professional and comfortable—an elegant blouse paired with well-fitted trousers. It was important to her that she present herself as both serious about the arrangement and approachable. 

Driving to the agency, Lexa’s hands were slightly shaking on the steering wheel. Her mind was a whirlwind of what-ifs and hopes. As she parked her car and walked toward the office building, she took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. 

The agency’s office was a space Lexa had become familiar with over the past weeks, but today, it seemed to hold a new form of gravity. Marlene greeted her warmly at the door, her smile reassuring. 

"Clarke just arrived. She’s waiting in the meeting room," Marlene informed her, leading the way. 

Lexa’s steps felt heavy yet determined as she approached the room. Marlene opened the door, and there sat Clarke, just as striking in person as she was in her photo. Her presence seemed to command the room, yet there was a softness in her eyes as she looked up and met Lexa’s gaze. 

"Lexa, meet Clarke. Clarke, this is Lexa," Marlene introduced. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke said, standing up to shake her hand. Her voice was calm, carrying a hint of warmth that eased some of Lexa's tension. 

"Hello, Clarke," Lexa replied, her voice steadier than she felt. The handshake was firm and brief, but Lexa felt a surprising jolt of connection—an electric mix of nerves and excitement. 

Marlene excused herself, leaving them to converse privately. "I’ll give you both some space to discuss. If you need anything, I'll be right outside," she said before closing the door gently behind her. 

In the quiet confines of the meeting room, the air thick with anticipation, Lexa and Clarke faced each other. Their initial nervousness was palpable, each aware of the significance and unusual nature of their meeting. Clarke, sensing the growing tension, decided it was time to steer the conversation towards more familiar ground. 

"So, Lexa," Clarke began, her tone casual yet curious, "Marlene didn't tell me much about your professional background. What do you do for a living?" 

Lexa, slightly surprised by the shift towards personal details, replied, "I'm an accountant. I spend most of my days surrounded by numbers and spreadsheets." 

Clarke chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of amusement and relief at the shift to lighter conversation. "Oh, numbers and I have never been best friends. I was always the one in class who thought 'algebra' was a foreign language," she joked, a playful smile crossing her features. 

Lexa found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since the meeting began, the tension easing from her shoulders. Clarke's humor and light-heartedness were infectious, and it helped Lexa feel more at ease. Encouraged by the more relaxed atmosphere, Lexa decided to learn more about Clarke's interests. 

"I saw in your profile that you’re an artist," Lexa said, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. "What kind of art do you do?" 

Clarke’s face brightened at the question, clearly passionate about her craft. "I work mostly with mixed media. I love exploring textures and layers—there’s something about the tactile process of creating something tangible that really excites me. It’s a way to express emotions that words can’t always capture." 

Lexa nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fascinating. Art seems like such a freeing way to express oneself." 

"It really is," Clarke agreed, her enthusiasm evident. "And every piece feels like a part of me, yet once it’s done, it belongs to the world, not just to me." 

Their conversation flowed more naturally now, the earlier awkwardness fading as they discussed their respective careers. Lexa felt a newfound appreciation for Clarke's artistic perspective, contrasting yet complementing her own methodical, numbers-driven approach. The dialogue not only bridged their understanding of each other’s professional lives but also built a deeper, more personal connection that eased their initial apprehensions about the arrangements ahead. 

After Lexa and Clarke had spent some time getting to know each other and discussing their backgrounds, the door to the conference room opened, and Marlene re-entered, a stack of papers in hand. She approached the table with a professional smile, setting down the documents before them. 

"Looks like you two have been having a good conversation," Marlene observed, taking a seat at the head of the table. She then shifted into her role as the facilitator of the process, her demeanor becoming more formal as she prepared to discuss the contracts and legalities. "I have here the draft contracts for your arrangement. Let's go through these together to ensure everything is clear and that all parties' expectations are met." 

Marlene spread the documents out so both Lexa and Clarke could see them. She began to go through each section meticulously, explaining the legal jargon and what it meant in practical terms. "This section here outlines the obligations of both parties, including medical examinations, confidentiality agreements, and the planned schedule for the conception process," she explained, pointing to each clause as she spoke. 

She then moved on to a critical part of the contract. "It's very important that both of you understand that this agreement is based on mutual consent and comfort levels. If at any point, for any reason, either of you feels that this arrangement isn't working out, you can withdraw from the contract." Marlene looked at both Lexa and Clarke earnestly, ensuring her point was clear. "This clause here provides the details on how to terminate the agreement respectfully and legally without facing any penalties." 

Marlene paused to allow Lexa and Clarke to absorb the information, checking their faces for any signs of confusion or concern. "Do either of you have any questions about this part, or is there anything in the agreement that you would like to discuss further or modify?" 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a glance, both appreciating the agency's emphasis on their comfort and autonomy within the process. Clarke nodded, indicating she understood and appreciated the terms, "It's reassuring to know that there's flexibility if the circumstances change." 

Lexa echoed Clarke’s sentiment. "Yes, I agree. It's important to have a way out if things don’t feel right. It makes the whole arrangement feel safer, more considered." 

Marlene nodded, pleased with their responses. "Absolutely, we want to make sure you both feel secure and supported throughout this process." She then continued to go through the rest of the contract, covering financial arrangements, the handling of medical data, and the support services the agency would provide. 

As the meeting drew to a close, Marlene handed each of them a pen. "Take your time to read through everything once more on your own. If you’re ready, you can sign today, or you can take the contracts home and think things over. We want you to make a decision when you're completely ready." 

As Marlene finished outlining the terms and left the choice to sign immediately or take the contracts home for further consideration, Clarke turned her gaze towards Lexa, silently seeking her input on how to proceed. The moment was charged with significance; the decision to sign now would cement their agreement, setting them firmly on a path toward a shared, albeit unique, journey. 

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She could feel the flutter of nerves in her stomach, but beneath that, a steady current of resolve. This was what she wanted, and every interaction and discussion up to this point had only solidified her confidence in her choice. 

Finally, with a nod to herself, Lexa reached for the pen that Marlene had placed on the table. Her hand was steady as she picked it up, and with a decisive motion, she signed her name on the dotted line. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper seemed to echo in the room, marking a significant milestone in her journey to motherhood. 

Clarke watched Lexa sign, noting the determination and clarity in her actions. Seeing Lexa make her decision with such resolve helped dispel any lingering hesitations Clarke might have had. Inspired by Lexa's confidence and encouraged by the thoroughness and fairness of the contract, Clarke picked up her own pen. With a thoughtful look at Lexa, acknowledging her readiness and mutual commitment, Clarke signed her name as well. 

As they both put their pens down, a sense of relief and anticipation filled the room. Marlene, witnessing this, offered them both a warm, reassuring smile. "Thank you both for your trust and courage in this process. I’ll make sure everything is processed promptly, and I’ll be here to support you both through every step that follows." 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had just agreed to embark on together. There was a mutual understanding that while the road ahead would be uncharted and not without its challenges, they were now linked by a shared commitment to bring a new life into the world, each in their respective roles. 

As Lexa and Clarke gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the conference room, Marlene interjected with one final point of order, outlining the next steps in their newly formalized agreement. 

"Before you both go, I want to discuss the logistics of your first official meeting," Marlene began, her tone shifting back to her professional demeanor. "The agency has protocols in place to ensure the safety and comfort of all parties involved, especially during initial meetings." 

She pulled out a small tablet and tapped a few times on the screen, pulling up a schedule. "We prefer to arrange the meetings on neutral ground. It helps maintain privacy and provides a secure environment for both of you." Marlene looked up from her tablet, making sure she had both Lexa and Clarke’s attention. 

"For this purpose, we usually arrange for a hotel room. This setting not only ensures confidentiality but also allows you both to meet in a neutral, comfortable environment without the pressures or personal biases that might come from meeting in a more personal space," Marlene explained. She assured them that the agency had longstanding arrangements with a reputable hotel chain known for its discretion and high standards of service. 

"We’ll handle all the bookings and logistics. You won’t need to worry about any of the arrangements," she continued. "I’ll send you both the details and date options for your first meeting. You can choose what works best for both of you." 

Marlene’s explanation provided a clear framework for how the initial stages of their agreement would proceed, emphasizing the agency’s commitment to maintaining a professional and secure process. "Safety and comfort are our top priorities. We want to ensure that both of you feel secure and at ease during your meetings." 

Lexa and Clarke nodded in understanding, appreciating the thoroughness with which the agency was handling the situation. The idea of meeting in a hotel for the first few times made sense, and the agency’s attention to detail and safety was reassuring. 

"Once I have everything arranged, I will send you an email with all the information, including the date, time, and location of the hotel. You will both have access to the private suite, and agency staff will be available on-call, should you need any assistance during the meeting," Marlene concluded, her tone both serious and comforting. 

With everything laid out so clearly and professionally, Lexa and Clarke felt more confident about the steps ahead. They thanked Marlene for her assistance and left the office with a sense of readiness for the next phases of their journey together. The agency’s meticulous planning and support made a complex process seem manageable and secure. 

