#shes a little mountain goat

[halfelven]

want to see a border collie puppy intently watching the border collie agility contest on tv?

here she is!!!

[keenbugg]

Spotify wrapped before everyone starts getting sick of them :)

[necronatural]

Even If You Got Dropped In A Ghost Story, You Still Go To Work: A visual primer for English speakers

This took me a week. I did this for ORV like 4 years ago so it felt like my moral obligation to make one again.

Some notes on character designs and images without text:

Gorals and domestic goats look very different, but in Manor of the Blind attention is put into how these two are similar and contrasting, the truly noble Go Youngeun with the white goat and the sinister Baek Saheon with the black goat. I also picked a literal goral instead of a mountain goat (which are naturally white) because gorals look more like roe deers than goats, making the 3 of them more closely linked.

I always thought it was a shame most fanartists don't give Baek Saheon darling 90s curls because that's one of the only traits he explicitly has and is tied into how harmless he looks at first glance and it's adorable

Because this is a horror novel and unnatural features aren't mentioned, I tried to keep this as grounded as possible. Mowing through these anime designs. I don't think J3 is an idol with hair in his eyes. I think he just looks like a very tired guy of ambiguous age

Another hardliner of of grounded designs is Jin Nasol, who gets the most ostentatious anime character treatment besides Jay in fanart. She is coldly utilitarian and prizes efficiency over all else, there is no way that woman has bangs

I am not giving Park Minseong brown hair. There is nothing wrong with a good warm black

Lee Jaheon is often depicted as an adorable little newt in fanart, but a huge part of why he is so hysterical is that he is scary, so I picked more intimidating lizard traits so he functions in both dramatic heroic scenes and eating granola bars with the wrappers still on. He gets to keep the newt mask though

I gave Braun white gloves at first but I saw a Braun cosplayer and a demon possessed me. I have no idea what colour is canon. who doesnt love black leather

Making Jang Heo-un the "sharp eyes meek personality" trope made my brain light up so good. I was trying to contrast with the relaxed eyes of the easygoing Park Minseong to make them more obviously different but this feels cosmically correct

I tried to avoid the stereotypical fanart designs but the fanartists really captured how it feels for Lee Seonghae to be on the page with this design. Made her hair darker and that's it like we nailed it

Choi's design archetypes are 1. reliable senior 2. cheerful 3. unsettlingly intense, so I leaned on a more gritty korean procedural archetype with Choi. Kind of guy that makes your entire spinal column freeze when he turns on the heat

You can use these pics for whatever you want. ⬆️

[bucketbueckers]

HEY GOAT! so ik you have finals rn so just ignore this until ur done BUT i have a long (as usual) paige x reader request for you this time👅 for some backround paige and reader went to uconn together and have been dating for a bit like 3 years and they both get drafted by the wings (reader being 12th pick) and they are super excited whatever. OKAY SO basically reader is like the first person in her family to graduate college and it was really important for her to be there in person and walk with her family watching but she didn’t expect to be drafted in the first round let alone so far away. so she goes to ask the head of whatever at dallas if she can go to her graduation and they say prolly not so she gets super upset and paige decides to plan something with the team and flys her parents out and stuff like that one video with mika and the storm last year. ykwimmm like something super fluffy and just a littttlleee bit angsty.

-⬇️

LOVE IS THE WAY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, 1% angst (like there's more fat content in some milk than there is angst in this story), unfathomable plot

wc: 5.4k

synopsis: As a first generation college student, graduation meant everything to you and your family. Your entire high school career was spent studying through the night, devoting yourself to academics, extracurriculars, and basketball, and reminding yourself that college was the goal. But basketball was your passion – your home away from test prep and the rigor of your courses, and the athletic scholarship from UConn saved your life in more ways than one. When you’re drafted 12th overall alongside your girlfriend of three years, it devastates you to find out that you wouldn’t be able to make it back to campus in time to walk across the stage. Luckily for you, Paige was more than willing to move mountains just to see you smile.

notes: HAPPY GAMEDAY CHAT (i deleted twitter this morning in honor of it) and HAPPY PB5 HOOPS DAY!!!! everyone lock in. this is generational. but real talk, as a first gen student, this request actually means the world to me 🤞 hoping i did this justice for u ⬇️ and i cannot thank u enough for these banger requests 😛 as alwaysss lmk what we're thinking and i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Basketball wasn’t always the goal.

Anyone who sees you might not believe that at first glance. Your game is clinical – smooth, effortless. Your jump shot is perfect, technical in a way analysts have described as academically precise. You play like you were destined for the professional leagues, like you dribbled a basketball for the first time at three years old instead of in the sixth grade.

Growing up, you didn’t have a lot. Your parents weren’t well off but they worked hard to give you a good life. You excelled in school, got exceptional grades, and by eight you knew you would do anything to get into college after touring the local university on a field trip. Your parents weren’t able to go to college, coming from families where they had to prioritize working. College, while impossible for them, became something that was within reach for you. College – an education – was the goal.

When you first started middle school, you knew you needed an outlet, something more than your grades and wit. You tried a few things. Art, while pretty, wasn’t for you. You were a little too restless for it, too much of a perfectionist to fully appreciate the abstract. You briefly considered band but your parents had to make the decision for you when they looked at the cost to rent an instrument from the school.

Sports was your last option. You liked the discipline, the structure, and how you could get all of your energy out. You showed up to softball tryouts, but again – the price tag attached to the glove, the cleats, and the gear was too much. It was the same story for soccer. You arrived at basketball tryouts, not really having much of an interest in it, but figuring you could suck it up if there was any option you could play.

As soon as you picked up the ball for the first time, dribbling it a little clumsily around your body, and following the coach’s instructions on how to shoot it, it was like something ignited in you. You put a little too much spin on the ball and it clanked off the rim, but you knew you could perfect it with a few more shots.

So you tried again. And again. And again. Until you finally sunk the shot from the three point line. That was satisfying.

“It’s not a lot,” you remember Coach Kerrigan telling your parents – clearly in what he thought was a hushed tone of voice. “Just $50 for the entire season. It covers the uniform and tournament fees.”

Your parents had paused, clearly contemplating – and selfishly, you’d hoped they’d give just this once. You had done everything right. You kept your grades up, your room clean, and you’d exhausted all other options.

“I don’t know,” your dad admitted. Your heart sunk to your stomach.

Even years later, you recall the weight of your coach’s stare, how his eyes traced the arc of the basketball as it left your hands. The accompanying swish of the net, how you chased after the rebound, settling in to shoot again. “She has so much potential,” he’d said. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”

Your parents remained silent. You shot the ball, hoping, praying that just this once – you could try to find who you were outside of academics. Then, Coach Kerrigan spoke up. “Actually, I think we’ve got a little extra funding this year. So if you’d let her play…you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Your parents let you play. It took you years to realize the girl’s basketball team at your middle school hadn’t actually gotten any extra funding and that Coach Kerrigan paid the season fee out of his own pocket. And the next season’s. And when the high school coach approached you during your eighth grade year and asked if you’d be willing to give varsity a shot, Coach Kerrigan paid for that one, too.

High school basketball is where you truly flourished. It was a simple agreement with your parents – you could continue playing ball as long as you didn’t put college on the backburner. You pointed out that if you got recruited, you would be on scholarship and you truly didn’t have to worry about money anymore. Your parents believed in you. They’d seen what you were capable of, but when you grow up with so little, it’s hard to lose that worry that it could all slip away if you weren’t careful.

You upheld your end of the bargain. You kept your grades up, enrolled in AP courses, joined student government to round out your application. High achieving student. Honored athlete, Team USA gold medalist averaging 26.4 points a season and improving. Student body president. With a resume like that, you were sure you had a solid chance, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t keep working.

Geno Auriemma showed up to one of your games in sophomore year. So did Dawn Staley and several other college basketball coaches. Coach Auriemma kept showing up, though. After an electric win against a conference opponent, he’d pulled you aside and glanced at you like he was unimpressed, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that reminded you of Coach Kerrigan’s unwavering confidence. Then, Coach Auriemma said, “You play like you’ve got something to prove.”

It wasn’t unkind. Just an observation. Your face was slick with sweat, your feet hurt, and you had a paper due for AP Lang that night. Your teammates were celebrating the win, but your job was far from finished. Isn’t that how it always is, though? Having to work a little extra harder now so you wouldn’t have to in the future. Sacrificing every day to prove to your parents that everything they poured into basketball wasn’t for nothing. Success was hard, exhausting, but God did it taste good.

Simply, you responded, “Don’t we all?”

Coach Auriemma paused. A slow smile spread across his face. He wished you a goodnight.

In junior year, you committed officially to UConn. Full ride athletic scholarship. Your mother cried and your father grinned proudly when the three of you got off the phone with Coach Auriemma.

Being a Husky didn’t mean you could rest easy. The draft was competitive and there was so much talent in the country. This time, there was no “agreement” between you and your parents. You were an adult, but they did have one simple request to get a degree in something versatile. A just in case.

So here you were – a biology major and student athlete. When you weren’t in lab, you were in practice. When you weren’t in practice, you were studying for calculus. And when you weren’t studying for calculus, you were a little busy falling in love with the sophomore point guard from Minnesota who made you realize that there’s a little more to life than ball and school. You had plenty of room for her – for Paige Bueckers – even though you didn’t make it official until your sophomore year at UConn.

It was her junior season. She’d suffered an ACL tear in August, right before classes started. It was a huge blow for morale – she was the heart and soul of the team, the leader on and off the court. But you were the glue who held everything together. Coach shifted you into a more traditional point guard role. You brought a quiet efficiency to the court and confident play-calling. You weren’t there to replace her. That wasn’t possible.

The feelings between the two of you had been growing since your freshman season although neither of you acted on anything. You were close friends but her injury, somehow, pushed you even closer. She texted you reminders to eat when she knew you had a gap in your schedule. You warmed up her heating pad and let her choose the movie on the nights you gave up the textbooks to stay in with her. You and Paige worked so well together and it became harder and harder to deny what you felt for her.

