#like if you feel one way about something for a period of time but then it goes away did it actually matter

[covenofagatha]

your stories are so good! Can’t wait for the next part of sugar spice and everything nice! If you’re still taking requests could you do one where reader is Agatha’s wife who’s found out she’s pregnant and accidentally tells her when they’re in the middle fucking and it makes Agatha even hornier? Thank you again!!

I had fun with this one so hopefully you all enjoy it too!

Knocked up and turned on

You find out you're pregnant and you aren't sure how to tell your wife, Agatha

Word count: 1600+

Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy sex, girl penis Agatha, cum, creampie, slight breeding kink, sex, mommy kink

Looking back now, it all makes sense. 

Your breasts were tender. You were craving cheese and pickles a lot. You had thrown up twice this week. 

And your period was over a week late. 

Okay, yes, you probably should’ve figured it out sooner. 

But looking at the two bold lines on the pregnancy test, you figured there was no time like the present. 

While you weren’t exactly sure how it had happened as you were on birth control, you are overjoyed at first. A little you running around, a baby to spoil that would grow into an adorable toddler and then soon enough you’re driving them to their first sports match or dance recital or whatever they wanted. 

You even found yourself drifting to baby names. 

Then your thoughts turned to your wife. You knew Agatha had a rough childhood sponsored by her mother and she had always shied away from the topic of children. How are you going to tell her?

You could bake her something nice? Maybe buy little baby booties and box them up for her to open? You could always sit her down by the fireplace and pour a glass of wine – only for her, of course – and tell her the news. 

Nothing seemed right though, and you were worried as to how Agatha would react. 

Who says you have to tell her though?

Deep down you know it’s wrong, but you want to keep holding onto the secret for a little bit longer and just let it be you and your baby. You know it’s selfish and you know Agatha deserves to know, but you’ll tell her eventually. Once you figure out the timing. 

Or…you bring her along to a doctor’s routine check up so the two of you can “find out” together. 

You like that plan. 

You’re on the website trying to make an appointment when Agatha gets home. 

“Hey, hon,” she says, dropping her keys and coming to kiss your forehead. “Everything okay?” You glance up at her to find her looking at the computer screen. 

“Oh, yeah, just thought I’d go do one of the routine things, you know. You should probably do one too, when’s the last time you went to the doctor?” You ramble when you’re nervous. The words are on the tip of your tongue and you have to keep talking so you don’t accidentally blurt it out. “Maybe we can go together!”

She snorts, not choosing to indulge in whatever you’re being weird about, and walks away. You turn to call after her to ask what she wants for dinner because you’re already starving but your breath catches in your throat. 

There’s something about the way her hips are swaying that has you getting wet. You suddenly feel more aware of everything. 

“Agatha,” you croak. She stops in the doorway of your bedroom and turns to face you, putting a hand up on the wall. A very veiny hand. Your mouth goes dry and all you can think about is those fingers around your throat. 

And then you take in the rest of her outfit. A purple sweater rolled up to her forearms and the black pants that hug her ass so nicely. Her messy bun with strands of hair framing her beautiful face. 

She must see the look on your face because she smirks and starts slowly walking toward you. 

“Again, baby? You’ve been so horny lately,” she remarks and your face flushes more than it should. That should’ve been another clue. Your wife isn’t wrong; four out of the five last days you practically begged her to fuck you. You couldn’t get enough of her fingers, mouth, and cock and you had so much more stamina. 

“Is that a bad thing?” You counter and she chuckles, getting close enough so she can pull you in for a kiss. Her tongue slides into your mouth and you think you might be dripping already. 

Her fingers dip to your waistband but you stop her hand. 

“Just want your cock please, baby,” you beg. You suddenly feel so empty and you just need her to fill you up. 

“I need to make sure you’re ready then,” she says, hand moving into your sweatpants and cupping you over your underwear. You can tell the moment she realizes just how wet you are because you watch her jaw slacken and lust cloud in her eyes. “Fuck, doll, what have you been thinking about all day?” 

“You, mommy,” you breathe and kiss her again. Not technically a lie but you’re not sure if it’s such a good idea to tell her that the reason you’re so horny at the drop of a hat is because you’re pregnant. You don’t stop kissing her as you walk her backwards until she hits the couch. 

You push her down and immediately straddle her, grinding on her rapidly hardening length through her pants. 

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot,” Agatha moans, hands finding their spot on your waist and helping you. “You’re so desperate.” 

“Desperate for you,” you agree breathlessly, reaching down to undo her pants and pull her length out. You have to get out of her lap for a second to wriggle out of your pants but you don’t even bother with your underwear before getting back on top of her. 

Agatha reaches down to move your underwear to the side and line her tip at your entrance, and you do the rest. 

Your mouth drops open in a silent moan and Agatha’s eyes roll back in her head as you begin to move down on her. She feels so fucking good inside you, filling you just how you need. You don’t move for a bit once you completely bottom out, just feeling her throb in you. 

“God, you’re so perfect, mommy,” you groan, slowly starting to roll your hips, just grinding on her. Agatha’s breathing has increased and grown heavier, not able to hide the effect you’re having on her either. 

You begin to lift up and then back down, her tip hitting your spot with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close you are already. 

Your wife’s thumb comes down to circle your clit and it slides easily with your wetness. You moan and start riding her faster. 

“God, baby, you feel so good around me,” Agatha pants, watching your pussy stretched out around her. “Taking mommy so well, wanna fill you up.” Her fingernails dig into your hips and use it to pound up into you. 

And for some reason, the words just spill out of your mouth. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Agatha freezes mid-thrust and you can’t help but clench around her, needing the lost stimulation. 

“What?” She says. “Did you just say that you’re pregnant?” 

You take a deep breath and nod. Obviously not the ideal way to have this conversation with her cock still buried to the hilt inside of you, but this is how it’s happening. “I found out today.” 

Agatha’s breath stutters and you’re worried about what she’s going to say until you feel her pulse inside you. 

“Fuck,” Agatha says, a flush spreading across her neck and up to her cheeks. She grabs your hair and yanks you in for a filthy kiss. Before you can ask if everything’s okay, she flips you on your back on the couch and starts fucking you with renowned vigor. 

“Agatha,” you cry, hips raising to meet every thrust. Small sounds are falling out of both of your mouths and you see her smiling above you. 

“I got you pregnant,” she says like she can’t believe it. “That’s so fucking hot, doll, I filled you up so well that we’re going to have a baby.” 

“Mommy, gonna cum,” you choke out, rubbing your clit and feeling her rhythm stutter as you clench deliciously around her. 

“Me too, baby, I’m going to cum inside you,” she groans, sloppily kissing you. 

“Maybe you can knock me up again,” you say and it’s mostly a joke but you don’t miss the way her hips jerk in a particularly rough thrust. It feels so good. “You like that, mommy? Want to breed me some more?” There’s no denying the effect those words have on your wife and you make a mental note to file that away for later.

“Fuck, yes, baby, I’m cumming,” Agatha moans and the feeling of her cock pulsing and then the thick warmth spreading inside you triggers your own orgasm. 

You both ride it out together and once you come down from your highs, Agatha sags down on top of you, just holding you close. You stroke her sweaty hair and she presses light kisses to your cheek. 

You can feel her cock slowly softening in you and when it finally slips out, so does a gush of her cum. Your hips shift at the feeling and Agatha gets off you to shove your legs open to observe the mess. 

With a wicked grin, she runs her fingers up your slit, collecting the cum, and fucks it back into you with two fingers. Your head lolls back against the couch and she quickly gets you to another orgasm with her hand and the knowledge that she’s pushing her seed back in. 

After, she gets a warm towel and cleans you up and then pulls you into a hug. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to have a baby,” she whispers into your ear. “I can’t wait.” 

“Me neither, Aggie. God, I love you so much.” You kiss her softly. 

“I love you too, baby. You’re going to be such a great mom.” 

You smile and run a hand through her hair. “You are too.” And then a thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but giggle. “Soon I won’t be the only one around here calling you mommy.” 

Agatha rolls her eyes fondly and kisses you again to shut you up. 

[harmonysanreads]

harmony, do you have any advice on writing sunday?? been trying to write in his pov for like, days now and i feel i'm making him too generic tbh

Hi Psyscio! I apologize for the slight delay in writing this, I've just been a bit occupied with irl things ^^; I do hope you find these helpful!

— FOR POINT OF VIEW

Based on significance, we can divide Sunday's character thus far in three parts : early childhood, Bronze Melodia period and Oak Family Head.

The Stellaron disaster was undoubtedly the spark that ignited his later concerns. We see from the conversation about the Charmony dove that Sunday was an empathetic and inquisitive boy, albeit, his concerns mostly centered around others.

During his Bronze Melodia days, the segment where he's questioning Ena (I assume), we see a sort of overlap between concerns for himself and for others. It seems that he's projecting the doubts, insecurities and helplessness he feels for himself through the suffering that he's observed in the outer world. We can also see this as a kind of a protective barrier.

This is the time where he's already reached his conclusion and has started (or has already finished) the planning for the utopian dreamscape. One point which I think is very important to remember is that, despite how he presents himself, a small part of him has always doubted this method. But since he was never able to share his ideas with others (since they'd expose his entanglement with the Order) and since Gopher Wood never addressed the faulty nature of them, he wasn't able to think deeper into them. Which is why, even during his boss fight, he's inviting the Astral Express to prove him wrong — to give evidence to the doubts he's always had.

After these three, we have post-Penacony-arc Sunday. He isn't going to be a completely different person, of course. From the snippets we've gotten so far, we see this pattern : Sunday reminisces about [x] thing and how he used to do that in the past, he comments that there's no need to be as rigid as he used to be but he isn't completely ready to fully embrace that and circles back to his previous belief. Which is fine, old habits are never easy to get rid of.

When you listen to Sunday's ideas, you'll find yourself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing. Similarly, there's a sense of obscurity in the flow of his emotions. This is intentional of course. So, I think it's alright if you notice this convolution while writing him. Emotions and thoughts are abstract by nature. But the way I'd recommend doing this, is pointing out that vagueness after that flow or an action has passed.

Thanks to Sunday's Myriad Celestia, we know that there's a sense of discord between his inner voices. We see him as both the interrogator and the answerer. The former appears to be firm, harsh and disappointed, while the latter appears nostalgic, remorseful and tired. You can use these voices to address his inner conflict.

Speaking of inner conflict, I think it's one of the most powerful tools you can use to write his perspective. I recommend not dodging it.

I've personally never agreed on the opinion of Sunday being delusional. He's quite lucid and we've received many hints of it. There's a difference between just being aware of something and acting upon that awareness. Sunday has many restraints that prevent him from acting, but it doesn't mean that he's ignorant. Oftentimes, the truth is just in his peripheral, but he can't bring himself to look at it due to a lack of support.

Sunday probably overdoses on psychoanalyzing people. Luckily, perceptive characters are very versatile. Now, I think Sunday prefers to see the best in everyone, unless he's been pushed far enough or has a particular history with an individual, he isn't one to harbor antagonist thoughts about someone. According to this post, Halovians can read the minds of people within a certain distance and use telepathy to communicate with other Halovians. Consider how you might use these together.

I like to have this mental image that Sunday is always holding onto a set number of ‘straws’ in his head. Events and people gradually come, ‘snap’ those metaphorical straws and he allows them to, to an extent — until he's left grasping onto the last of them. Use a mix of allegories and ‘telling’ to illustrate this.

— FOR BASIC CHARACTERIZATION

Sunday is in the ‘emotions revealed through unintentional body language’ group. But I think, when he's confronted with unwanted emotions, he gets even more rigid and guarded (as we saw during that scene with Gallagher). There's the popular hc that his wings flutter in certain ways in response to emotions, so, you can use that as well.

Sunday often thinks about the collective instead of the individual, which is sensible considering he's a leader and all. A romantic interest will challenge this, you can use the ways he breaks his own rules to illustrate how deep his investment in the person goes.

I think having a reader who makes him feel safe or understands him can save you a good amount of emotional turmoil. But of course, I also believe in unexpected pairings. Trust that Sunday, being who he is, can always find something worth appreciating about anyone.

One of the most fascinating things I've observed about Sunday are the similarities between him and Aventurine, as addressed by Ratio. Studying them side by side was very fruitful for me.

For resources to better understand Sunday, I recommend this video and this video.

— FOR DIALOGUE

I mentioned this in my Aventurine post, but in case you missed it, there's this channel that compiles character dialogues individually which can be helpful if you're seeking to refresh your memory. However, I'd like to add here that listening to how a character interacts with others ; as in, how they respond to what, can be even more useful for dialogues.

I've only observed Sunday's English voiceover so I'm not sure how the performance differs in other languages. Based on my observation, Sunday prefers to maintain a gentle, almost airy tone. This appears to be a result of practice though. Sometimes his manner of speech gives this impression that he's viewing you from an elevated space, where he's seeing everything about you. We hear his true voice when the people he cares about are in danger, or, when he's alone with his thoughts.

— MISC. TIPS

Sunday may appear hypocritical, you'll notice dissonance between his words, actions and subconscious — which is okay, characters and people aren't meant to be flawless. What you need to remember is that all of these discrepancies are intentional and results of his upbringing.

Sunday has been groomed by Gopher Wood for the Order's propaganda. In addition, he has survivor's guilt, religious trauma, trust and attachment issues and (possibly) Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Do your research on how these affect people in relationships.

It's okay if you struggle to fully grasp his character, he isn't understood within the game either. In my opinion, it's a very well done representation of how little we'll know about other people. Fiction allows us to gaze into the inner world of a character and see them from different perspectives. This isn't possible in reality and that's okay. Approach Sunday's character with an objective mindset, because the beauty of his writing is not centralized, but scattered.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | part twenty-two preview

Five days. They're still here. You realize what's taking them so long; they're collecting food, drying meat into jerky and simmering wild strawberries into jams that Nereida cans. They have quite a lot of supplies with them. One of Kyle's backpack's is filled with ammo and another is stuffed with medicine. 

Kyle is easy to talk to. Nereida, too. Price—however—seems like he doesn't know what to think of you. Or maybe you're too insignificant to have crossed his mind much. 

That's fair. You don't need to all be friends.

Blue seems to like Ari. He's thirteen, two years older than her, which is evident in the way her head reaches his shoulders. She doesn't even say hi to you in the morning. Instead she shows him all her magazines and even the rabbits. He decides to name one Rocky, a friend for Grim. You can't be bothered; she needs another friend. Ghost isn't keen about them alone together, though. You heard him mutter to Kyle—keep an eye on him, Gaz.

The threat of summer starts to invite more and more sweat down your neck. Your hair has gotten so long. After tossing and turning on Ghost's bedroom floor, it became a nest of tangles. When Nereida, Ari, and Blue go for a dip in the pond, you go with them and soak it, then let the water settle so you can stare at your reflection. Blade sharpened, you saw a few inches off. Better. More practical. 

"I thought you were going to cut more," Blue comments.

"I don't want it that short, or else it's harder to braid."

As the two kids keep swimming, Nereida finds bunches of rosemary and seems more excited than you'd be about it. 

"It helps fight off odors," she explains when you ask. "Like when I have my period, so the Greys can't smell it as much."

When she puts it that way, you grab some, too. Then you start wondering about her and John. Do they have sex? They must. You've seen the way they are. Kisses to their shoulder and neck, arms around each other's waist. You've stared a few times only to catch yourself and quickly look away. How do they avoid pregnancy? You highly doubt either of them want to bring a new child into the world. You wouldn't.

Ari and Blue lay in the sun together. You scoot away to give them space, but overhear some of their conversation, anyway.

"Your dad is so cool."

