#the basic things should be easy to find!!!!

[coolwyous]

┈─★ #1 𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺

  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ megan skiendiel loves three things in this world: her amazing brilliant wife, her incredible adorable kids, and the beautiful sport that is ice hockey.

   ˎˊ˗  ❄️  ⊹ ࣪ ˖  🔓୭˚.  ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

   ➴ pairing: hockey daddy!megan skiendiel x f!reader

   ➴ genre + wc: 3.3k, domestic parenting au, all fluff no pain baby!

┈─★ a/n: wrote this in 2 hrs bc i missed our big puppy hockey!megan so bad and this put such a cute fucking vision in my head. can def be read as a standalone but if you're new here, i highly encourage reading the college hockey!au verse this is based in! <3

“babe! baby! jesus christ babe, get in here!”

your mind goes to the worst possible places. your son could be choking, he could be having an allergic reaction, he could be stuck in between a piece of furniture, and your perfect angel of a wife could be having a crisis as she tries to figure out what exactly to do in an emergency.

marriage with megan has been an absolute dream, and you always knew she’d make an incredible parent. protective, calm, kind— basics, sure, but megan does them so easily, you never questioned that a family together would be an absolute dream. however, megan is still megan, and you love her for each part of her, including the parts that panic when things do not go according to plan. that’s where you balance each other out: you keep megan in line when she starts to spiral, and she reminds you of the beauty in the day to day.

in this scenario, you’re in panic-mode, racing into the living room expecting the worst.

you let out a gasp to find not only is there no crisis, no furniture on fire, no natural disaster sweeping up your son and wife, but quite the opposite.

megan is reaching her arms out, crouched down, and your infant son is taking his first steps towards her, his chubby face squished up in the cutest smile you could have ever imagined.

“look at this guy! so sturdy,” megan beams, reaching out ready to catch him should he start to wobble.

you laugh and take a mental picture of the moment. you see a mischievous glint to megan’s eyes as she watches his wobbly little body take another step forward.

“megan, i swear if you even think about—”

“i wasn’t gonna say it!” she throws her hands up innocently.

“he just took his first steps,” you chastise her, knowing her well enough after all your years together. “don’t do this. i didn’t start rambling about universities or classic literature when he first said mama.”

“fine,” megan shakes her head in defeat, focusing back on waving to your son to get him to take a few more steps forward. “fine.”

you smile and turn to go hunt down your phone to document the moment. before you’re fully out of the room, you hear a quiet voice whispering to the baby.

“you’re a tank, dude. you’re gonna make a killer defender. get that core strong and we’ll be on the ice in no time.”

“megan skiendiel,” you warn firmly.

“shit. mommy heard us talking about the no-no word.” megan swoops up your son and uses him like a human shield, knowing you can’t stay mad at your two favorite people in the whole world. “okay, okay. i can wait. i get it.”

“i just want one milestone where you’re not trying to prep him for the nhl, i’m begging,” you laugh, reaching out to kiss her. she grins and kisses you back, scooping up your son to hold him between you two.

you can’t even pretend to be mad. you have the most perfect family in the world, what more could someone want?

-

“push left, then push right.”

megan makes skating look so easy, impossibly easy as she always has. when the first snowflake of the season fell, you already knew to get the kids’ winter coats ready, knowing megan would force you all into the car and haul you all to the lake ASAP.

“this is hard,” maxie breathes, his lower lip jutting out in frustration. 

“guess what?” megan tells him, her voice softening as she realizes the emotions taking over your toddler. “it may be hard, but you can do hard things. and you’ll have me holding your hand all the way through.”

your daughter starts to squirm out of your grasp and eagerly reaches for her other mom. you press a kiss into the beautiful baby’s head and hold onto her, knowing your wife needs all her focus in one place right now.

“push left, push right. don’t be afraid to fall,” she nods confidently as you watch from the snow. “you’ve got this, dude. if i didn’t think you could do it, i wouldn’t be pushing you.”

your heart swells as you see your son’s eyes burn with determination at megan’s encouragement. max does exactly that, and he’s shaky, but making slow paces forward. 

megan skates over to you, giving your son some space to figure it out without her over his shoulder. you grin and reach out to kiss her reddened nose, cold to the touch from the chilly falltime air.

“forgot how good of a captain you were,” you compliment, your chest warm and fuzzy seeing how gently but firmly megan builds your son’s confidence. “might want another one just to keep seeing you be that good.”

“another team for me to captain?” megan grins.

you laugh. “no— another kid, loser.”

“oh.” her eyes widen, but that stupid dopey grin only multiplies on her face. “right right right.”

your daughter wiggles once more in your grip and reaches out again. you smile, handing her to megan, who nestles her onto her hip while skating backwards to keep her eyes fixed on your son. 

“look, look!” max calls out loudly, beaming with his precious toothless grin as he glides slowly along the ice.

you look up, ready to cheer him on, but your wife has already got you beat, her face lighting up instantly in pure, sincere, beaming pride.

“that’s my boy! that’s my boy!” she cheers.

megan throws your daughter up into the air and swings her legs around her neck to have the toddler sitting on her shoulders, causing the girl to giggle uncontrollably. max, still wobbly, manages to skid along the ice, his confidence increasing with each pace forward he makes without tipping. you smile at your little family. 

-

“baby,” you call out, peeking at the three on the ice from over the pages of your book. “your daughter is about to do a backflip off of the snowbank.”

“josie, sweetie, sit down please,” megan calls out to her, standing with max as the two practice passing a puck back and forth.

“no thank you,” the girl responds simply.

“okay, no, wait,” megan pauses, wrinkling her nose. “no, princess, it doesn’t work like that. daddy’s words are not an option.”

max pauses, watching the whole thing unfold in front of him. he shrugs and drops his stick, putting his hands on his hips as he innocently observes his sister. “auntie dani says sometimes you just gotta send it.”

“okay, no more time at auntie dani’s,” megan grits. you burst out laughing. 

“i told you she’d be a terrible influence.”

“i didn’t think she’d try to influence a five year old,” megan groans, grabbing josie to snatch her off the snowbank. the girl pouts and wiggles out of your wife’s grip, taking easily to the ice in her skates.

“babe, you know how daniela is,” you laugh. “you’re the only one to blame if you trusted her to be a good influence. i told you lara is more than happy to watch them.”

“lara has enough on her hands with the twins,” megan shakes her head, giving max a push to help him slide across the ice, sending the boy screaming laughing. “josie is a tornado.”

“so you stick her with the most insane person you know and expect it to go well?” you laugh.

“okay, okay, this is not bag on daddy time,” megan scrunches her nose at you, grabbing josie by her hood as the rambunctious child tries once more to climb the snow and jump. “i thought maybe dani could help me understand how to lay the law down more. you never have any problems with them.”

“the kids listen to me ‘cause i mean what i say,” you laugh, watching as megan increasingly fails to wrangle the two children as they go in opposite directions. “unfortunately, big bad strong hockey daddy folds every time your five-year-old gives you the puppy eyes.”

josie’s little voice cuts in, somehow at the top of the snowbank.

again.

“can you send a picture of me up here to auntie dani? i want her to see me send it!”

megan’s eyes nearly bug out of her head at the sight.

“my perfect sweet wife, will you grab your daughter, please?” she pleads, nervously holding her arms out in case the girl is too quick and jumps anyways.

you shake your head, pointing behind her as max is aimlessly hitting pucks off in random directions on the ice, pucks you know will never be found again.

“actually, my perfect sweet wife who doesn’t listen or learn, i wanted to do a library date. you’re the one who insisted on taking them to the lake. when you know i still can’t skate,” you remind her.

“oh my god,” megan groans, reaching up to snatch josie by the ankle, causing the little girl to giggle uncontrollably as she gets swung through the air and placed gently back down onto the ice. megan picks up her stick and quickly blocks max from hitting his last few pucks, instead redirecting them all easily back into the small bucket they came in. you watch, impressed. megan has been retired for a year now, shortly after josie turned 4, but she’s still good as ever.

“my thoughts exactly,” you laugh.

“remind me of this exact moment next time i suggest doing this again,” megan blinks.

“babe, this happens every time.” you remind her, flipping through another page in your book. “literally every weekend.”

megan, still impossibly strong, grabs both your kids by the back of their jackets, flipping them both around to face the same direction on the ice. the sound of their rumbling giggles makes your heart flip.

“laps, both of you.” she demands, her voice stern (or about as stern as your goofy, ridiculous megan can get.) “now, minions.”

“no,” josie pushes back challengingly. 

“oh yeah?” megan bends down, pointing a finger menacingly at your daughter. “why? scared you’ll get left in my dust?”

you laugh, watching as your wife takes off on the ice, your two bumbling children skating along after her in an attempt to catch her. your heart melts at the sight. 

-

even at lara and dani’s encouragement, megan had never seen herself as exactly coaching material. several colleges had tried soliciting her to coach for them after her time in the wnhl, and she had turned down each of them in favor of staying home with the kids while you continued to work. you didn’t mind— between what she had made playing professionally, your current job, and the current time she can dedicate to her family now that she’s done traveling, the trade off is well worth it.

but the perfect way to fill her time was coaching your son’s 7 & under junior hockey league. 

“way to take that shot, champ!” your wife cheers as max misses yet another practice shot. “love the confidence, buddy!”

you laugh and hand her the coffee you just picked up for her in the lobby. “you’re being surprisingly patient.”

“no, he’s honestly so, so bad at this, poor guy,” megan lets out a quiet breath, and the both of you laugh. one of the assistant coaches takes over the drills as you two watch the kids from the side. “he’s trying like hell, though.”

“alright, relax coach,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully. 

you both hear a thud against the plexiglass and realize josie, who is supposed to be taking figure skating lessons on the other side of the rink while max’s team practices, is shoulder checking her poor coach into the wall again, much to the woman’s displeasure. you give her a sharp look to cut it out and she instantly straightens up, nodding at you in understanding.

megan gives you a quick look before bursting out into laughter. you know your daughter’s menace-like behavior is nothing to laugh at, but it’s such a sharp contrast to gentle and compliant max, you’re grateful to have such characters for children that keep you and megan on your toes.

“josie’s sick of figure skating, meg” you tell your wife gently, knowing you’re approaching a sensitive topic for her. “she’s been stealing his sticks and messing with his goal in the backyard. i know you’ve seen her.”

megan lets out a nervous sigh. “i was afraid that’d happen.”

when max happened, you saw it be so easy for megan, like being a boy dad was the most thing in the world. she had all the answers, no fears, no concerns. but as much as she loves both your children equally, you know for a fact that josie was different. megan was so, so much more nervous with raising a girl, and while you didn’t feel the same pressure, you knew it kept megan up at night wanting to make sure she did everything just right for your guys’ little princess.

“she wants to be just like you, meg,” you tell her gently as you both watch the girl roll her eyes at the coach and do another twirl. “she pays attention, talks about your teams, wants to watch your old games. she’s so eager to be part of that world, and you keep brushing her off.”

megan shakes her head, clearly wanting to pivot away from the topic. “mrs. baker called again today. she’s worried about her reading.”

you sigh. mrs. baker, josie’s kindergarten teacher. 

“i remember how the first meeting went, megan. i was there, remember?” you laugh, rubbing her arm soothingly. “josie’s still got time to figure it out before they go on diagnosing anything. she’s barely 5. give her time. you sound more worried than her teacher did.”

megan’s knits her brows, avoiding your gaze as she watches both kids on the ice. 

“i don’t want her to distract herself with hockey if she’s already at risk of falling behind in school.”

“meg,” you soften your voice, leaning you weight against hers. “it’ll be okay. let her try, we can support her. she won’t fall behind.”

“i don’t want her to beat herself up.” her voice drops into a rasp as you see her swallow down nervously. “i don’t want her to feel stupid.”

your heart aches thinking about baby megan, all those years beating herself up over struggles that were never her fault. you see how anxiously she projects forward, wanting so desperately to spare your guys’ daughter from the same fate, the same self-consciousness, the same lack of confidence.

“she won’t. give her a chance. she might thrive,” you reassure her. “having something she’s that passionate about might make her motivated to work harder.”

megan nods, pressing a kiss into your head. you feel her body relax against yours as you two lean together, watching the practices go on. “you’re right. i’m overthinking it.”

“she might be the next you,” you smile.

before you can say anything else, megan is motioning for the figure skating coach to pause, waving for your daughter to come over to where you guys are standing. 

“max, come here,” she calls out, leaning down on the wall to be eye-to-eye with your kids as they both skate over, their eyes wide in confusion. “josie, go borrow your brother’s gear.”

