#this is still not 100% set in stone but for now...

[swiftiephobe]

okay so.. ummm. i think i have decided.

folklore

red

midnights

1989

speak now

fearless

ttpd

rep

evermore

debut

lover

🫣

[arihi]

There are small quirks about me. Like if my stomach is cold, I’m 80% likely to get a stomachache in the next 30 minutes, or how my hands are pretty consistently warm, and when I start to get sick or feel ill my icy fingers are the first symptom. I’m self-conscious about how my legs look, but bulking up and putting on muscle makes me feel more okay with them. It’s all small stuff, everyone has similar things and they’re not quite unique, but observing them in myself makes me feel like an observable person instead of a zoned-out passenger in my own body going along with the path of least resistance. And it makes me feel more like me. (And I like it.)

[enfinizatics]

dear americans,

as a polish queer woman and human rights activist, i know exactly how you're feeling right now and what to expect from these elections. i lived through the 2015-2023 regime of pis, a right-wing populist party that divided families in the same way trump did. i’ve experienced the rise of fascism in poland, the influence of far-right parties like konfederacja, and their “santa’s little helpers”—ordo iuris, an ultra-conservative catholic organization (banned in many countries, mind you) that helped enforce a near-total abortion ban and runs anti-queer campaigns in public spaces. i supported the black protests in 2016 as a middle schooler when they first tried to ban abortion. as an adult, i actively participated in the 2020 women’s strike, running from police tear gas daily after they finally passed the ban. i supported friends who faced charges.

i’ve lived through intense homophobia in poland as a queer teen and adult. i survived the first pride march in my hometown, where far-right extremists threw stones and glass at us. i endured the anti-queer propaganda spread by the ruling party in state-owned media. i survived the “rainbow night,” poland’s own stonewall moment in summer 2020, when police arrested around 50 queer activists following the arrest of margo, a nonbinary activist. i survived the "lgbt-free zones," the targeted violence, the slurs from strangers on the street, and the protests i held against queerphobia. it was hard as fuck, but i survived.

but just because i survived, it doesn’t mean others did. many women died because of the abortion ban—marta, justyna, izabela, dorota, joanna, maria, and many others who didn’t survive pis’s draconian anti-abortion laws. milo, kacper, michał, zuzia (she was 12), wiktor, and other queer and trans kids and young adults took their own lives because of the relentless queerphobia.

despite all of this, our experience in poland can serve as a guide now. here are some tips for staying safe and how we, polish queers and women, organized under the regime:

safety first, always. if you know someone who’s had an abortion, no you don’t. if you know someone is trans, no you don’t. if you know people who help with safe abortions, no you don’t—at least not until you know it’s 100% safe to share. if you are queer or have had an abortion, only share this with people you trust fully. most importantly, not everyone has to be an activist just because they’re part of a minority. if it feels unsafe to share that you're queer, trans, etc., then don’t. it doesn’t make you any less queer.

use secure, encrypted messaging like signal for conversations on potentially risky topics, such as queerness, abortion, organizing counter-actions, protests—anything that might be used against you.

stay anonymous online. if you want to research or report something without surveillance, do not use regular internet. get a vpn (mullvad is affordable and reliable), download the tor browser (for both onion and standard links), and if you plan to whistleblow, consider using a riseup email account.

organize and build networks. community is everything now. support each other, foster independence, because your government won’t have your back. set up collectives, grassroots movements. create lists of trusted professionals—lawyers, doctors, etc.—who can offer support.

to lawyers and doctors: please consider pro-bono work. this is what got us through poland’s hardest times. your work will be needed now more than ever.

for protests or risky actions: always write a pro-bono lawyer’s number on your arm with a permanent marker.

get to know the anarchist black cross federation and other resources on safety culture: "Starting an anarchist black cross group: A guide"; Still We Rise - A resource pack for transgender and non-gender conforming people in prison; Safe OUTside the system by the Audre Lorde Project;

for safe abortion info or involvement: get familiar with womenhelpwomen.

stay radical, stay strong, stay informed: The Anarchist Library

if i forgot to (or didn't) include something, don't hesitate to reblog this post with other resources.

[kashverse]

Imagine someone making mama reader cry and minisukuna is just roasting who man her cry’s ass, while sukuna is trying to hold back from murder

i didn't wanna make the mamakuna's reading this cry, so have a bit of banter instead. i hope this is what you were requesting for!

rule number 1 in a sukuna family barbecue is to kiss the cook—aka mamakuna, aka you.

rule number 1.2? only babykuna and sukuna can kiss the chef. no exceptions.

but the most important rule—the one etched in stone, the one more sacred than sukuna’s secret steak rub recipe—is rule number 2:

never. insult. the cook.

so when yuki, choso’s plus one, decides to run her mouth at the absolute wrong time, saying, “not gonna lie, this chicken is kinda dry,” there is an immediate, deafening silence. choso, sitting next to her, freezes mid-bite, eyes darting around like he’s witnessing a live execution. nanami takes a slow sip of his beer, very wisely deciding he wants no part in whatever is about to happen. gojo, ever the shit-stirrer, grins and leans in. “oh-ho-ho, you done fucked up.” meanwhile, you? you just blink.

