#overworked. underpaid. underappreciated.

[muzsmocsing]

The fact that Yin Yu's karmic punishment is essentially the same job Ling Wen has to do every single day in heaven is sick and twisted.

[kurxo]

An act of kindness.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Fit and Pac: *Flirting, teasing each other, being sweet, saying a long-winded goodbye and following it up with more flirting and a hug, completely oblivious to the world around them*

Cucurucho, who's been sitting in a tree 5 feet away from them waiting to be noticed for the last 10 minutes:

[nootdraws]

Need ppl involved w the qsmp to not be shitty for like. 2 weeks. Please. You guys don’t even know how many qsmp WIPs I have that I haven’t finished bcs of someone or other being an awful person and that sucking up all of my adhd fixation juice which would’ve been used to make fanart of Block People.

[meat-huge-pain-endless]

i hate the emergency room so much bc WHY is the fucking SECURITY GUARD nicer and more helpful than any of the nurses here

[buckevantommy]

i cant find it now ofc but there was a post on the dash yesterday comparing millionaires (like your average successful hollywood actor) to billionaires (like your average scum of the earth conglomerate ceo) and they used time as an example - i think it was 11 days to 31 years, which is insane. but it got me thinking about greater scales of time and how it can help relate to all monetary levels. like how the universe is 13.7 billion years old and the earth is 4 billion years old. the dinosaurs only came about 230 million years ago and died out 65 million years ago. the first human ancestors appeared 5-7 million years ago and the modern human form only came about 200,000 years ago. the neolithic revolution ie. civilisation happened 10,000 years ago and mathematics 5000 years ago. the industrial revolution ie. machines happened 250 years ago. the computer was invented less than 100 years ago and the digital revolution took place 20-30 years ago. ai is now a thing, so. 

just thinking thoughts.. 

[piastrisun]

warming up to love.

pairings: franco colapinto + fem reader.

summary: beneath the falling snow, the warmth of a shared moment transforms a casual connection into something unforgettable.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 3.6k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: i love writing long stuff about franco cause we know he’s a very talkative guy and would pull a before sunrise any day. this kinda made me wanna fall in love.

“oh, the weather outside is frightful / but the fire is so delightful / and since we've no place to go / let it snow.”

the christmas party hums with a mellow energy as the night winds down. it’s a familiar scene—mutual friends scattered across the house, the remnants of shared laughter echoing softly. you hadn’t planned to come this year; after all, these gatherings had long been a minefield of awkward encounters and unspoken wounds. your ex, the one who shattered your heart last christmas, always seemed to be at these parties, and the thought of facing him again was enough to make you steer clear.

but tonight is different. encouraged by a friend who insisted it would be ‘good for you,’ you found yourself here, hovering on the edges, nursing a glass of mulled wine by the fireplace. franco is here, too—franco, who has always been little more than a polite nod or a quick ‘hi.’ the two of you aren’t close, not even friends, really. yet as the evening stretches on, you find his presence more noticeable than usual, his laughter drawing glances from across the room.

most of the guests have either slipped away to spare rooms or are scattered in half-asleep clusters, the laughter and music now a faint echo in the house. you sit near the fireplace, nursing a mug of mulled wine, its spicy warmth a small comfort against the chill outside. the flickering flames cast golden light over the room, and you sink into the soft cushions of the couch, grateful for the moment of solitude.

until franco joins you.

you hear him before you see him, the faint sound of his footsteps against the hardwood floor. all evening, he’s been the centre of attention—his jokes landing perfectly, his energy magnetic, his laughter infectious. but now, as he lowers himself onto the couch beside you, he’s different. his movements are slower, deliberate, as though he’s shedding the playful bravado for something more genuine. he leans back, draping one arm casually over the backrest, close enough for you to feel his presence without it pressing on you.

“you’ve been sitting here for a while,” he says, his voice quieter than you expect, his accent rolling over the words with a natural charm. “thinking deep holiday thoughts?”

you glance at him, arching a brow, already on guard. “oh, you know, debating whether santa’s elves have a decent union.”

a grin spreads across his face, quick and easy. “they don’t,” he replies, leaning slightly toward you, his dark eyes sparkling in the firelight. “you can see it in their eyes—overworked, underpaid, stuck making toys for kids who’ll forget about them in five minutes.”

the corners of your mouth lift before you can stop yourself, the response catching you off guard. “exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze for a beat longer than you intended. “and don’t even get me started on rudolph. classic case of workplace exploitation.”

his laugh is rich, low, and unrestrained, and for a moment, it drowns out the crackle of the fire. “you’re good,” he says, his grin lingering. “sharp. i like that.”

you shrug, trying to deflect the sudden focus on you. “it’s just common sense. someone has to advocate for the underappreciated holiday workforce.”

his grin widens, but there’s a shift in his expression—something more curious, more intent. “so, do you always deflect with humour,” he asks, tilting his head slightly, “or is it just my lucky night?”

your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in the conversation. “and do you always psychoanalyse women at christmas parties?” you shoot back, the edge in your tone softened by the playful smile tugging at your lips.

“only the ones who seem like they have really good stories to tell,” he replies smoothly, his voice dipping lower.

you roll your eyes, though you feel the laugh bubbling up despite yourself. “you’re persistent, i’ll give you that.”

“i’m argentinian,” he says with a light shrug, as though that explains everything. “it’s genetic.”

the absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, this time unrestrained and genuine. you shift in your seat, tucking your legs beneath you as you hold your mug close, needing the warmth against your palms. he adjusts as well, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. his gaze is steady, direct, and disarmingly sincere.

“you’re good at this, you know,” he says, his tone softer now, almost conversational.

“at what?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“deflecting,” he says simply, his eyes searching yours. “you tell a joke, flash a smile, and everyone forgets to ask the real questions.”

you shift uncomfortably, your grip tightening around the mug. “maybe i just don’t like questions,” you say, the words coming out more defensive than you intended.

“or maybe you don’t like answers,” he counters, his voice steady but without judgment.

the weight of his words settles over you, and you find yourself looking away, your gaze fixed on the fire. the orange glow feels safer than the intensity in his eyes.

“you’ve been hurt before,” he says, breaking the silence.

“haven’t we all?” you reply quickly, your tone sharper now, a reflex to protect yourself.

“sure,” he agrees, his voice calm, unbothered by your resistance. “but not everyone builds walls like you do.”

your shoulders tense, and you draw back slightly, the heat of the fire no longer comforting. “you don’t know me well enough to say that,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but firm.

“not yet,” he says, the gentleness in his tone catching you off guard. “but i’d like to.”

the vulnerability in his voice chips away at your defences, and for a moment, you exhale, leaning back into the couch. you’re silent, but the tension in your posture eases.

“it’s not that simple,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “people think you can just… open up and everything will be fine. but when you’ve given your heart to someone who didn’t want it, it’s hard to trust anyone with it again.”

his dark eyes don’t waver, his gaze steady but soft, and he nods slowly. “i get that,” he says. “but maybe the trick isn’t trusting someone else first. maybe it’s trusting yourself—that you’ll survive it if things don’t go the way you hope.”

✩

the flickering firelight dances across his face, softening his features, and his expression is open, patient, unhurried.

“you’re different than i thought you’d be,” he says after a long pause, his voice dropping lower.

“what did you think i’d be like?” you ask, curious despite yourself.

“i don’t know,” he says, his lips curving into a faint smile. “polished, untouchable, the kind of person who always has the upper hand.”

“and now?” you press, leaning in slightly, the space between you shrinking.

“still intimidating,” he admits, his smile widening just enough to make your heart skip. “but in a good way.”

for the first time, you let the moment linger, the tension between you shifting into something unspoken but undeniable.

the fire casts a warm glow over the room, its crackling filling the quiet pauses between words. you laugh, shaking your head, the sound light but genuine. a comfortable silence stretches between you and franco, and in that quiet, you feel it—a subtle but undeniable pull. it’s unspoken, yet it lingers, drawing you closer to him in a way that feels both surprising and inevitable.

“you’re not what i expected, either,” you say, your tone casual, though the words carry weight.

franco leans forward slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “oh? what did you expect?”

your lips curl into a teasing smile. “someone who tries too hard to be funny. but you’re just… effortlessly annoying.”

his laughter bursts out, rich and warm, and he clutches his chest dramatically. “effortlessly annoying? that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

you shake your head, your smile widening despite yourself. you can feel your guard slipping, piece by piece, the edges softening with every laugh, every shared glance.

✩

as the night drifts on, the conversation flows like an easy current, touching on favourite movies, childhood christmas memories, and absurd holiday traditions. you trade stories that are ridiculous and endearing, the kind that make your sides ache from laughter. each word exchanged deepens the connection between you, weaving a thread of familiarity where there was none before.

he leans back, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “you know, this has to be the best christmas conversation i’ve ever had. no offence to santa and the elves.”

you raise your brow, feigning seriousness. “i’ll take it as a compliment. i don’t usually do this, you know.”

he tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression. “what? talk to effortlessly annoying guys?”

