#i was just trying to pass out samples!!😭😭

[gamma-gal-24]

I just know Johnny would have beat the snot out of the old fart that followed me around at work the other day and that makes it just a little better I think.💖

[bucketbueckers]

ONLY MINE

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: filth, azzi and reader are just down bad asf there's no real top just vibes, nipple play, ab riding, oral, teasing, freaked out as fuck, academic validation as aftercare, kinda short and not proofread 😕 i apologize to paige bueckers and paige bueckers only

wc: 5.3k

synopsis: After bombing your most recent thermodynamics quiz, you’ve been locked in and busy on practice sets and worksheets in preparation for the next one. Maybe a little too busy, in fact, because your girlfriend is feeling needy and neglected, and, well, who are you to deny her any longer?

notes: i am not an engineer. yes i spent 10 minutes scrolling through sample thermodynamics practice sets to find a word problem that appears once (1 time) in this fic. im not just committed to the bit. i am married to it. yaps aside, i am trying my hardest to be responsible and stay on top of my classes LMAO 😭 butttttt i hope you like this ⬇️ anon (and good luck on your finals goat)!! im working on time management so i definitely will not be writing as much as i used to but i am still chronically online. feel free to send in an anon to say hello but as always i hope y'all like this one and happy pazzi hard launch day to those who celebrate 🫶

Saturated liquid water enters an orifice at a pressure of 100 psia and is throttled to a lower pressure of 20 psia. Determine the outlet temperature (F) and the specific entropy difference (Btu/lbm-R) between the outlet and the initial status. Assume steady state, steady flow, negligible heat transfer, and negligible changes in kinetic and potential energy.

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hopelessly lost.

The word problem stares unblinkingly at you. You’ve been meticulously working through this problem set for the past five hours, only pausing to use the restroom, refill your water bottle (because apparently you hydrate really well when you don’t know what the fuck’s going on), and grab a healthy, energizing snack (a handful of Starburst), but it’s starting to feel like you’ve been staring at this worksheet for years.

You never really struggled this much with a class. Math, physics, chemistry, you name it – there was always a pattern that you were good at isolating and exploiting. It made solving problems a lot easier, but thermodynamics? Figuring it out was taking a lot out of you. To make matters worse, nothing seems to help, either. Not even your go-to tutors on YouTube who could explain quantum physics to a five year old with little difficulty.

At this point, you’re convinced it’s just some weird energy in the universe that has severed the connections between your brain cells. This couldn’t possibly be your fault. You bombed your thermodynamics quiz on Wednesday, which was strange because you’d walked into the lecture hall with the confidence of a man who was sure he knew where the clit was. Maybe you were a little tense – who wouldn’t be? You were juggling four classes, a TA position for a calculus course, and research into reaction engineering.

A heavy workload never deterred you, though. Not to the point of failing a quiz you thought you’d pass with flying colors. And nothing else had really changed for you either. Your routine was basically the same, you studied for the same amount of time, exercised and ate properly. Your girlfriend, Azzi, did have a string of away games that kept her out of Storrs for about a week and a half, but saying she’s the reason for your poor performance is kind of ridiculous, even if you do sleep better when it’s next to her or because she always listens to you ramble even if she has no idea what you’re talking about.

Now, Azzi is back, and she doesn’t have another away game for about two weeks. That’s a fact that would otherwise excite you, but you’re just trying to pass your classes. Your scholarship relies on your GPA, and without your scholarship, you might as well kiss UConn goodbye. You and Azzi were always intentional about understanding each other’s schedules. Basketball was demanding, possibly more demanding than engineering considering travel and recovery, so the both of you tried to maximize the amount of time you were able to spend together, even if it just consisted of Azzi quietly watching film next to you while you worked through your homework.

After burying your head in your hands, rubbing your temples, and reminding yourself of how sexy future you would look sitting courtside at one of Azzi’s WNBA games, chatting with the other WAGs like, “Oh, Dr. Fudd? Yes, that’s me,” you reach for your iPad with a deep sigh, rereading the word problem once more. Then you write down what you know. P₁ = 100 psia. P₂ = 20 psia.

Your hand stalls. You check the formula sheet, the swirl of letters and deltas and constants making your head ache. You blink again.

Your pen falls onto the couch cushion next to you as you heave another shuddering sigh, feeling like you’re about to crash out. You can’t fathom why this is so difficult for you.

Azzi’s voice is sudden, soft – it would otherwise startle you if you weren’t ready to be swallowed up by the ground and never return to earth. “I think you need a break,” she says, her voice coming from somewhere behind you, and you can hear the gentle footfalls of her sock-clad feet as she makes her way closer to you. Her hands find your shoulders, kneading gently, and you sigh again – this time in relief – as you melt into the couch.

“Can’t,” you mutter, grunting when her thumb catches on one of the knots. “I’ve already taken like…a million just from zoning out and losing my mind. Wasted enough time.”

You don’t have to see her face to visualize the amused, if not slightly concerned smile gracing her lips. “Are you not also wasting time by forcing yourself to work when it’s getting you nowhere?” she murmurs, her lips closer to your ear now. For that, you truly have no rebuttal, and she presses a lingering kiss to the edge of your jaw. Humming to yourself, you tilt your head, baring your throat, and her lips trace a deliberate path down the curve of your neck.

Her hands leave your shoulders, smoothing down your chest, and you intertwine your fingers together, getting lost in the heady scent of her perfume. You’d missed her – you really did. You and Azzi have been together long enough that you’re used to her having to travel a lot, but sometimes, it takes a little bit longer for your body to catch up and get the memo, too.

“Take a break,” Azzi whispers, her tone pleading, edged with a sort of neediness that makes you want to give in. You almost do – the warmth of her lips against your skin and the weight of her hands over your chest turning your brain into mush. “Let me take care of you. You’ve been so busy lately. You’re wearing yourself out.”

The first part of her statement has you ready to turn off your laptop and give Azzi whatever she wants from you. But the second? All it does is remind you about the quiz you’d just failed, the fact you have another quiz in less than a week, and how you’re not any closer to understanding the material. It sobers you instantly.

“Later,” you whisper, feeling a little guilty. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time with Azzi – God, it’s all you’ve wanted to do since she got back to Storrs, but you knew you’d just fall into shitty time management problems if you didn’t get your work done.

“Babe,” Azzi complains, her tone exasperated and needy all at once. Her grip on you tightens ever so slightly, leaning fully against the couch to press her cheek to your temple. You fall back into her, your eyes slipping shut despite yourself.

“Sorry, Az,” you say apologetically, turning your head slightly to kiss the closest patch of skin you can reach, which happens to be the hinge of her jaw. She sighs softly, then brushes her lips across your forehead before releasing you. You miss the contact immediately but she makes her way to the front of the couch and sits down on the cushion next to you. Intertwining your fingers to get her attention, you squeeze her hand gently. She glances over, doe eyes wide, simmering with a heat and want that makes your stomach flip. “Let me finish this problem, then I’m yours. I promise.”

She crosses one leg over her knee, a petulant expression on her face as she sinks into the cushions. “Better be worth it, Dr. Fudd,” she grumbles, which makes you smile a little. You plant a chaste, innocent kiss on her lips, smirking when she chases after you. You release her, reaching for your pen and your iPad again, but you swear you hear her muttering under her breath, “Cockblocked by an engineering assignment. This is what I get for dating a smart person.”

Her indignance and impatience amuses you, which just motivates you to finish this problem as quickly as you can. You start over again, rereading the problem and isolating the facts that you know. You check your formula sheet again, struggling to find the one you need given what you have and what variable you want to solve for. All the while, you can feel Azzi’s gaze on you, dark and beseeching. It honestly makes it difficult to focus – knowing you have your very needy girlfriend sitting on the couch next to you and begging for one ounce of attention, but you know she’ll thank you later when you’re a super rich engineer and you build her a custom library in the house you’ll share together.

(Granted, she’ll be a super rich baller, so she wouldn’t exactly be hurting financially without you and she could get the library, but as long as you were around, you were committed to ensuring that Azzi wouldn’t have to lift a finger.)

Azzi allows you to struggle in peace. You make zero progress, just as she predicted. You read a few pages in your textbook. You watch a YouTube video on the process and still, you get nowhere. Already feeling a little frustrated, you try another approach.

But then Azzi’s palm finds your thigh. It breaks your focus immediately – not like it wasn’t already hanging by a thin thread – and you glance over at her, one brow raising in amusement. She doesn’t look the least bit remorseful about distracting you; in fact, she’s wearing a smug little smile that breaks down all of your defenses. “You promised, Az,” you remind her.

“You promised, too,” she declares. The confusion must be clear on your face because she explains, “Girlfriend code. You have a duty to give me attention.”

“Oh, do I?” you echo, biting your lip to stifle a smile.

Azzi’s dead serious, though. Her eyes meet yours, temptation laced in her pupils, a pout tugging at her lips. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to stand your ground against that, but you have to pretend to have some sort of academic responsibility.

“You do,” she confirms. “Agreed to it when you said you loved me, in fact.”

“I wasn’t aware that was in the fine print,” you respond, tangling your fingers with hers before she has the chance to inch her palm further up your thigh.

Azzi narrows her eyes at you. “Well, it is,” she insists. “And I want you.”

“Is that what this is about?” you murmur teasingly. “My girl needs me?”

Azzi nods, her expression a devastating mix of hopeful and needy, and it makes you ache. But you glance down at your iPad, at the word problem staring back at you — unsolved — and you hate yourself for what you do next.

You kiss her again, your free hand reaching to cup her jaw, and she melts into you instantly. You draw back just before it grows too intense, murmuring, “After this problem.” You’re sure that Azzi almost fucking growls, her brows drawing together tightly. In any other situation, you’d find it endearing, but you can’t help but feel guilty. You have work to do, and you know that Azzi wouldn’t let you rest until the sun is in the sky again. “Sorry, baby.”

But Azzi is out of rationale — and patience. She leans away from you long enough to shut the lid of your laptop on the coffee table, then she yanks your iPad out of your hands. It lands somewhere on the far end of the couch as your pen clatters harmlessly onto the floor, rolling somewhere out of view, and you hardly have the time to react before Azzi straddles you in one quick motion. Her lips are on yours immediately. You gasp, hands reaching out to grip her hips, and she swallows the moan that tumbles from your mouth.

Her hands are around your neck, drawing you in closer to her, yours roaming across her sculpted thighs, tightening in the loose fabric of her shorts. They ride up on her legs the more she presses against you and you take advantage of the miles upon miles of tanned skin laid before you. It makes you keen, sighing into her mouth, and Azzi slips her tongue inside, brushing against yours.

It’s all heat from there — Azzi’s hips roll against yours in a slow, methodical grind, her fingers trailing down your chest to tangle in the hem of your shirt. She breaks away from your mouth, lips swollen, spit-slick and urgent as she mutters, “Off, please.”

You don’t have the words to deny her, not that you would in the first place. Not when you can feel the heat of her core against your thigh, the dampness that’s seeped through her underwear and shorts all at once. Pulling away from her, you raise your arms, allowing her to pull your shirt off, intent on getting your hands back on her, but Azzi stops you with a palm to your chest — your bare chest, having neglected a bra for comfort that morning. 

Her eyes are glazed over, pupils dark and wanting. The way she stares shamelessly would make you feel insecure and vulnerable if you weren’t able to read the desire in her features, the way her jaw goes slack at the sight of you. It’s not new — Azzi has seen you in various states of undress over the course of your relationship. A sheer bikini on cruises, in nothing but her jersey and a flimsy pair of her boxers, or as naked as the day you were born. It doesn’t matter how many times Azzi has sat upon your lap with your breasts cupped in her hands like she’s holding the world in her palms – she thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and if you had any sensibility, you’d probably ask, “Has she seen herself?”

Not wanting to be alone in your nakedness, you reach for the hem of Azzi’s shirt, glancing up at her through your lashes for permission. She nods quickly and you don’t waste anymore time before pulling the dark blue shirt off of her, your own jaw going slack as you take her in. She’s all muscles and tanned skin, firm sinew in most places yet soft in others. You want to get your hands on her immediately, so you do – pressing heatedly against her stomach, grazing her belly piercing and the curve of her waist, pulling her flush against you like you can’t get enough of her skin against yours.

She reaches for your wrists to pull your hands off of her body. You make a noise of protest, but she silences you with a deep kiss, insistent and hungry as she shifts to the side, tugging you down on top of her now as she positions herself against the pillows and the armrest at the end of the couch. The change has your head spinning, especially when Azzi pushes her knee between your legs, the muscle of her thigh dragging against your clit in a way that’s almost devastating.

Your entire body is pulsing, suddenly aware of the need building in your body. It feels like it’s taken root in your bones. Like all you’ve needed these past few weeks were Azzi, not anything else. And judging by the way her fingers slip under the waistband of your sweatpants, pressing firm against your skin and tugging the restricting material down? Azzi is more than willing to give herself to you – in whatever way you need it.

You try to grind down onto Azzi’s thigh, searching for the contact, but she takes your hips in your hands, perching you precariously over her body, only inches away from what you need. You break away from her lips long enough to brush your mouth across her jaw, finding her ear to beg, “Please, Az, need it.”

A smirk curls her lips, slow and smug. The tables are turned now – she’d spent so long asking for you to put your assignment down, and now you’re the one pleading for her to touch you. Azzi is a competitor by nature. You may never truly understand how much she enjoys watching you break beneath her.

“Where have I heard that one before?” she murmurs, dragging heated kisses across your chest, lips wrapping around a nipple as you open your mouth. Your next words get caught in your throat, a moan taking its place, and you curl a hand around Azzi’s neck, pulling her closer to you.

“‘M sorry, baby,” you gasp in between stuttered breaths, your hips twitching when she bites gently at your bud. Azzi hums against you, sending vibrations up your spine as your body arches into her mouth and her wandering hands. Remembering where you are, you allow your hands to drop from Azzi’s neck down to her waist, fingers hooking into the band of her shorts. “Lemme make it up to you,” you plead, trembling with need. You want so badly to pull these shorts off of her, but she hasn’t given you the all clear yet. You may be the one on top and the one who wants to please her, but if she wasn’t going to allow you, there was little you could do.

“I wonder if I could make you come like this,” Azzi mumbles instead, releasing your nipple with a wet pop, and one of her hands reaches up to rub the spit across the bud while her lips trail to the other one, biting gently to make you shudder. Your breath catches, hips still hovering overs hers. “Dripping all over me while I take my time. Do you think I could?”

