#like i like sorting stuff but this is SO much

[originalleftist]

I think besides giving Alfred something to do, there are basically three ways you can interpret Bruce when it comes to everyday practical skills:

He actually knows how to do them all- he's Bruce Wayne, he's hyper-self-disciplined and controlling, obsessively prepares for any contingency, and picks up skills like other people pick up spare change. However, he mostly leaves the domestic stuff to Alfred because it's practical- he can't be everywhere at once, and while Bruce could do Alfred's job, Alfred, for all that he's certainly a dangerous man, could not really do Bruce's jobs. So it's simply a logical division of labour. It also keeps his weird employee/sort-of father figure safer.

Much like early Sherlock Holmes, the way he has room in his brain for everything he DOES know is that he actively chooses to forget anything that is not directly useful to his crime fighting. Ie, he's basically a completely helpless man child for anything but crime solving or combat-related skills, by choice. He absolutely could learn cooking and cleaning, and probably has, but he doesn't remember it because there's only so much room even in the Bat-Brain.

Bruce is hyper-motivated when it's his obsession, and completely lacking in motivation/self-discipline otherwise (whether that's due to just being an entitled dipshit, or deep depression, some other form of neurodivergence, or some combination of the preceding is open to debate).

I consider all of these valid character interpretations- one of the strengths of Batman is that the character has a concept which is simple, compelling, and coherent enough to be extremely versatile, to the point where you can have many extremely different character interpretations who are all recognizably Batman.

“Bruce doesn’t know how to cook” “Bruce doesn’t make his own bed” have you considered the possibility that Bruce knows how to do all of those things but lets Alfred do them anyway because if he doesn’t, the whole Manor falls apart?

Bruce lets Alfred make the bed because after the close call with Killer Croc last night it’s either crisp folded sheets pressed to perfection OR Alfred goes deep into the Gotham sewers with a rifle, a belt of flash-bangs, and 30 years of unresolved overprotectiveness.

let the man cook. literally, please let him cook something.

[lumieraz]

Word count: 3.9k

Tags: Caleb x fem!reader, fluff, slightly subby caleb, he eats you out lol, creampies, slight body worship, some praise, dry humping, rough sex

Summary: Caleb and you end up having sex after he yaps about model planes lmao

Gentle was the way the light from the lamp to the side of his bed gleamed off the walls and settled lowly in the room.

Caleb sat next to you as you slightly snuggled up at his side, the both of you slouched against the wall and pillows as you listened intently to his ongoing, mostly one-sided conversation. It was kind of nice to just sit next to him like this and listen to him go on and on about his interests even if you didn’t really understand some of the stuff he was talking about. 

“There are some model planes that come almost pre-built, those ones are pretty convenient for some people, but I like building them from scratch, personally,” His voice was sort of giddy as he continued on with his explanation of the different components of model aircrafts. He seemed so passionate about this and you found that endlessly sweet. 

“There’s so much thought that goes into building one that a lot of people wouldn’t actually appreciate until they’ve tried it themselves,” He said before looking over at you to ask, “Are you actually listening?” His tone was sort of teasing.

“Oh! Yeah I am, keep talking,” You replied as your gaze traced his features. He looked so pretty right now, gorgeous with the way his lips tilted up into another soft smile when you gave him the go-ahead to continue talking. 

He started going over the various types of tools usually needed when building model planes and you realized that there is a lot more that goes into this than you originally thought, well, you honestly aren’t entirely sure what you originally thought anymore as you continue to listen to his voice — Your mind was no longer fully comprehending the strings of words coming out of his mouth as he continued to talk about different model aircraft supplies. 

Honestly, you really didn’t mean to space him out again, his voice is just so soothing and lovely that you couldn’t help but feel a little mesmerized as he spoke. Your eyes traced the arch of his brows, the way his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled while talking about something that ultimately fell on deaf ears. Oh, he was so, so cute. 

“—And that’s exactly why those types are amazing to see fly for the first time! They just—” He raised his head slightly to look at you and his sentence trailed off. Why were you looking at him like that?

“Well, I mean… They’re just cool is what I’m really trying to say…” He said a little more sheepishly than before, looking away from you and your enamored gaze. 

You giggled lightheartedly at his sudden flustered behavior and sat up a little “No! No- I’m sorry, I’m listening, tell me more!” you continued. 

“I’m not sure what else to say,” He said, and it was technically a lie, because at any other moment he really would go on for a lot longer talking about these things… But right now it felt as though all of his knowledge on model planes had dissipated from his mind as he watched you continue to scoot in a little closer to him. 

“Okaaay… If you say so.” You said softly as your hand slipped down to take hold of his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. 

He huffed out a breath and his gaze followed your hand as you did so, just staring quietly.

You couldn’t help but laugh as his eyes returned to yours, a dopey smile gracing your lips. This usually happened when you were alone with him for a bit too long. You so easily slipped under that blanket of nostalgic affection for him, one built from years of just simply being there for one another. It made you want to smile and laugh, maybe pepper his face with kisses, or just hold him close until you fell asleep in his arms.

He tilted his head down slightly and sighed before raising it again to look at your face, his expression nothing short of fond. “Ah… Just come here already…” He said, gesturing for you to move closer.

Your smile widened as you moved to climb onto his lap and snuggle close. He sighed and closed his eyes as he wrapped two strong arms around you. “You know, if this is what you really wanted, you could’ve just asked…” He murmured softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck in return.

You looked into his eyes and a soft giggle escaped you. “Mmm no, I like listening to you,” You mumbled. The air felt a little more magnetic now than it did before. There was always this gentle, playful push and pull between the two of you, but it always felt stronger in moments like this, making your face a little warmer and your a little heart softer. 

“Then what was I just talking about?” He asked, a playful glint in his violet eyes. 

You huffed out a laugh before giving the most useless answer you could offer up, “Uhhh– Planes?”.

You watched as his expression once again turned into something softer, shaking his head as a small ‘tsk’ fell from his lips. He looked at you again and you both just sat like that for a few moments, admiring one another as the silence stretched on until it split in two. 

He was leaning in a little more now, you noticed. You couldn’t help but lean in a little more as well.

You felt him press his forehead to yours and then the faint brush of his breath against your lips, fleeting and warm before he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was chaste and soft and then he pulled back, just merely looking into your eyes with a slightly unreadable look before pressing back in to kiss you a little deeper.

You slowly changed positions to straddle him and one of his hands started to rub up and down the side of your body, his touch was so gentle – almost reverent. You leaned in again and brushed your lips against his and he closed his eyes. You giggled softly against his lips and he did the same.

You felt his free hand snake up your body and towards the back of your head to gently hold it as the one rubbing your side came up to cup your chin. 

And you were being a little shy, so he used it as leverage to slowly prod a little deeper with the kiss until it was something not so soft and fleeting. 

You allowed him to take that initiative as he angled your face a little more to his liking and gently pressed in deeper. His tongue very slightly slipped into your mouth and rolled over yours in a way that had you falling pliable to his touch. He pulled his head back afterwards and you couldn’t help but lean in and subconsciously chase the warmth of his mouth, cute.

“Just follow my lead, okay?” He whispered against your lips and you listened, mirroring his actions as the hand he had cupping your jaw moved to gently cradle the side of your face. 

Here it was – that same push and pull again. The two of you always guided each other in the only ways you both knew best, something as simple and intangible as a kiss was no exception to that rule. You really did wish it could just stay like this forever, such a warm and comforting thing that only he was able to give you.

But you were only human, and your wishes of wanting to keep things soft and innocent like this were fleeting as you began to crave more of him. You didn’t understand how he so easily made you like this, your need for him so quickly becoming all consuming.

Pure warmth slowly bled into something more fevered and passionate between you and him as your hands slid up to cup his face in return.

You looked into his eyes again upon pushing back a bit and breaking the kiss, you noticed this intensity in them now that made heat curl up inside of you.

The shift in the air was almost palpable, a much too knowing moment of silence shared briefly between the two of you… And before you knew it – his hands were all over you. 

He was touching with urgency now, pulling you closer, palming up against your breasts through the fabric of the shirt that you happened to borrow from him earlier.

Yeah. He needed that off. Now.

His hands hastily moved to the hem of the shirt before he stopped in his tracks and looked to you again, silently asking permission, because your comfort was always first on his mind before anything else. You always appreciated this part of him, you really did… But sometimes you couldn’t help but wish he would be beside himself enough to just tear the offending clothes away without notice. 

But that wasn’t what this was, and you knew that. 

So you instead just nodded softly at him.

He lifted the shirt up over your head gently before tossing it somewhere haphazardly in his room. The lacy floral bra you wore underneath was much appreciated by him, but it also needed to be gone. He reached around and unclasped the garment and watched in awe as he used his Evol to toss it away with a flick of his finger. 

You suddenly felt too open and bare, and just a little cold too now that your breasts were on full display to him.

Caleb on the other hand though… 

He couldn’t help but reach out and cup them with his hands and sighed softly as you slightly backed away from the touch, his hands were warm though, and he was looking at you so dearly, so you swallowed back the shyness that often forced its way out of you during intimacy and decided to instead be more open with him. You brought your hands up to where his hands were and pressed your palms against the backs of his, forcing him to apply more pressure against your breasts.

He took that as about as much confirmation he needed to continue before he was leaning in and peppering your chest and neck with kisses.

You flush, his actions suddenly so bold as he stopped his kisses and lowered his head to graze one of your hardening nipples with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth, you couldn’t stop the whine that escaped your lips and the sound did nothing but egg him on.

Your back arched slightly as his hands slipped down to your hips and gripped firmly to press you against the tent forming beneath his grey shorts. Fuck, he was getting hard, you could feel it pressing into you and liquid heat pooled in the pit of your stomach as you felt him start to use the hands on your hips to rock you against him. 

It was kind of lazy at first, just allowing him to guide your movements so as to feel that pleasurable friction. Well, it really didn’t stay that way for long as you pressed against him deeper, closer, and harder.

He pulled back from your chest and looked into your eyes with pink dusted cheeks and slightly parted lips. God, He looked needy, you almost instantly pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss, groaning into his open mouth as he resumed his earlier actions of grinding you down against his cock.

Your hands slipped down to his chest, pressing in softly and then skimming your fingers down against the cool fabric of his shirt until they found the hem and tugged slightly. He noticed what you were silently asking for and instantly moved to help you pull off his shirt without hardly breaking the kiss.

You gasped as he sat up and hauled you down onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thud as he leaned over you.

You watched longingly as he began to fumble with the waistband of his sweatpants, slipping them down his legs enough that you could fully see the outline of his cock through his boxers before clumsily pulling them off entirely and throwing them to the side of his bed. 

He all but collapsed on top of you afterwards and started to grind his still boxer-clad cock against your thigh. 

“Please– Please, I need– need to, fuck– Need you,” He whimpered against your ear as his needy grinding quickly morphed into him essentially humping your thighs.

You felt heat sweep up and down your body at his behavior and the wetness between your legs suddenly became a little hard to ignore. 

Your hands moved to his head and you gently raked your fingers through his hair, you felt him rut against you a little more frantically at the action as he started to leave hot, open mouthed kisses against your neck, making you moan softly.

“Caleb, please,” You whined, you didn’t know what you were begging for exactly, you just knew that you suddenly needed him closer.

He sat back slightly and his kisses began to descend down your body now, kissing down between the valley of your breasts, and then down your abdomen, then finally down below your navel. His lips left a searing trail in their wake, leaving your hips to twitch uselessly in aroused anticipation.

He glanced up at you briefly before softly gripping the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your thighs and then completely off to be tossed away as well. 

You gasped as he leaned in and nosed against the wet spot that had formed against your panties. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling them down frantically and leaning back in to press a soft hand to the inner parts of each of your thighs. You gave in so easily, spreading them for him like it was instinct and he felt his cock twitch at the sight of it, pretty. 

A soft laugh rumbled from him before he leaned in and began to leave soft kisses and bites against your inner thigh, leaving you dizzy and hot all over. He trailed them up until he was right at the heat between your legs. 

“Wait— Caleb–!” Before you could finish your sentence he was already licking a stripe up through the wetness that had gathered up down there, forcing a strangled noise from your throat and making your words die off rather quickly. 

His mouth began to worship you with unrelenting passion, forcing the air from your lungs as he lapped and delved his tongue in, humming in satisfaction at the taste of you. 

You couldn’t help but squirm and cry out as your thighs clamped at the sides of his head. You could tell he was taking pleasure in this with the way he was grinding himself against the mattress as he licked a languid stripe up to your most sensitive part before sucking on it harshly.

“Caleb– Hah fuck– please,” You moaned unashamedly as your hands moved to grip his hair and pull on it slightly. He fucking moaned at that, and you definitely weren’t ready for the way he started to eat you out even more hungrily than he was before.

Your body convulsed at the overwhelming feelings and tears blurred your vision as you started to cry out louder, “Caleb— Wait, stop, It’s too- too much I– I can’t” It was all happening too fast. That knot forming in your stomach was about to snap if he kept going, so you tried to pull his head back, but to your dismay he grabbed your wrists and forced them down at your sides. 

You thrashed and gasped out his name in a futile attempt to slow his movements as he licked up as much of your juices as he could, such useless attempts, If only you knew how sexy you sounded right now.

You could feel the tides of your arousal crashing dangerously close over the shore, just a little more and you feared that the string of arousal forming deep inside you would snap. 

In your pleasure hazed mind you had barely noticed that he had inserted a finger until he started to move it inside of you while still licking you up like a starved man. That was about all you needed now to finish at this point. You gushed all over his face and he drank it all in fervently, groaning at the taste before finally pulling back from between your legs and removing his hand to lick the taste of you off of his fingers.

