#like is this a me thing. is this happening to everyone or is it specifically something i need to work on

[daylighted]

CAMP DAYLIGHTED it's 1989, and you've just gotten yourself a summer job as a camp counselor. one last summer of freedom before the real world comes knocking, one last summer of recklessness and fun. or, so you thought. maybe it's just the campfire stories unsettling you, and the complete isolation of nature surrounding you. or maybe, something really is watching you, phantom eyes that never let up from studying your every move. something's amiss at camp daylighted. can you figure out what it is before it's too late? BELOW 4 EVENT DETAILS! — @CAMPDAYLIGHTED 4 ALL DETAILS!

WHAT IS KNOWN ࿐ ࿔ * : ･ﾟ

☀︎ story of choices — you are a direct participant in the direction this story goes. whether in the form of voting on choices or writing the next part, what you pick and do decides the fate of the characters and what happens next.

☀︎ vote to decide their fate — do you go left down the path or hide in the cabins? each part will end with a vote, and the winning result will affect what comes in the next writer's part. one little choice could safe a life or end it, or hint toward the identity of the culprit.

☀︎ anything can happen — participating writers are in charge of keeping the story going. you have an arsenal of details to pull from (settings, lore, characters) and it is up to you to take what the last person wrote, and continue off of it. no one is safe, and no possibility is out of reach.

WHAT IS UNKNOWN ࿐ ࿔ * : ･ﾟ

☀︎ the cast list — there are only four set characters, ones there to enact as romantic interests if you so please, or to just serve as characters to advance the story. the rest of the counselors? are made and submitted by you, as !readers.

☀︎ the killer(s) — no one knows who the set killer (or killers) is, not even the writers. as characters die and the writers hint at what could have been the cause, a clear picture will start to be painted . . . or it won't. as stated above, anything is possible. use the provided resources to forge a pathway, and integrate it into the full picture.

☀︎ the survivors — with each part on a rotating schedule of writers, there is no telling who will be the final characters standing. perhaps you will want to save yourself, or save a loved one. what and who would you sacrifice for that outcome? who would your character(s)?

HOW TO PARTICIPATE ࿐ ࿔ * : ･ﾟ

☀︎ must follow @campdaylighted — this is the center for all things involving this event & alternate universe. you will find the camp's lore, locations, other participants, and eventually, every posted part in this universe there.

☀︎ must follow @daylighted — this is for tracking purposes, and of course because i created this!

☀︎ must be inclusive & engage — this event is, of course, for fun, but also to meet new friends or connect with mutuals you don't necessarily talk to! this is why it is as immersive as it is; form friendships and bonds over this shared interest! send asks about others' !readers, include them in your writing when your part comes, and make friends!

☀︎ make a !reader intro post — this is how people will learn about your involved reader and how i will see your submission! the necessary requirements are on the campdaylighted blog. please tag me in all submissions! you may make up to three, so as many people who want to participate can, and so that you have backup characters in case one is killed off.

☀︎ tag your writings & submissions under the camp daylighted specific tag - the specific tag is on the aforementioned blog! this is to keep all of the stuff easily accessible <3 plus, i want everyone to be able to write stuff for their !readers outside of the main storyline, like drabbles and one shots! ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⤷ on this note, don't forget to end your writing part for this main collaborative fic with a poll, so readers can vote on a part of what happens next! this is collaborative for everyone!

LIMITED SPACES AVAILABLE - 8/20 !READER SLOTS OPEN.

☀︎ director's notes hi everyone!!! as you can see, i may have been late to making this to the milestone, but i wasted no effort in it! some might even say i did too much effort . . . ANYWAYS. i hope you all sign up to participate and to spread the word so others can too! again, thank you for 1.5k followers hello??? now it's nearly 1.6k which is even crazier! i hope all of this makes sense. most questions i hope will be answered in this post and then on the blog with the other details! if not, please message me or comment and i will provide clarification<3 i wanted to create something immersive for everyone, participants and readers following along, so i hope this delivers and isn't too crazy 😭😭

☀︎ my mutuals @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @deanswidow @bruisedfig @angelblqde @rubyvhs @theosaurous @voidsuites @chxrrywines @inbred-eater @ultravi0lence14 @whyyouegg @honeyryewhiskey @jensenacklesballsack @angelicjackles @funkycoloured @rositaslabyrinth @chevroletdean @bluemerakis @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @samslovebug @cowboysandcigarettes @unfortunate-brat @benscumgluzzer @bejeweledinterludes @jasvtsc @h8aaz @fuckedupfate @mahi-wayy @blossomingorchids @faiszt @losers-clvb @cherrygirlfriend @briisbananass @0ccvltism @beausling @stereotypicalbarbie @pieandflannel @religionlost @honeyroots @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @tinas111 @acklesangel @littlesoulshine + so many more!

[knight-of-flowerss]

Nerd!Cregan brothers best friend type situation like Jace’s twin sister and obviously even in the au she’s the princess-esque type, rich family, cregan and jace she thinks are losers but like her and cregan actually make such a sweet couple like ugh him rambling about a game and she’s like babe i really dont give a fuck or understand but i love you so im listening (but really she’s just drooling over his bicep as he waves it around explaining some anime shit)

NERDS HAVE THE BIGGEST DICKS OKAY???

HEHEHEH YESSSS I LOVE NERDS OH MY GOD 😭🙏

Sorry but she's deffo his childhood bully💀 "dad, how did you meet mom?" "Oh, she would cut my hair and chase me and your uncle around with a knife when we were little.. hm.. good days.." and kids are like wtf- 😀🧍‍♀️

This is lowkey a brain dump of Nerd/Geek!Cregan, would love to write a more story like one but I just HAD to do a brain dump lmao

Also I have three different geeky things mentioned in here, 1 is Demon Slayer, 2 is Star Wars and 3 is a poem and if y'all can tell me what poem, I'll give you a lollipop or something or like a fic idk girl

MDNI 18+!!!

MASTERLIST

"So- Tanjiro and Nezuko are siblings, yeah? Their whole family gets killed by a demon and Nezuko gets turned into one! And there's these people- they're called demon slayers - they kill these demons and like protect everyone and-" At this point, you had zoned out. He was just sat there rambling on about Demon killer or Slayer demon or whatever the fuck it is.

Your loud smacks are heard through his yapping, the chewing gum becoming a weird, warm, melted texture in your mouth since it'd been there for so long.

Cregan was hot. So fucking hot. But goddamn, sometimes you had to tune him out.

Like, even during sex you have to shut him up.

You're actually surprised he isn't more quiet during sex. He's fucking his best friends little sister and all he can do is whine and moan. I mean, I think he got it from you though.

The first time you fucked him, it was his finals week. Non-stop revision for the overwhelmed nerd. Physics or chemistry or whatever confusing science shit he did - it had a specific name - fell on deaf ears.

You had asked him about it, to put his mind off of cumming too fast. Virgin. So he rambled on and on about endless science-y things, even getting so engrossed to the point that he had kind of forgotten that he had one of the hottest chicks in school bouncing on his cock like her life depended on it.

But his whines and moans were the best, literally music to your fucking ears. This was never supposed to happen. Never. He was this whiney little bitch boy that she's known since all three of them were in nappies.

You were there when he wet himself at Jenny D'Minco's sixth birthday party and everyone laughed at him, you included. You were there when he cried over the fact that you crumpled his favourite Pokémon card when he was eight. You were there when he busted his nose trying to impress a girl at the roller rink when she was sixteen and he was barely twelve.

You were even there the first time he came in his pants. 15 years old, surrounded by hot, older girls in bikinis at a pool party and one rubbed up on him? Yeah, he was a gonner before he even registered it.

Watching him grow up, seeing all the awkward shit that made him a 'nerd' and a 'geek', etc, should've given you the ick, it really should've. Especially since he was three years younger that you, but you're a nasty bitch deep down inside.

You lied to yourself. Telling yourself you didn't like him. That he was weird and an incel. But god, you'd be lying if you said that watching him jerk off in the bathroom sink when he thinks he's all alone in the house didn't turn you on to the fucking max.

But he had joined University. Left everyone behind. And so did your younger brother. He left a scrawny, whiney bitch that you wanted to jump the bones of but held yourself back, and came back a fucking man that could probably do curls with your full weight and not even break a sweat.

Safe to say, your panties didn't survive that one.

He had grown more confident over those few years too, truly finding himself at Uni. As if he wasn't himself already. But he just felt more comfortable in his own skin.

And back to where we began. Anime. Fucking anime. This man rambles about anime when he should be choking you out with his bicep as he fucks you from behind. But noooo, you're fuck buddies with the bloody BFG who refuses to hurt you.

After what seems like hours to you - it was really just three hours, I mean, how inconsiderate y'all, it ain't even that long 🙄 - he finally paid attention to you.

"And Anakin gets sent to protect Padmè in Naboo, which is obviously where they finally admit they love each other, until Padmè like- rejects him! To keep each other safe, but still!-" Your spit drools down his arm as his fingers delve into your warmth. It doesn't even seem to phase him, the fact that he's finger fucking you blind.

He has some YouTube video on in the background, showing the timeline of Anakin and Padmè and their love story, a Jedi and a former Queen turned Senator- God! You're actually learning some of this bullshit!

A high pitched moan escapes you before you can help it as his fingers find that one spot that makes your legs turn into jelly and your eyes roll back into your head.

And this fucker doesn't bat an eye.

"I think the way they had Padmè's funeral is so interesting- I mean, they literally posed her to still look pregnant, no one knew Luke and Leia were even born! They literally protected them from Anakin- Vader, since birth!" He gushes, grinning at the fact. He didn't find the fact that she was dead enjoyable or anything, he just appreciated the time and effort put into the fifth and sixth episode, the extra details making it so much better.

Cregan's gaze finally flicks down to you and his smile goes from wide and endearing to soft and affectionate. "Gods.. you look so beautiful right now sweet'eart.." Yep. That did it. Him looking into your eyes as he calls you "sweetheart" in that thick accent of his? Oh, you were a gonner before you even realised it.

With a loud whine, your thighs clamp around his arm, trembling slightly as you utter a soft "fuck.." under your breath. And then the part you love the most, his fucking whimpering.

No matter what you do together, no matter how loud or quiet you are, Cregan always has a reaction when you cum. Always. Whimpering and whining as his lip catches between his front teeth and his eyebrows furrow.

Also, don't get me STARTED on when you haven't seen him in a while and you're finally alone. Literally bones = jumped.

He weeps softly, tearing streaming down his face as his hips buck up, whimpers slipping from his lips involuntarily as you suck him off. Well, he always cried when you do. Probably one of the hottest things he does.

You're evil too, you don't even let him cum. Just leaving him high and dry until he finally musters up the courage to treat you how you oh so desire.