Blue plays with a piece of her hair. "Oh? You think so?"

"Have you seen him? He's a beast. My uncle told me he got his name because no one could see him coming before he killed them."

"He can be a pain in my ass sometimes," Blue mutters. Her nose scrunches. "But he's taught me a lot of things. I'm pretty good with knives."

"Damn, I gotta see that."

She is beaming. "I'll show you when we get back."

Then, she leans over and whispers something in his ear. Whatever it is, he smiles and shakes his head in response.

She pulls away, sighing. "I wish you guys could just stay here."

Or maybe your dad will make us go with them, you think to yourself. In a way, it's comforting, that he is secretive with her, too. He still hasn't brought up the topic again. Either he hasn't decided, or he doesn't actually plan on keeping you updated. You try your best not to ruminate, but it's hard not to, especially when you have a hard time falling asleep on floorboards and are left with your thoughts in the dark. 

Which is why you're not feeling thrilled by the time you go into his room. He's already lying in bed, one hand bent behind his head while the other props open a book. He looks comfortable. Almost normal, even.

"How do you sleep with the mask on?" you remark, kicking off your shoes. 

His eyes lift from the page briefly. "Like a baby."

"How come Kyle has seen you without it and not me?"

His jaw flexes. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Twix."

"And mental sanity doesn't suit you."

A light huff. Then, "Nice haircut."

When the room is dark, Ghost must get tired of hearing you toss and turn. He flicks on the small lamp, and you squint from the sudden light, stuffing the pillow over your head. There's shuffling before a hand rips the pillow from your face and tosses it onto the bed.

"Just get in the fucking bed. I won't bite." The sight of him standing above you, sweatpants low on his hips, consumes your vision. His voice is low but demanding.

"What, together?"

"I want good sleep. M'not going to get it on the floor, or listening to you up all night, so get in." His eyes peer down at you, half-lidded, before he lowly adds, "I'll be a gentleman, if you're worried."

You lift up and ignore the offer of his hand. "I'm not worried."

To protest would be embarrassingly juvenile when both him and you know you want to sleep there. Yet—your heart thickens. He watches as you crawl into the bed where the ceiling slants, tucking yourself under the quilt and curling against the very edge so that your knees float over it. The springs groan to your left and then heady warmth spills over you. Ghost keeps to his side, flat on his back, with his hands lying on his chest. His elbow pokes into your back no matter how carefully you try to inch away, and his thigh just barely brushes against your backside. 

The bastard doesn't say a word, nor does he make an effort to give you more space so you screw your eyes shut and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. 

[zegrasdrysdale]

hi!!! i’m a big sucker for secret relationships lol could you please do a matthew knives one where she is mitch marners younger sister and they have been secretly dating and mitch finds out in a bad way and it’s kind of angsty but then everything works out? thank you for your time!!

[ my little secret ] m. knies

paring : Matthew Knies x fem!reader

summary : Matthew and his girlfriend accidentally expose their entire eight month relationship after he gets hurt during a game, and Mitch isn't very happy about it

warning(s) : angst galore (but w a happy ending), mentions of injury, injured!kniesy, occasional use of y/n

author’s note : wanted to write something angsty and decided to knock out a request at the same time. enjoy and sorry this request took so long <33

༺═──────────────═༻

The game is going okay. Right now, the Leafs are up 2-1 against rival Boston. Her brother has assists on both Toronto goals while Matthew scored the go-ahead goal about halfway through the third. The Leafs defense is playing great defense and blocking shots from the Bruins. The forwards are keeping Boston from getting any momentum when they hop over the boards for each shift.

This is probably the best the Leafs have looked all season against a surging Boston team that struggled at the beginning of the season.

It's not long after Matthew scores the go-ahead goal that Boston begins to show some frustration. Their physical players begin to get a little more physical, laying more hits on the Leafs players. The Leafs are taking those hits like champs and some are returning the same physicality.

Until Brad Marchand lays a hard hit on Matt and he lands awkwardly on his outstretched arm. Her boyfriend curls up on the ice around the arm he landed on and a whistle is blown. A member of the training staff is immediately on the ice to look at Matthew.

She stands up with the crowd around her, hands covering her mouth as she waits for Matt to stand up. The crowd at Scotiabank Arena is so quiet, she should hear a pin drop from the other side of the stands.

It feels like an eternity later when Matt gets up on his own. The crowd claps for him, but she's too focused on the fact that he's holding his left arm close to his body. Mitch skates right behind him with his stick, which is hands to the equipment manager while Matthew goes down the tunnel.

With about five minutes left in the period and the Leafs up in the game, she makes her way down to the hallway that contains the in-arena gym, locker room, equipment room, and the athletic training room where Matt probably is.

She shows her credentials before she's let into the hallway. The horn on the ice sounds and the crowd cheers, signaling either a goal or a Leafs win. She's not sure how much time has gone by by the time she is standing outside the training room door.

After knocking lightly, she pushes open the door a little bit to get a look at her boyfriend. She sees Matthew on one of the tables half undressed. He only has on his shorts, socks, and skates. His gear is on the floor with his jersey and compression shirt.

The doctor notices her before Matt does. "Sorry, but you can't be he-"

"It's fine," Matt winces as the doctor presses on his wrist. "She's here for me anyway. Come on in, (Y/N)."

She steps into the medical room and walks up to Matt on the table. His doctor keeps pressing on and examining his wrist. He has Matt wiggle his fingers, tests his wrist flexion, and he finds the most painful points.

All while Matt winces in pain. A second horn goes off and the crowd above them cheers. The song that usually plays after a Leafs win starts to play, which means the boys will be making their way back to the locker room any second.

"Well, good news is that your wrist isn't broken," the doctor explains to Matt. "But I do think you have a mild sprain. I'd like to get scans done in the morning to confirm."

"And how long will I be out?" Matt asks.

"With rest and recovery, two weeks minimum," his doctor replies. "If you come back too early, it could be longer so I suggest staying off the ice until I clear you to return to practice. We'll come back and reassess a week from tomorrow once I confirm the sprain then come up with a plan to return to play. Until then, rest. I'll give you a brace you can use for the next few days."

Matt nods and the doctor walks off to find a brace that he'll use for a while. She intertwines her fingers with his as soon as the doctor has his back turned to them. He looks up at her with big, sad eyes. She frowns at the sight of a sad Matthew Knies.

This is a risky moment for both of them given where they're at, but she couldn't help but touch him and show him that she's here for him since she can't say anything right now. Not with the team doctor ten feet away from them.

The doctor turns around and she pulls their fingers apart. Matt holds out his injured wrist so the doctor can show him how to put the brace on. "How does it feel?" he asks Matt. "Not too snug?"

"Nope," he replies. "Comfortable."

"Good," the doctor says. "I want to see you back here in the morning for some x-rays and other tests to rule out breaks or internal damage. Okay?"

Matt nods and the doctor claps him on the back. He leaves the room, probably to go tell the coaching staff about his injury. Matt sighs and reaches to grab his compression shirt when he hops off the table.

She glances at the door to make sure no one walks in before she pulls Matthew into a hug by his torso once his shirt is on.

"I'm so sorry you got hurt, Matty," she softly says into his chest. "That hit looked bad. It could've been so much worse. I'm so glad it wasn't."

"I'm still benched for at least a week," Matt sighs. He runs his fingers through her wavy locks before he cradles her head against his body. "I'll be staying here while the boys go out on that west coast roadie. I was looking forward to some California sun after a few inches of snow over the weekend."

There's a hint of amusement in his voice, but she doesn't find it very funny. She peels her face off his chest and looks up at him. "It's not funny, Matthew," she tells him. "You got hurt. You avoided what may have been a season ending injury, but you still got hurt. None of this is very funny to me, and you're cracking jokes about missing out on the California sun."

He realizes what his words were and quickly becomes apologetic. "I'm sorry, baby," he says. "No injury is funny, even one as minor as mine."

"I thought you were really hurt, Matty," she admits. "When you were down on the ice. I thought that something was broken or torn while you were lying there. What if this was worse than a wrist sprain and you were making jokes about missing games?"

Matthew's healthy hand slides to cup her face. He rubs his thumb along her cheekbone and frowns. "I'm okay," he whispers to her. "I'm okay. Nothing is torn or broken or dislocated. It's just a sprain. It's not season ending and I'll be back on the ice in a week. It just sucks that I'm out at all."

She presses her face back into his chest and he engulfs her in a hug. He buries his head into her hair and presses a kiss to her temple. "You're okay," she echoes. "Thank God you're okay."

He softly hums into her hair. She looks up at him at the same time he tilts her head up. Matthew leans down since his skates give him a little extra inches to his six-foot-three frame. Their lips meet in a soft kiss when she gets on her tiptoes. Her hands grasp at his shorts to give her some stablity.

They stand like that longer than they probably should, but she can't help but kiss him. All her anxiety about the last fifteen minutes melt away the longer the kiss goes.

The door opens and she hears her brother's voice. "How you doing in here, Kniesy?" Mitch questions. They both jump away from each other and look at Mitch, who stops in his tracks when he sees his little sister in the training room with his teammate. "(Y/N), why are you-- with Matthew? Kissing Matthew?"

She quickly looks between her brother and her boyfriend. "I, um ..." she trails off. Then Mitch angrily starts toward the two of them with a look in his eyes that she's seen before when the two of them caught an ex cheating on her. "Mitchy, stop." She tries to push against him with little success.

"My little sister?" Mitch asks as he shoves Matthew. "Are you kidding me?" Matt stumbles backward a little bit since he's still in his skates. She grabs at Mitch's t-shirt to try and stop him, but he overpowers her for a second time.

"Mitch," she tries again. "Enough. I'm an adult. I'm allowed to be with whoever I want to be with."

Mitch looks back at her. "This is my teammate, (Y/N)," he tells her. "My goddamn linemate most games, and you're in here kissing him? He's one of my closest friends and you're, what, hooking up with him behind my back?"

"It's not like that-" Matthew tries to say.

"And you," Mitch interrupts. "My little fucking sister. I trusted you and you go and do something like this? Are you actually kidding me? God, I can't believe you. Either of you. Do you know how embarrassing this is for me? That my sister and one of my teammates snuck around my best for who knows how long. Snuck around at my house, my second home."

She looks at Matt, who looks genuinely terrified of what's happening right now. "Mitch, can you listen to me for a second before you start talking about something you know nothing about?" she asks. "There is a lot more to this story than you think."

Her brother rubs his face and shakes his head. "I don't think there's anything you can tell me that I don't already know-"

"I am in love with him, Mitch!" she shouts. "We're not just hooking up or anything like that. We're actually together. I love him and he loves me. If you would listen instead of assuming things then you'd know that."

It looks like someone slapped her brother across the face when she admits to him that she loves Matt. His eyes widen and his jaw goes slack. He looks between the two of them. She takes a few steps backward so she's standing beside her boyfriend while her eyes stay on Mitch.

Mitch blinks at them for a second before he says, "I need a little bit. I just need a second before we continue this conversation because I'm beyond angry and feeling very betrayed right now. Do what the two of you want because you're going to do it anyway but please do not talk to me while I'm on this roadie. Okay?"

They both nod and Mitch turns to walk out of the room. She lets out the breath that she was holding before she looks up at Matthew, who has color in his face again.

"We should've told him when we got together," Matt tells her without looking at her. "He's right. He's one of my closest friends and he's my linemate on the ice. I shouldn't have messed with that chemistry. It might affect our on ice performance, which is going to mess with the whole team's performance. Oh my God."

"Matthew," she sighs as she steps in front of him. "Hey. I made that choice too. He's my brother and I thought he'd get angrier if we told him at first. These eight months have shown us that we love each other and that I want this forever. If we told him at first, it wouldn't have given us that chance. I don't regret not telling him because we had that time to ourselves to figure us out. I'll talk to him when he gets back from the roadie and it'll be okay. I promise."

He nods. "I need to go get changed then we can go," he tells her. "Wish me luck that he doesn't throw any of his gear at me in the locker room."

"You have my full permission to throw something back at him."

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The week and a half that the roadie takes feels like forever. All she can do is watch her brother enter a slump while on the west coast. She respects his wishes and doesn't text or call him while he's on the road, but it's one of the hardest things she's ever had to do.

Matthew gets clears to go non-contact on the ice eight days after the initial injury. Brad Marchand was given a two game suspension and a large fine for intent to injure. At least, that's what the NHL Department of Player Safety announced the day after his hit on Matt. She sits at the Leafs practice building while she watches Matt work on some stickhandling and skating drills by himself.

It's two weeks after the game versus Boston when Mitch reaches out to his little sister.

from: big bro mitchy <3 - 3:09 pm can i come over ? to talk. i think im ready to talk

to: big bro mitchy <3 - 3:11 pm yeah. matt's here too, if that's okay

He doesn't respond, but she lets Matt know that Mitch is coming over to her apartment. They both sit on the couch when a knock announces Mitch's arrival.

She opens the door and Mitch walks into the apartment without a greeting. She's on his heels when he walks into the living room. Matt stands up to face Mitch.

"You better treat her right, Knies," Mitch tells him. She blinks in total confusion. "I mean it, Matt. If I find out that you hurt her in any way, I'll put your ass back on IR faster than you can blink. Got it?" He nods in response. "Now, can I have a few minutes alone with my sister? I have some things I need to say to her and I don't need you in the room while I do."

Matt quickly disappears down the hallway to her bedroom. The door distantly clicks shut and Mitch turns to her. She stands straight up as she faces her brother.

They look at each other for a second before she concedes first. "I am so sorry that neither of us told you about our relationship," she says. "But I'm going to tell you that I don't regret not telling you. Matt and I needed some time to figure out how we work together before we told anyone. Then we were together longer and longer and we thought you would be so mad that we didn't tell you-"

"Oh, I'm mad alright," Mitch interrupts her. "I mean, there are millions of people in the Toronto area that you could've started a relationship with. There are hundreds of players in the league itself and you chose to enter a relationship with my linemate of all people."

"You're angry because I'm dating someone on your team? she asks. "Of all the reasons to be angry, you're mad because I fell in love with Matt? Mitch, that's you're fault. You're the one that introduced us because Matt was a rookie in a big city and I'm about as old as he is. You thought that we could lean on each other since I also had just moved to Toronto to pursue a career."

"I didn't think you'd date him," Mitch retorts. "Let alone fall in love with him."

She rolls her eyes. "I can't help who I fall in love with and you should know that," she spits at him.

Mitch sighs and rubs his face. "I'm just trying to look out for you," he tells her. "You're my little sister."

"And he's one of your closest friends so you should know what kind of guy he is," she replies. "I'm 23, Mitch. I don't need you looking out for me. Believe me when I say that I very hesitantly started a relationship with Matt because I know how hockey players can be. He quickly showed me that he's not like other hockey players. He genuinely loves me, more than any of my previous boyfriends ever have."

Her brother frowns at her. "I just wish I could have watched you fall in love," he explains. "And know you were falling in love. I only find out you're in love and in a very serious relationship months later. I don't want to know how many months later but months later. It sucks not being able to watch my little sister grow up and find love until after."

Okay, she never thought of it like that. She never thought that it took away an opportunity for Mitch to watch her grow up a little bit, or find love. He was there for all her other relationships. Why not this one?

"I'm sorry, Mitchy," she softly tells him. "I really am. I don't want you to be mad because this is the best relationship I've ever been in. I'm sorry I took away watching me fall in love, but I didn't want to fall in love under the close eye of my older brother. Especially not when my boyfriend is his teammate. I needed to find me and how I worked with Matt. That's it. That's why neither of us told you."

