#glitter glue history

[presswoodterryryan]

🌎 Fluffy Ships, Giant Maps & Exploding Cheese: Alice’s Guide to the Age of Exploration!

By Alice (and the map-folding champion himself, Mr. Fluffernutter) HELLOOOO explorers, snack-lovers, and globe-spinners! 🌍🐰✏️ GUESS WHAT?! My sister Ariel just wrote a MEGA paper called “The Age of Exploration,” and it’s filled with so many smart thoughts that Mr. Fluffernutter tried to glue the pages to the globe so we wouldn’t lose them. (Spoiler: we lost them anyway, but now the globe smells…

[monty-glasses-roxy]

You know, cleaning the hooves of any horse in the Plex has got to be a weird experience. There's probably gummy bears stuck in there.

[kamaluhkhan]

LOVE, VIOLET

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 12.9k summary: history might say that you and vi were only best friends, but the real story is much more complicated. (or: you and vi celebrating valentine's day warning: friends to lovers arc, lots of sapphic yearning, brief mention of homophobia and bullying....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and sappy lesbian monologues and lots of smut [oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), thigh riding, strap usage(r! receiving), needy+possessive! vi and slightly (?) dom! reader] (18+) ! a/n: happy (belated oops) valentine's day girls and gays <33 been working on this for a while and hoped to get it out like....actually in time for love day but such is life. ANYWAYS this is set in the same universe as this x-mas themed fic (and kinda a modern au of this one?? reader has the same nickname and there's a friends to lovers arc so....). hope y'all enjoy!!!!

♪: "glue song" by beabadoobee ft. clairo (sun); "home by now" by MUNA (moon); "love is a kaleidoscope" by chappell roan (rising)

also - header image was cropped from a gifset from @arcanegifs , pls check out their beautiful work !!!

track 1: “feeling you” by cat burns

(now)

"fuck, vi," you moan as her tongue splits your folds. "we don't have time for this...."

you have to get to studio and vi has to get to work, but the combination of the hot water hitting your skin and vi’s mouth on your cunt was something you did not want to give up just yet — even if you didn't want to admit it.

"baby," vi pouts, looking up at you innocently, as if she wasn't the one who decided to push you against the tile wall and get on her knees in front of you. "it was your idea to shower together this morning.”

"well, sorry for wanting to save water," you breathe, your grip tightening on her hair when she wraps her lips around your clit. "the planet is dying."

vi pulls away from you once more, lips shining with your slick. "well, excuse me for thinking you wanted to start today with a bit of romance. if all you care about is the environment...." she gets up and reaches behind you to turn off the water. "we better get going, pretty girl."

you whine at the sudden loss of warmth and clench your thighs together at the nickname, something that does not go unnoticed by vi. she licks her lips before leaning forward to kiss you, your back pushed against the cool tile once more and the taste of yourself faint on her tongue.

hearing your alarm go off reminds you that there are other responsibilities you each have to attend to. reluctantly, the two of you dry off and make your way to your shared bedroom. you put on a fuschia boyshort / bralette combo (your favorite set because, yes, it matches your girlfriend’s hair) before slipping on some dark jeans and a heart-printed turtleneck, and moving on to your makeup. in the meantime, vi had been in the kitchen making coffee, and reemerges now with two mismatched mugs. she sets one on the desk next to you, kisses the top of your head before getting herself ready for the day. 

you swipe some eyeliner on your waterline, watching in the mirror as vi searches in the closet for something to wear, still only dressed in black briefs and a sports bra. you smile as you see the stars tattooed on her upper thigh, sparkling with every movement she makes. once she picks out an outfit, her eyes catch yours.

"what?" she asks with a lazy grin, slipping on a tight black henley.

you smile, adding some pink glitter to your eyelids. 

it’s only been two weeks since you’ve moved into this new place. there are still plenty of unpacked boxes, and you still get a bit lost navigating around the neighbourhood, but otherwise, it’s been a dream. 

you love seeing your clothes woven together in the same closet; you love waking up with her arm around your waist, doing laundry together, and coming home to vi having tried a new recipe for dinner. you love how you sometimes wear each other’s rings because you keep them all in a pile on the nightstand, how she falls asleep with her head in your lap during movie night, how her skin smells like the rose body wash you picked out together at lush. 

you love this — this home you’re starting to build. you’ve known vi for so long, but your lives are intertwined now more than ever.

"nothing," you respond, finishing with a layer of vanilla lip gloss. "want me to do your eyeliner?”

it’s a familiar position: vi sits on the edge of the bed while you straddle her hips. she leans forward and presses a kiss to your sternum before you hold her chin between your thumb and pointer finger.

“so….tomorrow’s valentines day,” vi suddenly points out, though, really, you didn’t need the reminder.

you’d spent these past few years apart and this is your first valentine’s day since the break-up. 

you both agreed — no pressure — but…..there’s definitely a bit of pressure. you’d been working on your gift for her for weeks, and you’re really hoping that she likes what you’ve planned.

“i thought it would be nice to get dinner tonight at bacchus. i called earlier this morning and got us a reservation for 7:30.”

you hum in appreciation.

vi might be taking a break from the band, but she’s still the violet lanes, the pink-haired rockstar of every lesbian’s dreams who’s written award-winning songs and sold out entire football stadiums. there are new perks of being her girlfriend this time around, like a nice apartment in new york and getting a day-of-reservation at the most expensive italian restaurant in the city. 

“valentine’s day is tomorrow,” you repeat, a playful lilt to your words. you swipe your thumb near the corner of vi’s eye where you’d smudged an otherwise sharp wing of eyeliner. “someone’s eager to get a head start.” 

with that, you snap the tube closed, press a kiss to the tattoo on vi’s cheek, and get up to gather your things for studio. you’re tucking your sketchbook into your messenger bag when you feel vi’s strong arms wrap around your middle.

“you always said i was impatient,” she teases. you can feel her smirk against the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear before pressing a gentle kiss to your skin and whispering: “can you blame me, stargirl? for wanting to get dressed all fancy and go somewhere nice and romantic with the prettiest girl in the world?” 

“of course not.” you crane your neck back until your lips practically brush against hers as you speak. “except, you’re the prettiest in the world, baby.”

a beautiful blush spreads across vi’s freckled cheeks, the way it always has whenever you comment on vi’s beauty.  

she clears her throat, still a bit flustered. “agree to disagree?”

you pretend to think about it for a second, nudging your nose against hers. “agree to disagree,” you reply, teasing her by continuing to hover above her lips, just a sliver of air between you. 

yeah, vi’s impatient — but, sometimes, you love it. like, right now, when she turns you around to face her so she can close the gap, deepening the kiss by sliding her tongue into your mouth without any preamble.

vi groans as another alarm goes off from your phone. "i will never get used to how many alarms you set."

you giggle, and pull away slightly to swipe the cancel button. vi takes the opportunity to move your shirt slightly and leave bites on your exposed collarbone. you check the time on your phone.

you can spare a little more time. it is valentine’s day, after all. 

(age 13)

“vi, your precious stargirl is on the phone for you!”

at the mention of your nickname, vi flinches, inadvertently failing to dodge a lethal attack. green goblin crashed his glider into her spiderman avatar, and the words GAME OVER fill the screen in an angry red font. 

vi groans, throwing her playstation controller on the couch before heading to the kitchen.

powder is sitting on the counter, twirling the telephone cord around her finger and yapping away before vi takes her place.

“hey.” vi clears her throat, tries to sound casual. “what’s up?”

“so, my mom promised to make something for ekko’s valentine’s class party, but she just got called in for a shift….which means i’m stuck baking 30 rainbow confetti cupcakes, and hoping i don’t give any eight year olds food poisoning. you doing anything right now?”

“oh - i’m actually, uh, busy! i have homework, and….”

and she’s busy avoiding you, ever since she heard something about you — from drea, of all people — and wondered why you wouldn’t confide in her, your supposed best friend. 

“please, vi,” you coax. vi’s heart beats a bit quicker as she pictures your bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “can you come over and help me bake? it feels like forever since we’ve actually hung out. i miss you.”

vi is certainly not god’s strongest soldier when it comes to you, so of course, she caves. rainbow confetti cake is her favorite, so that’s a bonus. she and powder throw on their coats and head next door to yours; powder and ekko keep each other company in the living room while vi joins you in the kitchen.

“hey,” she greets. 

“there you are!” your face lights up with the sweetest smile, causing the butterflies in her stomach to flap up a storm. 

gods — do you realize the effect you have on her? 

there’s already flour dusting your cheek; vi has to resist the urge to brush it away with her thumb, wanting to feel how soft your skin must be. 

she snaps out of it though, as you instruct her on what needs to be done, and the two of you work in a comfortable silence, the sounds of your siblings watching cartoons in the other room filling the space between you. at one point, probably realizing that vi isn’t in the mood for talking, you switch on the radio. vi catches you smiling at her as she hums along to freddie mercury, but you’re quick to blink away and get back to work.

you’re sifting confectioner’s sugar into room temperature butter for the icing while vi slides the first batch of cupcakes in the oven, starts prepping the second, her mind starting to wander.

you and vi are playing the leads for your final english project, where you have to reenact scenes from romeo and juliet. powder caught the two of you rehearsing last week, and spent the whole night singing that stupid playground chant. now vi can’t get it out of her head: you and her, sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G — 

“the rumor’s not true, by the way,” 

vi looks at you as she pours batter into another cupcake liner, which accidentally overflows onto the counter. 

“shit,” she groans, but you slide over to the other side of the kitchen counter to bring her a towel. 

you don’t elaborate on what you’ve just brought up as you wipe up the thick batter. vi figures you’re waiting for her to say something.

“what rumor?”

it was never vi’s instinct to play pretend with you, but frankly she had no idea what else to do without letting her emotions burst into flames and inevitably burn you.  

“vi,” you sigh. “i know you’ve heard it. the whole school has. it’s not true, though. i wasn’t kissing james.”

oh. the spark of envy in her gut simmers down. 

“did he ask you to the sweetheart dance?”

you shake your head, and the spark extinguishes completely. “even if he did….i wouldn’t want to go with him.”

“why’s that? not your type?”

you finish wiping the counter, and vi takes the now-sticky towel from you to rinse it out in the sink. as she does this, you get back to frosting duty, stirring in some pink food colouring. 

“drea saw me kissing someone with dark brown hair,” you explain. “so isabel started told her that it was james, and that’s what she’s been telling everyone. but really….it was her.”

vi blinks at you. “her?”

“yeah, her,” you smile hesitantly. 

“you were kissing isabel?”

isabel was the prettiest girl in eighth grade — though, according to vi, you’d have that ranking, and it would go way beyond the scope of your middle school. you’re the prettiest girl in the world; not that vi would ever have the courage to tell you that.  

you nod. “you’re not, like, weirded out that i like kissing girls, are you?”

“what? no, of course not! especially since….i, uh, i like kissing girls too.”

in theory. vi likes to imagine kissing girls, especially when they look like korra from the legend of korra, or shego from kim possible, or hayley kiyoko in lemonade mouth.

or….you.

vi watches intently as you — a very pretty, very real girl — swipe your finger through the fluffy pink frosting and taste it, flashing her a sugary smile. 

“good to know.”

(age 16)

when josie asked her out, vi had completely neglected the fact that dinner on friday would mean dinner on february 14th. 

which is how vi finds herself getting ready for a date with someone she met during your short-lived attempt at starting an all female fight boxing club. josie is sweet and vi felt bad cancelling on her, so like the gentleman she is, vi promised to pick her up at 7:30pm. on friday, february 14th. 

it’s 6:44pm, and vi is in your room. you helped her pick out an outfit — something nice but not too formal — and you’ve moved on to makeup, carefully applying her eyeliner. 

vi tries not to stare at your lips — which are slightly red from the cinnamon hearts you’ve been eating — so she keeps squirming, and you keep gently guiding her chin towards you. her eyes wander to your decorated walls, filled with posters and photos and other things you’ve collected throughout the years. she’s featured in quite a few, and she catches a glimpse of an old valentine card she’d given you in elementary school.

“it���s weird that we won’t be spending valentine’s day together,” you comment as though reading her mind. 

you’d never spend the holiday as anything other than friends, but it does still feel strange, not spending it with someone she knows for sure she loves. 

(again — like a friend loves a friend.)

“yeah, definitely,” vi agrees. “do you have anything planned for tonight?”

“huge plans, actually.” you pop another cinnamon heart in your mouth. “i’ve got a super romantic date with the prettiest girl in the world.”

vi tilts her head in confusion — did you mention this to her? — which causes you to shake your head with a lighthearted laugh and guide her towards you once more.

“really? with who?”

you roll your eyes. “i’m kidding!” 

“oh.”

“it’s cute how gullible you are,” you whistle. by now, you’re done with her eyes and move on to dusting her cheeks with some sort of shimmery powder. “i’m probably just gonna put on a rom-com and finish — well, start — writing my english essay on romantic literature. lowercase ‘r,’ because ms. chavez was feeling festive. i’m leaning more modernist, but that’s only because i want to write about virginia woolf.”

it’s inching towards when vi should leave, but vi doesn’t care what time it is — she’d listen to you talk forever if she could.