“are you benching me?” maxie asks anxiously. 

“would you rather go get a new book and hot cocoa with your mom?” megan asks, her voice soft, her eyes scanning over your son’s face as she chooses her words carefully. “would you rather not come back to practice?”

“i like hockey,” max says quickly, almost too quickly. your heart aches. you see megan in him too— nervous, kind-hearted, eager to be good, not wanting to hurt anyone.

“but do you love it?” megan pries gently, taking one of his hands in hers to comfort him.

“i would rather be reading, yeah,” max admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

megan is quick to take his chin gently in her fingers and lift his gaze back up to hers. “hey, hey, that’s okay. were you afraid to hurt my feelings by telling me that?”

“yes,” he admits sheepishly. 

“thank you for being kind, but thank you even more for being brave and telling me the truth,” she pulls his helmet off of his head and presses a kiss into the top of his sweaty hair. “go with your mom. i love you so, so much. you’re the coolest kid.”

the boy complies, coming off the ice and taking off his gear, handing each piece to his younger sister. “i was scared you’d be mad at me.”

you see megan’s face wrinkle in concern. she shakes her head, reaching down to give the little boy a tight, comforting hug.

“never ever. i love you with my whole heart. i can’t wait to buy you all the books in the world, dude,” she reassures him, nodding. “go give your sister your gear. your mom is waiting.”

you smile and reach out to your son, handing him his hoodie. he swipes it up eagerly and takes your hand, beaming excitedly.

“i heard you’ve been practicing on your own,” megan says as she kneels down, focusing now on helping josie put on all the gear. it’s a size too big, but it’ll do. “you ready to show me what you can do?”

“really?” josie’s eyes light up.

“these boys are bigger than you are,” megan warns, but she doesn’t sound worried. she sounds eager, proud. “think you can keep up?”

“yes,” the girl nods eagerly. 

“go show off,” she encourages, giving josie a push on the ice to send her towards the practice. “but no backflips! you’ll give me a heart attack.”

“boring,” she gripes, skating off. 

you can’t help but laugh. 

“she’s going to kill me,” megan groans, pinching the bridge of her nose.

you poke her in the cheek, letting max rest on the bench for a moment. 

“she’s karma for every single time you lashed out at one of your teammates. remember senior year?”

“yeah. alright, alright,” megan waves you off, rolling her eyes, but she pulls you in to give you a quick peck. you both watch as she boldly joins the drill as if she’s been doing it for years, quickly handling the stick and the puck with a confidence unmatched by most of the boys on the team.

“she’s a natural,” you beam proudly.

megan lets out a low whistle. “better than i was my first time on the ice.”

“i’ve always said she’s just a less anxious version of you,” you smile. “right down to the puppy dog eyes.”

megan grins back, wrapping an arm around your waist. “you love these puppy dog eyes.”

you look into those puppy dog eyes, the things that drew you in when you first met her, and the things you’re pretty sure were the first part of megan that you fell in love with, before the rest of her fell right into place inside your heart.

“being just like you won’t be the worst thing in the world, meg,” you tell her gently, you both watching as josie blasts past the other boys on the ice, handling the puck with unimaginable expertise. 

“at least college is paid for,” megan wrinkles her nose, letting out a sigh. “who knows. maybe some sucker will get roped into giving her their english class notes.”

“and then they fall in love with each other and become college sweethearts. and survive long distance, and get married. and have a super cute family with two kids and a crusty white dog,” you add on, wrapping your arms around her waist to pull her into a hug. 

“i got super lucky,” megan breathes, finally turning to look down at you.

“yes you did,” you grin back up at her. 

“i love you,” she tells you, kissing your forehead tenderly.

you admire her perfect face, looking back at your perfect daughter and your perfect son. your perfect little family, something you could have never pictured when you first met megan in your british literature class all those years ago.

you smile, reaching up for one more kiss.

“ditto.”

[thecorefrisk]

Um, here’s my suggestion to the DP fans who want to only DP content… why not make your own tag??

I’ll probably sound passive aggressive when saying this but I understand. It’s super frustrating trying to find content for one fandom and then seeing completely different content.

Why not make a ‘dp only’ tag? That way anyone could find any sort of Danny Phantom only content without having to scroll through countless of other works to get to it.

I get it, it’s much more easy to put up a wall than build a bridge but creating an entirely new tag for yourselves can also be a rather constructive choice!

(My only question is… why is this an issue now rather than earlier? Is this something a lot of DP fans have been already thinking or it more so a recent thing??)

—

Edit: I posted something similar in the comments and I have a reblog up for anyone to see but I’ll say it here as well! This post was likely founded in my own hurt!! I personally think it felt entitled for me to say, someone else said it sounded condescending. Those two things don’t exactly contradict each other!!

(But the condescension part might’ve been just my lack of understanding of how my words come across to others due to the autism thing, but y’know, no excuse unless my entire family also happened to die before I wrote this. Which did NOT happen if you’re wondering, I’m just scared they will and that’s like, super different.)

I have had a history of being pushed out of things and spaces in which I should’ve been accepted into (ex: autism spaces, other fandoms, friendships). I was trying to ‘nice’ and also give my own opinion at the same time. (A skewed opinion.) I knew the whole discourse made me feel… bad but I didn’t know where it came from and I just posted this in an impulsive decision.

Not necessarily to go ‘ha! Losers!’ But to put up sort of shield to defend myself. So, I am sorry. For the condescension and for the passive aggressiveness. I already knew that was a problem in my speech but I didn’t realize it was THAT bad.

Uhh, let me review the things I did wrong. (I like lists.)

First off, I disregarded a group of people’s feelings for my own. Second, I decided to ‘bring up a solution’ that was more so a half assed compromise which was likely already someone else’s suggestion as well. Third, I also just so ‘happened to forget’ that the DP tag… WAS your tag. That you should be able to go through it without someone else shoving content from a different fandom in your face in all directions.

I mean, if I want my feelings to be heard, I should be hearing other people’s feelings too. It’s not fair for me to bring up my own opinions, expect them to be taken as seriously as anybody else’s, and then not give that treatment. And also I should probably learn impulse control?? I think I have a grip on it unless I feel hurt. Otherwise I’m fine.

It was probably, to me, that the post I first saw about it made it feel like people were going ‘…get out?’ (The post I saw was one asking for people to exclusively use the DP x DC tag for those kinds of posts. Which, in itself, is actually not a bad idea and would allow for further freedom as people are allowed to be separate but connected to the DP fandom and perhaps even the DC fandom.)

Basically, I was projecting my own past trauma onto this random person who just felt frustrated they had to scroll past what felt like a million posts just to get to the fandom they wanted to see. And the kind of posts they saw, might’ve not been the kind that they wanted to see at all which is even more frustrating. They likely wrote in a moment of frustration and it kind of came off as such in their writing. But that doesn’t mean that my reaction is their fault in the slightest.

It means I had a reaction to something I felt was hurtful. I’ve written this line before but when I sat down and actually thought about it all it felt all the truer. ‘They aren’t trying to give you a bad time, they are having one’. I made it about me— which was not cool of me.

So, again, I am sorry. I hope this comes across as me actually taking accountability for my actions and not another passive aggressive fat amount of text like I fear it will be.

Thank you, though! To the people who were so, so nice in the comments. You weren’t, like, mean to me about this even though I was sounding pretty bratty. Some were a little frustrated but it was in a way that I could understand and your hearts were all in the right place. Because even though this seems very small— a fandom having a space on Tumblr to be able to see their own content— it gives people a place where they can meet people who like the same things and even make friends out of it. And you also expressed your thoughts in a way that I could get! Which was super sweet, thank you so much. :>

Mwah, mwah, love you!! 🫶🏼

[peppermint-monster]

Shino Aburame X Chubby Reader!

Warning: Cowgirl Position, Handjob, Hickey's, Fingering (Female receiving), Shino being a bit of a tease, Confession, Friends to Lovers, In Love Reader (You're literally ovulating for this man), FLUFF, Praise Kink, Mating Press Position, Dirtytalk, Nipple play, Virgin! Shino, Unprotected Sex, Basically, NSFW. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also, be mindful that I didn't really mention much of the reader's appearance (Besides, she's a female) since I wanted to keep it vague for everyone to relate as much as possible, though it is definitely for the more voluptuous side of ladies. 😊

Please be mindful that the photos are not mine, but the making of the collage is.

MINORS DNI!!!! 🔞🙅🏻‍♀️ If you're not comfortable with this, please ignore!

P.S. All characters are 18 and up.

It started with a shift.

With the man she’d known since they were both just genin.

Back then, he was the boy who rarely spoke, avoided eye contact, and kept himself hidden behind a high collar and dark-tinted glasses. He was mysterious and unreadable, like he belonged more to the shadows than the sun.

On the other hand, she had always been his opposite—loud, expressive, and relentlessly curious. She didn’t find his quiet nature intimidating, just… fascinating. A walking challenge wrapped in mystery.

So naturally, she made it her mission to get a reaction out of him.

Poking and prodding at his calm demeanor became her favorite pastime. Teasing him mercilessly, tossing out nicknames just to see if she could get a twitch of the lips or an eye roll.

“Mister Mute and Moody.”

“Bug Sage.”

“Cloakzilla.”

“You okay under there, Count Aburame?”

He never reacted much. Maybe a blink. A small adjustment to his glasses. Occasionally, a grunt that could almost pass for a laugh if you were paying close attention. She always was.

She’d laugh like a hyena at her own jokes while he continued doing whatever deeply focused Shino thing he was doing. But he never pulled away. Never shut her out. And maybe that’s why it felt so easy—natural, even—to keep him close.

Over the years, she became a constant in his quiet world. A presence he allowed in.

But adulthood changed things. Life got busy. Jobs took up time. Missions, work, distance—it all crept in. They saw each other less. Spoke even less than that.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t notice the shift right away.

Until that day.

The day she noticed everything.

She had always seen Shino as her weird best friend. The tall, quiet one. Stoic and cryptic, wrapped in layers of dark fabric, sunglasses perpetually in place like he might burst into flames if touched by direct sunlight.

But now…

Now he was standing taller. More confident. He’d grown into his height, broad-shouldered, composed. That high collar no longer swallowed him whole, and when she caught a rare glimpse of his face, she noticed sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, smooth skin, and lips that looked far too kissable for someone who barely used them.

Gone was the shy, elusive boy. In his place stood a man—quiet, yes, but assured. Intentional.

The coat that once drowned him now framed his physique perfectly, hugging his chest and arms. Even those ridiculous sunglasses somehow managed to look good on him now, catching the light just right. Like they belonged.

And his voice—deeper now, with a gravelly undertone that made her knees weak whenever he said her name. Calm, composed, steady—and infuriatingly hot.

Even his bugs had changed with him. They moved slower, more lazily across his skin when he was at ease, retreating when flustered, reflecting the subtle shift in his mood. She found herself watching them more than she should. Watching him more than she should.

She used to tease him endlessly.

Now? The jokes died on her lips whenever he looked at her too long. She stammered. Looked away. Her face burned way too easily.

She hated it.

Hated the way her thoughts turned inappropriate at the worst times—wondering what his voice sounded like first thing in the morning or how those long fingers would feel tracing parts of her no friend should be thinking about.

She was spiraling. And it was so obvious—to everyone but him.

...Or so she thought.

Kiba noticed first.

Of course he did.

He didn’t say anything to her, though. No, he went straight to Shino one afternoon during a break between missions, biting into a rice ball like it was just another day.

“So…” he said casually, mouth half full. “What’s going on with her?”

Shino blinked. “Who?”

“You know who,” Kiba muttered.

“She used to clown around you nonstop. Now? Barely teases you at all. Still gives everyone else hell, me included. But you? She gets quiet. Flustered, even.” He polished off the rest of his rice ball and pointed at Shino. “It’s funny, actually. She’s stuttering like Hinata did whenever Naruto walked by shirtless.”

Shino was quiet for a beat, adjusting his glasses like he always did when he was thinking.

Kiba raised a brow. “She’s totally into you,” he said flatly, just to see if he could get a rise out of his friend.

Shino’s face didn’t change, but his mind was clearly ticking.

“She’s… quieter,” he murmured.

“Exactly,” Kiba grinned. “That’s the point.”

-----

She stayed late one evening. The academy was quiet—students long gone. The usual excuse? Helping Shino with grading, like she often claimed.

Realistically?

She was just there for the company. For him.

Lately, she found more and more reasons to drop by—bringing snacks, making tea, or sitting cross-legged beside his desk, chatting about anything and everything. She talked his ear off, but Shino never complained. Not once did he seem annoyed.

