#so people searching the actual countries...

[hauntedfawnn]

rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

[loveemagicpeace]

🧚🏻‍♀️Astrology Notes🌊

People with 1st house placements are really good at presenting themselves. You are very good at expressing yourself. For ex.: Jupiter in 1st house- You have a lot of wisdom and knowledge. People like to listen to you. They see you as someone who is smart and has a lot of knowledge. It gives you confidence and a sense of freedom, especially in terms of how you look. You can be very careless, and you don't care what others think of you. Uranus in 1st house- u have unique approach to life and in a way that u look or dress. Sun in 1st house- u will always shine no matter what and u can also be in a spotlight a lot. You have a certain pride that you carry with you. Saturn in 1st house- You have a lot of maturity and things you've experienced. U can have sometimes hard time to express yourself. Mars in 1st house- Your energy is very noticeable. You are almost never afraid of anything.

12th house Synastry -Sometimes it feels like the person is reading your mind and sometimes they do exactly what you think. You sometimes feel like the person is taking something away from you. Example: you're watching a podcast in the evening that you really like and the next day that person posts the same podcast. There's always some kind of connection between you that's hard to explain.

Aquarius Venus-I often see them getting divorced or having unpredictable relationships. But divorces with this sign are quite common, in fact they are much more so than with someone who has Venus and Capricorn (they are very serious and cautious in love and it takes a long time to actually open up and build a life with someone). Aquarians can sometimes be more reckless and at the same time open to new things and if they feel the energy then they will quickly enter into a relationship. They also know how to get over someone quickly. Life goes on and so do they.

Sagittarius moon-they usually always have a belief in something whatever it is. They like something they can emotionally connect with. They will usually always look for a way that will fulfill them emotionally and give them some meaning. And they take a long time to get over something emotionally even if it doesn't seem that way. The trick with them is that they don't show that much emotion on the outside, so people often think they are very chill and cold.

2nd house is house of inner feelings, comfort, luxury, music, movies, food, what kind od food u love to eat. People with many planets here are more devoted to food and wanting to be comfortable. And they like to take the easy way out. They don't like to walk or do something for too long. They don't like to change their environment.

7th house stellium means there are many things you have to find out about yourself here. You can spend a long time searching for your personality. Thats why u can actually come off as a fake a lot of times. More than someone who has 12th house placements.

Countries ruled by Scorpio: Bavaria, Morocco, Norway, Syria. The places it rules are usually muddy streams, quiet ponds, swamps, vineyards, operating rooms.

Countries ruled by Libra: Austria, Argentina, China, Egypt, Japan, Tibet. The places it rules are harbors, golf courses, the tops of buildings, lobbies, closets, tables.

Countries ruled by Aries: Bulgaria, England, Denmark, Germany. The places it rules are hilly, dry, fireplaces, ceilings, hearths, rooms in the east and prominent corner buildings facing east.

Countries ruled by Cancer: North Africa, Netherlands, Paraguay, Scotland, New Zealand. The places it rules are: streams, springs, lakes, laundries, kitchens, homes.

If you want to sleep well, you can look at your 12th house and the moon. Because that will tell you where you will sleep better and which side is good when you sleep. Moon in Cancer means you’re highly sensitive to emotional and environmental changes. You likely sleep best when you feel safe, emotionally nurtured, and in a cozy, familiar environment. If something is emotionally off, it can disrupt your sleep, leading to vivid dreams or even insomnia. Mars in the 12th house, which means your sleep isn’t always restful. Mars here can create restlessness, active dreams, or even sleep disturbances because Mars is an action-oriented planet placed in a house of subconscious energies. Your dreams may be intense, symbolic, or even feel like past-life connections. Fire Moons (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius)-Might wake up in the middle of the night, especially with intense dreams.

Mercury in the 12th – Overthinking before bed, talking in sleep, or receiving messages through dreams. Jupiter in the 12th – Spiritual or prophetic dreams, dreams of foreign places or guides, may wake up feeling inspired.

People ruled by saturn have one side that is devish not meant in a bad way. But if you hurt them you will face the other side of them. Many people do not know that capricorns are very strong and that they can also be vengeful but their revenge is silent.

A lot of people when they have north node transit in 11th house & south node transit 11th house -they delete social networks or use them less. At that moment, you often feel that it is not something you connect with anymore. I also often notice that gemini rising & sagittarius rising delete social networks because they want to live their lives differently. Also, many people with virgo rising do not connect as much with social networks.

If you have Venus in Gemini you must have an intellectual rapport with someone before your affections begin to blossom.  Basically, you have a lighthearted attitude toward love. Intense, heavy emo- tional commitments are like an anchor around your neck.  This position of Venus also stimulates a careless and free hand for spending money.

Venus in Leo are able to attract warm feelings on the part of others. You are extravagantly affectionate and generous, buying expensive gifts for those you love and praising them to the skies in front of other people. Needless to say you are drawn to the world of theater, and many of you are blessed with superb creative gifts. Though self-indulgent and pleasure-seeking, you are capable of making a great self-sacrifice for the happiness of some- one else.

Jupiter’s position in your chart indicates how outgoing and genial you are, whether you attract money and possessions, and in what career you will have the most luck.  Jupiter signifies the good things that come to you easily and with little effort. Jupiter can also be too much of a good thing, for its influence can make you extravagant, lazy and luxury-loving, profligate with money, and blindly optimistic. If things fall into your lap too easily, you never develop strength of character or spiritual wisdom.

Jupiter in Cancer-You are imaginative and sympathetic, and do well in creative pursuits. Old things have a special appeal to you. Anything involving food and drink also brings luck; many of you make successful chefs, restaurateurs, and cookbook writers.

Jupiter in Leo- You think big, are ambitious, and have a penchant for grandeur and extravagant display.  In professions where this is useful, such as the entertainment industry, the world of fashion, and high-powered selling jobs, you are predestined to succeed.

Jupiter in Aquarius- You usually find good fortune through your friends and unexpected opportunities. You are also endowed with a special aptitude for music. Many Jupiter-Aquarians become well known in that world. Aquarius is also the sign of the future, and as a native of this Jupiter position you tend to be successful in professions of the modern era— television, computers, electronics, aviation, and the space industry.

Jupiter in Pisces -are singled out for success in social or religious work, politics, and philanthropic organizations. Work that involves travel over water brings other opportunities into your life. You also have a deft touch with animals, would make a fine veterinarian, and many of you have lucrative businesses breeding horses, owning cattle ranches, and raising cats and dogs for show .

Uranus in 2nd house-You tend to have an unusual source of income or your money oppor- tunities pop up suddenly and unexpectedly. Antiques, curios, and collectibles are lucrative for you.

Jupiter in 2nd house-you tend to make money easily and have a talent for financial dealings. Other people are attracted to your expansive ways and you often benefit through social contacts. Traveling or the travel industry is another source of wealth for you.

Moon inn 3rd house-You tend to think emotionally and have a strong imagination. You dislike routine and your life is marked by many short trips. You have a good memory, often change your opinion. But you can also be very moody.

Sun in 4th house-You take pride in your home and family; from the time you were young you had a deep need to establish roots. One or both of your parents was a dominant influence in your life; in some cases you had to struggle for independence.

Mercury in 4th house-Your home is often a place of study or work, and the work you do may lead to changes in your residence. Your parents and early home life stimulated your curiosity to learn.

-Rebekah🧜🏼‍♀️🍀

[theonottsbxtch]

GOOD LUCK BABE | OP81

an: who doesn't love a bit of karma. me i don't actually, i only like serving it

wc: 3.6k

THE CHAMAGNE SPRAYED HIGH INTO THE NIGHT AIR, glittering under the floodlights that ringed the circuit. Oscar Piastri stood on the podium, his hands gripping the trophy he had chased since he was a boy. The cheers of the crowd, the flashing cameras, and the roaring engines all blurred into a single deafening hum. This was the moment he’d dreamed of—his first Formula One victory. He should have felt invincible.

Instead, as the festivities spilled into the team’s garage, Oscar found himself restless. The attention was unrelenting—mechanics clapped his back, journalists swarmed him for quotes, and the grid girls hovered too close, all perfume and red lipstick. Yet, he felt no desire to bask in it.

He stepped back, seeking a reprieve. That’s when he saw her.

No. Not her.

The woman stood at the edge of the garage, the same dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the same delicate tilt of her chin. His breath caught for a moment, hope flaring unexpectedly in his chest. But then she turned, her face illuminated in the harsh lights, and the illusion shattered.

It wasn’t her.

Oscar exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. His pulse still thudded with the weight of disappointment. Get over it, Oscar, he thought bitterly. She was married now, living the life she always claimed to want. Yet here he was, searching for her in strangers’ faces, a habit he couldn’t seem to break.

He leaned against the wall, allowing his mind to wander where it shouldn’t, to a memory so vivid it might as well have been yesterday.

The English rain had been relentless that spring. At fourteen, Oscar had learned quickly that the drizzle was as much a part of life in this country as tea and school uniforms. He’d hated it at first—hated the cold, the grey skies, and the weight of feeling like an outsider.

But she had made it bearable.

“Come on, Aussie boy,” she’d teased, her hand tugging his as they dashed across the soaked football field. Her laughter was bright, cutting through the dull day. “I thought you were meant to be good at running!”

“I am,” he’d shot back, panting as his trainers sank into the mud. “Just not when it’s like this. How do you people live in this weather?”

She’d grinned, her cheeks flushed. “We just do. You’ll get used to it.”

He’d known even then that he wouldn’t just get used to her. She was sunlight in a world of clouds, the only one who saw past the scruffy kid with a funny accent. She made him feel like he belonged.

“What’re you going to do when you’re famous?” she asked, dropping onto the grass, uncaring of the mud that streaked her skirt.

“Famous?” he echoed, sitting beside her.

“Yeah. You’re going to be a Formula One driver, right?”

He nodded, a rare seriousness settling over his face. “I will be.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re so sure.”

“Because it’s going to happen. Just like you’ll...” He hesitated, unsure how to finish. Just like you’ll always be here.

The roar of laughter from his team jolted Oscar back to the present. He blinked, realising he’d been gripping his glass too tightly, the condensation soaking his palm. He loosened his grip and sighed.

It was no use. No matter how many races he won, no matter how far he travelled, the past clung to him like an unshakable shadow. And tonight, even in victory, all he could think about was the one thing he’d lost.

The television flickered to black, plunging the room into silence. She sat for a moment, staring at the darkened screen, the image of Oscar lifting the trophy still seared into her mind. It was a victory she should have celebrated, should have texted him about like she used to, teasing him about how he could barely hold the cup upright.