“what’s it about?”

you pull away to examine vi’s makeup one last time.

“the movie, or my essay?” you nod once in approval and give the compact you’re holding to vi so she can take a look. “you look beautiful, by the way.”

vi watches her reflection blush, almost enhanced by the makeup you put on her. 

“thanks, stargirl.” vi clears her throat and decides to get back to your original conversation. “the movie and your essay, i guess.”

you offer vi a cinnamon heart, which she accepts, the candy burning sweet on her tongue. you then reach into your backpack, for the ring pop that vi had left in your locker this morning, just before you handed her a box of rainbow confetti cupcakes. you slip the candied jewellery onto your right ring finger before answering.

“i want to analyse the letters between virginia woolf and this other writer — vita sackville-west. they’re essentially love letters, but, you know.” you give an exaggerated shrug. “history says they were only best friends. at least, according to ms. chavez’s interpretations, along with most of the class.”

vi chuckles. “thankfully, you’re here to prove them all wrong.”

“exactly.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, the feeling of your body familiar next to hers. “and, for the movie, i’m thinking when harry met sally, which i remember watching with you for the first time.” 

vi definitely remembers watching that with you, too. the whole question of whether or not men and women can be friends without romance getting in the way brought up another, much more relevant question in vi’s mind: can two sapphic women be friends without any complicated feelings?

it’s definitely possible.

“so….you excited for this date?”

vi shrugs. “yeah.”

“wow. i totally believe that,” you say, words dripping with sarcasm. 

“it’s just….it’s valentine’s day,” vi whispers. she starts fiddling with one of her rings — you’d gotten it for her last valentine’s day, a silver thumb ring with a star in the middle. “what if she wants to kiss me tonight?”

“well, you kiss her back, if that’s what you want.” 

“that’s what i want,” she responds, way too quickly to be true. “it’s just — i’m not sure i’ll be any good.”

“you’ll be fine,” you assure. 

“but — i mean, i’ve never…..”

“oh.” your eyes widen and your lips part in shock, the blue-raspberry of the ring pop turning them from red to purple that’s intoxicatingly close to violet. “oh.”

“what! it’s not, like the end of the world.”

“of course not! it’s just — you’ve gone out with a bunch of girls, so i just figured….”

vi shakes her head, her cheeks heating up. “guess i never found the right one. i know it’s cliche, but i kinda wanted my first kiss to be —” 

“special?” you guess, and vi nods.

“and now, there’s all this pressure, i’m worried that i won’t be good.”

you clear your throat. “right. well, if it helps relieve the pressure….i could show you….how.”

“show me?”

“well — i mean, like teach you, i guess. plus, then i can let you know whether you’re, like, a good kisser or not.”

that’s how you find yourself practically in vi’s lap, slotting your lips between hers. it started off with a quick peck, but clearly, you’ve both decided that this lesson requires a bit more. 

every single one of vi’s senses is heightened: the stickiness of your glossed lips, the sugar on your tongue, the giggles rumbling through you and bouncing down vi’s throat. time seems to slow down — no, freeze entirely — which is a stark contrast to the burning in her lungs.

needing air, vi pulls away. 

“h-how was that?” she breathes, her words warming your mouth. 

“good.” you smile, almost shy. you’re so close together that vi can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. “maybe….a bit gentler this time.”

“gentler?”

“slower,” you suggest. 

so, you kiss again. gentler, this time.

“your lips are a bit chapped,” is your next note. you reach for the tube of lip gloss in your pocket. “can i?”

“go ahead, stargirl,” vi whispers. “you’re the expert.”

you paint a layer of sticky vanilla glitter onto vi’s lips.

“there,” you sit back after swiping your thumb underneath vi’s bottom lip. 

vi blinks at you. her lips feel like they’re coated in honey. “how do i look?”

“really pretty,” you reply, with a small smile. you sigh, glancing at the scooby-doo alarm clock on your nightstand, the one you’ve had since you were six years old. “you better go. have a good time with josie, okay?”

“okay.” vi gets up and grabs her jacket, tugs on her shoes. “and, thanks again for, well, you know.”

you shrug. “that’s what best friends are for. happy valentine’s, vi.”

vi hesitates just as she’s about to climb out your window. “look, stargirl, i don’t have to – i mean, i’m perfectly happy canceling my, uh, date, and just hanging out with you.”

“you’re sweet, vi, but i’ll be fine. go — have fun.” you walk closer to her so you can slip your tube of lipgloss into vi’s button down shirt pocket. you pat her chest affectionately. “and remember to be gentle, yeah?” 

later, when she’s making out with josie in the backseat of her dad’s car, vi tries not to think about your soft voice guiding her through the movements, or the dizzying taste of your lips — cinnamon hearts and sour candy and sweet, sweet vanilla.

history might say that you and vi are only best friends, but the real story is much more complicated.

___

[image: a cartoon scooby-doo, holding a bouquet of hearts. the message reads: BE MY VALENTINE!]

to: stargirl <3

from: vi

___

track 2: “you’re my best friend” by queen 

(age 7)

“mom?”

“yeah, kiddo?”

“can you be in love with your best friend?”

her mom, felicia, smiles knowingly, the question hanging in the air until the end of song. it’s part of an old mixtape that felicia plays sometimes, mostly glam rock like queen and david bowie. she put it on this afternoon while her and vi get ready for the valentine’s class party tomorrow. vi scribbles names on cards while her mom fills clear heart-printed bags with candy. powder’s fallen asleep on her lap. 

“definitely,” felicia finally answers, reaching over to tap vi’s nose playfully. “love, violet, can be a million different things. that’s the fun part.” 

felicia pinches vi’s cheek affectionately. vi frowns, thinking about this whole love thing. 

love is definitely not the next classmate whose name she’s writing — drea, who always cheats during sports and teases vi for being a tomboy. she’s tempted to just leave her out, but the policy of ms. julie’s second grade class is that everyone needs to get a valentine. so, that’s not love, either. 

instead, vi thinks of her family — her mom, vander, powder, and even ekko; movie nights and lively dinners and warm hugs. she thinks of her friends — mylo and claggor; laughter and skinned knees and running so fast it feels like flying. 

when she thinks of you, though, her heart beats differently.

vi thinks about how you always carry around a spiderman bandaid because she always scrapes herself during recess, and the nurse only carries plain, boring bandages. she thinks about how you ‘accidentally’ spill paint on drea’s art project after she calls vi mean names.

she thinks about how you doodle on her arms during math or braid her hair as you watch cartoons and eat sugary cereal on saturday mornings. 

she thinks about the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear, the perpetual marker stains on your hands, the dimple on your cheek.

you’re her best friend, and your smile alone wakes up a million butterflies in her stomach.

vi’s mom suggested spiderman valentine’s cards, but vi wanted to pick out something that you’d like; vi knows that scooby-doo is your favorite show, so that’s what she went with. she adds a ring pop to your bag of candy, because she knows they’re your favorite candy. she adds a little heart by your nickname, too.  

the next day, everyone is decorating their shoeboxes, transforming them into mailboxes before exchanging valentines. vi��s hands are sticky with glitter glue when you walk over — ms. julie said that you and vi distracted each other, so she assigned you to desks on opposite sides of the room. 

“happy valentine’s day, vi,” you say, sliding a card into her mailbox and smiling ear to ear before moving on to the next person. vi eagerly reaches in for the valentine. 

it’s spiderman-themed, and there’s a heart next to her name. 

(now) 

when you walk through the door, you’re engulfed in the scent of warm garlic bread and sweet, ripe tomatoes. the restaurant is bustling with waiters delivering colourful dishes, everyone wearing crisp suits and silk dresses. someone’s playing piano, soft music dancing throughout the room, and the overhead lights are dimmed, with each table illuminated by a candle in the centre.

the maître d' greets you with a welcoming smile and settles you into a table. once they’re gone, vi reaches across the table for your hand. 

“you look beautiful, stargirl.”

vi’s skin is always warm, but the cool metal of her thumb ring sends a shiver through you as she brushes over your knuckles. the flame between you flickers, darkening vi’s powder blue eyes as she gazes at you lovingly.

“you let me borrow your clothes,” you point out. “i’m wearing one of your suits.”

“what can i say….” vi winks, releasing your hand so she can open the menu in front of her. “i have good taste. looks better on you, anyways.”

“were you always this much of a flirt?” you tease.

vi smirks. “like a fine wine, i just get better with age.”

“you are so corny,” you say with a slight laugh.

“well, some people do think my love songs are cheesy.”

“even the ones written about me?”

vi looks up from her menu, one eyebrow raised. “baby, they’re all about you.”

your cheeks heat up at vi’s confession, and you take a sip from your glass, ice water trickling down your throat, in hopes of steadying your heartbeat.

a waiter comes by; you each order pasta dishes and vi orders a bottle of wine for the table. the wine arrives quickly, but given how busy the restaurant is, you anticipate the food will take longer. 

you fill the time easily, catching each other up on the details of your lives since this morning. you start by telling her how hectic your art studio has been as you prepare for your big spring exhibition, but how excited everyone is. you’re especially excited since you get to explore different mediums along the way; these past few weeks, you’ve been learning how to use a pottery wheel. you went through the final step of the process today — glazing — and you’re happy at the end product. 

“i don’t think i’m gonna include it in my exhibit, though,” you conclude. 

“well, it’d be nice to have some of your art on display all the time.” vi smiles. “you should bring whatever you made home.” 

“that’s the idea,” you muse, a twinkle in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “how was your day?”

vi started teaching guitar at the local community centre. some adults take lessons, but it’s mostly little kids with too much energy and too little patience. still, no matter how chaotic it can be, it’s clear that vi has been loving her job.

“i swear, this one girl, marceline, is a budding rockstar. i taught her a jimi hendrix song and she picked it up —” vi snaps her fingers, smiling proudly. “like that. such a talented kid.”

“you would know, pretty girl,” you praise.

your waiter arrives to bring plates full of pasta. you and vi thank them, your stomach grumbling at the delicious smell, a reminder that you had barely eaten all day. you’re so ready to dig into some quality fettuccine alfredo.

you and vi eat in a comfortable silence, until you hear an unfortunately familiar voice grate at your ears:

“oh my god, it is you! i saw you from the other side of the restaurant and just had to come over and say hi!”

you don’t need to glance to know who it is, but you do anyways, and so does vi. your stomach drops as you watch her bite back a scoff before turning back to her food.

“hi, drea,” vi clips before taking a big gulp of wine. she continues eating, barely sparing the woman another glance.

drea continues to hover. she’s wearing dark lipstick, her black hair cut into a classic bisexual bob, and her amber eyes silently pleading at you to break the ice. 

“hey, drea,” you greet with a stiff smile, and drea relaxes her shoulders at your veil of friendliness.

“nice earrings,” she winks, reaching over to tap the dangling purple gem. “thought you might have gotten rid of them after we broke up.”

vi chokes on a sip of wine. “broke up?” vi coughs, reaches for her water glass. “since when did you two date?”

you open your mouth to respond, but drea beats you to it, clearly too focused on being the centre of attention.

“maybe like a year or so ago.” drea turns to you. “right, starlight?”

vi’s jaw clenches, and she drops her fork, metal clattering against the plate.

“starlight?”

“yeah, because of the star-shaped birthmark behind her —”

“i know,” vi snaps. her eyes are locked on you, and slightly glazed over. “you never told me you dated drea.”

“i-it was only 3 months,” you stutter.

“that hurts,” drea groans, clutching her heart. she always did have a flair for the dramatic. “it was 4 months, babe.”

“you dated for 4 months, and i’m just hearing about it now?” vi seethes, trying to keep her voice low. the tables around you have already taken note that something is happening, though, their conversations hushing down to an idle whisper. “did you somehow forget how much of an asshole she was in high school?”

“um, i’m right here?” drea chides, still not taking the hint that neither of you are interested in a happy reunion.

“we need a minute,” you and vi say simultaneously. drea rolls her eyes and mutters something you don’t care to hear; you’re too concerned with explaining yourself to vi, whose cheeks are burning with a deep shade of red. whether it’s jealousy, anger, or embarrassment, you’re not quite sure.

“vi, just let me —” 

you reach out for her hand, but as soon as you make contact, vi pulls away abruptly.

“i…i need….to not be here right now,” vi mutters. the last thing she wants is to make headlines tomorrow morning — violet lanes, caught having argument with girlfriend at upscale restaurant during on valentine’s eve. flip to page 6 for the full story! — so, she gets up and slips on her jacket. 

“please, baby, let’s talk about this —”

“order dessert, if you want. don’t rush home.”

her voice cracks at that last word before she storms out the door, leaving you with two unfinished meals and stomach heavy with regret. 