And as always, at some point, she began to trail off.

Her voice softened. Her words thinned. Until silence took over—her eyes fixed on him. More specifically, on his hands. Long, veined, confident fingers sorting through lesson plans with ease. The calm in his expression, unbothered even by towering stacks of paperwork.

Maybe it was the way he pushed up his glasses, slow and casual, as if unaware that such a small action completely short-circuited her thoughts.

Lost in her little daydream, she didn’t realize how quiet she’d gone—until he spoke.

“You’ve changed,” he said, eyes still on the paper in front of him. “You don’t tease me anymore. No weird nicknames. No jokes about my coat. Not even a single bug pun in two weeks.”

She shifted awkwardly.

“I’ve just… matured.”

“Mm.” He hummed, then added, “Is that why you’ve been staring for the fourth time this week?”

She froze.

Her lips parted, voice caught.

“I have not—!”

“You were doing it just now.” Calmly, he set his pen down with careful precision, folding his hands atop the desk. “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he stood—slow and deliberate—and began walking toward her.

She instinctively stepped back, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Say it.”

He stopped just inches away from her. Her back pressed against the wall behind her as his hand rested beside her head. He didn’t touch her, but his close presence washed over her like a current.

Her breath hitched.

“S-Say… what?”

“Tell me.” His head tilted slightly, his voice quiet, unreadable. “What exactly were you thinking?”

“S-Shino…” She squirmed under the weight of his gaze, biting her lip.

“What was it?”

Her face burned. Her mind spun. Her hands pressed against his chest, solid and warm. Too firm. Way too firm.

She stammered, looking down. Shaking her head.

“It’s nothing important.”

“I’m patient,” he said, stepping just a bit closer. “And I’ve learned to listen between silences.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower.

“So say it. What’s been going through that pretty little head of yours? Your wildest thought.”

She bit her lip, trying to escape with a joke—but his gaze cut through her playfulness with unbearable calm.

“Use your words.”

Her throat tightened. Her eyes darted away from his. And finally, in a breathless whisper, she gave in.

“Fine,” she muttered. “You’re not supposed to be handsome, okay? You were supposed to stay my weird bug-boy best friend forever, not turn into this calm, grounded, actually pretty hot teacher who makes me imagine what you'd sound like losing your composure.”

Silence.

Not from tension, but from how still he became.

His eyes locked onto her—sharp, unreadable, and consuming.

“So,” he said softly, “you find me attractive now? And you’ve been thinking about what it would take… to unravel me?”

She nodded weakly, still trying to hide in his shadow.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

He leaned in—lips brushing her cheek, her ear, her jaw—and for a heartbeat, she swore he was going to kiss her.

She closed her eyes, tilted her chin up, and parted her lips.

But…

Nothing.

No warmth. No kiss.

Just stillness.

She opened her eyes to find him gone, already walking back to his desk, as if her confession had been a casual weather update.

“I should finish these before the evening’s over,” he said, voice steady, already uncapping his pen.

She stared at him, slack-jawed.

“You’re so mean!”

He didn’t even glance up.

“You jerk! I just confessed my deepest thoughts about you, and you’re sitting there like I asked if you’ve had lunch?!”

Still nothing.

“You made me say it! You cornered me and made me spill every unholy thing I’ve imagined about you—and now you’re just going back to grading?!”

She marched over to his desk and slammed her palms down on it.

“You don’t get to let someone confess and then go back to paperwork!”

Finally, he looked up. Calm. Unbothered.

“Are you finished?”

That hit a nerve.

“No!” she snapped. “Because I—”

But before she could finish, he stood. One hand reached out, curled behind her neck.

A firm pull—and the kiss she thought she’d get earlier came crashing into her. Only this time it was deeper. Rougher. Unapologetic. Like all the tension he’d been holding back, it erupted in one perfectly timed moment.

“You were loud again,” he murmured against her lips, voice low and sure. “I missed it.”

Her thoughts scattered like leaves. There was only one thing she was sure of now—it wasn’t an accident.

He planned this.

The bastard planned to leave her flustered and wanting, then kiss her while she was too angry to think straight.

“Y-You’re mean.”

He simply shrugged and turned back to his work.

“You’re the one who said I was distracting.”

-----

“Let’s grab something to eat,” Shino said casually a few days later, inviting his curvy friend like he hadn’t kissed her against his desk.

Just food. The two of them. Like always.

And yet… it felt different.

Of course, she said yes. It was her favorite spot—a cozy little eatery tucked behind the marketplace. Warm lighting. Quiet ambiance. Great food. They’d been there countless times.

But tonight, everything felt new.

On the way, she found herself walking closer than usual. Her arm brushed his—once, then again.

She didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

His scent—cedarwood and earth, something unmistakably his—lingered in the air, and she had the sudden urge to wrap herself around him. She didn’t, but her hand hovered near his. Her fingers twitched once, craving contact. Her eyes dropped to his hands—the same ones she’d admired for years.

Now that she’d felt them—grading papers, guiding insects, pulling her into a kiss—she wanted more.

She wanted all of him.

Not just as a friend. Not as a teammate.

She wanted his attention, the full weight of it.

Inside the restaurant, the warmth was comforting. They sat across from each other like always. She wore a soft smile she couldn’t wipe off, no matter how hard she tried to play it cool.

Shino hadn’t said much, but she caught the rare upward curl of his lips when she leaned in to steal a bite from his plate.

Familiar—but now charged with something electric.

Just as she was about to say something—

“Sensei!”

They turned toward the voice.

Three of Shino’s students stood nearby, grinning and carrying scrolls and skewers of street food.

“Shino-Sensei, is that your girlfriend?” one of them asked—loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear.

She choked on her drink. Eyes wide.

Shino blinked.

The kids didn’t let up.

“She’s so pretty! You never smile like that when we’re around!”

“Are you guys on a date?!”

Shino, ever composed, adjusted his glasses. “We’re simply having a meal.”

One of the kids snickered.

“Right. A meal where you’re sitting real close and she’s got hearts in her eyes.”

She was ready to protest—or die of embarrassment-but Shino calmly said, “It’s past curfew. You should head home.”

Groaning, the kids waved goodbye, tossing a final, “Have fun on your not-date, Sensei!” over their shoulders.

Once they were gone, she finally breathed again. She looked at Shino. He stared right back at her.

Then, unexpectedly, they both started laughing—quietly at first, then fuller, freer.

Why were they laughing?

Because truthfully… the kids weren’t wrong.

This was something new, and also wasn’t.

They’d always gravitated toward each other. Always teasing. Always lingering.

This closeness wasn’t sudden. It had been growing for years.

The only difference?

Now, they were finally letting themselves feel it.

And it was just the beginning.

The air outside is cooler now. Night has settled over the village, soft and still, with only a handful of people out on the main street.

The buzz of the restaurant faded behind them as she and Shino walked side by side once more—silent, yet undeniably connected.

Mentally telling herself, it was just like every other time. Just another meal and just another walk home. Shino was just being a gentleman, as he had done in the past.

But this time, she couldn't withstand just being close to him. Her fingers itch.

Every step makes her chest ache a little more because she wants to touch him. Not accidentally. Not subtly. She wanted to hold this man's hand. Leaned into his warmth and made up thousands of excuses to stay close by.

And this time, temptation got the upper hand. Not being able to stop herself.

Her hand reached out—almost without thinking—and gently tugged at the fabric of his sleeve.

She didn't say anything. But the look she gave him—soft, vulnerable, full of unspoken longing—was louder than any words she could've said.

Shino stops mid-step, glancing down at his sweet, curvy friend. His face was unreadable, but the sigh he let out was soft, almost amused—more like an exhale of surrender than annoyance.

He reached out and took her hand anyway, threading his long fingers through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment his hand wrapped around hers, she melted.

"You're persistent."

She gave him the tiniest pout. "You sighed like I was a handful."

"No." He said. "I sighed because you're bold when you want something."

Her face burned.

Without thinking, she leaned into his side, pressing her cheek against the curve of his bicep like she was trying to sink into him.

"W-well, you make it hard not to want more," she mumbled.

"Mn," he hummed. "I'm starting to notice that."

Her fingers tightened slightly around his.

"You're quieter than usual," he added after a pause. "That only happens when you're thinking too much."

"Maybe I am..."

"Softheart," Shino murmured, almost to himself.

"W-What?"

“You try to act like you’re teasing me, like you’re in control,” he said plainly. “But the moment I let you in a little… You melt. Getting soft on me.”

She let out a mortified whimper. “That’s not fair…”

“No. It’s accurate.”

She huffed against his sleeve, hiding her face further. "You're too calm about all of this."

"Someone has to be."

A few moments of silence passed, her cheek still pressed against him, her hands perfectly nestled in his. She didn't want to go home—at least not to her own. 

He glanced down, noticing how quiet she had become again. "Do you want to go home?" he asked, pausing before adding, "To mine." 

She nodded against his arm, her heart racing in her chest. "Yeah," she replied softly. "To yours." 

He didn't tease her this time. Shino simply gave her hand a gentle squeeze and continued walking, leading her there without saying another word.

-----

She had visited Shino's place many times before, but this time felt different. The quiet warmth of his home sent a buzz throughout her body, clouding her thoughts. She observed him moving with his usual precision and coolness, but something seemed off. 

He took a little longer to hang up his coat; his shoulders were stiffer, and he avoided her gaze. He was deep in thought, which could only mean one thing: she was on his mind.

“You’re quiet,” Shino finally said, breaking the silence without turning around.

“So are you,” she replied, her eyes fixed on his back. “Almost like you're nervous.”

“I’m not,” he said, a little too quickly.

That made her smile. Wide and warm. He finally turned to face her, and there it was: a crack in his composure. A slight pink rising up his neck, a furrow between his brows, and a stiffness in his stance that betrayed his heightened awareness.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” she asked, stepping closer.

“Used to what?”

“Feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

She paused right in front of him, her hands moving up his arms in slow, smooth strokes. He didn't grab her, but she could feel him tensing, breathing harder, and trying to maintain control.

She leaned in, brushing her lips over the shell of his ear and blowing gently. “Like I’m all you’ve been thinking about.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t flinch. But his lips parted, and nothing came out.

She had never seen Shino like this—so contained, so unreadable. And now, here he was, flustered and struggling to keep his calm. All because of her. It was adorable and undeniably hot. She couldn’t stop the small grin tugging at her lips.

“You’re usually better at hiding it,” she said softly, stepping closer.

“I’m not used to being looked at like that.”  

“Like what?”  

“Like I’m not allowed to breathe wrong, or you’ll pounce on me.”  

She chuckled softly, a hint of guilt in her tone. “Then I suppose I’m being a bit too obvious.”  

“Blatantly.”  

He shifted to the couch, leaning back with his legs slightly spread. His hand extended in invitation, not demanding, simply open. “Come here,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier timbre.  

She walked over and placed her hand in his. With a gentle yet firm pull, he guided her into his lap. Her palms rested against his chest for balance, their faces mere inches apart. One hand slipped to her hip while the other cradled her lower legs. Her hands moved tentatively to his shoulders, wrapping around the back of his neck as if anchoring herself to him.

Even in this intimate moment, he fought to maintain his composure, yet she caught the faint blush blooming under his cheekbones, the subtle hitch in his breath, and felt his thumbs drawing slow, soothing circles on her hip and leg as if to keep his own calm amidst the rising tension.

She leaned in and softly kissed his cheek, lingering longer than necessary. She repeated the gesture, each time gently sucking at the skin beneath his cheekbone. This finally earned her a reaction: a sudden inhale, his jaw tightening, and his thigh twitching beneath her. “You should know…” she breathed out, “I’m absolutely planning to ruin your concentration for the rest of the night.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, but she could feel his heart racing beneath her palm. She pulled back slightly and caught a glimpse of his restraint snapping, just a little. Now he held her close, as if he had been denying himself that right for far too long.

She gasped softly, thrilled by those hands on her, finally touching her the way she had been craving. He looked up at her, his jaw tight, ears slightly pink, and eyes heavy with desire. Without a word, one of his hands slid up to cradle her face. His thumb brushed her cheek, his palm warm. Then, he kissed her—slow, deep, and sensual. It wasn’t rushed or messy; it was the kind of kiss that made one feel chosen, as if all his silence was finally being transformed into something tangible that she could feel.

She whimpered against his mouth, losing her composure and melting completely. Unable to withstand even a simple kiss, she deepened it, asking for permission as she flicked her tongue against the seam of his lips. He granted it. His lips parted, and the moment their tongues touched, he groaned—deep and low, like the sound had come from a place he didn’t mean to share.

