#if you read all of it i apprecicate you

[gemmabee]

my battlestar galactica thoughts

putting this under a read more because of major spoilers for the entire show.

I don’t even know where to begin. I watched the last episode yesterday and I’ve still not recovered. The thing with binging the entirety of the show in less than a month is you get all of the story at once and not in increments as you would watching it when it aired. Which means, a lot of stuff is sorta blended together in my head and there’s a lot I have forgotten about, simply because the characters change so much during the seasons that looking back on moments in season 1 you can barely recognise these same characters and their motivations. This is a good thing though, character development (or regression) is a vital part of great storytelling. and boy, what a monumentous journey, both literally and figuratively. This story took me places I never expected to go, with mindblowing plottwist i never saw coming. Knowing absolutely nothing about this show and, somehow, having avoided all spoilers that mattered, I came into this fully expecting only two things: 1. There was going to be aliens.

2. The Starbuck and Lee romance. (My initial reason for starting the show. They’re both cute.) 

I did not expect the aliens (or the Cylons) to be manmade AI creation gone rogue, but I loved it. I loved everything regarding the Cylons (except, perhaps, the human genocide. that wasn’t lit); How they came to be, the way they perceived themselves and the humans and the struggle of adhering to your programming or breaking out of it and becoming more than just a machine. It was utterly fascinating. Likewise to see the human aspect, which is of course the main point of focus throughtout the initial seasons. And I think this is what makes this show so good, because everybody, Cylon or not, are so very, very human and I could love a character utterly in one moment and in the next they could fill me with frustration or contempt even. (Tom Zarek i’m eyeing you hard) 

I enjoyed the spirituality of the show as well. This was something I did not expect, at least not to this degree, and this made me grateful that I have waited until now with getting into the show. I don’t believe a younger me would have appreciated the message of the show as well as present me does. Honestly, it’s a bittersweet story but in itself also deeply moving and hopeful. I don’t think I’ve cried so much to a show before, but all the characters really had me going through it.  Especially Lee and Starbuck. The internet somehow had let me to the assumption that the were The Couple. They were Endgame. and I fully expected that, so I was fine with watching their dance around each other, the whole “will they, wont they?” scenario I’ve seen times before. But I enjoyed it, I always found their scenes together interesting and fun (and sometimes frustrating). I just felt really bad for Sam and Dee (best girl, love you), and I would just sit there like “please for the love of galactica, divorce your partners and get together already, why is this dragging out??”  and then... they don’t even end up together??? because starbuck apparently DID die in season 3 and the kara we see is either her angelic form (beautiful) or an angelic being with the memories of kara thrace and not actually her (devastating) and she just disappears when they finally reach our earth and her job is done. The way Lee just stands there alone in the meadow just about broke my heart. Dee dead, Kara dead, Dad gone. Ah, so tragic. But mostly sad for me and my shipper heart I think. I really did love them and wanted them to be together. 

And just as I was trying to recover from that they just timeskipped 150.000 years and essentially killed off everybody hahah. But I did enjoy the last 5 minutes in present time, and I honestly thought (hoped) they would tease us with showing some of the characters reincarnated, but alas no juice. Instead we do get to see the Gaius and Caprica Six “Angels” walk down the street of a present day metropolian city and I thought their short conversation tied up everything quite nicely. And it was all in all a cool bit of foreshadowing for what could truly be in store for the human race, if we are not careful. Very thoughtprovoking conclusion and all in all a stellar note to end the show on. 

There’s so much i could talk about, this is merely the tip of the iceberg and I will probably make another post talking about all the main characters because they deserve to be talked about individually and i love them and i miss them and I am not crying again, nope. 

Regardless, I really think this show sets a precedent for future shows to be inspired by. Though it is by no means without flaws, i still felt the quality of the show was top notch and I’m so grateful to the cast and crew for this considerable accomplishment. What a beast of a story, what amazing characters and attention to details. This show has earned a special place in my heart and I can’t wait to rewatch this show in 10 years time and probably cry just as much as the first time around. 

So say we all.

[sunsburns]

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going—"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

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[iliketangerines]

Hi there 👋🏼 could you possibly write about Bi-Han having some sort of crush on a Earth Realm Champion reader. Like she was recruited by Liu Kang to join the others. Oh and possibly add that she has like plant based powers. Sorry if it’s a lot. Once again thank you for reading. 😌

pin me down

a/n: i gotchu cutie. and yes, i am referencing that one pliket artwork.

pairing: sub!bi han x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), face riding, slight bondage, dacryphilia, creampies, praise kink, cowboy

Bi Han didn’t like you one bit, not a second, even if his face flushed  and his heart thumped in his chest at the sight of you

you had been brought to the Lin Kuei base rather than the Wu Shi Academy due to your ability to control plants

Bi Han remembered crossing his arms at the sight of you, you looked cowardly and small, hiding behind Liu Kang when the Fire God had introduced you

you, however, proved you were not all that cowardly

everyday you pressed at all of Bi Han’s buttons, teasing and sparring him, using your powers to wrap a vine around his ankle and trip him or using your powers to perform circus tricks for Kuai Liang and Tomas rather than train

yet he didn’t stop you when you teased him; it just irritated Bi Han when you gave attention to the others

this particularly day you were annoying him until his patience was just a thin thread of control

you’re dancing around him in the fighting ring, avoiding his blows but not really retaliating, you use your vines to playfully wrap around his body, and he freezes them over to break them

you just give a faux pout as he destroys the plants and shoots another ice blast at you, which you dodge effortlessly

he scowls and grabs at one of the vines that teasingly whack him and tugs at it harshly to pull you towards him

you smile and propel yourself towards him, knocking him over in surprise, and use your vines to creep up his body and wrap around his neck

you settle your weight in his lap and tug at the vine and Bi Han is astutely aware of the fact that it looks like you have a leash and collar on the grandmaster

you tell him to yield, a smug smirk on your face, and you tug at the vine, forcing the make-shift collar to tighten around his neck

Bi Han’s mind goes blank, and he nearly whines at the control you have over him

he shakes off the thought and growls out that he concedes, and you hop off before he can throw you off, but it’s hard to hide the blush on his face and growing hard-on in his pants

he excuses himself and stalks off to his bedroom, jerking one off as he thinks of you

he fucking hates you, and it seems you know why he hates you because the days following the spar, you’re much more bold in your moves

you grope him mercilessly whenever you two spar, and if you get close enough you whisper suggestive comments into his ear that have him losing his composure

it all comes to a head one day after dinner

he had challenged you to one more spar that day before you head off to go to the Wu Shi Academy and meet the other Earthrealm champions

he brings you to the more secluded fight ring, away from all the other initiates, and you dance around his blows

he makes the mistake of lunging toward you, and you use his momentum against him and have him pinned down to the ground, vines crawling over him and the familiar weight of you in his lap and collar and leash on his neck again has his mind reeling

you smile down at him and grind your hips down, and he lets out a whine at the feeling

immediately, he growls, trying to regain his pride, and tries to freeze your plants over, but you grab onto his chin, and he stops what he’s doing

you grind into his lap, and he can feel his dick hardening underneath you as you tell him that you know what he desires, that he just needs to just lose control for a moment

he hisses at you, saying you’re wrong, but when you pull on the leash, his mind goes blank and he nods his head dumbly

you use your vines to undress him, and you use your free hand to squeeze appreciatively at his chest and how plush it is

you finish undressing him, but you stay in your attire, grinding the rough material of your uniform against his sensitive dick

he moans and asks you for more, please, please

you hum and says that he’s gotta work for it, and you strip out of your clothes quickly before shuffling over so your pussy hovers over his face

he nearly drools at the sight, and you finally settle your weight down onto him, and he goes to town

he’s sloppy, not really knowing what he’s doing, but as you tug at his hair roughly, he learns what makes you tick, how to press his tongue into your clit and when to fuck you on his tongue

he so desperately wants to grip onto your hips or reach down and pump himself, but your vines still restrict his hands, and he can only buck his hips up uselessly into the air

you keep riding his face, grinding into his nose as you come close to the edge, and you tell him he’s doing so well, that he’s a good boy, and he moans at the praise

the vibrations travel through your clit, and you throw your head back as you come all over his face

he happily licks at your release, head leaning up to chase more of that sweetness when you lift your hips off of his face

you go back down and hover over his dick, and he watches with blown-out pupils as you pump his cock slowly teasing him

you tell him to beg for it, and he bites his lip, still a bit shy at the whole prospect

you tug on the leash and demand him to beg or he won’t be getting anything, and the words start spilling past his lips

he says he’s been a good boy, please, he’ll do anything, please ride him, please please please

you grin and align him with your wet cunt and slide onto him

you set a slow pace, bouncing up and down before grinding your clit down on his pelvis and repeating the whole motion over and over again

it isn’t enough for Bi Han, he’s going insane with how slow you’re going, and he needs to cum so so bad

there are tears in his eyes as you keep going at your slow pace, and he begs again, for you to go faster please

you mock him, saying how he’s already crying, but you comply and start riding him properly, pulling at the leash so he’s seeing stars

your hips slam down on his, and he can’t stop the loud whining and moans that comes from his throat as he’s overtaken by pleasure

he says he’s going to cum, that he’s close, he asks you if he can please cum inside you, please

you smile and say, okay, that he’s been such a good boy for you and that he can cum inside of you

you clench around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut and cums inside of you

you both ride out your orgasms, and Bi Han’s a panting breathless mess as you sit atop of him

eventually you get off and dress yourself and help Bi Han get up and dress himself, releasing the vines from his body but keeping the ones around his neck

there are still tears in his eyes, his limbs feel shaky, and his brain feels foggy

once again you tug at the leash, bringing him back to your room

you lay him down on the bed and undress him, throwing his soiled clothes into the hamper, and you bring him an oversized shirt you liked to wear

he watches in a daze as you bring a cool rag to wipe his face and his pelvis before doing the same thing to you

he’s nearly asleep when you’re done, and you get up behind him, spooning him from behind

you comb your fingers through his hair, and he falls asleep in your arms

maybe he didn’t hate you that much actually

[annwe24]

Part 1!DEVOTION

Part 2

CREATOR!LUCIFER X READER

Summary: You feel trapped in the luxurious cage that Lucifer created.

