#also this should really go without saying

[imaginespazzi]

nivi alr here me out, if you want to, plssss a pazzi one shot of paige jelly over azzi in georgias jersey…plus 😈

Y'all know the drill. This was written in very little time and is definitely not edited and is extremely silly but y'all said Nivi rescue us from this fic drought, and I figured I'd give you a little droplet tee hee :)

Everything wrong with the color red and the number 8

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Paige Bueckers deserves a pat on the back.

Actually, she deserves a goddamn trophy.

Because Azzi Fudd (pretty, sexy, beautiful, gorgeous, literally a goddess and also most importantly, her girlfriend as is proudly displayed on her phonecase) is sitting courtside.

Right where Paige can see her.

And Paige hasn't gotten distracted once (okay well that's not entirely true because she may or may not have frozen the second she'd come out for warmups and seen said ethereal girlfriend on the sidelines and she may or may not have stopped breathing even though she'd already known Azzi was going to be here, and Nalyssa may or may not have ran straight into her from behind because Paige quite literally could not move and Dijonai may or may not have called her a simp for that because oh my god Paige you literally had brunch with her this morning but all of that is just semantics!)

But in the grand scheme of things Paige is pretty proud of herself and her self-control (and no the little glances she's been sneaking throughout warmups do not count as a strike against any of that because if she didn't take the liberty of occasionally checking out her girlfriend who she hasn't seen in years weeks, that would just be blasphemy and Paige Bueckers is a devout Christian who does not engage in blasphemy)

That is until Georgia Amoore enters the scene.

Paige doesn't know Georgia particularly well beyond when she'd met the girl during draft weekend (which if she's honest, she'd mainly spent most of that weekend tucked into a corner with Shyanne, the two of them going back and forth about how much they missed and adored their girlfriends) but she knows that her and Azzi had bonded over DAWG camp and anyone that gets the Azzi Fudd seal of approval, pretty automatically gets the Paige seal of approval too.

There's a ruby red Mystics jersey slung casually across Georgia's shoulder that Paige doesn't really pay much attention. She grins at the shorter girl when she makes her rounds past the Dallas team, dapping up all of her teammates before reaching Paige. There's a twinkle in Georgia's eyes as she smirks at the blonde, something a little cocky about it that almost reminds her of herself. Neither of them say anything beyond their casual smiles and Paige pencils that interaction into her memory to be thrown out in a couple of seconds.

Or so she thinks.

She continues going about her drills, a slight pep in her step that's been present since Friday night when she'd come home, (not to Connecticut, but to Azzi) as she goes through her routine. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spots Georgia walking over to her girlfriend, her grin widening (which like fair, she thinks everyone should in fact smile their biggest smile when in the presence of literal best person ever Azzi Fudd, but does she really need to show all thirty-two teeth like that?) as she reaches the brunette.

Naturally, Azzi hugs the Australian (and Paige isn't upset about that of course because Azzi is allowed to hug people and because she knows without a doubt that the way Azzi hugs other people is nothing compared to the way she hugs Paige, with her arms wrapped tightly around the blonde's body and her head tucked right into the crevice of her neck like it's where she feels the safest) who beams a little too bright for Paige's liking but she lets it slide, especially because Arike's just come over to join her to go through passing drills and Paige is not about to give her teammates more ammunition to tease their "baby gay" (which by the way Paige thinks is ridiculous because she's been gay for a hot minute now -and she definitely been gay longer than Nai- so really in her opinion she's a "grown gay") about how atrociously down bad she is for Azzi (which she is, proudly so, just in case anyone was wondering!).

Paige can't quite make out the conversation they're having as they break apart, but she hears Georgia giggle (a little too loud if you ask her) and then Azzi laughs (a beautiful sound that echoes warmly against Paige's ears but not nearly as perfect as the one she makes when it's Paige who elicits that lovely bout of laughter from her lips).

It happens in the flash of a second, between the ball leaving Paige's hands and finding it's way to Arike's (the universal sign for incoming disaster as Paige is quickly learning but will never say out loud). There's a blur of red in her peripheral and Paige swears she's not being dramatic, but it feels like the arena goes a little cold when her gaze drifts back to the courtside seats.

Georgia Amoore has disappeared.

But her presences still lingers, short and chaotic.

Because Azzi, her Azzi, who had previously been wearing a cute little white UConn top that defined her oh-so-lovely biceps and had been cropped just enough for that bellybutton piercing (the bane of fifteen year old Paige's existence and the object of all of post-sixteen year old Paige's desires) to peek out right underneath it, is now wearing a Mystics jersey.

Not just any Mystics jersey.

Georgia fucking Amoore's #8 Mystics jersey.

And Paige quite literally and figuratively sees red.

She blinks a couple of times, waiting for her own vision to be proven wrong. But nothing changes. Azzi's still right there.

Still in red.

Still in a Mystics Jersey.

Still in fucking #8.

Paige doesn't hate a lot of things (except for anyone who has the audacity to even blink in Azzi's direction with the wrong intentions that is) but in that moment she hates the color red (god who had let her wear red in her pregame outfit? that must have been some cursed foreshadowing) and she really hates the #8 (no seriously, she's going to have to text Jana and threaten to disown her from her will if the Egyptian doesn't immediately change her jersey number)

Azzi for her part, is the picture of innocence as she settles back into her seat, as if she hasn't done anything, as if she hasn't just thrown the cosmic balance of Paige's life off-kilter by wearing that offending item.

God, Paige is going to ruin her (when, she's not really sure, considering they're going straight back to Dallas after the game and Azzi has to fly in the opposite direction of that -a thought Paige is suppressing as far to the back of her mind as it will go- but it's going to happen; besides Paige is known for her efficiency for a reason, she doesn't need particularly long, just the two of them alone in the semi-secrecy of a locked bathroom somewhere in this wretched building)

And if the smirk dancing but never quite settling on Azzi's lips is anything to go by, the brunette knows it too (welcomes it even, as if both of them aren't currently running on about two hours of sleep and unspeakable amounts of caffeine to keep them functioning right now after getting reacquainted with each other's souls last night).

Arike can barely hold in a laugh when she spots Azzi and her jersey (Paige briefly wonders if there's a fine for burning opposing player's jersey and then consoles herself with the fact that if there is, it's nothing she can't pay out of pocket considering the length of the zeroes in her bank account is definitely larger than Georgia Amoore's fucking vertical) as she's walking over to greet another familiar face, before dapping up the brunette and then promptly returning back to Paige with a shit-eating grin.

"You gonna let that slide?" the vet asks coyly, the laughter palpable in her tone.

Paige doesn't respond, her focus solely on her girlfriend (and it's a sin that said girlfriend still look to entirely perfect even dressed in enemy attire that Paige wants to rip off her body for partially non-sexual reasons) who continues to smile cavalierly in her direction.

"Are you seriously wearing that?" Paige mouths, pointing at the jersey adorning her girlfrien'd perfect body (what she really wants to scream, is take it the fuck off)

Azzi raises her eyebrows as she shrugs, blinking almost naively (as if there isn't a hidden challenge of make me spelled out in the dark brown of her irises)

Paige purses her lips, narrowing her eyes, not quite a glare (because she's jealous and posessive but not stupid and she would never glare at the princess) but enough that it makes Azzi bite her lip, (which should be illegal because now Paige really wants march over and kiss her until that perfect lip routine of hers becomes a distant memory) not in fear, never that, but something else.

Something far more carnal that makes Azzi fidget in her seat and clench her thighs together.

It's subtle, something nobody else would notice but Paige. Because it's only for Paige, has only been for her since they were teenagers and just beginning to understand what that feeling was.

And Paige doesn't smirk, doesn't let anything show as she gets back into the rhythm of the passing drill with Arike, but something flares inside of her. (and no it isn't just pure horniness jesus fuck she has a game to play okay?)

Satisfaction.

And that innate feeling of knowing what is hers, will always be hers.

Because Georgia Amoore could win these harmless battles, but Paige doesn't even have to step into the battlefield to win the war.

Azzi could wear any jersey, any number, any color.

But fate itself had carved Bueckers into her heart, and even an Australian can't fight destiny.

[kdh-tally]

Baby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Baby and his Partner.

Author's Note : I might do one of these for each of the Saja Boys and Huntr/x girls. I started with Baby though because he currently has no pairing (and is actually my favourite Saja Boy lol)

You work at a small convenience store somewhere in the Hongdae shopping district. 

Your store is close to one of the popular schools but it’s small so most don’t even notice that there was an actual convenience store there.

One day the bell chimed, alerting you that someone came in.

You looked up from your phone only to come face to face with some cat eyed, blue haired boy. He looked familiar. Kinda like one of the boys on the ramen cups that were flying off shelves (when people actually came into the store).

“Welcome to Y/N’s convenience, what can I get you?”

He tilts his head, as though studying you, and all of a sudden you feel self conscious.

“You have anything spicy here?”

Your eyes widen noticeably in surprise. You didn’t expect his voice to be so deep or rough, especially when he had such a baby face.

Clearing your thoughts, you motioned to the back shelves with your head. “There should be some stuff back there. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask” you nodded before sending him off and leaning back into your seat.

As you opened your social media account, the very first video that popped up had the guy's face on it. “Join the pride,” he smirked at the camera as he stood next to a group of 4 other guys. 

Before you could look into it even more, the guy slammed a thick bottle of jalapeno sauce on the counter. You began to ring him up when he asked, “You wanna hang out?”.

Baby definitely came back the next day and every day after. 

He'd pretend to try new spicy combos, but really he's just standing in the ramen aisle waiting for you to notice him.

When you ask, “Didn’t you come in yesterday?” he just shrugs and responds, “I missed the vibe.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but you fixed your hair the next day before your shift.

He ends up really enjoying your presence, and really enjoying how much he can annoy you.

He’ll “accidentally” knock over the chip display just to hear you sigh and call him a menace.

Would bring you random drinks to “taste test” but makes you guess which is which by sniffing them. 

It was something he had tried on Mystery back in the dorms when Jinu was busy yapping to them about how they would be defeating the hunters. 

He eventually earns what he likes calling ‘behind the counter’ privileges. 

Basically means you allow him into the workers area, and behind the cash register so he doesn’t have to talk to you from across the counter.

He doesn’t do much working though. Mainly just watched youtube on his Ipad.

He always acts like you’re the one flirting with him. 

If you ever blush around him, he has his hands up as though surrendering or calming a rabid animal. “Woah, relax. I’m just here for the spicy chips.”

He calls you “Cashier-nim” for the first two weeks of knowing you, then switches to “pretty thing” whenever he feels like teasing you.

The day you finally found out he was actually THE Baby from Saja Boys, you were mid-bite of your snack and almost choked.

“Wait. You’re famous?”

“Duh.”

“Why are you HERE?”

“You’re here.” he says deadpan.

He once livestreamed from the store without telling you, and suddenly you had a line out the door and business took off.

He likes that you didn’t fangirl or scream when you found out. It makes him feel like a real person.

He also likes how calmly human you are. You’re one of the few that don’t go crazy because of his idol image but also don’t want to kill him. Not that you knew he was a demon anyways.

You’re one of the only people who can see past his teasing and know when he’s actually tired or stressed.

You don’t know why but you're pretty sure it's probably pressure from being an idol or something else.

He’ll sneak into the shop near closing time, hoodie pulled low above his head, hands in pockets, and just sit behind the counter with you while you do restock. No words, just chilling.

If fans ever asked if he was dating anyone, he’d smirk and go, “Maybe.” Not only are the fans shocked but so are the other boys.

They didn’t expect baby of all people to actually fall for a human and not tell them

They insist on meeting you but Baby refuses. He’s so calm about it too. 

Easily avoids all of them and poofs out of the building before they can follow him.

You two don’t do super fancy dates. You’ll walk the streets of Hongdae with spicy corn dogs and bubble tea, trying every new snack he spots.

He loves making you try unnecessarily spicy things just to watch your reactions, knowing you won’t be able to handle them. “C’mon, you survived me. You can survive this.”

He takes horrible selfies with you.

 Tongues out, fake gang signs that make him feel cool (he saw them on tiktok) and captions like “me n my boss lady”

Does he get jealous?

Baby? Nah, not really… Okay fine, a little.

If some schoolboy flirts with you while buying gum, Baby will suddenly “appear” from behind a shelf with 20 spicy ramen cups in his arms like “Pretty thing, help me figure out where to box these up yea?”

He’d dump the cups in your arms so he could take over the cash register and would absolutely glare into the boy's soul as he rings up his order.

The boy leaves.

He would call you things like: 

Cashier-nim : when you first met.

Boss Lady : Whenever you order him around.

Snack : When he tries to resist the urge to bite you. 

Trouble : When he wants to accuse you of flirting with him.

Pretty Thing : To get you flustered

Y/N-ie : Only calls you by your name during quiet and VERY sincere moments.

You call him things like: 

Spice King : You watched him down like 5 ghost peppers with ease.

Little Brat : Whenever he’s being annoying on purpose.

Incompetent toddler : You see the pattern?

Pretty Boy : Only when he’s being sweet.

Baby : It’s literally his name

He would confess to you by leaving a sticky note on the counter that says “Employee discount for boyfriends??”

Though its not super duper straight up, he’s still pretty to the point with it.