He looked down at your spent form, taking in the sight of your heaving chest and tear stricken eyes, he was so hard now that it almost hurt, precum leaking out through his boxers at the tip, and the completely wrecked look you had now was doing absolutely nothing to help him.

“You’re so beautiful,” He breathed as he leaned in to kiss you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue and it made a strange sense of need swirl around inside of you. This kiss was hungrier than any of the earlier ones, it was like he was repeating the motions he had just been using down there in the kiss now, essentially fucking his tongue into your mouth in a way that had you whining and sputtering against his lips. 

He started to palm himself over his boxer as he continued to kiss you deeply, whining into your mouth as he pulled the fabric down enough to let his cock spring free from those confines, it was all wet and hot and hard in his hand. 

He broke the kiss and pulled back, a string of spit still connecting the two of you as he pressed his forehead to your. “Please baby,” He groaned and your gaze was quickly guided to where he was currently stroking himself with need. 

You quickly pushed him back a bit, stopping his movements. “Please! I– I can take it. Just fuck me already,” You begged, feeling way too empty all of a sudden. 

He stroked himself a few more times and lined himself up with your entrance at your request. He didn’t instantly do anything though, just lazily dragging the head of his cock up and down through your folds, teasing you even now. 

One of his hands came back up to your breast and began to roll one of your nipples between his fingers again, Your hips bucked against his cock at the sensation and he couldn’t help but slowly begin to press into you.

You and him both groaned in unison as you felt him press inside slowly, inch by inch. You let out a soft sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan once he bottomed out. Your eyes fluttered open to take in the expression on his face. His eyes were closed, lips parted, and eyebrows scrunched slightly in pleasure as he just kind of stayed inside of you like that for a few moments.

It was when he began to move that the air was pulled from your lungs once again, the drag of his cock against your walls was slow and almost deliberate. He continued to lazily thrust up into you a few times like that, just really letting you feel everything. 

His thrusts slowly began to speed up though, he was trying so hard to take his time with you, but he couldn’t do it anymore. 

He scooped you up in his arms again and fell back so that he was laying down against his pillows again, forcing you to straddle him much like you did earlier, only this time under slightly different circumstances. 

You cried out as his hands swiftly pushed you down onto his cock again and started to fuck up into you, Fuck you were so tight and wet. His hands moved to your hips again and started to guide you to fuck yourself on his cock and it took you no time before you started riding him needily. You cried against his lips and he hushed you lovingly.

“I know, I know… You’re doing so well baby,” He whispered and forced you down onto him a little harder, “Just take it, I know you can,”

The praise made you feel even more needy and hot and your rhythm faltered a little bit as that ache deep inside you started to resurface again. 

He began to leave apologetic kisses all over your face as he took the lead again, bucking up into you roughly enough to have you nearly screaming as his hands forced your thighs further apart and he speared his cock deeper inside of you. 

One of his hands came up to your face and he pressed two fingers against your lips until you readily parted them for him, you took them into your mouth and began to suck on them eagerly for him. His cock twitched inside of you at the sight and you could tell he was starting to come close to that edge. 

Wanting nothing more than to make him come, you started to fuck yourself on him as fervently as you could, being egged on by the soft whines and whimpers that began to escape his lips at it. 

“You– You’re gonna make me cum,” He groaned, trying to slow your movements. You didn’t let up though, trying to fuck yourself even harder on his cock until he gasped and couldn’t help himself fuck up into you sloppily. 

To your surprise though, you ended up orgasming first, convulsing around his cock with a sharp cry and literally squirting all over him.

He continued to fuck you deeply and you squirmed away due to the overstimulation until he clamped his hands down on your hips and forced you to take it, chasing that high of his own. 

“I– I’m gonna come inside, that okay?” He rasped out, “Please, please can I? Baby please” He continued until you nodded weakly, you were so fucked out that you’d let him do whatever he wanted at this point. 

He thrusted up into you, one, two, three times, and then he was letting go. White hot strips of liquid filled you up inside as he cried out your name, fucking you through the aftershocks of his orgasm until his cock started to hurt.

The two of you just stayed like that for a while until you both came down from your respective highs, chests heaving and skin slick with sweat. 

You laid next to him in bed and snuggled up in his embrace after the two of you had taken a bath together, changed his bedding, and changed into some new comfortable clothes. Sighing softly, you pressed your face into his chest a little more and he held you a little tighter.

You felt warm and spent and so tired, wanting nothing more than to just fall asleep in his arms and let the warmth of his body guide your dreams somewhere soft and sweet.

You laid like that for a while until his voice momentarily cut off your thoughts as he spoke softly and rubbed his hand up and down your back. 

“Hmm… Maybe I should invite you over to talk about planes more often,”.

[littlelovelunette]

RULEBREAKER— NSFW

BULLY!SEVIKA X WRITER!READER

warnings— sevika has a dick, sex in a bathroom, blow job, fingering, virgin!reader, cum swallowing, implication of getting caught and round two

Sevika had sworn to herself with some sort of an unspoken oath to be the biggest menace your school's ever seen and she fulfils her role quite well. She was the biggest bully ever. Everyone in the school feared her so much it was almost iconic in a way. Sevika walked in the hallways of the campus like she owned it, a lazy smirk displayed on those dark lips of hers that you wished so hard would kiss yours.

But she didn't even know you existed, did she? Well, she liked picking on you since you both did maths classes together.

"Watch it, loser," Sevika drawled at a guy she nudged hard by her shoulder on her way inside the empty classroom. Her hands were in her pockets, her posture relaxed.

You stayed seated where you were, ignoring her and trying to focus on writing the fanfic you were working on, brows furrowed together in concentration. You were so deeply immersed in the rather confusing smut scene your virgin mind came up with, you didn't notice Sevika standing right beside you as she read a couple lines.

"What do we got here?" She snatched it up.

"Hey!" Your cheeks flushed.

Your eyes widened. There goes all your reputation and any chance to kiss her... That was the most childish sex scene a girl your age could've written, and now Sevika was reading it.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

"You write like a virgin." Sevika commented, flipping through the pages.

"That's because I am a virgin." You replied, crossing your arms.

Sevika raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" She then smirked. "I mean, you're not entirely bad looking." Sevika glanced at your little smut scene before she tossed the diary to the floor, "Maybe you should get some dick before you write these."

Your cheeks reddened further if physically possible and you scrambled to get the diary. You closed it, and looked after Sevika— you could never show your face to her ever again.

This was it.

A few days passed since the incident and you'd been back to writing your little smutty fics but you kept your head down and wrote the nastiest kinks you could come up with. It was to drown out whatever Sevika told you earlier.

You avoided her at all costs now and kept yourself occupied with writing filthy porn. It was a quiet afternoon and you were putting on chapstick in the restroom when suddenly you heard heavy footsteps and Sevika appeared.

Without any warning, she pinned you to the wall with one arm at the side of your head and the other hand held your chin, tilting it up so you'd meet her icy cold gaze, "You've been avoiding me, virgin girl."

You swallowed, all the words in your brain in a jumble. "U-ummm... I'm sorry I just—"

Sevika pulled your face closer to her own, "Embarrassed? Too ashamed?" She quipped, her nose brushing against yours.

You shook your head frantically, "I've been— I've been busy..."

"Oh yeah? Busy doing what? Writing sleazy porn?" Sevika backed up and crossed her arms, foot tapping against the tile floor of the restroom. "Show me."

"What?" You stared.

"I said, show me your writing, virgin girl."

"I'm not doing that." You said half-heartedly as you looked away.

"Do I look like I'm asking?" Sevika retorted.

Reluctantly, you handed her your diary, opened to the most recent scenario written out briefly. Her eyes scanned over the entire page, scrutinizing every letter before she muttered, "You're freaky, I'll give you that. But can you even do half the things you're doing in here?" She nodded to the diary.

"I'm sure I'll be pretty good at all that stuff." You said confidently although you knew it yourself it was all bluff.

Sevika smirked before she pinned you to the wall again, dropping your diary and grabbing your wrists up and over your head. "Is that so, doll face?"

You felt heat rush to your face and your heart thudded in your chest. Sevika was so close to you. You swallowed the saliva in your mouth before you leaned in without thinking and kissed her.

Only... You had never kissed a girl before.

Sevika got the gist, she parted from the kiss just enough for her to chuckle in your face before she kissed you again— ten times the vigor, her need for you dripping with every time her tongue twisted around yours. You pulled away, gasping for air, face flushed.

"You're lucky you're cute." Sevika said, eyeing your body down like a feral animal, "Kneel."

"Sev— what the—"

"You'll do what you did in your little sex story."

Sex story.

You bit your lip, feeling utterly embarrassed by the way Sevika addressed your fanfiction, but you obliged, dropping to your knees in front of her before you hesitantly raised a hand to rest on her crotch.

You felt a bulge.

Your eyes widened. It was a cock. A real cock.

"Oh my..."

Sevika's smirk twisted into something darker and she watched the way you innocently gawked up at her.

"Use your teeth, baby." She instructed.

You nodded and leaned forward, grabbing the zipper of her pants between your teeth and dragging it open before pulling her pants down using your mouth along with her boxers. Her cock sprung out— large, girthy, veiny.

In one word, intimidating.

"It's so big..." You mumbled, mesmerised before you leaned closer and wrapped your lips around the tip of it.

"Fuck, doll, there you go. You're getting the hang of it."

Sevika watched the way your mouth slowly took her lengthy cock inside, her eyes glinting with lust and mischief as she held your hair to guide you.

"Looking so slutty for me down there."

Your panties dampened further at her words. They were so cruel but you knew you loved it so much. You enjoyed her being mean to you. Sevika guided you to slowly start deep throating her shaft. You gagged a little, backing up. You glanced at her, and she gave you a nod so you tried again. You placed shaky hands on her muscly thighs, grounding yourself there in front of her— kneeling and worshipping her cock.

This time, you didn't gag and you managed to take her cock down your throat. Sevika chuckled, "Atta girl, ready for the real deal?"

You looked up at her, eyes questioning her silently. Sevika grabbed the back of your head and started bobbing your head up and down on her cock— fast.

Hard. Brutal.

Everytime her cock head slammed against the back of your throat, your eyes watered and choked on her precum and your own saliva. You drooled around her as you let her use your mouth to get off, face fucking you mercilessly.

Your fingernails dug deep into her thighs leaving crescent shaped marks as Sevika groaned. "Your throat's so nice and warm— fuck."

Your eyes closed, eyebrows curling up as you struggled to keep up, trying to catch your breath but it was hard.

"Unghhh!"

You whimpered around her length and she gave it one last thrust before you felt her warm seed on your tongue, filling your mouth up. Sevika's thumb hooked on your bottom lip, opening your mouth.

"Let me see," she cooed as she made sure your mouth was full of her cum before she said "swallow." You swallowed her semen, staring up at her with your glossy eyes and messed face. "Open," she opened your mouth to check, "Good girl." Her deep voice calling you a good girl. Oh, you could swoon. "Up."

You stood up, staring at her with curious eyes as she parted your legs. One of Sevika's hands held both your wrists over your head and the other found its way on your pussy.

"Warm and wet for me, yeah?"

"Mhm," you nodded shyly, gasping when you felt the calloused pads of her fingers rubbing your slick folds.

"You want my fingers?" Sevika nipped at your neck, leaving hickeys that screamed her name. Her territory. Her girl.

"Y-yeah, please, give me your fingers," you begged, your voice breaking at the end of your words. Sevika pressed her deliciously thick fingers against your slit and sunk them inside. Your pussy tightened around her digits, "Oh, they're big..."

Sevika chuckled, the voice low and sensual. "Let me fulfil your desires, relax for me."

You were melting in her arms as she set a comfortable pace for the both of you. Your eyes closed and you let your head hang back.

"Oh, imagine if someone walked in like this and saw my fingers knuckles deep inside your slutty pussy?"

"Please, no, that would be embarrassing..."

Your hole fluttered around her fingers making Sevika grin, she leaned in, her nose brushing against your jaw. You pushed back needily, grinding against her fingers, trying to get her to graze against your g-spot.

"Oh, sweet girl, they'd really eat that gossip up, wouldn't they? The quiet, shy, virgin girl humping the big, bad Sevika's fingers?" Sevika bit the side of your neck and you gasped, wrists almost moving out of place but then Sevika held them right and in place. "Are you close already? You're shaking."

Sevika stifled a cruel laugh, pulling her fingers out all the way before she sunk them back inside. Your juices ran down her fingers and wrist— messy. Your mouth opened, forming an 'O'. A gasp shy of a moan exited your mouth and your thighs trembled on each side of her hands.

"I am gonna cum— I think!" You whispered in her ear and your body locked in place, Sevika's last few thrusts were the fastest— coercing out your orgasm as pleasure waves coursed through your body like fire.

As you finally came down for the high, Sevika let go of your hands and cradled your face closer to her own. You stared at her with your tired eyes, making her cold exterior soften a tad bit. Sevika brought her slick fingers to her own mouth and licked your juices off, maintaining eye contact with you. You blushed, leaning against the cold wall behind yourself for support and balance.

"Meet me at my car." Sevika said, before she pulled her pants back in place, and winked.