Reading in dim light isn't really a good idea. Your eyes feel itchy and letters are running all across the page. Huffing in annoyance, you unwillingly close the book to go to sleep. Tonight is not just it, perhaps the lack of sleep has finally caught up to you. Your pillow feels a bit rocky as the book is carefully tucked under. That night, your dreams are made of angels joyfully singing their symphony, unaware of the angelic eyes watching your sleeping form.

Morning comes by as usual. You are woken up by the sweet smell of hot pancakes and the sight of a pair of neatly folded clothes thrown onto your bed. Lucifer has always insisted that you let him take care of almost everything around the house. You obviously don't agree. However, morning is something you would gladly give in. A big reason being his signature pancakes and the other being you don't have to wake up too early. Hastily put on the clothes he has put together for you, you rush to the kitchen, wanting to have breakfast as soon as possible.

Good morning! Did you sleep well? Lucifer cheerfully greets you with a toothy grin.

Very well! Are you going to be in the workshop today?

I’m afraid not, my dear. You see, Charlie insisted that we must make plans for the upcoming extermination.

Can I come too?

Your question makes Lucifer halts his cooking. You have expected this. He is always reluctant about you doing anything Heaven related, trying to steer your gaze elsewhere as if Heaven is the forbidden fruit of Hell. At least, that’s what it is in his eyes.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. You know what it is.

But don't you think it's time I-

Anne. We’ve talked about this.

Okay…

Lowering your head, you patiently wait for the food. You know better than to make any moves with that hint in his voice. It is one of his turnoffs that you come to notice during decades of living with him; even Charlie, his daughter, wouldn't have caught it on the spot like you. Lucifer once said: No one has known me quite like you.

…

I had a really shitty day.

Lucifer says as he slumps his head onto your shoulder. Pulling the blanket closer to the both of you, you let out an acknowledged hum:

Mind telling me what went wrong?

That fuck head radio demon. Do you know him? I think his name is Alastair? Nevermind that. Nothing important. His jackass thinks he can just simply swoon over Charlie and convince her I’m replaceable. Ugh can't fucking believe that.

You don't… normally swear. I guess that demon is pretty rough huh?

Lucifer lets out a huff and turns up the volume of the TV:

Yeah…

Tonight is just one of those movie nights: Lucifer talks over the movie about anything to you. Today is just one of those days. Every day is the same. You are a being yet incomplete as a being. You realize you are barely alive. He chooses your clothes. He cooks your food. He soothes your pain. He is everything. Slowly, everything around you doesn't make any sense. The noise coming from the tv becomes static and Lucifer’s voice seems so distant. Why are you even created? Is your sole existence destined to be some sort of amusement for the King? And why is he so avoidant about Heaven? Are you the problem?

Y/n. Y/n!

You immediately snap out of your messy thoughts. Something about Lucifer always manages to pull you right back. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he asked with a worried voice:

Did something happen?

You quickly turn your head to look at him. Your eyes filled with panic:

Oh! I think I’m just sleepy. Yeah… That's all.

Still, you know better than anything that is not enough. Nothing is enough for him, especially if it’s something from you. He lets out a pitiful smile and quietly turns off both the tv and the light, steps out of the bed. Before heading out, he doesn't forget to say his usual goodnight to you. How ironic. You think. He knows you are not going to have a good night. However, you greatly appreciate the personal space he gives you. You give in to exhaustion and slump back to the bed. Like a habit, you reach out to take your book under the pillow. Last night, you left at the most interesting part-the dawn of humanity. Excitement fills you to the brim just thinking about-

There is no book.

Refusing to believe the loss, you throw the pillow out of your sight, only to be greeted with disappointment. Many scenarios play out inside your little head. There is no doubt this is the work of Lucifer. He must have known from the beginning and let you slip through for a while. You can't bear to imagine the things he would do if he losed control. Self-control is one of his greatest strengths. Although, you are not so sure about that right now. After evaluating everything, you decide that it is best to sleep right now and deal with the problem in the morning. That night, your dreams are made of demons gawking and gnawing at your frail form, unaware of the angelic eyes watching your sleeping form. Every day is not the same anymore.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The nurse and the nerd

Charlie Walker x fem!reader

warning : +18, handjob, kissing, implied drug use (medications), mentioning of wounds, no use of Y/n, minor degradation

Summary : After Ghostface had struck Jill dead in the hospital again by the heroine Sidney. But Charlie Walker, the second killer, has survived and is now in an asylum where he has a special relationship with a certain nurse…with even more special treatments

Info : Yeah back with Charlie I missed writting for the film nerd and thought hey what if...so yeah have fun reading and hope you like it ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another massacre that struck the small town. Another night of murders that made everyone afraid, another night when the nightmare vans had to drive to a certain house. A night in which Ghostface was caught because he wasn't stabbed too hard. A fact that his accomplice would not live to see because she died at the legendary hands of Sidney, or so the news said.

Either way, it was the talk of the nightmares that were also running in the nurses' room of the prison…for weeks nothing else seemed to have taken hold of the boring little town, not that she was complaining but it was becoming such a hustle and bustle that it was almost too much.

,,It's a murder I mean murders and it's almost like the presidential election who's where and what" she said and heard the smirk of her superior who had been here for a while and had already noticed the Ghostface's first act. ,,Well, nothing else happens in Woodsboro and so we have a little celebrity here," she said, pointing to the room at the end of the corridor with the special patient.

He alone had already cost the Asylum a few break-out attempts and, above all, appointments with the press. She herself could hardly cope with the reporters' floodlights when she had to stand next to him.

That smile on his lips, confident and above all on her face…yes, she had read the interviews and he had almost gone a little too far. But she knew that the further she stood around, the longer it would take them to get home.

With a sigh, she took the silver tray on which the medication and bandages were lying before she said goodbye to her colleague with a ,,You can do it, ask for an autograph!", which was returned with a shake of the head before she left the nurses' room and went to her little darling. Knocking on the door and looking round one last time, she heard the almost cheerful ,,Come in" before she went into the room with the sign with Charlie Walker's name on it.

As always, she found him lying on the bed even though she was sure he was walking around, she had seen him walking around often enough, seen him doing other activities…special activities.

Yet he looked so innocent, not like a murderer, like a simple nerd. The long brown curly hair gently combed by him under her watch, the blue eyes that were still on her had never left her. The loose clothes, the white shirt that looked too big and the sweatpants that matched the grey socks.

,,You're back, my angel," he said, leaning forward slightly and making a pained face as if he was going to be stabbed again. But she shrugged it off with a roll of her eyes and put the tray on the white bedside table as she sat her down by his bed. ,,Oh, our little star is in need of help," she murmured, taking the newspaper from his lap and seeing that he had opened the interview.

His face, contorted with pain, showed a slight shame as she began to read through the interview. ,,Especially my personal nurse who takes such good care of me and looks after me, I really appreciate her," she read his last sentence and couldn't help but laugh reproachfully at his flattery and lies.

Rising from the bed, she set the paper down on the bedside table before grabbing the bandages and pulling his shirt off his torso without waiting. ,,Don't be so hasty, darling," Charlie began, but was interrupted when she pressed on the not yet fully healed cut and made him open up.

,,You appreciate me Charlie? I know you do but if this is how it's going to be I'm going to be transferred…it has to stay a secret understand?" she asked ignoring his pleading look to touch him more gently as she pressed a little harder on the wound and the gasp turned into a pained moan.

,,Yes-yes, of course, I'm just grateful," he said hastily and relaxed when she took the pressure off him and continued with her work. Her hands ran gently over his skin, cool, slightly rough hands from working with people. Rough hands like his hands that had once held a knife. Hands that now walked slowly to her, holding onto her like a helpless victim.

Yet they both knew that he was not a victim, he was the perpetrator who was now helplessly injured in the asylum and under her mercy. She ignored his hands and began to tend to his wound actually carefully and somehow lovingly at the end of the day she was not only paid for it maybe she liked it, maybe it was a mutual attraction.

His need for her and her care that was almost taken up by the younger one. Fortunately, the stitches were not fatal, he was given pills for the pain, to sleep and when he was exercising, but otherwise he was fine.

So well that she knew where this meeting would go again when she saw his gaze avoid hers once more, her gentle touch something he did not deserve. Kirby had only ever played with him, the stupid bitch had to die for it, it was that simple, but she was his pretty nurse, she was good to him.