When you look up confused, he just winks and says, “I like you. Now say yes before I buy out your whole damn store.”

[arowitharrows]

people keep generally agreeing (?) with this post only to double down on the 'not doing anything' phrase and like, if you want to continue using this sentiment then sure, I'm not stopping you. But I personally won't stand behind it and my first assumption will be that people using it have not fully deconstructed and understood the mechanisms of queerphobia and/or do not understand asexuality and aromanticism.

In the past years, and especially with a focus on queer infighting and "discourse", it has become very clear to me how important it is to understand the reasons behind people's prejudice against certain minority groups. Everyone knows that queerphobia exists, but I find it helpful to ask myself, do I know why it exists? Do I know which fundamental beliefs drive people's hatred? Do I know how these beliefs differ between, e.g. the political far right, conservative christians, or my grandmother who grew up in the 40s? It is so important to consider these things, both in determining how to address the problem of queerphobia in the current context and to avoid pointless discourse about who does or doesn't face discrimination in our society.

So, in the context of this post, I need aspec people to understand that no matter how hard you cling to "we aren't even doing anything", it's not going to save you. Sure, people hate queer sex a lot, and maybe you aren't having queer sex. But it is vital to understand that, usually, their core belief isn't that no one should have sex ever, it's that people should have sex in a specific controlled context - e.g. married, heterosexual, sex for procreation, romantic sex - and they will not be happy with you if you don't comply. Choosing to never have sex is expressing bodily autonomy that they do not want you to have. And if you are clinging to this phrase because of a general feeling of "I'm just living my live, why would anyone hate me for existing?" then yeah, I get that, I really do. But don't forget that that's true for every single queer orientation out there.

Also on that note, I need people to not erase aromanticism from this discussion. If we are talking about aphobia then that includes aromantic people and it includes aromantic people who aren't asexual. It includes the way people react to aromantic people having sex without being romantically attracted to their partners. I feel like often times when people say they don't understand aphobia, and when they try to explain/justify this stance, it's only in the context of "not having sex" and aromanticism is somehow forgotten.

tbh I really dislike how aphobia tends to be discussed whenever there's some kind of incident that makes it visible to general society. The most common response seems to be some variation of "why would anyone hate asexual/aromantic people, they aren't even doing anything" and it just always sits wrong with me. It paints such a passive picture of our existence and feels like a comment influenced by the level of invisibility that aspec people have in society. Why would you be annoyed by someone who is practically invisible? Just go back to ignoring their existence, it's easy!

But despite the invisibility, aspec people are actually doing quite a lot of things that will piss off queerphobic, right-wing and religious people (and hell, even left-wing people). And the most obvious point is that we are actively not performing heterosexuality the way they want us to. People who's entire world view is "cis men and women should be in monogamous, heterosexual marriage and have (white) babies" are not going to lean back and say "oh but those asexuals and aromantics are fine". They will also hate our guts, and they will come up with all sorts of reasons, including insinuating we're all secretly into bestiality, or mentally ill, or not human, or attention seeking children. It's just plain old queerphobia, and like all queerphobia, there's no inherent logic to it which you can worm your way out of by "not doing anything".

And like, there's a lot more that aspec people do which people hate. Raising awareness about amatonormativity? People feel attacked, they hate it. Asexual people having sex? Or not having sex? People hate it! Aromantic people being in (seemingly) romantic relationships? People fucking hate it! Aromantic people having sex? Ohh people hate that!!

I guess the existence of aphobia can be confusing when you haven't spent much time thinking about asexuality and aromanticism, but in the end, these are identities that aren't heteronormative and they will be hit with the same or similar bigotry as any other queer identity. I just get tired of this response after seeing it recycled for 10 years without ever seeming to go any further.

[pazzi5351]

Best massage ever

Paige x Azzi

WC: 1.7K

AN: the anon who gave me this idea. I love you. This one's for you freaky frogs!! I call this smut with some plot!! Enjoy 🥰(I just finished writing this from like a month ago…)

————————————————————————————

Azzi loved the gym. It was her safe space to go to when she needed to quiet her mind.

Or her feelings for a certain blonde teammate, who’s also her best friend.

Azzi knew she liked Paige when she was fifteen during USA basketball. She knew she liked Paige when she quarantined at her house before her first year at Uconn and made stupid recruitment videos. She knew she liked Paige on her eighteenth birthday, which was also her recruitment announcement day, when she chose Uconn. She knew she really liked Paige when CD gave them their rooming assignments and Paige was one of her roommates.

So it was safe to say Azzi spent a lot of time in the gym.

Azzi usually spent her time in the gym alone but Caroline tagged along with her this time. Things were going well as they always do when Azzi’s in the gym. Today was a leg day for her and she was doing some leg presses when Caroline walked over to her.

“Az, you know how much I love you, right?” Caroline started.

Azzi scoffed lightly, continuing her set. “Yeah, Care. You good?”

Caroline nodded. “No, yeah, I’m great. I just, you know, as your best friend I wanna see you… happy is all. You know, not living in the gym.”

Azzi paused. “I don’t live in the– Caroline, what are you getting at?”

“I just think you should… tell Paige how you feel. I mean, hear me out, it’s super obvi she feels the same way and I just- I love you, I really do, but I hate when you make me come with you so you can avoid Paige. Which, by the way, is practically impossible because y’all are roommates.” Caroline said, finishing her ramble.

Azzi just blinked at her. How could she think that she’s deliberately avoiding Paige. She lives with her. It would be crazy to avoid her because she likes her. Right?

“I’m gonna go now. Backs of my legs are sore, y’know.” Azzi stated, standing up to grab her stuff.

“Az, you know I didn’t mean it like that–” Caroline began.

Azzi shook her head as she walked towards the door. “No, no, it’s good. I’ll uh, see you later.”

With that, Azzi left the gym and started walking to her apartment.

Her mind was moving at a million miles per second thinking about what Caroline had said.

Was Carol right? Does Paige like me? Was it obvious she felt the same way? Did everyone see it but me? There’s no way she could like me? I know I kinda disappear at the gym but it’s not necessarily to avoid her. Right?

Azzi was so in her head the entire walk home she didn’t even realize she was standing at her front door, or that her legs were actually burning.

Azzi stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. She didn’t even realize how sore she actually was until she leaned against the wall to kick her shoes off.

“Hey,” Paige said from the couch, her voice light and familiar in a way that made Azzi’s chest ache. “How was the gym?”

Azzi nodded, stretching her arms up over her head. “Good. It was leg day though, so I’m sore as shit right now.”

Paige grinned, standing up to walk over. “Aw, poor you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t miss how Paige looked at her as she walked over.

“You want a massage?” Paige offered, sliding her phone into her pocket. “I mean, I’m not pro like the trainers, but I’m like top two.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah, and who told you that? They’re for sure lying to you.”

“Kk,” Paige said without missing a beat, smirking.

Azzi let out a small laugh and walked over to the couch and dramatically flopped down onto it. “Y’know what, sure Paige. I could probably use it anyways.”

“Aight, cool. Just lay there on your stomach and I’ll be back. Imma grab some lotion.” Paige said, before disappearing down the hallway.

Azzi adjusted herself on the couch, flipping onto her stomach. Her sports bra dug uncomfortably into her back as she tried to relax.

When Paige returned, she looked down at her for a second. “You can take your bra off if you want. It might be in the way.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “Good call,” she mumbled, sitting up to pull it over her head and letting it drop onto the floor beside her.

Paige tried to ignore the quick flutter in her chest as she straddled the edge of the couch and squeezed some lotion into her hands. She started gently, working on Azzi’s upper back and shoulders, the silence between them comfortable but humming with something unspoken.

“Lower,” Azzi murmured after a few minutes. “My glutes and thighs are worse. Please.”

Paige moved down without a second thought, beginning to knead her way over Azzi’s thighs.

But Azzi felt the hesitation.

“Paige,” she said, her voice low, “I know you’re probably trying to be respectful or whatever, but I really need you to like, be… harder. I’m sore as shit right now, so please actually touch my ass for once.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Paige let out a surprised laugh.

“Okay then,” she said, smiling wide, “whatever you want princess.”

Azzi chuckled, cheek smushed against the couch pillow. “Thank you.”

Paige leaned in again, her fingers finding the tense muscles in Azzi’s butt. She tried her best to keep her mind focused, but the moment was starting to feel... charged. Intimate.

After a minute, Azzi peeked over her shoulder. “You’re gonna have a hard time getting in there with my shorts on.”

Paige blinked. “You want me to...?”

Azzi nodded once. “Yeah. Just take ‘em off. It’ll help.”

Paige hesitated, then gently tugged the waistband of Azzi’s shorts down, revealing a tiny black thong that made her brain short circuit.

“Fuck, Az,” she whispered without thinking.

Azzi’s cheeks flushed. “Just, keep going.”

The massage continued—genuine, professional if you will—but with every minute that passed, the air between them thickened. Paige’s fingers brushed higher on Azzi’s thigh, and Azzi made a small, unguarded sound—soft, pleased.

Paige froze.

Azzi turned her head slightly. “Don’t stop,” she said, quiet and honest. “Please, P.”

Paige swallowed, fingers still resting gently against her skin. “Az...”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I can pretend this is just a massage anymore.”

Azzi pushed herself up slightly, just enough to meet Paige’s eyes.

“Then don’t.”

Paige nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what Azzi was saying to her. With that, she inched her hand higher on Azzi’s inner thigh, close enough to her core where she could feel the wetness that had gathered there.

“Shit, Az. All this, from a massage?” Paige muttered, tracing small circles between Azzi’s thighs, lightly brushing against her center.

Azzi turned her head, “Paige, I’d so rather you fuck me than sit here and tease me.”

Paige chuckled softly at how needy Azzi was being and nodded, leaning forward near Azzi’s ear. “I gotchu, princess.”

With that, Paige moved her fingers to rub small circles on Azzi’s clit through her soaked panties. Azzi shuddered at the touch. Her body relaxing deeper into the couch.

Paige sped up her circles and Azzi moved her hips back onto Paige’s hand. Silently begging for more.

Azzi’s hips rocked gently against Paige’s hand, her breath shaky, head buried in the couch pillow. Paige’s fingers moved expertly, slow but deliberate, slipping beneath the thin fabric of her thong, finally touching her directly.

Azzi let out a shaky moan, barely loud but so full.

Paige stilled. Not because she wanted to stop—but because something in her chest tugged so hard it almost hurt.

She didn’t want this to just be some tension-breaking hookup. She didn’t want to look at Azzi tomorrow and pretend it never happened. She didn’t want this to stay unspoken.

Paige leaned down, her lips brushing against the curve of Azzi’s shoulder. “Az…”

Azzi turned her head, her eyes heavy but open, searching.

“I—” Paige hesitated. “I don’t want this to be just… this. I don’t want to fuck you unless you know it means something to me.”

Azzi blinked. Her breath caught—not from Paige’s fingers, but from her words.

She shifted, turning over onto her back beneath Paige’s weight, the flush still high on her cheeks, but her expression soft.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen,” she said quietly. “Since USA basketball. Since that stupid recruitment video. Since you let me sleep in your bed when I got homesick.”

Paige’s lips parted, stunned still.

“I didn’t tell you,” Azzi continued, “because I thought you didn’t feel it too. That you just… wanted to be close. Not like that.”

Paige let out a breathless laugh, her forehead pressing to Azzi’s. “Azzi. You’ve been the only thing I’ve wanted since before I even knew what the hell I was feeling.”

Azzi smiled softly, cupping Paige’s face with lotion-slick fingers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige whispered, kissing her slowly—no teasing, no smirk, just gentle. Real. Like the years they danced around this had built up to this one moment.

Azzi pulled her closer, whispering against her lips, “Then show me. But not just because I asked.”

Paige shook her head, her voice a breath, “No, baby. Because I’ve been waiting years to.”

She kissed down Azzi’s jaw, her collarbone, tracing every place she’d always wanted to touch but never let herself. Her hands moved with purpose now—not teasing anymore, not careful. Loving. Claiming.

Azzi’s legs fell open easily for her, but her hands found Paige’s again, lacing their fingers together. “This is the part where you call me your good girl, by the way,” she whispered, breathless. “Just in case you forgot.”

Paige smirked, heart racing. “Never.”

Then she leaned down, fingers still working inside her, lips brushing Azzi’s ear.

“You’re my good girl,” she whispered. “My favorite. My best friend. My person. You always have been.”

Azzi moaned again, louder this time, arching into her, chasing more—of Paige, of this. Of everything they’d been holding in.

And when she came— gasping Paige’s name messily���it wasn’t just pleasure she felt. It was safety between them. It was theirs.

She laid there after, flushed and fucked out, while Paige curled beside her on the couch, brushing hair from her face, pressing soft kisses to her temple.

“I love you,” Paige said simply, like it had always been true.

Azzi turned to her, smiling sleepily. “I know. I love you too.”

And just like that, years of silence turned into the softest sound in the world.

[peasack]

I have a patent-teacher conference and guys its not okay I'm cooked.

Lowkey a bit of Valentina slander at the end but that's okay cause who likes her anyway.

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Parent-Teacher conference headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ Alexei Shostakov ✦

Immediate big bear grin. “Of course! I would love to! Finally, official father duties! I am ready.”

He’s way too excited. You almost regret asking him because he immediately starts planning what to wear like it’s the Olympics.

He introduces himself as your “papa” and tells wildly exaggerated stories about your achievements that didn’t happen.

“Ah yes, Y/N once lifted a car. Very strong. Takes after me.”

The teacher is just blinking rapidly “I-what?”

He lowkey embarrasses you, but he’s also so proud.

Brags about you non-stop and leaves with his arm around you, even if you’re fake-mad at him the whole way home.

✦ Yelena Belova ✦

Acts super casual about it. “Yes, I can go. Why not? Someone must supervise the situation.” But she’s secretly honored you asked her.

She shows up in the coolest outfit and definitely intimidates your teacher a little.

If the teacher complains about you, she’s like: “No. You are wrong. Y/N is perfect.” (Dead serious.)

If they praise you, she’s smug for the rest of the week.

“You know, you could have asked anyone. But you picked me. Admit it Mouse. I am the best.”

✦ Bucky Barnes ✦

Very quiet, kinda awkward. “Me? Uh… yeah. Sure, kid. If you want me to.”

He sits stiffly, probably wears his nicest jacket. Doesn’t say much unless he needs to defend you.

If the teacher says you’re struggling, he’s all protective like, “What’s the school doing to help them? They’re not doing this alone.”

Absolutely takes your side.

If the teacher complains about you hanging out alone, Bucky’s just like, “Yeah? Maybe the other kids should be less annoying.”

Buys you snacks on the way home.

Barely talks about the meeting, just quietly says he’s proud of you.

✦ John Walker ✦

Blown away. “Wait, you want me to go? Like… with you? Of course! Yeah, I can do that. I’m good at that. Totally. Parental figure. Yeah.”

(He’s so flustered it’s adorable.)

Takes it VERY seriously. Nods way too much. The teacher lowkey loves him because he’s polite and enthusiastic.

If they criticize you, John gets defensive FAST.

“Have you considered that maybe your teaching style isn’t working for them? Just a thought.”

Treats you to dinner after like it’s a whole formal event.

“You did good, kid. Real good. Thanks for letting me be there.”

✦ Bob Reynolds ✦

Looks like you just asked him to hold the sun. He’s so touched. “Me? You really want me to go? Yeah. Yeah, I’d be honored.”

Soft-spoken the whole time. Very respectful but sharp when it comes to defending you.

He listens carefully, makes eye contact, thanks the teacher even if they’re being harsh.

If the teacher praises you, he beams.

Quiet little proud smiles. Might ruffle your hair without thinking.

Gets awkward when you thank him.

“Oh—uh, you don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you wanted me there.”

He'll be smiling after that all day.

✦ Ava Starr ✦

“Why me?” but not in a bad way—just genuinely surprised you’d choose her.

When you tell her you trust her, she agrees instantly. “I’ll be there. You got me.”

Has the most terrifying resting face. The teacher is so scared to say anything negative because Ava looks like she’ll end them.

If the teacher says you’re doing well, Ava’s eyes soften.

She just mutters, “Told you they were good.”

Doesn’t make a big deal out of it. On the way home she just quietly says, “Thanks for picking me.” But you can tell it meant a lot.

✦ Valentina Allegra de Fontaine ✦

"why would I wanna go to that"

Simply doesn't attend.

�� ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Hope you guys liked this one!! My requests are always open<33

Is it obvious that I hate Valentina

[lalacliffthorne]

🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: a scheme needs rules.

notes: didn't think so many people would be into this concept tbh. hope you keep enjoying it 🖤 ______________________________________________________________

The lock clicks, and I push open the door, waving my hand.

Fae lights flicker to life. Their warm glow spills through the small living room, soft and familiar, and I hesitate before looking over my shoulder.

The floorboards creak gently. Then shadows bleed over the threshold, whispering quietly, and my breath catches.

Azriel slowly steps through the doorway. His wings brush against the frame, and the warm golden light turns his eyes into liquid amber as they slide over the worn leather couch, the shelves spilling over with books and the dining table covered in documents.

Shadows coil gently around his wings, whispering where they meet the light.

He's never been here before. Maybe because I am too protective of my own space.

Now, he looks so out of place looming in the doorway that a giggle nearly bubbles in my throat.

Cauldron. This really is absolutely and entirely mad.

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding firmly against my ribs. Then I turn quickly.

"I think we need to set some ground rules."

Azriel's eyes move away from the daggers on the coffee table, and something leaps softly into my throat when they meet mine.

Suddenly, I'm aware of how small the room is. How wide his shoulders are, how much space his towering body takes up. How the shadows curling around him are whispering, and how his amber eyes seem to track my every move.

My breath hitches softly.

Absolutely and entirely mad.

Azriel's gaze flickers over my face. Then he moves.

Shadows whisper gently over my skin, his scent washes over me, and for a second, the feeling of his hands wrapped around my ribs and his lashes fluttering against my cheeks washes over me.

The shadowsinger pushes past me and his rough skin brushes my wrist; my heart leaps into my throat, and I forcefully drag myself away from the memory.

Azriel leans against the dining table, stretching out his long legs and fixing his eyes on me. Then he dips his head lightly. "Go on."

Something swells a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

Alright.

So far, so good.

Now I just need to manage this conversation without accidentally saying something that makes him want to murder me after all.

"Well." I slowly lean back against the arm of the sofa, my gaze flickering over the Spymaster's face. "How long do we plan on doing this?"

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then one of his brows rises lightly.

"I don't know. What was your plan after kissing the first male in sight?"

I blink.

I knew it.

This is a terrible idea. A harebrained, stupid idea that has cost me my last bit of remaining dignity, and now he's going to use every second of this insane charade to torment me for the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my whole life -

The corner of Azriel's lips curves, just barely.

My heart leaps high against my ribs. Then my shoulders sag.

"Oh, hilarious." I huff and cross my arms.

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek.

"Just a little." His deep voice sounds dry, and something lodges gently in my throat when I stare back at him.

In the warm light, his eyes look strangely amused.

I blink. Then I quickly look away.

"Well. It should at least be long enough that it seems serious enough to count. To convince Mor that I really am alright." I crunch my brows softly. "But also not serious or long enough that - when we eventually break up, she won't believe me that I'm not heartbroken."

Azriel nods lightly.

"It has to last until Solstice. That's three months from now." His deep voice tinges with something that sounds very close to irritation when he adds in a low mumble: "That should prove to Cass and Rhys I'm not incapable of lasting connection."

Something dips gently in my chest in surprise, and my gaze darts up and flickers over his face.

I can't help but wonder if he's irritated by their assumption - or if maybe, they're right.

"Have you never had a relationship?"

The question is out before I can stop it. Then my heart drops, and my eyes widen.

Azriel's dark gaze rises and settles on mine, and I nearly shrink.

Oh Mother.

I'm busted.

Quickly, I blurt: "I just - well, Cass and Rhys have known you for basically your whole life, and if you say they don't think you're capable of lasting connection, that implies that they've never seen you in one before, which in turn means you never had a relationship."

One of Azriel's brows quirks.

I blink.

I'm also dead.

For a second, we stare at each other over the coffee table. Then Azriel's voice vibrates through me, deep and slow and unbelievably dry.

"You do realise that just because they have never seen me in a relationship does not mean that I have never been in one."

I blink.

Right.

"Anyway." Feeling my cheeks heat and tearing my eyes away hastily, I clear my throat. "What else?"

Just for a second, Azriel's eyes flash with that same strangely amused twinkle.

"I need you to be there for as many social occasions as possible." He straightens lightly, voice slow and steady. "Whether it's family dinner, a formal gathering or something else. That way Rhys and Cass stay off my back, and it keeps - unwanted attention away from both of us." His gaze pierces mine, and my heart leaps gently.

"Alright." I hesitate for a second, my eyes flickering over his face.

I've been thinking about the next point since I've brought up ground rules.

It's the one I'm most certain will cause him to change his mind and decide that ripping me to shreds might actually be a joyful compensation for the situation I have dragged him into.

But I know that without it, this whole scheme will blow up in our faces.

So I breathe in and and out, blurting the dreaded words with the exhale.

"We need to spend time together apart from everyone else."

Azriel's eyes sharpen in the warm light.

Just for a second, a muscle in his jaw tightens.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and I shrug softly, offering him a hesitant smile. "They're going to get suspicious if we only make a point of showing up together when people are watching."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine. It's dark, and unwavering, and I stare back, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The shadowsinger blinks slowly. Then his voice brushes over my skin, low and steady.

"Any ideas?"

Something catches softly in my throat.

Azriel just watches me. Calm, waiting.

I blink and somehow manage to pull myself together.

"I don't know, say - sleep five nights a week together?" My heart leaps high, and my eyes widen a little as I add hastily: "I- I mean act like we do. Sleep - together." I blink. "Not actually sleep together — I mean, just sleep in the same room."

Somehow, I manage to shut myself up because I can make it worse. Something is thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel's eyes are fixed on mine.

This is a terrible idea.

Truly, awful, terrible idea -

"Four nights."

My thoughts of impending doom screech to an abrupt halt, and my gaze flies up.

Azriel crosses his arms, his gaze steady and calm. He sounds strangely unbothered given what he's currently agreeing to.

"We'll have to see how our assignments line up. It'll probably be easiest if we spend most nights here, because there's nobody around to be nosy." His brow quirks lightly. But he looks only mildly irritated; maybe even a little amused when he adds: "We are going to have to spend at least a few nights at the Townhouse now and then though, so nobody gets suspicious." His eyes pierce mine, glowing in the light. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "I'll take the couch."

Something under my ribs swells.

Maybe we will actually be fine.

Well. Don't push it.

"Alright." Exhaling, I nod.

For a moment, I hesitate and chew on my lip. Then I blurt softly: "How far are we going?"

The shadowsinger lightly quirks an eyebrow. His eyes are swirling amber in the warm light.

"I mean -" My gaze flickers over his face, and my throat closes gently. "I just -"

Don't know how much I can handle without bursting.

Azriel's gaze shifts and narrows in. Something closes gently around my chest when it deepens until it seems to burn through my skin. Then his low voice brushes over my skin, slow and firm.

"I don't care what you think anybody expects." His eyes pierce mine, brows drawing together gently almost like he's willing me to listen very closely. "You decide how far you are willing to go."

Suddenly, there's a small, gentle lump in my throat.

"What about you?" My voice is soft when my eyes dart over his.

The planes of Azriel's face looks like carved from marble. But his eyes are calm and steady when he returns my gaze.

"I'll just follow your lead."

I exhale, and something swells harshly under my ribs when my shoulders sink.

"Alright." I nod slowly.

Azriel's eyes glide over my face like he's making sure I mean it. Then he nods back lightly.

"Well." I breathe in and raise my brows. "We are going to have to create some kind of - illusion of intimacy. I mean, I think we can agree on the fact that we won't have to be as bold as Cassian would be, I mean, neither of us is the type for that, so it would actually be more suspicious if we were too obvious -" I exhale again and raise my head. "How about we just agree to follow what feels - natural. In the moment."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he nods once, steady and calm.

"Alright." I nod back. "I guess we will figure the rest out along the way." My lips twitch as suddenly, something is fluttering against my ribs. It feels strangely giddy.

I raise my brows. "This feels secretive enough to warrant an oath to hold us to our agreement."

I'm almost sure I can see Azriel's lips twitch. Then he rises, and my breath catches gently when, amber eyes burning into mine, he holds out his hand.

Staring up at him, I swallow softly. Then I slowly push myself to my feet and reach out.

Warm, rough skin glides against mine when I slip my palm into Azriel's. Long, calloused fingers wrap around my hand, their grip firm but strangely gentle, and my heart leaps into my throat when Azriel shakes my hand, his eyes piercing mine.

I blink. Then I slowly slip my hand out of his and grin, softly and cheekily.

"Well, now that we've settled this - I'm calling it a night." I hesitate, my eyes flickering over his face. "Are you…"

Shadows curl around Azriel's wings when he returns my stare steadily. Then he nods lightly. "I'm staying."

My heart leaps gently against my ribs.

Azriel blinks, and one of his dark eyebrows twitches. "Mor would get suspicious if I slept at the Townhouse." His gaze pierces mine, and his deep voice is slow when he adds: "Besides. To make this believable, I have to smell like you."

Something catches gently in my throat.

For a moment, we stare at each other. The spots in Azriel's eyes are shifting like stars through the sky. His shadows whisper gently against the floorboards. Then I blink and send him a soft, cheeky smile and turn around.

When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitate. Then I exhale and look over my shoulder, grinning softly even as something plucks at my heart.

 “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Azriel's eyes rise to meet mine.

For a second, we stare at each other. His iris is glowing softly in the warm light. Then he blinks, and his slow, rough voice brushes down my spine. “I don’t.”

Something swells gently against my ribs.

Azriel raises a brow.

“I mean, I do. Sometimes." His eyes pierce mine. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "When you decide to just kiss somebody without actually looking at them and then rope them into pretending you’re seeing each other for example –“

My heart leaps into my throat, and my lips part incredulously.

“You offered that!”

Azriel stares at me, and slowly, the ghost of a smirk forms on his lips.

Something swells in my throat until it feels hard to breathe.

“I hate you.” My mumble is soft and grouchy. But the thrum of my heart betrays me.

Azriel's eyes are twinkling in the light as they pierce mine. Then he blinks and bows his head lightly. "Goodnight."

My breath hitches gently. Then I nod back gently.

"Goodnight."

♡

It takes me hours to fall asleep.

The knowledge that Azriel is in my flat, my small, chaotic home, makes what happened tonight real.

But somewhere between the slow, strange realisation that I don't feel half as nervous as I probably should and the sky slowly turning a lighter shade of blue, I finally drift away.

When I wake up, the sun tickles my face and the flat is quiet.

For a moment, I just bury deeper into my blanket, blinking tiredly. I can hear the gentle buzz of the city from outside my window, soft voices streaming up from the cafe in the cobblestone alley below. A gentle breeze shifts the thin curtains, brushing over my skin.

I lay still for a while longer, feeling the drowsy feeling of sleep slowly leaving my limbs and the soft weight of the sheets wrapped around my body. Then, rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up and slide off the mattress.

My bare feet are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards when I pad over to the door, stretching lightly.

Opening it, I raise my head, and my breath catches.

Azriel is leaning against the counter. Sunlight is streaming through the window, turning his eyes into liquid gold and shining through the thin membranes of his wings. His brows are crunched lightly against the gentle glow.

He's not wearing a shirt.

Suddenly, something is thrumming under my ribs.

Azriel turns his head, and shadows whisper softly against his wings.

I didn't think he would stay.

For a quiet moment, we look at each other from across the room, like the last bits of night are slowly washing away and what we are left with is the deal we struck in the middle of the night over the coffee table.

It feels less tense than I imagined. Calmer. More steady.

I blink. Then I smile, soft and careful.

"Hey."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he slowly slides a steaming cup over the counter.

His iris looks like amber from this angle.

A slow exhale leaves me, and I feel my shoulders sink when I send him a soft, cheeky grin.

"The service."

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek, and his eyes drag over my face.

Rubbing my eyes, I start to make my way over into the kitchen. Azriel watches me get closer. His shoulders shift, tattoos rippling gently. He looks calm, relaxed.

Like somehow, he fits into the small embrace of my home, in with the worn floorboards and the old couch and the little corner of a kitchen.

I decide not to mull on that last thought.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the smooth wooden counter, rubbing my eyes softly before picking up the cup. The scent of herbs rises into my nose, and my lids flutter gently when I breathe it in softly.

Silence settles over the kitchen. I don't know if I'm simply still too tired to care, but it feels warm and comfortable, like the sunlight falling onto the floorboards.

Azriel is blinking into the warm rays. The golden sheen causes his skin to glow and dips his eyes into amber. A dark strand of hair is curving over his forehead.

Fighting the strange sudden urge to brush it back, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup and blink sleepily. Shadows whisper, soft and gentle, lapping at the floorboards.

After a few sips of tea, my body starts to wake.

Leaning my temple against the cabinet, I hesitate, my eyes on the side of Azriel's face. Then I start softly: "Are you still -"

His head turns, and I lose my thread of thought for a breath when his golden eyes meet mine. There are dark spots dancing in his iris.

I blink before mumbling gently: "Are we still doing this?"

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, steady and unreadable. Then his deep voice brushes over my skin, low and calm.

"Have you changed your mind?"

I shake my head softly from side to side.

The shadowsinger dips his head lightly, and one of his brows rises. "Then we're doing this."

I exhale and nod, my shoulders straightening gently.

"Alright."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, and the dark spots in his iris shift, strangely akin to a twinkle.

A rapid, loud knock against the front door makes me jump, nearly spilling my tea.

"What the -"

The door flies open before I can even finish my sentence, and a tall blonde figure sweeps over the threshold.

"I cannot believe you -"

My heart leaps high.

Mor's gaze finds mine. She stops abruptly, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

For a second, the Blonde looks stunned. Her lips are parted lightly, brows raised. Her gaze slowly drags back and forth between me and the male beside me.

Azriel's eyebrows quirks.

Quickly, I slide off the counter. My feet hit the ground, and Mor slowly blinks.

"Alright… Finding both of you here is admittedly not what I expected, though, looking back, an obvious assumption… but at least this way I don't have to have this conversation twice." She clears her throat and straightens, raising her brows. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

I blink and swallow. Then I smile sheepishly. "Tea?"

Mor narrows her eyes.

"Nice try. I might come back to that in a second. Now spill it. What is this, why don't I know about it, how long has this been going on?!"

My heart leaps against my throat, and my mind blanks.

Brilliant.

All this talk yesterday and we really forgot the simple point of coming up with a story.

Bollocks.

Somewhere behind me, Azriel huffs.

"It's none of your business." His deep voice sounds lazy and a little dry.

Mor crunches her brows like he's just made the most preposterous statement and snorts.

"I'm both of your best friend. Of course it is my business!"

My shoulders stiffen.

We really should have thought about this. This is bad. This is really, really -

There's a shift in the air behind me. Then something brushes against my shoulder.

Shadows whisper against my ankles, and my breath catches when a rough palm presses against my lower back in a featherlight, steadying touch for nothing but a second.

Mor's eyes narrow in. I feel myself sink back almost instinctively, into the towering presence behind me, trying to suppress the urge to wince as I wait for her to call our bluff -

I don't know what Mor sees. But the Blonde exhales and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Fine... Just tell me how it happened!" Her eyes find mine again, starting to twinkle, and my heart tumbles against my ribs.

"I don't know." I lightly raise my shoulders, smiling weakly. "It just - did."

Well, at least that's not a lie.

Mor huffs and crosses her arms. But her lips curve slowly, and I risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Azriel is so close that his chest lightly brushes against my shoulder. His wings are looming, relaxed against his back, his hand resting on the counter behind me, just close enough I can feel the tips of his fingers graze my hip.

It's not flashy. No show of closeness.

He's just there. Towering over me, quiet, calm. Steadying. Like it's natural for him to be right where he is now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my hair and his presence in my back.

It feels real.

Blinking, I tear my eyes away again and meet Mor's. She's still staring at us, her eyes narrowed. But that strange twinkle is slowly spreading through her iris. Then she huffs.

"Fine. Be secretive." Her voice sounds almost grudgingly amused when she adds in a mumble: "It suits you."

Azriel's lips twitch.

Exhaling dramatically, Mor raises her hands. "Alright, I won't ask." Her eyes are twinkling with mischief when they meet mine. "But you owe me breakfast for not telling me."

Something like relief swells under my ribs, and I exhale. "Fair."

Mor beams.

"Well, then; get dressed, I'm not taking you out like this!" She raises her brows at Azriel. "I'd say you're welcome to join, but knowing you, you've got somewhere to be."

I look up over my shoulder, and Azriel looks down at me. His eyes are piercing, steady.

My heart leaps gently at the silent question in his gaze, and I send him a soft nod.

Azriel's lips curve just the slightest bit. Then he says, gaze never leaving mine: "Rhys is waiting for me."

I blink, feeling my brows crunch gently when my gaze flickers over his face.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if it's the truth. And if it is - why he stuck around instead of leaving.

Mor pointedly clears her throat.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and quickly, I tear my eyes away from Azriel's.

The Blonde grins, then she raises her brows at the Spymaster. "Alright, well, off you go then."

The shadowsinger huffs, then he pushes off the counter, and my breath catches when his chest presses lightly against my shoulder.

"I'll see you later." His deep voice brushes over my skin, low and quiet like the words are meant to seem only for me. My eyes rise to meet his, and Azriel's gaze pierces mine, calm and steady.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and I nod lightly.

Rough skin brushes my hand. My breath catches in my throat, and for just a heartbeat, Azriel's scarred fingers slide between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then his hand slips away, and he is swallowed by shadows.

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

@icey--stars @ailyr92 @xadenswhore

@sttvrdustt @thalia-as-blog @navyblue-eternity

@florencemtrash @kksbookstuff @messageforthesmallestman

@myfatbottomedgirls @laurenslover864 @xinsonyax

@fxckmiup @bestlessonslearnt @balufy

@sheblogs @i-am-infinite @wickedshadowsinger

@gretavankleep37 @extro2603 @thelov3lybookworm

@brekkershadowsinger @hoeforthefictional @historygeekqueen

@a-court-of-milkandhoney @lilah-asteria

[aquawyrm]

Hm. Hmmmm. So. The idea that asexuals are all repulsed by sex was lodged so firmly in the head of one of my exes that she could not take my word for it when I said "you'll have to say something if you want to have sex with me, because I'm not going to bring it up, but I'm happy to do this thing for and with you."

She couldn't ask for sex from me without feeling like she was forcing me to do something that I wouldn't enjoy. When this was very much not the case. She took "I don't really feel any intrinsic urge to fuck" to mean "I have to force myself in a traumatic and psychologically damaging way to have sex in order to keep a partner" which... uh... I don't have any problems with having sex? It's kinda nice? It's just also not something that I require in order to be happy. And no matter what I said, she couldn't get past "I'm ace" to any of the nuance.

So. People who aren't ace should be able to say "asexuals can still have sex!" Saying that people who aren't ace can't say that is going to encourage misinformation and people insisting that their interlocutors tell them the exact content of their personal rainbow alphabet soup, which is really none of their business, any time they go to have a conversation about any kind of queerness!

I want people who aren't ace to say "asexuals can still have sex if they want to," or "aromantics can date or get married if they decide to do that," without getting attacked over it! I just also want people to understand that, often, asexuals don't want to have sex, and that's just fine too!

It reminds me of being told that white people can't talk about how bad institutionalized racism is because they don't experience it themselves, and then seeing that the consequence of that is that white people who could have been allies in making that institutionalized racism less powerful not doing that.

Please, don't gatekeep knowledge. It doesn't help anyone. It just makes you feel Right and Good in a way that empowers misinformation and conflict and division.

The sentences "Asexuals can still have sex" and "Aromantics can still date" need to go up on the high shelf for everyone except aces and aros talking about their own experiences. From now on, everyone else has to use the revolutionary new phrase "Asexuals and aromantics can do whatever the fuck they want forever."

[bitofanupsidedowner]

we're past the appropriate rejection window honestly. remember how steve is rejected by robin in the same season he develops feelings for her? or how dustin is symbolically rejected by max in the season he develops feelings for her? that's because it would have been a super weird choice to build it up for a really long time and then end it with a rejection.

there's a reason why in season three when joyce rejects hopper, we all immediately know it isn't a real rejection, even though they're fighting, she's grieving and planning to leave, and he's being unreasonable and unfair. there's reason after reason to think it's not going to happen, but because he's had feelings for her since season one we know it's going somewhere.

who waits on the edge of their seat to watch someone get turned down? who stays subscribed to netflix for that? that kind of thing would not be interesting, it would just be a confusing way to spend the increasingly limited time right before your show ends. penultimate season. every scene has to mean something bigger, all the way down to lucas talking about new coke or mike trying a new kind of pizza.

in writing you primarily only want to wait and build up to things if the result is going to be worth waiting for. rejection of the perpetually tortured gay kid is predictable and doesn't function to do much at all story wise. easy to write around, too, but they did the opposite. they built will's character around this.

they also have no need to dip back into the rejection pool narratively, doesn't add to the story. especially this late into the game. (sidenote, weird how people were not nearly as sure robin was going to be rejected despite her love interest being mirrored to mike, significantly less developed, and introduced so late, but i digress)

if they wanted mike to reject will, it should have been during the van scene. he should have given mike the painting and said something along the lines of, "i know you don't feel the same, but i really want you to know how el sees you, how we all see you. you're the heart. we'd fall apart without you." it would have still been sad but it would have been an ending.

because plotlines need to end! they need to end when it makes sense for them to, not before or after. dragging it along means they either realize they have something worth dragging, or have deliberately decided to prolong a plot point past its logical conclusion for the sole purpose of milking every last second of misery they can out of will, which would be needlessly cruel and so, so gratuitous.

it's not like the van scene NEEDED to happen exactly how it happened. any scene that is solely character driven with no impact on the plot can be rewritten over and over and changed into whatever it has to be. it was written as the most romantic mike moment in any season, and it was filmed and lit and directed extremely specifically. zero accidents.

robin and vickie was unnecessary without a plan. mike and will was unnecessary unless they have a plan.

so they must have a plan. if mike was going to reject will, it had to be in season four. but mike didn't reject will. not at all. he was actually very, very moved by what will had to say, he just didn't entirely realize what it was he was saying.

in fact, they made sure that this plotline was not just unsolved, but that it was obligated to come back, by having it go against the character's most consistent moral line of friends don't lie. and gave it to the character who, in his introductory scene, refuses to lie. dishonesty has genuine ramifications in this show, and will's is attached to a physical (treasured) object that has to come back into play. they can't sweep it under the rug and mike can't reject will without it coming off as... just... far too late.

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[beffrmin]

SKZ OT8 Smut Headcannons.

Hey, so I am a new writer.. let's not hate too much? Everything I write is just what I imagine from their personalities.. and how I will get used to writing them, for right now.. so yeah.

For my beginning, first post, or whatever you want to call this.. I want to establish that this is just for fun.. I do not mean harm to any of the idols I write about. This is just from a curious and open mind.

This is set up kind of like one of those "pick your poison," kind of posts, so just go down the list and find your bias if that is all your here for.. if not, then with your interest here as someone looking for stories, this is going to be how their sexual preferences are for these fictions. Before I make a full story, I will upload bits and pieces of small stories to adjust with writing their personalities.

So, without a further a due :

‼️WARNIGS:‼️ This is sexual content and only 18+ should interact with this.‼️MDNI‼️If you are easily disturbed by BDSM and/or anything besides vanilla sex, this content is not for you.‼️

Thank you...

Christopher Chan Bahng. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "Nah, let's just wrap 'em up." Listen, he has seven grown ass children.. take the damn condom or get no dick.

ᝰ.ᐟ Daddy Dom. It's undeniable at this point. Chan likes being called daddy, he likes taking care of you, after he has wrecked you. He likes being able to discipline you, when you act out.

ᝰ.ᐟ Face-off. This is his favorite position. He likes you in his lap, facing him, while he sat straight up, fucking into you. Yes, usually it would be riding.. but Chan isn't really into that, he wants to control your orgasms and make you cry.

ᝰ.ᐟ Boobs or Ass? Ass.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Angry Sex. Let's just say, he enjoys this so much, he'll sometimes picks fights with his members, just to come home and fuck all of that anger into the mattress with you.

ᝰ.ᐟ Light Bondage. Bondage gets very iffy with Chan. He doesn't want to hurt you, so his quick fix to it is truly a way you can enjoy it and he doesn't have to worry too much.. he will only tie the wrist and the ankles.

ᝰ.ᐟ Pet names and Praises. Not many things turn Chan on, that are non-sexual.. but when he does something for you and you use just the right pet-name, praising him for it.. he feels the heat picks up and he just wants to fuck you right there..

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Humiliation. He hates this, not only for you, but for him too. He hates having to humiliate you or your sex life, just to get off. It makes him feel icky and he goes soft. It's intimate and he wants to make you feel that way.

ᝰ.ᐟ Impact Play. If he needs to discipline you, he will in other ways. He doesn't feel right laying a hand on you, even if you consent to it. It's just the type of man he is.

Lee Minho. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "Fuck the condom, I don't care.." No, because he actually despises condoms.

ᝰ.ᐟ Bratty and, slightly, Sadistic Dom. Minho is a Brat tramer who responds to a Brat, by being bratty. He also can be extremely sadistic. You're bratting him in public? "Don't make me fuck your slutty cunt, right here in front of everybody, baby.."

ᝰ.ᐟ Missionary. This is his favorite position, mostly, because he does have a lot of control in this position. Plus, when he cums inside of you, it feels almost primal to him in that position. The most intimate.

ᝰ.ᐟ Boobs or Ass? Boobs.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Control. Minho loves watching you crawl and beg for him. He loves to play the games. Anyway he can control you, he will try. Mind games, humiliation, or even dirty talk. He just likes watching you get flushed.

ᝰ.ᐟ Thigh Riding. He will sit there for hours, watching you use his thigh to rut against. He will sit there and rock you back and forth, while he palms at himself and whispers dirty approvals to you.

ᝰ.ᐟ Dumbification. Minho will give the most shit eating grin during sex if he realizes he made you go dumb, which, at that point, leads to his agenda being: make her into a zombie.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Blood Play. He is a freak, but Minho draws a solid line at the sight of blood. That is just not his cup of tea and he panics the moment he sees it. He wants to be rough with you, not hurt you.

ᝰ.ᐟ Knife Play. Knife Play equals drawing blood, which equals a solid, hard no from Minho.

Seo Changbin. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "I'll just pull out." There is really no telling with Bin, he might wear one or he might not.

ᝰ.ᐟ Brat Tamer. Changbin loves a challenge. His challenge is often you. Which means, for him to be able to break you into a bed, he has to get you to behave right.. which is mostly physical restraint.

ᝰ.ᐟ Up Against the Wall. Legs wrapped around him, while he thrusts into you, while you against the wall. It's his favorite position, mostly, because it shows you how strong he is.. being able to pick you up and fuck you like that.

ᝰ.ᐟ Boobs or Ass? Both.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Filming. He loves to film you and the intimate time that goes in between the two of you. He doesn't post it. No, he just saves it for his own later uses, but he loves the films a little more, knowing he had your trust while filming it.

ᝰ.ᐟ Marking. Bin isn't really a jealous person. He knows all to well that you would never cheat on him.. but other men have wandering eyes and he doesn't like that too much. So, hickeys and bite marks. Everywhere. His pants get tighter every time he sees one.

ᝰ.ᐟ Power Play. As much as Bin hates to admit it, he really does have a thing for out-powering you. He likes knowing he could bend you over at any minute to fuck you senseless.. so sometimes you please him with a little free-use here and there.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Sharing. This is a big no from Changbin. To be honest with you, if you even bring the idea up to him, he might low-key crash the fuck out on you. He isn't too fond of having to share what is his, especially with his dumbass members.

ᝰ.ᐟ Impact Play. Listen.. Bin is strong, he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you in some shape or form. He would rather just avoid it at all costs. He will physically restrain you all day, but hitting is something he won’t do.

Hwang Hyunjin. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "If you don't care, I won't use it.." Yeah, Hyunjin is a firm believer that it feels so much better without a condom.

ᝰ.ᐟ Voyeurism Dom. He is the kind of man who wants to watch you touch yourself for hours, torturing you with the fact that he could make you feel so much better than toys and fingers.

ᝰ.ᐟ Cowgirl. This is his favorite position, mostly for the reason he can see all of you. He loves watching you fuck yourself on his cock.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Threesomes. This is something he suggests.. not to get another girl in for, but to get Felix in for. This man actually loves watching another man take you. It makes him feel even better when he's watching you take him and his best friend at the same time.

ᝰ.ᐟ Oral Fixation. He gives amazing head.. like ungodly, unreal, great head. But he has a fixation with watching you suck him off.. it's like he's more into watching you do it, rather than the actual pleasure that comes from it.

ᝰ.ᐟ Cum Play. He will cum inside you.. fuck it in some.. play it while it is sobbing out of your pussy.. keep fucking it in.. then out of nowhere, rub it onto your tits and lips.. then continue to fuck his cum into you.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Bondage. Yeah, uhm, he is terrified of hurting you in any way, at all, whatsoever. He said, "I love you, but no. It can cut your circulation and I don't feel comfortable doing that to you." He was at least respectful.

ᝰ.ᐟ Impact Play. Also for the same reasons as bondage. He just doesn't feel comfortable laying a hand on you in a way that could hurt you. It would honestly make him feel like shit.

Han Jisung. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "Shit.. I forgot the condom again.." He tries to use one, but Jisung gets so pussy-drunk, he just totally blanks putting one on.

ᝰ.ᐟ Pleasure Dom. He wants you shaking. His main focus is you and your pleasure. This can often get mistaken as a service dom, but the difference is a pleasure dom is more pussy-drunk and much more gentle.

ᝰ.ᐟ Face-sitting. He doesn't exactly have a favorite position.. he just wants you to sit on his face. That is the only way he wants you and prefers to have you: humping your clit into his nose, while he tongue devours your core.

ᝰ.ᐟ Boobs or Ass? Pussy.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Face-fucking. Listen, Jisung isn't rough.. but when you brought up the idea, he was iffy on it. Well, turns out he fucking loves it. He feels bad making you cry and hurting you, but he can't get over how pretty you sound gagging and choking on his cock. He always apologizes right after.

ᝰ.ᐟ Moaning. He goes feral the moment he hears you moan. It like flicks this switch in his head and he starts going deeper.. then deeper.. then next thing you know he is starting to speed up.

ᝰ.ᐟ Marking. His is a bit different from the usual marking kink. Jisung really loves finding scratch marks on him after sex, he later brags about them to Minho.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Roleplay. Jisung is not the biggest fan of it. Not for the reason he hates it, but he really can't take it seriously enough to stay hard. He would start laughing and try to understand how this was how you wanted to enjoy your night, instead of him giving you a toe curling orgasm.

ᝰ.ᐟ Impact Play. Also, just not the biggest fan of it. He doesn't really like the idea of raising his hands at a woman. The most physical he will get is light tugs to your hair, but hitting is stepping a line for him.

Lee Felix. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "Com'on, darlin'.. we need to be careful.." The thought of becoming a father scares Felix..

ᝰ.ᐟ Service Dom. His pleasure is completely your pleasure. That is how he gets off to you. He has little things he asks for, but most of the time his focus, is your pleasure.

ᝰ.ᐟ Missionary. This is what feels most natural to him. It's his way of showing you all of his love, plus he loves eye contact.

ᝰ.ᐟ Boobs or Ass? Both.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Anal. This was a shock to you. When he asked you to roll over, you thought this man was going to be hitting it from the back and all you got was a pop and a cock into the ass. He just has a thing for ruining every hole.

ᝰ.ᐟ Cock-warming. This was something that you two found out accidentally. More like, you found out accidentally, he was just trying to game. Now, every time he games, you have to be there sitting pretty and still for him.

ᝰ.ᐟ Breath Play. He surprised this one on you, but you didn't debunk. It was extremely iffy to be honest. You two looked into it a little better and next thing you know, Felix loved it. He loved the feeling of you panting and trying to catch your breath underneath him.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Blood Play. Felix just doesn't want to hurt you. This also disqualifies knife play. He does not like the thought of hurting you or making you bleed.

ᝰ.ᐟ Impact Play. Same thing as the blood play. It doesn't sit right with him, raising a hand at a woman for no reason, not even for his own pleasure.

Kim Seungmin. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "I am not trying to be like Chan." Yeah, don't try to convince him otherwise.

ᝰ.ᐟ Rigger Dom. What can he say? He has a thing for ropes. Most of all, he loves seeing you in ropes. He has every ounce of control when he is on top of you and you're restrained down. That's a type of trust that lights a fire in him.

ᝰ.ᐟ Arched Doggy. Face down, ass up, hands tied behind your back, that's the way he loves to fuck.

ᝰ.ᐟ Boobs or Ass? Boobs.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Mirror Sex. He made you get a mirror in your bedroom, that way he could watch himself fuck you. Both of you have mirrors in your rooms, facing the bed for this purpose. Seungmin will even go as far as to grab your hair and force your head up to watch.

ᝰ.ᐟ Cum Denial. This is the real Seungmin now.. ties you up, teases you for hours on end, just for his pleasure. He likes seeing you writhe away into the bed, making you cry, as he pulls the vibrator back to deny you again.

ᝰ.ᐟ Dacryphilia. His dick twitches the moment he sees tears during sex. He will do everything to make more of them slip. Seungmin has the firm belief that you look beautiful when you cry.. plus, he has to be doing a good job, if you're crying about it.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Bodily Fluids or Vile. This means no blood, no piss, no shit. He doesn't do that nasty shit. He would rather have sex with Changbin, before you try to arouse him with your bodily fluids.

ᝰ.ᐟ Feet. This man will not kiss you head to toe. This man will kiss you head to shin, before he starts gagging, because, he is way too close to a foot. He loves you, there is nothing wrong with your feet, he just hates feet.

Yang Jeongin. ؛ ଓ

˙ᵕ˙ Basics..

ᝰ.ᐟ "Okay, baby.. if you insist." Jeongin wanted the condom at first, but it was so easy to talk him out of it.

ᝰ.ᐟ Gentle Dom. He's sweet. Like everything he does is in your mind. Everything he does is out of love for you. That's what makes him so special. Every touch, he appreciates you like some masterpiece.

ᝰ.ᐟ Cunnilingus. Jeongin doesn't have a favorite position. He likes to eat you out. Right between your legs, while you lay back doing whatever you want. Your thighs squish his head, just a bit, every time something feels just a little too good. That is what he wants.

ᝰ.ᐟ Boobs or Ass? Thighs.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-ons..

ᝰ.ᐟ Public Sex. This is the freakiest he has gotten. Every time you guys are out, he wants inside your pants. For some reason, he has the biggest fixation with quickies when the Kids are nearby. He'll hear one of them coming and, "Baby, come sit on my lap.."

ᝰ.ᐟ Praising. He loves praising you. He found out if he praises you at just the right time and with the right words, your walls hug him in ways that make him nearly bust.

ᝰ.ᐟ Breeding. After suggesting no condoms to this boy, he was a bit nervous about it.. then you realized it awoken something in him. That being, he really likes the idea and the risk of filling you, stuffing you, and possibly.. getting you pregnant. It's just a fantasy of his.

˙ᵕ˙ Turn-offs..

ᝰ.ᐟ Pet Play. He isn't kink shaming, he just doesn't get the point in it. He thinks it's something a little strange and it isn't something he really wants to test the waters with.

ᝰ.ᐟ Sharing. Jeongin does not show it, but he is a jealous person. He doesn't like other men looking at you, why would he be okay with them sleeping with you? You are his and his alone. And he's pussy-whipped.

[waitingin4-4time]

So around about 2017 I started losing weight without going to the gym or making a big change to my diet. I called it the shitty job diet because my employer had been purchased by some venture capitol assholes and became a pretty shitty job pretty quickly.

In 2018 I quit that job, got a new one, and got a dog. I started walking 5 or 6 miles a day because my dog refused to go home unless we walked for like 2 hours a night. I was drinking so much water, and loosing so much weight.