"oh?"

it’s just one word, but it’s enough to send chills down the spines of everyone within earshot. sukuna, who had been manning the grill (read: standing around looking important while you did all the real work), slowly sets down the tongs.

his jaw twitches. his veins pop. he looks two seconds away from committing murder.

"who made the food, yuki?" he asks, voice dangerously calm. yuki, still blissfully unaware of the shitstorm she’s just walked into, shrugs. "i dunno, the caterer?"

sukuna exhales through his nose, like he’s actively trying to keep his soul from leaving his body.

"your caterer is literally sitting right there," choso hisses under his breath, eyes darting to you. yuki, now finally putting two and two together, has the audacity to look sheepish. "oh. uhh…"

but before she can say anything else—

"DODOHEAD!!"

everyone turns to look at babykuna, who is fuming, tiny fists clenched, eyes ablaze with unwavering rage. "how dare you," she huffs, looking as offended as if yuki had personally spit on a framed picture of you.

"i—it’s not that deep—"

“SHAME ON YOU, POOPIEHEAD!!” babykuna stomps her foot, dramatically clutching her heart like she’s a widow in a soap opera. "mama’s food is the best in the whole world!"

"i didn't mean—"

"take it back!" babykuna demands. yuki blinks, caught between disbelief and fear.

"uh…?"

"TAKE. IT. BACK."

babykuna’s arm lifts. her grip tightens around the precious stuffed labubu in her hand. and before anyone can stop her—

"oh, hell no," sukuna mutters, finally snapping.

"you listen here, you ungrateful shit—"

"okay!" choso interjects, physically holding his brother back before this barbecue turns into a crime scene. 

"yuki," he hisses, “apologize before you get us both killed.” yuki, now 100% convinced she is not leaving this barbecue alive, raises her hands.

"okay, okay! i’m sorry!"

"say it like you mean it!" babykuna shouts, labubu still armed and ready.

"i mean it!!"

yuki, now sweating bullets, looks at you.

"your food is great. i love it. i’m sorry."

babykuna narrows her suspicious little eyes.

"hmph."

after ten long seconds of dramatic silence, she finally lowers labubu.

"...i forgive you."

yuki exhales in relief.

"but don’t do it again, dodohead!"

sukuna grumbles under his breath, still looking like he wants to throw hands. but then you, grinning, lean over and kiss his cheek. "down, boy," you tease. "i don’t need you getting blood on my good plates."

he grunts. “whatever.” but he still sends a glare yuki’s way.

“next time, i will let babykuna throw the labubu.”

[witherby]

hello! great work so far :-) im getting into batfam myself and been loving the platonic/familial works you do w littlest wayne! was wondering if you'd ever do an teen y/n or just an older one? I'd love to see you tackle the idea of a robin y/n or jaybe just some angsty kid stuff,,,,,, hope you had a good new years!

-- :33Anon

I love angst with my whole heart and soul, and I'm happy to write it with a slightly older Reader. Hope you don't mind I've commandeered your prompt to showcase the ability you guys voted on.

This one's a long read so I'm splitting it up. This part is roughly 2400+ words.

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 1/2)

Masterlist is Here!

Uncle J'onn is looking at you curiously.

He's been doing that a lot, lately. When Daddy brings you to the Watchtower to be babysat so he can go save the world, one of his co-workers that they can afford to spare gets put in charge of keeping an eye on you. Usually it's Uncle Hal, but this time it's J'onn and he's in his natural form, which you don't mind. Green is your favorite color, and his whole body is green! He's nice and calm, and tells you lots of stories and plays any game you want, even if it's hard for him not to cheat and read your mind. He says it's instinct. You don't hold it against him because you still have fun.

Lately, though, when he talks to you, he tilts his head a bit. He usually does that when he can't understand something.

You wipe your face, checking for cookie crumbs. All clean. You search your shirt for any weird marks or stains. All clean. You scrunch your nose and puff out your cheeks, pouting.

"What's wrong, uncle J'onny?" You ask him. Daddy says the way to get honest answers from someone is just to be forthcoming (Dicky told you what forthcoming meant when you asked him later), so you are. "Did I do something wrong?"

That seems to snap his train of thought. J'onn shakes his head and goes back to sorting out the jigsaw puzzle pieces for you. You're good enough at this to do 100-piece puzzles, now, and when you get really stuck you don't even cry anymore!

"Nothing is wrong, Flittermouse," he says, watching you start putting the edges together first like Dami taught you. "You are simply...changing. Differences are not inherently wrong."

"What's inherably mean?"

"Inherently. It means instinctively, or something that is "set in stone." A rule that does not change. I am stating that change is not something that is always wrong. It's not a firm rule."