As soon as Lexa got back into her car, she couldn't resist the urge to share the events of the meeting with Anya. She quickly dialed her cousin, who picked up after just a couple of rings. 

"Hey, Lex, how did it go?" Anya's voice was eager but tinged with concern. 

"It was... good, really good," Lexa began, her voice carrying a mix of relief and excitement. "Clarke is nothing like I expected. She’s very grounded and seems genuinely interested in making sure this works out for the best." 

"Oh? And how does she look? Did she match up to her picture?" Anya asked, her tone playful yet probing. 

Lexa laughed softly, a blush creeping across her cheeks even though Anya couldn’t see it. "Yes, she looks just like her photo. But her eyes, Anya, they’re this striking shade of blue. It’s almost mesmerizing." 

There was a brief pause before Anya responded, her voice now carrying a note of caution. "Lex, remember this is a business arrangement. Don’t get carried away because of pretty eyes. You told me she’s there for the money, right?" 

Lexa sighed, knowing Anya was just looking out for her. "Yes, I know. And yes, the financial aspect is a part of this for her, like it is for many alphas. But she doesn’t make it feel transactional, you know? She's professional but also really considerate." 

Switching topics slightly, Lexa then shared more details about the arrangements that had been made for their upcoming interactions. "Marlene arranged for us to meet in a hotel. It’s a neutral place, which the agency has set up for safety and privacy. They’ve really thought of everything to make sure both parties feel secure." 

Anya listened intently, her initial skepticism giving way to understanding. "That sounds sensible. They seem to be handling things very professionally. Just... be careful, Lex. I know you, and I know how easily you can get attached." 

Lexa nodded to herself, taking in Anya’s advice. "I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open—figuratively and literally," she added with a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. 

"Good to hear," Anya replied, her tone softening. "Keep me updated, okay? And if you need to talk, anytime, I’m here." 

"Will do. Thanks, Anya. I really appreciate it," Lexa said, feeling grateful for having someone like Anya to confide in. 

With that, they ended the call, and Lexa sat for a moment in the quiet of her car, reflecting on the conversation. She felt a blend of caution and excitement—a cocktail of emotions that she would need to manage carefully as she navigated this uncharted path. 

Lexa stared at the computer screen, her eyes tracing over the details outlined in the email. The room at the Arkadia Hotel was booked under the agency's name, providing an added layer of privacy and discretion with the room number assigned to Lexa being "439". The preparations were meticulous, reflecting the seriousness and sensitivity of their upcoming encounter. 

As she absorbed the reality of the arrangement, Lexa's mind wandered to the intricate details of alpha and omega biology—a fundamental aspect that dictated the unique way they could conceive. The biological necessity for an alpha to 'knot' during intercourse to successfully conceive was an evolutionary trait, deeply embedded in their genetics. It was a process designed to enhance the probability of conception, ensuring that during the crucial moments, the alpha's body could maximize the chance of fertilizing the omega's egg. 

This biological imperative was at the forefront of Lexa's thoughts as she contemplated her meeting with Clarke. The concept was still somewhat surreal to her. On one hand, the scientific aspect of it made sense, and she respected the biological processes involved. On the other hand, facing the reality of engaging intimately with someone who was essentially a stranger, even with mutual agreement and understanding, was daunting. 

The part of Lexa that hesitated wasn't concerned with the logistics or the biological necessities—those were facts she had come to terms with when she decided on this path. Instead, it was the emotional aspect, the vulnerability of sharing such a personal experience with someone she hadn't known long. Yet, despite these reservations, the stronger part of her—the part driven by her deep desire to become a mother—was prepared to move forward. 

As she sat there, Lexa reminded herself why she had chosen this path. It wasn't just about fulfilling her desire to have a child; it was about doing so in a way that felt right to her, under terms she had carefully considered and agreed upon. Clarke, too, had her reasons for participating, and their prior meeting had laid a foundation of mutual respect and understanding. 

With each passing moment, Lexa's resolve grew stronger. She knew that the biological processes were just one part of the equation. The more significant component was her readiness to embrace the responsibilities and joys of motherhood. By the time she closed her laptop, Lexa felt a quiet confidence. She was ready for Saturday—not just to meet the biological demands of the process, but to take a significant step towards a future she had long envisioned for herself. 

Lexa arrived at the Arkadia Hotel promptly at 4 PM, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and resolve. The hotel's lobby was bustling with activity, but she navigated through it with a sense of purpose, her focus fixed on the task ahead. At the front desk, she confirmed her identity discreetly, referring only to the reservation number and the agency's name. The clerk handed her a key card with a polite, professional smile that didn't probe too deeply into the reasons for her stay. 

With key card in hand, Lexa made her way to her room, her steps measured and her mind racing. The hallways of the hotel were elegantly carpeted and softly lit, creating an atmosphere of privacy and tranquility that helped soothe her escalating anxiety. Each step brought her closer to a moment that might very well define her future. 

Standing before the door marked with the number 439, Lexa paused, her hand hovering over the key card reader. She knew that behind this door, preparations would need to be made, both mentally and physically, before Clarke's arrival. The agency had arranged for Clarke to arrive later, giving Lexa ample time to acclimate to the environment, to settle her thoughts, and to prepare herself emotionally and physically for what was to come. 

All she had to do was swipe the key card and step inside. Taking a deep breath, Lexa steadied her trembling hand and slid the card through the reader. The light blinked green, and a soft click signaled her access. Pushing the door open, she stepped into the room. 

The room was tastefully decorated, neutral tones and soft lighting crafting a calming environment. There was an understated elegance to it, conducive to both comfort and privacy. Lexa let her gaze sweep over the space—the king bed, the sitting area with its inviting sofa, and a small work desk that faced a large window with curtains drawn. 

Closing the door behind her, Lexa allowed herself a few moments to just stand and absorb the reality of her surroundings. This was the setting where she hoped her dream of motherhood would begin to materialize. It felt surreal, yet incredibly real at the same time. 

She placed her small overnight bag on the bed, unpacking a few personal items to make the space feel more familiar. Lexa then spent some time simply sitting on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts. She reflected on her journey to this point—the decisions made, the fears confronted, and the hopes cherished. 

As the time ticked closer to 6 PM, Lexa prepared herself, changing into something comfortable yet appropriate for the occasion. She reminded herself why she was here, focusing on the positive outcomes she hoped to achieve. This was about more than just the mechanics of conception; it was about taking control of her destiny and shaping the future she desired. 

By the time Lexa heard a knock at the door just after 6 PM, signaling Clarke’s arrival, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and clarity. She was ready to open the door, not just to Clarke, but to the possibilities that lay ahead. 

Lexa walked to the door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She reached out, her hand almost trembling as she turned the handle. The door swung open, and there stood Clarke, her presence as compelling in person as it had been in their previous meeting. Clarke offered Lexa a shy, somewhat tentative smile—a softening of her usually confident demeanor that made her seem more approachable in this intensely personal setting. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke greeted with a quiet warmth, her voice carrying a hint of nervous anticipation. 

"Hello, Clarke. Come in," Lexa replied, stepping aside to allow Clarke entry into the room. Her heart was beating fast, but she managed to maintain a composed exterior. 

Clarke stepped past the threshold, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she entered. The soft lighting and tasteful decor seemed to impress her, and a small, appreciative smile appeared on her face. "This is a nice room," she commented, her tone carrying genuine approval. "The agency really does ensure comfort, don't they?" 

"Yes, they do," Lexa responded, closing the door behind Clarke. She felt a slight relief that the initial moment of greeting was over, and now they could proceed with the reason they were both there. "They try to make this as comfortable as possible for everyone involved." 

Clarke nodded, setting down a small bag she had brought with her. She looked around, taking in the environment that would play a significant role in the next steps they were about to take. The room, was designed to be calming, a sanctuary from the outside world and the weight of the decisions made within its confines. 

Turning back to Lexa, Clarke's initial shyness seemed to melt away slightly as she became more accustomed to the setting. "I appreciate the effort to make everything feel serene. It helps," she admitted, meeting Lexa’s eyes with a more steady gaze. 

Lexa nodded, feeling a similar gratitude for the care taken to create a space that respected the gravity of their meeting. "I agree. It makes things a little easier," she said, managing a small smile. 

There was a brief pause as both women acknowledged the situation, the room serving as a silent witness to their agreement and the hopes tied to it. Then, almost instinctively, Lexa gestured towards the small sitting area. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some water or coffee before we... start?" 

Clarke agreed, appreciating the offer to ease into the moment more gently. "Water would be great, thank you," she said, her voice steady but still carrying a trace of the nerves they both felt. 

As Lexa went to get the water, the air between them filled with a quiet acknowledgment of the partnership they were about to embark upon, each aware of the significance of their actions, yet comforted by the shared understanding and the meticulously arranged environment that surrounded them. 