___

[image: notebook opened to a page filled with chaotic, scribbled writing]

FOR STARGIRL (FINAL DRAFT!!! COME UP WITH TITLE LATER!??!!)

i’m stuck on you, baby

you taught me what love is

sugary sweet kisses,

frosting on your lips;

first tattoos,

promises on our skin

i’m stuck on you, baby

have been since we were kids

you’re not just the sun or the moon

you’re all my stars

know that i’ll love you

wherever we are

___

track 3: “true romantic” by indigo girls

(age 18)

the auditorium is decorated with red and pink streamers, heart garlands and bouquets of roses. a red spotlight shines on the stage, painting each performer with a pink hue. there are small tables and chairs arranged to make the space feel more like a parisian cafe, instead of where drama club rehearses for the spring musical.

you’re sitting at one of the tables, inhaling all the free coffee and pastries you possibly can and chatting with viktor and jayce, like you’ve done for the past three years at your highschool’s annual valentine’s day coffeehouse. 

the first time vi performed, during your freshman year, she was all nerves, her fingers fumbling at chords and voice trembling through the lyrics of a joan jett song she had played for you perfectly that morning. when her eyes landed on yours in the crowd, you gave her a thumbs-up — you’d been just friends at the time, after all — and vi seemed to warm up, finishing to enthusiastic applause. 

now, vi walks on with confidence right away, electric guitar the same pink as her hair, with a constellation of stars scribbled on its body with black sharpie. she’s grown out her hair, still keeping it shorter on one side to display her growing collection of piercings. the newest addition is a silver loop in her nostril, which glints underneath the spotlight as she leans closer to the mic. she’s wearing lowrise jeans and showcasing a sliver of her hips; you can’t help but think about what’s hidden just a bit lower, the stars sparkling along her upper thigh, etched into her skin at the same time you got violets blooming between your ribs. 

“hey everyone. most of you know me as the captain of our hockey team —”

beside you, jayce whistles and there’s a scattering of applause for the team, who just made it to nationals. vi landed an athletic scholarship, too, to play at university of piltover. even though you have a hard time picturing your girlfriend as an enforcer, you’re so proud of her. plus, it’s only a twenty minute drive from zaun university, where you’ve decided to go so you could be close to your family.

“but, i’ve been writing songs, too,” vi continues. “i realized that i’ve gotten up here every year to sing someone else’s love song to a girl i’ve had a crush on since before i even knew what a crush was. but this is a song i’ve been writing, for and about her, for years. and now that we’re actually dating….well, i wanted to do something special for our first valentine’s day. ” vi looks at you with a toothy grin, and you blow her a kiss. “wait, actually, can we get a spotlight on my girlfriend? right there?”

vi gestures in your general direction, and suddenly you feel the heat of the spotlight and 50 pairs of eyes on you. your cheeks flush at the attention, but you play along and wave nonetheless.

“there she is,” vi gushes. “my beautiful stargirl. i wrote this song —”

“oh my god, we came here for music, not your sappy lesbian monologue!” drea, current goalie of  zaun high’s hockey team and perpetual pain in vi’s ass, groans. “hurry up and play the song already!”

one of the teachers hushes the bubbling laughter, and it dies down just as quickly as it emerged.

vi rolls her eyes. “as i was saying, i wrote this song-slash-sappy-lesbian-monologue for you, stargirl. i hope you like it. happy valentine’s day.”

you don’t know what makes your heart soar more — the sweet lyrics falling from the lips of the girl you love, or the girl herself. 

later, vi is falling asleep in the middle of chemistry class when she hears a light clink against the window. she glances outside and sees you waving at her, smile as bright as a shooting star. you have paint stains on your jeans that weren’t there earlier and you’re gesturing at her to follow you. vi just shrugs and nods her chin towards the front of the class. 

your bottom lip juts out into a pout, and you curve your hands into a heart before disconnecting them. vi snorts at your antics. 

“ms. lanes, are my slides on organic compounds amusing to you?” 

“uh, no mr. michaels. of course not.” vi clears her throat, whips her head back towards the smartboard. “may i, uh, go to the bathroom?”

vi checks her phone as soon as she closes the door behind her. 

stargirl

hurry UP!!!

dyke spiderman <3

easy romeo

i’m omw

where should i meet u???

stargirl

our spot

“wait!” you call as soon as vi reaches the bottom of the staircase and starts to turn the corner. “close your eyes!”

“how’d you know it was me?” vi laughs, but does as she’s told nonetheless.

“the axe body spray is a pretty dead giveaway,” you deadpan. 

“hey, i stopped using that in middle school. can i look now?”

you ask her to wait one more time. vi feels you shift behind her, wrap your arms around her waist. on instinct, vi reaches a hand down and laces her fingers through yours, your skin slick and cold. 

“okay,” you whisper, your breath hot against her ear. “open your eyes.”

and when she does, vi is glad that you’re holding her, because she’s suddenly weak in the knees at what’s gracing the wall before her: a small mural reminiscent of klimt’s famous painting, ‘the kiss’. except — it’s the two of you, surrounded by stars and violets.

“happy valentine’s day, vi.” 

you untangle yourself from her, but vi doesn’t let go of your hand, even when she realizes it’s wet with fresh paint. 

“you….you did this?”

“yeah.”

“wow….it’s amazing. beautiful.”

vi squeezes your hand, still in awe at how you beautifully swirled together each color, the loving expressions you managed to portray with each delicate stroke of your paintbrush. 

“i’m glad you like it.”

“like it? i love….” she turns to you. “i love it. you didn’t have to do all this though, it must have taken you forever.”

“you’re worth it,” you muse. “like you said — it’s our first valentine’s day. as a couple at least. i wanted to do something special. i made us a playlist, too.”  

so, even though it means she’s skipping chem and you’re skipping history, the two of you curl underneath the staircase, a pair of earbuds split between you. 

“i’m gonna miss seeing you every day after we graduate.”

vi hums in agreement. she gently lifts your head from her shoulder, holding your chin between her thumb and pointer finger. “you know i’ll love you wherever we are, right?”

“i know, i heard you early on stage,” you swoon, settling back against her shoulder. “seemed a bit dramatic for only being, like, 20 minutes away from each other. though, i guess that is the farthest apart we’ve ever been.”

vi takes a deep breath, as your fingers dance along the doodles decorating her skin, the ones you had drawn on in sharpie during calculus. “except…. it might be further than that, depending on how things go.”

your pointer finger pauses halfway through an outline of a heart. “what do you mean?”

“i’m, uh….i don’t want to go to university of piltover. actually, i don’t want to go to college at all. i turned down the scholarship; made the official decision two weeks ago after the big game.”

“you did what?”

“i wanna move to l.a. or london, pursue this whole music thing. i think it could really take me places.” 

“right,” you clip.“and why are you just bringing this up now? have you told vander? have you talked to anyone before making a huge, life-changing decision?”

you continue shaking your head in disbelief as you gather your backpack and turn the corner, emerging from underneath the staircase; vi follows you. 

“no, but it’s my life — and i know what i want.”

“and it’s always about what you want, right?” you scoff.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“it’s just — did you ever think about your family in all this? how powder might feel having her sister so far away just as she’s starting high school?”

“i’ve spent the past 13 years of my life worrying about powder, taking care of her especially after our mom died,” vi reasons, trying to keep her voice steady. “i need a break. my dreams are bigger than this town.”

“do you…” you trail off, hesitant to even speak the words aloud, but the coil in your gut tells you it’s unavoidable. “do you need a break from us?” 

“stargirl.” vi whispers your nickname like a promise itching to be broken. “i thought you’d love having a rockstar girlfriend,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood.

“don’t,” you grumble, brows furrowed. “if you wanted to make things work between us, you would have at least talked to me about this.”

“i am talking to you,” vi counters. she grabs her hands in yours. you pull away.

“but, you spent these past two weeks listening to me imagine our future together, while you had already made other plans. what does that say about our actual future?”

before vi can respond, someone clears their throat from the top of the staircase. your principal, looking down on you with an expression that can only be described as disinterested, addressing you by your last names. 

“pro tip,” she continues. “if you want to skip class and have a lover’s quarrel, make sure it’s not somewhere that carries sound directly to the office.”

you and vi get assigned detention that afternoon. you’re told to sit on opposite sides of the room, but that doesn’t stop vi from throwing a crumpled ball of paper your way. 

glancing over at your girlfriend, you have to admit that you find yourself melting at those puppy dog eyes of hers, pleading and so full of love as she waits for you to respond to her message.

even though the future feels uncertain, you scribble something back, then toss the paper towards her desk discreetly. it lands on the floor. vi unfolds it and smiles as she reads the note, cheeks tinted a light rose.

___

[image: a crumpled ball of paper. unfold it, and it reads….]

(in hot pink gel pen)

I WANT TO MAKE THINGS WORK BETWEEN US

I LOVE YOU

(in black sharpie)

I LOVE YOU TOO

OF COURSE WE’LL MAKE IT WORK

I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A ROCK STAR GF, BTW

BUT ONLY IF SHE’S AS HOT AS YOU

___

track 4: “home by now” by MUNA 

(age 21)

“wait, hold on — what does that sign say?”

violet lanes, will you be my valentine?

“i’m flattered,” vi chuckles. “but, sorry ladies — i’m a happily taken woman. i’ve got a pretty girl waiting for me in the crowd.” 

“and, lemme just say, it’s a good thing we’ve all got separate hotel rooms this time,” caitlyn groans. 

vi rolls her eyes. “anyways. this is a very special night because it’s the first time my girlfriend is watching us perform live! she’s over there, looking as beautiful as ever. everyone, say hi!”

the spotlight shines on you, and you giggle shyly. the necklace she’d given you this morning practically glows between your collarbones, illuminates your skin with a violet hue. 

“isn’t she the cutest?” vi gushes. “the first time i performed this next song was to celebrate our first valentine’s day as a couple. and — fun little easter egg — when we released this as a single, the cover was a painting she had made for me on that same day. she’s just so talented, kicking ass at this fancy art program….she’s basically the frida kahlo to my joan jett…..and i’m just rambling, now, sorry guys. i could probably talk about my girl all day.” 

“oh, and she does,” maddie grumbles. 

“the fans love sappy-lesbian-monologues, don’t they?” the crowd roars, and vi flashes maddie a winning smirk. “so, yeah, i love my girlfriend every day, of course, but today it’s with roses and ring pops and those cheesy cards kids hand out to each other in elementary school. happy valentine’s day, stargirl. this one’s called — stuck on you.” 

when the show’s over, and the band’s played not one, but two encores, you’re flinging your arms around vi’s neck before she even has the chance to put down her guitar. she’s all sweaty, white tank top sticking to her torso. her ears are still ringing and her throat a bit sore, but all vi cares about is the feelings of your soft lips kissing across her cheeks. 

“you’re so fucking amazing,” you gush, pecking her lips delicately. “i mean, i’ve seen you play before, but never like this! vi, you’re….wow. electric, fucking radiant. you must be exhausted, though, ahh —”

vi kisses you, sweaty and breathless, until she’s practically sucked all the air from your lungs.

“not at all,” she replies with a cocky grin. “we’ve got all night and i’m not planning on getting any sleep.”

“ugh, gross. get a room,” caitlyn scoffs, playful but with a bit of an edge. 

“oh, we will,” you reply coolly. maybe you’re a bit jealous with how seamlessly caitlyn fits into vi’s new life, how much she’s able to see your girlfriend much more than you’re able to. she hasn’t been particularly friendly since you’ve gotten here, and she’s been a bit too touchy with vi in the tabloids lately. “i’m guessing you don’t have any valentine’s plans?”

caitlyn narrows her eyes at you.

vi laughs, probably about to make a lighthearted comment to diffuse the tension between you and caitlyn, but she’s called aside by their manager for a quick chat before she gets the chance. 

“i’ll be right back. cait, stargirl — play nice,” she advises, like you’re children fighting on the playground. 

once she’s gone, caitlyn’s frown turns into a smirk. 

“stargirl, huh? guess that explains her thigh tattoo. i didn’t think vi was that sentimental, though, so it must have been at your request.” 

you straighten your back, trying to mirror caitlyn’s combative confidence. “i think i know her better than you.”

“maybe before, when you were kids growing up in that nothing town. things change, darling. people change — who they are and what they want. if i were you, i’d accept that sooner rather than later,” caitlyn snarks as she finally walks away, bumping your shoulder just as vi returns to the pair of you.  

you don’t quite have the time to register the interaction, not with vi intertwining her fingers with yours and tugging you towards her body. 

“let’s get out of here, yeah?” she brushes some hair behind your ear. “we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

and, there was so much time to make up for — the days that have turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years since you’d last seen each other in person, sometimes only speaking to each other once every month, for only two minutes at a time. 

you’d gotten so used to being apart that being together feels like a dream.

vi’s warm body presses against yours, barely making it to the bed. you just couldn’t resist pushing her against the door of the hotel room as soon as you were inside, lodging your thigh between her legs. 

“i, uh, i have a surprise for you,” vi breathes, groaning as you hum and start to suck bruises down her neck. 

“yeah? what is it, pretty girl?”

blushing and slightly flustered at the nickname, vi removes her shirt and sits back on the bed, gesturing at you to follow her. you hover on top of her and take in her naked form. 

“you…got your nipples pierced.”

vi grins. 

“can i touch them?” 

she nods enthusiastically. you brush your thumb over one and she shivers, causing you to pull away.

