#i think its something that we see in their life again and again

[bloomzone]

📍. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟏 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

[Hi everyone, so today's blog may look a little interesting because we are in the last days of April so it's reset time . So i've been a little disconnected lately, it's exam season, and honestly it’s been a lot . Also, sorry for anyone who's been sending me questions in my inbox I might not answer everyone right away, but I promise I’ll be more active after finals and my regional exam , and actually for anyone out there who’s thinking about building a habit or tracking something next month... this is your sign ⏲️.]

ॱ🪽 ₊ . why a 7-day challenge works

"Change doesn’t happen because we suddenly decide to become someone else overnight" It happens when we choose to become slightly better versions of ourselves so for one week you will be asked to show up for yourself because all lasting change begins with a decision to start, no matter how small or imperfect that beginning may seem.

For me personally, the 7-day method has been the most effective way to rebuild habits, especially during the moments when life feels heavy when I’m stuck in a slump, caught in a rut, or feeling disconnected from myself. I have built and rebuilt many habits through this method, and I’m not here to pretend that I follow all my habits perfectly every day. That’s simply impossible. Life is unpredictable bro 💀 and being human means accepting that sometimes we will fall off track. But I’ve found that committing to a 1-week challenge creates just enough structure without feeling overwhelming. Whether it’s studying after a long period of burnout, taking care of my skin , exercising, or simply keeping my space clean, the same principle applies. I give myself one week of small, consistent effort. By the end of those seven days, something inside me shifts naturally. The habit begins to carry itself it becomes part of my daily rhythm again. This approach it’s about reconnecting with the parts of yourself that want to grow. !

so let's get into it !

ᵕ⁠⑅ 💌 .building a habit is like planting a tree

When you approach building a habit, imagine that you are planting a tree. In the beginning, the seed is fragile and invisible to the world. No one applauds you for watering it. No one even knows it’s there but you do ofc . Each action you take is a way of pressing that seed deeper into the soil, helping it find its first roots. A tree It grows because every day it reaches for the light, it anchors itself to the earth, and it trusts the slow work of time. Your habit is like a tree so it will not reveal its strength immediately. It will be built through consistency, patience, and hard work . The stronger the roots you lay in the beginning, the higher you will grow later.

🪄 ♡⁠˖ Preparing before u start

Before you start the challenge, it is important to create the right conditions for success. First choose your habit carefully. Do not pick something because it sounds impressive or because it feels like what you "should" do. Choose something you genuinely want to nurture something that will add peace, energy, or meaning to your life. Next, make the habit as specific and realistic as possible. If your habit is "read more," define it: "Read 10 pages before bed." If it’s "move more," define it too like : "Stretch for 20 minutes after waking up." Specificity turns intentions into actions. Finally, prepare your environment. Remove distractions if you can, and set yourself reminders that pull you gently back to your commitment. Success is easier when you remove as many barriers as possible before you begin.

👛 ꪆ୧ How to stay connected to your habit

As you practice the habit each day, it’s crucial to understand what you are really building. You are not just completing a task. You are shaping ur identity. Every time you follow through, even if it’s only for a few minutes, you are reinforcing the belief that you are someone who keeps their promises to themselves. At first, the actions will feel mechanical. You will not see immediate results, and it may feel pointless. This is natural NATURAL PLEASE READ IT AGAIN . Habits develop strength under the surface long before they show themselves outwardly as I said is like planting a tree . Trust the process. Know that the first few days are about teaching your mind to accept a new way of being, even if the change is invisible at first. When you focus not on achieving perfection but on maintaining connection to your action, you create a system that can survive setbacks, challenges, and the inevitable moments of doubt.

✧🕧 ~ A helpful hack to never forget ur habit

One tip that personally changed everything for me especially when my mind felt busy or overwhelmed is setting up reminders in a very intentional way. It’s simple .. If you are someone who naturally checks your phone first thing in the morning (which most of us do without even thinking about it), use it to your advantage. The night before, right before you go to sleep, open your Notes app, Notion, or even just the simplest app you have for writing and write down the habits you want to keep track of the next day. You could write something like, “Skincare routine,” “Study for one hour,” or “Stretch/workout for 30 minutes ) and add some affirmation if u want and write some words that will motivate u to get up and do it because 100% ur own words can fix u also then, leave that note open and lock your phone screen on it. The next morning, when you reach for your phone instinctively, the first thing you’ll see is your gentle reminder. It’s like that screen will be guiding you back to yourself before u will forgetting

And if you’re someone who doesn’t look at your phone first thing in the morning, you can use a simple journal instead. Keep a small notebook or journal right on your nightstand, your desk, or wherever your eyes naturally land when you wake up. Before sleeping, write your habits or intentions for the next day on the first page you will see when you open it. This way, whether you are a phone-checker or a journal-lover, you are creating a natural path for your brain to reconnect with your goals that would be like a reminder waiting for you every morning.

੭ 🗒️ ۪ ⊹ it’s okay to fall

Please don’t let people on the internet make you feel bad if you slip during this challenge or while building any habit. If you don’t feel okay one day, that’s normal please don’t be sad. NOBODY like nobody is watching you, nobody cares, just come back the next day and start counting your seven days again. This is so normal. I swear to God, it’s NORMAL . I don’t know why people make it seem like if you fall off for a day or two or even weeks , you’ve ruined everything. Like if you missed two days of exercise, or didn’t study, or didn’t do your skincare, suddenly you’re not worthy anymore, or you’re not going to be like the person you see online. That’s not true. Please don’t compare yourself to anyone you see on the internet. Even the people who post their perfect routines they mess up too. Some show it, but most of them don’t. You’re only seeing a small part of their story.

So please, never feel bad for slipping. If you fall off track, just come back the next day. It’s completely human. Bro, you’re human. Nobody’s judging you. If you feel ready the next day, go back to your habits. If you don’t feel ready, that’s okay too. Just don’t stay stuck in burnout forever. Don’t think, “I’ll rest until the burnout ends,” because usually, if you wait too long, the burnout only gets heavier (by experience) . If you feel like you’ve been stuck for days, it’s okay but please, get up gently. Go take a shower. Clean your space a little. Go outside for a walk. Then slowly come back to your habits, your intentions, your small actions the ones that make you feel like yourself again. Your body, your mind, your energy they will start to come back, even if it’s little by little ! trust yourself alwaays 🍀

@bloomzone

[bwobgames]

“Woah… a real ghost…”

“You seem well educated, why are you scared of ghosts? Or even believe in them?”

“Well, its hard not to! Everyone says they are real and scary!”

“Also, ugh, I was forced to tell you sorry for being ‘creepy’ or whatever. I’m not creepy though!”

“It’s normal for girls to look at other girls and appreciate how attractive they are!”

“It’s true, I was the same at your age. Comes in every girl’s life”

She ignores the fact that she is married to a woman.

“But at the end you end up with a guy regardless, yeah?”

“…Maybe”

“I’ll have to end up with Fede, which is kinda gross but I’ll get over it probably”

“Wh- What do you mean you ‘have’ to? Is someone forcing you to marry him?”

“No, no, it’s not like, planned or anything, it’s just…”

“We know each other for a long time, and our parents know each other for a long time and are good friends and they love to say we’re like a couple and plan stuff for when 'our families become one' and …”

“I’m not like, being forced to marry him or anything but like. Seems like things are heading that way”

“It wouldn’t be awful really, he’s my friend so we already get along, And! I get to stay at home all day while he fucks around in his dad’s business! I’ll be set for life!”

“And then what”

“Huh?”

“Once you achieve the life of your dreams, the perfect life”

“What comes next?”

“Uh. Kids?”

“Would that make it better?”

“Well, I wouldn’t get bored with kids…”

“And you’ll be happy with that?”

“Of course! It’s the dream! Everyone wants that!”

She’s right, of course. Anyone would want that life.

The correct life.

The one she’s been following, set for her, sacrificed for her.

Her parents might’ve been strict, but they taught her well, she will never fault her for doing what they thought would make her happy.

(But did they ever really do it for me?)

They taught her to take shortcuts, to cut all possible loses, to cut the floor beneath another person if necessary, to lie, to cheat.

To live with the sacrifices of others.

To love numbers, to live numbers, to see people as numbers.

To recognize the opportunity of a lifetime when it’s presented to her.

She could always recognize people like her by the way they smile.

Too perfect, too controlled. Too aware of their teeth.

Unlike her uncle’s smile. Yellow and crooked. Unbothered.

She was not unhappy, by all means she cannot say she was miserable.

Having high quality health care at her hand is more than most of the population could ever wish for. Not having to worry to survive until the next pay is a relief as well.

She is with her best friend, working together, being successful.

She has reached the top.

But she’s hungry.

She can differentiate right from wrong, she has let her family into an idyllic state of never worrying about money again. She is what everyone desires.

So there must be something deeply wrong when she’s still hungry

A hunger that is only satiated when she brushes her own hair. When she chooses her own clothes. When she’s in charge of decisions. When she can stand her ground in an argument.

A hunger that only grows with every stolen glance, with small touches, with an unbothered smile, an understanding voice.

Something that beckons to her to run away, to forget everything and start anew, to call her uncle and finally have that camping trip he offered. To say No to the ring.

But she can’t.

Because it’s not right.

It’s not what’s supposed to happen. It’s not what’s supposed to make her happy. It’s what she was taught. It’s what made her who she is.

It’s what everyone says.

And they’re all full of shit.

“I don’t think you’d be wrong to share the rest of your life with your friend, as long as you keep things as they are”

“Forcing yourself to a role you didn’t ask for is… detrimental in the long run”

“You’re young, surely someone as tenacious as you won’t bend down to the whims of some old rich guys, yeah?”

“Huh…?”

“You’ll get it when you’re older. I know you got a heart in there somewhere”

“I know it wants more than what they can offer.”

“Oh, it’s dinner time. Let’s go. It’s rude to keep people waiting”

“Wuh, uh ah, yes!”

Sometimes she really wishes things were different.

That she didn’t make so many mistakes.

That she noticed the lie sooner.

She grieves her youth.

<-PREV START NEXT->

[paxaz535]

Just for Now

chapter 5

synopsis : when a group of students go on a school field trip are suddenly forced into a deadly real-life game of Mafia at a retreat center. They receive a message that tells them the game has started, and the only way of survival is by eliminating classmates and identifying the Mafias.

——

note : and if i say this is probably the best thing i’ve written so far.. ?

(shorter chapter ONLY because im trying to spread this series)

——

As the murmurs started up again and people began whispering in pairs, Paige stood up and walked over to you.

“Can we talk?” she asked, quiet enough that only you could hear.

You glanced around. No one was paying attention yet.

You nodded, following her down the hall, away from the group.

She stopped just outside one of the smaller side rooms and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The hallway was dim, quiet, like the game couldn’t reach you here.

“You really think it’s me?” she asked, no smile, no flirt, just straight honesty.

You met her eyes. “I don’t want to think it’s you.”

“Then don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, Paige.”

Her jaw tightened. “You know me. You’ve seen me. If I was playing dirty, you think you wouldn’t know by now?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, voice lower. “I don’t know. Not anymore.”

She stepped closer. “Then trust what you feel. Not what they’re trying to make you see.”

And just like that, she was gone—back down the hallway, swallowed by the buzz of the lobby again.

You stood there a second longer, heart in your throat.

Then came Marcus’s voice from inside: “Are we doing this, or what?”

You decided to check someone.

Not because you thought they were Mafia—more like the opposite. You needed to start crossing people off your list. Narrowing it down. Giving yourself room to breathe.

Still, something inside you whispered not to check those four.

Paige. Azzi. Nika. Aaliyah.

Why?

Why did part of you not want to know the truth?

Was it fear? Was it trust? Or was it something worse—something like hope?

You pushed the thought down and clicked on Kk’s name.

Kk’s occupation is: Citizen.

Cool.

Relief. Slight, but real.

