#that sounds so fun and i want you to have fun with the people you love

[douche-canoe-regatta]

I work in retail. I have for well over a decade - different jobs, different environments.

In that entire time, I have had fewer than 5 bad customer experiences. really.

turns out most people (emphasis on MOST) aren't being shitty because they think it's fun. They're going through something and masking as best they can, but when they hit a barrier (product broke/isn't returnable, cost increases, came too late to receive a service, etc) it might be the straw that broke their back. Or they really needed that $10 back, and now they're panicking.

Every single time I encounter someone like this, I don't assume I'M the problem. I assume they're dealing with their own issues and don't know how to express or manage them - they feel misunderstood, cheated, or judged. They're ready to go to war with a business because they don't know any other way to be heard.

But I'm up to listen. I'm here to help.

"I know this policy is frustrating, I'm frustrated too. Let's work together and see what we can do for you." (person accepts that I'm on their side and it's me and them against the company/policy)

"wow, that sounds really stressful. I've been there before, I totally get where you're coming from" (I recognize and identify with their feelings)

THEN I give them options, so many they sometimes get bamboozled into agreeing with me. example:

"I can't return this product because it's damaged. I'm so sorry! Unfortunately I will get into Big Trouble if I tried - actually, I just looked and the system won't even allow me to. Maybe this way...nope! Argh, this sucks! I hate it! I totally get it! I've been there too - isn't it annoying? Well now what you CAN do is go right through the original company - here's their customer service email, I just looked it up for you - and here, I'll even reprint your receipt in case you need it. Oh, and if they won't do that - well, if you put a little glue/tape/stitches right here, it will be good as new. Here's a different store you can buy X product from that might work better for you. I'm sorry this happened, I really do understand. I just want to help. I want to help you."

The results? Well, I've had people cry. I've had customers share with me their mom just died or they're really financially strapped or they were simply having a terrible day. I've seen people deflate like a sad balloon when their anger is met with a listening ear and desire to help. I have had many, many people stomp through a door on the brink of a tantrum and leave with a laugh. I have had 2 separate people come back later and APOLOGIZE for treating me poorly.

in my experience (again, broadly speaking) a significant amount of staff abuse comes from customers who are just constantly getting fucked by capitalism. They come in guns a-blazin' because they're used to fighting with corporations who will bilk you at the drop of a hat, and they expect the same rude, uncaring refusal everywhere they go. These people probably don't have much control over their lives, at least in some capacity. It's honestly really sad - being in their brain must be miserable.

this applies to everyone but coffee shop customers. y'all need to stop using your caffeine addiction as an excuse to be an asshole. chug half a diet coke before you walk out the door or something, that 16 year old behind the counter is doing their best. smdh

People are so much more sad, and desparate, and lonely than you think. I have had three incidents in the last four months were a technician I was working with was being either dangerously unfocused (we work with high voltage), or just flat out angry with their coworkers, and every time when I just pulled them aside to say hey, this isn't you, you're nice, and you're competent, so something must be up - what can I do to help - they have responded by bursting into tears. One guy was struggling to get his wife moved into a care home, one guy just got served divorce papers, and the other hadn't slept a wink the night before because his daughter had the pukes.

I haven't spent my whole life responding to people being rude, or stupid, or dangerous with knee jerk compassion. It's a new habit. The first time I did that as the lead for my lab, it was because the guy genuinely was so good natured that I knew something had to be off. But the other two times were just me going, alright, lets see if it always goes this well, and so far, it has. I'm almost 30, and I just figured out that the #1 reason people are shitty are because they are going through shit.

I don't think you have, like, a moral obligation to respond to people being jerks with knee jerk compassion. But it has made my life so much easier the last four months that I would recommend trying. For your own sake. Please.

(I'll step off my soapbox now. Enjoy your Sunday.)

[authorhjk1]

For your color challenge Winter for white. Idk it just makes sense mb if you got rules for these requests as this is my first one and I found your blog recently

Snow White

(Winter X Male Reader) Worcount: 864 words

You've been a fan of Aespa and especially Winter way before you and her first went on a date. You expected her to be the same on and off camera and you were right. At least regarding most things.

There's just one thing you can't really get used to. One thing even her members can't get used to. One thing that made you question her sanity when she first suggested it. Turns out Winter likes someone to watch her while she has sex. You offered to take a video of her or something as a compromise, but Winter didn't budge. And after trying it out once, you realized how different she can get while getting fucked in front of an audience.

Too bad that the only people that won't start a scandal or anything when they see her having sex are her members. That's why Karina, Giselle and Ningning have now become your involuntary audience.

Just thinking about getting fucked in front of them has Winter dripping wet. Eventually she offered to be your free use girlfriend just for fun. You're allowed to use her whenever you want.

Just like right now. You and all the members are currently at the set of a photoshoot. Winter is already done with her pictures, while the others still have to take theirs. Ningning is gone right now, while Karina and Giselle can't help but watch you having your way with Winter. Your girlfriend is bent over a makeup table as you fuck her from behind. Giselle is holding her phone, pretending not to look, but she can help herself. Every few seconds her eyes dart toward a moaning Winter. Karina on the other hand is just bluntly staring. Her eyes follow every one of your thrusts as you use your girlfriend's pussy as a fleshlight.

"Oh, so big."

Winter's cute moans and whines fill the room. You'll never get tired of how cute she sounds while she's getting fucked. It's an interesting contrast. Her sweet voice. The lewd sounds escaping her lips. Her words that tell you to ruin her further.

You reach out to take a fistful of her hair, making Winter arch her back further.

"Yes, please use me."

She cries out, her thighs trembling under your thrusts.

Unbeknownst to you, Karina isn't just watching anymore. One of her hands has found itself inside her panties. Her fingers rub her clit to the rhythm of your thrusts. She bites her lip to prevent any moans.

Meanwhile, Winter is freely voicing her pleasure. Her voice fills the entire room as you continue to drive yourself into her. Her tight pussy feels amazing around your cock. Its walls clench onto your length. It feels like you bottom out inside of her whenever you push forward. Her juices make your thrusts smoother, enabling you to fuck her even harder.

"Oh god! Oh god!"

Winter stares at herself through the mirror. One of your hands in her hair, the other on her small waist. Her eyes dark with lust. Her lips quivering. She looks beautiful and totally messed up at the same time.

"Unnie, it's your turn."

Ningning has come back after her pictures have been taken. But Giselle can't hear her over Winter's cries.

"Unnie!"

She finally looks at Ningning.

"Your turn."

Giselle leaves the room, while Ningning gets comfortable next to Karina. She doesn't notice that the oldest is touching herself to what's going on right in front of her. And Winter hasn't realized that she and Giselle traded places.

"Damn, Winter your pussy is so tight."

You groan into her ear as you feel your orgasm closing in. Your girlfriend responds with a shaky moan. By now her eyes have rolled to the back of her head. Her whole body is shaking. Her legs are trembling and you feel her melt under your thrusts.

"Oppa...!"

She cries out and finally orgasms around your cock. Her pussy squeezes you hard. You're overwhelmed by the sudden increase of pleasure and you can't help but climax as well. The two of you ride out your orgasms together. Winter feels your load fill her cunt, while you feel her juices drenching your cock.

Somewhere behind you Karina lets out a moan as well. Ningning tears her gaze from the cup of noodles she was holding to watch her leader orgasm right next to her. Karina cums with a sigh, ruining her panties.

"This is so hot, oppa."

Winter sighs, looking at you through the mirror.

"C-Can you go again?"

You release your grip on her hair and slowly start to pull out of her wet warmth.

"Give me a minute."

Catching your breath, you watch your cum leaking out your girlfriend's freshly fucked pussy. She turns around, her thighs still shaking a little.

"I'll take care of you then, oppa."

She pushes you backwards. You find yourself sitting next to Karina. Winter gets on her knees in front of you and captures the tip of your cock with mouth. Karina and Ningning are forced to watch how Winter gives you head. All four of you know she's going to ride you right after that, until today's schedule is over.

----------

Hi everyone!

Since I got another Winter request around that time and this one didn't have a picture, I merged these two together. I got the other one through my DMs and was asked if I could write a similar story to Irene's Green chapter.

I hope you all enjoyed it.

Stay healthy!

[spiced-apple]

Shine the Light Ch.4

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Zoey!reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3

You didn’t want to jinx it and say that things were starting to look better and feel better. But… maybe, just maybe it was.

It had been months since this change. The audition, though you could barely tell what was going on from the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears and the nauseating anxiety coursing through you, went well. It felt like a fever dream that you kept expecting to have a worse ending than anything you’d ever gone through or witnessed. You kept expecting the pitying looks, the backhanded compliments, the barely concealed annoyance, and eventually dismissal. It all felt like a very real possibility that could happen. The best things almost always had the worse outcomes. You met the third member of what would become your group, Mira, who was nice from what you could tell, but hard to get a read on. 

You kept waiting for it. The sudden twist where they said how they really saw you, how much they hated you… clingy, talkative, too much…

But nothing, not even after almost half a year of training.

No. It was coming. It had to be. There was no way this would last.

And the longer it went on, the more your dread grew.

It was after one particularly grueling practice—sparring while singing is surprisingly really difficult—that it was suggested. To go hang out. Celine kept telling you three that maintaining harmony was one of the most vital things, and you kept hoping she meant vocally. Go get food, ice cream, something fun. Each of you would pick something. Rumi and Mira both picked theirs, and then it was your turn.

This was it. You knew it. The beginning of the end. They’d finally realize, or worse, reveal how they—

"What do you think?"

It took everything not to jump at Rumi’s sudden question.

You tried to swallow away the dry feeling the back of your throat, “Oh, um… anything’s fine.”

Mira sighed, and you flinched, preparing for the worst. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but if there's something you want to do, or somewhere you wanna go, it's okay. No one's gonna judge, and if they do, then that's their problem. But whether you like it or not, we’re your friends, we're not going anywhere. No matter what.”

No. No that can’t.

They were lying. They had to be.

Everyone lied.

Everyone would leave.

It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. You should have known better than to let your guard down, again—how could you be so stupid? And now, they would hurt you, and make it feel like your fault, and—

Rumi gently bumped her shoulder into yours, pulling you out of your downward spiral, "Hey, she’s right… I can tell there's a lot going on in there. But we can't help if you don't let us. So please, just talk to us, okay?"

There was nothing. The room was silent, but not like the suffocating kind. More like a gentle silence. Something that didn’t force itself on you or drown out any other sounds. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts louder, but not unbearably so.

“… maybe the aquarium…” You mumbled out, then hurriedly added, "We don’t have to go, I really don’t mind. I can just pick something else, or—"

Mira gently took your hand, and you were startled at how warm her hands were, "Then the aquarium it is. I've always wanted to go anyway."

Rumi took the other, and it was like her touch sent a wave of cool relief through you. "I don’t think I’ve ever actually gone to one, so I'm excited."