“no, it’s okay,” she assures, guiding your hand back towards her. “feels good.”

you start kissing her again. “you’re so fucking beautiful.” until you reach her chest. “can i?”

vi blinks up at you, eyes glazed over with honeyed want. “please. f-fuck,” vi moans when you latch your mouth to her nipple, rolling the cold, silver piercing along your tongue.

“you’re so sensitive,” you coo. you release her nipple with a pop, a string of saliva still connecting it to your wet lips. your fingers slip underneath vi’s underwear, gliding through her soft curls and down into her sticky heat. “so wet. you really missed me, yeah?”

“course i did, stargirl,” vi lets out a shaky laugh. “i want to show you just how much.”

you pout, and vi has the urge to capture that beautiful bottom lip of yours between her teeth. “but i wanted to show you how much i missed you.”

“well, like i said — we have all night.”

three orgasms later, and you’re nearing the point of exhaustion, but you’re determined to keep going, if anything because of how full you feel with vi’s fingers fucking into you at a truly impressive pace. the pads of her fingers are rougher than before, calluses from playing guitar so often, but she still knows exactly how to curl and curve them in every way that makes you unravel. her lips are shining with your cum, and you still taste her sweetness on your tongue. 

she grinds her bare cunt against the soft skin of your thigh as she brings you closer and closer to your peak while desperately chasing hers. 

“you close, pretty girl? gonna cum for me again?”

vi whines, nods eagerly. “i’m so fucking close. fuck — i don’t know what i’d do without you.” 

you groan when vi starts sucking at your pulsepoint, running her tongue over the chain of your new necklace. you reach a hand up to tug at her hair, gently coaxing her to look at you.

“don’t worry about that,” you promise. vi takes a deep breath as though inhaling your words and buries her face in the crook of your neck, butterfly lashes fluttering closed and tickling the skin behind your ear. “you’re being so good for me, so messy.”

“s-sorry,” vi sniffles, blood rushing to her cheeks. her body stills while she moves to meet your gaze, her puppy dog eyes shining with desire and desperation. 

you shake your head and dig your fingers into the plush of her hips, urging her to keep going.

“i love it,” you clarify, prompting vi’s face to brighten, her smile pure sunlight and sugar. 

you run your thumb over the scar on her lip that stretches with such familiarity, before crashing your lips against hers. vi welcomes your slick tongue into her mouth, swirling around every crevice until your tastes combine into one. the knot in your abdomen tightens and you, somewhat reluctantly, pull away to admire your girlfriend.

“i love how gorgeous you look on top of me, fucking me while using my body to get yourself off,” you continue, words flowing from your mouth like thick, sickly-sweet nectar. “i want you to cum with me one more time, yeah?”

vi whimpers into the crook of your neck, the vibrations intensifying the waves of pleasure crashing throughout your body. it doesn’t take long for vi to feel you clench around her fingers, and for you to feel her gush against your skin, staining the bedspread beneath your entangled bodies.

vi pulls away her fingers — you whimper this time at the sudden emptiness — but she places the softest kiss on your lips as an apology before adjusting to lay down on her side. she nestles into the curve between your neck and shoulder. her teeth graze your pulsepoint as you run your hand through her damp hair.

you should probably take a shower — the two of you drenched in each other’s sweat and saliva and cum — but all you want to do is to melt against her. maybe if you stay in bed, then time will slow down. 

“i wish you could stay longer.” 

“me too,” you whisper, idly tracing your fingers down her body. 

“you know, the art scene in this city is amazing,” she mumbles. “lot of galleries where you could show your work. nice, big apartments where you could have your own private studio space. you could move here after graduation.”

you laugh. “maybe in another life, where i could afford a place in new york. plus, at this point, i think it’d be best for me to move home after i graduate. but, hypothetically speaking — yeah, that would be cool.”

“well, hypothetically speaking, you would share rent with the pink-haired butch of your dreams.”

“you mean the one whose cum is drying on my thigh right now?”

“the very same,” vi nods with a cheeky grin. she throw her arm around your waist, pulling you in closer. 

you nudge your nose against hers. “paint me a picture — what does this dream life with my dream girl look like?”

“well, we get a place in an artsy neighbourhood, obviously, surrounded by a strong, welcoming community of queer artists, who are all quirky and colorful in their own way.”

“we’d actually be friends with our neighbours — host dinner parties and have movie nights and dance all night at gay bars. our apartment would have an open-floor plan, and we’d have big windows that give us a ton of light and a great view.”

“a beautiful kitchen, too. one that’s a little outdated, but we prefer the term charming,” vi adds. “and there are always fresh flowers on the counter, in a gorgeous vase.”

“we thrifted most of our stuff, so the furniture is all mismatched furniture and in every color of the rainbow —”

“but it works.”

“it works,” you echo, heart glowing. “we adopt a dog, too.” 

“and, the dog’s name?”

you think for a second. “scooby.”

“of course,” vi agrees, her smile suddenly sad. “sounds like a nice life we’d have together.”

“yeah. it does.”

you swallow down those dreams with a bitter dose of reality. you’ll be on a plane tomorrow, heading back to your childhood home, while vi continues travelling the world, performing to sold-out stadiums. 

i don’t know what i’d do without you.

the sad truth is that vi does know what to do without you, and you know what to do without her. that’s what this relationship has become: together, in theory, but growing into your adult selves and towards lives that don’t necessarily include the other. 

the vi beside you, hair a mess and eyeliner smudged, looks the same, give or take a few new tattoos and piercing. but, you wonder about all the little ways she’s changed that you might not ever have the chance to appreciate, about all the details of her day that you’ll never get to hear about. 

you wonder if, possibly, caitlyn is right. you know that people change — who they are, what they want. you want to believe that you and vi are the exception, that no matter how much you changed, you’d always be together. always. 

you then remember something else that caitlyn had said, and abruptly stop tracing designs onto vi’s skin, your eyes lingering on the stars on her upper thigh. vi must notice how you stiffen, because she cups your cheek, prompting you to meet her gaze.

“hey — are you okay?”

“i just — don’t take this the wrong way —  but….has anything ever happened between you and cait?”

vi freezes. “why….why would you ask that?”

“o-oh, it’s just….she mentioned something about your star tattoo and, i, uh, i don’t know. seems like the type of thing she’d only know if the two of you had —”

vi shuffles away from you beneath the sheets and sits up. “you think i’d cheat on you?”

“you aren’t answering the question,” you notice, watching carefully as a nervous blush blooms across her freckled cheeks. “did anything happen between you and caitlyn?”

“why does it matter? why are you asking?”

“i’m starting to think i have a good reason to.” you get out of bed in a huff and slip on her oversized graphic tee, starting to pace back and forth.

“i — look, i was going to tell you, at some point — we, uh….well, nothing actually happened.”

“well? what didn’t actually happen?”

“baby, just let me explain —” vi catches your arm to stop you. “we were both drunk and high and sharing a cigarette by the pool and….she….we….almost kissed.”

you scoff. “so that’s what this weekend was all about — you felt guilty, so you put on this heart-eyed romantic act to make yourself feel better. everything — this last minute trip, the shoutout at your concert, the fucking necklace you got me — was all because you felt guilty.”

“maybe that’s part of it,” vi admits. “but, mostly, i wanted to see you. i miss you.”

you don’t confess to missing her, too. instead, you say:

“maybe we don’t know each other as well as we used to. maybe….things are changing a bit too much.”

“what does that even — where is this going?” vi drops your arm like its a hot coal, red-hot and blistering. “do you wanna break up?”

the tension hangs in the air, a cloud of smoke and darkness between you and the girl you’ve always loved.

“do you?”

you get on a plane the next morning, bone-tired and heart-heavy with deja vu. 

you kiss each other goodbye, promise that you’ll make things work.

you don’t. can’t. 

a few months later, you’ll break up. 

___

[image: postcard reading GREETINGS FROM PARIS! messy handwriting and misspelled words on the other side]

stargirl,

i promised powder id send her a postcard from paris but im really really drunk rn and urs is the only address i can rememer 

they say this is the city of love and it’s the most romantic day of the yer but it means nothing without u. i miss u.

that mesage was 4 u not powder. just tell her i say hi.

xxx

vi

p.s. i know were not together anymore, but i still love u.

___

track 5: “i’ve loved you for so long” by the aces

(now)

“vi?” 

all the lights in the apartment are off, the only sign that vi is home being her discarded doc martens strewn by the door. there’s a chill in the air, too — the window to the fire escape is open, so you head outside.

the string lights twisted around the railing flicker like fallen stars, and the city sparkles in the late winter night. vi perches over the edge, her silk shirt unbuttoned at the top, her dark lipstick faded, and a cigarette smouldering between her ringed fingers. 

“i stopped at magnolia’s on my way home – got us a slice of confetti cake for dessert,” you try, keeping your voice light in hopes of avoiding a fight. you hoped that the sweet treat would be a welcomed peace offering; that maybe you could sit down in your shared kitchen and actually talk through the conflict like the well-adjusted adults you’re trying to be. 

instead, time collapses into itself; you’re both teenagers again, keeping secrets from each other in hopes to ease future pain, and you have a feeling you’re about to bicker like an old married couple, fall back into familiar patterns.

“sure you wouldn’t want to share it with drea, instead starlight?”

you don’t take the bait; you know vi wants to push your buttons, and you know that she knows exactly how. 

“didn’t realize you still smoked,” you say, moving to lean against the railing next to her. 

“whenever i get stressed.” she takes a drag to prove her point, exhaling smoke into the ink-black sky. “guess we don’t know each other as well as we used to.” 

“vi, please,” you sigh. “can we actually talk about this without you lashing out like a wounded dog?”

and, it’s true — vi’s instinct when she’s upset has always been rushing to sink her teeth into something to protect herself from more harm, or gnawing on old wounds until fresh blood emerges.

“what’s there to talk about?” she snarls, tapping her cigarette, ash falling down into the abyss below you. “how you lied about dating drea?”

“i didn’t lie,” you huff. the winter night shivers down to your bones, but you cross your arms over your chest to keep yourself steady. “i just didn’t tell you that i’d gone out with her, specifically. we each admitted to seeing other people after our break-up. you never gave me a list of every fangirl you took to bed.”

“i told you about caitlyn —”

“the tabloids told me about caitlyn,” you counter. 

“you knew how much i hated drea!” vi barks, finally whipping her head to look at you. “do you not remember how much of a homophobic asshole she was? how she told the entire hockey team that i cornered her in the showers one day and tried to kiss her?”

you bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste copper.

“vi, if you just let me explain — she meant nothing to me.”

vi laughs, cold and bitter as the winter air. “i mean, jesus christ, you still have and wear the earrings she got you. meanwhile, you never wear that necklace i’d gotten you. as soon as we broke up, you were perfectly happy getting rid of me.”

“please, vi —” 

vi’s eyes shine under the starlight, and she clenches her jaw so tight that you’re worried the bone might shatter. “did you not care about me at all, even after all that time, everything we’d been through?”

you uncross your arms and reach out to her, but she flinches away. 

“violet —”

“no — you stopped caring about me to the point that you dated someone who made my life a living hell.” vi takes a shaky breath, and she chokes out your name. “we were best friends first, and i thought….god, i thought that meant we’d always love each other.”

the words hang heavy in the air, your heart pierced by her icicle-sharp words. in a haste, you wipe away the cold tears burning on your skin, turn around on your heels, and storm back inside. 

vi finds you a few minutes later in the living room. you’re using the swiss army knife you usually keep clipped to your belt to tear through unpacked boxes. though she’s not sure what you’re looking for, vi turns on the lamp to help your search. 

“what are you —”

you finally pull something out and offer it to her without a single word. 

vi’s fingers are still slightly frozen as she holds it, her eyes following the precise swirls and crisp lines, designs similar to the tattoos on her back. you must have drawn them on the worn cardboard.

“what is this?”

“open it,” is all you say before sitting cross-legged on the velvety purple couch, which the two of you had lugged up three flights of stairs from the street corner just the other day. you pick at one of the tears in the fabric as you wait.

vi stays standing while she carefully cracks open the lid, well aware that it could disintegrate in her hands like sand through an hourglass. 

what looks like a forgotten, ready-to-be-recycled shoebox turns out to contain much more than old sneakers: 

valentine’s cards she’d given you in elementary school; notes you passed to each other during class or detention; her first songwriting notebook she must have left at your place; a jolly rancher lollipop wrapper from the halloween party where you first…you know. little trinkets vi had given you throughout the years. receipts, movie tickets, photobooth strips of your younger selves. so carefree and full of love.

her anger, her hurt, melts away into sappy affection; knees turning to jello, she slides onto the couch next to you. 

you watch through the corner of your eye as vi rustles through contents of the shoebox-turned-time capsule, teeth worrying at your bottom lip. 

“you….you kept all of this?” 

“i put this box together on the first valentine’s day after our break-up. i was going to set it on fire,” you timidly admit, rubbing the back of your neck. 

vi snorts. “seriously?”

“some sort of stupid ritual i read about in autostraddle, to get rid of your ex. but when it got to that point…all of this — all these memories — i couldn’t bring myself to get rid of them. i didn’t want to get rid of you.”

you reach into the box and pull out a faded, drunkenly-written postcard, chipped-polish nail fiddling with the french stamp in the corner. 