You pout and try to process all of that in your brain. It was a partial answer. Daddy says that means people might want to hide something from you.

"What's changing?" You ask him. "I got older a week ago. Is that what you mean? I'm four, now. Grandpappy says I'm getting so big and growed up. He says to not do that so fast. I dunno how, though. He's silly."

J'onn hums. His eyes look away from you as he considers what to say. You put one whole edge together before he speaks again.

"You know that I am not a human, correct?"

"Yeah, I know," you say. "I don't care. I love you. And auntie Diana. And uncle Clark. And uncle Barry. And —"

"Thank you," J'onn gently interrupts. "Do you also know that, sometimes, humans are born not entirely human? That sometimes they get special abilities?"

"Yeah, I know that," you repeat.

"I suspect that —" he cuts himself off, hesitates, then starts again. "Little one. You are showing signs of being one of those humans with special abilities."

"I am?" You ask. You perk up. "Can I fly?!"

You immediately abandon the puzzle and climb onto your chair, about to jump off of it to try and fly around, but J'onn catches you by the back of your shirt before you can hit the ground.

"You cannot."

"Aww...then I don't wanna be a megahuman," you complain, stomping your foot.

"Metahuman."

"Whatever."

"I am sorry," J'onn says, "I did not mean to upset you. I do think you are developing powers, however."

"Not fly powers?" You frown.

"No, not flight powers."

"Boring," you say, blowing raspberries. J'onn cracks a smile at your antics and you giggle. "Help me do the puzzle, please!"

"Alright," he relents, sorting more pieces for you. You're both quiet for a while, and you get the whole frame done before he speaks again.

"Little one. Do you know your father's rule about metahumans?"

"Yeah," you say, grinning, because you're a great listener. You pitch your voice down and make it scratchy. It's adorable in your four-year-old tone. "No metas in Gotham. I am Nighttime. Raaahhh."

J'onn huffs in amusement. "Right. He usually means what he says, does he not?"

"Yeah," you agree, "daddy is a bad liar. He lied and said he didn't eated the last cookie once, but he did eated it. Alfie was mad, 'cause it was for Dami, but Dami didn't care. He likes brownies more than cookies. I like brownies, too."

"I figured," J'onn says. He's not looking at you again. This time he's frowning.

"Do you want brownies?" You ask, figuring that was the issue. "I don't have any. I can ask for some when Daddy comes back. I'm good at sharing, 'cause I'm a good noodle, like Jay says."

"No, but thank you for offering to share. Jason is right, you are a good noodle."

You preen. "I know!"

J'onn drops the subject again and helps you complete the puzzle. You squint at every piece in concentration and politely ask him if he can dim the lights so you can work better. He complies, and after another hour and a half, you have a completed image on the table.

"Yay! We did it!"

The sounds of chatter and footsteps appear down the hall moments later, and you spring to your feet in delight.

"Hello!!!" You shout.

A chorus of "hello!" greets you in return from multiple heroes, and the rest of the Justice League files into the room one by one. They don't look too roughed up, so the mission wasn't very dangerous. That's good. You stand by the door and offer them hugs. Everyone complies, to your endless delight.

"Daddy!" You cheer when you see him, running and hugging Batman's legs. He scoops you into his arms and you grin and point at the table. "Uncle J'onny and I dided a whole puzzle! I didn't give up!"

"Good job, Mouse," Bruce says, reaching out to adjust the light. "You did it in the dark?"

"Yeah," you grin, kicking your feet. "Did you punch bad guys?"

"I did."

"Did you win?"

"Yes."

"Can we have ice cream?"

"Maybe after dinner." He carries you down the hall and towards his temporary quarters, the place he'll stay after a particularly tough mission when he can't make it home right away, and deposits you gently on the bed. "I have to debrief with everyone, and then we can pack up and go home."

"Okay, daddy," you say, already digging through the nightstand for a toy to play with. "I stay right here!"

"Good job," he says again, kissing the top of your head, and leaves you alone with a small wave.

--

The next time you need to be at the Watchtower, it's with Uncle Clark and Auntie Diana. The mission wasn't a super dangerous one, so they both got to stay behind and entertain you.

Today, you're a cashier at your world-famous grocery store. You have the best ingredients all over the world.

"Welcome to the groshy store, what do you want stranger?" You demand, getting into character. Clark looks mildly offended.

"Whoa, hello. That's a lot of 'tude for a paying customer," he says.

"You didn't buy nothing yet! Whataya want!"

"Uh. Some carrots please."

"All out."

Clark narrows his eyes at you. "Can you check in the back?"

You turn around. You turn back.

"All out. Whataya want!"

"You barely looked!" He insists.

"FRESH OUTTA CARROTS, BUB. WHATAYA WANT."

"Oh my goodness, now there's yelling. I think I need to speak to a manager."