In 2019 I was still losing weight, still walking the dog, still drinking so much water (and peeing all of the time), my feet were so dry and cracked you could fit a penny in there like a tire tread test. I had a sinus infection that just kept coming back.

And then I got hit by car while walking the dog. She was fine. My toes were not pointing the right direction at the end of my leg.

So I got my first ambulance ride and the attention of a lot of medical staff. One of fine folks in the ER asked me why my blood sugar was 300. I didn't know and was more worried about my very broken leg.

During my week in the hospital I did get to talk to a nutritionist about what foods have carbohydrates and why they are bad. I also spent less than 5 minutes with an endocrinologist who diagnosing me with type 2 diabetes without asking me a single question. I was still almost 200 pounds obviously it was type 2.

Metformin and kicking a decades long pepsi addiction worked for a bit, until it didn't. Obviously I just needed to really check those nutritional labels and get more exercise (with the limp and sometimes the cane).

In 2021 my doctor sent me to the office pharmacist to talk about a once weekly shot for the fat diabetics who can't control their A1c. We had a conversation that lasted more than 5 minutes. She said hey that sounds like LADA I'm going to order some tests.

Turns out I've got GAD Antibodies. Turns out no amount of hitting the gym and no carb dieting was going to fix my A1c. Turns out LADA is what you call it when doctors can't recognize Type 1 diabetes when it shows up in an over weight 30 something instead of a kid or a skinny person. Turns out I probably did give myself diabetes, but it wasn't pepsi and donuts. It very well might have been working through the flu for the shitty venture capitol assholes that convinced my immune system to start trying to kill me.

Anyway, this is all to say that it should be socially acceptable for me to kick people in the shins (or hit them with my cane when I have it handy) if they make jokes about food choices and diabetes.

This is Lulu she still doesn't want to go home until we've walked at least an hour.

damn people rly hate type 2 diabetics don't they

[nekoashiii]

Hiii Ashi!! I have a request! Can you make one where the lads love interest are showing MC/Reader affection by kissing or hugging her in front of their children? I would LOVE to their children's reaction ^^

Notes: How i feel after disappearing and re appearing, also incase you don't know whenever i say tonight i mean the next night (●'◡'●)

Pairings: Dad!Lads/MC + Their kid (Part 1: Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne)

Extra: Masterlist || Sylus and Xavier will be on part two

Zayne:

The clock above the stove ticked softly, its hands inching past midnight.

Zayne ran a tired hand through his slightly tousled hair as he leaned back on the couch. His white shirt was wrinkled, the scent of hospital antiseptic still faint on his skin. The tie had been the first casualty the moment he stepped through the door. Now it lay somewhere near the front shoe rack, forgotten in favor of the warm home. and you.

You’d been waiting. Despite the exhaustion in your bones from days of Constant Wanderer missions, you’d stayed up just for this. For the quiet comfort between you two, For him. The two of you sat side by side now, a half-finished dinner sitting on the table, the sound of some low, peaceful movie playing on the screen, though neither of you were really watching it anymore.

He turned slightly, eyes tracing your profile in the dim living room light. “You’re still in one piece, celebration worthy” he murmured, voice low and warm.

You smiled faintly. “Just barely. Wanderers don’t take breaks.”

“Neither do surgeons” he replied, and his hand brushed against yours.

You shifted closer to him without thinking. It was one of those small, shared silences. The ones filled with so much more than words could express.

Zayne exhaled, pulling his arm around your shoulders, settling you against his side. His head tilted to press a slow kiss to your temple, just the kind of tired affection built from years of choosing each other again and again, even when everything else demanded otherwise.

He kissed you again, this time lingering near your cheekbone, fingertips brushing your arm. Your body eased into his side, melting into the rare comfort.

And then—

SSLLLUUUURP.

You both froze.

Zayne stiffened mid-movement.

Another sluuurp, unmistakably from a juice box, echoed from somewhere in the room.

Very slowly, you turned your head toward the sound.

Standing in the corner of the living room, half in the shadows and completely still, was Elias.

Wide-eyed. Tiny. Hair sticking up in every direction. Holding a grape juice box in one hand and sipping it with all the dramatics of a cartoon villain.

Zayne blinked. “...Elias?”

The six-year-old didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just sipped.

You sat up straight, heart thumping. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I was…” Elias said flatly, lowering the juice. “Then I heard Dad come home. And i was thirsty, and i couldn't reach the glass cupboard for water...”

Zayne ran a hand down his face, half-laughing in disbelief. “You scared us. You were just standing there.”

Elias took another slow sip, completely unaffected. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You squinted. “Interrupt what?”

He looked between you and Zayne, blinked slowly, then stared at the TV like the answer was too obvious to say out loud.

Zayne sighed. “Elias… were you watching us this whole time?”

The boy gave a single nod.

Zayne looked almost horrified. “Why?”

Elias shrugged. “You were...hugging. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say something.”

You stifled a laugh and patted the seat next to you. “Come here, juice ghost.”

He climbed onto the couch, wedging himself firmly between you and Zayne. He leaned slightly against his father, still holding the juice box with both hands like a protective artifact, knowing daddy deary might start nagging on the fact that he drank sugary liquid late at night.

“You should go to bed,” Zayne said softly, glancing down at his son.

“Okay. later” Elias leaned closer into him, almost shyly. “I just wanted to… be here.”

Zayne blinked once, the corner of his mouth twitching. He draped an arm around Elias wordlessly, pulling him in without a fuss.

The three of you sat there in the quiet.

The movie played on.

Rafayel:

The bridge glowed under warm, golden lights strung between its beams like stars, their reflections glittering in the water below. The night air was cool but not cold it was perfect, the breeze was carrying a soft scent of sugar and sea salt from the snack carts lining the cobblestone walkway of the bridge. Tourists bustled everywhere. couples holding hands, kids licking their ice creams, musicians strumming guitars with bright smiles.

Rafayel, always the picture of effortless elegance, walked beside you with a quiet kind of pride. His dark-ish purple hair fell slightly over his brow, ruffled by the sea breeze. A charcoal-grey scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. The edges of his long coat brushed against his boots as he strolled at a relaxed pace, holding a paper cone of roasted chestnuts. Feeding seraphina some.

Your hand was clasped firmly in his. Seraphina skipped ahead of you, her curls bouncing, face sticky from the powdered donuts she’d practically inhaled ten minutes ago. She was wearing the little yellow jacket you picked out for her months ago but never got the chance to give until now.

“Look, look!” Seraphina shouted, rushing toward the side of the bridge. “There’s a boat down there with pink lights!”

Rafayel chuckled, shifting his hand so his fingers laced through yours more tightly. “This place is surreal,” he murmured. “Almost feels like it was painted for us.”

You smiled at that. “Spoken like a man who’s painted enough cities to know.”

He stopped, tugging you just slightly closer to the railing, his voice lowering so only you could hear it. “No painting I’ve ever made could compare to you in this light”

You flushed and rolled your eyes at him, even as your heart fluttered. “You’re embarrassing.”

“I should be. I was gone for two weeks in Paris.” He leaned in slowly, his hand moving to the small of your back. “Missed everything. Especially this face.”

Before you could respond, Rafayel dipped his head and kissed you—soft and sure. Not rushed at all, Just the kind of kiss that said I know you. I love you. I’m home.

You melted into it for a breath or two, your hand settling lightly against his chest.

Then—

“EWWWWWWWW!”

The high-pitched shriek of your daughter cracked through the moment like a bottle dropped on tile.

You broke the kiss, laughing into Rafayel’s coat as Seraphina clutched each of your legs like she was about to faint. Her cheeks were puffed, her eyes wide with theatrical horror.

“I saw that!” she squealed. “Daaaad, that’s so gross! as gross as a legless crab!”

Rafayel grinned, turning toward her with an utterly unrepentant expression. “Your mom’s beautiful.You know I’m allowed little fishy.”

“Not in public!” Seraphina squeaked, stamping her foot. “Other people are looking! They’re gonna think you guys are in love!”

“Oh nooo, what shall we do now?! the seas are going to dry up and its all going to be my faullttt!” he said sarcastically, bending down to pick her up despite her squirming protests.

“Yes daddy! it is, and you two are married. That’s different from being in love!” she protested, though she was giggling as she tried to wriggle out of his arms.

You laughed, watching Rafayel nuzzle his cheek against hers while she let out a muffled scream of mock indignation. “Stop kissing everyone! You’re gonna get me cooties!”

“That’s the risk you take when you travel with artists,” Rafayel said, his eyes flicking to you with a wink. “We’re known for being passionate.”

"no!” Seraphina, now draped like a limp cat in her father’s arms.

“You didn't get that from me,” you teased, pinching her nose lightly.

“No, I get my normal me from you!”

“See?” Rafayel chuckled. “Now she’s turning into a critic. We’re doomed.”

Eventually, Seraphina insisted on walking again—only after Rafayel promised not to kiss anyone for the rest of the bridge walk. She marched forward with her chest puffed and her donut box like a shield, keeping at least a foot of distance in case her parents got weird again.

But every few seconds, you caught her glancing back. Her eyes were squinted suspiciously, sure, but they held something else too.

Joy.

Caleb:

It’s been a long day, you’ve been working two missions back to back in the new work program that the hunter’s association has established, also thanks to that Caleb had to take some shifts off to take care of your little 7 year old son Noah.

The sun was already setting by the time you trudged up the front porch steps, the weight of your gear dragging at your limbs. Your boots were covered in dust and dirt, Your shoulder throbbed from the recoil of your blaster rifle. Two missions back-to-back was brutal. But eversince your boss had been moved and replaced, the new work program at the Hunter’s Association didn’t exactly ask if you were tired. You were one of the few capable of handling the more grotesque, unpredictable alien creatures that kept breaching containment zones. So, you did what you always did: pushed through.

The scent of grilled cheese and Fried wings wafted through the front door the moment you stepped inside. The lights were warm and soft. Your hearing still rang faintly from the concussive force of earlier explosions, but even so, you caught the faint patter of socks on hardwood before you heard the shout:

“MOM!”

You barely had time to drop your pack before Noah launched himself at you like a guided missile, arms flung wide. He crashed into your legs with all the force his small body could manage, wrapping himself tightly around your waist.

“Whoa—hey, kiddo,” you breathed, crouching down, even though your back screamed in protest. “Easy, I’m still in one piece. I promise!”

Noah sniffled, clearly holding back tears. “You said just one mission.”

“I know,” you said, brushing his messy black hair back. “Got reassigned last minute. You know how it is.”

Caleb’s footsteps came from the kitchen, heavy and precise. “That’s not an excuse” he said, but his voice was quiet.

You looked up at him.

He had the sleeves of his gray undershirt rolled to the his biceps, a dish towel slung over one shoulder. His uniform jacket was draped over a nearby chair. His hair was slightly tousled—clearly Noah had gotten his hands in it earlier, but his eyes, those stormy Purplish pink eyes, locked on yours like you were the only person in the room.

“You’re home,” he said simply.

You nodded. “Mhm”

He didn’t say anything else. He just walked forward, wrapped an arm firmly around your shoulder, and pulled you into him. You let your face fall against his chest. The warmth of him, the strength, the safety, for a few seconds, it melted every ache of your bruises and every ugly image from the day. His hand smoothed down your back, a firm, slow drag. Then you felt him tilt his head down and press a lingering kiss to your temple, right against the place where your skin was still smudged with ash.

You closed your eyes. Sank into it.

And then—

“EWWWWWW!”

Caleb didn’t move. His lips curved against your skin instead.

“Disgusting!” Noah wailed, half-laughing, half-betrayed. “That’s—gross, Daddy!”

You pulled back just enough to glance at your son. He was standing there with both hands over his eyes, fingers spread wide enough to peek through, his nose scrunched like he’d smelled rotten milk.

Caleb smirked. “It’s affection, Noah. You better get used to it.”

“No! You’re not supposed to kiss Mom! She’s a Hunter! She fights monsters, she’s cool, she doesn’t get kissed like that!” Noah flailed his arms dramatically and dropped to the couch like he was dying.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Hunters don’t get affection, huh?” you teased, glancing at Caleb.

“I guess I missed the memo,” Caleb said, brushing your hair off your cheek and leaning in again—purposefully slower this time—to press a quick kiss to your lips.

Noah screamed again. “DADDY STOP! I’M RIGHT HERE!”

“Then stop looking,” Caleb muttered with zero remorse, pulling you even closer.

“I have EYES!”

You chuckled, resting your forehead against Caleb’s. “Come on now, no more, He’s gonna lose it.”

“He’ll survive,” he murmured. Then, quieter, meant only for you: “I missed you.”

You softened. “I missed you too.”

Behind you, Noah was flailing around on the couch again, trying to smother himself with a pillow and declaring that this was “THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.”

Caleb rolled his eyes but gave you a final squeeze before letting you go. “Come on Pipsqueak 1 and 2 . Food is still warm.”

[ladsrlife2]

Sugar Daddy! Sylus

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

Part 2 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“You think you have a chance with me?”

You can’t help the disgust that floats to your face as you stare down the plain, absolutely mid male specimen standing across from you, face reddening with anger, embarrassment or both - you don’t really care. The audacity to ask for your number. Who does he think he is?