I mean, dominant Cregan groaning and moaning in your ear as he pounds into your cunt is fucking amazing and all but, riding him is just so much better.

His thick girth filled you up perfectly, each ridge catching on your gummy walls. "A-and.. the Duke kills the Duchess- well.. fuck- ah!.. He gets jealous and- shit!"

He gets so loud that you have to clamp your hand over his mouth, gripping his cheeks firmly as you ground your hips, teasing him just enough.

You love your geeky fuck buddy- I mean like! You like him.. but he's hotter when he can't shut up, drunk on your pussy.

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @cryinonthefloor553 @visenyablackwood @velaryyon

[batsandbirdbrains]

Listen I had some more ideas for shenanigans they can get up to while de-aged that would give the other JL & YJ team members whiplash so just bear w me pls

Just the fact that Batman decides to wear a domino mask for most of the time and therefore they can see how young he is, that alone freaks everyone out. What do you mean Batman looks like he’s 22? He hasn’t been like 35 the entire time? Did Batman just say the word “bro” when Robin vaulted off his shoulder unexpectedly? Flash’s head is spinning, and he speeds off to report what he just witnessed to the others. They’re keeping a log of everything that makes them question everything they know about Batman and Robin.

Someone peeks around the corner and sees Batman lounging on a couch, sinking into the cushion. Robin is sitting in his lap, his hands squishing Batman’s cheeks together as he says in a dramatically deep voice, “I’m a butthead. I’m going to get Robin more ice cream. I have a crush on Catwoman.”

Batman grunts at the last point. Robin grins at him. He brings his hands up and pinches Robin’s sides, and Robin squeaks out a laugh before squishing Batman’s cheeks together even tighter.

“Knock it off,” Batman says, his voice muffled through his forcefully shut mouth.

Robin leans in closer, going back to using his Batman-impression voice, “I’m big and boring.”

Batman moves his hands up to similarly squish Robin’s cheeks and say, “I’m a goober.”

“I know you are but what am I?” Robin mocks.

The next thing they know, Batman is standing up and has Robin flung over his shoulder. Robin is laughing loudly, kicking his feet and punching Batman’s back.

Batman swings him around a bit before saying in an announcer’s voice, “Finish him!” And he (gently) body slams Robin back into the couch and holds Robin down.

Another time, Green Arrow sees the two of them hanging out in what was supposed to be a locked meeting room. Batman has an ice cream bar. Robin has two, and there’s two more on the table between them. Robin’s face is smeared in chocolate.

“Your security sucks,” is all Batman says, taking a dramatic lick of ice cream. Robin nods his head enthusiastically.

“Wait, are those-“

“From the locked fridge in the locked kitchen? Yes, yes they are,” Batman tells him.

“How-“

“Robin needed a new training exercise.”

“Kinda embarrassing for you guys, really,” Robin says through a mouthful of ice cream. “Outsmarted by a little kid.”

“Very embarrassing,” Batman correct.

“Very,” Robin agrees. Then he looks back to Green Arrow and asks, “Do you guys have sprinkles?”

Green Arrow doesn’t know how to respond.

The yj team, who refuse to be kept off the Watchtower while all this is happening, see them training in the gym together. Batman spots Robin anytime he does gymnastics moves. They race each other while walking on their hands. Robin taunts Batman by saying he can’t do a specific move, and Batman gets annoyed and goes to do the move just to prove Robin wrong. Batman has Robin spar him, and then has dramatic reactions anytime Robin lands a hit, and lets Robin knock him down.

“You did way better today,” Batman says, pulling Robin down with him. Robin is grinning. “You’re getting so good. You’re gonna be so good at kicking the shit out of some goons next time we patrol.”

Batman has supervised the team’s training sessions before, but they’ve never seen him so animated. Ever. In a way, it’s almost frightening to see him having an emotion, let alone a positive one.

At one point, Robin runs up from behind where Batman is spread out on a couch and lands right on his stomach.

“Oh, bitch,” Batman gasps, coughing once. Then he chokes out, “What was that for?”

“You fell asleep! You have to stay vigilant!” Robin says. Then he pressed his nose to Batman’s and says in a snotty voice, “I’m gonna tell Agent A you said bitch at me.”

“It wasn’t at you!” Batman argues, pressing a pointer finger into Robin’s cheek. “It was an involuntary response to having the wind knocked outta me, you little gremlin!”

“I am not a gremlin!”

“Can’t let anyone feed you after midnight,” Batman grumbles.

In response, Robin licks Batman’s nose. Batman recoils immediately.

“Oh, ew!”

Robin cackles as Batman rubs a hand over his nose, wiping away the spit.

“Booger,” Batman grunts.

“Butthead!”

“You already used that one today, you goblin.”

Robin just sticks his tongue out at him. Batman returns the gesture.

“Remind me again what their relationship is?” Green Lantern asks quietly as he tries to make sense of what he’s witnessing.

“I really couldn’t even guess,” Flash mumbles.

The Batman they’re used to is always so professional. The Robin they’re used to is - well actually very similar to how he is now, but he doesn’t usually banter with Batman so much.

They almost forget how the two of them are acting like such menaces when they find Batman sitting against a pillar in the observation deck, Robin snuggled up against his chest. Batman’s chin is resting on Robin’s head. They’re both dozing off. Robin is drooling on Batman’s shirt. It would be cute if everyone who stumbled across the scene wasn’t afraid it was a trap of some sort, waiting for Robin to launch himself at them in some sort of sneak attack while Batman says it’s a training exercise.

Pls just imagine how dramatic a young justice fic would be if it was like

The one where Batman and Robin are magically de-aged to when they first started working together

So now you’ve got a very paranoid and over protective Batman who hasn’t actually met any of the other justice league members yet and an itsy bitsy Robin who looks like he’ll tear someone’s head off. The Justice League has them quarantined in the Watchtower, they’re not letting them go home to the batcave or anything, and Batman is arguing with Green Arrow while holding a flailing Robin by the scruff of his neck. He looks like a feral kitten.

Now keep in mind, no one in this scenario knows Batman and Robin’s secret identities. They’re not even really sure if they’re father and son, brothers, uncle and nephew, or maybe strange mentor and protege picked off the streets, they’ve no clue. So seeing what is now clearly a young twenty-something Batman trying to wrangle in a wriggling eight year old is both highly entertaining and totally baffling. Where the hell did these two even come from. And how has that tiny kid been around longer than some actual adult heroes.

“He bit me!” Kid Flash cries, running away from a glowering Robin.

“Don’t try to touch me next time, asshole!”

“Hey!” Batman barks, holding Robin up by an arm and dangling him in front of him. “We don’t bite super-powered strangers. Who knows what kind of radioactive germs they might have.”

“But B!” Robin’s voice is so high and whiny, Conner is starting to feel dizzy. “He tried to pick me up! He called me cute! I’m not cute I’m terrifying.”

And the two just keep bickering back and forth, Robin eventually hanging with his ankles and hands hooked around Batman’s arm. Batman is trying to shake him off like a bug. They are both still arguing with each other as this happens.

“Did Batman just accuse me of having radioactive germs?” Wally is gaping at the scene in front of him.

As is everyone else. This is a total mindfuck. Who let Batman be in charge of a kid.

The two of them do eventually, reluctantly, start to trust the league. And they’ve been told they have to stay on the Watchtower until their magic expert gets back from a mission. Four days from now.

There’s one point when most others stationed on the Watchtower are sleeping or taking a break, and Batman is holding a drowsy Robin close to his chest and looking out the windows of the observation deck. Someone brought them some casual clothes to wear during their downtime, but they both have domino masks over their eyes. Those who see them like that can’t quite comprehend just how young Batman looks without the cowl.

“The moon looks so big,” a sleepy Robin mumbles, his cheek squished against Batman’s shoulder.

“That’s ‘cause it’s so much closer here,” Batman tells him, his voice incredibly soft. “Can you see where Gotham would be?”

Robin’s head turns just slightly, looking toward the Earth, and he hums, a fist moving up to scrub at his eye.

“S’over there,” he points. “With all the clouds ‘n stuff.”

“Looks tiny from up here, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Robin mouth opens in a comically wide yawn, then he shoves his face in Batman’s neck.

“S’not gonna fall from the sky, is it?”

“Nah.” Batman shifts his arms, holding Robin a little tighter. “This place is in orbit, kinda like how the moon is. It’s not gonna fall.”

“Would you catch it if it did?”

“I’d steal us a ship from here so fast, I wouldn’t need to catch it.”

“Kay.”

Batman presses his cheek to the top of Robin’s head, stray curls tickling his nose.

“Do you wanna practice your flips and shit in the morning? I’ll spot you.”

“Yeah,” Robin mumbles, “And I wanna scare Green Lantern by poppin’ outta the vent again. He screamed like a little girl when I landed on the table.”

“Do a flip when you do it and I’ll smuggle you an ice cream bar from their kitchen.”

“Deal.”

Batman has to twist his left arm funny so he can shake Robin’s hand, his right arm occupied by holding Robin up, and they shake on it.

Batman lets out a snort of a laugh, looking at Robin with an incredibly fond look on his face.

For everyone else, it’s a very long four days of them being menaces and encouraging each other to do more and more odd shit.

When they get turned back, they act like nothing was out of the ordinary. They’re not even phased when they’re reminded of some of the things they got into.

[cripplecharacters]

Thank you so much for this blog. Can I take a moment to ask the rest of your followers to please stop using it to ask for *permission* to write whatever they're trying to write? On every ask that starts with "can I write XYZ?", I just wanna grab the asker by the shoulders and ask back "what do you think is going to happen if you do?"

Since there's no ableism police going around inspecting amateur creative projects, this is really a poorly worded version of "is this bad/ableist/problematic/gonna get me cancelled/punished?", with an undercurrent of "am I bad? Am I a bad person? Please reassure me that I'm not a bad person", which is a hell of a lot to drop on a handful of strangers online who can only ever give you a bit of information and their own biased personal opinions.

I swear I'm not trying to be a jerk about this. It's good that so many people want to depict disability in fiction beyond flat stereotypes. But it's incredibly hard to create *anything* with this level of anxiety and craving for approval. It's sooo much better to be driven by playful curiosity. Learn to love research! Don't underestimate your capacity for critical thinking! Dare to form your own opinions! The worst that can (and will) happen is that you'll be wrong and make mistakes. Big deal.

I also invite everyone to get further along in the writing process before running to consult here. Writing is rewriting, and it's easier to rewrite what's already on the page than toy with hypothetical ideas forever. Tumblr jokes a lot about the mere existence of bad pieces of writing being "a hate crime", but let's get real. Your accidentally ableist first draft is not an act of violence, and treating it that way is not disability advocacy or activism or helpful to anyone.

