#she can no longer be that perfect safe space she once was

[reefs-camp-blog]

sally and percy were always each other’s constants, they became a bit more distant once percy found out he was a demigod, but they were still each others firsts

then estelle was born

percy loves estelle so much, so much it physically hurts

but he sees estelle and how happy she is, how she had a mom that doesnt work the night shift nearly every night and instead is home nearly all the time, and she has a dad that’s present and there and is safe and percy is so so happy that she has what he never did

but at the same time he knows thats the exact reason why it hurts

estelle has what percys wanted his whole life

and now estelle has the only thing percy had his whole life

being his mothers first and top priority

he knows why, he understands why, estelle is a baby and needs to be cared for constantly, and percys nearly 18 and doesnt need his mom all the time anymore

but it hurts because all the food is no longer blue, it hurts because he sees estelle grow up and get help, it hurts because he sees estelle with the life he always wanted, but knows he will never had

and it hurts because hes no longer his mother’s constant.

sally has paul now, she has paul to help her through her issues and she has a child that doesnt get expelled from every school shes been in

and percy has his family. but its not the same. annabeth has always been there, but she doesnt understand, thalia has been through the same childhood as percy but she doesnt know what its like to watch the bad go to good in the same household, grover has always listened but he just doesnt understand

because hes happy estelle has the life he always wanted. hes glad his mother has the life she always wanted. but hes not in that life. because hes moving out soon. and hes no longer his mothers son, at least not in the way he was before

[starry-eyer]

Daenerys’s rise to power is inseparable from the setting in which it unfolds. Unlike the female pov characters in Westeros, who remain trapped within rigid societal structures, a portion of Dany’s storyline exists largely outside of what is considered the “civilized” world. This separation is not incidental—it is fundamental to her ability to seize power in a way no other woman in asoiaf can.

Like the noblewomen of Westeros, Dany is sold into marriage, her body used as currency to further her house’s (her patriarch’s) ambitions. But while Westerosi arranged marriages are framed as political alliances, the underlying reality remains the same: women are commodities, their fates dictated by the men who claim authority over them. What sets Dany apart is not simply the brutality of her circumstances—being sold as a bridal slave to a foreign Dothraki warlord whose language and customs are alien to her—but also the opportunities those circumstances create. In Westeros, a woman’s best hope for power is to influence the men around her or exercise power in the name of the men she is connected to, but even the most politically savvy women remain constrained by a system that does not recognize their autonomy. Dany too has to initially wield power through her husband as Dothraki society is also patriarchal, but once he (and her unborn son) dies, she finds herself in a space where she is no longer beholden to any man and rejects the last institution that would otherwise confine her.

The decentralized nature of Dothraki society gave Dany an opening to refuse to join the Dosh Khaleen. Custom dictated that she should have done so, but there is no true institution enforcing this tradition, likely because it’s normally a self-enforcing one. More importantly, the powerful remnants of Khal Drogo’s khalasar were clearly not expected to enforce their own traditions, so they did not do so. Dany was not useful to them, and there was likely no benefit in sending her to Vaes Dothrak when they needed to focus on forming their new khalasars. Dany turned that perceived uselessness into an advantage. By stepping outside the last constraints placed upon her, and by the nature of her setting, she created the conditions necessary for her dragons to be hatched safely. Believed to be useless by Khal Drogo’s ko’s, they split the khalasar and rode away, leaving her in a perfect position as they took with them anyone powerful or greedy enough to challenge her for her dragons long before she even stepped into the pyre to hatch them.

So, upon Khal Drogo’s ashes, she hatched her dragons, and in doing so, she reclaimed motherhood from its patriarchal definition—not as a role that serves the interests of men, but as a source of her own power.

Her story makes it clear that working within an oppressive system to gain power is often futile. This parallels how our female Westerosi povs who attempt to gain power by playing the game remain trapped by its rules. No matter how skillfully they navigate it, the system itself is built to ensure their subjugation. Dany has succeeded not because she played better, but because she refused to play at all. She burnt the board, then removed herself from civilization—from its structures and trappings—by crossing through the Red Waste to protect herself and to safeguard her dragon hatchlings. Because of this, she is later able to reenter society as a force of disruption in her world. It’s important to note that it was Dany herself who chose to reenter society—annd later decided to use her dragons not just to empower herself, but to liberate others as well.

The message asoiaf presents through Dany is quite clear: true liberation is impossible within a system designed to oppress. Hatching her dragons on the Dothraki Sea, far away from the “civilized” world, was the perfect setting for her liberation—both practically and symbolically.

[almostempty]

it’s not that deep but it is that serious!

(editing and reblogging to clarify a couple things at the end of the post - edited once more to combine the second reblog into one)

I just want to come to this app to talk about deep throating mean!Joel and to make friends with other hot freaks. But I need my fellow heathens to hear me out for a moment.

I’ve tried to keep this space a little escape from reality, but that’s not a realistic privilege because life and art are inherently political.

I've seen friends and mutuals receiving hateful, racist, and cruel anons recently. I know these issues aren’t new for our Black and brown peers.

I see a lot of folks jumping to offer support and to express their disgust at the racist remarks.

I also see a lot of shock and disbelief and I want to talk about that.

Racism, bigotry, and prejudice are not new issues for Black and brown folks. If you find yourself shocked, surprised, and outraged when folks share the hate they receive I ask that you reflect on this. It’s a privilege to be surprised, to not be used to navigating and experiencing that vitriol.

I know it’s well intended when folks say things like, ‘if you’re a racist piece of shit get off my blog’ or similar messages, and i understand the anger and frustration. (*i appreciate seeing solidarity and i also do not want to police (acab) how people respond to the hate they receive)

I also don’t think anyone who is aware and actively spreading hate will be deterred. I imagine there are 4chan incel type trolls that just thrive on the attention and reaction of using the most inflammatory language they can, and trolls will troll. They inevitably will pop up.

What I want to address is the levels below the overt and active hate. The accidental or inadvertent covert racism. The micro aggressions. The passive silence or enabling of rhetoric that lets folks perpetuate harm without even thinking.

Black and brown creators in our community have been disregarded or overshadowed when they speak up about diversity or inclusion in this fandom or feeling unwelcomed.

They wade through oceans of moodboards with faceless, thin, white women paired with our favorite characters. They power through reader inserts with freckles, red marks, and pink pussies that say and do things they might never feel safe saying or doing in those universes. They scroll through bad Spanish or fetishized latino caricatures and romanticized colonial values. And they still show love and support by commenting and reblogging and uplifting other writers.

Maybe there are footnotes about the moodboards only being for inspiration, but that doesn’t erase the constant messaging that it was easier to find those pictures and add a note than to search harder or leave the pictures out.

When I saw a fic with a detail about the pedro character having a confederate flag in his trailer I had to pause. This is a perfect example. I don’t read this as malicious or intentionally harmful. I understand the stereotype it’s rooted in and the general humor of the story as a whole. I get that it’s a small detail and that racism wasn’t a core part of the character or the story.

But if we sit with this longer.. what does this tell our Black and brown peers? When the reader notices it and it’s just as notable as a calendar on the wall? And she fucks him willingly anyway?

Hate symbols aren’t unserious. Background or not. Imagine writing a Joel fic and giving him a swastika tattoo just as a background detail. Sounds extreme right? Maybe you’re writing an AU felon Joel and just trying to show how hardened and dark he is. Maybe in your headcanon he only got it in prison to protect himself and he isn’t a racist.

But to nazis it says this is a safe place to be. To the general audience it says you don’t care if this makes them feel unsafe or invisible.

To folks reading that a confederate flag isn’t a big deal, it signals that it’s an acceptable symbol. It shows that people are reading and commenting and sharing this story and are unbothered. That maybe people don’t even notice.

I’m not asking anyone to send hate and I’m not writing this as an attack on the author or anyone who shared the fic. We don’t know what we don’t know, but we have the opportunity to learn!

I am asking my peers to step in and step up, because I think y’all are smart and capable of more.

I am not an expert on anything. But as someone who went to grad school for social work — a field that only exists to combat the societal harm of power, privilege, and oppression — I don’t take it lightly. I work in advocacy fighting discrimination and prejudice from institutions built on systemic racism daily. I’m aware that I have the privilege of training, language, and awareness around diversity and inclusion, and that not everyone has the same knowledge or experience.

I also know this fandom is full of incredibly smart and well spoken folks who craft moving stories and analyze characters with nuance and passion.

I’m not interested in censoring what anyone writes and I happily abide by don’t like; don’t read.

If I only wanted to read I would stick to ao3. But I’m here and I stay here because of the community. The friendships and the extra tag games and challenges and support and camaraderie.

I know I make mistakes myself. And I know it can be uncomfortable to be called out for something you never intended to hurt anyone with. I know it can feel like your voice won’t be heard or your experience won’t be validated in such a big space.

I shared a post a while ago by a creator that doesn’t write for this fandom. It was an ode to Black fanfic writers in general, and in the comments Black writers were tagging each other to show love. And I knew there was something wrong when I wanted to share it but felt deeply hesitant about tagging anyone because I didn’t want Black writers to receive hate.

One of my favorite things about this fandom is how global it is. Getting to make friends with folks around the world is such a treat. I also know racism and fascism are not unique to one region.

It’s Black history month in the states and in Canada. I know other countries observe Black history month in other months. It’s an intentional observation for a reason.

For us, this is a hobby. We’re here voluntarily, and mostly anonymously, but we’re all people. Community is so vital to thwarting the dangers of fascism and hateful rhetoric.

This IS a post about racism.

But racism is absolutely entangled with sexism, classism, ableism, ethnocentrism, capitalism, colonialism, imperialism, patriarchal hegemony, etc.

This isn’t just a rant. It’s an ask. I’m asking my peers—writers, readers, gif makers, lurkers, etc.— to help.

Reflect on what you share and post. Think about how others perceive you.

I’m asking my peers to be curious and open to discussions. To ask questions if you see covert racism. To be willing to accept feedback.

We can be gentle with one another.

Like, ‘hey, I saw this and am wondering if you’re aware of the origin or the impact it might have?’ or ‘can I share how this may be misinterpreted or harmful?’

Be kind sure, but be an advocate!

If you see someone posting about a character being their ‘spirit animal’ — send them a DM! If you read something that stereotypes a race, let the author know! There’s plenty of online resources for writing characters from other races without falling back on harmful tropes.

And even better… support your Black and brown peers. Share their work. Show them you value their presence in the fandom.

I encourage folks to read fics with original characters or reader characters with explicitly diverse ethnicities and tell the author you appreciate that character! Recommend the work to friends.

I never shut up about how much I love Heat and the story is incredibly compelling *because* the reader is a Latina written by a Latina.

Anyway, I come to this hellsite to laugh and be horny—but at my core I am an ethical hater and I only wrote all of this because I care and I want this space to be inclusive.

I’m not speaking on behalf of anyone else and I don’t want to speak over anyone. I’m open to feedback or ideas.

I’m tagging some mutuals I interact with and some that I don’t know very well, not to curse y’all with reading my long winded post but to ask: when you have the capacity will you help take action to make this community stronger? Will you commit to being open to feedback and growth?

Bottom line I just wanna read about getting railed by that fictional guy and I want my Black and brown peers to have the opportunity to enjoy the same escape from reality.

I feel like this is worth posting because I think y’all can make a difference. So many of y’all write and analyze stories and characters with such nuance and passion and detail—and that’s why i believe you can help spot subtle and insidious forms of racism and make real changes.

TL;DR: I’m asking everyone to be proactive when you see microaggressions or covert racism in the fandom, and to be willing to accept feedback and learn from each other. Being passive is a luxury and a privilege our marginalized peers do not have. Let’s be more than performative or not racist. Be active. Be anti-racist.

some tags for folks (no pressure to share, I don’t want attention I just want to encourage folks to take time to reflect or let me know what you think idk): *not calling anyone out as having committed any offenses just feeling compelled to share the message i guess

@auteurdelabre @joelmillerisapunk @lotusbxtch @probablyreadinsmut @ace-turned-confused @baronessvonglitter @yxtkiwiyxt @slimybeth69 @bitchesuntitled @thundermartini @sin-djarin @strang3lov3 @mermaidgirl30 @for-a-longlongtime @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @evolnoomym @wannab-urs @sanarsi @yopossum @almostfoxglove @itwasntimethatdidit40 @syd-djarin @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

to anyone: please start conversations or reach out to me or send me an anon ask if you want to discuss something or share, idc but i’m begging y’all to listen to each other and advocate for one another and be open to self-reflection 💗 editing to add: if i tagged you it was not a callout that i think you've done something specific to reflect on-- just a general invite to join me in being intentional and to invite feedback if you have any! if i made anyone anxious i apologize! - to clarify when i said 'it's not that deep' i mean that maybe fanfic is easily brushed off as not that deep, but every blog is a real person (minus the army of porn bots) and we form real connections in this community <3

edit:

one more thing, 

first and foremost! a reminder that i am speaking about the inclusivity in this fandom as a whole. i don't want to lose the plot over one specific example that blew up. my point is the bulk of the racism in this fandom is perpetrated through micro aggressions and covert racism EVERY DAY. we can make sweeping statements and tell racists to fuck off, but next week we will be back to the status quo (aka where many non-white folks feel unwelcomed, aren't represented, and are disregarded when they raise concerns, etc.) unless we commit to examining ourselves first and looking for the more subtle things that perpetuate the current culture (e.g. harmful stereotypes and racial tropes, fetishizing latinx characters, bad Spanish, writing reader insert fics with specifically white features and characteristics without tagging, using slurs or coded language, etc.)