But that felt like a lifetime ago.

Her husband’s snores drifted from the bedroom, low and steady. With a sigh, she pushed herself off the sofa, one hand instinctively resting on her growing bump as she padded into the kitchen. The sink was piled with plates from dinner, and the faint smell of garlic lingered in the air. She flicked on the tap and began scrubbing, the water scalding against her hands.

This wasn’t how 23 was supposed to feel.

Her friends had told her university would be the time of her life—lectures, late-night study sessions, cheap wine, and big dreams. She’d loved studying economics, felt alive when she debated market theories and solved equations. But it was all for nothing now.

She had a degree she’d never used and a life she’d never wanted.

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, cutting through the quiet like a knife: “A woman’s happiness lies in stability. A good husband, a secure home, and children. Anything else is fleeting.”

Her mother’s voice had been so convincing when she was younger, so certain. It made her doubt herself, doubt Oscar, doubt the possibility of a future with a boy whose dreams didn’t align with her family’s values. And when the proposal came—her parents’ carefully orchestrated arrangement with a man from their social circle—she’d said yes.

Not because she loved him, but because she thought it was what she was supposed to do.

Now, her days were a blur of hosting dull dinners, attending charity galas she didn’t care about, and planning a nursery for a baby she hadn’t been ready for. She didn’t hate her husband, exactly, but there was no love between them. He was kind enough in his own distant, polite way, but he didn’t know her. Not really.

She pressed a hand to her back, wincing at the ache. The baby was only four months along, and already she felt the weight of it in every sense of the word. The weight of motherhood, the weight of expectations, the weight of being trapped.

The dishes were finally done, the kitchen spotless, but she still felt restless. The quiet of the house pressed in on her, too heavy to ignore. With a sigh, she turned off the lights and made her way to the bathroom.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, letting the cool wood steady her. The small space was dimly lit by the glow of her phone in her hand. Her thumb hovered over his name in her contacts, her pulse pounding in her ears.

This is a bad idea.

But the memory of him on the podium earlier—his smile, his triumph—played on an endless loop in her mind. She’d watched his victory, felt the familiar ache of longing bloom in her chest, and now, here she was.

She slid down to the cool tiled floor, her back against the bathtub. After a deep, shuddering breath, she pressed the call button.

The line rang, each tone a needle in her chest. She almost hung up, but then his voice broke through.

“Hello?”

Her breath caught. She tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Hello?” he repeated, a mix of confusion and impatience. “Who’s this?”

“It’s me,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper.

A pause. Then, softly, “Sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “I just... I saw the race. Congratulations, Oscar. You were incredible.”

His tone shifted, warmer now. “Thank you. That means a lot.” A beat passed before he added, “And... congratulations to you, too.”

Her brow furrowed. “For what?”

“I heard you’re expecting,” he said gently.

Her stomach tightened, and she felt her throat close. She hadn’t expected him to know, and hearing it from him made it feel all too real. A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another, until she couldn’t stop them.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I hate my life, Oscar.”

There was a pause, heavy with everything unspoken between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “I warned you,” he said, not unkindly.

“I know,” she said, her voice trembling. “You were right. About all of it. About him, about this life, about—” Her words dissolved into a quiet sob, her hand pressing against her mouth to stifle the sound.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice filled with concern. “It’s okay. Breathe. I’m here.”

She wiped at her tears, even though they kept falling. “I miss you,” she admitted, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “I miss you so much it hurts.”

For a moment, all she could hear was his breathing, steady but ragged, like he was holding something back. Then, softly, “I miss you too.”

Her chest ached at the sound of his voice, at the depth of longing she heard in those four words. Before she could say more, the muffled sound of her husband stirring in the bedroom made her freeze.

“Who are you talking to?” he called, his voice thick with sleep.

Her heart raced, panic tightening her chest. “My sister,” she called back, hoping her voice didn’t betray her.

There was a pause before he mumbled, “Alright. Don’t be long.”

The sound of him settling back into bed sent a wave of relief through her, but it was short-lived. She turned her attention back to the phone, her voice hushed. “I have to go.”

“I know,” Oscar said, his voice heavy with something that sounded like resignation. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

“I’ll try,” she whispered, tears welling up again. “Goodnight, Oscar.”

“Goodnight,” he replied softly, and the call ended.

She let the phone slip from her hand onto the floor, the silence of the bathroom swallowing her whole. She sat there, her head in her hands, the weight of her choices pressing down like a suffocating blanket. I miss you too. His words echoed in her mind, a bittersweet balm for a wound that refused to heal.

Oscar stared at his phone long after the call ended, his hand still clutching it like it might bring her back. The sound of her voice, raw and broken, echoed in his mind. I miss you.

He swiped a hand over his face, but it was no use. The tears came anyway, hot and fast, falling into the silence of his hotel room. He dropped the phone onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.

He’d spent years trying to move on, convincing himself that she was better off, that she’d chosen the life she wanted. But hearing her like that—so lost, so unhappy—made it impossible to keep pretending.

Oscar leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. The ache in his chest was unbearable. She’d always been the one constant in his chaotic life, the person who believed in him when no one else did. And now, she was trapped in a world that didn’t deserve her, a world he couldn’t save her from.

After a moment, he reached for his phone again, his fingers hovering over another familiar name. He hesitated, unsure if this was the right move, but then he pressed the button.

It rang twice before a warm, familiar voice answered. “Oscar? It’s late, love. Are you alright?”

“Mum,” he said, his voice cracking.

She went quiet for a moment, the concern evident even across the line. “What’s wrong?”

He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but the words tumbled out in a rush. “I’m a fool, I should have fought for her. She called me. She said she hates her life, Mum. She’s married, and she’s having a baby, and she’s miserable. And there’s nothing I can do. I can’t fix it. I can’t help her.”

“Oh, darling,” his mum said gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice breaking again. “I thought I’d moved on, but I haven’t. I still—” He stopped, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes.

“You still love her,” his mum finished for him, her tone soft but certain.

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before his mum spoke again, her voice calm and steady. “Oscar, sometimes the people we love make choices we can’t understand. And as much as we want to, we can’t live their lives for them. She chose this path, and now she has to find her own way through it.”

“But what if she doesn’t?” he asked, his voice filled with frustration and helplessness.

“She might not,” his mum said honestly. “And that’s the hardest part—accepting that you can’t save her. But you can still be there for her. You can still remind her that she’s not alone, even if it’s from a distance.”

He swallowed hard, her words sinking in. “I just... I don’t know how to let her go.”

“You don’t have to let her go, Oscar. Love doesn’t work like that. It stays with us, whether we want it to or not. But you can choose how you carry it. You can let it weigh you down, or you can use it to be the kind of man she’d be proud of, even if she’s not by your side.”

He closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I miss her, Mum.”

“I know you do, love,” she said softly. “And maybe one day, things will be different. But for now, focus on your life. Keep driving. Keep living the dream you worked so hard for. That’s what she’d want for you.”

He nodded, her words a small comfort in the chaos of his emotions. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Anytime, darling. And remember, I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“Yeah,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the tears. “I know.”

After they hung up, Oscar sat in the quiet for a long time, the weight in his chest still there but lighter somehow. His mum was right. He couldn’t save her. But he could be there, even if it was just as a voice on the other end of the phone.

And maybe, someday, that would be enough.

Oscar tossed and turned in the hotel bed, the sheets tangling around him as the night stretched on. No matter how hard he tried, sleep wouldn’t come. Her voice echoed in his mind, raw and broken: “I hate my life.” The helplessness clawed at him, making it impossible to rest.

By the time the first rays of sunlight streaked through the curtains, he’d made up his mind. He grabbed his bag, packed hastily, and called his team to arrange a flight back to England. The logistics were a blur—security checks, boarding, sitting through the long flight while his thoughts raced. When the plane touched down, his nerves buzzed with anticipation and doubt.

As he stepped into the arrivals terminal, his driver, Thomas, was already waiting for him, a familiar presence amidst the chaos.

“Good morning, Mr. Piastri,” Mark greeted, taking Oscar’s bag. “Do you want to head straight back to your place?”

Oscar hesitated, the question lingering in the air. His mind flashed back to her tears, the quiet pain in her voice. He clenched his jaw, his decision solidifying.

“Actually…” He leaned closer to Thomas , lowering his voice as he gave her address.

Thomas raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “Alright then,” he said simply, leading Oscar to the waiting car.

The drive felt endless, every passing street heightening his anticipation. When they finally pulled up outside her house, Oscar’s heart pounded against his ribcage. The house was pristine, tucked neatly into an affluent neighbourhood—exactly the kind of life her parents had envisioned for her. It felt like the last place she belonged.

“Wait here,” Oscar told Thomas as he climbed out of the car.

The walk to the door felt like it stretched for miles. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorbell. What if this is a mistake? But then he thought of her tears, her whispered “I miss you,” and pressed the button.

The chime echoed faintly inside. Moments later, the door opened, and there she was.

Her eyes widened in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oscar?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before he could say a word, her expression crumpled, and she threw herself into his arms, sobbing against his chest. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she clung to him like a lifeline.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, her muffled sobs the only sound. When she finally pulled back, her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. “I had to make sure you were okay.”

She wiped at her eyes, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall. “You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered, but the words lacked conviction.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked gently.

Her response was immediate. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Come in. Please.”

She stepped aside, letting him into the house. It was spotless, almost sterile, with an air of perfection that felt suffocating. She led him to the living room, gesturing for him to sit.

“My husband’s at work,” she said, her voice low. “But he’ll be back in three hours.”

Oscar nodded, his jaw tightening at the mention of her husband. “Three hours is enough,” he said softly, his eyes fixed on her.

She sank onto the sofa opposite him, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I don’t even know where to start,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

“Start wherever you need to,” he said, leaning forward. “I’m here.”

Her eyes met his, a flicker of hope breaking through the storm of pain. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel so alone.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, twisting her hands nervously in her lap. Oscar’s presence was steady, grounding, and yet her thoughts spiraled wildly. She glanced at him, his familiar face etched with concern, the same boy she’d confided in all those years ago—but now a man who had built his dream while hers crumbled into a prison.

“I don’t know what to do, Oscar,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel so... trapped. Like no matter what I do, I’ll never be happy.”

“You can do something,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You don’t have to stay here. You deserve to be happy.”

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “It’s not that simple. I have a husband. A baby on the way. Responsibilities. Expectations.”