You returned to the circle just in time to see everyone with their phones out, the voting options on each screen.

One by one, everyone started to vote.

You hesitated with yours.

Marcus? Sarah? One of the four? Nora?

You looked up, eyes catching Azzi’s for just a second.

She winked.

Your hand shook a little as you hovered over the screen.

Then, you pressed the name.

It was time.

The votes rolled in:

Stormi — Marcus

Paige — Marcus

Nora — Azzi

Jamie — Paige

Sarah — Marcus

Marcus — Sarah

Amari & Ines — Marcus

Allie & Morgan — Nora

Aubrey — Marcus

Aaliyah — Marcus

Nika — Marcus

Azzi — Marcus

Ayanna — Marcus

Ice — Marcus

Jana — Nora

Caroline — Nora

Ashlynn — Marcus

Kk — Marcus

And finally—

Rose — Nora.

Your name.

Your vote.

The final one.

As soon as it landed, Nora looked at you.

Her face—tight, confused, hurt.

Like you’d pulled the floor out from under her.

You couldn’t hold her gaze. Not for long.

Your stomach twisted. But you went with your gut. You had to. That’s what this role was. That’s what this game was.

Still, the guilt sat in your chest like a weight.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even sure if you’d made the right call.

Majority, Marcus.

The intercom crackled to life.

“With the most votes, Marcus will be executed.”

No one moved.

Marcus exhaled slowly. No argument. No begging. Just a deep, worn-out sigh as he stood up.

He didn’t look at anyone as he walked toward the hallway—just kept his head down, footsteps heavy.

Then, just as he disappeared behind the corner—

A scream.

Raw. Terrified. Real.

You flinched. A few people gasped. The room held its breath.

And then, the intercom spoke again:

“Marcus was… a citizen.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Your stomach dropped.

Because now that you all know Marcus wasn’t Mafia…

Then the four specific ones who voted him out?

Might be the very people you’ve been trying not to suspect.

And worse?

You might’ve just helped them win.

-

“She needs to die,” Aaliyah said, her voice cold and certain. “And she needs to die tonight.”

The room fell quiet.

Azzi and Paige exchanged a glance, tension already thick. Nika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s getting too close,” Aaliyah continued. “If we don’t get rid of her now, she’s going to figure us out.”

“She already is,” Nika added. “She voted smart last round. She’s watching us.”

Azzi shifted. “We can’t do anything unless all four of us agree. You know the rule.”

Every Mafia vote had to be unanimous.

No vote, no kill.

“Then agree,” Aaliyah snapped, looking directly at Paige.

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t move.

“I’m not agreeing,” Azzi said, arms crossed. “Not tonight.”

Nika looked between them, fuming. “You’re letting your feelings get in the way.”

Paige turned sharply to Nika. “And you’re not?”

Nika raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“If it were Stormi’s name on the table, you’d be the first one saying no,” Paige said, her voice suddenly sharper, more raw than they were used to. “Don’t act like you’re above this just because it’s me and Azzi.”

Nika went quiet.

Azzi looked between them, unsettled.

Aaliyah shook her head in disbelief. “So that’s it? No vote tonight? We’re just gonna let her live?”

“No vote,” Paige said, looking down. “We’re going to let her live.”

The room stilled.

No one spoke. No one moved.

They all knew what that meant.

No kill.

“So then who?” Nika asked, her voice growing impatient.

“Nora’s also off the table,” Aaliyah replied, cutting through the tension. “If we kill her, then you might as well consider one of us dead.”

She was right. Nora had already gotten too close to the truth.

“Aaliyah’s right,” Paige said, voice quiet but firm. “Nora’s off the table. If we kill her now, it’ll confirm everything.”

Aaliyah nodded, her tone cold. “Exactly. We can’t risk it.”

There was a heavy silence. They all knew they needed to make a choice—someone had to be eliminated, but the wrong decision could expose them all.

Then Azzi spoke, her voice calm and steady.

“Jana.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to her. Was she seriously suggesting someone?

“Why?” Nika asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Azzi leaned back slightly. “She’s been quiet. A lot of people been quiet, yeah, but she’s… different. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t stand out. She’s blending in too well. If she’s not Mafia, she could be a threat to us. People like her always make it to the end.”

Paige frowned, clearly not convinced. “She’s been too quiet, yeah. But why her? She hasn’t done anything to make her seem dangerous.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly why. No one’s looking at her, and that makes her the perfect choice.”

The others stayed silent for a beat, processing her words.

“I also noticed something about her,” Azzi continued, her tone growing more deliberate. “Remember when Aubrey got voted out and everyone went all haywire?”

The group nodded, recalling the chaos that had followed Aubrey’s elimination. The tension was thick in the air that night, accusations flying left and right.

“Jana didn’t react. Didn’t hear a peep. Literally, everyone else said something but her.” Azzi’s gaze shifted between them, a challenge in her eyes. “Is that not weird?”

The room fell into silence as everyone turned this over in their minds.

Paige frowned, her mind working through the memory. Aubrey and Jana had been close. For Jana to say nothing when Aubrey had been voted out? It was unusual. Too calm, too detached.

“I think Azzi’s onto something,” Paige murmured after a long pause. “Jana usually reacts to everything. She should’ve reacted to Aubrey, but she didn’t.”

Aaliyah, who had been quietly listening, finally nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s strange, sure. Could be nothing… or it could be something.”

Azzi wasn’t finished, though. “And let’s not forget, she’s always observing. Never makes waves. But she’s quietly watching. That kind of behavior doesn’t sit right.”

Nika leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “True. The quieter they are, the more dangerous they can be.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as Azzi’s words hung in the air.

Paige’s gaze lingered on the others, her thoughts racing. They’d all agreed on the decision before, but now, something felt… heavier.

“Do we agree?” Aaliyah asked, breaking the silence. “Do we go for her?”

Paige looked at Azzi, then at the others. She nodded slowly. “I think we do.”

-

Another day, another person’s name to hear on the intercom.

“During the night, the mafia used their skill to execute Jana.”

Jana? That’s… weird.

You blinked, trying to process the news. It didn’t make sense. Jana had been… quiet. But why would the Mafia target her?

“Jana was the doctor.”

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach dropped as the full impact hit. Jana wasn’t just some quiet person in the background—she was the doctor. The very person who could’ve saved lives, who had been the key to keeping people alive. And now she was gone.

Holy shit.

You felt a mixture of confusion, shock, and a tinge of fear. The Mafia had killed the one person who could protect others. The game had just become a lot more dangerous.

You glanced around, watching the others’ reactions.

When the four—Paige, Azzi, Aaliyah, and Nika—heard that information, something shifted. A look of relief passed between them, barely noticeable but there. They’d been wanting to kill the doctor. Now that they had, it felt like a weight had been lifted, like they’d made a big move in the game.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You were still here. You were still a problem.

The Mafia might have killed the doctor, but they’d left the cop alive. The one person who could potentially stop them. You weren’t stupid. They knew you were a threat, and you knew they were gunning for you next.

But for now, you were still here.

And you weren’t going down without a fight.

-

“This just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You were sitting with Stormi, Kk, Ice, and Sarah in the lounge, away from everyone else. You knew they were all citizens, so you felt comfortable talking openly.

“Why would the mafia kill the doctor and not the cop?” Ice asked, frowning.

You glanced at her. “In a way, they didn’t know Jana was the doctor. They probably killed her because she was quiet,” you reasoned.

“Hell, I didn’t even know,” you admitted. “I hadn’t had a chance to check her occupation.”

Everyone fell silent, the weight of the situation settling heavily over the room.

The longer you sat there, the more the silence grew suffocating. You could see it in everyone’s faces — confusion, fear, the creeping realization that none of you were truly safe.

Stormi was the first to speak. “If they’re just picking people off for being quiet, we’re screwed. Half of us aren’t even talking that much anymore.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s not about roles anymore. They’re guessing.”

“Which makes it even more dangerous,” Kk added, her voice barely above a whisper. “It means none of us can predict who’s next.”

You leaned back against the couch, trying to think. If the mafia was killing at random… how were you supposed to protect anyone? Your role gave you information, sure — but if you didn’t act fast enough, it wouldn’t matter.

“I’m not saying I am— ’cause I’m not — but if I were mafia, I would’ve killed you by now, Rose,” Ice said bluntly.

Her words hit harder than you expected. That question had been sitting heavy in your mind for a while now.

Why haven’t they taken you out?

It didn’t make sense. You agreed with Ice. If you were mafia, you would’ve taken out the police officer the second you found out. Everyone knew you were the Police — so why hadn’t they taken their chance?

“We’ll be right back,” Stormi said as she grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the corner of the lounge.

The others barely reacted, slipping into a nervous conversation among themselves. Everyone was still on edge.

You stumbled a little, confused. “What—?”

“I’m gonna need you to be completely honest with me,” Stormi said, her voice low and serious. She stared you down, her hand still gripping the front of your shirt.

You furrowed your eyebrows but nodded slowly, glancing down at her tight grip before looking back up at her face.

“Have you checked Paige, Azzi, Nika, or Aaliyah?”

Your heart dropped.

Why so specific?

“No. I haven’t,” you said.

Stormi sighed.

“Any reason why you haven’t?”

You were silent.

Why hadn’t you checked?

Were you avoiding something?

“I—”

You cut yourself off.

“Wait, is this about—”

Stormi closed her eyes. She let go of your shirt, dropping her hands to her sides.

“Why haven’t you checked them, Rose?” she asked again.

You swallowed hard, feeling stuck.

Then finally, you said it:

“The same reason that if it were you, you wouldn’t check Nika.”

Stormi froze.

She knew you were right.

She knew you hadn’t checked Paige and Azzi because you didn’t want to find out something you couldn’t undo.

“I don’t wanna believe it,” you muttered.

“Then check Aaliyah,” Stormi said.

You looked at her, confused. “Stor—”

“You don’t want them to die, right?” she interrupted.

By them, she meant Paige and Azzi.

And she was right.

You didn’t want them to die — but deep down, you had a sinking feeling that hope wouldn’t last forever.

You nodded.

“And I… I don’t want Nika to go,” Stormi admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

She was really starting to fall for her, and the thought that Nika might be Mafia was already tearing her apart.

“I liked Aaliyah. She was cool. But it’s time.”

You knew she was right.

So you did what you had to do.

You pulled out your phone and tapped Aaliyah’s name.

Aaliyah’s occupation: Mafia.

Fuck.

taglist: @iowahawkeyes22 @evry1luvzzae @kalan1z @evanpeterstoe

[scrollypoly]

Sorry sky im stealing ur tags rq to just discuss a bit more (under the cut, is long sorry)

I think the main and biggest thing I've noticed with anton, and again I'm a person who knew of him before BBTW, and I never got into BBTW because I was already put off by one of his posts dragging the fandom. But that's just it though, isn't it? This fandom and how it interacts with its source material isn't just something you can separate. The source we all orbit around, the horror stories, nosleep forums, is very different from creepypasta as a fandom. As a fandom, we really only focus on a small subset of what's available, we focus on the characters like Jeff or Slenderman or Ben, so on and so forth. Most people that get into this fandom are young: I got into it when I was maybe 11 or 12, I know most people get involved in it around that age to 16 years old. Most of us are neurodivergent, have been bullied or victims of abuse or some form of ostracization or othering, and we connect to this fandom *because of that.* You cannot detach that aspect of this fandom from the rest of the fandom. We saw stories (most badly written but we were young so who really cares) about characters that were bullied and abused and snapped (Jeff), people struggling with mental illnesses and situations out of their control (MH, most slenderverse series really), characters that have had horrible tragedies happen to them (Ben, Sally, EJ, Liu, need I go on?) and they persevere and keep going. This is the essence of this fandom. We are all misfits that found our little community and family on the internet. Ergo, our misfits we imprinted on, we want to see the characters we care about have a happier life. Slender mansion au anyone? Ever noticed how it mimics how we make our own communities?