Sorry if this ended up too long or verbose. What do you mods think? Agree/disagree?

I can't speak for the other mods but I mostly agree TBH.

There's much more to writing disabled characters than just getting a "stamp of approval" that what you're doing "is OK". And it's not that it's bad to consult others to make sure you're not being ableist (it isn't), but a good disabled character can't just be a character that's Not Offensive.

They should be well researched, they should be interesting, and they shouldn't just be there to be "good disabled rep". They should be a character, not a diversity quota to fill.

I've addressed the whole "no one is actually going to Cancel You if you write something ableist" in one of my older posts about writing characters with facial differences because it's true. One billion movies and series and comics come out every year and a ton of them are ableist, and I promise you no one is getting "cancelled" over having a villain with a scar.

I stopped answering those "is it ok if my villain is deformed and scarred?!??" asks because they don't really add anything, they're usually not looking to change anything or learn anything, they just want a Cripple's Stamp of Approval. And that's not going to result in a good character, ever, it's just like showing a thumbs up to a writer that it's OK for them to write this offensive thing. What's the point? If you want to write it so bad, just do it... There is no Council of Disfigured People that will cancel you and take your house. You don't need my permission to write a generic evil disfigured guy and I'm not going to grant it. If you don't want to actually learn or change anything, there's no point in asking.

As I said, that's my opinion and not necessarily representative of the other mods on the blog.

mod Sasza

As to my opinion I largely agree. You (the general you, not you specifically asker, which is what I will mean in this whole ask when I say 'you') can write whatever you want and no one will send you a certified letter by mail that says you are Cancelled or a Bad Person or whatever.

We just want people to do research and put thought behind what they're writing. To think about why things are considered ableist, by us or by anyone else. And we want people to make disabled characters be characters and not just a Trope.

We as a mod team, but also as just regular people, can't or control what anyone does or doesn't write/draw/do. No one can. If you want to write something we hate, then do it. We won't stop you. We can't. We just won't like it, but if you're that committed to writing what you're writing, you can live with that, or at least you should. Someone's specific piece of art/writing/etc won't change our minds on what we've previously stated. No, not even yours. But you can do it if you really want to because that's how being an individual person works.

mod sparrow

[rosierin]

she used to love me | suna rintarou

synopsis; suna muses about his feelings towards (y/n), from childhood to current day.

(y/n)'s pov here

a/n; oh to be as positive and vibrant as y/n. also thank you to my lovely bf for proof reading this and helping me write in a guy's voice cause this shit was hard af

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

She used to love me.

Never in that dramatic, sappy, rom-com kind of way. Her love wasn’t loud, or complicated. Not really. It was just... there. Quiet, constant—like background noise I never really noticed until it stopped.

I think it started around when we were ten, back in elementary school—when our biggest problems were our times tables and whether we could eat two snacks before dinner without our mums noticing.

I was always a quiet kid.

Still am, honestly.

Didn’t talk much. Didn’t stand out much. Back then, I think people called me the weird kid, which was fine. I didn’t care. I liked it better that way, anyway.

Then there was her.

Bright. Loud. My polar opposite in every way. Always running toward something, while the rest of us followed. She'd probably deny it now, but she was always kind of a leader—even when she didn't notice it. She just had this... energy. One that pulled you in without you realising.

Sounds kind of annoying, actually. But it never was. Not her. Never her.

Looking back, I don’t even remember when we became friends. I don't think many people do. When you're kids stuff like that just sort of happens.

If I had to guess though, I'd say out friendship started the day I bought Pokémon Platinum for my DS. I planned on playing it right after class and shoved it in my backpack, not thinking anyone would notice.

She did.

She pointed it out during our lunch break, started talking my ear off—about how it was her favourite, why the Sinnoh region was the best, which starters were underrated.

I barely said two words. Just nodded. Listened. Most people would’ve taken the hint and gotten bored.

She didn’t.

Guess she decided I was worth the effort, because after that, she just... kept showing up. At school. At my house.

Some weekends, she’d appear in my bedroom, sit down next to me without asking and load up her own game like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I didn’t stop her, though. Never really wanted to.

She wasn't someone I expected to get along with. She was the embodiment of Little Miss Chatterbox—you know, that pink cartoon character with the blonde pigtails?

Yeah. That was (y/n).

Still, my awkward, moody teenage self must’ve seen the appeal, because I never told her to leave. And even now, she still talks my ear off about things I normally couldn’t care less about.

She was just... different. Just her.

Bright. Stubborn. Impossible to shake.

She was like glue. Or chewing gum. Clingy in a way I probably should’ve hated, but never did.

I remember calling her that once—chewing gum. Meant it as an insult.

She just grinned—big, gap-toothed, proud of herself—and asked me what flavour she’d be.

Back then, I didn’t know how to answer. I probably called her a weirdo, brushed her off while she probably scolded me for being mean.

If she asked me again, I’d probably say strawberry.

Summery. Bright. Liked by everyone. A real crowd pleaser. The kind of sweetness that sticks around even after it’s gone.

Yeah.

(Y/n) would be strawberry.

I should've known that Little Miss Strawberry had a crush on me when she would wait for me at the school gates every day.

Even if I was late.

Especially if I was late.

I remember being sick one morning and she waited outside for almost an hour, determined that I'd show up. It was only when one of the teachers spotted her outside and told her I caught the flu that she actually went inside.

She sat next to me during every lesson—got us told off more times than I can count. She was the type to miss it when teachers were shooting death glares at us. The type to laugh harder when we were specifically told not to laugh.

A royal pain in the ass.

But one I'd never dream of trading my seat with.

I remember how she'd always lend me her green highlighter. Said it didn’t suit her "aesthetic" anyway. Said that it matched my eyes.

(Teenage me did not get the hint.)

When we got older, people started calling us a duo. Not in a teasing way—more like we were inevitable. I guess, to everyone else, we looked like a story waiting to happen. Joint at the hip, or whatever they used to say.

As corny as it is, she was almost like gravity.

I didn’t have to reach for her. She was just always... there.

She had this laugh that cracked the corners of her serious little face. Always a little louder than the rest—like she was living everything in brighter colours than the rest of us.

And she smiled at me like I was important, like I mattered more than I ever realized.

Back then, I didn’t know how to name that kind of affection.

Maybe I still don’t.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I think I started noticing it more around age thirteen, when we hit middle school.

The way she got quieter around me. The way she’d fidget with the hem of her sleeves when we talked. The blush that spread across her face when our hands touched. The way she always remembered the things I didn’t even know I’d said: what food I liked, what game I was waiting for, what songs I listened to—and then showing up with these little gifts.

A new playlist burned onto a CD.

A keychain of a character I said I liked once.

A melon pan that she'd shyly hand me after practice. God, she was so terrible at playing it cool.

"Here," she'd said, "was passing by the bakery anyway."

I didn't find it particularly funny at the time. But I think if she ever tried lying like that to me again, I'd laugh straight in her face.

There was no bakery anywhere near her walk home. She must’ve known I’d figure that out.

Thirteen-year-old me didn't call her out for it. Just accepted it all with a nod, or a smirk if I was feeling particularly self-aware that day.

But the real kicker?

She stopped calling me by my dumb nicknames.

No more RinRin.

No more Rinnie.

Just Rintarou, or Rin on days she was feeling bolder. Careful. Formal. Like she was scared of being too much.

I didn't think much of it at first.

But eventually, it clicked.

She liked me.

And I didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

I wasn’t into her like that. Not then.

She was still just... her. (Y/n). Little Miss Chatterbox. Little Miss Strawberry and still the royal pain-but-not in my ass.

Still the girl who beat me at Mario Kart by sabotaging my controller and laughed like it was the funniest prank in the world.

I didn’t want to lose that.

Didn’t want to lose her.

So I ignored it.

Pretended I didn’t notice when she started dressing different—fixing her hair in ways she never used to, wearing little accessories that didn’t feel like her.

I even caught the faint smell of perfume once when she sat down beside me, way stronger than anything she ever wore before.

It was the same scent I once said I liked. On some other girl.

I wasn’t stupid. I've always been pretty self-aware. I put it together.

And yeah—in a shitty, selfish, teenage boy way... sometimes I liked it. Liked knowing she thought I was worth trying for. Liked the way her eyes lingered when she thought I wouldn’t catch it. Liked the way she tried a little harder around me.

But I never said anything. Never did anything. Never entertained it, past maybe a small smile I didn’t bother hiding.

But she never confessed—never made it weird. She just kept loving me quietly like she'd been doing since we were nine, without ever asking for anything back.

I figured it’d fade. Eventually.

And I guess... it did.

But sometimes—sometimes I think about how carefully she used to look at me. And how careless I was with it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her feelings began fading after that. Not all at once. Not dramatically. It happened in shifts—like seasons changing when you’re too distracted to notice.

It started when we started high school. We must've been fifteen, then.

She told me once, back in middle school, that she’d follow me wherever I went. And to be honest, I thought she was joking.

(She wasn’t.)

So when I got scouted to play for Inarizaki, she just shrugged and said, "cool. I'll go there too," like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And she did.

I joined the team in our first year.

I’d always been good at volleyball—not to brag, but it came easy. Movement. Instinct. Precision. All things I was good at and enjoyed.

She came to a few practices at first, hanging out on the bleachers, cheering like nobody else was watching. I guess some people might have found it embarrassing—but me? Nah. Actually, it was… kinda nice. Familiar.

It was a brand new school, away from home, away from everything we knew. We had to stay in dorms, surrounded by people with funny accents and different hobbies—so having (y/n) was a comfort I most definitely took for granted.

After practice, she’d wait for me by the gates. We’d walk to our dorms together, eat lunch together like always.

She was still my person—still the one who refilled my water bottle without me asking, still the one who yelled at me when I forgot to do my homework.

Thing is, we weren’t the only ones anymore. There were teammates now. Locker rooms. New people. New jokes.

But she was still right there. Still mine—in a way I didn’t have a name for yet.

It was her idea that I introduce her to the team. I figured why not. I spent most of my time there, anyway. The team was pretty chill.

Well... most of them.

That's when the Miya twins entered the picture.

Or rather, tore the pen from our hands and wrote themselves into our story.

Loud. Ridiculous. Annoyingly talented. That's how I'd have described them back then. (Well, actually... They haven't changed much.)

She wasn’t keen on Atsumu at first—can’t blame her. Said he talked too much. Said he moved like he knew people were watching. Not that she was wrong.

Osamu was more tolerable—calmer, more polite. She liked him better.

Sometimes, I'd catch her laughing at something he said and—well, it made sense. Osamu and I were pretty similar—same energy, same dry humour, same vacant expression.

Hypothetically, if she were gonna have a crush on anyone, Osamu seemed like the obvious choice.

Not that it bothered me.

(Not really.)

(Not enough to think about it for more than a second.)

