#i promise anything that gets commented on

[furryprovocateur]

i'm trying to balance being glib and irreverent with conveying how deeply annoying it can be to have several strangers divert an entire post i made about a subject (divorce) and instead turn it into another one (you don't understand religious sects well enough). i don't mean to blow up or anything but it's also compounded by the fact that this is a sentiment that has been echoed for the past week or so by several people. like. i don't know, maybe it's just something you'll only get if you've made a post that gets notes (really not trying to brag here, i promise) and it consistently gets the same response despite it being hypervisible in replies/reblogs. you know, you make some dumb joke and it gets a zinger response, but then 20 people in an hour respond with that same zinger and it's like "okay enough please stop".

it's just more annoying to get that on a serious post that was referencing something that was going on in my real life (reflecting on my step-dad's divorce being so genuinely helpful for him) and simultaneously using intentional concepts like WASP culture intentionally. like, it's frustrating to try and take a moment out of your day to talk about something you've contemplated on deeply and want to seriously speak about, only for people to immediately try to undercut your point while simultaneously misunderstanding it.

i'm not trying to single you out specifically, and believe me, i have made great efforts in trying to limit how annoyed i let myself get on this app or with other people on it. i honestly mostly just want this reblog comment to be visible by virtue of being very long and hopefully it will minimize the amount of "um actually" type interactions i get. apologies if this seemed out of turn or an overreaction. i mean no harm.

i love divorce i love when people realize that they aren't a good fit for each other and get divorced about it. more people should get divorced

[belu-4]

A sweet travel.

couple: alexia putellas x reader

words count: 1,7k

warning: +18

Megan’s POV

We were finally able to take a little vacation with Ale in the middle of the busy season we were having. It was a pre-planned trip to Ibiza, a well-deserved break away from the hustle and bustle of football, taking advantage of the injury that kept Ale out of the national team call-up.

“Honey, do you have everything packed in your suitcase? It’s time to go.” I felt Alexia’s presence at my side, leaning in the doorway as she watched me finish putting on my mascara.

“I’m almost done, Ale, give me five more minutes.”

I heard her sigh and her resigned murmur. “Honey, if we take any longer, we might miss the flight.” She walked over until she was right behind me.

“I know, Ale, but I have to finish doing this.” I frowned when I saw that the mascara wasn’t showing and leaned closer to the mirror. “I promise I’ll finish here and we can go, okay?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the mirror and saw Alexia looking down, more specifically at my ass. I laughed at the sight. “See anything you like?”

Alexia quickly looked away, but then moved closer, sticking up against me from behind.

“I have a right to see what’s mine, don’t you think?”

I sat up straight so I was pressed against her chest. “Don’t play around… we have a flight.” I let out a soft moan when I felt her hands running down my torso.

“Ale…” What I was supposed to sound like a warning sounded more like a muffled moan.

“Should that stop me?” She laughed into my neck, leaving a light bite that made me gasp and blush even more. I unconsciously began to grind against her. Alexia placed her hand on the back of my neck, gently pushing me forward until I was leaning over the sink.

“So cute you look like this for me… ready to take my fingers or my cock.” I felt a burn in my ass at her words, making me moan. I had been spanked.

“You want me to touch you, don’t you?”

“Ale… please.”

“Please what, Meg? What do you want?” I looked at the mirror, seeing her silhouette leaning over me, making me moan and get even wetter.

“We should go… we’ll be late.”

“Do you really think that? Because if I did, you wouldn’t be so wet for me, princess.” Alexia let out a low laugh again. “Tell me what you really want, use your words.”

I gasped as I felt her fingers moving between my legs. “I need you, Ale… let me feel you, please.”

“What do you want? My fingers or my cock?”

“Either, I just want to feel you inside me, Ale.”

Alexia moved away from my back and walked over to where I was originally standing.

“You better hurry up or we’ll miss our flight, love.” I watched as she walked away, exiting the shared room and bathroom, leaving me with my panties awash and my body burning.

The sound of the private jet’s engine remained constant as Alexia placed her bag in the overhead compartment and then took a seat next to Megan. The plane’s cabin was spacious and luxurious, offering them absolute privacy. Megan stretched her legs out on the seat, giving Alexia a playful look.

“We needed this,” Megan commented with a smile, reclining her seat.

“Yeah,” Alexia nodded. “A little peace before we returned to chaos.” Megan closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being thousands of feet above the ground with the only company she truly wanted. However, as the minutes passed, she remembered what had happened at home.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, planning her little revenge. Alexia, sitting beside her seemingly calmly, didn't suspect a thing.

"Meg, are you okay?" Alexia asked in a worried tone.

Megan frowned and exhaled slowly before parting her lips. She swallowed, her dilated pupils betraying her intentions.

"I don't know…" Megan whispered, her voice tinged with need. She clung to Alexia's arm, showing her true intentions.

Alexia took a deep breath, trying to control the wave of desire that was beginning to take hold inside her. Megan wouldn't make it easy for her.

"Megan…" Alexia murmured, her self-control hanging by a thread.

"Lex, please…" Megan slid her hand up her girlfriend's thigh, with a lascivious look and a mocking touch.

Alexia licked her lips, feeling them dry in response. Her eyes, a little darker, scanned Megan's figure, who was breathing heavily.

Without further ado, Alexia stood up and took Megan's hand, guiding her determinedly towards the back of the plane, where there was a private compartment. As soon as she closed the door, Megan threw herself into her arms, her body burning with desire.

Megan's lips sought Alexia's desperately, kissing her with voracious hunger. Alexia held her tightly by the waist, pressing her to her body. Her hands ran over every curve of Megan, while their mouths melted in a hungry kiss, without reservation.

Alexia, taking her by the waist, she turned her around, turning her back to her.

“Will you be good for me?”

“Yes, Ale, I will be, please.”

Without another word, Alexia hiked up Megan’s skirt, running her fingers up her thighs and over her ass before leaving a smack. Megan moaned at the feeling of how wet she was. Alexia pulled down her underwear and slid her fingers between her folds, applying light pressure to her clit. Megan was already a mess of low moans at Alexia’s touch.

Ale slid a finger inside Megan, moving slowly so as not to hurt her. After a few minutes, she added a second finger, increasing the intensity and depth of her movements. She grabbed one of Megan’s legs, lifting her up onto an armrest.

Megan bit her lip to stifle a loud moan as Alexia began to move more aggressively. The pressure of her girlfriend’s fingers made her tremble. Alexia brought a hand to her neck, leaning down to bite her shoulder.

“Don’t make a sound, love. We don’t want them to hear us.” But Megan was too close to the edge to obey. Her moans were becoming more erratic, her body growing tense.

“Lex… I’m going to cum.”

Alexia smiled against her skin, speeding up her movements mercilessly, taking her straight to the cusp of pleasure. When she felt Megan was close, she stopped moving and pulled her fingers out of Megan

“I said not to be so loud, princess.”

“No, Alexia, not again.” Megan dropped her head forward, frustrated again.

Alexia laughed softly at the sight of her frustrated girl in front of her. She took a few minutes to enjoy the sight before she began to move, pulling down her pants along with her underwear, revealing the strap she was wearing. Megan’s favorite.

In the blink of an eye, Megan found herself filled by her girlfriend's cock, moaning a little louder again at the unannounced intrusion.

“You look so cute with my cock buried in your little pussy”

“God, Lexia… fuck yes, there”

Megan was a mess of moans and gasps feeling Alexia's cock filling her, feeling that knot in her abdomen getting stronger and stronger, feeling herself getting closer and closer to climax.

When Megan thought she couldn't feel better, Alexia brought her fingers to her girlfriend's throbbing clit and circled it, leaving light caresses and then starting to move them in circular motions. “Yes Alexia, fuck, keep going like that”

In a matter of seconds Megan was cumming on her girlfriend's strap, leaving a mess. Alexia moaned at that erotic image of her girl. Megan tried to catch her breath, still trembling against Alexia's body. Her skin was burning, and her mind was clouded by the pleasure that had just coursed through her. But then she smiled mischievously, her gaze lit with a mischievous spark as she turned on her heels to face her girlfriend.

“I don’t think we’re even yet.”

Alexia arched an eyebrow with a satisfied smile, crossing her arms. “And yet, look at you… completely undone by me.”

Megan bit her lip, her expression softening before she leaned closer and slid her hands down Alexia’s waist. Her lips found her girlfriend’s jaw, leaving slow, wet kisses up to her neck.

“Now it’s my turn,” she whispered against her skin, feeling Alexia shudder under her touch.

With deft, determined movements, Megan pushed her back until her back touched the wall of the private compartment. Her fingers ran down Alexia’s firm abdomen.

“Meg…” Alexia exhaled heavily, losing some of her dominant attitude. Megan smiled against her lips before claiming her mouth in a deep kiss. Her hands moved with precision, hitting every spot she knew would make Alexia melt under her touch.

What started as a game of revenge ended in a whirlwind of passion, with Alexia clinging to Megan, her breathing ragged and her body giving in to the wave of pleasure consuming her.

Alexia brought a hand up to Megan’s hair, where she tangled their fingers. Megan understood that move and slowly began to kneel in front of Alexia. “Do you want my mouth?”

Alexia let out a lewd moan “Please”

Without another word said, Megan brought her mouth to Alexia’s pussy, leaving small licks at first, mainly to tease her. A growl from the other was the message Megan needed to start giving her girlfriend more pleasure.

Alexia began to rock on Megan’s mouth, trying to seek release. “Fuck meg, yeah… still there, I’m so close”

After a few minutes, Alexia pulled Megan’s hair a little harder, she began to moan louder as a sign of her imminent climax.

When they were finally both lying on the small sofa in the compartment, intertwined and catching their breath, Megan rested her head on Alexia’s chest, smiling with satisfaction. —Now we’re even.

Alexia laughed softly, sliding her fingers through her girlfriend’s hair.

"I don’t know… maybe I need another round to be sure.

Megan raised her head and said, “I’m not sure.”

She looked at her with feigned disbelief before laughing.

“You’re lucky the flight is long, Putellas.”

They both stayed like that for a while, enjoying the shared warmth and the tranquility of the moment before the plane took them to their paradise destination.

sorry if it's too short, not very well reviewed

[dafterdarling]

pretty picture // leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

warnings: reader has lots of tattoos and is a little prickly, fluff

summary: you meet leah through a teammate of hers and fall in love immediately

word count: 1668

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Steph tries to encourage you and you scoff back.

You were currently sprawled out on your sofa watching TV with Steph leaning against the kitchen counter that, with the open concept, can oversee the living room.

It's a Friday and unlike everyone else you don't want to go out, it's actually the last thing on your mind. It's been a long week of non-stop work and all you want to do is rot on your sofa until you have to go back to work on Monday- you're actually very thankful that you don't have to work the weekend as well.

So you'd rather not waste your time in some bar or pub that Steph drags you to- or God forbid spend any time with people other than Steph.

"I don't want to go, Steph- All I want is TV and ice cream,"

You have a pint of chocolate brownie ice cream waiting in the freezer and it's begging to be opened. That was your plan- eat the whole pint while watching a crappy dating show that you had found on Netflix but Steph wanted to ruin all of that.

"Come on, you can have ice cream tomorrow and the TV will be here when we are back,"

You glare at Steph and then she looks at you with those puppy eyes that she knows melt your heart a bit- You bite the inside of your cheek and resist the urge to immediately agree.

You had known Steph for most of your life and the two of you had moved together to England so she knows exactly what works on you.

"How long is this thing?" You sigh.

Steph jumps up excitedly, "You'll be back before midnight, promise,"

Midnight? You try not to comment because you really don't want your age to show but you normally went to sleep before it hit eleven pm.

"Okay... who is coming?"

You secretly pray that she says it's just going to be the two of you but you know not to get your hopes up because the last time you hung out without a small crowd was in Australia- when you were seventeen.

"You'll find out," Steph says cryptically and you don't like the sound of that but it's too late to say no when you've already agreed.

You shake your head and mutter under your breath then turn off the TV before making your way to your room. You open the closet and sigh- because Steph has told you absolutely nothing about where she is dragging you.

"Steph?" You call for her and hear the semi-silent sock footsteps of her heading to you.

You turn to her, "What's the dress code?"

"Wear something hot," She smirks and you roll your eyes.

"I'm being serious,"

Steph chuckles and pushes you aside so she can look in the closet-

"So am I,"

You watch as she gathers some clothes and shoves them in your arms before turning and walking out the door.

You sigh because this is typical Steph behaviour but trust her anyway- you get dressed and look in the mirror. It's not bad, it's just dark washed jeans and a white t-shirt with a track top over it. It makes you think that this place you're going to isn't fancy, which you're thankful for because your bank balance is looking worse for wear after paying the bills this month.

Also because you'd rather not have to wear a turtleneck to cover your tattooed neck in the middle of July- last time you'd stepped foot in a fancy restaurant, they had asked you to leave and you really couldn't be bothered to argue so you did.

You meet Steph by the door to put your shoes on, you choose the least beat up pair out of your small collection- a pair of black boots that somewhat work with the clothes Steph picked out.

You give yourself one last check in the mirror- you would try to hype yourself up but you remember that you hate doing that more than anything. So instead you head out the door without any weird affirmations and Steph follows behind.

You make your way to your car- an old beat up little ford that is half your age and sometimes stalls, you get into the driver's seat and slam the door shut.

"Charming," She comments on a plastic bottle on the car floor.

You roll your eyes, "I've yet to throw it away-"

"No, no it adds to the... charm of it all,"

You laugh and turn the radio down slightly so Steph can give you directions. You eventually make it to a bar that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 80s but you don't comment on it. Instead you lock the car and follow Steph inside, she leads you to a table in the corner where you already can make out Beth- one of Steph's loudest friends.

"Y/N!"

You groan internally but not because you dislike Beth or anything- just because the music is already too loud and it's so hot inside this cramped bar.

"Hi, Beth," You greet her with a polite smile and a hug.

Then you sit in the semi round booth, immediately taking off your jacket because you'd rather not sweat to death. Beth and Steph sit somewhat opposite you and you begin to catch up,

"Any new ones?" Beth points down at your arms.

You smile since this is probably one of the few topics that you can discuss without issue,

"Yeah this one," You hold up both of your hands to show her the flowery design on the back of them.

"And then one on my back."

Beth smiles, "Must have hurt,"

You brush it off, "I've gotten used to it,"

The three of you discuss football, pets and a few other topics before the rest of the group arrive- You recognise Jen and give her a hug, then Alessia whom you've heard of in passing from Beth and a few others.

That's when you see her- Leah as she'd introduced herself and your breath is completely taken away because how can someone look so effortlessly good?

She's wearing a lovely leather jacket over a dress shirt that has the lightest of pinstripes with dark baggy trousers and so many rings- You immediately flush, half embarrassed at your own clothes and half in awe at Leah.

She greets you with a light hug and you think your heart skips a beat when she sits down next to you. You don't think you've ever been so starstruck by anyone and your throat is suddenly far too dry.