“Fuck,” you whimper, arching into her hands again, moaning when she pinches you with the right amount of pressure to send white hot desire to your core. Your head falls onto her shoulder, fingers abandoning her waistband to brace yourself against the couch cushion for stability. “Whatever you want, Az, just make me come – please.”

It wouldn’t take much. You’re already worked up, both from Azzi’s efforts and the stress of the week melting away into something softer. You hadn’t realized how much you truly needed this – the break away from your homework to breathe and just be. But you feel Azzi’s smile growing against your skin, her tongue poking out from her lips to circle your nipple, before she whispers, “Another time, maybe,” and she pulls you onto her bare stomach.

The first press feels like fire. It punches a gasp out of you, pleasure and relief coursing through your veins in simultaneous streams. Azzi’s abs are firm, inviting, and you rut against them desperately, needing to get off. Your aching clit catches against the piercing on her navel and a wrecked moan spills from your lips. Azzi’s muscles contract, providing you with a harsher slide, and your eyes all but roll into the back of your head when she carefully bites down on your nipple, her fingers rolling the other.

The free hand not occupied with your chest curls around your waist, helping pull you down against her. Eventually, Azzi begins to control your pace as you’re struggling to keep yourself up, and the sensations are overwhelming in the best way possible. You’re impossibly wet, sliding against Azzi’s stomach with little resistance, angling your hips to get the best friction against your clit. You wrap your arms around her neck, tears pooling in your eyes because it feels so good, and holding on is all you can do, moaning breathlessly into her ear.

Azzi pulls away from your chest with a wet noise, her lips swollen and slick, eyes glazed over with want. It makes you breathless for an entirely different reason now. You’re the only person who gets to see Azzi like this, needy and determined to make you fall apart. You were the first, but to know that you’re also the last? You will your hips into a firmer grind, the slight possessiveness making your head spin.

But then she releases you, something dark, smug, but also reverent clouding her expression. “Take it,” she murmurs, leaning back against the armrest slightly. She’s no longer holding you up by the hips, but her hand lingers at your chest, tweaking and pulling your bud until it juts out firmly, wet with her spit. “You wanted this so bad? Show me. Take it.”

Groaning, you tighten your grip on her shoulders, pressing yourself further against her body for stability as you rock into her. Her face is screwed up, sweat beading at her temples, and you can’t be sure if it’s from the heat of the room or from the sheer determination of clenching her abs. Either way, you can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips to hers, swallowing her indulgent moan as you chase your high. 

Her piercing catches against your clit again, causing you to lose your rhythm momentarily. Azzi bites your lip once in warning as she orders, “Faster.” Your thighs and core burns from the exertion, but the desire coursing through your veins motivates you. When your pace returns to her liking, she rewards you with a blinding smile and a “So good for me, baby. You wanna come?”

You nod shakily against her, forehead pressing into hers, and she kisses you once more – slow, lingering, filthy like she’s trying to memorize the way you taste when you’re desperate for her. Azzi takes your hips in her hands again and she aids in your rhythm, pulling you onto her harshly, drawing you closer and closer to your orgasm until a cry rips from your throat. “So close, Az,” you whine, meeting her eyes. They’re more black than brown, her pupils blown wide, and the sheer need reflected there makes you weak. “Please, please, please, Azzi.”

“Let go,” she murmurs, her voice dangerously sweet compared to the way she’s dragging you across her stomach. “Take what you need. Gonna give it to you, you know that.”

And that’s all you need. You rut against her once more, twice, your jaw dropping with pleasure, body tingling as you fall apart over her. You press your lips to hers to silence your cries and she swallows each and every whimpered sound like it energizes her. She’s still guiding you, her movements slowing now, letting you ride out the aftershocks as you come back down to earth. You’re a little boneless, your forehead pressing to her clavicle, and she ghosts a kiss across your temple as she rubs your back soothingly.

Clearly, Azzi can’t seem to help herself, because she presses a smile to the crown of your head as she jokingly mutters, “So much better than homework, right?”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and you try to not think too hard about the fact that your throat feels scratchy and rough. “Much better,” you agree, feeling the weightlessness and ease seep into your bones, something deliciously heavy and comforting that makes you feel refreshed. New. “You’re so needy. Couldn’t wait twenty minutes.”

Azzi gasps indignantly. “I’ve waited like, two weeks!” she exclaims, nudging you halfheartedly. “A girl has needs, you know.” She says this last part with a snooty raise of her nose, which makes you shake your head, giggling again as you press a chaste, innocent kiss to her lips. She chases after you when you pull away, but the distance makes her eyes narrow, brows pulling together like she’s just realized something. “You couldn’t wait either. It was all ‘please, Azzi,’ this, ‘make me come, Azzi,’ that. You’re dirty.”

That makes you lean away from her, disbelief in your features. “Me?” you echo, aghast, fully aware that the both of you are arguing like toddlers at this point. “You’re dirty. You made me ride your abs–” Azzi raises a challenging brow which has you backtracking immediately. “Okay, I don’t know about made me. That was really hot, by the way.” You punctuate your point with another kiss, one that lasts not nearly long enough so you can get back to the point you were trying to make. “Also, you should probably disinfect your piercing.” Azzi hums, arms curling around your waist, and she ghosts her lips across your collarbone as you continue to defend yourself. “Either way, you’re still dirty.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything. She glances at you with an amused grin, then glances down at her stomach, where she glistens from a mixture of your slick and her sweat. Mostly your arousal, though. A flush creeps up your neck at the sight. You hadn’t registered how soaked she was. Having made her point, she swipes her finger through the mess, raising it to the light as if inspecting it. “You did this and I’m the dirty one?”

“Yes,” you deadpan, but the corners of your lips quirk up with amusement. Her smile softens, but morphs into one of confusion when you slide down her body, knees pressing into the cushions in between her legs. “Let me make it up to you?” you offer, palming her thighs, fingers slipping under the waistband of her shorts once more. You can tell that her breathing has picked up, her mood shifting as easily as you crawled down.

“Yes, please,” she affirms, lifting her hips to help you pull her shorts and boxers down in one quick motion. You groan to yourself when her cunt is revealed to you – she’s soaked, her arousal having seeped into the cotton of her boxers, and you press a quick kiss to the inside of her thigh. “Don’t tease me.”

“I would never,” you lie, and then tease her anyways. You avoid her cunt completely, opting to lick a thick stripe across her stomach, gathering the slick pooled there on your tongue.

It makes her hips jump up, her voice pitched and a little breathless with shock as she mutters, “Shit, baby…” You smile to yourself, glancing up at her through your lashes, taking in her wrecked expression and the way her pupils are blown wide. Azzi is gripping onto the couch cushion like she’s teetering on the edge of falling apart already.

You don’t stop until her stomach is clean. Before you can settle between her thighs again, she grabs you by the shoulders, hauling you up until she can kiss you again. Azzi deepens the kiss immediately, her tongue searching for yours, for the taste of you, and the moans greedily as you squeeze her hips.

When she breaks away for air, her chest is heaving, and she looks ruined, ready for you to give her what she’s been craving for two weeks. You plant a farewell kiss at the edge of her jaw before trailing your lips down her body, sucking hickeys into her skin, soothing each one with your tongue.

Finally, you reach her cunt, and the sight of her spread out before you makes your mouth water. She tangles her fingers through your hair, guiding you closer, and you don’t make her wait any longer before you kiss her clit gently, smiling when her hips buck. Your tongue swipes through her soaked folds, her body shuddering when you moan indulgently into her, and you wrap your arms around her thighs to keep her stabilized.

You fuck her like you’re starved – which you may as well be. Your nose brushes against her sensitive clit with every motion you make, making her cry out, her hand pushing you to the spot she likes as if you don’t know her body like the back of your hand. Still, you listen to the direction, allowing her to pull your head towards her clit. You suck it into your mouth, cheeks hollowing from the pressure, rubbing the broad side of your tongue over it when she moans softly.

Her thighs enclose around your head, the pleasure causing her hips to buck wildly, and this? You could die here, in between her legs, and you wouldn’t even be able to think of a better way to go out. Azzi’s cries are like music to your ears, her taste like nectar.

When her fingers tighten in your hair, her hips beginning to gyrate in search of her high, you press a little further into her, allowing her to grind against your tongue. Your hands rub soothing patterns against her abdomen, eyes slipping shut at the sound of her moans, and before you know it, she’s whining, “Close, baby.”

You take her free hand in yours, squeezing gently as her body trembles, and she holds onto you as she comes, her body melting into the couch cushions as you work her slowly, helping her come back down. You know Azzi gets oversensitive fast, so you listen for her cues, letting up on her when it becomes too much. Drawing back, you plant one last kiss to her thigh, her navel, her collarbone, then to her lips, where you feel her smile grow against you.

You smooth out her hair by her forehead where a few of the strands have escaped from the tie. Her eyes blink open, her gaze impossibly tender, her smile soft. It makes you fall a little bit further in love with her, which is probably a feat in and of itself. “Okay?” you whisper.

She turns her head to kiss your wrist. “Okay,” she confirms, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you flush against her. Then, in a quieter tone of voice, she confesses, “Missed you.”

You kiss her cheek, tucking your head into the crook of her neck. “Missed you too, Az,” you respond. “Never travel for two weeks ever again.”

She laughs gently, her nails skirting across your skin. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The both of you fall into a calm silence until you break it. “I’m sorry I neglected you,” you say genuinely, feeling a little remorseful. “I just wanted to get my work done, but I think I got a little too obsessive about it. You were right to say I wasn’t getting anywhere with it.”

“You know I understand your schedule,” Azzi says softly. “You have a lot to do. I just needed you.” She doesn’t say much else – and she doesn’t need to. That’s just the truth.

You smile a little as you kiss her jaw. “I know,” you murmur. “I’ll do better.”

She tightens her arms around you. “Good. You can start by helping me into the bathtub and ordering takeout.”

That makes you laugh, your nose brushing against her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.” The room goes quiet again, nothing but the gentle hum of the AC and your breathing filling the space. The drag of Azzi’s fingers against your skin lulls you into a sense of peace, the pressure alleviating from your shoulders, and –

You pause. Your eyes blink open, your gaze falling onto your iPad. Pressure?

Saturated liquid water enters an orifice at a pressure of 100 psia and is throttled to a lower pressure of 20 psia–

You close your eyes in disbelief, the gears in your brain turning at rapid speed. You’re so fucking dumb.

“Az,” you murmur. She hums, letting you know she’s listening. “Can I start a little later?”

“What?” she mutters, but you’re already reaching over to the coffee table, grabbing your iPad and the pen that had rolled under the table leg. Azzi sighs dramatically as she watches you open it, but she presses a smile to the crown of your head as you work through the calculations. It only takes you about a minute, but you circle your answer with finality, latching the pen to the magnet on the device and closing it. “An orgasm was all it took to get that brain working, huh?”

“Maybe,” you admit a little sheepishly.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she says with faux indignance, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

And all you can do is stare at her, a soft little smile on your face. Because you are. You really, really are.

[formulaonecrumbs]

junie! sitting in the pre-op room and wondering what osc would be like with reader during pre-op. like vitals, getting the iv, them forcing her to go pee for a pregnancy test, getting in the gown, etc

-🧸

one breath at a time

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: reader goes in for a d&c, only to discover more.

warnings: medical setting, pre-op anxiety, unexpected pregnancy, bleeding, fertility themes

A/N: HIIIII i saw the pregnancy test thing and thought a little plot twist would be fun but i get if this is not what u were expecting SORRY 😭😭 i think i’ve been taking too much liberty with some requests, but this idea was too good to pass up. idek if this pregnancy even makes since vut ENJOY. I LOVE U. praying for u and praying the surgery goes well. i’m proud of u. ❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’ve barely slept.

it’s not even light out yet when oscar pulls into the hospital’s underground lot, the sky still a cold steel gray. your fingers are twisted in the sleeves of your hoodie, mouth dry, heart racing under the weight of the unknown.

you’re supposed to be here for a d&c.

they couldn’t figure out why you were still bleeding, why the pain wouldn’t let up. scans weren’t clear. could be a cyst, could be leftover tissue, could be anything. the only way to really know is going in.

and now you’re here. gown, anesthesia, paperwork, the works.

oscar parks close to the lift and shuts the engine off, but he doesn’t move to get out.

instead, he turns to you. both hands reach over to hold yours, grounding and steady and warm.

“you okay?” he asks gently, voice still hoarse from sleep.

you stare ahead. “not really.”

he leans in and kisses your cheek, then your forehead, then presses his mouth just below your eye. “we’re doing this together, yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper.

the nurse is kind, which helps.

she walks you back to the pre-op area, hands you a gown, points to the little cubicle with the curtain. oscar’s allowed to come back once you’re changed and vitals are taken.

you move slowly—partly because you’re sore and partly because you’re scared.

hospital gowns are always too big. you tie the back shut and glance at yourself in the mirror for a second before looking away.

you look tired. pale. bloated from the hormones.

you don’t feel like yourself.

the nurse is waiting when you step out, smiling. she clips a monitor to your finger, slides the cuff onto your arm. “you doing okay, sweetheart?”

“yeah,” you lie.

she doesn’t push.

“we just need to get a quick urine sample before anesthesia,” she says. “pregnancy test—standard protocol.”

you nod, already moving to the bathroom. it’s routine. you know it’s routine.

you haven’t even had sex since the bleeding started. there’s no way.

right?

the test takes ten minutes to come back.

by then, you’re already lying back on the hospital bed, IV inserted, oscar seated at your side. he’s holding your hand, tracing patterns over the inside of your wrist.

you try to pretend your chest isn’t tightening. you try to pretend this doesn’t feel like more than routine.

but when the nurse returns, her smile is tight. professional.

she walks in holding a chart and sets it at the end of your bed. “so… we’re going to delay the procedure, actually.”

your heart stumbles. “what? why?”

she glances at oscar, then at you. “your pregnancy test came back positive.”

silence.

you blink. “what?”

“it was faint, so we ran it again. and then again, with a blood test. it’s early, but it’s definitely there.”

you feel everything slow down.

your fingers go numb.

you look at oscar. he’s staring at the nurse like she just said the sky is green.

“but—” your voice catches. “we thought—i thought it was just—”

“you’ve been bleeding,” she says gently. “and we don’t know what that means yet. but you are pregnant.”

your breath shakes.

oscar squeezes your hand. “hey, hey—look at me.”

you do. your eyes sting.