“what about the necklace?” vi can’t help but ask. she runs her fingers through the delicate, dried violets from your corsage, which your mom had helped vi pick out a week before prom. 

“ekko wanted new sneakers for his birthday, so i did the nobel big sister thing, and sold my most expensive piece of jewellery to pay for them,” you explain. you and vi had instinctively shuffled in closer together, the shoebox balanced on one leg from each of you, your knees touching. “plus — yeah, i was mad at you. god, i hated you — which probably was the reason i started going out with drea in the first place, and i’m really, really sorry that i did. but, i need you to know — i never stopped caring about you. i never stopped loving you, violet, and i don’t think i ever will. ”

silence stretches between you. vi stares at you in the warm living room light — how your eyes are darker, your lips parted, shoulders curling in to protect your bleeding heart. vi gently takes the postcard from you and places the shoebox on the floor. 

“i never stopped loving you, either,” she promises, placing her now thawed hands on your cheeks. “and i don’t think i ever will.” 

you smile softly as vi leans in closer, her eyes flickering between yours and your lips. you nod; vi presses her lips to yours, a tender vow that grows into something hungrier, something with teeth. 

“gentler,” you tell her as you pull away slightly. you want to take your time, inhale the dizzying nicotine in her lungs, savor the acidic red wine on her tongue. 

“gentler?” vi’s already eager, though, her hand inching up your thigh.

“slower, violet.”

vi shudders as you trail your fingers over the tattoo on her neck. “have i ever told you how much i love it when you say my name?” 

“drea definitely wasn’t a fan of that habit,” you confess with a guilty grin. “one of the reasons we broke up is because, well...i kept accidentally saying your name during sex.”

“really?” vi chuckles darkly, a lightning bolt of possessiveness striking through her. “fucked you so good that i ruin you for other girls, hm?”

you roll your eyes, then suck in a breath when vi dips her fingers beneath your underwear, finding you wet and waiting.

“oh, sweetheart, you’re soaking. all this, just for me?”

“hm, i don’t know. drea did look pretty good in that dress,” you tease — because you know how to push vi’s buttons, too. “i have to admit, she was a pretty decent fuck.”

“don’t,” she warns, but her eyes are burning with desire.

you smirk, slipping your hand underneath her shirt. her skin is always warm, but, right now, it’s electric. her abs are sculpted by the gods, pave way to a thick haven of curls between her legs.

“maybe you need to remind me why your name always fell from my lips whenever she’d make me cum.”

vi’s cheeks are red-hot, her heart pounding against your chest as she pushes you onto the couch, and presses her body into yours. 

“it would be my genuine pleasure.”

everything else to ash, and you’re left with this: your lace underwear dangling off your ankle as vi pushes your legs over her shoulders. her slick, skilled tongue sliding through your folds and her rough fingers squelching into your hole at an expert pace.

“f-fuck, vi,” you moan, running your fingers through her messy hair. you don’t miss how eagerly she grinds down onto the butter-soft velvet once you start tugging at the strands more firmly. 

“feels good, yeah?” she moans like you’re the one fucking her. “i’m the one making you feel good?”

“yes.” you exhale sharply when she sucks on your clit. “i’m close, vi.”

“i know, baby,” she drawls, smirking against your skin.

“don’t stop.” you plead as she sucks a bruise into your thigh, fingers curling into you. “don’t stop, don’t stop —”

and, she fucking stops. 

“vi,” you whine. 

“uh-uh, you don’t get to cum quite yet, pretty girl.”

she sucks her honey-soaked fingers into her mouth as she gets up from the couch.

you pout, licking your lips even though you wish you could lick hers. “why not?”

“i’m still mad at you,” vi states. “you really did hurt my feelings. how do you plan on making it up to me?”

vi tries to resist, play the part of the jealous, possessive girlfriend — but, god, it’s hard, with how fucked out, how beautiful you look right now: your lips the color of ripe plums, swollen and stained with vi’s lipstick; the curls between your legs twinkling with droplets of your desire; and your eyes glazed over with lust as you gaze up at her from the couch.

“that new strap we got,” you suggest, still breathless. your breasts strain against the now-wrinkled silk of the shirt you’re wearing. vi’s thankful that it’s hers, because she wants nothing more than to rip the fabric off your body. “you — you can fuck me with it.”

“is that what you want?” vi hums, fire burning in her abdomen as she watches you nod eagerly. usually, you’re the one who takes control, and that’s perfectly fine with vi, but tonight….

tonight, she has something to prove.

you’re both naked by the time you reach the bedroom, clothes thrown across the apartment floor as you take turns leaving bites and bruises on exposed areas of the other’s skin. you get down on your knees, the shag carpet shocking your skin as vi looms over you, gnawing at her scarred, kiss-swollen lips. you help her adjust the harness and attach everything accordingly, leaving a kiss on each star glittering across her thigh once you’re done. she makes you wait patiently as she coats the dildo with a healthy amount of lube.

vi offers you her hand, sticky with lube and your essence from earlier, and lifts you to your feet. she kisses you sweetly before pushing you onto the bed. 

"turn around," vi instructs. "on your knees."

you comply, already feeling yourself dripping onto the comforter in anticipation. vi kneels behind you on the bed, grasping the plush of your hips between her strong hands. you gasp when she spits onto your hole and starts to fuck into you, inch by inch. 

"you okay, baby?" vi asks once she’s halfway inside you.

"yes," you breathe. "keep going.”

so, vi continues gliding further into your silken heat, and once she’s nestled inside you completely, her thighs meeting your ass — that’s when she turns on the vibrations. vi moans, so loud that you’re sure the entire building can hear. she starts grinding into you, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“violet.” you snap your neck back as far as you can, appreciating how perfectly dishevelled vi looks behind you, eyes rolled up to heaven, drool trickling from the corner of her plump lips. “are you gonna keep fucking me any time soon?”

“it’s just so much,” she whines, and continues rutting against you.

it is so much — the waves of pleasure quivering from her body to yours, the subtle burn of her happy trail rubbing against your skin, the melodic timbre of her voice — but it’s not enough. 

“i know, baby. but i need more. if you don’t do something now….maybe there’s someone else i can call…”

your words effectively reignite that spark of jealousy, and she growls. vi slips out slightly, only to thrust back in, over and over, until you’re a moaning mess beneath her. your body starts to shake, but before you almost collapse onto your elbows, so vi reaches one hand to your neck and lifts you up so that her pierced nipples brushed against your back.

she kisses the back of your neck, trailing her hand down to pinch one of your nipples and you hiss, dizzy with pain and pleasure. she moves her other hand below the harness, rubbing her swollen clit in tight circles and gathering as much slick as she can. she brings those same fingers, glistening in the moonlight, to your lips, and you let her shove them into your mouth so you can finally taste her.

"this enough for you, greedy girl?" she taunts. 

you are greedy, when it comes to her, suckling on her digits like a lollipop while she stretches you open so deliciously, the obscene squelching of your pussy accompanying a symphony of moans and curses. 

"yes, violet. f-fuck, yes!" 

you feel vi groan against the crook of your neck, where her teeth had been nibbling at the sweat-soaked skin. 

“fuck — i need to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

with that, vi flips you over, so she can watch you unravel. she hisses when your nails find purchase on her shoulders, digging down her tattooed back.

“you’re so fucking hot. so gorgeous. i’m so lucky that you’re mine.” vi’s voice is still rough and coarse with lust, but she’s looking at you all wonder-filled and soft-eyed, like you’re a work of art displayed at the louvre. “you….you are mine, right?”

the question is shockingly vulnerable from the woman who’s fucking you at a truly brutal speed, deep enough that you’re sure you’ll feel the lucious ache of her for days now. 

you bring your hands to gently cradle her face as you wrap your legs around her hips. vi snakes one of her hands down to rub at your throbbing clit, while the other rests lovingly on your tattooed ribs, where delicate violets bloom. 

“i’m yours,” you assure, and your heart glows when she beams above you. “you’re mine too, right?”

vi nods, damp strands of her hair tickling your forehead. 

“i’m yours.”

there’s a mess pooling underneath your entangled bodies by the time you’re both finished. 

for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, until vi breaks the silence:

“did you say that you brought home a slice of cake?”

the two of you throw on some clothes, throw the sheets in the wash, and vi pulls you into her lap as you share the slice of cake at the kitchen table, chattering about everything and nothing for however long, until vi glances at the oven clock.

“shit — it’s midnight already. guess time flies when you’re having fun.” vi wraps her arms around your middle, and kisses your shoulder. “happy valentine’s day, stargirl.”

“happy valentine’s day, vi,” you smile, weaving your fingers through hers. you crane your neck back so you can feed her a bite of cake. “you’re the sweetest.”

“this cake’s pretty sweet, too,” vi jokes. she peppers kisses across your face until you’re giggling, skin sticky with frosting. 

“i’m glad you like it,” you laugh. “they do wedding cakes, too, but i think we should explore our options before settling on one for ours.”

vi’s lips pause just as she starts to kiss underneath your jaw. 

“do you mean for our wedding?” she smirks. “is there something you wanna ask me, stargirl?” 

“damn it —” you cough, almost choking on a mouthful of cake. “i - i had this whole thing planned - wait, let me —”

you disappear into the bedroom and reemerge with an intricately painted vase. you hand it to vi and sit in the chair next to her.

“this is what i made in my pottery seminar,” you explain. “it’s supposed to be like —”

“that mural you made of us senior year,” vi finishes, looking between the vase and you with stars in her eyes. 

“exactly. except we won’t have to spend saturday detention painting over it.” you chuckle at the memory as vi shakes her head with a small smile dancing across her lips knowingly. “i was gonna promise to bring my beautiful wife fresh flowers for this vase every week and then i was gonna ask you to look inside….” you gesture at vi to do so, and she reaches in to pull out a velvet box. “and then i was gonna get down on one knee —”

“it’s okay — you’ve already done plenty of that tonight,” vi laughs, and you bump her shoulder playfully. 

“and i was gonna tell you that i love you, that i have for basically my whole life, and that i want to spend the rest of it with you,” you finish, heart fluttering in your chest. 

“i can’t believe you were going to propose to me.” vi places the vase on the kitchen counter behind her, smiling at you softly. 

“is that a yes or….?”

instead of answering, vi walks over to the couch, reaches behind and pulls up a heart-printed gift bag, and hands it to you. she watches intently as you pull out a turquoise-blue collar. 

“damn, i did not know you were this kinky.” you raise an eyebrow at vi. “so, is this a yes to my proposal or….just something you just wanna try in the bedroom?”

“w-what? no!” vi stutters, her cheeks blooming pink. “i mean, yes! well – okay, i also had this plan for valentine’s day.” it’s very endearing, how vi’s scrambling to find the right words. your punk rock girlfriend, flustered and lovesick for you. “okay — there’s a dog at the shelter i thought we could adopt. i brought home the paperwork for us to fill out, if that’s what you want — it’s all in there. there’s a picture of him, too.” 

you reach in the bag again and find a printed photo of an adorable brown lab with the warmest eyes. 

“he’s adorable,” you squeal. “does he have a name?”

“scooby, of course.” vi grins. “so, do you wanna adopt a dog together?”

“i do.”

“i love the sound of that,” vi hums. “there’s one more thing in there for you….”

it’s a ring pop — and you’re not sure if it’s the sugar rush, or the woman getting down on one knee and asking you, so tenderly, so sweetly, to marry her, but your heart is absolutely soaring. 

“we might have to tell our kids a more pg version of the night we got engaged,” vi whispers later, when you’re back cuddling in bed under fresh sheets.

“kids?” you twist around in vi’s arms to find her grinning at you. “is there something you want to ask me?”

“is scooby not our first child?” vi guffaws and you poke her ribs at her cheekiness.

“true.”

“besides, you know what they say, stargirl,” she practically sings. “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes —”

you cut her off with a sugary, confetti-flavored kiss, your smiles melting into one.

[prettygirl-gabi]

What am I gonna do

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom:WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: Childhood friends, hidden feelings, one game, one necklace, everything changes…

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping

There are three places I always end up after school: my classroom, my place and the Bueckers’ house.

Second grade in Hopkins keeps me busy—glitter glue disasters, working on the core subjects, and a never-ending stream of knock-knock jokes.

But somehow, I still make time for Sunday dinners with Bob, his wife, and Drew.

Paige’s family.

Paige’s house.

It’s funny.

Paige hasn’t lived in it for years, but somehow her presence lingers.

I guess it always will.

“Y/N!” Drew’s voice crackled through my phone speaker one Monday night after bedtime stories and grading spelling tests.

“Paige’s team is playing the Lynx this week. It’s basically her homecoming! You have to come with me! You promised!”

“I did not,” I said, but I was already smiling. “You begged last time and I said I’d think about it.”

“Well think faster. Please? She hasn’t played in Minnesota yet. It’s her rookie year. It’s history.”

God, he had that same spark Paige used to have when she was twelve—wide-eyed, earnest, unstoppable.

And just like with her, I couldn’t say no.

“Fine. I’ll come.”