Clarke made her way to the sofa, settling into the soft cushions with a slight exhale that betrayed her underlying nervousness. Lexa opened the mini-fridge, retrieving a bottle of water which she handed to Clarke with a gentle, reassuring smile. The small, ordinary gesture seemed to anchor them both amidst the swirling emotions of the occasion. 

Lexa lingered by the edge of the sitting area, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure of her next move. The room, while comfortable and inviting, suddenly felt too vast, filled with unspoken expectations and the weight of their impending decision. 

Clarke noticed Lexa's hesitation and patted the space next to her on the sofa. "Why don't you sit here?" she suggested, her voice carrying a soft but clear invitation. "It might be more comfortable to talk this way." 

Lexa nodded, grateful for Clarke's lead. She moved to the sofa, taking a seat at a respectful distance that still allowed for private conversation. She could feel the warmth of Clarke's presence beside her, a comforting reminder that they were in this together. 

Once settled, Clarke unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a sip, then turned slightly to face Lexa. She initiated some light conversation, perhaps recognizing the need to ease into the deeper discussions that lay ahead. "So, how was your day before coming here? Anything interesting happen?" 

Lexa took a moment to switch gears from the intense internal monologue she had been engaged in all day. "Oh, it was pretty routine," she replied, managing a small chuckle. "Just some last-minute work stuff and mentally preparing for today. What about you? Did you find time to do any art today?" 

Clarke shook her head, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Not today, unfortunately. But I did spend some time in the studio yesterday. It helps clear my mind, you know?" 

"Yeah, I can imagine," Lexa responded, feeling the conversation begin to flow more naturally between them. "Art seems like a great way to express and maybe even sort through feelings, especially with everything that's going on." 

Clarke nodded, visibly relaxed as the topic turned to her passion for art. "Exactly. It's not just about creating something beautiful or interesting. It's also therapeutic. It gives me a space to process things—a bit like an escape, but also a way to confront emotions directly." 

As they continued talking, the atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke began to shift subtly. Clarke's discussion about her art opened a window into her inner world, showing Lexa the passion and depth that motivated her work. The conversation seemed to flow effortlessly now, with each topic leading seamlessly into the next, covering everything from favorite artists to the influence of different art forms on society. 

The air lightened around them, filled with shared laughter and nods of understanding, as the initial awkwardness melted away under the warmth of genuine connection. They found common ground in unexpected places and differed in others, which only added layers to their interaction, making it richer, more textured. 

About 30 minutes into their conversation, as they were discussing the emotional power of color in visual art, Clarke reached out and gently took Lexa's hand. Lexa felt a sudden impulse to retract her hand, startled by the unexpected contact. The moment hung between them, charged with the potential for deeper connection or withdrawal. But as she met Clarke’s eyes, Lexa saw the intention there—soft, unassuming, aiming to add a layer of intimacy and reassurance to their conversation. 

Understanding Clarke’s gesture as an effort to bridge the gap between them further, Lexa relaxed and allowed her hand to stay in Clarke’s gentle grasp. The touch was comforting, grounding, and it brought a new level of openness to their dialogue. 

Clarke’s thumb brushed lightly over Lexa’s hand, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor them both more firmly in the present moment. "Art is my way of understanding the world, and sometimes of escaping it," Clarke shared, her voice soft but resonant. "It's personal, yes, but sharing it feels like extending a part of myself to others, hoping they might understand or feel something too." 

Lexa nodded, feeling the truth of those words resonate within her. "I think that's brave—putting a piece of yourself into your work and then putting it out there for the world to see and experience." 

The atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke thickened with unspoken promises as the moments stretched on, each second building upon the last. Clarke's gaze intensified, conveying a mix of curiosity and boldness as she leaned in closer to Lexa. Her movements were deliberate, aimed at closing the distance between them with a cautious yet clear intent. When their eyes met, there was a silent exchange, a question posed and an answer given without words. 

Clarke's lips touched Lexa's softly at first, a gentle test of boundaries that was sweet and tentative. The world around them seemed to pause, holding its breath along with them. Lexa's response was subtle but encouraging, enough to spur Clarke on. Pulling back slightly, Clarke searched Lexa’s eyes once more, seeking reassurance. What she found was a quiet acceptance, a willingness to explore the emotions that were beginning to simmer between them. 

Emboldened by Lexa's silent affirmation, Clarke leaned in once more, this time with a firmer resolve. Her lips met Lexa's with more purpose, conveying a deeper intent. The kiss deepened, driven by a blend of newfound affection and a shared desire to discover more about each other through this new, unspoken language. 

As the intensity of their kisses grew, so did their need for each other's closeness. The initial cautious exploration gave way to a more passionate expression of their burgeoning connection. Clarke’s hands found their way to Lexa's cheeks, holding her gently yet firmly, anchoring her as they navigated this new terrain together. Lexa responded in kind, her hands threading through Clarke's hair, pulling her closer, deepening their embrace. 

The kisses evolved, becoming a profound dialogue of their lips and breaths, each kiss building upon the last, growing more fervent, more insistent. The connection sparked between them ignited something deeper, a flame that had been cautiously kindled now threatening to burn brightly. 

Eventually, the need for air forced them apart, and they pulled back, each catching their breath, their foreheads resting against each other. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, heavy and warm. The room around them came back into focus slowly, the sounds of the city beyond the walls creeping back into their awareness. 

Clarke and Lexa remained close, neither willing to break the connection entirely. Their eyes met again, this time reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability after sharing such a potent moment. The initial purpose of their arrangement still loomed in the background, but what had transpired between them now added a profound layer of intimacy and complexity to their relationship. This was no longer just about an agreement or a process—it was about them, here and now, together in a way that was unexpectedly profound. 

In the quiet aftermath of their breathless exchange, the air between Clarke and Lexa was charged with a new, palpable energy. Clarke, sensing the shift in their dynamic, slowly stood up from the sofa. There was a silent invitation in her posture, a gentle yet unmistakable beckoning as she extended her hand toward Lexa. 

Lexa watched Clarke's movement, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief internal debate visible in her eyes as she considered Clarke's offered hand. It symbolized more than just a physical gesture; it was an invitation to continue exploring the depth of connection they had unexpectedly discovered. 

With a subtle nod to herself, as if making a decision, Lexa placed her hand in Clarke’s. The contact was electric, reigniting the spark that had flared between them moments before. Pulled by a force that felt both thrilling and inevitable, Lexa stood, bringing her face to face with Clarke once again. 

They stood there, hand in hand, close enough to feel each other's breath. The world around them seemed to fade, narrowing down to the space they shared. Lexa's eyes locked onto Clarke's, searching, questioning, and finding answers in the deep blue that stared back at her with an intensity that matched her own. 

Without breaking eye contact, Clarke leaned in, her movements deliberate and full of intention. Lexa’s breath hitched, her body and mind anticipating the contact that was to come. As their lips met again, the kiss was different from the ones before. This time it was charged with the energy of standing together, of the decision to step into this space as equals, partners in whatever was unfolding between them. 

The kiss deepened naturally, their bodies instinctively moving closer until they were embracing fully, the world around them completely forgotten. Clarke's hands moved to Lexa’s lower back, pulling her closer, while Lexa’s arms wrapped around Clarke’s neck, anchoring herself to the moment, to Clarke. 

In that kiss, they communicated more than could be expressed in words. It was a promise, a commitment not just to the process they were undertaking but an acknowledgment of the vulnerability and strength found in true intimacy. 

As the intensity of their kisses deepened, Clarke gently guided Lexa towards the bed, their hands intertwined, conveying trust and mutual desire. The steps were few but filled with anticipation, each one marking a deeper commitment to the moment and to each other. As they reached the edge of the bed, their lips barely parted, sustaining the connection that had now become their world. 

Standing beside the bed, Clarke’s hands slowly found the edge of Lexa’s shirt. Each touch was careful, measured, filled with an unspoken question that Lexa answered with a slight nod, a breathless "yes" whispered between kisses. Clarke’s fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation but with the gravity of the moment, aware of the trust Lexa was placing in her. 

With each piece of clothing that Clarke gently removed, Lexa felt a layer of her defenses dissolve, not just exposing her skin but opening up deeper parts of herself. Clarke’s touch was reverent, filled with care and attentiveness that spoke volumes. She took her time, ensuring that each movement, each kiss that followed the removal of a garment, honored the vulnerability and strength Lexa displayed. 

Lexa, for her part, felt an overwhelming sense of being cared for. It was not just the physical undressing but the way Clarke managed every action with such gentleness—it made her feel cherished in a way she hadn’t anticipated in this arrangement. Each kiss Clarke planted on her newly exposed skin wasn't just sensual but comforting, affirming their connection and Clarke’s respect for her. 

As Lexa stood there, with Clarke’s hands skillfully and tenderly ensuring her comfort, she found herself more assured with each passing second. The vulnerability of being undressed was overshadowed by the security Clarke’s demeanor provided. It was a strange, beautiful dichotomy—standing there exposed yet feeling entirely safe. 

