#i know a lot of people have said this before but

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Doctor’s Orders

“Miss, please follow me into the exam room.”

I look up to see a sweet nurse smile at me and wave me over. I smile back at her and stand up from the waiting room chair, following her through the doors of the clinic. She leads me into a standard exam room and after giving me quick instructions to take off my clothes and get comfortable, she leaves me, promising the doctor will be here to see me shortly.

I look around the sterile room, taking in framed stock images tastefully arranged along the walls and the stack of various medical pamphlets about STDs and safe sex. I take a deep breath and start to undress. I’ve waited so long to come see this doctor and I’m not going to let my nerves get the best of me now. The doctor I’m here to see is a specialist in anorgasmia, the inability to orgasm.

I’ve never been able to achieve orgasm, no matter what I’ve tried. Numerous partners have tried, I’ve purchased countless toys and lubricants, even going as far as trying hypnosis. Nothing has worked and I had almost given up hope when I’d stumbled across this doctor and his specialty.

It took months for me to get an appointment, and the screening process was incredibly intensive. Apparently, he’s extremely selective in the patients he chooses to see so when I got the call that he was willing to fit me into his schedule, I was ecstatic. Maybe I can finally say goodbye to my inability to orgasm.

A soft knock at the door startles me and I watch as the doctor opens the door and steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He’s younger than I thought he’d be. I’d been picturing a middle-aged man, maybe with some greying hair and glasses. Instead, he’s handsome, fit, and I can see the sparkle in his eyes as he greets me cheerfully.

“Good afternoon! I’m sorry for the wait but I hope you’re comfortable! It is lovely to meet you.” His voice is smooth, comforting, and when I extend my hand out to shake his outstretched one, his touch is gentle but strong.

I smile back at him, feeling some of my previous anxiety fade away. “No worries at all, I’m happy to be here.”

I watch as he opens grabs a chair and sits in front of the computer, logging in to pull up my medical chart. “Now, let’s see here, you’re here for anorgasmia I see.” I feel my cheeks flush at the clinical way he’d said it and he catches my blush as he glances up from the computer screen.

He gives me a comforting smile, “Don’t be embarrassed. A lot more women experience anorgasmia than people think, and it’s something that we can fix. I promise, there is nothing to be embarrassed about here.”

I give him a small smile back, the sincerity in his words soothing me.

“Now, I know you filled out a very long questionnaire already and I’ve already reviewed that so we’re going to get right to a physical exam to start.” He pushes away from the computer and stands up, walking over to where I’m sitting on the exam table.

“Can you take off your bra and underwear for me, please?” I nod, steeling my nerves before following his instructions. My nipples immediately harden into peaks at the cold air of the exam room and I feel so exposed with my entire body naked in front of him.

He unhooks stirrups from the bottom of the exam table and clicks them into place. “Prop your feet into there for me and spread your legs,” his voice is purely professional and I do what he asks. Placing my feet into the stirrups leaves me completely exposed and a small shiver goes through me as cold air brushes against my core.

“Now lean back and look up at the ceiling for me. We’re going to start with just a simple physical exam to make sure everything is normal anatomically. Then, we’ll move on to a few other tests for sensation and sensitivity. If at any point you have questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?” He looks at me with care and I nod back, feeling comforted by his words and clear attentiveness.

He rolls his chair to between my propped-up legs and takes a seat, facing me. “My hands are a little cold but don’t worry, we’ll warm up in no time.” I let out a gasp when his indeed cold hands come to rest on my thighs. His fingers are gentle as he brushes against my center, his movements confident as he pokes and prods around.

I stay still as I feel him gently pull me apart, letting cold air rush against my core and clit. I bite back a gasp at the sensation. I feel him press against my clit, maneuvering my clit hood out of the way to reveal the bud. A swipe of his finger against my exposed bundle of nerves makes me jolt and I let out a sharp gasp this time.

“Sorry! How did that feel?” He asks, his voice apologetic.

I take a second to gather myself before answering. “It felt intense. Good but almost a little overwhelming.”

“Hm, that’s good,” he says, “That means you have a fair amount of clitoral sensitivity. We’ll do a more in-depth examination later but it’s a good sign.”

I hear the scrape of his chair against the floor and glance up to see his standing. “I’m going to grab some lubricant and we’ll do an internal exam next.” I nod and watch as he squirts a dollop of lube onto his fingers.

He settles himself back in between my legs and I shiver at the cold feeling of the lube. He’s purely professional as he spreads the lube over me and slowly works a single finger into me. I bite my lip to tamp down any sounds I want to make.

“I’m going to test your g-spot next,” he says and I feel his finger crook upwards inside of me, brushing against the spongy clump of nerves inside of me. The sensation shoots through me and I led out a slow breath.

“That’s it, you’re doing really well. Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” His fingers scissor inside of me and I let out a soft whimper. “Does that feel good?” His voice comes out in a lower register than before. “Come on, use your words. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how it feels.”

I whimper again, “Mm yes, it feels good.”

“Good, so you have no problems with vaginal arousal and lubrication,” he says, his voice almost a purr now. “Don’t hold back, we want to make sure you’re giving your full reaction to everything that’s happening to help me understand what’s happening here.”

At his words, I let out another whimper, feeling the slow drag of his fingers against the sensitive walls of my pussy. He presses his fingers against my g-spot again and my back arches as pleasure shoots through me.

“Tell me, is this level of sensitivity and sensation reflective of how you normally feel during intercourse?” I take a second to catch my breath and think before I answer him.

“I think so, I’m usually pretty sensitive to sensation, it just never seems to culminate into an orgasm. A lot of times, I get too overstimulated to continue and I can’t cum.”

“Hm, I see,” his voice takes on a more contemplative tone. He pulls his fingers out of me, and I almost want to whimper at the loss.

“Well, I have a few theories but I’m going to do a more hands-on test to get a clearer answer of what we’re dealing with here. Lie back for me and relax.”

I lean my head back, staring up at the ceiling of the room and I feel him walk away for a second. He reappears at my side for a moment, and suddenly, I feel something encircle my wrist and hear a click. I jerk in surprise, glancing down to see that he’d cuffed me down to the table. My eyes meet his and smiles at me.

“Don’t worry, this is just to keep you still during the examination. The less movement there is from you, the easier it is for me to do my job. If at any point, you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we’ll stop, okay?” His words soothe the panic that rose up in my chest at the idea of being restrained and I give my consent. He smiles at me and makes quick work of clicking my other wrist into a cuff. Next, my ankles are strapped down to the stirrups and my thighs held apart by more cuffs. There’s even one that goes around my waist to keep my torso still.

“Good, how do you feel? Are any of the restraints hurting you?”

I shake my head in response, “No, I’m okay.”

He smiles at me again and I watch him open a drawer from across the exam room. “We’re going to introduce some equipment to help me get a better gauge of what we’re dealing with here.” My eyes widen as I watch him pull out several industrial looking sex toys.

“Let’s start with clitoral stimulation,” he says, setting down the toys except for one. He shows me the toy, it looks almost like an electric toothbrush with a wider body and a very thin head. “This is a very precise vibrator. Most commercial vibrators people tend to purchase have a much larger surface area, which can be very good for folks who are highly sensitive in all areas, but it doesn’t offer much precision in targeting specific parts of the clitoris. This one doesn’t have that problem since it has a much smaller head. Now this one is also pre-set to have 10 very well-calibrated intensity settings. Depending on your reaction to each setting, I can make better conclusions about your clitoral sensitivity. We’re going to go through the settings from low to high and I want you to continue to be vocal and tell me what you’re feeling, okay?”

I nod, “Okay, but what if I get too overstimulated?”

He gives me a comforting smile, “Just tell me and we’ll stop and re-evaluate if it happens.”

I nod again and he sits back down between my legs to get started.

I hear the toy click on, presumably at the first level based on the low, quiet buzzing sound its emitting. I gasp when I feel his fingers gently pull my pussy apart to reveal my clit, already erect and throbbing from his earlier treatment.

A moan escapes from my throat when I feel the toy make first contact. It feels so much more intense than any other toy I’ve ever had. The precision of the toy and the ease in which he handles it means that the vibrations are pressed right against my exposed clit, forcing the collection of raw nerves to submit to the sensations.

“How’s that?” He asks, his voice making me scramble to get ahold of myself to give a coherent response. “It feels so intense but in a good way.”

“Good, that’s good. Just relax and let yourself feel.” He murmurs, keeping the vibrator pressed tightly against me.

My eyes drift shut as I feel the sensation overtake me. The pleasure is forming a haze around my mind, every thought getting chased away by the feeling between my legs.

I hear his voice again, “I’m going to increase to the second setting. Just stay relaxed for me.”

I let out a whimper in response as the toy clicks up a level. The pleasure intensifies but there’s also a building sensation of raw overstimulation that is starting to arise. We’re nearing the point where I would normally stop and take a break but I don’t want to tell him that yet. I want to let him keep going, because maybe today is the day I finally get to cum.

I bite back a whine and clench my fists at my sides.

“Increasing to level 3 now.” He says, resting a hand on my thigh as his other one holds the toy firmly against me. The increase this time makes a cry rip out of me and my eyes fly open to meet his.

“Ah- it’s so much, I’m getting overstimulated.” I whimper out, my hands clenching and unclenching in an effort to control myself. He nods but doesn’t make any move to pull the toy away or decrease the setting.

“Try and tough it out for me for a bit more, I want to see if we can overcome the overstimulation.” He gives me a comforting smile and gently pats my thigh.

I take a deep breath and nod, letting my eyes drift shut.

“Increasing to level 4 now,” he says and the vibrator switches to a higher intensity before I can protest.

“Wait! Wait, please, just give me a moment, please!” I gasp out as the sensations shoot through me entire body. He shakes his head, “You’re doing great, just relax and let it happen.”

I whine as tears are gathering in my eyes. I’m walking the very thin line of pain and pleasure as the vibrator forces breathtaking feeling onto me while riding my nerves to the sharp edges of overstimulation. I hear his voice again and my heart drops when I register his words. “Increasing to level 5.”

A scream bursts out of me as all of the sensations compound and increase. It’s too much, I can’t do this. I can’t tell if I’m close to cumming, I just know that I’ve been absolutely thrown over my threshold for sensation and I can’t take anymore. I sob out my begs to my doctor.

“Please! No more, please stop! STOP! It’s too much! I can’t take it!” My body is shaking and I’m fighting with everything I have against the restraints but nothing gives. His hand on my thigh has turned into an iron grip, holding me down so I can’t even shift my hips to escape the relentlessly accurate vibrations.

“PLEASE! STOP!” I sob. There’s nothing to save me. He doesn’t listen, he might’ve said something to me but I’m too far gone to hear. All I know is the torturous pleasure dominating every single nerve of my body.

Beneath the horrible overstimulation, I feel a warm thread of something else. Something pulsing through my body, filling me with pure pleasure. I whimper as the feeling starts to build, my every muscle seeming to tighten in response to it.

There’s a knot building in my stomach, spreading throughout my body. Coupled with the overstimulation, I feel ravaged and decimated, every nerve pulled bare and shocked by the live wire of sensation that’s forced upon me. Before I can even begin to articulate it, I feel the vibrator kick up another setting and I scream as it shatters me.

I cum. For the first time in my life, I cum. My scream seems to shake the very foundation of the building we’re in as the pleasure, pain, and sensation flood my body, every cell of my body bursting with it. I can’t do anything except ride the relentless wave of pleasure, my entire body a slave to the whims of that horrible, terrible, delicious, mind-altering pleasure.

I slowly come down from the high of my first orgasm, gasps shaking my body as my mind struggles to reengage with reality. I blink tears out of my eyes, and I look up to see my doctor standing over me, holding the toy that he’s mercifully removed from my clit.

“Good job, sweet girl,” he purrs, running his hand up my thigh to cup my pussy gently. The soft motion is enough to make me whimper. “How did that feel, darling?” The terms of endearment make me pause but I’m too hazy to really digest it all.

I clear my throat and swallow, my voice raw from the screaming and begging. “I- It felt really good but it was so much,” I whisper, “I don’t know if I can do that again.”

He smirks and suddenly, I’m hit with a wave of uncertainty. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there previously and it makes me nervous. Something about the way he is looking at me is so different now than earlier, with his cool professionalism and niceties. Now, I feel like a specimen under a microscope and he, the scientist who plans on dissecting me.

“I think, I think I need a break. Can we finish this appointment another time?” I murmur, pulling slightly at my restraints and looking at him.

He lets out a low laugh that makes my skin pebble with nerves. “Oh no, now that I know what the problem is, I can’t let you leave until we fix it. What kind of doctor would I be if I let my patients leave without being cured?”

I shake my head, “I don’t understand,” I whisper. “You made me cum, doesn’t that mean I’m cured?”

He smirks at me and he slides a finger into my pussy, making me gasp. “Not at all, we’ve proven that you indeed can orgasm, but there is still much to be examined in terms of the extent of your orgasms. Plus, we have several more levels of this vibrator to get through and we haven’t even begun to work on your pussy and g-spot yet.”

My eyes widen at his words and the curling feeling of fear truly takes root inside of me. “Wait no, please, I don’t want to continue with any of that anymore. Please, just let me go!”

The look on his face is one of glee as he sees my terror become apparent. “Now now, you don’t want to leave against my medical advice, do you? Plus, darling, you consented to following through with my professional recommendations when you signed up to be a patient. There’s no backing out of this now. And especially when I know how sensitive of a whore you are, darling.” He chuckles.

I whimper, “Please, no, I don’t want this.”

He bends down to lean in close to me. “Well, I don’t give a shit about what you want. You are the most unique case of sensitivity I’ve ever seen, and I plan to take full advantage of that while I have you here. So be a good girl for me and enjoy this.” He presses his lips to the side of my neck and the feeling makes me tremble.

He ignores the rest of my protests and goes back to sitting between my legs. I watch in fear as he holds up the vibrator and clicks it on. “We stopped at level 6 last time, that’s where we’ll resume. And scream all you want, sweet girl, these walls are soundproof and won’t let a speck of sound through.”

I do indeed scream when he presses the vibrator against me again.

This time, there’s no build up of pleasure or stimulation. It all slams into me all at once and I writhe against my restraints as everything overwhelms me. I vaguely hear a low laugh permeate the space around me but I can’t focus enough to pick out any other noise amidst my own sobs.

My doctor stops giving me any verbal cues, not that I’m coherent enough to even understand at this point. All I know is the punishing vibrator held against my clit, ravaging my body and turning me inside out. The claws of pleasure are embedded deep into my psyche and my body is at its complete whim.

I have no idea how much time has passed or whether I even stayed conscious for the entire duration of the torture but eventually, I realize that he’s stopped. The vibrator is off but my body was still shaking from phantom sensations, every inhale of air a sharp stab, and every sob a reminder of how broken I am.

Slowly, I register the sound of his low laugh. I whimper as I blink away my tears to look at him. “You, my sweet girl, are truly remarkable. I don’t think you realize since you were so out of it, but we were at the highest setting for the past ten minutes and you didn’t even cum once. I’ve never come across someone so fucking sensitive and yet so resistant to orgasm. It’s incredible because you don’t seem to become desensitized either.”

I whimper and my voice cracks when I speak. “Please, please, just let me go. I can’t handle any more. I won’t tell anyone about this, please just stop doing this.”

He smiles at me and for a brief moment, I see the professional, nice, kind, good doctor from earlier. But all my hope is washed away when I feel his fingers press against my core again.

“I can’t do that, darling. We still have your precious pussy left to work on,” his voice is filled with excitement and it makes me want to cry because I know what is coming next and I’m not sure I will survive.