“no,” you reply with a soft laugh. “sit here, opening up to someone i just met. it’s… different.”

the teasing fades from his face as he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to something quieter, more intent. “different good or different bad?”

you meet his gaze, your heart beating a little faster at the intensity in his eyes. “good,” you say softly. “definitely good.”

the fire crackles softly in the background, the rhythmic pops and hisses filling the spaces between breaths. your laughter, which had moments ago echoed brightly, now fades into something quieter, something deeper. the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s laced with a gentle understanding that neither of you has to name. you feel it—a warmth spreading through you, unfamiliar yet comforting, like an old song you’ve almost forgotten but still know by heart. it’s a feeling you haven’t let yourself embrace in years.

franco shifts slightly beside you, leaning forward as if to close the distance without intruding. his voice cuts through the quiet, warm and deliberate. “for the record,” he says, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smile, “you’re pretty good at this too.”

you glance at him, your brow lifting in subtle curiosity. “at what?”

his eyes linger on yours, the firelight flickering in their depths. he doesn’t hesitate, his tone softer now, almost confessional. “making me want to stay up all night talking to you.”

the words land heavier than you expect, and for a moment, your heart stumbles, a traitorous skip in its rhythm. you’re certain he notices, but for once, you don’t try to hide it.

your grip loosens slightly on your glass of wine, and you exhale, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. the vulnerability in his words disarms you, but it’s the sincerity in his gaze that keeps you still, like he’s waiting, patiently, to see if you’ll let him stay.

✩

you stand near the balcony door, the hum of the christmas party a soft murmur inside. outside, the chill air brushes your skin, the twinkling lights from the decorations contrasting with the warmth of the fire crackling in the corner. your glass of wine rests in your hand, swirling gently, the dark liquid catching the firelight. you find yourself momentarily lost in the way the flames dance, tracing their movement, letting the quiet settle over you.

franco is standing beside you, so close now that his knee almost brushes against yours, but neither of you says anything. it's the first time tonight that the two of you have actually been alone, outside the usual nods and polite greetings you’ve exchanged over the years.

after a beat, he breaks the silence, his voice low but steady, like he’s testing the air between you.

“you know,” he begins, glancing toward you but keeping his gaze just slightly above yours, “i used to think love was supposed to be this big, dramatic thing. like fireworks and grand gestures.”

you raise an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk as you shift your weight, the wine glass still twirling in your hand. “let me guess—movies and cheesy romance novels ruined you?”

franco laughs, the sound soft but amused, and you can hear the humour in his voice when he responds. “hey, i’m a romantic. sue me.”

you chuckle, the ease of his words making you relax, but there’s something in his tone that lingers. the idea of love as a grand, sweeping event feels familiar, even if it's been a long time since you've believed in it. the pause between the two of you stretches a little longer, the silence pulling at the edges of your thoughts, and you finally turn to him, looking at him fully for the first time tonight.

“and now?” you ask quietly, your voice catching the reflection of the fire in his eyes. “what do you think it’s supposed to be?”

he looks at you, really looks at you this time, and there's something about the way he shifts, the way he leans slightly forward, that makes his words hit you harder than you expect. his eyes are steady, but his voice is softer now, more introspective.

“i think it’s quieter,” he says, his tone almost reverent, like he's sharing a truth he's only just realised. “more like… finding someone who makes you feel like you’re home, no matter where you are.”

the words settle heavily in the space between you. you blink, your breath momentarily stuck in your chest. there's something in his expression, something real and raw, and it pulls you in. you turn your body slightly towards him, the firelight flickering off his face, and you can feel the weight of his honesty pressing into your own guarded heart.

“that’s nice," you say, almost whispering, but a knot tightens in your throat. you shift your gaze, struggling to maintain the usual lightness, but it’s hard now. "but what if you’ve been hurt? what if 'home' feels more like a risk than a refuge?”

franco doesn’t hesitate. his elbows drop to his knees, the movement slow and deliberate. he leans in just slightly, his shoulders squared toward you, and the teasing edge that usually follows him is gone, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

“then maybe you stop looking for a perfect home,” he responds, voice steady, each word measured. “maybe you find someone who’s willing to build it with you, one piece at a time. even if it’s messy.”

the simplicity of his answer leaves you breathless for a second. you swallow, feeling something shift within you, like a door cracking open just a little wider. his words hang in the air, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the weight of them settle into your chest. it’s a thought you’ve buried for a long time, and you feel a flicker of warmth in the cold air around you.

“you make it sound so simple,” you say, a soft laugh escaping you, though your voice is quieter now, more fragile.

his lips twitch into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes right away. he glances at you, his gaze lingering before he answers. “it’s not. but i think the right person makes it worth the mess.”

you exhale, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly, though his words have left something unspoken between you. the weight of the conversation feels too heavy to hold onto for much longer, so you try to shift the mood. you take a deep breath and let the faintest hint of a smile curve your lips.

“okay, mr. romantic,” you tease, your voice a little lighter now. “what’s your other grand passion? what keeps you up at night?”

franco grins, the teasing spark returning to his eyes. “besides annoy people by fireplaces?”

you laugh, shaking your head at him, but there’s something different in the way you look at him now, something softer in your gaze. you catch the slight change in his expression, the way his eyes soften, even if only for a fraction of a second, as he watches you.

“i like cooking, actually,” he says, a genuine warmth to his voice. he leans back slightly, the tension leaving his shoulders as he talks. “there’s something about making a meal for someone—putting care into every detail, knowing it’s going to bring them joy.”

you raise an eyebrow, amusement creeping back into your features, but there’s a spark of curiosity now, too. “cooking, huh? sounds like an elaborate way to flirt.”

franco’s grin widens, and you notice the way his eyes twinkle with mischief. “absolutely. works every time.”

you lean back, finally allowing a full smile to spread across your face. it feels natural, comfortable, the awkward tension of the night slipping away with the shared laughter, but something lingers—a connection that wasn’t there before. the warmth of the fire and the quiet rhythm of your conversation are the only things that matter now.

you lean back, your body sinking slightly into the chair, the chill of the balcony air brushing against your skin. the soft hum of the christmas party drifts in from the room behind you, but here, the cold night air feels refreshing, clearing the noise in your head. your smile lingers, and you can’t help but feel a change in the air. the distance between you and franco now feels different—closer, more intimate.

“i like that,” you say, your voice calm but thoughtful. “the way you think about it, i mean. cooking for someone. it’s... intimate.”

franco shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his gaze focused on you. “what about you?” he asks, his voice soft, genuinely curious. “what’s the thing that makes your heart beat a little faster?”

you hesitate for a moment, the chill in the air suddenly making you feel a little warmer under his gaze. his openness makes you feel safe enough to share, and without thinking, the words tumble out of you.

“i write,” you say, your voice quiet, almost wistful. “or i used to, before life got in the way. it’s like... the only time i’ve ever felt completely free.”

his expression softens, his gaze gentle as he watches you, and for a brief moment, the world around you seems to fade. he looks like he understands the weight of your words. "why’d you stop?” he asks, his voice low, quiet with concern.

you shrug, avoiding his gaze, not wanting to face the vulnerability in your own eyes. “fear, maybe,” you reply, the words hanging heavily between you. “that i wasn’t good enough. that it wasn’t practical.”

“fear’s a bad reason to stop doing something you love,”he responds, his tone firm but gentle, almost as though he’s speaking to himself as much as to you.

the silence lingers in the space between you, and the cool night air feels heavier, somehow more present. you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest, your breath catching slightly as you meet his gaze. the snow falls gently, glowing faintly in the moonlight. the world feels suspended, quiet, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you in this stillness, and nothing else matters. there’s a sincerity in his eyes that pulls you in deeper, something you can’t quite explain.

“you should writing again,” he adds, his voice softer now, almost like a quiet plea. “you’re too passionate to keep it all locked inside.”

you swallow, the idea of writing again making something stir in your chest. but you don’t let it show, instead trying to keep the mood light. “and you should stop psychoanalysing strangers at christmas parties,” you tease, a small smile tugging at your lips.

he grins, a playful glint in his eyes, but there’s a shift. his gaze softens, and the playful atmosphere between you both changes. “maybe i’ll make it my new year’s resolution,” he says with a teasing tone, but there’s something deeper in his voice now. “right after ‘kiss beautiful smart women by fireplaces.’”

you laugh, a warm, genuine sound that seems to break the tension between you. but when your eyes meet again, the air is different. the laughter fades, replaced by a quiet understanding that neither of you can ignore. there’s a pull, something magnetic. his smile fades into something deeper, and you feel it too—a tension you haven’t felt in years.

“can i?” his voice is soft, his eyes searching yours, and you feel a warmth spreading through you that makes your heart race.

you nod, your throat tight, unable to say anything. but your silence speaks volumes, and it’s enough. he gives you every opportunity to pull away, but you don’t. you stay, rooted to the spot, as his lips hover just inches from yours, your heart pounding in your chest as he inches closer.

the kiss comes softly at first, tentative, almost as though he’s testing the waters, unsure of the fragility of the moment. but then, something shifts. the warmth between you builds, and the kiss deepens, both of you leaning into it, the connection effortless. it’s like you’ve both been waiting for this, and now that it’s here, it feels as though nothing else matters—just the two of you, wrapped in the glow of the lights and the quiet of the night. you both lean into it, your bodies moving as if they’ve known how to do this all along. it feels natural, easy, like the conversation you’ve had all night.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your cheeks flushed with warmth. franco’s smile is softer now, more intimate, and it makes your heart flutter.