When Lexa was finally free of her clothing, Clarke paused, giving her a moment to adjust. She looked into Lexa’s eyes, seeking any signs of discomfort or withdrawal. Seeing none, only a quiet gratitude and trust, Clarke leaned in for another kiss, this one conveying her appreciation for Lexa’s trust. 

They moved together onto the bed, their movements synchronized, a dance guided by mutual understanding and the desire to maintain the emotional connection that had become as vital as their physical one.  

As they shifted together on the soft expanse of the bed, Clarke carefully positioned herself between Lexa's legs. The air around them was thick with anticipation, yet Clarke made no immediate move to continue. Instead, she paused, her eyes lifting to meet Lexa's in a silent, searching communication. The intensity of her gaze was soft but intent, probing gently for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty in Lexa's expression. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke’s gaze upon her, understood the unspoken question hanging between them. The world seemed to hold its breath as she considered her feelings, the warmth of Clarke's body an anchoring presence. In Clarke's eyes, she saw not just desire but a profound care and patience. It was clear Clarke was ready to stop at the slightest hint of reluctance, ready to put Lexa’s emotional well-being above all else. 

Feeling a surge of trust and a deep, affirming connection to Clarke, Lexa reached up, her hand gently caressing Clarke’s cheek. Her touch was tender, meant to reassure as much as to give consent. With a soft smile that spoke volumes, Lexa nodded slightly, her eyes conveying her readiness and appreciation for Clarke’s considerate approach. 

Clarke, receiving the clear, affirmative response she had sought, allowed a relieved and grateful smile to curve her lips. But still, she moved slowly, maintaining eye contact as she gradually resumed closing the distance between them. Her actions were deliberate and unhurried, ensuring Lexa remained comfortable. 

As they lay together on the bed, the world outside the soft cocoon of their room seemed distant and unimportant. Clarke's kisses were tender and deliberate, focusing solely on Lexa's lips with a gentle insistence that spoke volumes. Each touch was filled with the silent communication that had become their language—a language of looks that asked and answered without words. 

Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and readiness, made no attempt to escalate beyond their kissing. She was content to explore the contours of Lexa's lips, the soft exchanges grounding and deepening their connection. The slow, purposeful pace she set was like a melody, soft and rhythmic, designed to soothe and affirm. 

Lexa, enveloped in the warmth of Clarke's nearness, felt a blossoming desire to move forward, driven not just by physical need but by the emotional intimacy they were weaving with each kiss. Feeling a growing urgency, Lexa began to gently shift her hips beneath Clarke, a subtle movement but a clear indication of her readiness to deepen their physical connection. Her movements were hesitant at first, testing Clarke’s response, seeking to communicate her desires without disrupting the harmony of their current engagement. 

Clarke, ever so perceptive to Lexa’s cues, felt the gentle undulation of Lexa's hips against her. She paused, their lips parting slightly as she sought Lexa's eyes. In them, Clarke found not just the green light she needed but a spark of deeper desire, a silent plea to bridge the gap between affection and passion. 

Sensing Lexa's readiness, Clarke allowed a moment for them both to acknowledge the shift in their dynamic. She gave a small, affirming smile, her hands framing Lexa's face as if to say she understood, and she was there with her, every step of the way. 

Encouraged by Lexa's clear communication, Clarke deepened their kiss, her movements becoming more assured, more aligned with the rising tide of their desires. Her hands, which had been content to cradle Lexa’s face, now wandered with purpose, tracing paths down her neck and shoulders, mapping the terrain of her skin with a reverent touch. 

Lexa responded in kind, her own hands exploring Clarke’s back, pulling her closer, reducing the space between them to nothing. Their movements became a dance, a give and take that spoke of mutual desire —a dance that promised to carry them forward into the next chapter of their night together. 

As the depth of their connection grew more intense, Clarke remained acutely aware of the trust Lexa had placed in her. With every move she made, Clarke was considerate, her actions measured and gentle to ensure she maintained the sanctity of that trust. When the moment came to deepen their physical connection further, Clarke approached it with a profound sense of responsibility and care. 

With a reassuring look into Lexa's eyes, Clarke sought silent permission to continue, waiting for a nod of assent before proceeding. Lexa's response, a soft affirmation accompanied by a nervous but trusting smile, gave Clarke the green light she needed. Very slowly, Clarke began to slide closer, merging their bodies in the most intimate of ways. 

Clarke's movements were slow, almost painstakingly so, as she carefully navigated this new level of closeness. She was acutely conscious of Lexa's reactions, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. As Clarke gradually slid into Lexa, she made sure to control her movements, giving Lexa time to adjust to the new sensations. 

"Are you alright?" Clarke whispered, her voice low and soothing.  

Lexa, feeling the care with which Clarke moved, nodded, her initial tension easing under Clarke's attentive gaze. "Yes," she breathed out, a hint of relief in her voice as she found the sensation different but not unpleasant, her body slowly adapting to Clarke's presence. 

Clarke paused, allowing Lexa a moment to get accustomed to the feeling, her hand gently caressing Lexa's arm in a comforting gesture. The room was filled with a tense but tender energy, each aware of the significance of the moment. 

As Lexa relaxed more, Clarke continued, still cautious, moving in a rhythm dictated by Lexa's responses. Every slight adjustment, every careful motion was made with Lexa’s comfort in mind. Clarke’s focus was entirely on Lexa, ensuring that her experience was as gentle and loving as possible. 

As Clarke and Lexa continued their intimate connection, the intensity of their movements gradually built up. Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and reactions, had initially maintained a slow and gentle rhythm, ensuring that every motion was measured and considerate. However, as the moments passed, the natural progression of their physical responses began to drive the pace. 

Clarke could feel the building pressure of her own impending release, a physical response that would soon reach its peak. She knew it was crucial for Lexa to be ready for her knot. This required a careful balance, speeding up her movements to match the escalating intensity while ensuring Lexa was not overwhelmed. 

With a deep breath to steady her nerves and focus her intentions, Clarke began to gradually increase the rhythm of her hips, her movements becoming more deliberate. "Lexa," she murmured softly, her voice a blend of desire and concern, "I'm getting close. Just let me know if you need me to slow down, okay?" 

Lexa, caught up in the rising tide of sensation, nodded, her breath coming in quicker gasps. She placed her hands on Clarke's hips, a silent signal of her engagement and readiness. Lexa's eyes, wide and focused, locked with Clarke's, communicating her trust and willingness to continue. 

Clarke, reassured by Lexa's response, carefully monitored her own body's signals while also watching Lexa's reactions closely. She adjusted her movements, aligning them with Lexa's subtle cues and the increasing demands of her own body. The tempo of her hips quickened in a controlled manner, each thrust deeper and more purposeful. 

As Clarke navigated this critical juncture, her focus was split between her own physiological responses and Lexa's comfort. She was acutely aware of the importance of timing and coordination in this moment for achieving their goal. 

The air hummed with the rhythm of their synchronized breaths, the faint whisper of skin gliding against skin. Clarke felt the imminent onset of her climax, the pressure mounting inexorably. She continued to move with a mixture of urgency and care, prepared to guide both herself and Lexa through the intensity of the experience. 

Their connection, both physical and emotional, had deepened throughout their encounter, each moment building upon the last to create a profound bond. As Clarke approached her peak, she held Lexa's gaze, seeking and finding the reassurance she needed to let go, trusting that Lexa was with her every step of the way. 

As the crescendo of Clarke's movements reached its peak, the inevitable moment of release washed over her with overwhelming intensity. Her body tensed, every muscle straining under the force of her climax. The world narrowed to the profound connection between them, a visceral link that pulsed with each beat of her heart. 

Overwhelmed by the surge of sensations, Clarke's strength waned, and she could no longer support herself. Gently, she collapsed onto Lexa, her breath ragged and heavy, echoing in the quiet of the room. Her body molded against Lexa's, a perfect fit that spoke volumes of their physical and emotional synchrony throughout this intimate journey. 

After her release, Clarke sought to maintain their closeness, turning her face towards Lexa's neck. She pressed soft kisses there, near Lexa's pulse point where she could feel the rapid beat of Lexa's heart against her lips. Clarke’s breath warmed Lexa’s skin, her exhales becoming slower and more measured as she gradually regained her composure. 

The room was filled with a palpable sense of completion and tranquility, the lingering tension dissolving into a peaceful stillness. Lexa murmured gently into Clarke's ear, her voice low and soothing, "Thank you," a simple phrase that carried the weight of her appreciation for Clarke’s participation in such a profound moment. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke's weight comfortably against her, wrapped her arms around Clarke, holding her close. She responded in kind, her own breathing syncing with Clarke’s as they both relaxed into the afterglow. Lexa’s fingers trailed softly down Clarke’s back, grounding her with gentle, reassuring touches that conveyed her own deep sense of connection and care. 