“we’re okay,” he says, low and steady. “you’re okay. we’ll figure it out. one step at a time.”

“what if it’s ectopic? or not viable? what if—”

“one step,” he says again. “we’re not doing what-ifs. we’re just breathing. we’re just here.”

the nurse steps out to give you a minute.

you turn your face into oscar’s shoulder and let yourself fall apart for a second—because the fear is choking and the shock is worse, and your body hurts and your brain hurts and you don’t know how to process any of this.

but oscar holds you. strokes your back. tells you it’s going to be okay even when he’s scared, too.

hours pass.

you get sent to a different wing. a different doctor consults. scans are ordered.

it’s early, they say. they can’t make any promises. but something’s there. maybe more than you thought. maybe not what you feared.

oscar never lets go of your hand.

he cancels everything for the next two days. turns off his phone. gets you water. tucks your hoodie around your legs when you shiver. climbs into the hospital bed behind you when your back starts to ache again, wrapping around you like armour.

you don’t talk much. there isn’t much to say yet.

but he holds you all the way through it. and when they finally let you go home to rest, he carries your bag and drives you slow and gentle, one hand on your thigh the entire ride.

you’re not okay. not yet.

but you’re not alone.

and somehow, in this swirl of fear and confusion, that makes all the difference.

THE END :>

[empressdede]

Never Ending - 2

This was originally supposed to be a two shot, but then I kept writing so…😭 maybe a four part mini series 🤣🫶🏾

Previous Next

Ciera was halfway through taking her notes in Chemistry when the words group project came out of Mr. Langston’s mouth. She didn’t flinch, didn’t groan like the rest of the class. She simply clicked her pen, already bracing for whatever random partner fate would assign her.

She wasn’t prepared for him.

“Jonathan Fatu and Ciera Monroe,” Mr. Langston read off.

Her head snapped up.

Jon looked back over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowing like he was trying not to grin. “Hey, partner.”

Ciera blinked slowly. “I’m switching seats.”

“Nope,” Mr. Langston said without looking up. “No trades. Sit next to your partner, Fatu.”

Jon slung his backpack over one shoulder and strolled over like he owned the world. His hair had gotten longer since middle school, always tied back in a loose bun, and he wore that same cocky smirk like it was stitched into his DNA.

He flopped down beside her. “Miss me?”

“Like I miss extra homework.”

He chuckled. “Still quick with the comebacks.”

Ciera angled her body away just slightly. “Still allergic to taking anything seriously?”

“Only things that don’t involve you.”

She shot him a look. “Do you even know what the project is?”

“Something about acids and bases,” he said, waving vaguely toward the board. “I figured you’d do the smart stuff and I’d carry the supplies.”

“That’s not how this is gonna work.”

He leaned closer, voice dipping into that teasing tone that always made her ears heat. “You sure? ’Cause I remember you used to love bossing me around.”

Ciera stiffened.

It had been almost two years since they’d really talked. Since that slow dance in eighth grade, interrupted too soon. Since Sadé pulled her away, and Jon just grinned like he didn’t care. And then high school happened. Jon joined the football team, got louder, funnier, became everybody’s favorite. Ciera drifted into AP classes, study groups, a quiet lane of her own making.

They’d passed each other in halls—shared a few classes. The teasing never stopped. But the closeness? That had faded.

Until now.

“You gonna write anything down?” she asked, opening her notebook.

He pulled out a pencil from behind his ear. “Depends. You gonna yell at me if I mess it up?”

“Depends. You planning to try?”

He grinned. “There she is.”

They started working—sort of. Ciera outlined the hypothesis, while Jon fiddled with the pH strips like they were toy swords.

“Jon,” she warned, “you’re gonna contaminate the samples.”

“Relax, Doc Monroe. I know what I’m doing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since always. I just let you think you were the brains.”

She smirked. “You let me?”

“Mmhmm.”

She shook her head and focused on the worksheet. For a moment, the silence settled—but not comfortably. Not yet.

Then Jon said, casually, “Remember that science fair in sixth grade?”

Ciera blinked. “The one where you tried to make a volcano and it exploded on the principal?”

He laughed, head thrown back. “Hey, I maintain that was a successful reaction.”

“You nearly blinded Ms. Carter.”

“She shouldn’t have been that close.”

“You put vinegar in the wrong chamber.”

“You still remember all that?” he asked, tone softer.

Ciera looked at him. “I remember a lot of things.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Yeah… me too.”

The words lingered, heavier than she expected.

She cleared her throat, going back to the paper. “So we need three acids and three bases to test with litmus. You wanna grab the materials?”

“You asking me to do actual work?”

“I’m asking you to do your share.”

Jon stood, mock saluting. “Yes, ma’am.”

As he walked away, Ciera let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He hadn’t changed much—not really. Still charming, still annoying. Still able to make her smile when she didn’t want to.

He returned with the samples, sliding back into his seat like he hadn’t just made her heart beat too fast.

“All right, scientist,” he said. “Let’s make some color magic.”

Ciera dipped the first strip. “You ever think about that dance?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Eighth grade. Middle school dance. You asked me to come.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You came.”

“You asked.”

“Barely.”

“You asked,” she said again, watching his face carefully.

He grinned. “Okay, maybe I did. But you were the one staring at me the whole night.”

“Was not.”

“Were too.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You were about to kiss me.”

“You leaned in first!”

“I was being polite!”

“Oh my God, polite?” she laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes sparkling. “Didn’t want to catch a slap if I misread.”

Ciera smiled despite herself. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Jon sat forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Real talk… you think we would’ve worked?”

Ciera blinked. The question came out of nowhere. “Back then?”

He nodded.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “We were kids.”

He shrugged. “Yeah… but we had something. Didn’t we?”

Her eyes searched his face. “Maybe. Maybe we still do.”

Jon leaned a little closer. “You saying you still like me, Monroe?”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned. “I’m saying… I remember what it felt like when we danced.”

His grin softened. “I remember too.”

They sat in the stillness of that moment, the rest of the classroom fading into background noise.

Then she spoke again, quieter this time. “What happened to us?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Life. You went one way. I went another.”

“You got popular.”

“You got serious.”

“We drifted,” she said.

“But we didn’t forget.”

Their eyes met again—this time, with something older and deeper between them.

Then, of course, Jon broke the tension.

“So you gonna admit you liked me first or what?”

Ciera scoffed. “Me? Please. You were obsessed with me in seventh grade.”

“Says the girl who used to write my name in her notebook.”

She gasped. “Lies!”

“I saw it. Big heart around it and everything.”

“Jon!”

He laughed, full and unbothered. “You really used to blush every time I sat near you.”

“And you used to throw spitballs at me in homeroom.”

“Because I liked you!”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, covering her face.

Jon reached out and gently tugged her hand away. “I still like you, you know.”

She froze.

He said it so easily, so confidently. No joke behind it. Just words, plain and simple.

“I don’t know if you still like me,” he added, “but if you do… I’d want to find out what that looks like. For real.”

Ciera stared at him, heart pounding.

This wasn’t middle school anymore. They weren’t dancing in a decorated gym with streamers and slow songs. They were older, messier, still figuring it out.

But maybe, just maybe, they still had that spark.

“You’re not just saying that because you don’t wanna fail Chemistry, right?” she teased, voice trembling slightly.

He laughed, shaking his head. “I mean… that’s a bonus.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away when his fingers brushed hers again.

“Wanna finish this project first,” she said, “before we plan our wedding?”

Jon grinned. “So that’s a yes?”

She didn’t answer—not directly. Just dipped the next strip in the solution and smiled when it turned a bright blue.

“Looks like a strong base,” she said.

Jon looked at her, amused. “Like your flirting game?”

“Like your chances if you keep running your mouth.”

He leaned back, satisfied. “God, I missed this.”

Ciera finally looked at him, soft and open. “Yeah. Me too.”

⸻⸻

The final bell echoed through the school like a sigh of relief.

Ciera was one of the few students who didn’t rush the hallways like a prison break. Instead, she moved with quiet precision, slipping down the corridor past the main exit, toward her locker. Her backpack was heavier than usual—Mr. Langston’s chemistry project meant hauling a textbook the size of a microwave, and there was no way she was lugging that home.

She rounded the corner and reached her locker, the metal cool beneath her fingertips. Twisting the combination, she popped it open and began sorting through her books.

A small part of her—okay, maybe a medium part—kept replaying the project period with Jon.

The way he looked at her. How his voice had gone soft when he said, “I still like you.”

She hadn’t expected that. Not from Jonathan Fatu—the boy who used to dunk paper balls in her hair and laugh when she got detention for talking back. The boy who danced with her in eighth grade and almost kissed her under the glow of cafeteria fairy lights.

Now here he was again. Same mischief in his eyes, but older. Bolder. And, apparently, still interested.

She shook her head. Don’t read into it. He’s always joking.

Just as she placed her Chemistry book on the top shelf, a voice slid into her ear like silk.

“So… did you miss me already?”

She flinched, spinning around. Jon leaned against the neighboring locker like a scene out of some teenage rom-com—arms folded, hair pulled back, grin in place.

“Do you practice being this annoying or does it just come naturally?” she asked, hand over her chest.

“I’ve been gifted since birth.”

Ciera rolled her eyes, stuffing a notebook into the locker. “What do you want, Jon?”

He raised his eyebrows, playful. “Straight to the point. I like that.”

“Because I have a life outside of entertaining you.”

“Ouch.” He clutched his heart. “That one actually hurt.”

She gave him a smirk and shut her locker. “Then I’m doing it right.”

But Jon didn’t flinch. Didn’t take the bait and leave like he usually did after a round of back-and-forth.

Instead, he stayed.

Leaned in just a bit.

“Actually,” he said, his voice a little quieter, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Ciera tilted her head. “Oh?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was thinking about what I said earlier… maybe it’s time I finally take you out.”

She blinked.

“On a real date,” he added. “Like dinner or something. Not just projects and playful insults.”

For a second, she didn’t say anything. Her fingers curled around her bag strap, mind racing. Part of her had waited for this. The other part? Terrified to ruin the rhythm they had—this teasing, electric pull that always hovered between friendship and something more.

“Wow,” she said slowly. “You’re actually asking me out?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Ciera raised an eyebrow. “No jokes? No double-dare from your friends? You sure this isn’t some kind of bet?”

He chuckled. “You think I need a dare to ask you out?”

“Considering the last time you tried, we were thirteen and you ran off before Sadé could roast you—yes.”

Jon laughed, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m serious this time.”

Ciera leaned back against the row of lockers, arms crossing loosely. “That’s new.”

“I figured if I kept waiting, someone else might get to you first.”

“Now that’s more like you—territorial and late.”

“But honest,” he said, stepping closer.

She looked up at him, the teasing slowly slipping from her features, replaced with something gentler. “I’ll think about it.”

Jon blinked. “You’ll think about it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Monroe.”

“Good. Builds character.”

He exhaled, leaning in until they were barely a foot apart. “Okay, fine. I’ll make you a deal.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Oh God.”

“Relax,” he laughed. “Just this: I’ll call you tonight. You answer me then.”

Ciera tilted her head. “Call me?”

“You do still have a phone, right? Or did you evolve into one of those people who only communicates through passive-aggressive glances?”

“You’re one to talk,” she muttered.

“So is that a yes?” he asked, smiling. “You’ll pick up?”

She paused, lips tugging upward. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Depends on how annoying your voicemail is.”

He laughed again, louder this time. “So that’s a yes. You’ll answer.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t get cocky, Fatu.”

Jon stood straighter, brushing imaginary dust off his hoodie. “Too late. I’ve already planned our wedding.”

Ciera rolled her eyes so hard it might’ve given her a headache. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me anyway.”

She started to walk off, throwing over her shoulder, “I’ll deny it in court.”

He called after her, “I’ll have witnesses!”

And just like that, they slipped back into their rhythm. But underneath it—woven between every joke and jab—was something undeniable.

A pull.

She was halfway down the hall, smiling despite herself, when a familiar voice called out.

“Ciera!”

She turned to see Sadé jogging toward her, her braids bouncing as she waved. “Girl, wait up!”

Ciera slowed her pace as her best friend caught up, slightly out of breath.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Sadé said. “What took you so long?”

“Locker run,” Ciera replied. “Had to ditch Langston’s chemistry brick.”

Sadé wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That man needs to stop assigning group projects like we don’t already have lives.”

Ciera smirked. “Mine got interesting.”

Sadé side-eyed her. “Why do you sound smug?”

“No reason.”

“Don’t lie to me, Monroe. Spill.”

Ciera glanced behind her—Jon was still by the lockers, pretending not to watch, but failing miserably.

Sadé followed her gaze, and her mouth dropped open.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“He finally asked?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And??”

“I told him I’d think about it.”

Sadé gasped, grabbing Ciera’s arm. “Girl, what?! You’ve had a thing for him since like—forever!”

“Yeah, well, forever is complicated.”

“Not if he’s asking you out.”

Ciera smiled, a little breathless herself. “He said he’s gonna call me tonight.”

Sadé squealed, practically vibrating. “You better answer that phone.”

“I might.”

“No. No ‘might.’ You will.”

Ciera laughed. “We’ll see.”

They walked side by side, Sadé still talking a mile a minute, but Ciera’s mind drifted again. Back to Jon’s voice, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the hallway. Like maybe—just maybe—this thing between them was real. Always had been.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But tonight?

Tonight, she’d answer.

The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the AC and the soft buzz of crickets outside the window.

Ciera stood in the middle of her room, arms folded, glaring at the phone on her nightstand like it had personally offended her.

It was 7:57 p.m.

Three minutes until the imaginary deadline she’d given Jonathan to call.

You don’t care, she told herself, marching over to her desk. She picked up her chemistry notebook, flipped to a random page, and tried to focus. Something about ions. Something about valence electrons. Something that wasn’t Jon’s voice in her head saying, I want to take you out.

She bit her lip and underlined the same sentence twice without realizing it.

At 8:01, her phone vibrated.

She jumped.

Unknown Number.

She stared at it for a half second too long.

“Girl, answer the damn phone,” she muttered, snatching it up.

“Hello?”

There was a pause—only a breath—before that familiar voice slipped through.

“Hey.”

Ciera swallowed, hoping her voice didn’t crack. “Hey.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why’d you hesitate?”

“I was busy.”

Jon laughed. “Doing what? Watching the phone from across the room?”

She could hear the grin in his voice, and somehow that made her entire chest flutter.

“Please. I forgot you were even supposed to call.”