Oscar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes locked on hers, steady and determined. “You’re not a prisoner. If you hate it here, you can leave. You can come stay with me.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“My place. It’s not much—just an apartment near the team’s HQ—but it’s quiet, it’s safe, and it’s yours if you want it. No strings, no expectations. You don’t owe me anything.”

Her throat tightened, the weight of his offer settling on her chest. “Oscar, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “You’ve always been stronger than you think. I can even get you a job with the team if you want something to do. You have a degree—you’re smart as hell—they’d be lucky to have you.”

Tears welled in her eyes again as she looked around the room, at the pristine furniture and carefully curated decor that felt so foreign, so unlike her. “I could,” she said softly, her voice laced with doubt.

“You can,” he said, his voice steady.

She met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. “My mum will kill me,” she said, a weak attempt at humour that barely masked the genuine fear behind it.

“You’re killing yourself staying somewhere that makes you unhappy,” Oscar replied, his voice unwavering.

She stared at him, his words cutting through the fog in her mind. Slowly, she nodded, the decision taking shape like a fragile flame in her chest. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?” he asked, his brow lifting slightly.

“I’ll do it,” she said, standing up. “I’ll leave.”

His expression softened, pride and relief flashing in his eyes. “Good.”

She hesitated, looking around the room again as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. “I’m really doing this,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You are,” Oscar said, standing to his feet.

Without another word, she turned and walked upstairs. Oscar followed her, his footsteps soft as they climbed the stairs. She entered the bedroom, its pristine state another reminder of the life she was leaving behind.

She opened the wardrobe and pulled out a small suitcase, her hands trembling as she started to pack. Oscar stood in the doorway, watching her quietly. He wanted to offer help but sensed she needed to do this herself.

Her movements were hesitant at first, but as the suitcase filled, her resolve seemed to grow. By the time she zipped it shut, she looked at him, her cheeks flushed but her eyes brighter than they’d been in years.

“I think that’s everything,” she said, her voice steadier now.

“Then let’s go,” he said, offering her a small, encouraging smile.

They carried her things downstairs, the house eerily quiet. She paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle.

“I’m really doing this,” she said again, more to herself than to him.

“You are,” he said, his voice full of quiet confidence.

She turned to look at him, her expression a mix of fear and determination. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded, stepping aside to let her take the lead. The first step was hers to take, but he’d be there to walk beside her every step of the way.

And while his mother may have told her he can't save her, he damn well proved her wrong.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @driverlando

[otomehoneyybearr]

My First Dorayaki

Keith & Kagari

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Bonus Card

I was sprinting at full speed through the streets of a town I had visited to procure books. 

Shady-Looking Man: "Stop right there, lady!!" 

(I should’ve known better than to wander around out of curiosity just because I don’t come here often!) 

And now, here I was, having accidentally witnessed a shady deal between some shady-looking men. 

(I need to run faster—come on, legs!) 

Without a clue about the layout of the town, I turned left and right, eventually ducking into a back alley. 

Keith & Kagari: "Huh?" "Hm?" 

Emma: "Huh…? Prince Keith and Prince Kagari?!" 

I froze in place, forgetting that I was even being chased, at the sight of the two unexpected figures. 

Keith: "What a surprise. I didn’t expect we’d run into you in this town, Emma. What a coincidence." 

Keith: "But why are you in such a hurry?" 

Emma: "Well, you see…" 

Shady-Looking Man: "There she is! You’ve caused us a lot of trouble, Lady!" 

(Wha— They’ve already caught up to me…?!) 

The men steadily closed the distance, blocking my escape route. 

Kagari: "Keith." 

Keith: "……Yeah, there’s no doubt about it. But no killing, okay?" 

Kagari: "Spending time with you will make my sword rust." 

Keith: "Emma, please step back a little." 

Prince Keith shielded me behind his back, while Prince Kagari kicked off the wall, swiftly maneuvering to position himself behind the men. 

Shady-Looking Man: "W-Who the hell are you guys?!" 

Kagari: "Just a demon passing by." 

Keith: "Or maybe the last people you’d ever want to meet?" 

Sandwiched between them, the men were helpless and were swiftly subdued by the two beasts. 

.....

—"Wait here for a bit." 

Following Keith’s request, Kagari and I sat off to the side of the plaza. As we waited, a sweet scent drifted through the air. 

Keith: "Here you go, Emma. A freshly made dorayaki." 

Emma: "Wow, thank you! But… are you sure?" 

(To think they’d help me and then offer me dorayaki too…) 

A large hand gently took mine, placing the still-warm, paper-wrapped dorayaki into my palm. 

Keith: "Actually, the reason Kagari and I are here is because we were searching for those men we just caught." 

Emma: "Really…?!" 

Kagari: "They’re part of a group that runs underground deals, causing trouble not just here in Jade but even back in my country, Kogyoku." 

Kagari: "And you, Princess, led them straight to us. You should be the one getting thanked." 

Keith: "Kagari’s right. Thank you, Emma." 

Keith: "In fact, a single dorayaki isn’t enough to show my gratitude. I’ll have to properly thank you later—" 

Emma: "No, no, the dorayaki is more than enough!" 

Emma: "Getting to see you both again, and even being of help, made being chased all the worthwhile.” 

Emma: "Thank you so much!" 

Kagari: "So is the chat over? It’s over, right? I’m eating my dorayaki now." 

Keith: "Kagari, you’re way too impatient." 

Kagari: “Freshly made dorayaki waits for no one.” 

Emma: “Haha, that’s true.” 

Emma: “There’s a bench over there. Let’s sit and eat.” 

I sat on the bench, flanked by Prince Keith and Prince Kagari. 

Keith: “Oh, sorry. I’m pretty big, so I might be taking up too much space.” 

Keith: “"If it’s too cramped or if I’m too close, don’t hesitate to tell me.” 

Kagari: “But you’re already sitting on the edge, aren’t you?” 

Keith: “There are other places to sit, so it’s fine.” 

Emma: “It’s not cramped or too close at all. Actually, you’re sitting so far to the side that you might fall off. Please come a bit closer.” 

Keith: “Really? Okay… just a little, then." 

(Really, just a little.) 

(But at least now there’s no chance of a prince of the nation sitting on the ground. Thank goodness.) 

I unwrapped my dorayaki and took a bite. 

Perhaps because I had been running around so much, the gentle sweetness of the red bean paste seeped into my tired body. 

(It’s delicious…) 

(Still, it really was a miracle. If I hadn’t run into Prince Keith and Prince Kagari, who knows what would have happened to me…) 

(…Next time, I’ll make sure to at least familiarize myself with the area before wandering around.) 

(Oh, that reminds me…) 

Emma: "The way you two fought in perfect sync in the alley was incredible! I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

Emma: "Was it because of that hellish training you once mentioned from your childhood?" 

Keith: “That’s what started it, yes.” 

Keith: “After that, we’ve trained together every time we met. I think it’s because we’ve memorized each other’s moves, timing, and speed.” 

Kagari: “Good for you. If you hadn’t remembered, you’d be going through hellish training all over again.” 

Keith: “...I’m so glad I remembered.” 

(So they weren't exaggerating—it really was something worthy of the name “hellish training.”) 

From Prince Keith’s distant gaze, I could sense the indescribable hardships he had endured. 

Kagari: “Speaking of hellish training, Keith used to bawl his eyes out after those sessions.” 

Emma: “Bawl?” 

Keith: "AHHH!!! Kagari, why are you telling Emma the one thing I didn’t want her to know?!" 

Kagari: “It just came to mind, so I mentioned it. I didn’t realize it was something you wanted to keep secret."” 

Keith: “It’s a dark chapter in my past…” 

Keith: “Besides, if she imagines a weed like me crying, she might end up having nightmares!” 

Keith “Actually… on second thought, crying might be one of the least embarrassing memories from back then." 

(A young Keith crying… I think that sounds kind of adorable.) 

Emma: “Prince Keith, do you have any memories of those training sessions that stand out to you?” 

Keith: “Me? Hmm, there are quite a few, but…” 

His gaze dropped to the dorayaki in his hands, and he let out a quiet "…ah." 

Keith: “A mountain of dorayaki, piled so high it was about to topple off the plate.” 

Emma: “A mountain of dorayaki?” 

Keith: “Yeah. On the last day of training, Kagari brought them to me…” 

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: “One of them is special.” 

Keith: “.......Is it poisoned?” 

Kagari: “No.” 

Kagari: “Look—I ate one, and I’m still standing.” 

Keith: “That's true…What a relief.” 

Kagari: “Now eat it.” 

Keith: “O-okay. Thanks—urk!” 

Kagari: “Did you take a bite? Here’s the second one.” 

Keith: “P-Please wait, I haven’t even finished the first one yet!” 

Keith: “And… can I eat it myself? Since it’s a gift from you, I want to savor it properly." 

Kagari: "I don’t really get it, but fine." 

Keith: "……"

Kagari: "……"

Keith: "……"

Kagari: "……"

Keith:“Mmm…!” 

Kagari: “...!” 

Keith: “It has cream and strawberries mixed in with the red bean paste.” 

Keith: "Dorayaki comes in so many flavors. This is amazing!" 

Kagari: "I see. So it is good." 

Keith: "This must be the special one, right? Thank you, Kagari." 

Kagari: "Yeah." 

Keith: "But why did you bring them for me? And so many, too." 

Kagari: "Because when a student completes their training, it’s only right to give them a reward—a gold star, so to speak." 

Kagari: "I may be your friend, but I’m also your teacher." 

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

 

Keith: "—It was the first time I ever received such a delicious gold star from a teacher."

Keith: "I remember feeling so happy I could have jumped for joy." 

(Somehow, it feels like I got to share a piece of that happiness.) 

Emma: "What a wonderful memory." 

At my words, Prince Keith gave me a gentle smile. 

Kagari: “I never expected someone who almost died several times to be that happy over dorayaki.” 

Kagari suddenly leaned against me.

His hands were now empty— maybe he was just at a loss for what to do with them. 

Keith: “You remember it too, Kagari?” 

Kagari: “It was the first time I’d ever gone to a shop to buy dorayaki myself.” 

Keith: “Wait, you bought them yourself?! I didn’t know that.” 

Kagari: “I just did the same thing you did. It’s not a big deal.” 

Keith: “It is to me... So you went and got them yourself…” 

(Once again, I feel like I’ve been gifted a piece of their happiness.) 

(The hellish training might’ve been brutal, but to these two, it’s an unforgettable and precious memory.) 

Without realizing it, I found myself smiling, just like Prince Keith. 

Suddenly, Kagari leaned closer, peering at my face as if studying my reaction.. 