"Okay!" You shuffle across the room and grab Diana's hand, leading her back to Clark. "This is the manager. Auntie, tell him all the carrots are gone. He can't have any."

Diana covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. "You heard them, stranger. There are no carrots here."

"Well, aside from the blatant nepotism, auntie, I think you're hiding the carrots from me," Clark huffs, crossing his arms. "I need them for my soup. Guess I'll go to the grocery store across town. I hear they're nicer."

"No," you gasp, "wait. Okay maybe I have one secret carrot. I go get it."

You leave their giggling forms and run over to the toy box that was set up for you on the watch tower, thrusting your hands inside to dig around. You squint your eyes, but all the bright colors are hard to distinguish properly. In the dark spaces, deeper into the box, is where you cast your focus. Instinctively, you follow the trail and close your hand around a plastic carrot. You lift your hand triumphantly.

"Okay, got it!" You cry, only to startle when you find both Clark and Diana kneeling beside your toy chest. Diana picks you up around the waist and takes several steps back, and Clark's eyes turn that funny shade of blue they do when he's using x-ray vision. "Umm, I gotted the carrot already. It's in my hand."

"Are you injured?" Diana asks you, expression deadly serious. You frown and shake your head. "You're certain? I could sense something in that box with you."

"No, I'm fine," you promise. Clark stands up and his eyes go back to normal. He shrugs, brows furrowed.

"There's nothing in there but toys."

"Yeah," you nod, "toys and dark spots."

Both heroes look at you. You squirm in Diana's hold shyly.

"Um, want to pay for the carrot?" You ask, holding it up. "It's only ten dollars. Orrr one lollipop." You whisper conspiratorially. "I can be bribed."

Diana and Clark exchange glances. Clark gingerly takes the carrot from you and puts it back in the toy box.

"Sold. Let's go to the kitchen and pick out which flavor you want."

You grin, forgetting about the game, and Diana puts you on the ground so you can follow excitedly after them. With a couple "pretty please's" and your lethal puppy dog eyes, you even manage to get two lollipops. You ask to be hoisted onto the counter so you can swing your feet as you enjoy the candy, and both heroes perch on either side of you.

It's quiet for a while. It feels like that weird, anticipatory quiet you felt with Uncle J'onny, but you don't know what for, so you wait for one of them to speak. You finish off one whole sucker and open the second one when it happens.

"Mouse?" Clark eventually asks, "can you explain what you meant about your toys? That there are dark spots in there?"

"Yeah," you say, "shadows. Dark spots. Light not touching."

"And you can...feel shadows?"

You hum, thinking it over. "Um...yes. Kind of."

Clark and Diana look at each other again. They're frowning. You frown.

"Can you tell us what you mean by that?" She asks.

"Um. I wanted the carrot, for uncle Clark," you say, "so he can buy it at my groshy store. And the dark spots showed me where it was, and I grabbed it."

"Did they also help you complete the jigsaw puzzle, when you were with J'onn?" Diana asks. "It was quite dark when we got back." You nod.

"Yeah. Easier to do in the dark. It's not cheating!" You blurt. "I didn't cheated!"

"Okay, ya' didn't cheat," Clark agrees, gently patting your back. There's a slight drawl in his words which usually shows up when he's stressed out. "We're just curious, is all, darlin'. Seems you've got a... A special talent, we can call it."

"It's a power. They're a metahuman, Kal," Diana says simply, "and you know Bruce's rule."

The rule? Which one? Always brushing your teeth before bedtime? Or maybe no sweets until you finish your dinner? Hmm, but you haven't had dinner yet. That doesn't make sense.

"No metas in Gotham. I'm very aware, Diana."

"Then you see the problem."

Oh. Now you think you know why uncle J'onny was upset that day.

"Now wait a minute," Clark says. He looks genuinely angry, which confuses you. Did they not like that you could ask the dark for help? They had superpowers, too. You figured they would be happy. "They're his kid."

You are. You're Daddy's little Flittermouse, scampering around and bringing joy. That's what everyone tells you. They love you.

"You've seen how hard he works to keep us out of Gotham," Diana says. "We can be trusted to babysit, but we can't enter the city? What does that tell you?"

"That's different. He's territorial, we all know that. He's not a monster, Diana. He would never hurt them —"

"I'm not saying he is. I'm not saying he would. But I am saying that he doesn't bend his own rules. He does not make exceptions."

Oh.

You sit almost numbly on the counter and watch Clark and Diana start to argue over your place in Gotham. Over your place at home.

You think about Daddy's rule about no metas in Gotham. You think about your new ability to interact with shadows.

Oh.

The lollipop tastes like ash on your tongue and the tips of your fingers feel like tv static. When you blink, your eyes sting as they well up with tears. You've been so good about not throwing fits, about not being a crybaby, about being as strong as your super cool daddy and brothers and grandpa.

But you can't call them that anymore, can you? They don't want metas in Gotham, and that's what you are, now. You can't live with your family anymore.