“Oh, so now I’m forgettable?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I imply a lot of things,” she replied coolly, walking to sit on the edge of her bed. “Doesn’t mean I mean them.”

Jon whistled low. “Damn. Still sharp, huh?”

“Did you call just to get roasted or was there a point?”

“Can’t I miss you a little first?”

Ciera’s heart thumped a little too hard.

She cleared her throat. “Miss me? You saw me like five hours ago.”

“Yeah, but that’s like thirty in Jonathan Fatu hours.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “You’re so corny.”

“And yet… here you are. Still on the line.”

“I was raised to be polite.”

“I’ll make a note. Politeness is the new flirting.”

Ciera smiled down at her lap. “Is that what this is? You flirting?”

Jon paused for just a second. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just what I’ve always done with you.”

Something in his voice shifted—less playful, more honest. Ciera’s teasing tone faded too.

“You always did have a way of getting on my nerves,” she murmured.

“And under your skin.”

She exhaled through her nose, the air in her room suddenly warmer. “Is this why you called?”

“No,” he said. “I called because I meant what I said earlier.”

Ciera lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. “About wanting to take me out?”

“Yeah.”

She let the silence stretch for a beat. “Why now, Jon?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I guess… I got tired of pretending I didn’t care. Like, we joke around, we talk trash, but you and I both know there’s always been more to it than that.”

Her chest tightened.

“Maybe,” she said softly. “But you never really said anything before.”

“I was stupid.”

“No argument here.”

He chuckled. “Fair. I just… you know how it was after middle school. I got caught up. Football, friends, all the attention. I didn’t know how to be real with someone back then.”

“And you think you do now?”

“I’m trying,” he said. “With you, I wanna try.”

Ciera’s throat felt a little tight. She sat up again, suddenly restless, the ceiling too heavy to stare at.

“I noticed you pulling away,” she admitted. “Like, the more popular you got, the less we talked. But I never said anything. I figured it was just… what happens.”

“Yeah,” Jon murmured. “I noticed it too. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”

“You could’ve started with a text.”

“Scary stuff,” he joked. “But you’re right. I should’ve.”

Ciera hugged one knee to her chest, the phone pressed close to her ear.

“I always wondered if I made that night up, you know?” she said quietly.

“What night?”

“The dance. Eighth grade.”

“Oh, I think about that night all the time.”

Her breath caught.

“You do?”

Jon’s voice dipped, softer now. “Of course. You were the only thing I could think about after. We almost kissed, remember?”

“I remember,” she whispered. “And then Sadé came outta nowhere.”

“I was this close,” he said with a smirk in his voice. “And she just—”

“Ruined everything.”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

Ciera bit her lip. “If she hadn’t interrupted, would you have actually done it?”

“Kissed you?”

“Yeah.”

There was no hesitation this time. “Absolutely.”

Her stomach flipped.

They were quiet for a few seconds, the weight of their unspoken history stretching out between them. Every memory—every laugh, tease, and almost-kiss—suddenly felt brand new.

“So,” Jon said eventually, his voice teasing again, “are you ready to stop pretending you don’t like me?”

Ciera groaned, burying her face in her pillow. “God, you’re annoying.”

“But cute.”

She muffled her laugh. “Debatable.”

“Please. You used to write my name in your notebook.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Sadé told me.”

“She’s dead to me.”

Jon’s laugh filled her ear again. “So… you gonna go out with me or not?”

Ciera exhaled, heart fluttering like a damn hummingbird. “You’re really not gonna drop this, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating. She’d spent years watching him from a distance, wondering if he still thought about her. And now, here he was, asking for her time—her attention—like he finally saw what they could’ve been all along.

“Alright,” she said at last. “One date.”

“One?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Can I pick you up Friday?”

She blinked. “You already had a day in mind?”

“Girl, I’ve had this planned since eighth grade.”

Ciera laughed, leaning back again, letting herself sink into the moment.

“Friday’s fine,” she said.

There was a pause on his end—like even he couldn’t believe she said yes.

“I’m holding you to that.”

“You better.”

They talked a while longer, about stupid things—teachers they couldn’t stand, Sadé’s loud laugh, how Joshua always tried to outshine him. But underneath every word was that same electricity, that same easy connection that never really left.

Eventually, her mom knocked and told her to get ready for bed. They said goodnight reluctantly.

“Sleep good,” he said.

“You too, Fatu.”

He hesitated before hanging up. “Hey, Ciera?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you picked up.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

And when she finally lay down to sleep, her phone still warm in her hand, she knew something had changed.

For real this time.

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[autisticlee]

I must know. i've been told by many people that it's normal to go months without talking to friends, I should get used to spending time alone, and other things like that. at the same time i'm told we are a social species and need social interaction and i'm "too isolated" and need to have "better friends" in my life because it's "not healthy" to spend months alone in my room without anyone to talk to (not by choice, I struggle to make and keep friends because autism/disability, but would like to have close amd consistent people in my life)

so I need to ask. how much do all of you interact with another person in a positive, meaningful way?

i need to add context so you know what i mean exactly:

by this I mean you have full and enjoyable conversations, hang out, talk on the phone, talk in dms, play games together, etc with another person you're close with in life online or in person (friends, family, partners, etc). this can include hanging out/talking with with a partner or roommate or family you live with because you enjoy hanging out or talking together. there was actively a choice to be around each other. if you have a partner/family/roommate you live with and enjoy interacting with each other daily on purpose, this counts as "daily." this is only about chosen interactions where you both want to interact with each other because you enjoy each other's company and choose to socialize together. where you're already close, or actively trying to get closer. where you feel loved and appreciated by the person and enjoy your time spent together.

as opposed to when you have a short passing interaction, like you interact with customers at work or small talk coworkers, have a conversation with a stranger, interact with parents or siblings just because you live together, interact with classmates just because you're in class together, and things like that. circumstantial conditions, basically. spending all your time closed off alone in your room with random forced interactions you don't particularly enjoy or choose. like a parent only talks to you because you left your room and walked past them. or a partner comes home from work and demands you make food and they go watch tv alone and go to bed alone (loveless marriage type thing). or anything similar doesn't count here. if you *only* have those type interactions then it counts as "never"

(this includes everyone in general in your life combined. do you interact positively with your partner every day but friends once a month? then answer "daily." do you have daily small talk with parents who mostly ignore or nag you, or talk about work with coworkers, classwork with classmates, but see your best friends once a month? then it's "once a month." if it depends, choose which one is the average each year. you can also leave a comment to explain it if you want)

((I hope I explained what I mean correctly! please reblog to get bigger sample size! my blog is too small to do it on my own! im very curious about this😭))

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tamashina mina/cloudcalling on the savanna — missed opportunity

Since this event will be rerunning in the JP server this month, I wanted to share something I felt the event was lacking. (Well. Besides the things I already mentioned here—)

There’s a section of the event dedicated to exploring the markets and sampling local cuisines. I don’t take issue with this since it’s a staple of any hometown event. However, I think that it’s a shame we didn’t get any unique interactions between Leona and the NPCs in the market. Supposedly Leona isn’t well-liked or acknowledged in a positive manner by his people, so it would have been nice to see it portrayed more prominently on-screen. Maybe the vendors and other customers don’t necessarily go out of their way to insult him to his face, but maybe they’d be whispering amongst themselves or side-eyeing him (something which the other students notice) as he passes.

The framing of the purchases implies that Kifaji is the main person going around buying food for us to try. Lilia, Vil, Kalim, and Yuu/Grim also shop around for souvenirs. The NPCs are, for the most part, not directly interacting with Leona (save for that time he gets annoyed enough to get away from the group and buys some candies to eat grumpily by himself). This would have been the perfect time to overhear the vendors and customers gossiping about Leona. It would show us how his people feel about him, not just what the palace servants feel (as we saw in his post-ON flashback). It would give us a better understanding of what kinds of comments the people make about him even to this day, how that wears on him mentally and emotionally.

And what if Leona walks in on that kind of gossip??? I want to see how he’d handle it… (I don’t see him getting mad but instead reacting with a sarcastic quip or fake politeness to remove himself from the situation. Then he broods and angsts and doomposts about it later in private 💀)

While this ire obviously wouldn’t be resolved in the event itself, I think setting up this apprehension around Leona would enhance the payoff of what he does later in the event. This is especially true considering that we also had the previous year’s winners openly upset with Leona for not doing his royal duties and training them. Make it clear that Leona is on everyone’s bad side. Then when he comes through in the end and earns the respect of last year’s winners, it signals to us that—even if just a little at a time—Leona is capable of switching around the common attitude his people have toward him. It establishes a modicum of hope.

I guess maybe they didn’t want to spoil his backstory for anyone that didn’t read book 2 by the point the event ran??? But I still feel like it’s possible to write dialogue in a way that implies a dynamic or relationship without outright spilling everything. You don’t even need dialogue. Maybe just have there be a general air of discomfort as soon as the group enters the market; Vil (a celebrity who is perceptive about public opinion and how the public’s gazes linger) might notice this and ask what’s wrong, only to have Leona brush it off. (That way, we at least get the idea that Leona isn’t liked for some reason but is used to this.) It’s not like events haven’t had details that allude to main story spoilers either. For example, College Gear Ortho has appeared in multiple events such as Fairy Gala: If and White Rabbit Fest, even though technically it is a spoiler for book 6.

bdbdbsejhfiekd I don’t know 😭 I just feel like this would have been so interesting to see more of Sunset Savanna reacting to the supposed scorned second prince… It’s sad we missed out on it.

P.S. The fact that we don’t see the public extensively react to him in a negative way makes me wonder if that negativity is the result of Leona’s own perspective twisting or exaggerating the truth. This is something I’ve already speculated on here.

[lightlycareless]

whenever this audio comes up on my fyp i always think of naomi and naoya 🥹

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTFX51PoD/

Hiii!! How are you? It's always so good to see you 🙈🙈🙈 I hope you've been doing well 💖 and thank you for waiting for my response 🥺

I'm so sad that the video doesn't appear anymore. Or at least it doesn't for me, but I still (vaguely) remember the context of it and it's essentially a father walking their daughter down the aisle, a reflection of when them kids are not kids anymore!! Or so I believe that was.

Either way, this was very bittersweet for me to ponder about🥺 every time Naomi is brought up she's still that baby you and Naoya spoil whenever possible, so to imagine her all grown up, leaving the nest... maybe even settling down and having kids????😭 why??????

Warnings: fluff, honestly. domestic type. you and naoya reflect on them years together.

Happy reading!

It’s inevitable.

No matter how much you or Naoya try to deny it, Naomi will eventually become an adult and have her own life.

But the two, in your heart, she’ll always be your baby.

Even when she becomes a sorcerer, amongst the best of her generation, all you could think of is the sweet way in which she’d run to you, eagerly stretching out her short, chubby arms to gift you whatever drawing she’d done that evening: usually you and her holding hands while surrounded by many hearts, showcasing a sample of her infinite love for you.

“Mama! Mama! Look what I made for you!”

“Oh, pumpkin, is that us?”

“Yes, mama. It’s us that day in the garden, remember? When you told me flowers bloomed!”

“Ah, yes! And then papa took us out to the city, right?” you remember fondly, because how could you forget? Such moments are what makes living far more enjoyable. Love for your family even sweeter. “Did you show papa too?”

“No, because I gave him his own. I also made another one with the three of us! But that’s only mine…”

Your heart tightens, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks.

“Oh, Naomi, why do you have to be so cute?!” you cry, quickly wrapping your arms around her and lifting her up to pepper kisses all over her face which she happily accepts.

But of course, you couldn’t do that now. Your baby was now in her teens, spending most of her time away at school or on missions, leaving the two with a dreadful sense of loneliness.

A reflection of how much time has passed.

“Our oldest is set to graduate this summer.” You quietly reflect over breakfast. “Her siblings will soon follow, and then… it’s just going to be us again.”

“Why must you torment us this way, Y/N? Do you seek excitement through pain?” Naoya, your husband, jests.

“I suppose so.” You respond, not in the mood to play along. He frowns. “I just can’t help but… see Naomi and think of how small she looked in my arms. But now, she’s just a footstep away from being an adult.

…

Do you ever stop and wonder, when time go by?”

“In almost 20 years of marriage, I suppose that by living the best time of my life.” He says, giving you a smile he hopes will ease your burdened heart; it does, just not completely. “What torments you, my love?”

“…Nothing important, I guess.” You murmur. “This happens to everyone.”

“No, it is important if it has you like this.” He persists, taking ahold of your hand and making you sigh.

“I just wish they could’ve stayed little for a bit longer.” You confess. “But at the same time, I’m ecstatic to see what they will become. It’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“Well, we still have our Naohime to dote on.” Naoya reminds, kissing your chuckles. “So, we’ll still have a kid to chase around the estate one more time.”

And for someone as spoiled, yet adorable as Naohime was slowly growing to be, that task was quite the handful.

You laugh.

“I guess we do.” You then rest your head against hist shoulder, sighing. “20 years…”

“19, to be precise. Next year is going to be 20.”

“Next year? Oh, we have to make something special to celebrate!” you breathe, looking up to him. “It’s not every day that we achieve that milestone.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he’s already planned something for such occasion, for quite some time too. Doesn’t want to spoil your endearing reaction he’s sure you’re bound to have.

But he supposes he could indulge you in a second ceremony, it’s only fitting for 2 decades of being together.

And the many more to come.

“We can plan a small holiday, just the two of us. And another one with your children.” Naoya suggests. “Just like old times.”

“When we were still young, and oh, so in love?”

“Were?” He smirks. “I still am.”

You blush, shyly batting your eyes before leaning into his warmth yet again.

“How do you still manage to fluster me, even after all this time?”

Naoya shrugs before leaning into you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, where you could hear his quickening heart… a notion that makes you smile sweetly.

Because after all these years, he too hasn’t changed much.

Whenever he’s close to you, his heart still skips a beat.

Ngl I think I kind of messed up the timelines there, but still managed to keep it reasonable. I really need to set down a timeframe for all of these shenanigans... or not, it'll allow me to be more flexible hehe.

Also, I cut out anything related to Naomi getting married and having kids even though the video pointed to that. Why? Because I don't want to think of our baby leaving 😭😭😭 but really because I hadnt given much thought to their adult lives. However, Naomi strikes me as someone that wouldn't care too much for that, perhaps because she's the heir after Naoya so she worries about the clan first, and then her personal life.

I fear this is when she begins to understand why her father was absent throughout some parts of her life, she still is... conflicted about it, but is slightly more empathetic.