Why would I?

She still sat beside me at lunch. Still poked my side when I zoned out. Still smiled that smile that made everything else a little quieter.

We were still a duo. Still unshakable.

Sure, there was the twins.

But me? I was still her anchor, and things were still good.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

By the time we were sixteen, somewhere in the middle of high school, things had officially changed.

She just... stopped waiting for me after class.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Figured she was just busy—making new friends, expanding her orbit a little.

It was good, I told myself. Healthy, even.

She wasn’t supposed to stay glued to me forever.

Still—it threw me off. More than I wanted to admit.

I’d catch her across the courtyard sometimes, sitting with Osamu, bickering with Atsumu, then laughing harder than I'd heard in a while. Not the quiet laugh she used to save just for me. Louder. Freer. A little wilder.

At first, I was glad since I thought it meant we could just be normal again. No tension. No careful glances. No aching silences.

But then something started to ache anyway. And I didn’t understand why.

The twins pulled her in like a tide. They were loud, chaotic, overwhelming—but she still held her own.

She never let Atsumu win an argument. Never. She matched his volume, his fire, his rhythm like she was built for it.

And I watched—quietly, stubbornly—as something bloomed between them. Something she and I never had.

And the thing is… she didn’t fall for him right away.

She actually hated him at first. It took her months to actually warm up to him. She told me she thought he was a self-absorbed loudmouth. Which, yeah. He was. Still is.

And it was funny, honestly—watching them argue like an old married couple.

I’d smirk behind my water bottle, listen to her roast him without missing a beat, listen to Atsumu get all red-faced and defensive.

She always won. Always.

And it was good—good to see her like that. Confident. Sharp. Untouchable.

Except... sometimes, I'd catch the way her smile lingered when he said something stupid. The way her face lit up when she teased him.

At first, I brushed it off, because there was no way, right? Atsumu and (y/n)?

Yeah. Nah.

(Y/n) liked quiet guys. Chill guys. Guys who didn’t need to be the centre of attention.

Guys like—

...

Well. Never mind.

If she was gonna fall for anyone, it would’ve been Osamu. That made sense. That was safe.

But Atsumu?

No.

'Least that's what I thought.

But something changed. I don’t know when. I don’t even think she noticed.

But I did.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

There was a time I was the one she looked for first in a room. Didn’t matter where we were—class, a crowded gym. Her eyes would always find mine first, like it was automatic.

By the time we were seventeen, I think I’d already lost that.

And then came graduation. We were eighteen when the four of us moved in together—me, the twins, and her. A decision that felt inevitable, like we were just continuing the story we started as kids.

New city. New school. New everything.

But her? She was still familiar. Still safe.

And then came that winter.

New Year’s Eve.

We'd gone back home for the holidays. My house was empty, the twins back home in Hyogo. (Y/n) was around, like she always was back then. And it just... happened.

I kissed her. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was messy, selfish—hungry in a way I hate admitting now.

I’d like to say it was love that made me do it. That I knew what I was feeling. But honestly? It was lust.

It was late. It was quiet. She was sitting on my bed, wearing my old hoodie, looking at me with those eyes she probably didn’t even realize were still full of hope.

And maybe it finally hit me how much she’d grown into herself. Not that she wasn’t always pretty—she was.

But now? Sitting there, close enough to touch, close enough to ruin—

Yeah. I wanted her.

Not in the right way. Not in the way she probably used to hope for.

I just... wanted her.

And because I was a dumb, horny teenager with the emotional range of a teaspoon, I gave in. I leaned in. I kissed her.

And the worst part?

She kissed me back.

Like she’d been waiting for it.

Like we were still kids and this was the ending everyone saw coming.

I let it get heated—too heated. Hands, breath, weight shifting—

I was ready to take it further.

I didn’t even stop to think if I should.

But she did. Thank God she did.

She pulled back. Said she couldn't go through with it. And I knew—I knew—it was because she had more sense than I did. That she wasn't looking for a casual hook-up.

And I was stupid to think for even a second that I was okay with that.

She didn’t look at me for the rest of the night—not because we were cuddling, but because she probably felt as conflicted as I did.

And that's how I knew I'd fucked up. Whatever she’d felt for me—the crush, the hope, the stupid, innocent dream of us—

I think that was the moment it died.

And I didn’t try to fix it.

Didn’t say sorry.

I just... pretended it never happened. Acted like it didn’t mean anything.

And she let me.

She kissed me like she’d always wanted to.

Then stopped like she’d never feel that way again.

And after that… she got closer to Atsumu.

And I pretended not to notice.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I think that’s when I started to fall for her. Like, really fall.

Not for the version of her that used to sit beside me with strawberry pocky in her backpack and stars in her eyes. Not the kid who used to wait for me at the gates. But for the woman she was becoming—sharper, warmer, fiercer. Still soft in all the best ways. Still kind. Still sweet. Still hers.

But no longer mine.

And sometimes—more often than I’d like to admit—I still think about that kiss.

It’s stupid, probably. It’s been years. And we never talked about it. Not once. But the memory’s still there. Lodged under my ribs like a splinter I never pulled out.

I don’t regret it. Not even for a second.

Looking back, it was stupid timing. And probably selfish of me to make a move on her the way I did. But for one second, I knew what it felt like to have her want me. And I’d take that over pretending it never happened.

Sometimes, I wonder what would've happened if she hadn't pulled away. If I’d kissed her like I meant it—for more than just a moment. If I’d been a little braver. A little less stupid. If I’d grown up a little faster.

Maybe she would've stayed. Maybe she would've looked at me the way she used to.

But I didn’t. And neither did she. And now we just pretend it never happened.

I don’t bring it up. I don’t want to make things weird. Don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.

She’s moved on. I know she has. She’s got her heart set on someone else now.

She probably doesn’t even think about that night anymore.

…But I do.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

We were nineteen when I first realized I was in love with her. Maybe I always was, in some far-off version of the timeline where I didn’t take her for granted.

Now we're almost about to graduate college and nothing’s changed.

She and Atsumu aren’t together, not officially. But they move like magnets now. They have their own inside jokes—the kind I’m not a part of. They cook together. Tease each other. Argue like it’s foreplay.

He’s softer around her. She’s brighter around him.

And it's not like I hate it. I like seeing her happy—I do. I just… miss being the one who got that version of her—miss being the one she used to look at like that.

And maybe that’s the part that’s hardest to explain. Because it's not just watching her fall for someone else. It’s watching her fall for someone I know.

Atsumu's one of my closest friends. And it’s not weird, exactly. Just… conflicting. Hard to explain.

It’s strange to see the way he looks at her when he thinks no one’s watching. Stranger still to think it’s the same way she used to look at me.

And I don’t think he even realizes it half the time. Or maybe he does and he just doesn’t know what to do with it. Because I know how Atsumu thinks. I know what scares him.

He’s terrified of commitment. Of getting it wrong. Of ruining something that matters. His pride gets in the way. I bet his career does, too.

He’s all or nothing, and he doesn’t know how to be subtle about it.

And maybe I’m not mad at him for that. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish he’d just get his shit together.

Say the damn words. Stop dancing around it. Stop wasting time she won’t ask him to hurry.

Because she won’t.

(Y/n) is soft. That’s just who she is. Too soft if you ask me. Too soft in a way that means she'll never ask for more. Never protect herself from hurt until it's too late.

She feels things deeply. Hopelessly. Quietly.

And I know that—because I experienced it first-hand.

I know how careful she can be with her love. How she shows it in the small things, like a green highlighter or a slice of melon pan. She doesn’t ask to be seen—not outright.

So yeah. Watching someone like her love someone like him?

It scares me a little. Because I know what it’s like to hold her feelings and not know what to do with them.

And I know what it’s like to lose them.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

She sits across the living room now, reading her little romance novel while Atsumu rants about something stupid from the kitchen. Osamu’s half-asleep on the couch. I’m pretending to scroll on my phone.

But I’m not really paying attention—hard to when she's sitting right there.

She glances up—sensing it, like she always does. Catches me in the act.

Smiles.

And it still hits me in the gut. Every. Single. Time.

Because I remember a time when that smile was mine first. When I was the one she waited for after class. When I was the one who knew all her little routines and inside jokes and favourite types of endings in books.

She used to love me.

And I let it pass me by.

Now I love her.

Quietly. Constantly.

And I don’t know if she’ll ever look back.

But if she ever does…

This time, I’ll be ready.

[livesbetweenpages]

It’s early so I don’t know if this makes sense but I was thinking about this post again. It’s weird that they spent an entire episode driving home the point of how hard it was that Eddie was leaving and then another episode of how strange it was that it was always Eddie’s house and just. Isn’t it weird that we didn’t get even one minute of how strange this reversal is, that Eddie was back in his house that’s not his but still kinda is. How he’s also a guest in this house but also not really because his name is on the main lease and nowhere where Buck lives will Eddie ever be a guest. How everything looks different but it’s the same. I’m not even mad we didn’t get an airport reunion (I’m still hoping for front porch Eddie and Chris at the door Buck opens when they’re back permanently). But it is weird to me that they spent all that time with Ravi and Eddie instead of Buck and Eddie and the awkwardness of it all, specifically to tie back to those earlier episodes. They missed each other so much and then Bobby died and it’s the only reason Eddie came back and in the back of both of their minds has to be the knowledge that Eddie has to go back to Texas soon but now this huge thing reminding them how fleeting life is happened but they’ll have to be apart again. That’s not to say I would ever expect that much to happen in the forefront of this episode in particular BUT it didn’t even seem like it was playing out internally, in part because the dynamic seemed more Buck here while Eddie and Ravi are over there. I got him from the airport. I’m stress eating his stress baking. And that’s it. Like this is just another day and it isn’t our captain died and I’ve missed you so fucking much and this is the first time I’ve been in the same room as you breathing the same air and I maybe love you. And all of this just reminds me how isolated everyone seems (for 2 seasons imo) not just from each other but the storylines themselves.

And now that I’m thinking about it more, what purpose did Ravi serve in those two scenes? The only real thing that came out of it was Eddie’s regret and Buck’s reassurance both of which could’ve and should’ve happened without Ravi there. And I know we needed to see Ravi grieving, so if they couldn’t have all of them on that roof with Chim, why not have it be Ravi instead of Buck, to have it be a call back to you sent me to get the kid. Ravi being that rational, steady pillar for Chim the way Chim was for him when he was grieving and felt lost?

[frooogscream]

Sorry OP but this is a stupid take and I can only assume that you haven’t a huge variety of trans people in your life.