The feeling of dread changed when you got there. When they stayed and looked at the turtles with you. You had them, people who genuinely cared about you, who liked you, and were happy to spend time with you. This was it. Your home, the place where you belonged and had tried to find for years, and it was here. With these girls, who had accepted you for you, and didn’t want anything more or less. They liked you in spite of everything, not because of anything.

Things were starting to feel like they were worth smiling about.

And soon enough, they were.

By the end of the next year, the debut happened. You were on stage, in front of thousands, and you felt like you were truly living. For once.

The first album was a success, and so was the next, and the next. It was like you couldn't stop. You kept trying to give back, and show your gratitude, but none of it felt like enough. There were always new songs, new albums, and demons to kill. You loved this, you loved them. Everything was so warm, so full of life, and joy.

It was so bright.

Why do the brightest lights cast the worst shadows?

Looks like everything’s coming up Milhouse.

Or not.

The encouragement from everyone has meant so much! I’m planning on doing a poll after I finish this one. If anyone wants to join the taglist for this or any other story, just let me know!

@mikusamsan @edgycatx @sir-lawrence-felidae @luludeluluramblings @demis2955 @fleursdeau @125bluemachine125 @just-set-things-on-fire @darktrashpoetry @fandomswept @doggyteam2028 @staarflowerr @zooemama @winter-solstice24 @mattsauxe @littlepotaaatosimp @wpdarlingpan @yumeravenclaw @kingofghostscr @holderoflostmemories @ratterpatter @ithoughtthinks @bloessom @letsbedragonstogether @awawage @cupid73 @stormnightingale @sunshinepower17 @goldenmoonbeam @gaozorous-rex-blog @cosmicyuk1

[calypso-rt]

what happens in vegas...

fratboy!rafe

part one (optional)

Summary: After an unforgettable spring break in Cabo with cocky frat boy Rafe Cameron, you return to campus expecting to forget him, especially since he ghosts you completely. Months later, your best friend Savannah ropes you into a chaotic road trip to Vegas with the same group of frat boys and sorority girls. When you’re unexpectedly thrown back into Rafe’s orbit, old feelings resurface fast.

“I swear, if you say no one more time, I’m filing for a best friend divorce.”

You barely glance up from your coffee. “You’d never survive without me.”

Savannah glares at you from across the kitchen island, standing there in her matching pink workout set like she didn’t just burst into your dorm at 9 a.m. on a Saturday. “I’m serious. This is the trip. The trip of the year. You’re coming.”

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

You take a slow sip. “No.”

“Yes!” She tosses a sparkly duffel bag onto the counter for dramatic effect. “Vegas, baby. Come on. It’s tradition. Summer, post-finals blowout, one big road trip with the girls and the boys—”

You cut her off, deadpan. “You mean the frat boys who spell 'Las Vegas' with a Z and think sunscreen is for losers?”

Her smile tightens. “Okay, first of all, they only did that once. And second, that was Topper. You can’t hold everything against him.”

You give her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine. You can hold that against him. But the rest of them? They’re pretty much harmless.”

You hum, not convinced. “What part of me ever gave you the impression I wanted to spend twelve hours in a cramped van with those people?”

She narrows her eyes. “You promised me you’d be less boring this year.”

“I did not.”

“Fine. I promised myself you’d be less boring.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Sav…”

She softens. “Please? You’ve been, like…off. Since Cabo.”

You go still.

She notices.

“I’m fine,” you say, too fast.

She gives you a look that says, liar.

You hold her gaze. She doesn’t blink.

And the thing is, she’s not entirely wrong.

Because ever since that stupid, tequila-soaked, sand-in-your-shoes spring break trip, you’ve been a little…off.

Specifically, ever since Rafe Cameron flirted with you the entire time, was with you at every moment, slept in the same bed as you, and then never texted you again.

Not a single message.

Not a call. Not a reel. Not even a stupid emoji.

Nothing.

So you didn’t reach out either.

Because screw that.

You’re not the girl who chases guys, especially not guys like him. Golden, cocky, fratboy gods who know exactly what they do to people. And if he didn’t want to talk to you? Fine. Whatever. Cabo meant nothing.

(Except it did.)

(Except you still dream about his hand on your thigh and the way his voice dipped when he said your name.)

(But whatever.)

Savannah’s voice cuts through your internal spiral. “You don’t even have to talk to him.”

Your stomach tightens. “Who?”

She blinks innocently. “Who what?”

“Savannah.”

She winces. “Okay, fine. Yes. Rafe’s going. But I wasn’t gonna lead with that.”

You stare at her. “Absolutely not.”

“Please.”

“Fuck no.”

“Okay, but imagine this: you, hot as hell in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, feet on the dash, looking unbothered. You make him suffer. Tortured ex-hookup energy. A power move.”

You hesitate.

Because… okay. That does sound kind of fun.

She sees you crack. Pounces.

“C’mon. Vegas is the perfect distraction. Slot machines. Poolside cocktails. Getting hit on by guys in Hawaiian shirts pretending to be hedge fund managers. And maybe, maybe even revenge.”

You squint. “Revenge?”

She smiles like the devil. “Look good. Laugh a lot. Ignore him. Men hate that.”

You consider. Your silence is dangerous.

She knows she’s won.

“Fine,” you mutter.

“YES!” she shrieks, already pulling you off your bed. “You’re gonna wear that black dress, the one that makes you look like heartbreak in heels. And you’re gonna be so mean to him.”

You sigh. “I’m not gonna be mean.”

She grins. “Okay, fine. You’re gonna be icy. Emotionally distant. Like he’s just another grain of sand in the Vegas desert.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insane.”

She winks. “And you’re coming to Vegas.”

...

You should’ve known he’d drive.

Of course Rafe Cameron would show up in a blacked-out Jeep Wrangler, all polished steel and testosterone, like this wasn’t a twelve-hour road trip and he wasn’t about to turn a freeway into his personal F1 fantasy.

You’re standing in the student union parking lot, trying to blend into the crowd of sorority girls squealing over matching trucker hats and portable chargers. You’re in your best chill outfit. Cute, effortless, completely disinterested. Sunglasses on. Coffee in hand. Lip gloss poppin’. You’re not nervous.

(Lie. You’re absolutely panicking.)

And then, you hear the engine.

The Jeep pulls in like a movie entrance: slow, dramatic, with that stupid subtle bass rumble that makes your chest feel like it’s vibrating. And then the door swings open and there he is.

Rafe.

Wearing aviators, a worn gray t-shirt, and the kind of smug expression that says yeah, I know you looked. His tan is back. His hair’s longer. His jawline is still doing unnecessary things.

He hops out of the car like it’s nothing.

But then his eyes find yours.

And everything else disappears.

Just like in Cabo. Just like always.

But unlike Cabo, you look away first.

Savannah elbows you hard. “He’s totally staring.”

“No, he’s not.”

“He’s definitely staring.”

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, walking toward the van where the girls are sorting snacks and arguing over aux privileges. You do not need to make eye contact. You are not acknowledging him.

“Hey,” he says.

You freeze.

You glance over your shoulder. Rafe’s right behind you, thumb hooked in his pocket, acting casual, but his voice is low, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” you say flatly.

He nods once. Like that was the entire conversation. Like it didn’t just send a weird, electric tension zipping between you.

You start to turn away again, but then you're interrupted because Rafe grabs your duffel bag from the pile before you can reach it. Just picks it up like it’s automatic.

You blink. “I’ve got it.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t ask.”

You want to argue. But then he’s already walking toward his Jeep, not the van, and opening the passenger door.

You frown. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look at you. “You’re riding with me.”

You scoff. “Says who?”

“Savannah made a seating chart.”

“She did not.”

“She did,” he deadpans, pulling out a crumpled piece of notebook paper from his glove box and holding it up. It has highlighter marks. Your name is literally next to his.

You turn to Savannah, who gives you a shameless thumbs-up from the other car. “You’re welcome!”

You look back at Rafe. “I’ll ride with someone else.”

He tosses your bag in the back. “Too late. Dibs.”

You grit your teeth. “You are so—”

“I got you that coffee you like,” he says casually, cutting you off.

You blink. “What?”

He pulls a second coffee cup from the console and offers it without looking at you, like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just drop a memory bomb from four months ago.

You eye it suspiciously. “How’d you even know I was coming?”

He shrugs, eyes sparkling like he knows something you don't. “Didn’t. Got lucky.”

You stare at him for a long second. He doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, one hand on the door, waiting.

And god help you, you take the coffee.

You hate how good it tastes. And how much that stupid little gesture hits you harder than it should.

He opens the door for you. Doesn’t say anything, but when you slide in, the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying very hard not to smile.

You keep your eyes straight ahead like it's a hostage situation.

The others pile into the backseat. Topper ends up behind you and yells something about needing an “emergency gas station White Claw run.”

And just like that, the road trip begins.

But then Rafe adjusts the AC vents to point toward you. Turns down the music when you’re fiddling with your phone. Switches lanes early so you don’t have to get jolted. Drives smoother.

And maybe it’s nothing.

But maybe it’s not.

Because Rafe Cameron might not say much.

But everything else is loud as hell.

You stay silent for the first hour. So does he. The playlist rotates between trap music and Lana Del Rey, which is…oddly on brand for this group.

At some point, the sun gets in your eyes. You don’t ask for help, but without a word, Rafe reaches behind your seat and pulls out an old baseball cap. He tosses it into your lap.

It’s his.

Faded blue. Smells like sunscreen and something you don’t want to name.

You glance at him. “What’s this?”

He doesn’t look away from the road. “Sun’s in your face.”

You hesitate, then slip it on.

...

You pull up to a diner that looks like it hasn’t changed since 1973. The kind of place where time stands still and so do your better instincts.

You’re halfway through a plate of pancakes you didn’t even really want when Topper walks out of the bathroom and slides dramatically into the booth next to Savannah like he’s just returned from battle.

“Tell me why that bathroom had three different air fresheners and none of them worked.”

Savannah wrinkles her nose. “Maybe because you were in there for twenty minutes.”

“I was exploring!” he protests. “Don’t shame me for having curiosity.”

"More like taking a fat shit," Savannah mumbles under her breath.

You tune them out, eyes drifting to the other side of the table where Rafe’s sitting entirely too comfortably for someone who has you emotionally spiraling. Elbow propped on the back of the booth, one hand nursing a black coffee, the other absently spinning the silver napkin holder between his fingers.

He hasn’t looked at you in ten minutes.

Which would be fine.

Except he keeps nudging your foot with his under the table. Every few minutes like it’s a game.

And you keep pretending not to notice.

Except you absolutely do.

You shift in your seat, clearing your throat. “Can we not?”

He tilts his head, all faux innocence. “Not what?”

“That.” You flick your ankle against his, annoyed. “Whatever that footsie thing is.”

He lifts a brow. “Footsie?”

Topper perks up. “Who’s playing footsie?”