Kagari: "You look like you really enjoyed that story, Princess. Did it interest you that much?"

Emma: "It did. Hearing about it warmed my heart and..."

Emma: "I realized you two are even closer than I thought."” 

Keith & Kagari “Not bad.” 

Emma: “Hehe, even that just proves just  how close you two are." 

(But maybe for them, it’s so natural that they don’t even think about it.) 

The memories they shared afterward left my heart feeling warm and full more than the freshly made dorayaki did. 

Prev

▼・ᴥ・▼

[my-midlife-crisis]

The left controlled the Media? Based on what? You didn't share a bit of provable fact here. But this is happening...

Crt promotes racism? More opinion. CRT teaches history about our own nation that people chose to ignore. Instead of teaching our children that this nation isn't perfect we ignore history. Black people built the White House but you don't want to teach our kids that... CRT clears lies you are afraid to share.

3.But with out due process? Trump told people like you that Liberals want to take people's guns... but here he talking about taking guns. This was back in 2016.

4. Ok. But, Republicans went after a consenting sexual relationship between a president and his assistant. They acted like it was so horrible but when it comes to this... it's ok. This is the destruction of morality and Trump added to it. Grab them by the pussy. Trump's New York case was multiple cases on top of each other. You claim the feds wouldn't touch it and yet there was a whole trial. Clearly it was touched. He used election money to shut up a sexual deviancy.

5. Your budding friendship and neighbors have nothing to do with this. Trump has attacked BLM and in turn MAGA has attacked BLM. Trump has attacked Trans people. MAGA attacks Trans people. Republicans attacked drag queens and in turn MAGA attacked Drag queens. Republicans said that fires were caused by Jewish space lasers. Trump claimed China started Covid. Trump pushed for a ban on Muslims. Trump wanted to build a wall. Trump claimed mexicans were the poison in America's blood. He claimed they were stealing people's jobs and yet were somehow drug dealers and lazy. Trump and the conservatives tried to drive a wedge between their followers and people of this nation.

6. Free speech?

7. Socialism is blah blah blah. But you ignore American taxes going to governors who take forever to make a decision. Governors who are the riches people in this country. Governors that don't deserve anything. But that is ok. They say that the rich who lives off our money is ok but if we want to use our own taxes then it's socialism. Millionaires live off of us like vampires and you allow that. Trump and Elon are not searching for fraud. They are cutting this nation apart so they can hand our money to the rich... the same people who already live free. If they were actually looking for fraud they would be using accountants and not kid hackers. They have fired federal workers for being lazy and yet they have never met any of them. They are firing Republicans and Democrats together. Musk isn't even an employee of this government. He was never approved by the government. But you think they are thinking of you as they grow richer. But you think socialism is bad while ignoring the biggest socialist movement right in front of you. 2.000 federal employees lost their job while Trump plays golf.

He even tucks the thumb

oh boy

Welcome to the Fourth Reich dickheads. This is what you wanted. This is what you get.

[maraschinomerry]

Bottom of the Rainbow

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: after George gets mad at you for keeping a secret, you finally share your unusual hobby with him - searching for the ends of rainbows

Content: sunshine x grump, fluff, mentions of reader's dad (positive), first kiss

A/N: I'm back after nearly a year!! Another sunshine x grump fic, except George isn't really a grump so much as just himself 😅 inspired by but not a continuation of You Are My Sunshine. Thank you as always to my Georges for the support, especially Lisa for beta reading 🫶

Word count: 5.2k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 (to be added or removed, just let me know!)

It was, as most people would describe it, a thoroughly miserable day, and you couldn't be more excited.

As far as the eye could see (which currently wasn’t far at all), London was draped in thick grey clouds, from which poured heavy lances of rain that lashed against the windows of 35 Portland Row like they were trying to break in. The house was quiet save for the dull drumming from the other side of the glass. Lucy was upstairs recording a cassette for Norrie, Lockwood was training in the basement, and George was… somewhere, so you had the living room to yourself. It was rather peaceful really, sitting in your armchair by the window, watching the movements of the sky.

The floorboard by the door creaked as George entered with a huff. So much for peaceful.

“If you're waiting for a client, you're wasting your time,” the curly-haired boy pointed out as he flopped onto the sofa. “We're not expecting anyone and very few people are daft enough to turn out in this weather on the off-chance we'll take their case.”

“Oh no,” you replied cheerily, “just waiting for the rain to die down.”

“Not a fan?” If only he knew. But that was just it, he didn't really know you at all. You'd been part of the same agency, living under the same roof, for 3 months now, and the two of you were still almost as distant as the day you started. Sure, you knew now how each other worked, the way you handled cases, but when it came down to your personal lives you'd found out very quickly how different you were from one another. He was so quick-witted and sardonic, while you didn't have a sarcastic bone in your body. Lucy and Lockwood were able to go toe-to-toe with him, but it was clear he was holding back because they were friends. You'd seen George talk to Kipps once. He was brutal. At least the others had some softness to them, which made you feel a little less like the odd one out.

“Hello?” George's voice brought you back into the room, and you realised you'd been staring out the window again.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. What was it he'd asked? Oh, not a fan of the rain. “I don't mind the rain, actually.”

“Well you live in the right country then.” He'd already picked up his book, and it seemed like he wasn't all that interested in your opinions on the weather or in continuing the conversation at all, so you allowed the room to lull back into the ambient quiet of the pattering outside.

George was quite engrossed in his book, but occasionally he would glance up and find you still watching the rain. What was the big deal, anyway? It wasn’t like it hadn't rained most weeks since you'd arrived, yet every time you gazed out the window like you’d moved to London from a desert. Still, at least you were peaceful with it, creating a companionable quiet for him to read or do research without having to engage in idle chatter. For all your chipper nature and relentless enthusiasm, you were surprisingly reserved. He respected that.

Suddenly, the quiet was broken by an excitable squeak from by the window. George lowered his book in time to see you leap to your feet, face glowing with a smile and the radiance of the sunlight which was finally breaking through the parting clouds.

“Back soon!” you called as you bolted from the room, and within seconds the slam of the front door rang out. Bewildered, George pushed himself up from the sofa and ventured into the hallway. There was an empty space on the shoe rack where your boots normally sat, and the coat rack showed the distinct absence of your yellow raincoat. He opened the front door with a frown, just in time to see a flash of yellow disappear round the corner. The bright pockets of blue that had appeared in the sky caused him to squint, so much so that he almost missed the colours brushed across one of the lower clouds. A rainbow, dipping behind a nearby house.

You returned about 10 minutes later, looking slightly out of breath and considerably less excited than you had when you left. George was back in his place on the sofa, and this time he barely even lowered his book as he addressed you passing the doorway. “What was that all about?”

“Oh,” you replied falteringly, “it was nothing really.” How odd, George thought.

The second time it happened, all four of the group were there. You'd been out for breakfast to celebrate a case well done, and the cafe had provided welcome respite from the rain. Soon enough you all headed for home, when the telltale streak of colour appeared against the vanishing clouds. George was only slightly less surprised this time by the delighted squeal from your end of the line, which was immediately followed by you breaking away in a jog.

“Don't wait for me, I'll see you at home!” you called over your shoulder as you picked up speed.

Lucy frowned. “Should we follow them?”

George was tempted. As much as it didn't really make much difference to him what you did with your free time, he had to admit he was curious where you kept running off to. Still, he shrugged and carried on in the direction of Portland Row and the other two eventually followed.

The coat hooks in the hallway were empty when the trio arrived home, distinctly lacking in yellow. You said you'd meet back here, but with how quickly you were moving they'd assumed you meant you'd get there first. By the time it reached half an hour since you'd gone off, an odd air had descended over the group, tinged with concern.

“Do we know where y/n was running off to?” Lockwood asked, breaking the silence. George had the beginnings of a suspicion, but he couldn't be sure, so he stayed quiet.

Lucy, meanwhile, was less calm. She stood by your chair in the window, peering out every time someone walked by. “Are we sure they're okay? Shouldn't we be going out and looking?”

“Lucy, it's barely gone 10,” George finally piped up. “It won't be dark for hours, they're not exactly in any danger.”

“You've seen the enemies we've made in the past,” she retorted. “You really want to take that risk?”

A bolt of worry shot through George; he tried his best to hide it but was less successful at hiding the way he almost leapt out of his armchair at the sound of a key in the front door.

You sighed as you kicked off your boots. All that for nothing. You'd even gone to all the effort of running with your kit bag, which wasn't exactly light, and it still hadn't been worth it. Sure, lots of the other times had ended up like this, but somehow it stung even more today. At least it seemed like everyone was off doing their own thing so you could sneak up to your room and have some time to yourself.

The living room door swung open, and you caught a glimpse of dark curls.

So much for that plan.

“Where have you been?” George asked sharply.

You groaned quietly, hoisting your bag up and heading for the stairs. “Not now George, please.”

The thud of a second pair of feet on the stairs made your heart drop even further. “No, no, hang on! You can't just run off like that. Do you not trust us or something?”

“George!”

“Well that's what it feels like! We were-” he stopped for a fraction of a second, “Lucy and Lockwood were worried about you. Not even a hint of where you'd gone, what you were doing, how long you'd be…”

You'd reached your room by now, throwing your kit bag onto your bed and sinking down beside it. George lingered in the doorway, but he didn't let up.

“I was just… doing something.”

“Oh,” George scoffed. “So what was so important and secretive that you couldn't just tell us? Were you seeing someone?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You tried to blink them away without him noticing. The last thing you wanted right now was to talk to anyone, let alone be interrogated or lectured by someone so cynical that they'd never understand your motivations. “No-”

“Then what?!”

“I was trying to find the bottom of the rainbow!” The words burst out of you in almost a yell, making the quiet that followed twice as loud. Your gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, and yet you were painfully aware of the look of confusion and judgement on George's face. Maybe if you kept staring at that one spot for long enough, he'd finally leave you alone. “That's why I didn't tell you,” you mumbled. “Because I was afraid you'd look at me like that.”

George stood, frozen, just beyond the threshold of your room. He knew he could be harsh sometimes, but his friends didn't usually mind and anyone who did was met with an even stronger retort. He was the way he was, and that had never been an issue.

Until now.

He wasn't sure which part he felt worse about - the fact you thought he was looking at you in some kind of way, or the fact that you were expecting it. The two of you weren't the closest, but you were friends, weren't you? At the very least, you were a team. You were supposed to have each other's backs.

“Sorry,” he started after what felt like an age. “I just… I don't get it.”

“It's nothing,” you sniffed. Hang on, were you crying? Because of him?