TAGLIST: @littlebluebellsblues @sapphicstrawcore @sevikaswinkinghole @hoesluvjailiee @velvetsserenity @salsalsusu @theoreticalfreak @sevikaslatinawife @tqlepatia @whisperingcherub @kissmeonsaturn @rebianime @lqqkis @pinkrighthand @eleinacutie @luvnette @ttsuvsworld @humbledaylily556 @starduters @sleeplessbunni @butchpuppyy @tengens5thwife @blessupblessup @leeidk87 @udontknowmesrry @kinabinaxoxo @alaraowo @lonerslug @tvgirllle @serenaspalace @shxdy0ariia @sevikaswifeomm @thesevi0lentdelights @sevikaspet @millixaeilish @rbnvrnxoxo @jules2kewl @marinayadayada @theana03 @trvpstvrkai @rosebg

[cait-sith]

Hey what if Starscream repainted himself post-canon

Unnecessarily long thoughts and ramblings (mostly about Starscream) under the cut.

This was originally in the tags but then it became an actual wall of text so. Keep Reading be upon ye.

So in IDW Till All Are One 12 Windblade shows Starscream his “true” form quote unquote and it's like this blue-white-and-red colour scheme. And while I don't really know how to feel about that; got some implications vis-a-vis transgender stuff, Starscream clearly took it as something that was taken from him, something that defined him, something that would have made him different (more likeable, more successful, unclear). On the other hand, I also think that Starscream sort of clings to that idea, because it's more painful to believe that he couldn't have changed anything, that it might just be a flaw in him. Something external to blame, y'know.

Windblade kinda points that out, it wasn't really the point of showing him that, but maybe that's just my personal interpretation. “I could have been so much more had I just been allowed to be born as I was meant”. Missing Windblade's point that he is still the same person in his spark, regardless of frame, it is ultimately up to him who he is. His actions define him, not his appearance. BUT. I feel like that kinda misinterpretation would be in-character for him, and so maybe in post-canon he'd... well really I think he'd reframe but maybe as like an attempt to reclaim what he thinks he should have been (even if he doesn't need to, even if he was perfectly capable of changing who he was without that). He frequently sabotages himself, because he doesn't believe in trust and he's so used to being in adverse relationships where he cannot rely on anyone being on his side. So then he gets everything he ever wanted, and it's.. not really what he wanted. Metalhawk, Wheeljack, Windblade and Bumblebee all sorta get under his plating, in different ways, and he admits to liking them, but can't bring himself to trust them. He's constantly at loggerheads with Metalhawk and Bee at the start, but Metalhawk tries and gets murdered for his troubles.

Wheeljack, well, he's just kinda mostly nice and willing to forgive and help, even while he's wary. In a way, I think Starscream gets attached to him because he's safe to get attached to, because Wheeljack doesn't take the shot when he's vulnerable, offers to help, to be on his side. From a distance. He doesn't really... actually initiate much of a friendship, but he talks about the idea.

Windblade, I think that relationship is a bit more fraught. They end up working together a lot by necessity, given their positions, and Windblade frequently has to fix or contend with Starscream's messes, and she has none of the prejudices of the others, but again, she's a threat to his power, to what he wants, can't really look past that. She tries, though, and I think he does sort of like her as time goes on. It just doesn't stop him from doing what he always does. No trust and all that. As for Bee. Bee. While he's alive, he's much like Metalhawk and Windblade: A threat to Starscream's power, with the added issues of being a major enemy and an autobot, with all the prejudices that brings. They don't make friends. Only Bee "dying" changes that, and only because Starscream is utterly convinced he is a ghost. In his own mind, he's *almost* okay with admitting to his flaws, his worries. Bee's ghost becomes his conscience, his confidante and companion, and because he's fictional, a fragment of Starscream's mind (or so he thinks), he's safe. Safe in ways none of the others are. And Bee tries, he has nothing really left to gain, no power to hold onto. For all intents and purposes, he *is* a ghost.

That was probably terrifying when Bee turned out to not be dead. Someone who saw all of Starscream's vulnerabilities, with so much power to hurt him. He can't help himself. He does have moments, though. Rare choices where he does trust, sometimes for lack of better options but still. And by the Unicron-finale, he's, well, still not friends, but he admits to everything, he comes clean, kind of.

So. We're going to ignore that he dies for the sake of this. <3 Just temporarily. In a hypothetical post-canon, I think he'd try to get a bit of agency back, try and follow that dream of his better self. And I think Windblade, Wheeljack and Bumblebee are the closest thing to friends he's had since his trine. And Metalhawk, technically, but he's kinda dead and also with the dead universe revival wasn't too happy with Starscream lmao. Perhaps Bee's the most comfortable, after that, if he ever gets over himself, because he's already spilled his guts to him, if accidentally. I don't think Starscream would ever be *easy* to get along with, and Bumblebee doesn't really take shit, but I'd like them to be friends. Squabbly-bantery friends, but still. Wheeljack seems a bit gentler, while Windblade's a bit more professional, she's kind but responsible.

Point being: this is Bee helping him repaint himself to leave the past behind.

Thanks for listening lmao

[littlegeecko]

I'm interested in the student - teacher dynamic stickMasterLuke and Dusekkar had!! If you don't mind going into detail👉👈

Of course! it's a bit short since i try not too get too much into the plot itself, but i'll give a few deets and art : ) If yall wanna know about Luke separatedly just ask ahead

First of all, my Luke design in question:

Technically Luke is both Builderman's and Dusekkar's student, they both taught him very different things- Builderman taught him about the basics of coding (Though Luke always seemed to have a natural talent for it) how to be a proper admin, the whole arquitect part of being a builder, how to exercise his creative ideas into real things, etc etc... While Dusekkar was teaching him more personal things- like how to preen himself properly, control his natural powers, and most importantly, how to fly while his wings were still small and required a lot of care and movement

I like to think that, while Luke didn't grow up entirely alone, he did spend a lot of time by himself due to being the runt of the group (developing way later compared to his family members), his shyness, often hiding away from others (including his fear of heights) and his apparent lack of attention span (often daydreaming about building stuff and with a bajillion ideas going thru his mind made him quite the distracted kid and later young adult) So it's a good thing that Dusekkar later realized his potential as a builder, but also as the humanoid, magical being he was, just like himself; he just needed to learn how to control it and grow as a person.

Eventually Luke grew up and his entire body went thru a transforation of sorts, becoming taller, stronger, and his wings gaining their proper, majestic size, the same with his vine-antlers growing flowers and turning different colors. Dusekkar couldn't be more proud of him, even if he later decided to stop being an admin and become a full-time builder, leaving RBHQ behind.

Dusekkar showed him the paths he could take, and didn't matter what he picked, he was proud of the man Luke became at the end; confident, protecting those in need, and an excellent, creative builder.

Luke never stopped being that silly, shy young man Dusekkar first met, he's just a lot more open and confident now :J

....Dusekkar is just glad Luke wasn't around when he was Forsaken'd, he loves that kid, he don't want anything bad to happen to him.

[kellykadesperate]

how about 84 for the prompt thingy? 😊

“Do you really think I hate you that much?”

Robert has a bloody nose. Aaron has tissue from the Woolpack gents and he stands in the pub garden ready to hand it over when Robert looks up at him with this confused bewildered expression on his face.

“The last thing I need is your pity.” Robert spits the words out.

Aaron can’t help but think that he deserves them. He sat and watched Robert square up to three lads in the pub who were after trouble. He didn’t intervene. He didn’t do or say anything until Robert was on the floor and it felt like the world was slowly ending. 

There’s a difference between knowing Robert has been hurt, seeing the aftermath all over his face and then actually witnessing it.

Robert looks down at Aaron’s knuckles. They’re bloody. Aaron tries to hide them a little. Aaron threw his weight around a little after Robert wandered off, he punched out until the lads were being chucked out anyway. John will be all over the injury, he just knows it.

“It’s not pity.” Aaron decides to say.

“Guilt then.” Robert says. He just says it. 

Aaron hasn’t seen this Robert for years. The bitter and angry Robert. The one who will say anything to get people to bite back. 

“Guilt ‘cause the last time I was beaten up, it was when I was sent back inside. You know, when you called the police on me.”

Aaron bites at his lip to stop from crying.

“Did you hope I wouldn’t make it?” 

Aaron feels the earth sort of shift on its axis. There’s many things he can live with that he’s done, that people will think about him but the idea that Robert thinks he would rather he was dead isn’t one of them.

Aaron storms forward in the beer garden, he smashes as glass in his haste and Robert’s shoulders lift in surprise.

“Don’t you ever fucking say that again.” Aaron screams right in Robert’s face. He can’t help it. He feels this rage just boil up inside him and it takes over everything else that he could ever possibly be thinking about.

For a second he isn’t married. He isn’t someone else’s at all.

This is Robert questioning him, doubting him. He doesn’t do that. Aaron’s the one who always did.

Not Robert and not like this.

“You don’t get to say that.” Aaron’s still shouting but he comes back to himself a little when Robert can’t look at him anymore. 

“It’d be easier for you.” Robert says quietly. 

Aaron can’t think of anything worse that could happen to him. Absolutely nothing springs to mind and it’s dark and scary but so true it feels terrifying. 

“Do you really think I hate you that much?” Aaron says, and it’s a question he really needs answering right now. 

Robert still won’t look at him.

“If you – if you didn’t make it, if something had happened to you, it would have finished me off n’all.” Aaron says. He isn’t gentle or kind. He’s blunt and to the point and Robert finally looks up at him. 

Robert’s mouth is half open. His eyes flicker and his eyebrow arches up just slightly like he didn’t expect to hear that. 

They’ve never been too good at acknowledging how deep all this really goes.

“Remember what I said when I found you in the garage that night.” Aaron doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, why he’s deciding to be so honest but he has this sixth sense with Robert some times. He knows when Robert needs to be told to do one, when he needs to be told that he’s amazing, or a prat, or the love of Aaron’s –

“How I feel about you. It’s scary.” Aaron whispers the words like they’re a secret. 

He supposes it is.

Robert wipes at his nose all pathetically. He doesn’t say anything for a second.

“You shouldn’t be saying stuff like that to me.” Robert says, for both their sakes.

Aaron takes this big intake of breath, feels like he’s being told off. 

“You started it, talking shit.” Aaron says. “I just needed you, out of sight.”

“Out of mind.” Robert says.

“If only.” Aaron says, and he slips up. Again. 

Robert doesn’t punish him for it. In some ways, it makes it worse.

“I don’t hate you.” Aaron needs to say. If only just this once. 

Robert gulps hard. “I don’t believe that.” He says, and maybe he can’t believe in anything else. “‘Cause if you didn’t, we’d be together. But we’re not.”

Aaron bites down hard on his lip. “I can’t.” He whispers. “You don’t know how bad I was, how – how nothing mattered when I lost you. I’d …”

“Rather never have me back than lose me again.” Robert decides to say it, completely reckless about the consequences it would do to Aaron’s heart.

It takes everything Aaron has not to start crying.

“If it makes it easier, you hate me and I’m only ever out for myself.” Robert decides. His nose isn’t bleeding anymore but Aaron is transfixed on the cut just below his eye. He stares at it as he tries to take in the lies they’ve agreed to tell themselves from here on it.

Aaron doesn’t move. He stays rooted on the spot until he hears someone coming. 

It’s Vic and she’s shouting about the state of Robert’s face. Aaron takes the opportunity to disappear.

[british-catgirl]

these were gonna be tags but oh god never thought about it like that; but that is horrifying to think of

while I don't think Carol is the knight; this single-handed lets me see that she may still be the one on the phone.

WE KNOW THAT SHE'S ON THE PHONE AT THE END OF WEIRD ROUTE

my theory is now that she's the white text and the knight is the red text, which I think is somewhat common, but my new headass revolutionary theory is that Kris wasn't even supposed to be on call in the kitchen study of Kris' body language throughout (screenshots from Whsipernyan's video

what we hear from up there, Kris is not paying attention, Kris is quite literally taking a shot of something (white voice being carol, Kris really doesn't want to listen to her)

Kris locks the fuck in on hearing the red voice but more importantly, Susie (if the red voice is the knight as we think, then perhaps Kris would rather listen to them) another thing to note about the red text is its directness

unlike the white text, the red text talks to Kris directly, and about a matter that would be unimportant to the current plan, but is very important to Kris. My theory is that Carol is unaware that Kris is here and the Knight let Kris into the call. my main reasoning?

the white text doesn't do this. it refers to them as if they aren't here. in fact, the red text cuts off this text with the prior image. The Knight seemingly cuts off Carol because the Knight knows that Kris is listening and doesn't want them to hear what Carol will say (also, on hearing the word 'stop' as in regards to stopping Susie, Kris lowers their head a little. just a little detail that's worth mentioning. they don't want to 'stop' susie)

Kris also lowers their head after hearing tonight's plan, the church where toriel is SUPPOSED to be.

this is thefinal message which renforces the idea Carol/White Text doesn't know Kris is listening. Really, Kris was only meant to hear what the knight had to say, but ends up listening to more due to us stalling Also, touching on the ending

Kris did not answer the phone. The phone turns on without input. Compared to the weird route's ending scene...

where Kris has to manually has to answer the phone. the first seems to be some sort of reminder Kris has set on their own phone or has been set on their phone. the second is something goin awry and going unexpected and Carol having to manually call Kris to confirm something with them. which make sense given the context. overall, I find Kris very intersting in this dynamic. we can assume it's only a three person effort, Kris, Carol and the Knight. Carol is obviously the one with power the one in full control of the outside Light World making sure nothing about the execution CAN go wrong. The Knight is the one making sure all of the Dark World stuff and actual execution of the plan goes ahead, consider them the brute of the plan. With them, they basically dictate the flow of the Dark Worlds. Kris, however, doesn't deal with Light World or Dark World stuff. They deal with our world. Kris is a specialist. They are, in some way, baby-sitting the one uncontrollable variable. Despite that, they're still performing so much and going through so much, even killing a titan, while battling with the player, who, in some way, is essiental to the plan, and is essential that it doesn't destroy everything else before hand. Kris still has to make a dark fountain and slash their own car's tires to bait in Undyne. Even the act of keeping us contained is a multi-faceted juggling act. The precision needed to succesfully DISARM A SOUL IN A SINGLE SHOT, TWICE cannot be understated. And keeping the whole thing a secret? Hell on earth. That's why weird route's whole conflict causes Kris to crash out so much. They failed. We've multipled. On top of everything; Kris has to babysit Noelle if they want to babysit us. We don't have enough to say what promise was made or even Kris' wider motivations or how Kris got into this mess. We do know one thing. They're having a horrible time.