AND of course, if we're being real, Naoya is too overprotective of all his kids. You're slightly more lenient, but no one is worthy of being their partner :) might even scare them... so there's that hahaha.

Anyways, thank you so much for sending me this sweet prompt 🥺!!!!!! Now I have an even bigger desire to write domestic fluff 😭😭😭😭😭 thankfully, there's more to come hehe.

Now, take care, and hope to see you soon!!!

[cyren-myadd]

Ok, so about Dr Karina Mogue. I think she will be the RDA scientist who will try to figure out how Spider was changed and how it can be replicated. I think she will be brought to study the results from whatever tests they'll run on him (maybe even the samples they will take) when he is captured by RDA after the miracle. I also think that it will lead her to trying to figure out Eywa - what she is and how she works.

I'm not sure if she will be evil (Michelle Yeoh was so great and clearly had a lot of fun in Star Trek in very Recom Quaritch like role) and try to use this knowledge to destroy Eywa and adapt humans for Pandora so they can replace Na'vi. Or if her work will lead her to change sides and maybe use her knowledge to save Earth instead (I'm rooting for this option).

ooh that's a great theory! With all the strange stuff leaked that will happen to Spider in A3, it makes sense the RDA would want to study it, and if there's gonna be a big focus on it in future movies it also makes sense they'd introduce a new character as the main scientist studying it. I hope she'll join the resistance too, but I bet Yeoh will be able to pull of a good villain if not!

But this just makes me scared for Spider. It's unclear how the "miracle" will happen to him, but one theory my reddit friend u/ellestra came up with is that Spider himself won't have a physical or genetic change, but rather that the sacred strands from one of the spirit trees will go inside of his lungs and act as a built in filter, filtering out the harmful gases in the atmosphere but letting oxygen pass through. Similar to how humans on earth have bacteria cultures in our guts that have a symbiotic relationship with us; the bacteria cultures get a warm, moist environment to live in and we get help digesting our food. The sacred strands will be like that, living off the nutrients in his body and filtering the unbreathable atmosphere in return.

It would be similar to what happened to Grace, when the na'vi were able to create a temporary kuru for her so she could connect with Eywa before dying. I believe u/Ellestra's theory is pretty likely, much more likely than Spider undergoing a genetic/physical mutation, cause basically his entire cardiovascular and respiratory system would have to be drastically changed to adapt to Pandora's gasses.

All this is to say is that if the RDA wants figure out what happened to Spider, they'll probably have to look into his lungs, which I imagine would involve some extremely unethical science experiments... poor Spider 😭 I hope Dr. Mogue will be a good guy and not let anything too terrible happen to him if this theory is true but we'll have to wait and see.

[themonotonysyndrome]

Honey Sticks & Honey Lip Balms

Author's note: Boo! Did y'all miss me~? Actually, it really shouldn't have taken that long for me to write this new oneshot. I've becoming a slow ass writer 😭 So here ya go! I hope y'all enjoyed it~ Especially for a certain... someone, hehe.

Also, trying a new layout for the post. I salute every OP out there who took the time to personalised and beautify their work. Y'all are amazing because I get frustrated so easily sdjkfndksfdsf

A huge thank you and credit goes to @cafekitsune for the beautiful dividers!

Pairings: Wajid/VP (Listener)

Summary:

The most exquisite of honeys come in many shapes and forms. For the employees of Modas, it comes in the shape of sharp eyeliners and a dangerous smoulder that only the CEO could sample. 

(Or: 4 instances where the suspicious dynamic of Wajid and VP is observed through an Outsider’s POV) 

Tags: Accidental voyeurism and PWP (Porn with plot) in the second last scene.

“Where.”

Deft fingers that flew across the typewriter stilled. 

“Are.”

Someone abandoned his paperwork to duck underneath the table. 

“The.” 

More than one pair of shoulders hunched to blend in with the giant vases. 

“Honey sticks?” 

A woman took off her high heels to scurry away through the fire escape staircase. 

The tension that descended is as sharp as VP’s eyeliners. 

The entire fourth floor - Management & PR department - and its employees might as well be frozen in time due to the damning silence. No one dares to invite the ire of a woman who challenges their tyrant of a CEO before his first cup of coffee daily. Their rivalry is the stuff of gossip that happens during lunch break beside the water coolers, even at another company. 

And today, every employee of Modas might be an unwilling witness to a homicide. 

All because someone ate the last honey stick and most probably forgot to refill the jars and thus, dooming them all to the unspoken and unofficial rule: 

‘In case of a pissed off VP, make sure a honey stick is available.’ 

Lo and behold, the voice that carries from the pantry might as well be the Grim Reaper’s. Deadly yet clear for all to hear. More than one heart marches frantically to the beat of a familiar pair of stilettos. 

The Vice President of Modas emerges as if she knew that the fictitious spotlights would be on her. All sharp lines and soft curves radiating with displeasure. An intern hiding behind the water cooler sighs, a little lovesick, to which she received some incredulous stares from her friends. 

No one dares to make eye contact when the VP slowly scans the floor. Her judgmental eyes take in all. 

Ding! 

The elevator makes itself known. 

Now, let it be said that Wajid can’t play the part of a saviour instead of a tyrannical CEO from time to time because his presence is the only reason that saved them all. 

Or rather, served as a convenient target for that heated smoulder immediately locked onto him, and a pair of toned, muscular arms revealed by rolled-up sleeves. A senior executive from the client servicing team quickly diverted his gobsmacked expression because, for one crazy moment, he thought that VP looked like she was less likely to maul Wajid’s face off and more like she was seconds away from sitting on it. 

“I’m sorry, is it lunchtime already?” Wajid says, as apropos of nothing. His eyebrow cocked knowingly. Pretending to check his watch, he continued on unimpressed, “Why isn’t anyone working?” 

And just like that, time unfreezes. The phones ring to life once more. People scramble to finish up their briefs and manage calls with the suppliers and clients. Those heading out kept their head respectfully low when they passed Wajid. Saying it’s difficult to ignore Wajid and VP facing off in the middle of the floor is an understatement. Try borderline torture. Especially for the poor production manager who refuses to acknowledge the sweat dripping down his back or how Wajid’s gaze trails down from VP’s open blazer that teases the smooth plunge of her cleavage to the corset that’s unapologetically tight enough to cinch her waist. 

Man, those deadlines really needed to be sorted out in everyone’s calendar! 

With that thought, he scurried away. He took everything he needed with him to the studio below so he wouldn’t have to return. 

“It’s been 30 minutes. How long does it actually take to make coffee? And why aren’t you using the coffee machine in my office?”

“Where are the honey sticks?” 

And there it goes again - the silent tension. However, unlike before, it didn’t stay for long. 

“We have new clients coming in today and a brand to secure. You’re here for the last, I don’t know, an hour or so already pissed off because of what? Lack of sweets? VP. Be for real.” 

“I wouldn’t be this pissed off if you didn’t make me work overtime because of your lack of preparation. I told you that we would be struggling to manage this pitch and oversee fashion week at the Empire at the same time.”

A pair of Junior Designers who just got up with folders of sketches promptly make a U-turn to the elevator. 

When Wajid exhales loudly, headaches descend onto the group from the PR department. Wajid and VP’s intense dynamic is practically an open secret in Modas. It’s a Sisyphus trial keeping it from public knowledge, yet no one from that department is suicidal enough to get in between them. 

“I know we lack the manpower, but need I remind you that you have the second-highest authority in this building? You should’ve delegated most of the workload regarding the fashion week to the Head of Operations - it’s literally in their job description.”

“Are you choosing to go deaf regarding the manpower? Delegating isn’t the issue! With you, it’s always, “This year’s quarterly budget isn’t sufficient for new staff members, VP.” Or “The efficiency of the Servicing Department is fine as it is, VP.” Or, and I quote verbatim, “Stop complaining about your workload, VP, and give me the lion's share already. We’ll go through them together in my office.” Do you hear how broken you are as a record, Wajid?” 

Someone snorts. His complexion then took a deathlike pallor when Wajid and VP locked onto him. A pair consists of an executioner and a judge.  

Wajid treats every second as a dollar. He didn’t waste any on the merchandiser and continued to invest in VP. The poor sod collapse from overwhelming anxiety. The coworkers close to him scramble to drag him off the floor. 

“Alright, you know what? You win, VP. You win. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make you feel good? Well, guess what? You’re gonna have the honour of raising that particular concern to the board members at our next meeting. I’d say good luck, but that would imply I care. Now are you done? That was a rhetorical question, by the way - we’re going back to the conference room. We need a game plan for this pitch, and we needed it yesterday.” 

VP sneers, marches to the elevator with Wajid following closely - some would say too closely - behind. Their arguments resume as they’re being carried upwards. 

A collective sigh of relief bounces off the walls of the fourth floor. 

Lunchtime couldn’t come sooner. 

-

The fashion industry is a dog eat dog world where not even carcasses are left for the vultures to pick or maggots to festered in the rot. None are even for the rats. 

It’s a terrifying truth for models like Bianca. 

Long legs. Perfect portions. A million gold coin smiles. 

She has them in spades and more, but what does that matter? 

Modelling is a career dancing on a fine line, and it gets shorter the older you get. 

And once you’ve fallen off, well, the replacement will know to shine brighter than Bianca ever could. 

So Bianca of some no-name port town of the many islands surrounding Intacia walk down the runway separating controversy and revelry as if it was her last. Her smiles become more expensive for every flashing camera. She dons on clothes that leaves the world in a daze. 

She becomes the reigning face of Modas itself. 

“How are you feeling? Nervous?” The makeup artist makes idle inquiries as she does the final touch-up on Bianca’s face. The makeup department and models benefit from a symbiotic relationship - the artists pretty them up, set the mood before shooting, and in return, the models display their masterpieces to the world. Using the models as a medium to market themselves. 

“Is there any reason to?” Bianca muses, her confidence well earned. She closes her delicate lashes, enjoying the gentle brushes of the eyeshadow. 

“The fact that this is the first time Modas is collaborating with Enchanted Adelina, and the Madame specifically asked for you to model their latest product? I’d say the pressure’s all on you today. Even more so than usual.” 

Announcement trickled from the management floor that for the first time ever, Modas signed an indie skincare and makeup brand as their latest client. Given that the fashion house is known for its wealthy partners and clientele, journalists ate it up. All eyes would be not only on Bianca but also this new brand. 

When Wajid and VP called her into their offices - closely adjacent to one another - it was impressed heavily that her job isn’t enough to make the product look good. It must be irresistible to the point people are desperate to get their hands on it. Even if it’s not considered a luxury product. 

The bosses also mentioned a challenge. 

Bianca will face it with a smile. 

She hums after the makeup artist finishes off with a setting spray. “I’ve been using Enchanted Adelina even before I started modelling; their rosewater facial wash is good for sensitive skin. I think I mentioned it during an interview. That must be why they wanted me to model their newest lineup.” Speaking of which... “Will the Madame be here? This is the first shoot after all.” 

The makeup artist shrugs. That’s as far as the news goes, Bianca supposed. 

The journey from the dressing room to the studio is an organised chaos. The clothes on Bianca are triple checked, photographers rushed to set up their equipments and other employees at hand are handling the rest. She’s being left to her own devices for the most part; waiting for the gig to begin. Everyone is waiting for the signal from the CEO and the Vice President. 

Who, in an alarming jolt, are walking towards Bianca. The strange, familiar tension wound between them is ever present. The two of them shared a colour today - a red ribbon in VP’s hair and a red watch around Wajid’s wrist; Bianca absentmindedly wondered if it’s coincidental. Then again, the two often colour-coordinate so maybe it’s to show unity towards the employees despite their infamous rivalry. 

If so, then it fooled absolutely no one. 

“You’re ready. Good.” The Vice President comments. Her piercing eyes sweep over Bianca’s profile. She doesn’t squirm underneath her clinical assessment. Showing weaknesses within the fashion world is the quickest way for rivals to strip your flesh from its bones. There’s a flicker of satisfaction for Bianca’s steely spine, however, it shifts to displeasure when VP turns to Wajid. “I still think the safest route isn’t going to make Enchanted Adelina stand out amongst its competitors. For Goddess’ sake, Wajid, she could’ve launched her new honey lip balm in-house if you’re dead set on the nature aesthetic.” 

Now Bianca is very self-aware on where she stands within the attractive scale but it does put a dent on her ego for someone as handsome and powerful as Wajid to not even glance at her. 

Though to be fair, everyone knows - and is immensely relief - that the CEO of Modas direct his unyielding attention solely on the Vice President most of the time. 

“And I’ll remind you again that the colours needed to reflect the brand’s CI. Since lip balms are visually unappealing, emphasising the brand’s identity will put what we’re trying to market in the forefront of people’s minds.” Wajid counters in his usual no-nonsense tone. 

Soft rose is the heart of the brand. Ivory lace for the antiquity of pressed letters. Moonstone grey and black ink for the clarity within its typography. Sage whispers as a nod to the brand’s natural and overall plant-based skincare ingredients. Champagne gold for the embossed logo.

These colours give Enchanted Adelina a sense of luxury without the ‘loudness’ of most high-end brands - the studio and the clothes Bianca is wearing reflect that. 

VP pinched the bridge of her nose, as if to resist an oncoming headache. “You and I received that file from the Madame about her brand’s story. We know that Enchanted Adelina is a love letter to softness within beauty - the glow of a full moon during Spring and pressed flowers tucked between the pages of velvet-bound journals. We know our target customer - women who are daydreamers, romantics, and those who see magic in the mundane.” 

“So what’s your point?” 

“I’m getting to it! The honey lip balm isn’t supposed to make a statement; it’s about the presence of the wearer. Every product under the brand is a small enchantment that feels romantic. Ethereal. Whimsical. We need Bianca to convey that instead of blasting the colours in the customers’ faces.” 

“We can still go with your narrative, but we can’t take out the colours. The Madame - ”

“Didn’t insist on it. So I say we tone it down and have Bianca integrate the brand’s concept into everyday scenarios. The busier the better.” 

A heated discussion breaks out. Bianca takes one step backwards. Two. And then three. Most of the staff gave them a wide berth too. 

Wajid wants to use her to capture that old-world romanticism and slow, intimate moments with a clear product shot while VP has a different idea. She wants to bottled that Cottagecore Dream within the product as a means of escape for genteel women. 

Bianca does not doubt that the two will eventually come into a common ground - they always do - but for now, she’ll wait. She’ll observe. 