George hesitated a moment, weighing up the impact of crossing both a physical and emotional barrier, before stepping into your room. He glanced around, taking in your space properly for the first time. The pile of books on your desk, the faded music posters on the walls, the photos taped around the mirror. And you, seeming smaller than usual, curled into yourself on the bed, still not looking at him. His voice was soft when he spoke, surprising you both. “We wouldn't be here if it was nothing. Help me understand why it matters to you.”

When you still didn't speak, he thought perhaps he'd crossed a line. Perhaps you were finding the nerve to tell him to get out. He didn't normally do things like this, he had no idea what to expect. He was so busy considering whether to leave that he almost didn't hear you.

“It was my dad's idea.”

George turned his attention from the door and found your gaze on him at last. The slight tears on your lashes, the way you chewed anxiously at your lip, the absolute vulnerability of the moment stirred something in him. He swallowed the feeling. He knew your family were still around to some extent, you mentioned them from time to time, but it hit him that you never talked about them in depth, just a passing comment now and again. You never told him anything proper about them. Or maybe it was just that he'd never asked. “Is that him in the photos?” He gestured to the mirror. You nodded, then gave an extra nod towards the mirror in an unspoken invitation.

The pictures, a mixture of Polaroids and film prints, spanned well over a decade. An adorable short-haired toddler, a beaming child with their front teeth missing, a pre-teen who had clearly shot up out of nowhere, all the way up to you in your first agency training uniform. A couple of the shots were of you and your former teammates, but many of the rest featured an older man. The ones that didn't, George suspected, had been taken by him.

You watched George warily, waiting for whatever comment he was going to make next. The comment never came, and you realised that he was actually paying attention to what he was looking at. You quietly stood, your feet sinking into the rug around your bed, and joined him by the mirror.

“That was our first rainbow,” you murmured, pointing to a faded photo. The boy beside you jumped a little, having been too engrossed to notice your approach. He followed your finger to a photo of you, about 3 or 4 years old, grinning next to the boundary of a lush green field. Just beyond the fence, almost lost to the wear of time, was a thick streak across the sky touching down into the grass. The red and blue had sustained the worst fading, but it was still unmistakable. “We came across it by chance, and my dad told me it was special finding the end of a rainbow. He bought me a whole bar of chocolate on the way home, bigger than the ones mum usually let me have.” You pointed out a couple more photos of rainbows the two of you had found and the outcomes - a special dessert one time, a new pair of boots the next. “Even after I started training and found some on my own, something good would always happen. This one was just before I got my first grade.” It was on the far side of the mirror, so you had to lean to point it out. As you began to pull back, you suddenly realised how close you were standing. His face was nearer yours than it had ever been before, and you breathed in bergamot and cinnamon. George wasn't looking where your finger was either; he was looking at you, not the strange way he had before but a new, equally strange way. You felt your cheeks grow warm, and you quickly went and sat back on the bed, this time leaving a space.

“So that's it? You're going after them for the tradition, and to try and make something good happen?” George asked, his attention now fully on you.

You kicked your feet a little, scuffing them along the rug. “Sort of. It's nice getting the extra boost of luck, but recently…”

George came closer, and when you made no protest he perched in the empty space on your bed. He gave you a small, awkward yet encouraging smile. “Your dad?”

You pulled a face, your nose scrunching. George wanted to make a joke about it making you look like a bunny, fighting the urge to call it cute, but now wasn't the time. He let you speak instead. “I told him I'd write and send a photo when I caught my first London rainbow, but that was months ago. I've spoken to him since of course, but only by phone. The longer I leave it, the more I feel like I can't write without having found one. It doesn't feel the same.” There were tears in the corners of your eyes again.

“You'll find one sooner or later,” George said reassuringly. “It's England after all, you've seen how often it rains.”

You laughed, the tension leaving your shoulders as you wiped your eyes on the cuff of your sleeve. “Thanks, George. And thank you for, you know, understanding.”

“Just promise you won't run off on your own any more, okay? Take one of us with you.”

“I promise. I suppose it's safer that way.”

“Well there is that,” he smirked, “and you'll need someone to take your photo.”

—

It had been just over a week, and you were amazed by how much things had changed. You'd never been uncomfortable around George, you'd just accepted that the two of you were too dissimilar to be close, but now you found yourself wondering how you had ever thought that. You found yourself seeking out his company more often, even if you were both sitting in silence doing your own hobbies - last week, his presence had frustrated you, now you almost craved it. It seemed like he sought you out more too. On that first evening, he'd brought you an album full of pictures of his own family to reciprocate you sharing yours. If he was cooking and you were passing through to or from the basement, he'd either start a conversation that forced you to stay for a few more minutes or he'd ask for you to pass him one ingredient after the other until the meal became a joint effort.

One day, you found yourself accompanying George to the Archives to help with research. It hadn't been a successful day by any standard - someone had borrowed the book George really needed, and the article you were after had been badly damaged by an overeager junior Tendy's agent. The worst part was that you were both absolutely drenched from the downpour you'd arrived in. Thank goodness you both had coats, or it would have been an utterly horrible day, but they hadn't protected you from getting soaked from the waist down. Your boots had only just stopped squelching. The two of you called it a day after an hour of fruitless searching for other potentially useful materials, and you turned up your hood as you headed for the door in preparation. The soft grey of the clearing clouds that met you was a welcome relief, and you immediately started scanning the skies as you walked away.

There.

You gasped in excitement at the vibrancy of the rainbow in the near distance. It was the clearest you'd seen in all your time in London. “George!” you called, already starting to head towards it. He hadn't spotted it, hadn't moved. Each second was too precious for you to wait. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and ran towards the corner. He stumbled a bit at first and his grip tightened around yours, taken by surprise, but he quickly fell into a matching pace. Together you hurtled through the city, narrowly avoiding collisions with pedestrians and lampposts alike. You'd almost lost hope when at last you turned a corner and stopped dead in your tracks. George nearly ran into your back. The colours were fainter than they had been, but they were still clear as day where they fell just the other side of a large puddle. You let out a squeak, and if you didn't know better you'd swear the hand in yours squeezed its encouragement. What was for sure, though, was the way the hand pulled you back as you began to move forward. You frowned.

“Give me your camera,” George prompted.

“Oh, right.” With a hint of reluctance, you let go of his hand and pulled a slim disposable camera from your coat pocket. Once again, George stopped you. He directed you to behind the puddle, with the rainbow landing in front, before cautiously stepping into the road and lining up his shot.

“On three, jump. One, two, three!”

You jumped into the puddle with a joyful giggle, the droplets that flew up around you illuminated by the flash of the camera. George took another still photo in case the first one didn't turn out well before handing the camera back. Through the little window on the back, you could see the number 1. You raised the viewfinder to your eye.

“Whoa, what are you doing?”

“Well, I'm not getting this developed and wasting a perfectly good shot, but I don't want to wait until I find another rainbow to finish it off. Smile!”

George rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but he was smiling in spite of himself, and you were smiling too as you pressed the shutter.

You weren't quite sure where you'd ended up, so you followed George who seemed to know a route home. It wasn't until you got to more familiar surroundings that you realised you'd been too giddy to notice exactly which way you were going.

“Isn't the house that way?” you pointed back over your shoulder.

George shrugged. “It is, but we're not going home yet. Lockwood and Lucy won't be expecting us back so soon, so we're going to Arif's for doughnuts.”

You blushed. You hadn't expected anything from George when you dragged him along, you were quite happy to wait for the usual moment of good fortune, but it was unexpectedly thoughtful that he'd paid attention to your tradition and considered this. While you were dragging your heels, clearly not wanting to push the boundaries of generosity, he bought you a rich chocolate doughnut with a salted caramel filling (the kind you'd secretly eyed up before but found too decadent to buy yourself) and a strawberries and cream one for himself. Stepping back out into the sunshine, you sat together on a small bench across the road to eat. The wood was a little damp from the rain, but without hesitation George laid his coat down and sat on one half. You were about to remark about him catching a cold as you squeezed yourself onto the other half, but the warmth radiating into your side caused the words to die in your throat. You nestled in a bit closer; if George noticed, he didn't say anything about it. You unwrapped your sweet prize and held it up, beaming when George touched his to it in a silent toast.

“That was… kind of fun, actually,” he said almost like he was surprised at having enjoyed himself.

“It was!” you grinned. “It was nice having someone to share it with again. And thanks for the doughnut.”

George thought for a minute. “So what's next, you write to your dad and then what? Look for the next one?”

“Exactly. I find it quite encouraging in a way, knowing that whatever happens, however bad things might get, there are always going to be more rainbows. It's got me this far.”

“Well I hope there's a bit of a break before the next one. I'm a researcher, I'm not used to all this running around.”

You blinked. Was he implying he wanted to join you again? And why did you hope that was what he meant?

Lockwood was draped across the sofa when you got home. He peered over the top of his magazine as you closed the front door.

“That took a while. Was it a productive session?”

You worried at your lip. You still hadn't told Lockwood or Lucy about your unusual hobby, and in the moment you felt a bit silly to have been running round and having fun when you hadn't done the work you set out to do. You glanced nervously at George.

“Sort of,” the other boy replied, giving you a reassuring look before turning to Lockwood. “Although I want you to know that if I ever get my hands on the agent who spilled coffee over that newspaper article I was telling you about, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“Y/n, I think you need to accompany George more often, we can’t afford to be blacklisted from any other establishments,” Lockwood winked at you.

“In that case,” George faked a scowl, “perhaps they ought to accompany me while I make us lunch so I don't set your kitchen on fire.”

You nodded, before glancing pointedly at Lockwood. It was time to come clean. “I'll be with you in a sec.” Thankfully, the curly-haired boy got the message, and left you to explain in your own time.

—

Everyone had been very supportive, much to your relief. Lucy had gone rainbow-hunting with you a few times over the following months, Lockwood a couple more, and on one occasion you'd ended up taking the whole team with you on the way back from an errand. It was fun getting to spend time and share your passion with them all, and now you had a whole new array of pictures being developed that you couldn't wait to add to your mirror, but you had to admit that your favourite were the times when it was you and George. You'd been out searching together again just before you collected your first photos, and it wasn't until you reread the letter to your dad before sending and noticed you'd dedicated an entire paragraph to talking about your coworker that you finally admitted to yourself why that was the case. Something good did always happen still, regardless of who you were with, but with him it felt different. He always put in that little bit extra. And gradually, you felt different. Before long you were analysing almost every interaction the two of you had - every late night conversation in one of your rooms, every time his hand grazed yours or he made the effort to give physical contact when you needed reassurance on a case (he didn't do that with anyone else, but that didn't mean it meant anything, right?). You tried not to read too much into it all, telling yourself that even if things had changed it was only because he felt obliged to keep an eye on you so you wouldn't run off again.

You'd now been with the agency just over 6 months, marking 3 months since you'd first run off and started this whole chain of events. Last night had been a particularly rough case, so you were letting off steam in the basement training area. The powerful beat of your music drowned out your grunts of frustration as you swung your rapier through the jets of air, and you yelped when suddenly you spun round to find not a white cloud but George. Clearly you hadn't heard him coming down the stairs. Time seemed to slow as you stumbled backwards, terrified of hurting him or worse, that you'd already done so. One of your feet caught on the other, and you felt the blade fall from your hand as you grasped for something, anything, to stop you from falling. A hand, warm and steady, wrapped around your waist. You gaped up at George in surprise. He seemed just as shocked, though whether that was because of his action or because in the heat of the moment his fingers had caught under your top and gripped the skin above your waistband, you couldn't say. Another blast made you jump, bringing you back to reality, and you frantically hid your blushes as the boy flicked off the training equipment and mouthed something, his words inaudible. You launched yourself to the stereo and paused your music. The silence was deafening.

“I take it you couldn't hear anything, then?”

You frowned, wondering what you were supposed to have heard. Had he been calling you? Then, out of the quiet, a sound emerged. A persistent pattering on the window. Rain.

“You need to come outside right now.” He offered you his hand. Blushing again, you took it, and he led you up the stairs and through to the hallway. You'd been so caught up in the moment that you hadn't realised he was wearing his coat until he took yours from the hook and helped you into it. Hoods up, you both stepped out onto the street. You glanced around. This had to be about a rainbow. But where was it? George gently placed a hand on your shoulder, moving you until you could follow his eyeline.

You gasped.

There in the distance, glorious against the grey clouds, was the most vibrant rainbow you'd ever seen. Above it, much paler but still noticeable, was a fragment of inverted colours. A double rainbow. Frozen in awe, you almost forgot the urgency of the situation, until George took your hand again and started running. Together you wove through the streets, occasionally calling directions or words of encouragement as you drew closer. The colours remained ever vibrant, a beacon of joy across the sky. You found yourselves in a small park, where the main arc of the rainbow touched down into the grass beside a wooden gazebo. Both of you were panting, but you no longer needed words to communicate; George simply held out his hand, and you passed him your camera. He couldn't help but smile behind it as you twirled through the rain with a laugh, feet sinking into the sodden ground, and gave the biggest grin he'd known you to have, even in the photos he'd seen. Then he came closer, turning the camera round and pulling you into his side as he snapped a photo of the two of you. Soon the adrenaline wore off and you were faced with the fact that you'd just run all the way here and it was still raining, so you climbed into the gazebo and slumped down onto a bench. George sat beside you, leaning his head back against a pillar.

“Can you believe that's the first time I've ever seen a double rainbow?” you sighed. The feelings were overwhelming. You'd barely believed you would ever have this experience, of course you'd always thought you'd share it with your dad but somehow being here with George felt like everything it needed to be.

“Seriously? That definitely deserves a celebration.”

You giggled, leaning playfully towards him.

“Does that mean doughnuts on the way home again?”

Something in his demeanour shifted and you worried you'd pushed things too far. His smile was smaller, wavering, and his hand went from almost brushing yours to playing with the hem of his coat.

“Sorry, you don't have to-” you began.

“No, it's… I meant something bigger, since this is such an important moment for you, like, um, like dinner?”

Why was he so nervous about that? It was a great suggestion! You loved nothing more than the times you spent cooking together and it was sweet that he'd realised how much it meant. “Sure,” you reassured him, “what shall we cook?”

He swallowed thickly, voice coming out low and cautious. “Actually, I meant could I buy you dinner?”

Maybe it was the clouds starting to clear. Maybe it was later than you thought and the ghost lamps were starting to come on. Maybe it was just your own obliviousness finally crumbling. Whatever it was, you looked at George in a whole new light, at the way he was watching you carefully and expectantly.

“George Casper Karim, are you asking me on a date?”

He hesitated. “That depends on whether you're saying yes.”

You moved closer and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Does that answer your question?”

George began to lean in, but then he stopped. You started to worry again that you'd done something wrong, until he took your hand and led you from the gazebo. It was just drizzling now, the droplets coating his dark curls in a fine mist and splashing onto your own hair as you stepped outside. The rainbow was still there, fading as the rain died away, and as you were drawn towards its colours George spun you into it, catching you by the waist and bringing his lips to yours. Your mind was filled with fireworks, interlaced with that cosy cinnamon scent which had grown so familiar. He felt and tasted as warm as the sun which was starting to re-emerge, and as his hand came up and settled on your chin, thumb stroking across your cheek, you decided that the photo he'd just taken of the two of you would be going in pride of place on your mirror.

[goldammerchen]

pruaus y pruhun, versión cínica, tóxica, problemática

los rasgos tóxicos de pruaus están al revés 😭, confien en los colores

solo pruaus; solo pruhun; (edit: aushun!)

[magical-girl-coral]

Okay, what is the Internet's brilliant idea of how to stop the I/p conflict

*checks notes*

You people are planning on boycotting an entire fucking country?

[trafficpan-ic]

It's all really about finding a sport or type of exercise that you enjoy and that doesn't require so much effort bcs of that!!

[kerosene-saint]

"Why are you worried about the fact that you share your general location on tumblr sometimes???" my friend on here that I've had for almost two years guessed Chicago when I asked them where I lived. cause my time zone is called Chicago on pronouns page. I had a mutual for months before we both found out we're from the same state.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

what’s the story about the generative power model and water consumption? /gen

There's this myth going around about generative AI consuming truly ridiculous amount of power and water. You'll see people say shit like "generating one image is like just pouring a whole cup of water out into the Sahara!" and bullshit like that, and it's just... not true. The actual truth is that supercomputers, which do a lot of stuff, use a lot of power, and at one point someone released an estimate of how much power some supercomputers were using and people went "oh, that supercomputer must only do AI! All generative AI uses this much power!" and then just... made shit up re: how making an image sucks up a huge chunk of the power grid or something. Which makes no sense because I'm given to understand that many of these models can run on your home computer. (I don't use them so I don't know the details, but I'm told by users that you can download them and generate images locally.) Using these models uses far less power than, say, online gaming. Or using Tumblr. But nobody ever talks about how evil those things are because of their power generation. I wonder why.

To be clear, I don't like generative AI. I'm sure it's got uses in research and stuff but on the consumer side, every effect I've seen of it is bad. Its implementation in products that I use has always made those products worse. The books it writes and flood the market with are incoherent nonsense at best and dangerous at worst (let's not forget that mushroom foraging guide). It's turned the usability of search engines from "rapidly declining, but still usable if you can get past the ads" into "almost one hundred per cent useless now, actually not worth the effort to de-bullshittify your search results", especially if you're looking for images. It's a tool for doing bullshit that people were already doing much easier and faster, thus massively increasing the amount of bullshit. The only consumer-useful uses I've seen of it as a consumer are niche art projects, usually projects that explore the limits of the tool itself like that one poetry book or the Infinite Art Machine; overall I'd say its impact at the Casual Random Person (me) level has been overwhelmingly negative. Also, the fact that so much AI turns out to be underpaid people in a warehouse in some country with no minimum wage and terrible labour protections is... not great. And the fact that it's often used as an excuse to try to find ways to underpay professionals ("you don't have to write it, just clean up what the AI came up with!") is also not great.

But there are real labour and product quality concerns with generative AI, and there's hysterical bullshit. And the whole "AI is magically destroying the planet via climate change but my four hour twitch streaming sesh isn't" thing is hysterical bullshit. The instant I see somebody make this stupid claim I put them in the same mental bucket as somebody complaining about AI not being "real art" -- a hatemobber hopping on the hype train of a new thing to hate and feel like an enlightened activist about when they haven't bothered to learn a fucking thing about the issue. And I just count my blessings that they fell in with this group instead of becoming a flat earther or something.

[peachybeesplease]

this page is SO MUCH to me

just like. the bed is a whole acre. two people could sit on opposite corners of that bed and they'd have to raise their voices to have a conversation. there's enough of that bed that you'd have to call a search party for a stuffed animal.

AND YET. remy has bundled himself to the very Very edge of this bed that is larger than most studio apartments to be close to jamis. sometime in the night he took one of the pillows on the cross-country journey from the middle to the end of the bed to be as close to jamis as is physically possible without actually rolling off. and he did it SUBCONSCIOUSLYYYY like I know he turned down the whole "there was only one bed" immediately but if I'm being honest with you all I think what they have going on is gayer than that

[theabigailthorn]

Hi Miss Thorn.

I was recently reading through your trans writes article about you choosing not to do PR for the NHS. In one line you mention that the medical system "exaggerates or wholly confabulates" certain medical risks, and I was wondering if you could give more of an explanation or some examples about that stuff. I tried looking it up on my own but I didn't really know what keywords to search for, and I don't want to fall into some weird anti-science conspiracy theory rabbithole (especially at a kind of vulnerable part of my transition where I'm finally giving "doing hormones" more serious thought as a Thing I Would Actually Do rather than an idle fantasy where the results magically "fix" me (or a kind of anxiety where it doesn't do anything of value at all :< )

Thank you regardless for your great videos over the years,

A Very Nervous Enby

Sure! So, I would argue that the Cass Review is a prime example of this phenomenon. It concluded that puberty blockers have caused zero documented cases of harm as long as they've been used in Britain, but they might cause some unknown kind of harm in the future, somehow; a harm that hasn't been detected in any of the other countries who have used them, whose evidence - by the way - was discarded.

So we have no evidence of past harm, no idea what a future mystery harm might be, when it might happen, the mechanism for it, or why it would only show up here, now, and not in any of the other countries who have given trans kids blockers previously...

This is clearly making shit up!

And yet the Cass Review was used to justify a ban on blockers.

The only way this makes sense is if by "harm" they mean "being trans." Cass expressed particular concern that most kids who start on blockers go on to medically transition, which - yeah duh? But whereas a normal person views this as a neutral fact about the world, transphobes see it as bad - they see being trans as a bad or dangerous thing to be - and so they want to make people "avoid it" as much as possible.

This is what I mean when I say pathologization exaggerates or in some cases outright fabricates risks of medical transition to justify restricting our bodily autonomy under the guise of "care."

[prettealolilol]

i like to think about the duality of the kids about people shipping Bruce with anyone, because the guy has been elected as the most handsome man in the country for years, has this whole playboy Brucie persona and is often seen with someone at his arms (men and women)

on one side, they'll be like "ew god no, i do not want to imagine dad like-" and "oh my god some people actually ship Bantman and Joker wtf ??" and they'll do their best to filter every social media to avoid any thirsty or shipping content about Bruce

when the press ask them about it, they be like:

Tim : "Would you like it if I asked about your thoughts on your dad cheating on your mom with his secretary ? No ? Then mind your own business." when the dad was in fact cheating with his secretary and now everybody knew because Tim was live when he answered

Jason, pulling out a gun : "i swear to god i'll shoot the next person who asks me this and then i'll shoot myself. Ugh, do i look like i fucking care about the old man's sex life ?"

Dick, smiling uncomfortably : "i don't really live at the manor anymore and i barely see him with my job so you know..." when it has been in fact a week he's been sleeping at the manor after patrolling with Batman

Damian, frowning as usual, looking at the guy who asked him as if he did not have a brain : "Father is careful in not mixing his carnal activities with the family life so i do not have any hindsight on his sex life. i do not wish to know regardless." the journalist is taken aback by the explicit answer of this ten year old, while his brothers are trying not to laugh behind him (Jason was not hiding his snickering)

on the other side, you cannot tell me those guys are not the biggest shippers in the world

like Jason would want Batman to date Wonder Woman just so she could be his step mom. i strongly believe the guy has a ao3 and tumblr account and is very much active on both. he definitely reads batman x green lantern fics just to annoy Bruce (even though his dad has no idea, but still gets shivers when Jason is reading one)

Dick and Duke both ship SuperBat although for different reasons. for Dick, that's his uncle there, he was there when they met and saw them as they slowly became best friends. he strongly believes they are made for each other. Duke just think it would be super cool (no pun intended) if the Superman and the Batman were dating.

Stephanie just likes to roll with it, some days she feels like shipping superbat, others she'll be more into batcat, or batlantern. she's pretty volatile and doesn't really have a favourite, but when she gets into one she's all in. she'll be arguing and insulting people online who disagrees, sharing crazy theories...

Cass doesn't really care, she'll listen to any of her siblings ranting about their thoughts (especially Steph) and juts find it adorable (and funny how much they care)

Tim probably ships superbat because they are completely opposed, and he finds the parallels really interesting. he definitely writes fics (Jay reads his fics and they exchange about it without knowing it's each other)

Damian doesn't really see the point. but he has drawn of few fanart (Jason tried to bribe him with money once and Damian had to remind him of his inheritance) when Bruce benched Tim and him and he ended up drawing some batlantern that Tim printed and plastered all over the manor. Bruce had to restrain the access to the printer (Tim hacked into it the next day)

Barbara, although she doesn't really ship, is the one you go to if you search some content, she'll find you the most heart wrenching, 200 thousand words, slow brun, angst/comfort fics you'll ever read (the type of fic that changes you deep into your soul). she still likes debating with the batkid

Regardless, if there's one things they all agree on, it is Bruceman (love those fics were the batkids just go along with it). like it's hilarious but the fans make some pretty good points and they are in fact impressed. it's also the safest ship as it would not happen in any situations so they don't have to worry about their dad being stolen

[be4chywritez]

lucky you | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

rec:#37 with Luke? Maybe he goes down on the ice and the reader freaks out when she sees him laid up? Thanks! Love your writing 🫶

prompt: Shit. Shit, shit, shit, c'mere."

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

Luke had been wired since the moment he woke up.

Jack had noticed it immediately—the way his little brother was practically bouncing from room to room, energy barely contained, constantly checking his phone. Jack had been willing to ignore it until the loud, painfully obnoxious country music started blaring from Luke’s room.

Jack groaned, rolling over in bed and grabbing his phone, but one look at the time made him throw the blanket off instead. Storming down the hall, he banged a fist against Luke’s door. “Jesus, LUKE!”

The music lowered—not off, just low enough to be tolerable. A second later, Luke stepped out, wearing his good suit. Not his usual game-day one, but the one he only pulled out for interviews. Or—

Jack narrowed his eyes. “What’s with the good suit?”

Luke didn’t answer right away, but the small twitch of his lips gave him away. That stupid, dopey smile that made Jack want to shove him into a locker.  He looked ridiculous, lovesick in the most obvious way.

“Oh, never mind,” Jack groaned. “Your girlfriend’s coming.”

Luke didn’t even try to deny it. Jack didn’t blame him—he likes you, actually. You were funny, sharp, and most importantly, you were one of the few people who could shut Luke up when he was being a pain in the ass. But watching Luke act like this? Jack could do without it.

Luke ignored the way Jack grimaced as he grabbed his bag off the floor. “Shut up, man,” he muttered, brushing past his brother. But Jack caught the way he checked his phone one last time before locking the screen.

Jack shook his head, following him out the door.

By the time you got to the arena, warm-ups were already underway. Your seat—right by the glass—gave you the perfect view as the Devils took the ice. Your eyes immediately searched for Luke.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, he spotted you.

And, just like that, his entire expression changed.

He skated over, tapping his stick against the glass. “You come here often?” he mouthed.

You laughed, rolling your eyes at him.

Luke reached into his glove and pulled out a puck, holding it up dramatically before flipping it over the glass. You caught it easily, tucking it into your lap as he gave you an approving nod.

“Lucky catch,” he mouthed, flashing a grin before skating off, but not before sneaking in a wink over his shoulder.

Your heart fluttered. He was such an idiot.

The first period was fast, aggressive. Luke had been playing well, making quick plays and smart decisions. You could tell he was locked in.

And then—

It happened so fast.

Luke was chasing the puck into the corner, his focus locked in on the play, when an opposing player came barreling into him, shoulder first. The hit landed hard.

Too hard.

The sound of the collision—Luke’s body slamming into the boards before crumpling onto the ice—made your stomach drop.

Something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t moving.

Your grip on the railing tightened as you watched, waiting, willing him to get up. Nothing.

The hit was hard. Too hard.

Luke didn’t get up.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

He always got up.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the ice, willing him to move. Nothing.

Jack was already there, skating over in record time. His whole body was tense, eyes darting between Luke and the guy who hit him. His fists clenched at his sides like he was seconds away from throwing down, but his focus kept shifting back to his brother.

Come on, Luke. Get up.

You barely registered the trainers rushing onto the ice, kneeling beside him, talking to him. The whole arena felt eerily silent, the energy completely different from the roaring crowd just moments ago.

Finally, Luke stirred.

Your breath whooshed out of you as he groggily pushed himself onto his side, barely nodding to the trainers. He winced when they helped him up, his weight leaning into them as they guided him toward the tunnel.

Straight to the training room.

Not the bench.

That wasn’t good.

Your stomach twisted.

Jack was still on the ice, his gaze flicking toward you, as if to check that you were seeing this too—like he knew you were probably freaking out. But his glare quickly snapped back to the guy who hit Luke, a murderous look in his eyes.

For the rest of the game, you barely paid attention. Your fingers drummed anxiously against your knee, your eyes constantly flickering to the tunnel, hoping for any update.

Nothing.

And then, finally, your phone buzzed.

Jack: Training room. I’m outside. You can come see him.

You didn’t hesitate.

By the time you made it to the hallway outside the training room, Jack was already there, still in his gear, arms crossed, looking impatient.

“He okay?” you asked, slightly breathless.

Jack sighed, tilting his head toward the door. “See for yourself.”

Luke was slumped against the training table, his good shoulder resting against the wall, looking like he was seconds from either passing out or saying something incredibly stupid. His jersey and pads were long gone, replaced by a thick wrap of ice around his left shoulder. His whole body was loose, almost boneless, but his eyes were sluggish and unfocused in a way that made it obvious he wasn’t fully present.

“Baaaaabe,” he slurred the second you stepped inside.

Jack, who was still lingering by the door, groaned audibly. “Kill me.”

You ignored him, exhaling as you stepped closer. “Jesus, Hughes. How many did they give you?��

Luke blinked at you, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face. “Dunno. But I feel so floaty.”

Jack sighed, crossing his arms. “I told them to only give him half a dose, but he was already feeling it before I could stop them.”

Luke squinted up at you like he was trying really hard to focus. “You came,” he said, like he was just now registering that fact.

“Of course I did,” you murmured, finally reaching him, letting your hand rest lightly on his uninjured arm. “How’s the shoulder?”

Luke’s brows pulled together. He shifted like he was about to sit up straighter—

And then immediately sucked in a sharp breath, his face twisting in pain.

“Shit,” you cursed, reacting instantly. “Shit, shit, shit—c’mere.”

Your hands were on him before you even thought about it, guiding him gently back against the table. His whole body had gone tense, jaw locked, breathing uneven.

Luke let out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back against the wall as he blinked up at the ceiling. “That sucked.”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Jack muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like idiot, but you didn’t acknowledge him. Your focus was entirely on Luke—on the way he was forcing his muscles to relax, blinking sluggishly as he readjusted his position.

You reached out again, this time more careful, brushing your fingers lightly over his forearm. “You need anything?”

Luke hummed, tilting his head toward you. “A kiss.”

Jack immediately gagged.

You sighed, shooting Luke a look. “Try again.”

Luke huffed, his lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Mmm… a ride home?”

You softened. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Jack perked up from his place by the door. “Wait, she’s driving?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to?”

Jack glanced at his brother—who was still slumped against the table, barely holding himself upright—then back at you. “…No.”

“Then shut up.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

Luke, meanwhile, had a very pleased look on his face. “I love you,” he murmured, voice still slightly sluggish.

You exhaled, shaking your head with a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Getting Luke into the car was an ordeal.

He was heavy—not in the way where he was too big for you to help, but in the way that he wasn’t doing much to help himself. Jack was the one who had to sling his arm over his shoulder and maneuver him into the passenger seat, muttering curses under his breath the whole time.

You climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusting until you were comfortable. Luke’s car was nice, but it definitely wasn’t your car.

Jack barely got himself buckled in the back before Luke was adjusting in his seat, slumping slightly to the side so his head rested against the window.

You glanced over. “You good?”

Luke made a vague noise of confirmation, eyes half-lidded. “Mmhmm.”

Jack snorted. “He’s gonna be out cold in five minutes.”

You hummed, starting the car. “Good. That means I don’t have to listen to him whine the whole way home.”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue.

The first few minutes of the drive were quiet, save for the occasional sound of Luke shifting.

Then—

“Hey, babe?”

You flicked your eyes toward him briefly. “Yeah?”