(i am behind on everything today and haven’t gotten back to everyone who added insightful thoughts and considerations to my original post yet) 

i did see some folks share examples of positive experiences calling-in peers or learning something new themselves and wanted to say thanks and highlight those positives. 

maybe other folks have already brought up the rest of my points and if so i do not mean to speak over anyone, but i wanted to add on to my first post: 

i originally asked everyone to step up and commit to advocating for each other— but i’d like to explicitly ask white folks to step up and look out for our Black and brown friends (who are tired and don’t get to check out irl or online). i am asking white folks to be open to learning and growing with compassion. i am asking white folks to be persistent, proactive, and brave enough to be uncomfortable or wrong. 

when i say we can be gentle with each other i do not mean to minimize pain or anger. i gladly and willingly validate that everyone has a right to be upset and outraged by hatred and racism. i am not asking my Black and brown peers to soften their reactions or dismiss their experiences.

i am (again) asking my white peers to be mindful, to take a breath and listen to what BIPOC folks have to say. to sit with the discomfort and know that seeing hate or racism might be shocking but it is not surprising if you’ve been listening. 

i am asking my white peers to be kind and also strategic. if you have the patience and capacity then do what you can to increase the odds that your peers will be willing to listen and learn. it’s free to try at least. 

most of us that commit micro aggressions or covert racism don't consider ourselves to be racists. we see posts that say 'racists and bigots aren't welcome on this blog' and we agree! we reblog those posts! we pat ourselves on the back for being an ally and continue on without making any other changes-- not because we are bad people, but because we have the privilege of feeling welcomed, represented, and valued as a baseline.

this is also my call-in to myself because i’ve allowed myself to stay quiet. i’ve relied on the comfort that my close friends know who i am and what my values are, but i have been passive. i have seen comments or posts that i recognized were ignorant or offensive and continued scrolling. i felt like it wasn't worth the drama to speak up.

i’m fallible and open to feedback ! i am also comfortable being an example, being vulnerable and sharing my mistakes or opportunities for growth. i've gotten more comfortable because i have hours of training and practice but i don't expect others to feel good being called-in or to anticipate what might make them act defensively.

i know the core principle of cultural humility is that nobody is an expert on culture, that the best practice is to remain open and curious, to identify your own values and beliefs, and to confront stereotypes. it is an ongoing process of self-reflection and commitment to growth 

and so i volunteer to be here for any of my white friends that want to make this fandom a more inclusive space, but are feeling uncertain or uncomfortable. (i am not offering to defend racism or excuse hate)

there is extreme cognitive dissonance in believing you are a good person, a not-racist person, and a friend and ally— and being confronted with the idea you are perpetuating stereotypes, inadvertently causing harm, or alienating folks you care about. 

I know it seems like a safe option to stay quiet if you think you might say the wrong thing or make a situation worse. 

I know it’s hard enough to send someone a friendly message or to know what to comment on a fic you loved, let alone to feel empowered to point out something that might make someone else react defensively. I’m not volunteering to be the morality police (acab) but i’m here for all of my friends, mutuals, and peers in the fandom who want support with calling-in others or learning. i encourage and welcome discussion and curiosity. 

i ask white folks to make conscious changes so that when these conversations die down we don’t fall back into enabling white ignorance to infect the fandom and harm our friends.

bonus thoughts

i see and am grateful for the folks that called my first post eloquent and at the same time i am deeply aware of the ‘angry Black woman’ trope that undermines and minimizes Black women’s voices (especially when they are rightfully angry). i guess i’m just repeating that i don’t want to speak over anyone but i am committing to speaking up. 

i don’t want to harp on the confederate flag example anymore, but i would like to be clear that this isn’t about censorship. Consider the context and don’t turn this into a straw man argument or dilute the message with whataboutery. It speaks volumes if you’d rather argue semantics than listen to your peers about the reality of impact vs intent with that example or others. 

thank you for reading and being here <3

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

𝕃𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖

Chapter one:

Summary: Y/N meets Nabi.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Good morning, welcome to Megaversé Café. I'm Y/n. How can I help you today?” Y/n asked politely, her tone warm as she greeted the man standing in front of her. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual—he was undeniably handsome. His striking black hair was perfectly styled, and his outfit was sharp and carefully put together. His presence was commanding, like he carried a weight of authority wherever he went.

Y/n’s omega instincts tingled at the powerful aura he radiated, and when his scent hit her nose, it made her pulse quicken. It was the scent of an Alpha, one that could make any omega instinctively feel both drawn to him and slightly intimidated. She swallowed, trying to remain composed, but she couldn’t deny how her body subtly reacted to him, her instincts urging her to be cautious yet respectful.

“Umm… hello,” he spoke softly, his voice calm yet full of purpose. “I heard you run a daycare here? Is that true?” He flashed a polite smile, his eyes briefly roving over Y/n’s face. She was quite beautiful, he noticed, though something about her also felt… different. There was a vulnerability there, one that intrigued him.

“Oh right, yes, we do, sir,” Y/n answered, her smile widening as she relaxed a little. “Are you interested in the program?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “My mates and I are looking to enroll our pups.” He paused, searching her face for any signs of judgment or surprise. “Is that possible?”

“Of course, sir,” Y/n said eagerly. “You’re in the right place. If you just follow me, I can introduce you to the person in charge of that area.” She gestured toward the door on the opposite side of the counter.

The man, who introduced himself as Chan, gave a small nod of approval and followed her closely. Y/n couldn’t help but notice how attentive he was to his surroundings, his eyes sharp and calculating, like he was weighing every detail.

They made their way down a hallway that led to a spacious daycare center, and as Chan entered, he was immediately impressed. The room was bright and inviting, filled with colorful toys, and it felt like the perfect environment for children. He nodded to himself, already picturing his pups playing in this space.

"So," she began, trying to make small talk to ease her nerves. "Do you have any specific requirements for the pups? Anything you'd like to know about our program?"

"No, just... a safe environment," he replied thoughtfully. His gaze swept the hallway as they passed, and Y/n couldn't help but feel his eyes on her, studying her closely. She glanced over her shoulder, catching the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he continued. "We just want them to be well taken care of."

She pushed open the door to the office, where a young woman with short, spiky hair was typing away at her laptop.

“Right, okay, this is Yenji. She’ll be able to help you with everything,” Y/n introduced him to the woman sitting behind the reception desk.

“Okay, thank you,” Chan said, squinting a little, trying to recall Y/n’s name. “I’m sorry, could you remind me of your name again?”

“Y/n,” she replied quickly with a soft smile. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Chan nodded, but as he turned to face Yenji, something about Y/n lingered in his thoughts. Her scent, her movements… his alpha side immediately picked up that she was an omega. It wasn’t just her scent; it was the way she carried herself, the soft yet polite mannerism. There was no mistaking it.

“Thank you once again, have a good day,” Chan said, offering a polite smile. He waved goodbye, and Y/n returned the gesture, heading back toward the counter.

As she walked away, Chan’s curiosity got the better of him. He turned to Yenji. “Is she an omega?” His voice was low, careful not to make it sound like an interrogation, but the question hung in the air.

Yenji chuckled softly, looking up from her laptop. “We normally can’t disclose that kind of information, sir…” she trailed off, her tone turning conspiratorial. “But yes, she is.”

“Ah, I see,” Chan murmured, nodding in understanding. He felt a small pang of something he couldn’t quite identify at the thought, but he quickly pushed it away.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Yenji said, waving him off. “You’re not the first to ask about her. She’s new around here, and she definitely has an effect on Alphas. But she’s a sweetheart, really.”

“Hmm…” Chan hummed thoughtfully. He was still trying to figure her out, but that would have to wait.

Yenji smiled, shifting gears back to business. “Now, shall we get started?” She gestured toward the chair across from her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Yenji looked up from her laptop, her expression polite but curious. "How can I help you today?"

Chan smiled warmly at her. "I heard you run a daycare for pups. My mates and I were hoping to enroll them."

Yenji raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Of course, we can help you with that. What are their names and ages?"

Just then Nabi’s stroller had just rolled in, and it was Felix, Chan’s mate, who was rushing in with the child.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" Felix's voice echoed as he hurried into the office, his face flushed with stress. "Nabi was having a meltdown, and the twins got into a fight. It’s been a whole morning!"

Chan's expression softened as he stepped forward to help Felix with the stroller. "It’s okay, don’t worry about it." He gently took the baby bag from Felix’s arms, giving him a smile. "You’re here now. That’s what matters."

Felix sighed in relief, looking over at Yenji. "I’m so sorry we’re late. I hope this doesn’t cause too much trouble."

Yenji waved off his concern, giving him a reassuring smile. "Not at all! We were just going over some details."

Chan and felix sat back down, and the conversation shifted to the practicalities of daycare for their pups. Chan, always a man of few words, laid out the details clearly but Felix was the one doing most of the talking.

“We have seven pups in total,” Felix began, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his little ones. “They haven’t presented yet, so for now they’re just regular pups. We were hoping you could take care of them during the day while we run the pack’s village.”

Felix looked at Yenji with a sheepish smile. “Did you tell her who we are?”

“No,” Chan said, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve been trying to keep it low-key, but it’s hard with how well-known our pack is.”

Felix sighed, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised. Some places don’t care who we are. We’ve had a hard time finding a daycare that’ll take this many pups.”

Yenji’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No way. People refuse you? I don’t get it.”

Felix ran his fingers through his hair, looking frustrated. “They don’t know who we are half the time, and even if they do, we’re still rejected. But we’re glad you can help us.”

Yenji blinked, looking up from her notes. “Wait, a village?”

“Yeah, our pack runs a whole village. We’re the SKZ pack.”

“Wait, the SKZ pack?” Yenji gasped, dropping her pen in surprise. Her eyes widened as she looked from Chan to Felix. “I didn’t realize—wow, it’s such an honor to meet you! I’ve heard so much about your pack.”

Chan chuckled softly, clearly accustomed to the reactions his pack’s name stirred. “Yes, that’s us,” he said with a smirk, though his tone remained humble. “But we’re just a regular family. No need for all the fanfare.”

Yenji couldn’t help but smile. “Right, right,” she said, trying to gather herself. “So, about the pups. How old are they?”

Chan ran through the details smoothly. “Eunji is the oldest, seven years old. Then there’s Joon, who’s also seven but a few months younger. The twins, Aera and Hwan, are six. Tae will turn six soon. Chul is four, and Nabi just turned one last month.”

Yenji scribbled down the information, noting every detail. “Okay, and do they have any dietary requirements?”

“Not really. Their other mum is very strict about their diets, but they’re mostly fine with whatever,” Felix said, though he smiled fondly at the thought of his mate’s fussing over their pups’ food. “They’re picky, but nothing unusual.”

“Alright,” Yenji nodded. “Any illnesses we should know about?”

“Not at all,” Felix replied, thinking for a moment. “Well, Joon did break his arm last week playing in the backyard, but it’s nothing serious.”

“A broken arm?” Yenji raised an eyebrow, noting it down. “Okay, does he need any ongoing medication?”

"Hmm…" Felix thought for a moment. "Just a few things. Some painkillers here and there, and… what’s it called, babe?" He turned to the man.

"Intranasal and dietary supplements," Chan answered, smiling a little sheepishly.

"Right," Felix nodded. "That’s about it. Other than that, they’re pretty healthy."

Yenji gave them an understanding look, eager to help in any way she could. "No problem. We can definitely accommodate that."

"Is there anything specific you’d like to ask about the kids? Diapers, snacks, or dietary restrictions?" Felix asked.

Yenji spoke up. "Actually, does Nabi wear diapers?"

"Yes, she does," Felix confirmed, Yenji started jotting something down. "But we always pack extra in her bag. No offense, but I’m a little bit of a control freak when it comes to what diapers she wears. I also prefer if the kids don’t borrow clothes from other children."