“you’re a hard one to read, you know that?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, though his eyes are still searching yours.

you shake your head, the smile lingering on your lips. “and you’re impossible to ignore.”

the soft crackle of the fire still echoes from the living room, and the snow falls gently on your coat, glowing faintly in the moonlight. but here, on the balcony, it’s just the two of you. for the first time in a year, you feel something stir within you—a piece of yourself that you thought was lost. and in that moment, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found it again

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[a34trgv2]

I'm Done With Modern Animated Shows (For Now)

If you've been keeping up with my reviews for the past couple of years, you would see that I've been very critical of modern animated shows. At first I thought it was just a couple of bad eggs and that there would be a lot more good ones now that there's more animated content than ever. That has not been the case at all as I've been watching one failure after another.

It's not like my standards are too high. Much like everyone else, I expected to have a good time with fun and engaging characters, impressive visuals, solid voice acting, creative world building, and some funny humor. Yet nearly every cartoon I've seen recently has fallen way below my expectations. I haven't found any new characters to be fun, likable, relatable, or empathetic. I've been less impressed by the visuals because of bad character design, bad animation direction or in some cases both. I haven't been able to be invested in the story or world because rather than it being shown to me, everything is just told in long winded exposition dumps. I can't even honestly call these shows funny or well acted because the humor is more often than not cringe and the actors, try as they might, are at the mercy of hopeless material and/or bad voice direction. It's no longer fun to watch cartoons these days, it's just frustrating.

What really bugs me is whenever I bring these issues up, I'm often scrutinized for being too harsh or not fair. What many people fail to realize is I'm acting no different than when they would criticize a show they dislike. I'm still talking about the show as it's presented to me, and unlike actual hacks who are unjustly harsh and have bad faith criticisms, I don't through the creators under the bus and I don't insult them personally. I thought many people would actually see where I was coming from when I criticized these shows for their lackluster and at times egregiously inexcusable quality. Yet time and again my posts have been called "ragebait" which is most certainly not true as I hate clickbait and would never say something controversial just to piss people off.

Due to all the stress of watching lackluster cartoons and the unfair comments I've received, I've decided that it's best for me to just stop watching new cartoons for the time being. I know for a fact if I continue down this path, I'm gonna end up exactly like Mr. Enter: a sad, lonely, and pathetic man who gets his sick kicks out of making stupid, unfair, and poorly constructed takes on cartoons. I don't find it fun or interesting criticizing cartoons because I know a lot of talented people put in a lot of hard work into the final product and are already having a horrible time as it is. They're underpaid, underappreciated, overworked, anxious, depressed, and many of them are laid off for financial reasons despite many of them having bills/rent to pay and families to feed. Their work is still open for criticism, but I personally just don't like criticizing someone's work when they probably already feel like nobody appreciates them.

Rather then spend my days criticizing modern cartoons, I'm just gonna make up my own stories and tell them the way I want them to be told. At least then I'd actually be enjoying my free time and relieving myself of stress. I don't know when or if I'll watch a new animated show, but for now I say I'm done.

[mrstsung]

THE REAL RAIDEN!

THIS IS RAIDEN. RAIDEN IS A GOD OF THUNDER AND PROTECTOR GOD OF EARTHREALM. HE IS A FUNNY,LOVING,WISE,THE MOST HUMAN OF THE GODS AND KNOWS ABOUT MORTALS AND ISN'T A BRAINDEAD DUMBASS WHO DOESN'T KNOW ANYTHING(like srsly a person who's been around mortals for a long time knows about them,to have him as the aloof one and fujin the younger one as somehow the more in tune one despite not ever interacting with mortals hardly,is fucking irritating and offensive and an insult and clearly people not only dont know the characters but do not understand siblings,especially blood related,outside of being gross or tropey and it shows. None of you have sibling nor a positive relationship with them. So dont write siblings if you dont understand or dont bother to listen to those that do.) FATHER FIGURE,SARCASTIC AF,TIRED,OVERWORKED,UNDERPAID,UNDERAPPRECIATED,SWEETHEART,FRIEND-SHAPED,SEXY DILF WHO SCREAMS *ayayababey!* AND LAUNCHES HIMSELF AT HIS FOES! AND I WON'T ACCEPT OTHERWISE!

Any other version is an impostor or a joke. I won't take seriously. And refuse to acknowledge it's existence.

Raiden is a thunderdilf. Period!

If you answer anything else,you're wrong. Sorry.

Do raiden right or not at all. Do mk right or not at all.

[youmeandthestarsss]

Solar return observations pt 1. (Based on my personal experiences)

Hii guys, I know it’s been a super long while but I’m going to try to start posting more content for you guys 😊💕

This year I had Venus in the 6th house square Saturn and at the beginning of this year I was having heated disputes with some coworkers. I came very close to almost quitting my job because I felt like I was being overworked and underpaid, underappreciated by my managers and coworkers, and like my competency was being taken for granted because how much extra effort I put in to my job.

This year I had Mars in Capricorn trine Saturn in the 9th house and it’s been giving me the energy to get things done ✅. The times when I had to do something made me feel even more capable of being able to accomplish it and with efficiency. I felt motivated to get my homework done on time and do it early as well. I really like having this placement bc my natal 12h placements make me sort of lazy and a homebody

My moon is in Libra in the 5th house this year and I’ve been loving watching makeup and hair tutorials and just honestly keeping myself entertained with aesthetics. I started watching tv shows again too!

I think cancer ruling my 2nd house and moon in my 5th house might have something to do with my sweet tooth this year.

So I’ve had moon in the 4th house for two years straight now, & I can tell you right now I’m never been more of a homebody. I hate leaving my house and especially my bed. I’m always thinking about being in my bed whenever I go somewhere. I can also vouch that this placement is the root of my extreme laziness and desperate need to take lots of naps despite the fact that I have Mars in Capricorn this year.

In my SR ASC for this year I’m a Gemini rising and all I can say for it is that I’ve been focused on school a lot and getting ready to graduate, focused on perfecting my driving and also getting my license, communicating and getting along with my peers a lot more, talking a lot more, and doing a whole bunch of thinking. If you’re about to have this rising sign in your sr just know that you’ll be spending most of your time and energy in your head and will feel like you can’t ever stop thinking. This placement has also caused me to reflect on how it is I think and why I think the things I do. Lots of contemplation with this placement.

Neptune in the 10th house and I feel like there’s been some confusion on what it is I want to do for a career and how I’m going to go about it.

Saturn in the 9th house and UGH. Some of my teachers this year have been a real pain in the ass. I’ve had lots of disputes with them over grades and it at first was not working out for me all too well. I also felt like I was bombarded with a lot of homework a lot too this year.

Taurus in the 12h house & I’ve had a few dreams about material things and food

Moon in the the 5th house and mercury in the 7th house & lol let’s just say I’m always daydreaming about being in a relationship

2nd house ruler in libra spending money on things to make me feel good and look more aesthetically pleasing.

Venus in the 12th house 🤝 finding pleasure in solitude

The year I had an 11th house stellium caused me to be very addicted to doomscrolling so if you have that just make sure you take social media breaks every so often.

11th house ruler in the 12th house caused me to delete social media. Till this day I only really use YouTube, Pinterest, and tumblr ofc

I swear the year I had Saturn in the 12th house made me have the worst escapism tendencies. I hated this year and I also struggled with having multiple existential crisis all throughout that year. Let’s just say I became very apathetic towards everything and felt extremely unmotivated to get anything done or pursue my goals

[rascalentertainments]

Wish Granted AU: Flazino

Now the sorcerers' overworked, underappreciated, underpaid, incredibly tired apprentice, Flazino! I keep laughing at the fact that this guy has more depth to him than half the cast of the canon movie. 😂 He went from throwaway character to a nearly co-protagonist character with importance to the story!

His design was inspired by several Disney characters. The outfit and hair are a reference to Arthur/Wart from "The Sword in the Stone". The face and body language is based on George from the Paperman short film (Remember how great that was? And it mastered the 2D/3D hybrid animation long before Wish? What happened to those animators, Disney?)

(You can even use this concept art as reference for Flazino if you want too, especially that pissed off look 😂)

And I swear it wasn't on purpose, but as I started drawing him tired, he started resembling Bruno. All his references are from overworked or stressed out characters and I didn't even do it on purpose! 😂

Now for some backstory and info dump! This was pretty fun because I got to create my own take on him since there's practically nothing on him outside of a deleted scene.

• Like the aforementioned deleted scene, Flazino's wish is to study magic. For this story, its so he can help others lives be better, which is what he thought Magnifico wanted as well. He thought the job would be more glamorous or fun as he learned, but it turns out Mags doesn't actually want a successor. He plans on being in power permanently. He pretends he granted Flaz's wish and instead of studying magic, he's the errand boy, cleans the lab equipment, feeds Sabor, and is in charge of the tour guides for newcomers. Flazino just practices what he can at home and secretly takes ingredients from Amaya's potion cabinet.