But when she kissed you for “good luck” before the first game of the season? You dropped a casual 23 points with 11 assists to take home the win and made her ask you out for real after the press conference.

That year, the early Sweet 16 exit in the NCAA tournament stung. So did the Final Four exit in your junior year. Paige was staying for a fifth year and you knew that the both of you had one more chance to reel it in for the last time.

And you did. Your senior season was hard but you loved (almost) every second of it anyways. When Azzi was cleared to return from injury. When Aubrey and Carol did, too. When Paige and Azzi tested every bit of your patience by spraining their knees at different parts of the season. When you lost to USC, Notre Dame, and Tennessee but blew out South Carolina – twice, once in the regular season and the second when it mattered the most. When your teammates had your back, unconditionally, just as you had theirs.

Your name started creeping into the mock draft predictions. Third round. Then second. Then first. You were hard to place – nobody could ever agree on whether or not you were a Sun, a Sky, or a Mystic. The only thing that was guaranteed was the fact your girlfriend would be a Wing and you’d cheer her on from wherever the draft took you.

Getting invited to the draft was a different feeling entirely. You had a shot. You were going to be selected, and for once, you truly allowed yourself to reflect – through thick and thin, for worse or for better, you’d made it here. Not just to the draft, but you made it through college, too, which had seemed so out of the picture. Everything your parents had ever sacrificed for you, you’d be able to give it back with interest. You got your degree, your education. You have your career in basketball. You have Paige. That was more than enough for you.

You flew your parents out for the draft in New York. They were ecstatic for you, nearly in tears when you showed them your dress for the first time – styled by Brittany Hampton, of course, because Paige was so keen on matching. It was made of a dark, lace material that glimmered under the lighting in the room, the bodice fitting you just right, and the skirt billowing out around your ankles, cut at the side to reveal one of your legs.

Paige nearly fell out the moment she saw you. You weren’t any better, either. Your eyes lingered (she was wearing her hair down – you might have fallen in love for a second time if you weren’t so drawn to the way her suit sparkled, too) while her hands traveled, linking her fingers at the small of your back and pulling you in. “You’re unreal,” she’d murmured as you wrapped your arms around her neck, smoothing out some of the baby hairs at her nape.

You just grinned, self-satisfied at her obvious speechlessness. Knowing you couldn’t ruin your makeup without your respective teams losing their mind, you press your temple to hers, relishing in the closeness before you’d be pulled away for interviews and to sit at your separate tables. “I could pinch you, if you’d like,” you offered. “Just to make sure you’re not dreaming.”

“Hands to yourself, aight?” she grumbled. “Sum’ about that biology degree makes you evil.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” you cooed softly. “Like at all.”

Paige just squeezed you around your waist, not saying much else, and the two of you made your way to the draft venue. Interviews were quick – pictures, not so much, especially when your entire team was in attendance to watch you, Paige, Aubrey, and Kaitlyn get drafted. You and Paige go your separate ways after the photo on the draft stage. She had a second outfit and you had to find your family – which leads you to now.

Your parents, CD, and Coach Kerrigan are waiting for you and you hug each of them one by one, although you linger on Coach Kerrigan. He doesn’t say much other than a “Proud of you, kid,” and you don’t either – not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down. You’re not sure if he knows the kind of impact he made on your life by welcoming you onto his team when he did, but he grins at you like he understands it just the same.

When Paige makes her way through the crowd, having changed into her second outfit, you almost fall out again. Somehow, you manage to keep it together, even as your jaw hangs slack in near awe while you’re examining the rings on her fingers, the fact that this suit sparkles too, and the devastating lack of an undershirt that has you ready to give up on the draft completely so you can run a few laps around the block to control yourself.

Obviously, she’s the first pick overall. She hugs everyone at her table before finding you and your family. You tell her that you love her and that you’re proud of you. She winks at you and asks you to keep an extra draft hat for her.

The next few picks go by agonizingly slow. You don’t think it should take this long for teams to settle on their next pick and the way the cameras linger on you makes your skin prickle. The Sky have the two picks late in the first round followed by the Wings with the last first round selection. When Hailey Van Lith is taken at #11, you deflate a little, thinking you’ve fallen to the second round. Truly – it’s not the end of the world. It just means you’d have to fight a little harder for a roster spot. That’s a challenge you’d be willing to take head on.

But when the commissioner steps up to the podium again to announce the 12th pick in the draft, you freeze when it’s your name that is called. You, to the Dallas Wings, the same organization that selected Paige only moments ago. Stunned, you hug everyone at your table, then your girlfriend’s family, before making your way up to pose with the Wings jersey. You’re only half-listening to the interview with Holly Rowe, too concerned about making it to the back for media and seeing Paige.

When you finally do, Paige’s expression is one of disbelief and awe and you fall into each other with breathless giggles. Your hat jostles from the force of her body against yours, but she reaches up to steady it, her hands cupping your jaw as she looks at you with something like wonder. Her eyes are the most disarming shade of blue you think you’ve ever seen – and this right here, this feeling of contentment, of knowing that you get to live out your professional dreams with your girlfriend? You want to live in it forever.

“Guess you didn’t need to save an extra hat for me,” she comments coyly.

You laugh, not even bothering with a response as you grab her face and kiss her. Paige sinks into you like you’re the only thing she’s ever been sure about. For a moment, you think that may be true. In a world full of ACL injuries, of never really knowing if you’ll be able to make it unless you work for it, the relationship the two of you have is something steady. Constant. You’ll always have space for each other, just like you’ll always know that loving each other is the easiest part of living.

After the draft, you and Paige don’t immediately fly out to Dallas. You have a final exam or two, shared victory tours and talk show appearances, rallies and loose ends to tie up. You’re booked and busy until the very last minute. Packing is difficult – you’re not quite sure how you’re supposed to fit the last four years of your life into a box and tape it shut. You just have to remind yourself that you’re not closing this door. Maybe you leave it cracked, because you’re not the type of person to abandon your past in search of your future.

But you do come across your graduation gown while you’re packing away your closet. It’s neatly ironed, ready for the big day – May 10th. There’s something about that day that gives you pause, so you pull out your phone to scan the email sent to you by the Wings front office. Your first preseason game was on May 2nd against the Aces.

The second preseason game? May 10th. In Dallas.

Your face falls. Your phone screen goes dark from disuse while you stare in silent disbelief at your graduation gown.

Basketball wasn’t always the goal.

It was a reprieve before it was your passion before it was the best part of your life. You didn’t know if you’d be able to play in middle school, didn’t think you’d get recruited to the best basketball college fresh out of high school. You didn’t know if you’d win a national championship or meet some of your best friends ever. You didn’t know that you’d get drafted.

College was the goal. The goal was beating the odds, of getting a degree and an experience that your family wasn’t lucky enough to put time away for. The goal was succeeding despite every barrier and obstacle that made it difficult for you. The goal was walking across the stage after four years, officially becoming a college graduate, making your family – and yourself – proud, to be able to say that you did. And, sure, walking across the stage doesn’t take away the fact that you did the time. That you excelled. That you sacrificed so much to be a student athlete and a STEM major. Whether or not you walk across that stage has no impact on whether or not you get the degree in the mail certifying that you did everything you wanted to and got something special out of it.

But walking across that stage was a physical reminder that you refused to quit – that you held out hope even when you missed out on so many opportunities because you lacked things out of your control. It’s a reminder for you, for your parents and your family who would fill the stands, a reminder that this is possibly the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life. No one would ever understand it if they haven’t lived it.

You knew you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You couldn’t miss graduation – you didn’t want to. You knew that you couldn’t miss the preseason game, either. Not if you wanted to keep your roster spot. Not if you wanted to prove you had more determination than the other hopeful rookies on the team. Not if you wanted to prove you were an invaluable piece to the Dallas Wings roster. The most devastating part of the situation is that you truly don’t have a choice at all.

You’re still when Paige walks in, her voice startling you. “Hey, baby. You got another roll of tape? I completely fucked up and used like, half of it on one box, but it just wouldn’t shut–” She falters, her gaze meeting yours when she realizes that you’re barely listening and you’re staring catatonically. “You okay? What’s going on?”

“Graduation is May 10th,” you tell her, and she nods – because she’d had that date saved in her calendar the moment you submitted the documentation stating that you had all requirements and would be participating in the ceremony. “And so is our second preseason game.”

Paige’s body softens with regret and understanding all at once. You swear you see something curiously like guilt as if it’s her fault at all. Like she feels bad that she got the opportunity to graduate and walk across the stage when that was the one thing you’d set out to do with your life.

She doesn’t say anything. She just wraps her arms around you, letting you sink into her embrace while you try not to fall apart. Paige knows how important this is to you.

“I don’t think I can miss the game,” you confess, not having to look up to know Paige is listening as you rest your chin on her shoulder. “Not when I’m competing for a roster spot with Aziaha and Madison and JJ and everyone who’s not you, Arike, Ty, Dijonai, NaLyssa–” Your voice breaks, and you inhale sharply, feeling the familiar sting of tears. Paige runs a soothing hand down your back, comforting you enough to keep talking. “But my parents were supposed to see me walk.”

“They will, okay?” she murmurs, like she’s never been more confident than anything in her life. “It’s not over. You’re you. You wouldn’t make it this far just to give up now. Have you called Curt?”

“Well, I was a little busy having a mental breakdown before you walked in complaining about tape, so no, I did not call Curt,” you say dramatically.

“I’m so sorry I interrupted your spiraling,” Paige deadpans, which makes you laugh a little. She gives you one more squeeze before you extract yourself from her body, turning your phone on again as you take a seat on your bed. She follows suit as you scroll through your contacts for Curt’s number.

The line rings for a few moments. Paige, as if sensing your nerves, rests her hand over your knee for encouragement before Curt’s voice clicks through, greeting you. You remember your manners before you explain the situation to him. Graduation on May 10th. Preseason game too. Can I please miss the game so I can walk the stage and not crash the fuck out? You don’t say all of that – you use your professional voice, but the sentiment is the same.