"That’s totally understandable," Yenji nodded, not in the least offended. "We’ll make sure to accommodate that. Actually, I’ll reserve some lockers for you to store extra clothes. Just in case they spill something or need a change."

Felix seemed to relax a little at that. "I appreciate it," he said, looking over at Chan who gave him a reassuring nod.

"I have a question," Chan spoke up, still eyeing the room. "What does their schedule look like? I’m also a little concerned about the cafe being so close by… Anyone can just walk in, right?"

Yenji shook her head immediately. "No need to worry about that at all, sir." She smiled warmly, clearly proud of their security measures. "This is just the front office. I’ll take you to the back where the daycare rooms are, and you’ll see—no one gets in without their parent cards."

"Parent cards?" Chan’s brow furrowed, clearly confused.

"Yes, every parent has to have one to get through the door," Yenji explained, gesturing toward a scanner by the back door. "You just swipe your card, and then the system uses facial recognition to verify your identity. You’ll also need to sign in whenever you pick up or drop off your pups."

Felix raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Okay, but let’s say I lose my card, and someone tries to use it. What happens then?"

Yenji chuckled lightly. "They wouldn’t get through because of the facial recognition system, and our security personnel would definitely stop anyone who wasn’t familiar with the kids. We take safety very seriously here."

Felix purred, clearly satisfied with that answer. "Hm, I like this place already."

"I’m glad to hear that," Yenji replied with a smile. She continued, "As for the kids' schedules, it really depends on the day. Most days, they’ll do arts and crafts, reading, and even digital games. The older ones have structured activities like sports, while the younger ones do more normal activities like sensory play or free time."

"Can we get a copy of their schedule?" Felix asked, clearly curious.

"Of course," Yenji said, scribbling down a few notes before handing Felix a sheet of paper. "Also, we need to know who will be picking up the kids. We’ll get cards made for those individuals as well."

Chan spoke up again, organizing the details. "It’ll mostly be the moms—Han and Felix—but some days, Lee Know and Hyunjin might need to pick them up. So, we’d need cards for all eight contacts."

"Eight?" Yenji blinked in surprise.

"Yes, our schedule is complicated. Trust me, it’s easier this way," Chan chuckled.

The conversation shifted to timing after. "Daycare officially runs from 6 a.m. to 12 p.m., but if that doesn’t work for you, we can shift it to 9 a.m. to 3 p.m."

Felix quickly jumped in. "Oh, hyung, can we do the 9 to 3 shift instead? It’ll make it easier for you guys to work in the afternoon, right?"

Chan nodded, thinking it over. "Yeah, I think we’ll go with that."

Yenji jotted down the change. "Got it! We’ll adjust that for you."

As the meeting continued, Felix turned to Yenji with a slight smile. "So, who exactly is in charge of the kids? We just want to make sure they’ll be in good hands."

Yenji smiled back. "Only omegas are in charge of the kids here. We don’t hire alphas, except for security."

Felix let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God. I don’t trust any alphas with my kids unless I’m around."

Yenji smiled, understanding the concern. "I’m a beta, by the way. We’ve got a few of us, but we’re all trained extensively. Your pups will be in great hands."

Felix’s shoulders relaxed at that. "I’m happy to hear that."

"And we have a nurse on staff at all times," Yenji added. "You’ll just need to fill out a medical form. The fee for each pup is 279,640 won."

"Wait, what?" Chan gasped dramatically, earning a playful slap from Felix.

"Hyung, stop it," Felix giggled, swatting him playfully.

Chan pouted. "You omegas are going to make me run broke."

Yenji laughed at their playful exchange. "It gets worse, I’m afraid," she teased.

"Oh God," Chan groaned. "How much more?"

"We can discuss the fees later," Yenji said with a chuckle. "First, let’s finish the campus tour."

Chan grinned. "We’re not buying a new car."

Felix faked a pout. "But baby…"

"Absolutely not unless you’re getting it out of Changbin or I.N's account," Chan teased, looking at Yenji, who couldn’t help but smile at the dynamics of the pack.

Finally, it was time to wrap up the meeting and head for the campus tour. "We can leave Nabi in the stroller while Y/n watches her," Yenji suggested, getting up from the desk. "Don’t worry, she’ll be safe."

Felix’s omega instincts immediately protested. "Uh... Alright, that’s fine," he said reluctantly, but Yenji noticed the concern in his eyes. He didn’t know her, but he didn’t want to leave Nabi with anyone else.

Yenji quickly excused herself to grab Y/n, who was just outside the office. "Do you need me to remove my scent patches?" Y/n asked politely when she entered the room.

"Can you?" Felix asked, his voice soft but firm. "I just don’t want her to get fussy. And please, don’t scent her. I don’t feel comfortable with that."

Y/n gave him an understanding nod. "Of course, I’ll make sure to be gentle with her."

As Chan slowly handed Nabi over to Y/n, he sighed. "God, she’s getting heavy."

"Well, you know how Changbin gets about skinny pups," Felix teased as he adjusted the baby bag.

Y/n carefully cradled Nabi, the little pup settling back to sleep with a small sigh.

Chan, who had been watching all this with a bemused expression, let out a loud huff. "Can we hurry this up? I’ve got a studio session in an hour."

Felix chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Let’s go."

"Shall we?" Yenji asked, gesturing toward the hallway. "Follow me, I’ll show you where the daycare rooms are. This area is just for the front office, so it’s not where the kids will be spending their time."

Chan and Felix exchanged a look before following Yenji down the hall, their footsteps echoing in the quiet building. The daycare was spacious, with colorful walls and a number of rooms dedicated to various age groups. As they passed a playroom, Chan’s eyes flickered toward it, noticing the well-organized space and the ample toys.

"This place is bigger than I expected," Felix commented, clearly impressed by the setup. "It seems really well organized."

"We take pride in our facilities," Yenji said with a small smile, leading them into the main area. "We’ve got separate rooms for different age groups."

"Sounds like it’s well-thought-out," Chan said, nodding approvingly.

They made their way through the different sections of the daycare, which were full of age-appropriate toys and even small rest areas. There was a quiet, calming atmosphere to the place, and the alphas were reassured that their pups would be safe here. The walls were decorated with happy drawings from other pups, and each room had its own dedicated staff, all of whom were betas or omegas—never alphas. The care here was personal, and it was clear that the staff was well-trained and genuinely cared about the pups.

As they returned to the office, Y/n was sitting on one of the office sofas, rocking the baby gently with one hand while cooing softly at Nabi, who was still tucked under a light blanket.

"Oh, you sweet little thing," Y/n whispered, a soft smile on her face. The little pup stirred slightly but stayed asleep, her small hands curling into tiny fists as she nuzzled deeper into the warmth of her blanket. Y/n’s omega instincts kicked in as she carefully and gently rocked her, murmuring quiet words of comfort. It was almost like an instinct, this bond that formed between omegas and pups. She couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for the baby in her arms.

Felix and Chan returned, clearly pleased with the daycare’s setup. Chan took one look at the sleeping Nabi in Y/n’s arms and smiled.

"Looks like she likes you," Felix commented softly, walking over to gently lift Nabi out of Y/n’s arms.

Nabi woke up with a small whimper but settled back when she saw Felix, her mother. "I think she really likes you, Y/n," Felix added, chuckling softly as he took his daughter into his arms. "She’s a little attached."

Y/n smiled warmly, her heart fluttering. "She’s just precious," she cooed, watching as Felix carefully adjusted her in his arms.

“She’s so cute, right?”

Y/n smiled at the baby in her arms. “She’s adorable.”

Felix’s voice softened as he chuckled. “She takes after I.N, I think.”

"It was an absolute pleasure working with you both," Yenji said, excited that such a well-known pack would be joining their daycare.

"I’ll be seeing you on Monday then," Y/n added, her smile warm but slightly bittersweet.

"Yes you will," Chan responded pulling out his phone to check a message.

After completing the final bits of paperwork, Chan, Felix, and Yenji exchanged a few more pleasantries, clearly satisfied with their decision to enroll their pups here.

As Chan, who had been watching all this with an amused smile, stood up, he gave them a friendly wave. "Have a good day, guys!" His voice carried a light tone, though his eyes flickered a deep red for just a second.

Y/n blinked in surprise at the brief flash of red in Chan's eyes. It wasn’t something she saw often, but the flicker was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

Chan was more focused on the fact that Y/n’s scent was undeniably strong now. His alpha instincts reacted involuntarily, stirring a sharp, deep craving within him. He quickly averted his gaze, trying to control the pull he felt.

Damn, he thought, swallowing hard. Her scent is so strong…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A/N: This was kinda messy but i just wanted to get the series a start so bare with me.

Taglist: @ihrtlix@bowsnbang@katsukis1wife@thegingerthatwaited@thicccurls

@xxeiraxx @paleangelsweets @klaydohart @eastleighsblog @ivrespace

@galaxy4489 @purplepursepaint @catlove83 @sillystormsstuff @iwuberic

@cocofia143 @royal-shinigami @virluna148 @galaxycatdrawz @memersanonymous

@skz-stay13 @seungminsbest @hogwartslife64 @sinfulfic @hyunnesblog

@maisyyyyyy @cluelessred3 @leezanetheofficial @cocofia143 @lemonn015

@kkamismom12 @mei0packet @igetcarriedawaywithyou @hyuneyeon

taglist: closed :(

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE

Hey, my lovely readers! It's been a while, huh? I missed you so much!

It with big pleasure that I present for you my new project. I've been try a new formula that I wanted to write this one. So, it's a experiment....

Maybe I'll post the chapter one still this month... I don't know... I have a lot of things to do... urghhh 😩😩😩

But anyways... I hope you can enjoy it!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, BDSM, Top/bottom dinamic, Brat/Tammer dinamic, Agatha dom! Reader bottom! Reader top from the bottom! (sometimes), manipulation, dubcon, strap, mommy kink, mommy issues, age difference (Agatha's 50 and R's 20), degradation, power dinamic, cnc, angst, fluffy, spanking, anal, feet & plot twist.

Prologue

When the pawn is the chosen piece.

The camera smiles first.

And then, as always, she follows.

Agatha Harkness lifts her chin gently, a polite smile precisely sculpted on her lips — sweet, almost kind. That’s what they expect from her: empathy. A human candidate. Submissive to the will of the people, loyal to the country, the eternal widow of America. A woman who married only once, who never hid scandals… simply because she never had any.

Never allowed them.

She moves like a queen on the chessboard. Dangerous, but discreet. Lethal, if underestimated.

“Washington needs change, and I’m the only one who can make it happen,” she says into the mic at the end of yet another exhausting debate, her voice calm, clear, and motherly.

The cameras flash.

Hearts ignite with the fire that politics stirs.

Jennifer Barkley smiles behind the cameras, proud. Tony Stark, ever the charmer, steps forward to shake her hand, congratulating her on the success of the spectacle — a staged show of support, crafted by numbers and strategists.

But Agatha no longer sees any of it.

She’s only thinking about what she’s about to lose if she gives in to the temptation of feeling.

Because in the political game, love is a distraction.

And she’s not here to be loved.

She’s here to win.

The fake ID feels warm in your hand, made of cheap plastic, and you were sure it cost less than a subway ride.

The tight dress Carol lent you didn’t do justice to the city of Seattle — rich and green. You were sure she’d gone overboard picking a bar like this.

But c’mon… it’s Carol Danvers!

All it takes is one smile from her and you obey.

The entrance to the bar is a breath of freedom in the silent prison your life has become — your relationship with her, if you can even call it that. Carol holds your hand, but not out of care.

It’s possession.

A warning.

The pulsing lights pull you away from reality for one night. You drink and pretend this is happiness.

Until your eyes meet hers.

Icy blue eyes — you were certain there was a hint of green, or maybe it was just the bar’s lights.

But they’re hers.

And they’re locked on you.

The stare is hard, severe. You shrink inside, wondering if something’s out of place. Your hair? Your makeup?

Shit, you curse yourself silently. You knew it was a mistake to wear so much mascara. Now all your flaws were probably plain to see for that woman who looked so… perfect.

You look away, embarrassed. But something lingers. A tension you can’t name. A presence that doesn’t dissolve, even when you turn your back.

It was 3 a.m. You searched for Carol with blurry, drunken eyes, the need to breathe in a calm, quiet space growing by the second. The energy in that place was draining you, making you want to cry.

You hold back the tears like it’s just another regular day, searching for the nearest exit so you can breathe and escape the sea of people.

The half-jammed emergency door creaks open, and you seem to have found a safe place to regulate your emotions.