What's really evocative to me in all the new revelations and hints about Kris' true nature and intentions in Chapter 4 is the impression that... Kris is never free.

When they are free of our direct control, they are still not acting 100% of their real desires, they are following the orders of some evil Voice(s?) on the phone.

The ending seem to imply some sort of emotional conflict between them wanting to help out Susie, who is very dear to their heart, and following this plan which is probably not beneficial to her. A plan that they have to follow cause...

When Kris is not controlled by our very literal puppet-strings, they are instead controlled by the coercion and emotional manipulation of their mysterious benefactor. No matter which option they go with, Kris just cannot be free.

[zorange13]

— love island, enhypen edition: for jake, xoxo (teaser)

this is a teaser of jake’s story in my love island, enhypen edition “series.” (ig lmao??) so i highly suggest you read that first to get an understanding of what’s happening here!

wc. tba. (1.5k for this teaser)

release date. also tba... (but here's sumn to keep y'all fed for a minute!)

pairing. islander! jake sim x reader

author’s note (please read): i just made up names for the girls (aside from y/n ofc) i’m sorry, i just really didn’t want to use “[member’s girl]” because that would be annoying to keep doing. but of course, you’re free to imagine them as you like.

— Two months later

Since the reunion, things have been great. Steady, yet invigorating and every single day has been something new. Fortunately, your brand has grown exponentially and you’d been collaborating with companies and brands you had never imagined. 

You were an ambassador for one of your favorite skincare brands, Topicals. Attending women’s panels, Alo and Aritzia have been dressing you. Encouraging people to take part in positive causes around the world and communities. With the platform you gained, you truly did want to use it for good.

Very quickly did you become a princess and so beloved by the Love Island fanbase alongside other people that didn’t even watch the show. 

You were comfortable and slowly but surely things were easing up. You did have to filter your comments to fully let go of any and all mentions of your prior connection with you know who. It just got so irritating having people constantly mention such a traumatic moment in your life. Imagine you post something about your workout routine and someone still finds a way to make it about the person that did you wrong.

Nonetheless, you were coasting through life and you haven’t heard from thou who shall not be named. 

But speaking of that!

Jake has sort of disappeared off the face of the earth. 

His socials have had very minimal activity, not so much to make one worry. But whenever he did post, it would be travel posts or fun little stuff. Nothing too insane but he’s done a good job at staying out of the way because that’s the best thing he could’ve done for himself. 

His comments still had you all over them, he didn’t have to heart to filter them. He loved your name. Fuck, he loved to see your name and in some way, he felt that he deserved to constantly be reminded of his wrongdoings. Jake felt he deserved punishment and part of it was ensuring he had a reminder. 

He followed you, you didn’t follow him back but he kept up with you consistently and was heavy in your likes. And of course fans noticed. They always did.

But this fateful day, you were hanging out with Nina and Amani at Amani’s apartment, legs curled under you on the couch as a candle flickered in the center of the coffee table. You were scrolling on your phone halfheartedly when Nina suddenly gasped, nearly knocking her smoothie over.

“Oh my gosh. Oh my—dude what the fuck.”

Your head whipped around. “What?”

Amani leaned over her shoulder. “What is it?”

Nina looked up slowly, eyes wide with disbelief and a dangerous glint of amusement. “Jake. On a podcast. Talking about you.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

“No,” she said, spinning the screen to face you. And there it was—Jake’s face in a thumbnail for The Soul Tied Podcast, a popular show known for dragging Love Island alumni into messy little therapy sessions disguised as interviews. It had been posted three hours ago and was already trending. The caption?

“I’d do anything for her.”

— Jake, on his Love Island regret

You swallowed. Your throat suddenly dries. Amani was already clicking play.

The video cut to a dimly lit studio, Jake sitting across from the host with his leg bouncing like he wanted to run out the room. But it was the look in his eyes that made your chest feel tight. Soft. Vulnerable. Real.

The host leaned in, elbows on the table. “So if you could fix anything or take anything back during your experience, what would it be?”

Jake exhaled slowly, like the words weighed too much. Then, simply: “I’d say that…I’m sorry again. That I wish I can make things right and there isn’t a day that I don’t think about her. Really…even now knowing everything that I did to Y/n, I’d do anything for her. Not even to be with her. Like if I had the chance I would but I just want to make this right. If she’d let me.” 

Silence. Then, the host, brows raised:

“So…her?”

Jake didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

Nina burst out in laughter. “What the fuck, yo he’s insane. This boy is still in love, it’s so sad.” She tossed the phone to the side, her laughter dying down as she realized she was the only one laughing. “Wait…sorry,” she exhaled sharply, closing her eyes to stabilize herself. “Are you okay, mama?” Her voice softened as she reached for your hand.

You squeezed her hand, forgiving her because this was just how she is. Nina laughs at all the things she shouldn’t be. But this was her way of trying to break up the awkwardness. In her mind, as long as someone’s laughing it’s going to be okay. Simply her coping mechanism: she was hurting for you and the best way to not make it seem so bad or stir up negative feelings, she tried to laugh to not make it as big as it was.

You saw that, and you still loved her for it. “I’m good, just weirded out.”

Amani rested her head on Nina's shoulder. “You sure? You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Not upset…I’m over it and I’ve sort of healed from it. But I just think he might be fishing, I don’t know.” You scoffed as you leaned back into the couch.

Nina scooted closer, slowly so Amani can move with her—and rested her hand on your arm. “He is. He’s an asshole that can wallow in his misery because he fumbled the most gorgeous and phenomenal woman in front of everyone. His ego can’t let him live it down.” She adjusted herself to lean her head on your shoulder and lock her arm around yours. “He’s a dick.”

Nina was always the one to write people off. Quickly. Prior to her relationship with Jungwon, she had undergone a very toxic, one-sided relationship that ended in cheating. Once she had gathered herself from that, she signed up for the show and met the most amazing guy. In a way, she got lucky. She won (no pun intended) in her heart and to see someone she got so close to, you, one of her best friends leave so scarred and hurt, really fucked her up. Because she was not one for second chances and she would be damned if one of the closest people in her life got hurt by the same guy again! 

Amani sighed, feeling like she was stuck in the middle. Her loyalty was with you absolutely, but she was nothing if not understanding and perceptive. She saw the bordering desperation in Jake’s eyes and she, however, didn’t want to just write him off completely.

You looked at Amani, waiting to hear her opinion. She always balanced very well and did her best to ensure everyone saw all sides, very diplomatic. But right now, the cogs in her mind were spinning, turning like a well oiled machine and she was seriously at war within herself. 

“What’s up with you?” You whisper with a sympathetic frown. 

Amani looked at you with a furrowed brow. Taken aback that during this moment that was about you, you still looked at her with care. As if she was the one that needed support. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you.” She shook her head. “I…I don’t really know what to make of this either.” She huffs as she adjusts her shiny Cartier bracelet that Jay got for her, sliding it down her wrist and fumbling it in her fingers. “It’s like I want to side with Nina and say screw it, he doesn’t deserve you—because truly he doesn’t. At this point, no one does—no one will ever be good enough for you in my eyes. But…I just—” She pauses and huffs again as she’s doing her best to find the right words.

You nod in anticipation. “It’s okay, just spit it out.”

She nods, “I can’t even fully tell if he’s being genuine. My intuition and affinity for body language tells me he is and he’s been very apologetic verbally. But I really don’t want to risk you getting hurt or even getting your hopes up only for him to possibly let you down again.”

You sat quietly, processing Amani’s words. Her honesty was very apparent—because if anyone could read a situation, it was her. Always level-headed, always watching. But that was what scared you. If she wasn’t sure, then how could you be?

“I don’t even want him back,” you said, not quite convincingly.

“Mm,” Nina mumbled, unconvinced herself.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t. I just…I don’t want to look back on this one day and think I didn’t at least consider the possibility that he changed. That maybe…I didn’t need to hate him.”

Amani gave your arm a light squeeze. “That’s valid. Just don’t let him talk his way into your heart again without proving a damn thing.”

“Exactly,” Nina added, “because ‘I’d do anything for her’ sounds good and poetic in a dim-ass podcast studio. Or even a YA novel, or some cheesy Tumblr fanfic. But love isn’t performative. Love is action, though. And if he means it, then he'd be showing you.”

Copyright: © zorange13. 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

[marlynnofmany]

Minor Heights

As usual for times when something seems amusing to my Earthling sensibilities (but likely wouldn’t to everyone else), I kept quiet about it. Nobody wanted their delivery person to laugh in their face about whatever they’d ordered. Even blue-furred aliens with the wood-gnawing habits of beavers, who were receiving a cubic foot of carefully-packed tweezers. All I could think about was irony and splinters. I kept my expression at customer-service neutral and approached the info booth, with Mur tentacle-walking beside me.

“Welcome,” grunted the curmudgeonly fellow stationed there, eyes squinting from a face of graying blue fur. The stripes down his back seemed more gray than black too. “Is that for me?” He chuckled like that was a joke.

Mur leaned his squidlike head backwards, his version of craning his neck without actually having a neck. “Only if you’re working a double shift as head of the medical center,” he said.

I added, “We were hoping you could tell us how to get there.” Our ship had a decent map of this loose settlement, but it was hard to tell from the air which tributaries we’d need to cross in which order to get to it. The info booth was clearly stationed near the spaceport for a good reason. And not just for the high ground in rainy weather — it was built into a rocky cliffside that held many holes. A different species might have built their civilization right up that cliff, but these folks were strictly a “ground level or lower” sort.

The elder perked up. “Oh sure, I can tell you where it is,” he said. “But it might as well be for me, since my wife is the head bonesetter around these parts.” He reached furry little webbed paws in a gimme gesture.

I read the name on the label to him, and he confirmed it. Mur held up the payment tablet that he’d so carefully carried with his rear tentacles. (He’d refused to let me carry the box AND the tablet.) He handled getting the fellow’s name and other information to approve the delivery, while I set the sturdy white box on the counter and thought privately that there should be another word than “handled” when the person in question doesn’t have hands. “Tentacled” just didn’t sound right.

I also wondered about the scratching noise from the roof, but didn’t think much of it until the guy complained.

“That again?” he grumbled, glaring up at the rocky overhang as if he could see through to whatever was hiding in the low bushes on top. “Something’s been rattling about up there for an hour now, wrecking the ambiance.” He sniffed and looked up at me. “You’re a proper tree-height. Suppose you can get a look and shoo whatever it is away?”

“Sure,” I said, taking a step back to inspect the bushes. The ledge was higher up than I could reach, but one of those local trees with the spiral trunk grew next to it, making for plenty of handholds. “Before I go sticking my face up there, do you have any dangerous animals around here that you might expect to be waiting to jump out at me? Anything fond of leaping claws-first, or projectile attacks?”

“Nah, nothing small enough to be up there,” the guy said with confidence. “The only troublemakers we have are big ones, and there are defensive measures keeping them away from town.”

Mur spoke up. “That doesn’t rule out offworld fauna. The spaceport’s right there.” He pointed a tentacle back the way we had come. “Could be somebody’s pet or prize face-eater. Good thing we’ve got an animal expert right here, though!” He patted my ankle with a tentacle.

I looked down at him. “You know it would be simpler for me to just lift you up so you can stick your face in the danger zone.”

“No no, I wouldn’t want to rob you of your glory.”

“Of course not.” I peered back up at the foliage, which was holding still now.

The elder was concerned. “I didn’t think about offworld creatures. Now that I think about it, there was a cart full of stuff parked there awhile ago, and something could have jumped off it. Horrible thought. Glad you’re here! Do you need any tools?”

I sighed. “Let me just take a peek at what’s there. I don’t suppose you have a stick or something for moving the plants aside?”

“Oh, always,” said the old beaver, and grabbed a bouquet of walking sticks from under the counter. They were all intricately carved, bare wood. “Got to keep chewing when there’s nothing to do.”

“Very nice,” I said, picking up the longest one, which was still pretty short. “Thank you. I’ll try not to get it ruined by some offworld pest.” The shapes of alien vines spiraling around it were truly lovely.

“No worries; I can always make more.” He waved me on.

Hoping I wasn’t about to do something monumentally unwise, I stepped over to the side of the booth and got a grip on the spiral tree trunk. It was the perfect natural ladder, narrow enough that I could carry the stick and rough enough that my shoes didn’t slip. Moments later, I was raising my head up past the level of the roof, though at a good distance. I reached out with the stick to part the leaves. Mur and the elder beaver watched from below.

Nothing, nothing, just leaves … blue fur. A smaller beaver face glaring at me, managing to look scared and angry at the same time. I blinked.

The elder called, “See anything dangerous?”

I answered honestly. “No, no offworld pests here. I think you’re okay. Gimme just a minute. It this ledge strong enough for me to climb on?”