Savannah smirks, catching on immediately. “Oh my god, is this happening?”

You roll your eyes. “Nothing is happening.”

Rafe sips his coffee like he didn’t just get caught red-handed. “She started it.”

You whip your head toward him. “I did not—”

Savannah claps her hands. “Okay, wait. I’m just gonna say it, this is the exact energy you two had in Cabo, and we all saw it. You were basically the plot of a slow burn romance novel.”

“Except it burned out,” you say coolly, stabbing your pancakes a little too hard.

There’s a beat of silence.

Rafe glances at you. Quietly. Carefully.

Topper, oblivious as ever, picks up a ketchup bottle. “Burned out or just... paused?”

“Not everything needs to be analyzed like a Marvel post-credits scene, Topper.”

Savannah kicks you under the table gently, which is even worse. “Okay, but be honest. Are you mad at him or just mad you miss him?”

Your fork stills.

Across from you, Rafe’s gaze is heavy. You can feel him watching.

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

But then Rafe leans forward, voice low, just for you. “You want the rest of my hashbrowns?”

You blink. “What?”

He pushes his plate toward you with one finger, casual but intentional. “You always steal mine anyway. Figured I’d save us the trouble.”

Your heart betrays you with a flutter.

You try to recover. “I don’t always steal them.”

Savannah coughs. “You absolutely do.”

Rafe shrugs. “It’s fine. I like when she does.”

That shuts everyone up.

He says it with no theatrics. Just plain and honest. The way people say things when they mean them and don't care who hears.

Your chest tightens. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” You look at him, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to.”

Something flickers in his expression. But he nods.

Fair.

Quiet settles again. This time a little heavier.

Then Rafe picks up the ketchup bottle, unscrews the cap, and without looking, starts pouring a perfect R-shaped squiggle on Topper’s pancakes.

Topper howls. “Dude!”

Savannah snorts. You bite back a laugh.

And just like that, the moment cracks.

Rafe glances at you, mouth curving slow. “Smile looks good on you.”

You shake your head, warmth creeping up your neck.

This was supposed to be easy.

Eat. Ignore him. Get back in the car.

But somehow, even in a crappy booth with a plate of unwanted hashbrowns and fluorescent lighting buzzing overhead, Rafe finds a way to knock the air out of you.

...

The second the Vegas skyline comes into view, Savannah rolls down the Jeep window and screams.

Loudly.

For no reason.

The warm desert air whips through your hair. Neon lights flicker in the distance. You’re tired, vaguely dehydrated, and running on a diet of pancakes and emotionally complicated eye contact, but even you have to admit it’s a little breathtaking.

The Strip glows like a fever dream.

The group chat is blowing up. People are yelling from cars. Someone's honking like they just discovered sound. Topper's already lost a shoe.

“We made it, bitches!” Savannah hollers from the backseat, standing up and sticking half her body out the sunroof like she’s on a party bus. “Vegas, baby!”

Rafe rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop her. He’s still driving. One hand on the wheel. The other… is draped casually over your seatback.

Not touching you.

But almost.

He hasn’t said much since the diner. Just the occasional joke, a playlist switch, a quick stop for gas. But the air’s been heavy between you. And you haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

But you’re in Vegas now.

Which means distraction.

Which means chaos.

Which means—

“Oh my god, there are so many people,” Savannah says as the group finally pulls into the hotel drop-off zone.

It’s a blur of suitcases, sequins, and bad decisions waiting to happen. The valet is overwhelmed. The hotel lobby looks like a reality show on steroids. Everyone’s yelling. No one knows where their ID is. A girl from Savannah’s sorority has already thrown up in a conveniently placed bush.

You and Rafe step out of the Jeep at the same time, and it’s instant overload.

“Where’s the check-in line?” “Did we lose someone?” “Why is there a python around that man’s neck?”

You look around and immediately feel your brain short-circuiting.

“This is a nightmare,” you mutter.

Rafe, next to you, grins. “Told you. What’s a vacation without a little chaos?”

You scowl. “Did you just quote yourself?”

He winks.

Before you can respond, Topper appears, dragging three bags and yelling, “Room keys! I have the room keys!”

He waves them around like he’s won a prize.

Savannah runs over. “Who am I rooming with?”

“Me,” he says confidently.

“You wish,” she shoots back.

There’s shouting, switching, arguing over who gets the suite with the Strip view. The hotel manager looks mildly traumatized.

You try to stay out of it.

“Room 1215,” Savannah says, sliding a key into your hand. “You’re with me. But…”

She glances at Rafe. Then at you. Her voice drops to a whisper. “His room is across the hall.”

Your stomach flips.

You glance at the card in your hand.

Rafe’s watching you. Silent. Careful.

Before you can say anything, he leans in slightly, just enough for his voice to hit your ear. “I didn’t plan that.”

You turn your head. He’s close.

You can smell his cologne. See the faint stubble on his jaw. Watch the way his eyes search yours like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be doing this.

“Sure,” you whisper back.

He smirks, but it’s softer this time. “I didn’t.”

You don’t answer. You just pocket the key.

Then Savannah grabs your wrist and yanks you toward the elevators, yelling something about getting ready for the first club.

Rafe watches you go.

You feel it the whole way down the hall.

Like gravity.

Like Vegas is about to get a lot messier.

...

The Vegas club is loud enough to rattle your bones.

Bass pulsing like a heartbeat, lights strobing through the haze, bodies packed wall to wall. The VIP section you and the rest of your group scored is practically glowing, champagne bottles popping, sparklers waving, someone already standing on the couch in heels far too high for physics.

You’re three shots deep and glowing with the kind of chaos only Savannah could inspire.

“Drink this,” she shouts over the music, pressing another shot glass into your hand.

You eye it. “I’m already—”

“Drink it,” she demands. “You’re thinking too much. I see it. Cabo Brain. Still. Get it out.”

You frown. “There’s no Cabo Brain.”

“There’s so Cabo Brain,” she says, practically dancing in place. “You’re still hurt. Still bitter. Still waiting for some text that’s not coming.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not waiting for anything.”

“Then prove it.” She smirks, and nods toward the edge of the VIP section. “That guy’s been staring at you for ten minutes. Go flirt. Be reckless. Be hot. Make him—” she points discreetly toward the booth where Rafe is laughing with Topper and pretending not to be watching you “—miserable.”

You hesitate.

Savannah’s eyes glitter. “Time to make someone regret his whole damn life.”

You down the shot.

It burns on the way down. But not nearly as much as the thought of Cabo. Of him.

Of Rafe not texting. Not calling. Not anything.

So you stand.

You’re tipsy and warm and a little unhinged, but the dress you’re wearing fits like sin and your confidence spikes as you move across the floor.

You smile at the guy Savannah pointed out. He looked tall, decent smile, obviously in Vegas for some corporate retreat with a fake Rolex and too much cologne. Doesn’t matter.

You let him flirt.

Let him lean in.

Let him touch your waist when he laughs at something you barely said.

Because maybe it’ll make you forget.

“Seriously?”

The voice hits your spine before you see him.

You turn. Rafe. Towering. Furious.

Eyes dark, jaw clenched, shirt clinging to him like he fought his way through the crowd to get to you.

You blink, drunk and wobbly. “What?”

He’s looking at the guy. “Back off, man.”

“Dude, chill—” the guy starts, but Rafe’s glare is sharp enough to cut glass.

The guy takes the hint.

Vanishes.

You scoff. “Nice. So now you care?”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. His chest is rising and falling like he ran here. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” you snap.

“You’re drunk.”

You cross your arms. “No shit. That was kind of the point.”

He stares at you, like he doesn’t recognize the version of you in front of him. Or maybe he does... and it scares him.

You continue, words slurring just a bit. “Isn’t that what you do in Vegas? Get drunk? Dance with strangers? Forget people who disappear on you for four months and never f—freaking call?”

His face shifts. Pain flashes through it. Real pain.

You shake your head. “I thought you liked me. You were stuck to me like glue and then you just… evaporated. Like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter.”

He’s silent. Just watching you.

And you hate it. Hate how exposed you feel. How you’re slurring your heartbreak under flashing lights in front of the one person you swore you were over.

You laugh bitterly. “God, I am so stupid. I knew you were a frat boy. I knew you were trouble. I knew you were never gonna be the type who—”

“I didn’t know what to say,” he cuts in.

You blink.

He steps closer, voice quieter now. Barely audible over the music. “I didn’t know how to say it.”

You stare.

“I liked you,” he says. “Too much. More than I was supposed to. And I knew if I texted, if I called, I’d...”

“You’d what?” you whisper.

“I’d fall harder.”

You’re swaying slightly now. Not from the music. From all of it. The weight. The way his words slice through your chest like broken glass.

He reaches out gently, steadying your elbow. “Let me take you back upstairs.”

You want to fight him. You want to scream. You want to cry.

But you’re so tired.

So you just nod.

And when he walks you back through the crowd, hand steady on your lower back like you’re something fragile, something to treasure, you let yourself lean into him. Just a little.

Even if it hurts.

Even if you know tomorrow, everything could fall apart all over again.

...

You’re swaying in the elevator.

Rafe’s got one arm loosely around your waist to keep you upright, but he’s not doing much better. His eyes are glassy. His shirt is half unbuttoned. You’re both buzzing with alcohol and something deeper, something heavier.

“I lost my keycard,” you mumble, squinting at the blurry numbers above the doors.

“I know,” he says softly.

“You don’t know.”

“You dropped it in the ice bucket at the bar.”

“…Oh.”

He laughs, quiet and fond, like he’s trying not to spook you.

He nudges you gently into his hotel room, guiding you with both hands now, warm and careful. You trip on the rug, laugh into his chest. He catches you like he’s done it a hundred times.

And when you finally collapse onto the bed, face-first and sighing like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, Rafe just watches for a second. Like he’s still trying to figure out if this is real. If you are.

You roll onto your back and stare up at him. “You really didn’t call because you thought I didn’t want you to?”

His hand drifts behind his neck, rubbing the back of it like he’s exhausted. “I overthink things. Especially you.”

“That’s dumb,” you whisper.

“I know.”

He sits at the edge of the bed, undoing his watch, toeing off his boots. “You were the first person I ever… I don’t know. Cared about who didn’t chase me.”

You blink up at the ceiling. “That’s even dumber.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”

You’re silent for a beat before you admit. “I missed you, asshole.”

His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

You’re barely conscious at this point. Voice slurred, body heavy, mascara smudged beneath your eyes, but honest. Raw.

“I hated you for not calling,” you say, eyes fluttering. “But I hated myself more for wanting you to.”

That lands hard.

You don’t see it, but Rafe’s face twists.

He exhales shakily, turns off the light, and crawls into the bed beside you without a word.

No jokes. No flirtation.

Just his arm brushing yours under the blankets. Just the quiet inhale when your legs tangle. Just the way his hand ghosts near your shoulder like he wants to hold you but doesn’t.