Curt doesn’t respond for a moment. And when he doesn’t, you already have your answer. You deflate as he says, not unkindly, but clearly remorseful, “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll be able to miss it. The coaching staff needs you there for evaluation and your contract–”

You stop listening when he starts talking about contracts and roster spots and how he’s really sorry, but he just can’t make an exception right now. You can tell he genuinely feels terrible that it’s happened this way, but the league is competitive. You need to be there if you want to play basketball in May. Knowing doesn’t make the feeling go away, though, so you thank him for his time when he’s done explaining it to you and you hang up.

Paige doesn’t make you say anything, already reaching for your phone and turning it off. She pulls you into her arms again, her mood dampened as she murmurs an apology in your ear, pressing a consoling kiss to the crown of your head.

It does make you feel a little bit better, and maybe, one day, you won’t feel as bitter and as disappointed about missing your graduation as you are now, but you just can’t push the hurt to the side.

You let Paige hold you for a little longer, her hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as you curl up against her, your head tucked into her neck.

But she’s quiet – maybe a little too quiet, and you wholeheartedly miss the expression of sheer determination on her face like she’s plotting something that you’ll never know about until the time comes.

The move to Dallas goes better than expected. You and Paige lease an apartment not too far away from the facilities, but decently away from the bustle of the city. You spend a huge chunk of your time between Target and Costco and building furniture together – Paige has always been handy although a little…creative, when it comes to the instruction manuals, so you have to force her to follow them exactly. The last thing you want is your coffee table crumbling.

Between practice, shopping, and getting used to being in a completely different city, you hardly have the time to think too hard about how you have to miss graduation. You try to let yourself be happy, too. The Wings vets are incredibly kind and helpful, although they love to tease you and Paige, which is probably something you should have known was going to happen as soon as Cathy called your name at the draft. Despite the ache of missing Storrs, your teammates, and what you still consider home, you can see yourself loving it in Dallas, too. You can see the Wings becoming your family, too.

The first preseason game goes as well as it could have. Not wanting to risk injury, neither the Wings nor the Aces do anything too crazy, just wanting to get the rookies acclimated to playing professional basketball. Your coach runs different rotations, evaluating how everyone plays. It’s sad to know that by the beginning of the regular season, a few of your new teammates will be waived, even if you have to work extra hard just to make sure it’s not you.

Ultimately, the Aces take the win. Losing wasn’t something that you were used to in Connecticut, so you try not to take it to heart. You sleep on Paige’s shoulder the entire flight back to Dallas, blissfully unaware of the plans she’s making on her phone.

A few days after the first preseason game, you’re making your way through the tunnel in the Wings facility to get ready for another grueling day of practice. Before you can enter the locker room, Paige catches your wrist at the door, taking your bag gingerly as you stare at her in confusion.

“Do you trust me?” she asks you in a tone of voice that is screaming Don’t trust me!

“Under most circumstances, yes,” you respond. “What–”

“Wait here,” she says softly. “And close your eyes, please.” You sigh, but you do as she asks, even placing your hands over your eyes for good measure. You hear shuffling inside of the locker room before she comes out again. “Keep ‘em closed, but hold out your arms.”

You do, and she helps you into what feels like a large coat. You hear the sound of a zipper and then she’s carefully fitting a hat over your head. “You comfy?” she checks in.

“Just hoping my girlfriend didn’t team up with the vets for some weird rookie hazing ritual,” you mutter, listening to her laugh.

“Something a little better than that, I promise,” Paige swears. She links her fingers with yours, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Don’t open your eyes. Just follow me.”

You let her lead you through the facility, hoping that she remembers she’s an athlete with coordination and that she doesn’t run you into a wall accidentally. Before you know it, she comes to a stop, and nervously, she says, her voice echoing, “Okay. Open your eyes.”

When you do, your breath catches in your throat. You’re dressed in your cap and gown and you’re in the practice gym, but what truly captures your attention is the makeshift stage that’s been assembled at the center of the court. There’s a podium, where one of the coordinators from UConn’s Department of Biology stands – you’d worked with her a lot when it came to your academics since you were always booked and busy with class, studying, practice, and games. Your entire team sits in neat little rows in front of the stage dressed in their practice jerseys, but most of all, your parents are front and center, too.

“Paige,” you whisper, your voice catching, and she takes your hands in hers.

“Surprise!” she says, her tone soft. Despite yourself, you give a watery laugh, trying not to cry in front of everyone. “You weren’t able to go back to Storrs to walk across the stage. So…I pulled some strings and brought Storrs to you.” You take the scene in again, your heart full. You lock eyes with Arike, who’s holding a laptop. She lifts it slightly to show you the Zoom call she’s on. The screen is full of your teammates – KK, Morgan, Ice, Sarah – and you can hear their cheers through the computer speakers.

“Dr. Snyder agreed to speak and present your diploma,” Paige continues. “And I flew out your parents for the weekend.” She lowers her voice, ensuring that only you can hear her. Your lip trembles, the love you feel for your girlfriend almost overwhelming. “I know this means a lot to you. Graduating. I’m sorry we couldn’t be in Storrs to do this, but…you deserve to be honored. You deserve to do this.” Her eyes shine a little brighter, the affection almost stifling. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you. I hope you like it.”

“Like it?” you echo, disbelief lacing your tone as you laugh again. “Paige, I love this.” Her features relax a little, her grin widening as she pulls you into a tight hug. “This means everything to me.”

“Then let’s graduate.”

You pull away and your teammates, coaching staff, and trainers all clap for you as you make your way to the lone seat reserved for you in front of everyone else. You grin a little, shaking your head as Dr. Snyder steps up to the podium fully, taking her job incredibly seriously. She clears her throat.

“Esteemed graduate, friends, family, teammates old and new,” she begins, winking at you, and you let your smile grow without a care in the world. “We’re gathered here today to celebrate an extremely special individual who was unable to make it back to Storrs to receive her degree. But unconventional does not mean undeserving, and I certainly can’t name one other student who deserves this more than she does.

“I’ve guided many students in my career,” Dr. Snyder continues. “None of them are ever the same, yet she stands a caliber above the rest. She juggled a rigorous course load, a taxing athletic schedule, and she did this for four years with determination, wit, and unyielding perseverance. She has made such a profound impact on our university, on the basketball program, as well as in the lives of many people around her. I am proud to have advised her, but even more proud to stand here today to see her achieve her dreams. On behalf of everyone at the University of Connecticut, we are so excited to see you write this next chapter of your life.”

If there weren’t tears in your eyes during Dr. Snyder’s speech, then there are when she reaches for the degree cover and says your name. It feels like getting drafted all over again – but it’s even better than being drafted, because this has been your dream longer than basketball has been a reality. It was difficult, and most days it felt damn near impossible, but you did it.

You rise to the raucous applause in the gym, a beaming smile on your face as you make your way to the stage. Before you reach for your hard-earned degree, you give Dr. Snyder a crushing hug, thanking her profusely. Together, you hold onto your degree, smiling for the pictures that your parents, Paige, and the Dallas Wings media team take all at once. Even Arike is angling the computer towards you and you can vaguely hear KK over the computer screaming, “Screenshot it!” – which makes you laugh, because you know they’d have your back. Always.

You step down, degree in hand, and Paige grins at you with that soft, cheeky, scrunchy look of hers. You roll your eyes, the tears surging forward again and you wrap your arms around her tightly, burying your face in her neck and letting it all out. And when your parents step forward, too, wrapping the both of you in a large, crushing hug, you weren’t too sure how you were supposed to keep it together at all.

Graduation wasn’t how you thought it would be, but the knowledge that your family got to see you walk across the stage means everything to you.

You’ve accomplished one dream, and now, it’s time for the next.

[hellinistical]

6:29

girl dad caleb

She wasn't quite getting it yet. Not really.

You’d been watching him work on this for the past week, ever since she started crawling up the stairs like a determined little mountain goat, her diapered butt swaying with effort and mischief. Caleb had noticed it first—how strong her little legs were getting, how she pulled herself upright on the edge of the coffee table and then beamed with pride like she’d scaled a cliff. That’s when he got it in his head that she’d be walking in no time. And when Caleb got something in his head, he didn’t let go.

So now, every morning, every nap time wake-up, every lull in the day, he practiced with her. Not with the eager clapping and over-the-top encouragement that other parents might use, but with a kind of quiet, focused patience. Like teaching her to walk was the most sacred task he’d ever been given.

Today, it was just them. Sunlight filtered through the windows, striping the living room floor in gold. The house was peaceful, the kind of stillness that wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Caleb sat cross-legged on the floor, her tiny hands cradled gently in his. She stood wobbling, her bow-legged stance making her look like a baby deer fresh out of the womb.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he murmured, so softly it almost felt like a secret. “You ready? Let’s try again.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes and a drooly grin, then promptly sat down with a plop. Caleb didn’t even blink. He smiled, scooped her back up, and placed her on her feet again.

"Strong legs. You got this."

He didn’t notice you leaning in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, heart melting a little more with every pass. His brows were furrowed in that intense way he got when he was working through something complicated, like assembling furniture or fixing a leaky sink. Except this time it was her. Your daughter. The small, stubborn miracle with wild hair and dimpled knuckles.

“Come to Daddy,” he whispered again, scooting a little farther away. He held out his arms, not too close, not too far. Just enough to tempt her.

She swayed on her feet, eyes on him, one hand flailing out for balance while the other curled in a fist like she was gathering courage.

One step.

Then—nope. She flopped forward, landing on her hands and knees.

Caleb exhaled through his nose, leaned forward, kissed the crown of her head, and whispered, “That was still really good, baby. You’re getting closer.”

And somehow, you knew he meant it.

[thelostgirl21]

AND NOW HE'S THE FAMILY GOAT!!!