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and envelopes her in a hug. She sighs and wraps his arms around his torso. "I could never be mad at you for very long," he admits. "I needed some time to think about what I was going to say to you when I calmed down. I didn't want to say something I might regret. I get why neither of you told me now."

"We wanted to so many times but it was never the right time," she says. "We were going to say something before the end of last season, then you were so focused on playoffs that we couldn't. Then the Boston series happened, and that wasn't the best time either. Then it was the offseason and we decided to wait even longer. Then this season started and it never seemed like the best time because the two of you had some great on ice chemistry. So we waited and waited until it was too late and it never felt like the right time."

Her brother backs away the hug and looks her in the eyes. "I don't want you to ever not tell me something because you think hockey is in the way," he sternly tells her. "I mean it. You're way more important than hockey will ever be. If you have something to tell me, then tell me next time, okay?"

She nods in response. "Got it," she softly says.

"By the way, I kind of knew something was up with you because you were around a lot more often than you were before," Mitch admits. "But you were always wearing my jersey so I thought it was because you really liked watching hockey. I had no idea it was because you were dating Matt. It makes sense looking back on it now."

A laugh passes her lips before she can stop it. "Hate to break it to you but it was because of Matt," she tells him. "I didn't wear his jersey because that would've meant telling you, which neither of us were ready for."

Mitch smiles at her. "I know," he says. "You look happy. I've never seen you this happy or in love before. It looks good on you, little sister."

"Thank you, big brother," she replies. "Can Matt come out now or are you going to give him the big brother talk?"

"Oh, I'll give that to him in the locker room," he laughs. "I'll tell you that you're allowed to wear his jersey now since I know. You've probably wanted to wear it before so you can now."

"Awesome," she says. "I've worn your jersey for too long. It's Matt's turn."

Footsteps echo down the hallway before they emerge into the living room. "I wasn't eavesdropping or anything but I heard that I could come out," Matt's voice says behind her. She turns her head and looks at her boyfriend. "Are we okay?"

Mitch walks up to her boyfriend and Matt sharply inhales. Her older brother holds out his hand. "We're good," he tells his linemate. "We're going to have our own talk though because that is my little sister you are involved with."

"Understood," Matt replies.

With a huge smile on her face, she runs up to Matt and wraps herself around his torso. "My favorite boys are friends again," she says as she looks up at Matt. "And you're no longer my little secret."

"I better be the first person you tell when you put a ring on her finger, Knies," Mitch warns. "Or bad things will happen."

"I'll come to you and ask for your permission to marry her if it'll make you feel better," Matt replies. "When we eventually get to that point."

"Good," her brother says. "I'll get out of your hair. I just wanted to come talk to you guys for a second. I'm going out with Steph for an early dinner but I didn't want you guys to think I hated you."

The boys give their version of a hug goodbye. Mitch presses a kiss to her temple before leaving. She looks at Matt.

"Feel better?" she asks. "Knowing it's not going to mess with your on ice chemistry now?"

"A little."

"What will help you feel even better?"

"I think you already know." Matt takes a step backward down the hall that leads to her bedroom.

She grins. "I like the way you think, Kniesy."

༺═──────────────═༻

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[iceman-kazansky]

I've come back here again. It's midnight, I am up early tomorrow, but I can't stop thinking of this fic. I need to write my thoughts out.

I will not deny that I got into F1 because I thought the drivers were hot. I saw Senna and was infatuated. I was reading fics before I fully understood who he was or even watched any of his races. But, it was that infatuation that led me here– to this. This fic at first was something I never knew would leave such a lasting impression on me as a reader. It actually sparked my full-on interest into Formula 1 upon my second read. I didn't understand everything mentioned, and I wanted to know more. I had a hunger growing in me for knowledge and understanding. This feeling, once I'd acted upon it (I watched the Senna documentary, read the wiki, watched interviews, etc.) was one of the reasons I began to admire Ayrton for who he was, what he did, and everything else besides what I had initially– his looks. And it changed how I viewed other drivers, too. Yes, I still found them attractive, but knowing their stories painted something for me. An internalized artwork of sorts.

"Funny how you can miss someone you never met, right?" That sentence in your authors note. At first, I didn't get it. I didn't quite fathom the depths of it. Yet, now, as I write this, I believe I fully understand it. I wasn't alive to watch Mr. Senna race. I wasn't alive when he died, either. Despite this, I get this ache in my heart, like it's heavy, whenever I think about him. I can remember something, good or bad, and there is this hollow feel to my chest, and it makes me want to cry. And it's not like how I get sad over Michael Schumacher or Niki Lauda or even Brocedes, which are also some of my favourite things in this sport. This weight in my soul feels heavier than the weight of all the oceans combined. It wasn't something I was initially accustomed to, and it shocked me, because how could I miss someone I'd never even gotten the chance to meet?

That last thought made me remember this fic. The authors note. I came back. Admittedly, it's brought me back every time. I've read this fic countless times. I've cried every time. It is so violently sad in a way that it is so bittersweet that it makes me want to read it over and over for all of eternity. I want it engraved into the very forefront of my mind. The way you detailed this, the way it was structured and plotted, the dialogue, the characterization, the perfectly depicted pre-existing characters who you stuck to their genuine personalities and aspects, everything. From the first letter to the last period. This fic is, in my opinion, the definition of perfect. I was given a bite-sized portrayal of how devastated the reader was at the beginning of the fic, and it left me wondering how and why. Through each memory, you made me feel a stronger connection, and each return to the current setting tore a chunk out of my heart and soul. By the end, I was weeping.

I will never regret reading this fic. For taking the time to comprehend every word written here and to come back and do it again. It's definitely one of my, if not my #1, all-time favourite. Not just because it was the first fic to make me cry, but because of the future emotional attatchment I'd grow towards Ayrton. I will forever be grateful to you, the author, for probably introducing me to the greatest thing I could've never even imagined– the world of F1. Thank you.

saudade | as12

funny how you can miss someone you never met, right? my heart was aching today a lot and i cried even more while writing this so yes, it is long and it is sad, so you decide if you wanna read this or not. if you do, please enjoy if its even possible to enjoy bawling your eyes out lol

oh ayrton, you will always be missed

summary: during senna's funeral y/n has flashes of their shared past and what they could have together

warnings: for sure its intense, 5.6k words of pure sadness, thats it basically

pairing: fem!mclaren!driver x ayrton senna

It was a warm, pleasant day. The beginning of may didn't disappoint with the weather at all. A light, warm breeze swayed the flexible branches, on which fresh leaves were green. The sun was pleasantly warm, but it wasn't unbearable heat. Birdsong could be heard, but so could crying. On this day, mourners outnumbered the blossoming buds on the trees.

A crowd of people had gathered in front of the church, but it was nothing compared to the crowds still on their way. Everyone was dressed in black, and the only point of color in the black mass was a yellow dot, which from a bird's eye view resembled a sunflower petal, thrown onto the black, fertile soil. It was a helmet, a yellow racing helmet, which no one gathered there needed to be introduced to. In trembling hands, a young girl held it, never once moving it away from her chest. She held it against herself so tightly, as if she wanted to feel the warmth emanating from it, but it radiated coldness, like the inside of the church she was about to enter, barely able to keep herself on her feet.

Inside the chapel, it hadn't yet become crowded; the military made sure that the family and friends entered the church first. Inside, there was a grave silence, broken only by the occasional blowing of noses into tissues or a stifled sob.

The girl was aware of what was happening, she knew where she was and why she was there. However, her brain stubbornly avoided connecting the dots and completely pushed the facts out of her consciousness. If it had, she would probably have thrown the held helmet deep into the church, and it would have stopped only when it hit the wooden, solid coffin. The girl's gaze never once lifted towards her.

"Y/N, can you hear me?," the girl flinched when Ron's words reached her for the umpteenth time, "You know you don't have to be here, we can be outside."

The girl blinked several times, and at that very moment, her brain stopped pushing away the facts. Ron held her arm, his eyes swollen, his face even redder than usual. She herself pressed the helmet to her chest, so tightly that only when she moved it away from herself a little was she able to fully breathe. She raised her eyes and looked around. She stood in the front row of benches, where at the very top, just in front of the altar steps, stood the coffin. A large, carefully ironed Brazilian flag lay on it, its freely hanging ends touching the fresh flowers lying beneath it.

"Y/N…," the man began again, this time quieter. He saw tears in the girl's eyes, and he was about to continue, but she pressed the helmet tighter to her chest and started walking forward. She only moved the helmet away from herself when she placed it on the coffin. Y/N fell to her knees and began to sob, pressing her forehead against the hard lid. However, the lid of the coffin wasn't the only thing that separated her from her friend. The worst was death.

It was a brisk february morning. Silverstone Circuit had not yet woken up, there was no deafening roar of engines in the background, and the smell of burnt rubber didn't hang in the air.

Although it wasn't a race day and only a handful of people were milling around the facility, unlike the tens of thousands who usually flooded in for the weekend races, this day was expected to be exciting and full of emotions too.

Certainly, it was so for the 23-year-old Theodore Racing driver, who, sitting in the passenger seat on her way to the circuit, nervously picked at her nails. However, she should now be referred to as the "former Theodore Racing driver" because on this day, she had a test day at McLaren, with whom she signed a contract two weeks ago. In the past two months, the girl's life had changed dramatically. A few days after her birthday, she became the European Formula 3 World Champion, winning the title by just one point. One! The fact that she was so young and the only woman to rise so high meant that many people had their eyes on her and followed her every move. However, most people who hadn't seen her driving at over 200 kilometers per hour thought that being a woman automatically disqualified her from the sport. Ron Dennis, the head of McLaren, was familiar with her skills, though, and seeing how well she performed in the lower levels, he decided to take a risk and give her a chance. One of his proteges, however, wasn't so sure about this decision.

"Girl? You want to replace Prost with a girl?"

Senna, upon hearing the candidate to replace Alain, who, after five years of dealing with him, decided to quit and move away from McLaren, only shook his head.

"Yes, that's exactly what I plan to do," Ron lit a cigarette and shifted his gaze from the car to the disgusted face of the Brazilian, "Maybe she'll calm you down a bit. It's a miracle I found anyone to take Prost's place, no one wants to work with you!"

Ayrton snorted and shook his head again, unable to believe that his boss wanted to do something so idiotic. Silence fell in the garage, none of the mechanics intended to interrupt their conversation. Just like everyone else in the team agreed with Ron that it was a miracle to find anyone willing to take Prost's place, the same majority couldn't imagine a woman starting to race in Formula 1. Especially alongside a driver like Senna.

"A few races, and she'll quit on her own," the Brazilian muttered, "You'll see."

"Pray that she likes you and wants to race for us."

When the car stopped in the gravel parking lot, the girl got out and put on her sunglasses. Tom, her manager and a close friend of her father, just glanced at her and rubbed her back. He knew perfectly well how stressed she was. No one would be prepared for so much in such a short time.

"Everything will be fine."

"You don't have to say that."

He sighed and just pointed with his hand towards the entrance to the facility, letting her through the glass doors. He didn't convince himself too much. Shortly after, after receiving the appropriate instructions, they reached the paddock. Here, the sun didn't glare in her eyes, so the girl took off her glasses, looking around. An empty Silverstone was something unheard of.

"Good morning, welcome, good to see you,"

Ron, standing in front of the garage, as soon as he noticed the girl, broke off from the conversation with one of the mechanics and smiled at her, shaking her hand. She showed up for the tests, so he thought she deserved a shot. Maybe this would work.

The girl made an effort to smile and nodded at him. Fortunately, she didn't have to engage in a conversation with him because he was immediately engaged by her manager. She was glad that in moments like this, someone else could spare her from meaningless chatter.

"Good morning."

She greeted, approaching the car where a few men were working on the wheels, wing, and cockpit. Some of them spoke up, while the rest just nodded at her. She immediately felt unwelcome, and barely a minute had passed since she appeared in the garage. However, this was nothing new to her, she would lie if she said she was surprised. But the most important thing for her was that Ron treated her as an equal, or at least didn't make her feel like she didn't belong here. That gave her a sense of comfort. She didn't need a crowd standing behind her; she only needed two people who had her back.

The girl slowly walked around the car. The new, ready-for-the-season MP4/4 looked very good. Next to the car marked with her number stood another, practically identical, differing only in the number painted in red on the front.

However, the owner of the car was nowhere to be seen, at least not in sight. Y/N hadn't had the opportunity to meet Ayrton personally. The drivers' presentation with the car was scheduled for the end of the month, so it was quite likely that until then, she would have time to mentally prepare herself. She knew Ayrton from stories; she could watch his battles both on and off the track on television, the domestic war he waged with Alain Prost which ended with the Frenchman's departure to Ferrari.

Y/N knew she would have to face many things, one of which was Senna.

"Ready?"

Ron's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, he held a helmet and jumpsuit for her in his hand. She nodded and took the items from him, going to change. When she returned, she took her place in the cockpit, and after some time, when everything was ready, she followed the instructions and took her place on the track. She took a deep breath and clenched her hands on the steering wheel, staring at the start lights. When they went out, the girl sped off with squealing tires and the roar of the engine.

Ron and Tom stood next to each other, watching her movements on small monitors. After some time, the mechanics also began to glance at the monitors, seemingly more interested in whether she hadn't crashed yet than in her results. What surprised them was the sight on one of the displays showing her current lap time, which now stood at 1.38.412 seconds. Ron smiled and shook his head in amazement. The young girl was incredible.

The car itself wasn't handling badly. Besides feeling like a huge boat, to which she was definitely too small, it was actually a well-engineered machine. A few more laps, and she should be able to tame it completely. Although this fact was reassuring. When the girl spotted the checkered flag, she obediently pulled into the garage. She turned off the engine and unfastened her seatbelts, but she didn't get out of the car or take off her helmet because Ron was already beside her, hugging her tightly.

"Young lady, you flew in that car!" The man helped her out of the car, and she took off her helmet and balaclava, taking out the earplugs. "I told you, you did amazingly. Unbelievable lap time, great driving."

The girl wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and blew a strand of wet hair from her forehead.

"It's a really good car, sir."

"A good car without a good driver is just a good car, and a good car with a great driver is a masterful car," Ron shook her hand again, "Brilliant job."

The girl returned his smile, and when she glanced at Tom standing a few steps away, he was also smiling, his smile was the kind of "I told you so."

Y/N gave appropriate feedback to the mechanics and strategists, who now seemed to pay attention to her significantly more than when she first appeared in the garage that morning. Their faces still tried to remain impassive, but nevertheless, they noted everything she had to say. When it was all over, the girl went to change. She washed her face with cold water and looked at herself in the mirror, clenching her hands on the cold sink. She did it.

When she managed to cool down and calm herself down a bit, clutching her helmet under her arm and holding her jumpsuit in the other hand, shortly after she left the bathroom. Suddenly, she bumped into someone, and that someone turned out to be someone she sincerely didn't want to meet that day.

"Watch where you're going."

Senna muttered, holding a lit cigarette between his lips. He gave her a quick glance and disappeared through the doorway, his jumpsuit rustling as he walked away.

The girl squeezed her helmet tighter under her arm and returned to the garage, putting things back in place. After receiving the last praise and handshake from Ron, she said goodbye and left the paddock with Tom. Ayrton pretended to be too busy preparing for the start, so he didn't honor her with even a single glance. When he heard Ron praising her driving, he only snorted under his breath and shook his head. When the garage fell silent again, Ayrton took his place in the car, getting ready to drive.

"1.38.412"

Senna looked up when Ron spoke above his head.

"1.38.412," he repeated calmly, "The lap time of a twenty-three-year-old after her first drive in a Formula 1 car."

The Brazilian snorted and lowered his gaze, putting earplugs in his ears.

"I hope you'll be better than the girl."