Amidst the warm and dreamy atmosphere of the studio, stillness in beauty, VP and Wajid exist in their own world. 

Untouchable to outsiders, and the loudest unspoken conversations that Bianca has ever seen. 

-

The office can be eerie, in a quiet sort of way that can only be achieved after hours. Lights dimmed and hummed. The whirring fan a familiar noise. 

It’s just as well. It’s way past midnight after all. 

Most of Abel’s - the capable, able Abel PR Overlord of Modas, yes, that running joke has passed its expiration date after working in the company for a decade - colleagues have long gone home. But here he is, still hunched over the typewriter. A lone desk lamp illuminates his corner. A half-empty cup of disgustingly cold sludge that used to be coffee beside it. 

But why is Abel staying so late in the office, you may ask? 

He has no grand ambition to see his face hang on the ‘Employee of the Month’ wall like any green employee. No. He’s not even trying to look like a hard worker. 

He’s just three deadlines, a press release from hell and one scandal thanks to an uppity model with an ego bigger than his dick away from a total meltdown. 

The twitching of his left eye is testament to that. 

So Abel leans back against his chair to stretch, rubs his tired eyes, and decides that a break is in order - the sixth draft of the press release of Enchanted Adelina x Modas isn’t anything better than the previous attempts. The sixth is more or less similar to the second, except he replaced ‘whimsical’ with ‘romantic’ in the tenth paragraph. He’s not getting anywhere with this. Years' worth of PR instincts are yelling at him to sprinkle some sensation into his writing or else no one would read it. 

Whenever you’re stuck in a rut, it’s always good to pull someone into an impromptu brainstorming session. 

And luckily for Abel, the CEO and VP are still around. No doubt finalising the feedback received from the Madame and according to the grapevine, the photoshoots were less-than-stellar when compared to the company’s benchmark. Yeah, he’s really not looking forward to brace whatever argument he’s willingly walking into. 

“Intacia sure is looking good this time of the year.” Abel muses after letting out a tired yawn. Shuffling down the hallway with a notebook and pen in one hand, he glances at the poster of one of the most popular tourist destinations at Intacia. Warm beaches and delicious food; Goddess, when was the last time he took himself to a well-deserved vacation? He makes a mental note to apply for some annual leave when stepping into the executive wing. 

Abel turned the corner. His entire being stilled. 

Something isn’t right. 

Why is the usually open door to the CEO’s office closed? Flicker of shadows indicate movement inside; the small cracks in between the blinds that cover the glass panel tells all. 

And then he heard it. 

A soft moan. A panting murmur. The unmistakable sound of wet lips against another. 

Exhaustion completely disappears as horror sinks into Abel’s bones. 

VP and Wajid; standing too closely. One of them pressed against the glass. 

His poor brain conjured the position before he wanted to:

Wajid, still in his impossibly immaculate suit, is looming over VP, who is equally as devastatingly dressed. Anger sizzles between them, but now he knows, against his consent, that there’s more. 

“Oh my Goddess…” 

The pair hadn’t noticed him yet. Thanked the Conqueror. 

He backed away in slow steps. Heart pounding in his chest. Eyes wide as he willed himself not to breathe too loudly or die on the spot. 

“ - it’s distracting and you know it - fuck, don’t pull away from me. Can’t wait to have your honeyed lips stretched around my cock.” 

“It’s just lip balm. You’re the one who can’t keep your eyes, or mouth, off it.” 

Papers rustled. A soft thud against the glass. 

“Then why are you letting me pin you against the window? Hmm? You taste like every bad idea I’m about to do.” 

VP lets out a sharp inhale, followed by a low growl from Wajid. The sound of a belt unbuckling has never been so mortifying to Abel. He prays that the carpet won’t squeak under his feet. 

“ - don’t think I’ve forgiven you for hiding that last honey stick in your drawer. You’re only fooling yourself, Wajid.” 

A delectable whine echoes by VP. It’s insane how Abel can somehow glimpse through the cracks that Wajid hoists her onto his desk. Heavy panting envelopes the office when Wajid begins rutting into VP’s spread legs. 

“Every time your mouth part to suck that damn tube - I want it. I want you. Spread across this table. Sticky. Sweet. Mine.”

“You’re… o-obsessed. Ah!” 

“You knew. You fucking knew and you let me starve. So I’m going to taste all of you. Starting from these lips.” 

The noises are utterly pornographic - the wet sound of VP’s pussy taking Wajid’s cock. Broken moans shared between sloppy kisses as they desperately peeled each other’s clothes off. The sway of the dimmed lights highlights the CEO’s figure as he tears himself from VP’s lips to duck down and take one of her nipples into his mouth. Sucking and biting it as he fucked her. Cries of pleasure grow louder as VP arched her back, not only pushing her chest closer to his hungry mouth but also letting his cock thrust deeper into her drooling cunt. Greedy and needy. 

A rhythm builds up, fast and shameless. Until - 

“Yes, yes - fuck! I’m going to cum! Wajid - ”

“You’re not leaving until I make sure my cum is dripping our of your panties. That’s it, habibti. Let go for me.” 

He must’ve emptied himself inside her, his cum stuffed fulled that it dripped onto the floor. What a sight the VP must be - naked body sprawled on Wajid’s table, legs and pussy spread wide with honeyed lips. 

Ragged breaths louder than screams of pleasure. 

It’s only when Abel’s out of the wing did he spins his heels and literally runs back to his own office. He slammed the door shut, collapsed into his chair with a wheeze. 

“Hell no. Hell fucking no. Nope. Nope. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. That did not happen. I’m not even here.” Abel pressed his face into his hands. He hates how it all makes sense now. 

The bickering. The indecisions. The shoot. The whole dynamic. 

The problem wasn’t because the CEO and VP couldn’t agree on which art direction to go with for the new collaboration. Ethereal fairy core? Minimalist modern magic with a touch of pink? That’s not the issue. 

Dead-end meetings? A dozen concept decks? Creative teams ready to jump out of the windows? Ain’t them either. 

It’s all because Wajid and VP can’t decide whether to fuck or fight whenever they breathe in each other other’s direction! 

“I’m going need to draft at least five NDAs, a distraction campaign and a damn miracle if this ever gets out. I need aspirin. Or tequila. Fuck me - wait, no. No! Bad thoughts!” 

The press release on the typewriter is still incomplete. 

‘Romantic’, it glares. 

Abel glares back. 

It’s not a word that he’d use for the PR disaster in that office.

One thing was for sure: Abel knew he wasn’t going to go back home tonight. Not because of the press release, but because the damage control now needed to contain an affair worthy of an emotional clusterfuck of a telenovela. 

The only solace is the lack of noise carried from afar. 

-

Friday WIP meeting begins at 10:00 AM on the dot.  

Suspicion breaks out among the employees gathered in the conference room. 

Everyone knows these meetings are lead by the middle management so to have Wajid and VP taking the rein instead of their usual hands-off approach? Bets were quietly exchanged - either someone died or someone is about to be promoted. 

PR Director Abel is cradling a triple shot of espresso in the corner as if the cheap paper cup is a stressed baby. His eyebags are the heaviest that anyone has ever seen. A few of his teammates tried to coax answers for their concern inquiries only to received nonsensical mumbles in return. 

“What’s up with Abel?” 

“Heard from the janitor that he didn’t go back home.” 

“Deadlines again? The PR department sure is hell on Earth.” 

The creative teams and suits gossip like schoolchildren. Despite the gleeful tittering, they look tired. No one looked hopeful. 

Such is the norm of the fashion world. The grind stops for no one. 

Then, Wajid and VP walked in. 

Together. 

Calmly. 

United. 

A pair in honey gold and warm oak. Even VP’s red lipstick matches Wajid’s tie. 

A whimper escaped from the PR Director. “Conqueror, kill me. They dressed like a joint mood board...” 

“Morning, everyone. Let me kick off this meeting with an announcement first. By now, I’m sure everyone knows that we have a new client under our belt - “

The PR Director suddenly tipped his head back and downed his coffee like a shot. His teammates exchanged increasingly worried glances. Someone even gripped Abel’s shoulder to steady him. 

“ - and after the initial rounds of feedback regarding the latest photoshoot, VP and I had a breakthrough. Bee-witching; that’s the honey lip balm that Enchanted Adelina is launching next month. After an in-depth discussion - ”

A dying wheeze echoes from the PR group. 

“ - we’ve decided to merge our art directions for the next shoot. While the overall key visuals will continue to have golden tones and organic textures, what would make the product stand out is an element of subtle passion hidden underneath the magic. It’s a product about touch, after all.” 

“A product that was on a certain someone’s lips last night, alright.” Abel thought, trying not to shudder while everyone broke into polite applause. “I’m sure that had nothing to do with the decision-making. Fucking hell. Does Modas cover trauma therapy?” 

The meeting soon concluded. Everyone makes their exit except the PR Director, who was told to stay behind for a quick check-in. 

“How’s the press release looking?” VP asks and look at that, Abel noted, Wajid shuts the door behind him. Seems he knows what the doorknob is for. 

“It’ll be printed out concurrently with the launch. I’ll have the finalised version delivered to the Madame for her approval later.” 

“I want a copy of it on my desk after lunch. Having another pair of eyes - Abel? Are you alright?” 

“Mmhmm. Peachy, Wajid. Just breathe through the wrong pipe.” 

Wajid raises an eyebrow. Even VP looks up from the quarterly reports when the silence stretches on. 

Abel awkwardly clears his throat, wanting nothing more than to disappear, but alas, his career comes first. “If that’s all, Wajid. VP. Oh, right. One more thing: I’m applying for a 6-month vacation after this campaign.” 

VP is surprised. “You’ll use up all of the paid leaves that you’ve carried forward ever since you started working for Modas.” The “Are you sure?” is unspoken. 

But Abel is resolute. When the fallout inevitably breaks out, well, at least he’ll be lounging at a warm beach and reading about it from a newspaper. 

The thing some men would do for their honey. 

[nishimuraazr1zzkiii]

Highway 1009 ๋࣭ ⭑ot7

༘⋆pairings: enhypen x reader

.ᐟWarnings: fluff, platonic, lots of bickering, for the story's sake, the members didn't make this song but another group did but the group is called enhypen hoped you understood that😭 also I assumed highway 1009 will be a calm song so it's kinda important to the story.

₊⊹notes: made this immediately after listening to the sample of highway 1009 at 2am, my eyes are totally not about to give up on me 😇

༄.°Sypnosis: you and your friends were celebrating your birthday on october 9th by going to the beach. all of them were fighting for the radio for who gets to choose the music. You stopped their bickering by picking your favorite song, Highway 1009.

You feel yourself leave your dreamworld because of the loud voices. Still feeling tired, you don't hear what they were fighting about but you hear the word 'music' you instantly knew that they were fighting about the radio in the car.

"Oh y/n, You're finally awake! We were just about to wake you up since we need to stop by since we wanted snacks, but 'someone' had to bring up about changing the music since 'it wasn't his cup of coffee' I swear to God, if Jake keeps yapping about the new artist he found on tiktok I will actually pull the Australian accent out of him. " staring at from the passenger seat, heeseung whispered the last part but you heard it all, looking at him with an amused smile while he tightens his grip on the steering whee in annoyance, probably because of jake.

You lean back on your seat, watching the trees, and buildings you pass by, trying to distract yourself from falling back asleep, you checked if you had your phone on you, luckily you did so you entertained your self with that.

You hear someone from the very back of the car fighting with another person as they argue back and forth on who gets to choose the music. "I should be the one to choose! This artists songs are literally so good! " the person, who you assumed was jake, tried reasoning with the other person, you assume is jay, to get him to choose the music.

"Jake, you keep repeating that, and plus it's my turn to choose the music! " you could hear jay slowly getting more annoyed as he argues with Jake.

"Hey, isn't it my turn to choose the music? " another voice chimed in to their bickering, who you assume is riki. "What? No! It's my turn to choose" both jay and Jake say in unison, looking back at each other and was about to continue but jungwon was reach out to touch the radio, this caught jays eye.

"Hey, jungwon! It's not your turn to choose!" Jay shouted at jungwon while jungwon looked like a cat that was caught doing something bad. "You guys keep bickering on who gets to choose the music. I'll choose it so there's no more arguments! " jungwon let out a sigh and tried to reach out for the radio again, but was stopped by sunghoon. "Woah there jungwon, why don't you just sit down and let me change the music" sunghoon put his hand on Jungwons chest to avoid him touching the radio, he also tried to reason with him so he can change the music.

Heeseung, sunoo and riki were the only quiet ones. sunoo was asleep next to riki, leaning on his shoulders which made riki quiet so sunoo could sleep and heeseung was focusing on the road. You just kept your self busy with your phone, not wanting to listen nor join in on their bickering.

Exiting from the app that you were using, you contemplate whether you should open Spotify and join in their bickering or just do something else. Choosing the first option, you opened spotify, typing your favorite song, Highway 1009, you held your phone in front of them. "I'll be choosing the song and don't even try to argue with me. " you announced loudly so they could hear you over their bickering.

"Highway 1009? Haven't heard of that. " jungwon looked puzzled since you always chose songs they knew. "They just uploaded this today and I listened to it before we left and fell inlove with the music, and they said they made this on October 9th last year! " you rambled since you were so excited since they made this on your birthday and released it today.

"Sure, let's hear it! y/n always has the best music taste. " Heeseung backed you up , immediately securing that you could pick the music and not eveyone else.

Whines and groans filled the car but they couldn't complain since it was your bithday. Connecting your phone's Bluetooth to the radio, you immediately played highway 1009. As soon as the song started, jungwon and heeseung perked up, and everyone followed suit.

Once the song hit it's halfway point, you started to feel yourself become drowsy, the song lulling you to sleep, the car gently rocking back and forth, and the muffled chattering, you felt like an I can't getting rocked to sleep by their parents. Just as the sleep was pulling you into dreamworld, a smile tugged on your sleep as your last thought was how happy you were even though the fun hadn't started yet but just having the company of your friends with you on your birthday gave you the warmest feeling.

Permanent taglist: @thelost-in-time

Wanna be reminded every time I post a oneshot, texts, and fics? Send an ask through my inbox to be added in my permanent taglist or if you want to become an anon or moots!

Want to read some the anime, games that I worked on? Why don't you take a look at my blog @wanderers-archive !

[tua-five]

Season 3 Episode 9

⚠️⚠️ s3 spoilers ⚠️⚠️

Definitely thought today was episode 8.. and now I'm scared because it's closer to the relase date...