You realise that trans men and nonbinary people are NOT the same fucking thing? Like these are literally two different identities! Izzy is not only “short”, he’s extremely masculine in a very classically queer way (he’s literally a leather daddy). That is something a lot of queer/trans men can relate to, another group of trans men/mascs can relate to Jims gender expression which is also great and brings me seamlessly to my next point:

We can have MULTIPLE trans characters! Plus queer people -including trans people- are all different and we do not pick fav characters based on “oh this one has a similar identity so I MUST identify with this one” but on who they are as characters …you know like every other fan! Because trans people too have personalities and interests beyond “being the trans one”. Not everyone can relate to Jim! Like I love Jim, they’re my fav characters after Izzy but they do not resonate with my personal experience of queerness vs. Izzy -a middle aged very masculine in a visibly queer way hairy leather daddy, jaded by some of the shit he’s been through, taking some time to warm up to people but ultimately doing ANYTHING to protect his found family- is exactly the person I would love to and can realistically become!

Jim is great but Izzy can represent my personal experience of queerness in a way they don’t, that dosnt make one of them “better” rep , but that aspect of Izzy being a little rough around the edges and having been through some shit imo is one of the reasons why so many trans people -who tend to suffer high rates of abuse and violence- related to him specifically.

Izzy being played by an OLDER queer man, many of us are used to trans characters being played by cishet men as a joke in older media or by young gendernonconforming/NB/“soft uwu trans boys” in modern media (all of the later ones absolutely have their place and are relatable to some queer people, simply not to many trans men) so wanting representation of older, hairy, masculine, fat trans men is a very common thing you see in fandom discussions. And Izzy happens to fullfill three out of these. I love to see older queer characters, it gives me a sense of there being a future for me in an increasingly hostile world. Older queer characters are hot! Older queer characters make me happy😌 Lastly: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS TOO MANY TRANS CHARACTERS! I’m tired of the “oh you get ONE canon rep and then you’ll be happy with it and don’t you dare turn more characters trans in fanwork!” - like, fuck off! I’m gonna make Jim and Izzy have depraved t4t age gap faggot sex in drag and there’s nothing you can do against it!

It’s wild how OFMD has a canonical transmasc nonbinary character yet the trans content went to Izzy (who is not canonically trans, he’s a bit short)

[starmaidengarden]

HIIIIII I love your writing so much I’ve only found out about your page recently but you really did impress me! And I specifically loved the cute headcanon and I discovered your page from them so can you please make cute headcanons with Scarabia? XD

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚 !

note : thank you so much!! I'm so glad you that you liked them!!

contexts: just some adorable headcanons about the Scarabia boys

— Kalim : Jamil : x gn!reader. no cw/tw. cute headcanons. pt4! Pic: Leo08ph on twt, dividers: uzmacchiato

Kalim Al-Asim ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ He crafts exquisite, handmade invitations to various hangouts, even though you see each other every day. Each invitation is uniquely designed, often featuring detailed drawins or personal touches that reflect shared memories. It's as if he believes that every moment spent together, no matter how ordinary, deserves a special reason to celebrate, changing ordinary days into cherished ones.

⭑.ᐟ He has an endearing habit of wanting to hold your hand constantly—literally all the time. Whether you’re strolling down a street, enjoying the peace of a quiet park, or just lounging together on the couch watching a movie, his fingers are always intertwined with yours.

⭑.ᐟ He writes songs about you, pouring his heart into every lyric. Although his voice may be a little off-key, the joy that shines from him makes it impossible not to smile. Each offbeat note carries genuine affection that melts your heart.

⭑.ᐟ No event is too small for him to want you included. If there’s a festival happening nearby, he’s already grabbing your wrist, excitement glimmer in his eyes as he plans your matching outfits. His uncertainty makes even the most ordinary outings feel special.

⭑.ᐟ When it comes to hugs, his are truly something unique. Each embrace is warm and tight, enveloping you completely. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, and in those moments, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you.

⭑.ᐟ He even surprises you with food deliveries, accompanied by handwritten notes that say things like, “I thought you might like this! Hope your day is as amazing as you are!” It’s these little gestures that showcase his thoughtfulness and make you feel incredibly special.

Jamil Viper ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ When preparing your meals, Jamil always considers your favorites, selecting ingredients that reflect your taste. He packs your lunches with care, often adding little hearts drawn in the corners of the notes, each one a lovely reminder of his love that brightens your day.

⭑.ᐟ Jamil is extremely careful to your well-being. He gently nudges you towards healthier habits with soft-spoken advice—“You didn’t sleep enough again, did you?” His voice is laced with genuine concern, making it clear that he deeply cares about your health and happiness.

⭑.ᐟ when he cooks, he occasionally hums traditional melodies, lost in the rhythm of preparing a meal. It’s a sweet little quirk of his that he’s often unaware of, until you bring it to his attention. When you point it out, he smiles shyly, a hint of embarrassment sneaking into his behavior.

⭑.ᐟ Jamil has an impressive ability to mask his emotions, so much so that he sometimes seems to forget they exist. He carries a calm exterior, but beneath that surface lies a well of feelings that he struggles to express.

⭑.ᐟ However, once he allows you a glimpse into his inner world, it’s a profound experience. He becomes incredibly intense and protective, his demeanor shifting to reflect a deep emotional connection. Soft-spoken yet emotionally charged, he reveals a side of himself that is rich and complex.

⭑.ᐟ You comfort him after he burns out from taking care of everyone but himself? You find yourself comforting him after he’s exhausted from taking care of everyone else but himself, his vulnerability glistening in the moments of honesty.

⭑.ᐟ Cuddling in his room—a safe space filled with the remnants of his dreams and a few scattered fears—he finally opens up about pursuing those aspirations. You listen as he lays bare his thoughts, the weight of his ambitions mingling with his apprehensions, and in those intimate moments, you realize just how deeply he feels.

[drivestraight]

If take responsibility won't be finished, could you tell us what was going on w the abo aspect of it (Lando specifically) bc that was what I was the most curious about

here's like. a scene. that should explain it.

Oscar flew to Qatar a day after Lando.

They usually flew to all the races together, but sometimes Lando flew with Max, and Max had an earlier flight schedule.

Then as soon as Oscar landed, as soon as he got cell service, he got a phone call from Zak.

There was an emergency meeting. As Oscar was driven to the hotel, he kept asking what was wrong, who would be at the meeting, why everyone seemed so panicked, if god forbid someone died, because that’s how everyone was acting, but no one was able to give him any answers. Oscar realized probably they knew just as much as he did.

Zak sounded uncomfortable on the phone. He looked even more uncomfortable in the conference room they secured in the hotel, sitting at the head of the table, next to Andrea. The only other people at the table were Jon, Lando’s manager Mark, and the team physician. It was strange: Lando’s immediate team was here, but Lando wasn’t.

“Where’s Lando?” were the first words out of Oscar’s mouth. 

Zak’s face twitched. Andrea and Jon looked away. Mark pressed his lips together. The team physician turned her head to look at Zak.

Then Zak took a deep breath. Disgust curled on his mouth as he told Oscar how they found Lando that morning, changed.

He sat in silence for a long time. They all did. They were looking at Oscar, gauging his response.

Oscar only swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay.”

The world was breaking open.

“Is he alright?” Oscar asked, throat tight.

He had to force himself to meet Zak’s eyes.

This time, Zak didn’t respond. Jon did. His face was pale, and he answered, “He’s still going through the changes right now. He’ll miss the race.”

“Oh,” Oscar said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He felt lightheaded with anger.

He didn’t have to ask how it happened. He knew how things like these supposedly went—but they were old wives’ tales. Crude things young alphas spout. Rumors they’d spread about alphas they didn’t like. Jokes they would sneer when they were too young to know better, too young to be scared, too young to realize what it’d mean. None of it was real.

It was different, hearing this, as an alpha. Oscar knew this. It made something crawl up the back of his neck—a feeling he couldn’t put a name to. It was worse than mere disgust; it was electric hot. Zak was the only other alpha in the room—Oscar could tell that he felt it too.

It’d have to take a number of times, a number of knots. It doesn’t happen easily. It doesn’t happen by accident. It doesn’t happen all at once.

He wondered how Lando had felt when his body was starting to change. If he had even noticed. If he had even cared.

He tried to focus: he looked at the stupid television screen mounted to the wall behind Zak. He could see his own silhouette.

Andrea explained, “We’re flying Pato in.”

Oscar chewed the inside of his cheek raw. He could feel his mouth coming apart. Iron on his tongue. He thought about Lando, changing. He bit the inside of his mouth harder. Oscar had to stop thinking about it. It was a few weeks to his rut. He couldn’t remember if he popped a scent blocker pill this morning. He slept on the plane. He was barely awake when he was being ushered into the car, and everyone had been in such a rush to get him to the hotel that he hadn’t thought to apply a patch.

If he kept thinking about it, he knew that Zak would smell it.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up,” Oscar said, his voice strange to his own ears. He didn’t sound like himself and he didn’t feel like himself. He felt animal. He shifted in his seat, making to leave—to get out of there before he did something stupid, like punch the wall in front of his bosses.

And then Andrea cleared his throat.

“Oscar,” he said, voice calm, “that isn’t all.”

Oscar’s teeth clattered and ground together. He stayed in place.

He drew in a breath, then went on, “In a few days, probably Sunday night, early Monday, we have been advised that—Lando will likely have a heat.”

It was hard to hear. He liked it better when they were talking around it. Not putting any real terms to it. Lando and heat made him feel lightheaded, dizzy and out of control.

“Oh,” he said, and he didn’t know why they were telling him this. “Okay.”

But maybe that was a lie. Oscar knew—he just didn’t want to.

They didn’t have to say the words, but he knew, instinctively, what they wanted from him, what they were asking from him. He wasn’t an idiot.

He licked his mouth and played pretend. When his tongue swiped the corner of his mouth, he thought of Lando’s nervous tick, and started to feel sick all over again.

“He’ll have, like—” It felt weird in Oscar’s mouth to say, but he pushed forward, “A knotting aid, and stuff, right?”

He would push for that. Something like that, where Oscar wouldn’t have to be involved, where no one would have to be involved, was their best bet.

And then the team physician finally spoke up and said, “He can’t.”

Oscar’s mouth felt dry. His throat hurt. There it was again: the taste of blood. “What?” he asked, then added, “It’s just a heat—”

The shame only came later.

“It’s a first heat,” the doctor interrupted, looking Oscar coldly in the eyes: head-on.

“He’ll need an alpha. It’s too dangerous otherwise,” she continued, and intensely, Oscar felt this: that he hated her, that he wanted to rip her throat out. More than anything, he hated himself for thinking that. He couldn’t get himself into order. How could Lando be so stupid?

“Then get the one who did this to him,” Oscar said, jaw clenching.

“Oscar,” Zak interrupted, “we can’t—”

“Why not?” Oscar asked. His voice was rough and guttural. No one was answering him, so he swallowed and tried to calm himself down. He hated how angry he was getting. Then he asked, “Do you know who it is?” and he felt even worse.