I watch him exchange the vibrator for a huge dildo. He smirks and presses a button on the underside of it and the entire thing begins to vibrate. “I think we can go ahead and skip to the higher settings here.”

Tears fill my eyes and I shake my head at him as pleas fall from my lips. He ignores me as he lines the dildo up with my core. I tremble as the vibrations make me shudder without the toy even breaching me yet.

He catches my eye and I watch as he gives me a wink and proceeds to slam the dildo home inside of me. I arch my back and let out a devastated cry. The toy fills me to the brim, the vibrations ravaging my sensitive walls and my g-spot in a way that makes my eyes roll back.

I’m sobbing and shaking as he drives the dildo in and out of my pussy. Every movement against my overstimulated walls tortures me. The pleasure digs its claws into me and drags me back into its embrace. My entire being submits and I feel my mind’s grasp on my sanity loosen as every single facet of my existence narrows to pleasure.

Each thrust seems to make my sensitivity grow, every single muscle in my body aching and begging for relief. I feel his hand clamp down on my thigh as the other continues to work the dildo inside of me. I want to rip myself out of my body to make this torture end but there’s nothing I can do. Every push and pull shoves my body higher and higher to a peak that I can never seem to reach. There’s no culminating release of pleasure to make this all better, no soft wash of an orgasm to soothe every jagged nerve. There’s only him and the torturous pleasure he imparts onto my very soul.

An unfathomable amount of time later, I feel him finally turn off the toy and pull it out of me. I barely register the lewd sound of my cunt clenching around the toy, my pussy still weeping with arousal even after the devastation he brought upon me.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, are we done? Please, I can’t take anymore, please let me go.”

He brushes my hair off my forehead and he smirks at me. “Oh, sweet girl, I can’t let you go now. I’m going to be keeping you as my perfect little toy. There are still so many other things I want to try on you. I’m going to push every single limit you have until you break for me.” A soft whine escapes from me and I know there is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise. My head lolls from exhaustion and I feel my grasp on consciousness start to loosen.

The last thing I hear is his voice. “Sleep, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

[reasonsforhope]

Climate change in 2025: So, what now?

Some real talk for the new year, about where we now stand, and what the next years are going to look like.

(Still ends on a “be hopeful!! or else” kind of note, but definitely gets into some heavy truths about the meaning of recent events.)

--

Obviously, between Trump's reelection at the Los Angeles fires, things are feeling a lot more precarious than they did just a few months ago. I know a lot of people are incredibly stressed. I know I'm certainly stressed.

But this isn't the end. This isn't the beginning of the end, either. We're not doomed.

Don't despair.

Yes, things are about to get harder. Yes, the effects of climate change are now becoming truly apparent.

But here's what you need to hold on to:

We have already cut expected warming in half.

More about that including sources here: (x) I'm not going to go into it again in detail, read the source for that. But it's true. In 2000, when I was a kid, they were predicting 4, 5, 6 degrees of warming, plus a runaway greenhouse effect that would boil the planet.

Now, scientists expect that global temperatures will likely land between 2 and 3 degrees.

Which is incredibly shitty, yes. But it's survivable.

And I have for a lot of reasons (check these masterposts on this) to believe with the confidence of knowing that we're going to get expected warming down even further.

And that's something to celebrate.

I’m not saying that the effects of warming aren’t already bad, or won’t get worse. I’m from California, I currently live in LA. My state’s been on fire for half my life. Natural disasters starting amping up early here (and we’re certainly in the middle of another historic number now). And yeah, it's fucking stressful right now.

But like I said, my state’s been breaking horrible disaster records constantly for the past ten years. I've done this before. And you know what? Natural disasters have been getting more and more survivable for years, largely thanks to faster warnings and better mass communication (x).

Does it suck how many natural disasters there are now? Yeah.

Does it suck how many more still there will be? Yeah.

Do we need to keep working our asses off to beat climate change? Yeah.

Are we going to need to organize and mobilize (both politically and especially community-wise) like never before to see as many people through these times as best as possible? Yeah.

But that doesn't mean we should despair. It absolutely does not mean that we've already lost.

An unknown number of the most optimistic futures were foreclosed when Trump won the US election. That’s painful but a reality.

But for twenty-ish of the past twenty-five years, the science said we weren’t going to survive climate change at all.

For most of my life, we were worried that we had set Earth on a course to become like fucking Venus (which is, on average, well over 800 degrees Farenheit). Even if it didn’t get that bad, we were so worried that global warming might wipe out all life on earth - except maybe the cockroaches.

(Literally, when I was a younger the kids at my church put on a play about that. It was like an adaptation of A Christmas Carol where the future only had talking cockroaches. I grew up so worried about this. (Not the cockroaches thing specifically. Mostly the general concept. Only a little about the cockroaches. Also yes my church was very granola why do you ask.))

But starting a few years ago, studies have shown that there wasn’t going to be a runaway greenhouse effect that could turn us into Venus; that earth is warming, yes, but we don’t seem to be in danger of that.

Between that and the fact that the adoption of renewables globally is too fast to be stopped, and we do have the technology and environmental science knowledge to eventually re-lower global temperatures by getting to net negative carbon emissions (x), and most countries and at least 73% of people in all countries for which there is data (x) actually care very much about the climate, yeah, we have closed the door on the lava planet future.

And yeah, I do think that’s worth celebrating.

That’s a massive fucking victory.

There's still more work to do, and I have every confidence that we're going to do it. I also think that, given the loss of the US election, there’s a really, really strong chance the developing world will be what saves us, and we’ll just be lucky to be along for the ride.

Most people have no idea of the kinds of amazing stories and statistics coming out of the developing world and Indigenous communities. The world is changing for the better on the environment, even as disasters (and the US) are getting worse. Solar power is going to revolutionize the fucking world, because it’s going to grant humanity universal access to electricity, and that’s going to revolutionize the world, especially the developing world (aka the global majority). And most people have no idea at all, much less how much it’s going to change.

So, yeah, natural disasters are going to keep getting worse.

But there’s a long, long long fucking way between “natural disasters are going to keep getting worse” and “the extinction of all of humanity and/or the vast majority of life on earth”

So, in the face of Trump, in the face of everything, I still choose to hope. I still choose to celebrate this as a true and profound accomplishment.

Because for over twenty years, I was afraid I’d never get to.

That difference is absolutely worth celebrating.

[halcyon-writings]

nav.

— There was something different about Caleb.

He was still your sweet boyfriend, no doubt about that. He still surprised you with flowers when he came home, took you out to dinner spontaneously.

But something was different.

The way his arm would tighten at your side, to the way he seemed to be angry at something. Never at you, he’d promise, never. It was as though whatever it was had grasped his mind and turned him into something unrecognizable.

It was not your Caleb.

You didn't like it. It felt like a stranger was in your home at times.

When he slept beside you, chin in the crook of your neck, soft breaths brushing against your skin as you tried to sleep, you couldn’t forget the eyes you loved to stare into would narrow. How they’d set into a glare or a sneer.

His eyes were sharp, focused and narrowed one moment. The next, they softened, as an arm wrapped around your waist, a palm settling on the small of your back.

“Is everything alright?” You ask one night, the dishes on the drying rack, while you dry your hands on a towel nearby.

Caleb laughs. It’s a sharp thing that makes your heart sink.

Everything is fine.

You don’t ask again.

Eyes burn into your back as you exit the kitchen, your hands clutched to your chest. You don’t notice his jaw locking as he looks to the wall with a sharp look to his eyes.

His hand rests loosely on your hip, your shirt rises slightly as you turn onto your side, trying to sleep. Caleb’s thumb finds the skin there, it’s something he’s done before. Tracing loose circles on your skin and embracing you regardless if you were facing him or not.

More often than not, nights would be spent talking about anything. From silly stories at work, to just the simplest occurrences through the day. Anything to fill the silence. Caleb’s cheek rests atop of your head, he says nothing and neither do you.

-

Zayne raises a brow when you come into his office. As much as you try to make a quip or strike conversation, he knows you well enough to know you’re far from fine.

“Have you been sleeping?” He asks, his usual professional indifference melts into a moment of concern.

You smile, but from his raised brow, you know he doesn’t believe whatever it is that you’ll say. You sigh, hands at your knees as you grab at your jeans awkwardly. Feeling the denim in your clammy palms as you try to find the words.

“I just… haven’t been sleeping well is all,” You try. It’s a lame attempt.

Zayne hums.

“How have things been?” With him remains unspoken.

The attempt on Zayne’s part to speak about it makes you relax slightly. They were friends too, of course Zayne would want to know. (It still doesn’t settled your fraying nerves.)

“Fine.”

You clear your throat, trying again, “Things have been fine. It’s been a bit of an adjustment. But Caleb is doing fine, great, even.”

The official report said it was an accident. That Grandma and Caleb had…

Even thinking about it makes your throat tighten.

But somehow, he’d returned. Despite everything, he came back to you.

You’re exiting Zayne’s office, as he follows behind you, ready to meet with another patient when you spot Caleb taking strides over.

“Hey!” His voice is friendly, his arm raised in a wave as he stops just in front of you.

“Caleb? I thought you said you were going to wait in the car-”

“I figured it would be good to walk back to the lot together, with how busy the hospital is today,” He says quickly. Too quickly.

The waiting room isn’t too occupied. There’s only a small handful of people waiting to be seen.

Zayne clears his throat. Caleb’s eyes quickly move from your face, a minuscule movement of his lips, like a frown, is there for just a second. Before it’s schooled into the same friendly smile he greeted you both with.

Caleb’s hand settles on your elbow, it’s not a tight grasp, but you feel the way his hand could easily grip your arm. Another pit forms in your stomach, “Well, let’s go home!”

Home. Right.

You nod, adjusting your bag over your shoulder as you give Zayne a final glance.

“See you later,” You say with a smile that you hope was assuring on your face. You don’t even believe it yourself.

There was something different about Caleb.

[vivian-the-fae]

I'm also very close to being gen alpha, and i fully agree with everything that's said in this post, we should kill cringe culture, stop treating kids like you were once treated as a kid, this cycle only breaks if we try to break it. And yeah, the world is fucked at the moment, queer people are facing more discrimination than we ever have in recent years, sexism and racism are back on the rise, a lot of western and international politics have experienced a massive swing to the (far-)right. But you will always find people willing to fight for equality and their rights. I just wanna share with you some wins we've had in recent years

In the Netherlands we've had the most extreme and popular climate protests we've ever had. It's called Extinction Rebellion or XR, and they've been doing a lot to try and stop government policies that support fossil fuels.

In france, before the whole parliament falling, there were elections last year, a far-right party was looking at a grand victory which would grant them a lot of power. But then a lot of leftist parties, who individually wouldn't win, merged together to form the NFP, the nouveau front populaire, the new popular front, they managed to get enough votes to stop a rightist victory!

The European Parliament had elections last year as well, and though the EPP, the european people's party, Christian right wingers, got 188 seats, there are 720 seats total, that means for anything to go through you need 361 votes in favour, the two actual right wing parties have like 160 votes combined, which means that there is no absolute right wing majority. The second biggest party is the social democrat party, the S&D, so the most likely outcome of this parliament is that centrist proposals will go through, which essentially means that nothing will happen. But that also means nothing bad!

And I'm sure there's a lot more!!! Please, I know our situation is severe, but never give up fighting the good fight.

watching gen z and millennials make fun of gen alpha has been torturous. "But they're actually stupid" 1. theyre middle schoolers 2. isn't that what older gens said about us? don't you remember being 11?

it truly is just "impulse reaction to cringe <- has not yet unlearned shame"

the cycle continues let me out of here

guys. guys I think we should kill cringe culture

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅🝣⋅⋆ ─────── · 

I drew inspiration from the TikTok lipstick challenge, which, to be honest, left me feeling incredibly lonely. The whole experience stirred something in me, prompting me to write about it.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Additionally, I was influenced by @fraternum-momentum and their OC, Sol, which added another layer to the idea. As for whether this should be marked NSFW or SWF, I'm torn—it's really more of a playful game involving lipstick, with a soft, romantic vibe and a lot of playful banter and chemistry between the characters. 

It's meant to be lighthearted and playful, with a bit of flirtation thrown in, but definitely nothing explicit! Also, I think I might've missed the birthday of a certain character in the game… I wonder who that could be?

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The student council room was eerily quiet after hours, lit only by the warm glow of a desk lamp on the far end. The usual hustle and bustle of meetings, debates, and planning sessions had faded, leaving the space unusually still. 

Except for him.  

Crowe was seated at the large oak table, his posture impeccable as he reviewed a stack of neatly organized papers. His sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. His black bottom-up shirt was loosened but still perfectly modest, and his purple vest hung from the back of his chair. He looked, as always, impossibly put-together.

And that’s exactly why you’d decided to stop by tonight, coming from a late night studying at the library, you could help to pay him a visit, after all, you have the key. He was too perfect, too composed. It was high time someone tested just how unshakeable Crowe’s gentlemanly façade was.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him briefly before clearing your throat. "Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Crowe glanced up, his brows lifting in surprise at first, but his expression quickly softened into a familiar, warm smile. “You have a habit of sneaking up on people, you know that?”

“It’s one of my better skills,” you replied, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind you. “What are you doing here so late, anyway? Don’t tell me it’s another mountain of paperwork.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was?” he asked, motioning to the neatly stacked papers in front of him. “Someone has to make sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Ever the responsible one,” you teased, crossing the room toward him. “But don’t you ever get tired of being so... predictable?”

Crowe raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Predictable? That’s a new one. Care to elaborate?”

You grinned, circling the table to stand behind his chair. “You’re always so composed, so polite, so... gentlemanly. Doesn’t it get boring playing the role of the perfect man?”

“Not particularly,” he replied smoothly, though his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “Someone has to keep things in order.”

“Mm, but what if someone didn’t?” you murmured, leaning down until your lips were close to his ear. “What if someone decided to mess with that perfect little image of yours?”

Crowe turned his head slightly, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Is that what you’re here to do?”

“Maybe,” you said innocently, stepping around to face him. Without giving him a chance to respond, you perched yourself on the edge of the table, just close enough to be in his space without overstepping.

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his deep blue eyes fixed on you with a spark of intrigue. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”  

You didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, a sly smirk played on your lips as you slid off the table in one smooth, deliberate motion, closing the small distance between you and him. Without hesitation, you eased yourself into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs.  

Crowe stiffened immediately, his posture going rigid as his hands hovered uncertainly in the air, unsure where to land. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and the faintest trace of a blush began creeping up his neck. It was subtle, but on his warm, light brown skin, it was enough for you to notice—and grin.  

“Well,” you started, looping your arms lazily around his neck, your fingers toying with the ends of his braided brown hair. “I thought I’d start by seeing how much it takes to make you blush.”  

Crowe’s breath hitched as you leaned in, your lips brushing his cheek in a featherlight kiss. “That’s one,” you murmured, your tone playful, your lips curling into a mischievous smile.  

His jaw tensed, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Are you keeping score?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with a nervous edge.  

“Maybe,” you teased, planting a second kiss on his other cheek. “Two.”  

Your hand moved to the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his single braid as you tilted his head slightly to the side. The motion exposed the line of his jaw, and you didn’t hesitate, pressing soft kisses along the sharp angles, your lips tracing the warm expanse of his skin.  

“Three, four…” you counted softly, letting your lips linger just a moment longer with each touch.  

Crowe swallowed hard, the tension in his body melting just enough for his hands to find a place—tentatively settling on your waist. His grip was light as if he were still unsure if this was something he should allow himself to enjoy. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Playing such a dangerous game.”  