That was the main thing that stuck out to me about anton's rants. I do understand what he was getting at, he is far from the only person to complain about the "woobification" of the characters of this fandom. But if it wasn't for the silly teenagers who imprinted on these fake killers like baby ducks, most of these characters would have been lost to time in the forums. Again, these stories weren't good!!! There are a few exceptions (jadusable I love you /p), but the main guys like Jeff and EJ had SHIT stories. EJs author Azelf literally removed the og story because they said it was terrible and people deserved better writing. You cannot just disregard the fandom and the kids and teens and young adults that made it what it is; it's a slap in the face to the entire culture of this fandom. It's in bad taste, its shallow, it's not really making anything better (again, havent read the comic so this statement is more on what I've seen from other people in the fandom).

There seems to be a prevalent belief that by adding more violence and gore, that you're somehow making it more "mature" and better written. You're not. Violence and gore and brutality isn't what makes a good "mature" story. Handling complex themes in a thoughtful way is how you make a mature story. And hey, you can do that without making your characters irredeemable horrible awful people. Why is there such a focus on characters having to be awful and irredeemable? There are so many ways to write these guys to be interesting and thoughtful without writing them as literal monsters. Not that that's a bad thing! But it's often seen in fandom as an either or. You get woobified husbando Jeff the Killer yaoi, or interpretations where he's abusive, misogynistic, a rapist, etc. There is so few in-between, and I cling to the writers that find it.

Another prevalent issue with the whole fandom, one that is thankfully being addressed, is how female characters were treated. This fandom was misogynistic as HELL, and I'm so glad people are giving characters like Jane and Nina justice, and are making MORE female characters that are actually complex and don't boil down to just. Self insert ship characters. Again, nothing wrong with that! But as a writer, lover of girls and women, and feminist, *those were our only options back then* and it sucked. I won't address this much more because like I said, times are changing some, but yeah. It was bad.

And I'll gloss over what sky said too, I also personally don't think there's anything wrong writing toxic or unhealthy dynamics. If I did, I'd be a hypocrite, a HUGE one. Purity culture in all fandoms rn is insane, and its especially hilarious in this one cuz baby. We are writing serial killers. And you're. Crying because two of them have an unhealthy relationship 💀 girl they're MURDERERS. I digress, call me a freak or whatever, its perfectly fine to write fictional relationships as fucked up and unhealthy. It's fun to explore, its fun to read, its a way to understand and process these dynamics in a healthy environment and sanitizing it does more harm than good. Some of yall conservative as hell and its concerning.

Anyways. I don't know what other controversies anton has been in, all I know is how he talks about the fandom really. I tuned out after that. And again, don't know about his story, but I remember going through his blog while this was going down and being disappointed because his art is fucking good!! I'm sure his comic slaps ass!! But I just can't vibe with someone who so blatantly hates what this fandom is and has such contempt for the people who literally made this fandom what it is, its nuts really. It truly is just contempt for the media and it seems like he has a lot of spite for the fandom. I also just can't vibe with people who egg on hate-attention and thrive from it, but that's a personal thing and not like. Something i view as bad morally, I don't really think it is because it's not really hurting anyone other than our immediate attention lol.

But yeah. Rant over

Why I No Longer Support Anton Morrow Or Blessed Be The Wicked

Okay, we're finally doing this. As always: Do NOT harass anyone involved. This is not what this post is for.

So, this has been a long time coming. I know I keep repeatedly saying that I don’t wanna cause drama but at this point? It’s not even a drama anymore. There’s a glaring issue that’s been circulating the fandom for a while, and up until now, people have either been ignoring it completely or are too scared to say anything at all — which is understandable. I’m frankly scared to be finally making this post. But with most of the fandom beginning to speak up on this, now is a better time than ever. 

You’ve all most likely seen my latest, very angry, Jeff rant post, and some of you might have already put together as to who it was about: Anton Morrow, the creator of Blessed be the Wicked.

If any of you remember the whole “mistype” situation that happened in 2024 revolving around BBTW, you already know I have gotten into a bit of a spat with him before. Then it was all cleared up, and we were chill. But now, with all that’s been happening, I’m starting to question that situation as well.

When it comes to creepypasta, you gotta acknowledge and respect both sides of the fandom, because more often than not, they tie together. Anton, however, doesn’t do this at all, creating a space where people feel unsafe and uncomfortable like they have to walk on eggshells. 

We are not mad at the fact that you are trying to make BBTW horrifying, grotesque, and realistic. In fact, a LOT of people were hyped for your project. No, we’re mad that you have to be an asshole about it. Shaming anything that doesn’t fit into your view of what a character SHOULD be, hating on the fandom way more than you claim to love it, villainizing characters that should not be villainized, like Jane, who’s a VICTIM of Jeff, not doing proper research (apparently not knowing that Clockwork was an SA victim despite her being your “favorite character”), being a fucking hypocrite (hating shock value yet using it in your work as well), and most of all, claiming to be bringing back the old roots of Creepypasta when you don’t even understand or know what those roots are. 

This fandom has ALWAYS been cringy, weird, and unrealistic. I mean, we have a tall faceless man in the woods, a magical black and white clown, and a guy whose skin turned completely white because of BLEACH. This fandom was never realistic! 

You can only use the “I mistyped” or “you all misunderstood me” excuse so many times.

Are you telling me you didn’t mean ANY of this?

Like, if I recall, David Near’s, MBK’s, Pastra’s, AND Ekatlani’s Jeff’s are NOT soft boys at all. But you refuse to acknowledge that, don’t you? Because even if they are closer to what you claim to be looking for within a Jeff rewrite, you still hate them because they weren’t what YOU THINK the character could be. 

But somehow, that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst thing has to be what you’ve done to Leech. Characters change, I understand that. My personal gripe with her not being the character I initially was excited for anymore is just my personal bias. What’s NOT, however, is the relationship you’ve put her in with Tyrant. 

Now, I’m all for toxic relationships. I’ve written them myself, but this? This is straight-up fucking grooming. It’s non-consensual, and you straight-up called Tyrant PREDATORY. 

And the fact that you tried to edit your post to hide what you said first tells me all I need to know.

Not to mention, you continuously like to bring up how much YOUNGER she is than the other two (Context: She's in a poly relationship with Tyrant and a character named Marc)

This goes past a toxic relationship, this is straight up fucking CREEPY. You admit that Tyrant is using his VICTIM, cause that’s what she fucking is, as a way to feel like he’s not all the negative, that “he deserves love.” No. Just no. 

I’m disappointed. Tired, angry, and disappointed. I thought you were a cool guy, Anton. I thought all of you were cool. I was genuinely excited for Blessed Be The Wicked, as I’m sure a lot of the fandom was. But you showed your true colors the moment your project began to get popular. 

Not so politely, fuck you. And if all you can do is complain about is the fandom having fun, fuck off. 

[lovelybucky1]

okay so dad!matt is rotting my brain so how about this: matt is older than reader and somehow she comes into his life, whether she be a client or the daughter of a client/friend. he takes her on almost like a protégé, maybe given her an internship at the firm. he tells himself it's because he wants to protect her like he would a daughter but in secret he can't stop thinking about bending her over his desk.

he is so ashamed of his feelings and hide them very well but quickly notices that she trusts him "like a father".

she on the other hand is quite attracted to him but she also sees him as a protective father figure and feels ashamed of her attraction because "that's almost her dad"

lots of pining and being confused by their moral compasses and immense attraction and need for the other person and ahhhhhh

- 🪆

i love this so much oh my god

you’re the daughter of a long time and well paying client of matt’s. when the client asked if his daughter could intern at murdock and mcduffie, it was hard for matt to say no. you don’t bite he hand that feeds, after all. he was worried about having a spoiled young girl from harvard law working under him, seeing as he specializes in helping the less fortunate, but that turned out to not be his biggest problem.

you’re sweet, kind, humble, and devastatingly sexy. devastating because you’re in your early twenties and he’s pushing forty.

he tried so hard to keep it professional, but you were insistent on getting to know him on a personal level and he couldn’t resist. after you became closer than the typical boss/employee, he tried to friendzone you, or more accurately, dad-zone you. he took on a mentor role and constantly called you kid, trying to put that space between the two of you. no matter how many times he reminded himself of your age, your inexperience, your innocence,he couldn’t help but imagine you bent over his desk.

despite how perceptive he usually his, he had no idea you felt the same. his own feelings were clouding his judgement and he didn’t realize how your heart races when you see him, how it skips when he called you kid in that warm, gentle tone. you didn’t mean to fall for your boss. you know he’s way too old for you and you’ve even referred to him as your work dad, but late at night, your fantasies always include him.

you started to dress up more for work which feels ironic because you work for a blind man, but you don’t know what else to do. somehow he seems to have taken notice. your skirts are shorter, still professional, but they show off more of your legs. you bought a new perfume, something sweet and alluring. you even started wearing your hair different, just to get his attention.

the two of you reach your boiling point late one evening while you’re helping him work on his opening statement. he had asked you to read it back to him, partly to catch errors, but mostly because he wanted to listen to your voice. you’re sitting close, your voice soft in the small, quiet room. this time, matt is paying attention to all of his senses and catches how your breath hitches when his thigh makes contact with yours.

tension is thick in the air, confessions sit heavy on the tips of your tongues.

“matt-”

“don’t.”

“but-“

“we can’t.”

it’s as close as you can get to confronting it without putting words to your feelings. no i’m too old, i’m your boss, i’m friends with your father. just, we can’t.

as much as it kills you, you understand. in fact, you understand so well that you begin to date another lawyer at the firm. he’s a first year from harvard, and despite being in the program at the same time, you never saw him around campus. he’s exceptional, a literal genius, and he treats you well. he’s great, except he’s not matt.

its been two months and you’re working late with matt again, scanning case files in his office. at this hour, in this small of a space, nothing good can come. you’re close again, touching at the ankles, thighs, and almost the shoulder.

“sweetheart-“

“don’t.”

“please-“

“we can’t.”

no i’m too young, i’m with someone else, you’re my boss. just we can’t.

“i don’t care,” he breathes.

he grabs your face and kisses you, lips gentle but full of passion, longing, and something darker. something you’ve both been pushing down since you’ve started working together.

“matt,” you gasp.

“i can’t stop myself,” he mumbles against your lips.

you have no idea the devil that hides behind the mask of matt murdock.

[tryandbehappy]

Why the Conflict Between Nick and June in Season 6 Feels Inevitable

When we talk about Nick’s possible “betrayal,” it’s important to see the truth: it won’t simply be about politics, alliances, or external circumstances. That’s just the surface. The real reason has been building for a long time. It’s emotional. It’s personal. And it’s been quietly growing between them, scene after scene, year after year.

It feels like they are pushing this tension to its maximum point.

I’m not certain, of course I never claim to predict the storylines but based on my observations, especially after rewatching and making videos since Season 1, the patterns are crystal clear.

So no matter what political situation they put around it, that’s just noise. The real story is much deeper.

It seems that soon June will ask Nick to do something wildly reckless.

Something that will cost him too much.

And just before that, there might be a moment of closeness, a moment when he once again feels like she hasn’t fully chosen him. After cheating on his wife

And there, at that tipping point, Nick will have to decide between two impossible choices.

On one side, his need for safety, for survival, for the fragile life he finally built.

On the other, her fire, her recklessness, her need for him to burn everything down for her one more time.

And maybe for the first time, he simply won’t be able to do it.

The First Core Conflict: Different Natures

Nick always chooses safety.

June always chooses risk.

And there’s something that’s important to understand about Nick.

His need for caution, for staying quiet, for keeping his head down it’s not because he’s naturally cold or unfeeling.

In fact, we know Nick can be impulsive.

We saw it in his backstory, when he punched a man without thinking. He has fire. He has emotion.