Zak looked angry too, but it wasn’t directed at Oscar. “Yes,” he said, “we do.”

“Then get that alpha, not me—”

“It’s a conflict of interest, Oscar,” Andrea said, and the world slowed.

“What?”

Andrea exhaled.

We cannot risk the other teams finding out,” he said, and Oscar still didn’t understand.

“Then have them sign an NDA,” Oscar said. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Oscar,” Andrea said, and Oscar hated the sound of his name in everyone else’s mouths, like they were trying to calm him down. “It won’t work, even if he does. It’s still a conflict.”

“Why?” Oscar asked, getting the feeling that he was missing out on something. That they were all still keeping something from him.

He realized he was asking the wrong question.

“Who is it?” Oscar asked, and a sinking feeling was starting to settle in his gut.

There were rumors of course. Nasty ones. Mostly by losers online who didn’t have anything better to do with their lives. It started growing throughout the season, intensifying. They were given a narrative and they made do with it—ran with it.

But just because they said it, didn’t mean it had to be true.

“No,” Oscar said, because he knew it wasn’t true. “It’s not—”

“It is,” Mark said. “He was calling for him in the morning.”

Oscar let out a noise that was half between a laugh and a scoff. He wanted to say something stupid like maybe he meant the other one, but Oscar knew that couldn’t have been the case.

He looked down at his lap. His head was reeling. He felt sick. Had to push the nausea away.

Had to focus.

“Okay, sure,” he said, jaw going tough. He couldn’t think about it, what they were telling him. “But I won’t do it.”

He had to draw the line here. He had to draw the line somewhere.

Zak looked at him with heat, and Oscar gathered they were having something like a standoff. Zak has never liked him so much, at least not as much as he’s always liked Lando, and Oscar, in that moment, realized why: that maybe, deep down, Zak had always seen him as a threat.

“It’s your duty,” Zak said, “as his teammate.”

Oscar shook his head. His hands were in fists under the table. He knew his face was red. “It’s not in my contract to clean up after my teammate’s messes.”

It was getting tense: Oscar could see Jon and Mark and the physician go rigid, shifting away from Oscar, from Zak.

Andrea was calm, and Oscar’s eyes drifted to him when he said, with firmness, but with a different sort of decisiveness than Zak, “You have to give him your full support.”

Oscar almost laughed. That’s what I’ve been doing all year, he didn’t say.

Instead, he asked, “What happens if I don’t?”

Andrea pursed his mouth. There was a buzzing in Oscar’s ears when Andrea said, “We would like to not have to explore other avenues.”

Oscar didn’t feel like arguing anymore. He didn’t say anything more. He only asked if he could go now, and they all gave him a careful look until Zak nodded his head, decisive. Oscar rushed to his feet and stormed out of the room.

He paused once he was out in the corridor. Leaned against the wall. Shut his eyes. Didn’t think about it.

He didn’t think about it:

Lando, twisting and writhing around in bed. Lando, gasping into the sheets. Lando, sweating. Lando, in pain. Lando, the heat of his body. Lando, the hard edges softening against his nature. Lando, where he must have been coming undone, wet and open.

He didn’t think about it:

Lando, still an alpha then, taking Max’s knot, huge and swelling inside of him, the point of no return.

[maxdibert]

Dumboldore is to blame that during their studies the Slytherins went to Voldemort, and what did he do to stop them? Slughorn did nothing. Compare how many Slytherins went to Voldemort when Slughorn was the head of the house and when Snape was the head of the house. And many people say that Snape is a bad head of the house.

Well, I find it funny how the saga keeps repeating that there's no place safer than Hogwarts, when honestly I think my kids would be safer in the middle of a forest surrounded by hungry wolves than in that school full of adults with pedagogical skills up their asses.

First of all, we're talking about a boarding school, meaning the teachers are not only responsible for educating the children, but also for taking care of them while they’re there. They're their guardians during the school year. In the absence of their parents, it's up to them to ensure the kids' safety, and the truth is, they don’t give a flying fuck. These are adults full of prejudice who project their biases onto the children without the slightest shame, and I find it amusing that everyone always targets Snape for this when it's actually a widespread issue across the entire teaching staff. Let’s not forget that Dumbledore judges Tom Riddle even before he sets foot in Hogwarts and already labels him a sociopath. Slughorn spends his entire career using children as tools to gain contacts with influential families. Hagrid is a complete idiot with the common sense of a rock, and he has a specific grudge against Slytherins from the very beginning, which he passes on to Harry before the boy even arrives at Hogwarts or meets Ron. I mean, we're talking about supposedly positive characters (not Slughorn, fair enough), who are portrayed by the narrative as “good people,” but are they really? Honestly, they’re just the same dysfunctional adults projecting their shit onto the kids. That’s all there is.

One thing that’s always struck me is how Draco is portrayed as this spoiled crybaby who keeps tattling to his dad, and how Lucius uses his influence to get his son out of trouble. And sure, I can criticize the Malfoys for many things, but I’m not going to criticize them for flipping out when their son tells them about the crap that goes on at that school. If my kid told me that he’d won the House Cup fair and square and then the headmaster arbitrarily changed the results last minute out of pure favoritism? I swear to you, I’d march into Dumbledore’s office and set his damn beard on fire. If my kid calls me saying they left a reckless werewolf who doesn’t take his potion around him and his classmates? I swear I’d burn the whole school to the ground. There are so many, so many things that happened at Hogwarts that if I were a mother and my kid told me about them, I swear I'd nuke the castle with all the faculty inside. Because yes, Draco wasn’t right about many of the things he complained about, and Lucius was corrupt—that’s true—but my point is, seriously, some dark shit went down at that school and the teachers allowed it. They allowed bullying, they allowed the formation of cult-like groups, they didn’t just allow but encouraged prejudice against one of the houses, fostering its ostracism and the radicalization of its students. They allowed—and FUELED—the competition between kids from different houses as if house identity were something worth dying for over a goddamn Quidditch match, creating sides, grudges, and conflicts between kids the same age who could’ve easily been friends if there weren’t such a classist division. The whole school was a pedagogical nightmare. Anyone with the slightest interest in child and youth psychology can tell you the problem at Hogwarts wasn't Snape. The problem at Hogwarts was all the adults who encouraged and promoted detestable behavior.

And all of this was allowed by Dumbledore. He was the highest authority and he didn’t give a damn. A cult is forming under his nose? No problem, kids, let’s marginalize and judge those students as harshly as possible because why intervene in childhood development, right? Why bother with psychology and care? Why put effort into difficult cases if we’ve got students who kiss our ass by default?? Someone’s getting bullied at school? Who is it? Can they be useful to me or not? Oh, okay, then never mind. I have teachers who are absolute nightmares to children, but hey, who cares, right? It’s all fine.

There’s a systemic failure at Hogwarts, and honestly, the older I get, the more convinced I am that if my kid went to that school, I’d spend my life camped out at the gates raising hell and screaming like a lunatic because I genuinely think that place is an absolute horror show. And the worst part is the narrative normalizes it.

[toedstool]

Andor is groundbreaking for so many important reasons, but I want to talk about one that's important to me.

TW: sexual violence, Andor Season 2 spoilers

Let me start by saying I am very, very opposed to sexual violence in media. I don't think there's any place for it, I can't think of any reason why it's necessary, and I am very sensitive to it in all forms. Incredibly, despite this, I find myself feeling understood, inspired, and deeply appreciative of how the show handled Bix's assault.

Watching the scene filled me with fear and dread, and I thought for a second that this show would be like all of the other "real-life" shows that use gratuitous sexual violence for character development or as a plot device.

However, as I watched and reflected afterwards, these were my thoughts:

I desperately wish it hadn't happened to her - that her suffering would not have to be compounded in such an impactful way. I wish I could take the pain of the experience from her, and any woman that has experienced such evil.

My discomfort, though, is the intention. The violence in this show, sexual or otherwise, is the opposite of gratuitous. All of the violence, suffering, and death in this show is all meticulously written and carried out deliberately to make specific commentaries about the suffering and loss brought by war.

Andor has always been a show that is frank, clear, and critical over anything else.

Bix knows what's happening from the get-go, and so do we: the insinuations that Bix's 'husband' should be worried, the attempts at a date, the subtle displays of power. Bix knows it too. Right away, the show is displaying something I have never seen: the microaggressions. The red flags. The tone that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. We are all relieved when Brasso arrives back.

When Krole returns back to the trailer and confronts Bix, the show does what it always does: they say the quiet part out loud. Krole announces that that he knows they're illegal and that he holds their fate in his hands. Right now in our world, someone in the same situation is being told the same thing. Immigrants, particularly immigrant women, are being coerced, abused, kidnapped, raped, murdered every day because they are vulnerable and unprotected. We are not left questioning why this is happening, or why it has to be Bix.

When Bix decides to fight back, she is aggressive and capable. She uses her skills, the resources around her, and her environment and fights hard. I found myself wishing that Cassian or Brasso or even Wil would come save her, but the writers wouldn't allow it - they let Bix save herself and kill her abuser, like they both deserve.

Possibly most impactful at all, they let her claim what happened to her: "He tried to rape me." Bix is not gaslit about what happened, and neither are we. There is no excusing or talking around what happened or why. Just like many other moments in the show, atrocities are called out plainly with no room for interpretation. Genocide is genocide, slavery is slavery, and rape is rape.

As much as sexual violence is triggering, sickening, and terrifying to watch, anything less would be unjust. Anything less would be inadequate. Anything less would be censorship.

The show has not victimized Bix for the purpose of character development, plot, or conflict. The show has not featured sexual assault to be sensational. The show has given us this terrible scene because it's imperative we don't forget about the women who have been in Bix's shoes, or know someone who has. I am deeply grateful to everyone involved in Andor for their commitment to being thorough. They've left no stone unturned, and illuminated every dark and despicable crevice.

[tocara]

A reader, who doesn't believe in love and then they met Satoru.

Part 6 + Satoru's POV

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

It’s late. The laughter and music have faded, and the venue lights have dimmed to a soft glow. Cars are slowly pulling out of the lot, the last few guests exchanging tired goodbyes under the night sky.

You’ve been thinking about it all day. Through the ceremony, through the conversations, through that silent moment alone in the kitchen. It’s sitting heavy in your chest like a stone, unmoving. But now… now, you’re sure.

You spot him near the parking lot—Satoru. Alone. Dressed down slightly, coat folded over one arm as he unlocks his car. His movements are unhurried, calm.

You don’t think. You just call out.

“Satoru.”

He turns at the sound of your voice. Surprised, but not startled. He smiles—again, that same smile that started all this. “Hey. You okay?”