“Am I?” you asked, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still idly twirling single braid. Your voice took on a mockingly innocent tone. “Or are you just afraid I might win?”  

He looked up at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled faintly. "I suppose that depends on what you’re trying to win."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a tube of lipstick. Crowe’s brow furrowed in confusion as you uncapped it, applying the deep crimson shade with practiced ease. 

"And what’s this for?" he asked, his voice carrying the slightest hint of wariness.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin, lips hovering near his cheek. “Call it an experiment,” you murmured, your voice soft and teasing. Without waiting for a reply, you pressed a deliberate kiss just below his cheekbone.

The faint scent of your perfume lingered in the air as you pulled back, a perfect lipstick mark standing out against his warm, light brown skin. You tilted your head slightly, inspecting your handwork with a mischievous smile. “Not bad,” you said lightly, as if critiquing a painting.

Crowe blinked, visibly stunned, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. He didn’t move, his breath caught as if trying to process what just happened.

But you weren’t finished.

Tilting his chin slightly with a gentle finger, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips along the edge of his jawline. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the tension in his shoulders betraying his carefully composed demeanor. Another kiss followed, slower this time, leaving a bold imprint just below his jaw.

Crowe’s lips parted, his breathing uneven now, though he still didn’t stop you.

“Hmm,” you mused, leaning back slightly, only to trail your gaze down to the column of his neck. “This feels incomplete.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat when your lips found the curve of his neck. A soft gasp escaped him as you pressed another kiss there, then another, just above his collarbone. His hand twitched as though he might reach for you, but he held back, his restraint only making the moment more electric.

When you finally leaned back, Crowe’s usual polished, gentlemanly demeanor was in tatters. His skin was a masterpiece of faint crimson marks—his cheeks, jawline, and neck all kissed and claimed. He reached up hesitantly, brushing his fingers over one of the marks on his jaw, his touch lingering there as if he were trying to memorize the feeling of your lips.

“You—” he started, his voice rough, but you cut him off with a soft laugh.

“Speechless?” you teased, recapping your lipstick and slipping it back into your bag with an air of nonchalance. “I must’ve done something right.”

Crowe’s jaw worked, his lips pressing together as he struggled to find his composure. His usual confidence had been thoroughly dismantled, leaving him looking uncharacteristically vulnerable yet… yearning. The once-pristine picture of composure—the meticulous student apart of the council—now looked delightfully disheveled, his face, jawline, and even his neck adorned with vivid, unmistakable stains.

“There,” you said, stepping back and tilting your head as if you were admiring a masterpiece. “Not so perfect now, are you?”  

“You’ve officially ruined my ‘gentlemanly’ image,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. His fingers hesitantly brushed over the fresh stain near his jawline, his expression equal parts baffled and amused. “I can’t believe you just did that.”  

“Oh, believe it,” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a satisfied grin. “Honestly, I think it suits you. Adds a little color. You’re welcome.”  

Crowe let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. How am I supposed to explain this?”  

“Explain it?” you said, feigning shock. “You mean you’re not just going to own it? What happened to that legendary confidence of yours?”  

He opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off by leaning in again, adding a quick kiss to his forehead. “Now you’ve got the full set,” you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Face, neck, and...” You trailed off meaningfully, letting the pause hang in the air.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his composure slipping as he caught the implication. “You wouldn’t—”  

You didn’t let him finish. Before he could say another word, you planted a deliberate kiss at the corner of his mouth, then slowly worked your way to the center, leaving faint marks in your wake.  

When you pulled back, your face was the picture of triumph. “Now you’re officially branded. Guess that gentleman thing has its limits, huh?”  

Crowe’s deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, though the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  

“Absolutely,” you replied without hesitation. “And admit it—you are too.”  

He exhaled, his hands resting lightly on your waist as if he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or himself. “You like testing me,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with both amusement and something deeper.  

“And you like failing,” you shot back, leaning in so your faces were barely an inch apart. “Don’t worry, though—I think you wear it well. Lipstick suits you.”  

Crowe’s lips quirked into a smirk, his usually poised demeanor finally cracking under your relentless teasing. “You’re not making this easy,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with a playful challenge.  

“And why should I?” you quipped, settling more comfortably on his lap and letting your arms drape lazily around his neck. You leaned back just enough to take in your handiwork. The soft smudges of lipstick painted a trail of your victory across his cheeks, jaw, and now his neck. A particularly bold kiss near his collarbone had left a bright red mark against his brown skin.  

Crowe raised an eyebrow at you, his deep blue eyes flickering between exasperation and amusement. “I look like I lost a fight with a makeup counter.”  

“Correction: you lost to me,” you replied with a smug grin, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear. Your voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “And you didn’t exactly stop me.”  

Crowe huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound warm and rich despite the predicament. “Oh, I’m fully aware,” he said, his tone dry but edged with amusement. “Do you make a habit of ambushing people with lipstick, or am I just special?”  

“You’re special,” you teased, drawing the word out in a sing-song tone as your eyes narrowed, fingers slowly unbutton his shirt. “But don’t get too excited—I just thought someone as put-together as you needed a little... color.”  Your eyes looks up at him with a playful charm.

His breath hitched, and for the briefest moment, his usual restraint faltered. His hands slid up to your waist, his fingers curling slightly as if to anchor himself. “And here I thought you were here to apologize for interrupting my work,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, his eyes darker as they locked onto yours.  

“Apologize?” you repeated, feigning innocence. “For what? For making you look even more pretty? For proving you’re not as unshakeable as you pretend to be?”  

Crowe chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.  

“Impossible?” you echoed, shifting slightly in his lap, your fingers lightly tracing upper chest. You leaned in closer, your nose just brushing against his, and your voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper. “That’s funny, coming from someone who’s supposed to be a gentleman. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know... stopping me? Resisting temptation?”  

Crowe’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, though not quickly enough to mask the flicker of uncertainty that crossed his face. His gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for a heartbeat too long before meeting your eyes again. His hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, his grip firm but still careful, as though he were holding himself back.  

“And why,” he murmured, his voice lower now, the usual steadiness giving way to something rougher, more deliberate, “would I want to stop you?”  

Your smirk widened, victory already bubbling in your chest. “That’s a good question,” you mused, leaning in until your lips brushed his, the contact feather-light and achingly slow. His breath caught, and you could feel the tension in his frame, the way he held himself still, like he was caught between giving in and holding on.  

“Good answer,” you whispered against his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, usually so composed and guarded, were darker now, his composure visibly slipping. You caught the faint flush rising along his neck, creeping just beneath his jawline, and you couldn’t help but grin.  

Crowe exhaled sharply, breaking the silence as he leaned his head back against the chair, a wry, unsteady chuckle slipping past his lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, though his voice betrayed him—uneven and laced with something softer.  

“And yet,” you replied, hopping off his lap with a triumphant flourish, smoothing the hem of your clothing as if nothing had happened, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”  

Crowe tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as that familiar glint of mischief returned to his expression. He looked at you now with the kind of calm that was just daring you to keep pushing. “Maybe,” he said slowly, his voice steadying again, “I like a little trouble.”  

You laughed softly, stepping back to admire your handiwork. His shirt was slightly wrinkled from where your hands had rested, and his face was a mess of lipstick smudges—on his cheeks, along his jaw, and the faintest stain at the corner of his lips.  

“Good,” you said with a mischievous grin, nodding toward the streak of lipstick on his neck. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Crowe’s eyebrow arched, his lips curling into a small, amused smile as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and teasing. “Then I’ll be sure to prepare myself,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Oh, you’d better be,” you shot back, taking a step back from his lap with deliberate slowness, your eyes lingering on him for just a moment longer. “Because next time, I might not be so... gentle.”

Turning on your heel, you strode to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Just before you left, you glanced over your shoulder, your grin still firmly in place. “Try not to miss me too much.”

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Crowe alone in the dim light of the student council room. He let out a quiet breath, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the mark you’d left on his neck. 

A faint chuckle escaped him as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door with a small shake of his head. “You really are something else,” he muttered to himself, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. 

Trouble, yes—but perhaps the kind of trouble he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

The living room was a cozy chaos, with warm fairy lights casting a golden glow over the dark walls and mismatched furniture. The lights draped lazily over the curtain rods, twinkling faintly as if encouraging the quiet mischief brewing within. The couch—a beloved relic, its cushions sagging in all the right ways—sat at the center of it all, surrounded by a battlefield of cosmetics.  

The coffee table groaned under the weight of lipstick tubes in every shade imaginable, from muted nudes to shocking neons. Tissue papers lay crumpled beside an array of smudged hand mirrors, and the faint scent of vanilla and wax lingered in the air. The room was comfortably warm, the heater humming faintly in the corner, adding to the intimate atmosphere.  

You perched on the couch's edge, your legs tucked beneath you, wearing an oversized hoodie that dwarfed your frame but left your enthusiasm unrestrained. A wicked grin played on your lips as you reached for the next weapon in your arsenal—a vibrant crimson lipstick labeled *Scarlet Desire.*  

Sol sat beside you, a reluctant participant in your glamorous experiment. His dark, disheveled hair framed his pale face, strands occasionally falling into his reddish-orange eyes that seemed to glow like dying embers in the dim light. He slouched dramatically, his arms crossed as if that might shield him from the barrage of attention you had planned.  

"All right, Sol," you announced with mock seriousness, brandishing the tube like a wand. "You’ve been chosen as tonight’s test dummy. Congratulations on your moment of fame."  

Sol let out a groan that was half dramatic and half genuine, tipping his head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling as if it might offer an escape. "Why do I feel like I’m about to star in a weird beauty guru horror story?"  

"Because you are," you replied with a smirk, twisting the lipstick open to reveal its bold crimson shade. The color gleamed under the fairy lights, a promise of chaos to come. "Now, sit still and quit whining. Let’s see if ‘Scarlet Desire’ lives up to its name."  

Before he could muster another complaint, you leaned in, one hand gently cupping his jaw to steady him. His breath hitched, his body freezing under the unexpected closeness. The faint scent of your perfume—something floral and sweet—floated between you, making his pulse quicken.  

You applied the lipstick to your lips with precision, pausing briefly to inspect the smoothness in the hand mirror. Satisfied, you leaned closer again, your face just inches from his.  

"Ready?" you teased, your voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper, your grin turning impish.  

Sol’s eyes widened slightly, their reddish hue glinting with a mix of trepidation and something else he couldn’t quite place. "Do I have a choice?" he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.  

"Not at all," you replied cheerfully, brushing aside his weak protests.  

Without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his cheek, the cool touch of lipstick contrasting with the warmth of his skin. The kiss was quick but deliberate, leaving behind a perfectly shaped crimson stain against his pale complexion.  

Sol blinked, his mouth parting slightly as he tried to process what had just happened. His usual indifferent mask cracked the faintest hint of pink creeping up his ears. The lipstick stain on his cheek seemed to burn hotter than the room’s heater, a brand he couldn’t ignore.  

You leaned back, tilting the hand mirror to inspect your handiwork. "Still intact," you mused, tapping your lips thoughtfully. "That’s a point for ‘Scarlet Desire.’"  

Sol finally found his voice, though it came out uneven. “Is… is this going to take all night?”  

“Probably,” you replied, lips curling into a mischievous smile as you reached for another tube. You held it up to the light, inspecting the label. “‘Forbidden Plum.’ Sounds dramatic enough, don’t you think?”  

The deep purple shade gleamed as you twisted the tube, the realization dawning on Sol that this was far from over. He groaned again, though the faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed the fact that he wasn’t entirely upset about the situation.  

“Relax,” you teased, leaning in close, your warm breath brushing his ear. “I’ll be gentle.”  

Before he could respond, your lips pressed softly to his jawline, leaving a perfect, dark imprint just below the curve of his cheekbone. You lingered for a moment, letting the heat of the kiss sink in before pulling back to inspect the mark.  

“Not bad,” you murmured, tilting your head and running your thumb over the stain as if appraising your work. “But I think this color needs a little more flair.”  

Without waiting for his approval, you leaned in again, this time brushing your lips against his neck. The touch was softer, teasing, and you felt the slight hitch in his breathing as your lipstick left another vivid mark just above his collarbone.  

Sol swallowed hard, his face now a canvas of warmth and embarrassment. This wasn’t just a lipstick test anymore—it was a battle to maintain his composure against your relentless, flirtatious charm.  

“Hm,” you mused again, holding up the mirror to check your lips, then twisting open another tube. “Alright, next contender: ‘Midnight Rose.’ Let’s see if it’s as dramatic as it sounds.”  

His reddish orange eyes tracked your every move, flickering between the lipstick in your hand and the playful glint in your eyes. As you leaned in to kiss his other cheek, the cool press of your lips sent a jolt down his spine, and his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the couch cushion.  

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, voice low and unsteady.  

“You say that like you’re not,” you shot back, your tone as playful as the smile that followed.  

This time, you kissed along his jawline again, dragging your lips lightly over his skin before pulling back with a smirk. The fairy lights cast a warm glow over the room, adding to the intimacy of the moment as your laughter filled the space.  

By the fourth or seventh kiss, Sol was no longer slouched but sitting ramrod straight, his breath uneven, and his lips parted in a dazed expression. The air between you felt charged, and every teasing glance you shot his way only added to his visible fluster.  

“Now how… how many more of these are there?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You tilted your head, pretending to count the remaining tubes. “Oh, only about five or six. Maybe seven. You’re handling this so well, Sol, I might just have to make you my permanent lipstick tester.”  

He groaned, a hand flying to his forehead in mock defeat, but his reddish-orange eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.  

“You must be getting bored with this experiment by now,” he mumbled, though his tone lacked conviction.  

“Bored? Not a chance,” you quipped, leaning in one more time, this time planting a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Though I think you might be getting dazed from all the attention.”  

Sol’s breath caught, and his cheeks flamed brighter than before. He could only sit there, speechless and utterly smitten, as you reached for yet another lipstick tube.  

“This one’s called ‘Velvet Sin,’” you announced, holding it up with a playful wink. “Let’s see if it’s worth the hype.”  

For a moment, he thought about protesting, but then he realized—what was the point?

He was already lost in the haze of your laughter, your teasing touches, and the warm, lingering impressions of your kisses. The pink, purple, and red smudges peppered across Sol's pale skin. He sat stiffly, his black and green streaks bangs veiling his burning cheeks as he avoided your amused gaze.  

You held up the mirror again, turning your head to inspect your lips carefully. "Still nothing, maybe I should just stick to clear gloss,” you said, a triumphant edge in your tone. "It’s like these lipsticks were forged in a lab to smudge. Great…."  

Then you turned the mirror toward Sol, revealing his reflection. His reddish-orange eyes widened as he stared, dumbfounded, at the chaotic array of lipstick marks scattered across his face—his jaw, cheeks, and even a faint smear near his collarbone from when you leaned in a little too close earlier.  

You burst out laughing, breaking the silence. "You look like a really sad art project," you teased, clutching the mirror with one hand and your stomach with the other as you doubled over in laughter.  

He huffed, clearly trying to mask his growing embarrassment, but the corner of his lips twitched upward in a sheepish smile. "You’re enjoying this way too much."  

Sol, typically composed in his aloofness, looked anything but indifferent as you leaned in, armed with yet another lipstick in your collection. His usual mask of stoicism had cracked, replaced by a look of pure, unguarded vulnerability.

“And you’re taking it way too seriously,” you teased, your voice low and dripping with mischief.