But Gilead taught him something brutal:

If you stand out, you die.

He learned to survive in a world where any mistake, any rash move, could cost everything.

He’s seen too many people disappear. Too many friends executed.And so he buried that impulsiveness deep down.

He taught himself to live by quiet, invisible rules because that was the only way to stay alive.

And June…

June with her wild spirit, her refusal to bow, her fearless defiance —

She terrified him. Not because he didn’t admire her.

He loved her for it. But because he knew exactly how fragile life was in Gilead.

And every time she risked herself, Nick knew there was a real chance he wouldn’t be able to save her.

And that fear, that helplessness,

is part of what’s been tearing him apart all along.

It’s been there since the beginning.

In Season 1, Nick told her to say what the Eyes wanted to hear, to stay silent and survive.

She didn’t listen and was beaten.

In Season 2, she screamed for the keys to the truck, ready to make a reckless escape alone, and he could only watch in agony.

Or After June’s confrontation with Fred, when she was hurt and her face was bruised, Nick found her.

He immediately realized something terrible had happened. He was so worried and helpless like AGAIN??? Why do you always have to be like this?

“It’s okay” she told softly knowing situations like this piss him off

Again and again, Nick has tried to anchor her.

Again and again, June has followed her fire.

Even in Season 6, when they meet, Nick says, “maybe keep a low profile”

“It’s hard for me sometimes”

“I remember”🫠

It’s not just about strategy.

It’s about the fundamental way they live.

The Second Core Conflict: Different Understandings of Love

June believes she is choosing Nick with her heart.

But Nick feels she is not choosing him at all.

Because Luke is still in her life. Because she stays with him, out of loyalty or guilt.

And Nick — Nick who loves once and fully — cannot be second. Cannot be half-loved and a secret (I can assume he hates cheating)

To him, her hesitation feels like rejection. Even if she doesn’t intend it.

Where It’s Heading

The pressure is reaching its breaking point.

Nick already saved Luke.

Nick already killed two Guardians to protect her. And then had to do dirty work by ending the one in a coma.

Nick already risked his life, his standing, his future all for a woman who, in his heart, he feels has never fully chosen him.

And now, June will probably ask him for something even bigger. Something even more dangerous.

And he will have to say no or whatever.

Not because he doesn’t love her.

But because he cannot keep destroying himself for a love that is killing him.

This is where the real fracture will come. Not from politics. Not from loyalty to Gilead or the Americans.

But from two hearts finally reaching the point where they cannot pretend anymore.

And in the end, we have to remember:

this conflict isn’t being built to destroy them, it’s being built to resolve them.

Yes, the tension between June and Nick will explode.

Yes, it will look, for a moment, like they are losing each other for good.

There will be hurt, betrayal, anger.

There will be a breaking point.

But the real purpose of this storyline isn’t to tear them apart.

It’s to finally bring everything to the surface —

all the buried feelings, all the unspoken pain, all the unfinished choices.

They won’t be able to just walk away and pretend it didn’t happen.

They won’t be able to leave this fracture unresolved.

And the show will have to give us clarity:

What really happened between them.

What they truly feel.

I truly believe that after all the hurt,

after the inevitable collapse,

their real feelings will finally break free.

And only then,

only after everything has been stripped bare,

will we finally get our answers.

[weldedskeletons]

Been thinking about The Stanley Parable again, as one does, and thought about how the Narrator is cut off in both the Countdown and Apartment ending.

I thought it was interesting how the Narrator is cut off from speaking with a reset not once but twice, and I think it reiterates the fact that the Narrator isn’t the one who’s in charge here, and (in canon) the Parable makes no accommodations even for him. The Parable won’t hesitate to reset even when the Narrater isn’t finished talking, and in both times it’s when the Narrator is trying to prove a point/ get Stanley or us to realize something.

We and Stanley (in canon) think the Narrator is in charge but really, he isn’t, with the Parable only giving that illusion to us and you can see that further with just how many times the Narrator is a victim to endings almost as much as Stanley is sometimes and godddd I love TSP subtext.

I think that if this were also taken as a metaphor for real life it would be that the people who seem in charge, authority figures and corporations, are actually still pretty dependent and still have to bend to the whims of more powerful or swaying forces (aka the public, nature, etc). It’s the illusion of power and choice through and through, which is just what The Stanley Parable is about at its core.

And MAN every time I think about this game I love it more and more. So glad this became my favourite interest.

[inardescere]

This is why he can't turn a blind eye.

From the very start of his memories as he awoke to the voices of his people finding him in darkness to this day, he had always been regarded as the deity of Lemuria, the last of their Sea Gods who would reignite the fire and protect them from darkness. A boy who had to learn to survive in the beautiful yet deadly depths of the ocean where no one- not even its own god- was protected unconditionally. He had never known a life where it wasn't expected of him to be the protector, if not now, then in the future, to solve any problems that arose in his motherland. So it came like second nature to offer his protection to the one he cherishes. Yet, Caleb so easily breaks down the pedestal that had been carefully constructed for him, keeping him perched high and far out of reach from others, one Rafayel himself stacks when he starts to forget. Rafayel's shoulders rise in surprise at the gentle bop to his nose, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're the first person to suggest changing fate." Something he has already done, and if it meant that they could continue to live in peace, he would do it again. Rafayel tilts his head, adoration dripping from his gaze as he lets out a pleased breath. "We will have each other's backs." And how reassuring that is.

The Lemurian closes his eyes, lets the soft sway of currents and the gentle warmth of the other's body pressed close to lull him back to peace. He had dreams of a world outside, and maybe to Caleb, they might sound like fairy tales the way humans saw Lemuria as one. But as he lifts his head and starts to draw his fingers gently over his cheek, they slow with every word that reveals just how dark his past was. The vivid imagery sends a chill down his spine, but at the same time, it ignites an anger he has never felt before, brows creased inward, and his gentle touch on his face now firm and pulling him in, grounding him to the present. "They're repulsive." His words were cold yet calm, lips pressed thin as the desire for something itched under his skin. The simmering anger is put out when his eyes glance up and see the other's, a glazed look of discomfort as he admits to his past, the betrayal of the one person a child should be allowed to trust, and Rafayel stores his anger away for something softer, keeping his hands cupped over the other's face. He can't stay focused on his anger and instead comforts him with his touch.

"Then, we will never go near them." Rafayel concludes, putting a stop to the scenarios Caleb had already put in his head. "Be at ease. There is nothing in this world that can keep me trapped if I don't want to be there- even if it takes time, I will always find a way to escape. If they can even catch me." The elders had made sure of it; Rafayel himself had made sure of it. True freedom was a luxury that the Lemurian God knew he would never be able to afford, so the least he could do is at least choose his own cage to be locked away. He brushes his thumb gently over the former captain's cheek, soothing him and leaning up to press a kiss under his eye. "I don't mean to make you go to places that bring you pain. If you cannot revisit them with a smile, then they're not worth it. I admit, my intention wasn't conveyed well." He sighs softly, his hands now sliding down to warm the sides of his neck, pulling him in by the base and kissing him reassuringly.

"There is... a lot of your world that I don't know about. Even if you think it is ugly, to me, it is a part of you that made you who you are. So, I want to learn about it. If not through your guidance through those lands, then from your stories. I guessed that the places that would make you melancholic would be where you last spent with your comrades-- ones you spoke of so fondly while looking so sad. Or your friends, whom you had to leave behind. I thought you would like to visit, so you can find closure about their whereabouts and their life, but if I'm wrong..." He lets go, hands up in a shrug. "The world is vast, and we can look for places both of us can experience for the first time together."

Rafayel decides his pearls are a much-needed distraction, as well as the need to pick them up before someone else comes and sees. Caleb takes the pearl from him and rolls it in his hand, inspecting it like a jewel to be graded. The heat in his ears spread all the way across his cheek and even his nose, not expecting him to look at them that closely. "What they mean to me...?" The young Lemurian stares at the pearl, then bends down to pick them all, pouring them onto Caleb's hand to join the first, barely fitting on his palm, folding the other's fingers over them. "They're just normal pearls. There are so many of them everywhere on the seabed, some bigger than the size of your head. But... these are yours." Rafayel gently holds his closed fist before he lets go, crossing his arms as he looks away, his ears still slightly red. "You may exchange them for gold later, or I can make them into jewelry for you. They're yours to do with as you please."

Because, how could he tell him with a straight face that they were a manifestation of how deep his feelings for him ran?

Even Rafayel thinks that was pushing it too far.

caleb has carefully built walls around his heart, however, the more time he spends with rafayel, the easier is for him to weave his way through them. for a moment, he says nothing, simply gazing at rafayel with an intensity that could also be a bit overwhelming, his purple eyes glimmering as a smile curls from the corner of his lips. "you have no idea how much that means to me." he murmurs, his hands still cupping the lemurian's face, not wanting to let go. "you say you'll protect me, and i believe you. but please, don't forget i'm not someone who will just stand by and the world hurt you. i'll also shield you from whaterver tries to take away that light in your eyes." in a more playful aura, he bops the tip of his nose with his fingertip. "if you believe i'm enough, i'lll make sure i'm worthy of that trust. so yes, i'll stay long enough, and together, we'll rewrite the ending we thought we were destined for." he feels the atmosphere between them lifting up a bit, no longer feeling tense nor regretting past decisions.

"oh?" he laughs amused, not even being able to hide it. "can you blame me? you were practically screaming for someone to hold you." he finds himself teasing again, comfortable enough to let this playful side of him. "you're right, though. i couldn't stay away even if i wanted to. perhaps you reminded me of something i'd lost, or your fire just called to me." his smiles softens as his fingers trace gentle patterns along the side of his face before leaning closer to press a kiss to his temple, lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, listening to everything he's already planning to do. as he's pulled into a hug, he instinctively reaches to the back of his head, petting him softly as he listens to him. his breath catching slightly as his words paint vivid pictures of distant lands and possibilities, truly of an eternity shared. his arm tighten around him, pulling him closer as well, while fingers tangle in his hair as he leans closer. "i'll show you everything." he whispers, a chuckle leaving his lips as he described so wonderfully some places in earth that might actually not be as appealing as he might think, but the idea of exploring the world together, suddenly made the thought comforting.

"sadly, my life is not as wonderful as you might think. i was not born on a beautiful land nor did i grew up in a pretty place. i was born within walls of stone, hidden deep underground. it was cold, with gas lamps that barely provided any light in that oppressive darkness, full of rusted pipes that dripped water that produced an ominous echo. it also had lot of shelves full with jars of organs suspended in blue liquids, malformed embryos, and monstrosities that blurred the line between human and something else, vials filled with glowing substances, labeled with codes and symbols incomprehensible to anyone but them. i can't take you there, raf. they would do indescribable things to you. it would be like leading you to a life of restraint and pain. i can take you anywhere you want, but that place is off limits." his lips press in a thin line, visible uncomfortable at the memories. and it's when realizes that rafayel already shared some part of his life with him, and he hasn't provide any details of his origin or childhood. "i don't know where i was born, but i grew up in a lab. never met my real parents either, i never had a family. the woman who took me in worked for them, she... also experimented on me. and i'm unsure about her real intentions, why she took me in. can't tell if it was pity or a need to have me close. i don't have a home either, my ship was my home, the sea itself. and there are countless of places on land that bring me pain, i can certainly take you there, were i have lost vital members of my crew. but not there. i know we are strong enough to take them down, but what if..." his brows furrow, getting angry just at the idea of them trapping rafayel and keeping him in a cage. "what if it goes wrong? it's too dangerous."

caleb watches him with a faint smile, looking how he suddenly picks up the pearl. the sudden worries vanish, eyes reflecting amusement once again laced with affection. he kneels slowly to join rafayel, his hand brushing against the other's as he gently takes the pearl to inspect it, holding it up between his fingers. "well, i can appreciate their beauty. i heard they are worth a lot of gold, used in jewelry. but if you asked me, their real worth lies in the story of how they’re made. they’re a reminder that even pain and pressure can make something worth treasuring." he rolls the pearl in his palm before holding it back out, letting it catch the faint glow of light between them. "maybe i should ask what they mean to you first, because i'd like anything, as long as it reminds me of you."