Seattle’s ever-freezing air makes you feel even lonelier, more depressed — until someone else seems to need space just as much as you…

It’s her!

The woman from the table across the bar.

The woman with cold, terrifying eyes.

Terrifyingly hypnotic.

You lift your eyes a bit higher and take a chance.

The feminine silhouette before you is imposing, stunning. Dark hair cascading like a rope framing a strong face — but something in her flushed cheeks, from the alcohol or maybe the cold, adds a softness to her otherwise severe figure.

You’re intrigued.

The cobalt blue gaze like icy blades piercing into your soul. She doesn’t smile. But she studies you, as if discovering something you never even knew about yourself.

You swallow hard.

She doesn’t even ask your name.

And still, you feel like you’ve just been chosen.

~*~

I dedicate this story to all lovers of politics and women, especially haha 😆💜

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights @dingdongthetail @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi

[trevuorzegras]

cowboy!quinn x reader | the only mistake .ᐟ

the way back — zach bryan 🧺

authors note | i am going to try, and be more active, i promise! a lot going on currently, i apologize for the lack of content.

also thank you for 400 followers!

@wnderify @star2fishmeg ♥︎

Quinn was sure of everything he did. From the way he carried himself, to how he preformed during shows. He was as confident as they came.

This though? This was the only thing he was unsure of. Quinn made no mistakes. None. Almost everyone he met saw him as this perfect man, the man people envisioned themselves with someday. Now, this had Quinn questioning everything he had once known.

౨ৎ

Y/N jumped as Quinn slammed his larger hands down against their kitchen table, “I don’t need you on my ass all the damn time!”

All she could do was stare at him, shocked, and scared. Quinn was the quiet type, even when he held his head high. Yes, he was confident. That was a fact, but he had never been the type to raise his voice, especially not at his Ol’ Lady.

Before Quinn can ever register what he had just done, Y/N was already muttering apologies as tears began to fall from her flushed cheeks.

His eyes snapped towards her, the anger that once filled him vanishing quickly. He took a step towards her, only for her to take a step back. In that moment, Quinn had realized just what he had done.

౨ৎ

When Quinn had gotten home from work later that night, Y/N was nowhere to be found. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop replaying their fight in his head. It was like a record stuck on repeat, and he had no idea how to stop it.

He shouldn’t have left her. He knew that, but he wanted to give her space. He had never raised his voice at her before, and he knew she’d need time.

Quinn was raised to be respectful to everyone, especially to those you love. God he was such an idiot. Y/N was the woman he loved most, and he was pushing her away like a dumbass.

౨ৎ

Quinn couldn’t think straight for the days following their fight. Y/N had been gone for three days now, and he genuinely started to think he was going insane.

Though, eventually, she turned up. He wasn’t sure where she had been, and hell he didn’t care. He just wanted her safe, he needed her to be safe.

His eyes followed her from his place on the small brown sofa as she opened the front door. She seemed to be looking around, checking to see if he was home, making his heart ache. He watched as she let out a shaky breath when their eyes met, his heart breaking from the sight alone.

౨ৎ

Y/N ended it that night, though he couldn’t blame her. She had put her faith in him, and he ruined it. To some, yelling isn’t a huge deal, but to her? It was the biggest deal. Growing up with a family like hers was not easy, but allowing yourself to love again? even harder. Yet she loved him. Loved. He wasn’t sure if she could look at him the same, let alone love him.

His performance began slipping, rapidly. He wasn’t riding as good as he should. He just overall was not focused on anything - though how could he be? He lost her. He lost the person he loved most in life.

No one had ever seen Quinn so distracted before, he had been doing shows since he was 14, and had never been so distant from reality. His mind was somewhere else, that was clear to anyone.

His mother, Ellen, had been the first to notice it. His smile no longer reached his eyes, his smile no longer seemed to be genuine. Everything that once came so natural had become a chore to him. The sport he loved seemed to become a chore right before his eyes.

That’s when she learned just why he was acting the way he was. Quinn was fully convinced he was going to marry Y/N. Except now, one simple mistake ruined every chance at his perfect future, his perfect wife.

Now she had just been a distant memory. A constant reminder of just how easy it was to lose everything.

[steddiealltheway]

Modern AU stuff is stuck in my head.

Thinking of one where Robin gets a new number and scribbles it down for Steve in a rush because she has a Tinder date with a really cute girl, and she does not have time for Steve to inevitably mistype his phone password several times before finding his contacts app. She rips off the scrap of paper and shoves it at Steve as she rushes to finish her hair and retouch up her mascara.

“Robin, you look great.”

Robin huffs, “I don’t need to look great. I need to look fantastic! You saw the girl! She’s hot, and, for once, I had such a great conversation and we were immediately connecting, you know?”

She rambles on as Steve rolls his eyes and tries to tune her out a bit. It’s not that he isn’t happy for her, it’s just… he’s suffering from a small, embarrassing crush on Dustin’s older friend. And while he knows he could just ask him out like any other person, he finds himself at a loss for words in front of the hyper man. And usually, Steve is more than happy to ramble about random shit and flirt until he has the person practically melting into a puddle of goo at his feet.

All he’s saying is Eddie Munson is different.

And he doesn’t know what to do about it but suffer in silence until their inevitable interactions where he unapologetically shoves his way into his space and calls him little flirtatious nicknames that make Steve’s mind go blank.

Steve has never felt so flustered in his life.

A snap brings him back to reality, and he looks at Robin who does a final spin and asks, “Good?”

Steve looks her over and smiles. “Perfect. Now, go have fun and be safe. I’ll text you to make sure she’s not a serial killer or something.”

“That’s comforting,” Robin says but looks in the mirror one more time before nodding and rushing off yelling, “Bye!”

Steve looks down at the piece of paper in his hand a cringes and the hurried scribbles. Hopefully he’ll be able to decipher it correctly.

He watches through the window, trying not to look too creepy, as Robin climbs into the car with a big smile before it slowly starts moving down the street. Steve feels better once he sees her date is a careful driver.

Steve waits a few more minutes before he makes his way out of the house and goes to his own. Once he gets into his room, he pulls out the piece of paper and types it into his contacts - after messing up the password and struggling to find his contacts.

Steve: So not a serial killer I hope?

There’s instantly some typing back that worries Steve. Shouldn’t Robin be distracted by her date?

Robin: Not a serial killer but you might be… who is this? You intrigue me.

Not Robin. Steve’s heart races as he looks at the scrap of paper. Damn scribbled mess.

Steve: Sorry!! I must’ve typed in the wrong number. Friend is on a first date and was checking in

Not Robin: So sweet of you. Although it makes me nervous that you have no way of contacting your friend and finding out

Steve hadn’t even thought of that. His heart races more. He’s always been one to worry.

Steve: Shit.

Not Robin: Do they have an Instagram that you can message and ask for their number? Not that I mind texting you this lonely Friday night, but it’s probably a good option

He sighs in relief. The stranger is smart and honestly a bit charming. It’s definitely a lonely Friday night for him too. He goes to Instagram and send Robin a quick message before returning to his texts.

Steve: You’re a genius! But what’s a genius doing alone this Friday night?

He stares at the message before sending it. No regrets.

He looks at it for a minute longer as the stranger doesn’t reply. Okay, maybe he has some regrets.

He starts typing out an apology, but a response comes in.

Not Robin: Nothing much really. Debating playing my guitar or staring at my ceiling for a few hours. Both very exciting options. Although I like this new option of texting you more… I will say I’m a 20 year old male though. Don’t want to be texting a minor or some shit.

Steve stares at the message and his heart thuds. 20 year old male. What are the chances?

Steve: 19 year old male here, so you’re in the clear. Unless one of us is lying.

Not Robin: hmm… that makes you sound a bit suspicious but I’ll pinky promise that I’m not lying to you on my end if you’ll do the same

Steve smiles at the message as he types back.

Steve: Pinky promise ❤️

He stares at the heart that’s a little bold, but hey. Why not take a risk?

Not Robin: Looks like my night is getting a lot better

Steve laughs and can’t help but think the same thing.

-:-:-:-:-:-

They text nonstop for the next few days. Steve opens his soul more than he has in years, and the stranger does the same in return. They flirt and exchange jokes and whatnot as well, but Steve always looks forward to when it’s late at night, and the stranger is always up and willing to hear some of his deepest thoughts.

Robin’s worried a bit about the person being some lying creep, but Steve isn’t too worried. He’s given away nothing too personal… except his crush on Eddie Munson.

He hasn’t told the stranger the name of his crush or exactly how he knows him, but in response, the stranger talks about his own hopeless crush on this hot guy who doesn’t really say much to him. They both joke about how they’re hopeless, and Steve almost wonders if he’s falling for the stranger alongside Eddie.

But it’s a crazy thought. The guy could be halfway across the country, but Robin argues that they’re nearby with the way the area codes match.

Steve just shrugs it off and tries not to think too hard about it.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Two weeks pass and Steve finds himself giggling in his bed at 2am, trying to fight sleep as the stranger rattles on about some kid he’s friends with that sounds oddly like Dustin. Steve shares his own stories about his Dustin and his annoying habits, but the two of them agree they wouldn’t change a single thing about their friends.

Not Robin: By the way, I’m going to be MIA for a few hours tomorrow. Got this sort of big game coming up.

Steve’s heart drops a bit at the thought. Tomorrow he was going to try to get a pep talk from the stranger before he has to face Eddie after the big final to his Dnd campaign.

Steve: damn. I’ll miss you. I’ll be hyping myself up tomorrow before I see my guy. Think you could give a brief pep talk?

He watches as the stranger types for a while, but is surprised with how short the text ends up being.

Not Robin: Just be yourself. If he can’t see how amazing you are, then he’s not the right guy for you 🖤 goodnight, stranger. Wish me luck as I will be seeing my guy too

Steve stares at the heart and feels his own heart beating fast.

Steve: Good luck :) Same to you 🤍. But hey, try to get his number this time! Goodnight

He feels his stomach kind of flip at the idea.

Not Robin: thank you. I’ll try

Steve hearts the message and puts his phone down. He stares at the ceiling and tries not to think too hard about the jealous feeling in the pit of his stomach as he drifts off.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Steve is slightly freaking out. He’s about to see Eddie, and he’s decided if his stranger is finally going to get his crush’s number, then he’ll ask Eddie for his. It’ll be fine. It’ll be great.

He stares at the school and waits for Dustin to bust out the doors with Eddie trailing behind him. Steve nervously pulls out his phone.

Steve: About to see my guy and I’m freaking tf out! Miss you :( you always know what to say

He sees his stranger typing and his heart races.

Not Robin: Weird, I’m about to see mine too. But I’m gonna ask him for his number!! I’m determined. But hey, I’ve miss you too :( game just ended by the way

Not even seconds later, the doors to the school open, and Steve watches as Eddie comes out behind Dustin looking at his phone before turning it off and pocketing it. Steve’s heart races.

“Steve! Eddie’s campaign was incredible! I almost died twice, but Will ended up saving all our asses when he rolled a nat twenty during our final battle! It was so cool!” Dustin says running up to Steve.

He laughs and nods not totally understanding what he’s saying. But he sees Eddie come closer out of the corner of his eye. Okay. Get his number. Easy enough. He can do it. His stranger believes in him.

“Okay, you can tell me all about it on the way home. Just give me a minute here,” Steve says patting Dustin on the shoulder as he approaches Eddie for once. He feels like he might pass out.

“Hey,” Eddie says with a big smile.

“Hey yourself. Heard that it was a good game,” Steve says, trying not to do a little dance at how he’s able to get a full sentence out.

It seems to also surprise Eddie who has a blush rise to his face. “I was hoping it would be. Um…” he trails off and kicks a rock on the ground. “So, I was uh. Wondering if…” he takes a deep breath and looks at Steve. “Wondering if I could get your number? In case… you know… something happens with Dustin or something. I don’t know,” Eddie rambles out and pulls a piece of hair in front of his face.

Steve digs out his phone with a big smile. “How about I get yours?”

Eddie smiles and his hands drop down to fidget with his rings as he rattles out his number. Steve goes to his messages and types it in, only it shows the number appear as Not Robin.

Steve shakes his head and deletes the number. Surely he did something wrong. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

Eddie nods and repeats his number slower. It pops up again. Not Robin.

Steve’s heart thuds. “Uh…” he says and then carefully repeats the number back.

Eddie smiles and nods.

Steve swallows. Shit shit. Holy shit. Not Robin is Eddie. He’s been talking to Eddie this whole time and bearing his soul and talking about him to him. Holy shit what is life?

“Hey, Steve, you okay?” Eddie asks, concerned written all over his face when Steve glances up.

Steve stares and nods. “Um… just… you’re really not going to believe this.”