Before Sol could respond, you closed the gap between you, planting a kiss squarely on the tip of his nose. The kiss was playful, a soft smooch that left behind a faint, heart-shaped lipstick mark. The vibrant maroon stood out against his pale skin, and you pulled back, your lips curving into a satisfied smirk.

"Perfect," you murmured, tilting your head to inspect the tiny flourish you’d left behind.

Sol sat there, motionless, his lips slightly parted as if he’d forgotten how to form words. His reddish orange eyes were wide, darting to your lips and then back to your eyes. He looked completely out of his depth, his usual brooding demeanor utterly replaced by something unsteady and raw.

You didn’t stop. You leaned in again, closer this time, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Sol’s breath hitched audibly as your lips ghosted over his cheek.

“Let’s try something more daring,” you whispered, the heat of your breath brushing against his skin before you pressed a deliberate kiss just beside the corner of his mouth.

His entire body stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The lipstick left a bold mark just shy of his lips, teasingly close. You pulled back ever so slightly, your gaze lingering on the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

“Hmm, maybe I should try it here next,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers gently brushing his chin to tilt his face toward you.

Sol’s eyes widened, his lips trembling slightly as you leaned in further. This time, you kissed him squarely on the mouth, a soft, deliberate press of your lips against his. The kiss was slow, your lips brushing his with just enough pressure to leave a faint imprint of the maroon shade.

When you pulled away, his lips glistened faintly, the color smudged ever so slightly. His cheeks were burning red now, the flush spreading up to the tips of his ears. Sol’s expression was a mix of stunned disbelief and something else—something heavier, like a quiet yearning he couldn’t contain.

"Oops," you said with a playful grin, holding up the mirror to show him the faint but unmistakable lipstick mark lingering on his lips. "Looks like you’re officially part of the experiment now."

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. His gaze dropped to your lips again, lingering there a moment too long before darting back to your eyes. "You... you’re really not holding back," he mumbled, his voice cracking slightly.

"Should I?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached for another lipstick. "I think you’re holding up pretty well, Sol. You’re a surprisingly good test dummy."

Sol didn’t respond. He just stared, his lips still tingling from the kiss, his mind racing in directions he wasn’t ready to admit. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. You reached for the next tube—deep plum, almost black, its sleek metallic casing glinting under the dim fairy lights.  

"All right, final test," you declared, twisting the lipstick open with a satisfying click. The color was rich and bold, a shade that dared anyone to look away. You leaned in, closer than before, your breath brushing against Sol’s cheek.  

He stiffened, his head tilting slightly as though torn between leaning away and leaning in. "You’re relentless, you know that?" he muttered, his voice low and strained.  

"Let’s see how kiss-proof this one really is," you whispered, your lips curling into a playful grin.  

Before he could protest, you kissed him, deliberately slower this time. The plush warmth of your lips pressed deeper against his lips, lingering longer than any of the others. Sol’s breath hitched audibly, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as his tension melted into something softer. When you pulled back, you admired your work: a perfect, bold imprint on his pale red lips, perfect and center.  

You shifted slightly, cupping his chin with your hand to turn his face toward you. His eyes were half-lidded, his dark lashes casting shadows against his flushed cheeks. He looked wrecked in the most endearing way.  

"Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already," you teased, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.  

Sol didn’t answer. He seemed dazed, his lips slightly parted as though the words had escaped him entirely. Undeterred, you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his temple this time, your lips lingering against the curve of his hairline.  

"Still intact," you murmured, half to yourself as you pulled back and inspected your own lips in the mirror.  

Sol blinked, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite manage it. The next kiss landed on the bridge of his nose, soft and playful, and the one after that trailed down to the corner of his mouth.  

"Okay, this one’s holding up really well," you remarked, leaning back to evaluate the results. You laughed softly at the kaleidoscope of lipstick stains that now adorned his face—a collection of reds, pinks, and purples, each mark a testament to your experiment.  

"Sol?" you prompted, tilting your head as you noticed his unusually quiet demeanor.  

He blinked again, his gaze focused on you but far away.  

"Hello? Earth to Sol—" You waved a hand in front of his face, but before you could finish the thought, his hand shot up, gently catching yours mid-wave.  

You froze, startled by the suddenness of the movement and the look in his eyes—smoldering and uncharacteristically intense.  

"Huh…" you trailed off as he guided your hand down, his fingers curling over yours in a firm but careful grip.  

"Enough," Sol murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.  

Before you could process the shift, he moved. In one smooth, almost predatory motion, he pressed you back into the couch, his weight pinning you against the cushions. Your back hit the fabric with a soft thud, and his hands found your wrists, holding them gently but securely above your head.  

"Sol—"  

"You're impossible," he said softly, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark hair fell messily into his eyes, and his gaze burned with something raw, something that made your chest tighten.  

You stared up at him, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he leaned closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. The space between you felt impossibly small, the room charged with a quiet intensity that neither of you dared to break.  

"All those kisses," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your cheek as his lips curved into a teasing smirk. "And you still act like you’re in control."  

Your heart raced, the world outside the living room forgotten entirely. "Sol, I—"  

But his expression softened, his grip on your wrists loosening slightly. "I think," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it’s my turn to test your limits, pumpkin."  

Oh shit.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

It’s one of those crisp afternoons, the air just cool enough to send a slight shiver down your spine as you sit on a bench by the archery range. The college campus is quiet, with students scattered here and there, but your attention is entirely on him—Geo. 

The archery field is his domain. He doesn’t know it yet, but you’ve got a plan that will catch him off guard.

Geo stands tall at the center of the field, adjusting his posture with precision, his focus entirely on the target in front of him. The sun casts a soft, golden light across his pale skin, making his aquamarine eyes seem even sharper. He’s dressed in a simple, black, form-fitting athletic shirt, paired with tight-fitting cargo pants that hug his long legs. 

His boots are rugged, the kind that make him look even more intimidating as he stands tall and composed. His hair, dark bluish-purple, is tied back neatly in a low ponytail, the bowl cut framing his face in a way that makes his expression appear even more brooding.

Despite his best efforts to look aloof, there’s something about him that calls for attention. His movements are deliberate, almost as if he knows he’s being watched. You lean back slightly, pretending to be absorbed in the scene but really just observing him, thinking about the plan you’ve hatched.

Geo pulls his bowstring back with precision, his aquamarine eyes narrowing as he takes aim. Everything about him is calculated, a display of discipline honed through years of practice. You bite your lip in anticipation, then grab the lipstick from your bag, uncapping it with a soft click. The color is a deep red, the kind that will stand out against his pale skin. You’ve decided: it’s time to throw him off just a little.

You stand up quietly, making your way to where Geo is, and as you approach, your heart beats a little faster. The air around you feels charged with the quiet energy he exudes. Geo is too focused on the target, his fingers inching toward the release. You take a deep breath, then step forward just as he releases the arrow.

Before he can even blink, you lean forward and plant a bold, quick kiss to his cheek, the lipstick leaving a bright red mark against his pale skin. The sound of the arrow shooting through the air fills the silence as you pull back, watching the surprise flash across his face.

Geo’s eyes widen for the briefest moment. He freezes for a split second, just enough for you to see his cheeks flush under his usual stoic exterior, the pale hue quickly warming to something deeper. The arrow he released flies off course, landing just beside the target rather than hitting the bullseye as it usually does.

He’s caught off guard.

You step back slightly, a mischievous grin on your face. “Missed it,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

Geo’s gaze shifts to you, his expression darkening. His lips part, and for a moment, it’s like the weight of the world shifts. "What the hell?" His voice is low, his tone not entirely angry, but certainly perplexed.

For someone who’s always so controlled, so composed, you’ve definitely managed to make him lose that edge. He quickly recovers, wiping his cheek with his sleeve, and for a second, you wonder if you pushed him too far. But then you see the slightest tug of a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns, but there’s no heat in his words—just that familiar sharpness that seems to be his natural state. It’s clear he’s still processing, but you can tell this little moment has left its mark on him.

You smile back, not backing down. "I thought I’d get your attention. Looks like I did."

Geo shakes his head, his smirk growing as he nocks another arrow. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into," he mutters under his breath, but you can hear the playful challenge behind it.

Despite his usual brooding demeanor, you can’t help but notice the slight curve of his lips as he prepares to take another shot. It seems that, for once, he’s not quite as untouchable as he wants everyone to think. You can feel the tension in the air as Geo reaches for another arrow, but you’re already plotting your next move. The excitement bubbling inside you is hard to contain—this is more fun than you thought it would be.

Geo draws his bow back again, taking aim with the kind of precision only someone like him could master. But before he can release it, you lean forward just enough to interrupt his concentration, tapping his shoulder lightly with a teasing smile. 

“What now?” he asks, his voice as gruff as always, though you can detect a hint of amusement hiding in his eyes. “You want me to miss again?”

You shrug innocently. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see if I could make you blush again." You let the words hang in the air, watching as his expression shifts. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, and for a moment, you're convinced he’s actually considering the idea of doing something more than just shooting arrows.

Geo takes a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his focus, but before he can, you lean in—this time, a little bolder. You press another quick kiss to his neck line, leaving a fresh red mark on his pale skin. And just like last time, he freezes—eyes wide, jaw slightly ajar.

The arrow that should’ve been heading for the bullseye instead veers wildly off course, missing the target completely and burying itself in the grass.

You burst out laughing. "Not so precise anymore, huh?"

Geo whips his head toward you, eyes narrowed in something between surprise and irritation. “Are you trying to sabotage me?” he growls, though you can see the amusement hiding behind his scowl.

You’re still laughing, clearly enjoying yourself far too much, and that’s when Geo decides to do something about it.

With a swift motion, he reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can step back, his fingers tightening around it just enough to stop you from making any more cheeky moves. You stare at him, caught off guard for a moment—he’s not known for being touchy, but here he is, holding you in place.

"Alright, enough of this," he says, his voice suddenly less gruff and more playful, though his eyes still carry that glint of challenge. "If you think you can distract me with kisses, you’re mistaken."

You grin up at him, unfazed by his grip on your wrist. "Oh? Then you should’ve seen what happened when you missed your shot," you tease. “I think the whole campus heard your arrow crash into the grass.”

Geo rolls his eyes, but the faintest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Don’t think this is over,” he warns, his grip on your wrist tightening a little more, though it’s more playful than threatening. "You’re gonna regret this, trust me."

“You sure about that?” you quip back, your voice filled with playful defiance.

Geo raises an eyebrow at your defiant tone, clearly weighing his options. For a second, you swear there’s a flicker of something almost... fond? It vanishes just as quickly, replaced by his usual broody persona. “I could have you running laps around this field by the end of the day,” he threatens, though his eyes are twinkling with the unmistakable sign of a challenge.

“Make me,” you shoot back, tugging your wrist free from his grasp just enough to push your luck a little further. 

Geo chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

“Yeah, all for you~” you tease, throwing him a wink.

Geo doesn’t acknowledge the comment, but the corner of his mouth lifts just a little higher this time. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Despite the gruff exterior, you’ve managed to ruffle his feathers just enough to see a side of him that’s not all business. 

And honestly? 

You kind of like it.

As you step away, pretending to give him space, you can feel his eyes on you. You’re not sure if he’s still trying to figure out what the hell just happened or if he’s plotting his revenge. 

Either way, you’re all in for whatever comes next.

Geo steadies himself, the bow string pulled taut as he lines up another shot. But the second you lean in, it’s like the world goes into slow motion. You can see his shoulders tense, his jaw clenching slightly as you get closer. He knows exactly what you're doing. His grip tightens on the bow, and for a split second, you think he might just let the arrow fly—into the target this time.

But before he can fully focus, you press a soft, teasing kiss to his bottom jaw again, the lipstick leaving a fresh red print. 

Geo’s eyes snap wide open in surprise, his finger twitching against the bowstring. “You—” He cuts himself off, trying to maintain his composure, but the blush on his cheeks betrays him, his pale skin turning a shade darker. The arrow in his hand nearly slips from his grasp as he blinks in confusion. 

You pull back just enough to see his expression, a mix of shock and that brooding intensity you’re so used to. His lips twitch, a barely-there smirk playing at the corners, more like disbelief?

However there’s something else in his eyes now—something... tempting.

"Alright," he growls lowly, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice now, "You want to play that game, huh?"

Before you can even react, he’s closing the space between you, his hands gripping your wrists with surprising tenderness, pulling you in with a quick, deliberate motion. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s more intense than anything you expected. The rush of warmth from his lips against yours sends a little shock of electricity through you, and your breath catches.

Geo’s kiss isn’t soft or tentative. No, it’s like he’s trying to make a statement—daring you to say something, to break the moment. You feel the pressure of his lips, firm and demanding, and you can tell he’s not just kissing you for fun anymore. There’s something deeper in it now. The playfulness has shifted into something a little more heated.

You’re breathless when he pulls away just enough to speak, his voice husky, dark with amusement. “Now you’ve really done it.”

You blink up at him, dazed from the sudden shift in his demeanor. “I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me back, especially on the lips” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heat crawling up your neck.

Geo doesn’t smile—he just stares at you, eyes dark with the challenge of it all. His hands still rest lightly on your wrists, but now they feel heavier, almost like he’s holding you in place. “You should’ve known better.”

Before you can reply, he gently lets go of your wrists, his gaze lingering just a little longer than you’d like. The air between you two is thick now—charged with the energy of the moment, and there’s a sense that things are about to get even more complicated. You’ve managed to crack his icy exterior, but you’re not entirely sure what that means for either of you.

Geo turns back to the target without another word, grabbing another arrow. His focus is entirely back on the bullseye, but there’s an undeniable smirk on his lips now. And the way his fingers curl around the bow, steady and sure, tells you that this game is far from over. 

“You missed your shot earlier,” you say playfully, “Think you’ll actually hit the target this time?”

Geo shoots you a look over his shoulder, a glint in his aquamarine eyes. "Watch me," he mutters, before losing the arrow. 

It’s a perfect shot—dead center. He doesn’t even flinch as the arrow hits the target. 

“Well, damn,” you say, impressed. “I guess I’ll just have to distract you more often.”

Geo doesn't respond at first, but the smirk that pulls at his lips says it all. "Keep trying me, and you’ll see," he murmurs a warning, almost to himself. 

And just like that, you realize—he enjoys this more than he lets on.

· ─────── ⋆⋅🝣⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[martian-astro10]

Astrology observations - Part 6 (use whole signs and sidereal)

🐻‍❄️ I said it before that moon in 6th house people can be great leaders, and since then I met 4 new people with moon in 6th and I've come to the conclusion that rather than being the leader, these people work better as the right hand person of a leader. They're much better at following the instructions rather than giving them.

🔵 If you are a girl, and you have mars aspecting Saturn and vice versa, I would HIGHLY recommend you guys to marry a non binary person. This placement can cause unpleasant situations to arise if you don't take the right measures. So I won't say, don't marry, or your married life will be bad, but rather, marry someone who is comfortable expressing both their feminine and masculine side.

🐻‍❄️ if your 7th lord of d1 is in the 3rd house of d9 and the planet is a natural malefic like, Saturn, mars or sun, then it can make you fight with your siblings after marriage. I know 3 people with this and now none of them talk to their siblings. So i would recommend you guys to not listen to your spouse when it comes to your siblings. If you have a good relationship with siblings then first, talk to them rather than believing someone who you just met.