Didn't see him as a loose cannon and looked after him almost like a mother, while she was just the right amount of strict. ,,What are you daydreaming about Charlie?" she mumbled to him, seeing him flinch as if she had caught him doing something when he tried to sit up slightly, but her hand came to rest on his middle. She wasn't stupid, of course, she had seen him look at her in shock, almost holding his breath, a wince going through his hips and legs several times.

He was a little sucker for pain, even if he didn't want to admit it. ,,Nothing…I really don't…only your care is so good," he stammered, his blue eyes darting around and repeatedly lingering on the bust of her body pressed against the white fabric of her uniform.

The white trousers that framed her behind and his gaze always rested on them when she turned round, her hips framed by the white shirt on which he would so like to lay his hands.

He had fallen for the angel in the white dress, his sweet nurse who treated him so well. He barely noticed how his cock began to show through his jogging bottoms as her fingers slowly closed around his hardness and she leaned towards him.

Her smell surrounded him as he moved his hips with a whimper, trying to get more friction as she held him out. ,,I'm good so good for you, aren't I?" she asked, whispering the words to him as he nodded his head into the pillow, begging her to kiss him.

Briefly sloppy and rewarding as she began to stroke his cock. Sensing how needy he was even though they had done this several times, he never seemed to get enough of her.

She knew that anyone could come into the room but where would the fun be if they didn't? ,,You know you deserve it all, don't you? The pain, the stalling…a naive virgin," she chided as she ran her other hand over his body, squeezing the wound lightly again, his groan louder than before as he thrust against her, trying to get more of that feeling.

,,Y-yes I deserve…it all ma'm all" he mumbled chuckling his head moving back and forth into the pillow praying her words and amusement made his cheeks redden.

He continued to cling to her with his hands, his pleading and begging more interrupted only now and then by her kisses that stifled his whimpering pathetic noises.

His moans and whimpers filled the room with shameless noises, the almost wet squeaking coming from his cock, the precum running out of the tip in single drops every time she ran her thumb over the sensitive tip, squeezing it slightly and making it twitch again.

The space when they were together seemed to get smaller just the two of them. An unfortunate murderer rubbing against her like a writhing worm not a picture of a poor murderer being deceived.

He was the scum of society, a thought that had often crossed his mind as often as he served, his pretty blue eyes releasing those tears.

Kissing away his tears, taking away his pain from her before she got tired of his pleading. ,,I'll let you come if you don't open your sweet little mouth like that in public," she demanded, watching his foggy mind try to make sense of her words. His puffy lips red from the kisses and his biting on them to stifle the embarrassed noises.

,,Yes-yes-yes please…I'll be quiet…I promise," he mumbled, barely able to contain himself as his partner watched this for a few more moments before she let him come, picking up the pace one last time and pressing her other hand to his mouth. Stifling a loud moan, he felt the last twitching movements go through his body as his body stilled and she took her hands off him.

Watching him close his eyes, his chest rose and fell and he relaxed as she cleared her throat, ,,Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, holding out the cum-stained liquid on her hand. He might be cute, amorous and sweetly pathetic but in the end he was a murderer, a patient under her over whom she had power.

Like a good eared boy, he wouldn't get out of here without her and as he looked at her with a pleasurable, perversely flashing look before licking her hand.

Her praise for him was pleasure she knew that if she continued this game he would not only be hard again but he would also beg to kneel in front of her, leaning between her thighs. ,,If only the press knew what kind of murderer you are," she said as she gathered her things and saw how the words must have struck the right chords in his head.

He probably swallowed hard as he imagined her giving interviews on camera while he knelt before her. He was getting love and part of a film epic.

She fixed the things on the silver tray before giving him one last kiss on the forehead, knowing that when the door closed behind her, those ominous noises would come from his cell again until she started her next shift…her next shift to take care of her good boy and not a murderer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@icarus-star , @roryculkinsgf , @angelsanarchy , @ria-coolgirl , @sl4sh3rfuck3r , @eddie-munsons-mommy

[dapper-nahrwhale]

💀 didnt even get to play. Struggled with explaining the good society system for a few hours then the players gave up so. Well that's that then

Oneshot game is going. Bad. Only 1 player read the book of the game system and we even sent videos explaining it so that they didn't have to read the book that much and they didn't even do that so 😶 uhm

[emeritusemeritus]

How would the twins deal with a reader in subspace? Headcanons or a small Drabble would work either way! Love your fabulous writing. 🫶

My dear, thank you so much and I hope this is okay for you! 🖤

Warnings: Dom!sub dynamics, sub!reader, softdom!fred, harshdom!George, subspace, implied smut and sexual references, oral fixation, cock sucking, aftercare. Power play; BDSM references.

Word count: 800

You were happy, euphoric and blissfully fucked out, completely dissociated from any pain or soreness your physical body was probably feeling, but right now in your mind, you were soaring free. It was an incredible thing to feel, having never felt this before the twins. To completely trust your boyfriends, to give them your everything, for them to own you in every way and know that they would respect your boundaries and keep you safe, it was blissful. To free yourself of any insecurity, any responsibility because they would take the lead was freeing in the most wonderful way, allowing you to escape to this subspace that felt as close to heaven as you’d ever been.

George was the meaner Dom, a little more brash and harsh with his punishments that seemed to bleed into your outer lives whereas Fred was dominant only during sex, still generous with his praise whilst taking control. He was mostly a soft Dom that got increasingly rougher as the energy in the room increased, to balance out your descent into your sub headspace. Fred manhandled you whereas George had expectations, wanting you to do it yourself, to make him proud. The delicious mix of them both together was enough to propel you to this little piece of heaven you’d found, all of your needs being met, your body and soul cared for.

Fred was concerned the first time your mind began to wander whereas George, unbeknownst to you at the time, smirked at you and allowed you to mindlessly fall. After explaining to them what happened, Fred made it his personal mission to get you to this point each and every time but at this level, it only really happened after hours of teasing, warnings, bratty behaviour and eventual punishment. Drawn out over hours, sometimes humiliated, sometimes punished but always protected.

“Look who’s awake,” Fred smiles as your eyes open, still a little glossed over as you come to, realising that you were indeed laid on his chest, hands entwined arms his sides as he took on your full weight. He did this last time, said that if you could feel his chest rising, yours would do the same, worried that you’d get too dissociated, too relaxed and stop breathing. His finger tips dance over your spine and you realise that you’re both stark naked, his semi-hard member tucked in the little dip of your groin between your mound and your thigh.

You shift slightly and rest your head back on his shoulder, feeling him press a kiss to your hair, hands still entwined.

“What do you need princess?” He asks a minute later when you don’t seem to be able to rest any longer.

“Suck,” you say weakly, eyes opening to give him your sweetest look. He smiles at you, knowing your oral fixation would tear its head eventually, usually when you’d gone to that place.

“Come here my Angel,” you hear from behind you and you look up quickly to see George, unaware that he was even there. Your eyes widen as you take in his very naked, delicious form and the smirk he’s giving you, pulling the book he’s reading away for just a moment, offering up his cock for you and you’ve never been more grateful.

“Today,” he adds, a little sharper and you slowly crawl across to him and rest your head on his thigh as he resumes reading. You cast a glance up at him as Fred manoeuvres you to lay across his lap, hand circling your healed bum, eyes closing in pleasure as you feel your core getting wet again.

George looks away from the pages of his book to look down at you and nods once, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he gives you permission.

The second his mostly soft cock reaches your lips, you moan out in appreciation, your needs met once again. George releases a long, drawn out moan at the feel and you have to fight back a smile, knowing that you were pleasing him too. Apparently you weren’t quite out of your subspace yet.

[bitchlessdino]

chan- your personal knight/guard. been by your side since what feels like practically forever and has protected you against pretty much everything. You both are close but despite knowing him for so many years and being so close you realise you don’t actually know that much about him so on a walk maybe you’re just asking him random questions about him and learning more about him as a person. Somehow the conversations moved from something like his favourite colour to why he’s not settled down and without missing a beat he’s already answered because of you. Queue a love confession from your knight/guard that you reciprocate.

On a regular basis struggling with cheol and chan rot but today felt fluffy- idk i just think chan would be so sweet as your guard like him being super protective like ‘don’t pick that flower it might be poisonous let me check it’ and it’s like a dandelion or somet 😭

anyways just wanted to leave this with you and express how much I love your work!! I hope you have a good rest of your day or evening and genuinely thank you for taking the time to write on here, i truly appreciate the fact you take time out of your own day to read peoples requests and write whatever comes to mind <33

Pairing: royal!reader x bodyguard!chan

Genre: fluff

Word count: 3.1k

tags: royal au, overprotective chan, yearning, childhood au, love confessions, misunderstandings

author note: I forget how much fun fluff can be and I thought this concept was so cute also to the person requesting. I hope you like it. I love taking requests, including this one and i apprecate your kind words so much. we could all use your positivity. 💕

You remember when you first met Chan. He was the son of the Head of security that would tend to your father's every public and private safety. In a land ruled by a monarchy, these things were just necessary. You’ve been taught about the value you hold simply because of your bloodline and how you were the most precious there is, you must be protected and guarded at all costs. That’s where Chan came in.