•No one's sure if the bags under his eyes are from losing his wish and side effects starting, or its just him being stressed out all the time. Either way he's like Aled, he doesn't sleep much cause he's always working or worrying. He's sort of sassy when he's really tired so he might make an off hand comment. Bonus: He swears, but its censored in the "Spongebob Sailor Mouth" style. You'll just hear a noise or beep censorship sound in place of it. 😂 (Hey, you can say "Hell" and "Damn" in a Pixar movie now, so why not?)

•He gave his wish at 18, and was surprised to hear it was getting granted so soon. Though Mags doesn't really need an apprentice, he takes Flaz on just in case something happened to him, all of his magic, power and evil will go into the apprentice. Sort of passing on his plans to him to become the next Magnifico and continue his work. That's pretty terrifying.

• Most people in the Hamlet think that he and Asha are secretly a thing, but that's not the case. Lord knows Sabino wanted his granddaughter to get a boyfriend so she'd stop being so serious all the time. They never really had feelings like that for each other, they just stayed friends. One part is because Asha has just sealed herself off from connecting deeper with other people, and on Flaz's side, he already has feelings for someone else. (Also, after Star shows up and spends time with Asha, she starts feeling things for him she's been repressing for years. Girl, chill.-)

• During the first few months of becoming the apprentice, he learned about the Hamlet through rumors in Rosas. He didn't understand why people would run away until he stumbles on seeing the king and queen crush the wishes of a couple who talked about leaving Rosas and not trusting the royals. He never saw that couple again.

He later took off one night into the forest to finds this supposed Hamlet using a tracking spell. Once he finds it, Sabino and other people tell him why they ran and what a monster the royal could be. Flazino felt so disgusted that he promised to help anyway he could. So he makes an excuse to get specialty mushroom from the Uncharted Forest once a month and brings supplies to the Hamlet ever since. (stuff like seeds to grow food, flour, medicine, toys for the kids)

• A lot of the people actually go to Flazino if they can't get to the king for help improving the kingdom, or people needing help. The royals don't do crap, so he just does the best he can himself. But most people don't realize he's the one that granting their needs and not the royals.

• His connection to the 7 Teens actually foreshadows Asha bringing them together. Like the deleted scene suggested, they all know him as the "great apprentice to the king", when he's really just a tired guy trying not lose his sanity. He has different interactions with each of them.

Gabo is the one shouting that the royals are evil like a conspiracy theorist, but since he's such a low threat, they send Flazino to get rid of him and everytime he gets away. Gabo's been a nuisance for months now and he's even defacing anything with the royals on it. He actually agrees with Gabo, but obviously can't say it out loud.

For Simon, he tries to keep him awake when he can for his knight training, or guard duty so its his way of trying to help fulfill his wish of being a knight. He's tired himself, so its even harder.

Safi is allergic to practically everything when he cleans, so Flaz has an idea to make a medicine that can cure that through magic. He has no idea its just so he can talk to the girl he likes without sneezing in someone's face. 😂

Hal is one of the easiest he gets along with. She's pretty content where she is and gets along with him fine. Though he gets roped into doing some of her work when he's not paying attention, lol. If she does see an injustice being done to someone else she'll step in to help them.

Bazeema he's not even sure what she thinks of him. She's so shy whenever he talks to her, all he knows is that she does a great job caring for the local animals and flora in the kingdom, which he's thanked her many times for. Though she has been leaving him yellow roses as thank you messages.

Dahlia is actually the one he bonds with the best. He ends up talking to her when its time for Sabor's breakfast or dinner and she makes the food by hand with her parents. At first he just talked to her out of convenience and vent a little bit about being overworked (much to his surprise, she's actually listening). Then the two of them just found some comfort in talking to each other when they've had a long day and now its developed into a full-on crush for him. But with Dahlia going all fangirl on Magnifico, he doesn't have high hopes the feelings mutual. (She's been dropping hints but he's not getting it)

So I guess we got three Flazinos right now: RFTS!Flaz who actually likes his job and still wants to learn magic, UaS!Flaz who's a prince of the evil royals, and then WG!Flaz is an overworked man who wants to hurt his bosses. Y'all need therapy. 😂

(So now, Chapter 6 of WG will be out tomorrow! 😏)

@signed-sapphire @oh-shtars @annymation @chillwildwave

@uva124 @ishadow246 @tumblingdownthefoxden @your-ne1ghbor

@mythartist21 @gracebethartacc @emptyblog7 @spectator-zee

@lazytitans-world @emillyverse @flicklikesstuff @kenihewa

@snackara @wings-of-sapphire @natsuki208

[pomniegranate]

HEADCANON DUMP ABOUT HER PAST

I was going to write a whole story buuut, I'll wait on that until I refine it better.

Pomni was an only child, who grew up in the cliche middle class suburbia with parents (unknown to Pomni) who worked at the C&A company, her father on the higher ranks and her mother an accountant.

She became what she hated: her parents and herself, becoming a workaholic. Her parents were absent plenty in her life, so she had nobody but herself and those hired to watch over her. Which then stemmed into her issues of connecting and creating attachments; though her heart was raised empathetic. Her well off life is also possibly the reason why she has a fine taste for fish and is terrible at cooking. She never truly had to provide for herself.

Pomni was never intimate or in any intimate relationship with anyone in her life friendships/relationships/family. Nothing ever went farther than crushes, to which she never knew how to go about in an "accepted" manner. And from lack of love from childhood, she never liked being touched.

After she moved out, her parents were radio silent, which wasn't uncommon for Pomni; they'd send her allowances to help her get by, to which she hated. The internal want and need to provide for herself was much too high for the sake of her own pride. The unusual thing was getting a letter of recommendation for a company her parents both supposedly worked at - along with another letter stating that her parents ... died under unknown circumstances. She wasn't given more information, she didn't ask any questions.

Pomni keeps a picture of them in an apartment she was able to get for herself, but due to past resentments, that picture usually lays face down and out of view. Being the product of her parents was bad enough as it is.

Like stated before, Pomni became a workaholic adopting her natural affinity for accounting, something not only was she good at, but enjoyed doing as well once she was employed at the company. The kicker was, she had a hard time saying no and went above and beyond in her field. Overtime, overworked, underpaid, underappreciated. Regressions from her past and inability to form attachments cause anxiety and weariness to fester and grow. The feeling of never be good enough.

She adopted sleep apnea and kinetosis because of this.

And though her life had their tribulations and hardships, she still held onto the ounce of innocence she still retained, but wasn't one to not bite back when needed as well.

Her favorite color had always been red - because love was always a concept that interested her, something she's never truly experienced. But blue always followed close by, to represent the sadness she hides and keeps locked inside. She needed to be strong. For herself. Yellow always fleeting nearby, in hopes of the happiness she hoped to one day achieve. The friendships she'd one day allow herself open to receive.

Now open her eyes and she's the symbolism of everything she once was, plastered in the form of a jester in yet another prison of a digital circus; it's like life wanted to taunt her, wanted to screw with her mind. The moment she saw a look at who she'd become; she saw the image of everything she was wrapped up in a bow and then the thought came to her that she once told herself before,

"There's meaning to be found in a stagnant life."

[shoe1]

sigh

sqh overworked, underpaid, underappreciated 🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥

ehdhdandhnsbfjwue 😔

[imperator-titus]

Be My Juice Box [Ch 1]

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Relationships: Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Modern AU with Some Twists, Slow Burn, they were roommates, Vampires Summary: Sometimes you have to sell your blood to a vampire to keep your head above water.

Notes: Playing with an idea I've had for a while! Mostly modern, but maintains magic elements with tiniest bit of cyberpunk elements. I used the basic outline of Rowan from A Non-Hero's Guide, seeing as I was thinking of this while I was writing that. I'm not giving up on Ghost from the Past or anything, but I recently got covid and couldn't really think about that story hard enough to get anything out. This came out much more easily for me.

Text under cut:

Insert finger. Get poked. Try not to curse in front of the sweet little old lady behind the machine.

Blood tested. Machine beeps. It spits out the results like a GreenWalls receipt.

The kindly old lady holds a cotton swab to your injured finger. She raises the cotton to her nose and, before she even reads your results, tells you your blood is top-grade, minus a little iron deficiency.

You chuckle nervously and say you can’t afford red meat, much like the rest of the city. She chortles and says that will all change, if you’re lucky. And you smell lucky.

A young man sits you down and walks you through how to use the next machine as he draws your blood. It’s not like the last time you donated blood. It’s sleek and sophisticated and barely hurts. You are unable to look away as the needle pierces your skin and your blood floods out.

He laughs and asks if you’re an ingénue. You know it as a literary term, but he is using it as a slang term for women who want to be bitten by a vampire. Plenty of those come through the Black Cross’s doors. 

The kindly old lady gives you a cookie to eat while the young man explains how to clean the machine. If you’re picked, it’ll be your job to maintain it.

After he’s done explaining all the other stuff like how to store the blood and read the test results, a being of unknown sex or species enters the room. It is just a dark shape, a shade. It explains the rules to you.

Your blood is being divided up into samples. Those samples will be sent to vampires currently in need of a “donor.” Donors come in two forms: on-site and off-site. You need a place to live, so you preferred on-site, but it still feels weird to imagine living with someone again, mortal or not. 