🔵 In vedic, sun is considered to be dead when it's in the 12th house, and the common interpretation is that they cannot be good leaders but I view it a little differently. I know a lot of people with this who are SOO GOOD at leading people BUT they have zero self confidence and it genuinely pisses me off so much because one of my friend has this and I always push her to apply for HOD positions but she's like "no, I can't do it" like GIRL, ATLEAST TRY FIRST. So if you have this, just trust yourself and apply for that position. All I'll say is "A real loser is someone who is so afraid of not winning, they don't even try"

🐻‍❄️ I know quite a few people who say that mars in Aries/ scorpio is better when it's in the chart of a man but I don't agree with that. Maybe I'm being biased because I have it but I think that women handle this placement better. Men already have so much fucking audacity and with mars being so strong it just gets multiplied by 100. I feel like these are the men who make podcasts about how a woman's purpose is to be a submissive breedable bitch for a man. Whereas, some of the most successful businesswomen have their mars in Aries/Scorpio/ Capricorn (the effect is multiplied when it's in the 1,4,7, 10 house). women are literally taught to put everyone else's needs before theirs but with mars being so strong they don't give a fuck, because now they embody those traditional "masculine" traits like being a selfish asshole.

🔵 Honestly, the real men, the ones who embody all the good masculine traits are those who have Jupiter in 1,4,10 house. I can give 100 examples from my personal life but, all I'll say is that Keanu Reeves has this....they are the ones who are actually the protectors, providers, brave, strong and dominant in a gentle way. Also, I'm like 100% sure that Carlisle Cullen would have this if he was a real person.

🐻‍❄️ Also, 7th lord of d9 in 1st or 4th house of d9 gives you a future spouse who represents your "ideal type". As I've said many times before, I only know 2 happily married straight couples 🥲 and both of them have this, so in one couple, both the wife and the husband have it and in another, the wife has it. I also know a lesbian couple and both the wives have this. I didn't cross check it with celebrities since most of them put on a facade.

🔵 Jupiter in 6th house....these people have such good luck. It's like, they get everything so easily and the worst part is that they don't know how to work and yet they keep on getting promoted because of nepotism and corruption, and the person who says anything against them gets fired. I wish I was making this observation based on one person, but I know FIVE people with this and it's the same case with all of them.

🐻‍❄️ Mercury in 10th is a placement that I've been seeing quite a lot these days, literally every chart I see has this. These people can be GREAT therapists and journalists from what I've seen, or they may also be the "mom" friend in their group. They're also very social and love interacting with people, they may be the most beloved in their friend group like "if you don't go then we won't go either" type. I'm a little jealous of them tbh, love their ability to light up the room with their presence.

🔵 Venus in 8th, I feel like this is going to be a little negative 😭. These people are very much into the hook up culture, especially men. I feel like they would be happier in a polyamorous relationship. This is also the placement that I do not like seeing in d9, I don't fuck with people who have this but I know many people who are okay with such unconventional relationships, and if you're one of those, then good for you. You don't have to fit in boxes made by other people. If you like something, then you like that, period. (If you're not like this, good, don't start ranting in the comments, it's annoying)

© martian-astro All rights reserved, 2025

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

jjk men x streamer!reader hybrid smau

╰┈➤ Collab?

chapter one

ೃ⁀➷ you start your stream with gojo, your childhood best friend who happens to be internet famous. you’re surprised to see how people react to your presence on his live.

masterlist. prev. next

you were nervous to answer the call that rung from your pc, shaking for godsake. it was not that serious, you tried telling yourself over and over in your head.

but the thing is, it IS that serious! how did gojo already have five hundred thousand viewers, the stream just started???

you joined the video call after a moments hesitation, waving shyly at the screen. no way were you having internet anxiety, was that even a thing? online-anxiety.. the dsm-5 definitely doesn’t categorize that as a disorder.

“hi,” you spoke in a much smaller voice than usual, one you use towards your professors or customers at work. gojo mustn’t have caught on to your shy and anxious behavior, considering he immediately started screaming about how excited he was to introduce you to stream and how excited he is to play with you.

his personality was overwhelming. it’s what drew you to him all the way back to when you were seven. it could be a lot at times- but it’s what made him so enjoyable to be around. if it were anybody else, it would give you a migraine.

“chat, stop acting weird.” you heard gojo say in a disgusted voice as you booted up your own stream and game, greeting all your fans and letting them know you’re streaming with gojo. they were all so excited for you! it warmed your heart, easing your anxiety. you’d just focus on your audience, not gojos almost one million- oh my god, one million?

you were going to question gojo on what was happening in his chat, worried they were making fun of you, but when you noticed he had one million viewers you almost passed out. this was terrifying.

you discreetly opened his stream chat, making small talk with gojo and your audience while you took a look at what people could possible be saying.

you were fucking shaking. this was NOT that serious- but you had such bad self consciousness, you just had to see what they were saying… were they calling you ugly? weird? oh no- where his diehard fangirls mad that he was streaming with a girl-

to your surprise, all you saw were nice comments. they were all complimenting you, asking gojo why he didn’t introduce you sooner. you were shocked, a small smile tugging at your lips as you continued to read.

GOJOMARRYME: EEE SHES SO CUTE! how does she only have 50k?!? GUYS MAKE HER FAMOUS!

gojosleftnutsock: is she dating gojo? love her already, im going to live vicariously through her

gojoandgetostan68: yn can i be your lap dog

sugurugetotv ✅: why have you never introduced us, gojo?

you had to stop yourself from reading before your face went bright red. no wonder gojo called them out, some of these messages were so weird. but the majority were sweet! you were glad you had a good first impression on everyone.

however, one message in particular caught your eye. he’s verified, you recognize his name from gojo. he’s talked about geto a few times, talked about how he’s going to play games with him but it’s not the same as playing with you. gojo just said that to guilt you, though.

“yn, who are you gonna play?” gojo asked, reeling you out of your thoughts as you realized you’ve already loaded into a match.

“i’ll play cloak and dagger,” you insisted, preferring to play support over any of the other roles. “how about you?” you asked, though you received no response.

“gojoooo?” you called out, eyebrows furrowing together as he went silent, still haven’t chosen a character. you wondered if the call bugged out, but when you looked at your video chat, he was still very much there. he looked upset about something, a look of… jealousy(?) on his face. you weren’t quite sure why he looked mad.

“you okay?” you asked, which seemed to snap him out of his trance. his face immediately twisted into a wide smile, “yea! my friends just being weird..” he muttered, though you could tell his tone was far from friendly. did geto make him mad? you weren’t sure, it wasn’t your place to ask so you just stayed silent.

gojo finally put his phone down, sighing as he looked at the character lineup. you were playing cloak and dagger, your teammates consisted of a solo player who chose doctor strange, while the other three were in a party and all played dps.

gojo was clearly upset this party of three stole his dps role, cursing about how a good team should have two of each role and then immediately also picking dps. well, you were totally losing this game.

toji never cared for his view count. he only streamed to play games with his friends, and get some money along with it. he was naturally successful and never cared how many viewers he had or lost.

until today.

he lost 16k viewers in the span of fifteen minutes. he thought he got cancelled for a good minute there, until his friends brought him into the loop of things.

sukuna of all people even tuned into gojos stream, what the hell? just for some random? it made no sense. sukuna and choso assured him the hype was for a reason, but until he saw you, he wouldn’t believe it.

toji scoffed, rolling his eyes when his friends finally joined his call and began naming off excuses as to why they were late to chat.

“right, just get on the game bro.” he spoke in his usual cold tone. those who don’t know him would think he was being harsh to his friends, but this was just how he spoke.

toji invited them to his party, the three of them queuing up for a match. toji was happy to see someone instalock support- cloak and dagger at that- usually nobody wanted to play healer. he was making small talk with choso when sukuna suddenly spoke up,

“chat told me we got matched with gojo and his friend.”

first chapter is up!! i’m so sorry, i know i said this would be an smau but clearly there’s more writing than pictures.. i want to do an equal amount of both but i have to add context for some things ):

tag list

@estella-novella @ourfinalisation @definetlythinkimanalien @fuckisthatahotghost @m-0ona @sillybillylamb @ayla-1605

[boopjuice]

@bluerosefox you have twisted my arm by giving me motivation to follow through on some ideas. Hope you enjoy this part

The logistics talk had to wait. Danny got a call from his parents, and it seemed to panic him because he immediately handed the phone back to the first person who'd had it. Dick thought his name was Tucker, is the second voice was to be believed.

"Sorry about that," the young voice said into the phone. "It's better for Danny to answer that, the last thing we want is for the Fenton's to not be able to get a hold of him and end up creating another world ending- I mean, they'll, uh, break down Sam's door! Yeah, because they're looking for him. Because he wasn't home at a normal time."

Well, if the others were as terrible liars as Tucker was, then there wouldn't be much of a problem figuring out who these people were. Not that there was going to be much of one anyway, considering how bored Tim looked typing away on his laptop.

"Sure. I get it. Overbearing parents can be a nightmare," Dick responded, ignoring the small look B sent his way. "I take it he still lives at home?"

"I mean, I guess we all do? We don't really have much of another choice."

"Danny mentioned school schedules. Are you all students?" Kori asked. Her grip on his shoulder had relaxed significantly since hearing their daughter's voice, and it showed in her speech too.

"Well, yeah."

"I see. What college do you go to?"

"College? I mean, I really want to get into MIT, but I'd settle for-" Tucker let out a pained huff on the other end, like someone had just hit him. There was a furious whisper session, possibly muffed behind a hand, before Tucker came back on the line.

"So, uh, Mar'i said you were a cop?"

Dick had the advantage of being a Bat almost his whole life, or he would have missed how the whole family perked up at the mention of wanting to go to college. Paired with the young voices and living at home, these kids couldn't have been out of high school yet.

"Yeah, a detective. But you managed to get a hold of my personal phone number less than three hours after my daughter went missing, so I assume you know at least that much."

"Oh, uh, well I- we! We have a, um... a really good... social media stalking method!" Dick heard Steph and Tim stifle laughs. He thought he heard a "Seriously, Tuck?" come through the line, too.

"I was better at deception by the time I was six," Damian whispered with a scowl that mirrored Bruce's. He'd bet money that the scowl was mostly genetic. It was kind of cute, how the two looked so much alike.

Aunty Ri-ri. Why had that kid, Dan, said that? There was no way Mar'i had any relation to him, and he'd be willing to bet that she definitely looked different enough that mistaking her as a relative wouldn't be an option.

There was your amnesia year, he thinks, and it twists his stomach into knots. Who knows what happened? Certainly not you.

"Perhaps we could begin to discuss how we could pick our daughter up? It sounds as though my husband needs to speak to your friend. When is a good time to meet?" Kori spoke up.

"Well, that's sort of... we'd have to do some coordinating with a few people. You know, because of club meetings and stuff! Danny's really involved in local clubs."

There was more scuffling over the phone, and Time tapped Dick's shoulder as the group waited for the two teens on the other side to stop fighting.

"The call's coming from the house of the Manson family. New socialites, so they don't have a lot of connections yet. They definitely try, though. They have a child, one Samantha Manson. I'm working on finding her connection to Danny and Tucker."

Dick nodded, turning back toward the phone as the female voice from earlier, Sam, began speaking.

"Danny's going to need too do the talking about logistics. He'd have to get away from his parents and clubs, but it might help when he gets back if he knows when some good times to meet you and your husband are."

"Of course. Richard, when do you think you can get time off so we can get Mar'i?"

"I can cover his patrol for a night if it runs long," Jason volunteered, and Dick really hoped that wouldn't be necessary. Jason pretending to be him would no doubt be the best time for his younger brother to set up some pranks that he'd rather avoid right after getting his daughter.

"No," B shut down. "Nightwing can ask one of the Titans to cover for him. If they all turn him down then you'll cover for him."

"I can call the captain. I might be able to get tomorrow off, but the day after's more likely. How long do you think the conversation's going to take? It'll be easier to set up a time if I know how long to expect to be gone."

"I can't give you a good estimate. But I would plan for a minimum of two hours."

"Alright. I'll ask the chief as soon as this call is done."

"Sounds good. The sooner we can get her home the better."

"You said it," Danny said. His voice was distant, and tired. "They still on the phone?"

"Yep," Sam said. There was a whooshing sound, and then a thunk. Sam had tossed Danny the phone, as evidenced by his now much clearer voice.

"Sorry about that. My parents wanted me to stop by for dinner with the frui- my godfather. They can be hard to get off my back about stuff to do with him. Anyway, we were about to discuss picking up Mar'i?"

Dick, Kori, and Danny ironed out details as best they could, agreeing to call each other in an hour with answers about getting out of their responsibilities elsewhere. Danny had sounded caught off guard when Dick brought up getting out of clubs, just solidifying that Tucker was lying on the spot.

Once he ended the call and texted his captain to ask for the following day off to get Mar'i he finally took in his family again. Bruce was busy supervising Damian digging through school files to look up Samantha Manson, but Tim was staring at his laptop in shock. As if that wasn't bad enough, Jason was standing behind Tim, also staring in shock.

"What? What did you find? Is she in danger?"

"No," Tim said. "But... Well, I think I know why Danny wanted to talk to you."

"Why?"

"You're going to wanna see for yourself, Dickwing," Jason said, plucking the laptop off Tim's lap, much to his displeasure, and handing it to Dick.

Tim had successfully found Samantha Manson's social media accounts, as well as those of the two people on the phone. Tucker Foley and Daniel Fenton were the two most tagged people in Manson's posts, and featured in several photos.

Quick scans showed that the three appeared to be romantically involved, having been close friends since early middle school. In the past several years there were few photos of Danny, and photos with him in them often had him blurred, even if the rest of the image was clear.

Thankfully, Tim already had a picture of the boy from what must have been their freshman year pulled up. The three were posed in front of Casper high, which must be their high school. Tucker, to the far left, was smiling wide, an arm wrapped around Samantha, who stood in the middle. She would have looked bored, save for the small smile on her face and the way her arms wrapped around Tucker and Danny's shoulders.

And Danny...

Dick understood why Tim and Jason were so shocked. He doubted anything could have prepared him to seeing his own face staring back at him through the screen.

He heard Kori gasp as she looked over his shoulder, and it was everything he could do to not drop the computer. Danny Fenton had his dark hair, his eyes, his cheeks, and the start of his build. At least, he had in early high school.

"That was the most recent clear photo I've managed to find of him," Time said. "I tried using the image sharpening software, but it never turned out anything recognizable."

"Bruce..."

His father was behind him in a moment. He could feel the man's hesitation as he saw the photo, before he took the laptop and set it down.

"I... I have..."

"We don't know for certain," he said, turning Dick so they were facing one another. "We need to get more information. DNA, school records, birth certificates. But, if it turns out he is, how do you want to handle it?"

How did he want to handle it? He might have a son that he'd never gotten to even meet. That he was planning to go meet in the next few days. He had no idea how he wanted to handle it.

"We should finish deciding how we will be getting Mar'i home first," Kori said, slipping her hand into his own and giving it a squeeze.

"Yeah. The kid, Dan... He called Mar'i Aunty, and Danny didn't correct him. Which means they either strongly suspect a relation, or they know for certain. If I had to guess, that's why they want to talk.

"Don't think that just because Fenton may have some kind of blood relation to you that he can be brought into the fold immediately, Richard," Damian said. "I am more than capable of besting him should he try to take the mantle of Robin."