And when you roll over and curl instinctively toward him, your face tucked into his chest, you feel it.

His heartbeat.

Fast and unsure.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just pulls you in gently and closes his eyes like he’s home for the first time in months.

The world wakes before you do.

It creeps in through the thin hotel curtains, soft gold pouring over tangled sheets and your still bodies, warm like honey. The room smells faintly of his cologne and your shampoo. Of sleep. Of something safe.

You stir slowly, blinking your way back into consciousness.

There’s a weight over your waist.

A hand.

His hand.

And your leg is hooked over his, bare skin brushing denim, the fabric of his hoodie that he must've slipped onto you bunched up at your hips.

Your breath hitches.

Rafe.

He’s still asleep.

Head turned toward you, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other wrapped around your waist like it never left.

His brow is relaxed. Lips parted. Chest rising and falling in steady rhythm against your side, like your breathing has synced up somewhere between midnight and morning.

You don’t move.

You just look at him.

At the angle of his jaw. The tan line at his collar. The soft lashes you always pretended not to notice. His mouth, the same one that once to whisper things against your neck, things you pretended didn’t mean anything anymore.

You reach out, instinctively, and gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

His eyes flutter open.

Groggy. Sleep-warm.

And they land on you.

He doesn’t jolt. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t speak.

Just smiles, slow and sleepy. Like waking up next to you was a dream he didn’t expect to be real.

“Hi,” he whispers.

Your heart does something stupid in your chest. “Hi.”

His thumb drags softly along your hip under the hoodie. Not in a way that makes you flinch. Not in a way that asks for more.

Just there. Present.

“I didn’t mean to pass out like that,” you say quietly.

“You did in Cabo too,” he murmurs, voice still scratchy. “You get comfortable and then you just… go.”

You huff a laugh, face half buried in the pillow. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“No,” he says, gaze searching yours. “It’s so cute.”

You go still.

The room does too.

And when your eyes begin to sting, for reasons you don’t want to admit, he seems to sense it. His fingers trail up from your waist to your back, drawing tiny circles.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod before you mean it.

“I missed you.”

It slips out before you can stop it.

Soft and broken and too early for confessions like that, but it’s true. And it’s yours.

Rafe’s expression crumples just slightly. Then he shifts closer, tucking you fully against his chest like he’s trying to shield you from everything outside that room.

“I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Your face finds the warm space under his jaw, and his hand moves to the back of your head, cradling it gently.

He kisses your hair.

Not to prove a point.

Not to make a move.

Just because he wanted to.

And when you both drift back to sleep minutes later, curled into each other like muscle memory, you realize you’ve never felt more at peace.

this ones been in the drafts but its doneee

[starmaker-astral]

Good Omens - The Musical

The Most Complete Collection of Available Clips (in order)

FINALLY. After 4 days, hours of searching, cutting, and editing, 64 clips, and way too many sleepless nights spent in front of a screen... The compilation (complete and in order) of clips from the Good Omens Musical is OUT.

Or how I would also call it: The perfect use of my free time driven by my hyperfixation.

I heard about the Good Omens musical quite a while ago and was, like many of us in the fandom, a little sad that there was no official release yet nor full filming available.

But earlier this week, I watched every little clip I could find of the show on the website, the musical's Instagram, the interview...

And since I have too much free time on my hands, I decided I must abuse of my free will and therefore dig up all the clips from the Good Omens Musical to make a big edit and reconstruct the show as much as possible, IN ORDER. (Because why not)

And after too many hours cutting, mixing, editing and [REDACTED] program crashes... It's done.

I had so much fun (and one or two ragequit trying to figure out their timeline. No regret tho, but please, never again.) I really liked assembling all the small pieces at the end.

The comedy is gold, Musical!Aziracrow are awesome, funny and so sassy and gay-

And the songs are sooo good aswell. I'm glad I managed to reconstruct some of them almost completely, I hope you will love them as much as I do

(And trust me, I've watched and rewatched the whole edit enough times to have memorized every scene and every lyric BY HEART... I need the CD.)

Thanks to my amazing beta-watcher: @hyperfixating-rn-brb

People who wanted to be tagged: @kitcat-italica , @firelikestars , @so-phist , @golden-scarlet , @goodomensovertookmymain

About the Musical :

This Australian musical was originally scheduled for release in 2020 but was put on hold due to COVID. It is currently still in development for an official release (hopefully) very soon.

In the meantime, you can enjoy the musical clips released from the test performance, and support the project by joining their Instagram and visiting the Musical's official website.

Disclaimer :

The full edit is 22 minutes long, don't expect the full show but it has the key elements. Also, there may be some inconsistencies between the sound and the image on some extracts; this is due to the fact that the clips come from different sources with a different edit that mixed scenes but with a same audio. I did what I could to preserve as much as possible the audio and images. Same reason as for the potential changes in image size, I prioritized the best quality and keeping all the scenes.

Do NOT repost

Feel free to share the link on tumblr, twitter, reddit, bluesky... but please do NOT repload the video elsewhere (even with credits), it can put the current production of the musical at risk (and we clearly dont want that). However, we all can obviously talk about it and share the link wherever we want (I would even appreciate it a lot actually), just do not repload the video.

Ok ! Enough talking, here's the video ✨️

I hope you will enjoy

I can finally go to sleep now

Thanks everyone ✨️

[lucy-literates]

HII i love your malachi writing sm it’s so beautiful and fun<3 can i request one with hurt/comfort when we all know how flirty he is, so basically reader who’s his gf is just trying to pass it by everytime he’s flirty because she knows he doesn’t mean harm, but at one point (maybe with an interviewer or freya or whoever) she gets really sad about it and they talk or something😭😭 sorry if this is too detailed lol thank you💗💗

A/N: There will never be too much detail, thank you! This was so sweet to write, I hope you enjoy it!

It’s Just How He Is… Right?

You’d always known what you were signing up for with Malachi. He was a flirt — the kind that didn’t even have to try. He could make strangers feel like old friends in two minutes, charm shopkeepers into giving him discounts, and have entire crowds eating out of his hand without breaking a sweat.

It was just… who he was. And you’d always told yourself you could handle it.

Usually, you could. Even when it was the waitress at brunch who lingered too long taking your order, or the extra on set who laughed a little too hard at his jokes. Even when Freya poked fun at him for being “dangerous” because of the way he could make people blush on command.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You knew where he came home at night.

But today was… different.

You were sitting off to the side in the studio while he filmed a new interview. The host was gorgeous — effortlessly put-together, leaning forward with every question, hanging on his every word. And Malachi… well, he was Malachi.

That smile. That laugh. The one where his eyes crinkled just enough to make it feel intimate, like a secret you got to keep.

You knew you shouldn’t take it personally. But something about the way she touched his arm when she laughed, and the way he didn’t move away, made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t even realize how quiet you’d gone until the interview wrapped and Malachi came over, still buzzing with leftover energy.

“Hey,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “you ready to go?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

The car ride was quiet. Too quiet. Malachi hummed under his breath to whatever was playing on the radio, and you stared out the window, sipping the coffee that had long since gone lukewarm.

Halfway home, his voice cut through the silence. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

He gave you a side glance. “You’re lying.”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “It’s nothing. Just… you were really flirty in there.”

He frowned slightly. “I was just talking.”

“I know,” you rushed to say, because you didn’t want to sound like you were accusing him of anything. “I know you don’t mean harm by it, Malachi. I just… sometimes it feels like you give everyone the same smile you give me.”

The words hung between you. You instantly regretted saying them, bracing for him to roll his eyes, or tell you you were overreacting.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he took the next turn into a quiet side street and parked. The engine idled as he turned to face you fully, expression soft but intent.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You did, reluctantly.

“That smile you’re talking about?” he said quietly. “The one you think I give everyone? It’s not the same. You don’t see it, but it’s different when it’s you. Everyone else gets… a lighter version. Just surface-level.”

Your throat tightened. “Doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

His brow furrowed like the thought genuinely hurt him. “Then I’m not doing a good enough job making sure you know the difference. Because there is one, baby. You’re it for me. You’ve always been it.”

You tried to laugh, to keep things light. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing his thumb over your knuckles as he held your hand, “but I’m only cheesy for you.”

He leaned over, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead first, then your lips. No audience. No playful smirk. Just him and you, and the warmth of his palm against your cheek.

When he pulled back, his voice was steady. “If anything I do makes you doubt how much I’m yours… tell me. Don’t just hold it in. I can’t fix what I don’t know about.”

You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Okay.”

He smiled — your smile, the one that was just for you. “Good. Now let’s go home. I’m making dinner, and I’m not letting you lift a finger.”

By the time you got back, the ache in your chest had faded, replaced by the quiet certainty that maybe… you could handle his charm after all. Because you’d seen the way he looked at you when no one else was watching — and that was something no one else would ever get.

Tag List:

@laylayschipzz

@purplerose291

@imnotnotgabrielle

@imnotjadaddy

@23swife

@mysticmarble222

@saphiraelise

@coffeeonvenus 

@casey1-2007

@h3artfili4

@mischivana

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-BLpv0xQYd1bTlaP7l1gAg8AgCyLE_yvrtljpCzlJhY/edit?usp=sharing

[elodieunderglass]

I didn’t! But - although I’ve been very polite and let people have fun on my post- everyone suggesting random interests that still exist are slightly parallel to the question.

You may have seen this post:

You can see me there. That’s me. I’m the “We still have horses” person and . We. We still have horses.

This isn’t a special interest/not special interest or autism/not autism thing, although I understand that people are having fun. It’s a train/not train thing. I agree firmly with my colleague horsefigureoftheday that horse autism and train autism are likely to be two sides of the same coin, but that does not mean that horse is a 1:1 precursor for train, or that horse is in any way a consolation prize in the absence of train. (I also don’t want to call it an autism thing exclusively. Neurodivergent, perhaps.)

Further, “two sides of the same coin” means “two things that occupy the same type of space,” but not “two things that are interchangeable.” (Famously, coin sides are not interchangeable; otherwise Heads or Tails would be an exquisitely nihilistic decision-making process.)

I am verifiably a Horse-Interested Person - latched on firmly when I was two, but you can check the records on tumblr and see for yourself, I have been diagnosed with Horse Autism by peer review I think - and I have produced a Train Person - two years old, and interested in trains with no provocation from me. It exploded on them like an egg cracking over their head. It isn’t my chosen preference, that’s for sure. I could dearly wish that Mouse(2) had picked horses, which I like, and not trains, which I don’t. I am getting quite sick of reciting onboard train messages - look, Mouse, I’m not even British, that’s why mine don’t sound exactly like when the robot lady does it -

Look, if Mouse had never seen a train, they could have latched onto horses PERFECTLY WELL, god knows we have enough model horses around. God knows we have the most perfect rocking horse in the world. If Mouse had never seen a train, what would they have lit up for?