[alecsalamander]

Hi Sander! I hope you're well! For the writing ask game: 9, 16, 23 & 24

~ @mxxnlightwriting

hello and thank you for sending some asks! 🧡 i appreciate you!! (pretend this is posting from the @major-arcana-series blog)

9. what’s the first line of your novel?

Traffic is bad on the Skyway.

16. do any characters have distinctive birthmarks/scars?

Wendy has a scar on his face from a childhood accident, above his left eye, that cuts through the very end of his eyebrow. One of the twins (he won’t tell them which, if he even remembers) threw a hard plastic toy at him during a tantrum. It probably needed stitches, but their mother was still in the hospital after having the baby and their father was still at work, so he slapped a bandaid on it and went on with life. Later (much, much later) when an adult came home, he didn’t want to bother them so he never brought it up again.

23. which character has the best handwriting? worst?

The best handwriting is a toss up between Lacey, who has the most legible handwriting, and Cynthia, who has the prettiest cursive. Lacey’s printing is very precise and looks almost like it should be a font on the computer, but Cynthia’s handwriting has the most flourish. The worst handwriting award belongs to Cat. He’s a leftie, so he tends to smudge everything, and he also just doesn’t have the patience for it. His handwriting is essentially a series of squiggles that only he (and, of course, Wendy) can decipher.

24. which character is most like you? least like you?

OOF okay… okay… I’m sure everyone is shocked to learn that Cat is the most like me. His curse originated as a way for me to attempt to understand and come to terms with the (at the time) undiagnosed chronic disease that was intermittently trying to kill me, as well as the way that it felt the world and the people around me kept on with their days in spite of the toll it took on me. Cat dies regularly, and often painfully, and no one quite understands what it takes out of him. All they can understand is that whatever happens to him, he gets right back up and carries on; it never occurs to anyone to question the physical or psychological toll that repeatedly being betrayed by your own body takes on a person. Personality wise… we’re probably more similar than I would like to acknowledge. Sorry to everyone who has ever met me, I guess, but not sorry enough to change. 🤪 And then, of course and quite obviously, his relationship with Lacey is shamelessly lifted from my own relationship with my own acquired child. I love you so much that I have built now two worlds around you. The character who is least like me is probably Holly, who is too much positivity and good intentions for me to ever fully understand. She simply sees the world in a way I cannot, and has a vastly different experience with humanity as a result.

[t-underneaththeradardancing]

moon at madrone - and yah we did not do a performance post mortem ( also did not last month either )

its morning now and rainy an always good kitty - we sleepz more and better than have in a while - despite the rain - light and intermittent murder has come for feeding - the workmen in the building quietly for the most part

most of u may want to skip the post mortem below and scroll down to the hallelujah anyway part - making this the 1st not last appearance in this watever - if ur curious bout the drift we played ok - played better and wurser - physically less challenging last night

so we did perform last night and last month - mostly good i think - no recordings - tho we got lost and kinda strummed random notes an partial chords in the right key anyway - its in a part of "let it be" beatles witch vita had wanted to sing last time she wuz over and i looked up quick and faked it - then needed a key change causing sum confusion since altho ez nuff we had never played or thot of with distortion and efx glossing over - the t performance lacked efx but had actually worked out an arrangement sort of w possible variations and i never know exactly wat my fingers gonna do - guess came out ok - ppl seem to like it - played something else i dont remember maybe hallelujah - yah w carla - that worked and we both forget a minnit the same lyrics lol - a dramatic pause and onward -audience prolly never knowing and then stevie higher ground - its kind of hard to pull off solo - made it more bluesy hooker voodoo boogie anyway it more or less came off well w a few fluffs i think we diss guise - tho wishing i had sum efx to create a harmonic noise wall background - and on to last night - decided to - despite not completely working out the arrangement or solo - because i finally had another 2 lines - and then made up a better on the way there - played hallelujah anyway - the solos were brief and felt like fragmented almost edited - anyway it wuz ok or better and made some connection enough to get attention for the 2nd song - stand by me - which never quite comes out how i think - i have a few alternate arrangements and sometimes mix and match and its straightforward and simple complexity and fragments of similar like dance w me - i count the tears come to mind creep in - anyway - the crowd as it was more than half musicians and their friends those that brought some - they seemed to like it - i was happy enough being on stage - had been hoping it would b a 3 song night and recorded but at the last minnit anyway no recording - maybe next time

sometimes i forget to deeper trance when its time - its the getting on stage - the getting there and not wanting to injure re-injure worsen things somehow

anyway maybe a connection im sure i think actually a eensy teensy bit of magic flickers but that might bee ego sparking

this is the part where

so back to this reality this morning - i think it was raining when we left off - still iz

errands later

anyway hallelujah

[geddy-leesbian]

Y'know, I've read your pinned post so many times, but, gurl, is there really nothing you can do for your condition? Does it just keep getting worse? :<

I can’t even imagine going through that—it’d be a total nightmare. Feels like body horror, really

Honestly, there's not much to be done about it, but it's not the end of the world.

The good thing about it is the "intermittent" part of the name. Other forms of porphyria are chronic and have a more constant impact. AIP is completely asymptomatic outside of attacks, like to the extent it's almost undetectable. When my sister was diagnosed a genetic counselor met with her and my mom who asked if I could be tested since every woman on her side had it, and he said that there was no way to test me until I had an attack. Because it tests for elevated porphyrins in urine, and AIP doesn't affect anything outside of attacks, it will always be a false negative if it isn't done during an attack. Sometimes it can still be a false negative even during the beginning or ending of an attack too. (Now the mayo clinic can do a more reliable test by checking a blood sample for the actual genes, but that's relatively new and it takes several months.) And attacks aren't always frequent. My sister had super frequent attacks as a teenager, but stopped getting them at all by her mid twenties. My mom also has it and she only has about one attack a decade. Some people will only have one attack in their entire lives.

Attacks can be avoidable. Sometimes they're not, but there's triggers to avoid. My second attack this year was completely preventable. There was a day I forgot to eat (yay ADHD med appetite suppression :/) and fasting is a huge trigger. I don't remember if I did anything that might have triggered the first, but at least I know the second was my fault and not just random chance. Overall the triggers aren't difficult to avoid either, day to day, diet is the only thing to worry about. High carb diet and don't cut sugar out entirely, very easy for me to adhere to.

And yeah symptoms just magically stop after attacks end! One night I went to bed with severe pain, dizziness, hallucinations, delirious, then woke up almost perfectly fine. I had some lingering neurological symptoms for a while, but those are gone now too.

I did discover there's now a new drug that actually prevents attacks (before the only treatments in existence would help attacks once they started, but there was nothing preventive) which for 2 seconds was a big relief to know there would be an option if I kept getting them, but...

I learned it would not be an option for me so I just have to avoid triggers and hope I'll be like my mom and only have to deal with it once a decade 🥲

Also weirdly flattered anyone found my post interesting enough to reread! I mean if I'm stuck with a rare disease, at least it's an interesting one!

It's not usually so body horror/nightmarish either. Usually it presents more like a bad stomach virus than anything else. For my sister, her main symptom was always severe abdominal pain and she'd basically be fine with meds. I remember visiting her in the hospital a couple times and she was never close to how I get during attacks, just a bit tired but pretty much herself. My mom got a little fucked up mentally her last attack, but vomiting was her worst symptom and she didn't really have neurological symptoms outside of her feeling a bit out of it. Even outside of my family, abdominal pain and vomiting are the most common symptoms.

I'm just an unlucky outlier that doesn't vomit at all but gets alllllll the neurological issues instead. Which does have a silver lining, I've never had to be hospitalized for it. My mom always does because she can't hold anything down and gets dehydrated on top of everything else, and doctors are stupid assholes that either refuse to believe her when she says she has AIP and won't run the test (the urine test is easy, every single hospital lab can run it, it's just the blood test that takes specialists and a long time) or believes she has it but doesn't know what the proper treatment is and are too arrogant to admit that and just push meds that at best don't work and at worst actively make it worse* 🙃 so I'm glad that I can at least be at home on a couch with my cats instead of being stuck in a hospital.

Thank you for the opportunity to ramble 😊

* there's literally an online drug database for porphyria patients with these classifications

And my mom's been given a medication that's in the definitely porphyrinogenic category during an attack 🫠

[starsoakednight]

19-6-24

Day 5

Everything was so smooth yesterday. I felt comfortable and relaxed and my appetite was back. Right now, I feel his absence in the background, a little bit sadness hovering near my shoulders. I saw a recent social media post he had liked at 2 am last night. Something about being so happy because you found someone with XYZ qualities. The description sounded exactly like me. I felt an instant whooshing sinking feeling in my chest, like someone had pulled my ribcage down. I couldn’t sleep after that. He chose someone when he wanted to. I kept ruminating for over 2 hours or more- overanalyzing, trying to comfort myself, be okay with whatever happened, sitting with the grief and regret and guilt (of ruining things for myself) the terrible feelings of unworthiness but my mind would not rest at all. I kept picturing an imaginary beautiful girl and him being together and loving each other and doing the best by each other.  God. All the things and fun activities I wanted to do with him. Why didn’t he choose me. I tried to connect as best as I could- why wouldn’t he reciprocate or initiate messages. We had so much in common, we could have become really good friends.