You walk toward him, slow but steady. And when you stop just a few feet away, you look up—not with hesitation, not with hope—but with clarity.

“I won’t take long,” you say. “I just… wanted to say something.”

He nods, giving you his full attention, showing no signs of rushing.

“I like you.”

The words hang there between you. You don’t flinch.

“Not in a way that expects anything from you,” you add quickly. “You don’t have to respond. I’m not hoping for something. I just—needed to say it.”

Your gaze drops briefly before you meet his eyes again.

“You were kind to me. Genuinely kind. And you probably didn’t even realize it, but you made me feel like I existed. Like I mattered in a room full of people I usually can’t stand being around. That’s… rare. And it stayed with me.”

You breathe out slowly.

“I don’t need you to say anything. I don’t need an answer. I just didn’t want to keep pretending it didn’t happen—how I felt. I just wanted you to know.”

Satoru stands there, his smile softening, his eyes gentler now. He doesn’t say much—just a quiet:

“…Thank you.”

And that’s enough.

You nod, your shoulders feeling a little lighter. “Drive safe.”

Then you turn and walk away. No glance back. No aching regret. Just the calm that comes from finally setting something free.

Satoru’s POV

It’s always the quiet ones.

That’s what he’d always noticed in rooms full of laughter and surface-level talk—the ones who didn’t try to take up space but still did, quietly. He’d seen it in strangers on flights, in crew members who worked in silence, in passengers who stared out windows with stories behind their eyes.

That night, it was you.

You didn’t say much. Didn’t even look particularly thrilled to be there. But you watched everything. Everyone. Not in a judgmental way, but like you were measuring how much of yourself you should give to this room.

It was that kind of energy that always piqued his interest. Curiosity, not attraction.

He noticed you glancing at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

And yeah—he noticed you too.

But not like that.

You thought you were being subtle. You weren’t.

Satoru had spent years learning as a pilot to read the unspoken—weather patterns, turbulence shifts, passengers, crew, strangers in terminals. Your glances weren’t hard to interpret. They held curiosity. Intrigue. A little restraint.

And that’s when he knew he had to draw a line.

He loved his girlfriend. Truly. At that time, she was everything he thought he wanted—gorgeous, ambitious, magnetic. He was proud to be hers. So when the topic of relationships came up that night, he made sure to mention her. Not to show off, but to clarify. For you, specifically.

He didn’t want you to think he was available. He wasn’t the kind of man who entertained someone on the side. He had boundaries, and he knew how easy it was to blur lines if you let things go unsaid. So, he dropped the facts about his girlfriend, their future plans, even kids—deliberately, and gently.

—--

But life, he would learn, didn’t always unfold the way you plan it.

His girlfriend—ex, now—wanted everything her way. The timeline, the cities, the sacrifices. Her vision of their life didn’t leave space for his passions—his job, his friendships, the freedom he loved so much about being in the air, in new places.

He tried. God, he tried. He adjusted. He wanted to be enough for her.

But she needed someone who would orbit around her gravity—and when he didn’t, she found someone who would.

The cheating gutted him. It wasn’t just betrayal—it was the death of a version of his life he thought he was building. The woman he imagined raising kids with, growing old with, had walked away with someone else. And still, he didn’t hate her. He just… had to move forward. One painful step at a time.

He moved back home after months of trying to rebuild in silence. Flying helped. Being above the clouds helped. Optimism was in his bones, even when things hurt.

—---

Then came the wedding.

Rina’s.

He hadn’t seen many of their friends in over a year, and it felt good to be around familiar laughter again. It reminded him of simpler times.

And then—he saw you.

Still quiet. Still observant. But… different. There was something steadier in you now. Not more cheerful—no, you still looked like you’d rather vanish into the wallpaper—but more grounded.

He approached you. Said hello. You gave him a small smile.

He thought that was the end of it.

Until you called him at the parking lot.

He turned, expecting a forgotten goodbye or maybe a polite thanks. But then you said it.

“I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I don’t expect anything—I just wanted to say it.”

He stood there, heart still, the world strangely quiet for a moment.

It had been a year and a half since you first met. You still carried that feeling, and yet… you weren’t placing it in his hands like something he owed you an answer for. You weren't asking. You were just giving.

He didn’t know what to say. But he felt something.

Not love. Not yet.

But something shifted. A small, undeniable warmth that reminded him he was still a person someone saw—not for who he could be, or what he could offer—but simply for who he already was.

You made him aware that the small things he thought no one noticed—his attentiveness, his honesty, his care—meant something.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly seen.

[bunchofdoodlesinspace]

Some sillier Hawks hcs bc the last list made me sad and I got hit with some really funny ideas earlier (Milder spoiler warning for some references to his backstory and such):

Y'know that absolutely baffled look that hawks and other birds of prey have sometimes. yeah.

Tangentially related I like to think one of the reasons his default expression is Like That is something along the lines of how like 90% of birds of prey just constantly look pissed. So he has like a weird sort of RBF but specifically the kind where it vaguely looks like he might be thinking about killing you when he's actually just zoning out thinking about how hungry he is or smth

Another bird-like mannerism he has is that if you startle him hard enough, he will squawk. He's really hard to scare like that though, so good luck

Perks of Large Wings: you can fly. Downsides of large wings: How the fuck do I get through this door-

No but actually certain situations are made specifically more annoying for him PURELY because of his wings and how large they are at their full length. Do you know how frustrating it is being in a long meeting and being unable to stretch normally because you WILL hit like three different people in the room

Another struggle is sleeping. As he got older and his wings got bigger he very quickly realized that sleeping on his stomach was probably the only genuinely comfortable way to do it, otherwise he ends up laying on part of the wing and even if that doesn't hurt, it gets uncomfy after a while

I can tell a lot of people hc him being more of a flirt and I agree to this but in the specific sense that he does it as part of like, the good-for-publicity front or whatever he's been trained to have. In a genuine scenario? He's lost. He's so fucking lost he doesn't know what's happening. If you were to flirt with him and mean it it would go directly over his head and he would just stare at you like :D???

In fact I think in general because of how he ended up being raised I think a lot of genuine social interactions outside of hero work/publicity just leave him confused. No he doesn't know what movie/show you're referencing. What the fuck is a "rizz". What's happening.

Yes he was trained to do it but he does actually greatly enjoy finding all the ways to get under people's skin and annoy them. One of those things that's a tactic he uses in undercover missions but is also just something he does to Be Annoying On Purpose. I like to think that behaviour is partially him subconsciously channeling the rebellious teenager energy he couldn't fully express when he was actually a teen. He thrives on being a menace.

Speaking of "channeling his inner rebellious teen" he likes to occasionally give the HPSC a mini heart attack when he does interviews. Casually skirts veeery close to revealing something he ABSOLUTELY should not but then casually circles back to a normal response like nothing happened. He does the same thing in speeches sometimes too. He gets scolded every time but continues to do it out of spite.

He'd be that friend who will jump into a convo like "actually the easiest way to kill someone and leave no evidence is [etc.]" and then be confused as to why everyone is staring at him in silent concern

He could ALSO be that friend that references some small part of his upbringing, is met by silent worried glances, and goes "WAIT HOLD ON THAT'S NOT NORMAL??"

Hates summer PURELY because his hero costume is designed to help keep him warm when he's flying at higher altitudes (because it's colder up there) and is therefore Awful if it ever gets too warm. Yes he can technically just take off the jacket but then he can't be dramatic about it

I like to think sometimes he pulls a "gif of the dude making a peace sign before vanishing" except instead of disappearing he just falls backwards off the edge of a building and flies away

[pellowinksx]

Hey Pellow, hope you're doing great. I recently found your blog and it has been so inspiring, I read your posts almost everyday either for motivation or just for funsies. So thanks so much for being so clear.

I had a question based on something personal happening with me and I wanted your opinion. So I understand that negative thoughts about my specific manifestation should be flipped and that circumstances don't matter. I completely get that, the thing is I don't have negative thoughts about my manifestation, I don't contradict them, HOWEVER, I have negative thoughts about other things like stuff ppl would've done or said to me in the past (unrelated to my manifestation), so I guess I'm asking if that would affect it even though I believe that it wouldnt. But is that related to self concept?

I also wanted your opinion because I like how you relate manifestation to your religion, I'm a Catholic, but I do have a strong appreciation for the Muslim religion and try to understand it as much as possible, so yeah let me know if what I said makes sense.

Thank you ❀(*´▽`*)❀♡

oh hii! this is so interesting actually I had to sit and think with this one for a while ♡♡

so I personally think it does not affect literally anything that has to do with your desire, unless it makes you think you cant have them. and the reason why I think this is because;

I held myself back for a while trying so hard to make myself the perfect confident baddie bombshell hottie that the community told me to be. I was like 13 and trying so hard to be everything I'm not, however I always felt numb to my desires. I didn't think I couldn't get them but I didn't think of myself as god (obviously, I'm muslim) nor did I think I was some queen.

before I had even changed my appearance, a lot of people perceived me as pretty, lots of girls would talk behind my back and dislike me out of jealousy. and it made me realize who I am in other peoples eyes. I have autism so it was hard for me to perceive myself. Until I realized I can just create someone and become them.

A lot of people perceived me as confident and pretty and bubbly. but I saw myself as someone dull and stoic. because thats who I really was, I just put on a show infront of my friends and peers

(this sounds like a vent but bear with me girl I promise it'll make sense)

I realized that I was never insecure, I was always confident and comfortable with myself. I just didn't think of myself as some high and almighty being. the internet tells you that you're god and you're a queen and people should bow down and kiss your feet. which is cool, if you're into that khalas. however I think that can lead you to arrogance which can cause you to sin

(I am not trying to impose limiting belief I am saying personal experiences from a religious person)

confidence can look like being numb to people who suggest you're something lower, confidence can look like ignoring bad thoughts about yourself. confidence can literally just be yourself being an existing being. Because you don't need to all day everyday act like you're the shit and you're better than everyone if you don't want to.

the negative thoughts I used to tell myself even before realizing I was perceived as someone I should be, NEVER interrupted my life experiences. it never imposed on my manifestations, friendships, appearance, none of it. Because as humans we have ups and downs. we go through phases, we go through hate cycles. and thats OKAY. literally there is nothing wrong with hating yourself for 2 hours and then thinking you're the shit its OK. we, (especially as women) go through conflicting feelings all the time throughout the day.