"I'm not going to tell him, Dami," he reassured his youngest brother. "Besides, I doubt he'd want to get wrapped up with our nightlife. He's clearly got his own normal life, I don't want to take that away from him."

~~~

Danny was going to kill Tucker. Since when had Danny ever been in any clubs? Now he'd have to come up with clubs to talk about if his maybe bio-dad asked about them. Sure, it'd be a little difficult since both of his partners were as liminal as Jazz, if not more by now, but he'd find a way.

After he contacted the Observants and made sure his usual band of rogues and friends left him alone for a week. Just in case his maybe dad (he had to come up with a better title) couldn't make it tomorrow or the day after.

Ancients, this was going to be such a hassle.

He'd probably meet outside of city limits anyway, just for an extra layer of security. If any ghosts decided to attack against his orders while his... while Dick was here, he wanted him as far away from the fight as possible. No point endangering him and Mar'i any more than necessary. Plus, they weren't Amity natives, ghosts wouldn't probably freak him and Mar'i out, not to mention Dick's wife.

Who was, apparently, an alien.

He hadn't thought about that really until just now. He could already feel the questions starting to bubble up, but he pushed the curiosity down. Schedule a week of with the Observants first, meet Dick second, ask the cool alien lady every question in the universe third.

"I'm going to go talk to the Council," Danny said, tossing the phone back to Tuck. "Am I okay to leave the kids here for a while?"

"Of course. You know they listen to us more than you anyway," Sam said, walking over to give him a quick goodbye hug.

"Yeah, and I'm eternally jealous. But at least they listen to someone," he said, walking over and kissing Tucker bye before walking into the kitchen and opening a portal to the Infinite Realms.

Every time he did that, he found himself grateful that Wulf had taught him how to get back and forth without the Fenton Portal. He'd destroyed midway through his sophomore year, and they'd been trying to rebuild it ever since.

He shuddered as he thought about it, shifting into his ghost form and feeling gravity revoke its hold on him before slipping through the portal. They'd called him earlier to ask if he'd seen where they left the blueprints they'd made from memory.

He did remember, he wasn't as stupid as his report card made him look. Which was why he wasn't stupid enough not to burn the blueprints when he'd found them.

~~~

He only barely got back in time to call Dick back. He hadn't gotten a week off, like he'd hoped. But they agreed to at least restrict access to the living world for a couple days. Not ideal, but at least it was better than nothing.

"How'd it go?" Tucker asked from the kitchen. He was setting out three plates of tacos for the kids, his own and Sam's sitting near the stove.

"Not ideal. But I got the eyeballs to at least lower the chances of any attacks for a few days, so at least it's not a sharp stick in the eye."

"Ouch, only reduced? Did you bring up her being... you know," his boyfriend said, stepping over to give him a hug. Danny felt like he could melt into his arms. It was unfair how good Tuck's hugs were when he was stressed.

"Yeah. That was why they decided to restrict everything. I probably should have talked to Clockwork first, gotten some advice, but you know how time works with him. I might've come back yesterday or two weeks from now."

"I hear ya. Come on, there's time for you to enjoy a taco before we call your maybe-bio-dad back. Sam's getting the kids together, so they'll be distracted during the call."

"Thanks, Tuck. You two are the best."

"Of course we are. Now, food. You know Sam won't let you get away with not taking care of yourself."

The taco was great, and Danny had vacuumed up half of it by the time the kids flew downstairs, chattering away between the three of them as they came to the kitchen table. Dan and Ellie were in their ghost forms as they sat, and Danny had to remind them that ghost powers weren't allowed at the table to get them to return to their human forms.

The dinner was uneventful, thankfully. Dan and Ellie had been busy showing Mar'i around the house, eventually turning it into a game of hide and seek tag. Ellie had gotten into a small fight with Dan when he'd used invisibility to cheat, but nothing to large thankfully. Mar'i, thankfully, seemed to be settling in well, and the other two weren't calling her Aunty, so small mercies.

"Alright. I'm gonna go call Ri-ri's dad back. Dan, Ellie, once dinner's done get ready for bed. See if you can find anything that would fit Mar'i to sleep in."

Danny stepped into the backyard, going ghost just long enough to fly up to the roof before changing back and dialing Dick's number.

"Hello, Dick Grayson-Wayne speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hey, it's Danny."

"Oh! Hi, Danny. Um... I guess the first thing to ask is if you managed to get out of your clubs?"

"Mostly, yeah. I might get called away last minute, but hopefully that won't be happening. School's a little harder."

"Yeah, I get that. I managed to get the next two days off, so Kori and i can be there by tomorrow. I assume after school works better for you?"

"Please. Mr. Lancer's going to have my head if I miss another class this week." Shulker had decided to attack right in the middle of English. It had been halfway across the city, though, so Danny'd had to make an hour long bathroom trip. lancer had been... less than impressed with him.

"You're missing class?" Shit.

"It's not important. I just... um... We should meet outside the city!" Danny prayed Dick would just drop the skipping school angle.

"... I was going to suggest the same thing. I'd rather not risk running into paparazzi. We've managed to keep them away from Mar'i so far, and I'd like to continue that if at all possible." Thank the Ancients.

"Yeah, totally. I get that. Is your wife coming with?"

"Yes. I figured she can take Mar'i and then we can talk like you wanted to." Danny sat, leaning against one of the chimney's on the house and looking up. It was a clear night, and even if the sun hadn't set all the way yet he could see the stars.

"That sounds good. There's a small mom and pop shop right outside the city. It's got indoor and outdoor seating, whichever you prefer. I know I'd rather keep the conversation private, for both our sakes, so if we could sit there there's fewer people that would be appreciated."

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow. Before you go, though, could I talk to Mar'i?"

"Yeah. It might take a minute to get down- to get the kids downstairs. They tend to be a bit hard to wrangle, especially when they have a friend over. I'll put you on hold."

Danny didn't wait for a response before hitting the hold button, going ghost to float to the ground before becoming human again. He strode inside, taking a deep breath before shouting for Mar'i, only to be met with three small voices, plus Sam's, yelling at him for yelling inside.

Shortly after, a stampede of two sets of feet came barreling down the stairs towards him. Mar'i was still flying, but Danny could tell that the bandages under her robot pajamas were fresh. hopefully, she would be able to walk with only minimal discomfort tomorrow.

"Woah, woah!" he said, holding the phone up. he felt the haptics that told him he'd hit a button on accident, he just had to hope that it wasn't the button to hang up.

"Dan, Ellie, it's bedtime for you two. Did you remember to brush your teeth?"

"Yes, Daddy," Ellie said, "but we wanna say hi to Au- to Ri-ri's mommy and daddy too!"

"How did you know that's- doesn't matter. It's bedtime."

"Aw, pleeeaaaassse, Daddy?" Dan said, teaming up with Ellie to give him puppy eyes.

"No. You heard your dad, it's bedtime."

"But Mama," Ellie whined, only to be met with Sam's hard stare.

"Bedtime. Mar'i Will be going to bed after she getes to talk with her parents, and I'll send Papa and Daddy up with her to tuck you in. Now, move your butts upstairs."

Dan and Ellie sulked their way upstairs, followed by Sam. She'd be back down in a few minutes after reading the four and six year olds a story and tucking them in. Which meant Mar'i would have some privacy to talk with her parents.

"Here you go Ri-ri," he said, double checking that he hadn't accidentally hung up. He hadn't, but Dick was very definitely not on hold like Danny remembered. Well, it wasn't like they'd said anything about ghosts, so it was fine.

"Stay in the living room, and then bring the phone back to me when you're done. I'm going to be in the kitchen." Mar'i was quick to snatch the phone from his hand, flying over to sit on the couch.

"Hi daddy!" he heard her say as he stepped into the kitchen to make another taco. Say what you would about Tuck, he could make a mean taco, even if they were vegetarian for Sam.

He intentionally tuned out Mar'i's voice. She, like Dan and Ellie, didn't have the best grip on volume control, especially on the phone. The conversation had nothing to do with him, so he instead busied himself looking up what he remembered from early.

Tamaranian was fairly easy, since Ri-ri had already mentioned they were a kind of alien. He found a few things about their home planet of Tamaran, power sets, and the like. Nothing struck him as too alarming or dangerous.

Which left the Joker. A quick search brought up two dozen articles, all from news sites located in Gotham. From what he could gather, the guy was a grade A wackjob. He'd killed dozens, caused significant damage to the city he lived in. He seemed to enjoy playing with lives like some kind of game.

The only reason he hadn't done more damage and hurt more people was because of someone called Batman, apparently a vigilante local to the city. Some research into him showed that he'd started as a solo hero, but had built a team that people called "The Birds" over the years. He also was apparently a part of a group called the Justice League.

He was about to do some digging into them when Mar'i ran in with the phone.

"Here you go, Mr. Danny! I'm going to go to bed now. See you tomorrow!"

"Night, Mar'i," he called after the girl rushing upstairs. he brought the phone back to his ear.

"So, I guess We'll talk tomorrow?"

"You're in high school, right?"

"Um... yeah?" Dick was quiet for a minute, enough that Danny wondered if he'd hung up.

"Ri-ri was telling me about your kids. I take it they're Miss Manson's?"

"W-what?!" he sputtered. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm a detective, Danny," Dick said. it sounded a lot like Jazz when she was explaining why it was important for him to get enough sleep. "It wasn't hard to find out that you two and Mr. Foley are involved together."

"Well, yeah, but we're not- they aren't- look, it's a long story that involves a fruitloop who was obsessed with me being his son, and I'd rather not try and explain over the phone."

"Right. Sorry, just... Sorry. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Talk to you then. Night."

"Night, Danny."

Danny hung up, staring down at the phone. He'd have to see if Sam or Tucker could pick up the kids tomorrow. Oh god, how was he going to take care of Mar'i tomorrow? Well, the daycare attendant had said a while ago that she'd owe Phantom a favor for saving the daycare. Maybe he could show up early as Phantom and ask that she take care of an extra kid?

He groaned, letting his head fall into his hands. The phone smacked uncomfortably against his forehead, but he paid it no mind. He already agreed to help his parents look for those blueprints, which meant he was going to have to spend the night at home, which meant he wasn't going to sleep, which meant-

He shook himself out of his spiral. One step at a time, that's what Jazz always said. One step. Right now, the next step was to tuck in his kids and kid sister.

Right. That was a task he could manage.

Hmmm

I'm on a Danny is Dick's child kick rn so I'm making more.

But lets add in some Ghost King Danny!, Dad to a deaged Ellie and Dan! And toddler Mar'i Grayson.

Danny was conceived during Dick's amnesia year when he was Ric and the woman couldn't find him to tell him (or maybe the Owls caught wind of the pregnancy and took her) and he ended up somehow (hmmm maybe a meddling time keeper?) with the Fentons.

Danny grows as a Fenton, he knows he was adopted btw, then becomes Phantom, protects Amity, becomes the Ghost King and things seem to be going okay between Amity Parkers and the Infinite Realms since they took care of the GIW problem, AND has been a good doting teen dad to his deaged 'cousins/clones' turned kids.

Danny was going to go pick his kids up from daycare one day when CHAOS happens. Just as he wrangles Ellie onto his shoulders, cause she wants to be tall today, and about to take Dan's hand cause he's and I quote "A big boy and not a baby like Ellie, Dad!" he suddenly feels the tug of his family being in danger.

Thing is, its a blood related danger. Meaning someone blood related to him was in grave danger, and by the emotions he can feel, its someone young, way younger than him.

Problem.

The only people Danny knows with his blood in their veins and are young enough for the feeling are with him.

So who?

But due to Danny being a protector spirit AND knowing the feeling is from someone as young as his own kids, Danny decides to use his Ghost King Powers to summon said person from the danger to him.

Danny opens his free arms out just as a tiny toddler with black hair like his own but with bright green eyes, even the sclera were green, in a ruined party dress drops from the sky from the summoning circle that had opened above him.

Danny stares at the terrified child, whose hands are tied by rope and was crying, and takes notes of certain traits she had that he saw every time in the mirror or on his own kids, same eye shape and cheekbones. He can tell his ghost core has claimed her as family but not as his kid though.

No the connection that formed was almost like his connection with Jazz but a bit stronger.

This kid, was his sister. His blood related one.

-Meanwhile-

Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing, and his family were freaking the fuck out.

Dick was already panicked when his daughter Mar'i had gotten kidnapped just a few hours ago by the Joker.

Now he was feeling pure dread when his daughter, who was about to be killed, was suddenly pulled into a strange glowing circle at the last minute and disappeared into thin air.

[crushpunky]

actress!reader reveals what’s on her phone

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based loosely on the glamour interview, screen time :)

“Hello, Glamour, I’m y/n y/ln and today we are going to be digging through my phone!” Y/n sang, greeting the camera with a grin!

What’s your screen time?

“Oh my god…” Y/n groaned, running a hand down her face. “4 hours and 35 minutes.”

“That’s not too bad!” The interviewer said with a sympathetic giggle.

“Well that’s good to hear.” Y/n chuckled, swiping through her phone.

What’s the story behind your lock screen?

“Awww, it’s very cute.” Y/n said, her cheeks flushing slightly as a grin spread across her face before she held her phone up to the camera:

“So it’s a picture of me, my wonderful boyfriend, Drew, and our dog Charleston.” Y/n couldn’t help but continue to smile at the photo and the memory of the evening. “This is at a beach in… somewhere in South Carolina, I’m not giving away our secret spot. But yeah, I think it was taken by one of Drew’s sisters and it’s just such a good memory of me and my favorite person… and Drew too.”

Y/n teased as she swiped into her phone for the next question.

How about a little tour of your camera roll?

“Ooh it’s about 90% photos of Charleston.” Y/n giggled as she scrolled through her camera roll:

“Well, we’ve got some photos from set, of course, but I can’t share those.” Y/n explained. “Lots of my friends and their dogs, Drew being a goof, some outfit photos… nothing too crazy.”

“The last picture of Drew?” The interviewer asked, referring to the meme of him she had saved on her phone:

“Oh my god I forgot I had that!” Y/n giggled, genuinely tickled by the meme her and Madelyn had stumbled across. “That’s Drew as Glinda from Wicked, of course. Doesn’t he just look so beautiful?”

Y/n quirked her brows, smiling into the camera as she held up the meme.

You’re very honest about your love of Tik Tok, would you mind sharing some of your favorites?

“We’re gonna have to dig deep into the archives… the personal collection.” Y/n teased, scrolling through her numerous saved Tik Toks.

“Well, I’m not shy to admit that I am a bit of a fangirl and do have quite a large folder of saved edits.” Y/n giggled, her cheeks flushing as her eyes landed on an especially entertaining edit of Drew. “Now I’m gonna preface that… yes, a lot of these are of Drew or myself or our characters. I can’t lie, I do have a bit of an addiction.”

As she watched it, she bit her lip and let out a flustered giggle. Behind the camera, the interviewers laughed at y/n’s reaction, causing her to scroll onto the next edit:

“Oh my god I forgot about this one!” Y/n squealed. “I was showing this one to Drew and Madelyn last night and we were in actual tears at the comments!”

“I just want to say, shout out to the editors and commentators on Tik Tok for being so unabashedly horny.” Y/n said, pointing to the camera with a cheesy grin.

What have you been listening to lately music wise?

“I mean… the people already know.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully as she opened up her Spotify before turning it to the screen:

“I told y’all I was a Swiftie and I wasn’t lying.” Y/n raised her eyebrows as she dove further into her playlists and collections.

“Playlist wise, I have my go-to jams, showtunes, classic rock, rap and hip-hop… a little bit of everything.” Y/n smiled.

"I also like to make playlists for each of my characters," y/n explained. "It really helps me to get into the mind of the character and kind of... explore aspects of them that might not be surface level or obvious."

What’s the vibe on your Pinterest?

“Ooh yay! I love Pinterest.” Y/n squealed as she opened up Pinterest excitedly. “Pinterest is actually the most underrated app, I use it everyday for work, memes, funsies.”