I will explore this in therapy but God, I don’t think I am ready to let him go yet even when he didn’t choose me. His fantasy soothes me enough. I think of closure conversations. Last night, I let myself really feel the loss to assess how it would feel when I have cut him off completely. He is gone, I told myself repeatedly. He is not coming back. Don’t hold on to the hope that he will come around- he seems way too emotionally stable for that (which is me storytelling again, I don’t know him that well). The void when he is totally gone from my social media life too and I no longer have access to anything he posts... it hurt. It’s almost been one year since I first messaged him and 6 months when I messaged him last. I don't know why I remain so hopeful about things and struggle to let go. I have always kept myself open to life's possibilities and maybe it is stupid but I keep thinking of this situation in these terms too. It is not like I seek his posts- I have him muted everywhere.

Fantasizing also keeps the loneliness and boredom away. Sure, he has a public account but I know how much pain I will be in if I keep stalking him so I think I won’t go there at all. My younger self doesn’t deserve it. It is terrible to grieve and let go of fantasy bonds. More so than real people because everything is perfect in fantasy. Working on my self-worth is going to take a long time, lol.

Just two hours ago, I was fantasizing about being friends with him. Talking to him about art and books and our shared interests. Grieving again and again, the person I wish he was instead of the person he actually was/is. I will set more social media boundaries though till I feel somehow emotionally ready to delete him for good. Maybe this is how I will cut down on useless doom scrolling lol- I don’t want to make a painful thing more painful by accidentally stumbling on his reels and posts that he is soooo in love and sooo happy while I am here, yearning and longing and rotting (intermittently) for him.

My younger self deserves so much better. From me and relationships in general. I know he will be with me for a while now but I am also hopeful about myself and how I always manage to transform pain into something meaningful.

All feeing is temporary. This too shall pass.

[alvfr]

can i ask how long have you been writing? it blows my mind how good it is. you are very gifted and we’re all so lucky to get to read your works for free and i really hope you publish something big one day

also do you have any tips for new writers? i’ve been writing intermittently for some time but i still find it so hard not to compare myself and get bummed out or discouraged when there’s writing like yours out there 💔

Ps: I’m loving all the snippets of everything you’ve posted. keep up!

Oh, probably forever? I mean, I was making up stories before I could write and made small books by hand before I could type and I remember using my grandfather's clunky old laptop to painstakingly write my first "real" stories after I started school.

I started writing in English when I was probably 12-13 years old though and I'm 30 now so it's been a while. I posted some stuff on Quizilla back in the day (which oddly wasn't fanfic, but original stories), and I posted my first story on FFN when I was around 20 years old I think?

I go through periods of time where I write a lot and then I don't write at all for a while, mostly because real life gets in the way or something drains my creative energy. Like I couldn't write more than one sentence at a time the first year after I had my baby. Not because I didn't have time, but because the baby took all my focus and I did not have anything leftover to be creative.

Anyway, I think my best tip for new writers is just to write a lot. Like allow yourself to practice, to be bad, to experiment, to learn - just like you would any other hobby, you know? I have posted more than 1 million words on AO3, but I probably have more than twice that much that I'm never going to post that's just collecting dust in my dropbox. And that's fine! It's just practice!

Right now, I'm trying to re-learn how to write in my own language again (Norwegian) because it sounds awkward and weird to my ears and that is probably because I haven't written in Norwegian since I left high school - I need to practice.

Also, be careful comparing your first draft with someone else's finished product. I don't spend too much time editing my fanfics (because it takes the fun out of it and I never make progress), but even I re-read my writing a few times and change phrasings here and there to make it flow better. I personally like to read everything out loud (making funny voices during dialogue) to catch if it flows how I want it to flow.

Another tip is to read a lot. Preferably published books, but fanfiction too. I'm a bit weird here because I can't read fanfiction for the fandom I'm writing for and that is just because I know I will start to compare myself to others and be discouraged, just like you mentioned. Both when it comes to writing style and level of engagement. I mean, some fics have 1000s of notes or kudos/comments and I start wondering how bad my writing is because it doesn't get the same response. At one point, I almost wished someone would post a bad review of my story because it would have felt better than the complete radio silence I received. Truth is, I think engagement is mostly related to coincidence. Summaries, tags and format matters, of course, but after that it's just down to luck. If you're lucky, your story will find its readers and if you're especially lucky, those readers will let you know that they liked it :)

I'm wary of reading nothing but fanfiction though because we fanfic writers tend to get influenced by each other and use a lot of the same expressions, I think. There's a reason I never have characters smirk, chuckle or hum anymore because I'm still traumatized by how much I used that when I started writing. It's bad enough with how much eyebrow quirking and raising I manage to add in a single story. Also when it comes to characterizations, I try to stay true to the source material, but it's easy to mistake fanon for canon when you read too much of the same stuff.

Sorry, this got super long. I'm just sorry to hear that you're discouraged, especially because I am the exact same way when it comes to comparing myself to others. We are our own worst critics, but I highly encourage you to keep writing! I cringe when I look back at my first stories, but I would never have improved if I hadn't written those stories in the first place :)

[phoebe-delia]

When This Is Over

YALL I FOUND THIS WIP IN THE DRAFTS OF MY SIDEBLOG FROM *LITERALLY* A YEAR AGO!!! Honest to god, NO idea if I've posted this already; I looked at my blog and at my tagged fics at @drarrymicrofic (wrote this for the now-old prompt: wedding btw) and I didn't see it so I'm going with it. I added an ending after "pretty damn impressive," and I made minor edits to the stuff I wrote before lol. Also this is an AU.

I don't care which china patterns we use; I'm sure you'll choose something delicate and ridiculously expensive and you'll insist on keeping it forever despite the fact that you'll also never let us use it again, let alone allow anyone else to touch it except for you. But it'll make you smile, and that's enough of a reason for me.

I'm going to wear dress robes, which you'll no doubt pick out for me. I don't know or have much of a preference as to what you'll wear, but I know you'll look gorgeous because when I see you wearing that outfit for the first time it'll be when you're walking down the aisle to meet me, and it'll be the best thing I've ever seen.

All I really care about for the planning, other than inviting all our friends and family, is serving good food and dancing to good music. I want us both to know every single song that the DJ plays, and can we please for the love of Merlin ask whoever we hire not to adlib or make commentary during the songs? It's so annoying when they do that. I want to listen to the song, not some stranger stopping the music to scream "WHAT" and "PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR" intermittently into the microphone. And if I hear one—and I mean ONE—strangely upbeat or techno remix of a gorgeous ballad, I'm firing the DJ and plugging in my phone and playing music myself. I was scarred from the guy at Dean and Seamus's wedding who played a remix of "My Heart Will Go On." Scarred, I tell you, which is saying a lot for someone who is literally scarred in several places, and would probably be a prime test subject for a team of psychologists.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, the wedding. As for rings, we're going to pick them out together. There's a jewelry shop in Diagon—well, there was before; I hope it'll still be there when this is all over. But if it's gone we can go somewhere else.

It's weird; everyone's talking about how we need to "make sacrifices" if we're going to defeat Him. But I don't think anyone understands that more than you and me. You sacrificed everything to show up to the Order headquarters, alone and asking for help, for forgiveness. And me—well. I haven't had much of a choice in what I've sacrificed. You did, though, and that's pretty damn impressive.

When this is over, I don't want to make a single compromise that impacts the grand scheme of my life. I want to be greedy; I want to be selfish. I want to grab happiness by the balls and never let it slip through my fingers.

I want to travel the world together. To lie on a beach until my skin grows flushed; hike up a mountain and feel my lungs burn. I want to feel my shirt stick to my skin from how much I'm sweating while we dance in a packed club, in a city where we don't speak the language; you'll move in close and grind your arse against me, throwing your head back against my shoulder to demand, through hot panted breaths, to take you home. I will, immediately, because of all the things I want for the rest of my life, you're at the top of the list.

I don't care where we are, or what we're doing, when this is all over. As long as I'm with you.

[sketchyandirregular]

Finally, I finished the new reference sheets for this little oc series! Now I can scream into the void about them, and then probably go back to alternating between reblogging fandom stuff and sheer radio silence until my next spontaneous oc post. Not that anyone’s in the audience anyway, but yknow, they’re also visible on my Toyhou.se.

Offbeat Avenue is a strange slice of fantasy universe that I’ve been tinkering with for several years. It ultimately revolves around the everyday troubles and chaos of two human-demon halfblood twins, whose measly mentally ill little lives are the somewhat disparate foreground to an arguably unnecessarily vast interdimensional magical backdrop. The titular place is the street which they live on, in a human city with an ambitious tech scene, modern socioeconomic classism, and a mysterious, rumored-to-be-enchanted forest. The main themes include found family, the power of community, and self-improvement.