Eddie’s brows furrow. “Believe what?”

Steve takes a deep breath and types out a message to Not Robin.

Steve: Hey Eddie :)

Eddie’s phone dings and he looks at the message before doing a double take at it. His jaw drops. “You’re…”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.

Eddie nods looking like he’s half on the verge of panicking. “And your guy is…”

“You,” Steve admits then his heart races. “And your guy?”

“You,” Eddie says as his tongue comes up to worry his top lip.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank god. I’ve been falling for both of you this whole time.”

“Me too,” Eddie says with a laugh. He holds Steve’s gaze. “So… what do we do from here…”

Steve scratches his cheek and shrugs. “Well, I say we take a night to connect the dots about everything and then go on a date tomorrow? Eight o’clock? I’ll text you details tonight.”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie says with a big grin. Steve nods and starts to walk back to his car where he feels like he’s about to have a full happy breakdown. “Steve?” Eddie calls out.

Steve turns around and looks at him.

“The buttheads we’ve been talking about are Dustin, right?”

Steve laughs and can’t help it as he walks back to Eddie throwing his arms around him in a hug. “God, I missed you tonight.”

Eddie squeezes him back, “I missed you, too.” They pull away but stay close. “This is going to take a bit of getting used to. Both my dreams guys are you.”

“Same here. Shit.” Steve takes a moment to look into Eddie’s eyes. “I really want to kiss you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Eddie says leaning in.

The car horn beeps loudly causing them to both jump back. “Listen!” Dustin yells leaning out the window, “I don’t know what the fuck I missed, but I would appreciate it if you filled me in on the way home before my mom starts freaking out!”

Steve sighs and drops his head to Eddie’s chest. “What a butthead.”

Eddie laughs and hugs him again. “Tomorrow,” he says like a promise.

“Tomorrow,” Steve says pulling away and raising up his pinky towards Eddie. He smiles down at it and links his pinky with his.

The car horn goes off again.

“Alright alright! I’m coming!” Steve yells over his shoulder then gives Eddie one last pinky squeeze before walking away.

This is going to be a long car ride, but Steve doesn’t mind at all.

[httpvomitello]

That's My Girl *⁠.⁠✧

george weasley x f!reader

The Burrow was even cozier than George had described. It was alive with magic, warmth, and a kind of chaotic charm that you couldn’t help but find endearing—at least in theory. In practice, it was overwhelming. You weren’t used to so many people all talking, laughing, and bustling around at once. The whole Weasley family seemed to radiate energy, and being the shy, quiet person you were, it made you feel a bit out of place.

George must have noticed the way you lingered in the doorway, biting your lip and fiddling nervously with the hem of your sweater. He came back to you, his bright grin softening into something more tender as he took your hand.

“Alright, love?” he asked quietly, his thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles.

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. “I’m just… nervous. They’re all so…” You trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Loud?” George teased gently, leaning in so only you could hear. “Mad? A little too much?”

You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at that, and he kissed your forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter. “They’ll love you, you know. But more importantly, I love you.”

Before you could answer, Fred’s unmistakable voice rang out from the kitchen. “Oi! Don’t hog her, George. Let the rest of us meet her properly!”

George groaned theatrically, but his arm stayed firmly around your waist as he guided you into the bustling kitchen. Molly Weasley was at the stove, her wand directing several pots and pans, while Arthur and Ron debated something enthusiastically at the table. Ginny was perched on a chair, laughing at something Hermione had said.

“Everyone,” George announced, his voice loud enough to carry but not so loud it made you flinch, “this is Y/N. Be nice. She’s already met Fred, so she knows just how insufferable we can be.”

Fred shot him a grin. “You’re the insufferable one, brother dear. Y/N and I got on splendidly.”

You smiled politely, but the sheer number of eyes on you made your palms sweat. Molly was the first to approach, pulling you into a motherly hug that smelled of cinnamon and something floral. “It’s so lovely to meet you, dear,” she said warmly, stepping back to look at you. “George hasn’t stopped talking about you.”

“Mum,” George groaned, though his cheeks were tinged pink.

From there, you were swept into introductions, handshakes, and quick, cheerful chatter. Everyone was kind, but it was still a lot—too many voices, too many questions, and too much noise for someone who thrived in quieter spaces. George must have noticed, because he stayed by your side the entire time, a steady, grounding presence.

At one point, during a particularly loud bout of laughter from Fred and Ron, you felt George’s arm tighten around your waist. He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing amazing, love. Want to step outside for a bit? Get some air?”

You nodded, relief washing over you. George led you out into the garden, the cool evening air a welcome contrast to the heat and noise of the kitchen. Fireflies flickered in the twilight, and the sounds of the Burrow faded into the background.

George turned to you, his hands gentle on your arms. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath. “It’s just… a lot. I didn’t want to seem rude.”

“You’re not rude,” he said firmly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re perfect. They love you already—I can tell. But if it’s too much, you don’t have to push yourself. I’ll stay out here with you as long as you want.”

His words made your chest ache in the best way. You looked up at him, his warm brown eyes filled with nothing but love and understanding, and you knew he meant every word.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Anytime, love. Now, what do you say we stay out here for a bit longer? I’ll even let you laugh at Fred’s bad jokes from a safe distance.”

You laughed, and George’s grin widened.

The garden was a peaceful haven compared to the lively chaos inside. You could still hear snippets of conversation and laughter floating through the open kitchen window, but out here, the only things surrounding you were the gentle hum of crickets and the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. George guided you to a wooden bench tucked under a trellis of climbing roses, and you sank into it gratefully.

He sat beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders as naturally as if it had always been there. The warmth of him, the familiar scent of his cologne, and the quiet hum of his voice as he started talking were all grounding.

“You know,” he began, his tone playful but soft, “when Fred and I first started our shop, we had to pitch the idea to Mum and Dad. Well, Fred did most of the talking because I froze up halfway through. I’m pretty sure I just stood there like a right idiot while he convinced them we weren’t about to blow up Diagon Alley.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “You got nervous? You?”

George chuckled, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Course I did. Just because I’m loud doesn’t mean I don’t get overwhelmed sometimes, too. Especially when something’s important.”

That admission made your heart squeeze. You tilted your head to rest against his shoulder, drawing comfort from the steady rhythm of his breathing. “It’s hard not to feel like I stick out,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your family is so… close and outgoing. And I’m—”

“Perfect,” George interrupted, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “You’re exactly who I want to bring around them. Doesn’t matter if you’re quiet, loud, or anything in between. I’d drag you to a family dinner every night if I could.”

You let out a small laugh, and he grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re good with words,” you teased lightly.

“Good thing, too,” he quipped, “otherwise, how else would I convince you to stick with me?”

The two of you stayed in the garden for a while longer. George plucked a rose from the trellis and tucked it behind your ear with a flourish, murmuring, “Beautiful,” before pulling you close again. The sound of distant laughter mingled with the chirping crickets, and for the first time that evening, you felt like you could breathe.

After a while, George leaned down so you could see the mischievous glint in his eye. “Think you’re ready to head back in? Or shall I tell them we’ve eloped and left for the continent?”

You laughed, the sound bright and light in the evening air. “I think we can handle a little more time inside.”

He smiled, kissed your knuckles, and stood, offering you his hand. “That’s my girl.”

Inside, the atmosphere was still loud and bustling, but somehow, it didn’t seem so overwhelming anymore. George kept you close, his hand entwined with yours as he steered you toward Ginny and Hermione, who were chatting in the corner. The two girls welcomed you warmly, and before you knew it, Ginny was sharing a funny story about the twins’ antics as children, Hermione chiming in occasionally to add her own observations. George stayed by your side, his arm brushing yours, but gave you enough space to engage in the conversation at your own pace.

At one point, Fred caught George’s eye from across the room and raised an eyebrow, clearly teasing. George grinned, a look of pure affection on his face as he glanced down at you. When Fred mouthed something that suspiciously looked like smitten, George didn’t even bother denying it. He just nodded, his thumb stroking your hand.

As the evening went on, the Weasleys began to settle into their usual routines. Molly started cleaning up the kitchen with Arthur’s help, Ginny and Hermione got into a lively debate about Quidditch teams, and Fred and Ron began a spirited chess match. You stayed close to George, and he stayed close to you, always making sure you were comfortable and never once leaving you to fend for yourself.

By the time the night wound down and George escorted you to the small guest room they’d prepared for you, you felt a surprising sense of belonging. He closed the door behind you and turned to you with a smile, his hands finding your waist.

“See? Survived the first Weasley gauntlet,” he teased, his voice low and playful.

You smiled, your nerves from earlier a distant memory. “Only because I had you.”

He leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “You’ll always have me, love. Always.”

With a gentle kiss goodnight, George left you to rest while he went to take a shower and then come back to, according to him, go to sleep cuddling. As you lay in bed, the sound of the Burrow settling for the night in the background, you couldn’t help but feel like this place—and these people—might just feel like home someday.

[cameronspecial]

You Are Our Perfect Boy, Baby

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  Difficulties With Getting Pregnant

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Summary: Trying to give Asher a younger sibling is proving harder than they thought it would and Y/N can't hold on to hope anymore.

Masterlist

Rafe never thought he would want children, yet when Y/N came along, he knew that he couldn’t imagine a life without them. They would be the perfect representation of his and Y/N's love and they would help grow that love into something even better. When Asher hit four years old, the spouses thought that it was time to make their family grow. However, trying to conceive a child the second time around is proving to be harder than when they created Asher. It’s been two years and no luck seems to be in sight for the couple. Rafe can see how the lack of success is affecting his angel. She no longer holds any excitement or hope while taking a pregnancy test. She will pee on the stick and leave it on the bathroom sink as soon as she is done, not bothering to wait by it anymore. Rafe wants to do anything to make her feel better, but what can he do if she refuses to go to a fertility clinic with him? He doesn’t blame her for not wanting to go. He knows that any answer they get can just lead to one of them feeling incredibly guilty. They’ve always talked about foster children, except that was only after they had one more child biologically. Because as selfish as it was, they wanted at least one stable sibling for Asher to have while growing up before they opened his world up to siblings, who could come and go. Sure, they could always adopt the children, but the parents recognize the fact that some children in the foster system are there until their permanent home is made stable again and that is the main reason why the pair wanted to foster. To give the children in waiting a safe place to be while their parents either find a stable home or try to find a sober path. 

The lack of being able to conceive again makes Y/N question whether the universe has more children in mind for them. It makes her think that she doesn’t deserve more kids, so even fostering or adoption is off the table. In all honesty, she just doesn’t know if she can deal with even the slightest possibility of rejection by those systems. This test in her hand is the last chance she is giving them to have the future they planned for them. She is exhausted by the disappointment and can’t deal with it anymore. Rafe pleads with the universe to be on their side for once in this process. The timer goes off and both of them hold their breath as they look at the result. Negative. Tears stream down her face at what she sees. Rafe tries to pull her into a hug to comfort her, but she shrugs off his hold and throws the test in the garbage can. 

She walks out of their bathroom and heads to the kitchen. Asher is on the couch watching TV. His eyes flicker to his mother and he spots the salty droplets rolling down her face. He abandons the TV show and runs to hug her. “What’s wrong, Mommy?” he worries, snuggling his face into her leg. She smiles down at him and picks him up in her arms. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, “Mommy is okay. She just found out some bad news today.” “Oh, what happened?” he asks for clarification. She hears Rafe’s footsteps approach and he stands at the entrance of the hallway, watching the scene from a distance to give her space. Her eyes lock with his and they make a silent agreement over what to say. They agree to tell him the truth. They believe that if they want Asher to be emotionally intelligent, then they have to be open about how and why they feel a certain way. “Well, you know how you’ve been asking for a little brother or sister,” she starts. He nods. “Mommy and Daddy found out that we can’t have one and it makes Mommy sad because we really wanted to have one and we know how much you did too.” Asher snuggles his face into her neck, “It’s okay, Mommy. I know you tried your hardest to give me one. It’s like you said, you tried your hardest and that is what counts.” Asher notices his father in the hallway and beckons him over. Rafe approaches his son. “Daddy, can you help me make Mommy tea please?” 

Y/N lets out a sob, covering her mouth to try to hide it. Her son’s words fill her with warmth and a sense of pride. She and Rafe are raising Asher to be a fine young man. She can’t believe that through this whole process, she forgot how great the child she already has is. “You are too sweet. Mommy and Daddy are so glad to have you because you are our perfect boy, Baby,” she praises, pressing another kiss on his cheek. Although raising another baby may not be in their cards, Y/N is so grateful that she still gets to be the mother of an amazing little boy. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[mythicmanuscripts]

Imagine aegon going into sub space for the first time

This is such a great question anon!! I can't believe I've actually never discussed Aegon going into subspace for the first time.