The capricorns

I found this interviews [x] and I couldn't help but make a stupid parallel 😅

[rd0265667]

Winter as your girlfriend

Aespa GF HC

✰When you first meet her, she’s got that soft-spoken, mysterious vibe. Big eyes, Gentle voice, Quiet Giggle. You question if she’s an angel

✰She’s not. She is a gremlin disguised as a cinnamon roll.

✰She does not know how to flirt, like at all

✰Her idea of flirting is dropping a meme in your dms then saying “This reminded me of you <3” (It’s a raccoon in a trashcan)

✰She sends you TikToks at the most random times, of cats doing backflips then gets sad if you don’t react within 5 minutes

“You didn’t laugh at the duck one…You hate me don’t you?”

✰She sends you a blurry picture of a fish in a hoodie with the caption, “You btw”(Followed by a heart and the text, I’m so romantic omg)

✰She shows love in her own peculiarly adorable way

✰If you’ve been working for too long and haven’t eaten in awhile, she’ll walk into your room, throw a bag of potato chips at your face at full speed and say, “Here, eat, love you.”

✰Orders vitamins for you, but eats marshmallows for lunch.

✰She makes you a playlist for the two of you and titled it, “u make my brain do the dumb”

✰Tells you she’s brought you something. It’s a rock that, and I quote, reminded her of your vibe

✰She loves poking your cheek then pretending that it wasn’t her

✰Her physical affection needs time to build up. She starts as a “I’ll sit near but not too near or they’ll think I’m a weirdo.”

✰Once she’s comfy though? She’s a sleepy koala

✰Falls asleep on your shoulder during movies

✰Hugs you from behind when you’re brushing your teeth, like a backpack that comes with kisses and occasional bites

✰Puts her cold feet on your legs under the blanket, saying “You love me, suffer.”

✰She ADORES lap cuddles but pretends she’s doing it because you want it.

“You look stressed, so I’m just gonna…sit here…You know. For your well being.”

✰Will nap on you, head on your chest, mumbling nonsense like, “You smell like safety, and pizza.”

✰She writes your name with little doodles on her phone case

✰Wears your hoodie and acts like she forgot it was yours

✰When you ask her about it, she claims that it just showed up on her body so it’s hers now

✰Blushes and almost breaks down when you hold her face with both hands and look into her eyes

✰She pretends that she’s not clingy, but starts panicking and printing fliers if you stop replying for more than 8 minutes

✰She takes 500 pictures of you when you’re not looking and sets her favourite as her lockscreen.

✰When you ask her why she needs so many, she says, “I need a new wallpaper. And a backup. And a shrine.”

✰Leaves post-its on your laptop that say, “Drink water or I fite u.”, “u look hot today”, and last but not least, “this is us if we were frogs. Love u”

✰You’re her emotional support human and designated “Person who explains things to waiter because she’s panicking.”

✰She’s dramatic in the gentlest, most goofy way ever.

✰She would trip over her own feet then blame the floor for “being dramatic”

✰You forgot to say good morning?

“It’s fine, I’ll just go live in the mountains alone. With squirrels.”

✰She’s named all your stuffed animals, and talks to them when she’s bored or you’re not home

“No, no, it’s okay that they left, it’s just that TRAITOR didn’t give me a forehead kiss before going out.”

✰She claims that they sometimes snitch on you.

✰She likes to lie across your lap like a cat and scroll through TikTok while occasionally turning to say, “Babe, look at this goat screaming.”

[midluuna]

Fairy COTL AU?!?!

LOOK!!! I've been thinking about this for a looooong time and I tried to ignore the worms in my brain because I am already trying to finish this other AU of mine (@redcrowncafe). Anyways, since the voices are getting louder I decided to let them FREE!!

THE PLOT?

Something something like Lambert and Goatfrey (lamb and goat) going to a small mountain town they used to go when they were little and in that city there is a forest where the two used to go and one day Lambert casually stumbles into a portal and ends up the fairies dimension, where they get get kidnapped and brought to the leaders of the four fairy realms (of course).

Leshy is the Fairy of Spring, Kallamar the Fairy of Summer, Heket of Autumn and Shamura of Winter (I know the colors of their outfits aren't really matching their seasons, I might relaborate them... or maybe not).

So, basically they want to keep Lambert forever but in a way or another they get contacted by Narinder, a snarky fairy who is willing to give them powers so that they can defeat blah blah blah the usual. So Lambert becomes half fairy, basically the magical girl logic except they are an adult. They don't really trust him because he's a fairy too, but they know they really have no choice and accept.

Narinder is the Fairy of Transition, basically his domain is all that is transitory: like the transition between a season to another, the dim darkness between night and day, the metamorphosis taking place inside a cocoon, the death between any reincarnation and so on!

I still don't know the reason why he was banished by the dimension, he probably did what he did because he felt like no one really cared about his domain or gave importance, but I know for sure that he can appear freely outside that dimension and change appearance as he please: he can look like a normal guy in his late 20s or a butterfly or an actual CAT (form he likes to change to when he wants to play some prank on the lamb).

Also Goatfrey will be a half fairy like them I guess.

Also of course Felix too (the yellow cat) is in the AU. She's a spring fairy and probably pollinates flowers or tell animals it's time to have babies I guess.

I already have so many headcanons and I want to draw/write something but I don't want to write a fanfiction or put so much effort like in the other AU, but I definitely want to draw some silly comic, doodle and maybe few chapters of unrelated events? idk Feel free to write in my ask inbox I guess!!

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: <33

Save The Last Dance

With Lando being so busy, he forgets one of the most important days of his daughter’s life.

It Was Supposed to Be Perfect.

Y/n had been planning her Sweet 16 with her dad, Lando Norris, for almost six months. Every little detail — the fairy lights, the playlist, even the chocolate fountain — they had picked out together.

But more importantly, they were supposed to do their thing.

Every year, since she turned five, they had a Daddy-Daughter Dance on her birthday. No matter where he was — Monaco, Miami, Melbourne — he would fly back just to spin her around under the stars.

Tonight was supposed to be no different.

Except it was.

Y/n sat at her table, her perfectly done-up hair beginning to wilt from the waiting, her soft pink dress crumpling beneath her as she curled into herself.

The party buzzed around her — friends laughing, balloons popping, cameras flashing — but all she could feel was the massive, aching emptiness.

Her mom, standing across the room, kept glancing at her phone, a tight, worried frown forming.

Another half-hour passed.

The DJ cued the special song she and her dad had picked. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Still no Lando.

Something inside her cracked.

Face burning with betrayal, anger, and sadness all tangled up, Y/n grabbed her bag, slipped out the side door, and ordered an Uber. Her phone buzzed nonstop — friends, her mom, even the DJ — but she ignored them all.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Back at Home

Y/n slammed the door behind her, tore off her heels, and sobbed into her pillow.

At the venue, her mom stood with her phone to her ear, furious.

She finally got through.

Call with Lando:

Mom: "Pick up your phone, Lando."

Lando (panicked): "What? What’s wrong?"

Mom: "You forgot her birthday. YOU FORGOT HER BIRTHDAY."

Lando: "WHAT? NO— wait, wait, what time is it?"

Mom: "It’s past 9 PM. She left her own party. Alone."

Silence.

Heavy, gut-wrenching silence.

Then the line went dead — Lando already moving.

Texts (Group Chat: F1 Idiots)

Lando:

I messed up. I missed Y/n’s Sweet 16. She’s heartbroken. What do I do.

Smooth Operator🌶:

Mate... you’re gonna have to move mountains.

Prince Of Monaco:

Big grand gesture. Flowers. Apology. Tears. Beg.

GOATed Hamilton:

Don't just say sorry. SHOW her you’re sorry. Make a memory she won’t forget.

Os🏎:

Build a time machine.

Lando:

NOT HELPING OSCAR.

Mr. Saterday:

Seriously. You need to make her feel like the most important person in the world right now.

Lando:

Ok. Ok. I’ve got an idea. Pray for me.

At Home – Late Night

Y/n sat on her bed, still in her dress, tear tracks marking her cheeks.

Then she heard it — music.

Soft, familiar, coming from outside.

Curious and still angry, she opened her window.

And there he was.

Lando Norris, standing in their backyard, fairy lights strung up everywhere, holding a giant speaker playing their song, and a hand-painted cardboard sign that read:

"I’m sorry I missed the first dance.

Can I have the last one?"

Her breath hitched.

She hesitated.

Her heart fought her mind.

But when she saw his eyes — red-rimmed, glassy, desperate — she couldn’t stay mad.

Slipping out the door, barefoot and trembling, Y/n padded across the grass.

Without a word, Lando opened his arms.

And she ran into them.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," he whispered into her hair, voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry, bunny. You didn't deserve that. You deserve everything."

Tears spilled down her cheeks again — but this time, they were different. Softer. Healing.

"I thought you forgot about me," she mumbled.

"Never. Not even for a second." He pulled back, wiping her tears with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I messed up. But I'm going to spend every day making sure you know how much you mean to me."

He bowed dramatically, making her giggle despite herself. "May I have this dance?"

With a small, tearful laugh, Y/n nodded.

Under the fairy lights, barefoot in the grass, Lando and Y/n swayed slowly to their song — late, messy, imperfect — but maybe even more meaningful than if everything had gone to plan.

And as the night wrapped around them, it was clear:

They had saved the most important dance after all.

I tried my best chat. I enjoyed making it though. Hopefully you will enjoy it pookie.

Don't have much to say other than I was trustworthy enough to be mod in an F1 group that yall should totally join, eventually.

That's Gang Gang out!!!!♡

[lilaccatholic]

Katniss post-Mockingjay grips onto anything living with both hands. She cultivates a garden sprawled across several of the Victors' Village yards so that she and her loved ones never have to go hungry again full of herbs, greens, vegetables, and all sorts of flowers for Peeta.

(Not roses. Never roses. The primroses are the only roses allowed. She spots some, once, and uproots them to give to some transplant from another district. Even these plants she cannot kill.)

In the sterile, sparse courtyard of the Village, she plants an orchard of fruit and nut trees. Peeta jokes that it is her second forest. She responds by shooting a rabbit for dinner from their bedroom window.

(Hunting is different. It is a necessary kind of killing in the aftermath of a war that leaves resources sparse during rebuilding. Katniss is a good hunter. She knows that if she is responsible, there will be enough game to continue on through the years. She tries not to think about how the Capitol treated the districts the same way.)

She gets two chickens. Then, a few more. Soon, a tiny army follows her whenever she enters the yard. They love Peeta especially, thanks to the baking scraps he slips them when he thinks Katniss isn't looking. Haymitch guffaws from his porch, watching Katniss with her parade of teeny chicks peeping after her.

(He shuts up a little after she gives him his first few geese.)

Gradually, some goats, a cow or two, and a handful of sheep join the menagerie. Peeta comes home with a fragile little puppy he finds going through the bakery's garbage for scraps that Katniss refuses to love until she's sure he will live, nursing the puppy to health all the same. Turns out, he's excellent at herding and protecting the animals, and that ugly little mutt becomes the most fierce protector of his pack.

(The goats are the hardest of all to agree to adopt. Every time she looks at them, she sees Prim's goat with its blue ribbon. The first bite of goat cheese makes her choke.)

And then, when one day, she looks around her, and she finds a thriving, noisy, life-giving patch of Eden where the Capitol's perfectly manicured, ornamental, plastic hell once stood, and she breathes in the clean mountain air and digs her hands into rich, good earth, she thinks about Peeta. She thinks about how he makes bread like the loaves he threw her, but now the dried fruits and nuts come from trees and plants she grows. She thinks about how they got tipsy on dandelion wine on their most recent anniversary, and neither of them thought about mutts, or Snow, or Prim that day. She thinks about every good thing she's ever seen and how she sees more and more every year, and she thinks about how maybe, maybe now it's safe enough to bring another kind of new life into the world.

(And maybe she names her first baby girl Eden. Maybe with that baby, the world starts anew.)

[contentloadingandstuff]

Ganyu, Kujou Sara and their babies - Ganyu & Kujou Sara x Male!Reader

A/N: Shorter than what I usually do, I know. Anyway, enjoy! CW: Parental fluff, little mention of the reader, the characters being monster girls.

Ganyu who shows her kids the richest pastures, high in the mountains of Jeyun Karst. They might be little cuties with barely budding horns, but they climb very well, keeping up with their mother as she ascends the easiest approaches - she wouldn’t want them to get hurt, even if their daddy is waiting with open arms, ready to catch them at the foot of the wall. When they reach the top, your wife always smiles as she sees her babies jump in excitement at the colourful field of bright, joyful Qingxin and Sweet Flowers, just waiting to be devoured. She trusts you to look after her and the younglings as they graze peacefully, lying amongst the lush grass as they nom down their flowers. While there’s no need to watch out for predators, Ganyu still feels safer with you on the lookout. Just don’t try to walk up on her - it’s very easy to spook her when she’s this vulnerable. 

She makes sure her little ones eat properly - as natural herbivores, Qilins eat only whole grain and drink only spring water, and Ganyu will make sure it’s the best variety. Of course, the babies get to enjoy water only from the very sources - you wouldn’t want them to take in any of the nasty things the river picks up along the way. Cloud Retainer already created fields of weather-resistant flowers for her daughters’ enjoyment, and she will continue caring for those so that even Ganyu’s grand-grand-grandchildren can graze upon them. But Ganyu knows that variety is important, so you’ll get to take your little goats to enjoy some rapsflowers right from the beautiful fields of Qingce Village. For centuries Qilin have been free to enjoy the crops as the people of Liyue see it as a sign of Adeptal blessing. And they’re not wrong - Xianyun will make sure the farmers get to enjoy the mildest of weathers and the greatest of harvests in return for their kindness. 

Kujou Sara who didn’t expect her hatchlings to be such a menace to society. When they were young, they were in constant need of attention - if left alone, they would quickly grow cold as they haven’t grown their feathers out just yet. And the squawking… It’s good that she was taken in by the humans at a later age, as just thinking about her adoptive father having to endure her begging for inexplicable amounts of food makes her flustered. Still, they were lovely to look at, snuggled into their parents. Later it would become the only moment when the nestlings would behave. Sara doesn’t remember being this rowdy and mischievous when she was young. The little Tengu are endlessly curious, hunting out every shiny and colorful object made by humans. They are always on the hunt for shinies to nick, be it from trash or from “unguarded” troves to offer them to their parents. It is adorable, but also disrupts the peace. But if the humans don’t seem to mind having their miscellaneous items and bits of food stolen by the General’s sons and daughters, blessings of the Youkai and all… It’s an acceptable practice. She might not have done it, but if it’s in their nature, she won’t try to restrict her offspring in the same way she was. 

Although not being able to fly herself after the crippling injury in her youth, Sara does remember a few things. How adorable the younglings are as they watch their mother spread her wings, admiration flickering in their little eyes! The first few attempts might be moderately successful at best, but Sara won’t mind - practice makes perfect, after all. In no time she will watch them soar the skies, her chest swelling with pride and love. And when they come down, their mother will preen them to make sure their wings are as beautiful and healthy as can be. 

Thanks for reading!

[sweetheartsofpanem]

I've Been Yours - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

i definitely did not sob writing this… i totally did. UGH MY BABIES

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 4.14k

series masterlist | main masterlist

You wake to the sound of birds.

Not the frantic screeching kind—though you’ve met more than your fair share of those in the last three years—but the soft, slow kind. Morning birds. Gentle and full of quiet purpose, like they’re reminding the world to stretch.

The light filtering through the curtains is golden. It paints the hardwood in long strokes, warm and slow-moving, like everything’s in no rush now. Like the world isn’t on fire anymore.

And for once, you believe it.

You don’t get up right away.

You just lie there, tucked into sheets that smell like laundry soap and comfort, curled into the warmth of the man still half-asleep beside you, and let yourself feel it.

The stillness.

The way your chest doesn’t ache the way it used to.

The fact that your first thought isn’t how do I disappear? but maybe we should get up before the market closes.

It’s been three years since you came back to District 12.

Three years since you stumbled through the ruins and ended up here. Since Katniss and Peeta took care of your wounds like it was the easiest thing in the world. Since you looked at Haymitch and thought, he’s just another man who will hurt me and leave.

And now?

Now you’re tucked under the covers of a home you helped build from the inside out.

Now you work three days a week at an Apothecary, and the rest are split between tending the herb garden with Katniss and helping Peeta paint the side of his bakery. Therapy is a regular part of your week—one of the first things District 12 added once the final reconstruction funds rolled in. It’s quiet. Gentle. You like the woman who runs it. She reminds you of your dad in a strange, comforting way—says your name like it matters, asks questions without trying to break you open.

And you answer them.

You talk about the cellar.

You talk about the things you still don’t have words for.

You talk about love—what it feels like to be wanted in the exact way you are.

Haymitch shifts beside you with a soft grunt, one arm tightening around your middle, breath warm against your neck.

You smile.

You’re not afraid of the morning anymore.

Eventually, you slide out of bed, careful not to wake him.

You leave a kiss on his temple anyway.

He grumbles something incoherent, tugs your pillow into his chest like a substitute for your body, and immediately falls back asleep.

The floor’s cool under your feet as you pad to the kitchen, tugging on one of his old flannels over your sleep shirt along the way. It smells like cedar and whiskey and a thousand quiet mornings just like this.

You start the coffee without thinking.

Two spoons of sugar in his mug. Just a splash of milk in yours.

The kettle whistles low and steady. The window above the sink is cracked open, and a breeze rolls through the curtain. The sun is high enough now to spill gold across the countertop, catching on the small glass vase you keep beside the window—today it holds little blue phlox and mountain mint you picked with Katniss earlier in the week.

You reach for the pan on the stove. Eggs. Toast. A little bit of goat cheese you bartered for at the market.

Footsteps shuffle behind you.

“You makin’ that smell delicious on purpose?” Haymitch rasps.

You smile without turning around. “I considered letting you starve.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. “But you’re getting soft in your old age.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“And you’ve aged beautifully, honey.”

You roll your eyes and elbow him gently. “Mug’s on the table. Go sit down before you fall over.”

He kisses your shoulder before letting go.

You move around each other with the ease of a shared life—him pouring coffee, you plating breakfast, him grumbling at the chair that squeaks, you laughing because you swore you’d fix it last week and still haven’t.

Everything is slow. Familiar. Easy in a way it never used to be.

By the time you both sit down to eat, the sun is full and warm across the table. Soot appears like a ghost in the doorway, leaps up into your lap, and settles in with her usual dramatic sigh like finally, the attention I deserve.

You scratch behind her ear. She bites you gently. Haymitch mutters something about her being possessed.

You sip your coffee and let it all sink in.

You have a home.

You have love.

You have mornings like this.

After breakfast, Haymitch insists on doing the dishes, grumbling the whole time about how you’re not allowed to “turn into one of those people who hum while they clean.” You hum just to spite him.

Back in the bedroom, the two of you get ready without really saying much—there’s no need to. You move around each other like a dance you’ve been doing for years. Haymitch pulls on a button-down while you stand in front of the dresser, brushing your hair. He walks past, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck on his way to grab socks. You toss his belt at him before he even asks for it.

He still tugs the hem of your shirt down after you pull it over your head—out of habit more than anything—and murmurs, “Pretty.”

You swat at him, flustered even now, and he grins like it still works every time.

By the time you lace your boots and check your little shoulder bag for your market list, there’s a soft knock at the door. You open it to find Katniss already waiting on the porch, a small satchel slung over her shoulder, her braid over one shoulder and her expression unreadable as always.

“Ready?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

Haymitch appears behind you, leans against the doorframe, and peers out at her. “You break her, I’ll break you.”

Katniss deadpans, “Then don’t give me defective products.”

You’re already laughing as you step onto the porch. “We’re literally just going to the market.”

“I’ve seen the way she shops,” Haymitch says. “She gets this look in her eye.”