Those vampires will submit their impression of your blood and an offer for you to consider.

You laugh, because the shade told you “this isn’t an escort service,” but here it is, telling you that you’re being bid on like a cow at auction.

On-site donors are mostly like roommates, except they are giving up their blood and, in the case of vampires lacking a daytime servant, fulfilling reasonable requests. Donors are compensated for additional duties. 

They must respect their host’s space and privacy.

Basically, get along and leave the place how you left it.

Expect your offers in 1-2 weeks.

Thank you for your donation. You are saving unlives.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rowan Vignaud looked back in trepidation at the empty expanse of what used to be her home.

Like most in New Babylon, she couldn’t afford to live on her own in this part of the city. Maybe that would change, eventually. Cryptomancy had fallen out of fashion about 100 years ago in a push to elevate the more arcane arts. It was used to maintain systems that kept the world running and, despite its clear importance, was treated like kobold-work.

Rowan never understood that term. Kobolds did all the important stuff, like make sure the sewers worked and the garbage gets collected.

But then the world was briefly plunged into darkness and it became clear that the world still needed cryptomancers. One overworked, underpaid, underappreciated number-jockey in some dank basement somewhere caused the Great Crash, all because the world’s riches were protected by some other overworked, underpaid, underappreciated number-jockey sitting in a dank basement that no one ever listened to when they said this could happen.

Rowan was once one of those cryptomancers. Now she was hoping to work her way into a position where she didn’t need to give up her blood every day to live in the city.

Her things already sold or sent ahead to her new home, Rowan left with just a bag slung over her shoulder.

The residence was a “Brownstone,” as historians called it, a very rare sight in the cities these days. Out front, a kobold in a smart little suit sat on the first step, a binder almost as big as him clutched in his little arms.

“Ah! Yes! Human!” he called out cheerily as she approached. He made a few feeble attempts to put down the binder gently in order to greet her properly before he asked nervously, “Coulds you take this? It's yours anyway.”

Full of paper, it was a little heavy, especially for such a small creature. He was happy to be free of it, offering her a dramatic bow in thanks.

“Welcomes to your new home, Miss Vignauds!” The kobold hopped up the steps one at a time, taking them by leaps instead of clambering over them.

A week after her visit, Rowan received a packet from the Black Cross, delivered by a shuffling zombie who unknowingly left behind a finger on her doorstep. Zombies needed jobs too. Just not very complicated ones.

Inside were 3 offers as well as a form for stating her intention to take an offer or decline in the hopes of receiving more. 

The first offer was from a vampire further out from the city. She had many flowery words to describe the blood she sampled and provided many pictures of her estate. While Rowan was more inclined to live amongst nature, the permanent work she hoped to secure was contained to the city.

The next offer was rather similar, with intense feelings associated with her blood sample. The compensation was generous and their home was closer to the city.

The third was brief. “Adequate.” The offer didn't reflect that sentiment.

In the end, Rowan chose the third offer.

Inside the binder was a code to the door, but Rowan only got so far as the first digit before it whirred and beeped, indicating it was unlocked.

She kind of expected a vampire to be stuck in their time period and, while most of the house was still in its original Victorian style, it had obviously gone through some changes as its owner debated keeping up with the times.

“Master Ancuníns hasn’t had a live-in donor in a very long times,” her little guide informed her as they removed their shoes in the foyer, “so we don’ts really have much to says about his behavior.”

Well, he clearly knew she’d arrived, but was choosing not to show himself. It was daytime, she expected him to be sleeping somewhere. Maybe he heard an alarm, rolled over in his coffin, saw it was them at the door, pressed the button, and went back to sleep. Or whatever vampires did. The binder had a lot of information about general vampire knowledge and cleared up a lot of misconceptions that still lived in modern society. 

Could vampires be… shy? The binder didn’t really say.

“Master Ancuníns doesn’t have servants, but there is a very nice magical cleanings service.” To demonstrate, he indicated for her to pluck a petal off of a flower in a fresh bouquet brightening up the hallway and drop it on the ground. After a moment, like a mouse snatching a piece of fallen cheese, a mage hand darted out from another room and took the petal away. “So, you shouldn’t haves to do much.”

There was the kitchen, which was probably the most modern part of the home, despite the fact that it was the most useless to its owner. Here she would test her blood after dinner and, if her levels were good, have it drawn. There was a special storage unit just for the bags, separate from the spacious refrigerator where she found the last of her food from her apartment.

Then there was the bedroom. It was a little cramped, but there was a room next to it that would be her office. None of the furniture was hers, it would have clashed, but at least her mattress fit the bed frame. It was already made with her sheets, waiting for her to fall into it later tonight.

Rowan bid the kobold goodbye and sat down at the kitchen island to read through her binder for things he failed to mention. She was free to have guests as long as they didn’t spend the night or make a mess of things, a general “respect the place” rule. That was fine, there was no one she would invite over anyway. Anything she needed could be requested through a terminal to be delivered. How swank.

She was in the middle of making dinner when she thought she heard something. But when she turned around, there was nothing there. Vampires could move silently if they wanted, so if he wanted to sneak up on her, why make noise? Returning to her preparations, Rowan shrugged it off as her mind playing tricks. It was a very old house.

As she ate, the house’s “cleaning service” tidied up after her. She watched the translucent hands erase any indication that the kitchen had been used with a sense of… sadness? It wasn’t like she liked cleaning. It just made her feel lazy, in a way, not picking up after herself. Even when she was done eating, a set of hands was there to whisk away the dishes and wipe down the counter.

The blood-drawing machine was much the same as the one at the Black Cross center, but the tester was different. This one allowed her to prick any part of her body, not just the finger. A bead of blood welled up on her arm where she gave herself a little stab and the machine hummed as it worked.

The light turned green and it spit out the results. Some slight mineral alterations. At the end, it made some suggestions for additions to her diet. Rowan ripped off the results and placed them next to the terminal by the refrigerator so she would remember it later when ordering groceries.

Unlike the machine at the Black Cross, magic guided its needle into her arm for a perfect draw. Little pinching, no bruising, one slip of the needle into a vein. When it was done, she took the label it printed out, slapped it on the blood bag, and put it away.

Pressing a cotton ball to the crook of her arm, Rowan flicked through what was available from the grocery service. Rich people really could get their hands on pretty much anything. Only a few years ago, she could have afforded some of this, at least a decent steak once every other month. That was before the Great Crash, of course.

Groceries ordered, clothes unpacked and put away, computer set up in her new office, Rowan crawled into bed. It was the kind with the curtains, like she’d seen in period dramas. When she was little, she wanted one, associating them with fairy tales. Curious, she undid the ties and let the curtains close, creating a little room inside the room, only as big as the borders of her bed.

Vampires had to ask for permission to enter, but this was his own house. There was a more-or-less unspoken agreement that hosts would respect the places they provided for their donors, but the thought still crossed her mind.

The blood-drawing machine was there for many reasons. It controlled the amount donors gave, reducing the risks of complications. It allowed both parties to give and take at times convenient to them. And most important of all, not everyone was into the whole biting thing. But if they mutually agreed to it, they could go that route.

For now, Rowan was fine with the needle in her arm every day. She hadn’t even met her host yet.

But still. The thought of him sneaking in while she was asleep, crawling into bed with her, and sinking his fangs into her neck wasn’t far from her mind.

The two wouldn’t exchange words for some time. From Rowan’s perspective, it would be the first time they were in the same room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Astarion Ancunín made it a habit to be awake at least some of the day. Some people and places only operated when the sun was up, unfortunately. He only needed so much rest, after all.

The windows were shuttered, of course, so he had to watch for his guests from a security camera. Chin in hand, elbow propped on the desk, he watched with total enthralling boredom as the little kobold representing the Black Cross waddled up with his big book and crawled onto the stairs. Centuries ago, he would've bled such a creature dry and called it a snack. Sometimes he requested some of their blood, for special occasions. They could only give so little, it was like humans doing shots at a bar.

Then there she was, his live-in donor.

It had been a long time since he had one. Back then, it wasn't so official. It didn't end well. But when that sample found its way into his shipment of blood and it washed over his tongue, he knew he had to give it a chance.

Her looks left much to be desired, but he wasn’t planning on parading her around like some vainglorious trophy. Only his most special friends were allowed in his private sanctum and they required no impressing.

No, they would lead separate lives, one extravagant, the other plain. 

As much as vampires were cool and calculating, they could be quite fickle creatures. There were clear logical reasons for picking this particular donor: clean blood, clean record, stable life patterns, suitable for sharing a home. 

Then there were the less logical reasons. She was intelligent; he was old enough to remember when cryptomancers practically ran the world. Something about her told him that she wasn’t a romantic, which pleased him, because he spent all night playing the romantic lead and didn’t want to come home to entertain some ingénue’s fantasies.

But chief amongst all the reasons was the way her blood tingled as it spread throughout his undead cells. It was indescribable, rare, and horrifying. Of all the blood bags delivered to his doorstep, of all the necks pierced by his fangs, he’d never felt that spark of life.