Large, fat tears roll down your cheeks and your bottom lip wobbles. You whimper and both Diana and Clark whip their heads around to look at you in shock.

"No, oh no, don't cry," Diana coos, "you don't need to worry. Your father isn't —"

You bat her hands away when she reaches for you and jump off the counter, running underneath Clark's cape. They don't catch on to what you're doing in time.

Clark practically rips it off and fans it on the floor, floating above it with wide eyes. Diana kneels next to the fabric and frantically pats it, searching for you.

But there's nothing. You've fled into the shadow Clark's body cast and allowed the darkness to swallow you.

[wonderjanga]

But I’ve Never Been Wrong About a Secret Identity… 😔

Part 2 of this post. This is based off of some of the comments and reposts I’ve seen on it.

Batman: “Because I know who you are Superman… or should I say, Clark Kent?”

Supes: “Wha— pshh… Nuh uh.” (He learned that from Billy)

Batman: “What do you mean ‘nuh uh’?”

Supes: “I mean, nuh uh. Listen…” *uses x-Ray to see under his mask* “Bruce—”

Batman: *narrows eyes at him*

Supes: “—If I’m Clark Kent, who’s with his kids at the park right now?”

Batman: “No one, because I’m fairly certain you’re Clark Kent.” *thinks he’s bluffing*

Supes: “Oh really? Check your fancy-shmancy cameras then.” *smug ahh*

Batman: “I will.”

When Bruce checked the cameras he had set up in Metropolis, his ego took an almost shattering blow when he saw all of his glory playing with his kids in Metropolis Park. (They were playing frisbee. Billy would throw and then either Connor or Jon would run over to grab it.)

Lois: *walks over*

Lois and Marvel: *start talking*

Lois: *leans in to kiss him*

Supes: *goes stone-faced immediately*

Batman: *still spiraling about how he could possibly be wrong*

Marvel: *leans far back to get away from it, speedwalks to the kids so they can get ice cream together*

By the way, Jon still thinks Billy is 100% his dad. Lois also thought Billy was Clark so since he’d dodged her kiss, Clark has been getting the silent treatment from her.

[rafeys-sweetie]

𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐔𝐩 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 ౨ৎ

Summary: JJ Maybank never thought he’d end up in a Kook mansion, much less holding a newborn at 5AM while trying not to wake her exhausted mom.

Pairing - JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The crib squeaked at exactly 5:02 AM.

“Shit,” JJ whispered, eyes cracking open, immediately going into silent panic mode. He froze, barely breathing, eyes darting to your sleeping form right next to him.

You were dead asleep finally. First real stretch you’d gotten in days. You were curled up like a cat, looking completely done with the world, hair everywhere, one arm flopped over the side of the bed like you’d melted into it. JJ wasn’t waking you up. No way. Not after pushing out a whole baby and spending every night since half conscious, half leaking, and 100% exhausted.

The crib squeaked again.

And then came The Noise that little baby grunt. The warning shot.

He cursed under his breath, yanked the hoodie on from the floor, and stumbled over to the crib. His baby. His freaking baby. Still felt fake saying that.

There she was. D/n. Wrinkly and perfect and already looking like she ran this entire house. Her tiny face scrunched up, your nose dead center, and that pouty mouth threatening to explode into a scream.

“Oh, come on, dude,” JJ whispered, scooping her up with two hands like she was made of glass. “What happened to sleeping through the night? Didn’t we just talk about this?”

She blinked up at him like he owed her money.

“Alright. It’s cool. We’re cool. Just me and you. Mom’s off duty.”

He grabbed the little bunny plush this bougie thing your mom bought from some French baby boutique. Probably hand stitched by angels or whatever. JJ still thought it was kinda creepy. But hey, it kept her quiet.

He gave the baby a little bounce as he padded barefoot out the room.

“Welcome to JJ Maybank’s late-night stroll,” he whispered. “Starring: one extremely tired dad, one very demanding potato with fists, and one extremely haunted mansion kitchen.”

Downstairs, he hit the kitchen lights and blinked like a mole.

It was still wild in here. Spotless. All white marble counters. That stupid fridge that made noises when it opened. Cabinets full of dishes that matched. Like, full sets. It wasn’t even the same planet he came from.

JJ opened the pantry. Stared.

Rows and rows of cereal boxes.

Not knock off brands. Not “Sugar Rings” or “Frosted Flakes but Sad.” Nah.

Real shit.

“Okay, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said out loud, looking down at his daughter in total disbelief. “You’ve got… Lucky Charms. Cap’n Crunch. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. You have options.”

She blinked. Made a little gurgling noise. Might’ve almost puked. It was unclear.

“Bet you won’t ever have to mix powdered milk with tap water in a measuring cup. Spoiled little thing,” he muttered, but his voice was more in awe than bitter. Kissing the top of her small little peach fuzzed head.