“Peeta’s worse,” Katniss mutters.

You turn back to him before leaving and rise up on your toes for a quick kiss—soft and simple, pressed into the corner of his mouth. “Be good.”

“No promises.”

Peeta appears on his porch across the way right as you and Katniss start walking, waving dramatically like you’re leaving for war. Haymitch calls something sarcastic back, but you’re too far down the path to catch it clearly.

The Victor’s Village has changed in three years.

All twelve houses are full now—some with returning families, others with people who came to rebuild and never left. Kids play in the yards. Gardens bloom along the fences. Someone waves from a porch a few houses down and you wave back without hesitation.

It’s a neighborhood now.

A real one.

And for the first time in your life, you feel like you belong in one.

The sun’s already high by the time you and Katniss reach the edge of the village, the path worn into something familiar beneath your boots. The grass hums with heat, bees drifting between wildflowers along the fence line, and every so often you catch the sound of distant laughter—kids chasing each other barefoot, someone shouting from a garden.

It’s summer. Full, and green, and alive.

Katniss doesn’t talk much as you walk.

She never has.

But it’s a comfortable silence, one that doesn’t press. She gestures once with a tilt of her chin, and you follow her down the side road that cuts toward the main square. The buildings are all rebuilt now—stone and wood and clean glass windows. There’s even a small sign above the tailor’s shop, hand-painted and hung by thick rope.

The market is already buzzing when you arrive.

Stalls line both sides of the square, shaded by linen cloths and patched umbrellas. People call out names, wave across the street, trade goods over tables cluttered with jars, produce, and worn baskets full of herbs.

Katniss heads straight for her usual booth—the one that sells dried roots and salves—and you veer off to check the bread stall.

You both fall into rhythm. Picking through vegetables, bartering gently. Passing things back and forth without really thinking about it.

At one point, Katniss holds up a small jar of wild honey and says, “You think Peeta would like this?”

You raise your eyebrows. “He’ll cry with joy.”

She almost smiles.

You end up with two bags full by midday—bread, peaches, mint, goat cheese, a few tiny jars of jam. Katniss grabs extra soap and something that smells vaguely like cinnamon and ash. You find a pair of hand-stitched tea towels that match the mug Haymitch always insists is his favorite and buy them without thinking twice.

When the sun hits its peak, you duck under the shade of a tree near the square and split a chilled plum between the two of you. It’s sticky and perfect. Katniss licks juice off her wrist and mutters that it’s too hot. You agree, but neither of you makes a move to head home yet.

You’re just… there.

Existing.

Together.

And that, somehow, feels like the most remarkable part of all.

The sun’s settled into its lazy afternoon stretch by the time you and Katniss head home.

The bags are heavier now, your arms warmed from the weight, and your skin carries that soft, sun-drunk feeling that only comes from a long summer day spent in good company.

You glance over at her, hiding a smile.

“So,” you say, casual as anything, “how’s it feel being a married woman these days?”

Katniss gives you a side-eye so sharp it could slice fruit.

You grin. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a husband now. That’s commitment.”

“He still leaves socks everywhere,” she mutters.

“And you still chose him.”

“I didn’t choose his laundry habits.”

You bump her shoulder lightly. “You love him.”

“I tolerate him aggressively.”

“You married him in front of witnesses.”

She exhales through her nose, but her ears are pink.

You don’t press any further.

You don’t need to.

The two of you walk in comfortable quiet for a few minutes, dust puffing up beneath your boots, the village just coming into view around the bend. Katniss shifts one of her bags higher on her shoulder and says, mostly to herself, “It’s not what I expected.”

“What isn’t?”

“Marriage,” she says. Then adds, after a pause, “Happiness.”

You blink.

Then smile.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

And for a second, the world narrows to that moment—sun on your back, sweat on your neck, the woman beside you quiet but steady, and the path ahead leading home.

When you get back to the Victor’s Village, the afternoon light has turned syrupy, golden and soft across the porches. A light breeze stirs through the trees, fluttering laundry on the lines and rustling the late-summer leaves.

You wave goodbye to Katniss and split off toward your house, arms aching but heart light.

Inside, it smells like Haymitch’s soap and morning coffee left too long on the stove.

You set your bags down on the kitchen counter, take a moment to pull the jam jars and tea towels free, and tuck them into the cabinet with a fond little smile. Soot is curled in a sunspot on the back of the couch, belly up, all four legs flopped to the side like she’s been through so much.

You scratch her belly. She kicks you. You kiss her head anyway.

Then you head back out, wiping your hands on your skirt as you cross the porch and make your way across the square to Katniss and Peeta’s house.

She’s already on the porch waiting.

Wordless, the two of you fall back into step, circling around the side yard toward the backyard fence.

And then you hear it.

A crash.

A loud one.

Then Peeta’s voice, “You’re not supposed to throw it like that!”

Followed by Haymitch, shouting, “I said I was aiming for the log!”

Katniss stops walking.

You exchange a look.

Then both of you step into the backyard at the same time.

There’s a lopsided wooden target propped up against a tree.

Three kitchen knives sticking out of the grass nowhere near it.

A pile of firewood with a very clear dent in one log.

Peeta standing with his hands on his hips, looking betrayed.

And Haymitch with a fourth knife in hand, already rearing back for another throw.

You stare.

Peeta sees you and immediately points at Haymitch. “He said he could hit the center.”

“It used to be easier,” Haymitch mutters.

“You threw it into my garden bed.”

“That’s what you get for planting lettuce like a coward.”

Katniss exhales through her nose. “Are you two okay?”

“No,” you say at the same time.

Peeta opens his mouth to argue. Stops. Looks down at the knife sticking out of a perfectly innocent zucchini plant.

Then sighs. “We may have made poor choices.”

You don’t even get a chance to settle in before Haymitch gives you a look.

Not the tired, vaguely annoyed one you usually get when you ask him to do something mildly wholesome. No, this one’s more… focused. Like he’s already made up his mind about something and you’re just now catching up.

“You done playing farmer’s market baron?” he asks.

You raise a brow. “Maybe.”

“Good,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants. “We’re going for a walk.”

You blink. “We are?”

“Mm.”

“Right now?”

“Unless you’ve got a pressing appointment with the lawn.”

Peeta turns around way too quickly, pretending to water something that absolutely does not need watering. Katniss is suddenly very interested in the inside of her bag.

You glance between all of them, squinting. “Why do I feel like I’m being ambushed.”

“You’re not,” Haymitch says immediately. “You’re just being handled.”

“Wow. Comforting.”

He shrugs and grabs your hand anyway.

His palm is warm. A little calloused. Familiar in a way that settles something deep in your chest.

You glance down at your clothes. “Should I change?”

He looks you over slowly, then leans in to murmur, “You look perfect.”

Your face burns. “Ugh, why do you always say cute stuff like that?”

“Not my fault you react like that every time I tell the truth.”

Peeta coughs behind you—loud and exaggerated.

Katniss doesn’t even pretend not to smile.

You squeeze his hand once before following him across the grass, past the fence, out toward the trees.

The woods are warm but shaded, sunlight filtering through the leaves in long streaks that dance across the path. The air smells like moss and green things, the way it always does in midsummer—like everything is alive and still growing.

You and Haymitch walk side by side, hands still loosely clasped between you.

He hasn’t said much since you left the yard.

Not that that’s weird. He’s never been much of a talker when you’re out here. Just prefers the sound of wind through trees, birds calling overhead, the soft crunch of leaves under your boots.

But still… he’s quiet today in a way that makes you glance at him twice.

“You okay?” you ask.

He hums.

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing.”

“That thing where you act normal but also like you’re hiding a secret and I’m about to find out you’ve buried a body.”

He snorts under his breath.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re definitely hiding something.”

“I am literally just walking.”

“Suspicious.”

He doesn’t rise to it. Just squeezes your hand and keeps walking.

You fall into step again, smiling to yourself.

The path to the lake hasn’t changed much over the years—still soft and winding, a little overgrown in places, but well-trodden by your boots, his, Katniss’, Peeta’s. This trail has carried so many of your summers. So many of your memories. You know it by heart.

The last curve in the trail opens up into the clearing.

The lake shimmers in the sunlight—broad and still, catching the sky in its surface like glass. The trees frame the water like a picture, the breeze bending the tall grass gently at its edge.

You stop for a moment at the top of the slope, letting it settle over you.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stands beside you.

Hand warm in yours.

Breath steady.

Like he’s trying to remember this moment forever.

The breeze off the lake ruffles the edge of your shirt. The sun’s warm on your back, but it’s gentler now—late afternoon creeping in. Golden and slow.

You watch the way the light shimmers across the water and think: it’s always been this beautiful.

But it wasn’t the lake that stopped your heart.

Not really.

You squeeze Haymitch’s hand, thumb brushing slow over his knuckles. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“You remember the first time we all came here?”

He glances sideways at you. “What about it?”

You look out over the water. Let your gaze drift to where the dock is half-shadowed now, the surface rippling with the wind.

“I think,” you say, slow and careful, “that was when it started for me.”

“What started?”

You glance up at him. He’s watching you now—eyes narrowed, not suspicious, just focused. Waiting.

You shrug, a little shy. “Us.”

He goes still.

You press on, gentle. “You were standing in the water.”

He blinks. “That’s the memory?”

“Yes.”

“That was your big moment?”

“Let me finish,” you laugh, swatting his chest lightly.

He smirks but quiets.

You swallow, eyes back on the lake. “You were just… there. Knee-deep. Looking like you hated every second of it. But you didn’t. Not really.”

He’s silent beside you.

“I remember looking at you,” you say softly, “just standing in the water with the sun hitting your face, like you were trying so hard not to enjoy yourself. And for some reason, my heart just… stopped.”

You pause. Let it settle.

“I don’t know why. I just remember thinking—oh. Like it had already happened and I was only just realizing it.”

Haymitch doesn’t speak right away.

Doesn’t look at you either.

Just watches the water, jaw tight, breath a little deeper than before.