Like a dirty secret, it was whispered about in dark alcoves by his fellows. Astarion had even lied about feeling it once, believing it to be some mark of status, as something to be envied.

Now he knew the truth. It was a curse. A delicious call to insanity. It was something he wanted to possess forever, but it had an expiration date. Why must human lives be so short?

In the old days, there was little to keep Astarion from doing what he wanted: to lock her up in his little castle and never let her go. Back then, you could drain people dry or charm them into your service. 

Of course, you ran the risk of being hunted. He didn’t miss that part.

Astarion stood in the doorway separating the kitchen from the hallway. Gliding on supernaturally silent feet, his donor wouldn’t have heard him. He watched as she made sense of her new surroundings and started to make her own meal. It would have tasted like ashes to him, but the thought of it nourishing her body, and in turn his, made his mouth salivate.

The floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight forward just slightly. Her head turned to see what made the noise, but his quick reflexes ensured that she didn’t catch even a hint of his form.

Hiding in his own home. What a miserable creature he’d become.

[gootrude]

kawakami's confidant storyline is actually a good look into how teachers are underpaid/underappreciated/overworked and how women can be forced into sex work because of extortion/debts but i feel like they pushed the maid thing too hard for a lot of people to like her. the game had her keep up the act even when it was completely unnecessary purely for fanservice which is a shame, i think it stops a lot of people from wanting to complete her confidant.

idk i feel like kawakami opinions are either "mommy maid waifu" or "she's so gross and inappropriate to a minor" and that kinda glosses over her very real struggles as a woman living paycheck to paycheck. but i get it, the game really leans into a maid fetish with her sometimes

[thestruidora]

Misery

Supernatural RPF Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Dom/Sub

Category: F/M

Pairings: Jensen Ackles/You, Jensen Ackles/Reader

Summary: You know what time he wakes up and what time he goes to bed, even though he tends to stay awake far later than what it’s healthy for him, but that’ll change soon. You know what’s his favorite dessert and how he takes his coffee. You know he is a stomach sleeper and a light snorer. You know that he loves the rain but is a little scared of thunder. You know everything there is to know about Jensen, you’re his number one fan. But most importantly, you know exactly what is the room number of the hotel he’s staying in for the night, and now he will get to know you.

Chapter Updates: Masterlist

Author's notes: This chapter was very hard to write because it was so plot heavy, but don't worry, there's definitely not much plot in the next ones.

Chapter Two

I Will Follow Him

“Ever since he touched my hand I knew that near him I always must be. And nothing can keep him from me. He is my destiny.” — Peggy March

It didn’t start out like this.

It didn’t have to be like this.

But it was the only way. The only way for them to be together.

When she first saw him, it was through a TV screen. Her heart skipped a beat and everything else turned blurry like it didn’t matter anymore. He was gorgeous. His face, and his hair, and his skin, and his smile… He was perfect.

But it wasn’t just the physical aspect. She watched every show, every interview, and every public appearance. He was funny and charismatic. Charming beyond belief.

She gushed about him to her family and friends and went on and on about the day that the two of them would meet and how he would fall in love with her at first sight. But no one paid her any mind, just laughed it off. Called it a schoolgirl crush, which was fitting, since at the time she actually was in school.

And she believed that.

She wholeheartedly believed that it would go away like people said it would. So she had a crush on some celebrity, what’s wrong with that?

But it just grew, and it kept growing.

Every penny, every cent she ever made went down the drain. Merch, collectibles, books, autographed souvenirs… Anything she could get her hands on. And conventions, of course, conventions.

They were the epitome of a fangirl’s dream. Because there he was, right there, no longer a collection of pixels put together to form a virtual image, but the real him, in the flesh.

She’d make sure to get all dolled up for him, but every time he would look right through her, as if she was just any other person in the crowd. She’d go to the Q&As, wait in line for ages to ask her question, which was always directed to him, and he’d always ask her name, every time. She lost count of how many times she introduced herself to him, only for him to forget her in a few months’ time.

Was that what she was to him? Forgettable? Expendable?

Why did he treat her like this? Why did he ignore her time and time again? Couldn’t he see what she saw? Didn’t he know what she knew? That they belonged, that they were meant to be.

But it was fine, she wouldn't hold it against him. He was tired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated. She forgave him, every time, because love shows grace even when it’s faced with indifference.

It would happen, any time now. Their eyes would meet and his heart would skip a beat and everything else would turn blurry for him.

There was no hurry. She could be patient.

She would go on to graduate and start her life and even go out with a few unimportant guys, while he dated his own unimportant girls. And that was okay, because love is persevering even when it’s faced with drawbacks. These were all just delays in their path to each other, and that was perfectly natural.

She could live with that. She could be tolerant.

But what she couldn't deal with was the disrespect. He went out, met some bitch, and got married. He proposed, became engaged, and then tied the knot with a woman that wasn’t her. The audacity!

Was he blind? Was he crazy?

Because that was just too damn much. That crossed the line.

She was waiting for him. She was being fucking accommodating to his fucking stipulations. So what the fuck was that about?

It’s been eight years, eight long insufferable years and nothing has changed. He stayed with someone else. She had thought that, maybe, it would blow over. He would realize what a huge mistake he had made and have the decency to get a divorce. But no, every time she saw him there would be a ring on his finger still.

Something was not right. He clearly needed her help. She couldn't wait for him to make the first move anymore, or it might never come. Y/N knew what had to be done. It was time for her to take control of the situation.

It wouldn't be easy for him to understand, but she had to get him alone with her, if not only for a few weeks. Long enough for him to get to know her just as much as she knew him, for him to realize that they were soulmates. And for that, she was gonna have to implement some unusual methods that could only work if she did what he taught her to do best: be patient.

So she orchestrated, and elaborated, and planned. She planned for months, she dedicated herself to this venture, because it meant the world to her, and soon it would mean the same to him as well. She moved to Canada. She moved to a fucking different country for it. Left behind all she had, started out fresh. That’s how seriously she took this. That’s how far she was willing to go.

It was tough, acclimating to somewhere new, but she took it in stride.

She applied and got a job at a hotel in Montreal. The hotel in Montreal. She remembers so vividly when Hector, the front desk manager, and her soon-to-be supervisor, asked her on her first day, with his heavy french accent so foreign to her ear at the time, why would someone like her choose to be working in a place like this. She was fresh out of college, smart, spoke many languages. Why work in a two-and-a-half-star hotel where the paychecks weren’t even that good?

She couldn't tell him the real reason, of course. So she simply smiled and fed him the same bullshit story she had served to her family and friends; that she wanted to travel, discover herself, have new experiences, broaden her horizons… Crap like that. And he bought it, just like the folks back home had.

Y/N wasn’t aware that she was such a good liar, or that maybe most people are just stupid and unassuming. Either way, she would use it in her favor.

Throughout the time she spent working there, which was almost an entire year, she built connections with her co-workers and the various guests that came and went. She was polite, reserved, and competent. Pleasant with all. Soon her responsibilities grew, but so did the perks of her position. She had networked her way into becoming a very trusted and integral part of the establishment's staff. And in that way, what took place upon the day of Jensen’s arrival and its subsequent events were all part of a masterfully tailored web that Y/N had weaved.

That is, with a couple of bumps in the road, provided that she was definitely not expecting the man to kick a hole through a door, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

On the afternoon his check-in was scheduled, she accessed the booking system and tweaked some of the information so that his name wouldn't show up when searched. She magnetized the keycard lock of his door so that no key could open it. She marked all other available rooms as booked. All in hopes of forcing him to move to the presidential suite, situated on the most secluded floor of the hotel.

But that was asking for too much collaboration from the universe, right? That was too much wishful thinking right there. Because she should’ve predicted that he would decide to act like a real-life superhero and kick the dammed thing in. It was stupid of her to assume that everything would naturally pan out the way it was supposed to. She swears sometimes it feels like the cosmos is conspiring against her for some reason.

Now she’s gonna have to recalculate and that’s alright. Her mom did always tell her that sometimes there’s nothing better than for life to throw a curveball at a person, it helps to keep them on their toes. And Y/N was nothing if not resourceful. She could readjust. She could improvise.

“Hey, Hector, that guy just left his bags in the middle of the lobby. Should I bring it up to his room?” The bellhop, Antonin, whose name she would never recall if not for the name tag attached to his vest, had come to the front desk with the question right after Jensen had left with his co-stars for dinner.

“It took forever to find that man’s booking, he stood in front of me the whole time saying how much he wanted to get into his room. I manage to find his name in the system, give him his key and he leaves all of his things right here and goes out somewhere! This is why, for the life of me, I can’t understand Americans.” Hector shook his head, gesturing dramatically, his thin, long fingers flailing in his emphatic state, which happened to be his norm.

Y/N was standing by his side behind the computer screen of the front desk, pretending to type something up on the keyboard while listing closely to their exchange.

“You better hurry up and take his luggage to his floor before he comes back and complains about it!” He said to Antonin, who began moving to do it at once, only to be interrupted by an elderly couple that asked him for help with their own bags.