He said it was, sounding relieved. Mur launched into a story of the most troublesome animals we’d had to deliver as cargo, and the two of them promptly left me to it. Good.

Judging by the size and the sulky expression, I figured the person on the roof was roughly teenage, and regretting their choices. I climbed up another couple steps, then took a seat casually on the edge. Setting the stick down, I admired the view and kept the youngster in my peripheral vision. “Hi there. You okay?”

I didn’t get an answer, which didn’t surprise me. The furry blue alien was clutching the stem of a bush with both hands, and shivering ever so slightly. That made twigs scrape on the rock. The scowl dared me to mention it.

Instead, I asked, “So what brings you up here?”

She said, “Schoolwork,” and left it at that.

“Ooh, what kind?” I asked. “Is it to find out how far you can see from up high? This really is a great view.” I waved a hand, encompassing the trees, tributaries, distant spaceport and scattered buildings. “You can see what ships have landed, and who’s crossing what bridge, and even where all the fruits are on the top of that tree.” I pointed out what looked like an apple tree but probably wasn’t. Beaver-people were using longer sticks to knock down the fruit from ground level.

The teenager perked up a little at that, but didn’t let go of the plants. She also didn’t answer.

I prompted, “Did you finish what you came up here to do?”

“No,” she admitted. “The giant web-spinners are gone.”

I looked around, more concerned by that statement than I wanted to let on. “Are they? Hmm. Did you want to find them?”

She hunched her shoulders and said in a rush, “We have to find an efficient way to suspend something lightweight, and I thought the webs would be perfect, but they’re not here anymore, and now the cart’s gone so I can’t get down. And this is very high up.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, I can help with that if you like. Actually,” I added as something occurred to me, “I might be able to help with both problems. Did you just need one strand of web, or the whole thing?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Just a couple strands would work. One to use and one for backup. Why?”

“What about really long fur?” I asked, untying my braid. This wasn’t the first time I’d found an unorthodox use for hair, and knowing my life, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“How strong is it?” she asked. I noticed that her grip on the bush was loosening, and she wasn’t as tense.

“Strong enough to hold up a pencil, easy,” I told her as I finger-combed my hair in search of loose strands. “Probably a few pencils. I haven’t tested it. But human hair’s pretty tough as these things go.”

“Human?” She said the word like it was unfamiliar.

“Oh yeah, that’s me. Hi, I’m a human.” I waved one hand in an awkward greeting.

“Right. I knew that,” she said, sounding utterly convincing, and not at all like she was trying to save face.

I shrugged, hands back in my hair. “There’s a lot of species to keep track of. For example, I don’t think I’ve actually caught the official name for yours. Which is embarrassing, since I’ve been here twice.”

“The interplanetary name is Rivershapers,” she said. “Which is boring, but they didn’t ask me. I guess not all the aliens making the decision could pronounce ‘hhuinhkt.’” The word in her native tongue was part hoot, part squeak, and yeah a little tricky.

I nodded. “Guess I’m lucky. My species got to keep our own name for ourselves, probably because no one could agree on a descriptive one. And actually, I’m doubly lucky because it’s a word from my own language. We have lots of them.” I separated three loose strands of hair. “Speaking of lots, here you go! One to use and two backups for weight testing.”

She took them between her webbed fingers and gave them a gentle tug. “Those are pretty strong,” she admitted.

“Yup!” Then I remembered we were on top of a roof. “Say, do you want me to hold onto them until we get down?”

She reflexively grabbed the bush again with one hand, leaving the one clutching the hairs out where they wouldn’t snag on leaves. “Yes, please.”

I took them back, wrapped them around a few fingers, then tucked the loose coil into a pocket. “Right, so there’s a couple ways we can do this,” I said as if I was a co-conspirator planning a heist. “I can carry you down. You can ride on my back. Or!” I held up a finger. “I can show you where to put your feet so you can do it on your own.”

I didn’t expect her to take me up on that last one, given the blatant fear of heights, but she surprised me.

“Show me,” she demanded. “I want to come back when all the low fruits are gone from that tree. Bet I can get a couple that everyone else missed.”

“Great plan. Scoot on over here, and grab this branch.” I tied my hair back into a quick ponytail, then stepped back onto the spiral trunk, taking the nearly-forgotten stick with me. “The most important thing about climbing is to focus on where your hands and feet are, and not on how high up you are. Put both hands here, then one foot over here…”

With detailed coaching, we made it to the ground one inch at a time. I was sure to keep a hand free in case she slipped, which meant I did a lot of my own climbing with one elbow looped over a branch so I could keep hold of the stick, but I’d had worse climbs. And nobody fell.

My feet reached the ground first, and Mur was waiting there with an expression that said he was very curious, but would wait for an explanation. I handed him the stick and finished guiding the young Rivershaper’s descent. The elder leaned on the counter and watched.

“Perfect, now keep hold of that and bend your knees until you can put a foot down here; see that? Yeah, almost got it. Great. Now you can move this hand over here, then I’ll bet you can reach the ground … Got it! Good job!”

Her webbed feet slapped the dirt and she stood tall (relatively speaking), breathing hard but looking triumphant.

I remembered to give her the hairs. “Here you go,” I said, passing over the delicate coil. “Best of luck with the project!”

She nodded curtly, ignoring the others, and scampered off.

“So!” Mur said. “Not an alien pest at all, then.”

The elder asked, “What in the floodplains was she doing up there?”

“Schoolwork,” I said simply. “She might be less afraid of high places now — or more likely to ignore that fear, which is almost the same thing. Anyways, if she gets stuck up there again, remind her the human said to watch her hands and not look down.”

He shook his head. “Kids. I’ll tell my wife to make sure the medics are ready for any fall damage.” Then he heaved a bundle of carved sticks onto the counter, all tied together top and bottom with festive bows. “Here you go, young feller! Enjoy.”

“My thanks,” said Mur smoothly, then waved a tentacle up at me. “My tall assistant here will carry them.”

“Tall assistant, am I?” I asked in amusement, though I did pick up the bundle. I moved to give back the stick I’d been holding, but the elder waved it away.

“Thanks for clearing out my foot space!” he said, settling comfortably into his chair and bringing out a fresh uncarved stick. “If those turn out to be wildly popular among the fancy spacefaring folk, you know where to find more. I might even charge you a price.” He chuckled, then began gnawing industriously.

Mur strode happily toward the ship.

I followed. “He gave you these?” I asked quietly. “They’re amazing.”

“Yup!” Mur agreed. “And they’re easy to make with teeth like that, and everybody here has something of the sort lying around, and why would he dream of selling them?”

I looked at the one in my other hand, with the vine carvings. “I’m surprised this isn’t already a thriving business.”

“Maybe it is, and nobody’s told him yet. But these are just the right size for Heatseekers to use as canes. Maybe we can keep a couple in case the captain or somebody sprains an ankle, then sell the rest. I tell you, this has been a surprisingly productive visit!”

I glanced at the fruit trees as we passed. There were still plenty of fruits in the top branches. “It sure has,” I agreed.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[st0ryf1lms]

we’re married? ➳ sylus qin

pairing: sylus x reader

word count: 399

genre/warnings: fluff, sort of crack fic (?), but generally just sweet tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship (newlyweds), based off of the meme that the banner above produced LMAO and loosely based from this tiktok i saw

synopsis: you can’t believe you’re married, and looks like he can’t too.

a/n: i am back from my annual single fic drop before i dip and disappear again 😎 no, but, seriously, i will TRY to get back into writing again i missed it sm anw do enjoy my drabble of this lovely dragon of ours as i will myself into writing more stuff

The wedding ceremony and the reception were a dream, quite literally.

Sylus, for the most part, remained as nonchalant as he usually was but the usual edge to it had been replaced by a significant softness to his demeanor. His eyes remained distant throughout the reception, as if he was stuck in a hazy, blurry dream. However, if you were to ask him what he remembers during his wedding day, all he’d say was you.

You, who walked down the aisle in your white dress and sheer white veil covering your face, enamoring everyone in the room, including him, of your heavenly presence.

You, who he swore knocked the breath out of his lungs and rendered him speechless no enemy of his ever could, and yet you didn’t even lay a single finger on him.

You, who was now his lawfully wedded wife. His wife.

So, to say he was stuck in a daze for the remainder of the ceremony and reception was an understatement. The same-day-edit video definitely had it on record, as the cameras caught him with his gaze fixed on you and only you.

You were waving off the last remaining guests of the wedding reception as your husband sat alone by the stairs to the stage, with a distant look on his face, paying no mind to the venue caterers cleaning up behind him.

You walked towards him with a skip in your step, looking at your now-husband with a fond expression on your face. You sat beside him silently, nudging him a little to make your presence known.

Sylus, much to your surprise, only budged a little but no snarky comment or teasing remark made his way out of his lips. You tilt your head at his behavior, turning your body slightly towards him and placing your hands atop his on his lap.

“Sy?” You croak out, afraid to break the silence.

“Yeah, sweetie?” He responds, still not looking at you, however.

“Are we married?” You ask in a small voice, looking up at him, waiting for his response.

This seems to break Sylus out of his trance, as he finally looks at you with tear-filled eyes and a loving smile plastered across his face.

“Yes,” he breathes out and brings your knuckles to his lips, placing a chaste kiss to it.

“I finally get to spend a lifetime with you, as your husband.”

[ao3commentoftheday]

hi, first of all thank you so much for running this blog! i've followed you for a quite a while now and i can't express enough how helpful it has been!

i think this is more of a little confession than an ask, i guess i just want to get some stuff off my chest. feel free to ignore this though because i dont think what i'm about to say here is something that hasn't been said before, now that i've scrolled your blog for like an hour or so.

i've never written really consistently, same goes for my other stuff like art or vid editing. i feel like having a solid plot isn't really my strong suit so i usually just stick to oneshots where there are little actions but a lot of feeling lol, and even with that i have drafts and bullet points from 5 years ago that i haven't touched. there's a lot of struggle with finishing things as well, wips of all kind just keep accumulating and i just feel so guilty over that, especially when i get the idea for something new. i suppose the more i internalize that the more i get intimidated by the mere thought of starting anything at all.

so recently i got a new shiny idea of a multichapter fic, its scope is larger than anything i have ever written or attempted to, and it has plot. i have basically spent weeks trying to piece together a string of plot, setting up characterization and all that jazz. i got pretty ambitious with how the story unfold, so there is considerably more prepping than ever.

i'm now writing the pilot chapter, and honestly it is getting frustrating. i know you have mentioned speedrunning to jump straight into "the good bits" before, but there's just this strange obligation to the opening that i can't quite shake off. i also set up this mental quota for words count, and seeing myself spending days and still not reaching that number is very disheartening.

realistically, i can see many recommending slowly building up my writing, like just biting what i can chew and enlarge the bite as i go. but the idea of shelving this one feels bad, and i wanna ride the high before i start losing interest and eventually look back on this project with some sort of bitter regret like many others. i know the saying about projects not disappearing and i can always pick up from where i left it, but my mind doesn't seem to be happy with that, and this is worsened be the reminder of my other several-year-old abandoned fic.

sorry for the whole rambling. i am aware that this is a mindset problem and i have issues with instant gratification. it just i was so excited during the planning phase and now the actual writing is so stagnant that i feel like im losing hope for a breakthrough. and i couldn't even ramble to anyone about the plans because most of my friends aren't into what i'm writing for/the particular character i'm centering this fic around i'm scared that i'm gonna bother them; i am not actually active in the fandom and joining a server makes me insanely anxious. the whole thing just feels more and more like digging a hole for myself and lie there.

again i am so sorry for the rambling this got out of hand! i hope you have a good day!

Oof. Deep breath, anon! It's okay 💗

You've got several things in this ask that I want to have a quick chat with you about, but feel free to jump to the end if what I'm saying isn't hitting for you.

I want to start by addressing your little personal history that you gave up at the top. This is something that I hear from a lot of people about various hobbies, not just writing. We feel guilty when we don't finish a project. We feel bad when we stop doing something when it stops being fun.

That's normal. That's a perfectly fine choice to make with how you spend your free time. Just because school and work both require you to finish projects doesn't mean that your hobbies require that too. Just because your parents said you couldn't give up on [insert hobby here] because it cost so much for your lessons or equipment etc. doesn't mean that you have to hold yourself to that same standard when you're the one paying your own bills. Besides, writing is free.

Be a little kinder to yourself and a little more forgiving when you DNF a fic. You're allowed to quit writing as much as you're allowed to quit reading. If it sucks, hit da bricks.

Related to that idea is the way you talk about "struggling to finish fics." Of course you struggle with doing something that you're bored or frustrated with. If the story itself isn't more interesting than the struggle why would you continue with it? Keeping yourself motivated isn't just about energy. It's also about passion. When it comes to a hobby, the only person pushing you to finish a thing is you. And when you're tired after working all day or after finishing a full day of school, you don't want to start writing a fic that feels like homework. You want to work on a fic that feels like play.

It sounds like you got that play feeling from creating the plan for your story. Whatever you were doing at that stage was keeping your passion alive. So what's changed since you shifted from planning to writing?

If you've created a strict outline that you're now trying to follow then it might feel like you're doing homework or just filling in boxes in the fic-writing factory. Try to find places where you can still make creative decisions as you go, where you haven't got things all planned out in advance. Put a little "choose your own adventure" back into your storytelling and that passion might come back.