He always claimed to be destined to take on a job much like his father, promising to protect you until the end of your days. That was a huge proclamation for an 8-year-old. He carried a wooden sword wherever he went and always had that big goofy smile on his face. It was his life goal to be strong and dependable like his father, and you believed he one day would.

That was the first and last time you saw him until he was officially appointed your personal bodyguard when he turned 18 years old. You were taking etiquette classes and studying scholarly journals of your country’s history, he trained day and night, mastering every possible martial art to exceed expectations as a protector. He was much different when he returned to you, and much stronger as well. He did not disappoint, but the light in his eyes as a child seemed to have faded, leaving a solemn shell of a man who lives to serve his master.

“Chan!”

He responds promptly. He stands by your side in an instant in proper attire, fit for both professional settings and in case he needs to be active, and meets your eyes. “Yes, your highness.”

“Bake with me.”

He blinks, “Your Highness. Would you not rather have the chefs bake something for you if sweets are what you desire?”

You stare back at him pointedly, crossing your arms, “Are you talking back to me?”

His gaze perks up at the accusation, immediately shaking his head, “No, your high—“

You laugh, doubling over at his panicked expression. “Just kidding. I wanted us to bond! No better bonding than creating delectable pastries. No objections.”

“Yes, your highness.”

He was there whenever you needed him. He never told you ‘no’ and he always did what you told him to. All done with a stone face. He took his duty seriously. He was far from who he used to be, which was probably a given, it had been around a decade. That’s when you executed a plan of action to peel away those layers, hoping to find the cute boy that childishly wanted to blindly protect you. 

It was over time you saw progress, seeing him smile at every comment or the little mistakes you couldn’t help but make (you swear to him you’re normally more graceful than that) when he thinks you aren’t looking. You loved that: making him laugh. He has a beautiful smile. And the more you spent time with him, the more it feels he knows you, even bringing things you need without you even having to ask, but what was it you know about him?

“Chan.”

Right on the dot as always. “Yes, your highness.”

“Walk around the garden with me.” You take his hand before he can even answer and had him trodding beside you out of the palace.

“Please slow down, your highness.”

You practically dragged him, it was necessary given the Palace’s size.

“There is very little daylight left. We must make the most of our day. This is a royal order!” You playfully command.

“It is 3 pm, your highness!”

“Royal order!”

You walk side by side with him taking in the air, the freshly cut grass, and hearing the birds sing their sweet melody. Calling it a beautiful afternoon was an understatement. Even after living in the place you call home for so long, there is more that surprises you. “Doesn’t the sky look extra blue today, Chan?”

He softly grins. “It does, your highness.”

You turn your head, watching the smile slip out of view, “Speaking of which, what is your favorite color, Chan?”

He thinks for a moment. “Blue, actually, your highness.”

You offer him a wide grin. “That suits you very well. I’m glad I know that. How was it that you’ve protected me for so long and I never knew that?”

Chan is quiet at that, not sure how to answer.

“My favorite color is green, or was it purple?” You cross your arms in thought, a single finger tapping against your cheek, “Last week it was pink.”

“It should be yellow, your highness. You decided to wear the yellow two-piece today.”

You look down at your attire and confirm his statement, seeing the pretty outfit you properly picked out the day before with Chan. You twirl, watching how the sun reflects off the expensive fabric, “You’re right. Looks like you know me better than I know myself again, but of course.”

His eyes fill with concern. “Does that make you uncomfortable, your highness?”

“No. Not necessarily. It just feels very one-sided. You know so much about me, but I feel like I know so little about you.” You skip ahead of him and you hear his footsteps catching up.

“I apologize, your highness. I never believed it was necessary information.”

“Of course, it is. How am I supposed to trust you if I know nothing about you?” You pointed out nonchalantly.

“I apologize again, your highness. This was careless of me.”

You turn around and let him stand beside him and push him ahead, “Nevermind that. What’s your favorite food?”

He stumbles slightly but does not let the matter phase him, used to you treating him much like a companion rather than the help, “Barbeque.”

“Favorite animal?”

“Otters.”

“Favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Chocolate.”

“Least favorite thing about me?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah ha–oh.” You tilt your head. “Nothing? Seriously?”

“There is nothing to dislike, your highness, and even if there was, I could not speak out on it. However, there isn’t.”

You blink back at him dubiously, an aggressive finger pointing at his chest, “Are you lying, Chan?”

“Not at all, your highness.”

He would have no reason to lie, you thought. And like he said, if he did, he much rather not answer. You stare at him for a little longer, scanning his frame before simply shrugging and continuing your leisure stroll.

“Hmm, alright. Favorite genre of music?”

“...girl group pop.”

Your eyes widen at that, smiling from ear to ear. “No way! Which group?”

The tips of his ears cause a hue of red, spreading all across his cheeks in an instant. “Apink…”

“Ooo, how refreshing. I would’ve never guessed.”

Chan was relieved to hear such a positive and encouraging response, feeling his hairs falter just a little bit, quite enjoying your company. “It’s very encouraging when I train. They lift my spirits.”

You chortle. “That’s quite endearing of you, Chan. I feel like I’m knowing you way better already.”

“That’s a relief, your highness.”

“What else do you like to do in your free time? You spend most of the day with me, even tend to events with me, but I have no idea what you do for fun?”

He was drawing a blank. What did he do worth mentioning? “Mmm, lots of activities. Such as…”

“Such as?” You egg on.

“Such as–-horseback riding, jousting, martial arts–”

You wave the list off. “Save the pleasantries. I mean real hobbies, ones not instilled by the palace. Things that are actually fun.”

“They are fun, you highness…But I guess I do like dancing.”

You perk up once more, strutting backward to talk while facing him, “Dancing? How lovely! You must show me how you move. This instant!”

He grows flustered, knowing they were still very close to the other guards and staff in the palace. He wasn’t sure he felt about showing off his moves this publicly. “Another time, your highness. I feel rather shy at the moment.”

“Oh, but you must, you must! What do you do? Ballroom? Contemporary? Interpretive–Wha!” You feel yourself trip over a rock, falling backward in slow motion, shutting your eyes for impact, until a strong pair of arms prevent you from collapsing.

“Your highness, are you alright?”

Feeling him pull you against his chest, you stare back into the eyes of your savior. His genuine fright and concern peek through his gaze and he grips your build extra firmly. He instinctively frowns, lips quivering anxiously, sweeping your stray hairs away from your face. You naturally melt in his embrace.

You nod, sighing a breath of relief. “I am fine, Chan. Thank you.”

“Who knows what you could’ve landed on.” His gaze scans over the bed of flowers behind you, vibrant and vivacious, “they could be poisonous for all we know.”

You allow yourself to land back on your feet, turning your gaze on the same bed of flowers. “Those are dandelions.”

Chan feels redder than a tomato in August. How is he constantly embarrassing himself, he thought to himself. “Oh. Well, better safe than sorry. Your Highness.”

You chuckle, infatuated by his thought process. “You truly are something, Lee Chan. Your significant other does not have a boring life with you around.”

“I don’t have a significant other, your highness.” 

“That's strange. I’d say you’re at the age to be married or betrothed. Why aren’t you?” You mention, decidedly walking side by side with him.

“Why, my work is the most important thing in my life. I do not have the time to commit myself to someone other than the royal family.”

You raise a brow, “Your father was married and had two kids by your age. If he could do it, I don’t see how you couldn’t.”

“Now, you’re sounding like my mother,” he jokes.

“She is a wise woman.”

He splays a bittersweet smile. “If I’m being honest, I’ve been given a few opportunities, but I don’t believe they can take the place of the person I hold in my heart. No one will.”

You clap your hands together in excitement. “So you are interested in dating? Tell, good sir. Who is the lucky lad or lass?”

“Someone far worthy than I’ll ever be and deserves more than what I can give them.”

You slightly shove him, finding such an assumption doubtful. “Oh please. You’re strong, you’re kind, you’re handsome…anyone would absolutely be ecstatic to have you.”

Chan felt warm all over, taking your words into careful consideration, “Do you truly mean that, your highness?”

“Are you doubting a royal?” You chuckle, “I do. Tell them. I am sure they would happily return your feelings.”

He halts his steps, and you quickly follow, curious about his abrupt actions, “...You ask me why I am still unwedded and untaken. How would you feel if I said you were the reason?”

“No excuses. You can’t use work as an excuse for your lack of love life.” You wag a finger at him.

“Not like that,” He takes your hand in his, bringing it up in mid-air, thumbing over the pristine skin of your knuckles, “How would you feel if I admitted the person I hold dearest to my heart is you, your Highness?”

A gust of wind takes you by surprise, the fallen flowers and leave being picked up with it and fall around you like a picture-esque scene in a movie. Your heart pounds a million times a minute, staring back in awe at his presence, overflowing with love and sincerity, and your eyes flutter from the breathlessness you feel in your chest and throat. You stare at Chan like the first time you were reunited with him, with pure unadulterated infatuation.

“Me, you say? Well, I’d say I was surprised, flabbergasted,…flattered.”

You feel the heat of your cheeks from the back of your free hand. “And inexplicably flustered.”

You release your hand from his grasp, the lingering sensation of his hand on your skin causing you to clench and release, and your heart easily audibly through your eardrums. You look towards the ground, finding it hard to meet your guard’s eyes. “Your choice of humor is rather brass.”

“Your highness–”

“It’s supper time. I must get going. I will see you back at the palace, Chan.”

You make your grand escape, clutching your frills, shielding your face from others in the palace with your arm before heading u to your room. You collapse against the bed, clutching your burning face in a silk pillow, yelling muffled songs of your fluster, reimagining the majestic look on his face when he confessed his feelings. Deep down you knew there was truth in his words, but how could you normally react to something so abrupt from someone so…admirable.

You embrace your pillow, push down your swelling heart, and smile. Tears of bliss fall to your cheeks and you can’t help but kick your feet like an excited schoolgirl.

You find yourself making glances at Chan when you reunite at the dinner. As usual, he does not have dinner with you but he stays by you for your own protection and eats afterward once you’ve finished. He’d look as solemn as he always did in front of other people. He took his job almost too seriously, sometimes even tasting your meal with a separate spoon in case it was poisoned. You used to laugh at his old-fashioned methods of work, there was technology for that sort of thing now, but you finally understand his devotion to his service. There more to meet the eyes, you realize.

When he follows you all the way up to your room for a night's rest, you part ways. You squirm in his presence, his confession fresh in your mind. “Good night, Chan.”

You are ready to run from him until he calls out to you, hesitancy in his voice. You meet his apologetic gaze, regretful of their last close encounter. He wishes you would not see him any differently, that he was simply a lowly guard and protector to you. His feelings towards you would not have changed regardless of your reaction. He knew his place and that was by your side as a human shield.

“Please take no more than a single thought at my confession today. Do not let it diminish my utmost respect and loyalty to the royal family. Have a good slumber, your highness.”

He retreats to his quarters conveniently not too far from your chambers, standing by the door, he gestures for you to enter your room and you obliged, watching his figure disappear behind your door. You fear that the air had changed between you, and perhaps not for the better. Your sleep would be anything but peaceful that night.

“Your highness, Good morning.”

He stands tall and firm with a smile as wide as a river. He holds beside him a fairly large trunk, gripping it by the handle.

You peer at his figure in worry, and earnest fear. “What is this, Chan?”

“I’ve decided to leave the palace forever. I realize my life was being wasted away taking care of someone who could never love me as much as I love them. So, I’ve taken on a lover of the same status.”

As if by magic a common lady appears, taking him by the arm and nuzzling his nose. They look in love, happy, and a sharp pain would shoot through your heart.

“No.” You chant.

“You will never see my face again. Goodbye. Your Highness.”

“Chan, no.”

The image of their silhouette gets smaller and smaller as they walk further away. You fall to your knees in desperation. “Chan please!”

You sob in your sleeves, hands reaching out to their shirking figures until you can only hear the echoes of your pleas.

“CHAN!”

You sit up from your bed, perspiration dampening your forehead and you are flushed to the touch. Clutching your sheets, you sigh a breath of relief that was only a dream. Soon after, your doors swing open, and a panicked guard in his baby blue nighttime attire runs to claim you, “Your Highness. I’m here. I’m here.”

His strong arms wrap tightly around your frame, soothing strokes to your hair, whispering to you it’d be okay. Your hands instinctively hold on to the fabric of his clothes, squeezing the flesh underneath, drinking in his soap’s scent and noticing how pleasant and just to your taste it was. “I know.”

He pulls you away to stare back at you, scanning you for any signs of danger placed upon you.

“I’m okay,” you reassure, “just a bad nightmare.”

“What foul image betrays you to cause such a reaction? I was ready to spar with whatever evil demon tried kidnapping you.”

He must’ve been still asleep, you assume. His colorful vocabulary, wakes you up delightfully.

“I am fine. I promise. Come, I’ll walk you to the door.”

You push him out of bed, meeting the exit, while your guard’s doubts seep out of him like a fountain. 

“Are you sure? Was it truly just a nightmare? Do you need new sheets? A snack to soothe you?”

“Not at all, all good, my good sir. Good night.”

You attempt to push him out completely but he holds you back from doing so, gripping the rims of the bedroom door. “I just want to assure you’re okay, your highness.”

You fall a little deep into those eyes, perceiving the truth of his word in them. It drove you insane how a simple confession could affect you this much. You brighten up your world, open your eyes, and made you feel alive, just like a person in love does. “I am. Just…don’t go anywhere. Stay right where you are.”

He gives a confused smile, his gaze softening the same way your tone does. “But your highness, you were just pushing me away a few seconds ago—“

You tug against his shirt and your lips for the first time make contact, his plush surface meeting yours seamlessly. Your hands clasp over his cheeks and neck, languidly moving them against him. You slowly process how he reciprocates, holding you to his chest tenderly, savoring your warmth, taste, and how it all excited him. The thin fabric between your body was the only thing to stop you, and the world around you simply disappeared. 

Before you both knew it, you were pulling him back into the bedroom. He’d quickly follow, doesn’t leave until the following morning, carrying out what he only imagined in his dreams, even if it was only for the night. It was the matter of his duty to keep you safe, to keep you happy. And he knew he could make you happy.

[baradurus]

This is my love Letter/Appreciation post to the qsmp thumbler!since i saw so many ppl doing it

(Im kind of a lurker and have just recently become more activ RIGHT WHEN IT ENDED)

Anyways yall are such a nice community!And honestly a safespace for me its really fun to read all the silly shenanigans you come up with ,qsmp thumbler really cheers up my day and sometimes its even the Highlight of my day.

And some of you maynot know me since i am a lurker but i just want to say my appreciationto some ppl bellow the cut

(If i make anyone uncomfy with tagging them please do tell me and i will imeadiatly remove you)

To the artist

@ama-a93 I LOVE LOVE LOVE I JUST ADORE YOU ART ITS SOSO BEUTIFULL I JUST CANT i always get hyperaktiv when i See your beutifull art <3

@ddummy07 omg i cant even begin to describ how much i adore your content it soso amazing i love it so much i first saw you on tik tok and your Animations are just WOW

@lutraviolet your artsyle is so beutifull as is your art u always amazes me how beutifull it is whenever i look at it i think OMG IT SO PRETTYYYYYY at the same time i want all the Art you Post!

@acetheabnormal the backbone of the miscklikers i think i once sent an ask to tell you how much i adores your artstyle BUT IT SIMPLY WAS NOT ENOUGH YOUR ANIMATICS YOUR ART EVERYTHING IS SIMPLY TOP NOTCH evrrytime you post it fills me with joy

@vastlaundrybear im must say ,how much i adore your artsyle your animatics just simply everything ITS SO AAARGH i especally like your slimeccle Design (i also just adore your jrwi animatics) JUST YOUR ANIMATICS IN GENERAL ARE SOO ARRGHHH the transitions ,the lightning,JUST EVERYTHING

@thatonedogart omg i love itARRGHHH you keep me alive i live in jealousy of your greatness!!

@thatplankoverthere omg i love LOVE YOUR ART AREGHHH it simply is just so beutifull (you inspirw me to continue my traditional art journey!!)

now to the amazing artist and my mutal @smallz-o just muah everytime you Post i get happy you are a ray of sunshine to me i aprecviate you soso much and you have Motivation me to be way way more activ in the community (like also Posting art of my own and such<333)

@sadtrashking ARGHH YOUR ART IS SIMPLY SO CREATIV i love love love your takes on the qsmp memebers and turning them into animals(? Sry if thats not the right word)and omg your art is simply prefection i strive to one day be as creativ as you

@shen-mu your art is litterally SO SO GOOD ARRGHHH i just love your artsyle (and wth you post art so quik) it always Cheerleader my day up seing your art!!!

And since were on the topic of mutal

@fantasticflavor i love love love your Pixel art it inspires me so much AND WTH YOU ART IS SOSO PRETTY <333its an honor to be mutal with u!

@motshine i always love to See you in my notfications and your pfp is just so silly <3

@safetycap you are kinda like an Update source to me and i appreciate you very much!

@dragon-lady-owo it is always a pleasure seing that youve liked smt of mine and i apprecate you very very much!!!!!

@orquydia im very very glad that ive got to know you through our silly battel that started cus you liked my art and i decide to like smt of yours and then we had a littel like war (that i won)i apreciate you very very much and hope that our friendship continues to blossum i always enjoy our Talks about anything our minds can think of ( mostly robots)

@saltedcaramelchaos my beloved mutal! Although we dont talk much i appreciate you with every bone i have left your a very nice person from what i can tell and wish you the best!!

To ppl i stayed Updates through:

@royalarchivist you are a litteral livesafer to me no joke you have keep me updated on soso many things and i appreciate the work youve been doing :)

@hey-i-am-trying i appreciate you so so much and thank you for being such a cool person!

@anachronistic-falsehood you have also been a soucre of info to me and its alway cool to See you post <3

@starriknight believ it or not ive been staying updated through you and i appreciate all youve done for the community!!!

I hope i dident forget anyone! Have a nice day <333

[maximiliangf]

୨୧ ﹒ 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 — maximiliangf says hello to you. ⟢﹐hi my name's madi <3 i'm 18 years old and my pronouns are she/her ౨ৎ i recently became interested in formula one and completely fell in love with everything and everyone.