“Let’s gooo!”

I hung up with a shake of my head, not knowing what was waiting for me the next day.

Tuesday started like normal: math centers, a spilled juice box, a mini-fire in the staff microwave (thanks, Miss Connelly).

After school, I baked—my usual lemon bars—figuring I’d drop them off at my second home-the Bueckers’ place before heading home to change for Taco Tuesday.

The house felt weirdly quiet when I unlocked the door with the spare key Ive had since middle school, no Drew charging to the door. I slipped inside—Bob always told me not to knock, since I had a key. Something about me being family —and I left the pan on the counter with a sticky note.

As I turned to go, the door opened, keys jingling in the door.

Paige.

Hair pulled into a bun, hoodie slung over her shoulder, WNBA-issued duffle in hand.

I froze in the hallway, with an empty pan from last weeks cookies in my grip like a shield.

She stopped in her tracks, eyes flicking to the pan, then to me.

We didn’t speak.

Just nodded.

A silent hello heavy with years of almosts and could’ve-beens.

Then I left.

Drew showed up at my door a few hours later, bouncing on his toes.

“Taco Tuesday! C’mon!”

I followed him, still a little rattled from the silent run-in. I hadn’t really seen Paige in years. Social media glimpses, sure. But in person? In her childhood home?

She was at the table when we walked in, laughing at something Bob said, plate half-filled with taco shells and shredded lettuce.

“Hey,” she said when she saw me. Softly.

I nodded. “Hey.”

We sat.

Ate.

Talked around each other.

My fork clinked too loudly against the plate.

Paige asked about my class like we were strangers, not people who once knew everything about each other.

But I stayed.

Because Drew begged me to play Fortnite like we always did.

And after, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Paige offered to walk me home.

Just like old times.

The night air was cool, the sidewalks quiet. For a moment, I forgot that we hadn’t done this in years.

“You remember when we used to race home from the park?” she asked suddenly.

I smiled. “You always cheated.”

She laughed. “I was faster.”

“You cut corners.”

She shrugged. “Still beat you.”

We stopped at the corner near my apartment, and something shifted in the air. That quiet, cautious thing that always danced between us.

“Y/N…” she started, shoving her hands in her hoodie pocket. “Why’d we drift apart?”

I looked at her. Really looked.

“Because I had a crush on you.”

The words came out too easy, like they’d been waiting. Maybe they had.

She blinked.

“And every time I thought you might feel the same,” I went on, “you’d friend-zone me. Hard. I figured it wasn’t going away, so I distanced myself.”

Paige swallowed. “I didn’t know…”

“Maybe you didn’t want to.”

Silence.

Then I stepped toward my door. “Goodnight, Paige.”

“Y/N, wait—”

But I was already inside.

Paige’s POV

I stood there for a minute, staring at the closed door like it might open again.

It didn’t.

When I got back to the house, Drew was on the couch, controller in hand.

“Did you walk her back?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“She still plays with me every week, even when she’s tired. She’s gonna be at the game, you know.”

I looked up. “What?”

“I convinced her. She’s coming with me.”

My heart thudded.

That night, in my childhood room that used to be ours-in a way that only we knew, I pulled out my phone and sent a message.

Me: Hey, I know I’m only in town just for today and tomorrow morning I’ll be heading to Minneapolis for basketball stuff before the game. So if there’s any chance we could talk tonight, let’s talk.

Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.

Y/N: Sure. Come when you feel like. Door’s unlocked. Just tell me once you enter so I know it’s you.

Y/N’s POV

She knocked once anyway.

I was curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, a candle flickering beside me. The room smelled like lavender and lemon from the dessert I never finished.

Paige stepped inside, a little hesitant. She looked out of place and too familiar all at once.

“You really kept the door unlocked,” she said.

I shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d rob me.”

We sat across from each other. Talked. Not about basketball or school. About everything else.

About how she felt like she wasn’t living up to the hype.

How Dallas didn’t feel like home yet.

How being back in Hopkins made everything simpler and harder at the same time.

“You were my best friend,” she said quietly. “And I think… I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you were more than that.”

My breath caught.

“I felt something,” she said, eyes never leaving mine. “But I was fifteen and dumb and afraid to lose you. So I pretended I didn’t.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Paige stood slowly, brushing imaginary lint off her thigh.

As she stood to leave, she paused in my doorway.

“There’s something I gave you once,” she said. “Christmas, right before everything changed. A necklace.”

I remembered it instantly. A small gold chain with a tiny charm shaped like an infinity symbol. I kept it in a box in my nightstand, untouched, untarnished.

“If you still feel the same way,” she said, eyes searching mine, “wear it to the game.”

I swallowed.

“And if I don’t?” I asked, heart pounding.

Paige gave a sad smile. “Then I’ll know I waited too long.”

She stepped out into the night.

I closed the door, leaned back against it, and stared at the ceiling.

Then I walked to my nightstand. Opened the drawer. Pulled out the little box with the necklace I never had the heart to throw away.

It shimmered faintly in the lamplight.

My hands trembled.

Tomorrow was game day.

What am I gonna do?

To Be Continued…

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[ask-spiderpool]

Step up, true believers! It's been aaaaalmost 10 long years of heartache and Britney numbers.... 

10 years of gathering all of that blood, sweat and tears which I hope to so very lovingly pour all over the pages of a end-of-decade yearbook zine to commemorate an experience just as excruciating as the usual high-school experience. 

So, no matter if you've been here since the beginning, or if you've only very recently jumped face-first into the spiderpool – if you love us, and ask-spiderpool has meant something to you, please leave your mark on ask-spiderpool history. Scribble something sappy with some sparkly gel-pens. Whip out some glittery stickers, and fancy highlighters. Put on your best lipgloss, and leave us a kiss on the page. Anything goes, (but please don't be a dick and draw a dick. Expecting a little bit more originality than that.) Ideally a white or transparent background, but allowances will be made if you're sending in something a little fancier (who am I to stop you?)

If you'd like to submit a fan-comic or a piece of prose, feel free to shoot me a message - I might be shooting around some messages myself – the theme is high-school (cheerleader outfits abound!)

If you can't or don't want to submit an image, there's also an option for short written submissions. Leave us a love note in our locker, and share the love. Address the boys, and they might just respond. (Wade Wilson has lovingly offered to put the whole affair together. I'm putting my trust in him. God help us all.) Keep your notes short and sweet! 150 words max! 

The earlier you send your note in the more likely it is you'll make it onto the page, (I don't know how many of you there'll be!) so get out those crayons and glitter-glue, and let's make a super-baby. 

Kisses!  xx

Send in your submissions here!

[orellazalonia]

Certified Genius, Unlicensed Moron

Summary: Exploring more of your relationship and dynamics with the rest of the Avengers, they are well-acquainted with how much whiplash and how many headaches you give them on a daily. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: The other going on dates fic didn’t have enough unhinged questionable reader for me. And to be honest….I didn’t like it as much as the prequel. So! I wrote this to cheer me up and feed my need for dumb & genius reader. Purely self-indulgent but hopefully you like it too. Happy reading!!!

Main Masterlist | Earth’s Mightiest Headache Masterlist

Being an Avenger came with certain expectations. Tactical prowess. Cool one-liners. Teamwork. A mild-to-moderate understanding of physics.

You had exactly none of that. And yet, you were thriving.

You had taken on aliens, mercenaries, HYDRA agents, and that one time, an actual raccoon with a vendetta. You once guessed the password to a SHIELD vault on the first try by inputting “boob69.” It worked. Nobody ever explained why. You were untouchable.

But nothing broke the team more than the group chat.

It had been a standard team communication channel at first: briefings, updates, emergency alerts. Then you joined and everything fell apart.

-

GROUP CHAT: “Earth’s Mightiest Dumbasses”

Tony: Meeting in the conference room at 9 A.M. sharp.

You: what’s 9 AM in frog time

Natasha: What does that mean?

You: like if a frog wears a watch is the time upside down

Tony: Please, I’m begging you to just answer the question like a normal person.

You: normal is a strong word

-

You once sent a photo of a pigeon wearing a hat with the caption “me when I infiltrate enemy lines.” No one questioned it. Mostly because they couldn’t.

After all, you’re the same person who confidently gave a TED Talk about the strategic history of medieval siege warfare mid-mission while wearing Crocs. The same person who once said, “Vibranium tastes like disappointment,” and then refused to elaborate. You somehow manage to both ace every debrief but also once asked if Wi-Fi is just helpful air soup.

Thor called you “small thunder” after you electrocuted yourself trying to microwave aluminum “as a science experiment.” You did not have lightning powers. It was just dumb luck. And you’d do it again.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Clint: who the hell labeled all the fridge items in latin?

You: idk man maybe someone wants you to be cultured

Bucky: You labeled the eggs, “Future ankle peckers, do not anger them”

You: ...and have you been attacked? no? you’re welcome.

-

Bucky still doesn't understand you. Not even a little.

And a lot of times, that haunts him.

He watches you eat hot sauce straight from the bottle like it's a health tonic, quote Shakespeare when you’re tired, and wear mismatched crocs into certain battles because "they're my war shoes." One has a tiny sword glued to it.

You once looked him dead in the eye and said, “I wasn’t born. I was assembled in a Target parking lot during a thunderstorm.”

And then walked away.

He’s been thinking about it for months.

Another time you brought him a bag of gummy worms, patted his head, and said, “For when the depression demons attack.”

Despite all your nonsense, he can’t stop looking at you like you hung the moon with glitter glue and then ate half of it because that brand “smelled like frosting.”

He had tried to pretend you’re a nuisance at first, shaking his head and sighing at some of your antics. But it’s all morphed to reluctant acceptance of the fact that he’ll have to live with so many unanswered questions. That doesn’t stop him from taking care of you though.

He brings you hot chocolate after missions. He makes sure you’re behind him when it gets dangerous. He drags you out of fountains you jump into because you wanted to know what the regals birds like about it. He even downloaded TikTok just to understand your references.

One time you disappeared in the Tower. For five hours.

He found you in the broom closet, sitting cross-legged with three Roombas, wearing a crown made of forks.

“They know secrets,” You whispered. “I’m learning their ways.”

Bucky blinked.

“…I brought you pizza.”

You gasped. “I knew the prophecy would come true.”

-

GROUP CHAT:

Steve: Can someone explain what this is?

Image attached: You in a vent near the ceiling wearing a bad ghost outfit like a cursed Halloween decoration, eating Cheez-Its.

You: surveillance

Steve: Why…

You: i wanted to know what Bucky does when I’m not looking

Bucky: They’ve been up there for 6 hours. I offered help. They hissed at me.

-

Despite it all, you were deadly in the field.

You’d spout off the periodic table in the middle of a fistfight, pull off gravity-defying stunts “because I saw it in a cartoon once,” and solve encrypted Hydra codes in 30 seconds, all while questioning if Mickey Mouse and his friends ever had to pay rent to live in the Mickey Mouse clubhouse.

Bucky, your begrudgingly loving boyfriend, no longer reacts when you do things like wear medieval armor to a stealth op for morale reasons or quote Shrek during hostage negotiations. He just quietly takes your hand and steers you away before you lick anything radioactive.

Steve once asked why you were on a mission wearing roller skates. You said, “Speed and style, Cap,” then crashed directly into a vending machine and pulled out a single uncrushed Twix with solemn reverence.

Tony called you “the human embodiment of a broken Google search.” Wanda called you “a mystery I’ve chosen not to solve.” Natasha just called you “terrifying.”

Because for every baffling thing you did, like calling her “Mom” during a sniper stakeout because “you give off stern PTA energy”, you turned around and cracked encrypted intel before Bruce finished making coffee.

Once, in a mission briefing, Rhodey asked, “Wait, wasn’t the Hindenburg caused by a gas explosion?” and you, dead serious, replied, “Who’s the Hindenburg? That sounds like a guy who collects teeth.”

Everyone went dead silent.

Sam just nodded slowly and said, “Right, okay. Yeah, cool. This is the part where I stop paying attention.”

Nobody could figure you out.

Bruce once ran 14 psychological profiles on you. None of them matched. One came back as possibly a goat in human form.

Clint swears you once explained string theory using sock puppets and a waffle. And it made sense.

-

GROUP CHAT:

Tony: I’m updating the security protocol. Everyone needs to re-register their biosignatures.

You: what if I am a security risk

Tony: You are. Absolutely. Every day. In every way.

You: then I win

Natasha: What did you win?

You: You’ll see 😈

Tony: I have forgotten what peace feels like anymore.

-

You called yourself “The Distractinator” in combat.

Enemies didn’t know what to do with you. Were you a genius? Crazy? Feral? Was that a printer you just threw at their face while quoting Pride and Prejudice?

Yes. To all of it.

And somehow, impossibly, you were everyone’s favorite. Because while you were a chaos gremlin of untold magnitude, you cared.

You noticed when Clint seemed tired and unorthodoxically left snacks in his quiver.

You taught Steve how to use TikTok but made sure to curate only dog videos and motivational frog memes.

You convinced Bucky he could wear purple and look amazing. He does now. Regularly.

You helped Tony fix a faulty AI loop by accident while trying to build “a blender that screams.”