Their mouths moved in sync, tongues tangling, hot, wet, and slow. It was the kind of kiss that made her spine arch, fingers dig into his shoulders, and her whole body ache. He wasn’t gentle anymore. He was assertive, pulling her tighter, while her fingers found his hair, tangling and tugging, needing more of him.

Finally, she pulled back, panting softly, her lips swollen and her chest heaving. Saliva glistened on her lips, a thin thread still connecting them as the kiss broke. She didn’t speak; she couldn’t. The way he tenderly touched her burning cheek after their heated make-out session, his thumb brushing gently along her face, left her breathless.

She shifted off his lap, her breathing hitching when she felt it: his arousal, pressing and undeniable evidence of how much he wanted her. If Shino thought she was already needy before, he better guess again.

"You're already this worked up?" she teased softly, her voice dropping to a whisper. She stared at him in a daze, one of her hands cupping him through the fabric, feeling the heat of him—hard and heavy—beneath her palm.

He groaned, stripped of pretense, tilting his head back as he exhaled deeply, shaking it slightly. “You’re... overwhelming.”

“Good,” she replied, her lips still pressing against his cheek with a mischievous smile.

As he spoke, Shino surrendered to her lead, allowing her to explore him freely. Her palm glided slowly, pressing against him through his pants in a rhythm that ignited a trembling response in both of them. Instinctively, her thighs pressed together, seeking friction in a desperate dance fueled by an insatiable need. The warmth pooling low in her stomach intensified, becoming almost unbearable, while her overwhelming desire yearned for recognition, even as her attention remained focused on him.

His reaction—slack-jawed and with eyes darkened by barely contained control—told her everything she needed to know. She had breached his defenses, undoing him just enough to glimpse the depths beneath his cool, quiet exterior. But she wasn’t finished yet. 

“Does it feel good?” she asked, pressing a loving kiss to the corner of his mouth while her hand continued to move slowly and firmly.

He exhaled a soft, guttural sound caught between pleasure and awe. "You're dangerous when you're like this."

She giggled at the vulgar expression he was providing under her sweet touch. His mouth searched for hers, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matched her own. She moaned into his mouth, his tongue brushing hers as she felt his hand gliding between her thighs, his touch ghosting up the inside of her legs.

She didn’t expect him to be so bold; this wasn’t like Shino. But the heat of his touch, the quiet authority in the way he curled his fingers just under the edge of her clothes, past the soaked fabric of her panties, made her gasp. She quietly tried to conceal her burning face, using her free hand to muffle her shaky breath as his finger teased the edge of where she was dripping for him, just enough to have her knees shake and stay apart.

He didn't say anything at first, simply grabbing the hand that was muffling her and pinning it to her side before continuing to kiss her. His long, thick fingers explored her heat deliberately, circling slowly at her throbbing bud, teasing her reactions. Learning every twitch, breathless moan, and the way her hips rocked in response.

And still, her hand didn’t stop. She pulled his cock free, stroking him slowly as she left kisses all over his neck, leaving hickeys on his pale skin. She loved the way his face was already red, his breath ragged from gasps.

"Goodness, you're so hard for me, Shino," she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and seduction. "I love how you respond to my touch."

She was relentless, stroking him slowly, her thumb circling the sensitive tip, spreading the bead of precum that had formed there. She could feel his body respond, his hips rocking harshly as she rubbed the tip of his cock, teased the slit with no mercy, and slipped a hand under his shirt. Brushing a palm over the warm skin of his stomach, her fingers trailed higher to what made her breath catch: firm, defined muscles. All of it, toned.

Her eyes widened slightly as she pushed his shirt up and revealed smooth skin, the hard cut of his torso, and the distinct outline of his abs.

“What the hell…” She whispered, stunned. “You’ve been hiding all this under those big coats?”

Shino looked away, clearly flustered. But she couldn’t help herself. Her hand roamed higher, reverent and hungry, smoothing over his chest. She leaned forward, lips brushing the center of his chest, and tilted her head, her mouth finding his nipple, her tongue teasing before drawing it gently between her lips.

He gasped, sharp and barely restrained. One of his hands flew to her waist again, gripping tight. She sucked softly, slow and deliberate, then grazed it with her teeth just enough to make his breath stutter.

“You’re really full of surprises,” she murmured, her lips brushing his skin.

She kissed lower, then returned to his chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses along every inch she uncovered, tasting him, adoring him. His fingers were thick, so much thicker than she expected. Long and strong, calloused just enough to make the drag of skin against her most sensitive places send sparks throughout her body. Every stroke made her clench around nothing. Her hips ground down against his hand, instinctively chasing friction, but all it did was make her more aware of how big his hands were and how warm and how utterly perfect they were pressed between her thighs.

"S-Shino~ I think about your hands too much," she breathed, not even realizing the confession was spilling out. She continued to stroke his meaty length. "What they'll feel like... touching me like this. How strong they are and how thick your fingers are..."

Her own words made her shiver and made him still for half a breath before his fingers moved again. Going deeper this time, past her puffy folds and sinking into her warm, slick heat.

"So this is what you've been thinking about," he murmured, low and unbearably pleased. "All that babbling. All those excuses to stay late... just waiting for my hands?"

She nodded wordlessly, her nails digging into his bunched-up shirt as her own hand slowed, unable to focus while he thrust two fingers deep within her. "And now that you have them?" he asked, dragging his fingers against her G-spot. "Is it everything you imagined?"

"Yezch..." she slurred out pathetically.

Shino chuckled at her sex-dazed face, unable to help himself from gripping her chin and bringing her forward to leave open-mouthed, passionate kisses. His tongue swirled around hers as moans left her lush lips. Shino's hands weren't idle either. He was beginning to know her body like the back of his hand, and he used that knowledge to drive her wild, his touch sending waves of pleasure crashing through her, milking him for everything he was worth.

As her eyes rolled to the back of her head, she pressed her upper body so close that her breasts pressed against his chest while his fingers were still between her thighs, continuously getting aggressive pounding. There was no denying the slick, steady heat that covered his fingers, not just damp but dripping. Soaking through her underwear and trailing down the inside of her thighs and into his palm as he cups her firmly.

"Dripping," he muttered to himself, staring in awe at the aftermath in his hand. "All this... just for me?"

"Hm..." She couldn't even find the words to respond, her thigh trembling from the way he stroked her with a touch that felt more possessive than teasing. But she wanted more. Now she desired to see him unravel.

Biting her lip when feeling his hip thrust up into her hand, seeking more friction. The way she could feel his cock throbbing, his body trembling with need. She squeezed the base of his length, feeling him pulse and twitch in her grip.

She leaned in, her lips firmly grazing his earlobe as she commanded, "Not yet, Shino. You’ll wait until I say so." He released a low growl, his body trembling with the struggle to contain himself. She sensed his desperation, his need, and it only motivated her further. She was determined to push him over the edge, eager to watch him shatter in her hands.

She loosened her grip from the base of his shaft, her hand moving with a purposeful, unyielding rhythm. Her thumb traced circles around his sensitive tip, alternating between long, slow strokes and short, teasing ones, feeling him leak and slick his hard length. "You're so close, aren't you?" she murmured, sensing his body tensing, his breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. She knew exactly how close he was.

Leaning in, her hand wandered to his chest, her fingers dancing over his nipple, teasing it until she felt it harden and twitch under her touch. She began to play with it, tugging, rolling, and toying with his sensitive pecs while her mouth trailed kisses along the side of his neck and jawline. She reveled in the way his muscles jumped under her hands, the way his thighs tensed every time she pinched. She licked his nipple, slow and wet, drawing it out, and he groaned deeply, his chest arching into her mouth involuntarily.

And with that, he was undone. His body tensed, and with a final, firm stroke, the girl of his dreams pushed him over the edge. He came undone, shooting ropes of cum onto her hand, a hot, messy release.

They both subsided then, their bodies entwined, breaths syncing as they came down from their high. When she pulled back to look at him, she saw it: eyes heavy-lidded, head leaned back, and a thin strand of drool slipping from the corner of his parted lips. He was so lost in the sensation of her that his body had stopped pretending. Every breath was ragged. Every twitch of his hips beneath her was pure instinct, not thought.

She bit her lip, watching him drool from the intensity of his pleasure. The sight was intoxicating. She leaned in, slowly swiping her thumb over the drool on his jaw, tilting his face to meet hers. He blinked, dazed, finally noticing the intimate smirk that played on her lips.

“You’re drooling, baby,” she whispered, her lips brushing his cheek, her voice thick with desire.

His eyes widened for a split second, then flicked away, embarrassed, like he hadn’t meant to let go that far. “You—” he exhaled, his voice broken. “You’re… relentless.”

“Only because you’re so damn sexy when you fall apart,” she whispered, kissing just beneath his ear. “You’re letting me feel all of you. It’s turning me on like crazy.”

She felt his cock twitch, knowing she had him right where she wanted him. Looking down at the semi-hard member still in her hand, she was shocked to see a mixture of his bugs in his cum.

She gasped, her eyes wide with fear. "Oh my God! I killed them!" Panic surged in her voice, and Shino could sense her distress. 

With a gentle smile, he took her hand and pressed it to his chest, allowing the bugs to reembed themselves with him. "They're fine," he reassured her softly, hoping to calm her racing heart. "Are you sure?" she asked, uncertainty still flickering in her gaze.

"I promise," he said tenderly, kissing away her worries with a gentle touch of his lips against hers. "Now, where were we?" he asked, his voice deepening with warmth and affection, ready to ease her fears.

-------

The room was enveloped in darkness, the only light coming from the gentle glow of the moon outside. In that moment, it felt like enough. 

The air was heavy with anticipation, filled with the sweet scent of their shared desire. Her heart raced as she followed Shino, a blend of longing and nervousness coursing through her. She could sense the tension in his muscles, a reflection of their unspoken connection, as he guided her toward his bedroom.

Standing at the foot of his bed, she felt a whirlwind of emotions. As his long-time friend and secret admirer, this was a moment she had dreamed of but was now filled with a mix of hope and vulnerability. With a soft, sincere whisper, she poured out her heart: "Shino, I can't hold back any longer. I want you. I've always wanted you. And now, it feels like we finally have the chance to be together."

Shino's response was a mere whisper, but it held a world of meaning: "Then take off my clothes."

Her hands shook with anticipation and nervous energy as she complied, her fingers tracing his skin as she slowly peeled away each layer of clothing. She took a moment to admire his body, her eyes roaming over his toned chest rising and falling rapidly with each eager breath, his nipples hardening under her gaze, and the defined abs that led her eyes down to his hips.

Shino stood before her, completely exposed and vulnerable, his cock hard and ready, the tip glistening with pre-cum, a testament to his arousal.

With a soft, encouraging smile, Shino reached out, his fingers gently brushing against her cheek. "Now, it's your turn," he whispered, his voice a mix of shyness and raw desire.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she quickly began to undress, her clothes falling to the ground in a soft heap. She stood before him in just her panties, her body flushed with arousal, her nipples tight and aching for his touch.

With a playful yet determined smile, she gently pushed him onto the bed. Shino's eyes were glued to her as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them off, her arousal glistening on her thighs. She straddled him, her soft, thick thighs pressing against his hips as she leaned down to kiss him, her body shaking with anticipation. She ground against his erection, feeling his length press along her entrance, both of them moaning at the contact.

Shino's eyes fluttered shut, his head jerking back as a low, guttural moan escaped his lips. "This...this is my first time," he confessed, his voice filled with shock and vulnerability, his face a picture of nervous excitement.

She paused, surprise and tenderness washing over her. She had known Shino for a long time, aware of his introverted nature and his tendency to keep to himself, but the idea that he was a virgin had never crossed her mind.

A profound sense of tenderness and protectiveness enveloped her. She offered him a soft, reassuring smile, her thumbs gently circling his wrists as she held his hands and rested them against the bed frame. "It's okay, Shino. We'll take this nice and slow," she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity and love.

Seeing the genuine care and desire reflected in her eyes, he nodded slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. With newfound confidence, she reached down, positioning him at her entrance. She ran his length along her slick folds, coating him in her wetness, before finally, slowly sinking down onto him. They both moaned deeply as he filled her, inch by inch, the sensation intense and overwhelming. His virgin cock stretched her, the pace slow and deep, allowing them both to savor every second of their connection.

Shino let out a low cry, his body trembling with need and anticipation. 

"Please," he begged, his voice hoarse with desire. "I want to touch you. I need to feel you."

She shook her head, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she leaned down and captured his lips in a heated kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth as she continued riding him.

"Hmm," He moaned into her mouth, his hips bucking up to meet her movement, his cock throbbing inside her with a primal intensity. She could feel her own arousal coating him, the wet sounds of their union filling the room like a symphony of desire. Shino's breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, every muscle taut and ready to explode.

Breaking the kiss, she pulled away, her breath coming in short, panting gasps. Her hands still held his in a firm grip, confining him to her will. "You still want to touch me?" She teased, her voice breathless and laced with a playful challenge. "Still want to feel my curves, don't you, Shino?"

Loving the way his eyes darkened with desire and his eager nod, she leaned in to nip at his earlobe, her voice a sultry whisper. "Then beg for it."

"Please," Shino pleaded, his voice shaking with urgency. "I just need to touch you, to understand that I'm not dreaming. Just for a moment, I beg."

Her heart swelled with a mix of triumph and affection, seeing him so utterly consumed by her. She released his hands, allowing him to wrap his arms around her, pulling her down to him completely. Shino's hands roamed her body with a newfound hunger, exploring every curve, his touch gentle yet firm, as though committing every inch of her to memory.

"Shino~" She moaned, her body arching into his touch as she continued to move her hips, their bodies slick with sweat and desire. She felt one of his hands cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.

Taking advantage of her momentary loss of control, Shino, with a newfound confidence and strength, flipped them over. He positioned her legs on either side of his arms, opening her fully to him. With a growl, he began to pound into her, his hips moving with a primal rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of her with ease, her juices overflowing around him. He thrust into her with purpose, his hips moving in a rhythm that left both of them breathless, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room.

Leaning down, his hot breath against her ear, he whispered sinful, dirty words, his voice a low, growling purr. "You're so tight, so wet for me. Your body was made for mine. Made to take my cock, to milk me for every last drop."

She was amazed at how this once-virgin boy could take control so effortlessly, his body moving with a grace and power that left her spellbound. “Shino," she moaned, her nails digging into his back, leaving red marks on his skin as she held on for dear life. 

"This isn't teasing anymore," She pants softly, barely holding herself together. "This-This is... dangerous."

His weight pressed her into the mattress as he gripped her ass, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, leaving bruises on her skin.

"Then let's stop pretending we're afraid of it," he declared, his words hitting her like a lightning bolt. They pierced through her clouded mind. This is what she wants: the bold honesty she had longed for and desired.

With a sudden, powerful thrust, he pull her body deeper onto his cock with each movement. Her body stretched to accommodate his full eight and a half inch length as her orgasm built, her body tensing and toes curling as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her cunt milking him for all he was worth.

And Shino followed soon after, his body shaking as he buried himself completely, holding her body against him, his cock throbbing deep inside her, shooting load after load of his hot, thick seed into her willing, eager hole.

With a final, powerful thrust, he collapsed on top of her, their bodies slick with sweat, as their breath came in ragged, satisfied pants.

In the aftermath, the room was filled with a thick, heady scent of sex and sweat, the air heavy with the evidence of their passionate encounter. Her fingers lazily combed through Shino’s damp hair, gentle and slow. He lay sprawled across her, head resting over her chest, arms around her waist, fully relaxed in a way she’d never seen before.

She sighed softly, her other hand trailing along the curve of his back, fingertips brushing the dip of his spine.

“That was… amazing,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. A little stunned. A little dreamy.

"You're so sexy," she confessed, her voice filled with desire and admiration.

Shino didn’t say anything right away. He just hummed low in his throat, nuzzling deeper against her skin, his breath warm against her chest. His grip around her waist tightened, like he wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Shino blinked. Sexy? Him?

Not precise. Not disciplined. Not reserved. Sexy.

That was not a word he was used to hearing attached to himself.

A surprised breath escaped him, followed by a soft laugh, a warm, low sound from the base of his throat.

She pouted instantly.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

He shook his head slowly, eyes meeting hers, unreadable and soft at once. His lips curved with quiet amusement.

He lifted his head just enough to look at her, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, so rare, playful, and dangerous in how devastatingly soft it made him look.

“Because,” he said quietly, “you’re still watching me. And completely melting from the slightest attention I’m giving you.”

She opened her mouth to argue—to deny it, deflect, or defuse.

But nothing came out.

Because he was right.

The way she trembled just from the weight of his gaze. The way she kept brushing her fingers through his hair just to feel him closer. The way her thighs instinctively pressed around his hip when he shifted against her.

He chuckled again, softer this time, and leaned in close until his lips hovered just above hers.

He whispered, "My sweet… Softheart," against her lips before kissing her. This kiss was slow and deep, unlike the teasing ones before; it conveyed his love and respect. A kiss is meant to express admiration.

She melted instantly, sighing as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her fingers curled into his skin, as if he were something truly special. Her chest moved closer to him, and her mouth opened beneath his, as if her entire being was meant to hold him close.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. He lingered, his lips still brushing against hers, his breath warm as he looked into her eyes. She felt dazed, flushed, and was breathing shallowly.

“Shino…” she breathed, her voice trembling with desire—soft, heavy, and raw. The way she said his name and looked at him—her eyes filled with lust and affection—made it seem like he was the only thing in her world.

Desire surged through him in a hot pulse, sharp and sudden.

He felt himself harden again, the ache stirring against her thigh. The tension was undeniable and intensified with every second she locked eyes with him, a clear indication that she wanted him again.

Shino felt his breath catch in his throat, his composure fraying with each moment that passed. His voice emerged low and gravelly, charged with an undeniable intensity. 

“Then say it.” His gaze was steady and unwavering, reflecting the powerful pressure of his body against hers. “Tell me you want me…”

The air between them thickened, pulsating with desires. Her breath trembled as her hands gripped his shoulders, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest.

He stood firm, patient, and open, fully aware of the effect he had on her. He didn’t push—he didn’t need to. 

This was her moment to decide. 

After all the built-up tension and longing, would you really leave him in suspense, or finally express the desires that burned within yourself?

[redux-iterum]

Can we have some fun facts about Whitestorm, Redtail, Speckletail, or Bouldernose? I really like their characters and seeing as most are gone, and Bouldernose isn’t likely to get more screen time, I thought now would be a good time to ask. If you don’t want to that’s a-okay!

I really do appreciate the effort, complexity, and life that you poured into these characters! All of them seem like their own person with goals that I would be willing to read a book about!

Thank you for the kind words! Let me see...

Whitecloud has never once wanted to be in charge of anything, but he was very aware of how good he was at being a leader. And what sort of fool would he be not to utilize those skills with an apprentice or an entire Clan? He would've been content never making it to even deputyhood, honestly, but ThunderClan needed him more than ever, so by golly was he willing to step up.

As a side note, he never raised his voice. He spoke mostly in a quiet, lax rasp that was somehow nonetheless easy to hear. Yelling at Fireheart to escape with Cinderpaw was the first time in years he had actually shouted, and it hurt his throat when he did it.

Redtail, I've always imagined to be pretty short for a ThunderClanner, as well as long-bodied and long-tailed. He was compared as a kit and apprentice to a weasel more than once. Not that that really bothered him. He was good at rolling with jokes and comments that would've thrown anyone else off.

Another side note: his body made it down the river all the way past RiverClan territory, was picked up by an unusually kind human when he snagged on a fallen tree close to shore, and buried on that human's property that the river ran alongside. Thankfully, he rests in a small grove, shadowed by trees. It did take him a second to find StarClan, given just how far away he was from the territories, but he was never at risk of becoming a wraith - he didn't know that Tigerclaw was the one to push him in, so he assumed it was a rogue and ran his way home, barely taking time to look around at his new surroundings and enjoy the view. He should have. It's a very pretty place.

As we've mentioned before on this blog, Speckletail's father was deputy before her, and likewise didn't make it to leadership. She is delighted and amused in StarClan that her son is deputy now too. Also immensely proud of him, but amused.

Speckletail herself had probably the most "buddy" relationship with her apprentice, Mousefur, when the two were training. Like, they didn't feel like a typical teacher and student. They felt like old friends with a few years' difference in age. They got along really well all throughout Mousepaw's apprenticeship. It likely led to Mousefur being as chill and practical as she is.

Finally, Bouldernose is good with kids. Shockingly good. He isn't allowed near the younger kittens (better safe than sorry with a newcomer tom), but apprentices and near-apprentices all like him greatly, and he likes them in return. He's also pretty good with making up stories as he's telling them, so when it's a rainy day or the kids are bored, they'll go to him and he'll whip up a tale about a cat with rabbit ears that whispered secrets to reeds. It's always weird random premises like that. The apprentices love it.

Final extra info! The Aulmir doesn't really allow for good tracking or use of one's nose thanks to the nasal cacophony that is the streets. Too many really strong scents to keep track of or identify. It overwhelmed him at times. Now that he's out in the wild, he can make very good use of his sharp senses (particularly his nose) and has a ball learning about all the new things he can smell and see out here. He's doing great, basically.

That's about all I got! I hope that sufficed.

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 12

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 6.3k+

Note: This is a bit disjointed :/ but i hope you still like it!!

xxx

I slump against the back of the couch, my legs still sore from the night out. It's quieter than it’s been in days, and I finally have a second to breathe, to think.

The couch I'm sitting on now isn't the same as it used to be. It’s still the same cushions, the same fabric, but it feels all wrong. Too stiff. Too empty. I can feel the weight of every moment that’s passed since I last found myself stretched out here, back when I didn’t have to think twice about being here. Back when it was just… home.

I used to walk into George’s flat, plop down on this couch without a second thought. It was my refuge. The place I could always count on, even after a rowdy night out or a long, tiring trip from Manchester. The blankets never stayed in place, the pillows were always slightly off-center, but none of that mattered. It was perfect in its imperfection, and it made me feel like I belonged here.

But now, as I sink into the worn cushions, it feels like I’m sitting in someone else’s space. The couch hasn’t changed, but everything else has. I can’t quite get comfortable. The fabric feels foreign under me, like I’m sitting in a place that’s been claimed by someone else. Maybe that’s what it is—this couch doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It hasn’t felt like it in a long time.

And the worst part? It’s not just the couch. It’s us. George and me.

Back then, this couch was ours. It held the weight of all our unspoken jokes, our easy conversations, the kind of talks that only happen when you’ve known someone so long you don’t have to try anymore. But now? Now, this couch is Switzerland with a throw blanket. Neutral. Safe, but in a way that doesn’t matter. We’ve become strangers, tiptoeing around each other, avoiding the things that matter most.

The cushions press into me, but they don’t comfort me anymore. I can’t help but wonder if the couch misses me. Or maybe it’s not about the couch at all. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just holding onto something that’s been gone for a while, like this space, this life I once knew, but don’t know how to live in anymore.

I sigh, looking around the room. Everything feels off

London doesn’t feel like home.

I’ve been here long enough now that I should feel more rooted, right? But something about this place still feels so... foreign. The city is too big, too busy. Everyone's on a mission, too preoccupied with themselves to care about the newcomer trying to carve out a little space in it all.

And George—well, George was always too preoccupied. Too busy with his own life to care about mine. He never introduced me to his friends—not properly, anyway. I was just the girl who showed up sometimes, drifting in and out of the background of his nights, the one who sat quietly on the couch, the one who hung out in the kitchen while everyone else made plans. I don’t even think he noticed how I ended up alone when he was off with his mates, disappearing into the crowd like I was just another fixture in the flat.

There was that one party—Calfreezys? During my first two weeks in London. The one where he took me, thinking it would be fun, and then basically ghosted me the entire night. I stood in the corner, nursing my drink, watching everyone else laugh and mingle, while George was in his element, making jokes with his friends, slipping into his world like I wasn’t even there. He didn’t bother to introduce me properly. Just a quick, “This is YN,” before turning away, as if the rest didn’t matter.

I tried to laugh it off then, tried to convince myself I didn’t care. But deep down, I knew. I knew I wasn’t part of it. That night, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be, but it felt like a cold reminder.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm just a visitor. Like this place is temporary, but I can’t even tell if that’s because I’m waiting for something to change or because I’m waiting for myself to find the courage to leave.

I know I’ve harped on about this for the entire time I’ve been here, but I can’t shake it. The loneliness is sinking into my bones, creeping up like a cold draft that I can’t escape, no matter how many layers I put on. It’s more than just being by myself—it’s the constant hum of the city that never slows, the sea of faces that I’m never a part of, the noise that only makes me feel more invisible.

I didn’t think it would feel like this. I didn’t think I would feel this... lost.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s just the city, or if it’s me. Maybe I’ve gotten so used to hiding behind jokes, behind distractions, behind whatever George and his mates thought I should be that I don’t know how to not be alone anymore.

But... Will.