Where am I trying to go with this?

self concept doesn't matter and it honestly never has. it all just goes back to the state you dwell on. YOU give meanings to states YOU give meanings to thoughts however its always netural. so if you think about the past, and be like "oh well maybe I couldn't" thats okay...because you still can. the self concept part comes automatically, after you keep affirming and telling yourself you have something your mind will finally click and be like "wait I'm goated" the law always works. You arent above the law sweetie. one opposing thought doesn't cancel out a dominant state. its like this->

𐀪 thinking "netural thought"

𐀪 thinks a thought that opposes it "netural thought canceler"

𐀪 continues with its day and decides to keep thinking "netural thought"

whatever state you TURN TO again and again will manifest. THATS THE LAW

I'm so sorry if this was long and confusing and dumb but the short answer is no, it will not affect your manifestation. we do not need to be in "high vibrations" 24/7 we just need to say "I have it" and keep saying that over and over.

ciao+kisses! -pellow ♪(^∇^*)

[lieeleee]

Not to be that guy but I am so completely uninterested in no crash aus or happy aus or modern aus or post crash but everyone lives aus or post crash but we’re happy aus.

Call me mister conflict but so much of what I like about Yellowjackets is gone when there’s very little conflict. This manifests more specifically in my opinions about post crash travnat because I don’t want them to be constantly miserable torture p orb because I don’t like that either. I just struggled to actually find the joy in what feels to me like soemthing artificially happy when the thing I like about them is the tragedy and the whay could have been.

This also manifests weirdly in my post crash shauna opinions because you might say oh marrying Jeff is categorically bad for her so you should want that to happen asap. But I kinda don’t like shauna very quickly marrying Jeff because I want her to wallow a bit while pretending to herself that her life’s still on track. She wants to prove she can date and fuck Jeff like a normal person (she can’t) so they don’t get married super fast. Maybe I jsut like the concept of Shauna and Jeff more than most 😭

[towriteloveontheirarms]

The ghost of his touch (Criston Cole x Targtower! Reader)

synopsis: You are to be wed. Telling your lover goes about as well as you expected and leaves you with only the ghost of his touch and many bitter tears.

warnings: forbidden love, angst no comfort, age gap, afab reader

word count: 2.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @deadonyouraccount @samthegreenapologist

(If you want to be tagged for any specific character/series/fandom or in general on my fanfic or moodboards let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

“You seem more cross than usual, princess. Has something happened since we last met this afternoon?” Criston notes as he takes in your pacing form upon entering your chambers in the dead of night.

Something you had done almost every night for only the gods knew how long. Neither of you remembers how or when it started anymore. The facts overshadowed by memories made during the dark hours when the castle was calm, and you could go unnoticed.

“I am not more cross than usual.” You snarl at him, but it´s a weak defence. One that gets met with a quiet chuckle.

“And what else do you tell yourself to sleep easy at night?” Is the dark haired mans amused retort. Delivered in a dry tone.

You freeze for a moment, reconsidering the way you are about to respond. Taking a deep breath as you centre yourself to not lash out at him any further. Not wanting to spoil the little time you had to yourselves.

“I am to be wed…” You explain more quietly than before. The silence almost choking you with how heavy it makes the atmosphere around grows.

“So you are…” He mutters.

The two of you knew this day would come sooner or late. After Aegon got married to your younger sister, it was sure to be the latter option. But the fact still stood. You were to be wed one day. To a man of royal blood. To have royal babes and carry on your family’s legacy. How the idea made you want to die.

“I do not wish it. You must know this. I do not wish to be with anyone but you.” Your grip on his hands tightens. Eyebrows pulled together and eyes growing misty with tears. You looked so much like a younger version of your mother like this. The woman who had saved him, time and again. And here you were. As close to a copy to her looks as nature could have made you. Begging him for understanding for something entirely out of your control.

“Run away with me then.” Criston pulls you closer by the hold you have on each other.

Holding you against his frame. The cold of his armour seeping into your skin and causing you to shiver.

“We can take a boat to Essos as soon as the sun rises on the morrow. Sail to Essos. Live as we like. Love free of names and courtly duties.” His dark eyes search yours frantically.

Your heart weighs heavy in your chest. His eyes shine so beautifully with the hope that you would agree. And it truly does sound like a dream come true. But something deep down stops you. Leaving behind everyone you cared about… It is a heavy burden.

“I could not possibly.” You admit quietly.

There is a shame that fills you and makes your head turn to the ground to avoid seeing the pain in his face. Rejecting the proposal feels like betraying him and all that the two of you had shared in a way you never intended. Yet you aren't granted comfort by looking away from it as one of Criston’s hands rests against your cheek to turn your head back towards him. Insistent on holding your gaze.

“I love you with all my heart, Criston, but I could not possibly leave behind my family. I could not take it.” You whisper, but even the whisper can´t conceal the way your voice trembles like the dancing flame on the candles barely lighting the room.

“Your loyalty and the love you hold for your family honours you, princess.” There it is. The title that he somehow is able to make sound as intimate as some of the lewdest and at the same time sweetest things he had whispered to you before.

“Forgive me. For I do not aim to disappoint or hurt. I merely mean to keep us both safe. If we were to run away from all of this, who is to say no one would come after us? Or that nothing else happens?” The hurt that is etched on his face at your explanation burns a hole in the floor of your stomach.

“Let them come for us. I would gladly protect you with my life to grant us even an infinitesimal chance at the freedom we deserve.”

“Please. I may have no choice in the matter, but at least life can go on without you forsaking the oaths you swore. You can still find fulfilment in your duties.” You frantically search Criston´s dark eyes through the veil of tears that clouds your own.

Desperately you try to hide the trembling of your voice as to not set either of you off more. The tension already able to be cut with a knife. Hoping against hope, denying what you had known for so long would be a necessary moment happening.

“My oaths have long been broken.” He reminds you. The words accompanied by a mirthless chuckle. “So, tell me the truth. Do you wish to not love me, because I am not a prince? Are you ashamed of me?”

Criston cups your cheeks in his calloused, shaking hands. A pleading gesture carried out with a firm grip. But in the heat of the moment, you must have forgotten where you were as the bubble around just the two of you gets popped and reveals you to the world again by a persistent knock on the door and the deep voice of one of the guards calling out.

“Your highness?” The guard calls out for what sounds like not the first time and so you turn to Criston again.

“You must go. Now. No one must know of what we shared here.” You try to push him towards the door leading to the hidden pathway through the castle.

But Criston doesn't move. “And what if I refuse to?”

“Criston, if you don't leave me now, I will scream and you will be lucky if you are sent to the wall.” A dry sob escapes your lips as you continue to push against him.

“No matter what would happen I would still be yours. Body and soul.” he holds you close for a moment in quiet acceptance. Kissing the crown of your head.

“Your highness?” The guard outside calls out again. His voice becoming more pressing.

“It will not take long for you to have forgotten all about me.” Your voice is muffled against the cold metal of his armour. Meant to comfort yourself more than anything else.

“It is an impossible thing you expect of me. How could I ever forget about you?” He argues back weakly.

But the knocking grows even more insistent steadily. It´s a matter of moments until the heavy wooden doors get opened whether you wish it or not. Forcing the two of you to act if you don´t want to get caught.

With another despaired shove, Criston starts moving. Silent now, his eyes averted to the ground as he makes his way to the back of your apartments.

There is a moment of complete, deafening silence. A moment to breathe and compose yourself. A moment to feel a pain deep in your chest, like a million glass splinters piercing the flesh on the inside.

Every step is a conscious effort and more painful than the last as you open the door to your rooms. A motion that makes the guard outside almost fall against you and knock you to the ground as he opens the door at the same time, stumbling forward by the sudden force with which you open the exit.

“There were voices to be heard from your room, princess…” The knight explains after steadying himself again. Only to pause at the sight of you. “Are you feeling alright? Would you wish to see a master?”

You sniffle and blink a few stray tears away at his inquiry.

“I am feeling quite alright, good ser. Thank you, for your worries. Everything is quite alright.” You assure the man in front of you.

“I shall return to my post then.” The man confirms before closing the door behind him.

You are aware of how unconvincing you had sounded, but it doesn´t matter in the eye of Criston coming out of his hiding spot. Hesitantly walking back towards you. This time keeping a safe distance.

“You deserve to be loved openly. I cannot continue to love you in the dark any longer.” He croaks.

“You deserve that too… Yet it changes not the fact that I cannot leavy my family behind here.” You stammer again. A wave of hot anger flooding your body. Not at the man in front of you, who´s dark, wet eyes begging you to change your mind, but at yourself and the situation the two of you are in. You want to give your everything to him. He deserves the world in your eyes. And yet all you can give him is stolen moments in the dead of night. Hidden behind everyone´s backs, always scared to be found out.

“You deserve better than this.” You whimper, beginning to pick at the sleeves of your nightdress.

“I do not want anything you perceive as better. I want you.” He insists.

Criston takes another step towards you. His hands twitching to hold your own still. A motion that comes like second nature to him from your time together. Yet instead, he rests his rough palms against your elbows.

“I could never give myself fully to you. It will be easier if you forget about me now.” You turn your whole body away from him. Losing his touch invites a dooming cold into your system, which even your own arms wrapped around your body can´t keep out.

“Is this the end then?” There is an element of abject horror in the way Criston´s voice turns equally freezing.

He sounds so numb and there was no one to blame for it but yourself. Another fact that makes your breathing stutter and tremble as you try your hardest to keep it together just enough to arouse any more attention from outside the door. You can´t bring yourself to confirm it with words. And you don´t have to. After only a few moments of quiet, Criston turns away to make his exit.

“Wait. Criston, please. One last favour before you depart.” You beg desperate to keep him with you as long as possible.

“Anything you wish for, princess.” He replies so quietly it is hard to hear him.

“One last kiss. To keep me afloat in the difficult time to come.” You shouldn´t ask for it.

You have no right to his affections anymore. There is no reason why he should give it to you any longer. But Criston is nothing if not weak to any of your requests. He would smite every man and woman in all the realms and lay the lands to your feet to rule unchallenged with him by your side in whichever way you would have him.

Without hesitation he moves over to you again. His hands on your tear-stained cheeks in an instant. Then with a feather light touch his lips lay on yours. You can barely feel them meeting at first. At least until you press closer to him, melting into him, nipping at his lower lip and deepening the kiss. A sentiment that is immediately met with the same fervour in return. The two of you get lost in each other for just a moment, but that moment feels like an eternity passed when Criston pulls away again. The spell that has been put over you lifts to the brutal reality once more. One you don´t want to see and so you keep your eyes closed hoping to return to that beautiful paradise that was his affection. In vain.

When your eyes flutter open ever so hesitantly, trying to avoid the harshness of reality still, you are alone in the large, cold room. Left with a wave of memories of the moments that you and Criston had shared in these very rooms. The way his presence filled them with warmth and life. A life you already missed as you told him you were to wed at the beginning of the night, because you knew exactly how the conversation would end. With a heavy heart you stumble towards the large, empty bed. Another shiver runs down your spine. And maybe rightfully so, sleep evades you for the rest of the night as silent, hot tears roll down your cheeks. Only the ghost of his hands remaining there.