Originally I planned on only writing about the first time he went into subspace but I ended up also just talking in general about the first few weeks of him starting to submit as well so I guess you guys are just getting more sub!aegon than planned. Anyway, sub!aegon below the cut!

So firstly, I definitely think there would be a few times he came very close to subspace in non-sexual settings first??? Like, he so desperately wants someone who can guide him gently.

And gently really is the key word there.

Alicent ‘guides’ him all the time, but she’s harsh and cold and she makes him feel bad. When you smile gently at him and take his head and suggest that maybe he should let the master coin finish their sentence before he kicks them out… he melts. And then when he listens and then dismisses the master of coin and you praise him for being so good? He’s a puddle. You no longer have a husband you have a happy little puddle at your feet, absolutely zero thoughts left.

Anyway point is, those types of interactions are the first times where he starts to come close to subspace. This is especially true when you’re sitting alone with him in your shared bedroom. When the fire is roaring and the blankets are so soft and you’ve got a hand in his hair, of course he’s gonna start to feel all fuzzy and warm and it’s utterly perfect.

Once you start to show that guidance aspect, he stops with the summoning of you to your shared chambers to try for an heir. He can’t do that anymore when he starts to see you as the most special thing he’s ever had. He doesn’t care how much Alicent yaps on and on about him getting an heir, he won’t do that, not when he can spend that time genuinely feeling safe again.

Of course because it’s Aegon things will turn sexual eventually. And this is an idea I had a while ago but I haven’t found a reason to bring it up so I’m just gonna do it now: once that intimacy starts he stops going to brothels and stops fucking servants, he can’t do it. He can’t do anything with anyone else. But this of course does eventually cause a bit of an issue because he’s a very sexual person.

Long story short, the first time he goes into subspace properly with you is after a few weeks of him not going to any brothels. He ends up taking an impromptu nap in your shared bed after he had spoken to you for a while and he wakes up so hard. He’s cuddled against your chest and grinding his hips down against your thigh and of course when he wakes he’s absolutely mortified.

But well, he’s been so good. Of course you’re going to help him.

You end up giving him a hand job, letting him hide against your shoulder as you slowly stroke him and he loses his little mind because it’s perfect.

That’s the first time he truly reaches subspace, and you can tell because he’s actually quiet. Usually he’s a babbler, always talking, never being able to stay still or silent, but now he’s relaxed back into your arms not making a single sound besides the occasional little whine when he breathes out. He cums with just a whisper of your name and then turns to nuzzle into your chest, his body completely devoid of tension.

(Side note: Aemond is the opposite, he’s loud in subspace, so so loud)

You get worried actually, because you’ve never known him to act like he is right then. But at the same time, he’s clearly happy?

When he recovers and finds the ability to speak again, you ask him if he’s alright and what can you do to help him and he just says he’s fine, he’s absolutely perfect in fact.

[pukefactory]

⋆ 𐙚 ⋆୨ MASKING TAPE MIRACLES ୧⋆ 𐙚 ⋆

୭ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Gangle X Reader

୭ Character(s): Gangle (The Amazing Digital Circus)

୭ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

୭ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

୭ Image Credits: @sisterlucifergraphics & @inkcomposer

୨ৎ Gangle isn’t the best at hugs, her ribbon arms sometimes fumbling around you in a tangled mess. But when she manages to get it right, her embrace is surprisingly warm, her body curling around you like a protective cocoon. Whether she’s in her comedy or tragedy mask, she always holds on just a little longer than necessary—like she’s afraid you’ll slip away.

୨ৎ Gangle loves drawing, and once she finds out you’re interested in art, she insists on sketching with you. She’ll get flustered if you compliment her work, quickly hiding it behind her ribbons. But if you let her watch you draw, she leans in so close you can feel her ribbons brush against your arm. “Y-you’re really good,” she whispers, the tragedy mask making it sound like she’s about to cry.

୨ৎ You notice how often her comedy mask breaks—whether by accident or thanks to Jax. One day, you surprise her with a little repair kit, complete with glue, tape, and tiny paints for touch-ups. Gangle is speechless, her ribbons trembling as she holds the kit. “…You got this for me?” She hugs it close to her chest. “T-thank you… no one’s ever done that before.”

୨ৎ One day, you joke about how her ribbons make her the perfect dance partner, and before you know it, she’s awkwardly twirling around you, trying to mimic the moves. She’s not exactly graceful, often tripping over herself, but when she manages to spin you in a perfect circle, her giggle is pure joy. “Ahaha! I did it!”

୨ৎ The Digital Circus isn’t kind, and some days, Gangle feels more fragile than ever. If you gently gather her ribbons in your hands and let her lean against you, she melts into the comfort. “I don’t know why I even try sometimes,” she mutters, voice trembling. You remind her that she doesn’t have to go through it alone. The way she grips your hand just a little tighter tells you she believes you.

୨ৎ Sometimes, when everyone else is ‘asleep’ (or whatever the closest thing to sleep is in this world), Gangle seeks you out. “D-do you ever think about who you were before?” she asks, voice quiet. You both sit together, talking about dreams, memories, and the things you miss. You learn she wanted to be a comic artist before she got trapped here. “If we ever get out,” you say, “you’re making that webcomic.” She sniffles behind her mask. “…You really think so?”

୨ৎ After a particularly rough encounter with Jax, Gangle’s tragedy mask is on the verge of breaking. Before he can land another hit, you step in, shielding her. Jax backs off with a smug laugh, leaving Gangle trembling behind you. “Y-you didn’t have to do that…” she mumbles. But when you turn around, she’s clutching her mask like it’s the most precious thing in the world—and looking at you the same way.

୨ৎ Gangle may not have hands, but she finds creative ways to use her ribbons. One day, she surprises you by picking up a small trinket and passing it between her ribbon loops, showing off with a giggle. “I’ve been practicing!” she says, proud of herself. When you cheer her on, her comedy mask practically shines with happiness.

୨ৎ On a particularly bad day, you find a tiny, carefully drawn doodle left near your space. It’s of you and Gangle, her ribbons wrapped protectively around you both. “I-it’s not very good,” she says when you confront her, hiding behind her sleeves. But you treasure it, keeping it close. The next time she sees you holding it, her ribbons flutter with nervous excitement.

୨ৎ One day, she clutches onto your sleeve, her ribbons tightening like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. “Promise me…” she whispers, voice shaking under the weight of her tragedy mask. “Promise me you won’t leave me alone.” You take her hands—her ribbons, her fragile frame—and hold them tight. “I promise.”

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 16: Orbital Decay

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's, as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

Caleb and I are locked in a standoff of wills—like two ancient stars caught in gravitational pull, each refusing to collapse first. We orbit around the same jagged truth, neither one of us willing to yield, both so convinced we can shoulder the fallout if it means sparing the other.

This isn’t a noble war. There are no medals waiting on the other side of this silence, no triumphant return. Only the slow erosion of trust. This is the kind of fight that eats you from the inside out.

“How did you get the DAA reports?” Caleb asks, voice taut as a wire strung too tight.

“Does it fucking matter?” It snaps between us like a breaking branch.

He steps forward again, the space between us closing like a fist. I can see the pulse at his neck now, fluttering too fast for someone trying to play it calm. The question he asked wasn’t for answers—it was a litmus test. A check to see how far I’ve strayed from the girl he once thought he could protect by caging.

I suppose this is where I break the illusion.

“Did you really think I’d stay that naïve little shadow, Caleb?” My voice is steady, but under it lies an ache I haven’t had time to name. “That soft-spoken child who trailed behind you, wide-eyed and waiting to be told what the world is?”

His gaze hardens, but I don’t stop.

“You locked me in an attic and called it protection. You told me to trust you and then left me with silence and shadows. I believed you because I wanted to, but that girl?” I shake my head. “She died when you did. I’ve had to carve the truth out of locked doors and half-told lies. I’ve had to unlearn how to be sweet so I could survive. I bled for answers. I earned them.”

His jaw tightens, his hands fisting at his sides. That flicker of guilt—the one he hides so carefully—it flashes behind his eyes like a glitch in a perfect simulation. I blow past him, out of the office that’s starting to feel too small, and into the kitchen. He follows me but makes no effort to stop me.

“You’ve gotta stop this reckless search, pip-squeak. This path only ends in destruction.”

The word destruction cracks against the air between us. Damn it all, why does he have to sound so hot when he’s mad? That voice. It’s gravel and gunmetal, like he’s been screaming into space and came back with the stars still caught in his throat.

“I’ll never stop,” I declare, slicing the air with my hand. “I will walk through decades of darkness if that’s what it takes. I will unravel every lie, every secret, every carefully buried truth. I don’t care if it takes one lifetime or five—I will find the answers.”

His face twists, all sharp lines and flared frustration, and then he shouts, “Do you always have to be so fucking stubborn?!”

Yes. Obviously.

I let him have the moment of self-righteous fury, his helpless hands raking through that gorgeous mess of hair, because I’m benevolent like that.

… Also because my brain has devolved into some kind of hormonal swamp.

Every angry twitch of his jaw just drags me deeper into the quicksand. I’m furious—blindingly, righteously, violently angry—but my body’s over here filing for lust-induced treason.

He looks like a storm I want to crash headfirst into, fists clenched, morals shredded, dignity very optional. The worst part is? He’s so mad he’s beautiful—wild, untethered, eyes burning like twin stars about to go supernova, and it’s ruining my life.

Caleb rakes both hands through his hair like he wants to tear it out, pacing back and forth. “Why are you doing this!?”

I march up to him, and he stiffens. I can see in the tight set of his shoulders and the bracing tension in his jaw that he’s ready for a slap, a shove, or maybe a punch to the gut. He deserves it, but I flick him right on the forehead instead.

He blinks, stunned.

“I love you,” I admit softly. “That’s why. You big dummy.”

For a beat, he just stares at me, thunderstruck, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and desire, and then the air snaps taut between us.

The kiss is anything but gentle—it’s a collision of fury and longing, wild and raw, like we’ve both been set alight and only each other can douse the flames. Our mouths crash together with a hunger that startles even me, teeth clicking in the frenzy, lips parting with no patience or poise.

His hands snap to my hips like magnets, dragging me up against him with a force that borders on desperate. One of mine fists in his shirt, the other tangles in his hair, yanking hard enough to draw a feral groan from deep in his chest.

He bites my bottom lip, and I gasp against his mouth. Yes. That’s it. That’s the flavour of the storm I’ve been tasting since the second he opened his mouth to argue. His anger bleeds into mine and fuses with this overwhelming need, this ache that makes my bones feel like molten metal.

We kiss like we’re trying to punish each other with love. Like if we press hard enough, bite deep enough, pull close enough, we can stitch the damage shut between our ribs. His hand slides up my back, catching the nape of my neck, dragging me deeper, closer, as though any space between us is an insult to gravity itself.

Caleb tastes like frustration and fear and every goddamn reason I can’t walk away from him. Somewhere in the middle of lip-biting and breath-stealing, I realize I am absolutely, hopelessly ruined for this man.

Even when I want to strangle him.

Especially then.

His hands roam my body with a ferocity that makes my knees weak, gripping and grasping at every curve. I'm panting into his mouth, my hips grinding against his in a rhythm that's all instinct and no finesse.

He spins me around, hands rough on my hips as he presses me against the kitchen counter. His lips are on my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting. 

"You drive me fucking crazy," he snarls against my pulse point. "I can't think straight when I'm around you.”

I moan, arching into him, desperate for more contact. "The feeling is mutual," I manage to pant out.

His hands are everywhere, sliding under my shirt, cupping my breasts through the thin lace of my bra.

"I'm going to make you scream my name until you forget every reason you were ever mad at me."

I moan as he pinches my nipples roughly, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my clit. "Then stop talking and fuck me already.”

I reach back, fumbling with his belt, my fingers clumsy with urgency. Caleb helps me, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his hard, throbbing cock. He rips my shirt over my head and tosses it aside before removing my bra.

"Is this what you want?" he demands, each word rasps out like a match dragged across stone desperate to catch fire. "You want me to fuck you, right here in the kitchen?"

"Yes," I hiss, beyond caring.

His hand sliding down my stomach to the waistband of my leggings. With one swift yank, he tears them down my legs along with my panties, and I kick them off to the side. He kicks my feet apart, and I feel utterly exposed, my ass in the air, my dripping cunt on display for him. The vulnerability only heightens my arousal. I'm so wet I can feel it trickling down my thighs.

He grips my hips bruisingly tight and rubs the thick head of his cock through my slick folds, teasing my entrance. I try to push back onto him but he holds me still, chuckling darkly. His fingers find my clit, rubbing firm circles that make my legs tremble and quake.

"You want it rough, baby?" His voice stumbles over the edge of restraint, a low thunder as he yanks on my hair, making me whimper. "I'll give it to you rough."

His fingers plunge into my soaked cunt without warning, pumping hard and fast. I cry out, my inner walls clenching around the welcome intrusion. He finger-fucks me mercilessly, his thumb rubbing tight circles on my swollen bud. Each touch winds the spring inside me tighter, a slow crescendo climbing toward a note I’m longing to reach. 

Just as I'm about to come, he withdraws, leaving me empty and aching, and I whine in protest. He shoves two fingers into my mouth, making me taste my own arousal. 

"Suck," he commands, and I obey, hollowing my cheeks and swirling my tongue. 

He groans, pressing his rigid cock against my ass. I reach back to stroke him, loving how hard and thick he feels in my hand. I twist my wrist on the upstroke, squeezing just how he likes.

"Just like that," he grunts, thrusting his hips and fucking my fist.

I'm so turned on it borders on painful. I need him to fuck me more than I need my next breath. His hands are on my throat like a prayer, and I don’t know if he’s worshipping or warning me. I don’t care. I’ll take both.

Caleb slaps my pussy, and I yelp, juices gushing out to coat his fingers. Grabbing my hips, he notches the swollen head of his cock at my entrance. With one brutal thrust, he slams into me, burying himself to the hilt. I scream wantonly, my pussy convulsing around the sudden intrusion. He's so big, stretching me deliciously.

"Fuck yes, so tight," he grunts, pulling out and slamming back in, setting a punishing pace.

We move like enemies pretending to be lovers, or maybe it’s the other way around. Anger coils in my belly, but it melts into want so easily it makes my head spin. I hate him for it. I love him for it. I don’t even know the difference anymore.

His fingers dig into my hips as he pounds into me, the filthy slap of skin on skin echoing in the kitchen. His strokes are hard and deep, each one shoving me forward on the counter. My nipples drag across the cold countertop, making me whine. Caleb’s hand comes down on my ass in a stinging slap, and I mewl, clenching hard around him.

"Fuck, do that again," I pant.

He obliges, spanking me again and then soothing the sting away with a careful caress. His hand snakes around to rub my clit, and I nearly combust. Every thrust is a taunt. Every kiss, a cruel reminder of the way he knows me. My body opens for him like it’s desperate to be conquered, but my mind is screaming. Still, I take him. Over and over. Like surrendering to the enemy wearing your lover’s skin.

I can feel my orgasm building. Pleasure blooms, not like a flower, but like wildfire licking its way through every nerve. He bites down on my shoulder, and I cry out, the pleasure-pain that climbs like a scream swallowed too long and begs to break free.

My nails scrabble against the countertop as he rails into me, hitting that place buried so deep it feels like touching the centre of a supernova—rapture expanding so violently it blinds.

“Fuckin' cum for me,” he commands, possessive, edged with promise and demand, sin given breath. “Now, Inara. Fall apart for me.”

His command sends me flying over the precipice. My orgasm crests ruthlessly until I am nothing but pulse and ache, torn open at the seam. I come undone in his hands like I was made to be ruined by them, like this is the truth my body’s always known. I convulse around him, inner muscles rippling along his thickness.

“Good girl,” he praises.

Caleb fucks me through it, his strokes growing erratic as his release approaches. He slams into me one last time, spilling himself deep inside me with a groan that sounds like my name strangled in velvet, hips jerking, body trembling with the force of it.

His fingers dig into my skin, bruising, claiming, like he can anchor himself in me while the rest of him burns. There’s reverence in the way he says my name—wrecked, breathless, worshipful. As if he’s thanking me for destroying him. As if he’d let me do it again.

And I would. Stars help me, I would.

We collapse against the counter, both panting harshly. My legs feel like jelly, and if it weren't for Caleb's strong arms around me, I'm sure I would slide to the floor. For a long moment, we just stay like that, him softening inside me, our sweat-slicked bodies heaving together. The anger has burned away, leaving behind a sated lassitude.

So… angry sex with Caleb is pretty damn phenomenal. I should piss him off more often. Noted.

"Fuck, that was intense," he finally says, pulling out of me with a slick sound that makes me shiver.

I let out a breathless little laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

Caleb turns me around in his arms and kisses me, this one soft and sweet. He cups my face gently, his thumb stroking over my cheekbone. "You okay?"

"Mmmhmm," I hum contentedly, basking in the afterglow. "More than okay."

"Good." He drops another light kiss on my lips before stepping back. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Caleb guides me to the bathroom, one arm securely around my waist. I'm still a bit unsteady on my feet. He sits me down on the closed toilet lid and dampens a washcloth with warm water. Tenderly, he wipes the sweat from my brow and the sticky remnants of our lovemaking from between my thighs. His touch is soft, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the passionate roughness from minutes ago.

Once I'm clean, he scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom. He lays me down on the bed and pulls the covers over us as he spoons behind me, strong arms encircling my waist. I snuggle back into his warmth with a happy sigh. We’re wrapped around each other like tangled constellations, our bodies still humming with the aftershocks of everything we poured into one another. “Did you mean it?” he asks, his voice low and unsure, threaded with the kind of hesitation he rarely lets slip.

“Mmm?” I mumble, barely awake. “Meant what?”

He hesitates, then presses a kiss into my hair, brushing it gently back from my face. “Never mind, pip-squeak. Sleep.”

I feel him nuzzle his face into the top of my head, exhaling like the weight of the world has been set down. The anger that lit us up earlier is gone now, melted into this tender, quiet kind of peace.

A sleepy giggle bubbles up in my chest, and I try to bite it down, but it escapes anyway, small and breathy.

He tilts his head, his voice drowsy but amused. “What’s so funny?”

I shift, turning over to face him, bones heavy with exhaustion but heart impossibly light. The room is cloaked in the kind of darkness that makes the world feel soft and slow, but I can still see the shimmer of his eyes, like frost catching a beam of moonlight, like secrets he’s still not sure how to say out loud.

I reach up and sweep his hair back, fingertips brushing over his temple. Then I press my forehead to his, our noses nearly touching.

“I meant it,” I whisper, barely louder than the rustle of the sheets. “I love you, Caleb.”

He goes still. Then inhales, sharp and shivery, like the air suddenly weighs more than it should. His chest lifts beneath mine, and when he exhales, it comes with the softest, broken little breath. I feel the tremble in his shoulders. The warm brush of moisture against my cheek. He’s crying.

Caleb is crying.

I blink, confused. “Hey—hey, what’s up?” I whisper, lifting my head to look at him, brushing my fingers under his jaw. “Did I say something wrong? You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready—”

He lets out a low, breathy laugh, rough around the edges. “You’re such an idiot,” he murmurs, dragging me in like the world might end if I pull away for even a second.

He holds me like I’m the last safe place he’s ever known, one hand at the back of my head, cradling me close. “I love you too,” he says against my skin, voice thick but steady now. “I always have.”

The first thing I feel is fingers slowly brushing through my hair, like they’re trying not to wake me but failing on purpose.

“Pip-squeak,” Caleb whispers, close enough for his breath to stir the baby hairs on my forehead. “Time to get up.”

I groan and roll away from the sound of his voice, dragging the blanket higher over my head. “No. Go away.” I swat in his general direction like a lazy cat and promptly burrow deeper, wedging my face beneath the pillow like an ostrich in denial.

He laughs, an honest, belly-deep laugh that shakes the bed as he sits down beside me. “Come on, you drama queen,” he teases, tugging at the pillow with a gentle jiggle. “It’s not even that early.”

“It’s war crimes early,” I mumble into the sheets, curling tighter. “Five more minutes. Just five, I swear.”

“What if I told you… I have coffee in my hand right now?”

A pause. My resolve wavers. I peek one eye open, suspicious.

“There’s bacon in the oven, too,” he adds, lips twitching.

I lift my head an inch. “Did you just say… meat candy?”

“Mhm.” He nods, proud of himself. “Thick-cut. Maple glazed.”

“You should’ve led with that,” I grumble, yawning so hard it makes my eyes water. 

I stretch, spine cracking, then reach out with grabby hands for the coffee mug he’s holding like it’s the Holy Grail. He hands it over without a word, watching me sip like a dragon hoarding warmth.

“Better?” he asks.

I nod, eyes still half-lidded.

He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Good, and don’t even think about fallin' back asleep. Next time, it’s the ice.”

I freeze—no pun intended—and peek up at him with genuine horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would,” he smirks as he ruffles my hair. 

By the time I shuffle into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower and Caleb’s oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, the smell hits me like a freight train of glory.

Pancakes stacked like golden monuments. Bacon so crisp it could shatter. Fluffy scrambled eggs, homemade whipped cream that looks like it belongs on the cover of a dessert magazine, and a scatter of strawberries and blueberries like some culinary artist painted the table. There’s even a tiny dish of butter cut into aesthetically pleasing little curls, because of course there is. 

Colonel Caleb, secret breakfast god.

I nearly moan on sight. “You made all this?” I ask, like someone who’s just walked into a dream and doesn’t trust it.

He shrugs. “I have a feeling someone is hungry this morning.”

I sit. No—collapse. And then proceed to eat like I’ve just escaped prison. Syrup drowns my pancakes. Whipped cream piles like snowy peaks. It’s a chaotic, sugar-drenched masterpiece. Carbs and saccharine joy. The only fuel I acknowledge.

I’m mid-bite with an unholy stack of pancake, berry, and whipped cream crammed into my mouth when Caleb sets down his coffee and leans back with the casualness of a man about to ruin me emotionally.

“You’re a little freak, aren’t you?”

I pause. Slowly turn my head. Cheeks ballooned out like a hamster storing winter supplies.

He lifts his mug like he’s toasting me. “Seriously, Inara. I never would’ve pegged you for a nymphomaniac. But wow. Wow.”

The sound I make is somewhere between a snort and a dying walrus. I try to swallow, cough, slap my chest, and then—because I am nothing if not classy—spray a little whipped cream across the counter.

“You wait until my mouth is full to hit me with that?!” I wheeze, waving my fork at him while my eyes water from laughing.

He grins like the smug bastard he is, sipping his coffee with zero remorse. “I figured it was safer. You can’t murder me with pancakes in your mouth.”

“Debatable,” I gasp, dabbing my chin like I’m suddenly fancy. “I could learn.”

“And that, right there,” he says, pointing at me, “is the freak energy I’m talkin' about.”

I flip him off, still chewing. He just smiles wider and steals a berry from my plate like he owns the world.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m the freak? That’s rich coming from you.”

He raises an eyebrow, sipping his coffee like a man entirely confident in his moral superiority. “Pretty sure the evidence speaks for itself, pip-squeak.”

I set my fork down slowly, deliberately, and clear my throat with all the theatrical gravitas of a stage performer about to monologue. Then I drop my voice an octave, throw in just the right amount of gravel, and adopt his stupid cocky smirk.

“Do you want me to fill this tight little pussy up with my cum? Beg me for it, Inara,” I echo in a breathy growl, mock-widening my eyes. “Beg me to fill you until you’re dripping.”

Caleb freezes and promptly chokes on his coffee.

He bends forward, coughing violently, smacking a hand against the counter while sputtering, “I—what the hell—I do not say that!”

I grin, undeterred. “You absolutely do. With feeling.”I lean against the counter, swirling the last bite of syrup-drenched pancake through a cloud of whipped cream. I clear my throat and moan theatrically, “I could eat this sweet pussy all day.”

His jaw drops. “That is not what I sound like!”

I raise an eyebrow, enjoying this far too much. “You take my cock so well.”

“Inara!” he groans, dragging both hands over his face. “You’re—this is slander.”

“Verbatim,” I sing-song. “Want me to keep going?”

“I’ll die before I let you quote me mid-pancake again.” He glares at me, but it’s ruined by the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I shrug, shovelling another bite into my mouth. “Then maybe don’t call me a freak while I’m chewing.”

He lets out a long, suffering sigh and mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath, though he’s still smiling as he walks past and plants a kiss on the top of my head.

“Admit it,” I say, grinning around a mouthful. “You’re just mad because it was hot.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me. You told me so, remember?”

He groans and drops his head onto the counter beside me, face buried in his arms. 

Victory tastes like syrup and smug satisfaction.

Chapter Masterlist

A03 - Note: Not all chapters are available there yet because I haven't had the time to copy them all over.

[lady-griffin]

Possible Idea for the Firelights in S2

Which I’ve fallen way too much in love with, btw

After the Firelight Base is attacked, where do they go?

Do they just go back to their broken, destroyed home? Try to fix it up? Can they even go back?

Do they disperse?

Or do they go to a location most people (especially those from topside) would have difficulty navigating if they didn’t know exactly where to go?

Like an abandoned mine of sorts? One with really large, giant machines suspended in the air that could be used as little community hubs, perfectly accessible for those with hoverboards?

It’s just something to consider.

Seriously, I can’t express how much I love the idea of Jinx’s lair becoming the new base for the Firelights. I love it way too much; I’m going to be crushed when it doesn't happen (which to be fair is totally on me).

The old mines would be perfect for the Firelights, especially in helping them recover and giving them a sense of extra protection and security after what they’ve gone through.

Maybe it’s not permanent, but it doesn't have to be, it allows them to stay together, so it’s home for the moment

Destroying their base, likely making them scared to return, is an ingenious way to physically separate a group of people who are loyal to one another and fight well together, but this way they wouldn’t have to disperse.

It seems like the mines are well-hidden and isolated, with a lot of natural defenses – it’s been abandoned for a long time, there’s probably a complicated tunnel system to the cavern, and it has multiple physical locations (the drill/fans we’ve seen) that others (their enemies) can’t easily get to.

There are probably a few like Jinx’s lab, where they connect to the tunnels that lead outside, but the few we’ve seen in the background, seem pretty inaccessible – unless you’re a group of people who can fly.

There’s also the idea of Piltover and Noxus winning the day and those who’ve been pushed to live underground having to retreat further down to be safe.

But it’s not a defeat, it’s just a retreat. They’re still here.

I also really love the idea of how this place once represented darkness and the abyss, basically daring you to look down, especially when compared to Ekko's original base for the Firelights, representing light and hope, encouraging you to look up.

It’s still the same place it was in S1, but it's changed with all these other people sharing it with Jinx.

Not because she was forced to, but because she chose to open her space to others, one that was solely hers and we only saw her and Silco there.

But now it's filled with others, who've impacted and changed it with their own touches of color and graffiti and when we look, we see there are all these little pockets of light and color in the dark abyss.

There's still darkness, but it's no longer all consuming.

And I don't know, the idea just warms my heart so much, and I really, really want to see it.

Also, I can’t fully tell, but when Ekko is pulling the chain in the trailer, the area is dark and it could be a cave. So, maybe? Again, it’s hard to tell.

Seriously though, I love this idea so goddamn much!

[yandere-paramour]

Atalanta’s Perfect Evening

Around five in the evening, Atalanta will find a stopping place in her work and alert Noelle that she is leaving. Atalanta rarely drives; she has a driver, so she gets in the backseat and texts Darling that she will be home in 10-15 minutes. 

Atalanta requires that Darling give her a hug and a kiss every day after work, and she gets miffed if it doesn’t happen. She is not afraid to punish Darling and will do so if Darling continues to disobey. She just wants a bit of love after working such a hard dayyyyyy.

Her hard day of work leaves her stressed and her muscles tense, and she just wants to relax with Darling as much as she can for the rest of the evening.

Atalanta’s bathtub has more than enough space for two, so she will run a hot bath for both her and Darling. She indulges, turning on the air jets and hydromassage, adding herbal bath oils, dimming the lights, and turning on soft music to punctuate the background. She will pour glasses of red wine for her and Darling, and then the bath is ready.

Atalanta and Darling either watch television or chat in the bath, and with the electronic control panel, the water can keep warm for much longer. Atalanta bathes Darling herself, and the full bath can take over an hour to finish. Atalanta dresses herself and Darling in matching silk pajamas.

After a nice bath, Atalanta is much more relaxed, and she can even be a bit playful. The chef has already plated and served dinner and cleaned the dirty kitchen; there is nothing left for you and Atalanta to do but sit down and eat. Dinner is always gourmet, nutritive, and delicious, and there is often dessert as well.

After dinner, you both leave your dishes in the dishwasher and adjourn to the bedroom. Sometimes, the mood can change to the both of you having intimate relations with each other, Atalanta taking you into her arms and pleasuring you as many times as you’ll allow.

However, on a normal day, both you and Atalanta get into the bed, simply content to enjoy each other’s presence. The television is turned on at a low volume, and you and Atalanta commence in quiet activities. You are free to do anything as long as it’s relaxing, but Atalanta usually reads novels.

Around 10-11 in the evening, Atalanta is fatigued and ready to sleep. She will gently chide you into putting your activity down and gesture for you to come into your arms. She always gives you a few kisses goodnight and pulls you close to her. Atalanta can only relax fully with her Darling safely cradled beside her.

Atalanta likes to fall asleep with you curled in her arms, but she will release you once she is fully asleep. She turns onto her stomach and sleeps like that for the rest of the night. She snores very, very lightly, and sleeps somewhat deeply, not even waking if she feels Darling is trying to get out of bed.

[dollya-robinprotector]

I have been on this blog for long enough to know this is a safe space so...

I made a teacher OC specifically for most of the teachers to bang her (different or same universe, depends on my mood). She teaches geography and originally was only in a secret, loving but very very lustful relationship with Sirris. By very lustful, I mean he would change his after-school availability just to see how many silicone eggs he can fit inside of her. Or how many times she can squirt before passing out. Like this lady is picture perfect, professional, teaching style something like Winter and Doren combined, but she let's her coherency be fucked out of her everyday for 'science' (Sirris brings up new shit to try in the bedroom by quoting 'for science' and you can't convince me otherwise.).

One day Winter stumbles into their office announced, not noticing the "don't disturb sign" on the door, just in time to see her pop out several silicone eggs (can you tell I'm into breeding/oviposiont? I think I'm hiding it pretty well) in rapid succession as she squirts all over Sirris's sexy forearm(rolled up sleeves are sexy okay), too fucked out to care or even notice someone just barged in. Which leads to the cruel Winter-Sirris partnership where they stuff her with something, be it a dildo, a bullet vibe, whatever, and then lock a chastity device on top of it to keep it in. They're so mean! Then, somehow, Doren joins in, be it by accident or invitation, and eventually, Mason. No one tells River because as much as they want him to loosen up, he's also so repressed that he might go into a sinful thought-induced coma. Leighton knows fuck all and everyone does a good job at hiding it from him (don't get me wrong, I do have smutty thoughts abt Leighton, just not with this OC.)

Again, I can not stress this enough, she is perfectly put together everyday, kind and mindful with coordinated outfits, but the moment any of the teachers she's involved with give her a look, she becomes their obedient little slut. She does top once in a while, but on a switch scale she's 80% sub, 20% dom. When she does dom though, she likes to prostate massage/generally overstimualte the crap out of her partner. Especially Mason. But she especially especially with Sirris. Stuffed with his own toys. How cute.

Anyways. Rant over. Sorry about that. Unfortunately, I suck at writing longer stuff and have non-existent art skills, so this OC is forever doomed to live in my brain-dungeon

Oh to be her ✋😔✋ she's living the L I F E

[g1rlsp1ckins]

[ 🩳 ✈️ & 🍊 ] for any reality you want!!

𝓢HIFTING 𝓐SK ✶ 𝓖AME

for my challengers dr

𐔌 . 🩳 ⋮ SWEET LIFE ֹ ₊ ꒱  what are the sweetest parts of your relationship with your s/o? all the not sugar-free, tooth-aching sweetness you two share. is your dynamic as simple as grumpiness vs sweetness or is it something more complex?   

With Tashi, it’s always been intensity. Not loud, not dramatic—just deep. Like we were born already knowing each other, like our bones remember each other’s bones. We used to fall asleep in the same bed after tournaments, backs pressed together like shields. She never said much, and I never made her—but I felt her. Even in silence. Especially in silence.

The sweetest part of us? It’s the way she tugs my sleeve when she wants me to stay a little longer. The way she braids my hair when I’m anxious, hands steady, rhythm soft. She never calls it comfort. She never calls it anything. But it is. And when she looks at me across the court, eyes locked in that way only we know how to do—it feels like trust. Like belonging.

With Patrick, it’s ridiculous. He brings chaos into my world and somehow makes it feel safe. He texts me memes at 2 a.m. and insists I “need vitamin D and a hot beverage, stat” when I’m spiraling. He steals my hoodies and wears them like trophies. He teases me like I’m unshakeable, and the truth is—I am, around him. He sees all my sharp edges and acts like they’re part of the charm.

But the sweetest part? It’s the way he always notices. When my jaw’s too tight. When I haven’t eaten. When I need someone to tell me I’m doing okay, even when I think I’m not. He’ll throw his arm around me and call me “Champ” like it’s our little religion. He doesn’t always say the right things, but he shows up. Over and over. Loud, loyal, and entirely mine.

And then there’s Art. Sweet Art. Quiet, observant, poetic in ways he doesn’t even realize. With Art, it’s the small things. The post-it notes with dumb sketches he leaves in my bag. The way he looks at me when I’m reading—like I’m part of some sacred text. He doesn’t ask for space in my life, he just… makes it feel gentler. Wider. More breathable.

The sweetest part? He listens. Not just to what I say—but what I don’t. He’s the only one who’s ever noticed I pick at my cuticles when I’m overwhelmed. He’ll gently take my hand and run his thumb across the back of it until I stop. He doesn’t fill silences, he holds them. Like they matter.

Our dynamic isn’t grump vs sunshine, or soft vs sharp. It’s way more complicated than that. It’s the way I can be all of me—with each of them. Not flattened. Not folded to fit. Just… seen. And loved.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎾 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

𐔌 . ✈️ ⋮ LOST IN THE HEAT ֹ ₊ ꒱  was there a point where you were "lost" in your desired reality? a point where you knew you weren't going the way you want but couldn't recognize the way back? could be physical or emotional.    

I was floating through the motions—classes, practice, social things, pretending I was fine, pretending I wanted all the things I was chasing. And maybe I did want them once, or maybe I wanted to want them. You can forget what you actually want when you’re too busy performing the version of yourself that everyone seems to love.

That version? She was perfect. Composed. Polished. Always prepared. She knew how to play the part. But she wasn’t me. And I knew it. I felt it.

There was this one night—nothing special, really. I’d just gotten home from a match. I won. Everyone cheered. Tashi hugged me like we were still unbreakable. Patrick threw his arm around me like always. Art smiled at me with that soft, proud glint in his eyes.

And I felt nothing.

Not joy. Not relief. Just… hollow.

I went into my room. Shut the door. Sat on the floor in my tennis gear, shoes still on. I remember looking at my racket and thinking, How did I get here? Not in a dramatic, life-crisis kind of way. Just this deep, aching realization that somewhere along the way, I’d traded myself for a version of me that made everyone else feel comfortable.

And I didn’t know how to go back.

I didn’t know if there was a way back. Because the scary part is—sometimes the old self doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve grown out of her. But the new self? The one you could be? She’s blurry. Distant. Still forming. And in that in-between place, you feel completely, utterly lost.

But the truth is, getting lost was the first step to coming home to myself.

I had to break that version of me down—strip away the roles, the expectations, the masks. I had to sit in the mess of not knowing who I was. And it was terrifying. But it was also… necessary.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎾 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

𐔌 . 🍊 ⋮ FORREST GUMP ֹ ₊ ꒱  who runs your mind? the person you're always thinking about? when you make a joke that doesn't quite land, who do you know would've loved it?      

I wish I could say I run my mind. That I own it. That my thoughts belong to me and only me.

But they don’t. Not entirely. Not always.

Tashi lives there.

Like muscle memory. Like instinct. Like a heartbeat I never had to think about until it stuttered. She’s the voice I hear when I ask “What would she do?” and also the silence I feel when I do something I know she wouldn’t. I’ll see a quote or a shirt or a song lyric and immediately wonder what she’d say. I send her reels even when we’re not speaking. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Patrick’s in there too.

Loud. Chaotic. Neon. He’s the one I imagine laughing when a joke flops. The one who would’ve laughed, probably too hard, and made it seem like I was a genius. When something stupid or mildly cursed happens to me, he’s the one I want to tell. He’d make it feel like a punchline instead of a failure.

Art’s quieter.

He doesn’t take up space in the same way. But he lingers. I hear his voice when I’m about to say something cruel, reminding me to be kinder. I think of him when I read something beautiful and want someone to see it with me. Not just look, but see.

Sometimes, when I catch myself smiling at something dumb—like a cloud that looks like a croissant or a dog in sunglasses—I imagine all three of them next to me. Tashi pretending not to smile. Patrick saying something ridiculous. Art taking a photo without saying a word.

It’s like I carry them all around with me. Not in a heavy way.

More like…

They’re stars in the same constellation.

Even when they’re far, they shape the sky I live under.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎾 ꒱ ˎˊ˗