“I can do it.” Y/N said to Hector once he noticed that the bellhop had suddenly become wrapped up in another task right before their eyes, an idea forming in her mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you, young lady, that today is your day off?” Her manager reached in and booped the tip of her nose as one does to a dog or a child, his beautifully painted nails scraping lightly against her skin. “You’re not getting any money from the extra work you’re putting in.” His tone was stern and playful at the same time.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, my liege, that my whole life is this place?” She smiled at him, thinking for a second about how her relationship with Hector had grown from strangers, to colleagues that barely tolerated each other, and finally to close friends. Well, he saw her as a friend, at least. “I have nowhere else to go today, might as well be useful.” She shrugged, as if it was no big deal if he said yes or no to her, even though it was, in fact, a big deal.

The lean and stylish man pondered before giving his response, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he puckered them while in thought.

“Alright, take the bags.” He waved her off, and she promptly came out from behind the desk and went to pick the items off the floor, finding them to be less heavy than what she expected.

“What’s the American guy’s room number again?” She asked nonchalantly, going to the service elevator and pressing the call button.

“666, le nombre de la Bête.” Hector informed her, in a mocking way.

“Scary.” She laughed at him referring to it as the number of the beast, holding in the urge to roll her eyes. As if she would ever allow anything bad to happen to Jensen while in her vicinity, that’d be preposterous.

The elevator arrived and she walked in, but instead of pushing only the specified floor number, she pushed various different buttons as well, making it so the machine would stop at many other floors before getting to the right one, giving her enough time to do what she did next.

She opened his suitcase and his hand luggage, going through his clothes and unfolding and crumpling whatever her hands reached, turning it all into a big mess. Once she was pleased with her handiwork, she closed everything up again, making sure to leave the zippers exactly in the position that she found them in.

Now she had the pretext to hopefully get into his room, and that was at least one less thing to do.

When the elevator finally got to the right floor, she left his things in front of his door, passing a few guests on her way and offering them modest smiles and unpretentious nods, which they returned in kind. That was the usual impression she left on the people that interacted with her, that she was meek and demure, harmless in every possible way. And that’s how she liked it.

She then chose to go down the stairs, walking straight through a short hallway that led to the hotel’s kitchen. She pushed one of the double swinging doors to enter the space. She was met with shiny pots and pans, modern industrial stoves, and wide, open windows that allowed the last rays of light from the sunset to come in. She expected the area to be empty around this time, most of the cooks being on one of the many cigarette breaks that they took throughout the day, except for one.

“Hi, Claire.” She greeted the blonde, pale-faced woman that was busy chopping some greens on the kitchen island prior to Y/N’s entrance.

“Oh, hi, Y/N. What’s up?” The chef rested her sharp knife on the cutting board, her face contorted into a welcoming expression.

“Do you know where we’re keeping the gift baskets?” Y/N tried to appear neutral enough as she inquired, seemingly succeeding by the response she obtained.

“Right over there.” Claire pointed to the shelve on the adjacent wall, numerous baskets lined up on top of it. “Why?”

“It’s for Mrs. Vonesch.” Her fingers tapped on the doorframe, having to quickly contrive a reason for her need for the object.

“That bitch is here again?” Claire’s face soured at the mention of the name.

Mrs. Vonesch was an older and bitter Swiss woman that visited the hotel frequently. She was known for being horribly mean and hateful towards the staff. In her opinion, the bed was always lumpy, the steak was always overcooked, the floor was always dusty, and so on and so forth. But for some reason, she kept coming back.

“Yep.” Y/N sauntered towards the shelve, taking one of her desired artifacts and holding it carefully. “She always books the same room, right? But I think I screwed up or something, ‘cause she came to check-in a week ago and there was already some other guest in there, and she threw a fit.” None of that was true, only the part about Mrs. Vonesch having arrived a week prior, but what was Claire gonna do? Fact check?

“I can’t stand that lady, I swear to God.” The blonde shook her head, going back to her fastidious chopping.

“Oh, me neither.” Y/N began to move ever so slightly towards the exit, already machinating her next moves like an action movie sequence. “By the way, why would someone from Switzerland want to come here for vacation? Like, I would think that anyone that lives somewhere that cold would prefer to go to a warm place in the winter.”

“She probably combusts when in contact with the sun, like the blood-sucking vampire that she is.” Claire joked with a vivaciousness that made it almost sound like she truly believed her own words, and Y/N reacted by laughing openly.

“Anyway, it’s the last day of her stay so I’ma bring this basket to her, and be all nice and sweet, and apologize. Hopefully, she won’t give us a bad review like she did last year.” Her free hand was pushing the door open to leave, doing her best to make it look like she wasn't in a hurry.

“Good luck, girl.” Claire waved her off.

“Thanks.” She says and only then walks away from the kitchen.

She proceeds to take the long way around the premise of the building, avoiding being seen as well as she could. She was on a mission, her goal to remain undetected. Finally arriving at her destination, the staff sleeping quarters, Y/N felt that she was methodically approaching her eventual objective.

Upon reaching her room, she retrieved the keychain she always kept with her from her pocket and used one of its keys to open the door.

Her room was simple, with plain white walls contrasting the dark-colored floor. There was not much in terms of decoration, since there was none. She only had one tiny window that barely provided any ventilation, but then again, when one has already worked the whole day from the top of the morning all the way to the end of the night, one ends up not giving a shit about fresh air.

Her small single bed was one of the only pieces of furniture in the space, apart from the dresser that also doubled as her closet. She closed and locked the door behind her and went to said dresser, rested the gift basket on top of it, and used another key from the same keychain to open the lock she had put into the bottom drawer. Inside, there was a plethora of Jensen Ackles paraphernalia, a super fan professional kit. Among the miscellaneous articles, she found the packet of sealed beef jerky that had been previously laced with potent sedatives and took it out of the drawer.

Carefully untying the bow that was secured around the plastic wrapping of the basket, she places the jerky between the other goods, and it fits in an inconspicuous manner as though it always belonged there. She ties it all back together, making sure to leave it just as it was before, without any signs of interference. Knowing how much he loves the salty snack and how rarely he gets to eat it, she’s sure he’ll take the bait.

After all of those preparations, she went to bed that night with the absolute understanding that things would go her way for the day to come. That Jensen would get back to the hotel and discover that his key didn’t work, be offered the presidential suite, and accept it. Once he got back from the convention, she would go to him, introduce herself for the last time, present to him a welcome gift as a first-time guest, and offer to rearrange his clearly messy bags.

With a bit of luck, it would all come true, but nothing ever did come easy to her, did it?

He made a massive hole in the door and was able to get inside his room, forcing her to find a way to work around that. Which she did, but couldn't he just act like a normal person and spare her the extra hassle? Damn.

But the end result was all the same. He did accept the gift basket, and he did let her in. Now, she has him at her fingertips, literally, as she sits by his side on the bed, where he lies unconscious.

Y/N can’t believe how breathtaking he really is. There’s no retouching, no filter, no concealer, but he’s still mesmerizingly good-looking.

His eyes are closed, and his facial expression is relaxed in his state of deep sleep. She runs the pads of her fingers against his smooth skin till the point where it reaches his growing beard and the texture becomes rough to the touch. She can see so distinctively now how the hair on his head is darker than that of his eyelashes, which are a much lighter shade of blonde. She contours the outline of his lips that, even when he’s passed out, remain pouting.

It is not fair. How can she help herself from wanting him so much when he’s that handsome? How can anyone blame her for needing him all to herself?

Snapping out of the trance that is admiring him, she gets back to the task at hand. She goes to his phone on top of the nightstand and unplugs it from the charger, taking his hand in hers and using the fingerprint of his index finger to unlock the device. Opening the messaging app, she types up a text to his wife, having to fight the urge to cringe when the woman’s name flashes across the screen.

‘Hey, honey. Just wanted to let you know that Jared and Misha came over and invited me to go out to see a bit of the city. I thought it might be good to have a fun night out and clear my mind. Probably gonna wake up late tomorrow, though. Love you.’

Having to write the last words stings, but Y/N does it anyway, sending the text and then locking it again, knowing that this step will be crucial in order to buy her more time. The longer people spend not wondering about Jensen’s whereabouts the better.

She shoves the phone in her pocket and grabs the almost fully empty packet of beef jerky and puts it back in the gift basket, taking it with her as she exits the room. In the corridor, she finds a garbage can and sticks the basket in it, leaving it there to be thrown away by the cleaning crew.

She walks down the stairs once more and arrives at the lobby right on time, without a minute to spare. Mrs. Vonesch was just done checking out and was rudely instructing Antonin on how to properly carry her many bags and suitcases to her cab.

“I can help you with that, ma’am.” Y/N rushes over to Mrs. Vonesch and takes the one bag that Antonin couldn't carry from her hands, finding it to be surprisingly heavy.

The grey-haired old lady scans Y/N up and down and lets out a relieved huff.

“Finally someone that steps in. I swear that this place’s customer service gets worse every year.” Her thick Swiss accent made her tone even more cutting as she began to walk ahead to enter the car that was going to take her to the airport.

Y/N moved at a shorter pace, allowing Antonin to get in front of her. The poor bellhop did his very best not to step over his own feet as he tried to balance the countless amount of luggage that he carried in his arms, the taxi driver jumping out of his seat to help him fit it all in the trunk.