“Fun fact, a lot of my nails and fashion genuinely come from Pinterest.” Y/n explained. “My stylist and I have a shared board and are constantly sharing new ideas.”

“Is your Pinterest public?” The interviewer asked, to which a mischievous grin spread across y/n’s lips.

“No it is not, I like to be at least a little bit mysterious and I feel like Pinterest is pretty personal.” Y/n nodded.

Who was the last person you texted or called?

Y/n giggled, not even needing to open the app to check as she pushed a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Drew. He texted me right before I got here, which we always do right before either of us have an interview.” Y/n grinned, closing her phone.

“Well thank you so much for having me, Glamour, and I hope that you all enjoyed looking into the depths of my phone!” Y/n said, waving to the camera before turning to the interviewer.

“That wasn’t quite as scandalous as I thought it was going to be.” Y/n teased, winking to the camera one last time.

[isa-gh0st]

is there a rundown of what's going on with the new mcyt drama? i haven't been following any of them since slightly before the finale of dsmp 0-0

Oh god. Let me try my best here.

I will say, on my main, @isa-ghost, I've reblogged a ton of liveblogging stuff that kind of gives you context in detail? But in reverse order because, yknow, that's how reblog chronology works or whatever.

This don't stop the party edit is a good tldr of the beginning of it all but you gotta pause to really read it so I'm gonna summarize via bullet points too.

XQC (shitty Canadian Kick streamer, misogynist and flaunts his money at every turn) met Trump, wearing a Trump shirt. Is a fanboy of his clearly. Is not the first streamer to do this, esp on Kick

Tommy quote rts his pic of him meeting Trump like "its hard to be more cringe than TommyInnit but you did it"

XQC clapped back saying Tommy went from dickriding Dr*m to making jokes to 17 year old girls irl (which is sexist to say but I digress)

Dr*m gets involved for some fuckign reason (he wants attention that's why) and makes a meme calling all dsmp stans (he later claims he meant inniters specifically) the r slur

Shit BLOWS UP obviously because he called 15 million people a slur in a derogatory way. Makes SO MANY excuses that don't work ofc. Later deletes all his tweets abt it, but prior to doing so he TRIPLED DOWN ON USING THE R SLUR. Tried to excuse it with "I'm autistic" (which personally idk if I believe bc he's such a fucking liar but I also don't follow Dr*m obv so if he posted abt the diagnosis then. Whatever. Anyway)

Tommy, Tubbo, Jack, Sneeg, and so so so many other CCs now have been ripping him apart for the last 48 hours. Tubbo has dissected everything he's said on Twitter and a Reddit post he made yesterday

Last night at like midnight to 3am his time, Dr*m goes live and dissects Tubbo's vod of him dissecting Dr*m's shit and Dr*m GENUINELY CRASHES OUT for 3 FUCKING HOURS, most of which was him projecting on Tommy hardcore and lying and manipulating AS USUAL. If you care enough, I'd watch Tubbo's vod. OR you can probably find a summary somewhere but it's. A lot.

Tubbo went live at 10am CST today dissecting Dr*m's crashout, which lasted FOUR FUCKING HOURS. He was meant to talk to Dr*m directly on stream today but then--

Tommy posted a 5 min vid clapping back very concisely so Dr*m is in the process of making a response vid, therefore he canceled his chat with Tubbo.

Quackity tweeted he would be going live because during Dr*m's crashout he name dropped SEVERAL ex-dsmp members and other people such as Ludwig, a6d, the girl GNF assaulted, Gumball's VA. The list goes on. However, idk for sure if Quackity is gonna talk abt this, all he tweeted was "going live later" basically.

47 MCYT CCs were tuned in to Tubbo's dissection stream today at one point or another. I haven't seen MCYT this united since we all ousted W*lbur for abusing Shelby Shubble (you said you haven't been around since the dsmp finale so idk how much abt that you know. It happened in late Feb last year)

People are welcome to break down these events in greater detail in my reblogs if they're crazy enough!

[willowsnook]

Hi,I wanted to request a fluff lando norris x sainz reader.you can make it however you would like.if you can make it amazing and if not, that's ok, also I love your writing <3

lando norris x sainz!reader

A/n: short little blurb

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

"Are you sure it's okay if I stay here?" You asked your brother as he carried your suitcases into his Monaco apartment.

"Of course," he said, scoffing. "It's insulting that you even ask that; you're my sister."

"I know...but I don't want to impose," you said. Carlos set your bag down and brought his hands down to your shoulders.

"You can stay here as long as you want; I'm gone a lot of the time anyways," he said, reassuring you.

Moving in with your brother had not been in the cards for this year, but after you were laid off last month, you couldn't afford to renew your lease for your London apartment, so here you were. There were some good leads for jobs in Monaco, so moving in with Carlos temporarily seemed like a good move. Plus, the country was beautiful.

A few weeks in, you settled into a good routine. You went on a run every morning, followed by yoga, and then you applied for jobs or went in for interviews. You were in the final rounds at several places and felt optimistic. On nights Carlos was there, you hung out with him, but you tried to carve out a new life for yourself in Monaco. You joined a book club at your new favorite bookstore, hung out at the beach, and went to bars alone in hopes of meeting new people.

Carlos was out of town this weekend on a quick trip to see Rebecca, so you had the place to yourself. Declaring it a "self-care" night, you cooked your favorite pasta dish, poured a big glass of wine, and set yourself up to watch your favorite kind of thing on Netflix: a crime documentary.

Not even two minutes in, someone was knocking at the door. Annoyed, you paused the show and tossed the blanket off of you, heading to the door. Swinging it open, you were surprised to see Lando Norris standing there, giving you an equally confused look.

"Is Carlos here?" He asked once he collected himself.

"No, he's in Spain with Rebecca," you told him. "Do you need something?"

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "I just wanted to see if he wanted to grab dinner or something."

You nodded and started to close the door, but Lando stuck his foot out, stopping it.

"Is that pasta?" He said, a hopeful look in his eyes as he looked past your shoulder to the leftovers you hadn't put away yet.

You gently rested your head against the door, closing your eyes before you sighed and fully pulled it open, allowing him to step in.

"I don't even know you," you grumbled as he started towards the kitchen.

"We've met plenty of times y/n," he chirped as he made himself a plate. "What are you watching?"

"A crime documentary," you replied. "Don't you have better things to do on a Friday night? Going to the club? Getting on the sim? Streaming?"

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Watching a crime documentary sounds good. Can I have a glass of wine?”

“Help yourself,” you muttered, moving back to the couch. He downed the pasta and brought a glass with him to the couch, sitting down to join you. Silently you started the documentary and the two of you spent the next hour and a half completely hooked.

“So do you think he did it?” Lando asked as the credits rolled.

“I honestly have no idea, “ you replied thoughtfully.

“I think he did,” Lando said confidently and you laughed at the triumphant look on his face. The two of you had shifted closer to each other during the show, now only a short distance apart. “Every excuse he has is just ‘too perfect.’”

You started to reply but were interrupted by your phone ringing on the coffee table. You threw Lando an apologetic look before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hola y/n, just calling to check in on you,” you heard your brother say over the line.

“Hi Carlos, everything is great. I had to take over your babysitting duties for tonight,” you joked and Lando pouted at you.

“Lando is there?” Carlos asked and you snorted while Lando groaned.

“Yeah, I’ve fed him and entertained him for the night,” you said and Carlos laughed.

“No funny business okay?” Carlos asked and your face flamed red. You mumbled a goodbye to him, ignoring the look of glee on Lando’s face.

“No funny business huh,” Lando said and you flipped him off.

“Are you leaving now? It’s late,” you said and he shook his head.

“Let’s watch another one,” he said and you sighed, but agreed. Handing him the remote, you got up to get a blanket, bringing it back and throwing it over you and Lando. He picked another documentary from the options and you two settled in. You could feel yourself growing sleepier as the show went on and you constantly squirmed, trying to get comfortable.

“Lean on me,” Lando whispered, not taking off his eyes off the screen.

“What?” You whisper yelled back at him. He held his arm up and beckoned you closer . “No funny business Norris.”

“No funny business Sainz,” he said back with an amused grin. Sighing, you moved into him and it was annoying how comfy he was. Snuggling into his chest you tried to stay awake but ended up drifting off. Lando looked down at you with a small smile on his face; little did you know that he already knew Carlos was out of town, he just wanted an excuse to see you.

[scheherazades-vigil]

I *think* I understand what they were trying to do here. Disclaimer that I'm multiply disabled and blah blah so I'm inevitably biased in ways unknown to me, though presumably not the usual ones. Idk.

Basically, I think I get it, they just wild fumbled. I think this is due to the extremely erratic writing and— from the vibes I get, anyway —bc there are extremely good and extremely terrible writers in the room warring for dominance. Nah, more like the good ones trying to sneak shit in underneath the intended bulk of BS. I don't think the majority of s1 class warfare and oppression and police brutality were accidental or stumbled upon. I think they just deviously (mmm) talked people like Linke into it via horrible reasons to at least achieve smth of merit. Bear in mind this is a total guess; the vibes, ok? I mean, we already know stuff happened in the writing room before S2, and idk the extent of it, but it certainly seems to have made a giant difference. I'm not sure why else this mismatched MCU of a season even exists, otherwise (after said content of reasonable merit).

Anyway, my guess is still that there are some good ones sneaking things in, but even more inflated egos+writing changes made for greater difficulty in doing so? Such that the material got maimed, executed, burnt to ash, locked in separate lockboxes and scattered across the universe. SO MUCH is absolutely gross, don't get me wrong. But a lot of people have said it better than me already, s'why I'm not bothering.

Anyway, bear with me here cause cognitive impairment, developmental disabilities etc are catching up to me. Haven't even written in ages so gl me. I think they were going for smth like, "You are beautiful, and your unearned struggles do not define you, despite the horror of how they were forced upon you. I admire you for how you challenged that status quo and stood strong in the face of the oppression you should never have had to face. You're not just some 'Undercity cripple,' you are YOU and they could never take that from you. THAT is beautiful." Or smth. Ofc 90% of that would have to be improving subtext given the current text. But yeah, and then someone came in and went LOL BUT HE IS THO WE'LL BE GENEROUS AND FORGIVE HIS UNFORTUNATE EXISTENCE

I know this is high-key an absurd good faith argument, but like I said, vibes. Trust me I'm a really bad Janna main, ok? 😭😭 SHUT UP I'M TRYING TO FEEL BETTER lol

Sneaking back in to say I was partly inspired by the people sneaking in JayVik content and such, when Linke went to every length to no homo that. To the extent he revealed his complete obliviousness re acespec/arospec and it was gross.

Jayce's speech to Viktor was bad.

IMO

So, the final speech Jayce gave to Viktor about finding beauty in imperfection, and how our flaws make us human, that’s a fine sentiment but the specific examples he used ruined it. He used Viktors disease as an example.

Viktor was dying from a disease caused by Piltover mining in the fissures polluting the air. It was a preventable disease forced onto him by a corrupt system. He was slowly and painfully falling apart. “I can feel myself rotting” type stuff. Was he supposed to have appreciated that?

Jayce wants him to have appreciated the simple beauty of dying a slow painful death while your best friend is too busy being a councilman to be with you and your mentor is roadblocking your only possible cure. That was the imperfection that he was misguided to want to solve? The show is really saying Viktor was misguided, or not appreciative enough of being human, to not want to die young. He was giving up his humanity when he fought to live.

Viktor should not have just accepted it, that isn’t just part of being human. It isn’t a beautiful flaw you learn to love. He did nothing wrong by taking his life into his own hands and taking every possible chance to live. Even when no one believed in him.

I’m sure there are more charitable interpretations but that line really rubbed me the wrong way.

[clockwayswrites]

Mx. Minx - Dinner part 2

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3 cw:mentions of blood and canon typical violence

He heard Danny move the bathroom and the sink running. Danny’s voice was garbled as he asked, “What sort of medical stuff do you need? Anything more than medication and some bruise cream?”

“A few scrapes,” he answered after a moment of assessing. He flexed his fingers. “My knuckles are probably bloody.”

“Bandages and ointment it is,” Danny said.

It was a while longer before the water shut off, long enough for Jason to be down to his pants, shirt, gloves, and mask. The rest of his gear made a small pile on the coffee table—an odd thing with cheap, mid-century modern lines covered in at least one full layer of stickers. It felt odd to have his weapons not only off, but just sitting where anyone could grab them. It made his hands itch.

He focused on carefully taking off his gloves.

Danny padded softly around the apartment, just out of Jason’s line of sight, before he set a haphazard collection of things on the coffee table next to Jason’s pile. There where the bandages, rags, wipes, and tubes but also bottles of sports drink, packets of crackers and those cheap powdered donuts.

Danny snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Okay, let’s see to you. We’ll eat after, but if you need something now feel free. And you’re going to drink one of those bottles,” Danny said, tone matter of fact and oddly authoritative.

Not wanting a fight tonight, even just for the sake of being stubborn, Jason cracked open one of the bottles and took a long sip. Then he opened the other and set it purposefully in front of Danny, who rolled his eyes, but took a sip.

The gloves game off first. Jason hissed as the fabric pulled against the raw skin. The sound was harsh through the modulation of the mask, but Danny just made a soothing little sound in response and slowed down. When the gloves were finally off, battered knuckles revealed, Danny ran his thumbs under the mess.

“Lots of punching tonight, huh?” Danny asked.

Jason shrugged. “Lots of people needed to be punched.”

“I’m sorry that I don’t think there’s anyway for this not to hurt,” Danny said picked up the wet rag and pressed it to the knuckles.

It was surprisingly, soothingly, warm.

“I’m used to pain.”

Danny sighed. “I know. But I also know that really doesn’t make it any better.”

Jason could only shrug again. It didn’t, but that was also his life. It had always had pain in it. Still, it was nice of Danny to try and cause as little as possible. His touch was different than Leslie’s or Alfred. It was less clinical. Less numb to it all. Not that Danny seemed squeamish in the least or reacted poorly to the blood and bruises, but there was a sadness to him.

Not wanting to add to it, Jason tried to stay as quiet and still as possible as Danny cleaned and dressed the wounds and bruises. It was almost peaceful, despite the stings of pain, and Jason found the exhaustion pulling himself down into a lull.

“Any bruises on your torso?” Danny asked. His hands were already under Jason’s shirt, pushing the fabric up.

Jason stilled Danny’s hands, catching them in his own bandaged ones. “Not pretty under there.”

“I won’t mind.”

But would Jason?

Danny would see his scars—all of them. The one wasn’t something he could explain away. Worse, it was distinct. Identifying. People just didn’t have autopsy scars across their chest.

Jason thought about the guns and knives already on the coffee table.

His blood on the rags.

He dropped his hands.

[gravedwe11er]

Mecha AU Deadlock angst? Mecha AU Deadlock angst!

Or, I saw a post mentioning that someone is gonna have to explain human lifespans to the bots, and my brain ran with it. Based on the @keferon mecha AU.

CW: Discussions of death and mortality

Human and cybertronian lifespans are such wildly disparate things. Deadlock struggles with this newfound knowledge.

Forty local stellar cycles. Maybe fifty, if he’s one of the lucky ones.

Now, even before his crash-landing on this planet, Deadlock knew enough about organics to be aware they’re generally not as long-lived as mechanical species. Comes with being so breakable all over, if he had to guess, but-

That’s barely half a fragging vorn.

Even if he gets lucky, even if, for once, Deadlock doesn’t fail at keeping the people he cares about safe, the little organic medic is going to be dead in half a vorn. ‘That’s just how things are, for humans,’ Swerve said. ‘I’m sorry,’ Swerve said.