It makes sense though because I was literally just thinking, how could it be episode 8, I don't remember there being that much left. Then again, I was kind of waiting for the sigil and cockroaches since episode 1, so.

Okay, starting off, it was really just... (there's a word I want but can't remember and I keep using sad, but I don't want to use the word sad because it's deeper than that, but that's all I can think of right now) sad that Luther created all of those reports and samples for nothing. And he had a picture of his siblings. Minus Viktor. Both of those are just so depressing.

It seems I forgot a semi important detail. I used to wonder why Luther or how Luther didn't discover Abigail because through all of his 4 years stranded on the moon, surely he would have stumbled upon her. But no, because there was a geo fence, so he couldn't pass that point.

It's simply amazing how Ben has "ASSHOLE" written on his back.

And Five's speech 😭

Wow... how naive I was... Allison just magically going from absolutely terrible to in the morning apologizing to everyone. And I believed it.

We don't talk enough about Five sitting at the edge of the world. He's just watching the world he spent a whole straight month trying to save just wither away. Because he's done. And when reginald comes out he knows exactly what he wants. Because it's Sir Reginald Hargreeves. And he always will be. No matter what timeline. So he immediately says no. Because he's so done. He's tired. He's exhausted. And he's lived way too long.

And of course, when he says he wants to be alone, Reggie sits anyway.

Oh. And he just straight up tells him. Well, not necessarily straight up. But he says that you never forget your first love. He says he didn't do enough to save his first love. And that he hopes the kids can help him with that.

He can't forget Abigail. He never will. He couldn't save her. She died, and he put her on the moon to try and one day bring her back to life. And now he's using Project Oblivion to bring her back.

They're all so cute for clapping when Five comes. And mentioning the speech. And he defends himself, "It was the booze talking. In the light of day, you're all still deplorable." Sure, Five. You think they're all bad. I'll believe that. After, you know, spending 28 days trying to stop the apocalypse so you can save them and being stuck in one for 45 years to get back to your family.

I hate knowing that Allison is the one who made the deal. And that the whole "I'm sorry" speech was bs. I mean, some of it has to be real. You can't just pull that out of your butt in desperation. But still.

And Allison saying "We've all lost people." And flipping looks towards Five and says, "Mannequins..." 😭😭 stop. Stop. Actually stop. Because I CAN'T 😭

"I saw the future. And it told me to sit this one out. I vote stay." Yeah. Yeah, I vote stay, too.

I honestly... don't know. I can't know if I like or dislike Allison. I can't know if I like or dislike Reginald. I am, however, starting to understand them more. They are both fighting out of love. And I can respect that. But their actions... not so much.

Like Reg killing Luther. "There's an old saying, Luther. The best way to bring a family together is at a wedding or a funeral." Yeah.. we're familiar. The funeral in the very first episode of the show. The wedding just last episode, and now. You've killed your own son.

Klaus is like, "Come on, what are you waiting for? And Five is so pissed. He knows Reginald killed Luther, but the kugelblitz is right there, and he has to go through. "This isn't over!" It never will be.

"You're just more trouble than you're worth."

For fucks sake Reginald!! You're killing everyone!!!

And Klaus kills himself on the white Buffalo either because he wants to go out on his own terms or because he doesn't want to be gone forever. He'd rather die where he can live in the afterlife. See his mom. Luther.

Your gifs! I can't find a majority of the ones I want.

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

can u make one about maybe telling bam you’re pregnant??😭🙏

Y/N Tells Bam She’s Pregnant HCs!

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

Warnings: None!

An: Thank you for the request!! I’ve noticed a trend recently with a lot of baby related requests XD Bam has a tendency to get carried away with whatever he gets into, so I don’t think raising a child would be any different!

Bam doesn’t know what to say

I mean, what man does when his girlfriend tell him she’s pregnant?

“Wow. Wow. I mean…wow.”

He stumbles over his words for like a solid minute in disbelief before asking if you’re really sure it’s his

When you tell him that yes, not only is it his but you also want to keep it, the only thing he can can come up with is,

“A-awesome…?”

The thing is, despite his usual antics, Bam can be a pretty sentimental guy, especially when it comes to you, so even though you thought it was sorted and done, he was still processing it

Until that evening you caught him playing some skateboarding video game in the living room after all his buddies went home

He doesn’t notice you standing behind the corner, so it’s totally genuine when he passes the game and sits back with this sorta bewildered smile on his face.

And he murmurs to nobody in particular, “I’m gonna be a dad.”

The following months were filled with Bam tending to your every need

Sure, you liked it when he made sure the castle was stocked with your favorite foods or massaged your feet, but it was a little excessive

You waited until week three of breakfast in bed to say anything. Digging your fork into the fluffy French toast your boyfriend told you he made but you could obviously tell it was April’s cooking, you laughed, “You know, you could really ease up on it. I’m pregnant, not dying!”

Still, he wasn’t discouraged

One day, Bam surprised you with a custom baby inside he got made- black with a hot pink heartagram on it

He held it up proudly, “He’s gonna look so awesome in this!”

When you asked how he knew it would be a boy, he said it was just father’s intuition

“Plus, if it’s a girl, it’s got pink on it!” Well he had a point.

Don’t even get me started on names

You know he would suggest Ville, and there’s no way in hell you would benaming your baby after some Finnish rock star your boyfriend was obsessed with

And when you go shopping for baby stuff Bam insists on trying everything out

Even if they don’t offer samples of baby food, he will be asking for them because,

“Our kid deserves the best, Y/N! If I wouldn’t eat it, he’s not gonna eat it either.”

Evidently, he didn’t like anything he tried expect those puffed rice snacks so he bought as many as he could fit in his arms (and he will 100% eat them all before the baby is actually born)

The soon to arrive baby was giving Bam a bit of a crisis of conscious

You assumed the whole wearing a tie with his usual blazer and t-shirt combination was some Avril Lagvine fashion thing

And you didn’t mind him spending fewer nights out at the bar with his buddies and the decrease in trips to the ER

But when he brings up selling the lambo for a ‘more reasonable car’, you put your hands on his shoulders and took a deep breath

“Bam, I love you, but there is no way in hell I’m letting you sell that car.”

That’s when your boyfriend admits to you that he has no idea what he’s doing

You could tell

[regaliasonata]

I could've sworn someone asked me for Katherine headcanon but I can't find it in the inbox sadly...

Katherine Hillard Headcanons

-Katherine's favorite passtime honestly revolves around collecting things, mainly after becoming a ranger her interest peaked on the mysteries of the world so now her curiosity is unlimited.

-Both her and Kimberly have found ways to split the pink powers via the Thunder and ninja zords of their respective colors thus putting Zordon's research on too much pink power to a rest. However they still try to keep things to a minimum.

-Because of the phoenix properties of her zord Katherine has found good usage of bringing life to plants, she doesn't mind volunteering at an orphanage and with her abilities she's able to secretly make sure none of the kids starve.

-After Zeo she's had a hatred of Artifical Intelligence and Tommy had to keep her from smashing up all the appliances in her house.

-She hates the moon.

-Pink isn't exactly her favorite color, in fact Kat was offered the position as zeo red in secret by Tommy but she declined it.

-After the Zordon Era pretty much everyone went their separate ways for a while and similar to Tommy she found herself becoming a mentor for a group of younger rangers. A team based on constellations who each had a secret archery motif, she later became a red ranger for the squad and needed to have a master morpher developed as things when on(Referencing Kyuranger, free real estate for them😎).

-Katherine and Tommy took a break around the time of Lost Galaxy and didn't get back together till around Operation Overdrive. During this time however she actually dated Hayley Zitkor and throughout that time span Kat didn't find out that Hayley and Tommy knew each other.

-she's been visited around five times by master pink. Reasons are unknown however it's getting creepy so Katherine managed to put a bunch of net traps around her house incase MP decides to pop in randomly.

-Katherine is one of the most skilled individuals when it comes to shooting guns. Not just that but she's been developing weapons for herself incase another Rita problem shows up, double tap that bitch in the head if you have to. She has to be strapped both for her safety and for her friends(Reference to @skyland2703 headcanon from a while back👍🏾)

-her favorite weapon is a crossbow like sniper rifle called Artemis and it has the power to penetrade 40 zords with one bullet. Due to her sneaking around during Forever Red and collecting pieces of Serpentera she was able to use the samples to make the perfect failsafe agaisnt drastic situations.

-Her house is laced in grid vortex bombs, if anything ever happens then she can wipe an enemy of the face of the map.

-Kat's the dude in her relationship with Tommy if you catch my drift😭

-It's not she's capable of getting revenge but more of the idea of her making you regret your decisions in a subtle way. A guy stood Billy up so Kat decided to scratch the guy's car paint and burst his tires.

-In her will when she dies she wants the team to spread her ashes in space or even find a way to bring her back for another 5 years.

-After hearing about the existence of other dimensions Katherine has a contingency plan. If things go to shit then there's other places to find a life in, heck she'd also consider the future or the RPM verse.

-Kat doesn't really talk about it but she has trouble having kids with Tommy. Heck JJ was came 7 amounts early and doctors weren't sure he'd make it so she stayed by his little bed in the hospital for weeks until he was healthy.

-She made sure to tell Tommy not to pass on any of their ranger abilities to JJ. Mainly as their own legacy should be there to influence him, pass on an opportunity for him to build his own choices if he does decide to pursue ranger activity.

-Kat was thrilled when JJ came back from school shouting about wanting to be the pink ranger after seeing a cool video on these heroes called the power rangers. Tommy was uh...well he's supportive but he just didn't want to see his kid being made fun off and tried to lean him to another color but Kat shut that down, both of them came to an agreement that he could be pink.

-She replaced her left arm and right leg with advanced robotic versions resembling regular limbs but this was because she wanted standby weapons to shift out incase of combat.

-People in the ranger community consider her a harbinger of sorts because of her battle prowess and wouldn't back down to beating someone bloody for threatening her family.

-Kat loves a lot of rock and roll music as well as things with a fast tempo.

-She's the one which a driver's license, Tommy's has been suspended after he accidentally backed into an old lady think she was a trash can for parallel parking.

-Zordon having the rangers choose Katherine, Aisha, Rocky and Adam as secondary choices weren't out of coincidence. Centuries ago he tried recruiting their ancestors and secretly kept an eye on them, however at the time humans weren't adept to the grids influence and they became prone to natural exposure and got pretty sick, this was around 10,000 years ago anyway and while Katherine doesn't have much of a grudge against him she isn't hesitant about wanting to shoot that tank.

-Kat is very bisexual, Tommy wasn't exactly her first choice relationship wise and even considered dating Kimberly or Tanya though she's chill with the dude.

-Tommy's dating life honestly confuses her, he dated Kimberly and had a thing with Jason(Frankly that didn't surprise her as she got a bit of fruity vibes from Tommy and thought he was full on gay before being alerted that he dated Kim). Then he dated Anton and had her suspicions on what Tommy was into when she found a picture of him tied up in....compromising positionsBottom. Safe to say for gatherings she has the best stories to tell.

-Her parents very much support the idea of her being a power rangers and her dad keeps asking if she has parties with other rangers....also to get zord figures and autographs from the Lightspeed Rescue team.

-After Adam's mishap with his power coin being damaged she decided to utilize what she learned from the Crane Ninjazord and Firebird Thunderzord to pursue learning things at the Wind Academy and Pai Zhua academy to hone elemental and animal spirit abilities. She gained light related powers along with the spirit of the phoenix, fitting for combat as she can obliterate enemies with swift speeds and vaporizing energy.

-She loves dating dudes that are a tad bit strange or shy, they're just adorable in her eyes. Prime example being Tommy, not sure if he should be offended or flattered by this.

-She watches My Hero Academia and has a great admiration for Bunny's persistence.

-Katherine despises barbie dolls but JJ enjoys getting them as figures for imaginary adventures so she allows for him to have them but the minute one begins moving on it's own she's going to shoot that bitch into oblivion.

-She's an expert with hair and easily takes care or Tommy's locks when needed. It's funny to tie it into a bun though the fact that it's almost waist length makes Katherine jealous.

-due to her powers she developed a way of being able to precisely chuck items and projectiles without even touching them, similar to Diego in Umbrella Academy. This is very useful as she won't need to morph if needed and could drawn weapon from a vault she keeps at home.

-After Trini's death Katherine had to oversee Billy in fear that he might shut down due to all the guilt. She knew well on the topic of the only person who truly understood you in the world was gone and even offered a place at her home incase Minh needed somewhere to stay.

-The reason why Master Pink visited her was because of Shattered Grid almost happening again. She explained to Katherine that no one remembers the event as it was a multiverse related conflict of the past so when things ended everything went back to normal, she tasked Kat will trying to keep things from ever ending up as such. This nearly happened in various ways from Billy trying to bring back Trini or Zordon, a huge Zord fight within Angel Grove, having a rogue being nearly disrupt time and space as we know it. Kind of a crazy burden to leave on someone, honestly she couldn't look at Tommy for 4 weeks upon learning about Drakkon.

-She's not the most religious person but she swears that during a trip to the dentist she was visited by an archer deity. Aisha calls her delusional for this but Kat knows what she saw.

-Stocks are a big thing for her and she even has built up a reputation at wall street. (Kat: I can buy and sell you. Stock broker: Excuse me?)

-Katherine has the falcon zord and uses it as spatial transportation. Mainly to take JJ on trips to see the stars etc, it's also a nice getaway from all the stresses of life.

-At one point in her life Katherine considered becoming a hit man against terrible people with her archery and gun skills...though she's never told anyone this. The idea of taking a life away has crossed her mind here and there, however she goes to Dana for therapy on these feelings.

-Tommy is the cook within the family, he learned how to make a bunch of meals well when he was with Jason. Plus after Katherine nearly burned down an acre of land from their house one night she wasn't allowed in the kitchen for months, she finds it funny coming from the guy who dedicated a semester of his career on trying to remake dinosaur meat from bones.

-Katherine has a sort of ranger secret service for herself that not even Tommy knows about. Laced around the place like regular civilians ready to come to her aid.

-She visited the Mystic Mother and human Zedd just to weigh out the situation between them incase anything happens.

-Considering the last headcanon Katherine wonders if the Z-Wave killed all the evil beings within the universe she wonders if any of those beings that were evil consisted of beings that Zordon considered bad, the thought of some innocent people being killed all those years ago or being brainwashed keeps her up at night.