You’re not just a part of the team. You’re the emotional support cryptid.

And no matter how many explosions you cause with your “experiments,” or how many philosophical debates you start about whether lasagna is a cake, the Avengers wouldn’t trade you for the world.

…Though Tony did try to sell you to the X-Men once.

It didn’t work.

They sent you back with a fruit basket and a strongly worded letter.

[batsandbirdbrains]

Actually I think I would love to read an entire fic with Dick and Donna be bffs in young justice season one like

The one where Dick and Donna troll the team and convince them all they’re actually twins

After a few of the team members express irritation when they realize Donna knows Robin’s secret identity, insisting he must not trust them if they can’t know, Dick and Donna get so annoyed and decide to fuck with all of them.

“Well of course she knows who I am,” he says like they’re stupid. “She’s my twin, it’d be pretty hard for her not to.”

“Yeah, guys,” Donna scoffs. “Diana literally calls us her Wonder Twins. What did you think that meant?”

And they all blue screen stare at the two of them for ages, gaping like fish, because they say it so seriously and without even a trace of a joke.

And then Wonder Woman plays along one day when she shows up for a special training session.

“But boys can’t be Amazons!” Artemis argues. “That’s literally the whole point!”

“Exactly,” Robin nods. “That’s why they had to smuggle me out in a Golden Fleece and FedEx me to Gotham. To the most trustworthy guy Diana knew - Batman. Who better to raise a boy descended from Amazonian warriors than the big bad Bat?”

“Yeah, that’s why he doesn’t have powers. Because he’s a boy,” Donna says slowly, like they’re stupid for not getting it sooner. “Duh.”

“And yet he is still a worthy warrior,” Wonder Woman coos, holding Robin’s face in her hands, smiling at him. She thinks he’s entirely too charming, and when he grins at her he can still see the teeny tiny 8 year old she met the first time Batman introduced him to the League.

Donna and Dick are having way too much fun with this. Diana thinks they’re just having fun, and doesn’t see the harm in it.

When Batman finds out, it’s in the Batcave with Dick leaning over his chair at the Batcomputer. Bruce just smirks.

“It will be a good training exercise,” he says, and Dick pumps his fists when Bruce turns around and goes back to looking over mission logs. That was practically a golden invitation. He immediately runs upstairs to text Donna and tell her the good news: Batman is fully on board for them to fuck with the team, and he won’t contradict anything they come up with.

They keep coming up with increasingly more ridiculous ways to prove that Dick is Amazonian.

Donna gives him a golden circlet to wear to training one day, and they come up with a story of Dick going on a quest to find it at the base of Mount Olympus.

They talk about sacred Amazonian twin law, passed down orally by a talking owl, declaring that a boy Amazonian could only ever be born as a twin to a girl. It’s only happened a handful of times throughout all of their history. Robin is basically a prince.

Donna makes him a ridiculous looking sash that has “Prince Robin of Themyscira” spelled out in glitter glue. He wears it proudly for a week straight anytime he’s in the mountain.

Artemis keeps trying to prove them wrong. She can’t find a single way to disprove them.

Idk I just think the idea of Dick and Donna doubling down on their charade of being actual real twins whenever someone tries to say they can’t be. And none of the team can figure out if they’re being for real or not. Kaldur is pretty sure they’re just fucking with all of them, but he actually kind of thinks it’s funny so he doesn’t say anything. He may or may not give them some ideas based on things he hears the other whisper about to try and use to prove them wrong. Kaldur becomes their inside informant. The three of them have entirely too much fun with it.

[soft4changbin]

Minty revenge

P1harmony Keeho x reader

Summary: A playful prank war between you and Keeho takes a surprising turn when he ends it with an unexpected kiss—and a confession.

Word count: 699

It started with toothpaste in his Oreos.

You’d been bored. He’d been bragging. Something about “having the mental strength of a Navy SEAL” because he survived three consecutive dance practices and didn’t complain once. You rolled your eyes, made a mental note, and carefully replaced the cream in his favorite cookies with minty freshness.

The scream he let out echoed through the dorm.

“You psychopath!” he cried, dramatically spitting into the sink.

“You wanted dessert,” you said sweetly. “I just added dental hygiene.”

He glared at you with toothpaste still foaming at the corners of his mouth. “This means war.”

You underestimated how serious Keeho was about revenge.

The next morning, your alarm went off—twice. Once at your usual 8 AM, and again at 3:30 AM thanks to the second alarm he secretly set on your phone. You woke up thinking the world was ending, only to find a smug sticky note on your mirror:

“Navy SEALs wake up early. —K 💋”

You were still half-asleep when you started plotting retaliation.

It escalated quickly. He switched your shampoo for conditioner. You filled his hoodie pockets with glitter. He taped googly eyes to every photo in your bedroom. You rigged his speaker to play Baby Shark at full blast the next time he turned it on.

Somehow, no one else in the dorms got involved. Everyone just watched from a safe distance, amused but wisely uninvolved.

“Do you two even like each other?” Jiung asked one day, peeking over his phone.

Keeho gave a lazy shrug, not looking up from his cereal. “Nope. Can’t stand her.”

You threw a grape at him. He caught it in his mouth without blinking.

It should have ended there. Really, it should have. But you had one more trick.

It involved a small bottle of fake tattoo ink and a very sleepy Keeho who always napped shirtless after practice.

You spent twenty careful minutes in his room while he snored into his pillow. When he finally woke up, he stumbled to the bathroom and let out the most unholy noise you’d ever heard.

“WHAT. IS. ON. MY. BACK?!”

“Looks like a tattoo,” you called from the hallway.

“YOU GAVE ME A TRAMP STAMP OF A DOLPHIN?!”

You collapsed into the hallway carpet, wheezing. “With a heart! Don’t forget the heart!”

He stormed out shirtless, phone in hand, trying to twist and take a photo of his back.

“This is the final straw,” he hissed.

“Oh yeah?” you grinned. “Whatcha gonna do, glue my shoes to the ceiling?”

He didn’t respond.

He just walked up to you, stared, and then—kissed you.

Right there, in the middle of the hallway, with toothpaste Oreos and glitter-filled shoes in your shared history, he kissed you like it was the most obvious move in the world.

When he pulled back, you blinked, speechless.

He smirked. “Told you I’d win.”

You stared at him, heart doing gymnastics. “That was cheating.”

“Nah.” He grinned wider. “It was strategy.”

You folded your arms, pretending your cheeks weren’t on fire. “So what now? You win and we go back to being normal?”

His smile softened, just a little. “No. Now I take you on a date, and then I win.”

“…Oh.”

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

You huffed. “Fine. But I’m bringing glitter.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling the way they only did when he was really, truly happy.

“Of course you are,” he said. “That’s why I like you.”

[allariablack]

The man I fell for – NikoBran ft Leigh Sokolov-King

Brandon never thought he'd see history repeat itself like this—his four-year-old daughter, Leigh, tumbling headfirst into the same trap he once did.

It wasn’t the tattoos or the sharp Russian accent that got her. No, Leigh—like Brandon before her—saw right through Nikolai’s tough, brooding exterior to the ridiculous, golden-retriever of a man beneath.

She clung to his leg as he cooked, demanding "uppies" with big, watery eyes. And of course, Nikolai lifted her, balancing her on one arm like she weighed nothing. When she pouted, he melted instantly. When she giggled, he acted like she was the funniest person alive.

Brandon leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as his fearsome husband—Russian mafia, covered in ink, terrifying to most—wore a pink princess tiara, seated at a tiny plastic tea party table, pretending to sip from a cup Leigh handed him.

"Daddy," Leigh declared seriously, turning to Brandon. "Papa's my favorite."

Brandon scoffed, but there was no real heat to it. "Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know."

Nikolai shot him a smirk over the top of his tiny teacup, then winked. And just like that, Brandon fell all over again.

………………………………………

Brandon had never seen Nikolai look so horrified in his life—not when he’d been shot, not when he’d faced down his old enemies, not even when Leigh had once painted his entire left arm with glitter glue.

But tonight? Tonight was different.

Because their sweet, sunshine-faced four-year-old had just proudly announced at dinner, "Papa, I have a boyfriend!"

The fork in Nikolai’s hand froze mid-air. His eye twitched. "What."

Brandon, already sensing the storm, bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Leigh, oblivious to the deathly silence in the room, swung her legs happily in her chair. "His name is Tommy! He's in my class, and I’m going to marry him!"

The fork clattered to the plate. Nikolai turned to Brandon, his voice grave. "A brat has bewitched our daughter."

Brandon finally let out a chuckle. "Niko, she's four."

"I do not care." Nikolai gritted his teeth, eyes dark with pure, unfiltered rage. "This—this Tommy thinks he can take my baby away? I will break his tiny legs."

Leigh gasped dramatically. "Papa! That’s mean! You can’t hurt my boyfriend!"

Brandon snorted, but Nikolai was dead serious. He grabbed Brandon’s arm. "We must find his family. Intimidate them. Make them leave the country."

Brandon shook his head, trying—and failing—to suppress his grin. "Or, we could let our daughter be a normal kid and not threaten a kindergartener with exile."

Leigh, done with the conversation, went back to eating her pasta, humming a little tune. Meanwhile, Nikolai stared into the void, muttering darkly in Russian about "unworthy little brats"

Brandon just patted his husband’s shoulder. "You’re gonna have a real bad time when she turns sixteen, babe."

“What sixteen? She won’t be dating till Sixty” Niko says.

…………………………………………

Brandon was a heavy sleeper, but years of living with a Russian lunatic and a sugar-obsessed four-year-old had sharpened his instincts.

A rustling sound. A faint giggle.

His eyes cracked open, and he instinctively reached out to shake Nikolai awake—only to find empty space.

His sleep-fogged brain took a second to process that. Nikolai was gone.

A faint glow spilled from the kitchen. Suspicion prickled down Brandon’s spine as he slid out of bed, padding down the hall as quietly as possible.

Peeking inside, he caught them red-handed.

Leigh sat on the counter, a cookie in each tiny fist, stuffing her cheeks like a squirrel. And right beside her, the alleged adult of the house, Nikolai, was equally guilty, mid-bite into a chocolate chip cookie.

Brandon crossed his arms. "Seriously?"

Nikolai froze like a deer caught in headlights, crumbs on his lips. Leigh gasped dramatically and tried to hide the cookies behind her back—as if Brandon hadn’t just seen her eating them.

Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hid those cookies because you two eat too much sugar. What part of 'No more cookies' did you not understand?"

Leigh, with all the confidence of a criminal defending her case, declared, "We found them fair and square!"

Nikolai, ever the terrible influence, nodded solemnly. "It was destiny, printsessa. The cookies called to us."

Brandon shot him a look. "Really, Niko? Destiny?"

Nikolai shrugged, unapologetic. "What kind of father would I be if I let our daughter face the dangers of the night alone?"

Brandon sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Since you two are such partners in crime, you can both deal with the sugar crash together tomorrow."

Leigh gasped. "Betrayal!"

Nikolai smirked, ruffling her hair. "Do not worry, printsessa. We will recover... and we will find more cookies."

Brandon groaned, already regretting all his life choices.

[gallacrafts]

Theme 38: Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch

Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day, and LGBTQ+ History Month is celebrated all October long, and while coming out looks different for everyone, we can all agree that no one should be afraid or ashamed to be who they are!

So say it loud, say it proud.. and in this instance say it with some felt, or glitter glue, or baking powder and sugar, or decoupage, or any other creative avenue that strikes your fancy!

Posting will be on the 20th October and we would like you to share your creations proudly by posting them with the tags #gallacrafts #theme 38 #shameless pride # liking what I like don't make me a bitch, and of course don't forget to at @gallacrafts

[forsoobado137]

I know you talked about America/Alfred going to college a few times, but if other personified nations went to college, what would their majors be, and how would they decorate their grad caps? (I feel like Alfred's grad cap would have a star-spangled design with the words “Go Big or Go Home!” in glitter. Maybe even a bald eagle or fireworks motif. His cap would be over-the-top and loud, just like him.)

Let's start with America's brother. Canada would major in biology or forestry because he's a nature guy. Decorating caps is more an American thing, but if he did it, he wouldn't go overboard. He'd probably just put a maple leaf on it and proceed worry the entire time if he did too much.

England would definitely be a lit. major. He loves reading, and he's very analytical. In addition, he likes remembering the historical context of the works. He wouldn't decorate his cap because his university would be quite strict.

France would be a chemistry major. The reason he wouldn't major in fashion is because he doesn't want someone telling him how fashion works (because he's like the expert). To him, chemistry is like cooking. He's very in tune with the relationships between elements and their reactions. I'm not certain if his country has graduation caps, but if he decorated, he write his name in a fancy cursive font and glue some roses onto a thin white border. Simple and elegant.

Italy would be an art major because he loves to paint and reminisce in art history. he'd wear a laurel wreath because I think that's the tradition. Romano wouldn't go to uni in the first place because it's too much work. But if he did enroll, he'd choose culinary and try to one-up his brother. Then he'd actually realize that he enjoys cooking.