Try investigating that "obligation to the opening" as well. What's the cause of that? Was the first scene the one that prompted the rest of the story? Are you trying to do the tone setting and worldbuilding there? What expectation have you put in place for yourself, and is there a way to shift that expectation to later in the fic? What's the most basic version of that opening that you can write to get it down on the page? You can go back later to add more to it if you still think it needs it.

One thing to remember when you're writing a large, complex story is that the reader doesn't need to know anywhere near as much as you do. You can figure out 10 books worth of backstory and worldbuilding and relationship history that informs what you put on the page, but you don't actually have to write it all down if the reader doesn't need to know all of the ins and outs. And if you want, you can always create a companion fic on the side where you do go into deep dives or missing moments etc. when those things ignite a spark inside you.

When it comes to word count, though? Throw. That. Idea. In. The. Garbage. The number of words you use has nothing to do with the quality of the story that you're telling. It's a number that you've clearly put some kind of meaning into, but saying that a 100K fanfic is better than a 20K fanfic is kind of like saying that a 6ft tall person is better than a 5ft tall person based solely on their respective heights. It makes no sense!

I'll get off that particular soap box now, anon, but I do hope that you'll be kinder to yourself. You're beating yourself up in a dozen different ways and none of them are a good reason to be so mean to the most important person in your life: yourself. ❤️

[marshmelman]

back from the dead! how about a mini update!

well, i'm calling it "mini" even though a lot of things were added... that's because i haven't made a full progress report or posted this to reddit or sent out the email newsletter. i'll make a big update about it a little later. for now, have a looksee! here's a list of everything that has been added in this video:

Group stuff

- i put in tabs on the homepage that let you filter your feed to only show posts from certain groups. the plus sign button takes you straight to the groups directory to look for more groups to join.

- there is also a "post in" dropdown at the bottom left of the post form that lets you choose which group to post in.

- groups on this site will be important especially for building community with early adopters, so i also made them easy to get to by adding a "my groups" section in the site sidebar.

- the groups have a number of features beyond just the group feed, including a private forum, private gallery, privacy settings, and cosmetics like changing the group icon and banner.

Profile Stuff

- unfortunately, i can't do full html customisation like Tumblr can, but i'm still trying to add as much as possible! cosmetically, you can change not just your profile image and banner, but the background image of the entire website (when someone is on your profile).

- i'm also working on developing a robust bio section with a lot of fields for people to fill out. almost none of them are required, so anyone can pick and choose what information they have on their profile, and visible to whome (just yourself, people on your friends list, or everyone).

- the bio has a lot of conditional fields to avoid getting too cluttered, so certain fields only show up if they apply to you as based on your answers. please let me know what kind of things you want to put on your bio! i'm a little uncreative when it comes to what sorts of things should be fields...

- in the future, i'd love to add a feature for system littles to be able to easily switch between different profile information, but that's not in a mini update like this. maybe it would also be fun to extend changing the website background to group pages too. just some stuff to think about.

i was quiet for a long time, but please don't give up on me! even if i don't say it, i'm still working on this project. :] it is something i truly wish to come true, even if it takes a long time.

alrighty! back to the grind for me!

[abbysreal-wife]

Dark paradise

Pirate!Caitlyn x Siren!Reader

Dark paradise

Im lying in the ocean singing your song

Aaa

That’s how you sang it

— Lana Del Rey

————————————————————————

Summary:: The icence seas. Dangerous places for pirates. Should’ve turned around when they had the chance.

Tags:: (kinda) Leading on, seducing

A/N:: listen yall….. I know ts is ass okay so stop talking……

Little notes!: Caitlyn and vi used to date, this takes place in the 17th century but I will NOT be writing how they talked back then (idk how to without sounding like an idiot), powder— is just jinx in the AU (duh…), Maddie is mentioned if you don’t like her disrespectfully leave😒 reader kinda gives off succubus vibes, and reader gets lowkey confident at the end, ALSO, the fumes you ‘give off’ is like idk??? Sexual stuff…. YOULL SEE….

ANOTHER THING, thank you @korn-dawg yk what for…..

Currently playing…

————————————————————————

The waves crashed against the shore.

The boat left a low croak in the air as it continuously sailed against the thick water.

“Well, we’re lost now.” Caitlyn’s thick accent spoke out to the other passengers, Vi, powder, & maddie. “It’s because of the storm, don’t blame yourself, captain.”

Caitlyn pulled away from the stained paper map “yes, I know Maddie but.. it’s easy to get lost out in these seas.”

Vi sighed “maybe if we turned around we could go back to our original path”

Powder shook her head “it wouldn’t work out, the storm travels in circles, no?” Her raspy voice spoke out to the others.

Heeled boots hit the ground as caitlyn made her way to the much larger paper map which was hanging on by rusted nails and other old tools.

“Well might need to go to the icence seas.”

Caitlyns comment made the room go silent.

The icence seas.

Also known as “siren seas” because the many sightings of sirens “Absolutely not!” VI’s voice protested

“Captain, I mean no harm, and I’m not trying be disrespectful or rude but, have you not heard the things the other treasurers see out there?” Maddies comment was filled with concern.

Caitlyns jaw clenched your jaw hearing the girls desperate cries.

“The people say—“ you cut off powders sentence by huffing loudly “I know what heard, powder. That’s why I’m gonna prove them wrong.”

Cait was always the brave type, but never this brave.

She was practically giving everyone’s life away, like a cross trade between two people.

“Let’s get to moving then, shall we?” Caitlyn bellowed.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

It was well after dark now.

“We’re here, ma’am” maddie announced to caitlyn and the other passengers.

The boat was low, dark, scary even, lighting candles the four all made their way down to the hull.

“We’ve made it to the icence seas.”

“Safely” Caitlyn added.

Powder sighed leaning back on the chairs back legs “barely, the storm almost caught up to us, again.”

“Don’t make a big fuss about it, we all still have our limbs and we’re all still breathing” vi replied to powders complain.

“Where do we go now, captain?” Maddie asked.

Her question was a question everyone had but didn’t wanna say aloud “I don’t know.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

Under the dark seas.

“It’s not fair how she gets to get babied and she hasn’t lured not one person!” Your sister complained to your mother and father.

Your sister; Anastasia has been complaining for the last few weeks about how you haven’t got not one kill but still gets “babied” which wasn’t true in your eyes.

“Enough whining, child, she’s the youngest here and she needs time” your mother told off the red haired girl sitting beside you.

Ivelle; your other sister came up behind you. You watched as Anastasia and your mother continuously talked about you and other things of some sort.

“Don’t worry, Anastasia has always been the jealous type” ivelles low angelic voice gave you chills down your spine. You spun around facing her “I don’t know, she’s kinda true. I should have a lure by now.”

She sighed softly “you just need to sing louder, your voice is very soft”

Louder.

That word caught your attention.

“Thank you, ivelle, i appreciate it”

“Arise you three, a ship has been spotted amongst our seas” your father’s voice boomed out to you and your two sisters.

“God bless these humans… they will never learn will they” your mother sighed playing with the pearls on her neck.

“Does [౨ৎ˚₊] have to come? She’s just wasting time” Anastasia coldly asked your father who was standing know the door way.

Your father’s gaze shifted towards Anastasia “Enough, Anastasia. You don’t need to criticize your sister, me and your mother will discuss the situation later”

You laid your head low while passing by everyone in the room.

“I’ll take north, you take east, and you.. Anastasia paused when she came to you “you can take south, it’ll be easier.”

“Storms are bigger towards the south, sister, I’m sure you’ll lure lots.” Ivelle softly smiled at you, her webbed hand resting still on your shoulder.

You just smiled back and started your journey south.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪˚₊

“How on earth did we sail south?!” Vis voice was loud, a fright fell behind her tone, that’s not usual.

Caitlyn just rubbed her forehead with frustration, “no need for yelling, I’m sure we just forgot to put the anchor down”

Everyone’s head turned to powder.

“Guys, I told you that the anchor is too heavy for me to carry, multiple times.” Powder admitted, she sat down in a chair, legs in a manspread.

Vi slammed her cup down, causing a vibration to run through the table as it knocked a few other things down.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Powder shyed away, face red from embarrassment “I tried to, none of you guys helped me..”

“God, you see, this is why we don’t bring young people on board, cause of stupid shit like th-“

“Enough, vi. — Caitlyn’s face was puzzled, like she was trying to hear something from a distant “do you guys hear that?”

An angelic voice cried out from the seas, it cause all of them to turn their heads, Caitlyn pointed two fingers to the stairs leading up to the deck.

Once on the deck the four women immediately drew swords.

Whispers and songs could be heard.

Then a tail flapping out the waters.

The dark skies made everything seem like it was just a hallucination.

Lighting struck afar.

The songs grew louder, stronger, all of their heads started to spin, “captain, sail west…” maddie urged to Caitlyn who was already making her way to the rear.

“Fuck, do you guys feel that to?” Vis words were slurred before she dropped to the floor, soon after Maddie, and powder followed.

Cait was hanging on by a thread as she heard everything in her body to keep herself from slumping over.

The moon began to blur.

Songs stung her ears.

˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˚₊ Hear my voice beneath the sea

Sleeping now so peacefully

Sleep for all eternity

Black washed over her.

Caitlyn awoken by the sound of jelwery clinging and clashing into each other.

The woman infront of her stood tall, taller than her.

A name in expensive cursive writing was written on the back of the women’s arm.

𝓘𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮

“I’m sure they’ll awaken soon, your songs shouldn’t be to strong, child.”

The muffled woman’s voice echoed through out Caitlyn’s head.

“Yes, I know Ivelle but, what if I actually did kill them? I feel so horri—“

A loud gasp arouse from Caitlyn caused you stop mid sentence, making your way over to the blue haired girl dressed in, ruffles, strings and nets of some kind.

“Human form, little one.”

Ivelle reminded you before disappearing into the darkness of mysterious waters.

Your legs weren’t always your strongest suit but, it was gonna have to work for now.

“Who are you? Why am I here?” The blue haired girl immediately began to panic as she tugged against the strong ropes that were binding her arms behind her.

You smirked “I’m [..], it’s nice to meet you captain caitlyn.” You hinted at the embroidered ’Captain Caitlyn Kiramman’ on her vest.

“Case your wondering, it’s August 4th 1730” your soft but somehow strong voice told her. “You haven’t time traveled” a giggle emerged from you.

Caitlyn, still confused, looked around her surroundings, noticing her other passengers weren’t there she started to panic “where are my friends at?” She continued to tug against the rope.

“no worries, we’re keeping them somewhere, safe.”

Suddenly something in Caitlyn came up.

The longer she looked at you, the prettier you got.

The enticing blue eyed stare grabbed your attention.

Your wonders finally started to work.

The ropes started to feel less tight and looser, a lot looser.

She tugged at nothing. The ropes were gone now. She stood, her figure was tall, her eyes were filled with despair.

Leaning in, she kissed you.

Perfect.

You got her right where you needed her, vulnerable, desperate.

There was no romantic connection between you and her, you could feel it.

It was the air. Your aura. It caused things happen.

You were alluring. Fascinating even.

You chuckled, kissing her back grabbing the back of her head pulling her in closer.

The floor, the floor felt as if it was melting beneath her, she didn’t care, she couldn’t care, she was trapped.

Once realizing what was happening she struggled, pulled, pushed, nothing worked.

She was trapped.

You whispered something in your language in her ear.

The floor was sinking her in. Litterally.

“You don’t belong here”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

A/N: uhm idk what put right here…… also sorry for spelling mistakes and random typos and spacing, I’m lowkey half asleep rn

@graciedollie @grotesquevi @valeisaslut @look-me @mewl3tte @ellies-moth-to-a-flame @ellieswife4ever @yokedtablet @doodl3wr1t3s @lolitalovess @lluxentzz @kissedbykhloe

[nicoscheer]

Alright I’ve finally sort of recovered and will get on to uploading a few videos, if you’ve got any wishes about videos you’d want just hit me up, cause I’ll just upload pieces cause tumblr will fight me if I try to upload the full songs :)

Anyways first of here are just some things that I had to write down and believe you might enjoy (in no particular order) :

- He had fucking Hal Hal in his pre show setlist like the monkeys

- either Tom or Miles used an Arctic monkeys music storage crate and the second we spotted it it got turned around -> so while no one truly believed that Alex would show up there were just a few things that against all odds suddenly seemed to point towards it

- Miles’ walk off song was ‘my way’ with an amazing sing along from the audience and then a curtain descended over the stage and then the Leadmill DJ for the club party took over and started the set of with ‘from the ritz to the rubble’ you can imagine the absolute mayhem that erupted (not only at the song but because for a second again most waited for that curtain to open back up and reveal Miles&Alex on stage)

-Miles completely forgot to take of his ‘the world is yours ring’ before coming on stage so right after the first song the took it of and placed it on the keyboard with Ben then stepping in to hand it to James (with a bit of confusion from both of them)

-didn’t manage to film that bit but after One man band he held his guitar overhead and then fucking curtseyed

-an older security guard shared some stories of a young Cookie frequenting the Leadmill as a young Lad with his fake ID

-one of my highlights was just how Miles basically didn’t stop smiling once during the entire gig you could just see how much he loved it

-another highlight was after blame it on the summertime Miles had a tiny problem with his pedals and while him, Ben and James tried to fix we started the uhuhuhu from the chorus back up and at first Miles looked utterly confused before breaking out into the sweetest smile and encouraging us to keep going

-when he came out afterwards (after like 2 hours) he profusely thanked us for waiting and for coming to the gig and making it an unforgettable one

-the fucking BBC were there to interview us

-the green room was on the upper floor and had a little curtain in front of the window facing the pit and like 10 minutes before stage time Miles peeked out gave a tiny wave and disappeared again when the screaming got too loud

-at like 12pm Nathan popped out and chatted a bit with us while waiting for his Popeyes delivery

-there obviously is a back entrance for artists (which at least Katie used) but Miles after already seeing us queuing outside intentionally and willingly used the front door two more times and chatted a bit with us and was a good sport bout taking pictures and signing stuff

-

Alright here’s the video of that moment from after blame it on the summertime cause it might be my favourite from this concert

-

And here a few subpar pics (but I always prefer to film and just snap some while doing that)

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 17

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 5.2k+

Note: this chapter is inspired by Monaco Will because he just looks so yummy

I know the timeline of this is all a bit fucked but please just suspend you disbelief.

xxx

I think I’m losing my mind.