Ayrton didn't hear his words anymore because he put on his balaclava and helmet. He didn't believe the girl had achieved such a lap time. And even if she did, it only spoke of the car's capabilities, not her skills. Senna hoped he would be faster by at least a few seconds. He had been racing in Formula 1 for almost five years; he was incredibly fast, and above all, he was a man!

When the tests ended, and he returned to the garage, satisfied with himself and his driving, the first thing he did was to look for Ron's reaction, wanting to see his expression when he rubbed his nose in it. However, the Brit looked at him indulgently, and Senna, not knowing what he meant, quickly tried to free himself from the seat belts. The Brit simply turned the monitor towards him and pointed with his finger at something that, according to Ayrton, was a big mistake.

Between him and the girl, there was a difference of a few seconds, indeed. But Ayrton was slower.

When Senna freed himself from the car, hastily took off his helmet and balaclava, and removed the earplugs, he was about to say something when Ron stopped him, pressing a cassette to his chest.

"Here, watch it tonight and see how the twenty-three-year-old beat you."

Ayrton squeezed the cassette in his hand and only watched him leave, unable to utter a word. It was some kind of absurdity!

Absurd or not, Senna spent the evening in front of the TV. He sat on the couch, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He frowned and carefully watched the recording from the camera placed in her cockpit. He saw how she aggressively entered corners, braking as late as possible, and how quickly she stepped on the gas when the centrifugal forces stopped working. He took a drag and blew smoke from his mouth, rewinding the tape from the beginning, just as it ended. The recording lasted twenty minutes, and he watched it for the seventh time, counting each lap on his stopwatch. Every time, the result was the same.

He couldn't wrap his head around what she had done, but he decided to consider it just a stroke of luck. She had a better day; he had a slightly worse one. Moreover, it wasn't the testing session or even the qualifying rounds that determined the winner, but the race itself. Driving on an empty track without rivals wanting to take your position was one thing, but racing in a competition where everyone wanted to beat you was a completely different matter. If someone had told Ayrton then that four years later, that girl would shed tears at his funeral, he would have told them to fuck themselves.

Y/N felt a strong arm around her waist, trying to lift her. Ron's heart broke seeing her in such a state. However, he couldn't help her even if he wanted to.

"Y/N, please…," he began, but she shook her head, overcome with tears. Wet stains of tears were visible on the flag covering the coffin. The girl was trembling all over, it was a miracle she could breathe. Since the accident, it seemed like Y/N was handling the tragedy very well, just being sad and quiet. No one had any idea what was yet to come. Everyone who saw Y/N by the coffin, this sight of a broken girl, felt nothing but sympathy. The bond she had formed with Ayrton seemed stronger and much richer in emotions than any he had with any of his partners. Ayrton wasn't just her teammate, he wasn't just a friend or sometimes her biggest enemy. From the very beginning, Y/N mattered to him, and if he said otherwise, he was simply lying.

The official skills assessment test for the girl was scheduled to take place less than three weeks after her first visit to the McLaren garage. Now, however, an official presentation awaited her at the reception hosted by the team. One evening at the company headquarters, a banquet was held, attended by far more people than initially anticipated. Most of them were journalists who had to announce to the world the phenomenon that was a woman at the top level of motor racing.

"It's more crowded here than I thought," the girl admitted when she entered the team headquarters with Tom by her side.

"Everyone is curious about you. There are even a couple of journalists from Australia, believe it or not," Tom said.

She looked at him in shock. "And they flew here specifically for this presentation?"

He smiled and nodded. "They'll be talking to kangaroos and kiwi birds about you," he joked, trying to lighten the mood. And it worked because she giggled at his words. However, her smile faded when she noticed Ron talking to Ayrton and two other men in suits.

"Everything will be fine. You did well on the tests, so you'll do well here too," he said softly, rubbing her arm when he noticed her expression.

"There weren't any sharks in suits and piranhas with cameras there," Tom was about to add some words of encouragement when Ron spotted them and raised his hand with a glass in it, trying to get their attention. They approached him, and he greeted them, introducing them to the directors. Ayrton, standing aside, was mindful of how many people were now watching him and wondering if his new teammate would share Prost's fate. However, the Brazilian had no intention of making an effort for gestures he didn't intend. Nevertheless, courtesy demanded it, so he extended his hand, which she hesitantly shook.

"Senna," he said, his Brazilian accent strongly evident in his last name. "Welcome to the team."

The girl introduced herself as well, but it was hard for her to maintain eye contact. Not because he was almost half a head taller, but because of the confidence emanating from him. It was his team, his place, and his time, and she was just a guest. There was no room for discussion.

Fortunately, the awkward situation was soon interrupted as the drivers and management were invited onstage. Ayrton gestured for the girl to go ahead, and she began to walk in front of him.

"I hope you don't grip the wheel as weakly as you do hands," he murmured behind her, quietly enough so no one else would hear, but loud enough for her to hear his words.

Y/N lowered her gaze, feeling a wave of heat wash over her. Even if she wanted to respond, she couldn't. He caught her completely off guard.

As they stepped onto the small stage, they stood behind one of the cars prepared for this season. The girl intertwined her fingers behind her back and straightened up, standing next to Ayrton. He might play his stupid games on her, but she had no intention of showing that she would easily give in. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and almost believed that his comment had gone unnoticed, but her cheeks were flushed. Normally, he would probably snort under his breath, but now he kept his composure.

After a few words from Ron and the board members, the floor was given to the drivers. The two of them remained on stage, each with a microphone in hand. Now it was time for the media, for their pressing questions and burning issues.

Ayrton sat relaxed, almost bored. His legs were bent at the knees, slightly apart. One hand was around his waist, resting his elbow on it, holding the microphone in the other hand. He answered questions briefly and to the point, not dwelling more than necessary. His attire alone indicated that today's banquet was just a formality; he wore a suit, but instead of a shirt, he had a white T-shirt, and on his feet were sports shoes.

Despite her best efforts not to stress out, Y/N was far from as calm as Ayrton. She sat up straight, one leg crossed over the other. Although her red dress practically touched the floor, she glanced occasionally to make sure nothing was out of place. She felt like every move, even the smallest one, was being watched and analyzed. She felt she wasn't focusing on the content of the questions but on how she appeared.

The girl blinked several times, trying to find a sensible answer to the question that had been directed at her a few seconds ago.

"Could you repeat that?" she asked, feeling a bit embarrassed about her inattention. Ayrton, however, heard the question well.

"I asked if you think you're good enough to compete with men or if you're just here for publicity? Racing is still a male-dominated sport, and it seems like you're just trying to prove something rather than compete," the man in glasses squeezed the voice recorder in his hand and looked at her expectantly. Seeing her confusion, he sighed, "I see you're not too bright, so let me ask directly - do you really think you belong here? Do you have what it takes to keep up with the boys on the track?"

The girl panicked a little; this question completely threw her off guard. Emotions overwhelmed her, and she couldn't utter a word. But there was someone who could speak and had an exceptionally sharp tongue.

"I see that, Mr. - again, for whom are you writing?" Ayrton spoke up, furrowing his brows.

"John Ruffleck, Guardian."

"Ah, of course, the Guardian," the man clicked his tongue indulgently. "Clearly, you are the one that didn't shine with intelligence, asking last year's Formula 3 world champion if she fits in here." Y/N was shocked to hear that Ayrton stood up for her. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Despite still sitting calmly, the Brazilian was ready for a verbal battle. "If I fit in here, then the 23-year-old who set a better lap time than me during the tests also fits."

Ayrton bluntly silenced the journalist, who merely muttered a quiet "Thank you" and lowered his head.

Several more questions were thrown in by Ayrton, steering the conversation away from sexist undertones. By the end of the conference, there were no more questions about sexist issues. The drivers got up from their seats, and Y/N turned off her microphone, placing it on the sound table as Senna did the same.

"Thank you," she said, looking at him. He also looked at her, but this time his expression didn't express annoyance or boredom, as it did two times before when their eyes met.

"Don't thank me," he said, taking two glasses of champagne from the waitress. "You are allow to drink, right?" he asked before handing her one of them. She nodded and took the glass from him. "Don't thank me, just learn to counter such nonsense. If they're rude, we can be rude too."

Y/N took a big sip of champagne. Her mouth was dry from nerves.

"I don't want to be rude, it's not proper," she said.

"Not proper?" Senna scoffed. "Because you're a girl?"

"Because they'll think poorly of me"

"Do you really care what that bunch of idiots thinks?"

The girl lowered her gaze. Ayrton was right.

Did she really care? She was a driver; she was supposed to deliver good results. She wasn't supposed to please the audience.

She was about to reply when Ron approached them, cursing the Guardian journalist's stupidity. He was so caught up that he didn't even notice Ayrton sending the girl a final glance and then finishing his champagne, taking out cigarettes from his back pocket, and walking away towards the exit. Y/N only watched him go. At that moment, neither of them had any idea how much she would learn from Ayrton, or that he would gladly take on the role of a teacher himself. No one would have even thought of it then.

When Ron managed to lift the shaken girl, she reached for her helmet again and pressed it to her chest. When she looked up, across from her, on the other side of the coffin, she saw a man in a wheelchair. Frank Williams looked at her in silence, but his gaze was apologetic, his face sad, and his eyes looked like he hadn't slept for days.

"Why?" Y/N whispered, but she wasn't sure if anything managed to leave her lips. Williams didn't need to hear her; her eyes said it all. Even if he couldn't hear her question or look into her swollen, tear-filled eyes, he would know perfectly well that she blamed him for his death. "Why, Frank? Why?" Maybe even more than she blamed God.

"If you can hold on to me for longer than five seconds, I'll let you pass," Ayrton said, exhaling smoke. He sat on one of the crates outside McLaren's garage, wearing sunglasses. The weather for the upcoming race looked exceptionally good, but Senna wouldn't mind rain.

"Are you challenging me?" the girl asked, squinting and looking at him against the light. They were sitting outside, where it was quieter, as the mechanics worked inside the garage.

"Why would I?" the man chuckled, taking another drag. Seeing her uncertainty, he offered her a cigarette, trying to reassure her with his gesture.

Y/N took the cigarette and inhaled the smoke, which tickled her throat, making her cough. She wrinkled her nose and after a moment handed him back the cigarette.

"Don't you want to test my braking skills and eliminate me from the race?"

Ayrton laughed and shook his head. "So, I do have a bad reputation after all."

"Definitely not the best," the girl said softly, smiling uncertainly. Ayrton playfully nudged the crate she was sitting on with his foot. He genuinely liked this girl; in fact, he could and wanted to work with her. Now he was even willing to let her win the race if she showed that she could keep up with him. She had demonstrated many times that she could drive at an exceptionally high level, so Senna was willing to show some humanity and let her achieve her first victory, especially on home turf. He stubbed out the cigarette and stood up, taking off his cap and placing it on her head, pulling it down over her eyes.

"Five seconds," he repeated, walking away as she adjusted the cap on her head.

The girl decided to take up the challenge, realizing that such an opportunity might never come again. Ayrton and collaboration? They were complete opposites after all. Y/N, who started the next day from the last place on the podium, managed to fight her way up to second place at the beginning of the race. She spent the next forty laps chasing after Ayrton, wondering if there was any point in chasing him if she couldn't overtake him. Seeing his familiar helmet in the side mirror, Ayrton smiled. He added a bit more throttle and began counting to five, but the girl's car didn't seem to be falling back. When the agreed time was up, much to everyone's disbelief, both on the track and in front of the TVs, Senna slowed down and obediently let her pass. Unable to believe her own eyes, the girl pressed the gas and took the lead, crossing the finish line with him.

She only believed in her victory when Ayrton offered her his hand and helped her onto the podium.

"Five seconds," he said, smiling at her.

"Five seconds," she replied, returning the smile.

How much she would give to see Ayrton again, even for five seconds. To be able to hug him for five seconds, see his smile. Five seconds now would last like an eternity, for which she would pay any price.

The church was filled with people, mostly family and friends, individuals directly connected to Ayrton. The remaining people were outside, surrounding the church, also gathering along the main road. There were talks of crowds, thousands who came to bid farewell to their hero. They too would give much to see Ayrton even for five seconds. Whole, alive, before the Imola accident.

Y/N held the helmet on her knees, looking at it with vacant eyes. She ran her fingers along the edges, tracing the stickers and sponsor names. She squeezed the soft padding inside. She closed her eyelids. Five seconds.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Ayrton said, loud enough to make the girl jump. She was barefoot, wearing shorts and a bikini top, with his helmet on her head, visor down. She waved a piece of cardboard towards the grill, trying to ignite it better and not wanting the smoke to get in her eyes, deciding to use whatever she had at hand. And hoping Ayrton wouldn't get mad that she used his helmet for this.

The man smiled and shook his head, placing the wood he held in his hands next to the grill. Standing next to the girl, he lifted the visor and looked into her eyes. She looked at him apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"It suits you," Senna interrupted, smiling. "Possibly even more than me."

"Do you think so?"

The man nodded. His hair, damp from swimming in the lake, fell onto his forehead, and his brown eyes sparkled. Ayrton had been looking at Y/N like this for some time, in a way that many would describe as tender. Certainly, the girl wasn't just a teammate to him, as who would invite a teammate to their hometown to meet their closest family. Certainly not Ayrton.

"I love you, Y/N,"

He confessed as he lay on the jetty, gazing at the starry sky, where there was no trace of the hot Brazilian sun anymore.

The girl laughed and took a sip of beer, lying next to him and leaning on his arm. Both were drunk, so she was sure Ayrton was joking. However, when his confession was met with silence and he turned to look at her, his face was deadly serious.

"I mean it, Y/N. I love you,"

"You can't love me, you have a girlfriend," she replied, still laughing. There was no way he was serious.

Ayrton got up and without a word, kissed her, wanting to prove his words. When he pulled away after a moment, there was no smile on the girl's face. He was about to say something again, but she touched his cheek and returned the kiss, and he pulled her closer, holding her tightly in his arms. That night, they would find out how much they meant to each other.

Senna meant a lot to the girl, there was no doubt about it. He also meant unimaginable things to all those who took part in the funeral ceremonies, not only in Brazil itself but worldwide. It might have seemed like the world had lost an incredible man, someone who in life had already become a legend. Who would have thought that this living, almost mystical legend was just a man? A man who is mortal. Surely no one looked at Senna that way. Certainly not Frank Williams, who eventually decided to agree and accept Ayrton into his team, bearing an incredible burden now. Senna was supposed to lift his team to great heights, and his tragic death dealt a blow, not so much personal as it was business-related. However, at that moment, that mattered least.

Y/N and Ayrton sat at the kitchen table, eating a late dinner in silence. They were in their shared home in Europe, but for the past few months, the walls of the house seemed to be becoming more alien with each passing day. The atmosphere was as thick as it is now, when none of the people sitting at the table even bothered to steal a glance.

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to go to Williams?"

The girl asked, stirring the contents of her plate with her fork. Ayrton tightened his grip on the glass and took a few sips from it.

"Ayrton-", "Why did I have to tell you?" he entered her words and looked at her, "Just to make you try to stop me?

Y/N blinked several times. She was shocked. She had the impression that the man sitting opposite was a complete stranger and someone she had never known before.

"To stop you? I'm your girlfriend, I should be the first to know about your plans, not hear from strangers."

"Did it change anything? Did something happen that you didn't find out from me?"

"Yes!" she shouted, slamming her hand on the table. She was so done with all of this. "I'm fed up with you treating me like an enemy for several weeks!"

"Don't you dare raise your voice at me!" he stood up, leaning over and pointing his finger at her. "You have no idea how much I had to do to get that offer, how much it cost me!"