୨୧ ﹒ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄 — writing. i'm not new to writing but i am new to tumblr publishing, i've been reading a lot of work on here recently and it really got me inspired so i decided to start a blog and hopefully share some of my writing in the f1 fandom, v excited!!

୨୧ ﹒ 𝐖𝐇𝐎 & 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 — currently i'm exploring writing for max verstappen, charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, and lando norris. but i'm open to writing for all the drivers i just feel more confident in those four since i know them better for now ౨ৎ i'll be posting mainly text au, blurbs, and one-shots.

୨୧ ﹒ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 — requests are VERY welcome since i'm just starting out with only a few ideas (whoever is reading this, please send in something😭). i'll write about anything except problematic topics like r4pe, sa, v1olence, abus3, p3doph1lia, and anything of that sort. other than that please feel free to request anything about any of the drivers and i'll try to deliver <3

୨୧ ﹒ 𝐁𝐘𝐄-𝐁𝐘𝐄 — if you have read this far i really apprecicate you<33 i'm looking forward to making friends on here so if you can spread the word! thank you, byeee💓

[doumadono]

Do you have any blog recommendations?

You're so amazing, I love your writing! Keep doing you bb, don't let that anon get you down. *hugs* ❤

Aww, your sweet words mean the world to me! 🌟 Sending you lots of love and positivity! ❤️ When it comes to recommendations, I've got a couple of blogs in mind that I'd love to suggest to you, dear Anonnie!

@gamergirl-niffler - she's undeniably adorable and holds a special place as a loyal and dedicated friend of mine. Her blog is a treasure trove of delightful headcanons and numerous posts about games. It's definitely worth taking a look! 🎮 She's a talented writer! Following her will lead you to discover not only incredibly intriguing headcanons but also an abundance of GIFs from anime and games! ❤️

@mrskokushibo - her blog is a haven for incredible writing. As a highly talented writer, she possesses a natural ability to describe even the smallest details in the most enchanting ways. If you're a fan of Attack on Titan, Demon Slayer, and Jujutsu Kaisen, you're bound to discover a plethora of fantastic content related to these interests ❤️

@muzansfangs - undoubtedly one of the most skilled writers in the Demon Slayer & Bleach fandoms. Her storytelling prowess, intricate plot construction, and knack for leaving us on the edge with cliffhangers are simply too brilliant to overlook. And beyond her writing talent, she's a remarkably wise and lovely person! 💕 Please, consider following this talented woman!

@dabismoon - there are numerous things I'd like to express, but above all, she stands out as a talented writer. Her natural portrayal of characters consistently leaves me in awe. If you're a fan of Dabi from My Hero Academia, following her is an absolute must 💙

@ectologia - if you're a fan, much like myself, of impeccably written fics, following them is a necessity. The manner in which they construct plots and their mastery of language is so flawless that it feels like you're immersed in a captivating book. They're a creator of dark content, so if you appreciate something with a darker tone and if you desire a reading experience that borders on ecstasy, consider giving them a follow 🖤

@dabisqueen - yet another exceptionally skilled writer, who introduces us to Dabi in a multitude of fascinating settings. Her pornstar!Dabi fic is an absolute must-read for fans of this character. The way she crafts her descriptions and portrays characters immerses you fully in the story from the very first paragraph! 💙 If you're a fan of Dabi - following his Queen is a must!

@mizading - not just a gifted writer but also an incredibly sweet person. I've been with her almost since her first moments on Tumblr, and let me tell you, witnessing her growth as a writer brings me immense joy — it's like watching a star being born! ⭐ Following her will bring you a lot of nice things to read!

@shonen-brainrot - how could I overlook this small yet incredibly talented beast?! Her headcanons consistently leave me breathless — mainly focused on My Hero Academia, she introduces us to unconventional situations in her headcanon sets. Despite her immense talent, she remains super humble and is one of the kindest individuals I've encountered here. If you're a fan of MHA, giving her a follow is a definite must! ❤️

@lifeform286 - another exceptionally creative individual who also happens to be a wonderfully pleasant person to engage with! His writing and art consistently exhibit a polished and refined touch in every aspect. If you're a fan of the ShigaDabi ship from My Hero Academia, do yourself a favor and give him a follow 🤗

@bakubunny - a truly creative and talented creator! The way she describes everything keeps me super engaged in her headcanons and stories. As a multifandom writer, I'm confident you'll find something for yourself in her den! She's such a gifted writer, and I aspire to be as good as she is one day!

Among the numerous blogs I follow and adore, these stand out as my absolute favorites due to my deep appreciation for their writing 📝

[writing-for-life]

bestie, I hope you're doing well 💖💖.

I'm halfway through your fanfic "The Light of Stars" and I have a lot of things to say, and I'll say them when I read all the chapters hehe.

but at this particular moment I just need to say that I'm also falling in love with Thalia. I'm like "oh, Morpheus 🥹🥹 I understand you loving her. She's so wonderful."

Thank you so much! 🥹

I’m so glad you’re reading, and even more glad you like it.

If you’re halfway through, they are probably pretty happy right now (but man, was it hard to get them there).

But if it were to stay that way, the story would be done. So I hope you’re buckling up already…

Two years later, and they still won’t leave me alone 😩

For everyone who’d like to know what we’re talking about:

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Don't Fire Your Editors, Kids

When I started reading the ACOTAR series with my reading buddy, my sister started getting all up in my ear going "Throne of Glass is waaaaaaay better, you should read it." My skeptical little brain went, "that is rarely how authorial quality works," and then I picked up the book, read it in two days, and had to eat MASSIVE amounts of crow. Because when I finished the book, my abiding question was, "WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN THIS BOOK AND ACOTAR????" Celaena has a personality, a well-handled and vaguely mysterious backstory that held my interest, her relationships were interesting, and she's damn competent. On top of that, the book was decently plotted and paced, and even the side characters were interesting. This was a pretty decent book, and I admit to being deeply but pleasantly surprised. Let's talk Throne of Glass.

Some light spoilers below the break, so be warned if you haven't read this and want to go in without being spoiled!

So apparently this book was pitched as "Cinderella, but if she's there to kill the prince, not kiss him," but she ended up doing a lot more kissing than killing, despite the fact that she's literally in an assassin's competition to be king's champion. I wasn't mad about it though, because by the time we actually get to the ball, our murder Cinderella has developed real--if somewhat complicated--relationships with Dorian, Chaol, Nehemia, and even Cain and the political actors of the castle that are driving a lot of the character development even as the contest sort of grinds the plot along. Ok, "grinds the plot along" might be ungenerous, because it's pretty clear that the contest isn't the main focus of the book, it's just the plot device that gets Celaena into the castle and back into society, and the fact that it gets pretty aggressively sidelined for actual character stuff isn't a bad thing, but while the character development is compelling, the plot pretty clearly understands that it's not the main character.

And I do enjoy our main character here. Celaena is deeply competent as an assassin, and she is deeply competent at survival. She survived a literal death camp for a full year, and still had her senses of humor and joy on the other side. She's kind of a murder Barbie as well, which I adore, because being a badass should not preclude enjoying pretty, sparkly, girly things like pretty clothes and jewelry, if the character wants to like that. Basically, I'm never going to shame a badass girl for encompassing BOTH those words.

Celaena also enjoys poking at Chaol, which is never ever not fun, and I really do like the slowish burn of Chaol learning that there is more to Celaena than just "best assassin in the world." That relationship is deeply fun, and honestly I prefer it to her relationship with Dorian as far as a romance goes, because while Chaol doesn't have NEAR the experience with brutality and mortality that Celaena does, the two hold more of a shared understanding of things that are hard in the world than she and Prince "My Parents and My Younger Brother Suck" do.

That said though, I think the relationships that I like the most are Celaena and Nox and Celaena and Nehemia. That Celeana was able to find a friend among her competitors speaks wonderfully to contradict our assumptions about her as an assassin. She is kind, she wants friends, and she is willing to not only put herself out to save Nox's life, she is willing to work with him on skills that, whether or not he is successful in this competition, will serve him well out in the world. Celaena doesn't necessarily get anything out of this either; if she loses, she dies in Endovier. If she wins, she's stuck stooging for the king for four years, and she or Nox could die before they ever see each other again. The relationship cannot be permanent, has no long-term guarantees, but they still find each other and help each other and make the best of the time they have. This relationship is super cute and I appreciated that there was more than just aggressive competition with the other dudes in the mix.

Speaking as a cishet AFAB gal, relationships between girls can be CHALLENGING. We don't get hard details about why Celaena doesn't trust other girls in this book, but we do get the lovely realization that actually she can trust other girls and have trusting, meaningful, and positive relationships with them. It's not easy, and the communication is perhaps suboptimal for political and security reasons, but learning that it's ok to trust Nehemia and lean into the feeling that she likes her and have that rewarded is lovely, and given the unfortunate continuing prevalence of girls hating on other girls in books, it was nice to see that addressed directly and directly contravened.

Besides, we still get Kaltain being mind-whammied into mean-girling, and if Perrington doesn't get his ass handed to him for that, we riot.