Not in the cool, edgy, manic pixie dream girl kind of way — the kind where you cut your fringe in your bathroom at 2 a.m. and suddenly develop a deep love for obscure French cinema. Not the sort of unravelling that makes you interesting or mysterious or somehow magnetic.

No. I mean the kind where you haven’t worn real clothes in two days, there’s a half-eaten crumpet on the windowsill for reasons you can’t quite explain, and you’ve just googled “is it normal to feel haunted by a person who is still alive.”

No. In the “I’ve just spent three full hours watching WillNE rank bottled water while pretending I don’t care that he hasn’t texted me back” kind of way.

Like actually, fully, completely, losing my mind.

There’s something profoundly humbling about letting YouTube autoplay eat your entire evening while your brain replays one man’s silence like it’s the season finale of a show that never got greenlit for season two.

I’ve somehow devoured about a million hours of his videos this past week. Even the second channel — the one I swore I wouldn’t watch out of sheer principle. The principle I set long before I liked him.

I caved. Obviously.

I’ve watched him run to Brighton, tour the US, run a marathon in Heelys, and provide commentary on a Love Island season from three years ago. Then there's the second channel content—thousands of Temu packages, the mega primes and chocolate bars, and his narration of a charity match I didn't even know he played in.

I’ve watched him attempt 100 world records, buy the internet's most useless gadgets, and even spend 100 hours on the world's most luxurious train. I’ve seen him prank his mates during covid and get roasted in Reddit videos.

I dug so far back I saw videos of him and his Ex-Girlfriend. I found two dead group channels, with hundreds more hours of content to watch. I recognise a handful of faces from them.

I watched the videos I watched him film. I remember every little joke, all the stuff they cut out. It’s a bit sickening, actually, how effortlessly charming he is on camera. How easy it is to fall into that world he’s built—even when I’m meant to be stepping out of it.

I even watched his very first video, just to see how much he's changed. I had to turn it off. He called himself Betty Schwallocks and that was enough for me.

And George. God, even George. I’ve gone back and watched every piece of content he’s ever posted. Even the ones where the jokes don’t land and he clearly forgot to edit out a yawn. I’ve watched Arthur, Chris, people I only vaguely recognise from all those evenings spent drinking in the kitchen, framed in thumbnails and chaotic group shots and videos titled in all caps.

Which is mad, really. Because until this week, I’d never actually watched the videos. Not properly. I always knew what they did — I lived in the flat, I heard the behind-the-scenes meltdowns. I saw George filming from the hallway, Will editing at 2AM, cursing at his own footage. I was close enough to it that I never felt the need to watch it.

And maybe that’s part of it. Maybe that’s why Will’s pulled away. Because I never really stepped into his world — not properly. But then again, he never made much of an effort to step into mine, either.

But now? Now I can’t stop watching. And I can’t stop feeling it—that quiet, horrible jealousy that creeps up my spine and settles in my chest like static.

Their lives look so fun. So stupid and messy and loud and free. They wake up and make content. They go to events, they banter, they get paid to just... be themselves. Meanwhile, I’m burning through (sometimes) ten-hour days writing code for people I’ll never meet, carrying everyone else’s expectations like a backpack full of bricks.

I know it’s not all real. I know that. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting it. Or from feeling like maybe, if I’d just been a little more interesting, a little less scared, I could’ve ended up in a life like that too. I could've followed George to London and lived just like him.

Instead I’m here, in a flat I’ve spent the last week obsessing over like it’s some kind of museum exhibit—scrutinising every casual interaction, every inside joke I wasn’t really part of—watching WillNE videos like I’m cramming for an exam on how I became the least interesting person in a house full of people who turned being themselves into a career.

I have to say WillNE when I’m talking about his videos; his online persona. The one who’s loud, brash, always in your face, half a second away from an angry rant. But the real Will? The one I knew? He was soft. Kind of funny in a way that didn’t try so hard. He’d smile at the smallest things, make me feel like I was the only person in the room.

That Will is not texting me back.

Cool.

I wanted to go to the flat today. Take George up on his offer to just waltz in like old times, like nothing's changed. Like I still belong there.

I even got halfway down the street before I realised how stupid it would look. Me, key in hand, walking into an empty flat like a ghost haunting her own almost-life. Like some washed-up sitcom character trying to recapture the punchline of a joke that stopped being funny months ago.

But for a minute, just a minute, I imagined it: me on the sagging sofa, kettle on, one of Arthur’s weird hoodies thrown over the back of a chair. George popping in and muttering something about meal deals. Will making some smartass comment from the hallway, then sitting too close just to annoy me.

George handing me a tea. half a sugar, a small dash of milk, teabag still in.

I miss it. Not just the people. The ease. The warmth. The sense that I was folded into something—into a routine, a rhythm, a life that didn’t need to be earned or explained.

I think I'm going crazy. I don’t think I ever really felt like that when I was there, but the rose coloured glasses are addicting.

But I can't just waltz in.

They're all in Monaco right now, on some extravagant brand trip. I've seen the TikTok edits — not just the slow-motion, sparkles, and moody Arctic Monkeys tracks. Some are raw, spontaneous, and unpolished, capturing moments of genuine laughter and camaraderie. Will, caught mid-sentence; George, eyes squinting into the sun. It's surreal, watching people you know be mythologised in real time.

Do you know how fucked it is to see a TikTok edit of your failed situationship? It’s hell. Actual hell. There’s Will, all effortless charisma and jawline, looking like the kind of man who ruins you in a French hotel room—and there’s me, back in London, rewatching videos like I’m a crazed fan. I guess I am.

It’s pathetic. I'm pathetic. Or maybe it's just the cost of loving people who belong to the internet.

I know Arthur isn’t on the trip. Monaco. Brand deal. Influencer playground. Whatever. From what I’ve gathered through frankly shameful levels of social media sleuthing, he didn’t make the cut. Not enough followers, maybe. Not enough brand appeal. Or maybe he just didn’t want to go. But I doubt that.

I think about texting him. Just a casual, hey what are you up to? Something breezy enough to pretend it’s not coming from a place of total emotional desperation.

Because Arthur and I—we used to get on. Living with him wasn’t terrible. He left mugs everywhere and was weirdly obsessed with FIFA, but he was also funny in that dry, passive kind of way. Unbothered. Comforting, in a background noise sort of sense.

And now he’s the only one still in town. The only one not being followed around by a camera or turned into a sped-up montage with trending audios in the background.

I type the message twice. Delete it. Re-type it with more emojis. Delete again.

Because what am I even hoping for? That he’ll come round and sit on the edge of my bed and say something vaguely affirming in his Arthur way? That he’ll distract me from the ache in my chest with some dumb story about nearly poisoning himself with a instant noodles packet?

I don’t send it. Not yet. But I keep the app open. Just in case I need to pretend that connection is still an option.

I see The Fellas have posted a vlog from the trip. Will’s grinning face is plastered across the thumbnail—those Prada sunnies, looking like he owns the entire Mediterranean. I’ve met The Fellas a few times, and honestly? The name fits. They really do just look like some blokes you’d spot down the pub or at a corner shop. Nothing flashy, just... mates doing their thing.

The vlog is glossy and polished, full of sun, champagne bubbles, and laughter that sounds way too carefree for my current mood. There’s an extended cut locked behind a paywall—premium content, obviously—but I don’t buy it. And I didn’t even think about it.

There’s a clip that sticks with me: Will, wearing those, frankly slutty, Prada sunglasses—like the kind you only see on someone who knows exactly how annoying it makes them—and he’s on a boat, mic’d up. There’s a girl fiddling with the mic pack on his shirt, her fingers brushing over the fabric, and he just lets her. Doesn’t seem bothered, just effortlessly cool, like he’s always exactly where he’s supposed to be.

In the rest of the video, he’s drunk and happy—laughing with his mouth wide open, leaning into the sun like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened. Dancing and cracking jokes. The whole thing feels light, airy, like nothing can touch him. And I’m stuck here, on the other side of the screen, wondering how I got so out of sync with it all.

In the video, he has some crash out about some kind of Formula One moment. I don’t understand a word of it. I just miss being someone who was lucky enough to hear it.

There’s a clip of him and Becky, just sitting in sunloungers, chatting like nothing’s changed. The light is golden, everything slowed down to that perfect summer haze.

I think back to what Will said about her—not close anymore, he told me, like it was settled fact. But here they are, looking easy and familiar, like maybe this trip is doing what months apart couldn’t: starting to patch things up.

I wish I could just ask him about it. Not in that awkward, half-hopeful way, but for real. I want to know. To be in on his life, the messy bits and the quiet moments.

But I’m not sure if I’m allowed anymore. If I'll ever be allowed again.

I’ve cooked it, haven’t I? I don’t even know how.

Why has Will pulled away? Did he want to be single for this trip? Or is this just the natural order of things—the way people drift apart when they’re supposed to?

He was there when I needed him—helping me move, making a mess of casual that felt anything but. But now, he’s gone radio silent, like I’m suddenly background noise instead of someone worth answering.

Maybe I misread things. Maybe I was the only one hoping for something more than easy banter and occasional kisses.

And yet, watching him there on that boat, sun hitting his skin just right, it’s like he’s moved on already—effortless, unbothered, free.

Fuck.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll send that message to Arthur. Or maybe not. Tonight, I’m just going to keep scrolling. Pretend I’m still part of it.

Xxx

I’m at work. It’s foul. Like the kind of day where the coffee tastes bitter even though you didn’t change brands, and every email feels like a trapdoor waiting to snap shut. The kind of day that makes you question every single life choice that brought you to this fluorescent-lit desk, staring at lines of code that refuse to behave.

My fingers twitch over the keyboard like they want to escape, but the deadline looms like a storm cloud, relentless and unforgiving. I catch my reflection in the screen—pale, tired eyes staring back like they’re begging for mercy. I went to bed at stupid o'clock last night because I was scrolling through VODs of Georges streams. I used to listen to him stream for Christ's sake.

Outside, the rain drums a relentless rhythm against the window, matching the relentless ache that’s settled in my chest. Somewhere far away, laughter and sunlight are happening. Somewhere I’m not.

It physically hurts my soul to think about how Will and George and all their friends are having a blast in Monaco right now and they can call it work.

And I’m supposed to be grateful for this job, this stability, this paycheque. But right now, it just feels like I’m trapped in a loop—stuck in a life that’s all work and no meaning.

So I finally bite the bullet and send Arthur a message.

Hey, fancy some beers tonight? I’ve missed your annoying-ass laugh.

His reply comes quicker than I expect.

Sounds good. The flat is empty as hell. Do you still have your key?

I do. George gave it back to me like he said he would.

When I arrive at the flat, it hits me how little has changed. The same chipped paint on the doorframe, the slightly crooked picture of some random football stadium hanging crooked in the hallway. It makes sense it wouldn’t have changed—after all, it’s been like, three weeks. But it still feels strange. Like stepping back into your childhood bedroom after years away; familiar, but with a layer of dust and memories that make it feel somehow out of reach.

Arthur’s already inside when I get there, leaning against the kitchen counter with a six-pack of cider in one hand and that easy grin I remember well. I laugh, holding up the six-pack I lugged in like some awkward peace offering, and he raises an eyebrow in approval.

We drop ourselves onto the worn-out couch—the one so threadbare and stained it’s basically part of the flat’s furniture ecosystem. It’s soft in all the wrong places, hard in others, and probably has more stories in its cushions than we do combined.

The silence settles between us for a moment, not uncomfortable, just familiar. Like a shared breath before the conversation starts.

Arthur kicks off his scuffed trainers, one landing with a soft thud, the other spinning in a lazy half-circle before tipping over like it gave up. He cracks open a can of cider with a familiar pop that echoes in the quiet room.

“So,” he says, settling onto the couch with a grin, “what’s new? I feel like you’ve been off the grid. Like you vanished or something.”

I lean back, trying to sound casual, but there’s a twitch in my voice I can’t hide. “Oh, you know… picked up some weird hobbies. Got obsessed with a few random apps. Learned some dumb things that probably won’t stick, just to keep my brain busy.”

Arthur is always been one to listen instead of talk. And I can talk someone's ear off if they let me. This was our routine for a bit. I would talk and talk and talk and he would nod along and ask me actually thoughtful questions.

I dive into the baking—how I accidentally made the fluffiest sourdough and then promptly burnt the second loaf. I tell him about the interior design blogs I’m obsessed with, the weird ways I rearranged my tiny flat just to feel like it’s mine. The book club, too. How awkward I was the first night, showing up with my dog-eared copy and a nervous smile. And painting—mostly messy, abstract stuff that no one else would understand, but somehow it makes me feel less alone.

At one point, I bring up The Van. He didn’t know much about it. I guess I never sat him down and explained it. I’m touched when Arthur asks genuine, thoughtful questions—what inspired me to start going, what it means to me, how it’s changed the way I see things.