"I have no idea, because you don't tell me anything!" she also stood up, pushing his hand away, which he was aiming at her face, "Fame has gone to your head, you're acting like a complete idi-" She didn't get to finish because Ayrton slapped her across the face. He didn't realize when his open hand met her cheek. Y/N grabbed her cheek and looked at him in shock. At the moment of the strike, he also seemed to snap out of it, as if he had been hit himself.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said calmly, trying to approach her, but she backed away a few steps, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"But you did," she said with a trembling voice, tears welling up in her eyes, "I don't recognize you anymore, Ayrton".

As the funeral rites began, the last thing on Y/N's mind was their recent arguments, of which there had been plenty lately. Nonetheless, since the incident when he raised his hand to her, Senna understood he had crossed a line. The only upside of the whole situation was that they had started talking again, and Ayrton had come to realize that Y/N was not his enemy. Yes, on the track, the girl might be someone he now had to defeat even more than usual, but she was still his friend, his girlfriend, his partner. Speaking of partners, many women appeared at the funeral, but four of them spent exceptionally long periods by the coffin. They had a lot in common, yet none of them deigned to exchange glances. Each of Ayrton's partners, even today, on such a dramatic day, looked at her as if she were an enemy. Viviane made sure none of them sat on the bench where the family was seated. Y/N belonged to the family. She didn't intrude, Ayrton invited her himself.

"Maybe you should take a break?" Sid Watkins persistently tried to persuade Ayrton and Y/N to withdraw from the upcoming race. "Two weeks, you'll come back to Monaco in better shape, with lighter minds."

Senna sat on one of the crates behind the Williams garage, elbows resting on his knees. Y/N repeatedly wiped her tear-streaked cheeks, trembling hand holding a cigarette. An hour ago, the qualifying session for tomorrow's race was interrupted by Roland Ratzerberger's serious accident. The man was taken to the hospital, but many said he was taken from the track already dead.

"This shouldn't have happened, there shouldn't have been talk of such an accident," the girl repeated, almost hysterical. She was in tremendous shock, having witnessed the accident herself as she was the one who followed Ratzerberger's car.

"They need to cancel the race," Senna said dryly, his gaze fixed on a point in front of him. "We can't race here, not after something like this."

"And if they don't cancel?" Sid looked from Ayrton to Y/N. "Will you race in such a state? You won't sleep over this until tomorrow."

"If they don't cancel, we'll race for him. I'll drive the best I can to honor him with a victory," Ayrton decided, raising his gaze and looking the doctor in the eyes.

"You like fishing, right? Why don't you go back to Brazil, catch some fish, relax. If you want, I'll come with you, I could use it too."

Senna rubbed his face with his hands, intertwining his fingers and pressing them against his lips. Again, he fell silent. He knew they couldn't not race; he certainly couldn't afford to tell Frank after months of effort that he wouldn't start tomorrow. He couldn't do that.

"I don't want to race," Y/N admitted, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Ayrton, he, Roland-" the man rose without a word and hugged her tightly. He enveloped her in a strong embrace, stroking her hair. Watkins saw that Senna was thinking intensely. And no matter what he said or did to convince him to skip the race, he would do it his own way.

"Think about it, Ayrton. Just think about it," he said one last time. Senna looked him in the eyes and nodded in silence.

Late in the afternoon, Ayrton and Y/N returned to the hotel. They didn't talk much; Y/N occasionally wiped her eyes with a tissue. Ayrton held her hand a lot. When they lay in bed, Senna laid on her stomach, wrapping his arm around her waist. The girl began to run her fingers through his damp hair.

"I don't want to start tomorrow, Y/N," he said softly. He was facing away from her, she couldn't see that he was crying too. "I have a bad feeling."

"You know nobody can force you to do it," she said calmly, her other hand stroking his cheek. "Maybe Watkins is right? Let's fly to your parents, spend time with the kids. It's been two months since you've seen them."

"I can't," he said, wiping his face with his hand. "I can't, nobody needs a driver who doesn't race."

"Ayrton—" "Just hold me," he interrupted, sitting up. The girl obeyed his command, sitting between his legs and hugging him tightly. Both were silent; Y/N tenderly stroked his head and tense back.

"This will be my last season," he said, not moving an inch from her. "I've done enough; I don't need more. I want to focus on something else, on more important things."

"On what, my love?" she asked gently, still stroking his hair.

"I want to be a dad,"

Senna surprised her with this confession. The girl smiled.

"Would you like to have a son or a daughter?"

"A daughter, oh, how I'd love a daughter," he said, pulling away to look at her face. "Would you like to have a child with me? And become my wife?"

Y/N smiled and nodded. "You know I would."

Ayrton returned her smile and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply.

"Te amo, querido,"

"I love you too, Ayrton. And i will always do."

"And i will always do," Y/N said qiuetly, watching as the coffin slowly descends into the ground. Nothing can destroy such love, certainly not death.

[nothomegal]

"Kiss. Teach. Love!"

(Mr. Crawling x GN! Reader)

No way, NotHomeGal actually revived? Yup, I did. Homicipher brought me back to life from the depts of my creative burnout (o゜▽゜)o☆

This game really scratched a part of my brain I didn't know was there, but I'm not complaining!

And no, I won't be abandoning the slasher fandom, but I must say it will take some time to come back to write those right now, but I'll do my best to rekindle that spark!

Okay, enough of my yapping. Hope you enjoy this Oneshot (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Summary: after learning that sometimes objects from the human world may fall into the realm you're currently stuck in, it became a common activity for you to scavenge around the junk to pass time, and your ghost companion always seems so curious about it!

Warnings: none really just fluff, Mr. Crawling being too cute for a mortal soul to handle.

Side note: yeah just like in most (basically all) of my fics, MC (or Y/N) will be Gender Neutral! So everyone gets to enjoy the story with their favorite ghost man :]

AND! Here's the link of the dictionary I used for the fic to put ghost words heheerhkj.

Word count: 3.6k

It's been so long, they think at least. Time feels stuck in place, yet in the deepest part of (Y/N)'s conscience they know it's not true, that the time and everything outside these lifeless concrete walls is very much alive.

Life goes on, it keeps moving regardless if they feel it or not, time is passing just like it always did... Yet, they feel stuck. Numb. It's like their mind and soul are slowly melting, becoming one with this dimension they begrudgingly started to call "home", even if it's not... This is not their real home!...

It's not!...

It's not...

It's not...?

—"☨ д つ 々?"— (Sad)

A quiet gasp left (Y/N)'s lips when suddenly something brushed against their leg as that soft voice spoke next to them, that "something" being the very long, dark hair of their ghost companion.

They turn their head, almost flinching at the sight of how close Mr. Crawling was to them. Shoot, sometimes they forget how unnerving his appearance is, especially when he creeps up on them like this, though unintentionally.

—"ત ટ д ☨ д つ 々?"— (You Sad)

He repeated the question, his usual smile now replaced with a small frown. His voice quiet and soft as always, but with that subtle quiver at the end that appeared whenever he's concerned.

(Y/N)'s breath almost hitched from that little but oh so sweet display of care. Even after all the time spent side by side with Mr. Crawling, they still periodically wonder what the hell did they do to deserve such kind perso... Ghost, in their life.

Before the entity's worry could grow, (Y/N) flashed him with a smile, shaking their head a little.

—"I'm alright, just a little distracted."—

Their answer did seem to soothe the ghost's worry a little. However, he leaned closer, more of his hair falling into (Y/N)'s body, sending small shiver through their form as the black locks brushed their legs, sensation that resembling a small breeze of air running across their skin. An odd, chilly feeling... But one that became very comforting and grounding for the human over the time, as it was like a gentle reminder of Mr. Crawling's presence, that they weren't alone.

—"つ ત บ บ λ ป こ ৺ נ ८ ک ટ ? つ ત บ บ つ ኟ บ ટ ?"— (Not Bad Feel Not Scared)

Their smile faltered for a brief moment, knowing exactly what he was talking about...

Even if it's been quite a while since (Y/N) had one of those episodes of fear and hallucinations, the memories of them are still haunting the human in one way or another, leaving this uncomfortable sensation under their skin. It's like feeling hands, snaking all over their body, slowly slipping under their clothes, creeping through their skin and flesh, trying to dig deeper and deeper, right to their very core, trying to reach something so deep inside of them and rip it away from them...

Their essence?

Their soul?

T̵͉̗̒ḣ̴̻̱̂ȅ̷͓͘i̵̤͙̐͝ȑ̶͈̖̏ n̷̳̻̬̮̯̟̗̙̩̻̮͊͋̾́͐͌̏͒̿̏̆̑͜͠ä̴̢̧̡̦͕̻̙̻͕̳̟́̊͊̾̄̈́ḿ̵̡̢̛̜͉̗̗̞͖̟͈̬͈̻͍͌̋̓̐̅͘͠e̵͇̹͈̤͕̮̺͉͚͈͔̭͇̔-?

The human then simply hums, shaking off the heavy feeling off their mind. Their gaze soon focuses back on Mr. Crawling's face, their smile creeping back on their features, but now brighter, happier.

—"つ ત บ บ λ ป こ ৺ נ ८ ک ટ . つ ત บ บ ጉ ሰ ટ נ."— (Not Bad Feel Not Together)

They replied cheerfully, confidently using the otherworldly language to make sure there is no room for doubts left.

Upon hearing their answer and seeing that smile he absolutely adored, Mr. Crawling himself smiles back, letting that characteristic high-pitched giggle of of his. And just like (Y/N) expected, the crawling ghost reached out and gently patted their head, ruffling their grayish hair a little.

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป ! ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (Glad Glad)

(Y/N) giggled as well, already used to Mr. Crawling's joyful chirps at whatever little thing they do. Once satisfied, the ghost slowly retires his hand from their head and leans back to his previous position right next to the human in a raincoat, his dark locks trailing behind and sliding off (Y/N)'s legs as he gives them a little bit of space.

They hum, that happy smile remaining on their lips, brightening a bit their bandage-covered face, returning some of color and life to it. The human soon shift their attention back to what they were previously up to, which was scavenging and going through all the junk and rumble that fell down here from the human world.

While (Y/N) is the one going through the numerous items, Mr. Crawling remained focused on them. Staying next to their crouched form and curiously watching the things they periodically picked up and inspected, sometimes even picking something himself and asking what it is and what humans do with it.

The activity was simple, but it was like a huge breath of air for (Y/N) and a great way to distract their mind from the decay this world was putting them through, helping them remember who they are and what are supposed to be. A human, an unfortunate human that found themselves in this place of absolute madness...

(Y/N)'s train of thoughts stopped when their eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of something bright and colorful under a small pile of old, messed news articles. And after carefully pushing aside all the trash, they get a clear sight of what it is.

A manga cover!

(Y/N)'s eyes widened and their smile grew as they reach out and grab the manga book, picking it up and instantly flipping through the pages.

—"No way, it's actually in good, readable condition!"—

They exclaimed excitedly, eyes wandering through the pages with interest.

Mr. Crawling simply observed, curiously watching them inspect the book. He noticed that (Y/N) would always get super excited whenever they saw one of these colorful pictures, and it made him happy to see them happy! As well as to keep a mental note to find more of these to make them even happier.

However, as the human paused on one of the pages, probably to check if the paper is holding up alright after getting a little wet. Something completely different caught the ghost's attention.

Slowly, Mr. Crawling reaches his hand again, pointing at a particular drawing with his finger while tilting his head to the side, like a confused puppy would.

—"נ บ ਦ ኟィд ⊔ ટ ৺ ㅗ?"— (What They Do)

He asked, gently tapping the picture with his finger.

(Y/N) glances at the spot their ghost companion is pointing at, their eyebrows rising slightly as they see an illustration of two of the characters kissing. Oh, did they just spoiled themselves one of the subplots?...

—"This?"—

They asks, eyes flickering between the comic and Mr. Crawling's face.

—"π々⊔ λ ک つ ત コ ጉ ک こ?"— (Why Touch Mouth)

The ghost asked again, genuine curiosity lingering in his quiet voice as he taps the paper again, his head turning to the side to look at (Y/N). Despite half of his face being covered by his dark hair, they could practically feel his curious stare, almost like a kid waiting for his parent to answer.

—"ک  ጉ ㄷ π π々⊔ ?"— (Teach Why)

He asks, now his attention completely casted on (Y/N), patiently waiting for their answer.

The mentioned human stays silent at fist, seemingly surprised the ghost actually doesn't know what a kiss is and why people do it. However, the more they think about it, the less he can blame Mr. Crawling. After all, this world is not built for affection, and considering all the dangers that lurk here on daily basis, it's not too surprising that some residents of this place don't even know what affection is.

—"Well. This is called a kiss, 'kiss'."—

They explain, pointing at their lips as they spell the word for him.

—"K- K̴̻̍-K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾-?"—

He attempts to repeat, though the sound comes more as a hiss rather than an actual word... Still, (Y/N) was proud of him for trying! And expresses such joy with a soft giggle.

—"Yeah, kiss. Uh..."—

They paused, thinking over their wording before continuing.

—"☨ บ п ป Kiss ત λ コㄷ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ."— (Human _ Desire Teach Love)

They finish, scratching their cheek with a sheepish smile, knowing that their explanation probably sounded wonky a weird, especially with that little mix between languages.

The ghost, makes a small "oh" sound, actually understanding their answer even with the odd wording.

Suddenly, Mr. Crawling's face lightens in puppy-like joy as he leans closer, his face just inches away from the human's when he starts to chirp back.

—"ત λ コㄷ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ! "— (Desire Teach Love)

(Y/N) raised their eyebrows at his words, their cheeks suddenly feeling a little warmer.

(Hold on, is he asking me for a kiss?!)

As flustered as they were, upon seeing that excited, happy smile of the ghost that they grew so attached to, they couldn't find the heart to tell him no even if their life depended on it. Beside, it's just a kiss, and they both like each other! So why not?

—"Eh... Hehehe. Okay, okay. You kiss like this."—

They answer, before suddenly leaning forward and pressing their lips against the cold skin of his cheek.

A soft, quiet gasp escaped the ghost's lips, the difference in temperature between his and (Y/N) body never failing to make his chest feel all funny, though not unpleasant type of funny. But now with the added softness of their lips and the hot breath casted on his face, it created a sensation he haven't felt before.

The human leans back a little, chuckling under their breath at the ghost's reaction. However, their smile begin to fade when they notice how still he suddenly got.

They go silent, patiently waiting for Mr. Crawling to say or do something, but he remained perfectly still and dead silent, like some kind of creepy statue. Did they just cross some boundary they didn't know about?...

—"Mr. Crawling?..."— you ask eventually, voice quiet. —"Are you alright? Did I-..."—

(Y/N) paused when he finally does move, slowly lifting his hand from the opened manga book and brushing his fingers against his cheek, right on the spot they kissed him a second ago.

Suddenly, another high-pitched giggle escaped the ghost as he immediately launches forward, forcing (Y/N) back and basically tackling them to the ground into that famous overzealous hug of his they came to secretly adore.

—"K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾ ! K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾ !"—

He cheerfully exclaims with his broken human speech, before mimicking (Y/N)'s action and pressing his lips against their cheek. Though, more than an kiss his gesture resembled a nuzzle, like big dog gently bumping his favorite person with his nose.

—"৺ ጉ נ ⊔ λ ત д ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ! "— (Me Want to Teach Love)

(Y/N) just couldn't help but laugh at the sweet action of the ghost, their cheeks turning much redder and warmer than before. With their hands no longer being occupied by the manga book, they reach and rest their hands on Mr. Crawling's back, basically hugging him back as the entity continues to joyfully express his liking through the newfound gesture.