You smile to yourself. “You probably thought you looked grumpy and mysterious.”

“I was grumpy,” he mutters.

“You were gorgeous,” you say, eyes still on the lake.

And that’s what finally makes him turn.

His hand finds yours again. Steady. Warm.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, honey,” he says.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not even when the silence stretches out between you again, warm and full, like it’s holding its breath for you.

You glance over, catch him watching you with that same look he always gets when he’s about to say something important—like it tastes strange in his mouth, like it might hurt to let it out.

“Alright,” he mutters suddenly, like he’s talking to himself. “Okay. Fine.”

You blink. “Fine what?”

Haymitch shifts his weight and digs into his jacket pocket, expression pained like he’s about to perform surgery without anesthesia.

Then pulls something out and holds it in his closed fist.

You stare at him.

“…Did you just start a sentence and then not finish it?”

He glares. “I’m getting to it.”

“You’re the one who said ‘okay’ like you were being held hostage.”

“I am being held hostage. By love. And your face.”

Your lips twitch. “That sounds like a you problem.”

He doesn’t respond.

Just opens his hand.

And there it is.

A ring.

Simple. Silver. No fancy stones, no polished shine. Just a smooth, slightly scuffed band with a tiny engraving on the inside—real enough for now.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You look up.

Haymitch is already staring at the lake again, jaw tight, like if he looks at you for too long he might combust.

“I know it’s late,” he says quietly. “Three years of living together and being in love and being stupid and waking up next to you like it’s normal. And I know we don’t need it. Don’t need paper or rings or people knowing our business. I know you already chose me.”

You say nothing. Can’t.

He glances at you once, quick. Then back to the water.

“But I wanna do it anyway,” he mutters. “Because you’re it for me. Always have been. And I figured if I’m gonna die one day, I might as well go out knowing I locked this shit down.”

You make a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.

He clears his throat. “So… what do you say, honey? You wanna marry the town drunk?”

You blink fast.

Stare at him like he hung the damn stars.

Then smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, sunshine. I do.”

He finally looks at you—really looks.

And it’s all there.

All of it.

He slides the ring onto your finger, a little crooked, a little clumsy.

Perfect.

And then he says, just loud enough to hear, “You better tell people you begged.”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything else.

You just launch at him.

He grunts as you crash into his chest, arms flung around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance in the grass.

“Honey—”

But you’re already pressing kisses to his cheek, to his forehead, to the line of his jaw, breathless and grinning like your whole chest might explode.

He stiffens for half a second—pure Haymitch reflex—and then melts. Just completely gives in, arms winding tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you hard enough.

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur against his skin between kisses. “I love you so much.”

He huffs, low and shaky, and mutters, “You’re gonna break me one day, y’know that?”

You pull back just enough to look at him.

Eyes shining. Lips parted. Ring gleaming on your finger where it rests against his chest.

“Guess you’ll have to marry me before that happens,” you whisper.

He looks at you like he’s never seen anything so ridiculous and so holy all at once.

Then, soft but very seriously, “You’re mine.”

Your smile widens. “I’ve been yours.”

You kiss him again—slower this time.

The lake shimmers behind you. The wind stirs the trees. And for a moment, the whole world hushes around the two of you.

Just long enough to hold it.

Just long enough to remember that you made it.

You walk back hand in hand.

Slowly. Like the path feels different now. Like the whole world cracked open and decided to give you everything you thought you weren’t allowed to want.

The ring catches the light every time you move. You can’t stop looking at it. Can’t stop looking at him.

Haymitch doesn’t say much on the walk back.

But he keeps glancing over at you, like he’s making sure this is real. Like if he looks away for too long, you might disappear. Every few steps, he squeezes your hand. Like he can’t help it.

And honestly?

Neither can you.

By the time the houses come into view, the sky’s starting to shift—blue deepening, gold stretching across the fences and porches. It’s still warm, but there’s a breeze now, and you can hear the faint sound of laughter from the backyard.

“They’re gonna be insufferable,” Haymitch mutters.

You grin. “Can’t wait.”

You round the corner of Katniss and Peeta’s house just in time to see Peeta hurl a tomato at Haymitch’s terrible wooden target and Katniss judging him from her lawn chair with deep disappointment.

They both look up when they hear your footsteps.

Peeta immediately brightens. “Oh good, you survived your walk.”

Katniss glances between you. Then your hands.

She freezes. “Is that—?”

Peeta squints. “Wait. Is that a ring?”

You don’t even say anything.

You just lift your hand and smile.

Peeta screams.

Like, actually screams.

Katniss groans and covers her face with both hands. “You’ve killed him.”

Haymitch winces.

Peeta launches himself at you like a human golden retriever, nearly knocking you off your feet. He hugs you first, then Haymitch, then both of you at once while saying something about flower arrangements and dresses and themed desserts.

Katniss stands up and shakes her head. “I’m not wearing a dress.”

“We’ll find you a tasteful jumpsuit,” you say, laughing, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

Haymitch watches you with something soft and warm in his expression—like the chaos doesn’t matter. Like nothing matters except this.

Except you.

Except the fact that after everything, after all the grief and noise and pain, you are still here.

And so is he.

Together.

Always.

Epilogue

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 104

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

Patreon 💜 Art Prints 🖤Books 💜Discord

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: Laudna and Imogen continue making their way through the mountain pass.

Panel 2: Imogen steals a loaf of bread cooling on a windowsill. Laudna leaves a little rag-and-twig doll behind as payment.

Panel 3: At night they cautiously open the door to a barn. Inside there are goats and a shaggy mountain pony who regard them with curiosity.

Panel 4: They seek shelter in the hayloft. Nested in the hay, Imogen takes out a bridle fitting of Flora's and looks at it. Laudna is sitting nearby tucking her dolls into bed under a handkerchief embroidered with an initial B.

Laudna: (singing) ♪ “Sir Rat, where will the wedding be?” ♪

Pâté: ♪ Tickety-tum, tickety-tum, ♪

Laudna: ♪ “Up in the boughs of the golden tree . . .” ♪

Imogen: Wonder if there was any trouble for my dad after we left . . .

Panel 5: Imogen closes her eyes and leans her head against Laudna's as she comes and settles down next to her, lying very close.

Laudna: Reminds me of the place where we first met.

Imogen: You mean in Gelvaan? Yeah I guess it does, a little.

Laudna: Hm.

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Epilogue

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: That marks the end of this series :( thank you guys so much for all the love and feedback! I’m so proud of this series and I hope u guys love it as much as I do.

Masterlist: Here

It had been a year since the custody battle, since Rafe and you had found yourselves standing side by side, figuring out this whole "family" thing. A year since both of you issued a restraining order against Ward, and the judge granted it. A year since you stopped pretending you didn’t feel something for him, and he stopped acting like he was too good for anyone, especially you. Now, the chaos of life had settled into a strange, beautiful rhythm. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was yours.

And, somehow, against all odds, the three of you had made it work.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, where you stood trying to assemble breakfast. You had learned, over time, that cooking for Willa was an Olympic sport. Every time you managed to whip together a simple meal, she somehow managed to flip the situation on its head—literally.

"Willa, no!" you heard Rafe call out from the living room. You looked up just in time to see him frantically trying to stop her from scaling the couch like some sort of tiny, diaper-clad Spider-Man. “You can’t climb up there!”

But Willa was undeterred. She gave a small shriek of triumph, her baby legs scrabbling up the cushions like she was born to conquer furniture. You had to admit, you were impressed.

"I swear she’s part monkey," you muttered under your breath, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand.

Rafe stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking out at odd angles, the look of a man who had given up on ever having a decent morning.

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” he deadpanned, rubbing his face. “We’ve had this conversation a hundred times. No more couch climbing. She’s already an inch away from that giant coffee table, which, let me remind you, is made of solid oak. And do you know what happens when Willa decides gravity is optional?”

You snorted. “We end up on the floor with her holding a half-empty juice box like she’s just conquered the world, while you scramble to pick up the pieces of your dignity.”

He shot you a pointed look. “Exactly.”

You set the pancakes aside and wandered over to rescue Willa, who was now attempting to climb up the back of the couch like a small, determined mountain goat. Scooping her up with one hand, you held her up in front of you. “You know, kid, you’re lucky you’re so cute, because if I had to stop doing my work every time you decided to do a backflip off a chair, I’d be in therapy by now.”

Willa gurgled, her eyes wide and innocent, as though she didn’t have a single rebellious bone in her tiny body.

Rafe leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I’m just saying, if she’d stop doing that, maybe I could get ten minutes of peace. But no. We live in a house of chaos.”

You smirked, watching as Willa grabbed his shirt and yanked. “If she’s chaos, you’re the tornado that hits right after,” you teased, making Rafe roll his eyes dramatically. “Just admit it—you love it.”

He groaned but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I love the chaos. But you have to admit it’s a lot of work. I mean, who’s going to put together her tiny little rocking horse without accidentally breaking something?”

“Not me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure I broke that rocking horse three times already.”

At that, Rafe laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ll take that as my cue to fix it. You keep trying to make breakfast, and I’ll figure out what’s going on with the toy horse that’s apparently haunted.”

Willa babbled in your arms, and you kissed the top of her head. “I’m not saying this to be dramatic, but I’m pretty sure she is a secret agent in training. I’ve seen her figure out how to break into places she’s not supposed to be like she’s in a spy movie.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “Spy movie? She’s more like a tiny burglar who knows how to manipulate you with her big eyes and unstoppable giggle.”

You chuckled, nodding. “Fair. But I still think she could make a killing in espionage. Maybe we should start saving for her college fund in case she ends up needing a fake passport.”

Rafe grinned, his mood visibly lightened by your banter. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to need therapy more than we need a college fund. But I’ll get started on that fake passport idea, just in case.”

You grinned back at him, feeling that familiar warmth settle in your chest. There was a time—just a year ago—when you had no idea what your future would look like. Now, here you were, a family, even if it didn’t look like any family you had ever imagined.