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello hello and happy Wednesday!! I hope your week has been good and continues to get better! I’ve been reading through your ao3 page and was wondering if you have anything for “all your cracks I’ll paint gold”? It’s one of my favorites! If not then consider this a free space to write whatever you want! Sfw/nsfw I don’t mind either! What’s something that made you smile today? Mine was my dog being cute while I brushed her she does a BIG stretch everytime I get to her back legs!

It has been a long week? like I don't even know its just been one of those weeks. the only thing getting me through it is writing? so at least there is that ^_^ and Nightshade who ensures I get plenty of cuddles and exercise.

Say stopped a bakery and got me taro and red bean buns which was really sweet of them and made me smile! and Nightshade got so upset that I left him at home today that we had to sit together on the ground because he kept knocking us both off of furniture with upset zoomies... in my lap lol. that sounds adorable, I love stretchy-paws

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

all your cracks I'll paint gold

Alec’s place in the shadowworld is no longer certain and he knows that, yet despite how he should feel adrift, he feels nothing but certainty. 

Alec belongs to Magnus, in a way beyond the ties of Alec’s once-oaths to the Clave or even his tether to Raziel.  If Alec has a place in the shadowworld, then it’s simply to be and exist at Magnus’ side.

Alec is more than a husband, a lover or even a consort to Magnus.

He is Magnus’ devotee and his adoration for Magnus is what now ties Alec to the lifeblood of this realm and the power that binds it together.

Still, there’s no actual name for what Alec is now, or the place that he currently fills in Magnus’ life.

In fact Alec is pretty sure that the only reason they’re not going with just ‘consort’ is because Magnus didn’t feel that it was elevated enough.  And considering it’s his magic and power and the demonic runes of his bloodline that keep Alec whole and hale, then Alec is fine with him creating a fancy title or whatever Magnus wants to do.

As long as Alec has veto powers.

Alec is not going to let Magnus get away with making a pun that they’ll both have to live with for the very long rest of their lives.  Alec is only just beginning to enjoy living again and looking forward to the future, he doesn’t want anything to threaten that.

Especially not Ragnor’s naming sense and Magnus’ love for puns.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like it will come down to Alec needing to use his veto. Magnus returns from whatever library he threw himself into four hours before and there is so much delight in his face that Alec knows whatever Magnus has picked will be what he accepts.

Even if it is something terrible or a pun.

How could he not? When Magnus looks so breathlessly happy and utterly thrilled.

—

Of course his Alexander is on the roof.

Magnus wonders why he even bothers to think otherwise or look elsewhere and summons a portal accordingly.  His feet feel as though he’s walking on the breeze.  The mood boosting him and buoying every step the closer he gets to his sweet Alexander.

It took a rather long time and Magnus had to go through the archives of what titles had been lost to time, left unused, could be recrafted or just what he could use that would be sure to give Alexander a place of honor.

A title to bear with the same pride — if not more — than he did his title of bloodied shadowhunter and runed Commander.

All doubt flees the moment he sees Alexander’s gaze.

It’s soft and indulgent and so loving that Magnus knows he’s won without even trying.  Perhaps it would be a sad victory for someone else, but the fact that Magnus has won what he wants simply by being so excited that Alexander won’t say no, it thrills him.

Who else has ever cared for something as simple as stoking Magnus’ excitement rather than dimming it?

Besides Catarina and Ragnor of course.

Magnus can hardly take time to breath, the need to hold and touch and feel Alexander beneath his palms and magic is suddenly too intense.

The runes that have been seared onto Alexander’s skin go soul-deep and Magnus can feel the mutual longing engulfing them as they finally meet again.

Even just a few hours seem endless when it takes Magnus from his boy’s side.

“Beloved— Magnus greets and Alec kisses him without hesitation or comment, just a soft delighted laughter and the press of dry, sun-warm lips to his own. “I have—” and then Magnus has nothing to say because Alexander’s arms are around him and Magnus has better things to think about.

Like how Alexander smells like moss and sunshine and the sap of his favorite tree and Magnus nuzzles against him, breathing deeply and just letting everything in and around him settle.

A few moments pass as they sway in place and then Alexander presses a gentle kiss to his jaw and nudges Magnus with his nose.

“You have?”

His voice is deep and teasing and Magnus would love to let himself drift in the sweetness of the moment but alas, duty calls.

“I have you, darling. My consort, my love, a devotee to my very soul and the unholy blood in my veins, my archon.”

[angeart]

Do you have anymore thoughts on that grian sacrifices himself or something for Scar to be happy only for him to be miserable because grian isn't there (also does this au have a name)? I will give anything I love this idea/au SO much!!!

we'd need the anon who came up with it to come back with more for it to be in-line with the original idea, since i don't know if there were any more thoughts or worldbuilding around it.

bUT. that being said.

i did have a thought on this. if we drag watchers into the mix.

think of the version of the story where grian is a watcher-escapee. he ran away, hid on hermitcraft. he's meant to be safe here. everyone's meant to be safe here. the world has protections.

but maybe something gives. maybe grian's found.

and at this point, he's scar's partner. they're very much insufferably in love. they live together, incredibly domestic and almost codependent. they're so incredibly intervowen.

the watchers coming is a huge threat. to hermitcraft as a whole, but even more so to the things closest to grian's heart. if the watchers decide to turn hermitcraft into their feeding ground to mock him and blackmail him, it'd mean a lot of distress and pain and misery for everyone on the server. they'd be turned into things to be fed on. or destroyed altogether.

grian knows the watchers want him and him alone, and trying to fight would put everyone—and most importantly scar—in danger.

so maybe grian goes willingly.

he doesn't tell anyone. doesn't give them a chance to change his mind. to argue. it's okay. it's not going to matter anyway. they won't even know.

grian gives himself over, essentially ending his life. putting himself back in the prison and torment he so desperately escaped from years ago. letting the watchers bind their shackles around his wrists again.

they take him, and erase every evidence of his existence from the server. scrape the code and hermits' minds. twist memories, weave false ones around empty spaces. maybe because they don't want the hermits to try to fight to get grian back; more likely because a part of grian's sacrifice was a deal: he'll be obedient, but make them forget and then leave them be.

he's trying to spare scar (and everyone else) from grief.

from hopeless guilt of not being able to save him. from pointless pain. they don't deserve to hurt like that. (not for him, anyway.)

the watchers take it all away, and they take grian away. he's no longer a player. it's like he never existed. just a fever dream of loose thoughts and stray feelings with nowhere to slot.

it's okay. it's better this way.

scar will be able to be happy. and he'll be safe.

except...

without grian, how can scar ever be happy?

the watchers allow grian to Watch hermitcraft. and it's awful on its own, to know he'll never be able to be a part of it again. to see how easily life truly just, moves on without him.

but there's scar.

and everything in grian aches.

he is a watcher, and he has powers. he can manipulate the world, gently steer code to cradle scar. he tries, over and over and over again, to pour his helpless, imprisoned little heart into every action. every little gesture. the slightly warmer touch of sun. the birds that come perch on scar's window. the rain that never hits too hard.

he's trying to say:

i love you.

i love you i love you i love you.

(he never stopped.)

(even if scar doesn't remember him. even if grian has lost every chance to be with him. even if it's pointless to hold onto these feelings. he loves him. he'll always love him.) (maybe that's the last thing tethering grian. last thing allowing him to hold onto himself.)

he drapes the world around scar like silk, gentle, soft, soothing, trying to tell him: you are loved.

[bwobgames]

“My father’s brother, my parents didn’t like him much, but he’s still family so he would visit us every once in a while.”

“To their disappointment, my uncle lacked any of their ambition”

“You might see me as lesser for this, Natalia, but I wasn’t born into riches. I was born in the middle of the way”

“My parents were very much set into escaping a low class life. They reached incredible heights for how little they had at the start”

“And of course, I was part of that plan as well”

“The best education they could afford. The best manners they could teach. The fanciest of talents they could think of. I was brought up a perfect little lady”

“We were going to live a good life, so we worked hard”

“My uncle did not follow that logic”

.

.

.

.

“I was at Violin practice.

“Shouldn’t you be at home by now, little flower? Or were you out playing?”

Are you drinking again, Uncle Jacinto”

“What? Of course not! Is your dad saying I’m some sort of alcoholic?”

“No…”

“So he is.”

“Mari, you shouldn’t get between mindless adult bickering, this is between your dad and me, okay?”

“He loves me at the end of the day”

“Are you sure?”

“Haha, you’re so mean!”

“My god, does your mother love tightening that hair. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“…It’s fine. It doesn’t get tangled that way.”

“So it hurts?”

“…I don’t want to wear braids instead…”

“Well, what if you could brush your own hair? And do your hair in the way you wanted?”

“You could dye it even!”

“The only people who paint their hair are unruly women and parasitic unemployed people”

“Oh wow”

“It’s alright baby, I know you have a heart in there somewhere”

“I’m polite!”

“You probably are! That’s good!”

“But I want you to know, if you ever feel like living a little, you will always have me a call away, okay?”

“You’ll introduce me to drugs?”

“I don’t do drugs!”

"At that point I merely brushed him off, my uncle is a low life who will never achieve anything and its not worth it, or so dad said."

"Uncle Jacinto is nothing but a bad influence. He will never be anyone in life. He will never be happy"

(“But then, why was his smile so bright?”)

"Before entering university, he died. A car ran him over when he was biking."

"I dyed my hair."

"Partly out of curiosity, a small desire I’ve been having. The need to experiment."

"It was glorious."

"Of course, I had to do a million excuses to my mom for it, it would make me stand out to my professors, it would make my intelligence contrast harder, it was only temporary so it’s really no big deal-"

"I looked at the mirror and couldn’t stop starring."

A mere impulse became a euphoria that she had never felt before

Unbeknownst to her, a feeling inside her had been growing. Festering wildly through the years.

A hunger.

She sees something in the mirror.

“Took you a while”

“Blue suits you, Little flower”

She likes blue.

She was never that close to her uncle, but at that moment, she felt a need for him.

A need for guidance, free of any hidden plans.

A need for warm words and a bright smile.

Someone to tell her she’s doing the right thing.

<-PREV START NEXT->

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances: Forever - Part Twenty of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in the grocery store brought a whirlwind of change to Beau Arlen’s life—change he had no issues with whatsoever. A second chance at life, love, family—a second chance at forever. Word Count: 6,153 Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut/smut, fluff, a touch of medical/pregnancy concern A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Twenty: Ringing The Alarm

The clinic room was peaceful in its own way—muted tones, soft lighting, the kind of quiet that usually comforted Y/N during her routine check-ups. She sat on the crinkling paper of the exam table, one hand resting absently over the swell of her belly, eyes tracing the mobile hanging from the ceiling above the monitor. A paper cutout of a bear floated in slow, lazy circles. Her baby moved faintly beneath her palm.

She smiled, small and calm.

Until the door opened, and Dr. Thomas entered with her usual warmth—but a touch more weight behind her eyes.

“Hi, Y/N,” she greeted, sitting on her stool and rolling a little closer. “Everything with baby looks great—heartbeat’s strong, measurements are right where they should be. But I want to go over your vitals before you leave.”

Y/N’s smile faltered just slightly. “Okay.”

The doctor folded her hands. “Your blood pressure has increased again—slowly, but steadily since your twelve-week appointment. And I want to talk to you about what that might mean moving forward.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening slightly over her belly.

“We’re not in a danger zone yet,” Dr. Thomas reassured her. “But you’re eighteen weeks, and this kind of trend is something we don’t ignore—especially not in a pregnancy with multiple young children at home, and especially given how preeclampsia develops.”

Y/N’s heart gave a quiet flutter. “You think it might be… that?”

Dr. Thomas was honest but gentle. “It’s too early to say. But preeclampsia can begin showing signs with elevated blood pressure. And while it's most commonly diagnosed in the third trimester, we do sometimes see signs earlier. What’s important now is monitoring closely and adjusting anything we can—diet, rest, stress levels.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, nodding again.

“You’ve already got a lot on your plate—young children, a full house, a partner in law enforcement. You’re not doing anything wrong, Y/N,” she added quickly, seeing the guilt flicker in her patient’s eyes. “This isn’t something you cause. But it is something we need to take seriously. If it progresses, it can become dangerous for both you and the baby.”

“What happens if it does?” Y/N asked quietly.

“Depends on how early, how high, and how fast,” the doctor replied. “Sometimes we can manage it with more frequent monitoring and rest. In more serious cases, it can mean hospitalization. We’d talk about that if we had to. But we’re not there now.”

The room was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the faint rhythmic hum of the monitor still tracking her baby’s heartbeat.

Y/N nodded, the information settling like a quiet weight in her chest—not panic, but a deep awareness. “So we take it seriously. We pay attention.”

Dr. Thomas nodded. “Exactly. You don’t have to live in fear. But don’t brush off the signs either. If you get headaches that don’t go away, sudden swelling, or any changes in vision, you call immediately. And let your partner help. I know it’s hard to slow down, especially when you're used to taking care of everyone else. But now, it’s your turn to be looked after, too.”

Y/N offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes—but it was grateful. “Thank you.”

They scheduled an earlier follow-up, and when she walked out into the Montana daylight, the warmth on her face grounded her a little more.

In the car, she sat still for a beat, processing it all. Not spiraling—but aware. And then she called Beau.

“Hey,” he answered on the first ring. “Everything alright?”

“Mostly,” she said. “Baby’s perfect. But my blood pressure’s climbing again.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, his voice low and firm. “What’d they say?”

She relayed it all—Dr. Thomas’s calm but clear explanation, the mention of preeclampsia, the next steps.

Beau didn’t speak for a long moment. When he did, his voice cracked just enough to reveal how tightly he was holding himself together.

“I’m comin’ home,” he said. “I want to be there with you. We’ll make whatever changes we have to. Just… thank you for tellin’ me. For not carrying it alone.”

“I never do,” she said quietly.

And she didn’t.

Because Beau wasn’t just her husband. He was her partner in all of it—the joy, the mess, the fear, the hope. And now, more than ever, they’d lean on that bond.

Together.

Beau’s truck pulled into the driveway barely an hour after Y/N had returned home. She hadn’t expected him to drop everything, but when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, saw the familiar silhouette through the window—broad shoulders, purposeful stride—her heart cracked open a little with relief.

She stood in the kitchen, a hand resting on the edge of the counter, the other gently curled over the curve of her belly. Caleb sat in his high chair gnawing on a teether, while Eliza knelt on the floor with crayons spread around her like a battlefield of color, narrating a story about a wolf prince and his magical blueberry crown.

Beau stepped through the front door, his eyes finding hers instantly.

He gave her a small, quiet smile—one of those rare ones that said everything he didn’t need to say aloud. She smiled back, her heart thudding soft with love.

“Hey, Daddy!” Eliza chirped without looking up. “You’re home early! Did the crime-fighting wolves send you back for backup?”

Beau crouched beside her and kissed the top of her head. “They sure did. Needed someone strong to help Mama today.”

“I am strong,” Eliza said seriously, flexing both arms. “But I’m also busy making wolf maps.”

“Then I’ll handle the backup part,” Beau said gently, rising and walking to Y/N.

They met at the kitchen island, his hands reaching for her waist, hers finding his shirt like second nature. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, slow and steady, then pulled back just enough to look at her—really look.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “I am now.”

They stood like that for a moment longer before the soft sound of Caleb babbling brought them back to the present. Beau glanced at the kids and lowered his voice.

“Wanna step outside? Just for a minute.”

She nodded again, and they both moved easily, fluidly—two people used to sharing space and weight and life.

Eliza looked up. “Where are you going?”

“Just outside for a minute, sweetheart,” Y/N said. “You keep working on that map. Daddy and I need to make a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

“For making sure things stay peaceful in the kitchen,” Beau said with a wink.

“Tell the wolves I said hi,” she called after them.

They stepped onto the porch, the door clicking softly behind them. The wind was cool and gentle, brushing across the yard in slow, sweeping breaths.

Beau turned to her, his hand resting over hers on the railing. “Tell me everything. I want to hear it from you.”

So she did—again. Slower this time, more measured. She told him about the rise in blood pressure, the doctor’s concern, the explanation of preeclampsia, the plan for closer monitoring. She repeated Dr. Thomas’s gentle warning about rest, about stress, about slowing down.

And Beau listened, every line in his face drawn tight with focus.

When she finished, he pulled her in again, his hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed a kiss there.

“I hate that I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she said, tucking her face into his chest. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just reminded me how much I love you. And how damn hard I’ll fight to keep you safe.”

They stood like that a moment longer—quiet, close, anchored.

Then Beau exhaled and gently pulled back. “Alright. We keep things calm. Keep meals easy. You stay off your feet when you can. I’ll handle more with the kids. We do this smart.”

Y/N looked up at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “We already do.”

Inside, Eliza’s voice echoed faintly—something about a crown that needed polishing.

They both smiled, then slipped back into the house, side by side, ready to keep walking forward.

Together.

That evening, after the children were in bed and the house had grown still, Beau stood alone in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a notepad in hand and the weight of the day quietly settled on his shoulders.

The porch light cast long shadows across the floor, and in the hush that followed bedtime lullabies and sleepy whispers, he let himself think—really think—about what Y/N needed, and how he could give it to her without her feeling like the world had shifted too much beneath her feet.

She wouldn’t ask him to change anything. He knew that. She’d downplay the pressure, the fatigue, the slow increase in blood pressure as just another hurdle. That was who she was—steady, resilient, fiercely protective of the normal, even when it cost her everything.

But Beau had seen the flicker of concern in her eyes, the way her hand hovered just a little longer over her belly when she didn’t think anyone was watching.

And that was enough.

He jotted a few notes on the pad—meals he could prep ahead, errands he could handle before coming home from work. He could swap a couple of his longer patrol days with Carter or Jenny, maybe shift his hours just a little. He didn’t need to explain everything—just say it was a family adjustment.

Because it was.

He’d make it work.

He had to.

He opened a cabinet and started pulling down ingredients—nothing elaborate. Just what he needed to prep tomorrow’s dinner in advance. Something warm and easy to reheat. Maybe some soup and roasted vegetables. Comfort food without the work.

He moved quietly, setting things aside, scribbling a grocery list as he went. They had a babysitter for the day after tomorrow—he’d use the time to stock up on meals he could freeze. That way Y/N wouldn’t have to cook unless she wanted to.

He’d even thought about bringing Margaret back for a few days—but not just yet. Not unless Y/N asked. He didn’t want to take away her independence. He just wanted to support it.

After he finished, he rinsed the cutting board and wiped down the counter, the sound of water soft and steady in the sink.

Then he padded down the hall to check on the kids—Caleb fast asleep with one arm flung out, Eliza curled around her favorite plush. He adjusted their blankets, kissed their foreheads, and returned to the bedroom where Y/N lay curled on her side, half-asleep, the softest smile on her lips as she stirred at the sound of his entrance.

“You okay?” she murmured, barely lifting her head.

“Yeah,” he said, stripping down to his T-shirt and boxers before sliding in beside her. “Just made a few notes. Gonna make the next few weeks easier on you.”

“You’re already doing so much,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed again.

Beau slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close until her back fit perfectly against his chest. “I love you,” he said into her hair. “And I’m gonna take care of you, whether you’re carrying a baby or just carrying the whole family like you always do.”

She gave a soft sound of gratitude, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together.

And as the silence folded around them again, Beau let his plans settle deep into his bones—not grand gestures, not dramatic shifts.

Just love.

One steady, quiet adjustment at a time.

The next morning came gently.

No shrieks. No banging of sippy cups or declarations of wolf patrols. Just light filtering through the curtains, soft and golden, the kind that always made the world feel slower, easier.

Beau stirred first.

His arm was already around Y/N, tucked beneath the swell of her belly where it rested naturally in the crook of her side. Her back was warm against his chest, her breaths deep and even, her hair spilling over the pillow in a dark wave. He didn’t move, not yet. He just stayed there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing and the faint, muffled cooing of doves outside the window.

This—this—was what he fought for. The stillness before the noise. The peace that came from knowing she was beside him, safe, warm, alive with the kind of love he still couldn’t fully wrap his hands around.

Y/N shifted slightly, her hand moving to rest over his. “You’re awake.”

“Didn’t want to be,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “But I couldn’t stop watching you sleep.”

She turned a little, just enough to see his face in the soft light. “That’s a little creepy, Sheriff.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling with affection. “The sweetest kind.”

Her smile was slow, tired but real. “Sleep okay?”

“With you? Always.” He moved closer, his hand spreading gently over her bump. “How’re you feelin’ this morning?”

She paused a moment, thoughtful. “Tired. But okay.”

Beau watched her closely. “Really okay?”

Y/N met his gaze, searching it. “I know you’re worried.”

“Damn right I am.”

She sighed, resting her forehead to his. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m breakable.”

“You’re not,” he said softly. “But you’re carryin’ our baby. And I’ve already got two little wild things out there who look up to you like you hung the moon. I can’t—won’t—risk anything happenin’ to you.”

She kissed him then, quiet and slow. “I know.”

He kissed her back with a kind of ache, the kind that only comes from loving someone so deeply it stretches through your bones.

“Then let me take a little more off your plate,” he said against her lips. “Let me handle the grocery runs. The messes. I’ve got a few deputies who owe me favors. And I can move things around with the babysitter for your next appointment.”

Y/N blinked, the words settling slowly in her chest. “You already started planning?”

“I did,” he admitted. “Last night. Just little things. Just so you don’t have to keep holding it all.”

Her eyes shimmered as she whispered, “You’re a good man, Beau Arlen.”

“No,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “I’m just a man who got lucky enough to love you. And smart enough to not take that for granted.”

She pulled him closer, curling into his warmth. “I love you.”

“I know.” His voice was low, tender. “But I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

The rest of the house began to stir—the soft thud of little feet, the giggle of a baby, the faint clang of something being knocked over.

Beau sighed. “That’ll be our wolves.”

Y/N laughed softly, already reaching for the blankets. “Back to the real world.”

He kissed her once more before they sat up—two parents, two partners, two people trying to love each other better than the day before.

And with a smile passed between them, they rose—ready to meet the noise and joy and mess of another day.

Together.

Beau had always been good at reading people.

It came with the job—years of watching body language, listening between the lines, understanding when someone said they were fine but meant anything but. But that skill had only sharpened when it came to Y/N.

He’d known the moment she said “I’m okay” yesterday that she was holding back a little. That she didn’t want to worry him. That she didn’t want to need help.

So now, he was going to help in the way she’d accept—quietly. Steadily. Without making a show of it.

After morning breakfast wrangling and wolf patrol storytelling courtesy of Eliza, Beau kissed his wife softly and headed out the door. He paused with one hand on the knob, looking back.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said.

“I will.”

“You mean it?”

Y/N gave him a look. “Beau.”

He grinned and stepped outside, the door clicking softly behind him.

The day at the department started early, as always. But Beau had arrived an hour ahead of the others. He dropped his bag behind his desk and pulled out the notepad he’d scribbled on the night before.

The first thing he did was place a call to the babysitter they trusted most—the one who knew Eliza’s “wolf rules” and Caleb’s dramatic snack preferences.

“Think you can help out a little more this week?” Beau asked. “Just a few hours, every couple days. Give Y/N a breather.”

The sitter agreed in a heartbeat.

Next, he popped into Doris’s office. She glanced up from her computer, instantly suspicious. “You’re about to ask me for something.”

“I need to swap shifts with Carter next Friday,” Beau said, leaning against the doorway. “Y/N has a follow-up appointment. I want to be there.”

Doris nodded, tapping it into the calendar without question. “Anything else, or just being a responsible husband?”

He smiled faintly. “Both.”

Jenny found him an hour later in the break room, mid-coffee refill.

“You’re in early,” she noted. “Trying to impress someone?”

Beau shrugged. “Got a lot on my plate. Needed the head start.”

She studied him a beat longer, then her tone softened. “How’s Y/N?”

“She’s okay,” he said. “Baby’s okay. But her blood pressure’s creeping up. They’re watching it close. I’m just… trying to make sure I don’t let her carry more than she has to.”

Jenny handed him a new pen from her jacket pocket—one of the good ones. “You’re already doing that just by showing up.”

Back in his office, Beau cleared his schedule as much as he could, pushed unnecessary meetings off his plate, and coordinated with Carter about taking a few patrols off his hands.

By lunch, his notebook had turned into a list of meals to prep, chores to knock out, and quiet plans to give Y/N more space to breathe.

Because she deserved more than just his love.

She deserved his presence. His effort. His partnership.

When Beau pulled into the driveway later that day—an armful of groceries balanced at his side, a bouquet of soft yellow daisies tucked between them—he felt the same weightless peace he always did when he saw that front porch.

Inside was the reason for everything.

And with every adjustment, every shift of his time and his energy, he was telling her without words—

I’ve got you. I always will.

The house was quieter than usual, but not silent. Eliza was in the living room, her latest wolf council meeting currently held between two plushies and a stack of crayons, while Caleb napped in his crib—miraculously, without protest.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cup of chamomile tea she hadn’t reheated for once, eyes skimming across the list Beau had left stuck to the fridge that morning.

It was simple. Just a few bullet points scribbled in his familiar, careful hand:

Dinner ideas for the week

Babysitter confirmed for Thursday & Saturday

Eliza’s pre-K forms printed—on my desk

You come first. Let me carry more. I love you.

She blinked at the last line, the words catching somewhere low in her throat.

God, he loved her well.

And it wasn’t just the sweeping gestures or whispered I love yous in bed. It was in the way he noticed when she was too tired to finish folding laundry. In how he picked up more diapers without being asked. In how he spoke with calm certainty when she told him about her rising blood pressure—no panic, just quiet resolve.

This was the man she’d built a life with.

And right now, she was trying—really trying—to let him help her without guilt.

So she let herself slow down.

After breakfast, she’d watched cartoons with Eliza, curled on the couch with her daughter tucked under her arm, both of them munching toast. They’d read two full stories, one of which Eliza insisted she read to Y/N—her words jumbled and mispronounced, but her pride clear.

“You’re resting because the new baby’s growing fast,” Eliza had said matter-of-factly, brushing a crumb from Y/N’s shirt. “It’s okay if you don’t do everything.”

Y/N had smiled and kissed her forehead. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Daddy said it when you were brushing your teeth last night.”

Now, in the quiet that followed, Y/N stood from the table and moved slowly, easing herself into one of the armchairs by the window. She’d resisted resting for rest’s sake, always finding something else that needed to be done. But today—today she listened.

She put her feet up.

She read a few pages of a book.

She closed her eyes for a minute when the sun hit the chair just right.

And when Caleb’s monitor finally crackled to life, she stretched, stood, and moved to his room with the ease of a mother who knew the steps by heart—but with the gentle calm of someone who was finally letting herself breathe.

She scooped him up, nuzzled his cheek, and held him just a moment longer than she had to.

Because this life was beautiful.

Messy. Complicated. Precious.

And for the first time in a while, she felt it fully—without the rush.

Y/N was just finishing wiping down Caleb’s tray after a late afternoon snack—a few abandoned blueberries still clinging to the edge—when she heard the sound of tires on the gravel outside. The familiar engine hum settled into silence, and her breath caught gently in her chest.

She didn’t expect him home yet. Not this early.

A moment later, the front door eased open.

“Hey,” Beau called softly, as if sensing the quiet rhythm of the house and not wanting to disturb it.

Y/N peeked around the corner, Caleb perched on her hip. Eliza popped her head out from behind the couch with a crayon in her hair and glitter stuck to her elbow.

“You’re home,” Y/N said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Surprise,” Beau replied, stepping fully inside. He looked warm and wind-kissed, the faintest line of weariness around his eyes—but something in his expression was brighter. Lighter. “I shuffled things around. Didn’t make sense to stay when I could be here.”

In one hand, he held a brown paper grocery bag. In the other, a small bouquet of soft yellow daisies.

Y/N blinked, touched.

He walked up, kissed her on the cheek, then turned to Caleb. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, giving his son’s round belly a gentle pat. Caleb responded with a delighted squeal and immediately tried to grab the daisies.

“These are for your mama,” Beau said, handing them to Y/N.

“They’re beautiful,” she said softly, brushing her fingers along the petals. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said. “You don’t have to earn rest or softness, Y/N. You deserve it.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, this time lingering a little longer. Then, setting down the groceries, he turned toward Eliza, who had now crept into the kitchen with a suspicious look in her eyes.

“What’s all that?” she asked, pointing to the bag.

“Provisions,” Beau said seriously. “We’ve got soup, fresh bread, a chocolate treat and the ingredients for pancakes tomorrow morning.”

Eliza gasped. “That’s pack celebration food!”

Beau winked. “Exactly.”

He moved with familiar grace through the kitchen—putting the bread away, sliding the soup into the fridge, placing a wrapped chocolate bar high enough that Eliza wouldn’t find it until he handed it over himself. And Y/N stood there, hand on her belly, watching him in quiet wonder.

He had always been good at loving her in the ways that mattered most.

“I made a few more adjustments today,” he said casually as he unpacked. “Shift changes. Babysitter’s lined up through the week. Got the grocery list settled for the next few days, and I’ll take over dinner tomorrow.”

Y/N stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm. “Beau.”

He paused.

“You’re not just helping,” she said quietly. “You’re holding us all together. And I see it. I feel it.”

He looked at her then—soft, full—and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m not doing anything more than what you deserve.”

She kissed him again, then pressed Caleb gently into his arms.

“Take this one. He’s been climbing furniture since his nap.”

Beau grinned. “A wild little wolf, huh?”

“The wildest.”

As he moved toward the living room with Caleb tucked against him and Eliza trailing close behind asking questions about pancakes, Y/N gathered the daisies in a jar and set them on the kitchen windowsill. The sun caught the petals just right.

She exhaled slowly.

Loved.

Seen.

And never, ever alone.

Beau sat on the living room floor, his legs stretched out, a toy firetruck resting against one knee, and Caleb crawling in a wide, clumsy circle between him and Eliza. The room pulsed with that cozy afternoon rhythm—sunlight casting warm stripes across the carpet, Eliza narrating a story about “the great wolf feast,” and Caleb occasionally stopping to examine his own fingers like they were new.

Y/N watched from the nearby couch, curled into the cushions with a cup of lukewarm tea in hand and her other resting lightly on her belly. Her smile was lazy, full of that rare sort of peace that came from watching her world be—wild, sweet, noisy, and perfectly intact.

Caleb, still gripping a rubber spoon, paused in front of Beau and looked up with a big, gummy grin.

“Da!” he chirped, tapping Beau’s knee with the spoon.

Beau grinned back. “That’s right, little man.”

But then—without prompting, without fanfare—Caleb turned toward his sister and pointed, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Eliza,” Beau said softly, watching.

Caleb nodded once, almost like he’d made a final decision.

“Ee-sa!”

Beau blinked.

Y/N sat up a little straighter.

Eliza gasped, her crayon rolling off the table. “Did he just—he did! He said my name!”

“Ee-sa!” Caleb repeated proudly, bouncing where he sat.

Beau scooped him up with a laugh, lifting him high in the air. “That’s your sister, alright. You know her now, huh?”

Caleb giggled, delighted by the reaction.

Then, as Beau pulled him in close for a hug, the toddler twisted in his arms and looked toward the couch.

His eyes lit up.

“Mama!”

Y/N froze for just a second, her heart catching so completely it made her breath hitch.

Beau turned, still holding Caleb. “What did you say, buddy?”

Caleb grinned, pointing directly at Y/N, his chubby hand waving.

“Mama.”

Y/N’s smile bloomed slowly, eyes glistening as she set her tea aside and rose to her feet. “Oh, sweetheart…”

She walked over, and Beau lowered Caleb into her arms. The little boy curled into her like he belonged there—which, of course, he did—and tucked his face against her shoulder with a happy little sigh.

Eliza clapped like it was a royal announcement. “He knows all of us now! He said Mama and Da and Ee-sa. That means he’s officially pack-certified!”

Y/N laughed softly, tears threatening the edges of her lashes as she kissed Caleb’s cheek. “You’ve got your whole family in your heart now, don’t you, baby boy?”

Beau wrapped an arm around both of them, his other hand reaching for Eliza to pull her in too. And just like that, they were tangled in a warm, laughing, loving heap of limbs and hearts and words that meant everything.

“Mama,” Caleb murmured again, content and sure.

And Y/N closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the beauty of such a small word carrying such a big, beautiful life inside it.

The scent of rosemary and roasted chicken drifted through the house like an invitation, warm and grounding. Y/N moved through the kitchen at a gentle pace, stirring gravy with one hand, her other resting lightly on the small of her back. Beau hovered close, not hovering in a suffocating way—just present, always ready to step in with a steady hand or a dish towel.

Eliza sat at the dining table, completely engrossed in folding napkins into "wolf scrolls" and assigning each family member an animal title. “Mama,” she said thoughtfully, “you can be the Luna Wolf Queen. Caleb’s the baby Alpha-in-training. And Daddy… you’re the Elder Alpha.”

Beau raised a brow from where he was pouring water into glasses. “Elder?”

Eliza shrugged. “Because you’ve got, you know… those little white hairs in your beard.”

Y/N covered her laugh with a cough. “She’s observant.”

Beau gave Eliza a mock stern look. “That’s distinguished, little wolf.”

“Okay, okay,” Eliza said, waving her hands. “Distinguished Elder Alpha.”

Caleb, bouncing in his high chair, smacked his spoon down and exclaimed, “Ee-sa! Mama! Da!”

Y/N paused in her movements, warmth blooming in her chest all over again. Every time he said it, it struck her fresh. The wonder of it. The rightness.

They sat down to eat, the clink of silverware and the rustle of napkins filling the air between snippets of Eliza’s commentary and Caleb’s delighted babbling. Y/N’s plate was already prepared for her by Beau—he’d made sure she didn’t have to lift a finger more than necessary.

“Everything smells so good,” she said softly, taking a bite and letting herself lean into the moment.

Beau reached across the table, brushing his fingers over hers. “Only the best for my Luna Queen.”

Eliza beamed. “See? I told you the titles made sense!”

As the meal went on, Caleb tried to feed his peas to his stuffed bear. Eliza launched into a dramatic tale involving wolves, forest mushrooms, and a magical teacup. Y/N laughed until her sides ached. Beau wiped mashed carrots off Caleb’s forehead without missing a beat.

The light outside dimmed slowly, golden fading into the dusky lavender of early evening, and still, they lingered—plates half-finished, stories halfway told, love absolutely everywhere.

No one said it aloud, but they all felt it.

This table held more than dinner.

It held belonging.

Y/N leaned into Beau’s side as he stood to clear the dishes, whispering, “Thank you. For this. For today.”

He looked down at her, brushing his lips against her hair. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

And with the children giggling in the background and the last of the warmth lingering in the kitchen, they moved as a unit—this wild, wonderful pack they had created.

Together.