—"You're doing it pretty good! But this is not exactly a kiss..."—

They eventually say, sliding their hands from his back and instead resting them on his shoulders. At the sound of their voice, Mr. Crawling's affectionate nuzzles pause and leans back, tilting his head to the side with curiosity.

—"Yeah, you need to press your lips, not caress with them. Ehm..."—

They fall silent, their gaze adverting for a brief moment as they try to find the needed words to describe what they're trying to say, but all they get is a reminder of how poor and limited the ghost vocabulary is...

Mr. Crawling remained quiet, patiently waiting for (Y/N) to figure out their wording. He didn't mind the wait at all to be honest, patience being one of his biggest virtues after all. Beside, seeing the human mumble and emit noises under their breath while making funny faces, such as pushing their lips or furrowing their brows, was a very cute sight to witness!

When realized that words, human or not, won't cut it. (Y/N) decided to use actions instead, as their head was starting to hurt at this point from this damn language barrier. So, with a soft sigh their eyes flicker back at Mr. Crawling, who was still patiently waiting for them to figure out their wording, or maybe taking the chance to look and admire their face, or maybe both...

—"৺ ጉ נ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ત ટ д Kiss."— (Me Teach You)

They finally said, a hint of determination in their tone, though it was mostly directed to (Y/N) as they try to push through their own sudden rush of shyness and fluster. How comes they can be all giggly and cuddly when Mr. Crawling literally tackles them, but then turn into a blushing mess from a little kiss?! Ugh, even they start to make less sense the more they stay in this world...

At their words, the ghost seemed almost ecstatic. He already was eager to get any sort of attention from (Y/N), let alone affection. So the mere thought of feeling their lips pressed against his skin again made his whole body almost shake.

(Y/N) could feel the ghost's body grow tense from the overwhelming joy, and it was such a strangely endearing sight to witness; an otherworldly entity acting like an overjoyed puppy about to receive his favorite treat.

They giggle again, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze before speaking.

—"Okay hehe... Eeh... Look, you kiss like this, 々ኟп৺."— (Look)

They say before leaning closer, the distance between their and Mr. Crawling's face growing smaller and smaller, until their lips finally come in contact with the ghost's other cheek.

They can feel him shiver, clearly still not used to the new sensation, but he was definitely loving it judging by the way his long arms slightly closed around their body, almost hugging them and pressing their smaller form against his taller one.

(Y/N) leans back a tiny bit, taking the chance to simply look at the entity who was holding them in it's embrace so tenderly. Of course, this is not the first, nor last, time they'll be held by Mr. Crawling. But... Right now, there's something different, they feel different. Their heart is pounding like crazy, yes. But they no longer feel flustered or embarrassed, they feel strangely in peace in fact.

There's always been something captivating about the crawling ghost, even with his unnerving traces. The way his long, black hair surrounds them, a void that's isolating both from the outside world, covering them like a veil, making each the protagonist of the other's gaze. For a monster-filled place like this, the moment felt almost romantic.

The human let a soft exhale, their lips parting ever so slightly. And before their brain could even realize it, (Y/N) was already leaning forward again.

They don't know what came over them, but their mind, their heart, and even that little voice was telling them the same thing...

{Do it.)

They press their lips again, this time against the tip of his nose, getting one of these little "eh" sounds out of him.

They didn't stop there however, instead starting to pepper the ghost's face with more kisses. His cheeks, his forehead, his jaw...

(Y/N)'s movements were slow and delicate, keeping in mind the comfort of their otherworldly companion as they shower him with this new, intimate affection. They weren't quite sure what he was thinking about all of this, if he was getting overwhelmed or not, if he truly enjoyed or understood how much this moment meant for humans... But by how his arms seem to close more around their smaller form, how his fingers flex around the fabric of their raincoat, how his body seemed to gradually relax and even lean into the new, loving gesture...

Yeah, they knew he understood.

However, as (Y/N) was about to reach his lips, an inexplicable wave of hesitation came all over them, freezing them in place and incapacitating from moving back of forward, their heartbeat getting surprisingly, almost painfully loud.

(What's going on?)

(Why am I feeling so... Self-conscious?)

(No... No. I want to do it, I need to do it! Come on body, move! Move god damnit!)

They screamed inside of their mind, yet their body still refused to move, regardless of all the mental berating they were putting themselves through. Their grip on Mr. Crawling's shoulder tightened a little, like a silent attempt to ground themselves and remember just how close the ghost was, how he was waiting for them to continue, how he was waiting for them. But... They... They just couldn't move.

However, after a few beats of silence and inactivity had passed, is Mr. Crawling the one to finally break the tension and lean forward, his cold lips pressing against the warm ones of the human.

And just like that, all the doubts and hesitations had melted away in (Y/N), and everything felt alright again. No, more than alright. This felt perfect, intimate, sweet, and surprisingly innocent. Holding nothing but the affection, care and love the two beings felt for one another, now in it's purest way.

A human.

And a ghost.

Together, connected to each other not just in a physical way, but now in a deep, emotional way...

The kiss itself probably didn't last even 10 seconds, but in (Y/N)'s and Mr. Crawling's mind it felt like two eternities had passed, and many more would if they'd decided to keep going.

After breaking the kiss, the two just stay like this for a while, looking at each other as their minds clear from the haze and feeling of drunkenness the sweet exchange left behind. Mr. Crawling still on top of (Y/N), but instead of just hovering over them like he always did, now his arms were tightly wrapped around their frame, keeping them securely in place right between the ground and his body.

(Y/N) couldn't explain it, but right now they feel like they're falling again for the ghost. Just by being held in his embrace and hidden underneath his larger body, they felt so safe and at peace... So...

It's like they were home.

Their home...

He became their home, their safe place, their happy place...

Him...

—"λ ک ሰ ৺ ટ ?"— (Are you okay)

Mr. Crawling suddenly asked, his smile faltering as his embrace on them tightens a little. It was almost like he was concerned he did something wrong and broke them, what a sweetheart.

(Y/N) blinked, noticing they were probably staring and zoning out with this little realization of theirs, realization that their real home was not in this or their world.

It was with Mr. Crawling.

Or at least, that's what their heart told them.

—"I'm fine."—

The human said in a soft voice. Their body leaning forward while speaking, snuggling closer to the ghost's chest, the action feeling like a little dejavu to the time he hid them from the man in red.

Ugh... The sole mention of that guy is still sending shivers through their body, so let's not think about him.

—"৺コኅ ጉ ሰ ટ נ ৺ ጉ נ ሰ ኟ つ ጉ."— (Us Together Me Happy)

Mr. Crawling didn't take long to let yet another high-pitched giggle, his head coming to rest on top of (Y/N)'s, nuzzling gently against their hair and raincoat hood.

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป ! ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (Glad Glad)

He chirped cheerfully, his arms tightening just a little to give the human a gentle squeeze.

—"ત ટ д ሰ ኟ つ ጉ ৺ ጉ נ ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (You Happy Me Grateful)

—"৺ ጉ נ ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д !"— (Me Like You)

—"৺ ጉ נ ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ጉ ሰ ટ נ ત ટ д !"— (Me Like Together You)

All (Y/N) could do at the moment is giggle and attempt to keep up with his excitement. Jeez, they forgot how talkative Mr. Crawling gets when excited. They reach out at some point, affectionately rubbing his back like a quiet request to slow down, which the ghost quickly complies by stopping his speech and instead resorting just to the nuzzling.

The two remained like this for quite a while, just enjoying this precious moment of having each other close. Even if they knew that the next time (Y/N) needs to take a nap, they'll be in embraced again.

—"Alright, that's enough for now.—

The human muttered, giving the ghost's back a few gentle pats like a way of saying that they wanted him to move.

Mr. Crawling doesn't try to protest at all, surprisingly. And after giving one more squeeze, his arms loosen around (Y/N)'s form and he slowly lets go, his body getting off them and instead settling right by their side. That's probably the reason he didn't complain about letting go, knowing he'd be next to them one way or another.

(Y/N) chuckled again at the ghost's sneaky antics, finding them pretty adorable. And after reaching out to pat his head again, the human settles into a more comfortable position and grabs the manga book they previously dropped from Mr. Crawling's surprise-tackle-hug.

—"Okay, let's see what this is about..."—

The human muttered to themselves while opening the book and starting to read the story, deciding to go blind into it and discover the plot as they progress with the story.

Mr. Crawling in the meantime had found his comfortable spot by placing his head against (Y/N)'s shoulder, with one of his arms resting across their waist, keeping them in this half hug.

Even if the ghost didn't understand a word, the illustrations of the manga were very helpful and allowed him to follow the story along with the human. Though there were things he also didn't quite understand about human behavior, it wasn't a big deal since (Y/N) would always chive in and explain him things.

As the two lay there, reading, Mr. Crawling suddenly lifted his head and pressed his lips against (Y/N)'s cheek gently, this time actually kissing them.

—"৺ ጉ נ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д ! "— (Me Teach Love You)

He said in a sweet, happy tone that nearly made (Y/N)'s heart explode. Ugh, seriously who gave him the right to be so cute!?

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป."— (Grateful)

—"ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ৺ ጉ נ ?"— (Like Me)

(Aaand there he goes again. Yup, high-maintenance type...)

(But he's my high-maintenance type.)

—"ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д."— (Like You)

They replied warmly, planting another kiss on top of his head, gaining yet another lovely giggle from the entity before returning their attention to the manga. The ghost soon following their example, settling back into his previous position, occasionally nuzzling against their shoulder like an affectionate cat. They could swear he'd be purring if he could.

And while reading the manga, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile, but also dread a little at how the next days would go now that Mr. Crawling learned about kissing and what it meant...

...

They're going to get tackled A LOT.

"Won't they?"

[covenha]

Shame | JWY

Synopsis: Wooyoung can't stop thinking about you (and what he wants to do to you ;) Pairings: Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader Genre: smut (+18), mdni WC: 1010 Warnings: this contains smut so if you don't like what please click away! reader ovulates, wooyoung having major pervy thoughts a/n: I wrote this all in one sitting after doing so much math for a booth making competition so there's probably grammatical errors and this might be all over the place woops, but at least I'm back from the dead! formatting for this one is non-existent but I don't have the time (or energy) to stretch this into a proper fic so this will have to do. I cannot stress enough how this is FICTION and this definitely is not telling of how the characters in this story are irl. And as always, feel free to leave your feedbacks in the comments or request something, they are much appreciated. Enjoy!

So imagine this, you get a notification from your period tracking app that today you are ovulating but you don’t pay it much attention

You haven’t been having such a great day so far, the coffee machine broke for reasons unknown so you haven’t had your daily dose of caffeine, you misplaced one of your bluetooth earphones so now you have to survive a day with ½ of your music fix, and to top it all off, because you were busy looking for your missing earphone you lose track of time and miss the school bus leaving you no choice but to walk to school 

On your way to school you pass by one of your upper classman’s house, Jung Wooyoung , vice-president of the radio broadcast club who’s in charge of school announcements 

You give him a polite smile and walk on your way, but you slow down when he shouts at you to wait up

He suggests you guys walk to school together since it “just makes sense”, the introvert in you is dying to say no but the people pleaser in you just nods along to his suggestion 

As he’s busy yapping about the festivities at your school’s upcoming founder’s week, you feel a weird sensation start to rise in your body

Unbeknownst to you, Wooyoung happens to have a black cat that he so lovingly calls “toothless”, an animal whose fur you happen to be very allergic to

You start sneezing every now and then, interrupting Wooyoung’s monologue on how the school should be investing better speakers for the football field, the first few times he just shrugs it off to some cool morning air sniffles but as the sneezes get a tad bit more aggressive he starts to feel concern for you

He asks if you’re okay, to which you just say that “it’s probably pollen or something” and he just nods at your reason

But as the sneezing doesn’t stop, a few blocks away from your school, he asks again “Are you really okay?” and then he puts a hand on your forehead to check if your temperature is up 

He feels your skin is a little warm and offers to walk you to the nurse’s clinic to which you repeat what you said about it probably just being allergies

But he relents and brings up how you feel like you might be coming up with a fever 

You sigh at this. because how were you supposed to bring up that your elevated temperature was probably just because it was this time of the month?

As Wooyoung continues to urge you to at least ask for some medicine from the clinic you just decided, you know what? I’ll just tell him, he definitely won’t stop until I tell him. So you cut him off and say “It’s because I’m ovulating.” 

Then comes a pregnant pause (I intended this joke okay please laugh)

“Oh.” is all he has to say. He feels the blood rushing up to his cheeks (but also down there if ykw I’m sayin)

“Yeah. That’s why I’m a little warm today.” You just give him a tight smile as the both of you enter school premises. 

He doesn’t have much to say as you guys walk into the hallways, I mean how could he even talk to you after that? 

He had the fattest crush on you since you signed up for the photography club last fall, and boy was he smitten. He was so excited to see you walk past his house this morning that he basically yelled at you to stop in your tracks. (This was not one of his proudest moments but he’ll just have to move on and rant about it to toothless later when he gets home.)

You had the prettiest smile, an infectious laugh, and you had a humor that just had him in a chokehold. So when you said so straightforwardly that you were ovulating, he didn’t know how to react. 

He liked to think that he was better than to fantasize about you in a sexual way, I mean, you barely knew him. Up until this point, he was probably just the Junior Social Sciences student who yelled at you to walk to school with him. 

But the way you looked when you were focused on taking the best shot, with your camera all adjusted and moving to get the best angle. He was weak to his body’s primal desires. 

Even as you both exchanged pleasantries as you parted ways, you were still on his mind. He was so unusually silent that even his friends started wondering if something wrong was going on with him. 

It was midway through a psychology lecture that he just couldn’t stop thinking about you. How soft your skin was, even from the few seconds that he put his hand on you. He bets the rest of your body is just as soft…. Soft and supple and aching for him to take a bite out of. 

He wonders if your moans are soft and breathy during foreplay, then he imagines your noises getting more whiney and drawn out. You’d look so cute all teary with your eyes squeezed shut as he kept hitting that special spot in you. 

He wonders if he could make you beg… to go harder? For more? To stop? Who knows what's going on in his brain. He just knows that he desperately wants to know how you sound when he angles his thrusts to hit nice and deep. 

But most of all, he wants to know just how much you can take. I mean it would be such a shame for you to not be pleasured when your body is at its prime. 

That night, he jacks off to the thought of you. And as he lays there on his bed watching his cum drip down his softening tip, he thinks to himself how it's such a shame that it be wasted like this.

Because he would rather it be dripping out of you. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hey, do you have any tips for historical detective fiction?

(I would like to draw inspiration from our own history but create an Alternate Universe cause I'm too afraid to get things wrong, might as well make a new country or something from scratch with it's own history.)

Writing Notes: Historical Detective Fiction

Historical detective fiction is an important sub-category of historical fiction in general. As such, it should be judged by the same criteria applied to historical fiction; namely, that a certain verisimilitude is present.

All the events depicted may not have actually happened but the reader should believe that they could have happened.

Moreover, when real events are mingled with fictional ones, that mixing must appear to be natural.

Additionally, real historical characters must act in accordance with their distinguishing characteristics and in conformity with what we know about them.

Martin and Annette Meyers, authors of the Dutchman detective series, know and adhere to these standards.

Their careful adaptation of their novels to the demands of the historical genre has made them a model of historical detective writing.

Using the Fantasy Fiction Continuum, Historical Fiction edges a little further into the realm of Fantastical.

The author describes a past world that modern readers are unfamiliar with by painting mental pictures of times, locations, customs & cultures that no longer exist.