Being as old of an oc project as it is, it’s just plain convoluted. Somewhere in my dusty old skull is a dream to turn it into an animated show or comic or creative property of some kind, so I’ve been clanging away at it intermittently between the woes of art college and lying motionless in my room after every stressful day of doing things… Well, that and comfort characters is my favorite kind of copium. I assume the sea of fandom-focused Tumblr is an ok place to drop these rambles because I guess it means I don’t have to really confront my fear of putting my work out there, yet. (How does one learn to balance professionalism and being real with an audience? I swear I just feel lame and overshare-y every time.)

Anywho, the main cast is as follows:

HATSUMOTO HIRABAYASHI: A human/demon halfblood that inherited so little magic that everyone decided it entitled him to the family heirloom of an animated snake amulet guardian. Good thing his parents gave that to him before dying in a car crash. Add in a second car crash and “gift” of a bionic eye, and now he feels indebted to the local faceless tech corporation that inspired him in his youth, who’s generously given this high school dropout a rather unfulfilling janitorial job at one of their offices. Hooray. At least he can talk a walk into the fenced-off mysterious forest behind his backyard when he’s sad.

He’s known for being an anxious depressed mess with a nerdy heart in robotics, reptiles, and fantasy. You can tell them apart because upon being thrust anywhere out of his house, Hatsu will always look like he’s hoping he can melt into dust and disintegrate. Despite being 6’7” just like his brother, he slouches practically enough to pass as 5’10’. Sometimes, you could catch him jotting down sci-fi dreams and ideas in a notebook that he will downplay as “nothing”.

Romance-wise, his girlfriend is a witch (belonging to WhiteRabbitTea’s “Storytime” on Toyhou.se) who, in addition to being caught in her own battles, has been trying to convince Hats that he’s strong enough to fight his battles— both the one with his inner demons and the one with his sucky coworkers.

DH (demon hatsumoto) HIRABAYASHI: A human/demon halfblood that inherited so much magic that he hardly knows what to do with all the portals, teleporting, and time on his hands. Too bad his parents didn’t warn him how to use it before he caused a car crash. Add in an existential crisis and inferiority complex from magical soul troubles in his youth manifesting as something akin a Hollywood version of DID, and now he’s very dangerous and maladapted even after Hats’ gf helped separate them with a mirror spell. At least his skills help him be a fearsome mercenary. Hooray?

To the dismay of his brother, he’s known for interdimensional chaos so superficial that it usually entails him opening portals to just use the void beyond as a cooler for vodka. His shark tooth grin is just as infamous, next only to his insatiable appetite. A guy’s gotta get the energy for his demon magic somehow. Other than, he has a surprisingly artistic streak, especially in graffiti.

Romance-wise, his theyfriend is a witch (also belonging to WhiteRabbitTea) in a similar existential “evil twin” situation, who compliments DH’s loud, brash violence with a quiet, poetic glare. They’ve tried to convince DH to stop burning his own paintings, but finds better success at calming him with home cooked food.

WILLA WARDLOW: A little bunny girl stuck in Hatsu’s city after a family trip to study the enchanted forest went up in flames. One traumatizing adjustment later, and she’s sent to live with the Hirabayashi twins, sparking a newfound sense of brotherly responsibility in Hatsu and a newfound protectiveness in DH. She herself wasn’t born magical, but the arcane happenings around her are very inspirational.

Not many know her, since Hats’ anxiety means he tries to keep her at home and out of trouble, but to the rest of the cast, she’s either known as the ambitious witchling—drawn to fantasy literature, role play games, and studying the oddities of her brothers’ neighborhood— or the glue that keeps the twins reluctantly together.

MALLY STONEBREATH: What was once a human was turned into a hodgepodge of cat, wolf, dragon, and who knows what else by an unauthorized homemade mad scientist living in Hatsu’s neighborhood and obsessed with the forest. He, then a baby, was deemed a failure and thrown away like a doll before being found by curious dragonlings playing raccoon. Long story short, he now lives happily with a draconic polycule family in the enchanted woods. Under the cover of night, he likes to wander into the city, inheriting his brothers’ curiosity.

Their family named them “Malice” as an inside joke for how their optimism and naïveté often landed him in trouble. Eventually, their nickname came about as a more accurate way to describe them. Other than that, ideally, no one outside the woods but Hatsu and his few friends know about them at all. Said small circle sees them as a ray of sunlight— the new perspective that Hatsu kinda needs… even if they have trouble understanding how positivity can be toxic.

ELIJAH EMERAGOLD: A teenage elf that doesn’t really remember his bio parents or the demonic force that pushed them to emigrate across dimensions anymore. His main concern these days is managing the bar that his late adoptive human grandad left him, making sure his brother doesn’t get back into depression drinking, and grappling with his sheltered childhood. This latter battle has led him to seek out real battles as a mercenary— a hole that he dug with the help of a shapeshifter, and which constantly brings him face to face with jaded pessimism and questions of morality.

He’s known as the stoic, grumpy counterpart to his brother— someone who bar patrons know not to pester, or else. Unfortunately, his friends know that this murderous silhouette is mostly a facade; he’s really a relatively stand-up, if not pretty stuck-up, silly little guy. His brother, most of all, knows him as the quiet, smart, prone-to-being-overstimulated, musician and archer.

ELLIOT EMERAGOLD: A elf that’s still rather stuck in the nervous, agoraphobic habits ingrained by well meaning parents as refugees from the demon king’s conquests. After the disappearance of his parents and death of the kindly bar owner that took them in, he tends to spend his days steeped in a somber grief, not that most people notice with his warm smile and friendly demeanor.

He’s known as the life of the family bar, entertaining patrons both magical and not with telekinetic tricks and casual conversation. He loves hearing the stories of other people’s adventures and travels— except for that of his brother and his merc friends. He often feels like he failed Eli as an older sibling.

Romance-wise, his boyfriend is Zack (belonging to cnidaria4’s “What Do They Know” on Toyhou.se), a kind of demon, who can, in short, relate to having met a very unfriendly world. They compliment each other well— the introvert to Elliot’s thoughtful extrovert.

AMY MIMIKRE: A pink shapeshifter inheriting the infamous mercenary title of her family, alongside the questionable ethics and logic that comes with having been raised in a life of crime— by which I mean, she’s loyal to a fault to those she sees as worthy company and crew, but also sees no issue in hiring teenagers. The more the merrier, am I right? No interdimensional nomad’s life is complete if they’re always lonely at camp.

They’re known in the verboten underbelly of magic society as “The Pink Thunder”, a vicious predator that can appear either as a house cat or a full on panther depending on the size of your bounty or whether you’ve wronged her. Her friends know her more as a quirky older sibling, who can both give a tough spar when you need a distraction, or even occasionally sprout some kind of odd wisdom about chosen family or having confidence.

Other than that, there’s some other side characters, including a dwarf mayor of a criminal town that runs on a truce agreement, the exasperated Lord of the Underworld, the occasional odd neighbor, and more that hasn’t yet exactly been fleshed out!

I guess I’m done rambling for now.

[theo-decker]

Ok this is a boring post I'm sooo cosypilled!! I have been getting 10 hours sleep a night. Since I'm a light sleeper who wakes up often I think I must be one of those ppl that has serious sleep needs and has to stay in bed for a long time, and I've been unwittingly giving myself brain damage by thinking 7 hours a night is good enough 😔 I also think one major cause of my chronic insomnia is fear of sleeping in too late so being able to sleep through most of the morning cos of my cram school job (I start at 11am) has helped me. I have noticed all kinds of interesting effects from getting more sleep, for example I used to have no appetite in the morning but now I am ready to eat after like 45 minutes of being awake, so that means I don't end up doing an all-day fast followed by giant sugar spike as soon as I finished work... I don't care what intermittent fasters say, that does not feel healthy for my system lol. Hope I can continue in this era of the cosy sleepy.. 🙏🛌

[iironwreath]

Fair [Cihro]

[218-219]

Brunch wasn’t the only thing on Cihro’s docket for his date with Raidak. If they had the whole afternoon to themselves, he would use every minute he could. With so much of his time demanded by world-saving only paused by sleep, he understood the value of every second. 

They had taken to strolling the streets after eating, but it didn’t take Cihro long to turn to Raidak. “Wanna race?” 

Raidak met him with a competitive gleam in his eyes. “Where?”

Cihro pointed. “The western gates.”

“Flying, I presume?”

“You know it.”

Without warning or countdown, Cihro shot off. Raidak gave a startled bark and ran after him briefly on foot, then lifted off half a second after. It wasn’t fair—Cihro had the jump on most people besides Hope—but it was all in good fun. 

Westruun whipped by too quickly to admire. With a proper skyport, having a bird’s eye view of the city wouldn’t be a novelty for long. Between the Yuminor Observatory and Greystone Tower, looking down on the city was mostly reserved for the scholars and spellcasters and the skyships that passed overhead.

It wasn’t a short sprint—the race took about five minutes even at top speed. Cihro knew the city better than Raidak, but he realized early on he didn’t stand a chance. Raidak could’ve left him in the dust, but he had the decency to humour him by pretending to match his speed. Not enough to lose on purpose—in the last five hundred feet, Raidak vanished in a flare of green magic and reappeared on the city ramparts.

The guards posted along the wall jumped and spun their crossbows on Raidak, lowering them when they registered who it was. Cihro closed in half a minute later, waving them off.

Cihro preserved his dignity by landing with grace and not stumbling to a halt. He wasn’t winded, exactly—he wouldn’t have been able to sprint that long on foot so well, but he’d exerted himself by channeling his speed through the winged boots.

“No fair,” Cihro said. He grinned, though—how could he be mad, with how Raidak preened at the win? 

“You never laid out any rules,” Raidak pointed out. “You forfeit fairness the second you took off.”

“I don’t put much stock in rules, I figured one of us would break ‘em. I’m just glad you didn’t start casting spells at me.”

“Is there a prize for first place?”

“The satisfaction of beating Westruun’s uncatchable crime lord. Oh, and this.” Cihro flipped him off. Raidak laughed. “I knew I couldn’t win, especially if you were a dragon, so I had to take my advantage where I could.”

“I don’t think I’ll be flying over Westruun as a dragon anytime soon,” Raidak said, casting a mournful expression over the city rolled out behind them. 

“Yeah, best not to.” Cihro also gave Westruun a lingering look. Beyond the eastern walls, crops laid trampled and razed by Tiamat’s cult. A path of buildings, even the intermittent towers, were chipped and missing chunks of themselves, mapping a trail of destruction. It would be a while before any dragons were welcome or tolerated in the skies no matter their intent. 

Westruun wouldn’t forget anytime soon. It was for Raidak’s protection as much as the city’s peace of mind. 

Cihro turned his attention to the Bramblewood. Its boughs thickened with spring, melding into the mountains that sloped then speared into the sky. The seasons would cycle, the moons would wax and wane, and Westruun would rebuild and nurture its crops back to health. 

“Wanna fly further?” Cihro asked. “No race, just flying.”

“Where to this time?”

“The mountains.”

Raidak considered, stroking his chin.

“We’re a bit all over the place, so I think it’s fine,” Cihro assured. “So long as we’re in pairs. If there’s an emergency, you can teleport us back.”

“You do realize what a powerful spell that is, don’t you?”

“Sure I do. I’ve been with the Thorns since the beginning, I know how long it took the others to learn it. But an emergency is good cause to use a powerful spell, right?”

“True enough. Lead the way.”

Cihro floated off the wall, Raidak gliding leisurely after him. It took them longer to reach the mountainside at a relaxed speed, and they flew in and settled like a pair of birds. Cihro swung his legs over a ledge and patted the empty space beside him. Raidak joined him, hands coming to rest above his knees.

The distance from Westruun helped conceal some of its wounds. It looked more itself, even if they knew better. It was more whole than broken. Cihro breathed a sigh, not realizing his shoulders had clung onto some tension. Raidak did the same in his peripheral. His hands left his legs and settled flat onto the ground by his hips.

Cihro brushed his pinky against the side of Raidak’s hand. Raidak glanced first at their hands, eyebrows up, then at Cihro’s face. 

“Can I hold your hand?” Cihro asked, stroking again, so Raidak couldn’t confuse it for an accident.

Raidak nodded. Cihro slipped his fingers under Raidak’s hand and transferred it to his lap, knuckles up. It was his right hand, the scales the deep red of hot coals ready to ignite. The scales were more concentrated on the back of his hand—Cihro traced them lightly, the edges where they met skin and where they overlapped each other. They vanished under his sleeve, no doubt climbing his arms. Cihro wondered how much skin they covered—he’d never seen Raidak wearing robes that that didn't end at the wrist.

Raidak’s arm, sheathed in form-fitting black armour, was one of the first parts of him Cihro had seen. His face, shaded by a hooded cloak, had mostly been chin and a sneer. Even though all they’d done was sit next to each other as spectators, Cihro had felt a frisson of fear. Power and magic had always enveloped him. He had the power not just to enact change through his magic, but by his tenacity, ambition, and at the time, greed. 

These were hands that had originally unnerved Cihro, belonging to someone working for the opposing side. Hands that had toiled away at the experiments fighting in Cinder’s arena—the same experiments that had likely been used as part of the siege on Westruun. Raidak was constantly inflicted with his former work terrorizing the people he now swore to protect. The ramifications of his actions—his legacy—weren't just immediate, but lasting, at least until the Thorns snuffed them out.

Cihro didn't think of Raidak’s hands that way anymore, but it must have been a challenge for him. Cihro had lived the consequences of his own actions, albeit on a smaller, more intimate scale. The bigger they grew, the larger their footprints.

Cihro tried not to think in balancing scales. If they all tried to keep perfect harmony between those they harmed and those they helped, they’d lose their damn minds. What benefitted one person could have condemned another. They could only do what they needed to survive and what they thought was right, even if it turned out to be wrong later. Some wrongs could be righted, others had to be worked at. The Gilded Thorns could share their thoughts with each other and come to a collective decision to minimize damage. Raidak had been in a cult—effectively isolated even if he was part of a group. He hadn’t had good people to hold him accountable like Cihro had. 

Cihro didn’t know if he considered himself good and moral, but he had at least learned that being good was a job never finished. The churning tapestry of the world would always have its imbalances and injustices. Raidak might not have been able to permanently undo the damage, but he was actively fighting. His hands belonged on their side—they ferried them around, they healed Orla, they helped depose Arkhan, they helped keep a mask away from the cult for as long as possible. 

Hands that belong linked with his.

“I wanted to apologize,” Cihro said, ending the comfortable silence. Raidak had, predictably, turned a new shade of pink while Cihro held his hand. Cihro smiled, rubbing his thumb along the length of each finger one at a time, feeling each bone and crease and nail, hoping the touch wouldn't distract from what he was saying. “I didn’t mean anything by being crass earlier. I had to ask because ‘companionship’ can have a lot of double meanings. When you go to an inn and ask for companionship it usually means you’re asking for somebody to have sex with.”

Raidak huffed a laugh. “See, I wouldn’t know these things.”

“I’m not trying to take advantage of you or anything. I wasn’t asking because I wanted to—I mean I would like to eventually—but I’m not trying to rush you into it.”

“I trust that you’re not. I know you well enough to know when you’re sincere. You’ve become equally good at showing your feelings as you are at hiding them.”

“I've learned when to shut it off,” Cihro agreed. “You can’t blame me for enjoying flustering a dragon, though.”

“I’ll try not to make it so easy, but it’ll take some practice.” 

“You’re a quick study.”

Raidak shuffled closer so their knees skimmed one another. “Thank you for today. I’m…glad I got to experience a date.”

The end of his sentence was hidden, written invisibly: glad he got to experience a date before the potential end. 

Cihro’s smile was all warmth; he laced their fingers together and squeezed. “My pleasure—thanks for suggesting it. I’m glad you got to experience it, too. You make a good date.”

[infinity0nhigh]

it’s funny how the era of “self-care” and recovery and “healing your inner child” and going to therapy and “setting healthy boundaries with everyone” and mental health mood check-in apps and wellness/yoga and meditation and “look out for these red flags”* therapyspeak “treat yourself!” bordering on hedonism and self-obsession IS ALSO…

…the era of climate collapse, of an increasingly more and more stress-inducing fast-paced society full of [understandably] miserable worker bees who are getting worked to the bone by their bosses, hookup apps to “swipe right” on the next person you’ll having meaningless, shallow sex with, THE WORST mindless consumerism the world has ever seen with the rise of cheap fast fashion shit like SHEIN and Temu, number of homeless people ever-increasing at a rate that’ll make your head spin (when the gov’t could absolutely house them all, but they just choose Not To for some fucked up reason), and highest suicide rates we’ve ever seen.

but like. yay I guess… we’re ✨healing our inner children✨ and doing keto and intermittent fasting and we feel great actually! nothing is wrong!! don’t look behind the curtain!!!!! our anxiety is caused by mental illness/chemical imbalance in the brain and is highly individualistic, and has absolutely NOTHING to do with the way modern society is structured!! haha! it’s not situational, there’s no correlation at all! /s

(okay, enough ranting…) BUT. like that other post said…… I will continue to cling to hope and crawl toward a better, healthier future for myself even though the world is trying to suffocate us!!! even though climate change is causing the polar ice caps to melt, I have to look on the bright side and smell the flowers (while they’re still here) and comb my worries and fix my thoughts and try my best despite it all. despite despite despite!!!!!!

* there’s not necessarily anything wrong with these things; it’s good to want to work on yourself and utilize tools that make this easier for you. I just wanted to juxtapose it to the way the world works.