Nine months ago, he was living in a tiny ass room with holes in the walls, eating stolen peanut butter with a spoon. Now he was barefoot in a kitchen that smelled like lemon cleaner and luxury, holding a baby who looked like the best part of the one girl who ever believed he was worth more than the garbage his dad left behind.

He grabbed a clean bottle from the drying rack, filled it up like you taught him. The baby made a grumpy squeak.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re hungry. Don’t get your designer diaper in a twist.”

He took her outside, bouncing her with one arm as he slid open the patio door and walked down the stone path toward the lake. Your mom’s flower beds were pristine, not a single weed in sight.

JJ snorted.

“Your grandma hires people to trim the bushes. I used to mow yards just to pay for a new surfboard leash. This is nuts.”

The baby yawned dramatically.

“You’re unimpressed. I get it.”

He sat on the wooden bench by the lake and let the silence settle. Sun hadn’t quite risen yet, but the sky was hinting at it orange and pink bleeding across the water.

He looked down at her again. Little fists balled up on his chest. That ridiculous bunny tucked next to her. And for a second, the sarcasm drained from his face.

He just looked.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly. “Like, really mine.”

It still didn’t feel real. Him, a dad. In a nice house. With a family.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted, rubbing her back slowly. “Pretty sure I’m just winging it at this point. Your mom’s the smart one. I’m just the dumbass who brings comic relief.”

She made another squeaky noise, and he cracked a grin.

“See? You get it. You get me.”

The sun started coming up over the lake, gold light sliding across the surface.

JJ leaned back, daughter tucked in his hoodie, hair a mess, heart thudding.

He didn’t have to run anymore.

Didn’t have to dodge cops or his old man’s fist or wonder where his next meal was coming from.

He had you. He had her.

And it scared the shit out of him.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Guess we’re both stuck here now, huh, kid?”

She just stared up at him and let spit fall out her mouth.

JJ wheezed.

“Alright, damn. Weird way to say you love me but I love you to.”

[satrs]

How do we feel about the calm, quiet, and composed Dr. Zayne turning into a flushed whimpering mess under MC? I'm convinced he needs to be taken care of.

Idk something about seeing the taller LADs LIs (Caleb, Sylus & Zayne) fall apart is so appealing to me.

We feel splendid about it oh my goshhhh!!!!! Poor doctor really needs some sweet lovin care!!!! Urghhh he'd be such an amazing housewife!^^

As we know Zayne is used to control in every part of his life. So when he starts letting you take the reins, even just a little, it terrifies him. But it also turns him on more than he can admit.

He lets you guide him to the bed one night, eyes locked on yours, hesitant about the whole ordeal but still curious.

He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t protest when you gently push him down, straddling his hips. And the moment you start talking to him—tender and low, praising how good he looks like this, how much you want to take care of him, something inside him snaps.

His breathing stutters, fingers digging into the sheets. The cool and calculated doctor is long gone now.

Once he whimpers it's set in stone then.

His control crumbles so fast it's actually pathetic. He tries to hide it at first, tries to stay composed, but the way you look at him while you touch him? He doesn’t stand a chance.

“You've had such a long day, honey. Lemme take care of you, mkay?,” you whisper against his ear, and he physically shudders. Because no one’s ever said that to him. No one’s ever offered to tend to his needs like you do.

That’s when he stops holding back, lets the moans spill and the blush flood across his skin, lets his hands tremble against your body as you worship every inch of him.

He's so sensitive. Every slow drag of your tongue down his chest makes him arch. Every breath against his neck makes him whimper and by the time your met with his evident buldge he's already a whimpering mess.

You finally take him in hand, swirling your tongue around that blushee tip of his—he’s gone. Hands fisting the sheets, head thrown back, breathless cries slipping out faster than he can stop them.

“Don’t stop please, S-so good—Need you— fuckkk!”

Seeing Zayne beg is so obscene, but you could get used to it. Him practically crying from pleasure, whimpering your name like he's a broken record with glassy eyes that could turn into flooding waterworks by any second now.

He also has a habit of biting his knuckles when he’s close bc I said so!!!!

And if you lean in and murmur some praise of “Be good for me and come,” he’ll shatter—giving you exactly what you've been asking for all night with scrunched eyebrows, trembling thighs and a cracked whimper as his head dips back into the pillow, whimpers rushing past the fist he pressed to his mouth.

He’s quiet after he cums, but shaky breath still present. He hides his face in the pillows and clings to you like he’s afraid almost. You run your fingers through his hair, whispering on how good he's been doing for you and he just melts into your body.

And maybe, just maybe, he starts to crave it He 100% does, you taking care of him that is.

He wants to surrender to you, show rawness he could only ever bare to you.

He won’t say it out loud, but you see it in the way he looks at you, flushed and wide-eyed, pleading for you to keep on pampering him.

Doctors need care too, afterall.

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 2025. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[ninasodiiva]

what's next in your love life?⋆. 𐙚 ̊

PAC reading

hii babesss, i hope you're doing good and having a wonderful day! today i was in a romantic mood after binge watching pride and prejudice edits on tiktok (yass girl procrastinate your homework!) so to debut my blog im sharing with you this pac reading all about what's next in your love life. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

how to choose a group:

take a deep breath and relax your body, look at all the pictures and pick the one you are the most drawn to, don't think about it to much. you might be attracted to the picture or the number. REMEMBER this is a general reading, take what resonates and leave what doesn't. nothing is set in stone. if you are not drawn to any of the pictures this might not be the reading for you loves. that said, let's get into it!

- group 1: pink rollers 🎀

as soon as I started the reading the song "Love Like You" from Steven Universe started playing on shuffle. and after laying the cards i noticed the synchronicity between the song and your reading so go listen to it! babes im going to be 100% honest... im feeling most of you feel stuck, like nothing happens and your love life is pretty much non existent and let me tell you why.

you still want your ex or past fling back. you are being extremely stubborn because you have romanticized them to death, you think that person is the one for you and trust me please... they are not. many cards regarding cheating and toxic patterns have come out and your spirit team and your higher self is asking you to let them go, they are not the one for you. i'm being shown a really codependent energy from you (for a few of you to the point of letting the other person dictate what to do with your life, friendships etc) it's like you don't believe yourself capable of making your own decisions and riding the wave of life. i'm being shown that picture of a dog begging for chocolate without knowing eating it can kill him. You have put this person on a pedestal and beg for they attention and love like a lost puppy, and it makes me really sad cause i see that you just want to feel appreciated, but babes please listen to me... that person is NOT for you, i'm feeling a really controlling energy from them. not all attention is good and deep down you know that this person uses you for their convenience, they have you when they feel like it and they're playing with you BAD. some of you could have grown in a family where no one paid attention to you, so subconsciously you feel in order to have love you have to earn it by pleasing others and letting them cross your boundaries... well (without sounding reckless) i feel you have no boundaries at all my loves and we have to work on that!!!

you have to listen to this song, specially the last part where she gives a small speech, you need to hear that ੈ✩‧₊˚

your next chapter of your love life might not be what you expect but it is most certainly what you NEED. you are entering this learning phase, where you will question your patterns in all aspects of your life but mostly romantic wise. it's a beautiful season in which the veil to your true self will be opened thanks to the self concept work you are doing (if you are not doing it, this is the sign to start, i don't want to see you like this no more). it's a time for learning valuable lessons that will align you with your own path, your true self and a true love. you are discovering what it means to love yourself, cause let's be real, nowadays putting a face mask and some candles it's considered "self love" but in reality it's about accepting yourself, the light and the dark, and knowing that you might not be the person you want to right now... but you possess the power to transform into the precious being that's hidden inside of you, scared to come out. journal your thoughts (write them for you be truthful with yourself), start that hobbie you have wanted to for a long time, call that friend/family member and ask for help, start being YOU babe.

your life is a movie be excited for it, sometimes your up sometimes you're down but that's the cycle of life. how lucky are we to feel emotions in the first place! be the master of your own fate, and give yourself grace while doing so babe 🩷

lots of love and strength, Nina 🦢୨୧⋆｡˚

group two: love letters 💌

my group two, welcome gorg!

well right away i have to say you have a beautiful energy, and you reading was so clear. so let's get into it.

my love what i heard is that right now you are embracing your single life on purpose, you are done with waiting for someone to come into your life, done with dealing with immature people who only disturb the peace and temple you built. i'm seeing you are a mix of charlotte and samantha from sex in the city and girl i love that for you! i see you literally shinning ✨ you are in your element. i'm hearing the song "aquamarine" by Addison Rae. "i'm not hiding anymore, i won't hide" and "the world is my oyster, and i'm the only girl", well listen to the complete song because it resonates 100%, OUUU PERIOD

thanks to that change in perspective your life is taking an exciting turn for the best!!! because you finally know your worth!!

what's next for you in your love life is options, attention and fun!! your energy rn is so magnetic and hypnotic, you're someone i would like to be friends with. you are expanding your horizons maybe traveling (doesn't have to) but i see you so so SO abundant. your social life is improving a lot, like i see you receiving TONS of attention cause you are feeling yourself (yass girl). you ended a cycle of desperation for love and you're now sitting on your throne enjoying the view. expect new friendships, new options, new flings (if that's what you're into). people will be startstruck with you it's insane. nonetheless it's important for you not to take this time for granted and stay true to yourself, stay strong in your boundaries and be careful with the options you are given, not all of them are for you make sure to use your intuition and discernment.

now i'm also seeing for my babes that are interested in relationship only a possible suitor coming in as a result of all the options you are getting, he is one of them. he could be a water sign (doesn't have to), a really empathetic and gentle person full of passion and honestly very very romantic. i see him watching you from afar. the attraction here is REALLY high and although i'm not being shown much information i do see commitment here. spirit is being secretive about this person, you don't need to know much right now let it be a surprise!