-She is really wondering if all the stuff during the Zordon Era was truly good. Having to fight an eon long war for a floating head against a bunch of crazy beings doesn't sit right with her, in some ways good and bad are basically moral constructs and she doesn't like to judge people on the way they act. Evil rangers, good rangers, the fact about Drakkon who existed in a past existence also bugs her....sometimes she wonders if JJ will end up doing something crazy as a ranger.

-Death doesn't really scare her but if anything Katherine would like to keep her memory alive, something that JJ could possibly look over in timed when he's sad or down in life.

-Utilizing grid archives Katherine can watch other teams in different dimensions like shows. For instance super sentai and such, currently she's on Dairanger and the minute she saw those zords....(Kat: That bird looks famil-AYO WHAT THE FUCK?!)

[werebutch]

@eucyon Oh my god tumblr ate your ask I’m so lucky I screenshotted. So mad I have to type again . Thank you so much for dis question it’s so fun and made me really think to be honest ^__^ ILYSMMMM this is long but it’s too fun

This is Lynx’s most popular album, Conspiracy Theories. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have a pic of lynx as the cover even if it’s silly. I really like rabbit imagery in music anyways though so I think it’s nice. I was inspired by Alice In Chains album covers and also fleshwater’s ‘we’re not here to be loved’. I tried to find a way to make it more 'gritty' but I couldn’t unfortunately 😭 I like how the title looks, like they just got a label maker and smacked it on..heheh

I imagine that this album is about relationship anxiety, betrayal, resentment, anti social tendencies, infidelity, and aliens. Probably not little green men, maybe more like the thing kind of fleshy imagery. Definitely appealing to atlas and scotch in different ways. Tool’s Undertow is a good example (off the top of my head..) of the sound I’m thinking of, so… prog? Or at least heavily inspired. I’m bad with genres heheh

im currently trying to either become okay with roadkill's name, or decide on a new one.. so im not making any album covers for them yet lol but i will post when i do..

I think roadkill would take a lot of inspo from their fave band so their style is probably heavily influenced by Lynx. Scotch adds a lot of sampling, distortion, whatever..idk I don’t make music.. and atlas is a big fan of slow tempo and bass. think its important to note that atlas doesnt play bass like a bassist in this album, he plays it more like a guitarist. kind of. hope that makes sense. I’ve always been really torn about roadkill’s genre, it’s been everywhere and tends to change. scotch and atlas’ styles would be vastly different if they were solo, so I think that’s why i am so indecisive . I think I just have to keep reminding myself that they’re in a band together, so styles would be mixed.

A part of me is like.. I think roadkill’s first album would be reminiscent of faith no more’s ‘the real thing’, or even some of Primus' stuff in some sense, plus similarities to Lynx and influences of industrial. i know thats a lot of random descriptions. I kinda think of (here’s a goofy genre for ya) sludge metal bands’ instrumental style, not necessarily vocal style... its hard to describe a band that doesnt exist. LMFAO

right now im thinking about 'the pot' by tool as a close example of roadkill.. im having a hard time finding artists that match scotch's vocal range even remotely. also doesnt help that the bands im basing this off of like tool and FNM dont exactly...fit into genres very neatly. roadkill and lynx wouldnt either. HAH. i just know it wouldnt be that high quality but definitely obvious theres a lot of passion in it. i mean this is just an album made by guys who dontknow what theyre doing. like at all. lol

Roadkill’s sound changes quite a bit their next album when seraph is involved. It becomes a lot more ummmm I guess palatable to more people? I don’t exactly know what I mean by that. Ok. LOL. I’ll think about it.. but this is around when Scotch realizes he wants this to be his job. Having Seraph helps A LOT with building a more dedicated and bigger audience, since they’re the one most willing to make changes. Plus they’re in art school, I feel like they’d have connections. So I guess roadkill would sell out in a way.

if you asked me this question a year ago i would have had a completely different answer. i wouldve probably said roadkill is pop punk or garage rock or something. i have trouble fitting scotch and atlas into a genre together. it fits scotch just fine and i think he would enjoy it, but its not roadkill.. also ive been thinking of stylizing roadkill as rdkill.. lmk wat u think.. im unsure about the name is generalHAHA. i know this is a lot so dont feel pressured to reply to everything LMAO im just thinking out loud. and drawing connections between genres that completely do not make sense. peace and LOVE<3

[carica-ficus]

"Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries"

08/01/2024

Reading progress: 166/315 (52%)

Read through since last update: 58

It's been a few days, but I'm still reading regularly, just in smaller chunks.

I love this book more and more with each passing page. It's got a relatively simple plot, but the execution, the style, the characters and the gorgeous atmosphere really make it stand out.

So... here's some notes:

They found the murderous and ominous tree under which the murderous faerie king is buried! So exciting! And Emily hops off to take some samples literally immediately, with no protections whatsoever! That little rascal, her! Surely this she will bear no consequences whatsoever.

I must say, I'm a little disappointed Wendell's identity is not treated as something really daunting as it should be. Yes, they live in a fantasy historical world and encounter fae on the daily. Yes, Emily doesn't really have extreme reactions like some other book characters. Yes, she had been suspicious that he was fae for a very long time. But I still think there's something missing in this whole revelation. It's played off as something... fa(e)irly normal (que: Laugh at my stupid pun here), which I find a little unrealistic. Fight me on this, I don't care.

Wendell's backstory is a little too tragic MC past™️, but I will overlook this fact because he started crying. 🥺😭

Ok, I loved the bit where he tricks Emily with the coat.

I'm not a big fan of a friends to lovers romance. They usually disappoint me with a very bland friendship that has no soul and is only set up in order to evolve into a romance. It's boring and lazy writing, and I tend to avoid it. But I really, really like the chemistry between Emily and Wendell. I like how their personalities clash, but are still similar enough to work-out. It's got a certain softness to it that really gets to me.

NOT THE LESBIANS!!!!! 😭😭

I'm a little disappointed (again) Emily decided to side with Wendell on trying to deceive the locals. Idk, feels out of character for her. Sure, she's obviously changing as a characters (in this house we stan character growth, no matter in which direction), but this seems... Off. She has just established a better relationship with everyone. She even confessed she cares about the people in the village, even though she didn't plan for it to happen. And now she's willing to risk it all for her work? I know it's a plot device. I know Fawcett used this to drive the story forward, but I don't know... It didn't feel right.

Can't a girl poop in peace? Damn.

HELLO????? HELLOOOOOOOOO???? THAT FIGHT SCENE????

"Are you Hurt?"

Screaming. Crying. Throwing up.

I'm going feral for them. I love them so much. They're such a good pair and I love their chemistry. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

And of course Emily is stupid enough not to notice his obvious affection. (But same, girl. I'm just as delusional as you. ❤️)

Also we get a little more info about Wendell. So he's a king, not a prince? Hm hm hm. I wonder if his past is connected with the story of the faerie king bellow the great tree. 🤔

I know I had some minor disagreements with some parts of the story, but they don't downgrade my reading experience. I'm having a lot of fun with this book!

[merakiui]

OMG with your caption of "milkshakes at monstros lounge is about to taste 10x better with Jades secret ingredient" made me have a brain rot.

IMAGEN FXCKING FLOYD DRINK IT AND NOW WANTS IT STRAIGHT FROM THE SOURCE 😭 in that fic you said that we were first passed to Floyd but he was too bothered so we got handed to Jade. So imagen he somehow find out and now wants us in the same position that we are with Jade but with HIM.

Or Azul is also a degenerate so taking a book from Jade we go back to working for him tasting his potions that for some reason also made us lactate..

OR SOME OF OUR FRIENDS SEE/HEAR WHAT GOING ON OR MAYBE WE TELL THEM AND THEY TRY TO "help" US BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH WE WHERE ALREADY MILKED IT STARTED TO FILL UP MORE TO AN UNCOMFORTABLE LEVEL AND THEM BEING OUR BFF AND "totally not weird or have feelings for us" CONVINCE US TO LET THEM HIM. While it's either but them sucking or playing with our nipples with a bowl under to not make a mess 🤞☺️💕

OH AND IMAGEN THEY FIGURE OUT THAT THE REASON THE MILKSHAKES TASTE BETTER IS BECAUSE OF THIS AND OUR BFF STARTS USING THE MILK THEY GOT OUR FOR US FOR THEMSELVES 🤭 now they self proclaimed themself our lil helpers (or milker).

Now we can also have multiple BFF and they all help us at the same time too to get all that fullness out of us 🥰

-Yours truly, the annon that you awakened their lactation kink onces again 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

YES YES AAAAAAA OTL

(cw: yandere, brief nsfw mentions, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, lactation, female reader, brief mentions of pregnancy)

Floyd and Azul are so incredibly fake. T-T they only want you when you start producing milk. Most fake fans ever, switching up like that… Floyd complains about how lucky Jade is, and Jade has to tell him that it was Floyd who wanted nothing to do with you in the beginning. He’s merely looking after you as you’re now his contractual obligation, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t attached to you. He’s become rather enthralled. Jade has written the potion recipe down, even perfected it after some more trial and error (which you were more than happy to assist with) and so now he has a potion that’ll have you lactating for at most a full day. <3

Floyd’s too impatient to fill bottles and jars up, so he’ll just pull your shirt open and tug your bra up and take it straight from the source with his greedy mouth. I like to think Jade watches the both of you so fondly, so happy that his favorite people are getting along well even if you’re squirming and telling Floyd to be more gentle, to slow down, to put his teeth away.

Azul goes absolutely insane when he learns of that potion. You can’t tell me he also wouldn’t have the biggest lactation kink ever. It ties in nicely with the breeding kink. Jade has him sample some dishes made from your milk, along with a glass of your milk, and he’s easily able to tell there are notable differences. He asks if this is goat’s milk rather than cow’s and Jade smiles deceptively and says he’ll show Azul who to thank for the delicious ingredients. He brings Azul to you, where you’re currently trying to deal with your swollen, leaky tits while Floyd is doing everything he can to try to steal at least one sip. If only you could see the dollar signs in his eyes… Oh, you’re so marketable! He could definitely capitalize on this.

Now that Azul knows of this, it’s over for you. But before he decides to sell your milk or use it for Mostro Lounge dishes, he wants to touch and squeeze and fondle you. I imagine he just stares at you for the longest time because his brain is short-circuiting trying to remind himself that you aren’t pregnant; this is just the result of magic. You aren’t pregnant or filled with eggs, but you could be. You’re not pregnant. He’s never fucked you before. But what if… Azul milks you once and out of sheer instinct he places his hand over your belly and mumbles something about how he can’t wait to be a father. (pathetic tako delusions…)

Imagine they give you the potion so often that you start to lactate on your own, if only a little. Magic definitely has more of an effect on your body because you can’t use it or sense it like mages can, so it’s definitely possible it might do something to you internally. Imagine being with Ace and Deuce and you leak through your shirt and you’re so embarrassed trying to explain what’s happening and Ace is poking fun as usual, while Deuce is in shock like, “Milk comes from women?!?!?!?! The store-bought milk I drink,,,,,, came from a woman????” Deuce already had a lot of respect for you, but now he is a million times more respectful because it can’t be easy filling all those milk bottles. (Deuce, never change. You are a sweetheart.)

Ace will want to sample directly from you. He teases you a lot, squeezing your breasts just to watch the wet patches on your shirt become larger and more noticeable. Deuce thinks that the two of them should bring you to someone who can help. Ace supposes that’s fine, but before that he needs a taste. Be a good best friend and let him taste you. There’s nothing weird about it. Best friends help each other out all the time. Ace and Deuce bring you to Trey because he’s responsible and oh-so-wise, and Trey also has this moment where he just stares at you, mouth slightly agape, before he has to clear his throat and quickly act normal and relaxed and calm and level-headed. Did I mention how relaxed he is? You cannot lactate around Trey. He will want to use your milk in the sweets he bakes (Riddle’s strawberry tarts are about to be so delicious), but he’ll also want you against the counter while he fucks you against it, pretending the both of you are married and he’s knocked you up and you’re lactating in preparation of the baby. He’s so not normal about this; he’s so down bad.

The brain cell duo bring you to Housewarden Riddle and he is overcome with so many emotions. Riddle is so flustered and he snaps at Ace and Deuce to cover you while he figures out what to do next. But you know Che’nya’s probably lurking around, and if you happen to be outside and a pair of invisible hands grope you and you’re suppressing moans while milk trails down your tits…… Riddle is fighting a losing battle here. He has never been so,,,, conflicted. So acutely aware of the female form. So immersed in how you sound when Che’nya’s teasing you. Riddle wants you and your milk so bad, but he has to be polite and respectful. He will help you and after the fact he will not think about it again. He will not lie awake at night, staring into the darkness and wondering how it might feel to drink directly from your breasts. For once the Octavinelle trio have done something good, even if this good thing is the byproduct of dubious behavior.

Ruggie learns of this and you know he’s going to want in. Let him have a taste, won’t you? He couldn’t get breakfast because he was running all around for Leona. He’s parched! Likewise, Leona probably hears of it from Ruggie or he catches the gossip from his dorm members and now he’s demanding Ruggie to bring you to him. Leona’s much more composed about the entire thing. He’ll tease you a little with a cocky smirk, asking if you like being in the spotlight like this, if you like his hands on you, if you like being milked and treated like a commodity by some (Octavinelle). Leona actually handles you very gently when he milks you. He respects women and their bodies, so he doesn’t want to hurt you or cause you any discomfort. Sometimes he thinks you’re pregnant (which could also be another reason why he’s oddly sweet to you), but he quickly reminds himself that that wouldn’t be possible because if you were pregnant it would be with his child and his child only. If you point out his behaviors, he’ll gruffly tell you you’re delusional and that he’s not doing this for your sake. It’s just his means of having access to a little snack when Ruggie’s taking forever to bring him his lunch.

Though Malleus can’t sense life within your belly, sometimes he’ll think you really are pregnant when he sees you lactating and he thinks of how pleasing it would be to raise little ones with you. He visits every night, not only to see you and spend time with you, but to help should you be kept awake desperately trying to milk yourself empty. Malleus is also gentle when handling you, his voice so soft and fond when he speaks to you, praising you and calling you all manners of endearments to show you that you should not be self-deprecating or disgusted with yourself. He thinks you are absolutely perfect; this is nothing to be ashamed of, nor does it make you unsightly in any way. He’s probably kissed you while his hands were cupping your breasts. There’s something so intimate in kissing while he’s touching such a special, sacred place. Every day the temptation to sweep you off your feet and away to Briar Valley consumes him. He could build such a happy family with you. Lilia certainly encourages it.