Some Tips from a Historical Fiction Writer:

The big hook for many readers is that the history is real and many of the characters did walk the Earth. But that means readers want it to be accurate. They will be quick to pick on poor research and ‘iffy’ twists on reality and time. But you will sometimes get it wrong – or reality just messes your story. Writing tips for any aspiring authors in this genre are:

Never give up on researching

Keep learning and developing

Accept all feedback – even the highly critical is useful

If you need to twist reality – be honest

People who point out your mistakes can seem pernickety, but they are generally of good intention. Even if not – pretend they are and keep a reader

Common Elements of Historical Fiction

Setting: The setting is the most important part of a historical fiction novel. It should take place during an authentic period in history and be set in a real historical place. For example, New York City during the Great Depression or Paris, France during World War II.

Plot: The plot in a historical fiction novel is a combination of real events and fictional events. You can invent characters, cities, and events, but they still must make sense to the time period. For example, a novel set in London, England in 1666 would benefit from incorporating the Great Fire of London, a major turning point in the city’s history.

Characters: The characters can be real, fictional, or both, but they should all look, speak, and act in ways that accurately reflect the era. For example, if you are writing a book about Mary Tudor, it shouldn’t disregard or reinvent her family history as the daughter of Henry VIII and sister to Elizabeth I, who both played an important role in Mary’s reign.

Dialogue: The dialogue must be authentic to the time period and should reflect the status of the characters who are speaking. For example, British soldiers in the Revolutionary War wouldn’t use Western slang of today.

Conflict: The problems the characters encounter should be conflicts people of that era would encounter. For example, your book might describe the hesitation and fear German soldier feels as he is to the Eastern Front, where he knows he is likely to die.

Tips for Writing Historical Fiction

Free write to brainstorm ideas. If you’re interested in writing historical fiction but don’t know where to start, spend 15 minutes writing in your notebook about a period or historical event you’re interested in rendering in fiction. Note any assumptions you have about the period, cultural depictions of it in other books and films, and what specifically interests you about this moment in history.

Find an interesting way into a time period. Consider using a historical time period as a backdrop and placing fictional characters and events within that world. Or, choose a historical event and create fictional characters who experienced it and whose lives were affected by it

Do your research. In addition to getting the historical facts correct, the smaller details are important, too. Write an inventory of the details in your work that you haven’t researched but should check. Likely, these will be small things—for example, the color of refrigerators—whose accuracy will keep a reader interested and make your story more credible.

Build a world. World-building makes a historical fiction books more authentic and gives readers a reason to keep coming back. Include details about the world in which your story takes place to give readers historical context and balance those exotic details with familiar, relatable ones to keep the story grounded. However, don’t add information just to add it; make sure every part of your world-building advances the story.

Don’t get bogged down in dialogue. Different historical eras have different vocabulary and grammatical structures. Include occasional words and phrases to reinforce the historical setting, but don’t include so many that the novel becomes difficult to read and less enjoyable.

Add fictional characters. Even if you’re writing about true events, you can take some creative liberties. Introducing fictional characters to complement those based on actual historical figures can help you move the story along, inject personality, and keep it entertaining.

Choose which of these tips for historical fiction work best for your story and incorporate them with elements of Detective Fiction.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References

The elements found in other subgenres overlap with detective historical fiction as well, so here are previous posts that you might find helpful as references:

Clues in Crime Fiction

Basic Narrative Pattern of Crime Fiction

Writing Notes on Pain & Violence

Writing Tips: A "Convincing" Mystery

In creating your fictional world from scratch, here are some worksheets and templates on worldbuilding that may guide you, or more references on worldbuilding.

Hope this helps with your writing!

[heartfullofleeches]

What are Remmy/Sammy/Liu/Carnis/Clem/Aspen/Blacksmith doing for thanksgiving?

Also happy thanksgiving! I hope you’re feeling better and in less pain!

Remmy:

Prior to the date, he's insisting to his folks they don't need to drop by for a visit. They're both so busy with their own lives, and there's a certain someone he'd like to spend at least one Thanksgiving alone with to enjoy that quiet, domestic bliss before his family bombards them with a million questions about their future together.

"My parents couldn't come out this year... You wanna maybe stop by? I'll prepare something just for the two of us and if things feels a little lonely we can set the table with family.. Other family, I mean. The dolls... Does that sound too silly?"

Sammy:

Would sooner hole himself up for another sleepless night in the funeral home than spend the holiday with his family, but they always managed to wear him down- Possibly due to the venue being closed, but who's to say. He might be able to skip this years festivities if he has already made plans with someone else. His father would still be the grumpy hard ass he is, but any signs of wedding bells in the future and his mother will send him in your direction with a pie in hand.

Liu:

On holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving, Liu celebrates by donating their time to local food kitchens. They have nobody else to spend the day with before meeting their darling, and if they're completely alone on those days it puts them in a bad headspace. Giving back and helping out their community is another thing that grounds Liu with their humanity as their species typically cares only for themselves/the family it creates.

If their darling is in the picture, Liu halfs their day so they can spend the rest of the night with them warming up the feast they prepared in preparation.

Carnis:

"I'm t-thankful for sweets, and a warm place to sleep, and...and hot baths, and... you... Y-you're at the top of the list,but I t-thought that'd be pretty obvious... by now.."

Carnis has never heard of Thanksgiving- They don't know much about any celebrations beyond their birthday, but that technically can't be called a holiday - not until they meet you anyway. What better way to show their gratitude than to offer their meat- No? Then at least them set the table. They aren't the greatest chef right off the bat, but there must be something they can help you with. They'll get pouty if you attempt to do household chores in their stead.

They get like that any other day too, but how are they supposed to show their appreciation if you take over from them?

Clementine:

"Dinner will be ready in approximately one hundred and twenty... Correction, make that one hundred and fourty five seconds... You would like me to sit you?.. Strange."

Keeps to herself and for a period, actively seems to avoid you. She has lot to do in the kitchen afterall- Certainly isn't grappling with an bothersome emotions over not being your true family whether platonically or romantically. That would be ridiculous.

Aspen:

It's not a holiday he would celebrate on his own, but he with take whatever excuse he can muster to prepare a big meal for his spouse. Prods his darling for cherished memories of events past. While his own remains a secret, Aspen lives for the remnants of darling's life before they became one.

There are some traditional Thanksgiving foods that he does not fancy, but he will make for darling if he is a fan. Scolds them if they dare bring anything store bought into his kitchen, but if darling is sneaky enough later that evening they'll find him scarfing down a can of cranberry sauce.

Blacksmith:

"You required one of these feathery creatures, did you not? I can remove its head if the stare of its soulless eyes offends you."

Gods in their time held their own traditions, but even then Blacksmith rarely had the grace to be apart of the festivities. It's a great honor for you to share this holiday with them, and he will do everything in his power to be the model guest. It will try to be on their best behavior for you, but there are no guarantees.

[artbyblastweave]

One of your posts had a rec list of zombie media, and one of them was Savageland. Watched it. Even knowing there were zombies involved it’s good. Even better, actually, because you the audience know that there’s something wrong but the characters don’t, or at least they don’t know what you know.

11/10. One of those movies that you have to go sit and think about for a while. I really liked the way it’s presented, the pseudo-documentary style. Also. So much going on. And it really hits because yeah, this feels terrifyingly plausible to happen. And even though it is a zombie story, it’s also got a lot more going on. Just. There’s so much to say about it. It’s a horror story. It’s political commentary. I don’t even know where to start.

Thanks for the rec! I feel like you’re the person for Good Zombie Media, and this is definitely one.

You're welcome! I've had this sense, and a longer post on the topic, that there's this loose trinity of themes from which zombie fiction can draw horror. There's the fear of societal inadequacy, the classic romero anxienty that our society simply isn't capable of rising to the challenge of something sufficiently disruptive, be that zombies or anything else. There's fear of sickness- the horror of being a zombie, of the indignity and helplessness of being reduced to something so base, so at odds with your current desires and morality, or alternatively something so inept- a creature that's basically less capable and competent than a human in every way despite going through the motions. And lastly there's the very straightforward fear of violence- what if there were a bunch of mindlessly-violent human-but-not-quite monsters running around killing the shit out of everything they see? What if all your neighbors all decided at once to try and kill you for no discernible reason? People don't normally do that! That'd be fucked up!

I think that these things can push and pull on each other, fighting for space. For a long time I thought that "fear of societal inadequacy" was fighting for space with "fear of violence," because the more effective a threat you make your zombies, the less meaningful it is when society can't react effectively to them. In the original Dawn of the Dead the fact that zombies are such an underwhelming threat if you've got your shit together is why the authority's dysfunctional response can provide meaningful criticism of our society. In the remake- they're hyperdurable beserkers with a short incubation period and they run at full speed! It doesn't say anything in particular if the army has trouble with that! So more of the horror ends up concentrated in the thing itself, the incongruous violence the zombies enact. Anyway, the long story short is that Savageland convinced me that actually, with proper framing, there's no contradiction whatsoever between a narrative about societal dysfunction in the face of crisis, and a narrative about scary-as-fuck implacable uncanny-valley killing machines.

Go watch this movie

[whiteobsidian]

from cyra, to you

My struggle with LOA and how I overcame it.

During the summer (in 2020), around July I read a community post about the law of assumption, then I really did my research and had a better understanding of the law of assumption. It was quite fun and painful, I would read the same posts just to get reassurance that what I was doing was “correct”. Growing up with only listening to instructions made it a bit difficult to transition from the law of attraction to assumption. Though the law of attraction didn’t do  me any good.

When I got into the law of attraction in (last) december it was like a miracle had happened and I could change anything I “disliked” all by listening to some music online. I discovered those videos by accident, and I don’t regret it but I do regret abusing it and myself.  During quarantine + online school I was probably at my lowest point in life, I was depressed and scared and my anxiety had turned severe, especially as a black person during this period. I had also gained weight and my acne was worse than ever, In conclusion : I was insecure. Using subliminals was my escape from that, being so desperate to fit into today's beauty standards , I wasn’t doing myself any justice, I would get angry at the 3d for not showing what I wanted to see. I drank 2 liters of water a day, why wasn’t I getting results? I listened at low volume, why wasn’t I getting results? This mindset did change…. well kinda.

As I wrote earlier, I read a community tab from one of my favorite submarkes talking about how they used the law of assumption to manifest. I was obviously confused, I didn’t even know there were different laws/ ways to manifest. This got me into watching Hyler and Sammy Ingrams videos for a whole day straight. I was fascinated to say the least, and I was even more excited learning that visualization can also help you manifest, since I am a big day dreamer. A few weeks later, I had an instagram account and followed lots of coaches and accounts. I was doing self concept challenges and abundance challenges. I had manifested a lot of new things (clothes, macbook, food) but I wanted something more, something I saw as “BIG”. You might've already guessed : appearance changes.

I didn’t want to change for me, I wanted to change so I would be treated differently, that I would have a better life with prettiness. I had a ugly mindset and this ugly mindset told me I was ugly, I never really thought I was an ugly person before and I'm questioning why I ever thought I was in the first place, I had completely changed and it scared me, I was desperate. I would get mad when I didn't see what i wanted, this led me to repeating the old story over and over again. It took me longer than I expected to get my appearance changed because I had doubts. The 3d is a reflection, a movie of your thoughts. All I needed to do was to change my mindset on how I saw myself. 

Self Concept

Self concept changed my whole view on manifesting and honestly myself.  Your self concept is how you see yourself, how others treat you, how you see the world etc etc, for example if you believe that men or women treat you badly then it's going to reflect your reality. I had a lot of old  thoughts and assumptions that would mold into the 3d. Remember that no one is going to manifest for you, you have to do this yourself, know you are powerful, beautiful, and smart. Nobody can change these beliefs you have set in your mind except you. You need to work on yourself. 

Techniques and Methods

i’m going to put this out now, you DON'T need to do any methods or techniques to get “faster results” do whatever makes you feel comfortable, if you're new to the law of assumption feel free to try any techniques you're interested in, just don’t be pressured to. It's not mandatory to do all this extra stuff, unless you really want to. 

Timing

I know that all of us want our results to come quick, instant even and it is possible, but only unless you truly believe that. Know that your affirming is going to work and that your results are already there, if you are affirming for quick instant results, know that you will get quick and instant results. You don't necessarily have to believe in your affirmation, you just need to believe that what your doing is going to work. If you've been affirming and listening to subliminals for months and you're still “not” getting results it's not the 3d, it's you. 

Why?

You can manifest anything you want, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise but question yourself, why? Especially if it's an appearance change, I hope you're manifesting an appearance change because you're doing it for YOU. Not for validation, or to actually “feel” pretty. You are a powerful being, don't let others determine your self worth or determine who you are. 

Apply

Manifesting is simple, especially in the law of assumption, all you need to do is affirm, persist, and know.

Affirm for what you want 

Persist in that thought over and over

Know that your thought will materialize into the 3d no matter what

STOP over consuming info online, I don’t care if a loa creator posted, I bet you already know what it's about by the title. Stop going on instagram and tumblr just to read things you already know, if you're really that impulsive then delete the apps! Don’t waste all your time for reassurance to see what you're doing is right. There is no right or wrong, just manifest.

Have fun!

Have fun when manifesting, don’t make it seem like it is a chore or it's that pile of homework that's sitting around in your room. Think about it, you can manifest your dream life by just thinking, I want you all to have fun when manifesting, enjoy it! Know that you have everything you want all just by assuming!

Remember, you’re one of a kind <3

with all my love, 

xoxo cyra, 111 222

ps. I did manifest an appearance change (and everything else I wanted), all by working on myself! :)

[munsonsmixtapes]

hii i love your work and i’m currently on my period rn and it is a painnnnn would you write a cute cliff like eddie taking care of reader on her period please totally understand if your uncomfortable writing thiss!! thank youu!!💖💖

So sorry that I'm just now getting to this! I will always eat up a period fic so I can absolutely write this one for you!

cw: obvious mention of periods

You feel the bed on the other side of you dip as Eddie slides behind you. You feel his hand rest on top of the heating pad that's on your stomach and put your hand on top of his, already feeling even more comforted.

He had already gotten the heating pad for you and even had gone as far as setting it up and placing it on your stomach. He then had gotten you some pain reliever that you were waiting to kick in and now he's doing your favorite part: snuggling you because he knows you loves his affection, especially when you feel like this.

You feel nothing but gross, wanting nothing more than to shower or take a bath, but you physically cannot get yourself to move. You close your eyes so you can fall asleep to forget about how you're feeling, but as soon as you feel yourself drifting, Eddie is on your side of the bed, crouched in front of you.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he says, holding his hands out.

"Where are we going?" You ask, your voice groggy even though you never actually went to sleep.

"Let's go take a bath." You take his hands and he leads you to the bathroom where he already has a bath running with your favorite bath bomb already to go, the water at the perfect temperature.

He wipes away the tears that you aren't even aware have fallen then presses a kiss to your lips.

"Alright, arms up." You do as you're told and Eddie lifts your shirt over your head before setting it aside before moving to your sweatpants and once they're off, all that's left is your underwear which he gets off quickly.

Eddie then helps you into the tub where he visibly sees you relax as he pulls your vanity stool to the side of the tub where he sits and helps you bathe, humming the tune of that one song he knows helps calm you down.

Other than that, the whole process is done in silence and you wonder how you got so lucky as to have someone who would do something like that for you without even expecting anything in return. Acts of service is the way that Eddie shows you that he loves you. He doesn't even have to say it most times even though he does while he's doing the dishes or folding your laundry.

And once you're nice and clean, Eddie carries you into the bedroom where he dresses you then helps you into bed where he massages whatever part is hurting you while one of your comfort movies plays in the background. And if you're being honest, there's no place that you'd rather be.