"So what do you do for work, Y/N?" Leah asks with a smile.

You can practically feel your face flush, you hope the bar is dark enough that Leah doesn't see it but you seriously doubt that because the pink lights from the dance floor are far too close. You try to play it off casually by leaning on the table and half turning your body towards her but all you can do is internally cringe at yourself.

"I'm a photographer... for an agency,"

You wished it sounded cooler but it was a little late to take it back.

"That's cool, what do you photograph?"

You swear Leah leans into you slightly but maybe it's just you,

"Err... Houses, like for sale."

It's not what you really wanted to do but it pays the bills for now and finding a new job in this economy was beyond difficult.

Leah nods then her attention focuses on your arms and you feel her touch you, making goosebumps flare up on your skin, before suddenly flinching back.

"Sorry- I have no idea why I did that-" She stutters out but you cut her off,

"It's fine, I did that one myself,"

You point at the small black blob looking cat that's surrounded by other tattoos, the rest of them looking much more professional than the self-made one.

You feel Leah's hand run up your forearm again, this time not pulling away instead tracing some of the tattoos. You swallow nervously and you have no clue why because you don't typically get nervous- not with friends.

You look away from Leah for a brief second and meet Steph's eyes, she wiggles her brows at you and you roll your eyes back before focusing on Leah again.

Her eyes meet yours and you swear that you've never looked at someone like you did her- It's weird because you don't believe in love at first sight but now swear it's happening to you.

You breathe out a soft sigh, "You're beautiful-"

"You're gorgeous-"

You laugh because you can't believe this moment, it's as if out of one of those rom coms that you secretly love to watch. Leah looks so pretty and you really want to snap a photo of her.

"Err..."

You clear your throat,

"Can- Can I get your number?"

You think she's going to say no because you're clearly out of her league and she must have a thousand different options lined up but instead She laughs and pulls her phone out,

"'Course you can, darling,"

You spend the rest of the evening talking to Leah whilst running your hands up and down her back or occasionally letting an arm rest over her shoulder. The two of you practically ignore everyone else, as if stuck in your own little world- Until it's time to go because it's way past midnight and Steph is pretty smashed.

You say goodbye to Leah outside the bar with a hug and kiss on the cheek that makes you flush red before walking back to your car with Steph.

The car ride, for the most part, is silent until Steph decides to comment,

"So you and Williamson?" She giggles like a little girl and you scoff but don't reply- letting her have it.

Mostly because yeah- you and Leah Williamson did create quite the pretty picture.

[queenariesofnarnia]

the future mrs. torres {j.t}

Joaquin Torres x Reader

gif not mine!

wc: 633

a/n: just a fun little thing of Reader and Joaquin stressing Sam out.

🩵🩵🩵🩵

This weekend you were finally off to visit Sam. You were so excited to meet the new Falcon as well, Sam has talked about him a lot. Your flight to Virginia wasn’t bad, you rented a car driving to Sam’s place from the airport to surprise him. You pulled up behind his truck, leaving your bags in the car heading up to the door before knocking. When the door opened, you inhaled deeply hoping your surprise would be a welcomed one.

“Shut up” Sam was in disbelief looking at you before he pulled you into a hug. “You’re actually here” he pulls away getting a good look at you. “You grew up too fast go back to being the annoying teenager again”

“Absolutely not” you laugh remembering how Sam had the privilege of raising you, being your father figure.

“I can’t believe you’re really here Peaches” using the nickname everyone called you growing up.

“I finally got the time off and wanted to surprise you. Hopefully I get to meet Joaquin since you speak so highly of him” you say with a smile. At the sound of his name Joaquin happens to walk by, let’s just say the both of you were momentarily speechless. Sam being the protective father figure he is he waves his hand in front of your face.

“Nuh uh. Absolutely not” he starts but you just sidestep him, offering Joaquin your hand introducing yourself, but letting him know Peaches is also okay. He shakes your hand eagerly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you” you say with a smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you! Sam and Bucky talk about you all the time” his smile made your heart flutter a bit.

“Please tell me they say good things. Sam loves to embarrass me” your tone was playful, and Joaquin was definitely one to match that energy.

“I promise they said good things. However, if you have anything on them please tell me. I’m all ears” he says finally dropping your hand.

“Absolutely not. Get away from him Peaches” Sam interrupts pushing you away from Joaquin.

“Sam come on we just started a conversation” you try pushing back, looking around him to see Joaquin laughing .

“Yeah Sam come on, I just met the future Mrs. Torres and you’re not letting me be great” Joaquin sends you a wink. You’ve never seen Sam move so fast when he turned around.

“Stay away from my kid” he points at Joaquin, you take the moment to go to Joaquin’s side hugging him, and his arm goes around you too.

“But daddy I love him” you quote The Little Mermaid. Sam rubs his hand down his face.

“I’m walking away before you get annoying” Sam turns away walking off.

“I promise to treat her right Sam” Joaquin yells after him.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” you call out.

“There’s room in my bed” he says loud enough hoping Sam hears. Before you could answer Sam’s head pops back in the room glaring at you both.

“You better not” he warns you.

“You’re no fun Pops.” you say laughing making Sam crack a smile.

“I have to go call my mama and abuela” Joaquin announces removing his arm, “Have to let them know I just met my future wife” he smiles walking off.

“Tell them I said hello” you call after him, before looking at Sam “Sooo can I move in?” you ask him with a smile.

“Whatever Peaches” Sam rolls his eyes, “Let’s go get your bags” he wraps his arm around your shoulder pulling you out to the car.

“I think being Mrs. Torres doesn’t sound too bad” you comment walking out to the car.

“Don’t make me send you away” Sam jokes, knowing that you might actually become Joaquin’s wife.

[emptymanuscript]

I suspect the way to get things in front of right wing eyes is probably a violation of the tumblr terms of service. They need tags that those who support the right wing wants to look at. Like gun control or sleepy joe or christian faith. I'm sure there are a ton I simply don't know in the same way they probably don't know tags I watch for. But without something promising them that a post is something they are interested in - and again, I'm pretty sure it is against the tumblr tos to simply mistag things that aren't referenced in order to get clicks - you have to be mutuals with them to pass things along.

Tumblr is generally built to primarily connect with people you share interests with rather than any other organizing principle. The secondary organization is purely organic, someone follows someone for whatever reason and they're permanently linked but that's usually preceded by some shared interest to make the initial connection unless the people know each other from OFF tumblr. Like, I followed my friends (who have now left the site) from Live Journal but then picked up all my mutuals from posts that they posted that I was interested in.

But now everyone knows which tags likely to provoke a fight and go on to block them.

Like, I have Biden blocked as a tag. That has nothing to do with disliking Biden and everything to do with knowing that something tagged Biden will likely be divisive and make it a much less zen experience. Because I've blocked "Biden" chances are high I'll never even see the tag "Sleepy Joe" because it is probably accompanying Biden. Which means I'm simply not seeing the other side of the political spectrum there and don't know their keywords because of it. I expect it is much the same on their side. Anything that they expect will give them an unpleasant experience is likely hidden behind a block AND filtered by a lack of mutuals who are going to challenge them. Because wanting to ENJOY the social media experience is a general desire and having your beliefs challenged and belittled is rarely enjoyable. It's the essential problem of getting news from social media instead of sites devoted to news.

I'm on Fark. The Fark comment section is nowhere near as pleasant and sociable as Tumblr because we're all forced to deal with the same stories. They are as they are. And therefore it is on the commenters to argue for their point of view because they can't rely on it being the general trend of opinion like we can with our mutuals. So there is a lot more yelling and insults, exactly what we're avoiding. And when that wasn't enough, we generally flock toward different news sites. Think about how often you'll see Fox news linked to here. It's rare BECAUSE everyone along this thread of communication is unlikely to be right wing because of the negative take on the result of right wing action.

Which just makes it all come full circle. Social Media is based around information flowing across specific types of connections. This inevitably creates echo chambers because we will move toward the connections we favor and away from the connections we do not favor. While some people really do enjoy arguments and challenges to the point they seek them out, that is the statistical minority. Which means if you WANT to reach people you naturally don't connect with, you have to cheat against the reasons you don't connect.

Gun control, for instance, actually lead to my most commented on post. Because I talked about Gun Control in relation to a particular tragedy but one of the people who did like arguing and challenging follows the Gun Control tag specifically to look for people who want Gun Control in order to argue against it with them. He, being very right wing, then carried our interaction across his dash, interconnecting my fairly left wing opinions into his chain of connections where everyone piled on while my reply to him carried over to all of my connections. That's how to short circuit it.

BUT

The more we are dominated by the echo chamber and the more we can't find any common ground to agree on, the less people are sitting on tags that they know will cause controversy because even for them, it's often only fun in bursts. They don't want it all the time. So even that is becoming more transitory and less connective.

So, back again to cheating. We love saying Tumblr has no algorithm but it is bullshit. It has the same algorithm that "Reality TV" has. Human behavior is chaotic but it is fairly predictable in general trendlines. I can't predict what a specific unknown YOU will do next. But I can assign a statistical likelihood on a majority behavior. Give a mass population something to enjoy and they will shy away from the parts that hurt and favor engaging with the parts that feel good. Set up the right initial situation and you can't predict EXACTLY what will happen but you can reasonably expect that it will conform to the normal trends of human behavior.

That's what you have to break. If you want to get something that people are likely to NOT want to engage with, then you have to break the natural human algorithm of connection. You have to cloak it in something that they are likely to SEEK engagement with. Even neutral isn't enough. Because they are protected by the design decisions made by Tumblr which was meant to get people to connect over shared interests. Neutral means it isn't interesting. It just passes into the ether because it won't connect to anything but those who are already in connection with you. It has to be POSITIVELY interesting in the way that will get people to be interested before they fully engage with the content and realize that it is meant to be uncomfortable for them which they avoid.

Which does generally reduce the strategy to manipulation and lies. You have to engage more positive interest than their negative interest has already put up as a barrier and then enough additional positive interest that is going to get them to engage enough to get the message.

And you probably only get one chance. Maybe two if you get a partial success.

For the same reason that Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminists really probably only get one chance to engage directly with the account of a Trans person. Because as soon the Trans person realizes that the TERF is posting in bad faith to make them uncomfortable and unwelcome, they simply block the TERF as an account, not merely blocking the posting identity but any other screen names attached to the same account. Which in turn makes it increasingly expensive in effort to cross the boundary.

So each tag you put a message across will result in increasing blocks. Until getting the attention of people who don't want to give you their attention becomes the majority of your activity.

At which point this becomes an evaluation. How important is the message to get across given that you will probably nerf your ability to get messages across in the future in reaction.

In an ideal world, this information would make everyone who sees it reconsider their support for DOGE.

But we don't live there.

Instead we're living in the world where Musk's interns, not even political appointees, jacking into the treasury department records of EVERYONE wasn't enough to turn the opinions of the people you're trying to reach.

So think of this as a nuclear option. You don't start with it. You escalate to it.

Research what tags seem to engage people who support DOGE. Get a list.

Wait for something that does MORE than incense you. Wait for something that is more than merely informative. Wait for the thing that goes COUNTER to what the people reading one of those tags believe to an outrageous amount. Wait for what will make them fly into a rage because it is an utter betrayal. :/ You probably won't have to wait that long, actually.

Then, when you have something that will incense THEM - not you, you're already on the other side, it's all about them - cheat against the algorithm and label it what will get in front of their eyes even though it shouldn't.

After that, cross out that tag because you've likely lost the use of it.

Wait for the next opportunity.

While you're waiting, share the tag you used and what responses you got so other people know what worked and what didn't. Essentially, you're recruiting for a Psyop. Because you are working an anti-psyop. And you will need allies to speak that message into the spaces you burn. Let allies give a different take and boost the signal of the alternate point of view. The more you can get the merrier. Because you want to flood it. You want to make it so that tag becomes a message, understanding that each individual post within the overarching message will burn an account as people in the tag will just block you until they finally stop following the tag. At which point everyone will have to move down the list.

It's also probably more effective if people rotate who sends messages.

Moderators and staff will probably ignore a single use of this trick. If you become a regular, you're going to get banned. So, get a LOT of allies and understand that this is going to be hard work. It's going to be HOW you and your allies are fighting this war and there will be attrition.

At least that's my guess.

I can't honestly claim to know anything about anything. Psyops isn't my field.

So, you know, your mileage may vary. And you'll notice I'm not doing it. I haven't tagged this with any of my suggestions. So also buyer beware and all that. I'm probably condescending, too, while I'm at it. Mostly think of this as something to noodle in order to prompt your own thinking.

I, myself, am giving up. This is the world they wanted. I don't buy that they were ignorant. So I have no interest in informing them because I don't see the use. I just can't resist an opportunity to write an essay. Don't know why. Probably the drugs I'm on.

Good luck.

This will never make it in front of right-wing eyes. The government is a mystery of spending that can not be understood!

And it’s all because of trans people!

Or immigrants!

Whatever the enemy of the week is… enemy of the weak? 🤔

[sourdeers]

𓄲 𝓞𝑵𝑬 𝓒𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ; katsuki bakugou ! !

content warning: wc - 1.4k. third year! reader & katsuki. profanity. lower case intended. katsuki has hearing aids. bakugou parents mentioned. alcohol consumption - not by reader or katsuki. minor angst. a/n: FIRST POST, YAY ! reblogs and comments are very much appreciated !

“what do you want?”

katsuki has an attitude. his face is pulled into a pretty scowl, brows furrowed just the slightest bit, and his voice has a certain . . . edge to it. you disregard his attitude and smile widely. “katsuki! just the guy i was looking for.”

he blinks at you for a moment, then narrows his eyes. “you’re at my dorm.” another blink, a shake of his head. “whatever. what do you want?”

you push past him into his room, ignoring the grunt of annoyance that he gives you, and sit down on his desk chair. this is a normal occurrence—you barging into his room and talking his ear off. since second year, when you were officially adopted into what denki calls “the baku-squad,” his room has become one of your favorite places to be. 

unlike denki’s messy room, and mina’s completely cluttered room, katsuki’s room is clean, cozy, and neat. there’s a few posters on the wall, two of all might and one of katsuki’s favorite band. he absolutely never has the big light on, always opting for the lamp in the corner of his room that gives off an orange-ish hue. 

“i have a problem,” you state simply. he swings the door shut and walks to his bed—you take that as a sign to keep talking. “so, there’s that that in present mic’s coming up and—”

“no.” he lays down on his bed, resting the back of his head against the wall, and pulls out his phone.

“you didn’t even let me finish my sentence!”

“you want me to help you study.” he grumbles, eyes briefly flicking over to meet your own. “and i said no. go ask mina or shittyhair, or something.”

now it’s your turn to blink. because, while you love them both so very dearly, you and katsuki both know that they aren’t the brightest when it comes to grammar.

“please!” you exclaim, standing quickly and walking to the side of his bed. you sit down and feel your weight making a dip. “i am literally desperate, katsuki. like, name anything and i’ll do it. you want me to do your laundry? done. want me to make dinner for a week? i can’t promise it will be good, but that’s fine. want me to . . . to . . . i don’t know, beat the shit out of somebody? done!”

he looks up from his phone now, a smile on his face. a terrifying, creepy, mischievous grin. you narrow your eyes slightly. “anything?” he repeats.

you swallow hard. “with- within reason, of course.”

“alright, y/n.” he pushes himself up into an upright position, discarding his phone off to the side. “i’ll help you study for mic’s test. on one condition.”

—

“this is . . . not what i had in mind when you ‘one condition,’ katsuki.”

he clicks his tongue and turns to you, now facing away from the mirror. “what did you think i was gonna ask for? don’t got nothing for you to do that i can’t do myself.” his hands are messily fumbling with his tie, the same scowl from earlier plastered on his face. “are you gonna help me with this damn thing, or are you just going to stand there and gawk at me?”

you flush. because, yes, you were gawking, but there’s no reason for him to know that. “i was not gawking at you, just wondering how you have fashion designers for parents and don’t know how to properly tie a tie.” you roll your eyes, but walk over to him, fingers shaking as they reach for the red fabric around his neck. “i can’t even believe you come to these types of things. didn’t think you’d be into dinner parties.”

he doesn’t answer immediately, but you can feel his gaze in your face. you refuse to meet his eyes, not when you’re this close to him. 

there’s always been . . . something between you and katsuki. he’s always been nicer to you—well, as nice as katsuki can get, at least. ”accidentally” making extra of your favorite food; movie night, when he kicks kirishima off the couch so you don’t have to sit on the floor; texting you first, rather than never responding to your texts like he does to the rest of your guys’ friends.

you’ve noticed it, of course. how could you not? you notice him staring when he thinks he’s being discreet. you’ve noticed the small, barely there smiles that he gives you when you’re talking to him about something random.

“we’re going to be late,” you say, hands dropping to your side awkwardly. you take a step back, eyes still glued to the tie. “it’s fixed. come on, let's get out there before your mom kills us.”

you turn before he can say anything else. 

you can hear everyone before you even open the door. but once you do, the sound is almost magnified. you turn back to katsuki with narrowed eyes. “do not turn your hearing aids off during this dinner, or i will strangle you.”

he rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “i won’t. i think my mom would kick my ass harder than you would.”

“oh, please,” you roll your eyes as you make your way down the hallway.

the party is . . . fine. it’s mostly adults—older women who work with mitsuki, accompanied by their husbands. a few of the men there work alongside masaru, as well. you’re not really sure why katsuki had to come, or why you both had to dress up so fancy, but you don’t ask him about it.

there are a few awkward moments when the said older women ask you two how long you’ve been together, or if you’re thinking about marriage and kids yet, but katsuki takes it like a pro.

“we’re not together,” he says, more than once.

“she’s not my girlfriend,” he says through gritted teeth, more than once.

“we’re friends.” he rolls his eyes and sends you a pleading look.

each time, it’s another stab to your heart. you’re well aware that katsuki does not have girlfriends. he has friends and he has school and he has being a pro-hero and, for him, that’s enough.

even when he invites you to a dinner party with his parents and their co-workers.

by the end of the night, your stomach is full, your head hurts, and you need probably ten hours of sleep to be caught up.

“that was . . .” you trail off, staring down at your heels as they click against the concrete. “i did not realize your parents were that big into parties. they go hard, huh?”

he huffs out a laugh, but it sounds more like a scoff. it always does. “yeah, it’s fuckin’ ridiculous. one glass of wine and the hag goes off the rails.”

you snicker, shoving his shoulder with your own. “how many times do i have to tell you not to call her that?” you playfully scowl, shaking your head. “your mother is a very nice woman.”

he stops in his tracks, and you do the same. his brows furrow and he jerks a thumb in the direction of his house. “my mother? bakugou mitsuki? are you sure we met the same person in there? blonde, loud, an asshole. sounding familiar?”

“very,” you hum, a small smile on your face.

“that is so not funny, y/n.”

he jogs back up to you just as you reach your car. “well,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “that was . . . i won’t say fun, but i had an okay time. thanks for inviting me.”

“i didn’t really invite you. you kind of had to come.” he shrugs too, shoving his hands in his pockets. “but, uh, thanks. for coming, i mean. i didn’t want to do that by myself.”

“no problem, kats.” 

there’s a silence that falls over you two, like you both want to say something but won’t—or can’t. he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again.

“i should probably go home,” you mumble, eyes drifting to your car. “my mom said be home by eleven.”

“right.” he nods once. you reach for your door handle, but he clears his throat and you freeze. “uh, hold on.” you turn to look at him again, head tilted. “my parents are doing another one of these things next weekend,” he explains, scratching the back of his neck. “do you wanna, uh, come?”

it’s not a confession. it’s not him asking you out on a date. hell, it’s not even him showing any interest towards you. but . . . your heart thumps in your chest and the smile that stretches across your face is almost involuntary.

“eat masaru’s food and gossip with drunk older women?” you ask, resting a hand on your hip. “count me in.” he starts to snicker, but you hold up a finger. “on one condition.”

the groan that leaves his mouth is the funniest thing that night.

and the smile on his face as you drive away is the prettiest goddamn thing you’ve ever seen. 

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 5: "The one with the red lights" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Despite your reluctance, you find yourself at Santi’s house for dinner. But Frankie presses too hard, pulling things out of you that you’d rather keep buried—until all that’s left is the worst version of yourself. WC: 10.1k

A/N: Hope you enjoy this one 🤍 and don't forget to let me know what you think! I looove reading your comments <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

The white ceiling stretched above you, blank and unfeeling, while your mind filled in the emptiness with shapes that weren’t really there. Faces, maybe. Or memories, distorted at the edges. You knew you were indulging in unnecessary pessimism, but you let yourself sink into it anyway. Surely you were entitled to a day like this every once in a while—one where grief sat heavy on your chest and refused to move. Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t have been worse. Not that you had chosen it; no one ever does. You don’t get to decide when your heart shatters for the second time, or when the pieces that were already broken fracture further, splintering into something even smaller, even harder to hold.

The day before, Frankie had left without much ceremony, tossing out a casual see you tomorrow as he passed you. You hadn’t answered. You’d been too consumed, too wrapped up in your own head, and he hadn’t pressed you on it. Just walked out the door like it was any other day. After that, the ghost of him lingered in the space he’d occupied, his scent still woven into the fabric of the couch where he’d slept. You hated it. Hated that it made your stomach twist, that it pulled you toward something you didn’t want to name. You forced yourself upright, inhaling sharply as if that could steady you.

Because, really, what was it about him? What had changed? He’d always made you uneasy—before, because you were simply too different, two puzzle pieces that would never click together. And now… now it was something else. Something worse. It had to do with the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to understand exactly what was happening inside your head without you having to say a word. As if he could see right through you, past all the sharp edges you put up to keep people from doing exactly that. And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Because the last person you wanted to be understood by was Francisco. The person who irritated you most, who had always known exactly how to push your buttons. And now, somehow, he had figured out where your soft spots were too.

And after he left, you did your best to pull yourself together. You pushed yourself up from the couch, stretching limbs that felt heavier than they should, and searched for something to fill the space. A book, a movie—something to quiet the restless ache in your chest. But nothing worked. The feeling stayed, creeping up the way it always did, slow and insidious, like ink bleeding through paper. A dull, familiar ache, resurfacing in waves, catching you off guard just when you thought you’d distracted yourself enough to forget.  

Eventually, you gave up. Skipped dinner, still drained from friday’s birthday and the weight of everything you were carrying. You crawled into bed early, exhaustion settling into your bones, hoping—without much conviction—that sleep would make things better. That maybe sunday would arrive with something softer, something easier to hold.

And now, it was sunday, and you had promised yourself—firmly, resolutely—that you wouldn’t do this again. That you wouldn’t let yourself spiral down this particular rabbit hole. But somehow, your phone was already in your hand, your thumb moving over the screen with quiet urgency, scanning for details, for scraps of information, anything that might offer some insight into this world that was no longer yours. That had never truly been yours to begin with.

Harry.

Harry looked happy, the kind of happiness that came easily to people who knew exactly where they were going. His profile was filled with snapshots of motion, of departure, of a life that never stayed still—deep blue lakes, endless seas, rivers cutting through valleys, mountains rising against wide open skies. He had always loved to travel. He had asked you to go with him, more than once, throwing out invitations like they were simple, effortless things. But you had always said no. Too much to do. The bookstore, your finances, some minor health concern—a cold, a flu, a vague sense of exhaustion that never seemed to lift.

Now, Harry traveled with Lisa. They stood together in front of massive cliffs, on balconies bathed in golden light. She fit so easily into the spaces you never stepped into, the spaces you had let slip through your fingers. In one photo, a caption read:

"I would recognize you in the dark. Always you. There I belong."

The words blurred almost instantly. Your vision swam, the sting of tears creeping in before you could stop them. You set the phone down beside you, face down on the mattress, as if that could somehow soften the blow. Then you pulled the covers over your head, curling into yourself, as if hiding could protect you from any of this. As if it could make any of it hurt less.

Then your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with a new notification.

Santi: Be here at seven. I got that cake you’re obsessed with, so don’t even think about bailing.

A grimace—something between a smirk and a scowl—tugged at the corner of your mouth as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then you typed:

You: Eat it yourself.

Silence. Then the three little dots appeared, pulsing like a tiny, judgmental heartbeat.

You let out a sharp exhale, tilting your head back against the pillow.

Santi: No

Santi: Don’t make me come drag you here

Santi: Consider yourself warned

His reply came almost instantly. He’d been expecting this.

You: I look terrible dude I’ll see you another day

You: Tell Yov I’m sorry

Santi: Too late, she’s already setting everything up 

You shut your eyes and pressed the phone against your chest, as if that might somehow shield you from the conversation happening in real time.

You: I’m serious

You locked your phone and let it drop onto the bed beside you, exhaling sharply as you rolled onto your side. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your eyes shut, as if squeezing them closed hard enough might make everything disappear.    

Santi: And so am I

Santi: Get. Out. Of. Bed.

Now what? Were you really supposed to drag yourself to Santi’s house and pretend everything was fine? Sit there, smiling, making small talk, acting like you weren’t unraveling from the inside out? And worse—look Frankie in the eye, knowing that just yesterday he had been prying into the most private corners of your mind?  

And how much had he read, exactly?  

Not that it mattered. Not in the sense that would be humiliating. Because Frankie wasn’t someone you were interested in impressing. If anything, he was the last person whose opinion you gave a damn about. You had spent years not caring what he thought of you, what he assumed about you, what conclusions he might have drawn from the glimpses he caught of your life.  

But then again.  

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what kind of man he was—sharp, perceptive, the kind who could take something small, something insignificant, and wield it like a weapon if he wanted to. He had the power to tear you apart if he ever felt like it.    

And the truth was, you’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

The cab rolled away behind you, tires humming against the pavement, as you climbed the steps to Santi’s porch. You had wanted to look decent—you had tried. A long, scalding shower, ages spent drying and combing your hair, a careful hand smoothing makeup over tired skin. Just enough to bring some life back into your face, to soften the edges of the bruises that still clung stubbornly to your lips. The swelling had gone down, but the mark was still there, a smear of purple at the curve of your mouth. A fresh bruise was blooming just above your upper lip, darker now, more noticeable.

The summer dress you’d chosen hit just above your knees. Light, effortless. You hoped it would be enough to make you look put-together. Unbothered. As if there was nothing clawing at your insides, nothing unsettled under your skin.

Behind you, the sound of a car door shutting made your breath hitch. You knew before you turned. Of course you did.

You pressed the doorbell, inhaling through your nose, exhaling slow. Behind you, footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Then, close—too close—you felt him at your back.

“You gave me a black eye,” Frankie said, his voice easy, almost conversational. He stepped up beside you, watching you the way someone watches an oncoming storm—half amused, half waiting to see how bad it’ll get.

From inside, Santi’s voice called, distant over the low thrum of music. “Coming!”

You gave in, looking at Frankie. Couldn’t help yourself. And yes, there it was—proof of your handiwork. The deep violet shadow blooming under his eye, the cut along the bridge of his nose, healing but still raw. No more swelling, but unmistakable evidence that, at some point, your phone had connected with his face.

You smiled, slow and sharp.

“Hi, Francisco,” you said, saccharine-sweet. “Nice to see you. How are you? Do people not greet each other anymore?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“You and I are way past formalities, don’t you think?”

Before you could fire back, the door swung open.

Santi’s eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement quickly giving way to confusion.

“What the—” His brows drew together. “What the fuck happened to you two? Are you okay?”

You stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around you as you leaned in to press a kiss to Santi’s cheek, neatly sidestepping his question. The air smelled incredible and that, more than whatever interrogation he was preparing, held your attention.

Behind you, Frankie pulled Santi into a brief hug, murmuring something low enough that you couldn’t quite catch it. Not that you cared. Whatever was said between them didn’t concern you.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Santi asked again, falling into step beside you as you made your way toward the kitchen.

Before you could answer, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hallway, her bright, welcoming smile instantly faltering when she caught sight of you. Her gaze flicked from your face to Frankie’s, concern replacing confusion.

“What the hell happened?”

You wrapped her in a hug, squeezing tight. Behind you, Frankie greeted her too, though his hug was more polite, restrained, as if wary of how much space he was allowed to take up here. Yovanna pulled back just enough to get another look at him, her expression shifting toward something almost amused.

“Damn,” she said, tilting her head. “You got the worst of it, huh?”

“Yeah, we got into a fight,” you lied breezily, propping yourself against the wall.

Santi shot you a look, eyebrows knitting together.

“With some drunks,” you elaborated. “Not that it means much, considering we were drunk too. Weren’t we, Francisco?”

Frankie turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, his hands settling on his hips like he was about to demand an explanation for whatever this was. His face was all curiosity and mild disbelief.

“I—”

“It was after the wedding,” you steamrolled on. “At a gas station. God, you should’ve seen us, it was ridiculous—”

“Oh, shut up,” Santi cut in, waving a dismissive hand.

Frankie bit back a laugh, tipping his head back slightly.

“Actually,” he said, as if suddenly feeling generous with the truth, “she hit me.”

Santi and Yovanna blinked at him.

“Right here,” he added, gesturing in a small circle beneath his bruised eye.

You let out an incredulous scoff, crossing your arms.

“I was naked,” you announced, tone scandalized, “and this pervert was just standing in my living room when he’d told me the night before that he was leaving.”

Santi looked between the two of you, his exasperation deepening.

“Stop it,” Frankie muttered, shaking his head.

“No, Santi should know,” you pressed on. “And while we’re at it, what’s with the whole going through my stuff thing? I swear to God, I’m sure—”

“Okay, enough,” Santi interrupted, slashing his hand through the air like a referee calling time-out. Yovanna, beside him, was practically vibrating with amusement.

“I’m hungry,” Santi continued, voice firm. “And you’re already late. Save the drama for later.”

An hour later, your plate sat in front of you, half-eaten, your fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. The conversation had drifted, as it inevitably would, to your brother’s wedding. Across the table, Yovanna was talking animatedly about the preparations, her hands moving as she spoke, while Santi just stared at her like she’d personally hung the moon. He had that ridiculous, soft expression—the one that made you roll your eyes but also kind of want to cry because, well, love like that wasn’t exactly common.

Beside you, Frankie was quiet, his own glass in his hand, his plate already cleared. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel him there, as much a presence as the wine in your bloodstream.

“We were lucky we didn’t completely lose our minds,” Yovanna was saying, shooting a knowing glance at Santi, who nodded in agreement. “You know what they say—wedding planning is a trial for a couple. If you can’t survive that…” She shook her head, lips pressing together in mock seriousness.

“That’s true,” Santi agreed, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made you want to gag.

“Uh-huh,” Yovanna hummed, her eyes flicking from her fiancé to you and Frankie. Her expression shifted, just slightly, her amusement sharpening. “But, I mean, parties in general can be… intense. And I think you two might know something about that by now, don’t you?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “I was wondering how long it would take for someone to bring it up.”

Yovanna just lifted a shoulder, clearly entertained. “Can you blame us?”

“No, she can't,” Santi chimed in. “And trust me, I have so many questions. Number one—what the fuck happened to your faces?”

“She hit me,” Frankie said immediately, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal.

Santi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Frankie’s grin widened. “She thought I was an intruder or something and threw her phone at my face.”

Santi turned to you, eyebrows raised in pure curiosity. Yovanna, beside him, stayed quiet, her gaze bouncing between the three of you like she was watching an increasingly ridiculous play unfold.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, throwing Frankie a glare. “Okay, let me explain this properly.”

Frankie made a gesture like please, go ahead.

“So, after the wedding, we went to my place, and we were… kind of drunk—”

Santi raised a hand, cutting you off. “You both went to your place?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, and then I fell out of the car, which is why my mouth is messed up. Frankie helped me inside, and then I went to sleep—”

“You fell?”

You huffed. “Yeah. He gave me slippers that were way too big, and when I stepped out of the Uber, I tripped.”

Santi looked between you and Frankie, biting back a smile. “Well, you were also drunk, right? That might’ve been a factor.”

You rolled your eyes, and beside you, Frankie let out a small, knowing huff.

“She doesn’t look where she’s walking,” he said, like he had just uncovered some deep truth about you. “She just moves and expects the world to accommodate her, her eyes always on the clouds. I noticed that last night. That’s why she fell, not the slippers.”

You turned your head slowly, squinting at him. “Francisco. If I hadn’t been wearing those slippers, I wouldn’t have tripped.”

Frankie exhaled dramatically. “Oh, I’m sorry for trying to help with the fact that your feet were literally almost bleeding from your shoes. Would you have preferred that? Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yovanna muttered under her breath, shooting a glance at Santi, who just shook his head, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

You sighed and turned back to them. “Anyway. I fell, got hurt, my dress was ruined, so we went upstairs, Frankie helped me clean up, and then he said he was going to leave—”

“I was going to leave,” Frankie interjected. “But I fell asleep on the couch before I could even order an Uber.”

“Right. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up, went to shower, and when I got out, I couldn’t find my phone. So I went to the living room, and there it was. And I was naked—”

“She had a towel on,” Frankie groaned, rubbing his temple.

“Naked,” you repeated stubbornly, “and suddenly someone speaks behind me, and obviously I panicked! What was I supposed to do? I didn’t think, I just reacted, and my phone happened to be in my hand, so I threw it.”

Silence.

And then: “Well, I get it,” Yovanna said, tilting her head like she was weighing the situation. “You freaked out.”

“Of course I freaked out! But he doesn’t get it.”

“No, no, no, no,” Frankie cut in, shaking his head, holding up a hand like he could physically block the accusation. “I never said I didn’t get it. Obviously, I do. But the way you’re telling it makes it sound like I did it on purpose, like I was out to terrify you.”

“And how do I know you weren’t?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Santiago snorted. “Okay, this is getting weird,” he said, rubbing his temple, amusement flickering in his expression. “Can we move on? I just want to hear about the party. Helena called me yesterday.”

Frankie straightened. “What? What did she say?”

You glanced at him, but he was already looking at your brother, his posture suddenly tense, like he was bracing for impact. His eyes were curious but edged with something else too. Concern.

“She sounded... happy. Surprised, mostly,” Santi said, dragging out the words for effect. “Asked a bunch of questions—what I thought, how I found out, if I saw it coming. A lot of questions, actually. Oh, and she also said she’s thrilled for me. That I have a beautiful, lovely sister.” He shot you a look, grinning. “And, well, I can’t lie. I may have gotten a little carried away. Told her I was also delighted about this whole ‘union made in heaven’ situation. And Frankie, man, you were already my brother before, but now… now it’s official. We are so much more.”

“Oh my God, Santi,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?”

Yovanna burst out laughing, lightly smacking your brother’s arm as he gave her a knowing smile.

Beside you, Frankie flushed. A deep, irritated pink creeping up his neck as he ran a hand over it—a nervous habit you’d noticed, one he did when he was overwhelmed.

“Of course not,” Santi said, his grin widening. “If you two get to have fun, why can’t I?”

“Fun?” Frankie scoffed, straightening up. “You think this is fun? We’ve been seeing each other for two days, and we’ve already collected enough bruises and near-death experiences to last a lifetime. That’s plenty.” So exaggerated.

Santiago just shrugged, barely suppressing a laugh at the absolute fury on his best friend’s face.

“Yeah. You’re matching.”

“Oh, cut it out, let them be,” Yovanna said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, anyway,” Santi said, his voice easy, casual, like he wasn’t dropping the weight of someone else’s curiosity into the conversation. “Helena asked about you guys. Wanted my opinion. I told her you were fine, that you—” he glanced at Frankie, leveling him with a look—“were doing well. That she didn’t need to worry, and that I’d come visit her soon.”

Frankie exhaled, sharp and short. “Good. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I mean it. Even if you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Santi scoffed. “No worries. You know I wouldn’t screw with you about this.” He leaned back, tilting his glass slightly in his hand. “Now, are you gonna tell me how the party went?”

Yovanna’s lips curled at the edges, her eyes gleaming with something decidedly un-serious. “Did you guys kiss?”

The question landed between you and Frankie like a slow-falling coin. You turned your head toward him, almost on instinct, and he was already looking at you, his expression caught somewhere between apprehension and amusement. His face was still faintly flushed, like the conversation had warmed the room a degree too much.

Santi’s gaze flickered between the two of you, and his expression sharpened. “You better not be method acting with my sister.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “Never. It’s platonic between us, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” you said smoothly, returning the smile. “I’d call it the opposite of method acting, really. This is professionalism at its peak.”

Santi raised his eyebrows, his signature I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day expression settling in. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t call a situation involving towels and black eyes professional, but hey, who am I to judge?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as Santi took a slow sip of his wine, barely suppressing a grin.

Yovanna, undeterred, steered the conversation back. “So? The party?”

This time, you forced yourself to give a proper answer. Frankie took the lead, his voice steady as he laid out the sequence of events with his usual matter-of-fact efficiency. You filled in the gaps, adding details here and there, but skirting around certain parts—the encounter with Frankie’s cousin, the kisses that followed. Frankie didn’t mention them either. You weren’t sure if that was a conscious decision or if he simply preferred to pretend they hadn’t happened. Either way, it felt like an unspoken agreement, and you weren’t going to be the one to break it.

From an outside perspective, everything had gone well. No disasters, no humiliating slip-ups. Just two people executing a plan. Yovanna seemed delighted by the entire ordeal, laughing at all the right moments, nudging you when Frankie said something particularly dry or sarcastic. Even your brother, despite his usual talent for being infuriating, had to admit you’d done a good job. In fact, too good.

“Helena was a little too excited when I talked to her,” Santi admitted eventually, his brow furrowing like the realization had only just settled in. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. Then, after a pause, he added, “How exactly are you two planning to break up?”

There was a beat of silence. You glanced at Frankie, and he exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat.

“We could say it just… didn’t work out,” he offered, his voice slow, careful. “Or that the feeling just faded.”

It was an answer, technically. But not the right one. Because the issue wasn’t how to break up—it was what was going to happen after that.

What was going to happen when Helena found out about the breakup, when the excitement wore off and disappointment took its place? Had either of you even considered that?

The questions started to wear on you, pressing down like a weight you hadn’t noticed until now.

You needed air. You stood up, murmuring something about stretching your legs, and Yovanna followed you outside.

The backyard was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and something faintly floral. Yovanna lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as she leaned against the railing. You stood beside her, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you.

For a while, the conversation stayed light—frivolous even. You talked about inconsequential things, things that had nothing to do with your fake relationship or her wedding or anything remotely demanding. It was a relief, an escape, and you let yourself sink into it.

But just as you were about to suggest going back inside, she stopped you with a gentle nudge of her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, turning to face you more fully. “You okay tonight? You seem a little off.”

You sighed, tilting your head back to look at the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the city glow. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. This whole thing is fun, I guess, but exhausting.”

She nodded like she understood, like she’d already known that was what you’d say.

“Are you guys going to Harry’s wedding?”

“I don’t think so,” you admitted, shifting your weight against the wall by the back door. “To be honest, things get kind of chaotic when I’m around Francisco, and I don’t know if I want to put myself through that again.”

Yovanna exhaled another slow drag of smoke. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just... we shouldn’t be around each other. It’s not good for either of us.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you two are fun. And I think you should admit that you like the chaos a little. You like the fighting. The drama. The making scenes.” She glanced at you knowingly. “I have eyes. I can tell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes. The rest of the time? He just makes me feel bad. Really bad. It’s fun until he says something horrible or pushes the wrong button, and then I want to kill him.”

Yovanna gave you a long, thoughtful look. “What happened between you two? I’ve asked Santi, but he never has a real answer.”

“Nothing,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out before you had time to reconsider it. You thought about the first thing Frankie ever said about you, the way it had stung in a place you hadn’t known was raw. “We’re just not compatible. That’s all.”

Yovanna raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

“You and Santi, for example,” you continued, “you just work. It’s easy, it’s natural. You get along.” You paused. “Frankie and I are the same, but the opposite. We repel each other. It’s like we were designed to be at odds.”

Yovanna tilted her head, eyes sparking with something suspiciously amused. “That’s kind of romantic.”

You groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

Time started moving faster once you were back inside. Conversations drifted toward things you didn’t care about, but you let them happen around you, nodding occasionally, offering a well-timed laugh when necessary. Santi was in a good mood—you could tell by the way he gestured when he spoke, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, the way his voice lifted at the end of sentences like everything was lighter than usual. He was happy. And that pleased you.

Because he deserved it.

The girl, the house, the family, the quiet sense of certainty about his life. He deserved all of it.

But inevitably, like clockwork, the moment you found yourself comfortable on the couch, your thoughts took a familiar turn. The same restless tide pulling you under. You thought about earlier in the night, lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly until you landed on pictures you hadn’t meant to see—your ex, his fiancée. Smiling, glowing, happy. Their future stretched out in front of them like a neatly paved road, no cracks in sight.

And then—

“So how are you getting home?” Frankie’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and secretive, like a question meant just for you. You blinked, turning slightly to find him beside you, arms folded, his body angled toward yours. His face was close—too close.

You glanced around. Santi and Yovanna were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re in the kitchen,” Frankie said, reading your mind. “What are you thinking about now?”

You hesitated. Held his gaze for a second too long before looking away.

“I’m thinking,” you started, pausing as you searched for an easy answer. “I’m thinking I want to go to sleep.”

Frankie made a quiet sound in his throat, unconvinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe that I’m sleepy?” You lifted an eyebrow, trying for something light. “I drank three glasses of wine.”

“No,” he said, watching you too closely. “I don’t believe that’s what you’re really thinking.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “And what do you think I’m thinking, then?”

He smirked slightly. “Something self-destructive, probably. I can see it in your crazy eyes.”

You huffed out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t have crazy eyes.”

Frankie just smiled, slow and knowing.

“But you are thinking self-destructive things,” he pressed. “Right?”

“Why?” You leaned in slightly, matching his tone. “Are you enjoying it?”

His smirk faltered just a little, barely enough to notice. His brows pulled together, the amusement in his face dimming.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?”

You let out a short laugh, crossing your arms. “I can’t wait to break up with you.”

He arched an eyebrow, interest flickering behind his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, your voice taking on an exaggerated lilt. “I’m going to prance around like Nicole Kidman in that photo.” You threw your arms in the air in a triumphant gesture.

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “So what are we doing about custody?” he asked, shifting to face you more fully. “I want Santi during the week.”

You scoffed. “No chance. I get the weeks. You can have him on weekends.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact you, Francisco.” You turned your face away, lifting your chin dramatically. “This is not the place or the time.”

Frankie leaned in again, his voice conspiratorial. “You always say that,” he whispered. “You’re always so busy when I want to talk about the important things.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh.

“First you take my dignity,” he continued, “and now Santiago. What’s next, Darcy?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That’s my son. Don’t confuse things.”

Frankie gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “But he loves me.”

“He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he wants.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You bribed him, that’s all. He’s not yours.”

Frankie straightened, looking properly wounded. “I don’t care that I’m not his biological father,” he declared. “I love him—”

“What the hell are you guys talking about now?”

Santi’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade, rough with exhaustion but tinged with something closer to amusement than actual curiosity. He stood at the end of the hall, watching you and Frankie from beneath slightly furrowed brows. In his hands, he held two Tupperware containers, their lids sealed shut like he was offering contraband instead of home-cooked leftovers.

You straightened your posture, turning to face him with complete and utter seriousness.

“I’m sorry but this is private.” You shook your head solemnly.

Beside you, Frankie stifled a laugh, turning his face slightly like that might somehow disguise it.

Santi rolled his eyes, moving toward you with a slow, unimpressed gait.

“Sure. Well,” he said, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table with an air of finality. “We made these for you.”

You reached for one immediately, lifting it to your nose and inhaling dramatically.

“I love you,” you murmured, then added, with more fervor, “I love you.”

Santi smirked, shaking his head. Before he could respond, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hall, her presence as effortless as ever. She moved toward the couch and perched herself on the armrest beside you, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Are you taking an Uber, honey?” she asked, her voice soft and unbothered.

“Yeah, I was just about to—”

“I’ll drive you,” Frankie interrupted, already getting to his feet. He grabbed his own Tupperware with the same efficiency as someone collecting evidence. 

You narrowed your eyes.

“What macabre plan do you have, Francisco?” You stood, crossing your arms. “Get rid of me so you can have Mr. Darcy all to yourself? It’s not going to work.”

Frankie ignored you, patting his pockets, searching for his car keys with the quiet urgency of someone trying to make a smooth exit. He found them and then—casually, effortlessly—reached out to clap Santi on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, like they were in some kind of silent agreement.

You watched them step outside, Frankie’s posture relaxed, Santi following with the sluggish reluctance of someone who had just endured an entire evening of unnecessary theatrics.

You turned to Yovanna, hoping for an ally. Instead, she just lifted her shoulders, gave you a half-hearted grimace that barely lasted a second before shifting into a knowing smile.

“I think your car is waiting for you,” she said after a beat, nodding toward the door where Santi and Frankie had already disappeared outside.

With no real choice in the matter, you stepped outside too, the night air cool against your skin. Your brother and Frankie were by the car, standing close, heads tilted toward each other in conversation. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, they were both engaged—gesturing, murmuring, nodding. The way Frankie’s brow furrowed and Santi rubbed at his jaw made it look like something actually interesting. Your curiosity sparked, but before you could linger too long, Yovanna’s voice cut in beside you.

“Okay,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Don’t take too long to visit again, alright?”

You turned to her, nodding. “Of course not. Are you free this coming week?”

“For you? Always.”

You smiled, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Good, let’s get coffee.”

“Or a drink,” she amended, sighing dramatically. “I need it.”

You laughed, shifting your bag in your shoulder and the Tupperware in your arms to hug her, the container pressing awkwardly between your bodies. She smelled like perfume and warmth and something familiar.

When you pulled away, you started toward the car with her, trying—subtly—to catch fragments of whatever Santi and Frankie were talking about. It was something about Will and a car he’d just bought. Frankie was in the middle of saying something about the clutch, his voice low and even, when he abruptly stopped mid-sentence and turned to you.

“Ready?”

The word felt heavier than it should have, settling between your ribs. You glanced at your brother, mouth parting slightly, not sure what answer you were searching for. Yes?

Santi didn’t wait for you to say anything. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, kissed your cheek. His warmth was familiar, grounding, the kind of comfort you’d had your entire life.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured near your temple. “I’ll come see you in the week.”

You nodded against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When you pulled away, Frankie was already holding the passenger door open for you. That threw you off for a second. He wasn’t usually this polite. You hesitated, glancing at him, but he just raised an eyebrow like, What? Get in.

So you did.

You waved to Yovanna as you settled into the seat, and she smiled, giving you a little salute in return before stepping back toward the house.

Then, with a quiet thunk, Frankie shut the door.

For a couple of strange, suspended seconds, you were alone in the silence of the car, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. You bit the inside of your cheek and carefully dropped your Tupperware in the backseat, watching as Frankie rounded the hood, slipping into the driver’s seat with an ease that made your stomach feel unsteady.

He turned the key. The engine hummed to life, the speakers crackling softly before Red light by The Strokes filtered through the space.

You rolled down the window slightly, letting the night air in, watching the house disappear as he pulled onto the road.

“So, how’s that list of yours coming along?” Frankie asked abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head slightly, eyeing him.

“Are you asking if I’ve made any progress? I doubt it. In the last twenty-four hours, I haven’t gone clubbing, I haven’t camped in the woods, and I definitely haven’t gone skinny dipping. If that’s what you were hoping for.”

He hummed, hands steady on the wheel. “Well, you could cross off ‘kicking someone’s ass,’ if you count giving me a black eye.”

You exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “That was an accident. Get over it.”

“But are you actually planning on kicking someone’s ass?” He glanced at you, curious now. “How exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I didn’t say ‘kicking.’ I wrote ‘learn to.’ As in, learn to defend myself.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Were you even paying attention when you were spying on my diary?”

Frankie snorted. “Spying?”

“You barely even listen to me anymore,” you said, feigning exasperation. “We should break up.”

His laugh caught in his throat, rough and amused. “Nice try. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I could set you up with someone else. A real girlfriend.” You straightened, only half-joking. “I actually know a couple of women you might like.”

“I told you—I’m not dating anyone,” he said, glancing at you like he was waiting for you to drop it. “Who are you now, my mother? I’m not going on one more date. With anyone.”

You smirked. “I could make you a Tinder profile. Craft it to perfection. I bet I could make you a success story.”

He shook his head, lips twitching toward a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’d be fun,” you insisted, already forming a mental plan. Good photos. A witty but slightly mysterious bio. He was a pilot, for God’s sake—women ate that up, didn’t they?

“I tried it once,” he admitted, like he regretted saying it the second the words left his mouth.

You gasped, delighted. “No way. You were one of those guys, weren’t you? The ones who post a group photo, making women guess which one they’re supposed to be interested in.”

He shot you a look. “Sounds like you have some experience with that.”

“I bet you had a picture holding a giant fish,” you said, grinning wider as he made a face that all but confirmed it. “Jesus, Frankie. That’s typical.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, if you have so many opinions on dating apps, why don’t you make yourself a profile? I really think you could use the 'going out' thing.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the window, arms crossed. “What makes you think I need it?”

Frankie hesitated. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, like he was trying to decide if this was an argument worth having.

“Well,” he said carefully. “If I’m being honest—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, raising a hand between you. “I have a faint idea of what you’re about to tell me, and trust me, I already know. So spare me the speech. I’m not in the mood to fight with you tonight.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Frankie eased the car to a stop at the red light, using the pause as an opportunity to look at you—really look at you. His brows pulled together, the sharpness of his gaze pressing against your skin. “And you don’t actually know what I was going to say.”

You let out a breath, short and sharp.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” You could hear the irritation threading through your own voice, but you didn’t bother softening it. “And yes, Francisco, I do know what you were going to say.”

“Is this about Harry?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, your hands slapping down against your thighs. Of course. Of course, he had to ask. He couldn’t just drive like before, couldn’t just let the silence stretch between you like a neutral space. When he’d come to pick you up in Dallas, the air had been thick with unsaid things, but at least he’d let you sit with them. Now, though—now he was prodding, poking, pressing in on a bruise that hadn’t even begun to heal.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just asking why—”

“What do you want me to say?” you cut in, turning toward him, exasperation spilling out of you. “Apparently, you already know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was sharp now, defensive. “What are you talking about?”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head.

“I hate it when you do that.” You turned your face toward the window, resting your chin in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door.

Frankie didn’t ask again. He just sat there, hands flexing against the wheel, his knee bouncing the slightest bit. But you could feel it, the weight of his attention, the questions hanging in the air between you. He was waiting for you to give in. To spill something you didn’t want to. And it bothered him—you could tell. The uncertainty, the not-knowing.

But in the end, he didn’t need to say anything. Because the way he looked at you, the way his eyes kept flicking toward your face, said enough. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

And when you turned back to him, catching the way his jaw tensed, something in your chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t going to let it go.

He wasn’t just going to drive you home, drop you off, and pretend none of this had happened. No, he was going to sit with it, turn it over, keep pulling at the thread until it unraveled completely. He was going to ask and ask and ask until he got the version of the truth he wanted. And the worst part was, he’d disguise it as concern—like this was about you, when really, it was about something else. Something that would probably hurt.

“I hate it when you act like this,” you said finally, voice quieter now, but no less pointed. Your eyes glowed in the reflection of the windshield, catching the red of the traffic light. “Like you’re above it all. Like you don’t already know I feel like shit about Harry. But you ask anyway, just to make me say it out loud.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he said, softer now, shifting slightly in his seat. His right hand twitched off the steering wheel, hovering like he wanted to reach for you. But then, at the last second, he pulled back, curling his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand to his thigh. Like he’d thought better of it.

“You don’t act like it,” you said, your voice unsteady, throat tight. “You act like someone who enjoys figuring out my weak spots just so you can shove them in my face at the worst possible moment.” You swallowed hard, staring ahead. “Can you just take me home?”

Frankie’s jaw tensed, his hands gripping the wheel. The green light flickered on, casting a dull glow over the inside of the car. He didn’t hit the gas right away, just exhaled through his nose, long and frustrated.

“I was supposed to call a car,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “Is that why you insisted on driving me home yourself? So you could dig around in my life a little more?”

“No, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes locked on the road as he finally pressed the gas.

Silence stretched between you.

A few blocks passed before he spoke again, voice tight.

“I know you’re upset about the wedding.” His fingers flexed over the wheel, his knuckles pale. “But I’m not going to assume things unless you actually tell me.”

You scoffed under your breath, gaze fixed on the window, on the streetlights smearing past. “Yeah. Sure.”

Home wasn’t far now.

“I don’t like this,” you said after a moment.

Frankie glanced at you. “What?”

“This.” You gestured between you, your expression hardening. “Everything was better when we didn’t talk. When we just ignored each other and kept our distance.”

“I think the same thing,” he said immediately, no hesitation. He turned his head just slightly, just enough to look at you before shifting his eyes back to the road. “Because talking to you is so hard all the fucking time. You know that?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was such a strange thing to hear, like he’d just told you the sky had turned green.

“When in your life have you ever tried to talk to me, Francisco?”

“Yesterday. Now. Probably sometime friday,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation, shaking his head like he hated that he was even engaging in this conversation.

Another red light.

The street was empty, quiet. The glow of the signal reflected off the pavement, casting red against the buildings you knew so well—the café on the corner, the park where you went on morning walks. Your house was just a few blocks away.

You turned in your seat, facing him directly. The car’s dim interior light barely caught the sheen in your eyes, the warmth in your flushed cheeks.

“That’s not how this works,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You can’t treat me like shit for years and then expect me to just—what? Open up to you? Tell you about the worst parts of my life? We’re not friends, Frankie.”

“Of course not,” he shot back. “But I’ve seen you get small today. Yesterday too.” His voice wavered slightly, but not enough to make him sound soft. He wasn’t soft. He was pressing in, hard and insistent, like he was trying to carve something out of you. “You pretend really well in front of other people, and they buy it. But I don’t. And it fucking bothers me.”

Your fingers curled into fists in your lap. “Oh, it bothers you?”

“Yeah,” he said, exasperated now. “It bothers me because you don’t do anything about it. You just let it all pile on, and I—I get it, okay? I get it. The guy broke your fucking heart, but you let him keep doing it. Over and over again.”

His voice rose, his hands waving slightly as he spoke, his frustration sharp and cutting. His eyes burned into you, filled with something you didn’t want to name.

“And no,” he went on, “maybe he’s not the villain in this. Maybe he couldn’t help falling in love with someone else. But I don’t buy for a second that he didn’t know exactly how you felt. And that makes him a fucking asshole.”

Your breath hitched.

Frankie leaned in slightly, voice lower now, but no less intense. “And you’re so mean to me, aren’t you? Doesn’t take you a second to snap back, to bite my head off. So why don’t you use some of that energy and tell Harry to fuck off already?”

Your eyes stung. You blinked, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.

The weight in your chest was unbearable, like something pushing down from the inside out, something clawing its way up your throat. You felt transparent, like every single bone and muscle in your body was on display, like he could see straight through you.

“I never told him I loved him,” you whispered.

Frankie stared at you for several seconds, his gaze unwavering, scanning your face like he was searching for the lie, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said, “He knows.”

You shook your head. Your eyes dropped to your hands, resting limp in your lap, one over the other like you were trying to steady yourself.

“He knows,” Frankie repeated, shifting slightly toward you. “Because it’s obvious. Because you wear every single thought on your face, whether you want to or not. Because it’s all right there in your eyes. If he doesn’t know, then he’s either blind or an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

A frustrated breath left your lips. You lifted your hands, exasperated, only to let them fall back onto your thighs with a muted slap. Your eyes, glossy and burning, locked onto his, frustration rippling beneath the surface.

“So then what?” you said, voice tight. “He knew I loved him, and he still left me overnight to commit to someone else? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you it’s fucking cruel to break someone’s heart and then send them a wedding invitation like nothing happened.” His voice was sharp, laced with something close to anger. “And that day, the way he acted so happy to see you, like you were just two old friends running into each other—does his fiancée even know what happened between you?”

You didn’t answer, but something must have flickered across your face because Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We didn’t have anything serious, Francisco,” you said, your voice quiet, trembling but stubborn. “We were friends and—”

The traffic light turned green, but Frankie didn’t move.

You swallowed, waiting for him to break eye contact, to turn his attention back to the road. But he didn’t.

“Don’t give me that excuse,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less forceful. “Even you don’t believe it.”

A fresh wave of exhaustion rolled through you, but it came tangled with something else—something hotter, heavier. You straightened up, shifting toward him, closing the space between you, and you felt more than saw the moment he registered the tears slipping down your face.

“Why do you care about it?” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in uneven breaths. “What do you want me to say, huh? That even if Harry knew I loved him, he still didn’t choose me?”

“Yes!” Frankie snapped. “That’s life! He didn’t choose you, he broke your heart. Well, fuck him! Get over it!” His hands lifted in frustration, his voice pitched higher, sharper. “The sooner you do, the better.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, like a slap to the chest, like something clawing its way up from the inside.

A sound broke from your throat—something half a sob, half a breathless, wounded laugh—and before you even knew what you were doing, your fingers curled around the handle, and you shoved the door open.

The night air hit your skin, cool against the heat burning in your face, and you were out of the car in seconds, walking fast, heart pounding against your ribs.

You heard Frankie behind you, his voice calling your name, followed by the thud of the car door slamming shut. But you didn’t look back.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.

“Get back in the car,” he said, breathless but firm.

“My house is three blocks away.”

“I don’t care.” His hand brushed against yours, an attempt to stop you, but you jerked away from his touch like it burned. “I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“Oh no,” you said, your voice wobbling with emotion, “why? Because Santi’s going to be mad?”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just reached for you again, this time more deliberately. His fingers curled around your arm, not rough, but firm enough that you felt the weight of his concern.

“Please—”

“God, just leave me alone!” You wrenched your arm away, shoving both hands against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. Your breath came fast, shaky, fury and heartbreak tangled together in your throat. “Fuck you, Francisco! Get the fuck out of here! Why are you still here? Why the fuck are you still here? Why won’t you just leave me alone? I’m so tired of you, just go away!”

You stepped forward again, your hands pushing against his chest, but this time, Frankie didn’t budge. He just lifted his hands, fingers brushing against your wrists, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. The contact sent a shiver up your arms, and you recoiled, jerking your hands away as if you’d been burned.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said quickly. “Just let me take you home.” His voice was tight, strained with something he wasn’t willing to name. He was trying to sound firm, but the way his eyes moved over your face—restless, searching—gave him away. “It’s late, and it’s dark.”

You shook your head, blinking against the tears threatening to spill over again. Your face felt hot, your throat raw.

“Stop pretending you care,” you said. “About me, about what happens to me. I don’t need this. I don’t need you talking to me like you’re some kind of—some kind of fucking therapist.”

Frankie exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t say anything else about Harry after this—”

You spun on your heel, turning your back to him, walking away.

A noise of frustration caught in his throat, something between a sigh and a groan, and before you could get any further, he was in front of you again, moving easily, stepping into your path. You stopped short, barely avoiding a collision.

Your breath came fast, uneven. You could feel how blotchy your face must be, your lips swollen, the bruise on your mouth sharper in contrast. Frankie's gaze flicked to it, and you saw the exact second he felt something close to regret—the slight pull of his brows, the way his mouth parted like he was about to say something and then thought better of it.

“You have to accept what happened,” he said finally, voice steady, though his jaw twitched. “For what it was. Don’t turn Harry into some tragic hero who hurt you by accident. That’s not what this is. It just—” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t choose you. So what?”

Your stomach twisted.

“You have no idea how I feel,” you snapped, your voice trembling, sharp with the effort of keeping it together. You dragged a hand down your face. “And why do you even care? It doesn’t matter. None of this fucking matters.”

Frankie shook his head. “I know how you feel. That’s why I’m trying—”

“Trying what?” You stepped closer, looking at him fully now. “To fix it? You can’t. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need your pity, your useless advice. I know how this works. I know how people work. I’m good enough until the real thing comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

His expression changed then—his eyes darkening, his mouth pressing into a line.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“Yes, it is, Francisco.” You said his name like it hurt. Like it was something you needed to spit out. “Because I’m always missing something. Because there’s always something I don’t have. And I know, I know that’s just life, that’s how it is, someone always gets left behind, someone always gets hurt. But why does it always have to be me?” Your throat ached from the force of your words, and when you spoke again, your voice sounded wrecked, on the verge of giving out. “Why do I always have to be the one to accept things as they are? Why am I the one who has to be mature, move on, be fine?”

Frankie exhaled, slow, measured. “You’re letting this define you.”

You let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “I’m letting this define me?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “He wasn’t for you—”

“It does mean something.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does! And you have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me or what I feel or what—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything.”

Frankie’s gaze stayed steady. “You’re just—numb. You think no one’s ever going to choose you because you’re in a bad place right now—”

“Shut up.” Your hands pressed against his chest again, lighter this time.

“I understand,” he said. “I do—”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t.

“Somebody’s going to!”

"Or maybe not!"

Frankie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. He glanced to the side, then back at you, his jaw tight, frustration bleeding into every line of his face. His eyes were dark with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

"Okay," he said. "So what, then? You gonna spend the rest of your life wallowing? Feeling sorry for yourself forever?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

"You must have a lot of experience with that sort of thing, don't you?" The words sliced out of you, unfiltered, sharp enough to wound. Something ugly stirred in your chest, something raw and aching. The pain wasn’t his fault, not really, but he had pulled it to the surface, made it unbearable. And for some reason, you wanted him to feel it too. Even just a fraction of it.

"Feeling bad about yourself," you continued, your voice quiet but cutting. "Drowning in your own misery. Being a complete fucking loser."

Frankie didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice flat, like he was stating an obvious fact. He was looking at you as if he was waiting for more, like he could take whatever else you threw at him. Like he wanted you to.

"Then why should I listen to you?" You took a step forward, closing the space between you. "Why should I care about anything you have to say?" Your head tilted up, and from this close, you caught every micro-expression—his eyes widening, his brow tensing, his mouth parting just slightly, like he was about to speak but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

"I take things as they come from people who matter," you said, voice low but unwavering. "And you? You’re nothing to me, Francisco. Just an inconvenience I can't seem to shake, no matter how hard I try."

His throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.

"This whole thing," you went on, gesturing between the two of you, "this back and forth, this—whatever the fuck it is—it’s pointless. Because no matter how hard we pretend to be something we’re not, it doesn’t change reality."

You exhaled, your pulse hammering.

"And the reality is," you said, looking him dead in the eye, "you're nothing but a failure."

Frankie exhaled, but he didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you, unmoving, like he was bracing for something. His expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest sheen in his eyes, catching the dim light. He blinked once, hard, and when he opened them again, the gloss was gone.

Then, suddenly, as if some invisible thread had snapped, he took a step back. It was abrupt, almost involuntary, like his body needed distance from you before his mind could catch up. But he didn’t say anything. His mouth pressed downward for a second, his gaze dropping to the ground.

When he looked at you again, his eyes met yours—just for a moment, like he was memorizing something. Or maybe letting something go.

And then he turned.

No hesitation, no last words, just the quiet sound of his shoes on pavement as he walked back to his car. His shoulders tense, his head slightly bowed. You watched him go, your arms folding tightly across your chest, trying to hold everything in. The rising ache, the anger that curled at the edges of your grief, the way your throat burned with unshed tears.

He didn’t look back.

You waited until he was nearly at the car before you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs felt heavy as you walked, like you were dragging some unseen weight behind you. Your breath came too fast, your ribs constricting painfully. All you wanted was to disappear inside your bed, to sleep until your body forgot how it felt to be this exhausted.

When you reached home, Mr. Darcy was there, waiting. He brushed against your legs, his tail sweeping across your calf, his little face tilting up as if he could sense something unsettled in you.

You dropped to the floor.

The second you sat down, your shoulders caved in. Mr. Darcy curled into your lap, his soft purring vibrating against your hands, but it didn’t soothe you the way it usually did. You pressed your face into his fur, and the sobs that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, shaking your whole frame.

Your words echoed in your head, bitter on your tongue, and you hated the way they tasted. Because you knew you had been cruel.

But it didn’t matter.

He had been cruel too.

And maybe—finally—he would leave you alone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue

[be-xkyy]

Hello! Since I read your Yandere stories, my head began to ask these questions, how many children do our yanderes want to have for us? Would they get a little jealous when our babies are feeding from us?

Hii Dear Anon!

First of all I'm glad you liked my content, thank you! And secondly, your question is very good Anon, although this will be a bit short, I hope you like it! 🖤

How many children would the yanderes have with reader? Would they be jealous of their children?

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Yandere Farmer Link

This man definitely wants lots of kids, five or six at the very least and about nine or ten at the most, I think he'd mostly prefer to have boys (since he thinks they're easier to handle) but he wouldn't mind having one or two girls, he has a big farm so he doesn't worry about space and he makes enough money from the cattle and crops to support them all.

As for being jealous of his children when they're breastfed or jealous in general, I don't think so. I honestly don't think he's the "Stay away son, she's mine" type but he also wouldn't let you have much time with the kids especially if they're boys since if you spoil them too much he thinks you'll make them "weak" and "mama's boys" which he doesn't want, so when they learn to walk he'll take them with him to do the farm chores.

"The kids are coming to work with me today. What if they're three and four? That's the perfect age to start getting to know everything, don't question me."

Yandere Cowboy Link

He would want at least 3 children, two boys and a girl, although he might want more, depending on his mood.

And regarding getting jealous when watching his child eat or in general, I think he would get a little jealous, although he would try to be playful and downplay it, saying things like "He's a little chubby, don't you think you feed him too much?" Or "Look, it's 1 PM, isn't it time for a nap? Come on, son, it's time to sleep." Of course you don't let him take the baby away, it's not his bedtime yet.

"Baby doll, when I was a child I was fed and put to sleep at any hour even if I didn't want to, and look at me, everything turned out fine!"

Yandere Dilf Link

This poor man wants to have two girls, two little princesses that look like you, he already has one son so you'd rather have girls but he doesn't care if one is a boy or if they both end up being boys (although not having a daughter that looks like you would break his heart) he's one of the few yanderes that promises to have only two children and keeps it. He doesn't force you to have more even if the ones you give birth to aren't the gender he wanted.

Well now I don't think he would get jealous of his children while breastfeeding, rather I think he would touch the baby's head while breastfeeding even leaving kisses on its chubby cheek, although seeing you breastfeeding might excite him a little (he has a thing for tits and milk, okay?) but he wouldn't try anything at that moment on the contrary he would try to hide it.

"You're so pretty little girl... look at that little nose and those round cheeks... you're so precious sweetheart... just like your mommy"

Yandere Sugar Daddy Link

Another one who wants to have two kids, only he wants to have a pair a boy and a girl, no more kids, just two. Not one more, not one less. I think he would have favoritism with his girl and the boy would be more attached to you as a result.

He would get jealous, he doesn't even want to hide it, although he would be more mean if the one you were breastfeeding was the boy, he would stare from the leather chair right in front of you, watch you rub the baby's head while he eats and make comments like "You don't rub my head when I suck on your boobs, don't rub his head either" or "You know there are high end milks on the market made from breast milk, why don't we try giving him that instead of your milk?" if you scold him or look at him the wrong way he would throw up his hands in surrender and say in an offended voice.

"Hey! Don't look at me like that! You should be grateful that I care, that brat will make your tits sag!"

[sturniolo04]

Can u write a fic where Chris is streaming with reader and matt but reader is pregnant and nearly due so she is bouncing on her ball while Chris massages her shoulders and back as they hurt from her not sleeping good and chat is saying how good Chris is to reader and wishing y/n a safe birth. Hope this makes sense

Wife!reader x husband!chris

A/N: ofc, I’m so glad you reached out and wanted me to write this request for you! Thanks for the idea! I hope you enjoy it! If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you- Charli

Dividers: @issysh3ll and @mintsturniolo

Being married to Chris and being pregnant with your guys first child has been nothing but an amazing journey. Aside from the back pain and your normal clothes not fitting and oh, let’s not forget the contractions you were currently experiencing. See you were due at any given moment and of course you were excited to meet your precious baby girl finally but boy was she a pain in the ass, literally.

“What’s up chat”

Matt greets as he looks at the screen to display the rolling chat of ‘hellos’ and ‘hi’s” and the occasional “why are you so fine” comments directed specifically towards Matt.

“We aren’t playing on Fortnite today chat we are just chatting’

Chris added on as he stood behind you massaging your shoulders as you bounced up and down on the blue yoga ball to relieve some of the contractions that were present and continuing to be persistent. Being this close to your due date you haven’t been able to sleep as well as you normally would since you got pregnant and Chris knew this.

“ Ayla the chat asks how is baby girl doing”

Matt directs towards you after reading the series of comments genuinely asking how you were doing with the pregnancy and everything.

“I don’t think she is in position to respond”

Chris states covering for you seeing you brought your hand to intertwine with his squeezing it letting him know a serious contraction was taking place.

“But she is doing great she is due any day now so we are just doing all that we can to make sure that both of them are healthy”

Chris replies looking up at the chat display on the monitor Matt was sitting at. He felt your hand ease up in tension. He quickly shifts his attention directly to you.

“Do you want me to go get your cup”

Chris whispers sweetly to you as you simply nod your head him leaving the room do just that after getting the approval from you.

“Ayla the chat is asking what is it like to get all this princess treatment”

Matt reads off chuckling looking towards you still sitting on your ball.

“I love it”

You giggle out.

“Hes the best guys honestly I don’t think I could or can make it through this without him”

You sigh out as he returns with your cup of water resulting in you taking it with open hands.

“Were you guys talking about me”

Chris jokes out not really knowing for sure as he looks at Matt and then over at you taking a sip of water.

“Yeah All good things babe all good things I promise”

You reply after taking a sip bringing your hand up to his toned bicep in the process showcasing your diamond wedding band on your ring finger.

“I hope so”

Chris states honestly bringing your hand up to his lips to place a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, knowing you love when he does it.

“Oh my god the chat might as well be down bad for both of y’all at this point”

Matt jokes as he continues to read through the chat

“There’s no way”

Chris chuckles out as places a sweet kiss on your head and sits down next to Matt reading the chat reading off the various comments like ‘Chris is such a good husband’ and ‘Ayla is so lucky’ and even comments joking saying that they are Ayla at this point making them chuckle.

“Guys I literally love her that’s why I do everything I do for her when you love someone you would do anything for them”

Chris states simply as Matt continues reading the chat.

“Someone asked do you know the name yet or have y’all picked out one yet”

Matt asks you two simply as Chris quickly looks to you to see your answer first.

“Um maybe should we say it on here”

You ask looking at Chris for an answer

‘If you want to I think it is fine”

Chris shrugs as you take another sip of your water.

“Okay well baby girls name is Charlotte Nicole Sturniolo I wanted something basic but still cute so we agreed on it’

You hum out the answer as Chris nods his head in agreement.

“Yeah that’s baby girls name so she’s got a little bit of both of our names I feel like”

Chris trails off as you reach up to tap Chris on the arm with your Stanley cup, trying to get his attention.

“What’s up mama you done with it”

Chris asks simple as he directed his attention to you. You nod your head ‘yes’ as he take the cup from your hands and places it on the desk next to him.

“Okay I just read this and I actually want to know when do you think Ayla will pop genuinely”

Matt questions looking between the pair.

“I think honestly Friday would be cool babygirl coming into the world on a sturniolo Friday”

Chris chuckles shifting his attention towards you as well as Matt to see what your answer was

“What do you think”

Matt asks you laughing at his brothers predictions.

“Uhh how about today my water just broke”

Taglist

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @ksturnz @stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Forty-Seven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The pace of the night picked up instantly. Whitecloud gave out the order for every able body to hunt as much as they could, even allowing two patrols to head into the Houses and catch everything they found. Fireheart politely declined being at the lead of either of them, leaving Dustpelt and Sandstorm to take charge. Fireheart instead went into the neutral grounds, where it smelled the least of the dogs. His patrol actually managed to catch a rabbit (skinny though it was) among other things, leaving them to walk slowly to assist Teaselfoot in bringing home his catch, promising he was going to tell Larkbelly all about it at the next Gathering.

The apprentices, meanwhile, as directed by Ravenwing, brought in the remaining snow around camp, piling it up in the usual spot the prey-pile went. Brightpaw helped dig a shallow little burrow to bury prey in under the snow, stiff though she still was. Fireheart noted with joy that her eye had a faint glimmer of hope in it, even if she was quiet throughout the whole process.

Dawn had passed to morning before everyone was back inside with all of their catches. They had to bring in extra snow to cover up everything below the first layer of the prey-pile, something commented on with confidence by everyone.

“And we get to just relax for a few nights,” Willowpelt said to Goldenflower. “I didn’t think I’d be grateful for that again after how dull the Barn was.”

Goldenflower purred a low trill. “Having everyone inside will be busy enough one way or another, don’t you worry.”

Dimming the mood a bit was Fireheart bringing Bluestar into camp to stay with the elders—no one was confident she wouldn’t just walk into the woods and be killed, not even him. She said nothing to anyone, just stumbled to the fallen log and crouched inside it.

“Will you sleep today, and we’ll bring you prey tomorrow night?” Fireheart asked her gently.

A grimy blue ear flicked at nothing as she mumbled, “Is Slatekit here?”

“In the nursery,” Fireheart said, ignoring the troubled looks One-eye and Halftail were giving him. “And so is Mosskit.”

Her eyes, dull as autumn aspen leaves, flicked up past his own. “What… what about Duskkit?”

“She’s sleeping, too.” Fireheart blinked at her soothingly. “Go ahead and rest. You can see them later.”

Bluestar didn’t have the energy to even nod at him; she just curled up into a bony blue lump and gave a ragged sigh, going still.

“If something happens, wake me up,” Fireheart whispered to Halftail. “I’ll handle it.”

Halftail didn’t quite look approving, but he did nod with appreciation. One-eye sympathetically patted his paw.

“You’re a good one, Fireheart,” she croaked softly. “Get some sleep.”

Not without a last forlorn look at his old mentor, Fireheart obeyed, joining his fellow warriors in their den and flopping down in the nest closest to the entrance into the clearing. No one said anything to him. He was grateful for that.

The wait began the next night. To Fireheart’s amusement, the Clan collectively woke up later than usual, emerging from their dens in small waves and yawning like they’d been stuck in camp for a month. The apprentices were the last out, Cloudpaw and Brightpaw trailing behind everyone else as they whispered to each other something that made Brightpaw snort.

Goldenflower had been right—camp was lively with chatter and plenty crowded, many small clumps of cats scattered around, engaged in conversation while waiting for their shared prey to lose some of their snow-borne chill. Fireheart sat with Greystripe and Ravenwing, head slightly bowed but ears swiveling to pick up whatever fleeting words he could.

“Tell you what,” Greystripe said to Ravenwing, swallowing some of his dove. “You’re going to be pestered by the apprentices for stories all night.”

“And every night until we can leave,” Ravenwing replied with a twitch of his whiskers. “I don’t mind. They’ve been bored senseless for quite a while, being stuck in camp. They’re free to ask for whatever they want from me.”

The apprentices, as it turned out, showed remarkable restraint up until the night passed. This time, come dusk, they were the first to wake, and roused the Clan by shouting and wrestling with each other, Thornpaw and Brackenpaw nearly knocking over the impressive prey-pile. Fireheart poked his head out of the warrior’s den to be sure they weren’t yelling because the dogs had invaded and held back a snort as he caught sight of Goldenflower squinting sleepily at the apprentices, Aspenpaw beside her determinately keeping her eyes shut as she huddled into her mentor’s cloud of fur.

“There’s your cue,” Fireheart said as Ravenwing joined him at the entrance.

Ravenwing gave the tiniest, most tired chuff, nodded and stretched as he stepped out into the clearing. Fireheart followed him, parting ways to bump his head on Goldenflower’s with a purr.

“Are my siblings awake?” he asked, quietly, in case they weren’t.

Goldenflower sat up and shook out her pelt. “They’ve been up since the apprentices started up that noise. I told them to be quiet until everyone’s outside, but you know how kits are.”

“Some of them, yeah.” Fireheart glanced over at Ravenwing, who was being greeted by Snowpaw. “Well, can they come out? Ravenwing’s planning to distract them all with a story.”

The word “story” was immediately followed by a cry of excitement from the nursery.

Goldenflower purred and poked her head into the den. “Okay, you can go.”

Hardly a heartbeat passed before the fluffy kits climbed out into the open. Fireheart noted with some amusement that both of them were already encroaching on the sizes of the apprentices. Seems like they were just born to me.

“Story?” Brackenpaw perked his ears, looking at Fireheart.

“If you all can be quiet, yeah,” Ravenwing said warmly. He sat down by the prey-pile. “I’ve got something to entertain you, I think.”

This got the apprentices to hush immediately. Brightpaw, Cinderpaw, and Snowpaw bunched up together, while the remaining toms shuffled and pushed each other until they all formed a half-ring around Ravenwing. Tawnykit and Bramblekit joined them, followed closely by Aspenpaw, plopping down in the center beside Snowpaw. Bramblekit’s tail wagged in excitement.

“It’s been rough this winter, hasn’t it?” Ravenwing asked, both signing and speaking, to which he received solemn nods and unhappy sighs. “The Clans—and especially our Clan—have rarely had to struggle for survival like we are now. The last time anyone can remember dogs being such trouble is a very long time ago, before even One-eye was a sparkle in the eyes of her mother.” Ravenwing twitched his whiskers. “And before her grandmother was a sparkle, too, for that matter.

“It happened once, generations upon generations back, that a doggish beast once came to haunt the territories: a rronahrruk*, a silver-pelted, long-bodied, thin creature with a bark so loud and frightening that it kills whatever poor animal (or even human) hears it. It’s said that they’ve lost their ability to howl, and the allegiance of humans as well, in exchange for that powerful bark that grants them easy prey and the fearful respect of all other monsters.”

“Wooow…” Brackenpaw’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think anything could kill a human.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ravenwing said. “There are things out there stronger than them. Things that shake the earth and crack boulders in two, that would swallow a human whole without realizing it.

“But back to the hrruk. It came to the territories because its wickedly-sharp nose caught the scent of cats, something new it hadn’t eaten before. The Three had no chance to stop it before it found its way into ThunderClan’s forest, barking its lethal bark and felling anything it could find: badgers, bats, birds, and burrowers alike. But it wasn’t interested in those things. It wanted a cat, and it was going to find one, no matter what.

“As you know, the Clans are sometimes on their own when danger strikes. The Three and StarClan can only do so much for monsters. But we’re not always alone. We have two cats who can help us when times are hardest. Can you guess those two cats?”

“Mern’tha an’ Thlainra,” Thornpaw said immediately.

Ravenwing nodded. “Though, of course, Thlainra is often distant at best, she knows when it’s time for her to step in. Mernatha, on the other paw, is always with us, and always keen to pull a trick on her enemies. Or her friends, depending on how the wind’s blowing.

“Mernatha was busy stalking this rronahrruk in the form of petals, so that she had no ears for the beast to shatter and kill her with by a bark. She watched carefully and gently guided away cats from its wandering range, frustrating the hrruk greatly and causing it to wander towards Sunningrocks in the hopes of an easy meal. There, still, it found nothing, and sulked by the river, where even the ishmet** hid below the waves, looking at each other with great worry.

“One night, Mernatha caught it curled up and asleep on the shoreline. Without a heartbeat to waste, she flew for Thlainra’s nesting grounds, where the pitch-black molly sat waiting with her innumerable flock of crows.

“Even being familiar with the crow-mother, Mernatha felt a twinge of unease approaching the molly, a cat so black that it seemed no light reflected off of her feather-like fur. Thlainra watched in silence, her pitch eyes narrowed as the trickster came to her with the scent of craftiness wafting off of her.

“‘The hrruk, I take it,’ a crow by Thlainra’s right side said.

“Mernatha nodded. ‘I come to ask to borrow a few crows, Emissary of Twilight. Immediately, if I could.’

“A crow close to Mernatha shuffled its wings, speaking in the same voice as the first. ‘I will not have my children killed for your love of trickery.’

“‘And none shall die, I promise. I have a plan.’

“‘When don’t you?’ another crow said dryly. ‘Your plan is a simple one, but it can go very wrong very quickly.’”

“How does she know Mernatha’s plan?” Tawnykit asked, tilting her head.

Ravenwing’s eyes creased merrily. “Thlainra is wiser than any cat in the world—wiser than even the Three, some say. She’d deduce what anyone is thinking in a flash.”

“Ohhhh,” Tawnykit said, though she squinted a bit suspiciously.

Ravenwing resumed. “Mernatha, smooth as ever, told Thlainra, ‘Are your crows not quicker? Am I not clever enough to adjust in an instant? Surely we can best this thing before it has a chance to realize what we’re doing. It is just a dog, crow-mother.’

“Mernatha was aware of every crow’s eyes rolling, though she couldn’t see it with their eye-colors matching their feathers. Even so, several of them flapped together and landed in front of her.

“‘Lead on,’ one said, ‘but I will have your hide if I lose even one of them.’

“With a graceful, gracious bow, Mernatha took to the sky as her cluster of petals and went ahead, followed by the crows, flying the long way back to the territories from Thlainra’s home in the sky. Once they reached the river, she turned again to her feline form and directed the crows.

“‘Find a smooth stone,’ she said, ‘one twice as large as a duck’s egg. Once you find it, take to the sky and wait for this thing to open its mouth.’

“The crows pecked along the shoreline, close to the still-sleeping hrruk. Soon enough, they plucked a round stone from the water, and a pair of them took it in their talons and flew upwards, over the head of the hrruk.

“Mernatha crept close to her enemy, turned into petals and started flying around its head, tapping its nose and closed eyes. It woke slowly, snapping at the petals as they wandered close to its mouth. As the irritated creature stood, the petals spiraled above its head, spinning like a fly over a carcass. On the wind, she sang a chiming warble, grating on its ears.

“The hrruk, angered, opened its mouth to let out its fatal bark, but just as it did, the crows above it dropped the stone. It fell straight down, right into the rronahrruk’s mouth and lodging itself in its throat. It choked, trying to cough and bark and swallow all at the same time, but the stone was trapped, only going down as the hound fought for breath. It didn’t take long before its gurgles and gagging ceased, and it sank to its side, dying with a final attempt at a gulp.”

Brightpaw’s claws flashed and her single eye narrowed. The anger in it reminded Fireheart of the anger he’d seen in Ashpaw when he’d lost his mother.

“Mernatha waited for a good time after the monster was dead, pacing around it and listening for any breath or heartbeat, before turning to the crows and bowing graciously.

“‘The Clans and I owe you many thanks,’ she said.

“The largest of the crows simply fanned out its tail and said, ‘You owe me a month of quiet. Mortals and spirits alike complain where I can hear them incessantly about you and your pranks.’

“Mernatha trilled. ‘That,’ she said, ‘I can’t promise I can give.’”

Ravenwing took a breath before concluding, “And that’s the end, as I’ve heard it, and as you’ve heard it now.”

The apprentices and kits thankfully did not cheer or shout, though a number of warriors had awoken and were listening in as they plucked prey up or sat nearby eating what they had. Rather, they all began speaking at once to each other.

“Thlainra’s scary,” Bramblekit said to Cloudpaw.

“She’s weird, for sure.” Cloudpaw, not much taller than Bramblekit now, reached over and ruffled his head-fur. “But we’ll protect you if she comes by.”

“What’d they do with the rronahrruk’s body?” Brackenpaw asked.

“Prob’ly shoved it down the river,” Thornpaw hazarded.

Snowpaw stood up, tail curled over his back, and moved closer to his mentor, signing, “I liked the story.”

Ravenwing touched his nose to Snowpaw’s head and signed back, “I’m glad. It’s a good story.”

Fireheart’s eyes wandered back over to Brightpaw. The mentions of a dog, even if it was just a monster that looked like one, had not frightened her. If anything, her expression was more steadfast and calm, and she kneaded the ground in front of her, claws carding through the sand.

“That was nice,” Aspenpaw commented to Tawnykit, then seemingly to herself, “If only we could do that to these dogs, too.”

“They’ll go away soon,” Tawnykit said. “Right?”

“Right,” Aspenpaw said with a nod, but her eyes were dull.

Fireheart knew what she was thinking, because he was thinking it too: What I’d give to have had them go away sooner.

“Ashpaw would’ve liked that story,” Goldenflower murmured, as if she’d heard him.

Fireheart didn’t respond. He just shuffled a little closer to her, leaning on her shoulder. Her purr was tired and soft, but, at least, it was there.

Mernatha, he thought, we could really use your trickery now.

*”Rronahrruk”: literally “thunder-hound”. “Hrruk” and “hrrark” both mean “dog”, but “hrruk” refers to a hunting hound, while “hrrark” refers to a generally large dog of any breed.

** ”Ishmet”: river-spirits.

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do a fic where the triplets are pranking Y/N by being really mean to her but Chris takes it to far and Y/N gets really hurt and she ends up ignoring them

“Too Far”

Sturniolos x sister

It was a typical Saturday afternoon in the Sturniolo household, and the triplets were in a mischievous mood. Matt had come up with an idea to prank their little sister, Y/N, and it quickly spiraled into a full-blown plan. They decided to pretend they didn’t like her for the day, acting mean and dismissive to see how she would react.

“Let’s see how long it takes for her to notice,” Matt chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes.

Chris, initially hesitant, agreed to join in. “It’ll be funny. She takes things too seriously sometimes.”

Nick, always up for a laugh, chimed in, “Come on, it’ll be harmless fun! We’ll tell her we were just joking afterward.”

They set the plan in motion. As Y/N entered the living room, Chris shot her an annoyed look. “Why are you always in our space? Can’t you go play somewhere else?” he said, crossing his arms.

Y/N blinked in confusion. “Um, I was just coming to hang out,” she replied, her voice small.

“Yeah, well, we don’t want you here,” Matt added, smirking. “You’re just a bother.”

Nick chimed in with a laugh, “Seriously, Y/N, don’t you have anything better to do? You’re not even cool.”

At first, Y/N was taken aback, but she tried to brush it off. “You guys are just joking, right? Come on, stop it!”

As the day went on, the triplets continued to tease her, getting progressively harsher. Chris, trying to keep the act going, made a cutting comment. “Maybe if you weren’t so annoying, we’d actually want you around. Just stay out of our way.”

Y/N’s expression faltered, hurt flashing across her face. “Why are you being like this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Because it’s funny to see you get all worked up,” Nick said, but even he felt a twinge of guilt.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Chris, wanting to keep the prank going, took it too far. “You know what, Y/N? I think we’d all be better off if you just left us alone. We don’t need you.”

Y/N’s face fell, tears welling in her eyes. She turned on her heel and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. The triplets exchanged glances, the laughter dying in their throats.

“Dude, I think we went too far,” Matt said, concern etched on his face.

“Yeah, we were just messing around,” Nick added, guilt flooding in.

Chris felt a knot in his stomach. “I didn’t mean it… I thought it would be funny.”

After a few minutes of silence, they decided to go check on her. Chris knocked on Y/N’s door gently. “Y/N? Can we come in?”

No response.

“Please?” he pleaded. “We’re sorry. It was just a prank…”

Still, there was no answer. The realization hit Chris hard; he never wanted to hurt his sister. He glanced at Matt and Nick, their expressions mirroring his guilt.

“I’ll talk to her,” Chris said, determination setting in. He pushed the door open slightly and entered the darkened room. Y/N sat on her bed, hugging a stuffed animal tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice softening. “I’m really sorry. We didn’t mean any of it. It was supposed to be a joke, and I took it too far. Please don’t be mad at us.”

She turned her head away, refusing to look at him. “You all said you didn’t want me around. You really hurt my feelings, Chris.”

His heart sank as he realized how much pain he had caused her. “I know, and I feel terrible about it. You’re my sister, and I love you. I would never want you to feel like we don’t want you here. You mean everything to us.”

Y/N wiped her eyes, still not meeting his gaze. “It didn’t feel like it.”

“I know. But I promise we’ll make it up to you. Just give us a chance,” Chris pleaded, moving closer to her.

After a long moment of silence, Y/N finally turned to face him. “You really mean it?”

“Of course I do. Can you forgive me?” Chris asked, his heart aching for her.

Slowly, Y/N nodded, her expression softening. “Okay, but you have to promise never to do that again.”

“I promise,” Chris said, relief flooding through him as he pulled her into a gentle hug.

As they sat together, Chris knew it would take time for her to fully forgive him and the others, but he was determined to show her how much she meant to them. Together, they walked back to the living room, ready to face Matt and Nick, and mend the bond that had been tested but would always remain strong.

[rezitio]

can you do Baki links?? But death row convict version?

I was originally just going to do for doyle and sikorsky but I decided to do all

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

spec, kaiou dorian, ryuuko yanagi, hector doyle, sikorsky. nsfw

warnings: THESE ARE QUITE DARK!!! kidnapping, threats, fear play, manhandling, NONCON/DUBCON, breaking in, rewards and punishment piv, f!m!oral, anal, size kink, silver fox, spanking, fingering, threesome, raw, etc.

where is everyone else?

━━━━ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK ━━━━

✦ ╮ Speck

01. Spec comes into your room and places you around in different positions

02. You don't know who he is but how in the world would you have said no? You were too scared too.

03. Why is he here? He's supposed to be in jail yet he's re-arranging your guts in your apartment

04. Spec uses brute force to get what he wants

05. He's never tried to hide it, he's a killer. He'd kill your whole family and come to your room fucking you like he hasn't done anything

✦ ╮ Kaiou Dorian

01. Catching his little princess alone, spread on the couch so innocently for him.

02. Fine, he won't take your virginity but he's still going to make sure you know you're his.

03. I have nothing to say this just reminds me of him

04. Pussy eating with your silver fox

✦ ╮ Ryuukou Yanagi

01. It's his princess's reward for being such a good girl this whole week

02. It's his princess's reward for being such a naughty girl this whole week

03. He just tied you up and shoved you in his trunk. You don't know how long you've been on the road, or where you're even going.

04. You're going to explain to him why you acted so naughty and why he shouldn't punish you

05. After a long day, He goes home to his princess needy and begging for him, just what he needs

✦ ╮ Hector Doyle

01. Shh... as long as you stay still it will be over soon. Maybe next you'd listen

02. In the prison, Doyle would always visit the physical therapist, reporting a feeling down below. And you'd always inspect it (with a gun to your head)

03. Those are Doyle's hands. Slowly caressing you, feeling you and intruding your warmth

04. It's that time again when he visits you, promising he'll take you with him one day when he disappears into the night

05. How long has it been since you two touched? You can see it by looking at how desperate you are for his fingers.

✦ ╮ Sikorsky

01. I can imagine Sikorsky chocking you with his length because of a passing comment he did not quite like.

02. You kept kicking the back of his seat. Pissed off, he grabbed you to the front and punished you

03. His fucking princess being fucked raw and hard in the ass

04. You thought he was gone, sentenced to death they said. So why is he in your room, hand over your mouth preventing your screams on his death date?

05. He taunts your opening while you beg him, all that pleading gone to waste his length intrudes your lips.

✦ ╮ Two unrelated death convicts, escaped at the same time for one purpose, to taste that pussy.

sikorsky[left] choxking you , doyle [right] pounding you

REZITIO @nightxstalker might do yujiro next

[docholligay]

And Roy has a flashback to when he, presumably, had to kill a kid in the line of duty, and he chokes. He chokes and Ed gets the drop on him.

I knew Roy had to lose for the sake of the narrative, and, if it had to happen I can actually live with this. I am a little shocked myself by how not-upset I am by this. I think it's because instead of sacrificing Roy for Ed's character and, most importantly, his cool guy status, it expands on and humanizes Roy. Roy beat the shit out of him, 90% with one hand in his pocket. Roy had him. Ed knows he had him. But Roy is a person, too, which is not something we've overly focused on in the storyline. We've focused on how Roy is extremely capable, and clever, and inspires loyalty in those close to him. But all of that is just...cool. even his flaw thus far, that he's a bit of an arrogant troll sometimes, hasn't really cost him, because usually his ass can cash the checks his mouth writes. But this moment? This takes him away from being the ruthlessly climbing colonel who has served with distinction, and turns him back into a man named Roy Mustang, who once had to do something that lays uneasy on his mind, still.

I actually...love this loss? Ugh. It's well done, I concede it. I am so glad I didn't promise to liveblog precure or anything ahaha. I love being proven wrong and hate eating crow, both. Doc Doc has two hands.

Actually, this moment gives me a lot more trust in the show because it DID serve a character other than Ed WHILE moving the ball for Ed, and I wasn't expecting that level of thought.

Please read me before commenting or sending an ask! (i respect your right to be contrarian but bear in mind you’ve probably seen this anime 87 times and I am watching it virgin-style. Please be cool about this! There’s a link to the discord on the advisory)

[beldcm]

"The higher you climb, the higher I'll go." Their comment made no sense, but Tatum was doubling down on their words. Despite the playfulness of their shared banter, Tatum knew that Charlotte was being serious, and so they made an internal promise not to work during this trip. As far as anyone was aware, the happy couple was offline, off the grid; they were unavailable until they were back in the city. A part of Tatum was somewhat relieved. While the two had brief, stolen moments of conversations and soft glances, their interactions were always so formal and always about work. While Tatum knew more about Charlotte than most, they were weirdly excited to learn more in such an intimate and casual setting. 

"Oh, so in high demand, it's crazy." Truth be told, the small town was mainly made up of farmers, their wives, and the kids that would eventually take over the family business. It was unusual for people to leave town. Every local store was passed down through generations, and at this point it was almost an unspoken rule to one day take your parent's place. Tatum didn't want that. They dreamt of getting out and moving to the big city. While being a personal assistant definitely hadn't been the goal, they were just happy to be where they wanted to be. Tatum's parents hadn't been all that supportive at first. They found it humorous that the traditionally American couple was more accepting of Tatum's gender and sexuality than their decision to move across the country.

The way Charlotte navigated the context of Tatum's words caused a curious brow to raise. Their head slightly tilting in amusement. Was Charlotte flirting? If so, then it wasn't subtle, but Tatum enjoyed it, bringing a smirk to their lips. "You know what? You're right; I'm sorry. I'm actually the worst assistant; how could I leave my own boss out when it comes to the full package that I have to offer? I promise I'll do better," Tatum thought about their next sentence carefully. Was there a hidden agenda behind their words? Did they want to flirt back? As they explored their options, they decided to take a risk. "Who knows, maybe on this trip I'll let you gain all the benefits, but no complaints, please. My delicate heart won't take it."

"You know what they say, sometimes the right person for you is right under your nose, and you never know it. It's usually the person you least expect." What was happening? Tatum was walking on thin ice, balancing on a tightrope between professional and crossing the line. They were getting a little too comfortable. But Tatum put it down to practice; they wouldn't be acting like Charlotte's assistant if they were engaged. "It doesn't sound lame at all; you're allowed to want what you want, no matter how cheesy it is." While Tatum wasn't a romantic, in the sense of love at first sight, they understood how people craved the idea of it. They wanted that moment of eyes meeting across a crowded room as fireworks set off. Life wasn't a movie, and in Tatum's eyes, you had to work for it. "Boundaries?" Tatum hadn't even thought about that. "I'm cool with anything. We have to make it believable, right?" Honestly, Tatum trusted Charlotte. They weren't strangers, and if they wanted this to actually work, they had to truly act like a couple. 

Tatum had figured Charlotte would take a little longer to get ready. The assistant perched on a kitchen stool with their focus on their phone. Technically, they are sticking to their word of no work. While their mom cleaned up the kitchen, Tatum set up an automated message for when anyone sent them an email, letting them know both they and Charlotte were unavailable. Tatum had Charlotte all to themselves, and the thought alone brought a sense of smugness to them. It was a term that not everybody got to enjoy.

Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs, Tatum glanced up as they immediately got to their feet, putting the phone away. While Charlotte always looked incredible, there was something about seeing her so casual that caused Tatum to swallow thickly. "Yeah, let's go, you look great." Tatum reciprocated the touch with a light kiss to Charlotte's temple, causing their mom to grin at the happy couple. "We won't be out late, I promise we will be quiet when we get back." Tatum always felt like a teenager again whenever they visited home. Giving their mom the usual spiel every time they would leave to hang out with friends. After their mom had hugged them both goodbye and told them to have a nice time, Tatum led the way outside. 

"Is that my jacket?" Tatum questioned as they left the house, now standing on the porch. They hoped their words hadn't come across as accusations, but more so just genuine curiosity. While Tatum probably wouldn't have noticed, it had been how oversized the jacket actually looked that had given it away. Luckily, the cab didn't take long to arrive, and within ten minutes they pulled up outside of the bar. "Thanks, Kevin, and tell Lucy I said hi, okay?" Tatum spoke to the older man as they handed him the money. They hated being a small-town stereotype, but Tatum had grown up with most people in town. 

Getting out of the cab, Tatum instinctively placed a gentle hand on Charlotte's back. It was easier to pretend they were a couple than Tatum thought it would be. "Like I said," Tatum lowered more to Charlotte's level, their voice a little quieter, "nobody is going to recognise you here, but on the off chance that this place is overrun with millennials, I promise we can leave." Tatum had chosen this bar for a reason. But things changed; they hadn't stepped foot in the establishment for years. 

"What do you want to drink, oh future wife of mine?" Tatum beamed as they approached the bar. Thankfully, it had been just how Tatum remembered it. It was quiet, save for a few older men dotted about as they enjoyed their daily drinks with friends. Not one had even bothered to look up, refusing to detach from their conversations as they laughed and drank. The couple were the youngest by far, but Tatum just wanted somewhere quiet and out of the way. The bartender smiled politely, greeting them both with a knowing look at Tatum. They had gone to school together, and while the pair never really ran with the same crowds, there was definitely history between them. "Hey Tate, good to see you back in town. What can I get you both?" Tatum lent against the bar with a smile as they put in their order.

some days were harder than others when it came to the spreading of misinformation and tabloid lies, depending on what kind of story they decided to run on her that week. charlotte knew the people that mattered most to her were aware of what was going on in her life and offered her support when she needed it. she had a strong support system and it was something she was grateful to have. at times she would steal glances at tatum, watching them work, flying under the radar so easily, wishing that she had that level of anonymity at times. when tatum's application had come through to her, she was intrigued to say the least. they were the only one, like her, that had come from a small town and it was clear the moment they met her just how down to earth and professional they were. it wasn't something that was common in the industry and she knew they'd be the perfect fit for her team.

charlotte's cheeks ached from the constant smiling at tatum's playful teasing. she couldn't remember the last time she genuinely felt so light and playful. it really was a nice and a needed change from the seriousness that could be the day to day of her life. it seemed like sometimes she forgot to just have fun. "you're home for no more than twenty minutes and suddenly you're very bold," charlotte teased, continuing to laugh at their comments before taking a pillow from the bed and tossing it at them, "you may not believe this but i was quite the climber as a kid and i am not afraid to take necessary actions to reach that diary and steal it from you." it wouldn't exactly be the first time she'd thought of climbing them, not that she would ever dare admit that. charlotte had always prided herself on being professional but it was hard not to be at least a little attracted to them, she was only human. everything so far felt a little too easy, like they'd always been this way around each other and charlotte could only put it down to the fact that she was comfortable around them, their space.

an eyebrow cocked playfully as charlotte listened to tatum's spiel about the quality of their services. the woman's lips curled, her eyes locked on them amused and thoroughly entertained by what she was hearing from them. her mind couldn't help but wander as their words seemed to imply something a little different. "because personal assistant services are in such high demand in this town, right?" she teased, her eyes narrowing, "you seem so confident about the fact you haven't had complaints, it's something that is quite reassuring to know. it's just a shame.." oh she was leaning right into it now, "all i seem to be hearing is i'm not getting the full benefits of your services and quite frankly, i don't think that's acceptable or good enough. you talk a big game, cowboy but at some point, i expect to be properly compensated." tatum's confidence, even when just being playful was something else. she'd seen glimpses before while they worked but that was different. this wasn't tatum her assistant and she was quickly realising this was a person she wanted to get to know.

as the teasing died down and conversation turned to her non-existent love life, tatum's words caused her to genuinely smile back at them, her eyes softly lingering to study the features of their face. charlotte already knew that whoever it was that captured tatum's heart was going to be extremely lucky. the fact that they were willing to commit a crime for her just to be able to stay in the country regardless they were getting paid said more to charlotte about the type of person tatum was than anything else. she admired them in so many ways but could never find the right words that expressed that. a chuckle escaped her, "i'd love to know where they are because i'd really like to make someone feel happy and loved," again she chuckled, this time shaking her head, slightly embarrassed to be admitting something so personal to an employee, "sorry, i know that probably sounds really lame." tatum's reminder that it was currently them brought her out of her thoughts, "should we discuss boundaries? i mean, as an actor i'm open to doing whatever it is necessary to make this genuine and believable. i wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"it doesn't need to be flashy. at my core, i'm just a small town girl so the barn sounds perfect." charlotte couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her, "they sound a lot like the people i grew up around." if that were true, she knew just how easy it was to become attached and it wasn't something she could allow herself to do. their situation was only temporary and giving these people false hope she'd continue to be around didn't sit well with her. "and don't think i'm letting your embarrassing stories slide either, i'm very persuasive."

it was hard not to notice the way their body positively reacted to her agreeing to go out with them. tatum's genuine dimpled smile left her feeling as if she was melting into a puddle, her cheeks warming at the comment they had made agreeing that she was cute. something stirred within her and she bit down on her lip to attempt to hide the shy smile that threatened her lips. charlotte knew she didn't have to say anything, that the reaction of her body said it all as her eyes lingered on them for a moment. "nope. no. you don't get out of it that easily because i would like to know exactly what kinds of things you got up to. i'm here to learn as much about you as possible and i plan to do just that." with a nod, charlotte watched them grab some fresh clothes from the closet, "i can manage that," she beamed at them playfully before they left.

with tatum out of the room, charlotte made her way to her suitcase to look for an outfit that would be comfortable and fitting to wear. this really was her chance to get back to her roots and wear something that tatum didn't usually see her in. it was cute, it was casual. as she made her way to the bathroom that attached to their room, her eyes caught a glimpse of photographs, clearly of tatum in high school with their friends. their dimpled smile practically beamed at the camera. they looked so happy, so carefree and it warmed her heart. gently she pushed her hair back behind her ear as she read the acknowledgements they'd received, prizes they had won. a part of her felt bad for dragging them into her mess. they were far too good for that. the other part of her liked that she was able to be so close to such an incredibly selfless person. she hadn't even realised she'd been smiling at the pictures, she reached out to brush her hand over the glass.

noticing she had been caught up in the moment, she quickly carried on to the bathroom to freshen up. after a little deliberation, charlotte finally settled on a casual pair of jeans and a cream knitted sweater, pulled together with a pair of boots. as she grabbed her things to leave she noticed a brown jacket hanging in the closet and she couldn't help but try it on. it was a little big but it looked perfect with her outfit. it smelled of tatum and that comforted her as she made her way downstairs to find them waiting for her, looking incredibly handsome. with a shy smile, she made her way over to them, grazing her hand across their back, letting it linger there, "you ready, babe?"

[the-cookie-of-doom]

I have officially fulfilled all my adult responsibilities, and until I get a job, I can now fully focus on writing fic again. Something I haven't been able to do in years. That said, my rough goals are to update all of the following:

Pas de Deux Technicality (updated) Sticky Sweet Penumbra Out of the Shadows

Not necessarily in that order, but, that's the plan! If anyone wanted to help further these goals by leaving a comment on any of these fics about what they liked or are excited to see in the coming chapters, it would ofc be appreciated.

[gynii]

@hey-omi got me into aftg last semester and i made this for them as part of an art trade last month! so now yall get to see it :)