I could see this happening, though. And that’s why I chose to support the person above who identified a series of infrastructure and system-based things, because I think Mouse was going to be interested in machinery and tinkering before a GWR express took them out at the mental knees.

I’ve been so good though. I’ve been so good! Someone suggested “racehorses” for the statistics and I - elodie under glass - did NOT come to their house in the dead of night and sit on their chest while they were sleeping and hiss, “there were barely like FIFTY YEARS between the death of the Godolphin Arab and the invention of the steam train, that is NOT ENOUGH! KEEP THINKING! APPLY PROCESSES TO MY SHITPOST” -

Anyway we still have horses and I don’t think it’s 1:1 neural pathway activation but I’m being SO good about it

I wonder what People Who Really Like Trains liked best before trains. the first sights of the first trains in history must’ve hit those brains like a galaxy going off.

[jotctumb]

The Murderbot Diary Fic Recs

I have some Murderbot fic recs. This isn't a best-of list, rather it's meant to showcase just a tiny fraction of how wide a range of amazing fic is out there. (AARH Edit how did I misspell Murderbot in the title?)

Gen Fic: That The Light Is Everything Ratthi goes missing. Deals with themes of grief and loss. The author asks the reader to trust them, and that trust is really paid off in this rich and moving fic.

Priority Client SecUnit has to look after one of Mensah's adolescent kids during a crisis. It gets off to a hilarious start with SecUnit nervously being made to hold a baby while it downloads child-rearing mauals. The fic as a whole is fun, exciting, and sweet.

Plastic Plague People on Preservation face an extended life-changing environmental crisis. This one's thought provoking and a bit 'heavy.' Heartwarming, but not an easy feel-good fic. One of those fics where you can spend a lot of time thinking about the themes.

More Gen Fic, Emphasis on Original Characters:

Background Radiation In this Corporation Rim is Hell story, Nico flees home with his autistic brother Luca to keep Luca safe. Sadly Nico faces his own new challenges as he brings the messed up philosophy of the Rim with him to his new home.

Survivor Murderbot and Co. try to assist an OC SecUnit who has been through major trauma. But is this SecUnit a danger to others? How much will they risk for the victim versus those who were complicit in its mistreatment? This OC really made a powerful impression on me.

Life Partnership, Romance, or Ambiguous (Gen Edition) (Categorizing fic when one or more characters is asexual can get kind of confusing. Lines get fuzzy.

Parallel Signaling (ART/SecUnit) ART POV for Artificial Condition through Exit Strategy, but that really doesn't capture the originality of this story. It is very much NOT just a canon retelling. I felt I knew ART better after reading this.

It will Fail on You (ART/SecUnit) Long life sounds like a happy thing, but what if you were offered a chance to live ~200 years, and you never expected to live long enough to grieve your humans? https://archiveofourown.org/works/67137652/chapters/173365222

Made for each Other (Gurathin/Murderbot) An interesting take on Gurathin's augments and how they affect how he relates to Murderbot.

Is it Slash if there is No Sex? Kink and Desire

That Time I Got Drunk And Yeeted A Love Potion At A SecUnit (Gurathin/Murderbot, kissing, bondage) In this hilarious story, SecUnit gets accidentally drugged and feels an overwhelming impulse to tie Gurathin up and revel in the fact that he is now Safe. From what? Who knows! He's just Safe. He has been Secured.

Boots (Gurathin/Murderbot) Maintenance and Repair as kink and love. The sequel Guns is explicit. The first fic Boots is more about taking care of things and people (for AO3 it's rated "other.")

Explicit (But It Might Not Look Like What You Expect):

You (Gurathin/Murderbot, WIP) There are some cases where sex or touch-averse people feel differently about being the one doing the touching versus the one being touched. As of chapter 12, this slow burn story currently shows Murderbot working through past trauma and realizing it is capable of experiencing touch in a positive way. I want to quote Gurathin's check-in protocol because it's a delight, but this post is crazy-long already.

Shared Senses (Gurathin/Murderbot) Riding the feed allows Murderbot to experience sex. https://archiveofourown.org/series/4914649

Enemies, Closer WIP, multiple pairings involving Murderbot, Gurathin, ART, and an OC CombatUnit This story is it's so much sweeter than you might guess from the tags. Which is not to downplay the tags but like, all the people the reader cares about are trying and mostly succeeding at being good people. The dark stuff is done by the bad guys and isn't excessively drawn out or graphic.

[Redacted] I really wanted to link a fic which does something that I haven't seen before--it shows a couple go through a temporary period of sexual activity which ends after one party comes to a realization about what they want. Pretty cool to see that in a fic! But I'm told that author has been a target of harassment in the past so I felt hesitant to link it. Also my description just spoiled it. Go read enough fic and you can have the pleasure of stumbling across it blind!

Rarepairs or Rare Interpretations:

the rhythm of the rain keeps time (Gurathin & Mensah, some romantic feelings do arise) Gurathin makes a slow recovery from drug use and trauma, with Mensah's help. Note that although listed as unfinished, this fic is actually a series of time-consecutive shorts. At least of present, there's no cliffhanger.

Secrets (Murderbot & Gurathin, unrequited.) Gurathin's backstory here is fascinating, the story's take on the frenemyship is fascinating, and there is also an amazing sequel which is nearing completion. (The sequel is also unrequited--rare in fic but so common in real life! Which is one of the themes of the sequel--the gulf between stories dramatic enough to get made into fic, and thus which play a large part in SecUnit's knowledge of the world, versus ordinary life.)

Adjustment Period (Gurathin/Ratthi) The Corporation Rim is Hell, except instead of depressing, this author created a hilarious set of cultural conflicts. If you don't usually read romance, you might still like this as the focus is on the culture clash.

Humor: Human Friends Murderbot muses on its relationship with Gurathin, Three muses on its relationship with Ratthi (uhh I didn't manage to communicate the funny bits but this did make me laugh)

Maintenance Manual for SecUnits models 36b-27f Mensah POV! Everyone else too, but especially Mensah. It turns out that surrpisingly, the maintenance manual is useful not just for maintenance, but for understanding SecUnit's needs. This fic does have a serious side but it's also hilarious.

This list is a follow-up to this post, where I talked about why I support portraying asexual characters in a whole range of ways, and how Murderbot fanfic is such a trove of fiction wrestling with these themes. I could have made a whole post just examining all the different ways people approach "shippy" themes! In this case I wanted to show a variety so I listed a lot of non-shippy fic too. But there's so much thought and care in the shippy fic, I hate it when people dismiss these stories as ignoring Murderbot's identity.

This took ages and I only scratched the surface. (If I rec stuff in the future I'll probably just quote the AO3 summary.) And there's so much fic I haven't read yet, even by authors I know I like. Happy Reading!

[ker0ppik00]

🚨 Before You Read:

Sober!BuckyBarnes x Drunk!Reader (gender-neutral, second person).

Slightly sexual themes / teasing. Established relationship. Soft humor and fluff. NO SMUT.

Healthy boundaries. Bucky being a gentleman.

English is not my first language. I search a lot of words.

Hope you enjoy.

Drunk on You

The party is winding down, and at some point, the music fades from something thumping and relentless into the kind of mellow beat that means most people have left, and the ones still around are either slumped on couches or laughing too hard at things that stopped being funny an hour ago.

You are... somewhere in between.

Standing on the edge of the empty dance floor, you're making a compelling argument to a half-eaten cupcake about conspiracy theories. Bucky watches from a few steps away, arms folded, mouth twitching.

He’s been keeping tabs on you all night —partly because he promised to, partly because it’s just what he does. You showed up four hours ago in the right party outfit, confident, with big ideas about stealing drinks from Tony’s ridiculous bar menu. Now your hair’s a mess, your collar’s crooked, and your eyes are glassy with fond, tipsy wonder as you point at a flickering chandelier like it’s about to tell you a secret.

Bucky steps closer, gently, like someone trying not to spook a baby deer.

“Alright, darlin’ ” he says, voice warm with amusement. “Think it’s time we head upstairs.”

You blink at him. “But the party—”

“Is over.” He gestures vaguely to the room behind you, where Sam is passed out in a chair with his sunglasses still on and Natasha is playing poker against herself. “Even Tony called it a night.”

“Coward,” you mumble, wobbling slightly as you turn in a circle, like you're trying to spot him. “Didn’t even stay for the toast.”

“There was no toast.”

You gasp. “There should have been.”

He huffs a laugh. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m—” You start, but then stop, swaying a little. “Okay, yes. But like... eloquently.”

“Sure,” he says, reaching out to steady your elbow. His touch is gentle, steadying without pulling. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You grumble something that sounds like “party cop” but lean into him anyway, letting your head bump against his shoulder as he guides you toward the elevator.

“Did you have fun?” he asks as the doors slide shut.

You look up at him, eyes soft and bleary. “You didn’t drink.”

“I did. I just can’t get drunk.”

“That’s unfair,” you murmur, poking his chest. “You should be tipsy with me. We could be chaos together.”

He smirks, pressing the elevator button with a quiet ding. “Is enough chaos just keeping up with you.”

And maybe it’s the alcohol —or maybe it’s just the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the best kind of trouble— but you grin.

“Next time,” you say, “I’m making you hold my shoes.”

He chuckles again, steady as ever beside you. “Deal.”

The elevator hums upward, and he adjusts his arm to keep you close, brushing a kiss to your temple just before the doors open again.

“Let’s get you to bed, trouble.”

The second the words leave his mouth, something shifts in you. Like a lightbulb flickers on —albeit one powered by too many drinks and a dangerously low sense of shame.

You gasp, eyes wide. “Bed?”

Bucky pauses, already halfway into unlocking the door to your shared quarters. “…To sleep.”

You, apparently, hear: To ravish. Because now you’re pawing at his arm like a koala on a sugar high.

“But you said bed. You said it all low and sexy.”

He lets out a breath —half a laugh, half a prayer for patience. “I said it like someone who wants to get you horizontal before you trip over your own feet.”

You press your body against his side, arms looping (clumsily) around his waist. “C’mon, Buck. You love me.”

“I do,” he says, guiding you gently inside before you attempt to climb him like a tree. “Which is why I’m not gonna do anything while you’re too many glasses deep and calling the hallway lamp ‘sexy Groot.’”

You pout. You definitely pout. “But I’m so in love with you right now. I would let you do anything. Anything. To me.”

“That’s the problem,” he says, steadying you as you nearly miss the step up to the bed. “Your standards are currently in the gutter.”

But you don’t go down easy. The second Bucky locks the door of the bedroom, you’re on a mission —uncoordinated, determined and horny.

“You could just take your shirt off,” you murmur, tugging at the hem of his black tee like it personally wronged you. “Y’know. For science.”

Bucky grabs your hands gently. “Nope.”

“But I’m being sexy,” you argue, leaning in like you’re about to whisper a secret. Instead, you hiccup. Loudly. “See?”

“You’re being drunk,” he corrects, guiding you back toward the bed like a bomb disposal expert. “And a little dangerous with that look in your eyes.”

“I do have seduction eyes,” you declare proudly, flopping backward onto the mattress with the grace of a stunned octopus.

“You do.” He kneels to take off your shoes, gentle hands brushing your ankles. “Still not gonna sleep with you tonight, tough.”

“You could kiss me,” you offer, not letting him get up by clinging to his shoulders now like a sleepy barnacle. “Just a little. Or, like… a lot.”

Bucky sighs through his nose and whispers something that sounds a lot like God give me strength.

“I could,” he agrees calmly, like he isn’t currently sweating. “But then I’d never forgive myself.”

You lean your forehead against his chest, mumbling nonsense into the fabric. Your hands keep wandering —down his ribs, across the line of his spine, suspiciously lower. Bucky catches them both, holds them firmly on his own and warns you using your name.

“But you’re so warm and big and safe and hot and your hands,” you babble, eyes bleary, voice thick with drunken devotion. “You could pick me up like a rag doll. Manhandle me. Better yet, I want your hands in my—”

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters, like a man in crisis. “Okay. That’s enough.”

He lifts you easily, ignoring your squeal of delight, and deposits you squarely in bed before tucking you in like you’re a gremlin who needs to be sealed away for safety reasons.

“But we could just cuddle sexy,” you try again.

“You’re gonna wake up tomorrow and thank me for not doing anything you can’t consent to,” he says, kissing your temple.

“I’m gonna wake up tomorrow horny,” you say into your pillow.

Bucky ignores your last comment, biting the inside of his cheek to stop the laugh that wants to escape. He mutters something about needing water and slips out of the room before your sleepy flirting levels up into something even harder to resist.

When he returns, the glass in hand, you’re already out —sprawled sideways across the bed, one sock halfway off, cheek smooshed against the pillow like you lost a fight with gravity. Your lips are parted slightly, the faintest snore catching in your throat. You look peaceful, soft and safe, just how he likes you.

Bucky sets it down gently on the nightstand, careful not to wake you. Then he crouches beside the bed, just to look at you. Just to admire the chaos of your hair, the scrunch in your brow like you’re dreaming something weird and the way your fingers are curled like they’re still trying to find him even in sleep.

He reaches out slowly, brushing a knuckle down the line of your cheek. Then, he places a kiss soft and warm to your cheek, barely more than a breath.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he murmurs, voice low and fond. “Even when you’re a menace.”

You shift in your sleep, sighing contentedly, as if you heard him anyway.

And Bucky? He just smiles, shaking his head, already resigned to a long night of you starfished across his side of the bed. But he wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.

[zoro-sremedy]

Trope #12 Accidental confession + Trope #14 Touch-Starved, But They Don’t Know How to Ask for It

Risk assessment Rated R18+. MDNI. Angst if you squeeze your eyes, Sexual intercourse, fingering, making out, pet names, some swearing, gojo being pathetically needy and gorgeous.

a/n: this was fun, and also the last for the 500 milestone trope party! Hope everyone enjoys it! <3

You weren't supposed to stay.

It was supposed to be a quick drop-off—some files, a report, maybe a sarcastic remark about how he looked like shit because he hadn't slept.

But it's late, and he's quiet. Not joking, not bouncing off the walls. And when he invites you in—murmurs something about "just for second"—you don't have the heart to say no.

So now you're sitting cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, some old movie playing in the background, and Gojo Satoru is way too close. His thigh presses against you. Not completely on purpose, not totally innocent either.

It's the first time all night he's really touched you. Because of course—he's Gojo. Untouchable. Always behind that shimmering veil of infinity, always holding back. Always craving something he won't ask for.

But not tonight.

Tonight, his Infinity is off.

You don't realize it at first. Not until your fingers brush when reaching for the same piece of popcorn, and instead of the usual, static skip of energy—you feel him.

Warm. Real. Trembling just slightly.

You both freeze.

His eyes are already on you. Bright. Unreadable. Starving.

"Satoru," you whisper.

He exhales a shaky sound. "You shouldn't touch me like that."

"I didn't mean to."

"I know." His gaze drops to your hand—your fingers still brushing his—and he swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "That's why I liked it."

Your breath catches. He says it so softly, so brokenly, like it's been stuck in his throat for years.

He tries to backpedal, like it didn't mean anything. "I mean—not like liked liked, not like—fuck."

You just stare. "Satoru."

He covers his eyes with one hand and groans. "God, I'm so bad at this."

"At what?"

"Wanting you." His voice is quiet. Humble. Like a man confessing to a sin. "I don't even know how to ask. Not when it's real. Not when it's you."

And then, like gravity's been waiting for this, you lean in—and kiss him.

Your kiss is slow.

You barely press your lips to his, letting him breathe into it. Letting him choose what happens next. Because that's the thing about Gojo—he always takes the lead, commands attention, throws himself in first.

But not with you.

With you, he stills. Trembles.

You pull back a little, just enough to whisper, "is this okay?"

He looks at you like you just handed him the sun. "You have no idea."

And then he's kissing you again—but this time, desperate. Both hands cupping your face, holding you like you're delicate and sacred. His lips move like he's memorizing the shape of yours. You can feel the tremor in his fingers, the hesitation every time he dares to touch you.

He's warm.

So warm, it makes your chest ache.

When you push your hands under his shirt, you feel the breath shudder out of him. He stares at you like he doesn't understand—like he's never let anyone do this. And he hasn't.

Because no one can.

His Infinity always hums in place, always separates, always guards. But not now. He's dropped it. He dropped everything for you.

Your fingers skim over his skin, and he flinches—not because it hurts, but because he feels it. Every inch. Every brush. It's almost too much.

You murmur against his mouth, "you really don't let people touch you like this?"

He shakes his head, voice nearly wrecked. "No."

"Why me?"

He looks like he wants to say something smart. But all that comes out is: "Because I'd let you hurt me if it meant you'd hold me after."

You exhale, eyes burning, and press your forehead to his. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," he whispers. "That's why it's scary."

You lean in again. You kiss in the corner of his mouth, the stubble at his jaw, the soft spot beneath his ear. And he melts—his hands sliding down to your waist, like he's finally letting himself want.

You don't rush.

Clothes peel off slowly. His shirt first, yours next, and every inch if skin revealed makes him sigh like he's drowning in relief. Like being naked with you is the first time he's real.

When your chest presses to his, he gasps. Full body reaction. His arms wrap around you tight, as if anchoring himself.

You pull back to look at him, your voice barely above a breath. "Are you okay?"

He nods, and his voice cracks. "I just… I didn't know it could feel like this."

Your palm finds his chest, right over his heart. "Like what?"

"Like someone actually wants me."

And then, like a dam breaking, he rolls you beneath him—mouth hungry but still gentle, kissing you like he's been dying for years and you're the only thing keeping him alive.

He kisses down your neck like he's following a map he's only ever dreamed about.

Lips trailing heat over your collarbone, the swell of your chest, down the center of your stomach—every inch is a discovery, and he takes his time. His fingers tremble where they hold your hips, but not from nerves—no. from how badly he wants to be gentle. From how much he wants to get it right.

"Satoru," you breathe, threading your fingers into his hair.

His name makes him shiver.

"Say it again."

"Satoru."

He groans—soft and ruined—and you can feel him press his mouth to your shin just to keep from saying something reckless.

But then he looks up at you—face flushed, eyes blow wide and honest—and you know whatever he says next will be reckless.

"I think I love you," he whispers. Like it slipped out.

Your heart stutters.

He freezes the second it's out there. Blinks. "Shit—I didn't mean—fuck, I mean I did mean it, but not like—not now, I wasn't gonna—" His hands hover like he's about to pull away.

You stop him with a kiss. Slow. Sure. Letting it settle.

"I love you too," you say, quiet and steady.

He stares like he's glitching.

Like the one thing he never lets himself believe just became real.

And then it all breaks in him.

His mouth is back on yours in seconds—messy, desperate, full of heat. His hands find your thighs and spread you for him like prayer. He looks down, breathless, reverent.

"Fuck—look at you," he murmurs, dragging his fingers along your slick folds, "You're already soaked."

You nod, hips arching into his hand. "I've been waiting."

He bites back a moan. "You're gonna destroy me."

And then he's touching you for real—two fingers sinking in slow, stretching you open while his thumb strokes your clit with gentle, teasing circles. Your head falls back, thighs trembling around his wrist.

"That's it," he says low and husky, lips brushing your ear. "Take it, baby. Let me make you feel good."

You come on his fingers with your face buried in his shoulder, clinging to him, your body pulsing around his hand—and he holds you through it, whispering filth and sweetness in your ear.

When he finally lines himself up, cock thick and aching against your entrance, he pauses—just long enough to look at you.

"Tell me you want this," he breathes.

You cup his face, eyes locked. "I want you."

That's all he needs.

He slides in slow—inch by inch, stretching you wide, making you feel everything. And when he bottoms out, buried deep and panting above you, he nearly loses it.

"F-Fuck—so tight—so w-warm—so ."

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper. "I'm here. I'm yours."

He groans, forehead resting against yours. "You don't get it—I've needed t-this—needed you—for so f-fucking long."

And he moves.

Not fast. Not rough. But deep. Full, steady thrusts that make your eyes  roll back, that make you cling to his back and moan his name again and again. Each stroke is a confession. Each kiss is a vow.

"C-can't stop," he gasps. "Can't d-don't wanna ever s-stop—"

"You don't have to," you breathe.

And he doesn't

He fucks you like it's the only way to prove what he feels. And when you come again—wrapped around him, whispering his name, shaking under his hands—he follows right after, moaning into your neck as he fills you, voice wrecked and shaking:

"I love you, I love you, I fucking love y-you."

And when it's over, when your bodies are tangled and sticky and still trembling, he holds you like he'll never let go. Not in a million years.

And you believe him.

[lucysarah1875]

Levi's Horrible Flirting Skills! Ch. 2

Summary: Levi had always been socially constipated, or at least that's how Hange referred to him. He hates attending social events, being forced to meet new people, and overall, he's not the most charming person in the room. He'll have to make a tremendous effort when he meets, for the first time, a girl he wants to call his own. Follow Levi's awkward attempts to win the reader over.

(This story is mostly pure fun, with little to no seriousness in it.)

Masterlist to all the other parts!

 "So..." 

Levi cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea; his Adam’s apple rise and fall as the brown liquid slid down. He sat on a chair opposite Erwin’s desk, one arm draped casually over the back, his right leg crossed on top. The chair’s wheels allowed him to rotate slightly, giving Erwin a side view. 

Erwin's hand, which had been meticulously working on a map for the upcoming expedition, paused for a moment. A subtle grimace flashed across his face before he regained his composure and continued. Levi had been acting strangely ever since he stepped into the office to deliver paperwork. Normally, he would have left the pile and walked out. But today was different. Levi had seated himself, poured a cup of tea, and now, he was clearing his throat. Erwin knew Levi wanted something. By his demeanour, it was clear that whatever was on Levi's mind was significant enough to make the usually decisive Captain hesitate. 