[itsrlymine]

Hi bb,

Presently and for the time being, this blog really is THAT BITCH lmao and you know how I know it’s legit? That ur legit?

Because I NEVER interact beyond a “like”, and if I do it’s only ever been one quick message of kudos. And look at me here now! Lmfao got me over typing out a whole ass paragraph😂 Love love love the me that is you and the aura you’re radiating! And the mirroring has been too hilarious💀 from you and all the success stories from miss girl deciding that her man isn’t some one else’s child’s father, to miss mister nonbinary feeling like they would enjoy having their friend group again, and so many more… but those two specifically had me gagged laughing my ass off when I saw them cus they were such unique reflections the way they were reflected to me that I’m not the only one “manifesting” these things and that I’m not a bad person for wanting this😌

Guys, hear me clearly on this: when it comes to intentionally aligning with that which you want to be, we gotta be honest with ourselves about where we’re actually at if we’re ever gonna get more powerful. I had to face the truth that I didn’t have enough “knowing”/“trust” to do a lot of the things I wanted to when I first “remembered” (aka learned about) the “Law”. So I decided to work smarter and just work the damn “process” (of building up “knowing”) until I got the hang of it.

And I’m soooo excited to share that recently I was just chillin casually enjoying this blogs success stories when it started to hit me like wow look at all these birds before land lol I finally made it! From starting at damn near below zero in terms of skill in execution (back in spring of 2021), all the way to now (almost winter of 2024), it took me about 3 years give or take but babyyyyyy I made it🙌

And the craziest part is it’s only just the beginning🤯 don’t get it twisted, over these past 3 years theres actually been a lot of manifestations that have unfolded through me, but any moment now I can feel it that some of the much more “significant” experiences I would enjoy are going to materialize in the physical and I’m honestly over here like 👁️👄👁️ like fuckkkkkkkk it’s hereeeeee? after all this time am I readyyyyyyyy????????? Lmao I’m tryna act cool and keep it chill but everybody on this blog just keeps getting me so hype it actually inspired me to participate and share a little bit for once

Which is all apart of the unfolding going on over here cus I knew personally I wasn’t gonna start participating period point blank anywhere or with anyone until I really started getting somewhere with this whole “manifesting” thing

So yeah just a little contribution to add to the mix of all the happiness and celebrations that everyone is enjoying here together on this blog

See you all again soon, probably with some success stories or pointers that might ✨inspire✨ someone

-🪽🤍🪽-

Hello 🪽🤍🪽!!!!

I feel like I deffo "started" journey around that time as well. Thank you so much for your wonderful message my love! Thank you for proving how legit my page is. I'm honored to have your stamp of approval!! Miss mister nonbinary is f*cking insane babe. Ummm💀

We are deffo not the only ones looking to experience something new and is is great being able to see the reflections in others. Once you know you are that which you want to experience, literally everything falls in line and there is no work to no done.

Don't try to keep it chill. Be hype asf! That's why we are all here!!!

[starlightsuffered]

Ruin her Innocence (Part 2)

Warnings - oral (female receiving), making deals for sex, telling someone to start birth control, sacralige during sex, innocent reader, short reader, petite reader, inexperienced reader, first time, alluding to penetrative sex, communion, eating food off body, body shot kinda

I hadn't been able to stop thinking about Kyle since he'd stolen my first kiss. However, I was determined not to have it happen again. Kyle would not have any more of my firsts.

We were sitting in a reserved study room. I was pouring over the information we needed, trying to find ways to condense it.

"Kyle," I snapped, he was reading his damn book.

"Yeah?" He asked lazily.

"I literally gave you the book, and opened it to the page you need, all you need to do is read," I begged.

"I could, but I don't want to," he smirked.

"You think I want to? What I want is a good grade, so I can get into a good college," I said.

"There's a way that you could convince me," he said with a dirty gleam in his eye.

"Oh no," I said, my heart some how sinking and panging at the same time.

"Let me give you your first kiss, and I'll behave," he offered.

"You already did, remember?" I gritted out.

"No, to your other lips," he said.

"What? You're making no sense."

He rolled his eyes.

"Let me eat you out," he explained.

"Eat me out?"

"You know," he said, making a V with two long fingers and waggling his tongue in the space between them.

"Oh, that," I said in near horror. "Why do you want to do that? Don't men hate giving head?"

"Not this man," he chuckled darkly.

"But that's where I pee, and have my period, and you want to put your tongue in there?" I asked.

"Very badly," he nodded.

"And you PROMISE you'll do the work if I let you do..... that?" I asked.

"Today I will, you may have to convince me again other times."

I weighed my options. I needed a good grade. I'd obsessively gotten all As in English since I'd ever done it. He could ruin my perfect streak. On the other hand, it would make him disgustingly cocky, and I'd be giving him another first. There was a small part of me, the part that thought about him at night while my cunt ached, that wanted this to happen.

"Okay," I sighed and he looked like he could shout for joy. I began to take off my pants.

"Ah, ah, ah," he scolded, " all of them, I want everything off."

"You want me naked?"

"Yes, bless my eyes with your form," he pleaded. The need in his voice nearly made me shiver. No one had ever been this... desperate for me. I knew it was just the turn on of me being a virgin, but it still made my body light up.

"Lock the door," I demanded. He went to do that as I took off my clothing. Once I was bare before him, I shrunk in on myself in shame.

"Don't do that, you're gorgeous," he said, removing my arms from hiding my breasts.

"So petite and small, how will my cock ever fit inside you?" He asked.

"We're not doing that," I snapped.

"Only a matter of time," he said with a wolfish grin. "Now, lay down for me."

I did as he said. Instead of coming to me, he grabbed something from the window sill. He then dropped down and straddled me. His weight felt nice on my aching core. I nearly wanted to rub myself on his dress pants for some relief.

He took what he was holding out. He placed a communion wafer on each of my hard nipples. Then he was pouring wine into my belly button, I gasped and he smirked. I could feel his hard cock in his pants, and I didn't necessarily know what was considered big, but he felt big.

"In the name of the father," he said, lips picked up the first wafer on my left nipple. I gasped as I felt his lips touch the sensitive flesh.

"The son," and there went the second wafer, and I was panting.

"And Holy Spirit," he finished by sucking the wine from my belly button.

"Oh my," I whimpered.

"Let's feast," he said, and began to lap at my heat. I couldn't keep still or quiet. How had I not known how wonderful this would feel? I didn't even masturbate.

"Mmm, there's something special about this pussy, the best I've ever tasted," he complimented, and my headiness became nearly overwhelming. Hearing him praise me did something in my stomach.

He continued with tiny licks to my clit, which he found immediately. I felt like I was going to pee, or explode, or something, it was an unknown feeling.

"K-Kyle," I moaned. He hummed into my cunt and I felt like lightning struck me.

"Oh, oh, so good, so good," I heaved. My breasts moved up and down rapidly with my arousal. His tongue was dipping in and out of me. I wanted to scream from pleasure. It was unreal how I felt.

"Somethings happening," I cried, "My legs feel weird, I feel like I'm about to burst!"

"You're going to come y/n, just let it happen," Kyle told me gently.

"I c-can't," I wailed as he dove back in, massaging the skin of my thighs. "I can't, Oh!"

The most wonderful feeling washed over me. I was shaking as he moaned into me. I couldn't help the small sounds that came from my lips. It was bliss reverberating through my body. It was like shockwaves overtook me.

"Oh, oh, uhhhhhh," I whined. I was coming down now, but I wanted it again. I wanted to feel that way forever.

"Feel good?" Kyle asked, his face slick.

"So good," I groaned.

"Here, taste yourself," he said, climbing up and trying to get me to suck on his tongue.

"What! That's so weird," I said, pushing him away.

"It's not, you'll like it, you taste good," he said, and put out his tongue again.

"This can't be normal," I said. He rolled his eyes.

"Y/n, I'm not some hedonistic demon who knows sexual things the world hasn't yet seen. This is plenty normal. I've tasted my own on girls' tongues before."

"Oh all right," I huffed. He bent down again, and I squealed as he replenished his tongue. I sucked on his tongue and tasted the tang of myself. I did feel my core heating again.

"There we go," he said, and removed himself from me.

I got up and began putting on my clothes.

"You have to study now," I pointed at him.

"Not this very minute, I need to change," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"I came in my boxers when you did," he said plainly. I heated all over. He was so casual about it, but the idea did nothing to help my regrowing desire.

He came back moments later, in new pants. I wondered how he wasn't ashamed of having cum filled boxers in his locker.

"Alright," he cracked his knuckles. "Time to get to work.

I was appalled to see he was magnificent when put to the test. He could've easily helped me get an A, but he'd tricked me into this deal.

"By the way," he said as we left the room. "You definitely need to get on birth control, I'm not letting this go," he said, and cupped my pussy over my school skirt. I pushed his hand away shakily with a reproachful look.

"Not in public!" I hissed.

"You'll be eating those words soon," he said with a wink, and then he left.

[theywantedplayer]

Heyy!

Since i'm on my period (2nd day and im dying) i need me a slaf period comfort cause i would do anything for my big boy to hold me rn. Ofcu dont have to write it if u don't wanna it would just help me feel a better that's all pookie.

Hope you have a great day!

MastersList

PromptList

The TV was barely audible now, with a soft hum in the background. Your face was squished into the bedsheets as you lay on your side. You didn’t need to explain anything to Juraj the only thing keeping your attention was how his arms wrapped around your waist, one acting as a heat pack for your cramps, the other providing a makeshift pillow for your head.

You’d asked him multiple times if he wanted to switch positions, worried his arm might go stiff or fall asleep, but he always responded with a simple, unwavering:

“Na.”

You stayed like that in the comfort of your home, his warmth a constant source of relief. Despite spending so much time in cold arenas and skating on ice, Juraj always seemed to radiate heat. You loved that about him.

Shifting slightly, you moved from your side to your stomach, trying to find a more comfortable position as the cramps worsened. Now fully on your stomach, face buried in the pillow, you felt Juraj’s hand gently trace down your spine, his touch soothing the ache.

“Do you need anything?” he asked softly.

Juraj hated seeing you like this. He knew it wasn’t anything serious, but watching you groan and have no energy because of your period wasn’t easy for him.

“No, I should be fine,” you mumbled, too tired to think of anything you might need, yet too awake to sleep. Since It was only 4 in the afternoon.

Juraj hummed in response, his hand pausing briefly before he got up from the bed and left the room. You mumbled something into the pillow, but he didn’t respond. You figured he was grabbing something or heading to the bathroom and would be back soon, though you hated missing his presence even for a moment.

He returned moments later, placing something on the bedside table before climbing back into bed. He lay beside you, propping his head up with another pillow. His arm found its way behind the pillow you were using, and his fingers softly combed through your hair as he spoke.

“I was gonna order some food. Want anything?”

Before he could finish, you whipped around to glance at his phone, seeing the Uber Eats app already open.

“Sure,” you replied simply.

Juraj let out a breathy laugh at your sudden enthusiasm, amused by how quickly you reacted. He pulled you closer and started reading out the options.

[guppygiggles]

Sigh.

Alright.

I'm going to weigh in on this discourse between the SFW and NSFW community, but before I do, here's the long and short of it in terms of how it's going to affect you interacting with me.

If you are an adult who allows minors to interact with you, or you reblog from minors, please do not reblog anything from me. I don't want minors being led back here. I used to be lenient about this, but since I have started making actual NSFW content, I'm not anymore. Don't do it, please.

If you are an adult who is talking to minors about tickling or teasing them, please don't interact with me at all. I'm going to expand on this, but I don't think this is ever okay.

I have turned anonymous asks off and I will not be turning them back on. This is not because I was getting hate, it's simply because I don't want to risk minors sending me asks.

Like every discussion that gets rehashed over and over the way this one has, there is nuance. If you want my nuanced opinion, you can read it under the cut. However, there is one part of this discussion I want to state here, where people are most likely to see it: I have seen people in this community make the argument that "minors need 'safe' adults in this community to talk to, so they know that liking tickling isn't weird." Emphatically... No they do not. Minors should not believe that ANY adult online is safe, in the tickling community or otherwise. The people who will hurt them know how to behave like safe adults. They are not stupid. They won't show their true colors until they have already gotten the minor to trust them, and ideally, rely on them for something (teasing, emotional support, etc). That is how grooming actually happens. It is a process, and it doesn't happen when someone is obviously creepy and weird and minors know to avoid them. It happens when someone is welcoming and friendly, completely sfw, and easy for the minor to trust. Spouting this rhetoric about how minors need "safe" adults to talk to them is the most dangerous thing this community could be doing, and I'm sorry, I'm not going to be quiet about this one or hide it under a cut. There are plenty of resources online, free books and articles written by actual doctors and psychologists that will reassure them they are not weird for enjoying tickling (in whatever context that might be), if they care to look. Those are the resources they should be exposed to, not some rando on Tumblr telling them it's okay. If they want to talk to someone who is actually in the community, clearly, there are plenty of other minors for them to talk to. They do not need to talk to adults in this community... period.

This is not a callout, I am not going to name names, this is not for drama or sensation. I am simply doing this so that you can make an informed decision about who you are following and decide whether you want to continue to interact with my work or not (and so that you will know whether or not I want you to interact with my work.)

I don't think adults and minors in this community should be interacting with each other. The only time I think this is okay is when a minor in this community turns 18. I don't think it's reasonable to expect them to stop talking to their friends who are slightly younger, but I do think any teasing that was happening should stop, and I think that once someone is 18, they should not make any new friends who are minors. Some people don't feel ready to be a legal adult -- I understand that, but nonetheless, that is what you are when you turn 18 and that comes with new responsibilities to protect minors and yourself. This isn't my opinion, it's reality.

I don't think there is any reason for an adult who is 21 or older to be talking to minors online, especially in private chats, period... whether they are in the tickling community or not. I think it is really weird for an adult over 21 to have a personal friendship with a minor who they have no attachment to (IE: they are a family or similar, a friend's kid, etc.) If someone I worked with told me that they have a personal friend who is a minor, I would consider that to be a red flag and would really question what reason they had to be talking to kids in a personal context. Lest you be tempted to think I simply hate kids -- and I've said this before -- I love kids. I worked for a school district for over five years. I loved helping kids learn about their technology. I had some kids who were my assistants and they were bright and funny and great to work with. I did not interact with them outside of work, ever, and when they graduated or left I never spoke to them again. If I ran into them in public, I would briefly talk to them and then go on my merry way. I would not have a private discussion with them about anything; that would be wildly inappropriate, and I sincerely find it very hard to understand how any adult would see this differently. I know that the administration I worked for would agree with me, and if it was discovered that any of the staff I worked with were chatting privately with, meeting privately with, or otherwise maintaining a private friendship with a kid outside of work... that would be very seriously questioned and most likely lead to a termination.

If my feelings about this have made you enjoy my work less, resent me, or not want to interact with me anymore... You are probably not someone I wanted to interact with, anyway, I'll be honest. My feelings about this have been very clear from the outset, this blog has never been SFW, I've never used SFW tags and I never will. Even before I started making NSFW art, I still didn't use SFW tags because I know that minors heavily use and monitor those tags and I did not want them finding me that way. My final point here is... if you have a SFW blog and you allow minors to interact with you, you'd better make damn sure that nobody you're reblogging from makes or reblogs NSFW content in addition to the SFW content you're reblogging from them, and that they are okay with minor interaction, because otherwise, you are leading minors back to blogs where they will be exposed to NSFW and/or violating the boundaries of the people you're reblogging from. Seems like a lot of work just to curate a space for minors. That's kinda all I have to say. Block/unfollow me if you want to, really, I don't care about my follower count. I would rather you know my true feelings and hate me for it than assume I'm okay with something I'm not.