The house had gone still in that way it only ever did after bedtime.

The dishes were done, toys tucked away, and the gentle hum of the baby monitor crackled quietly on the nightstand. The air in their bedroom was cool and quiet, the scent of clean sheets and faint lavender lingering in the space they now called theirs.

Y/N lay curled on her side, already half-drifting when Beau stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, hair slightly damp. He moved quietly, as he always did in the dark—careful, steady—but when he reached the edge of the bed and saw her watching him, something softened even further in his eyes.

She reached out, fingers grazing the back of his hand. “You’re still awake.”

He slid under the sheets beside her, propping himself on one elbow. “Couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About what?”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, trailing down to rest his hand against her belly. “You. Today. Everything you’re carrying.”

She turned into his touch, her voice soft. “I’m alright, Beau.”

“I know,” he murmured, though the hesitation in his voice lingered. “But still… with your blood pressure, I didn’t want to push. I’ve been holding back. I don’t want to risk anything.”

Y/N shifted closer, threading her hand through his. “Loving me doesn’t put me at risk.”

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

She leaned in, pressing a kiss just under his jaw, slow and sure. “Then let me show you I’m okay. Let me remind you that I still need this—need you.”

His breath caught, the tension in his shoulders softening as she guided his hand to her waist. His fingers spread instinctively, anchoring to her. His forehead met hers, and he waited—silent, reverent.

“You sure?” he whispered.

She smiled, her voice low. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

So he kissed her—slow, lingering, full of everything he couldn’t say with words. And when he touched her next, it was with the kind of tenderness that spoke of knowing every inch of her. Every shift of breath. Every beat of the life they’d built together.

They moved like a memory. No rush. No urgency. Just reverence.

He whispered her name like it was something sacred, his hand splayed across her belly as he moved within her—measured, patient, full of devotion. She held him close, fingertips tracing the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the heart of the man who never stopped holding her—even when she tried to carry everything alone.

It was quiet between them, soft moans and sighs tucked between kisses and promises spoken only in touch. Their bodies knew the rhythm of love that wasn’t about passion alone—but about presence.

When they came together, it wasn’t a crescendo—it was a deep exhale. A return. A reminder.

After, they lay tangled beneath the covers, limbs still warm, breaths beginning to slow.

Beau brushed the hair from her forehead, still watching her like she might vanish if he blinked. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Y/N smiled, eyes half-closed. “For what?”

“For letting me love you like that,” he whispered. “For being mine.”

She curled closer, her voice the last thread of light before sleep. “Always.”

The first fingers of morning sunlight crept across the bedroom, turning the white sheets a soft, golden hue. Outside, the world was still hushed—no car doors, no barking dogs, no thundering of little feet just yet.

Inside, the bed was a tangle of limbs and warmth, the kind of closeness born from love given and received without walls.

Y/N woke first.

She blinked slowly, savoring the rare stillness, the gentle weight of Beau’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist. His hand rested lightly over the curve of her belly, fingers twitching slightly in sleep, like even in his dreams, he was tethered to her.

She smiled against the pillow, her heart full in that quiet, aching way.

She shifted just enough to turn and face him. Beau slept heavily, his features relaxed, softer than anyone else ever got to see. The faint stubble on his jaw brushed the edge of the pillow, and a few strands of his hair had gone rogue across his forehead. He looked younger like this. Looser.

Beautiful, she thought, pressing a featherlight kiss to his chest where her hand rested.

As if sensing her, he stirred.

His arms tightened around her instinctively, drawing her back into him without even opening his eyes. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice gravelly and deep.

“Morning,” she whispered back, nuzzling against him.

For a long stretch of moments, they just lay there—breathing, being. The kind of intimacy that didn’t need words, that wasn’t rushed or heavy with demands. Just there.

Eventually, Beau tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her hair. “You okay?”

She nodded, smiling. “Better than okay.”

He smiled too, slow and lazy. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta bed for a while.”

She chuckled softly. “You planning to call in backup at the station? Explain how the Luna Queen declared a family snuggle day?”

He hummed, his chest vibrating beneath her. “Think Doris would understand. Might even send supplies.”

They fell into a slow, easy kiss—no urgency, just tenderness. The kind that spoke of trust, of promises already kept.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N tucked her head under Beau’s chin, her body perfectly molded against his.

Outside the door, faint footsteps padded along the hall, followed by a muffled giggle.

“The wolves are awake,” Y/N whispered.

Beau sighed with theatrical sorrow. “Our peaceful reign has ended.”

But even as Caleb’s babbling and Eliza’s dramatic storytelling filtered through the crack beneath the door, Beau only held her tighter.

“We’ll take it slow today,” he promised, voice a rough, soft vow. “For you. For the baby. For us.”

Y/N smiled against his skin.

She knew he meant it.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe—deep in her bones—that no matter what came next, they’d carry it together.

One quiet, steady morning at a time.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

@hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[jywllkr]

RIGHT.

I really hope this is a setup for something more. intentional.

cuz this whole time we've been seeing from the ninja's perspective and NONE from Jay. sure he explained the ground details about how he has literally 0% memories ever since he woke up,,, but he barely explained more about that further on

the only thing we got was this little sad pouts that he did a couple times which implies that he's completely sheltering himself by not overexplaining the details. WHICH IS A GOOD MOVE FOR HIM- to hide things from the people he doesn't even know who/pretend that they know him

I'm guessing the whole stake between their relationship (the ninja x jay) is definitely communication. every time jay explained a thing or two about himself, like you said, they just completely see the worst in him and never compliment on his ways of things

"but this is not the ninja way" "we told you your past life before the merge" "you are a ninja" AGRHHGH HE HAS AMNESIA LIL BRO, SHUUT UPPPP DSLKJDS

they gotta stop forcing jay into being one of them and start accepting who he is first, so he can open up more. lloyd even said that he trust jay earlier on, which turns out to be a lie the second jay does things differently

even that part when jay started to like hanging out with nya, and she straight up brought the ninja stuff again to him sighhh. that's just majorly suspicious if we're seeing from jay's pov 😭 fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me

jay current sass could be interpreted as how he was with laughter too I'm thinking. its either a masking or a coping mechanism for,,,he pushes people away first so nobody gets close enough to hurt him

or something like, "If you’re going to reject me, you’ll reject the mask—not the real me" yk. idk. aaaaaaaaaaa

one more thing ill say about s3p2: im a jay defender till i die. he is not in the wrong

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Re: "I don't know how both of us would feel if we were forced to separate."

My theory: Vova would have not been able to endure everything without his family / Olena by his side.

I agree with that. Or he would be in a much worse place right now.

Olena also wouldn't do well in a foreign country, far away from him. (Same for the children.)

Ze needs her (and them) close to him. As stated several times by both of them, they're his happiness and energy and strength. No matter how short or rare they're meetings may be, they're still important because he takes something out of them, from every second. Just to be able to actually see them and talk to them and being able to hug and hold them and kiss them and be close to them. Or that Olena can be there for him in the dark moments.

[ciderjacks]

despite Laios low self esteem making him think that if he’d been eaten, Chilchuck and Marcille wouldn’t have helped Falin,

theres a small part of me that thinks the reason Chilchuck stayed with the party and went back in the dungeon in the first place was because he didn’t want to leave Laios alone. That Laios was moreso the reason he stayed.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

perhaps my most #cancelable videogame take i can post on this website is i think that the kind of people who say that anyone who picks the "morally wrong" or "mean" options in video game dialogue should, as a player, feel bad about their own choices/morals in real life. is that those people are just another flavor of the kind of dudes who play Disco Elysium and get mad for not being rewarded for picking the facist options. both of these groups are reducing games to "a thing I want to agree with me and everyone else who doesn't either suffers or does not have the option to play a character who behaves otherwise" rather than "a medium where you get to (or even Have to) explore different kinds of characters in order to experience the full depth of the story and characters in it."

When I want to pick options in a game that are mean, negative, arrogant, or ignorant, it's because I want to explore what would push a character into becoming that kind of person. Sometimes I want to see how the NPC characters who I-The-Player like/agree with react to someone who is fundamentally different from them. I think it's GOOD actually when the narrative allows you to push limits and especially when it has the option to then punish you for it in some way, such as losing options/routes later on, or companions straight up abandoning you for your choices. It DOES often make me deeply, viscerally uncomfortable to make choices in a game that are so counter to my own, but it means I get to experience that discomfort in an isolated environment and also think about what it means, what would push the character or even yes a real person into actually feeling those things. And I get to play with what ways the narrative could challenge them/make them grow over the course of the game--or on the other side, it can let me make a character who does start off more open/accepting but let the events of the narrative push them into being more reactively closed-minded instead.

I like that we have invented a medium where you can play a game multiple times and experience it differently depending on the character you play as. Books and TV and movies are all static--the greatest draw of games to me is the ones that are responsive, that can tell a slightly different story every time--when other characters in the game respond differently to you because of it, or some paths open up and others don't. And so yes it did disappointment me when a franchise that previously had these elements, Dragon Age, did not include them in the most recent installment. I don't think games should have options where you get to just hit a button to say something racist with no consequences or exploration into why a character would do that. but like, if i can only ever play a game as an upstanding person who is morally right all the time in basically the same flavor for every dialogue. I only get to truly play that game Once, you know? And I only get to see the way the companions react to someone they like and trust. And never really go deeper than that.

So like... I just sit and think about the scenes you can get in Inquisition. with Cassandra breaking down, because she fears she placed a would-be tyrant at the head of a powerful organization--that she searched and searched and chose wrong. Of Varric who is desperate to convince you not to become a monster, like the last person he feels betrayed him. Vivienne intentionally pissing you off because she wants to see how far you'll go when angered, how much she has to worry about your reactions. They say so much about the companions, what they fear most, and where they will draw the line. And especially in Inquisition, at these crisis points--you don't have to double down. Your character can have a come-to-Andraste moment where they go "woah... is that really how people see me? is this what i want?" and I think that kind of option can do way more for encouraging actual players to examine the choices they make in stories, more than locking the player into supportive, non-aggressive options does.

now. do i think all games execute these flavors well? no. writers and devs will have their own biases and blind spots, even if they are otherwise well-intentioned. and I don't think the ends of the scale need to extend from "absolute angel" to "horrible bigot", because the real complexity of course lies in the middle. I am not asking for games to let me be bigoted at every turn, what I want is games that let me make the protagonist deeply flawed in one or more ways--fearfully closed-minded to things outside their upbringing, or afraid of change to the status quo, or who want to advance their own aims regardless of consequences to others. I actually agree that the game was correct not to include any options for disrespecting Taash and their personal journey for example, but I do wish... idk maybe that we could have had a scene where if for instance the player character avoided outside-world missions relating to clearing away blight, they could confront us on how this might devastate the natural world and its creatures like dragons, and push us into trying to resolve it. Or in the other direction, if you spend the (currently meaningless) time giving money to background NPCs begging in the cities, Neve could could have a special cutscene thanking you for your attention to people otherwise beneath notice. You know?

And of course not every game can do this, I can write those sentences up there that represent hundreds of hours of dev time, of course they can't do it all. But the prior games usually did have at least a little of this, and that was enough to make me really fall in love. I KNOW the tumultuous development cycle, restarts from scratch, interference from higher-ups all contributed to why Veilguard was unable to hit those same marks this time. And we probably won't ever know how much of the loss of options/reactivity was intention vs a side effect of these things. But I wish people wouldn't frame players who miss these aspects as insane/morally corrupt. When for most of us it's because we genuinely enjoy challenging and exploring these aspects of reality in fiction in a way entirely unlike what we actually support in real life. i fully acknowledge not everyone desires to play this way. and that's fine!!! i am glad people can enjoy doing a "good" run each time that brings them joy. but for me it really limits the potential bounds of my enjoyment i guess. I like media that is complicated and messy and makes me think, and extra so when I get to see how playing that way impacts the greater story around it.