I will say that the relationships and character scenes are what I enjoyed most about this book, and I'm floored that it's as much better than ACOTAR as it is. This book was clearly well-plotted and well-edited, and I had fun reading it.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 21- Lorelai's Graduation Day, Aka The Best Episode That Ever Episoded, My Heart Will Soon Be Asploded. Part 2

Read part 1 and all other commentary here

Yesterday I realized I've been doing these little insane ramblings of mine on Tumblr for over a year now! If it took me a year to watch two seasons, I guess I'll see ya'll in September 2024 for the conclusion of season 4. Anyway, Lorelai is about to have the Consequences Of Her Actions thrown in her face in just a moment, which is something I enjoy seeing.

Luke and Lorelai have to kiss and make up in this episode or the next, I would think? I don't remember any unresolved animosity between them going into the third season. But what do I know after not seeing this show for 3 years.

How's that "Trying to avoid someone in a small town" thing working out for you, dear?

Lorelai: "I guess it was inevitable we'd run into each other. It is a very tiny community." Ya think? Lor: How's the diner? Luke: It's still there. Except in your absence, an extra table opened up for somebody who will actually pay for their food. Lor: Hey Luke, do you think we could talk? Luke: No, I gotta go. Although I haven't watched Teach me Tonight in years, I can still go off of what other people have told me about what went down and Luke is pysssssed.

There has GOT to be some kind of Emmy award for fake food presentation. Rory has shown up on Gramma and Grammpa's door step wanting to talk about something. Seems as if she's going behind Lorelai's back to invite Emily and Richard to her graduation ceremony and she makes a pitch to them. Again, my memory is foggy but I do know they attend the ceremony, I think Emily arrives with a professional photographer? Which annoys Lorelai., and pleases me. Rory: As you know, Mom's been going to business school for three years. What??? Huh? 3 years? Someone please school me on whether this "Lorelai goes to night school" was actually mentioned any time before the last few episodes, or if this is just something that was made up in the name of TV Convenience.

Debatable. Later that day, back at the Gilmore abode... Lorelai mentions she is going to Hartford Community College. Did I google whether or not such a school exists? You bet your sweet bippy I did. The answer: there is no such place (although there are two community colleges in Hartford).

I'm at a payphone, trying to call home, all of my change I spent on you... Let's just enjoy little bit of Literati On The Phone apprecation.

ARGH! My little lovesick stepcousins!!! 💔🐶💔🐶

The next day at Chilton, Rory is so lovesick for her long distance stepcousin that her mind is completely lost in outerspace even while her local lover Paris Geller rambles on about authors and half eaten bananas. It matters not, but how did Rory ever get away with playing hooky?

NO NO NO NO. NO. WHAT? NO! WHY! NO!

Going years between viewings is a game of Memory Roulette for me and honestly that's what makes this fun. Like, what insipid detail will I remember at the same time that I'm forgetting something vitally important? More importantly, what horrible surprises have I let lapse in my memory? When should I be wary of Dean/ and or Crusty lurking around the corner? The answer is always. As you can see, you can never let your guard down and say "Huh, I haven't seen Dean and/ or Crusty in a while", because they can strike at any time.

Okay, okay, calm down Salty. The future is incredibly bleak on the Christopher front after this episode, but in this particular episode, he Lores his way through a 1 minute phone conversation and that's the end of him.

Look, Lore, I know we're often at odds with each other and normally I'd say something like "I hope you open the basket and a nest of angry hornets flies out at you", but this time LORE, I'm imploring you, do not open a box from Crusty Hayden.

Michel says he refused to touch the package which is good because you don’t want to get your fingerprints on it and become an accomplice in a CrustyCrime.

So, a bowling ball or a human head.

A BOMB? No, no, he's not that smart. All I know is it better not be a fucking engagement ring or something (a heavy one)

Other contents of the CrustyBasket: A youth hostel card, a disposable camera, a manual for job hunters, an application to join the Army (She really could use some humbling by a nasty drill seargant who doesn't put up with her crap, so I'd advise she keep that), a DVD of The Graduate. Okay, okay, I get his shtick here. Haha, Lorelai is an adult graduate so it'll be a hoot to give her stuff that's like, for a teenage graduate instead. So funny. (oh the irony that a high school graduation is something she barely scraped by on realizing for no other reason than you planting your Crusty Sperm in her).

However, based on Lore's reaction to the necklace, this thing is still emotionally weighty and she is not amused. To her shock and dismay, (He claims) it's even real pearl and not just something that dropped out of a gumball machine like the QuarterOnAString Dean gave to Rory.

THE NERVE. He can't come to the graduation because of reasons and we will take it and not question his motives, as this may be one of the last (nearly) Crusty free episodes in a while. Ugh. But with him and Dean both out of the picture for the rest of the episode, the Stepcousins can finally begin their big city adventure. Stay tuned for part 3!

[sailtomarina]

For us

Staring at the sky, all Hermione could see were shades of grey.

Not grey like his eyes, but grey like an incoming storm, or perhaps one that had recently passed. No sun peered through with heat to soak into her bones. At first glance, the sky appeared inhospitable and cold as if marking the end of summer.

Rather than feel depressed at the idea of increasing darkness, Hermione took comfort from the clouds. She honestly thought summer to be the worst month, vastly inferior to fall with its array of reds, browns, and golds. Crookshanks used to love diving into piles of leaves, often emerging clutching a mouse in his teeth. One saving grace for the hottest time of year was that two of her favorite people were born during those summer months.

One of those favorites just happened to wrap his arms around her from behind, pulling her tight into his frame. Looking up, she gazed into her favorite grey eyes, irises that seemed to change with his moods from steel when obliviating, to almost black when enraged, to the current pale silver when looking at her in adoration.

“Welcome home,” she managed to whisper before Draco’s lips pressed her into silence for the next several minutes. No matter the time or place, he always made it a priority to greet her with a kiss.

He pulled her into the cushioned seat overlooking the garden, continuing to hold her close in his embrace. Long fingers rubbed patterns into the skin of her arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“I got a little something for you,” he murmured, still wholly absorbed in teasing touches and head bent to breathe her in.

“For me?” Hermione couldn’t think of any particular reason for a gift. It wasn’t a holiday, and her birthday was still a couple of months away.

“Well, for us.”

Her brow furrowed as she absorbed his correction. Now she was even more perplexed. It’s not as if they were in need of anything—everything they could ever want, Draco usually purchased immediately. He had terrible self-control and tended to satisfy any desire the instant one came to mind. Hermione still struggled to get used to the ease with which he handled money.

“Close your eyes.”

She obeyed immediately, and the resulting chuckle he gave stirred something needy within her. Maybe she was a little too quick to act on command outside of the bedroom. They had certainly practiced enough for it to now be instinct.

Something heavy and warm settled into her lap, and it was only his grounding presence around her that prevented her from bolting up in surprise. It felt as if he’d placed a blanket across her, but the weight kept shifting.

“Go ahead and open them now.”

Hermione’s eyes focused immediately on the large cat lying in her lap looking as if there was nowhere else it would rather be. Long fur she could already imagine herself brushing draped away from the body in greyscale, ranging from soft black to a black so deep it almost looked blue to a light silver that matched Draco’s eyes she loved so much.

“Oh, Draco, he’s beautiful! Or is it a she?” Her hand hovered in uncertainty.

“You can go ahead and touch her. She’s far cuddlier than I expected.”

Hermione snorted in remembrance of the numerous scratches and bites he’d endured from Crookshanks. Their time together had been short, given that her familiar was already ancient by the time she and Draco had started dating. At the end, Hermione had almost been jealous by how often she’d find the two of them curled up reading together in front of the fireplace or napping in the library.

“Does she have a name?” Her fingers carded through the luxurious fur that was just as soft as it looked even if her face had a similar squashed look to her predecessor.

“Not yet. I thought we could name her together. She’s half-kneazle, too.”

Hermione’s breath caught in a half sob even as she laughed at the similarities. Strong hands kneaded her shoulders in understanding.

“We should pick something celestial in the Black family style.”

The squeeze of his hands conveyed his appreciation. They weren’t sure they’d be able to have children together given Hermione’s past physical trauma. They hadn’t given up hope yet, but it could still be tiring.

As she continued to stroke the half-kneazle’s coat and admired the swirling pattern, an idea came to her.

“What do you think of the name ‘Maia’?”

Even without looking at him, Hermione knew he’d adopted that pensive look she adored—head tilted at an angle, eyes closed in consideration, perfectly tousled hair falling over his forehead.

“One of the seven Pleiades, mother of Hermes, and known for her nurturing nature.” As Hermione hummed in approval, he continued, “I like it.”

“Then it’s settled. What do you think, Maia?”

The familiar purred, as if already recognizing the name as her own. Her eyes remained firmly shut, even as she nuzzled her head more firmly against Hermione’s hand.

“I think she likes it.” His kisses along her neck resumed.

“Draco, if you keep doing that we’re both going to anger Maia.”

“Why do you say that?” 

One of his hands came up to delve into her curls, firmly gripping the base and tilting her head to the side so he could bite softly into the crook of her neck. She moaned softly at the sharp sensation that spread warmth across her chest. His other hand moved down her side to grip her outer thigh.

“Because I’m this close to knocking her from my lap to take you on this chair.” It took all of her willpower to keep her lap still.

She could feel his grin against her shoulder. “Fair enough. Mivvy!”

With a pop, their head house elf appeared wearing a frilly apron over her emerald muslin frock.

“Master Draco called?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner preparations, Mivvy, but would you take Maia here with you and make sure she has something to eat? She hasn’t been fed since this morning.”

“Of course!” Mivvy stepped forward to replace Hermione’s hand on the kneazle’s back and disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

The instant Hermione’s lap was cleared, two hands gripped both thighs and massaged inward. Draco resumed his exploration of the bare skin above her neckline. Hermione could finally press back against his delicious length as she had wanted to do the moment he wrapped himself around her.

“Now, where were we?”

WC 1090

It was actually super cloudy most of today and the weather has been threatening thunderstorms all day. I was in a complete slump about what to write about for this prompt and figured I'd start out just talking about the weather. Every little bit helps!

I also just finished watching all three 50 Shades of Gray films on Max soooooooooooooo yeah, 'grey' was present in that part of my mind, as well, bwahahaha

[invisible-storyteller]

Home is a person

For @kirayukimuraappreciation. Day 1: You Came Back. Pairing: Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura Rating: General Words: 1628 Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Teen Wolf: The Movie (2023), Kira-centric, Kira Yukimura Returns, Derek Hale & Kira Yukimura Friendship, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:  Kira returns to Beacon Hills just in time to save Derek. With everyone alive and the Nogitsune gone, happy end is due, right? Well, Kira needs a bit more convincing to realize why she's come back at all. (Read it on AO3).

It doesn’t take long to understand the situation. It takes even less time to tackle Derek off the Nemeton.

She makes sure to stand guard around the tree stump with another, younger kitsune as Parrish’s arms wrap around the mutant evil spirit and they both go up in flames. The only thing left in the Nogitsune’s wake is silence and bad memories.

Then the illusion is gone and Kira can breathe again. They are all standing on a stadium field, safe, shaken and once again victorious, surrounded by friends she hasn’t seen in over a decade. It just figures that another life-and-death scenario would bring them back together.

“Dad!”

A werewolf boy barely in his teens rushes towards Derek and buries himself into his arms, and as Kira does a 360-degree turn, she notices that everyone's celebrating in varying forms of an embrace while she’s standing on the side. Alone.

A lean body sags onto hers suddenly and she startles by the unexpectedly tight hug. “You saved my dad,” The boy says against her shoulder, relief heavy in his voice. “Thank you.”

From a short distance, Derek smiles at her and walks closer to the pair. “Amazing timing,” He compliments.

Kira smiles but can’t help looking around and thinking: “Actually, I might be too late.”

Derek invites her to dinner as an expression of his gratitude and then follows up with a dozen ‘thanks yous’ throughout the evening. His son, Eli, has a million questions about the Skinwalkers and her powers and he breaks down crying halfway through. It’s a lot, but Kira still feels better on the drive home.

It’s definitely nicer than the nothing that follows.

For every single thing that hasn’t changed in Beacon Hills, there are at least three more that have. Derek, apparently, doesn’t know much about the others since most of them haven’t kept in touch after an allegedly glorious defeat against an army of hunters. Kira hasn’t been there for the war, but she supposes that the pack would have sought her out if she was truly needed.

Reuniting with Scott is awkward, seeing him hold hands with Allison is even more so. It’s not like Kira had much hope for her and Scott, but it still hurts. It doesn’t sting like a heartache but more like another proof that life went on without her.

She talks with Hikari and Liam before they leave for Japan because that’s their home now, not Beacon Hills. Kira has no idea where her home is anymore.

Half of her life has been dedicated to fighting for control with the Skinwalkers, so readjusting to the changes and modern life should be easy, and yet, Kira finds herself debating on a daily basis the idea of simply going back. What is keeping me here? - it’s a question that echoes too often in her head.

Derek is attentive, but more than that, he understands. He invites her over for more dinners and movie marathons (to help her “catch up on what she’s missed”, and he cringes right after saying it), and talks about his travels proceeding the events in Mexico. She realizes by the second-hour mark that the similarities of their experiences are overshadowed by their unbridgeable differences.

Because Derek returned when his friends were in need, but Kira didn’t.

He shows her the garage, the preserve and the school. Coach doesn’t recognize her but asks whether she’s good at lacrosse and if she would like to join, anyway. This leads to Kira practising with Eli on Mondays, since Derek claims he’s always been more gifted in basketball.

Kira knows what Derek’s doing, really, and she appreciates it. She just doesn’t know how to tell him that the issue isn’t with the place. It’s with her.

It’s 12:14 pm on a Friday when Kira walks into the auto shop. It’s been five weeks since her return and as she enters the shop (instead of waiting outside like usual), the realization hits her of how weird it is that she hasn’t talked to Malia in all that time.

“Hey,” Malia greets, like they've just spoken yesterday (they didn't, not in 14 years), kicking her feet off the counter and plucking the earbuds out of her ear.

Kira is ashamed that she can’t come up with a better reply than “Hi”, accompanied by a not-quite smile to make up for the lack of contact. Not that Malia couldn’t have reached out, Kira reminds herself, and feels a dull pang in her heart. It’s an everyday occurrence.

“What are you doing here?” Malia asks as she stands up, soft sweater bunching up at one of her sides. Derek’s been either rubbing off on her or pestering the woman into warmer clothes as the season turned chilly. It’s an adorable sight, nevertheless.

Kira looks behind herself, wondering for a moment if she should wait outside after all. Then she remembers Malia has always been confrontational and feels her nerves settle at the small glimpse of familiarity.

“Derek promised to buy me lunch,” Kira finally says, glancing around for good measure. Derek’s most likely in the back, though, immersed in grease and work.

Malia nods, looks away, pats down her jeans.

“What if I buy you lunch?”

The question catches Kira off guard and her wide eyes are probably telling since Malia immediately shoves her hands into her jeans and plunges into an explanation.

“Derek’s busy with a demanding asshole’s car and sitting here is getting seriously boring. So please? Put me out of my misery?”

Oh. Well. Kira can roll with that.

“Yeah, sure, if Derek doesn’t mind.”

“Wait here,” Malia instructs before disappearing through the backdoor. Three minutes later, Malia is back with car keys dangling from her fingers and a familiar-looking credit card in her hand. “He doesn’t mind. Now, let’s go. I’m fucking starving.”

The lunch is better than Kira expects. Malia's questions are straightforward but her answers to Kira’s inquires are equally frank. It’s refreshing to finally pour out all the feelings Kira's had bottled up for over a month now. It's also the first time she laughs honestly.

“We should meet up again,” Malia suggests while they're pulling up to Kira's home. Or, well, to her parents’ house.

“Yeah,” Kira agrees readily.

Then, she promptly forgets about wanting to leave for a full week.

“Don’t you want to have your own apartment?” Malia asks with her bare feet trudging in the shallow part of the lake.

Kira pulls her knees up to hug them closer as well as to support her chin as she shrugs noncommittally. “I haven’t thought about it yet.”

“Seriously?" Malia looks flummoxed. "Didn’t you make a comment about the absurdity of sleeping in your old bedroom? Right below your One Direction poster?"

Yeah, Kira spent an entire day mourning over that particular change.

“I know, I just never thought I would need a permanent place here.”

Malia freezes in the water at once and aimes her eyes at her submerged feet. Kira can't parse the emotion on her friend's face, and it makes the anxiety that she hasn't felt around Malia yet emerge with frightening intensity.

“You want to leave.”

There's no accusation behind the words but they aren't exactly warm in nature. Kira doesn't want to lie, not to Malia, so she settles on a shrug.

“But you just got back." And now the hurt is audible in Malia's voice.

“Why should I stay here?" Kira asks, pleading for her friend to understand. "Our friends aren’t here anymore, the pack isn’t here anymore, my life isn’t here-“

Kira bites her tongue. When she got back two months ago, she was filled with exhilaration to reunite with her family. Her mother made occasional visits to the Skinwalkers, but it was nothing compared to the almost forgotten scent of his father's cooking or the sound of her mother's singing as it floated through the house. There was no happier moment in Kira's life than when her mother had called about the Nogitsune's return and the Skinwalkers bid her farewell for good. Her training was over.

But Kira didn't live in Beacon Hills for long and she didn't have childhood memories to anchor her to the town. The only thing that was ever valuable in Beacon Hills were her friends and even they had left a long time ago. Kira has no reason to stay.

“I’m here,” Malia's words break through her thoughts, and Kira meets her eyes curiously.

“Why? What holds you back?”

Malia doesn't answer. She simply walks out of the lake and sits beside her in the grass. It's an unusually sunny day.

“Parrish?” Kira chances, and her heart soars when Malia shakes her head lightly.

“I guess... I was waiting for everyone to come back.”

Kira hasn't considered it yet - what it must have felt like to be left behind by all their friends. The worst is, though, that she doesn't remember if she ever said goodbye to Malia.

They listen to the forest while soaking in the pale light of the Sun, and at one point, Malia decides to lie down on her back and just watch the vagrant clouds as they swim past the treetops. Kira hasn't known this kind of peace in... 14 years.

“I guess..." Malia suddenly speaks, quieter but somehow braver, "I was waiting for you to come back.”

Kira looks at the other woman, at the challenge and hope in her eyes. At the evident fear that she bares open for only Kira to see.

She leans onto her side until she hovers above Malia, and slowly, tentatively, takes hold of her hand.

“Will you help me look for an apartment?”

Malia beams, and just like that, Kira no longer regrets coming back.