"So, mhp—" Levi cleared his throat again and adjusted his position in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant but only raising suspicion. Erwin kept his eyes on his work, though his mind was wandering, waiting for Levi to reveal his purpose. "How did you and..." Levi paused, frowning slightly, as if searching for a name. "Y/N? I think that's her name." 

Erwin couldn't help but chuckle, a sound that echoed in the empty office. He bit the inside of his cheeks to stifle his laughter as Levi shot him a glare. 

"What’s so damn funny?" Levi's tone was sharp, a stark contrast to his earlier hesitation. 

"You," Erwin replied without hesitation, a smirk lingering on his lips. "It took you three years to remember Nile's name and stop calling him 'pathetic mustache.' And now you expect me to believe you casually mention my friend’s name as if you don’t remember it?" 

Levi snorted, offended by the implication that he was being less than straightforward. 

“What about my friend?” Erwin set his pen down carefully to avoid staining his work with ink. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers. 

"You always say I need to be more sociable with other divisions, and now—" 

Levi's feeble excuse was cut off by Erwin. "And you decided to start by getting to know my close friend?" 

The tension was palpable, like a taut wire ready to snap. Erwin had caught Levi, much like a parent waiting for their child to confess a known transgression. 

"Levi, if you’re trying to hit on a friend of mine whom I consider like a little sister, at least have the guts to admit it." 

Levi's eyes remained fixed on the wall, motionless as if hoping the scrutiny would vanish if he stayed still, like a cornered animal. 

"You never introduce me to anyone interesting, and when you do, you gate-keep them." 

"I never introduce you to anyone interesting because you never attend social events," Erwin countered. 

Levi’s expression was impassive, but Erwin could almost see a hint of a pout. "Y/N was in her final year of nursing training in the military when I needed a medical companion for my aging mother. They initially refused because such services were usually reserved for the MPs. But after insisting, they sent their least experienced one. Despite that, Y/N was young but extremely dedicated. My mother adored her, treating her like her own daughter. She cared for my mother until her last day, and that's how I know her." 

Levi nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information. Erwin’s account only heightened her appeal in Levi’s mind. Her charming, outgoing nature and the sparkle in her eyes as she smiled captivated him. It felt offensive that he didn’t know every detail about her. 

"With that said..." Erwin continued, straightening up and returning to his paperwork, "Whatever plans your former thug mind is conjuring, I suggest you rethink them." 

Levi frowned. "I can't even ask? I wasn’t planning on doing anything." 

"Yeah, yeah, and I was born yesterday," Erwin replied with a hint of sarcasm. 

The truth was, Levi wasn’t doing anything. Since they first met, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It made him feel like one of the awkward teenagers he often supervised, hoping to spot her in a crowded room only to shy away when she appeared. Talking to her casually seemed more daunting than reclaiming Wall Maria. 

Their paths had crossed occasionally, but usually, she approached to greet Erwin, and Levi remained silent. 

"Your hair doesn’t look that shitty," Levi mentioned once, out of the blue. The bustling hallway of the Capital building suddenly felt quiet, amplifying the awkward silence. 

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, then frowned slightly as she processed his comment. "Well... considering I’ve been on emergency on-call for the past 48 hours, I'll take that as a compliment," she chuckled, half-friendly, half-confused. 

‘It was a compliment...’ Levi thought to himself. 

If there were a cure for his infatuation, it would require something he absolutely lacked: sociability. 

"Hope you have a great expedition," she offered her best wishes. 

"Yeah, you too..." Levi responded before he could think. 

She laughed softly. "Thank you, but the only expedition I'm planning is to my bed." 

‘Smooth as sandpaper,’ Levi thought, grateful for his stoic expression to hide how much he wished he could disappear at that moment. 

Each encounter felt worse than the last. He said less each time, feeling increasingly awkward. He clenched his teeth as he watched her joke around with Erwin, effortlessly friendly and outgoing. 

It shouldn’t be this hard. He just needed one chance. She was always surrounded by MPs, and Levi knew he was ten times the man they would ever be. But every opportunity slipped away like water through his fingers, and he found himself watching her leave with a sweet smile and a gentle kiss on the cheek, her hair flowing behind her. 

‘Do you need landing lights on my bed? I want to sleep with you!’ 

It was a paradox. He constantly thought about her, yet Levi realized he hadn’t felt such a strong necessity to pin someone down in his bed in years. Imagining those eyes looking at him half-lidded, hearing her soft whimpers... it was intoxicating. But it also felt wrong, as if even thinking about it insulted her honour. 

One chance. That’s all he needed. 

"Oh!"  

Levi could recognize that voice from a mile away. He turned around in the hallway while they were idly waiting for a meeting with the higher-ups. There she was, walking confidently towards them. To the Captain, it felt like she was coming straight to him. "Aren't you my saviour?" 

'Savior? Yeah, I can be whatever you want,' Levi's brain struggled to form a coherent thought. But as soon as she reached them, and Erwin was the first to receive her greetings, Levi's hopes sank like a stone to the bottom of a river. He clicked his tongue in frustration while the two of them caught up on their respective lives. 

Automatically, he dissociated, feeling like a third wheel. "So... wouldn't you be my saviour?" The question was repeated, and it took Levi a couple of seconds to realize by the sudden silence that she was referring to him. His eyes lifted to find her looking at him with a cheeky smile and subtle, pleading eyes. 

"Huh?"  

"Wouldn't you do me a tiny, teeny favour, Captain?" She asked, holding her fingers close together to show just how small her request was. 

Levi gulped, feeling weak under her doe-eyed look and subtle pout as she feigned innocence. The sensible part of his brain told him to at least ask what the favour entailed. However, his other instincts took over, and he found himself saying, "Sure." 

"Oh! Thank you so much!" Without another word, she grabbed his hand and started dragging him down the hallway. Levi offered no resistance. Her pace was brisk, and as she turned to call back, "Don’t worry, Erwin. I won’t keep him long!" 

"You better not; I went all the way to the Underground to get him," Erwin joked, playing along. 

Levi wasn’t fond of being touched, but her hand felt so soft against his. For her, he’d make an exception. Even as she led him out of the building and down the streets of the Capital, he didn’t mind. When they reached the hospital nearby, Levi started to wonder if he had inadvertently agreed to donate his organs. 

"I have a group of orphans at the hospital who were brought in to get the new vaccine," she explained. "But they've been very fussy about it. I bet if they see the mighty Captain Levi, humanity’s strongest soldier, getting his shot, they’ll be brave enough to get theirs too. Right?" 

'So... I just agreed to get a vaccine because my brain is as fucking sexually frustrated as Kirschtein,' Levi thought, mentally kicking himself.  

The wide-eyed children stared up at Levi with so much admiration that their mouths hung open. He couldn’t help but smile subtly. Usually, the loud admiration from citizens wasn’t something he enjoyed. But seeing the kids' starry-eyed wonder was heartwarming. 

"See, Captain Levi isn’t scared of getting his shots," she told the kids as she prepared a cotton swab with alcohol and loaded the syringe. The children’s tears dried up, and their cries ceased as they watched the soldier intently. 

"Could you take off your sleeve on one arm, Captain?" she asked sweetly, hastily moving around. Levi quickly complied. She turned back to him once everything was ready and chuckled, "You’re more ripped than I thought under that uniform," she murmured, slightly blushing as she wiped his pale skin with the cold cotton. 

Levi's eyes never left her face as she was so close that he didn’t even feel the needle go into his arm. He was intoxicated by her delightful perfume and the way her eyelashes framed her eyes. He was tempted to lean in and close the gap between them. 

"All done. See, it doesn’t hurt!" 

Before he knew it, she had finished. She placed a band-aid on his arm and stepped back. "If you all want to grow up to be as strong as Captain Levi, you’ve got to get your shots and eat your vegetables! Right, Captain?" 

Levi snapped back to reality, which was far less appealing than his fantasies. "Ah, yes, listen to her, kids," he said, rolling his sleeve back down. 

"Now, who wants to go first?" 

Suddenly, all the children raised their hands eagerly, begging to be the first to get their shots. It was his chance—stay around until the kids left the room and offer his services for any future occasions she needed him. Maybe next time, they could have tea together, and then... 

"Here," she interrupted his thoughts, placing an ice pack on his arm and handing a bottle of painkillers to the nun in charge of the kids. 

Levi looked at her, puzzled. "You’ll need this. Your arm will hurt like crazy in a couple of hours." 

"I thought you said it didn’t hurt," he said, incredulous. 

She laughed, her chuckle echoing in the hospital room. "First rule of medicine: you never tell a man or a child how much a shot will hurt. You’ll probably have a fever tonight." 

Levi felt absurdly and grotesquely tricked. "And what about my painkiller?" he asked, feeling like a little kid begging for a lollipop. 

"Oh, Captain, I’m sure you have someone who can take care of you tonight if your temperature rises a bit," she teased, sassiness in her voice. 

'Wait... what?' 

"So, let me get this straight—you’ve got a 39°C fever, and you didn’t even ask her out on a date?" Hange questioned, checking the thermometer that confirmed Levi's high temperature. 

Levi slumped in his office chair with a cold compress on his forehead and another on his arm, his cheeks flushed, feeling as though a Titan had stomped on him. 

"You truly are an idiot," Hange declared. 

"At least she thinks I'm getting laid!" Levi argued back weakly, his voice hoarse and his eyes glazed. 

"Yeah... she also thinks you’re taken, so she wasn’t hitting on you." 

"Fuck—"

[baybeeimconfused]

my favorite Kims from the mobile game

+ thoughts under the cut

Okay so thoughts on the game

Good things:

-New art !! style isnt exactly the same but its still visually interesting

-I think they did a good job with making the UI mobile- ive seen people saying it looks like shit (just based on screenshots, mind you) but tbh i think it works way better on a smaller screen that the open world of the original game

-i like the files they added on everyone's character it really feels like youre a police officer keeping notes

-not a big thing but i think its cool that the people you talk to on radios are monochrome and overlayed over the background they look like ghosts

-there are some sections where you can use your phone to look around like youre actually IN martinaise and its so fun

-the compartmentalized format does make it easier to digest and play without getting fatigued or overwhelmed. unfortunately

-more high quality images of my beloved kim kitsuragi

things i dont like:

-its a LOT more linear. i get why they wanted to do that but i dont like how limited your freedom is to pick what you interact with and when

-i cant prove it yet but i feel like theres cut content?? like maybe they just moved it around but it feels like theres thing missing

-when you leave and area you *cant go back.*

-like if you get a thread to follow that takes you backwards itll just bring you into the conversation. you cant reenter an area so you HAVE to fully explore before moving on

-the thought cabinet timers are based on irl times and not in game progress. so it genuinely takes like six hours of waiting to unlock stuff

-this is a nitpick but they changed some of the sound effects when you interact with things and I just like the old ones better. every other sound is the same though

FINAL THOUGHTS:

I give it a solid 6/10

Its really obviously a cashgrab but FOR a cashgrab its pretty solid. its fun and i like that i can play it while im at work.

i would absolutely rather play the original and i would not recommend it for someones first time playthrough, but if you've already played and want some extra content/a way to play when youre out an about, its a solid consolation prize.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I know there is a bit already on writing characters with speech disorders, but my question has to do with reading them.

I am writing a story in which one of the main characters has difficulty speaking. (I believe he has apraxia of speech.) He primarily uses sign language, but some parts of his dialogue are spoken aloud for one reason or another. After researching apraxia of speech, looking into how people with the disability feel about it, listening to the ways their speech can sound, and checking through this blog, I decided that writing out how he actually speaks was the right fit for the story I am telling. (Note: It is never exaggerated or used comedically. It is simply how he speaks, and the other characters converse with him like anyone else.)

My issue is about how to read what I have written aloud to someone else.

This is a fanwork, but my stepfather (who has trouble reading) likes to hear my stories even though he doesn't really know the characters. I want to share this story with him, but I don't know that it's right to read this character's out-loud dialogue as it's written, because I don't have apraxia of speech. Should I read those lines of dialogue normally, but tell my stepdad beforehand that this one character has a lot of repeated/drawn-out sounds and pauses in his speech? Or should I respectfully attempt to read it as-is, since only one person will be hearing it? That doesn't feel quite right, but I am not really in a position to judge that. So, I'm asking you. Thank you for your time and your patience!

Hello,

I don't really see a problem with reading it as-is. If you aren't being mocking (as in making fun of the character and how they speak,) it's fine. Kind of like putting on an accent when reading for a character who has an accent. There's no problem there.

It's up to you which one you choose, you aren't offending either way. You might ask your stepfather which he would prefer, if he wants you to read it as-is or to translate it, if you can't decide which one to do. It's up to you, both options are fine.

Mod Aaron

[drs-and-daisies]

Wrong Strategy, Good Try (3/4)

(Asking for Help / Quiet strategy / Small Victories)

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains references to disordered eating, mental health struggles, implied anxiety, and conversations with a psychologist. Please read with care ❤️

Race weekend pressure is high—but for once, it’s not the lap times causing the tightness in your chest. With Oscar by your side, you meet with the team psychologist for the first time. What follows is a conversation that doesn’t solve everything, but maybe—just maybe—opens the door to something softer. Something possible.

Part 1 🏁 | Part 2 🏁

⸻

The race weekend energy was already a lot.

Engines roaring in the background. Reporters buzzing like flies. The click of cameras, the hum of monitors, the endless shuffle of McLaren staff and engineers.

And you—curled into yourself on a padded bench in Oscar’s drivers’ room—felt like a live wire in the middle of it all.

Your palms were sweating. Your chest tight. Not because of the media or the crowd, but because any minute now, the McLaren-appointed psychologist was going to walk in. Not to evaluate Oscar. You.

You hugged your knees to your chest, half-wrapped in Oscar’s hoodie, feeling like an imposter in a world you weren’t built for.

Oscar crouched in front of you, resting his arms on your knees. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said softly. “You can stop at any point. But if you go through with this? I’ll be proud of you no matter what comes out.”

You nodded once. Shaky. But willing. A knock came, and then the door opened with a soft click.

“Hi,” the woman said, smiling kindly. “I’m Dr. Matthews. Mind if I come in?”

You blinked back sudden tears. “Yeah. Okay.”

⸻

The first five minutes were unbearable.

Sweaty palms. Racing thoughts. The feeling that this was a test and you were already failing.

But Dr. Matthews, or Layla as she insisted you call her, wasn’t there to dig for trauma. She started with soft questions. “How’s travel been for you lately?” “What’s your favorite part of race weekends?” “Do you and Oscar have anything fun planned for the summer break?”

You could tell she was easing you into the deep end. Of course the easy conversation had to end as she subtly hit you with a question that brought the pressure back to your chest.

“Do you feel connected to your body or like it’s working against you right now?” You could visualize the lights switching in your head. Is this what the guys on the grid feel like when they hear lights out and away we go?

The tears came eventually. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just slow and hot and unrelenting.

“It started a few months ago,” you whispered. “Just little things. Skipping meals. Feeling guilty after food. Wanting to be smaller in spaces where I felt too visible. There were always people around at races that I felt like I was under a microscope for how I acted with Oscar.”

Layla nodded. Not surprised. Not shaken.

“Eating disorders,” she said gently, “rarely start with food. They start with overwhelm. Fear. Control. Sound familiar?”

You nodded.

“And when you’re around all these world-class athletes,” she continued, “with their strict nutrition, weight checks, hydration logs—it makes sense that your brain thinks you have to keep up, too. Especially when you’ve got thousands of people eyeing you just trying to be here with your boyfriend.”

“But I’m not a driver,” you muttered.

“No,” she said, “but you’re still part of the team.”

That sentence cracked something open.

“I don’t want to be a McLaren problem,” you said quickly. “This isn’t their job—Zak’s already nice enough to let me in the garage each weekend. I really shouldn’t be a burden—”

Layla raised a hand. “I don’t think Zak would mind one bit. You’re important to someone who’s important to this team. That’s all the reason we need.”

You stared down at your hands.

“So what now?” you whispered.

“We start small,” she said. “What if we help you plan some meals. Keep things consistent, not obsessive. McLaren catering can have a few options set aside for you—healthy, balanced, no labels. Enough to keep your body fueled, without you needing to make a dozen micro-decisions every day.”

You exhaled shakily. It sounded… possible.

“And you stay in control,” she added. “You choose what you try. We’re just here to support the choice. Not make it for you.”

⸻

Afterward, Oscar didn’t press. He just pulled you into his arms the second the door closed and held you there, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing like it was the first time all day.

“You did it,” he whispered. “You fucking did it.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But we’re gonna do this together. One meal at a time.”

⸻

Later that day, you were curled in the corner of the garage, watching Oscar go over qualifying data with his race engineer. He looked relaxed for once—focused, but content, stylus tapping lightly on his tablet as he muttered something about sector three.

You looked up from the top of your tablet to see one of the McLaren staff came in with two protein shakes. One for Oscar. One for you.

Yours was smaller. Vanilla. A little sweeter than his. No label. Just your name written neatly on the lid with a smiley face next to it.

You blinked.

Oscar caught your eye from across the room. Smirked.

Raised his cup in a silent cheers.

You lifted yours with a shy smile, heart thudding in your chest for a whole new reason.

And in that tiny, quiet moment—

You started to believe that maybe everything might actually be okay

[salemlunaa]

could u maybe...do a challange.... with ur new beliefs pls ☹️ I think it will help alot of people including me

…

………

why are you guys SO obsessed with doing something.

i know it sounds fun but a challenge just means your operating from the person who doesn’t have it therefore you’re completing checkpoints to get there. no way around it, challenge = needing something to do = operating from a state of trying to get = lack. and you’ll never convince me otherwise

lmfaooo i’ll tell you guys you already have what you want and you’re STILL asking for challenges and things to add to a to-do list

remove all this trivial shit, and what it keeps coming back to is: do you have it or not? that’s it. forget your imagined neediness for a technique or a challenge and ask yourself that. Your answer is the reason you see what you see infront of you. whatever that may be.

it’s like my words are going in one ear and out the other. when i say “you already have it” “all manifestation is instant manifestation, imagination = reality, so as soon as you imagine it, it’s done, it’s here” you guys seem to think i’m saying that to make you feel better, to get you to “feel it real” , to get you riled up and pumped with adrenaline feeling happy, for some sort of motivation. no. it’s here, if you can’t see it, ask YOURSELF why.

remove all else? why do you feel the need to do this challenge when you already have everything?

no need need for a challenge, would you sign up for a “CHANCE TO WIN A BRAND NEW PORSCHE CHALLENGE” when you have two in your garage??

would neville sign up for an “ALL EXPENSES PAID TRIP TO BARBADOS IF YOU COMPLETE THIS CHALLENGE!!!!” if he was already in barbados?

no. it just wouldn’t make sense.

(this is why i personally don’t understand challenges, you either have it or you don’t, there is no inbetween, especially when that in between is you going through a mental to do list, ticking off checkpoints)

[vermilionsun]

I want you to keep an open mind and work with me here alright

Ais - Abby

✩ "[Ais] necklace's pendant was deliberately placed around the lower end of the sternum to draw the viewer's eyes down his chest" — and yeah, the other lis have well-defined bodies as well, but we only make comments on Ais's boobs when he presses up against that wall in his route

✩ Abby is the main dancer, one of the vocalists and rapper quite a fitting set-up for Ais too; all rounder and all

✩ They both ROCK teal

✩ Lowkey golden retriever in denial, I can't explain it

Kuras - Mystery

✞ Bro is literary "history" (get it? cause he's old)

✞ A bit tsundere, mysterious aura & doesn’t want much attention

✞ "We really feed off your energy" & "In need of treatment" teasy core

✞ Mystery's the lead vocalist, and I can definately see that for Kuras as well

✞ I saw a theory that Mystery is the oldest aside from Jinu, and that's why there are "more imperfections" in his human form, and at the same time less sanity; think the fansign barking. Sounds familiar?

Vere - Romance

✦ The hair, the mesh shirts, the way they carry themselves

✦ "Hm, we keep meeting like this" = "I'm starting to think they're stalking me"

✦ Rom is a dancer and vocalist; just about right for Vere imo. Also, definately an ambassador

✦ THE SMIRK EVERY TIME

✦ Abby and Romance are already shipped and Vere and Ais have their thing—I didn't even realise it until almost posting this

Mhin - Baby Saja

🕊 This is probably a basic take, and I was thinking of switching Mhin and Kuras, but this felt more right

🕊Main rapper is literally PERFECT. Canonically no the maknae, but I can see it. Min Yoongi in another universe; also a producer, a huge cat person and silly

🕊 I love how Baby Saja is making fun of the people that infantilize the idols. Mhin could pull that off, just more... agressively, rightously.

🕊 Kind of chaotic? WAY unhinged if you think about it too long. Angry, repressed, emotional, trying so hard to act chill, can't.

🕊 Both on the aroace spectrum gives me LIFE

Leander - Jinu

🗡 Is literally anyone surprised?

🗡 Sunshine-boy mask over pure PAIN

🗡 "Leaving my old life behind, hurting people in the process, still feel guilty and am immortal" are we playing bingo?

🗡 I know we're getting a Jinu-Rumi in Leander's route, but I just can't prove it chances it's actually Vere's but ANYWAYS

WHAT DIFFERENCE DO YOU SEE THAT I DON'T?!

sighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Princess is Derpy btw