#let me know if you have any other questions

[wriokitty]

in every life, it’s you — ft. sylus

before you read: gender neutral reader ; established relationship ; reader lays on him/sits on his lap ; very cringe and corny fluff and banter but i had to heal myself from the pure trauma that was his myth that i watched last night ; not proof read

“Sylus,” you whisper, “are you sleeping?”

Sylus does not ever sleep when he should—it’s a miracle that he even sleeps at all. Your question is a pointless one in hindsight, but you ask more for the purpose of getting his attention than anything. You realize a little too late, however, that stupid questions will always get you stupid answers with him. It’s an opportunity he never misses.

He gives you a dramatic, loud snore that instantly makes you roll your eyes, lips twitching into a small grin at his antics.

“Don’t be annoying,” you huff playfully.

“You should be prepared for nonsense if you ask me nonsense,” he says smoothly, voice a low, deep rumble through his chest beneath your cheek.

Sylus doesn’t sleep at night. More often than not, he sleeps after the sun rises and not a moment sooner—but he lays with you every night, anyway. Just because it helps you sleep. Just because you need him there and he likes being needed. (Sometimes, he lays with you more for himself. More for the feeling of your body curled against his while you’re most vulnerable, while your guard is down completely and you trust him. He likes your trust—craves it.)

“Nevermind. Goodnight,” you pout, turning your body to face your back to him. It’s useless—as is any form of petulance with him. Sylus is infuriatingly capable of always keeping an upper hand. You body gets flipped effortlessly with a thick, strong wave of red before you’re back to laying against his chest.

“Now, now,” he teases, “no need to hiss like a stray kitten. Your fangs aren’t sharp enough for that yet.”

You melt instantly despite his (lighthearted) mockery. It’s that type of effect he has on you. That feeling you get from the soft, easy way he smiles and that delicate, fragile look in his eyes. You don’t even think Sylus realizes it. How gentle he is by nature. How vulnerable he always looks. How easy he is to love and be loved by. Sometimes, you don’t think he realizes how easily love fits itself between the crinkles of his eyes and seeps into the smile lines by his lips.

You lean up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, making his smug, teasing grin falter into something a little more vulnerable.

“I was thinking…”

“That’s never a good sign,” he sighs in mock wariness, catching your wrist when you move to slap his chest and giving you a wide, devastatingly handsome grin.

“Shush,” you roll your eyes, fighting back your own grin before continuing, “I was thinking and I need to know: do you think we’re together in every life? We have to be, right?”

He’s quiet for a second, doesn’t answer right away as though he’s really pondering the answer. (Half of you expected him to scoff at the question and call it silly. The other half expected him to laugh in amusement. Humoring your deep, late night question was not on your list of possibilities for the night.)

“You’re working that poor brain of yours overtime with such thoughts,” he murmurs, raising a brow as he pokes your forehead. You scrunch your brows, and he grins friendly. “But I suppose it’s possible. Unless you’re smarter in the next life and stay away from me.”

You pout deeper, rolling to lay your body over his before your hands cup his cheeks, squeezing them together while you force his eyes to stare into yours. (He lets you get away with it. He lets you get away with a lot.)

“I don’t want to stay away in the next life,” you say in concern, like you’re really at threat of living through the nightmare of not having him by your side. He fights back a small, amused snort for the sake of your feelings. “I’d love you in every life.”

“Is that so?” He drawls.

You nod firmly, squeezing his cheeks together a bit more before a small giggle escapes your lips at the view. You press a peck to his mouth, and he cups a hand to the back of your head, keeping you right there where he can kiss you properly.

“Yes,” you breathe as you pull away, voice just a touch breathless. “I’ll be miserable if I don’t.”

“You’re oddly sentimental tonight,” he murmurs, running a thumb along your bottom lip as he inspects your face closely, admiring the delicate curves of your features and the light reflecting in your eyes. “Should I be concerned?”

“No. At least not for now,” you wink, “I can’t make any promises for the future.”

He laughs at that—it’s a low, rich, smooth sound that sends something shooting straight to your heart and makes it race. Makes the blood pump faster in your veins and your head spin at the feeling. Makes you think the sound of his laughter is the only thing you want to remember even when your bones bury into soil and your body returns to the earth where it came from. Just the echo of his voice, filled with joy and nothing else.

“Any particular reason you’re being so sweet?” He tilts your chin up. You turn your head, leaning to press a soft kiss to his palm as it cups your cheek.

“What? I can’t just love you?”

“Well, I’m not saying that. How can I complain about something like that?”

You sit up, suddenly. He lets you, taking the weight of you as you straddle his hips and sit up and cup his cheeks, gently grazing your thumb and studying his features like you need to commit him to memory. Like you might forget him in the next life and you can’t bear to lose the vision of him in the back of your mind.

You love him. It’s the simplest thing you’ve ever done. It comes as easily as breathing through your lungs and pumping blood through your veins.

“I’ll love you in every life,” you say resolutely, voice barely a whisper. “Promise.”

Something flickers in his gaze. Something hopeful with maybe just an echo pain before it’s gone. Before you can think too long about it, he pulls you closer, kissing you hard and firm and desperate like he needs to feel you now to know you’re real.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, sweetheart,” he whispers back, “so I hope you make good on it.”

Things that destroyed me and made me want to quit life as whole: sylus dragon myth.

[libingan]

—no questions asked.

you’ve always been his, even before the words were ever said—no labels needed when everything else speaks for itself.

i remember candace and jeremy's relationship in phineas and ferb. i liked how jeremy assumed they were already dating and thought to myself "simon riley" so here it is.

it’s always been this way with simon.

the little things you’ve shared, those moments that nobody else gets to see, have slowly built up over time. long drives where the silence is comfortable, quiet moments when you’re wrapped up in a blanket together, his arm draped around your shoulders. you’ve shared soft kisses in the early morning light, whispered words when you think no one’s listening, and occasional touches that linger just a second too long to be deemed innocent. his gruff voice calling you his—just “his,” as if you’re already a part of something bigger, something unspoken.

but the question always lingers in the back of your mind: what are we?

because in your head, you’re not his girlfriend. you never really were. sure, you’ve done couple things—spent hours together, laughed over inside jokes, shared moments that feel like they belong to only the two of you. but whenever you think about it, you can’t quite place a label on what you are. you never had that conversation, the one where he asks you out, where you define what this thing between you is.

and deep down, you’ve always known. maybe it’s not meant to last. maybe simon’s just passing through your life like a storm, wild and unpredictable, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again once the dust settles. you’ve never asked for a commitment. it was enough for you to just be close, to keep things easy and fluid, without any promises that might eventually break.

but then, everything changes the moment you decide to confront him.

it’s a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to stop, and you’re sitting in the living room, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen light. simon’s sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded as he scrolls through his phone. you’re sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning your back against the coffee table, and you can’t stop your thoughts from swirling.

the truth has been eating at you for weeks now, months maybe. you have to ask. you need to know if this is really what you want, and more importantly, if it’s what simon wants. so, you let the question slip, unsure of how it’ll come out, but it tumbles from your lips all the same.

“simon,” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “what are we?”

he doesn’t immediately look up from his phone. it’s as if the question barely registers, but you know he’s heard it. you can feel his attention slowly turning your way, as if his brain needs a second to process the weight of your words.

he puts the phone down, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at you, his gaze soft but intense. he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk.

“what do you mean?” his voice is low, almost like he’s testing the waters.

you swallow, feeling a tightness in your chest, and you try to make your words come out right. “i mean… we do all this stuff, simon. you call me yours, and i… i don’t even know where i stand. we’ve never really talked about what this is. are we… are we dating, or what?”

he blinks at you for a moment, clearly taken aback by your words. it’s almost funny, how much you’ve thought about it, how much you’ve analyzed your every interaction, while simon has likely never questioned it. it’s simple to him. and that’s when it hits you—he’s never even considered that this could be anything other than what it is.

he sighs, a deep, exasperated sound, and leans back into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “what are you on about, woman? you’re my girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can’t quite process them. you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. it almost sounds like he’s stating a fact, like it’s something as simple as breathing. his voice is firm, unwavering, as if this was always meant to be the case.

you feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking in, and then—just like that—all your worries melt away. you don’t even know why you were so worried in the first place. the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all seems so silly now. you’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all. simon is, as always, so simon about it. there’s no drama, no overthinking, no need for big conversations or declarations.

you’re his. you’re his girlfriend. and there’s no debate.

the relief hits first, followed closely by a mix of amusement and a small flash of annoyance. you try to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “wait... just like that? no question, no ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ just… you’re my girlfriend?”

he meets your gaze, nonchalant, and shrugs. “that’s right. you’re mine. no need for any of that nonsense. i’ve already decided.”

you stare at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. it’s the way he speaks, like he’s already certain, already claimed you. and it feels… good. reassuring, even. but also, just a little bit frustrating. because, honestly, how do you even argue with that?

“god, you’re impossible,” you mutter, a grin breaking through as you roll your eyes. “seriously. you’re so damn sure about everything.”

he just smirks back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “you should be glad i am, sweetheart. now, come here.”

he pats his lap, and before you can protest, you’re already moving toward him, the tension from moments before completely gone. his arms pull you close, and you settle against him, feeling his familiar warmth. you don’t even need the words anymore. somehow, just being with him like this is enough.

and that, you realize, is exactly what simon’s always known.

[salemlunaa]

·˚𓆉 ༘₊· PURELY RELAXATION PURPOSES: Explained 𓇼 ∘˚

to reach pure consciousness, let’s take the weight off your shoulders

so in my recent recent success post, i explained that the second time this week when i induced i went in purely for relaxation purposes, i also tell people this a lot in dms when i feel that they are putting the state of pure consciousness on too much of a pedestal. I did make a post about this a year ago but i feel as if im more well versed on this type of thing.

So with any method you are trying to use, whether it be a ten step lucid dream type of thing or a simple “I AM” meditation, it would be much easier if you just removed the intention of manifesting your desires. Tell yourself you’re just inducing for relaxation purposes. Because you are, you have your dream life, there is nothing to do creation is finished, you don’t need to induce for your desires because you already have them you already have them, no need to be afraid of failing when it’s already yours.

So what you’re going to tell yourself is that your dream life doesn’t ride on the inducing of pure consciousness because you already have your life. You would hire cleaners for a house that is squeaky clean, would you? So you’re only inducing for relaxation, to “connect with your god self” or something along those meditative, spiritual lines.

and how does that work in your brain?

you know you already have your desires → you don’t need to anything for them, even inducing pure consciousness → so you’re just going for spiritual purposes or to relax → the state of pure consciousness immediately comes off this pedestal because you don’t NEED it anymore (it's like those manipulative boys who stop being obsessed with a girl when they finally make them their girlfriend because they love the “chase” more) if you don’t NEED it, it takes it off that high pedestal → your desires aren’t riding on this “trip to the void” because you already have them → allows a weight to be lifted off your shoulders → you can finally relax instead of forcing and you can finally properly let go!! → you’ll induce pure consciousness in no time

i really would recommend watching this video and this video, also this one and this one too, and definitely looking at the comments, because they aren’t filled with shifting obsessed people who are SO desperate for a shift (no offence lol). The poster and the comments are filled with normal people who treat the void state for what it is: a form of relaxing meditation. They talk about their void experiences with emotion yet don’t sound so desperate, they’re so casual about it. That’s what you need.

The videos also only explain the void state and how they get in. That’s it. no other stuff. Because you don’t need anything but an explanation and a method.

That’s the type of energy you need to be around. It’s not something super powerful or cool, that is you the void state is a state of pure awareness. It’s just a cool meditation you can do sometimes.

No more manifestation purposes, what are you manifesting? TRICK QUESTION BITCH, it’s NOTHING because there is NOTHING YOU NEED. TO DO. NOTHING. You’re just inducing for relaxation or to “tap in with your inner self” YOU CANT MANIFEST SOMETHING YOU ALREADY HAVE.

Treat your desires like legs, yes i know it sounds weird. But im assuming you all have legs, so when you think about all you want to manifest in this state of void legs are probably the last thing you think about, why? because you already have them, it’s already yours so there’s nothing to do. Are you watch “SUPER STRONG: ✨ legs subliminal ✨” no because you already have them.

So make the comparison, “i’m not tweaking over having legs because i have them and they’re natural to me

THEREFORE

i’m not tweaking over my dream life because i have it already and it’s natural for me”

it’s not possible that you don’t get what you want. Think of yourself as the spoiled little princess and your subconscious mind being the well-off dad who never tells her no. It’s not possible for you not to get what you want. So why are inducing for a life you already have.

you’re just going in there to relax, remember, purely relaxation purposes…nothing else….

𖥸˚∘ take the void state of that pedestal and prioritise relaxation ·˚𓆉 ༘₊·

[missdynamighttt]

random idea: the paparazzi take photos of Bakugou while he is naked in the courtyard of his mansion. The photos are viral all around the world, trends everywhere (imagine PopCrave tweeting about that, lol). The it tophic with the most viral tweet exceeds 600,000 likes since obviously what caught the most attention was the immense, almost inhuman Bakugou's cock size: almost 8 inches without even being hard. The only question everyone is asking is how the hell it will be while being hard.

But Bakugou is surprisingly chill about this, proud even. He logs into his Twitter account for the first time ever, which was created and managed by his public relations team (I don't know how it's called) and simply tweets:

"My wife owns that." The bastard even has it pinned on his profile. It doesn't take long for it to be his most liked tweet and with the time reach one million likes. Other weeks of trends about him...But also about his girl. She's lucky asf.

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ SHAMELESS KATSUKI ENJOYERRR!! happy chinese new year to anyone who celebrates it btw 💜💜

you storm into the living room, phone clutched in your hand, cheeks burning as you glare at your husband lounging on the couch, scrolling through his own phone like he didn’t just set the internet on fire over his soft, 8 inch dick.

“you—” you point at him accusingly, eyes wild. “you absolute fucking bastard.”

katsuki glances up from his phone, his expression is the definition of being so fucking smug. “what is it, sweetheart?”

“oh, i don't know, katsuki. maybe its the fact that the entire world just saw your dick, and instead of just, oh, i don’t know, taking legal action or being embarrassed, you tweeted—” you glance at your phone to quote him exactly, voice going pitches higher with each word. “‘my wife owns that.’ and pinned it.”

his lips twitch, but he keeps it cool. “and?"

you gape at him. “and?! katsuki, the world has seen you naked! and instead of being mad or contacting your pr team about this, you’re out here, tweeting this shit, like you’re proud of it!”

his smirk only widens. “tch, ‘cause i am proud.” he leans back, stretching, muscles flexing like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “not my fault the whole world can’t handle what you get every night.”

your brain short-circuits. “oh my god.”

you knew he was shameless, but this? this is a whole new level. and what makes it worse are the comments. thousands of people speculating, thirsting, straight-up praying to be in your place.

you whimper dramatically. “the comments, katsuki. the comments.”

he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “what about ‘em?”

“people keep saying i must be the luckiest woman alive,” you mutter, glancing at other tweets with an ungodly number of likes, like ”his wife must be the happiest woman on earth” or "the girl must’ve saved a nation in her past life", followed by an entire thread of inappropriate lewd theories (some were true).

katsuki snickers. “well, they ain’t wrong.”

you slap his arm, face on fire. “stop! have you really no shame?"

“none,” he grins before finally putting his phone down, sitting up, his arms resting on his knees. “why? you mad, sugar?”

“no! i mean—well, i should be! do you have any idea what people are saying about me?"

“yeah, they’re saying you’re lucky as fuck. and they’re right.”

you groan, rubbing your temples in frustration. “they’re also saying things like ‘she must be getting split in half every night’ or ‘"his wife must be in heaven every night'."

he throws his head back in a full laugh. “good. let ‘em know.”

you smack his arm. “katsuki!”

he chuckles and reaches for you, catching your wrist and tugging you down onto his lap with such ridiculous ease. “why’re you gettin’ so worked up, huh? it’s the truth.” his voice drops lower as he leans in. “and they don’t even know half of it.”

you groan, burying your face again in his chest. “i hate you.”

“nah,” he murmurs, nipping at your neck. “you know you love me, sugar.”

and damn it, you do. but you’ll never admit it right now—not when he's kissing you down your neck, pressing what the internet has been buzzing about against your damp panties. especially not when he’s being the most shameless, loving husband on the planet.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[softness-and-shattering]

It would be wonderful if someone could please add an image description for me as I cant rn.

The thing is, if theyre gonna be absurd in legal situations, they cant do the "go silent dodge the question, make you look like a fool to still be arguing". Well they cant without withdrawing whay theyre trying to do, and admit defeat.

So they stay stupid shit, you have hound them about stupid and nonsensical and absurd they are - and also predatory when it comes to sports bans and verifying kids genitalia - because they dont have a defence because it *is* bizarre and unconscionable, theres no defence, so make them eat their words till they give up. If you let it through without comment youre effectively agreeing that it makes sense and is a sound precedent to kay new orders and laws on top of. Dont let them get so much as a toehold.

*Im not USian and idk how this all works exactly legally. But I do know some things about how people argue and try make points about ideology and that kind of thing, and you cannot give them an inch. Theres no compromising with people who dont want you to exist, they will not.stop until you cease to be, there is no middle ground to find. These people are nkt your personal friends and family you can i fluence - if they literally are thrn do your best as is safe - but for almost everyonr they are public figures and people working behind the scenes. Not people you can personally influence. Instead you do have to fight, and you cannot cede an inch. Argue that nothing they declare makes any sense, theyre basically saying all people are female, "larger sex cell" or whatever is not a recognised term with a recognised definition what are they even talking about? How can they say what someones sex is as though sex is immutable when transition - and detransition - medically is literally changing ones sex.

Dont agree to live in their world where their definitions make sense. Dont comply in advance. Use their bullshit to slow them down and or stop them if possible. At least slow them down, make it so much work to get anything done that they dont want to bother. Join other people and divide + conquer the load, much more efficient than individually trying to do everything. Work together. Organise. Tie them up in their own red tape.

“This thing is legally dubious and therefore technically unenforceable.” Is not a “useless liberal gotcha” it’s how legalism works in this country. Tying up stupidly worded EOs in court is the quickest way to keep them from being implemented. It is the definition of “doing something.” But it doesn’t usually involve much tweeting so of course a certain type of leftist feels obligated to mock it.

[vntglace]

eddie munson x fem!reader ₊˚⊹♡ shy!reader, smut, rough sex, a lil degrading | based on this request.

dating eddie munson has been so fulfilling.

he's funny, he's sweet. he tries to pay for everything, even when he can't really afford to. he lets you steal his sweaters, shows you sick music, and calls you cheesy, ridiculous nicknames.

and, of course, he's really good in bed. he's apparently only been with one other girl before, and although the thought makes a jealous pit form in your belly, she clearly taught him well.

he's on top of you now, your legs wrapped around his waist as he kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

suddenly, he looks up at you. "is there anything that you wanna try? like, something i don't do that you want me to?" he asks.

the question takes you off guard, your cheeks heating up. "um...no?" you say, unconvincingly.

eddie grins. "oh, c'mon. you're telling me you don't have any fantasies for me to fulfill? what do you think about when you touch yourself?"

despite the mischievous expression on his face, you can tell he means what he's asking. he wants to pleasure you, and you're grateful, but you can barely look him in the face with how embarrassed his line of questioning is making you.

"eddie!" you say. "i don't...well, i'm not..."

"oh, don't tell me you don't touch yourself. everyone does," he says. "even good girls like you."

your face burns. "sometimes, yeah, but...i don't know, it's all...abstract thoughts. i don't have anything specific that i know i like."

eddie had been your first, so you don't have enough experience to tell him what you're into.

"well, tell me something you think you'd like, and we can try it. y'know if you're not feeling it, we can just stop."

his reassurance makes you feel safer, a little more comfortable. you play with his hair as you talk, trying to keep yourself distracted from your shyness. "i mean...i think i'd like being on top? and...maybe if you were a little bit...rougher with me? like, not hurting me, but like...just faster? harder? and maybe a little...mean."

you groan, putting your hands over your face. "i don't even know what i'm saying."

eddie takes your wrists gently. "hey, hey," he coos. "no need to be so shy, pretty girl. we can try that for sure. can i try something right now?"

you nodded, still struggling to meet his eye.

his grip on your wrists gets tighter, and he pushes your hands over your head, effectively pinning them against his pillows. "like that? you want me to be rough with you, huh?"

you whimper, nodding again, already feeling your pussy grow wetter at the lower, more dominant tone of his voice and the grip he had on your wrists.

"tell me you want it. use your words, princess."

"please be rough with me," you say, breathless.

he grins wickedly. "with pleasure."

he's practically feral as he kisses you hard, nipping at your bottom lip, then moves to suck a hickey into your collarbone. "thought a good girl like you wouldn't be into something like this. thought you'd want to be treated like a princess. instead you wanna be treated like a slut, hm?"

you moan. "yes," you reply to his rhetorical question, too dumb with desire to feel ashamed any longer. eddie has unlocked something primal within you, getting you to open up about your fantasies.

"wanna get on top, baby?" he asks. "see if riding me is as hot as it is in your dreams?"

"please," you say, all but begging.

he rolls onto his back, rolls a condom on, and then beckons for you to come and straddle his hips. he slips his cock inside you, and you whine at the stretch of him filling your hole. he fucks up into you, hard and fast, just like you'd asked for.

the position is a little more uncomfortable than you'd imagined, but there's something pleasurable about the ache in your thighs as you keep them spread for him, about how exposed you feel as his eyes go from your face to your breasts, bouncing with each of his thrusts.

you feel the urge to cover yourself, but it's like eddie can sense it, and he reaches out to grab your hands, holding them at his chest to keep you steady, as well as keep your body on display for him.

"you look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock like a slut," he says, voice breathless with pleasure. "gonna come if you keep lookin' at me with those innocent eyes."

"cum for me," you say, surprised by the vulgar words coming from your mouth. "fuck me until you cum inside me."

you know he's wearing a condom: there's nothing too taboo about letting him do so, but it makes you feel sexy, dangerous to tell him to do so anyway.

it doesn't take long for eddie to do just that.

dating eddie munson just got so much more fulfilling, you realize with a smile.

[moonlight-alexia]

the questioning hour | steph, tiny & kyra

steph catley x catley!reader x kyra cooney-cross | if you want more for any of my universe pairings etc then keep requesting questions to ask them <3 hope you like it <3

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

What's your biggest fear of the relationship?

Steph: the two pests being together? Is that not concerning for anyone else?

Tiny: aw stephy loves us 

Steph: I never said that

Kyra: we know the truth stephy

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Who is more affectionate?

Tiny: Kyra easily 

Steph: You don’t even need eyes to see that Kyra is so clingy, needy, affectionate

Kyra: hey!

Tiny: it’s not a bad thing. I like my cuddly, clingy ky

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Most likely to get lost?

Steph: kyra and tiny obviously

Tiny: um steph

Kyra: psa don’t let steph direct if you actually want to get somewhere. She might seem like she has it all together but she can’t direct to save her life

Tiny: when we were in aus she had us drive 2 hours the wrong way before realising. Thought we were gonna have to sleep in the car 

Kyra: almost stranded in the middle of nowhere because of steph. Almost didn’t make it back here aliveeee

Steph: you’re so dramatic

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Most likely to get arrested?

Steph: welllll…

Tiny: shut it steph

Kyra: we technically weren’t arrested…

Tiny: just a warning 

Steph: I still had to come get you both

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[Kyra to Steph] What's the most challenging part of our relationship for you?

Steph: realising my little baby sister isn’t so little anymore she’ll always be that tiny five year old who used to throw the football at me and storm inside because i ‘won’ too many times

Steph: no but honestly? You’re both young, new to serious relationships and I didn’t want to see you hurt each other. Care about you both a lot, but you make each other happy so I can’t complain

Tiny: Ky! Steph admitting to caring about us and not hating our relationship?

Kyra: this is on camera right? Need to keep evidence that this happened

Steph: you see what I have to deal with

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[Steph to Tiny] What do you secretly wish I understood better about you?

Kyra: oh getting deep here

Steph: shut up Kyra

Tiny: well, maybe that I’m more than just your little sister. Like being seen as my own person. I love having your guidance and all but I want to make the same silly mistakes you did, learn from doing things and not just because you did it. Let me make mistakes but still be there to catch me when I fall

Steph: I’m so proud of who you’re becoming and I will do better for you. You’re my sister and I will always be there to catch you and hold you when you need it

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[Steph to Tiny] What's something that you need from me that you're afraid to ask for?

Tiny: well I was afraid to ask you to not hate Kyra after you found out

Steph: I didn’t hate Kyra

Tiny: eh, could’ve fooled me

Steph: maybe I overreacted a little

Tiny: a little? understatement of the year

Kyra: she doesn't hate me now so that's a...win...yes?

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[Tiny to Steph] What's your first memory of me?

Steph: you were like the size of a peanut-

Kyra: so nothing has changed then

Tiny: hey! I’m like several peanuts tall now!

Steph: -you were small and kind of weird looking

Tiny: but…

Steph: no, that’s it. Small and weird looking

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Waking Up in Vegas"

Prologue, Chapter one:, Chapter 2,Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

ok guys! we're back and reader's hot girl summer has started! Sorry I was gonna put this chapter out earlier today but i've just been so busy today plus i'm cooking up a 3rd part for "older" I got my period AND i have a math test and english essay coming up. If some parts don't make sense, its on purpose. Reader is disoriented and drunk half the time, the days blur together for her. Lmk what yall think of readers hot girl summer and what you want/think will happen in the next chapter .Sorry for any mistakes! Comments, reblogs and ASKS make my dayyyy and encourage me.

Saint-Tropez wasn’t just a place, it was a playground, a haven for those who didn’t care about consequences or anyone else’s rules.

And you? Well, you were done with rules.

For the last two weeks, you’d been living like this, untouchable, free, and completely lying to your family.

You had told Bruce you were staying with Ariel and her father, which was true, for the first two days anyway.

Ariel's father is a busy man, he couldn't take 2 and a half months off work to babysit two 16 year olds who would do what they wanted anyway. As soon as he left, Ariel began calling your two other close friends, Claire and Rory. Together, all four of you were unstoppable at school though it was an unspoken rule that you and Ariel were the dynamic duo. All four of you stayed in Ariel's ocean front villa, relaxing, tanning, and just getting settled.

God, let's not even start on how drastically everything changed while you were at boarding school and the family found out Tiffany's true colors. They were all so.....protective now. You got calls everyday, from each of your 'siblings' separately, dozens of texts asking you what you ate, who you were with, and what you were doing. You didn't entertain them. The only person you replied to was Bruce, and that's only because you knew if he wanted to, he could call off this whole trip.

You didn't answer Tim's random, vague questions like, "Who's that on your story? Do you know them? Are you sure they're safe to be with?" He was asking about a simple sunset dinner picture you posted with Ariel, so you blocked him. He's way too nosy.

You didn't reply to the groupchat the girls, Barbra, Steph, and Cass added you in called "The girls!!"

What a creative name!

You left after you saw 'Tiffany was removed from this conversation'. Maybe you were being petty but they obviously had this chat before and didn't bother to add you to it before Tiffany was exposed. It was your turn to ignore them.

You definitely didn't reply to Damian's outright threatening messages that he sent almost every other day, they all sounded something along the lines of "You will regret this. You cannot simply leave and run away from your family. Come home or else."

He's such a strange little boy, he spoke and acted like an angry Victorian prince. He texted you like you were close before, like it wasn't him who pushed you away. You were coming back in two months and yet he acted like ran away and changed your name.

Jason, Bruce, and Dick were the most consistent and annoying, in that order exactly.

Jason texted you every morning at 8 and every night 11, like clockwork. His texts were daily updates what he was planning on doing that day, asking you the same, and reminding you that he's sorry and that he loves you. It tugged at your heart not to answer him, and sometimes, you gave in and you could feel the joy in his response when you replied. You and Jason's conversations went like this, on the odd occasion you replied,

"Good morning." - Jason

"How are you? No trouble in paradise I hope."- Jason

"My days gonna be pretty dull today, nothing much except patrol. Might go to that bookstore you used to like." - Jason

Your cold heart would melt when he said things like that and you would reply,

"awww! jason, thats so sweet." and follow with "I'm good!! how bout you??? staying out of trouble?"

Jason was your softest spot and he knew it.

Bruce texted you three times a day. Morning, afternoon, and evening. His messages were dry and authorative, demanding answers. He wanted to know who you were with, what you were doing, if you left the house, and if you were okay. The fatherly care and authority isn't something your used to, it was strange. You weren't sure if you felt cared for or suffocated. You answered Bruce once a day, your tone straight to the point, answering only what he asked, nothing more.

Dick is by far the worst. He texted you constantly, as if trying to make up for 11 years of not texting you at all. He texted you when he woke up, when he slept, when he ate, what he ate, and sent you pictures of everything. Once he sent you a picture of a tiny bird saying it reminded him of you. You nearly blocked him after that, the only reason you didn't was because you liked how desperate he was. Not long ago, it was you spamming him like that. Plus he can be funny most of the time. You don't even want to think of the constant selfies he sent. You only ever replied once.

Dick sent a selfie of him hanging with some of the Titans, you forgot why or what he said along with it, but you do remember seeing Connor Kent shirtless in the background. You giggled and showed Ariel how hot he is. You replied to Dick almost instantly hearting the picture, screen shotting it, and drawing a heart around Connor saying something like, "WHO DAT IN THE BACK????" and "Tell superboy to hmu".

Dick was not happy about that, that was the last group selfie he ever sent. He got more frequent with his texts after that. He must've snitched to Jason because not even five minutes after you got a text from him.

"Remember what I said. No boys, i'll kick his ass." - Jason

You ignored him of course.

The sun beat down in the south of France, but you were far from concerned with the blistering heat. Not when there was a private yacht at your disposal, a poolside filled with strangers and familiar faces alike, and the soundtrack of Drake keeping your pulse racing. You felt the vibration of your phone against your palm for the third time in ten minutes. Another text from Bruce. He was becoming more insistent you answer him the longer you were gone. It's only been two weeks! Another "where are you?" or "be careful." As if you were gonna listen. Or reply to him.

Bruce. The man who'd ignored you for the better part of your life, suddenly acting like a worried father because Tiffany, the perfect sister, had betrayed them all. Tiffany, the adopted daughter who had somehow replaced you in their world. Now, she was the enemy, the traitor, the spy, and she was gone. That meant you had all the freedom you could ever want.

The more you thought about Tiffany the angrier you got. She had everything. How many summers has she spent on yatchs partying? How many times has she blown thousands of Bruce's dollars? Why were you forgiving them so easily? Why were you even listening to him?

Just because he apologized and said he'd change?

Why should you forgive Jason so easily and respect his rules, he ignored you for years and replaced you with Tiffany. The more you drank, the more you thought and the angrier you got. Who do they think they are? You've always been too nice, too obedient, and they're still taking advantage of it. You'd show them, show them what its like to be ignored and forgotten and made fun of.

For the next two months, you were going to ignore them. Bruce and jason included. You've been too nice, too good these two weeks, your friends were begging to party but you didn't want to, you were scared of disappointing them.

You were so angry nothing changed in you that you finally caved and decided to do what Claire and Rory were doing, give your phone to a worker here and have them turn the location on and send updates to Bruce. You still used the same icloud so you could read their messages and make sure they weren't suspicous.

He'd think you were always at the villa or just going into town, they won't know what hit them.

You turn to Ariel and grin, "I'm free. What are we doing tonight?" You were done obeying their rules and living your life for them. Who knows when you'd be alone in Europe with your best friends again.

Ariel hopped off her chair and squealed, her dark skin glowing from the sun, she grabbed you and twirled you around, your giggles echoing through the yacht and drawing Claire and Rory's attention.

Ariel grinned and explained to Rory and Claire, "Little Miss good girl finally came to her senses and went M.I.A with her dad. Now we can finally party! Hot girl summer starts now."

All three girls start squealing and join Ariel in her celebration.

You rolled your eyes feeling guilty, "I told you, you could've gone without me!"

Ariel wrapped her arm around you, "Nonsense, it's not a party without you. Now, come on we gotta go shopping if we're going out tonight. It's lucky that we both have daddy's black cards. It's really lucky that they have Dior, Hermes, and YSL down the street."

You weren't sure how much you spent and the drinks kept you from feeling guilty. Bruce is like, a bajilionaire, what you spent won't make a dent.

Somehow, you ended up on an even bigger yacht filled with guys, in your brand new Dior bikini with a matching bag.

By the time night fell, the yacht was buzzing, the VIP lounge overrun by people who hadn’t even been invited. The bass was so loud you felt it in your bones. You didn’t care. You've never felt so alive.

Your new phone wasn't getting any messages except DMs, and the woman you hired confirming Bruce thought you were sound asleep in the villa.

You can practically taste the summer air as you step onto the deck of the boat, laughing with Ariel and your friends and the others you’ve met along the way. No one cares about where you’ve been, where you’re going, or who your family is.

As the DJ cranks up the volume, a cute guy with long blonde hair catches your eye. You wink at him and saunter over. This summer is all about freedom, and you’re ready for it. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you close, and suddenly you’re lost in the rhythm, spinning and laughing, his lips brushing against your ear.

The night wears on, you drink more, laugh louder, flirt harder. The yacht turns into a blur of lights, drinks, and music. As midnight rolls around, the party shows no signs of slowing. You could stay here forever, with no rules but your own.

But then it happens. You wake up in a completely different city.

London.

You’re sprawled on a plush couch in a ridiculously luxurious flat, a half-empty bottle of champagne next to you. The room smells like expensive perfume, and the decor is all sleek lines and minimalist chic. You sit up slowly, your head pounding from last night.

You sit up straighter, rubbing your eyes.You vaguely remember a private jet, but it’s all blurry. One moment, you were on the deck of the yacht, living it up, and the next, you're waking up in an entirely new country.

You look around the room in panic and spot Ariel sleeping on the couch and a random guy, butt naked on the floor next to her. You sigh in relief at Ariel being okay and the fact you weren't kidnapped.

There’s a knock at the room door, and when you answer, it's a random guy from last night, British accent, disheveled hair, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He grins at you sheepishly. “Hey, you good?”

You, Ariel, the naked boy named Christian, and the Brit named Thomas, have breakfast and exchange stories of what you remember from last night. It was fun, but you and Ariel flew back to St. Tropez where a jealous Claire and a worried Rory were waiting.

Last night was fun, but it couldn't happen again. It was dangerous and if anything happened Bruce wouldn't know.

Except it did happen again, and again, all summer long.

The next weeks were a blur, Venice, Monaco, and Madrid, with stops in Dubai and Los Angeles along the way. Each city more vibrant and intoxicating than the last. Every place you went, you had the freedom to be whoever you wanted to be. There was always a fresh crop of people, and you reveled in not having to answer to anyone. No father, no brothers, no sisters, just you and your friends against the world.

You and Ariel lived your lives like you were gonna die tomorrow. You were unstoppable, no family, no rules, no responsibility. Your abilities weren't acting up at all, everything was perfect. Bruce and the family were off your back, being made to think you were at the villa all day.

The “No Boys Rule” was completely disregarded, though. It seemed that whenever you let your guard down for just a moment, you’d end up surrounded by someone new. Whether it was a guy from a club in Monaco or a guy you met on a private yacht in Venice, you were always finding someone new

Despite all the parties, the alcohol, and the private Instagram posts, and funny Tik Toks, there was still a growing sense that you weren’t living this life for you, you were living it for the rebellion, to spite Bruce.

It wasn’t just about freedom anymore. It was about finally being seen, even if that meant drifting away from everyone you once called family.

You only had one month left of absolute freedom, and you were gonna make the most of it. With Ariel, Rory, and Claire by your side, you partied in just about every city.

The final month of your wild European escapade had arrived, and things were only getting wilder.

The clock had no meaning anymore. Days and nights blended into each other as you danced from one city to the next, your world a whirlwind of music, champagne, and endless laughter. Ariel, Rory, and Claire had become your partners in crime, literally when you got arrested, but thats not important.

Each morning you woke up in a new place, groggy and confused, only to remember the night before—flashing lights, pounding beats, and the promise of more. Cannes, Monte Carlo, Paris, or Dubai, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the freedom you’d found in them, and in yourself. You were more than the neglected, ignored girl from Gotham; now, you were the life of the party.

there was always someone waiting to whisk you away to the next nightclub, the next gala, the next beach party where the world’s richest men tried to get your attention.

First, it was Paris. You could feel the eyes on you as soon as you entered the hotel lobby. The air smelled of expensive perfume, freshly polished marble, and the faintest trace of guilt, because in some corner of your mind, you could still hear Bruce’s voice echoing in your ears. But it quickly faded as the first private yacht rolled up to the dock. The deck was crowded with Parisian socialites and half-drunk billionaires, but it wasn’t about the crowd, it was about the feeling of being wanted. Being worshipped.

It was in Paris that you really started feeling the distance between you and the life you’d left behind. The champagne flowed easily, the laughter came effortlessly, but there was an ache you hadn’t anticipated. A pang that struck at the edges of your satisfaction, the kind you couldn’t drink away.

You thought about Bruce. His pleading words, his desperation, and how, for a moment, you almost felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. You couldn’t let him win. Couldn’t let them see that you’d needed them. Because that would mean giving up everything you had now, the freedom, the endless nights, the city hopping, the boys who adored you.

You let it all sink in, just for a second, how much control you had over them now. How much they wanted you back, how much they needed you back. It felt good, knowing that you could walk away and have them chase after you, like you used to chase them.

Maybe it was the brief, fleeting moments when you thought about Gotham, about Bruce, about your family, and how none of it felt real anymore. They’d played their games, ignored you, and now it was your turn.

Meanwhile, your phone was a constant buzz of messages. Tim had sent at least five texts, each one more urgent than the last. Jason called twice, his voice sharp and filled with that annoying overprotectiveness he just developed. And Bruce… well, Bruce sent you one long, pleading message, something about understanding, about giving him another chance, and answering his calls. You didn’t even bother reading it all. You didn’t need to. You didn’t care enough to respond.

You had no intention of being tied down by anyone, but when a French prince with dark, tousled hair and eyes that burned through your soul offered you a glass of champagne and a seat next to him, you took it.

You didn’t even have to look for him, he found you. He was the one with the perfect jawline, the one who could be a model if he wasn’t already a prince. His eyes, blue locked onto yours the second you entered the VIP area. A raised brow, a subtle smirk, and you knew that for tonight, he was yours.

You didn’t speak much. He didn’t ask questions, and that was the kind of energy you craved. A few words, some flirting, fleeting touches, and then you were in his Lambo, the leather seats smooth under your skin as the city sped by. He went as fast as you wanted, loving the thrill and impressed look in your eyes.

The thrill was intoxicating, the feeling of being someone else, someone free. The kind of person who didn’t have to answer to anyone. A few hours later, you were standing on a balcony, watching the sunrise, your lips tingling from the kiss he’d stolen.

Your mind was a haze of laughter and the aftertaste of expensive whiskey. The view of the French Riviera was far too beautiful to appreciate right now, and your thoughts wandered back to Gotham, to the family you’d abandoned, the ones who had never cared for you.

But as the days wore on, it was harder to ignore the hollow feeling creeping in. The message from Dick, the one where he told you that he loved you, stayed in your mind longer than it should have. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You didn’t owe him anything. But you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a second, what it would have been like if things were different.

You turned away from those thoughts quickly. You couldn’t afford to get attached. Not now. Not when you were on the verge of something bigger. The freedom you had now was everything you wanted. No one could take that from you.

You couldn’t let them control you. You wouldn’t let them.

You and Ariel were inseparable now, pulling Claire and Rory into your whirlwind of recklessness. You all had your roles, Ariel was the carefree partier, Claire the quiet one who always managed to keep ya'll out of trouble, and Rory was the one always ready with a camera and a new Tik Tok idea. You were the star, the one they all gravitated toward.

Each day was a new city, a new set of challenges, a new set of eyes who wanted to be close to you. You knew the game, knew how to play it. You knew how to keep them guessing, how to make them want you more.

So, you danced. You partied. You lived in the moment and let your life spiral further from Gotham’s grasp.

From there, it was off to the next city.

Las Vegas; Sin City, there was no place like it. You couldn’t even remember how you got there, your mind fuzzy with a mix of adrenaline and whatever was in that last glass of tequila. The strip was lit up like daylight, people everywhere, the air thick with smoke and the sound of slot machines ringing through the night.

You woke up in a penthouse suite that could have been mistaken for an entire floor of the Bellagio, the morning sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And there he was, a prince. The same French prince, draped in a robe embroidered with gold thread, a fresh glass of mimosas on the table beside him. He was smirking, lounging on the couch like this was all part of his daily routine. You couldn’t even remember how you got to the suite. What had happened between the bar and now? You didn’t care.

He didn’t seem to care either, his hand casually tracing the rim of his glass, his eyes never leaving you. You laughed, feeling the surrealness of it all wash over you, the weight of your last 48 hours in Ibiza and Monaco still fresh on your skin. One minute, you were dancing at a celebrity’s secret after-party in Monaco, and the next, you were here, on the other side of the world with some mysterious prince who had probably already forgotten your name.

The rest of the night was spent taking private jet rides to exclusive clubs, partying with people whose names you couldn’t even pronounce, and waking up to the flashing lights of a casino floor. Vegas was the kind of place where everything felt fake, but that didn’t matter. You really are Brucie Wayne's daughter.

Next stop, Ibiza, the heart of Europe’s clubbing scene. Ariel and you slipped into the club, stepping past the velvet ropes like it was second nature. The security guard practically bowed as you walked by. The crowd parted for you, the clinking of champagne glasses and the hum of expensive conversations filling the air.

This was where you belonged. The heat of the island, the night that stretched into forever. You and Ariel danced on top of the table at Pacha, popping bottles like they were nothing, the music vibrating in your bones, the crowd chanting your name like you were the star of the show. It was your second night there, and you had already met a Spanish duke who was more interested in buying you a yacht than actually getting to know you. There was white powder everywhere, tempting you to try but you didn't give in. Who knows what could be in it. Your friends and most people at the club didn't share the same idea.

You just wanted to enjoy the view and keep the party going but you were worried, maybe this was too much.

“we’ve got to live for the moment,” Ariel grinned, taking a shot of something that made her eyes water. “Who cares if we’re in a foreign country surrounded by dangerous people? It’s the best kind of chaos. When else are we gonna do this?”

Somehow you ended up on a private yacht again, this time surrounded by Ibiza’s elite. You weren’t sure how many shots of tequila you’d had, but you knew that the man at your side had given you a diamond bracelet to match your dress. You accepted with a grin asking him to put it on for you, your hair wild, your makeup smudged from hours of dancing, but it didn’t matter. You were untouchable.

It was getting close to 3 AM, and the music hadn’t stopped. The drinks kept flowing, and the Duke’s yacht you somehow ended up on was finally leaving the dock. You couldn’t remember how you ended up on the boat, but you were there now, floating on a million-dollar boat with peopl you’d only seen on TV. One of the men from the night before was already making eye contact, his glass of sangria in hand.

It was hard to be shy in a setting like this. Rory, who’d never been afraid of attention, was deep in conversation with a couple of supermodels who were likely on their third or fourth drink. Claire was wrapped up in a flirtation with the duke who owned this yacht, and Arie was in her own world, laughing with a group of guys who were definitely not short on cash.

The next morning, you woke up on the yacht, the sun blazing over the Mediterranean. You stretched lazily, your body still buzzing from the night before, and found yourself face-to-face with the man from last night.

He smirked, “Care for another round?” he asked, his accent thick, the sound of the waves crashing against the boat providing an oddly peaceful background.

You laughed and agreed. It was all so easy, this life. This endless, carefree abandon. No rules, no family to answer to, no obligations. It was just you, your friends, and a bunch of gorgeous strangers who only saw you for the party girl you had become. And for now, that was enough.

Next, Monaco, the grandest of them all. You didn’t just go to Monaco, you ruled it. You, Ariel, Claire and Rory crashing the most exclusive gala in the world; rich industrialists, F1 drivers ,tech moguls, the faces that appeared on the front of every magazine. But to you, it was just another game to play. Every conversation was a carefully curated performance, everyone vying for your attention, for your approval.

The days blurred together. Each city more beautiful, each party more decadent than the last. Monaco was wild, filled with the world’s elite and their very bored children. The private yacht parties were nothing short of a movie set, jet skis, champagne, drugs, and the sun beating down relentlessly. The thrill of it all never left, and every night you found a new billionaire, actor, or race car driver to distract you. It wasn’t about them, not really, it was about keeping the power in your hands, it was about feeling good. Taking away the pain that came with your powers, fortunately, men were jumping into your bed.

You didn’t even have to try. One wink, one smile, and suddenly you were in a Bentley, whisked away to a private after-party in a hidden corner of Monaco’s coastline. The prince of some oil-rich kingdom was at your side, and the night was long, filled with laughter and stolen kisses under the stars. You didn’t care what his name was, where he came from, or who he was, he was just another prince who could buy you anything you wanted.

You met guy, almost as rich as Bruce, who you beat at poker, he was more than happy to throw a yacht party in your honor. The invitation was clear: “Come party with us. No rules. No limits.”

Ariel had already decided to make a game of seeing how many men she could flirt before sunset, while Rory was doing her usual thing, charming people with her wit. You, on the other hand, had become the center of attention, as if the whole event was designed around you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a conversation that didn’t involve someone trying to buy you a drink, or a private island.

As the weeks stretched on, you could barely keep track of all the cities you had visited. You spent one night in Berlin, dancing until dawn in one of the city’s most infamous clubs. The next, you were in Milan, draped in designer clothing and laughing with the most influential fashion people in the world. Every day felt like a new chapter, filled with new people, new parties, and a new sense of power.

It was intoxicating. Everyone loved you here, you were the life of every party. You had so many friends, you'd never be alone again.

There was something so exhilarating about being surrounded by people who knew your last name, who were used to rubbing elbows with people like Bruce Wayne, but didn’t realize you were his daughter.

You felt it in your bones now, the distance between you and Gotham was growing wider. The weight of the past, the guilt that had once threatened to crush you, was nothing more than a distant memory. Each city, each new face, each new party was a reminder that you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

But deep down, something shifted. Maybe it was the late-night conversations with Ariel on the balcony of a villa in Santorini, the wine flowing freely as you discussed the future, her dreams, your dreams, how you’d never go back to the way things were. Maybe it was the quiet moments alone on the edge of some private infinity pool, staring out at a horizon that seemed endless and just… empty.

You didn’t know when you started to feel it, but you knew one thing for sure: when you finally did come back to Gotham, you weren’t going to be the same person who had left.

The Final Stop, St. Tropez. You did a full circle. Your last hurrah before you returned home, or where your family assumed you were all this time. The private beach parties, the yachts that lined the harbor, the whispers of billionaires in their private jets. You danced in the sand, surrounded by flashes from cameras and jealous glares from women who had no idea who you were, but wanted to be you all the same.

A private villa awaited you, and there, amidst the most extravagant décor, you found yourself facing yet another prince, yet another man eager to claim you as his own.

You turned to find a prince—probably from denmark—standing next to you. You immediately recognized his face from magazines. He was the one who was always pictured at galas with his equally famous family. He was beautiful, dark-haired and dangerous, with a body like chiseled stone. But the only thing you could think about was how long it would take before you got bored of him, before you moved on to the next.

His thick accented voice cut through your thoughts, "Well, if it isn't the infamous party girl." He smirked eyeing you up and down.

"Oh, so you've heard of me" You said smiling. You had no idea how he knew you, all your socials were private and theres no way you had mutual friends. You froze for a second, just how far has your reputation proceeded you, did Bruce hear?

You brushed the thought away as soon as it came, Bruce didn't exist. Not tonight, your last actual night of freedom. Not when you were boarding the flight to gotham after tomorrow.

"Hard not to. You've been everywhere. Paris, London, Ibiza, Monaco, Dubai, Vegas. You're practically the princess of Europe." He grinned leaning closer.

After two months you were finally starting to feel the rush of it all catching up to you. But for now? Who cared? You were a 16-year-old filled with confidence, chaos, and fun. The world was yours, and there was no one who could stop you, least of all, your father, who were still clueless about your whereabouts and secretly obsessing over your every move. You were too busy living in the moment to care about that.

You were officially the European Party Girl, the one everyone wanted to be friends with, the one they all wanted to take selfies with.

Ariel once called you a prince magnet, she wasn't wrong. You woke up next to him the next morning, his strong arms around your waist.

When you went back to Gotham, you weren’t just going to show up. You were going to treat them like they treated you all these years, you were going to laugh in their faces, ignore them like they ignored you.

As you and Ariel spent your last night together packing, you couldn't help but smile. In these two months with her, you lived more than you had in your entire life.

When you boarded the plane back to Gotham, you were different. You were someone new, someone who had tasted freedom and wasn’t sure if she could ever go back. The Waynes had no idea what was coming for them, but you were ready. The game had shifted, and you were about to play it all the way to the end.

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[spidercat2099]

I feeeeel like Nanami wouldn't notice you flirting with him until someone brought it up.

He'd just be at his desk working on some project when the guy who sits next to him is like "So are you guys a thing yet?" right after you leave a coffee at Kento's desk.

He'd be like "What are you talking about?"

"C'mon dude, she's obviously into you."

"She's just very friendly." He'd respond, not thinking too much about it.

"Just to you?" The guy would ask, letting the question linger for a second before returning to his computer.

His eyebrows furrow slightly and the gears begin to turn. You were a bit touchy, always ensuring there wouldn't be loose threads or dust on his nice suit. You always asked if he ate, how his day was, and if he'd like a coffee. He would've kept thinking that it was just you being friendly if he hadn't realized that you hardly make an effort to do all those things for any other worker.

"I should ask her out then. She is pretty cute." The guy would say, more to himself than Kento. But if what he said was true, Kento would not like the idea of the other guy asking you out first. He had to know.

So, he'd get off the clock just a bit earlier that day. Just as you were getting up from your desk, you'd see a large figure loom over you. "Hey, I was just about to say goodbye." You'd say, surprised he made the first move to see you for once.

"Miss y/n. Have you been flirting with me?" He'd ask bluntly. He'd see no reason to skirt around it, he had to know if he was truly missing all these signals.

You'd chuckle, a bit flistered by the sudden question as you pack your papers. "Well... just a bit. I hope it doesn't offend you."

Kento would pause, confused as to why you weren't more upfront about it. But at the same time, he realized you were probably very obvious if the guy next to him noticed it. He was just oblivious. "Offend me?" He'd ask, unsure of how it could possibly be offensive.

"Yeah." You'd shrug. "It's fine if you don't feel the same. I still wanna be friends."

"I didn't say I don't feel the same." He'd shut down that idea quickly. "I just hadn't thought of our interactions that way. I thought you were simply being friendly."

You'd laugh softly, now in a more amused way. You thought he was brushing you off this entire time to let you down easy. "I appreciate that you think I'm that nice."

"So, to be clear, you've been flirting and you like me. Is that correct?" He'd just have to make sure there was no other way to take it.

"Yes." You'd laugh again. His eyes would widen. He didn't think someone could like him out of all people. He always thought he was too boring, too unemotional, too uncaring. But you... you were so sincere in your feelings for him, that he wouldn't be able to doubt it. He'd realize how your laugh made his heart skip a beat. He'd know he didn't wanna waste time.

"Then... would it be right to assume you'd say yes to a date with me?"

You'd pause. "You're... asking me out?"

He'd simply nod. "I would like to take you out."

You'd clear your throat. You didn't think you actually had a shot with him, but it's presenting itself. "I would like that too."

[carriesthewind]

I'm coming back to this b/c I've been thinking about it all day. In no particular order:

The witch hunt of it all. Yes, it sucks that so much stuff is getting deluged in ai bs. Yes, I don't want to consume or promote or share anything produced with or by so-called ai. But, for a certain small but loud & impactful section of people, instead of focusing on the actual problem (the huge volume of bs and the companies/powerful actors producing and promoting it), or even just pointing out specific examples of the failures or harm, it has become the new Tool of Entertaining Witchhunts. Let's find the Bad Person producing the Bad Content, and attack them.

Part of the alleged proof is snippets of writing that are similar. This is an inherently flawed test. The plagiarism bot produces chunks of text that are very similar, but slightly different, than writing it has consumed. It is very good at this, especially if producing discreet chunks - *especially* if it is something that is something for which their is an existing large amount of texts that are very similar, but slightly different, like, say, an extremely common topey moment in an extremely common tropey story. (Also the "writing pattern" isn't identical. Just. Learn how to read. Sorry, that's mean, but I have little patience.)

Maybe you think these metaphors are bad - that's fine! The author of that post certainly does! Real authors use bad metaphors all the time! One of my current most-read fandom authors writes metaphors that are so bad they loop back around to charming. I love this author's work and wait for it eagerly. In fact, this accusation cuts against the claim that it is ai - the bot works by putting words next to each other that are likely to be next to each other - it doesn't know that its "generating descriptions". If having the works "embers" and "pool" near each other in its training data is statistically unlikely, that's an argument against your thesis, not for it, you nitwit. (Doesn't mean it means that it's "proof" that the writer of the fic didn't use a llm! Just that the author of post didn't prove it!)

Trust in the reporter. "Aren't all these coincidences odd? It proves AI." "Well, isn't it odd that you never show the prompt in your screenshots, just the alleged result of your alleged prompt? It proves you are faking it!" <- I do not believe that last sentence. I would need actual proof to believe it. (I also don't believe whether or not their screenshots are actually real results from a prompt to a chatbot - I think they very likely are! - has any effect on whether or not I believe they have evidenced their conclusion - see above.) But the point I want to make is that everyone reblogging that post is trusting that the poster is being honest that they used a chatbot to produce the results, with no proof. Doesn't that seem strange? Shouldn't that be strange?

Also the repeated unevidenced assertions that a certain writing characteristic is a "tell" for ai - where are they getting this from? Like, maybe that's true - but it's not something I've seen shown before, so maybe provide me something other than "trust me bro"???

Maybe I'm just a bit oversensitive to this now, but how is a writer - or an artist - supposed to unprove an accusation once it has been made? I scrolled down just a bit on the author of that posts feed to see that the original fic writer had been unpersoned, and the reasons are not more convincing proof, but that by questioning the author of the post, you are siding with a bot which has "stolen from real authors." I've said it before and I'll say it again - I have no idea if the fic in question was produced by ai or not. Maybe it was. But what about the next fic to be accused like this, because of shoddy "proof" like this? What avenues to authors have to argue their personhood? Why should they *have* to prove their personhood - should that not be the default assumption? Yes, "real authors" have had their work stolen - and a fuck ton of "real authors" have been harassed out of fandom too. Accusations of being "ai" are just the latest in a long history. I'm being really careful here about not knowing whether or not the original fic author used an LLM, because it doesn't matter to my points, and hey, baseless accusations sometimes turn out to accidentally match some element of reality all the time, but it really grosses me out that I have to leave that space when this is literally baseless accusations.

There's a post going around about a specific alleged AI fanfic. The author of the post lists a lot of reasons why they believe the fic is AI. Not linking to the post and not commenting on its conclusion, but.

But.

People.

These???? Are all ABSOLUTELY VALID analogies/expressions???

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision"

"his grip firm but tender"

"her gown pooling around her like embers"

But the post says that:

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool? the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean

Come on, man. These are perfectly serviceable! Quiet precision and firm but tender are bog standard fictional expressions. Granted, I've never seen the simile of a dress pooling like embers, but I like it! It evokes!

They are absolutely something that an actual living breathing person would write! (In fact they're so serviceable that if the fic is AI they're probably plagiarised) (although firm but tender is SO common I'm not sure it can be plagiarised? It's like 'toeing off his shoes').

Like, yeah, AI sucks. I agree it sucks.

But analogies or expressions that aren't a one to one match for truth (reality? observable fact? whatever, you get what I mean) are not bad?? They don't mean a fic was written with AI?? They're what makes writing GOOD. Makes it interesting.

Sure, 'her nimble fingers moved like bones and tendons covered by skin because they were bones and tendons covered in skin, but her movements were so expertly precise that no one noticed just how super precise they were' might be entertaining. briefly.

But the whole POINT of metaphor and simile is to evoke a reaction. An emotion.

There's a post by silentwalrus that I cannot find (thanks tumblr search), and it's pissing me off, because they perfectly talked about this! About metaphor and how to write original and effective ones (something they're VERY good at). The example was something like 'he did a thing like a scorpion hidden under a bush' and pointing out that if you looked at it too close it didn't make sense, but it evoked a reaction.*

A clever or strange or evocative analogy or expression does not mean it was written by AI.

____________________________

*I may be misremembering the details, and if so I apologise; it was a long time ago, but I'm positive it involved a scorpion.

[twisted-whatifs]

Cultural exchange, Malleus x reader.

Sumary: you’re hanging out with malleus, and end up getting to see his more dragon side.

Notes: it can be read as both romantic and platonic, but there is already an established close friendship, as well as I did put a minor sex joke in there but it’s overall pretty innocent.

2.4K words

His bed is criminally soft, the air smells of fire, pine, and comfort, and the dorm room you´re occupied in screams of wealth and status. So of course, this is exactly where you want to spend your afternoons!

Your head rests against the pillow, letting your hair spill out around your face, as you lay on your side in the middle of the queen-sized bed. The view before you is that of the soon-to-be king of Briar Valley’s room. The floors and walls are shrouded in black, making the fireplace at the foot of the bed seem much more powerful. Though his room isn't the most welcoming at first, you've grown used to it and all its quirks- like the tiny stone pieces on the floor, which he drags with him - by accident - while making gargoyles.

You let out a sigh of relief, not feeling burdened by the tall presence behind you. Rather, you find solace in knowing he's here with you, accompanying and protecting you. You roll over and onto your back, in response to him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“it's nice to finally have some alone time, without that weasel constantly complaining in my ear.” You say with a soft content smile, mirroring his own.

“I know how you feel. I'm beyond grateful for the time here at Night Raven Collage, although having Sebek and Silver tailing me at any given moment can be a burden at times.”

You let out a small kind of laugh, finding amusement in the fact that he, too, acknowledges those two and their overprotective nature. Releasing another sigh from your lungs, you close your eyes and bask in the peace of the moment; the bed beneath you lulling you to sleep, yet your mind still drifts.

“I could so live here - it's way better than ramshackle. That much is certain.”

“If it were up to me, you would have already had a room of your own in our dorm.”

“But it doesn't work like that, does it? Crowley wouldn't let me stay here in a million years”

“No, unfortunately not.”

He finishes off before laying down next to you, joining you in simply relaxing in the presence of each other. As tempting as it would be to open your eyes and turn your head to see him lying next to you, sleep is dragging you in.

“You know, all this dorm stuff… It's so weird to me. Where I'm from, we don't exactly have a magic mirror to tell us where we belong.”

"Well I have to admit, it is a bit of an oddity here as well- But how is your world, for it to be so different from ours?”

“I think a very big part of it is that in my world, we simply don't have magic and because of that, anything within the realm of magic is entirely foreign to me.”

“How intriguing… I think it's safe to assume you miss your home?”

“Yeah… the world I'm from is so different to yours… Like, for example, in my world dragons don't exist.” I finally open my eyes and turn to look at him. As I do, I see him quietly laughing.

“Believe it or not, the people of this world believe the same.”

“Really?!... But aren't you like a dragon?”

“To answer your question, no, I am not a full-blooded dragon. Rather, I'm a dragon/draconic fae, the two are different. According to the public, dragons are extinct, and even though I am in direct opposition to their claims, the general knowledge stays the same.”

“Woah… that's… wild?”

“You're right, it is, my Child of Man…”

“... Well, what does it entail to be a dragon fae?”

His gaze, which earlier had been focused on the ceiling, dipped down to meet yours. His breathtaking green eyes are locked on your own, as he gives you a quizzical look.

“What do you mean, Dear?”

You turn to your body to fully face him, as you sit up on the bed, looking down at him and taking in your position looming above him. He lays relaxed against the sheets, with his hands on his stomach. It is a rare sight for many, but not for you.

“Like, what's it like? What differences does it make?...” You shot a look up to his horns “... What does it look like?”

“... You wish to see my dragon form?”

“-YES”

He's taken aback for a second before his face softens into a smile and he laughs, like actually laughs with heart.

“You humans are such curious creatures… I should warn you, that you might not like what happens if you choose to go through with it.” A mischievous - almost playful - smile is spread across his face. It makes you smile too, to see him so genuinely enjoy something.

“And what does that mean? Is that a threat?”

“You'll find out~” There's no way you're backing down now. You wait patiently as he slowly sits up on the bed, his back just a few inches away from the headboard, his back is as straight as ever.

“Where do we start?”

“Well I've already seen your tail once, but I would love to get a chance to see it up close!”

And with that, a tail spins itself around the edge of the bed from where it connects to him. It's as if it was never hidden in the first place, by how you didn't even notice it appeared. It is longer than his legs and it is covered in beautiful black scales, that shine blues and purples in the light, along with a couple of spikes along its back, ending at the tip with a small appendage (look at the picture for reference). Your eyes are busy studying his tail, while his eyes are busy studying you.

“... Wow… Can I touch it?”

“Go ahead… But be careful, one wrong move and it could easily fling you across the room.”

“You wouldn't do that, would you?”

“Maybe,” He says with that same grin on his face. He clearly wouldn't do it. He's just saying it to tease you. Taking his advice, I carefully reached my hand towards his tail and he so graciously moved closer to me- to the point where the end was touching my thigh. The scales are smooth and cold, yet I can feel the warmth from underneath them, it's a similar feeling to holding a snake yet way bigger- and that it belongs to one of my close friends. My hands trail across its length, admiring the intricacies as I run my fingers up the sides of one of the spikes, gently tapping the tip when I reach it to see how sharp it is. When retracting my finger, it was wholly intact. The spikes aren't particularly sharp.

My eyes met his once again, he wore a face of satisfaction as he observed me.

“I was right. You didn't send me flying”

Breaking the silence I spoke up, and in response, he chuckled- not so much because he found it funny, but rather, perhaps he was simply amused by my intrigue of his extensions. My hand was still on his tail, absentmindedly stroking the scales in an up-and-down motion.

“The last time I saw your tail, I didn't get to see it in such lights as the ones we currently have- Your scales are breathtaking”

“I'm glad you think so.” As he finished up his sentence, he lifted the end of his tail, until the tip was at perfect reach. Taking in the unspoken invitation, I make a final stroke from one of the points of the three-pointed tip, down before he retracts it, adjusting his position against the headboard.

He leans towards me, lifting his knee to support his elbow, so he can rest his cheek on the back of his hand. Meanwhile, his face is reflecting his highly aroused state of mind.

“Are you ready to move on to the next ones? To indulge your curiosities more; or do you wish to back out while you can?”

“You make it sound like I’m in some sort of imminent danger…”

He raised a brow and squinted his eyes, exaggeratedly scrutinizing me- for his standards- you, that is to say, most people as well, rarely ever see him so animated as he is now “Who says I'm not? I strike fear upon whoever may witness me.”

“Well, not me.”

“Perchance you're the peculiar one, then?”

I scoff and roll my eyes, not taking the jab to heart, before returning my gaze to his happy one. ”Well… you got wings right?”

“Indeed I do; you wish to indulge them next?”

“Sure, let's see them.”

Closing his eyes while nodding, he leaned back slightly, returning to a more neutral position, and relaxing his shoulders. “If I do, then it would make it a lot easier for me if I were to remove my shirt; are you comfortable with that, Child of Man?”

“Yeah, sure, I don't mind.”

“... And you can promise to not tell of this to anyone? If my grandmother were to catch wind of me undressing before a human, I would not hear the end of it.”

I chuckle at the thought.

“I promise- It won't end well for me either!”

He goes ahead without further conversation, beginning to undress. As the layers of fabric lifted off his body, it revealed more scales splayed across his features- even on the features visible earlier. The scales beautifully apply to, and exaggerate the contours and highlights of his body and face, making him look even more inhumanly beautiful.

He sits on his knees in front of me, threatening to make my neck ache if I had to look him in the eyes. Then, faster than I could compute, I’m surrounded by black. His large- large- wings encircle me. I whip my head from side to side, trying to look at them fully before my eyes lock with his. He wore the same stupid grin he did earlier, only bigger, I didn't even know he could be this expressive.

“So, child? Are you intimidated?”

“I-... well yes, kind of...”

His voice is roaring as he laughs at me, having his fun to the full before it softens into a more apologetic one.

“Sorry, the last thing I would want is for you to be scared of me.” He raised his hand and gently glided the back of his fingers against my cheek; he's been very bold recently.

He unflexed his wings, allowing the light to flow back to us. Between the very forward displays of affection, his high mood, and your eyes having to accommodate more light, you need a moment to adjust. And following you as you adjust, he does the same with his position, allowing you full access to his back. His wings go far lower than his back- the ends splay down far onto the bed.

You slowly reach out your hand, first coming into contact with the skin between the shoulder blades. His teal-tipped hair ends tickle your fingers before you finally come into contact with the wings. They spout out unusually from his back, with a joint prominent on the shoulder blade. As your hands glide upwards towards the tip of the top joint, you lightly graze over the talon placed on it, and moving your hand down further to the very end, you grasp the tip and watch it flex out and unfurl again, taking in and admiring the intricate ways it moves.

A few minutes go by of this- by curiously taking in his features, as he sits with his back turned to you in silence, to not interrupt your so focused observations; his wings being the biggest muse as it stands. Mesmerized by the way the thin tissue of his wings unfold when they open up, or the way that they can shield you away from almost any danger out there, within but a second.

The hair running down his back shifts, as he turns his head back to look at you, gazing at you with what could almost be described as sultry eyes.

“Did you have your fun?”

“Oh, if I did- your wings are enchanting, Malleus.”

He's turned over so he's facing you again, now getting yet another good look at the scales adorning his upper body. He smiles in contentment, the worn-out traces of his lipstick emphasising his lips as they curl upwards.

“So, Mal… is the next step full dragon form?”

“Oh no, my Child of Man, I think that will have to wait for another time; royal secrecy and indecency rules and whatnot.”

“Aw… Though when that does happen - which it will- can I ride you?”

“I can't promise anything, but it certainly wouldn't go against my reservations.”

Before you could answer, a notification rang through your phone, that Crowley gave you back at the Scarabia incident. As it turned out it was a text from Epel, in a group chat you’re in with your first-year friends. But as the screen lit up, the time caught your eye.

“There's only about an hour left, until I have to meet up with Grim again for dinner… how about we savour these last few moments?”

“Do you have anything particular in mind, prefect?”

He raised an eyebrow before answering, and when he was done speaking you took a bold move to lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to lay on the mattress along with you.

“Could we spend the time cuddling until I have to go again?”

His usual warm smile returns to his face, though differently this time, accompanied by the slightest redness dusting his cheeks.

“I would be delighted to.”

He gently grabs onto your waist, pulling you closer to his body. The scales on his neck feel cold to the touch, as you make yourself comfortable laying your head against his chest; letting the soft rhythmic thump of his heartbeat lull you to sleep before his tail wraps around one of your legs. Lastly, he opens his wings and wraps them around the two of you.

Staying like that, the two of you lay comfortably in each other's presence, before you had to return to whatever duties and responsibilities await you outside his room.

A/N (Chrille): from what I've heard, in Briar Valley, there's a rumour/belief that dragons are extinct? I’m not too sure though. Also please exuse if my grammar or mommas are weird English isn’t my first language😭

[anpanman95]

Is anyone else feeling like a clown for expecting a whole entire episode of mushy love and happiness? No? Just me? Okay.

Let's dissect every incredible part of this trailer to forget the fact there is no IQIYI logo nor an online link in it for international fans to watch it because I will probably cry myself to sleep.

We have a proposal WITH THE FAMILY. And my man Jack brought Joke FLOWERS and all I just know it's gonna be like an unexpected surprise and I CAN'T WAIT FOR IT. Also the color scheme???? BRILLIANT.

Is Jack asking for Sr. Suthi's blessing? If that's the case I will be ONLY TEARS during this. I'm a sucker for "take care of my lovely son please don't hurt him" trope I don't even know how am I going to survive this. ALSO TOI TING IS THERE DID THEY ACTUALLY ADOPT HER???

I love Jack's bedroom but I do hope they improve their love nest they deserve the sturdiest bed you know? Or maybe not...A mattress does make a lot less noise, you know? sorry I'll stop

Here's where my questions being. I know they probably get married at the end of the episode, but this part is giving "we're on our honeymoon and they rudely interrupted us now we have to put this on hold and go save the world again" Also LOOK AT THEM THEY LOOK GORGEOUS. Joke that is the most Mark-coded T-shirt you have ever worn he'd be proud.

GOD THE SUITS. BONZ??? HELLO??? JOKE WEARING THAT ICONIC WHITE SUIT AND RED BOW FROM THE PILOT??? IM NOT GOING TO SURVIVE THIS.

I KNEW IT. I KNEW THEY SHOULD HAVE KILLED THIS BITCH

It's giving don't touch my fiance and I'm delighted to witness it.

BONZ is looking FINEEEEEEEEEEEE

I don't even need to comment on this one cause no one is fucking surprised but I'm devouring this shit. They don't give a fuck they truly don't and I love them for it. Also they look DIVINE.

It seems we'll get good mushy love content and I'm just hoping it's not so short lived. We'll get to see them in action again after being a couple for a while, probably, and I'm DYING to see how their relationship improved.

They are the type to do PDA, that much is clear, and I'm loving this switching in dynamics. Their love language is killing me: Jack is cute and somewhat 'cheesy', and Joke is a bit more aggressive in his love showing. Ugh, the bear hugs? The head kisses? The hand holding? I feel like I'm starved for them to be affectionate with each other PLEASE I CAN'T TAKE THIS.

I don't even know what's even going on cause I don't know any Thai and us international fans will probably have to wait before watching this.

I hope that's not the case cause I've been DYING on this wait for this episode and I don't want to prolong it any longer.

BUT either way I'm very happy with this

IM SEATED.

BRING IT ON GAYS.

[sammyluvr]

✶ sweet potatoes — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, mentions of kissing, food, and very minor injury (spilt hot water), unedited, 1.2K words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : a kitchen that smells like roasted sweet potatoes + “honey–” “why do you keep calling me that?” “i– do you want me to stop?” “…no.”

the promise of a freshly made hot drink has you wandering into the bunker’s kitchen. coffee or tea or maybe even hot chocolate, you’ll decide when you get there. a warm, rich smell greets you before you make it all the way down the hallway, and you breathe in deeply as you cross the threshold to fill your senses with it.

you’re greeted by a sight almost as sweet as the scent. sam sits at the table off to the side, pouring over the book he’s reading these days. he looks up when he hears you and smiles lightly. he and the smell of roasting sweet potatoes is a familiar pairing by now. it’s his favorite way to cook them, and one of his favorite foods. they’re incredibly healthy, and though he doesn’t always love sugared tastes, he likes their particular version of sweet.

you smile back at him easily, drifting past him and to the cabinet stocked with mugs. “smells good,” you sigh as you pull a cup down, knowing he’s made some for you too.

“there’s fresh coffee,” he tells you, and you glance back to see him hold up his own plain white mug as evidence.

“thanks, i think i’ll have some tea, though,” you decide. there’s an herbal mix better suited for this time of day. he nods in understanding, and lets his attention drift back to the book. at least, that’s how it looks before you turn away from him to fill the kettle with water and switch on the flame beneath it. once you’re not looking, he is and his honeyed eyes are trailing your form as you move about the kitchen, settling the tea bag into your mug. his chin dips back down when you pad over to the little table and settle in the seat across from him.

you sit there, a bit absentminded as you wait for the water to boil and he keeps his eyes mostly trained on the book in front of him. his gaze has a tendency to wander when he’s around you, usually just to see you. to see the tip of your nose or catch the movement of your eyebrows as you try to understand something. just for your fingers or smile or eyes, or any part of you at all. but he’s been accused of having heart eyes around you, so he tries not to be too obvious. he wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“so, when did the sweet potatoes go in?” you ask as a way to find out when they’ll be ready to eat. you asking him a direct question is an appropriate time for sam to be able to look at you, so of course, he does.

“about half an hour ago. it won’t be too long until they’re ready. you hungry?” he answers. he hopes you’re not too hungry to wait, maybe he should’ve asked you before.

“just a little,” you shake your head, thinking the timing to be perfect. you’ll be hungry enough by the time they’re cooled and ready to eat. the shrill whistle of the kettle interrupts you before you get the chance to ask him if he plans to make something with them or just eat them plain. you stand quickly to get rid of the noise. this old kettle is completely functional, but sometimes you think about investing in an electric one to avoid the loudness.

you turn of the stove and pull the kettle away from the heat. the water spills right into your mug over the tea bag as you tip the spout down. light brown tendrils stain the water, evening out into a pale color that will darken as it steeps. you fill the cup nearly to the brim, for no reason other than wanting more tea. then you set the kettle back down and loop your fingers through the handle, careful not to have your knuckles pressed into the now heated body of the mug.

sam watches fondly as you walk back to him, your movements slow and careful as to not spill. these efforts are futile the moment you sit down. you really should’ve just set the mug down before sitting, but maybe you’re a bit eager to be near sam again and the thought never crossed your mind. everything is much less steady as you lower yourself into the chair, scalding tea sloshing over the rim of the cup and pulling a pained gasp from your lips as it pours over your fingers.

“damn!” you hiss, spilling more as you quickly set the cup down and pull your hand away to rid it of the hot water.

“oh, honey,” sam mutters, the sweet name slipping from his lips without his control, just like it has been these days, a little too often. fingers gentle, he takes your hand from you by the wrist and pulls it towards him, inspecting it to see if he can find any signs of a burn. then he gives a soft tug. “c’mon, let’s get this under cold water.”

“it’s fine,” you say easily, but let him guide you back to the sink because your mind goes a little fuzzy every time he calls you that. he turns on the tap and checks the temperature, just to be sure it’ll be cold for you, then brings your hand under the stream of water. it feels nice, and you’re sure the burn won’t bother you for any longer than a few minutes. it’s quiet except for the rush of water and its splashing into the metal sink. closer to the oven, the scent the roasting sweet potatoes is thick, honeyed. honey. your voice is quiet when you speak, unable to let it go this time. “why do you keep calling me that?”

it takes him a moment to register what you mean. then he feels heat rise up from his neck, through his jaw, and into his cheeks. he’s not so sure how to answer. he calls you honey because he loves you, because it suits you, because he thinks you’re sweet and endearing and that you deserve to be called something soft and full of love. and also because he can’t help it. because it just slips out when he’s around you, and his self control wavers in your presence.

“i– do you want me to stop?” he says carefully. he decides to answer your question with one of his own, in hopes that he can deflect responsibility and in fear that he’s made you uncomfortable.

his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist with all the care in the world, and you probably don’t need to keep your hand under the water any longer, but you don’t move. there’s a moment where you don’t answer, and he holds his breath without realizing it. if you ask him to stop, it could very well break his heart.

“no,” you murmur, “no, you don’t have to stop.” it’s almost the perfect answer.

“but do you want me to?” he asks, voice softened like yours.

you shake your head. “no. i like it when you call me that. it just confuses me a little bit,” you say in all honesty. he turns the water off, and gently wraps your hand in a towel. in the process, he turns you both so that you’re face to face.

“i’m sorry i confused you. don’t be confused, though. i mean it when i say it,” he says, so very sincere and sending your heart into a lovesick panic.

your kiss is interrupted by the beeping of the oven timer, signalling the readiness of the sweet potatoes. you’re sure nothing will be as sweet as his lips, though.

[hyperfocusfox]

So many of these comments on this post did not pass the vibe check so I wanted to add:

I am 30 and trans. (Genderfluid leans masc heavily)

I only have vague memories of the first 27 years of my life because I was so absolutely fucking horribly miserable every day of my life that my brain literally forgot it. Everything was a misery I was simply surviving.

A huge amount of being that miserable was not knowing I was trans. No joke.

And the MAIN REASON I didn't know I was trans was because my parents made it very clear from when I was a young child that they hated trans people and considered them gross and wrong and a sin against god. Very much not a 'letting your child express themself and listening respectfully' sort of environment. So I never allowed myself to even consider it as a possibility until I was outside of my parents influence. Because it wouldn't have been safe. My brain wouldn't even let me think about it.

Well all things considered how can I be so sure it was the lack of trans support making me miserable and not something else? Glad you asked. Here are some fun facts about me as a kid/teen.

I remember when I was really little and my parents stopped letting me run around without a shit on outside. And I was so confused and upset. Because my brother and my dad got to play outside without a shirt. Why not me? I didn't understand and was annoyed.

I always tried to act like one of the guys at school: climbing trees and roughhousing with people much more than anyone else. Tbh I was a bit too violent because I clearly didn't fit in and was overcompensating.

I used to be fascinated by the one or two trans kids at my school. I would watch them anytime they were around me and emotionally I ached. And I could never figure out why. And then I would have to pretend I hated them because my parents taught me I had to.

I used to watch YouTube videos of people who had top surgery and their experience with it. I would watch late at night when no one was awake and be captivated for hours. And then I would look up pictures of what people looked like after top surgery. And at that time it was much harder to find resources or images for. So I would look for hours. And then I would feel so upset afterwards and not know why. And I would pretend I didn't watch/see any of it because I felt so hurt and confused by my fascination with a topic that was supposed to be taboo.

Sometimes I would be spending time with adults and someone would share news that someone we knew had breast cancer or endometriosis. And I would feel JEALOUS. I would feel a deep jealousy. I would consider them lucky, while other people would mourn and cry over the need for necessary surgery such as mastectomies or hysterectomies. I would wish that were me. And then I would feel like a horrible awful shit person for thinking that. Because what the fuck right?

Do you want to know what it took to make me realize I was trans?

I had just disconnected from my parents and an abusive ex. It was the first time in my life I ever felt safe. The first time I was ever in a position to not be judged in 27 years of living.

And my trans friend was talking to their drunk coworker about them being nonbinary. And the drunk guy turned to me unceremoniously and said 'are you nonbinary too? Is that you as well?'

And I was literally stunned because no one had literally EVERY IN MY LIFE asked me about my gender before. And I gave the most awkward delayed stuttering reply of 'n-no. I'm a female.' It was not fucking convincing AT ALL to anyone present. Except for maybe the drunk guy who forgot he even asked the question by the time I replied. And I literally couldn't stop thinking about it. I thought about that until I literally realized I was trans.

That's it. That's all it took. Was me being in a nonjudgmental environment and for one single person to ask me my gender.

Having any freedom to explore my gender as a kid in a safe way with any amount of support from my family would have been fucking LIFE CHANGING. All the nonsurgical care approaches mentioned above would have been LIFE CHANGING for me as a child.

I still would have fumbled around for a bit trying to figure out what exactly was the right label. (Which I did as an adult anyways while feeling incredibly self conscious lol) But I would have come to the exact same conclusion years sooner with just any amount of support. And honestly it would have been less likely I made any permanent changes I regretted.

Being a full adult who had already gone through a puberty that didn't work for me made everything so much harder. All my decisions felt more pressured and more hectic because I was so desperate to lessen my dysphoria. My body was so mentally distressing to me that even while being very careful to make my decisions with the help of my therapist and my doctor it was still hard to tell what I was doing because it was what I wanted and what I was doing to just try anything to try to fix the dysphoria. (It worked out I'm good and happy with everything I decided to do.)

If I was transitioning as a kid I could have just paused puberty with blockers and then taken the time I needed to figure things out in a social setting without as much stress and crushing dysphoria from my physical body and being worried I needed to do everything right away or it was too late.

Gender affirming care is life changing care for trans people, especially kids. At all levels. The social support, the puberty blockers, the hormones, and even the surgeries. It saves lives. It keeps kids alive. We can skip whole arcs of trauma for these kids by just listening to them and respecting them and letting them figure it out. Please please please protect trans kids and their healthcare.

is it okay for a minor to go through and consent to life changing surgeries?

especially when they cannot drive, vote, get a tattoo, you think a minor has the ability to think through such a decision?

[certifiedsexed]

genuine question, because I guess I don't really understand…

you mentioned that that article on menopause for trans and nonbinary people was aimed at transmascs and didn't have much ifo for trans fems.

that makes perfect sense tho in my mind, people who were have uteruses are the ones who experience menopause. trans fems dont. or am I incorrect in that??

its just that in my mind/to my knowledge, info on menopause isn't useful to trans fems because they wont experience menopause

Good question! (Believe it or not, you're not the only person who was wondering about this.)

So, peri/menopause isn't something only experienced by people who have uteruses. You can even have a uterus and/or ovaries, get them removed, and still experience peri/menopause.

Which is funny, by which I mean, makes it blatantly transmisogynistic, because transfems can experience peri/menopause but are frequently told it "doesn't count" because most transfems don't have a uterus and/or ovaries.

Peri/menopause, much like periods, is largely about estrogen and your general hormone levels. Not necessarily just about whether you have a uterus and/or ovaries.

There's actually a number of transfems who prefer to lower their estrogen doses as they age, as well as transfems whose estrogen levels drop for other reasons, and that can cause what's usually referred to as "menopause symptoms".

Its referred to as "menopause symptoms" in much the same way transfems having periods/PMS/PMDD is referred to as "having symptoms of X" instead of "experiencing X".

By which I mean, they can go through menopause, its just often differently than considered "normal" and the way its talked about is often transphobic.

So far, it seems as if it's not very common but given the fact that's been said about many transfem health related issues that people refuse to study, it's hard to say how common it actually is.

So information on menopause can be useful to transfems, they're just largely excluded from it! Even in discussions of trans people experiencing peri/menopause, unfortunately.

Hope this helps! Let me know if you have any other questions, Anon! <3

[lmoneysz]

SOFT SPOT.

Ghost x nurse!reader

You had treated countless soldiers, each one carrying their own burdens, their own scars. But none were as closed off as Ghost.

Most of the men you treated in the infirmary at least gave you something—a nod, a muttered "thanks," even the occasional joke to lighten the mood. Ghost, however, was different. He spoke in clipped sentences, tolerated treatment in silence, and disappeared the moment you were done. It was like he wasn’t fully there, always half in the shadows.

Still, he came to you.

You noticed it after a while. Ghost could’ve gone to any of the medics, but when he got injured, it was always your door he darkened. A deep gash across his arm? He sat in your chair, wordless, while you stitched him up. Bruised ribs? He let you press careful fingers to his side, barely flinching at the pressure. A bullet wound? He endured the pain in silence, eyes watching you from behind his mask as you worked.

At first, you assumed it was coincidence. Maybe he just happened to end up in your care more often than not. But then it became undeniable.

One night, he walked in, bleeding from a jagged cut on his side. You sighed, grabbing your supplies. “You know, there are other medics on base,” you teased lightly, kneeling beside him. “I’m sure one of them would love to patch you up.”

Ghost didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let you lift his shirt slightly, exposing the wound. It wasn’t deep, but it needed stitching. His muscles tensed under your fingers, though not from pain.

“I don’t like the others,” he finally muttered.

You paused, glancing up at him. His gaze was unreadable, the skull mask concealing anything his expression might’ve given away. But his words lingered, settling somewhere deep in your chest.

“You shouldn’t like me either then,” you pointed out, trying to keep your tone light.

A beat of silence. Then—

“…Don’t mind you.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment you’d ever get from him, but it was enough.

You smirked, shaking your head as you threaded the needle. “I’ll take it.”

As you worked, you felt the weight of his stare. Ghost rarely spoke, but you could always feel when he was watching you. It wasn’t intimidating—not in the way others might think. It was steady, calculating, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Y’always this gentle?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught you off guard. You blinked up at him before returning to your work. “It’s my job.”

“Still,” he murmured. “you’re good at it.”

Your hands stilled for half a second before you forced yourself to keep going. You tied off the last stitch, pressing a gauze pad against the wound before taping it in place. “Maybe I have a soft spot for stubborn soldiers who don’t take care of themselves.”

He huffed a quiet breath—something close to amusement. “Reckon that’s dangerous.”

You smiled, smoothing the bandage into place. “Maybe.”

Another silence stretched between you, but this one felt different. Less tense. More settled.

Ghost exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly as he pulled his shirt back down. “Cheers,” he muttered, standing.

“Try not to get stabbed again, yeah?” you said, tilting your head.

“No promises.” He hesitated for half a second before adding, “I’ll be back if I do.”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth bloomed in your chest. Ghost wasn’t an easy man to understand, but you were starting to realize something.

For all his coldness, all his distance—he still came to you.

That’s Ghost for you.