Germany would absolutely major in engineering. He literally spent all night building a machine with a smile on his face. Meanwhile, Prussia would be a business major because of course he would. big business major vibes from him.

Japan would be an architect major. He loves designing things and building tiny models. He'd definitely start with super crazy designs before his final draft is just a boring skyscraper. If he decorated his cap, he'd probably add a funny anime reference for the people behind him to see.

Russia would major in either astronomy or psychology. Astronomy because he loves space, and psychology because he wants to learn about how make good friends. Also no sane person enrolls in psychology (/hj).

China would definitely be a med student. He'd either major in Biochem or pharmacy so he can help people with medicine and stuff. Physical therapy also seems like a strong choice for him, because he can help people get back on their feet.

[tsams-and-co-memes]

TSAMS Sunrise Canon Info

Updated - 3/7/25

Sun's likes:

Cats (he owns two)

Dressing up his cats

TF2

Listening to/watching documentaries while he cleans

Red Dead Redemption and Baldur's Gate 3

Cult of the Lamb

Yellow (his favorite color)

Snapple (his favorite drink)

Hamburgers (his favorite food)

Spiderman

Fallout

Electric eels

Retro gaming

Old-timey, black and white cartoons (with Popeye possibly being one of his favorites)

Sun's dislikes:

Gravity Falls

An unnamed flavor of some vegan ice cream

Squids

Insects

Balloon Boy

Hot water

Sea water

Taylor Swift

Garden gnomes

Sports

Salads

Kids (this was implied) <- (he might've made this implication jokingly, but he did end up saying that he does have a soft spot for them)

Eclipse

The creator

Bloodmoon

Roxanne

Minesweeper

Soda/pop

Pumpkins/pumpkin carving/pumpkin guts

Miscellaneous:

Sun tends to get very competitive with gaming

He’s watched the entirety of Dragon Ball Z

He has an obsession with cleaning and stacking the toy barrels/tumble barrels in the daycare. If they’re not adequately cleaned or stacked in a very specific way, he gets upset

He’s bought stilettos and tried on a dress before, while saying that he’s a pretty princess

He used to have a crush on Roxanne

He’s not good at dancing and really only moves the upper half of his body

Sun is pansexual (check for sources). He's not bisexual, so him being pan is slightly more likely (retconned. Sun is more than likely straight, at this point)

Sun has a car and knows how to drive

He isn’t very good at acting

He has a habit of cheating when playing competitive games

It’s been implied numerous times that Sun occasionally enjoys cross dressing

Old Moon has made a statement before, suggesting that Sun has kleptomania

Sun can read bar codes

He apparently knows the history of gravel and can talk about it for hours

He was programmed to know how to drive

His rays are made of plastic

He plays D&D and his character is a warlock

Sun grooms his rays like they’re his hair, and he uses ray polish to do so

Sun knows the history of Windex

Sun knows how to play Yu-Gi-Oh

Cleaning is one of the things that calms him and helps him focus

Sun panics sometimes when he's not doing anything, because he feels like he's not doing enough. Apparently this was triggered by Eclipse's return

Sun can't calm Moon down whenever Moon gets seriously upset, and Sun finds that "kinda scary" (<- exact wording from the therapy video). This means that on some level, Sun is afraid of Moon's anger, and of Moon acting irrationally when he's upset

Sun is the only janitor in the daycare

Sun's had a bird fly in his face before, and according to him, it's more annoying than scary

Sun's not good at bowling

He's eaten glitter glue at one point as a coping mechanism. He may or may not have also eaten sparkles

Sun knows how to grind coffee beans

He turned his basement into a cat den, and his cats have their own TV

Sun drinks (we don't know how often)

If he could be an animal, Sun would be a stingray

Sun doesn't clean the bottom of the ballpit

Sun received an offer to replace Glamrock Freddy as the face of the pizzaplex, but he refused. A lot of the refusal stems from him not wanting to be on a stage in front of so many people

Sun's never watched any classic Disney princess movies that occurred before Beauty and the Beast and Mulan. This would include ones like Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella, although he's had Cinderella play passively in the background before (knowing Earth though, she'll probably make him watch all the original princess movies eventually)

Sun goes through a lot of existential crises

Sun is very good at finding kids who wander from the group whenever he takes everyone somewhere outside the daycare

Sun knows how to set broken bones

Sun has a fear of heights

Sun buys animal shaped soaps

Sun puts down a lot of sticky notes in different places

In the earlier days of the daycare, Sun once tried to play hide and seek with a blind kid. It did not end well

Sun's watched Death Note 4 times through

Sun has a crush on Yor from Spy x Family (his type seems to be people that could beat him up, but this could change)

Sun has a punching bag

The emotional part of Sun's mind that's positive looks like a sunflower field, while the negative part looks like a dart forest

Sun takes his teeth out like dentures to wash them, instead of brushing them normally

[ririright]

The “Hayden on Ice” Series:

“The Banner of Glory (and Probably Glitter)”

Husband! Hayden x Wife Reader

1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5

Coach Hayden doesn’t do things halfway.

Wednesday Evening – 7:18 p.m.

You walked into the dining room expecting dinner.

What you found instead was…

- The table completely covered in construction paper.

- A hot glue gun plugged in dangerously close to Barron’s juice box.

- Your husband wielding a silver glitter pen like a quill of destiny.

“What… is happening.”

Hayden looked up, wild-eyed. “We’re making history.”

Barron popped up from under the table, his cheeks streaked in blue paint. “WE’RE MAKING A BANNER!”

Hayden beamed. “For the Frosty Pucks! We need team spirit! Identity! We need a legacy!”

“…You printed iron-on logos?”

He held up a sheet. “I made them on Canva.”

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Thursday – Craft Night Escalates

The project took over the living room. Then the hallway.

By bedtime, Hayden had:

- Bought mini fleece scarves for the kids.

- Created a chant (“Frosty! Frosty! Skates go swishy!”)

- Drafted a “team code” that included “no stick licking” and “believe in the magic of the puck.”

You found him on the floor with three yards of felt, muttering, “Banners are forever. Glue is temporary. Legacy is earned.”

You just stepped over him. “You’re sleeping on glitter tonight, aren’t you?”

“I REGRET NOTHING.”

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Friday Afternoon – Final Touches

Barron helped with the finishing touches, carefully applying rhinestones to the “O” in “Frosty.”

“This one’s for power,” he whispered.

Hayden nodded solemnly. “And this one—” he glued on a plastic snowflake, “—is for destiny.”

The result?

A six-foot masterpiece with a polar bear in sunglasses, hockey sticks crossed behind it, and the words:

“FROSTY PUCKS: FEAR THE FREEZE”

(in three types of font, one of which was Comic Sans because “kids like fun.”)

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Saturday – Game Day

Hayden marched into the rink like a war general.

Banner rolled under one arm. Clipboards under the other. Barron skipping behind him with pride.

He hung the banner above the bench, hands on his hips. “Look at it. Glorious. Intimidating. Sparkly.”

The Ice Bananas walked by. Their coach squinted up at it. “You guys… made a banner?”

Hayden turned. “Yes. We did. With heart. And elbow grease. And—uh—about sixteen ounces of glitter glue.”

The Banana kids oohed.

Hayden leaned down to Barron. “We just won the psychological game, buddy.”

Barron whispered, “They smell like actual bananas.”

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Mid-Game

The Frosty Pucks? They played their hearts out. Sloppy, chaotic, adorable hockey.

Did they win?

No.

One kid got distracted trying to pet the ref’s skate.

Another did a celebratory snow angel after tripping over his own stick.

But when the buzzer sounded and the Frosty Pucks gathered around their sparkly banner, Hayden threw up his arms and shouted—

“YOU GUYS ARE CHAMPIONS OF MY HEART!”

Barron tackled him in a hug. “Can we eat snacks under the banner?!”

“Yes. Yes we can.”

❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆

Later That Night

Hayden hung the banner in the barn, lit dramatically by fairy lights.

“Every dynasty starts somewhere,” he said, one hand over his heart.

You wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Next week,” you said, “maybe we make t-shirts?”

His eyes lit up.

“I already started designs.”

[sakshi-s-blog]

I'm so frustrated being forced to read cell biology to pass the exam, that I wrote this. It's not complete, but a glimpse from my WIP fic.

---

14 year old Shelley Roy Holmes sat hunched on the drawing room floor, wild curls in both fists, her textbook splayed open like a crime scene victim. Her fingers tugged at her scalp dramatically as she cried out to no one in particular, “I hate biology! Hate it with every cell—nucleus, cytoplasm, nucleoplasm—whatever else is floating inside us like jellyfish!”

She flung a pencil across the room. “Why are there so many -plasms?! This is not knowledge. This is punishment. Dry, crusty facts with no emotion! No story! No plot twist! Just… organelles.”

One of the house staff passed by the open door and, with a knowing sigh, alerted Sherlock.

Moments later, Sherlock strode in, coat swishing like a cape even though they were indoors. He paused at the doorway, surveying the scene: notes scattered, one highlighter chewed to death, and Shelley threatening the textbook with a glue stick.

His brows rose, unimpressed. “I cannot believe my daughter—my daughter—doesn’t enjoy basic biology.”

Shelley dropped the book to her lap and rolled her eyes with dramatic flair. “Dad Sherlock, I love arts—give me politics, history, revolutions, even a good parliamentary debate. But not this!! Not this cytoplasmic soup of terms!”

Sherlock walked over, picked up the pencil, and placed it delicately back on the table. “You’re saying the study of life itself—microscopic, intricate, elegant—bores you?”

“Yes!” she wailed. “It’s like learning the wiring of a toaster when I’d rather be overthrowing the government that made the toaster policies!”

Sherlock looked skyward for strength. “Mycroft would have a stroke hearing that.”

Shelley snorted. “Good. Maybe then he’ll stop forwarding me biology flashcards on WhatsApp.”

Sherlock shook his head, but he was smiling now, just a little. “Very well. Would a historical analogy of how mitochondria staged a coup against the cytoplasm make it easier?”

Her eyes lit up like a revolution was beginning.

“Go on,” she said, grabbing her pen again like a sword.

---

Sherlock sat beside her, fingers steepled in thought. “Alright then. Let’s begin.”

Shelley looked doubtful. “You're seriously going to teach me biology like a history lesson?”

Sherlock smirked. “Not history. Politics. Revolutionary politics.”

He tapped the open book. “Imagine the cell as a kingdom. At its core—literally—is the nucleus, the monarch. It holds all the important documents—DNA, the constitution, the royal decrees. Everything needed to govern.”

Shelley tilted her head. “So the nucleus is the ruling class?”

“Exactly. But the nucleus doesn’t run everything alone. It relies on a massive administrative system—the cytoplasm. That’s the cabinet, the ministries, the bureaucracy. It keeps things moving.”

She nodded slowly. “Alright… still sounds kind of boring but I’m listening.”

“Then,” he said, voice lowering like he was delivering court gossip, “there’s the real power player—the mitochondria. The revolutionary. Once an outsider. A rogue entity that bargained its way into the kingdom by promising energy—ATP. Now, it’s the powerhouse. Everyone fears it. Without it, the kingdom collapses.”

Shelley’s jaw dropped. “Wait… the mitochondria were outsiders?”

He nodded. “Endosymbiosis theory. They used to be free-roaming prokaryotes. Independent radicals. But they struck a deal with the primitive cell. ‘We give you energy, you give us protection.’ A political alliance. And now they live within the cell, running half the show.”

Her eyes glittered. “That’s insane. So it’s like a royal court with spies and exiled leaders making comebacks.”

“Exactly. The ribosomes are the workers—printing factories, churning out proteins like propaganda posters. The Golgi apparatus is your logistics ministry—packaging, labelling, distributing materials across the cell.”

Shelley snorted. “This is starting to sound like a cold war novel.”

“Biology often is,” Sherlock said coolly. “Each organelle has a function, a power, a political agenda. Take the lysosomes—tiny executioners. If the kingdom malfunctions, they break down rogue agents and malfunctioning parts. Internal affairs.”

“I’m actually into this now,” Shelley muttered, scribbling frantically. “Wait, wait, say that part again about lysosomes being assassins.”

Sherlock leaned back, pleased. “Just remember: the cell is alive not because it's scientific, but because it’s dramatic.”

---

[imheretoreadafic]

One of my biggest pet peeves in the killing Jokee discussion is the whole: "Well, he's not going to stop, and killing him is the only way to stop him!" Like... Just send him to an actual prison instead of Arkham?? We have murderers irl people, and they don't always stop because they're killed. They often stop because... They're in secure prisons.

Now, is escape possible in basically any prison if a person is dedicated enough? Yeah, I actually just watched a documentary about that it was really good, lmao (History's Best Escapes with Morgan Freeman). But at least a federal prison is TRYING and will slow him down, Arkham's security is glitter glue and hope, it ain't holding anyone in.

[watchnrant]

Imagine being the Michael’s manager who scolded Anthony Mackie for signing 50 The Falcon and the Winter Soldier posters—only to realize they just fumbled the easiest marketing win in history.

Corporate HQ is probably still crying into their glitter glue, wondering how they missed that golden opportunity.

(Video courtesy of The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon)