#will be fun to make one but that's for summer other day

[mixolya]

hello ! can i request a fake dating trope with rin? i'm loving fake dating tropes these days and thinking about it with rin is just 🤭 THANK U

ᓚᘏᗢ — rin itoshi: just for the weekend !

synopsis: in which your best friend pretends to be your boyfriend to save you from your family’s matchmaking schemes.

rin itoshi x reader ⭑ fluff / childhood best friends to lovers / mutual pining / fake dating / only one bed + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

notes: my first request omg !! (i actually have two of them from nensi in my inbox but i wanted to post this one first LMAOO sorry nensi)

wc: 2202

you and rin had always been inseparable - childhood best friends, always together, always at each other's side. your parents were best friends too and every family gathering was filled with warmth, laughter and the unmistakable feeling of family.

it had always been that way. summers spent running through sprinklers in the backyard. winters with mugs too big for your hands and blanket forts collapsing around your laughter. he was just rin, your constant, the one who didn't need explaining. he didn't ask why you cried when no one else noticed, and you never asked why he stayed quiet when the room felt too loud. you just understood each other.

so it was no surprise to anyone that you showed up to the family dinner together. it was tradition: rin arriving with his hands in his pockets, you trailing after him with a plate you promised your mom you'd return later. it was safe and familiar.

until it wasn't.

"y/n", your mother said, out of nowhere, her voice light and casual like she was just asking if you'd eaten yet. "when are you going to get a boyfriend?"

you almost dropped your plate.

there was a sudden hush at the table. your parents, rin’s parents, even rin himself turning to glance your way. you blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right.

"what?"

"you heard me," she teased, taking a sip of her drink. "you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart."

"she’s eighteen," rin muttered under his breath.

but the damage was done. your aunt joined in next, then your dad, and soon it became a full interrogation.

"you’re always with rin," your dad mused, sipping his beer.

"maybe too much," his mom added with a smile.

"are you hiding something from us, y/n?" your mom teased. "someone special, maybe?"

you felt the panic rise in your throat. you looked at rin, silently begging him to say something, to pull the spotlight off you, to change the subject - anything. but he just stared back, eyes wide, looking just as caught as you felt.

and then your sibling said it. "wait… are you two dating?"

you didn’t have time to respond. because rin nodded. just a small, quiet nod. like it was nothing. like it was true.

your breath caught. "what.." you started, but your voice was too thin, too late.

"i knew it," your mom gasped, delighted.

you were spiraling. your face was burning. rin, meanwhile, had the nerve to just sit there, composed, cool, like this hadn’t just shattered the careful order of your entire life.

you turned to him, eyes wide. he shrugged, like what else was i supposed to do?

you mouthed his name like a curse, barely managing to keep your expression neutral in front of the crowd still celebrating your non-existent love story. under the table, you kicked his leg, not hard, but enough to make your point. he didn’t even flinch. typical.

and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse.

"oh! this is perfect timing," rin's mother chirped, clapping her hands like she just witnessed the engagement of the century. "the hotel rooms for sae’s wedding were finalized this morning. i’ll let them know you two will be sharing one."

"i- what?" you sputtered.

"well, you’re dating," she said, as if you were the crazy one for questioning it. "it’s more convenient, and besides, it saves space. everyone’s going to be there. it’ll be fun!"

"yeah, fun," you echoed, dead inside.

rin, of course, said nothing. he just sat there, sipping from his water like this was an afternoon stroll in the park and not the start of a complete emotional collapse.

when the gathering finally ended and you were walking out to his car, you grabbed his arm before he could slide into the driver’s seat.

"what the hell was that?"

he looked down at you, lazy-eyed, unbothered. "damage control," he said simply.

"you nodded. you could’ve said something. anything else."

"you looked at me like you wanted me to save you," he replied. "so i did."

"by turning us into a couple?"

"by turning us into a believable lie."

you gawked. "what part of that was believable?"

he unlocked the car, slid inside, and leaned his elbow on the steering wheel. "the part where you didn’t deny it."

you paused, mouth half open, because- well. okay. maybe you had frozen. and okay, maybe you hadn’t helped the situation either.

but that was beside the point.

"we're cooked! we’re not even good at lying," you said suddenly.

"i’m decent."

"oh, sure," you scoffed, whirling around in your seat. "you lie with your face. you’re built for emotional manipulation."

"thanks?" he blinked, turning onto the main road.

"that wasn’t a compliment."

another hum.

a long silence stretched between you, filled only by the low hum of tires on pavement and the slow thudding of your heart trying to process the madness you’d just agreed to.

"you’re taking this really well," you said, side-eyeing him.

"you’re taking this really dramatically."

"this is not dramatic. this is objectively terrifying. do you know how serious wedding atmospheres are? the dresses. the speeches. the mothers crying."

"you crying."

"i’m not going to cry." you narrowed your eyes. he raised an eyebrow.

you paused. "...probably."

he didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched again, and that only made you sink deeper into your seat, arms crossed like a petulant child.

you had no idea how you were going to pull this off. pretending to love rin itoshi like he was your boyfriend, when you’d spent your whole life pretending you didn’t.

⭑

the hotel was stupidly pretty. all ivory pillars and glowing chandeliers, the kind of place you’d imagine someone proposing under, the kind of place that smelled like roses and money and high expectations.

you hated it already.

your suitcase thudded onto the polished floor as you stood in the lobby beside rin, both of you silent as your parents chatted at the front desk, confirming the rooms. your name was on the list. his name was on the list. and next to both?

room 143. one room.

you shot rin a look. he didn’t even flinch. didn’t even blink. just stood there like the most normal thing in the world was fake-dating his best friend and sharing a hotel room for the weekend.

you, on the other hand, were pretty sure you were going to faint.

"we’ll head up first," your mom said sweetly, handing you the room key like this was a romantic getaway. "your father and i want to check on the reception hall."

rin nodded. "we’ll get settled."

we.

you glared at him. but you followed anyway.

the elevator ride was quiet. too quiet. you stood in opposite corners like awkward middle schoolers at a dance, pretending not to look at each other, pretending not to feel the weight of the moment, or the fact that it was getting harder to breathe with every passing floor.

ding.

the room was big and luxurious and way too suitable for a couple. one massive bed sat in the center, white comforter perfectly fluffed like it had never seen sin. the window opened onto a garden below, fairy lights already flickering in anticipation of the wedding.

and still ...only one bed.

you stood in the doorway, suitcase still in hand. "we could ask for another room."

"too suspicious," rin replied, already kicking off his shoes. "they’d start asking questions."

"they already asked questions," you hissed.

he sat on the edge of the bed, palms pressed into the mattress. "then we’re answering them."

you stared at him. and he just stared back, eyes half-lidded, calm as ever.

and for a second, just a second, you wondered what it would be like if this were real. if the hand he propped behind him was there to tug you closer. if the bed really belonged to you and him, not just two people stuck in a lie spun out of awkward nods and mothers with dreams of romance.

you blinked the thought away like it was smoke. this was rin. the same rin who used to put leaves in your hair and blame the wind. the same rin who’d walked you home from school even when you lived in opposite directions. the same rin who never told you what he was thinking, but somehow always knew what you were feeling.

best friends!

not someone you were supposed to share a bed with. not lovers.

"i’ll take the couch," you said, reaching for the armchair in the corner even though it wasn’t even long enough to fit your legs.

"there is no couch," he pointed out.

"then the floor."

"you’ll freeze."

"then i’ll die dramatically, and you can tell our parents you tried your best."

he sighed, leaned back on the bed with all the ease of someone who wasn’t currently spiraling. "we’re not ten," he said, voice low. "you can handle one bed."

you stared at him like he’d just suggested sharing a toothbrush. "it’s not about handling it."

he raised a brow. "then what is it?"

you opened your mouth. then shut it. because what was it? that your heart was acting weird? that his voice had dipped into something softer than usual? that the idea of falling asleep next to him made your brain short-circuit and your hands a little clumsy?

"it’s just weird," you mumbled finally, eyes flicking toward the window.

he was quiet for a beat. then, "only if you make it weird."

you turned to glare at him, expecting some kind of smugness, but his expression was serious. and maybe a little tired, the way he always looked when the day had gone too long and he didn’t have the energy to pretend he didn’t care.

"fine," you muttered, dragging your suitcase to the other side of the bed. "but no cuddling. no touching. and no talking in your sleep."

"you talk in your sleep," he said.

"do not."

"you said ‘don’t take the duck!! noooooo!! it’s mine’ once."

you froze. "you remembered that?"

he shrugged. "it was a weird night."

you blinked at him. and then, without meaning to, you laughed. just a little. the sound slipped out of you like light through a crack, and for a second something eased.

he looked at you then. properly. like he hadn’t been avoiding it all night. and your heart, the traitor it was, skipped.

rin looked away first. pulled the covers back, climbed in, and turned to face the window. "turn off the lights when you’re done panicking," he said.

"i’m not panicking."

"okay."

"i’m not."

he didn’t answer.

you turned off the light. slid into bed. the silence between you was thick with everything you weren’t saying. the room was too warm. the space between you too small.

and still, you didn’t move away. and neither did he.

⭑

the wedding was unbearable.

not because sae looked good in full black (he did), or because the ceremony was stupidly picturesque with doves and flower arches and a string quartet playing something that sounded like heartbreak in disguise.

it was unbearable because you were standing next to rin. and pretending was getting harder.

"stop looking at me like that," you whispered, clutching your glass of sparkling cider, eyes fixed somewhere between the bride’s veil and the horizon.

"like what?" he said, not looking away.

"like you’re in love with me or something."

"i’m acting."

"you’re too good at it."

he hummed, sipping his drink. "maybe i’ve had practice."

you turned to him then, startled, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. his gaze was somewhere else, lost in the lights or maybe in thought. he always did that. dropped things like they didn’t matter, like they didn’t echo.

you opened your mouth to say something, but were interrupted by the sudden flash of a camera.

"awww!" came the voice of someone’s cousin, you couldn’t remember whose.

"you two are adorable," she cooed, leaning in. "can i get another? rin, put your arm around her waist!"

you blinked. "you don’t have to-"

but his arm was already around your waist. casual. practiced. like muscle memory. like he’d done it a hundred times before.

you didn’t breathe as she counted down.

"three, two, one-"

click.

you were doomed. the photo would be cute. you knew it. you could feel it in your bones.

"thanks!" she said, already skipping off.

rin didn’t move. neither did you. and his arm stayed where it was, heavy and warm and dangerous.

you turned to him slowly, voice low. "you can let go now."

"can i?" he asked, and when your eyes met his, something in your stomach flipped.

"rin."

"what?" he murmured, and the way he was looking at you, soft, and a little wrecked, it made your pulse stutter. "we’re supposed to be pretending, right?"

you nodded. but your hands were shaking.

"then why do you look like you want this to be real?"

your breath caught.

"i-"

"because," he said, stepping closer, voice almost a whisper, "you’re not that good of an actor either."

and the worst part? he was right. you never had been. not with him.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[emphasisonthehomo]

WIP Wednesday!

I was tagged by @setmeatopthepyre and @trombonechurchill.

No pressure tagging @nobigsecrets!

This is uh. This is an accident. I don't have anymore? Not yet? I shouldn't be coming up with anymore ideas, someone needs to thwack me with a broom.

Anyways! What if Tommy did more than just fly helicopters in the army?

•

Tommy carries concealed.  

And yeah, it’s Los Angeles, but it’s not that weird. At least not in Buck’s opinion. Uncommon sure, but not weird. Tommy grew up in a rural area where guns were all over the place, where hunting culture was ingrained in every day life. He was in the army. It makes sense that he’d carry sometimes.

It really is only sometimes. Tommy’s got a mini safe in the truck, and whenever they go places with large NO FIREARMS ALLOWED signs on the front, Tommy dutifully locks it up. Buck has never seen Tommy bring the gun when they go to watch Jee, or hangout with Christopher. When Tommy’s on shift it stays locked up in the truck, and when he’s at home it stays either in the gun safe there, or on the counter.

It’s very much a non-entity. Buck knows about it, is used to it. He knows that Tommy wears an over shirt so that the bulk of his holster isn’t obvious, and that’s why he’s still layered up even when it’s pushing 100 degrees in the summer. Buck’s even shot it a few times, because Tommy’s goes to the gun range with Sal once or twice a month. It’s always fun, not really for him, but they get dinner afterwards at a Thai place that has drunken noodles to die for.

All in all, Buck doesn’t think about it very much.

Until he does.

•

It’s been six months since they figured their shit out. Since they made the decision to try again, to be purposeful about it. Tommy’s driving, one hand on the wheel and the other on Evan’s thigh. Buck’s busy wiggling further down in his seat to get Tommy’s hand higher, while Tommy laughs at him.

Tommy turns into the cul-de-sac, and his laughter stops on an inhale.

“Tom?” Buck asks curiously, sitting up all the way, “What–”

He follows Tommy’s line of sight, and he can see ‘what’ clear as day. There’s a woman on Tommy’s front porch, standing ramrod straight next to the planter by the front door, hands folded in front of her. She looks a little older than Tommy, with her graying hair pulled back into a tight French braid.

“Who’s that?” Buck asks curiously.

“We were enlisted together,” Tommy says.

“Oh,” Buck says dumbly. It’s weird to think about it, that there are people who knew Tommy before he transitioned. Obviously they must exist, but Buck has never met any of them. He cocks his head to the side and peers at her.  

“Baby,” Tommy says quietly, his face going stony and serious in a way that Buck’s only ever seen when he’s stolen a helicopter, “Would you mind staying in the truck for a bit?”

“Sure?” Buck says with a frown, looking from Tommy to the woman on the porch and back to Tommy again. He’s curious, but he also trusts that Tommy will explain everything eventually. Surely there’s no harm in waiting?

Tommy parks in the driveway instead of pulling into the garage. He turns the truck off, and gives Buck’s thigh a firm squeeze before pulling his hand away. And then Tommy does something Buck has never fucking seen him do before. Casually, with the same motion he uses to put his keys in his pocket, Tommy reaches down to his holster and snaps open the button keeping the gun in place.

“Nope!” Buck changes his mind immediately and loudly, “I’m not staying in the fucking truck Tommy. What’s going on?”

“Yeah, figured you wouldn’t,” Tommy sighs.

Tommy’s gaze is still trained on the woman on the porch. She’s watching them, a bland smile on her face. She lifts a hand up and waves, looking mildly bored. Reflexively, Buck returns the gesture. Tommy does not.  

“Evan,” Tommy says, finally pulled his eyes away from the woman and looking at Buck, “Just do me a favor then, okay? Let me do the talking.”

“Okay,” Buck says, uneasy.

The woman doesn’t move as they get out of the truck, but her bland smile gets thinner.

“Rutger,” Tommy greets with a flat voice, “Is it still Commander?”

“No,” She says, but doesn’t elaborate, “You look… different. It suits you.”

“Why are you here?” Tommy asks bluntly, ignoring her comment.

They come to a stop a few feet away from the steps onto the porch. Buck resists the urge to reach out and grab Tommy’s hand. It’s hovering up by his hip, by his holster, deceptively casual. Buck knows that both him and this Rutger lady are very aware of it.

“Can’t I just want to say ‘hello’ to an old friend?” She asks primly.

“I wouldn’t say we were ever friends, ma’am,” Tommy snaps.

“Fair enough,” She sniffs, and glances around, “Can we take this inside?”

“No.” Tommy says firmly.

“I’m not sure if this is something Mr. Buckley should hear,” Rutger says, just as firm.

The way she says his name makes a shiver slide down Buck’s spine. On instinct, he reaches out and touches the small of Tommy’s back.

“Have we met?” Buck asks, forgetting Tommy’s request from earlier.

“No,” She says dismissively, before turning her attention back to Tommy, “I guess it won’t matter for long. They’ve been asking about you.”

“Too damn bad,” Tommy says.

“I’m here as a courtesy, Kinard,” Rutger says. She takes a deep breath, “Able Baker.”

Her voice cracks on the last syllable, and she purses her lips tightly. For the first time, she looks something besides bland, besides bored.

She looks scared.

Tommy visibly tenses. Buck’s hand clutches at Tommy’s shirt without any input from his brain.

“…Shit,” Tommy says, and now he’s the one glancing around the neighborhood, “Fucking shit god dammit Marge. Are you serious?”

Buck doesn’t think he’s ever heard Tommy swear like that.

“Yes,” She nods once, sharply, “Can we go inside now?”

[earlywiinter]

Workday Drabbles #1

I’ve been consumed by the Bucktommy brainrot since their very first kiss, so it seems fitting that I start to shake off some of the writing rust with a drabble about them. Shoutout to The Chat for the prompt: finding a picture of themselves in the other’s wallet

Buck sits in the passenger seat of a sleek black helicopter, looking out at the expanse of clear blue sky and high afternoon sun in front of them. Tommy's in the pilot’s seat next to him, deftly guiding them out of the city. They’re doing a loop over Angeles National Forest towards Mt San Antonio and back. It's their last day off together before a stretch of 48s and overnights keep them apart for the better part of a week. Tommy had suggested a date and offered flying lessons, and Buck had jumped at the opportunity to see his boyfriend in his element. 

They turn northeast and settle out at altitude, and Tommy flicks a few switches on the instrument panel. Buck observes his actions, referencing his notes from the last time they flew, and calls out the purpose of each control Tommy touches.  

The muted thwump thwump thwump of the chopper blades repeats in the background, and Tommy’s voice comes through his headphones, staticky but comforting in its familiarity. He says something about a mast moment indicator, which Buck doesn’t understand but tucks firmly away into the folder labeled “ask again later”. He can easily picture a long drawn-out dinner conversation where Tommy explains to him the inner workings of the helicopter. One where Tommy’s hands grow animated in his passion and where Buck drinks in every word. They continue on in relative quiet, Tommy speaking to quiz him or give instruction, and Buck can sink into that feeling of contentment he feels radiating off of Tommy as the mountain grows nearer. 

It’s not until he shifts, leaning over Tommy to get a better view of the ground below, that he notices the photo tucked into a corner of the dashboard. The photo is on Tommy’s right, in the perfect spot to not block his view of any of the controls or readouts, but unfortunately obstructed from Buck’s view in the passenger seat by the curve of the instrument panel. It’s an image of him, a candid moment from one of their hikes in Topanga State Park. The trail and brush stretch out behind him, and Buck’s frontlit by the setting sun, skin glowing a warm gold. Tommy caught him mid-laugh, and Buck has on what Maddie has dubbed his “Tommy smile”. He can remember them going through the photos from that date later the next day, Tommy easily proclaiming it his favorite among the many selfies and candid shots of the evening. 

Buck has a favorite photo of his own from that date, one that’s made its way to be his phone’s permanent home screen. It’s Tommy, stopped at the crest of a hill with the ocean visible in the distance behind him. He’s sweaty from the heat of a California summer, eyes closed and face turned towards the sun, basking in the salty ocean breeze. Buck had taken the photo as he’d trailed after his partner, phone held sneakily out in front of him so his boyfriend didn’t notice and immediately grow shy at having a camera pointed at him. He’d snapped the photo and then promptly tripped over a rock, drawing Tommy’s attention and ruining any chance at another candid shot.

He’s drawn out of the memory by a soft “ah!”, Tommy having caught him looking at the photo. His boyfriend gives him a smile that is somehow both shy and sure, able to be simultaneously confident in his affection for Buck and nervous of the reception. “Gotta have my good luck charm with me,” he states, words said so casually that they’re easily presented as fact. Buck grins, smile so wide it hurts his face, and he’s sure that if Chim were present he’d be making fun of Buck for the obvious heart-eyes he must have. He doesn’t mind, though, because Tommy’s answering grin is just as fond. 

Tommy’s the one to draw his eyes away first, after seconds or minutes, Buck can’t tell. His focus shifts to the airspace ahead of them, ever the attentive pilot, and he clears his throat, getting back to the lesson at hand. Buck chuckles and turns to a fresh page in his notebook, more than willing to sit back, drool over his boyfriend’s competence, and enjoy the views. 

[last-starry-sky]

this hungry thing inside me - pt. 1

price x reader - gaz x reader

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 4.7k, established relationship (price and reader are married), domestication/traditional gender roles, price is a good man but occasionally a terrible husband, relationship problems, arguments, mentions of manipulation, alcohol and smoking mentions, infidelity, dry-humping, kissing, biting, dirty talk, begging, fingering, oral, edging, reader is assuming the worst of her husband through-out most of this part with minimal self-reflection so have fun with that!]

Title is from THIS poem - also, happy 600 followers to me! 🥳

It’s a tragedy in three acts.

You love your husband and you know he loves you. That was given, unquestionable, the foundation you built upon. You wouldn’t have married him if that wasn’t true. That was the form of the first tragedy. Somewhere along the way, in the long years growing more and more familiar with each other, of planning your futures, of just living life, you grew complacent. Bored.

The walls of the nice little house his promotion had bought for the two of you was meant to be your freedom. That’s how he had framed it.

“Know you didn’t have to work anymore if you don’t want, love. Can do whatever you please now,” your husband had said soothingly that first night as he held you in his arms once the passion between you had cooled to a simmer. “Take care of me ‘n the house,” he paused before continuing, “kids, too,” he said with a small laugh, “when we finally get around to makin’ ‘em.” There was a long pause between you. You watched as the gauzy curtains blew lazily in and out. You house breathing in the cool summer night air. “Won’t have to worry over you when I’m away. I’ll know you’ll be here, safe,” he mumbled, a bristly smooch tickled your ear, making you smile. “I’ll be home more now, too.”

“Promise?” you whispered into the dim, blue light of your bedroom. The fumes of new paint wafted up from downstairs. The smell of new beginnings, of hope. He squeezed your hand.

He promised.

You took his offer but, just like any offer that seemed too good to be true, there were catches. You had kept up your end. You quit your job, taking up typical housewife activities: cooking homemade meals, scrubbing baseboards, going for early morning walks followed by falling asleep on the couch to some trash afternoon TV drama. All the usual things. It was John that couldn’t keep his end. While you tore through novels trying to keep from texting him for the fifth time when he would be home, he was just gone.

His new position kept him busy with confidential work most of the time, which also kept him on base. Strangely, you could have dealt with that. You could have grown used to feeling him slip in bed late at night and leave before breakfast the next morning. His job was important to him. He was respected. Most importantly, it afforded you a life most would cut their arm off to have. So, you tried to be patient. Grateful, you told yourself. You should be grateful for the snippets of time you were able to share. Even though he was dog-tired most of the time, spending long hours relaxing on the couch or sprawled across your bed.

You let yourself become a new thing entirely: soft and plain and domesticated. John, though, John remained the same. He still returned home with rough hands and skin tanned from days under an aggressive, blinding sun. Black grease and gun powder wore into the cracks around his eyes, and, most worrying to you, scars collected across his body. He told you when you met that men in his line of work had to be half-crazy to make it; adrenaline junkies, nomads, and it hurt you that he still lived like that. He was your husband, but he was a warrior too. A man without a home; without a reason to live.

You stopped doing things together almost entirely. You cooked dinners for one and ate them alone. You went to the shops alone. You worked out and wandered the city alone. As John put so eloquently in one of your arguments: “You’ve all the time in the world to do that shite when I’m not here. Why are you nagging me on my days off?”

An image came to mind when he said that. The image of the ball-and-chain, of the frazzled, ungrateful housewife, seared into your mind with his words. It rattled you so much that the argument stopped right there, dropping it as you walked away into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room. You didn’t want to be that to him. Couldn’t stand even thinking of it. If that’s how he felt, you told yourself, then . . . then you would stop nagging him. It was a bitter pill, but you swallowed it because you loved him. You cared about what he thought of you. The last thing you wanted was to drive him away now with your petty little problems. You loved your husband, you told yourself as you lay awake in the dark, so you pulled away. You threw away your “honey do” list. You deleted websites saved with holiday plans. You did your part. You stopped bothering him.

John relegated himself to the guest bedroom that night while you waited upstairs, wiping away the bitter, intermittent, tears that streaked down your face. You waited for the sound of his footsteps as they creaked up the stairs, for the door hinge to whine, announcing his entry. If he was good at anything these days, he was good at apologizing.Not with words, naturally, but physically. What John lacked in social skills he made up for with stamina and determination. It was hard to continue a fight with his face between your legs and you couldn’t stay angry for long at a man who could chain together orgasms like he was pulling taffy. Fucked out and sated, you would wake the next morning all the more forgiving and happy.

There was a creak downstairs. Footsteps. The TV turning off. Your heart began to race the second you heard it. You lay still in bed, facing the window as you continued to listen. More footsteps, but they were toward the front of the house. The opposite of where he should be heading. Shuffling. Soft thumping. The shuffling of a coat. The jingle of keys. You held your breath in the quiet dark, unwilling to face the truth of what your senses clearly told you was happening.

The door opened then closed softly. The deadbolt slid into place. Then, silence. Dreaded, nerve-fraying, silence. A few minutes later, long after you knew he had left, your phone vibrated at your side. A message from John. The first one you’d received unprompted in a long time.

“Lads invited me out for a drink. Be back later.”

-

Action and reaction. That’s the form of the second tragedy.

What’s the saying? “Don’t get mad, get even.” Whatever it was, you thought as you artfully lined your eyes, that was your new mantra. You stared into the vanity mirror and saw a new woman staring back at you. Not the old you, not the happy, professional woman always smiling next to her buff, military husband. No, you were a different animal entirely now. Newborn from the cocoon of the drab, boring housewife he’d transformed you into. You were reformed from months of dishpan hands and laying about on the couch. You would no longer allow yourself to crumble away, mentally and physically. You blotted your lipstick and gave yourself one last look in the mirror before you stood up.

If John couldn’t see how hot his own wife was, then you weren’t going to waste your time chasing after his attention anymore.

You wouldn’t lie. You felt guilty as hell the first few times you went out alone. Guilty that you’d left the little bubble of safety he’d constructed for you. The one he’d abandoned you in and visited rarely. Guilty that you left your wedding band and engagement rings in your jewelry box. Guilty that you were having fun on your own, letting the alcohol melt away the awkwardness of standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers in a strange bar. The music was good though, and so was the beer. You remember snippets of conversations, carrying on with the bartender, whomever was seated next to you, the girls fixing their makeup in the bathroom. You felt young again. Carefree and untethered. You remember leaving, walking home along the dark streets. The thick, syrupy, ball of happiness you’d built all night suddenly plunged into cold water, forming a hard, cracked surface as you steeled yourself at the front door.

John could be in there, you thought. He could be angry. Worried. Disappointed.

You pushed the door open. The empty hook where his coat usually hung and the space where his shoes sat in the hall the first two places your eyes nervously landed on. Empty, you saw. Still gone. Still alone. You checked your phone for the hundredth time that night just to be sure you hadn’t missed a call or text. Nothing. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. You had gotten away with it.

Was that a stupid way to look at it? Absolutely. The more you thought about it, the more ridiculous you felt. You were a grown woman. You could go out without your goddamn absentee husband’s permission. So, you did. You tried to make yourself irregular, harder to track. Random times, days of the week, always a different bar in a different part of the city. Sometimes you even hopped on the train to see what the adjoining towns had to offer. You always came back at the end of the night though, giddy with alcohol and buzzing with excitement, but home. A drip of guilt rolled down your spine. Yours and John’s home.

Still, before you left you would stand in the hall, hand still on the doorknob, keys in your other hand. This was the first hurdle, something within you told you. A part of you that knew better, probably, expected more. A part of you that looked and acted a hell of a lot like your husband. It asked you: If you had known where this road would lead you, this journey of revenge and self-discovery, would you have still done it?

You finally answered that question when you let your first hookup take you back to his place. In between sloppy kisses laced with the alcohol you’d let him buy you and the nicotine he’d shotgunned down your throat in the alley outside, you’d managed to string two brain cells together to tell him enough. He’d agreed quickly. Being under the same influences as you plus the aching erection he pressed against your jeaned thigh, it was a no-brainer.

You followed him back to his apartment, a nice little flat only a few blocks away, wrapped around him the whole way. It wasn’t until then that you realized how much touch you craved. John had been distant since his promotion. Sex had become less spontaneous, less fun. His lingering touches disappeared and the almost daily lovemaking had slowed from a stream, to a drizzle, to drops, before shutting off entirely. Now that you had another man, and a stranger at that, returning your nuzzles against his chest with loving strokes of strong, rough fingers through your hair, you could have sang. Could have cried.

He asked you what you wanted once he got you inside. Deliriously fuzzy and half-drunk, you were confident. You asked him to undress you and he followed your instruction without question. You closed your eyes and drank in the feel of his calloused palms against your skin: the way he reverently kissed your neck when he tossed your blouse to the floor, how he squeezed your ass in both hands after peeling your pants down your thighs.

“Bet your pussy tastes as good as you look, luv,” he breathed in your ear as he ground his trapped cock against the soaked silk of your panties. You whined, pulling him out of your neck by his short curly hair to stick your tongue down his throat. You couldn’t remember the last time John had talked to you like that and fuck me if you couldn’t get used to it.

“’s that what you want?” you slurred, hands roaming boldly up under his shirt. He had a gorgeous body from what you could feel; all planes of hard muscle from his groin up to some nicely defined pectorals. His biceps bulged under the grip of your wandering hands, making you flush as he groaned. His fingers wound in the fabric hugging your hips, threatening to use just an ounce of that strength to rip them away, to be done with it already.

“I want . . .” he said, lingering to a pause as he pulled away. His brown eyes half closed as he ran his hands appreciatively up your curves. Even in the weak city light, mostly blocked out by haphazardly-drawn blinds, you could see the warm brown of his skin. His hands stopped under your bra. Whatever thought preoccupied his mind until then had run through, prompting him to lean back in and place a kiss on your clavicle.

“Want whatever you want,” he said as he pulled away, trailing a line of kisses back up your neck. You were putty in his hands, uselessly moaning, pinned between him and the wall as you let him touch you as he pleased. “I’s just . . .” he trailed off again, hand swiping up your clothed pussy, making you squeak. “You’re actin’ like you haven’t been touched in years, luv,” he breathed against your ear with a biting kiss. God did you wish he wasn’t so bloody close to the truth.

You thought you saw sparks behind your eyes as he hitched your leg up around his hip. He effortlessly supported you, letting you wind your arms around his neck.

“Can’t have that,” he said soft yet authoritative, pressing a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. The tickle of his mustache faintly reminded you of John. You whined, rocking forward, searching blindly for pressure; for any relief for the need throbbing hot and wet between your thighs. He kissed your cheek, then your nose.

“Now now,” he soothed gently, a hand cupping your flushed cheek. “Stay with me. Tell me what you want,” capping his sentence with a kiss that sucked your top lip between his teeth. You groaned at the difference between the sharp pain of his teeth as they nipped again and again at your lip and his bubblegum-soft words filling your head. The way he held you so sure and strong but wouldn’t take anything from you. Not until he was told.

You didn’t think they made guys like him anymore. Your half-drunk brain swirled as he paused, the two of you breathing the same air. How the hell had you gotten so lucky?

“Kyle,” you breathed, light and airy. Your arms flexed around his neck, pulling him closer. “I’m so close,” you whined pitifully, eyebrows pressing together. “However you want to do it, just please,” you trailed off with another whine. His hands pressed divots into the soft flesh of your hips, a small betrayal of his slipping control. You sucked in a shuddering breath, willing yourself to continue; to get it all out. “Then . . . then I want you to fuck me,” you rambled out, tears welling up every time you blinked. He looked down on you with dark satisfaction, a pleased hum vibrating between his lips. “I need it. Fuck, do I need it, Kyle. Whatever you want. I can take it,” you begged against his lips, voice cracking. “Promise.”

-

You walked home wrapped in a daze, only noticing Kyle had left you a few blocks later. It took another block or so to piece everything together: he’d kissed the top of your head, squeezed your shoulders in a hug, asked you something you barely remembered, then pushed you forward across the crosswalk alone. You looked around, strands of sweaty hair itching at your skin. From the landmarks and style of houses you guessed you were near your own neighborhood. The functioning part of your brain kept your body walking on autopilot, forcing yourself forward. The rest of your mind was still occupied, reliving the wonderful night you’d just passed with him. With Kyle.

He’d given you exactly what you’d wanted, no further begging required. Pinned between the wall and his warm body, his strong fingers had efficiently worked an embarrassingly quick orgasm out of you. Boneless and panting against the cool wall, he’d chuckled into your neck; leaving little love bites as he waited for you to come down from your high.

“’s all you got, luv?” he’d goaded, gently stroking your already sweat-slicked thighs, “Tappin’ out already or are’y ready f’ more?”

Your hands around his neck weakly grabbed at his head, nails barely catching the close shaved curls at his nape. It was only now that you realized he must have been acting, just letting you think you’d pulled his head out of your neck in order to speak face-to-face.

“More,” you’d groaned, no bite left to your voice, as both of his hands palmed your ass to lift you away from the wall, “Need it.”

The street names became more and more familiar as the sun broke through the clouds, scattering the early morning fog. Around and around you traveled until you came to the familiar turn that marked your road. Your quaint, quiet little street lay in front of you. Thankfully, it was far too early on the weekend for anyone to be up and about. Every house you passed still had their curtains drawn, windows dark. As you drew closer to your home you instinctively reached for your house keys, finding them right where they always were, tucked safely in the first pocket of your purse. Your purse, you thought, your keys. He had made sure you had everything before you left.

Your stomach flip-flopped as you paused on your front step, key in hand halfway to the lock. He had been far too wonderful to just be a one-night thing. You blushed as you shoved your key in the lock with a shaking hand. The phantom of a thought crossed your mind that this could be yours and his house. He could be coming home to you. As you opened the door and crossed the threshold, you snuffed out the thought. Breathing in the familiar air of yours and John’s home; scented with his favorite laundry detergent, the mix of his colognes and your perfumes, the faint smell of lavender wicking into the stale air from the oil diffuser, it felt almost sacrilegious to think of another man like that.

It was just a one-time thing, you told yourself. Just a fling and nothing more.

You shook your head at yourself as you stripped off your jacket and shoes, your purse discarded haphazardly on the table. You checked the space where John’s jacket and shoes usually were. Still gone. The house was untouched from how you had left it last night. Strangely, it didn’t bother you that you had slept with another man. You searched your heart for guilt as you robotically went about your usual routine, but it just wasn’t there. You should have stopped right there, questioned yourself, maybe even called your husband to work through what should have been a turning point; a huge breach to the contract of your relationship. You didn’t, though. In that moment, you just couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

John had hurt you. He was growing more and more emotionally distant by the day. He had cut you off from your friends and family when he moved you out here and then severed your last tie to the outside world when he convinced you to stop working. You had been such a fucking fool to fall into his trap. You had nothing and he had everything. Money, power, control, it was all in his hands. Fuck him, you told yourself as you pushed open the door to the downstairs bathroom; the one John used when he slept in the guest bedroom. He did this to himself, you fumed. He deserves it.Deserves to be hurt for once.

Kyle, though, Kyle had cared about you.

You struck the invasive thoughts from your mind as you shut yourself in the tiny, tile-lined bathroom. You needed to take a shower, to wash him from you and be done with this petty journey of revenge. You needed to be cleansed of the outside world to return purified into this one again. Stripping off your clothes, though, you were struck with the sinking reminder that it wouldn’t be the easy task you’d imagined. Your thighs were marred with irritated red blotches and tiny, almost imperceptible, semicircles of dents. Plain evidence of the bites your fling had scattered around your sex.

He’d stopped to do that every so often; pulling away just as he’d worked you to that delicious, spiraling peak right before you tipped over into bliss. The wet heat of his tongue on your clit replaced with sharp nips of teeth that had you begging please let me cum please please, Kyle, please.

The band of his arm was iron-fast around your middle, his hands strong around your thighs. He had you right where he wanted and seemed more than satisfied to keep you there for the time being. He bit at the skin of your mons, right above your clit; right where you really wanted him. Through your squirms and whines, he simply held you down and shushed you quietly – soft and gentle kisses replacing bites as your pleasure receded – until your pleas faded into sighs and his bedroom fell silent once more.

You scrubbed shampoo through your hair, unaware how long you’d been standing under the cool spray. You rinsed and quickly worked conditioner through the ends of your hair before slathering yourself with body wash, intent on finishing your shower before the last of the hot water ran out. You couldn’t afford to stand in the stall any longer: daydreaming about how many times he brought you right up to that blissful high before cruelly pulling away just to work you back up again. You needed to wash him off of you. His heady, slightly sweet, cologne. The smoke and nicotine that decidedly wasn’t your husband’s cigars. Needed every particle that wasn’t your own, normal smell gone before-

There was a sound from somewhere in the house: the shuffling and clicking of something achingly familiar. You shut the water off in a panic. Over the dripping from the shower head you could barely hear it. The front door closing. The little sounds continued: shoes dropping onto the boot tray, keys jangling as they clattered against the counter, a jacket softly shuffling as it was dropped over a chair and not on it’s place on the empty hook in the hall. Everything added up to only one possibility: John was home.

Fuck, you swore over and over as you scrambled out of the shower; at yourself, at him, at the guy who fucked your brains out last night, at god. Someone had to be to blame for the royal mess you were in. You toweled yourself semi-dry in a whirlwind, stopping only to listen with baited breath for where John was, what he was doing. Nothing unusual, from what you could hear beyond the bathroom. You wiped off the mirror, glaring back at the misty reflection that greeted you like you were both Medusa and Perseus. You checked both sides of your neck quickly. No redness. No bites. You breathed a sigh of relief that somehow wasn’t relieving at all. Still, you grabbed John’s ugly plaid robe off the back of the door and rolled the collar up until it dusted your jaw. You couldn’t be too careful.

Chucking your towel in the bin with your clothes, you finally made your exit. With an extravagant plume of steam following you, you opened the door intending to quickly steal upstairs where you could dress and avoid your husband for the rest of the day. He was waiting for you though. Eyes soft and full of love, slouching lazily against the back of the couch to catch you as soon as the door opened.

“There she is,” he purred, gathering you in the inescapable embrace of his arms. You let out a gasp at his suddenness as he kissed the wet crown of your head, a hum of satisfaction on his lips. “There’s my lovey,” he said stroking down your back, as if he was trying to convince you this is how he was, how it always was. “How was the shower? Relaxing?” he asked, loosening his grip. You took your opportunity, possibly the only one he would give you, and slithered out of his grasp.

“Fine!” you called behind you as you thudded up the stairs.

You didn’t stop running until the door to the master bedroom slammed shut behind you. You lay your back against it; panting and heart hammering in your chest as you waited. John didn’t follow you. You heard him walk around downstairs; making something to eat in the kitchen before turning on the TV. He probably thinks you’re still mad at him, you told yourself. Good. You dressed in your usual lounging-about-the-house clothes while inspecting the rest of your body for any errant love-bites or marks you might have missed before slipping back downstairs.

You and John shared a terse, awkward morning. You floated around each other, never lingering too long in each other’s presence. If you entered a room, he left it. Beyond that, he followed his usual routine: laundering his bag of gross gym-clothes, making up the guest bed, paper, lunch, out for a smoke, a football match. It wasn’t until he wandered in the kitchen while you were making dinner for the both of you – by force of habit – that he spoke to you again.

“’m sorry f’ how I’ve been lately,” he said laying his large hands on the stone counter top behind you, the one he wanted, his shoulders squared forward. His apology was a shock, making you pause at the food in the pan you were stirring. You looked back at him, waiting for something else. What else, you didn’t know. You suspect he didn’t know either, because his pale blue eyes plead with you to shore up the difference, finish his own apology because he’s not good with words, love, go on ‘n make this right to yourself.

You turned back to your mushrooms sizzling in the thickening gravy. Silence fell for only a moment before John sighed behind you.

“I know it’s hard, love. Trust me, I know,” he said, the counter creaking as he leaned against it.

You steeled your back; not answering, not turning around. Oh, he knew what it was like to be left alone now? That was rich. He was the one always leaving you. Promising you he would be around more once you got married, once you bought the house, once he got his promotion. Promises, promises, promises. How much longer would it go on? When would you be able to believe him? Once you had your first child? Your third? In five, ten, fifteen years? Or would you be a widow by then?

His hands skimming your hips interrupted your stewing. He groaned as he pressed himself to your back, a gentle kiss ghosting your ear. “Miss you so bad, love. Miss bein’ home with you.”

Miss you. Miss you. Miss you. You thought, body drawn taught and dangerous under his wandering hands. So easy to be missed, John, when you’re never fucking here.

You clicked off the burner, shoving the bubbling skillet of gravy away as you slipped out of your husband’s arms for the second time today. He didn’t fight to keep you there. You knew what he was planning, knew all of his old tricks already. He would butter you up with soft words and half-apologies, pour you a few glasses of wine while watching your favorite movie for once before whisking you upstairs to make it all better in bed between your thighs. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Everything would be back to how he liked it: his nice, pliant wife happily tucked away in his bungalow while he was out saving the world. If even that was true.

You weren’t out of the kitchen before John was sputtering, “But what about-”

“Not hungry anymore,” you muttered, tears spilling down your cheeks as you ran back upstairs, emotions rapidly fraying apart. You couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t let him touch you. Not now.

Not anymore.

-

[dragoneyelashart]

ᯓ★ the summer we lost • chapter 2

summary: it was supposed to be the perfect summer—just before college, you and your online friend "william" had planned out meeting this summer, but everything came to a screeching halt when your parents dropped the bomb that you had to get a job at a family friend’s dance studio. so instead of having fun, you’re stuck teaching kids who can barely stay on their feet, alongside a girl you can’t stand. now, while your friends are living their summer, you’re tangled up in a mess of pirouettes, bratty 7-year-olds, and a summer you’ll never get back. warnings: angst | mature language | sexual content | substance consumption

authors note: chapter twoo!! wc: 1.5k the summer we lost masterlist

after your first class, you walk into the break room, the buzz of the fan doing little to cut through the heat left clinging to your skin. your lunch isn’t anything fancy—just a sandwich you threw together in five minutes this morning—but honestly? it’s the highlight of your day so far. anything’s better than wrangling a room full of seven-year-olds who can’t keep their shoes on.

you flop onto the couch and pull out your phone, scrolling aimlessly. nothing from william. not yet. and the silence makes your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready for. this day was supposed to be yours. a beach day. a “laughing with her in the sun” kind of day. not... this.

the door creaks open and in walks luna, holding a plastic cup of iced coffee like it’s sacred. she drops onto the couch beside you with a smug little smile.

“soooo... how was class?” she asks, sipping casually—like she’s just waiting for the drama.

you throw your head back with a dramatic groan. “honestly? i’m considering faking my death.”

“already? it’s your first day,” luna says, bumping your shoulder. “they can’t be that bad.”

“they’re actual gremlins,” you deadpan. “i spent twenty minutes teaching them how to do a simple pirouette, and they spent the entire time spinning in random directions, knocking each other over, and calling it ‘modern dance.’”

luna snorts, nearly choking on her coffee. “okay, but that’s kind of iconic?”

“it wasn’t when one of them tried to do a cartwheel and landed on his face.”

“okay, yeah, no. that’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” she says, still laughing. “but i bet you looked cute yelling at them.”

“cute?” you scoff, tossing a chip at her. “girl, i looked like i was about to have a nervous breakdown.”

“at least you’re getting fifty bucks an hour to suffer,” she says with a wink.

you sigh, nodding. “that part is nice.”

“sooo,” luna hums. “anything else happen?”

you eye her. “you sound suspiciously nosy.”

“i am suspiciously nosy,” she grins.

you laugh, and for a second, you forget how exhausted you are. it feels... nice. normal. like maybe this summer won’t be a total disaster.

until the door opens again—and you freeze.

billie’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. her gaze flicks to you, then to luna.

“luna, can i talk to you for a sec?” she asks, voice smooth but clipped.

“sure,” luna says, grabbing her iced coffee and standing. “you need anything from the front?”

“no.”

then her eyes cut back to you before she turns and walks out. no explanation. just... gone.

you barely suppress an eye-roll. luna gives you a look, but you don’t explain. what would you even say? sorry i think your boss might actually be the devil?

you sigh, focus shifting back to your sandwich—suddenly heavy in your hands.

your phone buzzes. finally.

5 unread texts

w: oh well mom: what time are you done today? can you pick up eggs? aaliyah: beach party tomorrow at 6 be there.

you swipe to open william's first.

w:oh well

your stomach dips.

short. flat. colder than usual. not mean—just distant. not her.

you wait for something else. a follow-up. a joke. anything soft.

nothing.

you stare at the screen a second longer before locking your phone and tossing it next to your bag. a knot tightens in your chest.

“oh well?”

you’re not sure if you’re mad or just disappointed. maybe both. maybe neither. maybe you’re just tired.

the door creaks open again. you glance up, expecting luna.

it’s billie.

alone.

she steps in like she owns the air around her. leans against the counter. unscrews the cap on a water bottle. her gaze drags across the room until it lands on you—and stays there.

you immediately look down at your sandwich like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. pretend your heart isn’t racing. pretend her voice doesn’t already live in the back of your head.

“so,” she says, voice light but sharp around the edges. “you always this quiet, or are you just scared of me?”

you blink. “what?”

she takes a sip, eyes never leaving yours. “i heard you with the kids. all sweet voice and fake cheer. now you’re acting mute.”

“i’m eating.”

“and i’m talking,” she fires back. “one of us is better at multitasking.”

your grip tightens on your sandwich.

she steps closer—not threatening, just deliberate. like she’s studying your reaction. “poor baby, you wanna join the kids class i think they speak more than you”

“i can talk,” you snap, heat rushing to your face.

“then do it,” she shrugs. “always so quiet around me? i don't bite baby”

you glare. “did you seriously come in here just to mess with me?”

“no,” she says flatly. “but watching you squirm’s a decent bonus.”

your mouth opens. you’re not even sure what to say. what did you do to piss her off?

“what is your problem?” you mutter.

she grins. it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“you.”

and with that, she walks out—like she didn’t just flip your entire nervous system upside down.

later that night you’re lying in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling with one hand. your chest is still buzzing—billie’s voice echoing, her smirk burned into your brain, the weight of her gaze like it never left.

your phone lights up.

w: i think i have a crush on this girl and it’s ruining my life

you: ok drama who?? tell me everything rn

w: no bc it’s actually bad i can’t let her know i’ve literally been a bitch to her all day and now i feel crazy

you: wait wait wait you LIKE her and you’re being MEAN to her????

w: okay listen i panicked i didn’t mean to be mean she just makes me feel weird and i hate it like?? why is she cute. why is she funny i can’t think straight

you: girl that is so embarrassing for u

w: pls be so fr

you: okay but like why did that lowkey happen to me today too like my boss??? i swear she has it out for me she’s so rude for no reason

w: that sucks omg wait was it hot?? is she hot???

you: both. she's so fine it's unreal

w: STOP ok but what if she secretly likes you

you: she literally told me i was her problem

w: mmmmm enemies to lovers my fave

you: not when i’m the enemy

w: could be worse at least your crush doesn’t think you’re a bitch

you: i mean... mine might tbh

w: well idk what to say then read 11:48pm

you let the phone rest on your chest, screen still glowing faintly in the dark. your lips twitch into a small smile.

you were scared things had changed. that maybe this summer meant something different now. that her silence earlier was the start of some slow, quiet unraveling.

but lying here now, in the quiet, you feel that familiar warmth return—like it always does.

the 2 a.m. calls. the way she types in lowercase. the shared playlists, the inside jokes, the way she never has to say much for you to feel understood. you exhale. just a little softer than before.

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @jayjaywetforbils @billieeilishismywifey @iamnicoke @st0nerlesb0 | send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist!

[riyamayrout]

✦₊˚✧ 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 ✧˚₊✦

The grass smelled warm. That kind of green that tickles your nose and makes it feel like something alive is starting to sprout inside you too. You were lying there in silence, face turned to the sun, letting the unfairly golden sunset lick your cheeks. One of those evenings you want to chew on like watermelon in summer—except it wasn’t watermelon season, and besides…

Someone blocked the light. You squinted up at a stranger’s silhouette.

“So you’re the one?” His voice clicked like a lighter. Easy. Cocky. Way too sure of himself for someone you didn’t know, like you already owed him something.

He stood taller—not just because you were lying down. Just… tall. The kind of tall that made it look like the whole damn sunset was there just for him. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but the smirk didn’t. That smile said he was used to getting what he wanted. And you, instantly, wanted to be the exception. Not out of spite. Just to cool him off a little.

You sat up, brushing stray blades of grass from your hair.

“And you are…?”

“Satoru,” he said. “Gojo Satoru. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

You hadn’t. Not about him, not about your dad apparently being more than just “kind of weird.” You hadn’t heard anything—until Gojo showed up and told you that magic wasn’t just books or daydreams. It was your blood. Your duty. Everything you didn’t know about yourself.

Life had been normal, mostly. Then suddenly this white-haired guy, like he walked out of a gum commercial, says you’ve got to start learning.

“So?”

“So that’s it. I’m kind of… your mentor now. Or partner. Or just the guy who’s going to be around. Depending on how lucky you are.”

You scoffed, like you hadn’t just been yanked out of your life by the collar like a kitten off the couch.

That’s how it started.

He took you to Tokyo—no warning, no room for “no.” On the surface, nothing special. On second glance—a glass tower full of people who could kill with a look (literally), and instead of a class schedule, a survival guide for the next month.

You were angry. At everything. Especially at him. Because now he was everywhere.

Not like a stuck song or a splinter in your finger—more like a bold underline in your life. A starting point you kept circling back to. He acted like the world was his room and you were the guest no one gave the house rules to.

He smiled a lot. But never quite at you. Or only at you—just too boldly, too knowingly.

Sometimes you’d catch him watching you, calm but absurdly focused. Not creepy. Not heated. Not that kind of look. He wasn’t looking at you. He was looking in. Like he already knew you somehow, even though you barely knew each other.

“You got a crush or something?” you blurted one day during training, when he stared too long without blinking.

“You’re funny. Just trying to figure out what kind of fruit you are.”

After that, you caught yourself looking for his eyes first. One day, you didn’t even realize you were waiting—until he didn’t show up.

Usually, Gojo just appeared—like a breeze, or coffee smell, or a song out of nowhere. Always around. He’d say something, tease you, smirk, train you, steal your food. Then he’d linger a little too long. Then vanish. But at least he was there.

That evening, you were on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge. He hadn’t shown in three days. Not that you were counting…

The door creaked behind you. You didn’t turn. Just someone else here to sulk in front of a sunset.

“If you’re about to jump, wait a sec. I’m exhausted too. Might be more fun together.”

“So they didn’t kill you, huh?”

“They tried. But you’d have been upset.”

You snorted but still didn’t look. The sunset was shattering against the concrete like caramel on tile. He came closer, stood beside you. A beat of silence—then something landed in your palm.

“Not a watermelon, I know. But… close enough,” he said lazily.

You looked down. Gum. Watermelon-flavored. The corners of your mouth twitched—couldn’t tell if it was funny or just warm. Gojo stood beside you like nothing else mattered. Like you were the only thing that did.

Silence hung between you like the last chord before a finale. The kind you don’t want to break, but also can’t hold forever.

“What if I do jump?” you whispered, half-joking.

“Then I jump too. ‘Cause if you’re gone—there’s nothing left here for me.”

You turned to him—and for once, didn’t hide what you felt. Gojo was looking at you like he’d been waiting for that look forever. And he smiled—not like usual.

You reached for the gum, unwrapped it slowly, popped it in your mouth—too sweet for spring, but somehow just right. Then you pulled out a second piece, hesitated, and handed it to him without looking. He took it.

“Then together,” you murmured. “But no jumping, okay?”

[crushmeeren]

HI CRUSH !!!! congrats on 5k followers omg??

for the event, may i pretty please request a short drabble/oneshot for katsuki centered around the song teenage dream by katy perry!! (esp the first verse hehe its very bakudoll coded > <)

honestly i just chose this song cuz its very cutesy and fun but id like if the piece had some sort of connection to the line "i know you get me, so i let my walls come down, down" for bakugou !! other than that, very light and fluffy and silly :3

very veyryervrv excited to see what u make!!! plz have fun with this hehe MWAH ! congrats again my love !! <3

thank you so much dolly!!!!! that song flashes me back to middle school lmao when i was having my first crushes, it makes me nostalgic c:

i will keep it connected to that line for sure!! <3 i hope you enjoy!

p.s. those pics are killing me lmao

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ i know you get me, so i let my walls come down

| teenage dream ; katy perry |

Carnivals are on the bottom of the list labeled “things Katsuki actually fucking enjoys”.

He’s hell bent that they’re a waste of his hard earned free time. All he does is work. Which, he thinks with no small amount of irritation, consists of fighting in the heat, sweating, dealing with civilians that are a pain in his ass, and answering stupid questions.

Katsuki does the same shit at a carnival.

Every time he’s been dragged along to one by Kirishima he’s left feeling worse than when he arrived. Not to mention the food is complete and utter unhealthy trash.

So, one late Friday evening, Katsuki finds himself shocked to the core when he’s at a carnival with you and he’s…. enjoying himself. It makes him shiver.

You’re standing at the edge of the pier, taking an overdue break from the rides, and animatedly explaining to Katsuki about how your coworker had done something funny during the day.

“Anyhow,” you say, tossing a piece of pink cotton candy into your mouth. “I really can’t believe they didn’t get hurt,” you giggle, offering the sweet treat to Katsuki.

He doesn’t respond at first, heart pounding as he stares at you. Katsuki can taste the salty spray of the ocean from here, seagulls singing in the background. You told him it helps cool you off from the summer heat, that you’re glad the sun is setting for the evening.

Lucky for Katsuki the the orange sunset makes you glow. You’re an angel in his eyes. And, suddenly, he can’t stand the idea that this night will end.

Katsuki loved strolling the carnival, fingers threaded through yours. He loved riding the ferris wheel, throwing an arm around your shoulders and laughing when you squeal about how high up you are. He loved playing shitty games that cost too much money if it means winning you the stuffed animal you begged him for.

And sure, he’s sweaty as fuck, the people are annoying, but it doesn’t get under his skin so bad.

Katsuki snatches a piece of your cotton candy and pops it in his mouth, letting the pure sugar slowly melt on his tongue, pondering.

“What’s up with you Kat?” You tease, elbowing him. “You’re so quiet tonight.”

He smiles. A real smile, one full of warmth and love. “Nothing… I’m having fun.” He shrugs.

“Really?” You ask, excitement creeping into your voice. “You hate these kinds of things!”

“Fuck yeah I do,” he agrees. “But not with you, doll.” He lifts a hand to cradle the side of your face, thumb swiping over your cheek bone. “Nobody else makes me feel so alive.”

You press into his touch, flushing to the tips of your ears. “I feel the same way,” you assure with a smile.

Katsuki can’t ever let you go, won’t ever let this go. He dips down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, dropping his hand. “Want to see if I can make a fool of those fuckers at the ring toss stand again?”

You agree with ease, snatching his hand, yanking and telling him to hurry up before the line gets too long.

Katsuki wins you three stuffed bunnies.

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ 5k event

ah, doll, bestie, i hope i was able to convey what you wanted without explicitly stating it. <3

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Chapter 16: Novalunosis

Hunter doesn't know exactly when his birthday is (Belos never told him — celebrating birthdays and holidays was frowned upon back in the coven — no time for useless frivolity when there's so much work to be done, he'd say whenever Hunter would be brave enough to ask) but Darius had ventured that he was around sixteen years old nearly a year ago, so he must be getting close to turning seventeen by now, and Camila says that in the human realm, that's the age when you can get a special license to pilot drive an airship a car.

They aren't exactly sure how long they're going to be here, but learning how to operate human realm travel machinery would be a very useful skill to have, and would certainly help Camila, having another person in the household who knows how to drive, especially if they're talking about forging documentation and enrolling them all in high school this coming autumn.

So, over the summer, Camila has been teaching Hunter how to drive, taking turns with the others watching from the backseat so that they can learn too. It isn't nearly as difficult as Hunter imagined it would be — after all, he's been flying his own airship since he was twelve years old.

They'd started off small, with Hunter getting used to sitting in the pilot's driver's seat and learning what all the different buttons and levers do, memorizing the driver's handbook so he knows all the rules. After that, they'd moved on to practicing in parking lots. Then, to taking little trips down the street to the coffee shop, across town to buy groceries, on the multi-lane highway to the mall, until eventually, Hunter and Camila split all the driving 50/50.

It's early evening and they've just come back from another grocery store run, Hunter sitting comfortably in the driver's seat while he and Camila duet to one of her favorite songs on the radio. Hunter pulls carefully into the driveway, puts the minivan in park, and twists the key to turn off the engine just as he was taught, preening as he usually does whenever Camila tells him he did a great job.

"You're getting really good at this, mijo. I think you might be ready for your first solo trip," she says, taking the keys back from him so she can let them both into the house.

"Really?" he asks, still getting used to receiving genuine praise that isn't masquerading as backhanded criticism or some form of emotional manipulation.

"Yeah," Camila laughs, handing him one of the bags of groceries so they can both share the weight. "Did you have anywhere in mind?"

"Well," he says, mulling it over, still a little hesitant to voice his interests, but getting braver every day. "Luz has been talking about wanting to go to the beach before the end of summer. Outside of missions, I've never really been…and even then, well…with a name like The Boiling Sea, you can probably imagine exactly how not fun a recreational trip there would be."

"Did someone say breach trip?" Luz comes bounding into the kitchen, eyes bright and hopeful as she takes the grocery bags out of her mother's and Hunter's arms and starts putting things away (she does it to appear like she's being helpful, but really it's a ruse to get her hands on all the best snacks.)

"I swear, you hearing the word beach is like a dog hearing the word treat," Camila laughs, snagging a box of cookies out of her daughter's hands and putting it back into the cupboard. 

She turns toward Hunter, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's a little further than you're used to, mijo, but if you think you're ready, then I trust you."

And there's that comforting warmth again, spreading through his chest all the way to his fingertips, making him feel a little less like a burden every time she reassures him he's doing something right. Every time she calls him son.

"Thank you," he says with a smile that reaches his eyes.

"Just keep in mind, you're gonna have to deal with a car full of teenagers, and you know Luz is gonna want control of the playlist," Camila warns him with equal parts mirth and sincerity, patting him on the shoulder before heading into the living room with the box of cookies she'd snagged from Luz.

Hunter's smile grows a little wider at the thought.

• • •

The following Friday, all six of them head to the mall to pick out swimsuits. Since it's nearing the end of the season, there's lots of clearance sales, which suits their dwindling wallets just fine. Hunter finds a pair of swim trunks he likes almost instantly — dark blue with cheerful little watermelons stitched across the pockets and thighs, a perfect match for his favorite pair of pajama pants — vehemently rejecting the pair with Hawaiian print flowers that Luz jokingly shoves into his hands. Gus goes with a simple gradient blue pair he finds in the same section.

The girls take a little longer to find theirs, given all the different (and in Hunter's opinion, overly complicated) styles they have to choose from, especially since over half of them either have missing tops or bottoms to match. Luz buys herself a new suit since she's grown out of her old one, finding a replacement that matches her iconic purple and white sweatshirt, while Amity goes with a pretty lavender colored suit paired with a mermaid scale patterned wrap, and Vee sets her sights on a pretty sunset-colored one-piece.

Hunter struggles to pick his jaw up off the floor when Willow walks out of the dressing room wearing a high-waisted forest green wrap bikini with a cute little ruffled skirt attached, golden flowers woven into the shimmering fabric. Honestly, it's a wonder they make it back to the house in one piece, given how distracted Hunter is on the drive home.

• • •

The next morning, far too early for everyone but Hunter's liking (after years of being trained to think 6AM was considered sleeping in, 9AM is definitely not too early) the five of them pile into Camila's minivan and start heading toward the coast, while Vee assures them she'll catch up with them later on, opting to ride with Masha and their friends, since one of them just got their license.

A couple of hours and several snack and bathroom stops later, they come up on the coastline, sunlight glittering across the surface of the deep blue sea, set against a backdrop of fluffy white clouds scattered across the bright blue sky. The air feels different on the coast than it does in the suburbs — thicker, more humid, perfumed with saltwater and sun-baked sand.

Before Hunter can even put the car in park, they're all practically spilling out the doors, rushing to set up camp on a secluded patch of sand with a perfect view of the horizon. Since it's still relatively early in the day, there aren't a whole lot of people here yet, which suits them all just fine. Quiet beach days are the best kind of beach days.

They'd all come dressed in their swimsuits, with a light layer of clothing overtop just in case it gets cold. Hunter had thought that seeing Willow in her suit the day before would've made him at least a little more immune to plant witch brainrot, but the moment she shrugs off her shorts and sweater, he's hot around the collar, not even five minutes in the sun and already his face is flushed like he's got second degree sunburn.

Willow giggles and bites her lower lip to hold back a self-assured little smile the moment she realizes exactly how flustered she makes him, only to join him in wide-eyed, open-mouthed, red-faced hell when he slips off his t-shirt to reveal an expanse of pale, scarred skin stretching over well-toned muscle from years of strength and combat training.

For a moment, Hunter worries that her expression is one of shock or pity (or maybe even disgust — what if he's too pale, too skinny, covered in too many scars — there's a reason he'd kept them hidden for so long) but then he notices the delicate shade of pink slowly spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears, the way her pupils dilate to the point of nearly eclipsing her bright green irises as she gazes at him, the way she has to pause to take a slow, steadying breath as her eyes chart a trail across his torso, tongue darting out to lick her lips in absentminded awe, and Hunter's heart thunders inside his chest like the distant crashing waves, each beat a roaring symphony of how much he adores her, because—

Oh Titan. She likes him.

Willow likes the way he looks, even the parts he'd thought were too damaged, too ugly, a litany of pale pink reminders of all the times he'd ever failed. But they're not, are they? What his scars really are, Hunter thinks back to all the times Willow gently traced them with the soft pads of her fingers, remarking at how brave and strong he must have been to have amassed them all, are reminders of the fact that he survived.

Hunter didn't think it was possible to blush any harder than he already was, but if anyone can manage to instill that kind of heat in him, it's Willow.

• • •

They spend the morning lounging on their little setup at the top of a sand dune with the perfect view of the ocean, spread out on a bunch of beach towels underneath a giant striped rainbow umbrella. With enough convincing and reassurance from Luz, they all step forward and let the water wash over their feet as a shallow wave comes in with the tide, pleasantly surprised by how cool it is, how nice and refreshing it feels on their skin after walking across the hot sand. It's nothing at all like the Boiling Sea, and they have to admit that as far as oceans go, this is a point in the human realm's favor.

A little after noon, they join Vee and Masha and their summer camp friends up on the boardwalk, perusing cute little shops selling seaside themed trinkets and brightly-colored beads braided into wish bracelets. They make a quick pit stop at a statue of a dolphin spouting water into a wishing well filled with glittering coins, so that everyone can make their wishes and fasten their bracelets to their wrists and ankles — Luz and Amity sport matching pink and purple ones, while Vee and Masha coordinate matching rainbow ones, Willow ties a red and gold one to Hunter's wrist, while Hunter knots a green and gold one around Willow's ankle, and Hunter helps Gus fasten one with bright blue beads around his wrist that he and Willow insisted on buying for him.

It's late afternoon by the time they stop for lunch at a little family-owned fish and chips place on the edge of the boardwalk, Willow offering Hunter the rest of her fries after his get stolen by a flock of territorial seagulls (while Luz cackles and threatens to revoke his Disney princess card.)

After lunch, they all split off into smaller groups. Vee, Masha, and their friends opt for the arcade, aiming to pool their winnings to score a big-ticket item off the prize wall. 

Luz and Amity spend the afternoon walking along the beach taking cute couple photos, collecting pretty seashells, and splashing around in the waves, Amity enamored by how brave Luz is to wade out so far and dive under the current.

Gus buys himself another disposable camera from one of the shops and sets off to explore the landscape, eager to check out a curious rock formation where the shore meets the edge of a cliff.

Hunter and Willow set up camp beneath the shade of the rainbow umbrella, a little closer to the water this time, digging their toes into the sand, laying side by side on a shared beach towel with their hands propping up their chins, enjoying a couple of ice cream cones they bought from a local shop on the boardwalk.

Hunter's already inhaled his cappuccino crunch, but Willow's blackberry currant is melting down her waffle cone faster than she can eat it, making a sticky sugary mess all over her hands. She tries to finish it before the last scoop collapses into the sand, and ends up with a little purple streak across the edge of her chin, just below her lips.

"I've got you," Hunter chuckles, reaching up to gently swipe it off with the soft pad of his thumb, fingertips lingering on the curve of her jaw.

"You just gonna stare at me all day, or are you gonna kiss me?" Willow teases with an impish smile, eyes fluttering closed as Hunter eagerly leans in, lips a mere breath away from hers, when—

"Hey guys!" Gus exclaims, out of breath as he rushes toward them, a very curious-looking Luz and Amity in tow. "Sorry to interrupt, but, uh…you're gonna want to see this."

• • •

It's strange. You don't fully appreciate how much you're going to miss a place, even one you've been longing to leave, until it's your last night there. They've made their plans, packed their supplies, and now here they are closing in on midnight, too anxious and excited to sleep, crowns of their heads just barely touching one another's as the six of them lay in a perfect circle on a soft patch of grass in Luz's backyard, palismen chasing each other around the garden, playing with their newest companion.

It figures that the night before they're set to return to the demon realm, Luz's egg finally hatches. "Welcome to the world, little buddy," Luz had said as she beamed down at her new palisman, scooping the tiny Titan into her arms and showering them in hugs and kisses, which they happily returned, nuzzling against her cheek with a soft, happy weh. Luz couldn't have imagined a more perfect palisman — King in miniature, but with wings just like Eda's harpy form. Luz names them Prince. It feels like a good omen.

It's a cloudless summer night, stars scattered like silver and gold flecks of paint across an inky black sky. As they lay there, staring up into the seemingly endless expanse, they try to guess the names of all the different constellations, tracing their own shapes and patterns to connect the tiny twinkling dots, comparing them to the ones back in the demon realm.

The star formations here are so wildly different, but no less beautiful, no less bright and colorful. Though none of them will admit it out loud, they've all got mixed emotions about returning back home, terrified at the thought of what kind of world they'll be returning to. There's no telling what kind of chaos the Collector could be wreaking — ironic, how they're all so worried about facing up against a child of the stars, when the night sky above them is so peaceful.

It's the calm before the storm, and for the moment, they're content to just live within this peaceful little pocket of time for as long as they can. A collective sigh passes through them as they settle into a comfortable silence, letting their minds fall blank and simply existing in the moment — for right now, it's just them and the stars.

"Novalunosis," Hunter says in a soft, almost dreamlike voice. "That's what you're all feeling right now."

When he speaks, he's met with genuine hums of interest, Gus and Willow nudging his shoulders from either side of him, encouraging smiles lighting up their faces in the golden glow of the porch light. He's grown so used to having people in his life who actually care about what he has to say, who not only don't mind his impassioned info-dumping, but actively encourage it, that he's almost forgotten what it felt like to be ignored, scoffed at, told his musings were boring, the sound of his voice annoying. They haven't even been gone a full year, but his old life already feels like a lifetime ago.

Hunter watches as Luz and Amity reach across the space between them to interlock hands, and breathes out on a long, slow sigh, letting his own fall back against the grass. A few seconds later, he feels soft fingertips dance against the palm of his hand, and glances up to see Willow lacing her fingers with his, a tentative, hopeful smile on her face. 

Hunter smiles back at her in full, delighting in the way her cheeks dimple as she mirrors him, giving the palm of her hand an affectionate three-pulse squeeze. It's something he's seen Luz and Amity do time and time again these past few months, and he may not know much, or be well-versed in the language of romance and relationships, but he's fairly certain that translation is universal.

The rain comes out of nowhere, big fat drops pouring down from the sky and sinking deep into the soil beneath them, a cool refreshing break from the sweltering humidity of summer's last breath, far more welcome than the downpour they'd endured when they'd first arrived. It's kind of poetic, the way it rains on both their first and last night in the human realm.

While everyone else rushes inside, giggling and screaming as they splash through muddy puddles, Hunter slowly gets to his feet, but doesn't make any move to return to the house. Willow gives his hand a gentle tug to prod him forward, but he stays rooted to the spot, smiling face turned up toward the sky, letting himself get soaked through.

"Hunter," Willow laughs, playfully scolding him, but she makes no move to head back inside either, her grip on his hand a little tighter as she gives his palm an identical three-pulse squeeze.

Hunter glances down at her through one half-lidded eye, the other squeezed shut to keep the water out, smile growing bigger by the second. He doesn't know a single thing about dancing, but that doesn't stop him from drawing her toward him and twirling her in a little pirouette, the sound of her laughter vibrating against his ribcage as he pulls her close to his chest, slides a hand against the soft curve of her jaw, and kisses her senseless.

• • •

It figures — all this time spent researching, hoping for an answer, and in the end, they find their way back to the demon realm entirely by accident. At the very edge of the beach, disguised as a cluster of rocks that Gus had been so eager to explore the day before, sits a little grotto hidden by a curtain of seaweed, bright blue patches suspended like ink blots across the surface of the shallow pool, untouched by the crashing ocean waves just outside.

Titan's blood. Enough to power countless dozens of portal keys. Enough for each of them to collect a vial's worth, while still leaving plenty behind to secure their way back home.

When last they were here, Hunter had offered to be the one to test it out, arguing that his time spent traveling all over the Isles on various missions and extensively studying maps of every chartable area in the demon realm would allow him to confirm not only if they'd made it back, but where precisely they would end up when they returned the following day.

The four of them held their breath as Hunter disappeared through the darkened mouth of the cave, a collective sigh of relief issuing from his friends when he'd returned a few minutes later, confirming that the portal does in fact lead to a cavern on the other side — a little-known place just outside the Isles, but one he'd come to know quite well in his travels. As far as he could tell, it was peaceful, quiet, and safe, as yet untouched by the Collector — a perfect place to sneak back in unnoticed.

It's a place where myriad time pools often crop up — while there, he'd gotten curious and stuck his head into one of them, watched the Emperor's Castle crumble from a safe distance as the Collector tore it apart for their twisted game — and it made him wonder…maybe, if they were lucky, they could find it again, go back to the moment mere seconds after they'd left through the portal to the human realm, find everyone, fight alongside them, help keep them safe. It would be like they'd never been gone at all.

The five of them stand ready in front of the grotto early the following morning, Camila and Vee by their side, ready to go through as a family united.

"I'm so proud of you, mija," Camila tells her daughter, eyes brimming with tears as she kisses the top of Luz's forehead, drawing her into a hug. "Now, let's go save the world. I can't wait to meet the rest of your family, see your other home, see all the stuff you've learned at your magic school."

"I can't wait to show you everything," Luz smiles through her tears, hugging her mother tight. "Thank you so much for everything you've done for us. For wanting to come with us, fight alongside us and help protect the Isles."

"Through supernovas and solar winds," Camila says with a bright smile and a hearty wink, awed gasps echoing behind her as Gus and Hunter whisper, "Oh my Titan, The Astral Oath," emboldened by the reminder of their all-time favorite book series.

With a watery chuckle and a shaky breath, Luz lets go of her mother's embrace and turns to face the mouth of the cave, watching as bright golden sunlight glitters through the slivers in between the rock formation up ahead, igniting the bright blue swirls of Titan's blood in the shallow depths of the turquoise water.

"Ready?" she asks her companions, one hand clutching onto her mother's, the other onto Amity's, watching as Hunter does the same with Willow and Gus, Camila's other hand wrapping around Vee's so that all seven of them are linked as one.

Together, they step forward into the semi-darkness, wading through a shallow pool of Titan-blessed saltwater, through the portal back home.

✨ Chapter Masterlist | Fandom Masterlist ✨

Being Human

The Owl House » Huntlow

Title: Being Human

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: The Owl House (Masterlist)

Relationship: Hunter | The Golden Guard x Willow Park

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: A slice of life series following the Hexsquad's adventures in the human realm over the course of a single year — a little bit of angst sprinkled in between lots of warm fuzzy found family fluff, humor, and slow burn huntlow romance.

What will they think of him when they find out what he is, after everything he's done, after everything they've already had to forgive him for? Gus, who makes him feel simultaneously protected and protective — the closest thing to a brother that Hunter has ever had (and didn't know he'd wanted until it was already his.) Willow, who— Willow, whose smile managed to warm his insides before he could even take one bite of the soup she just set down in front of him. Willow, who makes him feel everything, all at once.  Happy. Nervous. Excited. Terrified. Vulnerable. Safe.  Like he's free-falling off the top of the Knee, heart racing like he's running for his life, and yet…somehow, he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that when he finally lands, something soft will be there to break his fall.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr: Chapter 1 » Chapter 2 » Chapter 3 » Chapter 4 » Chapter 5 » Chapter 6 » Chapter 7 » Chapter 8 » Chapter 9 » Chapter 10 » Chapter 11 » Chapter 12 » Chapter 13 » Chapter 14 » Chapter 15 » Chapter 16

[elektroyu]

Qualat genetics list

General

- common (Co): incomplete dominant;

- striped (St): incomplete dominant/ co-dominant to marbled; changes black markings on face, back, shoulder, hip, tail into stripes

- marbled (Ma): incomplete dominant/ co-dominant to striped; adds marbled pattern to coat, adds black to underside of face, typically extends black a bit

- eye colors: brown, blue, green, yellow

- intensity locus (I): manages expression of pheomelanin

- shading locus (Sh): manages expression of silver; each hair has pheomelanin on base and blue-ish/ grey at tip

- highlight locus (H): manages standard white accents of the coat

- charring locus (Ch): manages standard black accents of the coat

Color Genes

- chocolate (b): recessive; lightens eumelanin to rich dark brown, no effect on pheomelanin or silver

- blue (d): recessive; lightens eumelanin to slate, also lightens pheomelanin, no effect on silver

- melanism type 1 (M1): incomplete dominant; black 'layer' on top of nearly entire body = adds black tips to hair, shrinks white but no effect on top of white; M1M1 = black layer nearly opaque, M1m1 = black layer more transparent

- melanism type 2 (m2): recessive; expands black to various degrees depending on additional, currently unknown genes

- piebald (s): recessive; adds white spotting

- silvering (si): recessive; turns silver into white, lightens red, no effect on black

- silvered pheomelanin (Sp): incomplete dominant; lightens pheomelanin in hair shafts so only tips are left red, SpSp = hair shafts white, Spsp = hair shafts cream

- head spot (hs): recessive; adds white spot to forehead, can extend white if combined with other white spotting genes

- rump white (Rw): dominant, homozygous lethal; adds white starting from belly and extremities, typically very symmetrical

- ear tufts (t): recessive; typically black

- mask (em): recessive; adds black mask to face, typically extends black on underside too

Other Coat Genes

- longhair (l): recessive

- mane/ lion (li): recessive; adds especially long hair around neck area, typically entire coat gets somewhat longer

- neck ridge (Ri): dominant, homozygous lethal due to spinal deformations; adds a 'ridge' to the neck area where coat grows upwards instead of flat

[poppitron360]

In my mind, Leo found Socrates in a dumpster behind his machine warehouse and took him home to Jason and gave him big heart eyes until he caved. Leo originally found four kittens, named Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and Sappho, but they eventually gave the other three up for adoption. Leo feels a strong connection to them due to the fact that he has also lived in a dumpster in the past between foster homes. Isabella absolutely adores him. There’s a moment in the fic where they’re trying to rescue their parents and Apollo shows up and offers his help and they ask him a few questions about their Prophecy and then Isabella asks him if he can visit their appartement once a day and feed Socrates while she’s away on the quest, and so I just want to write a side-fic where the all-powerful God Apollo cat-sits for the Valdezes for a week.

That is such a cool concept and would really tie into Isabella’s feelings about not knowing her true heritage, plus would have some cute Hephaestus moments because I need to write more fics about him. I kinda had this general idea of her doing something really cool and genius, maybe along the lines of the Steam-Powered Chicken Chucker that Leo apparently made for a science fair project when he was a kid, and Hephaestus being so impressed he gives her an extra power-up.

That reminds me of the time in TLH where Piper breaks her ankle and Jason asks Leo if he can fix it and Leo’s all “hey man, I’m a mechanic. I don’t fix humans. Now if she were a car…”. Also because it’s set in the same universe as my married AU where Jason is a history professor, I just want a situation where the two of them get to be introduced as “Professor and Dr Valdez”. I’m also imagining a scenario where someone’s chocking and they yell “Is anyone here a Doctor” and Leo slowly raises his hand and Jason has to be like “they mean medical doctor, sweetheart”

So there are a couple of big three kids at camp now, but as per canon these kids often send out the strongest smells to monsters and so they often don’t live long enough to make it to camp. And the ones that do end up not living very long afterwards, so the others try not to get attached. This is especially true for Zeus kids, who also have Hera to worry about. Dark, I know, but I kind of wanted to keep the Big Three cabins quiet because that’s the main reason why Finley and Olympia like to stay in those cabins for sleep, and also so they can be Camp Councillors, and it also makes the trio unique in all being legacies of the Big Three. If there were any Zeus kids, Isabella would probably get along with them but wouldn’t want to do any activities with that cabin. She barely acknowledges openly that she’s a legacy of Jupiter, and anyway she’s kinda inherited the Special Interest in Machines Thing from Leo and so prefers to hang out with the 9’ers where she’s surrounded by machines and forges and stuff, as she has less in common with the kids in Cabin One.

I don’t have much on Robin yet, just that their name is “Robin Abank” which is a funny pun, and they are nonbinary. I like to think they might get on well with the Stoll cousins, and they get up to a lot of mischief together. There’s a moment in the fic where they all play Capture the flag and Olympia keeps getting mad at them for goofing off instead of taking it seriously, which is fun bickering and I get to show how seriously Olympia takes her leadership roles (and also how she’s inherited her parent’s competitive streaks)

Also the whole season of summer is an absolute mess for these demigods because you’ve got: Camp Starts, Summer Solstice in late June which is when most of the quests happen, Jason’s birthday 1st July, Valgrace Wedding anniversary 3rd July, Leo’s birthday 7th July, Annabeth’s birthday, Leo’s deathiversary/Isabella’s birthday/Anniversary of the siege of Camp Half-Blood on 1st August, the anniversary of the death of Charles Beckendorf around two weeks later, Camp Ends, then Percy’s birthday/Anniversary of the Battle of Manhattan/Percabeth’s getting together anniversary on 18th August. Percabeth wedding anniversary probably fits in there somewhere, too. I also feel like Finley has to have a Summer birthday being that it’s kind of his aesthetic, but at the same time practically every Riordanverse character has a summer birthday and it low-key kinda bugs me. Olympia is repping the Spring babies and her zodiac sign is Ares (like me) which pisses Percy off to an astronomical degree (no pun intended).

It sucks that everyone is saying the wrong things about her parents, but after a while she starts to believe them. Or at least believes that everyone around her expects her to be as good as them. And that’s a lot of pressure on her, especially as the person that Olympia is trying so hard to live up to is completely and utterly fictional. This paradigm of awesomeness and sass and baddassery that the “fandom” has come up with. She has worked her whole life to be this person who functionally doesn’t exist- which is something a lot of us can relate to in the social media age where we’re fed these edited and filtered versions of our idols that only keep the best parts. I am someone who struggles to know the “right” way of doing things as a lot of the time the way I naturally do things is labelled as “wrong” (growing up undiagnosed neurodivergent is a hoot and a half /sarcasm), so I often use media as sort of a reference guide for how to do things “correctly” and as a result end up building these unhealthy expectations for myself and beating myself up when my life doesn’t look exactly like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So that’s what I’ve recently realised I’ve been tapping into for Olympia’s character.

The fun part is, though, because she’s been training so much to meet this impossibly high bar, she has unbeknownst to herself become an absolute DEMON of a fighter and TANK of a human specimen. I don’t think the fanart I drew conveyed how in my head she is 6ft tall and built like a brick shithouse. Like Jack Reacher but younger and a girl. While the other two are incredibly adept fighters in their own right, Olympia most of the time will serve as the archetype of the “muscle” or the “powerhouse”. And despite her insecurities, to me she does one hundred per cent live up to the hype of Percy and Annabeth.

But to her, she’s still not good enough. And BOY HOWDY is that relatable.

And this rant is a reminder to myself to make that bloody clear in my writing otherwise she is pretty just a Mary Sue.

The irony is that my own perception of Percy is just as skewed as everyone else’s and my idolisation of him and Annabeth has reflected in how I’ve made his daughter a complete unit, completely contradicting my point that Fannon Percy is unrealistic and impossible to live up to and look at what you’re doing to this poor girl because also she has absolutely lived up to it and is just as badass if not more than Fanon Percy and look at my OC you guys isn’t she cool.

But like. Don’t think about it too hard and you’ll be fine. Her fighting like a demon the way the fandom thinks of Percy gives the dopamine that comes with confirming our perception of him. And her being a meta-commentary on the toxic and unrealistic perception of Percy that the fandom has gives us the dopamine of I Am Righteous In My Anger Arrrgghh. Because we as individuals like to think of ourselves as separate from just the bad parts of any group we’re in and whoah this is getting deep. So just. Don’t think about it.

Also another tangental sidenote but part of Olympia’s frustration is that Percy gets a lot of the spotlight in these retellings and Annabeth’s baddassery is lesser known. And while she resents a lot of the Athena Campers for the same reasons she resents all the other campers, she does appreciate how Annabeth is revered just as much- if not more so- than Percy over in Cabin 6. This allows me as a writer to just fangirl over Annabeth a little bit by having several moments that are just “hang on Annabeth was awesome too”. Secretly these kids are just an excuse to yap more about how great my favourite characters are in canon but disguised as Deep Writing. Also cute Percabeth marriage bit but Percy is absolutely OUTRAGED every time he hears a re-telling of his story that makes Annabeth seem lesser than he is in power, and will always go on a huge rant about it, mostly so he himself can yap about how great his wife is.

Now Percy’s reaction himself to being turned into a propaganda figure is also an interesting exploration that would probably have to be it’s own fic and also let’s be honest would probably have to be written by someone who cares a lot more about Percy than I do. Percy-centric fics are not my department. I’m a Leo girlie through and through.

And also the “First Legacy” stuff is a big deal, especially as in my mind Olympia was pretty much the very first legacy at CHB. Isabella definitely deals with this the least, since she grew up in New Rome where legacies were common, and Finley had slightly more pressing issues as to why he struggled to fit in at Camp, so Olympia was kinda dealing with this on her own.

I feel like Percy specifically insisted on Olympia’s last name being “Jackson-Chase” because he wanted to make sure Annabeth’s power could carry onto their kids. And yeah, Leo worries that the Valdez name might cause issues for Isabella, but he kind of realises that it doesn’t just carry the power of Leo Valdez but of Esperanza Valdez, Sammy Valdez, and all of the other strong mortals in their family (and I REALLY want to explain why that’s especially important but it would be a huge spoiler). Both Thalia and Jason have renounced the name Grace (mostly because of their mom but they also are just tired of people making puns about their name) but Olympia still has the middle name “Grace” as a little tribute, also because “Olympia Grace Jackson-Chase” rhymes, which ties into the lore that Apollo is the one who delivered her.

Star Wars Side Tangent but I have this reoccurring argument with my friends over whether that moment at the end of “Rise of Skywalker” where Rey says her last name is “Skywalker” was deserved. And like. I get that Luke didn’t teach her for long but you know what she isn’t? Rey Palpetine. And yeah that whole plot was kinda stupid but the “Chosen names are powerful Found Family is awesome” is a hugely impactful message, and so if Rey says she’s a Skywalker she’s a Skywalker.

Found Family is so important, especially when telling LGBTQ+ or queercoded stories. “You deserve to be loved, no matter who you are” should be such a simple statement but for some people it’s somehow hard to grasp. There’s so much hate out there, which is why these stories are so comforting.

Please absolutely talk about your Percabeth kids from Sofíaverse I kinda wanna know how you’re are writing them. It kinda feels like every single PJO fan has some idea or another about their Percababies, and I’ve seen so many different takes.

Does it go well?… On the one hand, it gives her a lot to think about, but she ultimately reaches the conclusion that it’s not a big deal. She still feels more complete knowing that part of herself- but it’s only a part, and not the whole picture. She is so much more than what she was born as. On the other hand… the reveal is unexpected and definitely shakes her up quite a bit, and it doesn’t happen in the most optimal way. It definitely will pose some challenges for her going forward, and she’s gonna need some time to figure out a few things, and it’s really hard to not give spoilers as to what it is and remain vague and cryptic but at the same time I’m kinda hoping you might figure it out so that I can yap about it. But yeah, it does Not go well and might become a problem in the future but she ends up having a pretty positive outlook on it

And that way I can leave it open for a sequel where she gets to actually explore the new opportunities it gives her. And also angst. It gives her some angst

Quick infodump about my Frazel kids as well! They’re a bit younger than the trio and spend most of their time at Camp Jupiter, but show up a bit in the story. Susan, Alexander and Samuel Zhang- Hazel is traditional and in my mind would take Frank’s last name even though Frank insists she doesn’t have to. Also her own mother wasn’t the best so there’s that. They’re triplets (something about Mars kids having strong fertility or something Idk). They’re quite good legionnaires so far, but they haven’t reached their full potential yet. They’re in the Fifth Cohort just like Jason and their parents (it kinda feels like Rick was setting up the cohorts to be different factions like the Cabins but gave up halfway through). I don’t know much about their individual personalities, but Samuel is very insistent on not being called “Sammy”, much to the relief of both Frank and Leo, who are still little weird about the whole thing. Leo is very touched that Hazel wanted to name her kid after his great-grandfather, and they’ve all agreed it’s a good way to have closure on that incident, but it took some getting used to. Isabella and Samuel do laugh about it together, because “I’m named after your great-great grandfather who my mom kissed one time” is an awkward situation to be in otherwise. Finley gets on well with his cousins, and visits them in New Rome often. I wanted to give them kind of old-fashioned names, because I think it fits. I definitely need to flesh them out a bit more, because there’s so much potential of them interacting with the Gang, or having them deal with the same shit Olympia deals with of living up to their parents’ names while in the extremely high-pressure environment that is the Twelfth Legion.

This song is so Married Valgrace. And ik I’d say that about every single song including the Kahoot Lobby Music but this one is especially the vibe

LMAO you're so real for the Kahoot Lobby Music thing, if I'm fixated on something everything is about that something now. Sorry to the books I'm reading and shows I'm watching you are now all AUs of this one thing I like

Anyway you're so right and you should say it (and also the ending of the song made me sob, oh my god? Evil?)

I also feel a very strong need to retaliate now /Ih) so may I suggest I Wanna Grow Old With You as a married Valgrace song?

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[merakiui]

azul has that single dad on vacation vibe nailed to a T in that new card and i’m going insane. i will be his wifey so he never again has to be a single dad on vacation

He's literally this:

But it's okay because he makes it look so good. orz I will also be his wifey so that when he has his next vacation trip he won't be alone. <3 anything to make dilf Azul happy hehe!!! >:3c

[adore-gregor]

ayyy

[h0neyfreak]

so I’ve discovered a great passion for contemporary romance. unfortunately 90% of them are either written like I’m a complete moron or were edited by someone who lacks all respect for the genre. which means I of course am now 25k words into a manuscript and I keep rereading it and then getting to the part where I have to write more and turning into surprised pikachu.

[sysig]

Just Desserts continental northern map made using this method! :D (Patreon)

[thewingedwolf]

i love a program that makes me feel like my job has meaning