“Well,” you said, turning back to the pancakes, “we better get our act together before she eats all the syrup by herself.”

Rafe snorted and shot you a grin. “You think she’s not going to try that already?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Later that day, after Willa’s nap (which, let’s be honest, was more of a battle than an actual nap), you and Rafe found yourselves in the backyard, taking a breather after the chaotic lunch you’d just survived. Willa was happily playing in her little sandbox, tossing sand like it was confetti at a New Year’s party, while you and Rafe collapsed onto the porch swing, exhausted but content.

"How the hell did we get here?" you asked, your voice quiet, more to yourself than to him.

Rafe leaned back with a sigh, staring up at the sky. "I’m pretty sure we got here because you’re too stubborn to admit you love me," he said with a grin.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Excuse me, but it’s not just me that’s stubborn. Have you seen the way you try to resist her puppy-dog eyes? You can’t even handle Willa when she does her sad little face, and you know it."

He groaned. “It’s my kryptonite. I’m weak. I’ll admit it.”

“Good. Because that means you’re finally accepting that she’s the boss around here. We’re just along for the ride.”

Rafe chuckled, nudging you back. “If that’s true, then I’m okay with it. Besides, she has the best team behind her, right?”

You smiled softly, watching Willa scoop up a handful of sand and drop it like a tiny little sandstorm. “Right. And we’re the best team for her.”

There was a pause, a quiet moment where both of you watched Willa. The future was still uncertain—life always was—but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem so scary.

“Well,” Rafe said, standing up and stretching, “I guess we better go make sure our future crime boss doesn’t eat the sand. You know, for her health.”

You snorted, laughing as you stood too. “You mean for the safety of our sanity?”

“That too,” Rafe said, laughing as he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a warm hug.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And for once, that was enough.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

And so, life continued. Chaotic. Messy. Full of love. Your newfound family was far from conventional, but it was undeniably theirs—and somehow, that made it all the more beautiful.

Plus, Willa? She’d definitely grow up to be a world-class agent of chaos, and Rafe and you would have to learn to live with that.

But at least you’d be together.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[flusskatzen-blog]

Manchester Ritual thoughts!!! We were just behind the first row at the barrier in the centre!!! Spoilers under the cut

Perpetua is hot as FUCk and absolutely slaying. This guy is giving so much despite seeming a lil overwhelmed. He didn't stop smiling!!!! Honestly so fabulous and suave. Giving non-binary rizz if ever I saw it. Got a few lyrics wrong and dramatically hit his head and keeled over.

Rain was absolutely killing it on bass and the highlight for me was rAIN AND SWISS WEARING GHOULETTE HABITS which Rain flipped a few times like a moDEL

No Perpetua/Dew leg feel up during Mary on a Cross, which was nice that it's special between Copia and Dew

PAPA SAYING "TAKE IT AWAY DEW"

The stage layout was really nice and small, so the band were all pretty close together aside from Phantom and Dew going to the far ends at times to engage with the audience there. Rain kept standing on the steps by Mountain or fully in front of the drums playing to Mountain, in particular I noticed it seemed to be in slower or more romantic songs! 😭

Phantom during Year Zero, when all the ghouls are STILL and RESPECTFUL and intensely into their ritual decided to square up to Papa?!!!

I was copying Phantom's head tilt the entire ritual and made eye contact with him and Rain, and at a later point Phant blew a quick kiss in my direction and while I'm not sure if it was definitely at me, it made me very embarrassed and shy the rest of the Ritual. I guess this is what I get for staring at the Ghouls instead of Papa the majority of the show 😭🤣

Rain was stood by us during Majesty, so I tried to tell them that they're beautiful every time "all beauty lies within you" played

Also amazing that all the ghouls got individual moments and solos I think???

RAIN CHOKED DEWDROP DURING HIS LITTLE SHIT HEAD MOMENT 💀💀💀 F U C K

Aurora's vocals were gorgeous 😭 and she kept lifting up her wings and it was so elegant and lovely

Cirrus blew a kiss at Perpetua when walking past at the end of her keytar solo

Did I mention Swiss flipping everyone off during Kiss The Goat?? That made me laugh (and his dancing was delightful)

Loved seeing the black bass and Phant's new guitar!! So pretty 🥺 bet he got a fender to match Dew and a Jazzmaster to impress Swiss

Dothoml and monstrance clock were such shocks. He Is and Dathoml literally felt like religious experiences.

New songs were fucking incredible and it was surreal how quiet the audience was for them, I bet the band absolutely fucking loved it. Rare tour experience for them!

The new songs feel so much more personal and introspective than the previous ones, and I'll definitely have more detailed thoughts to post when the album drops.

Wish I could go to every show honestly. It was the best concert experience I've ever had.

Papa rose from the stage on a platform so he looked like he was levitating!!!

And Swiss was given a FUCKING COWBELL AND I TRANSCENDED I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY BROUGHT IT BACK

[pricegouge]

Its 4am and I just got done playing an unholy amount of Stardew Valley and had the 141 on my brain the entire time, so I'm going to spill some of my notes into your inbox for kicks and giggles, nothing more! I gotta get these brainworms out!

Thinking about;

Retired!141 who move out to the smallest farmtown known to mankind (without bwing completely disconnected from society ofc), to start up the farm life with their newfound free time. Really it was all Price's idea, had his eye on the property for a while, daydreamed about the sweet life when he was still in the SAS. But ofc he brings his boys along, after so many years they can't stand to be seperated for too long. And after Soap got that critical injury that forced him to retire early, there was no way Price was going to let any of them out of his sight.

Gaz loves taking care of the cows, talks sweetly to them and makes sure they're the happiest they can be. Will sit out in the field for hours with a sunhat on, with one of the cows resting her head right in his lap, gently napping like an oversized dog while he chews on some wheatgrass and soaks in the peace and quiet.

Soap prefers the chickens - mostly bc Price won't let him do anything TOO physically demanding, like working the fields with him and Ghost. Which is what Ghost likes to do - loves to feel the burn in his muscles from a physically exhausting day, before cleaning up with a hot shower and then laying back on the couch for the evening with a cold drink and a hearty, homemade meal.

Everything was downright blissful in this little slice of heaven they made for themselves.

Except for the plot of land right next door.

It was in a right state, junk in the fields being swallowed by weeds, parts of the farmhouse caving in on itself - it looked like some real trailer park trash farmland. Price would just tisk and shake his head, waste of good land, and move on. A few times a year, though, he and Gaz have to take the goats over to eat all the weeds. Both to avoid it being a fire hazard, and to stop the weeds from trying to grow onto THEIR property.

And then one day a moving van pulls up and some folks start unloading it all, and little ol' you shows up. Gaz, Ghost, and Soap all blatantly stare in bafflement from their property line, a little bit each day, as you try to turn that trash heap into a home.

You get a decent corner of plot set up to start growing your first ever crops when Ghost makes a comment to the others over dinner.

"She won't last the season."

Gaz and Soap treat it more like a joke, placing bets to see how long you'll really last, but that's when Price has had enough. So he gets up one day to bring you some homemade dinner and finally introduce himself. You invite him in for a cuppa and thata when Price REALLY sees the state of the house and the farm itself.

It doesn't matter that you're actually fully equipped to tackle this mountain of a project - funds, supplies, and plenty of research done beforehand, thanks to the inheritance your grandparents left you alongside the farm - Price takes one look at your sweet face, bright eyes, and aoft hands. And he decides, no, you're not going to survive the season.

Unless he helps.

So he starts by bringing you meals, every other night, to make sure you're eating properly. Then one morning you wake up to Price dragging all the yard trash into his pickup, and Gaz already herding the goats in to clean the field.

"Can't start a proper farm with a field like this, love." He says, and you feel bad so you put your work clothes on and start helping him haul junk.

And then Price is fixing up your irrigation, and tilling the fields. He plants more crops for you, always chasing you off when you try to tell him he doesn't have to do this or that. He does it all anyways. He gets Ghost to help repair parts of the farmhouse for you without even asking your permission. You're watering the crops one day when you look up at your roof to find Price and Ghost hammering away, fixing the cave ins and reshingling the whole thing. Price fixes your wiring and leaky faucets, and it doesn't matter that he planted, cared for, and harvested your entire field of crops, he's making sure you get more than your fair share of the profits.

He loves seeing you get all fussy and whiny about him doing 'too much', but let's be real sweetheart where would you be without him and his boys taking care of you? Probably running back to whatever city you clawed your way out of, aww, you poor thing.

So he starts dragging you over to have dinner with him and the boys, nightly, and talks all sweet and soft to you while loading your plate with more than enough food. Gets you all happy and wine drunk so you're all easy for him to manipulate and coerce as your none the wiser.

But ofc your totally sober when you kiss him one day, as your returning some washed dishes from meals he brought you. A quick little shy peck to show your thanks and appreciation, but oh no he doesn't let you go after that. Gropes you back into his arms and kisses you until you're begging for him, and then he breaks you down and builds you up again all in one evening.

He'd pulled some strings, got your property completely signed over to him, tore down the fences between your property lines - everything to officially make you belong to him. Its all swept out from under your feet before you can make sense of what has happened, and now Price isn't letting you leave his house while he, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap keep going about doing the farm work for both plots of land.

You step foot outside and Price is herding you right back in, sitting you down on the couch and putting on some TV for you with a nice cup of tea. Tells you to be a good girl for him and stay put while he stomps back out witb muddy boots to continue working.

You're just a little bedwarmer for them now, not allowed to lift even a delicate little finger, spoiling you, really.

Bonus points if Price treats you like a cow. You overhear him talking to the others about breeding you, so they can start milking you after the baby is born. You're just a cute piece of property for them, and Price intends to get his money's worth. He's invested so much into you after all.

-🧚‍♀️

y'all do not get me started on price with a little breeding cow of a wife i will walk into one of those freshly tilled fields and never return.

this is was sooo cute, thanks for blessing me with your thoughts!

somewhat related, have you ever read @/dwarvenagenda 's froot?