Will is the only thing that almost feels like home. The way he holds me when it’s just us, how his arms wrap around me like they were always meant to. The way he makes me laugh when the weight of everything feels like it’s pulling me under. When he’s around, everything feels a little bit simpler. Easier. And for the first time in ages, I don’t feel so...

alone.

Yet at the same time, he’s also the one thing I can't quite fit into place.

There’s always this distance between us. Not in the way we talk or the way we touch, but in the way we never quite ask the deeper questions. He doesn’t ask too many of them. He doesn’t expect much from me, either. He’s content to let things flow, to leave things unsaid, and maybe that’s part of why it works—or why it feels like it works. But I can feel it—the quiet uncertainty. This weird in-betweenness we’re both floating in, unsure of what comes next, both of us reluctant to make it anything more than what it is. We haven’t labeled it, haven’t defined it. And part of me is fine with that. It’s easier this way.

Still, when I’m with him, it’s like there’s a quiet truth between us. Something unspoken but understood. No matter the silence or the tension, there's this strange comfort in knowing that we’re both feeling the same thing... or at least, I think we are.

But god, it’s so much fun. I’ve not had this much fun in so long.

Exploring each other—emotionally, physically—everything feels so new, like we’re testing the boundaries of something neither of us fully understands yet. It’s light, it’s playful, it’s intense in a way I never imagined. I don’t know if we’ll ever have it figured out, but for now, I don’t care. I just want to keep laughing, keep making memories with him—before the inevitable question of what happens next arrives.

But for now, I’m lost in the moment—lost in the way he looks at me, the way we make each other feel alive—and I don’t want to think about what’s coming next, not yet.

xxx

I don’t know when it became a secret, exactly. It’s not like Will and I sat down and drafted a pact over takeaway noodles. No one said, “Let’s hide this from the group.” But it’s sort of happening anyway.

Quiet texts. Late-night Ubers. Him slipping out of the flat before anyone else wakes up.

And when someone—usually George—asks where I’ve been, I say something vague. “Just at Ruth’s.” Or, “Stayed at a mate’s.”

Not always a lie. But not the truth, either.

And Will doesn’t call me out on it. He just… plays along.

Like it’s a bit. Like it’s part of the fun.

Maybe it is. Maybe it started that way.

We've only just crossed that line, after all. We’re new. Unlabelled. Fragile in the way new things are. Keeping it to ourselves made it feel easier. Lighter. Like we could enjoy it without having to explain it.

Without giving everyone—George included—a reason to dissect it. Because if we say something, it becomes a thing. And things in their friend group? They don’t stay quiet for long. Everyone has opinions. Everyone likes to joke. Everyone has a social media platform that something could accidently be spilled to.

And Will and I… we don’t even know what this is yet. So we keep it close.

Private.

Ours.

Still— There’s a part of me that feels weird about it. Like I’m sneaking around when I shouldn’t have to. Like the other night, when I got home late and George asked where I’d been. I said “just at Ruth’s” before I could think twice. His expression didn’t change much, but something about the way he looked at me made my stomach twist.

Not because I think he knows. But because I hate the way part of me still cares what he thinks. And maybe that’s what I’m trying to avoid.

The commentary. The comparisons. The questions that would come if people knew. Like, “I thought you and will didn’t get along?” Or worse—“Wait, is this why things have been weird with George?”

It’s not.

At least, I don’t think it is. But the truth is… Will and I are figuring it out. We’re still laughing our way through the awkward bits.

Maybe I’m afraid of George finding out because I still care what he thinks.

Maybe it’s because some part of me is still bitter he didn’t want me, and now I don’t want him to think I moved on so fast—like I never meant it.

Like I was just lonely.

Or maybe it’s because I’m scared that if I say it out loud—“Will and I are a thing, kind of”—

then it will be a thing.

And I don’t know what the hell I’d do with that.

xxx

Will and I fumble into my flat like we’ve broken in, like the night is something we’ve stolen and have to spend fast before anyone notices.

He hasn’t been back here since that night—since he kissed me with all our friends just one room over, like he couldn’t help himself. Like it didn’t matter.

It kind of did, though. Everything felt a little too loud after that.

I don’t know how we ended up here tonight. He has his own place. He lives alone. That’s the whole benefit of dating a man who doesn’t share walls with three other YouTubers and a collection of mystery tripods.

But I was finishing late at work. He offered to wait. We had a drink. And then another. And I guess when you have three glasses of wine with your pub dinner and he’s looking at you like that, you start thinking sleeping together in a flat with three roommates and paper-thin walls is actually a good idea.

Spoiler: it’s not. But right now I don’t care.

His hands are on my waist. We’re both slightly uncoordinated—half tripping over my trainers, knocking into the IKEA shoe rack that’s somehow always loose on one side. He’s laughing into my neck like this is all funny, like we are funny, and I love that. I love that we can’t quite walk in a straight line around each other.

He presses me against the door just as it clicks shut behind us, and I feel it—that slow, heavy thrum of want. Familiar now, but never dull. It’s always a little new with him. A little dangerous in the best way.

“I thought we were going to yours,” I murmur against his jaw, already breathless. Only now realising just how silly of a plan this is.

Will grins, unbothered. “You looked like you needed saving, and your flat is closer.”

I huff a laugh. “So this is charity work now?”

He leans in, breath warm against my ear. “Public service.”

I roll my eyes, but he’s already grinning like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I kiss him to shut him up—hard and fast—but it backfires. His hands slide under my shirt like he’s been waiting hours, not minutes, palms warm and greedy against my skin. Like we’ve got all the time in the world and I've got no flatmates.

Then I’m pinned against the kitchen counter. My breath hitches, my heart racing a little faster than it should. Instinctively, my hand goes back, steadying myself against the cool granite. Of course, this means I knock into the spice rack.

A few jars tumble, crashing into the sink with a clatter that feels way too loud for a moment like this.

“Will,” I hiss, breath catching as his fingers toy with the clasp of my bra. “We’re in the kitchen.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Flat’s quiet,” he says, like that’s all the justification he needs to get me half-naked next to the toaster.

I bat his hand away, half-laughing, half-scandalized. “You’re out of your mind.”

He smirks, that devilish cocky grin making my heart stutter. “You’re into it.”

Before I can protest again, my hands are on his wrist, tugging him toward my room. My breath hitches. My self-control is about to completely combust.

“Will,” I snap, glancing nervously toward the hallway. “Someone could walk in.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even hesitate. The smirk on his lips is pure mischief, but his eyes—they’re all hunger now. “Then you better hurry up and take me somewhere I can do this properly.”

I don’t think twice. I grab his wrist again, this time pulling him into my room with a sense of urgency that only makes everything feel worse—in the best possible way.

God help us if George’s door is open.

My door clicks shut behind us, and the hum of the hallway light fades as Will crowds me back toward the bed—my bed, crammed between boxes of ring lights, tangled cables, and a monitor that hasn't been turned on in months.

We are pressed up against the door like criminals hiding a body — except the crime is tongues and poor impulse control.

Its starts like it always does with Will—messy, impulsive, like we might both think better of it if we paused for even a second. It's familiar now, reckless in a way I didn’t expect to crave.

I grip the edge of his hoodie, dragging him closer, and my back hits the edge of the mattress, half-covered in unfolded laundry. He laughs against my mouth when he knocks over a ring light leaning against the wall. The light hits a case of old tripods, and something inside rattles, loud in the quiet.

"Jesus, your room's a death trap," he mutters, voice low.

"It’s not mine. It’s a glorified storage unit with a bed," I whisper back, tugging him down by his collar. He comes willingly, all heat and hands and that annoyingly cocky smirk. "But t’s fine. If anything falls on us, we die doing what we love," I whisper, trying not to grin.

He raises an eyebrow. "Shagging in a storage cupboard?"

“Something like that.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I forget where the joke ends. His hand slides beneath my shirt, warm against my skin, and I lean into it, into him. The room smells like dust and laundry detergent and the faint citrus of his shampoo.

I can hear George’s voice faintly from the next room. Something about editing. He's probably still up, headphones around his neck, furrowed brow, legs crossed in that way he does when he’s hyper-focused.

And I hate that I notice.

Even now.

Will's hand skims my waist, fingers brushing skin where he's pushed my shirt out of the way. I suck in a breath, not from surprise—I've gotten used to this routine with him—but from how easy it is to forget everything when his mouth finds the side of my neck.

"You're thinking again," Will murmurs, pulling back just enough to search my face.

"I'm not," I lie. He knows I am. He just doesn't press.

My suitcase is still half-unzipped in the corner. Clothes spill out of it like I never really decided to stay. Like I was waiting to see how it would feel here before committing to drawers.

Will’s hand slides into my hair, tugging gently as he kisses me again—deeper this time. I let myself fall into it. His mouth. His weight. The scratch of his stubble against my cheek like an anchor, grounding and familiar. His knee nudges between my thighs, and my breath catches, involuntary and aching.

And then, Laughter, through the wall.

George.

Followed by another voice—female, warm, soft in a way that immediately twists something sharp in my chest.

I go still. Will notices. Of course he does. His thumb brushes my cheek, his voice low, gentle, lips ghosting mine.

“You good?”

I nod too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, just—” But my pulse betrays me. I can hear George. Probably still perched at his desk, headphones half-off, hoodie hanging loose the way it always does when he gets lazy about the heating. He’s probably tapping his foot, laughing at something on screen, completely oblivious to the way his voice still curls like smoke into the corners of my room.

Will doesn’t move. Doesn’t pressure. He just presses his forehead to mine with a soft sigh, like he already knows where my head is trying to wander.

“We can stop,” he says quietly. “If you’re not in it.”

But I am.

I shake my head, firmer this time. “No, no, please. I want this. Want you.”

It comes out muffled, tangled between kisses, but I mean every word. My mouth is on his again before I can second-guess it—desperate, certain, like I’m trying to prove it with my teeth.

Will makes a quiet sound against my lips, somewhere between a breath and a groan, and it lights something in me. He pulls me closer, like he’s been holding back and I’ve just unlatched something in him. His hand slides down my back, anchoring, fingers curling at the hem of my shirt like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

“I mean it,” I whisper, and this time I pull back just enough to look at him, eyes searching his face, trying to make sure he knows. “fuck, please, right now, I just—need you.”

Will’s expression shifts—softens and sharpens all at once. Like he’s letting himself believe me. Like I’ve just answered a question he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask.  

His forehead presses to mine again, and for a second, we just breathe there. No rush. No pretending.

Then he kisses me—slower this time. Sure. Reverent in a way that feels like he’s thanking me without saying a word. His hands are everywhere now, but careful, always careful. Like I’m something worth holding right.

And maybe I am.

I want to be.

I want him.

Not just because he’s here and George isn’t.

Not because he’s warm and beautiful and knows exactly how to touch me like I’m something worth figuring out.

But because when he looks at me, it’s real. Solid. No second-guessing. No waiting to be chosen.

With Will, there’s no power game. No unspoken test I have to pass.

There’s just us.

His hand on my hip.

His mouth on my neck.

The way he always checks in like I matter.

And I know it’s messy. I know it’s early. I know I haven’t untangled all the knots left behind. But Will isn’t a placeholder for the feelings I haven’t processed. He’s something else entirely. Something new.

I pull him down with me, wrapping my legs around his waist, not out of desperation—but decision.

A choice.

Because I want him.

I want the way he kisses me like he means it.

The way he makes me laugh when I’m two seconds from spiralling.

The way he never makes me feel like I have to be anything more or less than exactly who I am in this moment. The laugh through the wall fades. So does the echo of everything I haven’t said.

I kiss Will again—harder this time, yes, but not out of anger. Not out of pain. Out of certainty. Because for the first time in a long time, I feel wanted. And more than that—I feel like I want someone back.

Fully. Freely.

And he’s right here. On me. Around me. Mine.

His weight presses into me like a secret, warm and heavy and real. His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, skin to skin, and I can barely think, let alone breathe.

"Literally everyone is home, we have to be quiet"

“You’re the one making noise,” he mutters, dragging his mouth back to mine. “If someone hears us, I’m blaming your inability to whisper.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I whisper, deadpan. “Next time you stick your tongue down my throat, I’ll take minutes instead.”

Will huffs out a laugh.

“That’s the attitude that made me hate you, by the way.”

“You didn’t hate me,” I murmur, letting my hand wander up under his T-shirt.

“You just couldn’t handle me being funnier than you.”

“I still can’t,” he admits, smiling against my lips.

It’s crooked and soft and the kind of smile I know I shouldn’t read into — and do anyway. We stare at each other for a beat too long. Then he kisses me again.

It’s back to messy. Hungry. More desperate — like we’re both running out of excuses but sprinting forward anyway.

I tug at his hoodie, and it—and the T-shirt underneath—are gone in one smooth pull, tossed carelessly into the open suitcase by the bed.

My work shirt follows, slipping off my shoulders and landing somewhere between a pile of tangled cords and the box labelled "wires??" in Sharpie.

Everything feels like it’s unravelling. In the best way.

Like we’re pulling thread from something too tight, too tense, and letting it fall loose.

His mouth is on my collarbone now, hot and steady.

My fingers dig into the bare skin of his back, and all I can think is yes, this—this is what I want.

Right here.

Right now.

Him.

Let George have his night.

I’m having mine, too.

Xxx

Will’s hand is resting flat on my thigh, warm and relaxed. His breath is slow, close against the back of my neck. I’m not sure if he’s asleep yet—I’m not even sure if I want him to be.

The air’s cooled a little, window cracked open from earlier. I can hear London beyond it—distant sirens, the hum of a train, the occasional clatter of someone drunk and laughing down the street.

I don’t know why the quiet always makes it worse. Or clearer.

My suitcase is still open on the floor. Half-packed, like I’m still not sure if I’m really staying. Like some part of me is still waiting for an out, like I’m still waiting for a sign that this isn’t where I belong.

I thought Brisbane would be it. Thought maybe if I went back, things would settle. That I’d feel anchored again. But my grandma died, and suddenly everything that once held weight felt hollow. Familiar streets didn’t comfort me. Sunshine didn’t fix anything.

Nine months later, I was dragging my life through Heathrow again. George said I could crash here—"Just till you find your feet"—like no time had passed since uni. Like we hadn’t grown apart and moved cities and maybe moved on.

But here I am. In George’s spare room. In George’s flat. In George’s life.

Except right now, it's Will's skin against mine. his laugh still ringing softly in my ear from earlier, his hands moving like he actually wants me—not like I’m just a passing thought.

I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t expect him, of all people—the one who used to roll his eyes at everything I said, who once told me I looked like a stressed-out Pomeranian when I tried to parallel park. But something changed. Slowly. Quietly. And now he looks at me like I matter.

And I think—I really think—this might be something.

Not just a distraction. Not just a reaction to George.

I wanted George. For so long I thought maybe he’d feel the same. When I finally took the leap, he kissed me—and then stepped back like I’d thrown a grenade. A silence followed that stretched for a month, colder and heavier than any outright rejection.

But even as I try to move on, part of me still reaches for George—the way his smile flickered with something unspoken, the hesitations that hung between us like a fragile thread, the endless waiting for something that maybe was never meant to happen.

But here I am, lying in my bed with Will , tangled up in questions I don’t have answers to: Why him? Why now, when everything felt so locked down? What exactly am I supposed to do with this sudden softness from him?

Will doesn’t make me feel fragile or half-seen. He teases, pushes, pulls me close, but beneath the surface, there’s something quieter, something harder to read. Like he’s waiting to see if I’m worth the risk.

I shift, careful not to wake him. We’ve never done this before—been here like this, quiet and tangled. Will he leave soon, slip back into his own life where I’m just a late-night memory? Or maybe—just maybe—he’ll stay a little longer. Take me out for breakfast before work, buy me a takeaway coffee before I catch the tube. The thought feels both hopeful and terrifying, like a question I’m not sure I’m ready to ask out loud.

Still, lying here now, I let myself imagine what it might mean if this could be more. If Will’s here for me, not because it’s easy, but because he chooses to stay.

I press my face into the pillow, soft with his scent.

It’s not love. Not yet.

But maybe it’s a start.

Xxx

The kitchen smells like garlic and basil, sharp and bright, with a zing of lemon zest teasing at the edges. I’m standing at the counter, swirling the glossy green pesto around the bowl like it’s some kind of sacred elixir, while Ruth hacks away at the pine nuts with a precision that can only be called professional.

“How do you make this look so damn easy?” I ask, trying to mimic the way she moves—effortless, like she’s been orchestrating pesto symphonies since birth.

Ruth shrugs, her lips curving into that lazy, half-smile that usually signals she’s not giving up all her secrets. “Mostly luck. And a lot of stirring. You have to coax it, not shove it. Pesto’s a diva.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “A diva with a killer taste, then. I’m just trying not to murder it.”

“You’re doing fine, Pesto Padawan,” she teases, tossing me a wink. “Just don’t ask me to babysit a soufflé.”

I’m about to reply when Ruth raises an eyebrow, a new energy in her voice. It’s not her usual easygoing tone—it’s more… sharp, like she’s picking up on something I’m not saying.

“So,” she says, leaning in a bit, her eyes scanning me like she’s about to crack open a secret. “You never told me what actually happened after Friday. The night you vanished with Mr. Brooding. Did he even like you, or was he just hungry?”

I feel my pulse skip. I try to keep it light, but the weight of it—the reality of Will and I—is there, humming under the surface. “Yeah, well… we ended up going home together.”

Ruth’s grin widens like she’s won some sort of personal victory. “No shit, Sherlock. But seriously, why? And what now?”

I shrug, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way I don’t want to admit. “I just… stopped pretending it wasn’t a thing. And he was into it, which helps. We’ve been seeing each other, kind of… casually. Trying to keep it on the down-low.”

Meanwhile, we’re both elbow-deep in the pasta prep, a mountain of spaghetti still swirling in the pot—enough to feed a small army. The smell of garlic, basil, and pine nuts fills the air as I continue to mix the pesto, Ruth adding more oil with a knowing flick of her wrist. This is no small batch; we’re making enough pasta to feed half the building.

Ruth folds her arms, her gaze sharp as she watches me, her lips pressing into a knowing smile. “So, this is cloak-and-dagger stuff. Keeping it from your flatmates too?”

I nod, feeling that familiar tension creep in. “Yeah. Sometimes, it feels like the apartment’s weirdly silent. Like I’m... hiding something. But I don’t want to make it a thing. No drama, no heavy expectations. Just... whatever this is. But that’s the problem.”

Ruth sets down the knife with a soft thud, her expression shifting, as if she’s not just reacting to me but feeling me, too. “Whatever this is? You sound unsure. You and I both know you’ve never been great with ‘casual’ anything. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending. Whatever’s going on with you and Mr. Brooding—if it’s more than just sex, then maybe it deserves to be out in the open.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I try to shrug it off, but the truth is, I know she’s right. It’s all a mess of half-truths and missed signals. “It’s not that simple, Ruth,” I mutter, still stirring the pesto like it’s going to give me some answer.

Ruth’s eyes soften. She steps forward, setting a hand gently on my shoulder. “Yeah, I know it’s not. But when you’re already juggling two lives, it’s hard to figure out where you even belong.”

My chest tightens at her words. She’s got this way of cutting through the noise, and it stings. “London’s so damn big,” I mutter, my voice quieter now. “Everything’s just... harder here. I thought it’d feel different, you know? Like I’d find something—someone—who made it feel less lonely.”

She tilts her head, as though weighing something. “And does Will do that? Make it feel less lonely?”

I freeze, my spoon stilling in the bowl. Ruth’s got that directness about her that I can’t escape. And honestly? I don’t even know what to say. So I settle on something that’s technically true but not exactly the full picture. “He makes it better, I think.”

Ruth smiles, though it’s tinged with something softer now. “Sounds like you’re already halfway there, then.”

I shake my head, trying to suppress the tension building in my chest. “I just... I can’t tell if I’m doing this right. I want him, but I can’t just make this real yet. It’s... too messy. And besides, what if George finds out?”

Ruth’s expression hardens, just slightly, like she’s already piecing this all together. “Yeah, I get it. The thing with George. But you can’t keep letting his opinion weigh so much. You’ve got to start doing things for you, YN. George doesn’t dictate who you’re allowed to see. So, why does it matter so much what he thinks?”

I bite my lip, caught between the truth and the guilt I feel. “I mean, I guess... you’re right. But I’ve known George a lot longer than I’ve known Will. He’s one of my best mates. And right now? Everything’s just so weird with him. I don’t even know what to call it. We’ve never been like this.”

Ruth’s eyes narrow, considering. “Exactly. You’ve been mates with him for years. You can’t let him control your life just because it’s a bit messy right now. Besides, you’re not just shagging Will, it’s... different. And I know that.” She leans in a little, her voice quieter now. “It’s okay to have things that are just yours, you know? You’re allowed to keep that. You deserve that.”

I swallow, feeling the weight of her words settle on my shoulders. But then something clicks, and I can’t help but deflect, the weight of George’s expectations still hanging over me like a cloud. “I know. But I don’t want to make things worse with him. He’s always been there for me. Letting me crash on his couch whenever I needed it... it’s just… I feel like I’m betraying that somehow. And I don’t even know what to do with that feeling. It’s just so weird now.”

Ruth’s mouth twists into a little smirk, her usual playfulness returning. “Diva, you need your own place.”

I blink, thrown off for a second. “What?”

She folds her arms, leaning against the counter. “You need your own space, YN. A place where you don’t have to worry about George walking in on you or pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You can’t keep playing in limbo. It’s unhealthy. No wonder you’re getting all tangled up with how you feel about Will. You’ve been hiding for too long.”

I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle over me like a heavy blanket. I try to brush it off, but the truth is, Ruth’s right. My “room” is nothing more than a corner of the flat that’s more like a storage unit than a space of my own. The walls are lined with mismatched furniture, boxes, and random stuff—Georges old textbooks, clothes Arthurs outgrown, the things Chris has shoved away when he didn’t want to deal with them. The only real “furniture” I own is a bedframe, a mattress, and a second-hand bedside table that my glorified-fuckbuddies friend saw on Facebook marketplace.

“I’ve been looking, Ruth. I’m not just sitting here doing nothing. It’s hard. I’m a foreigner, and all my uni flats were sublets. I don’t even have the documented rental experience that landlords want. No one’s taking me seriously, especially when my references are from student gaffs.”

Ruth smirks at that. “You’ve been hanging around northerners too much,” she teases, a grin tugging at her lips. But it fades quickly as she studies me, her expression shifting into something half-sympathetic, half-exasperated. “God, I hate how difficult the rental system is for people like you. But you’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t keep pushing for it. Seriously, YN, don’t let this city swallow you whole. Get out from under George’s roof. It’s time you had your own place, your own life. You’re not a visitor here anymore.”

We've finished our pesto now. Its staying hot in the hotbox.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried everything. I’ve been calling estate agents, checking places... and nothing’s come through. I’m starting to feel like London just doesn’t want me here.”

Ruth, without missing a beat, opens the fridge and grabs a tub of mascarpone, while I begin rinsing the pasta. Her movements are automatic now, and within a few seconds, we’re both silently gathering ingredients for dessert, like it’s second nature. She pulls out a box of ladyfingers and a bottle of espresso—of course, I didn’t even have to ask.

Ruth reaches over, squeezing my shoulder like she’s trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. “London doesn’t want you to quit. Don’t let it win. And you’re not alone in this. Will’s on your side, too. He’s not just a distraction; he’s your support, even if things feel weird between you two.”

The words feel heavy, but they also land in a place that I didn’t expect. “You think so?” I ask, my voice quieter now.

She nods, her smile warm, but determined. “I know so. And you don’t need George’s permission to make this work. You’ve got to go after what you want, YN. I mean, look at us—how long did we wait to make this volunteering thing happen? But we did it, right? You’re stronger than you think. Just trust yourself.”

I look at her, feeling something settle in my chest. Ruth’s got a way of making me feel like I can do anything, even when the weight of it feels like too much.

“Alright, alright,” I say with a forced grin. “I’ll keep looking. But honestly? I might end up with a cardboard box on the corner if this keeps going on much longer.”

Without missing a beat, Ruth grabs a mixing bowl, dumping the mascarpone into it, while I grab the sugar and the coffee. She looks at me, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Don’t tempt me to come be your roommate. I’ll take cardboard box next door.”

I snort. “Yeah, because that’s gonna be fun.”

We move in sync, the conversation flowing naturally as we whip up a quick tiramisu—no planning, just muscle memory. Ruth’s got a way of making the kitchen feel like it’s ours, no pressure, no expectations.

Ruth bumps me with her hip as she grabs the pasta pot, and we fall into our rhythm again—laughter, lightness, and the feeling that for a moment, I’m not just trying to survive London. Maybe, just maybe, I’m beginning to belong here. We spoon the layered dessert into small cups, finishing with a sprinkle of cocoa powder, all while making plans for our next mid-work catch up lunch.

It’s easy. And the loneliness that is deep-set in my bones starts to melt away, just a little. The rhythm of cooking, the low hum of Ruth’s voice, the familiarity of it all—it's like a temporary escape from everything that’s weighing me down.

xxx

Taglsit: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz

[cuddytism]

i would love to hear your takes on #12 and #22 for the "choose violence ask game" >:)

oooo these r good ones

#12 : the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

well! my url says it all!

i do count cuddy as being 'unpopular.' i think she's in a weird spot where she isn't hated by most of the fandom but not many people really care about her the way that i see for house, wilson, and the ducklings. she's generally liked but not understood. i think more people should like her because she's very interesting as a character! she's such a great foil for house, she's funny as fuck, and her story makes me so, so emotional. also she's kinda. the driving force of the show. right? there's no House, M.D. without cuddy therefore there is no House M.D. without cuddy. there's genuinely a million more things i could say but i don't want to drag on too long.

other than The Lady. i'd say... the other ladies! cameron and amber, to be exact. these two are my 3rd and 4th favourite characters in the entire show (yes, i really love amber) and i see a lot of people disliking them. which makes me sad!! i love how these two are portrayed. their similarities to house (and cuddy!!) are so cool to point out. i think my reasons for liking them are pretty similar, too; i love the way their emotions are portrayed, how they deal with the world around them and what's expected of them. i love goal-oriented women that aren't afraid to stand up to the men around them, if you couldn't tell.

#22 : your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

oh god. so much. the easy answer here is huddy. i think their dynamic is underappreciated because of shipping culture. not to say that they aren't ever talked about, but they're definitely discussed in earnest a whole lot less than *ahem* other "ships", and when they are, it's mostly about their one bad moment (aka season 7) instead of. idk. the entire 6 seasons before. come on! whether you ship them or not i think you should be able to appreciate just how layered, complex, and symbolic their relationship is. and how important it is to the show! as i said above, there's no House without cuddy, and in a lot of ways, there's no house without cuddy.

another cuddy related answer; her relationship with motherhood and infertility. i know basically everyone calls her mother (or, a version of the term) and was brought to tears watching Joy & Joy To The World, etc. but i think the actual storyline, when paid attention to, is very interesting and very... gut wrenching. her breakdown to wilson in Finding Judas is what made me really begin to love her as a character. and it makes me cry so fucking hard. every time.

i actually think there's a lot of interesting stuff that can be said about gender with her here; she's very much not traditionally feminine, in both her chosen field and her traits, she's definitely a nonconformer in a lot of ways. and the one time she wants to conform to those traditional female roles, by having a child, her body... can't. gets me thinking a lot about House's relationship with social roles and the failure to comply to them... which is something i want to expand on more in a later post lol. but the feeling of being betrayed and restrained by your own body -- and in spite of your own choices -- is something that the narrative of House comes back to a lot, and this storyline fits into quite perfectly, yet i have never really seen it discussed!

thank you for asking !! :D these were fun to answer.

[samueldays]

Rene Girard is not a marxist cuck, I'm pretty sure, I've read some of his stuff and found it interesting. Rene Girard is a philosopher-historian-mythologist who writes about mimesis, the process of humans forming desires and beliefs in large part by copying each other and joining bandwagons.

"societies find scapegoats" is also vague IMO, Girard writes more specifically about the aspect where scapegoating intersects with mimesis to shape society: one person blames the scapegoat, for real or fake reasons, and then everyone else blames the scapegoat too, and if the scapegoat is driven out the community can rest easily because this shared belief of the scapegoat's guilt provides an easy transition into a shared belief that the problem is solved. If the cause of the problem was transient or the cause was societal unrest, scapegoating appears to work because it's followed by better conditions. Scapegoating and mimesis are part of what defines a culture, as expressed in this humorously crude political compass:

"Who does this society blame?" is a powerful and inflammatory question for doing anthropology.

Girard also has an interesting take on the big question of why Christianity took off like it did and reshaped the world so much: it's the subversion of the scapegoat practice.

While some form of scapegoating is (or was) widespread around the world, the specific English word "scapegoat" stems from the ritual described in the Book of Leviticus, chapter 16: the high priest is to take two goats, cast lots for which is which, one goat shall be sacrificed to the Lord in the usual public bloody way, the other goat shall have the transgressions of Israel placed on its head and be sent away from the people into the wilderness, called the "escape goat" and then linguistic drift happens. This "escape goat" was traditionally driven over a cliff and cast down to die as an out-of-sight kind of sacrifice. But it's not a lasting solution, the Israelites do it again each year.

Enter Jesus.

And all they in the synagogue, when they heard these things, were filled with wrath, And rose up, and thrust him out of the city, and led him unto the brow of the hill whereon their city was built, that they might cast him down headlong.

-Luke 4:28-29 (KJV)

And they began to accuse him, saying, We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that he himself is Christ a King.

-Luke 23:2 (KJV)

God has come in human flesh, and oh the irony, people want to kill Him or drive Him out to make their problems go away. They make a scapegoat of Jesus, they blame Him for inciting rebellion, they want Him dead to evade the wrath of God the Romans.

The priests of Israel gather to plot against Jesus, Caiaphas tries to be utilitarian about the good of the many, but he's the high priest whose job is to perform the sacrifice and he finds himself stumbling back into the sacrifice pattern: "it is expedient for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not."

But the message of Christianity here is: the scapegoat is innocent, it's you who is the problem.

And the argument from Girard, as I understand it (I have not read all his books), is that this is a shocking change that Christianity pushed on the world. But it's hard for people to see it when they're close to Christianity. "What's water?" asked the fish.

Scapegoating ran deep and wide around the world. Scapegoating was the glue that held cultures together. Scapegoating wasn't thought of as a bad thing, it was perceived as a basic feature of the universe. Humans need to blame like humans need to eat. But it was a temporary fix that papered over problems, so a new problem would come along and people needed to find a scapegoat again.

My libtard friends tell me my support of Trump makes me a fascist and that I should read Rene Girard, a French marxist cuck who wrote about how societies find scapegoats to externalize internal tensions. Even Girard would agree you don't have a society left if you bring in enough people who work to undermine it from the inside.

See, here's the thing. I'm not familiar with Rene by name. But I will say this. Generally speaking there is a huge misunderstanding of what it is that fascism actually is. Because we are at a point, where most of the people who use the word fascism are literally just referring to people they don't like. Because going to church is fascism, being white is fascism, wanting the law to be upheld is fascism, wanting borders is somehow fascism.

And apparently reducing governmental influence on the people it's meant to govern is somehow also fascism....... Despite the fact that a huge core component of fascism is quite literally the fact that it is an authoritarian ideology. In regards to that, you would want significantly more influence by the government not less. So...... Yeah.

[skitskatdacat63]

Some oc au worldbuilding stuff :D I posted a poll a while ago asking which planet people would want to be from, then realized I didn't even have examples of all the planets! It's impossible to encapsulate the diversity of planets like Venus or Neptune, but I did my best!

*not everything on here is set in stone or covers every single little thing, but I tried to give some approximations and basic details. Lmk what you think :) also idk if my handwriting is even legible

[where-the-water-flows]

If you know how to do it you can use someone’s phone number to find their full legal name and home address. It’s just a bit of Google and knowing what websites stores this kind of info. Saw your tags asking how a phone number could verify someone’s age

So, I appreciate you dropping into my askbox to pass that info on - genuinely, it's kind of you - and I can see how my tags came across, but what I actually meant wasn't 'how can you find info on someone just with their phone number??' -- I actually do exactly that kind of thing in my day job pretty regularly, and I have to conform to a lot of real strict ethic constraints that uh, bluntly, random discord moderators...do not.

What I was actually getting at is the fact that, assuming the hypothetical server is just using a phone number as age verification (and doing data broker/google search on that), how in the hell is it controlling for someone doing what people under the arbitrary age limit du jour have been doing since we started implementing this sort of check, ie, lying like rugs and supplying info for someone in their family/social circle instead who is older than [whatever age].

like. sure. maybe you get a phone number for age verification. awesome. plug that into your data broker/google/etc of choice, run your searches, and ok, it belongs to jane smith, 38 years old, accountant who lives in ballarat, she's totally fine to join the 18+ server! come on in jane, the smut is plentiful and the doves are extremely dead. Jane smith has a kid. jane smith's kid is 15. jane smith's kid isn't allowed in the server, because it's an 18+ only server.

jane smith's kid almost certainly knows their mum's mobile number.

how the hell can Hypothetical Server Mod control for 15 year old jane smith's kid putting in jane smith's mobile number instead of their own? and also, separately, how the hell is HSM dealing with the many -- many many many -- different privacy laws around the globe?

not just in terms of handling that sort of information on people (and also requesting it in the first place!), but also just. some countries you can get so much fucking info on someone! (the US. I'm talking about the US.)

some you can't. because privacy laws, because the info isn't publicly accessible, because it's not online and is only in hard copy at the local government office, because it's collated but only in a nonenglish language, because it's geolocked-- etc.

also, like. even if the hypothetical phone number brings up someone in the US, and also your hypothetical mod team has decided, y'know, fuck privacy laws, security of information and data ethics can take a long walk off a short pier, we're keeping this server 18+ or dying trying!

data brokers aren't...actually consistently what you would call...super accurate, or like, accurate at all. if you have a unique name, yeah, sure, you're probably kinda fucked! (assuming you're in, again, somewhere the data brokers focus) but like. if you're named something a little more common - say, james smith, or maria sanchez in the US- uh. well. there sure are a lot of people you could be, and some of them - most of them! - are over 18.

and ok, sure, a phone number is (usually) only associated with one person, but. you can get a lot of false positives, false negatives, and straight up 'we don't know 🤪', the latter of which is sometimes hidden by the databrokers going 'our best guess is that this person is: An Age!! somewhere between 0 and 200 years old. 😇'

again, I use this stuff for work, I can tell you exactly how inaccurate it can get as soon as you throw something like 'not based in the US/UK' or 'uses a nickname/multiple name formats' or 'isn't super online' or 'older than 65 and not turbo wealthy' at some of these - I've had more than one confidently tell me that [my wallet name] is an accountant based in darwin who makes horror films in alice springs on the side, and also, is 26, and had 2-3 kids with her husband Lauchlan.

literally none of these facts are true. like. even vaguely.

and that can of worms doesn't even get into if someone has requested to be removed from data broker databases and/or takes online privacy Very Seriously and/or is just fundamentally ungoogleable, which is...more common than you'd think. less common than you'd like, but more common than you think, even before google started enshittifying itself out of existence.

which is why when you're trying to do things like prove your identity to uhhh goverments, banks, etc, they want multiple forms of ID, one of which is usually a photo ID, none of which anyone should be sending to a random on discord, or, frankly, asking for from a random on discord, both bc my god privacy and security risk but also like. handling that information can actually have legal requirements!

anyway. extremely long ramble on the failings of databrokers over, I appreciate you reaching out to help explain and it was very kind of you anon, sorry that I have. uhhhh kind of a lot of professional feelings about data privacy and basic social engineering, by which I mean saying 'no I'm totally 18 pinkie swear' in the grand tradition of teens wanting to get into age locked areas ever, your forebears lied on LJ so you could lie on discord.

[arolesbianism]

In the future I believe I shall be calling looped Chou Piéride even tho they'd still go by Chou for clarities sake 👍

[majorshatterandhare]

I started a piece of art today which is based on some plant species* that I think would be good to colonize Tim in @gunpowder-tim’s headcanon of the Persephone Tim headcanon; so it’s art based on a headcanon of a headcanon of a headcanon 😅 [sweat simle emoji].

It’s gonna take a long time I think, but I am planning on posting it here even though it’s just gonna be plants and no Tim (because I am much better at drawing these little doodle plants than drawing people).

*so the art is basically of real species we have on Earth, but I maintain that they wouldn’t have the same plants on the City, so in my brain his plants are just similar to these ones.

[gurorori]

it's one of those days (getting increasingly embarrassed abt the way i type)

[disdaidal]

I don't want to brag or sound too optimistic about it, but after three weeks of training at a private college, I think my lessons with this one particular immigrant student (who has serious motivational problems lemme tell ya) are finally starting to get through and there's been improvement.

Only slight improvement so far but I have spotted some, so maybe not all hope is lost yet.

Remains to be seen I guess.

[ajdrawshq]

im glad that despite being on the backburner for . years. i can still think of my main aus like i never stopped :] kh on the brain forever

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Hey nerds come get me on artfight!

[arolesbianism]

I am fighting for my fucking life to figure out the game mechanics of the last girlie. Grips her shoulders. Why must you have no discernable features but a tank top and stupid hair