Utilizing the commotion in her favor, Y/N unzipped Mrs. Vonesch’s bag and found it full of travel-sized shampoos and conditioners, as well as anything that is usually stocked in the guest’s mini fridge. Not having the time or the will to do anything about that, she pulled Jensen’s phone out of her pocket and stuffed it inside the bag, zipping it back closed in a single fluid motion. That way, if anyone tries to track his location through the device, it will point to somewhere all the way in Switzerland.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Antonin says to her after she gives him the hand luggage, the last item to be put in the cab’s trunk, which was stuffed so full that a lot of elbow grease had to be used just to close it.

“You’re welcome.” She responds with a kind nod and watches as the taxi driver gets back in his car and turns on the engine. Y/N leans down to see into the backseat, where Mrs. Vonesch is seated with her head to the opposite window. “Farewell, madame. We look forward to your next stay.” That was actually true, since she was not going to be there to deal with it anymore, but no one else but her knew that, yet.

The old lady rudely waves Y/N off in a flippant gesture and doesn’t say another word, doesn’t even turn to give her a single glance, and soon the cab drives off, leaving both her and Antonin with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did she even give you a tip?” She asks the bellhop.

“What do you think?” He scoffs and then shrugs, walking away.

The young woman takes a second to wrap her head around just how shitty her job has been in that place, but only a second, because she’s leaving very soon. Matter fact, right now.

She goes to her bedroom again, but this time she doesn’t intend on ever coming back. She pulls her suitcase from under her tiny bed and puts it on top of her thin mattress, opening the case as wide as possible and beginning to take all of her belongings from the drawers in her dresser and packing it up. Once it is done, she zips it shut and rests its wheels on the floor so that she can make the bed. She runs her hands through the sheets and flattens them, getting rid of any creases on the fabric.

Taking a final look around she makes sure that there are no traces of her presence left behind in the space, and then begins to move towards the small rectangular mirror that hangs on one of the walls. She inhales deeply and her eyes start to water more and more as she stares at her own reflection, dense tears taking form and finally dripping from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

After a couple of minutes, her face is red and puffy, and that’s when she takes her suitcase and drags it out of the room, hurried steps taking her to the lobby.

“Hector, Hector!” She frantically calls out to him, voice breaking in between her crying.

Her supervisor turns to look at her, shocked at her state, as well as her other colleagues and all the guests on the floor.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, sir.” Hector says and hangs up the phone call he was taking at reception. “What happened, what’s wrong?” He comes out from behind the front desk to examine Y/N more closely.

“My mom, it’s- it’s my mom!” Her co-workers begin to gather around her, never once having seen her so emotional. “I just got a call from my dad and she’s sick!”

“Sick how?” Claire’s voice sounds by the left side of her, concern clear in her features.

“I don’t know, but it’s very bad and she’s at the hospital and I think she might die.” Y/N hears gasps all around her and Hector’s hands hold her by the shoulders.

“No, that’s not going to happen.” He says in an attempt to calm her down and the people next to them murmur in agreement.

“I need to go to her. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant to leave like this, but I need to be with her.” Her sentence comes out rushed and choked up.

“Y/N, this is your mother you’re talking about, of course you want to go see her. But it’s so dark out, you should leave tomorrow.” The man’s french accent becomes even more prevalent with the nervousness of the situation.

“No, I can’t wait, I’m gonna go to the airport and take the first flight home.” Y/N declares, determined even amidst sniffles.

“Are you sure?” His fingers wipe at her tears that continue to fall down.

“Yes.” She nods vehemently.

“Listen, if that’s what you wanna do, that’s completely fine. We’ll miss you and you’ll forever be welcome here.” He wraps her in his arms in a tight hug.

“Thank you, for everything.” She hugs him right back and whispers in his ear before taking a step back.

Her fellow workers move in and take turns giving her more hugs and words of encouragement, the whole process taking way too long for her comfort, but she plays it like it all means the world to her.

They walk her to her car, the minivan in the staff’s parking lot. Antonin takes her suitcase from her hand, ignoring her protests to do it by herself. He helps her put it in the car and she thanks him for his kindness.

She then gets in the driver’s seat and waves goodbye to the group that had formed by the side of her vehicle, some of them even shedding tears of their own. It would be quite moving if she did feel anything other than contempt for those people.

“I love you guys, bye!” Is the last thing she says to them, feet pressing on the gas pedal as she drives away.

In the review mirror, she can see them lingering there until her car turns on the street corner and she contains her laugh before realizing that she doesn’t have to, letting it out. She shakes with laughter, previous tears drying on her skin. She couldn't believe that it worked, that they bought it. Maybe after all this is over she can talk to Jensen to get into acting, ‘cause she is good.

The thought of Jensen alone in that room, out cold from the megadose of sedatives she had given him, flashes across her mind and her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

She makes a U-turn back to the hotel, parking in front of the loading dock where the produce, bedding, drinks, equipment, among other things tend to come in and out of. She opens the backpack atop the passenger seat and takes out a room maid's uniform along with a dust mask, letting out a long sigh at knowing that she’s almost there, she’s almost at the finish line. She removes her clothes and changes into the uniform, putting on the dust mask and fixing her hair up in a bun, all so she won’t be recognized.

She gets out of the car and looks around, not a single soul roaming the area. The dark cloak of the night aids her while she opens the back of her minivan, proceeding to pull down the wheelchair ramp. With it all set, she goes back inside the building through the dock’s entrance, taking a big laundry cart with her on the way up to room 666. She passes many familiar faces but none of them pay her no mind in her disguise.

Once she’s inside the room though, is when the real tough part takes place. She looks at him, spread out in bed, lightly snoring, and then looks at the laundry cart.

“Fuck my life.” She murmurs underneath the mask that covers her mouth and nose.

She’s gonna have to put him in the cart. Will she be able to move him? Will he even fit?

She moves close to him, calculating how she’s going to do this, exactly. Maybe she should have brought a paddle or something, you know, to use as a lever.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I think there’s only one way for me to do this.” She whispers to him, receiving nothing but silence in return.

Y/N starts to carefully pull him towards the end of the bed, one limb at a time. And not surprisingly, it’s a workout. He’s heavy and really not cooperating, letting out soft sounds of discontent every time she repositions him. After his whole body is at thevery edge of the mattress, she places the cart against it and exhales due to the exertion.

Did she really have to fall madly in love with such a big guy? The man is 6’1 with broad shoulders and toned muscles, but he’s still known as the ‘short one’, go figure.

“This might hurt a little bit.” Another whisper, and she gives him a final pull, causing him to fall inside the cart with a dull thud.

Half his legs hang outside the container and she has to fold him in half so that all of him will fit. He groans in his sleep and she mentally tells him to suck it up, they are almost home now.

She grabs a handful of heavy blankets from the cabinet near the bathroom and throws them on top of him, covering him entirely. Feeling relieved that the worst was over, she gets on with pushing the laundry cart out into the hallway, to the service elevator, and ultimately outside to the loading dock where her car is parked. Making use of the ramp she had attached to her minivan, she wheels him up onto the back of the vehicle. She gathers the ramp and shuts the rear doors, climbing into the driver’s seat once more, only this time, he’s with her.

Then, she drives, for hours, taking him far away. To a cabin in the snowy mountains of Canada, where she’s got it all planned out. Where he awakes, tied securely to a chair.

“Wh- what?” It’s the first word he’s able to form, eyes adjusting to the low light of a strange room. He moves to get up and finds himself stuck, but he tries not to panic. “What’s going on?” He’s so confused. He doesn’t remember how he got there.

He remembers the convention, going to his room, getting in the shower before bed, and then… A knock, but not much else.

This doesn’t feel right. His mouth is dry and his brain is hazy. He attempts to move one more time and he can’t, his heartbeat picks up and he starts to pant. This isn’t funny, whatever it is. He gulps, suddenly out of breath and hearing a ringing in his ears. There’s sweat forming on his forehead and he begins to thrash, only a thought in mind, that he needs to get out. He needs to run. He needs to break free. He needs to-

“Shhh, sweetie, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He hears a tranquil, feminine voice and it all comes rushing back, that’s when he panics. She’s further away in the dimly lit room, watching him as he keeps putting all his strength into snapping the cords that bind him. “I’m gonna have to give you some more medicine if you don’t stop.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go!” He roars, never once in his life feeling such fear and rage all at once. It’s her, the receptionist from the hotel. Did she roofie him? But why? Did she want money?

“Baby, please, try to be reasonable.” The way she’s aiming to talk him down only serves to make him madder and Jensen yells, looking around for something that might help him, for an escape. When he doesn’t find it, he struggles even more violently against his restraints. “Use your words.”

“You’re fucking crazy!” These are the words he chooses to use, not knowing how much he would come to regret them. Because after he spits them out, there’s a long beat of silence and then she’s on him, right by his side. There’s something shiny in her hand and then he feels a sharp pinprick on his neck.

She takes a step back and the needle she’s holding enters his field of vision, but he can’t see much else afterwards, since the walls start to spin and everything gets darker and darker.

“Rude.” He can hear her comment, disappointment saturated in her tone, before he’s off to dreamland yet again.