Slag, and what about Roddy? Deadlock’s pretty sure the pilot is younger than Ratchet, but still- that gives him, how long, a vorn? Less? Even the very thought of it just feels so damn wrong. The little guy’s so bright, how could anyone with an EM field like a fucking Prime have the lifespan of--

Deadlock desperately wants to shoot something.

Instead, he drives towards Ratchet’s workshop, transforming the moment he’s out of sight and heading straight for the doc once he finds him in the garage. It’s yet another testament to the man’s caring nature that he lets himself get picked up with only token grumbling, throwing a concerned look Deadlock’s way but not pushing the matter.

The human medic has always been scarily good at reading him. In moments like these, Deadlock can’t help but be overwhelmingly grateful for it.

Hugging the man to the side of his helm, he soon feels a small, calloused hand running gently down one finial. Deadlock wants to scream. The injustice of it all making his processor spin, his spark thrumming with pain and fear and overwhelming grief. How can he bear to lose all this so soon? He’s only just found him, the first glimpse of something like peace in eons, and he can’t deal with the thought of him gone, he can’t-

Ratchet grunts in his servos, knocking loudly on one of Deadlock’s fingers, and with a jolt he realizes just how tight he’s been holding the man. Immediately, he loosens his grip, gently petting down the doc’s back in silent apology. After a moment, a warm ser- hand pats his cheek.

“Feel like telling me what’s eating you, kid?” Ratchet asks, before lightly pushing against Deadlock’s face.

Responding to the wordless request, Deadlock pulls his cupped hands away from his helm, just enough so he can look into the human medic’s opti- eyes. He scrambles for a way to express his racing thoughts, vocalizer hissing with static, before abruptly spitting out, “Are you dying?”

To his surprise, the man bursts out laughing. “Shit, where’d you get that idea?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Now, as much as I’m sure a bunch of my previous employers would love to dance on my grave, let me assure you that I’m perfectly fi-“

“But you’re not!” Deadlock almost shouts, engine growling. “He said- decay of organic components, and human lifespans are-“ his voice gets stuck in his throat, vocalizer jamming, and he offlines his optics for a moment. Tries to get his slag together, at least a little.

When he turns them on again, all the mirth has left his human’s face. The medic’s eyes are serious, a sad sort of expression on his face, and Deadlock wants to curl himself around the man and never let go.

“Right,” sighs Ratchet, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I was sort of hoping you knew about that already.”

The last flutter of hope he was harboring vanishes. “So he was right? You only live for- eighty, ninety of your years?”

“Afraid so, kid,” says the man, suddenly looking so fragile in Deadlock’s palms. “Look, I know it’s not a lot to your kind, but-“

“And there’s nothing to be done? Can’t you- figure something out?”

He’s reaching and he knows it, but the human looks so- accepting of it. Like it’s a perfectly normal thing, to barely get to live at all before your body breaks down and dies, just like that!

Ratchet shakes his head with a wry smile. “Not how that works. People have been trying, sure, but nobody ever really got anywhere. And even if we did manage to drastically expand our lifespans somehow, the psychological effects it would have… we’re just not made for that, Deadlock,” he says, patting Deadlock on the nearest finger; a ghost of a touch, but still comforting. “I, hah, appreciate your faith in me kid, but not even I can do miracles.”

“I just don’t- how the fuck can you be so alright with that?” Deadlock asks, feeling utterly miserable.

The man snorts. “What else is there to do? It’s not like worrying about it would fix anything, and I’m not going to waste my life thinking about my death.” Then the human’s gaze softens, and he stands up to be more optic-level with Deadlock. “Listen to me. I know this is a hard pill to swallow, but there’s nothing you, or anybody else, can change about it. The only thing you can do,” he says gently, reaching a hand towards Deadlock’s cheek, “is make the most of it.”

Deadlock exvents, suddenly feeling deeply tired. “Right. Right, I guess I just- gotta make it count, then,” he mutters, carefully leaning into the contact and the comfort it brings.

Ratchet smiles at him. “That’s the spirit. Have fun with Roddy- safe fun,” he quickly adds. “Take him on drives, or, hell, feel free to bum around my workshop as usual, if that’s what you want. You know I don’t mind the company, provided you behave yourself,” says the doc, his words punctuated by a mock-threatening look. “Just… try enjoy the time you have with us, okay?”

“Mkay,” he answers, voice still choked with static, before pulling the little medic to his chestplates. This close to his spark, he can read the human’s odd, tiny EM field with perfect clarity – concern, quiet affection and a deep kind of care rolls off of him in waves. Sometimes, Deadlock wishes he could tangle their fields together properly, synchronizing their frequencies in an embrace only possible for his kind, but- this is good too. More than good, really – it’s something unique to the two of them, and that makes it perfect as far as he’s concerned.

“Now, I’d really like to know which tactless bastard just dropped all this on you,” jokes Ratchet, the vibrations of the man’s voice tickling pleasantly against his plating, “so I can go brain them with a wrench for it.”

Despite himself, Deadlock snorts. “I think Swerve might be a little outside your size class, doc.”

“Oh, don’t you underestimate me, kid!” the medic grumbles, but he’s laughing too, and the return to the usual banter eases some of the weight on Deadlock’s spark.

Forty stellar cycles, maybe fifty.

He’ll make those years count.

He’ll make them be enough.

(Maybe, if he repeats it a few hundred times more, he’ll make himself believe it, too.)

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (part 8)

sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

A/N: Apologies for the two months radio silence, I had to go for a little grippy sock vacation. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the angst, the comfort and FINALLY…. Nah, I can’t spoil you. You’ll have to read it. Enjoy, and don’t forget to reblog if you do! <3

After Larissa’s admission, the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, like the air itself might crack under the weight of it. You hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, though the ticking clock told you it had only been minutes. Larissa sat beside you, her posture impeccable as always, but her fingers betrayed her composure—they fidgeted ever so slightly, twisting the hem of her sleeve in a way you’d never seen before.

You were still clutching the blanket she’d given you, your knuckles white around the edges. The warmth it provided didn’t quite reach your chest, where a strange hollowness had taken root.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended. The words felt insufficient, but they were all you had.

Larissa turned her head toward you, her silver hair catching the dim light. There was something guarded in her eyes, something she wasn’t ready to say. “You don’t need to thank me,” she replied softly. “I just… needed to be here.”

The honesty in her words startled you. She’d been nothing but composed since the moment you met her, a fortress of calm and control. But tonight, cracks were starting to show. The revelation of her secret had thrown you both into uncharted territory, and you weren’t sure either of you knew the way forward.

“I still can’t believe it,” you admitted, shaking your head as if that might somehow make it all make sense. “The shifting, the man—you—”

“Me,” Larissa said, her lips quirking into a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. “All of it, I’m afraid.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of her voice, that same warm lilt you’d come to recognize, but now layered with vulnerability. It was like hearing a familiar song played in a minor key—comforting and disarming all at once.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Larissa hesitated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, now folded neatly in her lap. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” she said, her voice steady but low. “I didn’t want to risk…” She trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between you like a fog.

“Risk what?”

“Risk losing whatever fragile connection we’d managed to build. I wasn’t supposed to get so attached. We weren’t supposed, remember?” she said remembering your initial agreement, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent so long hiding who I am—what I am—that the idea of showing you felt… impossible.”

Her confession hit you like a wave, the weight of it sinking into your skin. For all her strength, all her poise, Larissa carried a fear you recognized all too well: the fear of being truly seen and rejected for it.

“I don’t think of you any differently,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words spilled out, shaky but honest.

Larissa looked up, her blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, obviously. But you’re still… you. And you saved me, Larissa. Twice, now. I can’t ignore that.”

Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and you saw a glimmer of relief in her expression. “I’ve had to make difficult choices to keep my secret,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand all of it, but I want you to know—I’ve only ever tried to protect the people I care about.”

“Is that what I am?” you asked before you could think better of it.

Larissa blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted, and for a moment, you thought she might deflect. But then she nodded, a small, deliberate motion. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy. It was the first time in a long time that someone had claimed you as theirs, even in such a quiet way. You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Larissa replied. “Just… stay.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you saw the weight she carried—not just the secret of her ability, but the responsibility she felt for everyone around her. It was etched into the lines of her face, the faint tension in her jaw, the way her hands never quite stilled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, and the words felt truer than anything you’d said in a long time.

Larissa’s expression softened, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The air in the room felt lighter, less charged, as though some unspoken barrier had finally been breached.

“Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The quiet that followed was different now—less heavy, more companionable. The silence between you felt alive, not oppressive as it had moments before. Larissa's gaze lingered on you, and you found yourself unable to look away. It was disarming, the way her eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies of emotions—uncertainty, hope, and something warmer, more tender, that you couldn’t quite name.

You set the blanket aside, letting the warmth of the moment pull you forward, closer to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice steady, though you noticed the faintest tremor in her hand as she smoothed her skirt.

“Why did you stay here tonight?” you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. “Was it really just to check on me?”

Her lips parted as though to answer immediately, but she hesitated. For the first time, she didn’t seem to know the right thing to say. “I… I needed to make sure you were safe,” she said carefully, but her gaze betrayed her. There was more.

“And?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

“And,” she continued, her words catching slightly, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone after what happened. I knew you’d push me away if I asked to stay, so I didn’t ask. I just… stayed.”

Your chest ached at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Larissa, the ever-composed, ever-controlled woman you thought you knew, was letting you see her without the walls she usually kept so firmly in place.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, though a part of you was grateful she had.

“I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I care about you, more than I can explain. And after last night…” She shook her head, as if trying to push the memory of it away. “I needed to make sure you knew that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as if the entire room was waiting for you to respond. But no words came. Instead, you leaned forward, the impulse almost unconscious, and placed a hand over hers.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt so small compared to everything she’d done.

Her hand trembled beneath yours, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked down to where your fingers rested over hers, then back to your face. The way she looked at you was almost unbearable—like she was afraid this moment might shatter if she breathed too deeply.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Then don’t say anything,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was you, or maybe it was her. But suddenly, the space between you was gone. Her lips brushed against yours, tentative and feather-light, as though testing the waters.

The kiss was brief, but it sent a jolt through your entire body. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, wide and unsure.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in again, pressing your lips to hers with more certainty this time. She responded immediately, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Her other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing heavily. Her fingers lingered on your face, tracing soft patterns against your skin as though committing the moment to memory.

“I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit,” Larissa said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“So have I,” you admitted, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

The vulnerability between you now was almost overwhelming, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt like a bridge—a connection neither of you had expected but both of you desperately needed.

Larissa pulled you into her arms, holding you close, her chin resting lightly on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was a balm to your racing thoughts, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I don’t want to rush you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If this is too much, too soon—”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, pulling back just enough to look at her. “It’s not too much. I just… I need to figure out what this means.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she nodded. “We’ll figure it out together,” she said, her voice steady but warm.

You believed her.

————————————————————————

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi i @i-love-nerdy-stuff @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

[ellecdc]

Sorry that this isn’t an alpha!Barty thought, but I just had to say for your alpha!remus series with omega!reader

After they’ve marked eachother, their instincts are kicked up to an 11 and I can just picture omega!reader not knowing what to do with these new feelings of being territorial and alpha!remus comforting her (he’s feeling territorial too, so it works out)

hahaha our poor omega!reader, so cute! thanks for the thought <3

alpha!Remus Lupin x omega!reader who finally claim each other [837 words]

CW: fem!reader, background jegulus, omegaverse, alpha/omega dynamics, posessiveness, mating bites, siblings, fluff

“Shut the fuck up!” Marlene all but bellowed as she roughly grabbed Remus’ head, angling it in an almost painful way to get a better look at his neck. Or, rather, the mark decorating his neck. Your mark. Your mating mark. “When did this happen?” 

Marlene’s outburst served to elicit a huff out of you, your eyes - slightly fiery - flitting between Remus’ own eyes, Marlene’s astounded and gleeful face, and her hands on him. 

Remus felt a little badly about how much he was enjoying this fun little side effect of your recent claiming of him and he of you. 

His quiet, docile, nearly nervous little omega had become what one might go so far to describe as possessive of Remus; distrustful eyes on even some of your closest friends let alone other patrons of the pub the group of you were currently at in honour of Mary’s birthday, looking like you were one wrong move made by anyone away from remarking Remus publicly. 

It wouldn’t be necessary, though, and he noticed some of the tension ooze out of you when he reached over to squeeze your thigh affectionately. 

“Guess you haven’t noticed the matching one on her neck either, then?” He asked instead of responding to the rather intrusive question. 

This only served to have everyone push your hair away from your shoulders in an attempt to get a look at it which had Remus’ own hand tightening around the fat of your thigh. 

“You lot finally made it official then? Does this mean I have to stop hitting on Y/N?” Sirius asked with a theatrical wink in your direction. Remus pulled you closer to him on the booth the two of you were currently stationed at. 

“Down boy.” Lily laughed from across the table at Remus’ obvious irritation. 

“The unmated omegas must just be heartbroken now that the Casanova is officially off the market.” Marlene tutted in faux sympathy for said omegas.

“He already was off the market…” You grumbled, quiet enough that Marlene from the other side of Remus probably missed it but he certainly didn’t, nor did James from the otherside of you.

“Yes I was.” He agreed quickly, pressing a kiss to your temple before removing his hand from your thigh only to reach his arm across your body and rest his hand on your opposite hip. 

You quickly embraced his arm with two greedy hands. 

“Ah, the territorial period.” James hummed with a knowing nod of his head. “Fun, eh? That was my favourite part after our mating bond; I thought Regulus might actually nonverbally and wandlessly light people’s hair on fire for looking at me a fraction of a second too long.” 

This only served to have Regulus swat up the back of his alpha’s head. 

“So nothing new, then?” Sirius drawled lazily from the rim of his pint, not even flinching when Regulus turned one such fiery gaze towards him that did indeed look like he may very well nonverbally and wandlessly light Sirius’ hair on fire from across the table.

“Another round for the table?” A cheerful server interrupted any verbal sparring that might have taken place between the brothers as she levitated a few empty pitchers in the direction of the kitchen, her smile directed immediately at Remus.

The only reason Remus knew she was directing her smile at him, however, was the way your grip on his arm - the same arm that was obvious to everyone was very protectively and possessively wrapped around no one but you - tightened to near painful levels. 

“I think so, thank you.” Remus agreed politely, offering your hip two affectionate squeezes. 

He turned to look down at you as you glared at the servers retreating back, squeezing your hip again to encourage you to look up at him. 

“You’re okay dove, hm?” He offered with his most calming smile. “I don’t want you to feel anxious.” 

Some of the fight left your eyes (and the near bruising grip on his arm) before you lowered your forehead to his shoulder with a frustrated and embarrassed huff. 

“Awe…I wish I had an omega like that; isn’t she sweet?” Remus heard someone sitting along the bar comment. When he turned to notice a woman smiling politely at him, he knew he ought to have taken it as the compliment it was.

But instead, Remus tried forcing a smile back that probably looked more like a grimace before returning his lips to the crown of your head and asked if you maybe perhaps wanted to go home. 

“Are you sure? This only lasts for the first few cycles after claiming, Moons; you should enjoy the possessiveness while it lasts!” 

“Would you sodding shut up?” Regulus asked James in disbelief. 

“Yes please.” You murmured in spite of the growing argument taking place on your other side, and his heart melted when he realised your cheeks must be burning something fierce as you hid your face in Remus’ shoulder.

“Okay dovey.” He smiled. “Let’s go home.”