His curiosity isn’t just polite. It feels real, like he actually wants to know who I’ve become while I’ve not lived with him.

For a moment, I forget the tension that’s been building inside me. This—sharing pieces of myself with someone who listens—it’s a kind of balm.

I don’t tell him about how I’ve caught up on five years’ worth of lore from his and George’s friends. How I’ve watched a million clips from his old podcast or a hundred edits of Will looking effortlessly sexy, or seen the cute pictures of him meeting The Sidemen when he was like fifteen.

That part feels too weird, too vulnerable to share out loud—like admitting I’m still stuck somewhere between fan and friend, watching lives I used to be part of from the outside.

Also it's just downright strange.

Instead, I just smile and nod along, pretending my head isn’t tangled in memories and half-remembered moments. Arthur talks about a new band he’s into, and for a while, I let myself forget the quiet loneliness that’s been humming in my chest.

His voice fills the space like sunlight through a cracked window—easy, unbothered—and I cling to it, grateful for the distraction.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Wow. Having your own space looks good on you. More than I expected, honestly.” There’s a teasing edge in his tone, but also something warm—like he’s rooting for me even if I don’t quite believe in myself.

I shrug, my eyes fixed somewhere on the scratched coffee table. “Work’s been brutal lately. Same code, different bugs. Feels like I’m patching holes in a sinking ship, and I’m not sure the ship even wants saving.”

Arthur takes a long swig from his bottle, then lets out a low whistle. “Better than trying to get signed by a record label that’s basically a vampire cult.” His grin turns mischievous, like he’s sharing a secret horror story.

I laugh, surprised at how easily the topic changes. “Yeah? How’s that going?”

“Oh my god. It’s just foul.” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “The shady contracts, the fake promises, the endless ‘networking’ that’s just begging for favours. It’s a nightmare dressed up in designer clothes.”

We fall into an easy rhythm then, the kind that comes from shared understanding. Talking music, bad managers, the weird dance of trying to stay true to yourself when everyone’s got a price tag. It’s messy and frustrating but somehow comforting to know I’m not the only one wading through it.

For a moment, I forget the walls of this flat, the buzzing in my phone, the quiet absence of people I thought would still be here. This—this conversation—is a reminder there’s a world beyond my keyboard and my flat’s four walls.

Arthur’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, slicing through the low murmur of conversation like a paper cut. He glances at it, his jaw tightening ever so slightly, then flips it face-down without replying. I don’t ask. He doesn’t offer.

But a beat later, he exhales, a sound that feels more loaded than it should be. “Chris and George are having people over later this week,” he says, casual in tone but not quite in delivery. “Just drinks. Nothing big. Pre-something-or-other.” He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes like the words are a bruise he didn’t mean to press. “Totally spaced on inviting you. Guess I’m used to you just… being here.”

The shrug that follows is almost sheepish. And weirdly, it stings.

I nod, swallowing around the lump that rises in my throat. They didn’t mean to leave me out. That’s what makes it worse. It’s not malice. It’s just… habit. The kind that fades when your name isn’t on the lease anymore.

I don’t ask if Will will be there. I’m not sure I could hear the answer without flinching. Not tonight.

So instead, I offer up something lighter. “Maybe I’ll swing by.”

Arthur’s face breaks into something warm and familiar. Relief, maybe. Or nostalgia. “Please do,” he says, lifting his bottle like a peace offering. “Could use some proper company.”

It’s not just an invitation. It’s a breadcrumb. A quiet way of saying: you still have a place here, if you want it.

I clink my drink against his. “Yeah, alright. I’ll be there.”

And just like that, something settles. Not quite comfort. But something like it. Like a door I thought had closed is still ajar, creaking open with the breeze.

The TV hums faintly in the background. Someone laughs in the flat below. And for a moment, it’s almost like I never left.

And the rest of the night stretches out in easy, aimless conversation—nothing heavy, nothing that digs too deep. We talk about music, some ridiculous viral video Arthur can’t stop laughing at, the weather as if it isn't just oh yeah its slighly rainy. It’s the kind of chat that fills space without demanding anything in return.

Arthur never brings up Will. At first, I think maybe he’s just trying to be polite. But as the night goes on, I realise he probably forgot we were a thing at all. It wasn't exactly a secret, but it’s like a faded photo shoved in the back of a drawer—visible if you look, but easy to ignore.

I know the two of them aren't close. They have the same circles but I think they’ve been lost in the overlap, So maybe Arthur’s silence isn’t an oversight but a shield—a way to keep things simple.

And maybe that’s exactly what I need.

There’s a strange comfort in not having to explain, defend, or unpack the complicated mess of my life. In this quiet flat, with Arthur’s familiar laugh bouncing off the walls, I can just be.

But beneath the surface, that familiar ache still lingers—the whisper of what’s missing, the spaces I haven’t quite filled yet.

For tonight, though, I push it down. Tonight, I’m here. And that has to be enough.

xxx

The next few days go by fast, and I find myself back at the flat for the casual drinks. George, Chris, Arthur, the others—they’re all here, the familiar chaos humming just beneath the surface. Everyone’s chattering away about the trip, voices overlapping as they trade stories about the late nights, overpriced cocktails, and someone nearly missing the flight home. The flat feels alive again, like it’s breathing with a rhythm I almost remember.

When I arrive, Will gives me a weird, half-hearted side hug—one arm barely brushing my shoulder, his body already pulling away before I can even register the contact. No eye contact. No smirk. No stupid quip about me being late or a comment about my haircut.

It’s like I’m just another plus-one he doesn’t know at the function.

And it shouldn’t matter, but it does.

Fucking of course it does! Who am I kidding.

Because this is someone who knows the sound I make when I laugh too hard! Who used to lie in bed next to me every other night for two months, tracing circles on my bare back while I talked about things I hadn’t told anyone else!

Someone who used to kiss me like it meant something.

He used to hold me like I was worth something—like I wasn’t just another body in his bed, but someone he saw. Someone he chose. He made space for me in ways I didn’t know I needed, asked questions no one else bothered to. He shattered the walls I had spent years building—slowly, carefully, like he knew exactly where the cracks already were.

And now?

Now, I’m a stranger. Or worse, someone he’s pretending he never knew that well to begin with.

It’s a gutting kind of coldness. Not loud or dramatic. Just… quiet. Detached. The kind of silence that rewrites a memory while you’re still holding onto it.

He doesn’t even look at me.

It’s a gut-punch of a contrast to the last time we were here like this—when the air between us was charged with something unspoken but alive. When his smile felt like an invitation, not a cold wall. Tonight, it’s like I’m a ghost haunting a house that no longer remembers me.

Last time he was over for casual drinks with the lads, we ended up in my room—laughing, tipsy, tangled in that familiar rhythm we never quite named. He was pressed against the door with his hands in my hair, moaning and panting like he needed me.

I catch myself stealing glances at him all afternoon. I don’t mean to—it just happens. Like instinct. Like gravity. Like I’m waiting for him to notice I’m still here.

He moves through the flat like none of this weighs on him. Like the last two months didn’t exist. Laughing with George in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with Chris in the hallway, head tilted toward someone else entirely.

He’s golden in the warm light—sharp jaw, flushed cheeks, all charm and ease. You’d never guess that two weeks ago, he was in my bed, lips on my neck, telling me he liked the way I said his name.

Now he won’t even look at me.

And the fucked-up part is I’m not even angry. I’m not raging, or bitter, or planning some dramatic confrontation.

I’m just… confused. Quietly. Painfully.

I don’t know what I did.

There was no fight. No conversation. No shift I could feel coming. Just a slow, steady pulling away I didn’t even notice until it had already happened. Until I woke up one morning and realised I hadn’t heard from him in days. That my phone was still silent. That he hadn’t checked in. That the absence had become normal.

And I still don’t know why.

Was I too much? Not enough? Did I misread it all?

Because it felt real. The nights. The in-jokes. The moments between moments, where everything slowed down and it was just us.

He helped me move flat for Christ's sake!

And now he’s here, just a few feet away, acting like I’m nothing more than a piece of furniture—something you barely notice until you bump into it. Like I never watched him sleep, his face relaxed and soft in the quiet darkness, his hands wrapped around my waist like I was the only place he wanted to be. Like I never traced the curve of his neck with my fingers, memorizing every small detail in the warm glow of morning light.

Like I never felt the fierce, bruising heat of his touch. How he pulled my hair so hard I feared I’d wake up with missing chunks, yet always with a kind of reverence, like he was worshipping every inch of me. Like every kiss he pressed to my skin was both a promise and a question, tender and urgent all at once. Like he saw me—not just my body, but every scar, every quiet moment, every fragile part I tried to hide, and held it with a softness that made me believe I was worth protecting.

Like the way he made a home of me—soft and wild all at once—doesn’t exist anymore. Like the way his presence burned through the quiet of those nights, setting something inside me alight, was just a dream I imagined.

Like I’m not even a blip on his radar now.

I just wish he’d look at me.

That’s all.

I wish he’d look at me like he used to. No, actually just at me. I wish I could catch his eye and see something—anything—that told me I hadn’t made it all up. That I hadn’t built a whole version of intimacy in my head that didn’t exist.

Because if I imagined it, if I hallucinated all of that closeness, then what does that make me?

A fucken idiot, probably.

Now im thinking about slipping away to my old room. Just casually. Quietly. Like I’m just going to grab something or check my phone or breathe. But really—it’s stupid, really—I think about going because maybe, somehow, Will might follow.

Like he used to.

That first time ringing in my head, when he came in and kissed me like he’d been holding it in for weeks—like saying it out loud would’ve ruined it, but touching me was the only thing he could do. We didn’t even say much. Just a look, a soft laugh, and then his mouth was on mine and my whole body forgot how to stand still.

The second time, it was different. Secret. We’d already crossed the line, and now we were balancing on the edge of something fragile and thrilling. Both of us breathless with the risk of it all—his friends just a room away, loud and unaware. His back pressed against the door. My name in a whisper that wasn’t safe or careful.

That room held those moments. And part of me thinks that if I just slip back in, if I sit on the edge of that mattress and wait, maybe he’ll follow. Maybe his hand will find the door again like it used to. Maybe we’ll find our way back to that charged, impossible stillness that used to feel like the only real thing in the world.

But there is no mattress. I took it with me.

He helped me fold it weirdly into the back of his stupid plush car.

The room that was once mine. It's not even a room, not really. Just a hollow shell now. A graveyard of old filming equipment, tangled cords, broken ring lights, and collapsed tripods.

Not the graveyard with my bed.

So ducking in there would be pointless. Silly. There’s nowhere to sit, nowhere to wait. Nowhere to pretend something might still exist between us if I just stayed still long enough.

So I stay planted in the living room instead, half-listening to conversations that blur together, the laughter around me sounding too sharp, too far away. I hold my drink like it’s a lifeline, fingers aching from how tightly I clutch it. I've picked off the labels already.

I don’t know why I even came here now, I don’t know what I thought would happen. That he’d see me standing in the hallway and talk to me and explain himself? That he’d brush past everyone, slip through my door, and drag me along with him—as if he couldn’t help himself?

But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

There’s no mattress. There’s no Will. There’s just a room I don’t belong to anymore. A version of us I can’t get back to.

So I stay where I am.

Clutching my drink too tight, nodding along to a conversation I’m not really in, laughing at jokes I don’t hear.

And I feel more alone in this crowded room than I have in weeks.

Because he’s right there. And he’s gone.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00@migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz

[fillthevoidwithwordsofgold]

Hmm mm. What would Danny be making i wonder? As much as a portal or something to the infinite reals is fun, i can't logic him doing it out of Tucker's spare tech (esp not all his tech just the stuff he can spare). And clockwork might interfere again.

Danny's project is uh.... no one can tell. Seriously. Full fledged engineers are having arguments over what the heck it is. The Batkids have taken sides. Danny's Project is trending and has been for a week. He announces he is done. The internet explodes as they try and put in final guesses, everyone logging on and telling everyone they know so they and their friends can see what it is. Even if it fails it's prime entertainment.

Danny fiddles with it for a bit and various places light up. A screen flashes with numbers, but only a couple are in view at a time between Danny's flitting around it and the other students watching.

"What are the numbers?" Several students ask.

"Our coordinates." Danny answers distractedly, continuing his flitting and fiddling. "'Course that's not the good bit, I've had those for ages. The actual bit is almost on and... There!" More lights turn on, several lights that were already on change color and several more shut off or start blinking. Danny circles the device, carefully examining the lights like they have any sort of sense to them.

"You know where we are!" Comes a screech.

"And when." Danny replies, still carefully examining the lights. "Knew the first night. Stars, you know." Before anyone can ask why he would be worried about When they were, Tucker elbows him.

"You gonna explain what it is dude? Haven't felt this left out since Overgrowth."

"Oh. Yeah." Danny looks sheepish as he explains. "It sent a message to my parents - well, the OP center, but they have a computer in the Lab connected to it - that says it's me. And gives them the coordinates. And it's continuously sending out a signal that they can track. And it's portable!" He presses a button and it begins to hover slightly over the ground. "In case we have to move camp or something."

The classmates accept this. There is grumbling, but it's all along the line of "Well the Fentons suck/are weird/are crazy but they are definitely gonna come for their kid". Several start betting on when they will show up. For some reason, the pools are split, one if his mom drives the other his dad. The 'jack drives' pool's times are significantly shorter.

There should be a dp x dc ver of Danny's class stranded in the middle of nowhere and they are unaware that they are being recorded live for the entire world, with the superhero communities pressured to find them.