Luke sighed, tilting his head slightly toward you. “You’re really good at driving my car.”

Jack let out a loud groan from the backseat. “Oh my god.”

You smirked, keeping your eyes on the road. “Glad you think so, Hughes.”

Luke hummed in response, already sounding half-asleep.

Jack sighed, resting his head against the window. “This is gonna be a long night.”

You just smiled, shaking your head as you drove the two of them home.

Luke wasn’t completely out of it—just slower, his movements lazier, his usual filter missing. He walked fine, if a little unsteady, but there was a looseness to his posture, a sleepy, heavy-lidded look in his eyes that told you the meds were still doing their job.

You kept a steady hand on his lower back, guiding him toward his room. Jack had already disappeared into his own, muttering something about not dealing with this shit before slamming his door. That left just you and Luke.

Once inside, you flicked on the lamp. “Alright, Hughes. Let’s get you changed.”

Luke sighed, dropping onto the bed. “You just wanna get my clothes off.”

You shot him a look. “Not with you like this, dumbass.”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded as they raked over you. “So you’re saying you would under different circumstances?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to help him with his hoodie. “That’s not what I said.”

Luke let you tug it off, his smirk never faltering. “Didn’t say it, but you didn’t deny it.”

You huffed. “Shut up, Hughes.”

His grin widened, but he let you work. He even managed to push down his dress pants himself, though when you knelt in front of him to help, he made a low, thoughtful hum.

“This is kinda nice,” he mused, voice dipping lower. “You, on your knees for me.”

Your hands froze on his waistband. “LUKE.”

He laughed, head tipping back against the pillows. “I’m just saying.”

You smacked his thigh—not too hard, given the state he was in—and yanked the fabric off the rest of the way. “Try saying something that doesn’t make me want to kill you.”

Luke stretched out, smug and unbothered, as you tossed his clothes aside. “Can’t help it, babe. You’re taking such good care of me. It’s kinda hot.”

You ignored him, moving toward his dresser. “I need to change, too.”

That got his attention. “Into what?”

You grabbed one of his T-shirts. “Jeans aren’t exactly comfortable to sleep in.”

Luke watched, eyes darkening slightly, as you pulled off your jersey, leaving you in just a sports bra. His gaze dropped, flickering over your bare skin, then lower to the spandex hugging your thighs.

His good hand flexed slightly against his thigh. “Jesus.”

You turned back to him, pulling his oversized shirt over your head. “What?”

Luke blinked slowly. “That’s my shirt.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I know. I just took it from your drawer.”

His tongue flicked out over his bottom lip. “Yeah, but it’s my shirt. And you’re in it. Looking like that.”

You frowned, tugging at the hem. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Luke let out a slow, low breath, his fingers drumming once against his thigh before he muttered, “It means I should be injured more often.”

You huffed a laugh, moving toward the bed. “Get under the covers before I make Jack put you to bed.”

Luke smirked but did as you said, shifting under the blankets. The second you slid in beside him, his good arm immediately pulled you in, his fingers finding your waist.

“You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, “if I wasn’t so tired, I’d make you regret putting that on.”

His fingers skimmed just under the fabric. “Yeah. I’d take my time peeling it off… starting real slow.”

You snorted. “Mmm. Sounds like a lot of effort for someone who could barely put his own pants on.”

Luke tensed slightly. “…I could still do it.”

You bit back a laugh. “Sure, Hughes.”

His fingers twitched. “Don’t ‘sure, Hughes’ me.”

You turned your head, letting your lips graze his jaw, voice dropping to a whisper. “Then prove it.”

Luke inhaled sharply—actually sharp—before going completely still.

You grinned. “What? No snarky comeback?”

He blinked, processing. “I—I…” He huffed, shaking his head. “Not fair.”

You laughed. “Oh, it’s completely fair.”

Luke groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus. I’m never getting injured again.”

You patted his chest. “Good plan.”

Luke sighed, finally relaxing again. His voice was softer when he murmured, “You’re taking good care of me, babe.”

You smirked. “Well, someone has to.”

Luke huffed, eyes already slipping shut. “Lucky me.”

You smiled, letting your fingers brush lightly over his side. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Lucky you.”

And with that, Luke Hughes—NHL player, hockey menace, and normally way too cocky for his own good—fell asleep with a slight pink tinge to his ears.

And that? That was a win.

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was young I was dating this absolute cocknob right as I graduated high school. More on that later.

As a present ostensibly to me (but mostly my folks) I was whisked away after graduation to spend two weeks in Europe with my parents. The plan was to see London, Paris, and Heidelberg.

I was moody and a teenager and was largely disgruntled by this fabulous adventure. I went along with sullen foot dragging and black looks. I commandeered my reprehensible boyfriends enormous black hoodie and wore it on the trip. At the start of our jaunt into London I mentioned offhandedly to my mom that it was burning when I peed.

“You’re just dehydrated, and your period is about to start.”

She was right on both counts. I upped my water content, and had my period (which may have contributed to my overall ill humors.)

So we found ourselves in a tiny hotel in Paris, a week into our jaunt, when I repeated, “Man, it just really burns when I pee.”

“What?!” my mom demanded.

“I told you like a week ago that it was burning.”

“Augh! Now we have to go to the hospital!” she proclaimed.

“What?! Why?”

“Because,” she snapped, “You have a bladder infection.”

More bickering ensued, and my temperament was not improved by knowing I’d told her I was having an issue a week ago and been ignored.

My dad heard about the itinerary shift with resignation and we trooped down the narrow stairs as a family to ask the concierge where the nearest hospital was.

The absolutely lovely man at the desk was immediately so concerned when we asked for directions. “Is everything okay?” he asked with very genuine sympathy and I muttered that everything was fine, we just needed a quick visit.

Lucky for us the hospital was only a few blocks away. We walked there and the building was massive, home to what appeared to be several separate wings but no obvious main entrance.

We wandered inside and it was like a weird dream. There was no one around. Huge echoing corridors met us as we peered in vain for a front desk or possibly signs. We searched with increasing frustration for anyone to talk to and somehow found ourselves in some tiny back offices.

A woman sat at her desk and looked bewildered to see three lost Americans approaching her. She greeted us and as a family we all simultaneously realized the massive flaw in our current course.

You see, dear reader, we did not speak French. My dad and I both spoke German. I inquired politely if she also spoke German and she shook her head looking increasingly cornered. We asked if she spoke English.

“Leetle…?” she replied.

“My daughter has a bladder infection! Blad-der?” My mother declared this at a high volume as if volume alone could bridge the communication gap, while simultaneously miming over my stomach, circling where she presumed my pelvis was under the gigantic black sweatshirt.

The woman’s expression turned extremely skeptical and she slowly repeated “Bladder…” She scrutinized me for a moment then said, “You go…. This?” And pointed to something purple on her desk.

“The purple signs?” my dad asked.

She nodded and we set off. I was stewing with resentment at my mom for having ignored my first complaint when we were in a country that spoke English. And also generalized hostility about being on the trip and the object of miming. Now here we were in a French hospital, lost and unable to communicate. I also was under no illusions that someone who didn’t know the word for purple would have any clue what bladder meant.

And slowly I realized what had actually happened as I peered at the purple signs. My mother circling my stomach with her hands, gesturing to my middle. The woman’s skeptical face.

“Hey mom,” I chirped, syrupy and smug. “I don’t speak French. But I do know that it’s a Latin based language. And wouldn’t you know, but that purple sign looks an awful lot like it says ‘maternity’ to me.”

“Shut up!” she snapped.

A few minutes later we stood surrounded by the moans of pregnant people and the cries of fresh new lungs wailing at their first taste of cold air.

I smiled sweetly at my disgruntled mother.

Luck was with us however. A nearby father noticed us and came over to ask if we needed help. With perfect English he gave us clear directions.

As we finally approached the right area for walk in services it was clear how we’d missed it the first time. A large swathe of the front of the building was covered in tarps. A huge wall sized window was broken, and construction was taking place, but at least it had a bustle of people and a clear line. We sat down in the queue of chairs.

While we sat some police officers came in. They walked up to a man ahead of us in line and with few words exchanged they handcuffed and led him politely away.

I was genuinely so out of reality. Every new thing that happened was like a bizarre dream from the empty hallways to the maternity ward and now this tarp strewn waiting room in which people could just be calmly arrested.

It was a shock to me then when we reached the front and the nurse spoke with perfectly unaccented English to assess me. Not only did she know bladder but a whole slew of other medical words I couldn’t guess at. I peed on a stick and we waited.

When we got the results she told me it was good because they could give me antibiotics today for my now confirmed infection, but bad because I’d need the doctor to sign off. I nodded and my mom and I were escorted to yet another small room to wait.

When the doctor arrived I felt suddenly gangly and awkward. I’m not tall but I towered over this tiny French woman who radiated calm composure. She seemed to be around my grandmothers age. She looked up at my blushing face and said, “Bladder infection?” Her English had a much stronger accent than the nurse but with the same medical competence.

I nodded.

She nodded too and we sat in a still contemplative moment on my UTI.

“Do you have… boyfriend?”

My face was on fire, every cell of me wanting to flee from this tiny perfect old woman. I nodded.

She nodded too. We sat still in the knowledge that I had a boyfriend and a UTI.

“Do you and your boyfriend do… it?” Her delicate accent stretched it into “eet.”

I don’t know if she didn’t know the word for sex or if she thought saying “it” was kinder but I wanted to melt into the floor and cease to exist to escape my increasing mortification and her meaningful pause. I nodded.

“Okay,” she said kindly. “When you and your boyfriend do… it… you must make pee pee.”

I writhed slightly under the psychic damage of this elegant medical professional saying “pee pee” and I nodded more emphatically hoping she’d desist this torture.

She continued. “If you and your boyfriend do… it… five times? You make five pee pees. If you do it ten times, you make ten pee pees.”

My face had never been hotter, all the blood in my body had volcanoed to my head, pounding in my ears and valiantly attempting to give me an aneurism to end my suffering. There is no mortification as acute to a teenager as an adult talking about sex and here was this medical professional telling me about… it.

Meanwhile, my mother. Who should have been regretting her poor parenting and reflecting on her neglect in failing impart this vital part piece of sex ed to her kid. Alas, she was laughing herself sick the corner. She added to my embarrassment by quietly repeating “pee pee” and “it” under her breath as she wheezed and chortled.

The doctor patted my hand kindly and handed me the antibiotics. I got to spend the rest of my trip in Europe avoiding direct sunlight and listening to my mother parrot “Do you do… eet?”