“I- Who do you think you are?”

He stutters in disbelief.

You scoff at his stupid question.

“Someone out of your league. That’s who I am.”

You ignore the growing crowd of passersby, too busy eavesdropping to move along.

You cross your arms, weight on one leg, as your pink, shiny miu miu purse hangs from your wrist.

“That doesn’t mean you can be an asshole?”

He fixes his black backpack, which, is as bland and boring as his looks.

“Actually. It does. Why should I be nice to someone who insults me?”

You rake your shiny nails through your long hair.

“I just asked for your number!”

He exclaims, both hands out in disbelief. ”Exactly.”

You say, flatly. Looking at him straight in the eyes.

He must’ve realized you’re a class A bitch that can’t be reasoned with. Though he looks infuriated, he shakes his head and starts walking off.

“You need a therapist.”

He says, turning his head back one last time.

“And you need a reality check!”

You shout, smug smile on your face as you watch him scurry off in embarrassment.

Head high, you continue down the campus road to your destination.

You ignore people - guys, as usual - staring your way as you beeline for the sleek black Maserati parked by the road.

You open the passenger door and climb in.

“Someone looks happy today.”

A familiar velvety voice greets you from the driver’s seat.

You ignore his gaze on you as you fasten your seatbelt and settle your bag in the car.

“Rather, it’s the opposite.” You open the glove box and roam for your sunglasses. “Some ugly guy just asked for my number.”

You look to Sylus as you wear them.

His easy-going crimson eyes are upturned into an amused smile.

“Why do guys do that?”

“Why do guys do what. Ask for a beautiful girl’s number?” He asks, patiently.

“Ask for someone way out of their league.” You huff.

“A guy can shoot his shot.” Sylus shrugs and answers.

“Well, it’s insulting. Is what it is.” You sink down in your seat as Sylus chuckles and adjusts the gear. The car starts smoothly coursing through and out of the campus.

“So did you give him a lesson, kitten?” He asks you, eyes fixed on the road. “Is that why you look so happy today?”

“What do you mean by that?” You shoot him a sharp look, to which he smirks. “Not as much as I would’ve liked. The more I think about it. The more it infuriates me.”

“Well then,” Sylus says, voice low and easy, “I guess our kitten should buy something extra special today.”

“Oh daddy.” You hide a laugh behind your hand as you stroke his firm, thick biceps, fitted around his crimson shirt, as they flex under your touch. “You spoil me!”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Sylus was a peculiar man. You’d had your fair share of sugar daddys, but none quite like Sylus.

In his early-40s, he was as handsome as they come - well defined, manly features honed into a strikingly, almost obsessive clean cut appearance, alongside his toned, muscular body.

The air he carried himself with asserted dominance without him even trying. There was a particular easy-going nature about him that could only be found in predators at the very top of the food chain.

So when he had suggested the particular relationship, it was like you’d hit the jackpot.

He’d spoil you with the most expensive things - from jewelry to bags, a vacation in Europe with private jets and five star hotel exclusive suites. And you’d also get to enjoy his handsome, funny, gentle, and dashing company!

But for some reason, even after months of meeting, he wouldn’t cross the line like so many others try to do eventually. He wouldn’t ask anything personal, like your family life or your closest friends. He wouldn’t get jealous, or possessive. He wouldn’t be needy about texting.

But most of all, he wouldn’t ask you to do any sexual favors.

Most he would do was place a hand around your waist as you walked or sat beside him, or pull you in for an embrace or a chaste peck on your forehead.

For some reason his gentlemanly stature made you crazy adamant on seducing him. Coerce him, push him over the edge, until he breaks the facade and makes the first move. Begs you to let him touch you.

You wouldn’t do any thing overly suggestive. That would make you the loser.

You’d linger your touches just a slight. Accidentally press your chest into him as you walked through a busy street. Touch his thigh as you laughed at something funny he said. Whisper in his ear when you didn’t really need to. Meet his gaze. Really, meet his gaze, with a suggestiveness hard to ignore.

It wasn’t long until he unraveled.

Now, after a few years into the sugardaddy-baby relationship, sex had become something he’d demanded exclusivity. Of course, with extra benefits alongside the extra condition.

Most times, like today, he’d pick you up and go for a date - some shopping, dining, and then to a hotel or his place. Sometimes, he’d call you impromptu. And you were to drop anything you were doing and visit wherever he was to have sex with him. Sometimes it would be in a car, parked remotely. Or in a fancy hotel where he was in the middle of a meeting of some sort, with some fancy business men, in a meeting hall. Or in the restroom of a fancy restaurant, for some reasons unknown.

But despite all this, he would never tell you where he worked, or what he did for a living. It made you almost certain he was a drug dealer. Or a mafia boss. of some sort.

“Ah, fuck- yes. Daddy, fuck me right there-”

Your scream echoes through the expansive hotel suite as Sylus pounds you from behind. The sound of skin slapping skin, alongside the lewd sound of squelching - from a mixture of your own juices to his cum - play in the background.

“You like that, kitten?” His fingers thread through your hair as he grips it and pulls your head back to face him. You nod, tears in your eyes from the ecstatic pleasure. Through the tears you meet his eyes, dark and focused, almost angry from pleasure and need.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ah- if you clench like that,” A slap comes down on your ass. You moan and bury your head in the sheets. It elicits a groan from him. “-daddy’s going to have to cum again.” His deep, ragged voice scolds you, as he thrusts deeper.

Every thrust starts sending a jolt up your spine. Your body starts to tremble. Your moans muffle in the sheets.

“Raise your hips.” He orders, as your posture begins to falter. You try, but your limbs feel like jello.

He places his large two hands on your hips and sharply brings it up - just in time with a deep, controlled thrust, down to the very base of his length, his pubic bone burying itself in your ass - his glans hits your g-spot so hard, you end up screaming his name while squirting all over his cock.

“Sylus- wait- I’m still cumming-!”

You urgently exclaim as he doesn’t give you a moment to calm down. He grips your hips as you jerk and attempt to run away from the pleasure, and pounds into it relentlessly, ignoring your complaints.

“Ah, kitten, feeling, good?” He growls between each thrust. You shake your head in plea to stop the overwhelming pleasure washing over you. Another slap comes down on your ass. “Don’t lie, to daddy, you’re still squirting, so much. Ah, fuck, I told you I’m gonna cum if you clench like that-”

His groans get deeper and messier, as his thrusts that pound down relentlessly fast. The bedframe rattles as your body slams into the mattress with each fast thrust. You don’t even have it in you to moan anymore. Your mouth is agape while your body jerks and trembles while he pounds into you, until one strong thrust, where Sylus groans, deep and dirty, and you feel his cum shooting inside and coating your walls, thick and hot.

“You’re still shaking.” You hear him say from behind you, breathless, as he pulls out his length from you. You twitch again as you feel him pushing the leaking cum back in you with the tip of his length.

“I think you get more sensitive each time we do it.” He says as he turns you over to inspect you.

Dazed, you meet his languid, gentle eyes.

“Maybe my insides are slowly molding to yours.” You manage to say, swallowing hard to calm yourself down.

He leans in to press a tender kiss.

“Don’t say things like that, kitten.” He warns, after pulling back.

“Why not?” You ask him as he lies down beside you and pulls you in for an embrace.

“It’ll make me greedier.” His lips curl into a smirk.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, for starters. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He states, matter of fact.

You don’t fully understand what he says.

“Not really. Oh- right! I forgot to tell you.” You meet his inquisitive gaze as you excitedly chatter. “I got a marketing internship this summer!”

“Really? Well congratulations!” He pats your head affectionately. “At what company?”

“Onychinus!” You notice his eyes flicker. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s a really big international trading company - apparently mostly for minerals and ores!”

“Oh really? That’s great news.” He chuckles. “When do you start?”

“June first.”

“In two weeks, huh.” His eyes have an amused light in them. “Do they pay you well?”

“As much as a grain of sand compared to you. But what can I do. That’s life, I guess.”

Sylus chuckles like he’s heard the funniest joke all week. “Right, right. If they paid all their interns as much as I do to you, I think they would have a hard time.”

“So what do you do that makes you able to spend so much money on me, huh? boss-man?” You narrow your eyes and attempt to pry his life again. Your attempt at a threatening face seems to have no effect on him.

“Oh kitten, don’t worry.” He says, amused smile playing at his lips, while he gently cups your face, his thumb stroking your jaw tenderly. “You’ll find out when the time comes.”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

On the first day of your internship, you head to the fifth floor of Onychinus head quarters - where your international digital marketing team office is located.

You’re surprised to find out that a lot of the employees at Onychinus are greatly loyal to the company. Everyone welcomes you to the family, and, though it’s only been a couple of hours, you find yourself getting swept up by the company pride everyone feels.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out the reason behind the loyalty though - apparently the CEO is hot. Like, panty dropping hot. Apparently it’s your lucky day if you get to see him walk the first floor lobby to work, where he will then take his exclusive elevator to the top most floor, to the CEO’s office.

So you’re not surprised when a collective gasp erupts from your team mates as you were lounging by the lobby cafe, drink in hand.

“Y/n! That’s the CEO! Look!” An excited co-worker taps you and whispers in your ear.

You turn to look.

You meet eyes with familiar, crimson ones, looking directly at you.

Your jaw drops at the sight of Sylus, your sugar daddy, walking through the lobby with a dozen escorts behind him.

The way the path paves itself, how everyone gawks, how he carries himself, how he commands, there’s no mistake that he’s the CEO everyone’s been talking about.

He smirks knowingly and shares a glance with you, before turning away and heading to the elevators. To his exclusive elevator everyone talks about.

“Geez Y/n, did you fall in love at first sight?” A co-worker laughs and points out, just as the lobby begins buzzing after Sylus leaves.

You press your lips shut after realizing they’d been parted this whole time. Your face flushes from embarrassment.

“He is dashing” Another says, eyes glazed over as if stuck in a daydream.

“I heard he’s not married. Who do you think a guy like him meets?”

“Probably a super model. Or an A class actor.”

You quietly listen in on the gossip for the rest of lunch.

When you return back to your office seat, you wonder if you should send him a text about it.

Something along the lines of, why didn’t you tell me earlier? like, years ago? I thought you were a drug dealer!

You’re bordering on exasperation and anger he didn’t tell you sooner, and curiosity and relief that you finally found out, when an employee quietly approaches your desk.

He’s dressed in a fancy suit, like the ones that were escorting Sylus down at the lobby earlier.

You look at him inquisitively before he leans in and whispers in your ear.

“The CEO would like to see you now. Privately.”

You nod and follow him through the building halls. A small smirk plays on your lips as you rummage through a million scenarios to find the one that will successfully corner Sylus and make him admit his fault for not telling you sooner.

And, just like always, you will get your way.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Posting this again on my new blog :(

[destinysbounty]

I think I wouldn't mind Zane's NPC-ification quite as much as I do, if it didn't feel like they were also retconning the fact that he was ever a person to begin with.

Like, sure, I totally understand. Dragons Rising has a huge ensemble cast, and the RGB trio + new ninja are the clear focus. And I don't mind that! Everyone who does get proper narrative attention is written so wonderfully and I adore what we have. But...sometimes it feels like they're just kinda divvying up everything that makes Zane who he is and giving it to everyone else, and never even briefly acknowledging Zane's ties to those traits.

Remember when Zane used to have prophetic dreams foretelling future events? Me neither. Hey Lloyd, how are your visions coming along?

Or, y'know how one of Zane's most integral plot lines, character details, and motifs is his struggles with memory and identity? Remember that time he got amnesia and was then both manipulated and magically corrupted into being a villain? Nah that never happened, anyway check out what Jay is up to now

Or, does anyone recall how Zane is a canonically really good cook with pies so delicious they made Jay cry on screen? No that's Arin's thing, actually

Heck, we even have our quota of ~Silly Robot Beep Boop Bop~ jokes fulfilled by Lobbo!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not hating on any of the other characters for having these traits. Nor am I arguing that Zane should have a singular monopoly on these types of storylines. But when they take traits that have for so long been primarily associated with Zane, like cooking and visions and amnesia, and share them with someone else without even briefly acknowledging Zane's prior involvement...idk. It just feels like they're trying to repackage all the things that make Zane interesting while still writing him out of the narrative. It feels like they're going "whaat? Zane, have personality outside of being a generic robot character?? That never happened!" Like they're just trying to have their nindroid and kill him too.

And I mean, to some extent I can understand their hesitation. It's the same reason the Mr. E/Echo reveal got scrapped in s8 - theres just way too much going on right now, and the narrative load required to explain somwthing this complicated during a reboot/sequel would just bog down an already very complicated story. Zane has a very convoluted backstory that, for new fans dropping in to the sequel series for the first time, may be difficult to explain. How do you recap Zane's history with amnesia in a neat an tidy way for the next gen story, when there's already so much going on?

Like i said, i get that. But they could at least make, like, brief blink-and-youll-miss-it allusions, yknow? Like how they played the Ice Emperor theme during Zane's existential crisis during drs1, or when Zane told Zanth not to follow dancing birds in drs3. Tasteful, subtle, doesn't require much insider knowledge and newer fans could easily interpret it as a noodle incident comment without losing out on their comprehension.

Maybe after Jay gets eliminated from the Tournament, Zane offers to go after him saying, "I've lost myself once or twice before. If anyone understands what he's going through, it's me." And if you want to preserve the plot unobstructed, maybe you can have it so that either Zane fails to get through to Jay or Jay is gone without a trace before he can get to him. Maybe there's a brief scene of Zane making a pie to try and cheer Sora up, but she can't eat it because it reminds her too much of Arin. Or maybe Lloyd has a panic attack over his visions and Zane is the one to offer him the advice about not fighting the vision and letting it come naturally.

Don't you see how easy that is? You would change literally nothing about the story at large, and you're not detracting from the main plotlines or character arcs that are quite validly dominating this series. But you're also throwing a bone to the people who actually like Zane. Like???? I'm not even asking for much here, man :/

Idk. Maybe I'm just bitter and need to touch grass, who's to say

[iatrophilosophos]

Hmm well my thoughts are as follows

I am an anarchist and thus not invested in how we build systems of knowlege that effectively interface with the legal system because i do not believe we should have a legal system, generally speaking, so none of my responses here are actually going to answer that for you.

The dichotomy of "science vs vibes" is both incredibly funny and incredibly annoying to me, and a complete failure of imagination or grace on behalf of all who propose it.

This is of course what thr academy dose and why I hate it. It's the cornerstone of maintaining the western progress narrative: academic ideas are good and order, all others are chaos and vibes.

Science is a tool. It is also a religion rivaling Christianity in scale, scope and obsessive-yet-liturgically-uneducated believers. I am interested in science as a tool; I am fully disinterested in fundemental faith assumption of science (that the universe is governed by consistent and knowable laws). Science as religion pleads an optimism about how its *supposed* to work and discards objects of criticism as heretical. I refuse to engage with this perspective. The purpose of a system is what it does. However, i am going to endeavor to talk about the fundemental flaws of science that would still be present without capitalism and specifically bad-faith (academic def; do not earnestly believe what they have said to be true) actors. I am doing this because I DO think this critique is essential to understanding the limitations of science and how we utilize it + other systems to our best advantage.

Science is a toolset for generating a predicitive model, because humans love predicitive models. They're very useful! They help us make choices like how to care for plants and the land, what foods to eat, what medicine to take. There are actually many other tools for generating predicitive models, and I will speak to one shortly. Science accomplishes this by identifying an observation, hypothesis and variables, running scenarios in different configurations to see what may happen, and concluding something either about the experiment itself or the nature of the world. We accomplish those conclusions these days through the application of statistics, which can do some really nasty shit--not just making results seem more promising than they are!

Science is optimized for big answers on a fast timescale. It is a really useful tool in a lot of applications. In the medical field, I can say wholeheartedly that im a big fan of the scientific model as applied to communicable pathogens. I like cultures and i like testing novel antibiotics to see if they do what we want them to do. The situation of a mass outbreak is one where we want a big fast answer.

However, this tool has a lot of limits that I dont think are adequately described by just talking about the replication crisis or specific scientific atrocities. I want to push back on the idea that its "throwing spaghetti at the wall"; cuz i think we both know thats not actually true. Its testing hypotheses based on observations.

Observations are cultural. I firmly believe that one of the problems with psychiatry is that the perceptions, the "common knowlege" as is being derided here, of what Madness is and how it works predate science significantly, and they're ugly. The lobotomy is not throwing ugly evil shit at the wall and seeing what it does. The lobotomy is the "observation" that a certain kind of mad person is the way they are because they are over-active, too much, want stuff too badly, are plagued with an urge to sin so great that it must be excised before they can be saved by willpower and prayer (therapy). The hypothesis then follows: if we have "observed" that Mad people are "too much", we cut part of them away. If we have "observed" that Mad people desire incorrectly, we inhibit their ability to desire. In this way, the logic of the lobotomy is still active in the world and still being used to generate atrocities that I firmly believe we will look back on as a horrific stain on the history of official medicine in 10, 20, 50 years.

Psychiatry and psychology are easy to poke holes in, but this issue is at play in other areas of medical science as well. I am less well versed, but my associates in cardiology will very-unhappily tell you that a similar caliber of "observations" into the nature of human beings, specifically Black people, plague their field and cause deaths they themselves have witnessed firsthand.

The other foundational problem with science is statistics. This is why science as a legal basis actually sucks shit, though as I said im not really interested in constructing more legally-appriopriate knowledge sets. Statistical analysis as the bar for evaluating experimental results can tell us what works most of the time in most cases; especially in those high-quality mass-scale studies. There will be a number of cases where something doesnt work that works most of the rest of the time, and a number of cases where something works that doesnt most other times. I fucking care about statistical outliers. I am one. People i love live in this space. Land i love lives in this space. I believe there is value in high-reward low-risk low-likelihood interventions being widely available. I fully and completely reject the cultural value that most people is good enough, let alone the bar to strive for.

So, alternatives? There isnt one alternative because I dont subscribe to science as religion and thus I do not require it to be an all-encompassing world view or thrown on the trash heap; and i feel this way about other predicitive modeling tools. I believe in doing things that get the results i want for myself, my loved ones and social relations, and the land we participate in; without exploiting others in the process and in a way that hopefully supports others in achieving the same. Many tools fit in that box. I will however take this moment to soapbox about what im gonna term "conversational knolwege" because I think its an interesting model that kind of precursors our modern understanding of citations but retains a lot more nuance.

One benefit of science, and i think WHY it lends itself to systems such as legality, mass medicine, and so on: it endeavors to replace interpersonal trust and deep individual basis of knowledge. Who this benefits is a hell of a question: on the day to day scale, we can say it benefits the average person. It's nice not to have to trust your doctor, a person you probably dont actually know, who has financial and social interests that might diverge from your own, to have your best interests at heart: let alone agree with you on what your best interests actually ARE or have the knowlege and decision making skills to help you get there. Its nice to believe that everything will be okay, that there is an answer, and that you arent personally responsible for making hard decisions in the world. On the mass scale, this way of living doesnt benefit us, it benefits power. Medical codification as a stage of empire is an entirely different can of worms i could talk about forever but suffice to say: medicine is a constant cultural practice present among all people. States get big. In the same way they endeavor to retain power over people by preventing them from feeding themselves etc; they outlaw, burn, and replace the common medical culture with a system more conducive to control. Prescientific medical models have also been used in this way; as are the state-backed nonscientific medical models traditional Chinese medicine and Ayurveda (medical nationalism is another can of worms we can talk about with all three, western industrial, tcm, ans Ayurveda, but especially tcm...its rlly fucking interesting. Don't even get me started on the medical models of colonized countries that fall somewhere between these three powers. Aaaa! I love this shit. Anyway).

Point being: this benefit is damage control for a society that perpetuates itself via deskilling the population. What does generation and transference of knowlege look like in populations with high individual skills?

One answer is conversation. It goes like this:

Person A spends their life engaging with an area that they are passionate about and have a high aptitude for. Maybe its a field of medicine, drug production etc, maybe its a field of engagement with the land like food production or having trails that dont erode to shit or building structures that work well for the beings using them. They come to an understanding of the world based on what they personally see happen (notably, not "vibes", watching something over years is NOT the same as reading half of three news articles and adopting a worldview based on it, I think we can all agree that the latter is an unhelpful way to engage with information). They collect students who learn those worldviews. Maybe they write a book or in oral traditions, pen a folktale with something important to say about the world. Person B is one of their students just starting out in the world. They compare this worldview to what they experience. They travel, sometimes hundreds or thousands of miles, to meet a person with the same role as person A in a different community. Person B learns different things and, by transporting what person A knows into a new context, finds problems with it, and finds where it succeeds. Person B teaches. Person C, a student of person B, has a both what person A and person B thinks, and continues the process adding their own voice to the conversation. Person C carries these three perspectives and communicates them to person D, by saying who told them what they have to repeat and in what context. This "citation" is then allowed to carry elements of personality, reputation, and nuance in trust. This happens over and over again for thousands of years. Every lifetime makes it better.

The problem with this engagement of knolwege is that it is slow. It leads to understandings of the world that are not as good at adapting to the chaotic and rapidly changing conditions of our modern world and its documented to be not as good at responding to drastic shifts (e.g. natural disasters) in history. It requires every individual to participate to at least some degree in the stewardship of knolwege. It requires willingness to break from dead ends and acknowledge we were wrong. Ugly things have happened when we fail to do this and especially when social configurations make it harder: for example, societies that abuse their children are responsible for some of the gnarlier and more shocking historical medical practices, because doing something to someone when they are a child is an easy way to make humans keep doing stuff that sucks (sumn we're otherwise fairly good at avoiding).

What it is very good at is creating skillsets that are nuanced and treat situations as individual; it is good at making knowledge systems that account for statistical outliers. In part, it is because its a system that DEMANDS an answer to *why* something is known: even moreso than science, because a citation doesnt suffice, we are forced to interrogate to trust.

Maybe, especially to folks who are already fully bought in to the logic of the academy, this system cannot shine a candle to the imagined benefits of a perfect science. As I said, I refuse to engage with the imagined benefits of a perfect science, because we might as well start talking about what we should do if the moon is made of cheese. And what the real world right now has to say is that a large swath of interventions generated in these traditional modes WORK, when trialed in good faith; with limitations for drastic shifts in climate, bodies etc occurring over the last few hundred years, +/- the severing of many of these traditions and thus their ability to grow and change approximately concurrent with industrialization and the acceleration of *gestures* All This Shit. (For example, many plant-based drugs that were exceptionally low risk 100, 200 years ago now carry much higher risk or unknown risk profiles in an age of pharmacuetical prescriptions and way more possible drug interactions).

So, that is a way of answering "how do you know?" That is neither a scientific citation nor "vibes". I am personally most interested in hybrid strategies and novel study models because of my aforementioned investment in working with statistical outliers AND the rapid shifts in the world that are occurring in our lifetimes. I think it is imperative to reject science as religion and the comforting position that we'll solve all problems by following the right rules. I also think that its a mistake to resign ourselves to "the best we have", because the best we have doesnt fucking cut it, definitely not for me or people I care about.

So idk if thats the weigh-in you wanted but its what I got. Im not gonna put hella cites in a fucking Tumblr post i wrote before breakfast for one friend, and anyway most of this info is the synthesis of rlly diffuse inputs across historical texts, medical anthropology, conversations with mentors across the spectrum of academy to licensed practice to traditionally educated practitioners to wingnuts like myself, and a ton of dives into random questions about topics across the above spectrum. I can provide my standard entry reading list upon request and as always my #1 reccomendation for people who are new to medical anthropology is The Expressiveness of the Body by Shigehisa Kuriyama. Peace ✌️

"these researchers published a paper on something that literally any of us could have told you 🙄" ok well my supervisors wont let me write something in my thesis unless I can back it up with a citation so maybe it's a good thing that they're amplifying your voice to the scientific community in a way that prevents people from writing off your experiences as annecdotal evidence

[4pp135]

Candy

Michael Kaiser x Reader

You turn your head to the boy that had been staring at you– the candies in your hand. As you place your hand out, you can see his body tense up, unsure whether to take it or not.

You let him choose from the flavors you had, as he only took one you stated– “Take two more, I have enough.” his eyes light up slightly.

He doesn't say thank you, nor does he do anything that shows his appreciation but you know. After a few minutes, you both sit on the pavement as he finishes his candies one by one, savouring it so it wouldn't disappear quick.

“Why do you have so many bruises and wounds?” you ask quietly, unsure of how he would react.

“My father hit me.” he says as if it's the most normal thing in the world, you look down as you think, for him– mabey it is the most normal thing in the world.

“Do they hurt right now?” you stare intently at them, feeling worse each passing second.

“He does it everyday, I'm fine, these are from the afternoon.” he looks at you, wondering why you would like to know so much. He doesn't feel like answering, but you did give him candy.

“They can cause you infections..”

“What are those?”

-

That was years ago, the day he made his first friend. He wasn't here anymore though, he had left. You were glad he did, he was getting progressively worse day by day and you couldn't stand it, stand him get hurt anymore.

You don't know where he went, he left without a trace, even his house was locked up. After a while, you left too.

But the memories you had together remained, they lingered on the park swings, they lingered near the bakery you both used to steal out off. Even the old grandmas that walked in the mornings missed seeing you two.

-

Your present roomate, who was a huge football fan had a game on one day. As you stepped into the living room to ask her whether she wanted to give anything for wash, you saw him.

For the first time in years, even though it felt like you had just seen him yesterday.

Your eyes widened, your heart felt like it was going a thousand miles per second as you asked her, “Who's he?” pointing at the tv– just to make sure.

Your roomate knew something was off, she just couldn't land a finger on it. “Kaiser Micheal, he's a dick though.” she laughed it off.

You sat down beside her and watched the entire game, for the first time with full interest. She found it odd but she wasn't complaining.

He had the same eyes, same blonde hair– just his ends painted blue. He looked somewhat happy, though you questioned whether it was real, you really couldn't tell with that man.

That very night, you spent hours on Wikipedia. You wondered how he was doing, if he even remembered you, if he kept touch with his father– which was an immediate no.

Mabey he also couldn't sleep at the thought of meeting you some day, one could only dream.

a/n: debating whether I should make part two or not, let me know!