babes i'm so so excited and happy for you, you deserve this after a long hermit period. enjoy the spotlight!!! let me know how things unfold and please keep shining like your doing now 🪄🤍

lots of love, Nina 🦢୨୧⋆｡˚

group three: heart locket 🔒💗

hi my loves, welcome to your group! let's dive in.

babes right now you are in a healing period, i have a feeling you know that already and you're totally embracing it. that is good, don't resist it <3 i feel you moved on from a situation or person that left you hopeless and heartbroken, i know how hard sitting with those feelings is and to that i have to give you your flowers for the work you are doing in healing and building yourself back up! your strength is admirable, but your spirit team is here asking you to slow tf down lol.

you see, healing it's not linear and although that perseverance of yours is a gift, it's harming you more than helping you rn. you are not a problem that needs fixing, and my loves i feel you are carrying TONS of burdens by constantly wanting to heal.

the next chapter you are stepping into is asking you to slow down, be present and FEEL your emotions, don't analyze them. spirit is saying that by doing so you will notice the signs they are sending you and the advice they want you to take to help you at this time. babes you are like a chicken without head running around confused, like you're running out of time?? give yourself grace, slow down, breathe please 🤍 divine timing is at play here, trying to heal faster won't bring you your next love tomorrow.

remember that no matter what age you are, you're still that little kid you once where, that child is inside you hearing all those thoughts. imagine they are in front of you, how would you take care of them? ☁️ spirit is saying this chapter is very much needed, you have to love yourself TRULY cause why wouldn't you? there is NO reason not to love yourself love, you are protected spiritually, the only thing your spirit team wants you to do rn is to REST, slow down, take time out and feel your emotions. they have it all under control, let go of control issues and trust them pls 💌

something about family issues is showing up here so that might resonate to someone, also they are asking you to be open minded when it comes to love (don't worry you will end up with your true match).

my loves that's is everything, i feel your pain because i've been there and i promise you that the advice spirit is giving you will help you! take time to smell the roses 🌹 love is everywhere, and im not trying to sound cliche, i understand the frustration of wanting to experience love! but you will never feel it they way you are meant to if you don't have that love for yourself. OMG i was hearing the song "get free" by Lana del Rey and it played right away whatttt. that's definitely a song you need to listen to.

lots of love, Nina 🦢୨୧⋆｡˚

[veryintricaterituals]

When I was in school I went to a friend's house to work on a project on a Friday afternoon. At about 6 or 6:30 when the sun was about to set her mom called us over to the livingroom. She lit two candles with my friend and then they proceeded to put the lit candles inside of a little cupboard so no one could see them. Me, a young jewish teenager asked her, my catholic friend, why they did that and she shrugged, said it was a family tradition to bring peace and prosperity, that the women of the family did it every friday evening and then hid the candles. They were very catholic, so I bit my tongue and we went back to her room to study.

This is just one of many, many, crypto jewish traditions that still exist in my hometown of Medellín, Colombia and I want to share a little bit about them with you.

Medellín is the capital city of a region called Antioquia and it is currently the second biggest city in my country. Now the weird thing about my region and my city more specifically is that it is in the middle of fucking nowhere, like we are in a valley in the middle of the andean mountains and it would take over two weeks by river, horse and river, and dunkey and mule to even get here before the invention of cars or trains.

Now Medellín was founded over 400 years ago, and families had been coming to the region for way before then, so that means that for centuries getting to my city from the sea or from the other big cities in the country was incredibly hard. This was by design, because Medellín itself was founded by about 28 families and we know for a fact that alteast half of them were crypto jews hidding from the Spanish Inquisition, and both before and the foundation more and more jewish families arrived to the region.

This is a known fact, the DNA of the people from the region has a lot of sepharadic jewish mixed in there. Early Colombian literature dating up to the 1845 would call the people of my region the Neogranadine Jews or the Colombian Jews. But because they were crypto jews the religion and most of the traditions were lost during the 400 years that have passed, now over 90% of the population is catholic and don't really know about their origins.

But some things stuck. And I want to tell you about them.

On the 7th night of December there is this pre-christmas festival called "El día de las velitas" or the little candle night that started and was unique to Antioquia. It's supposed to commemorate the candles that people had in the streets and the windows on the night Jesus was born and that helped Mary and Joseph to find their way. Do you know how this unique festival is celebrated in my city? People take to the streets to light candles, small colorful candles that they put in wooden planks or directly on the streets, it's the night that people decorate and turn on the christmas lights and it is so important and popular that we have an actual day off on the 8th of december.

Let me show you a few pictures

I don't think I need to explain this one. Even most goyim will know about Hannukah. But it is the weirdest thing when the dates coincide and we are all lighting candles together.

My dad was in the Jewish community board and we needed to rent a place to put our jewish daycare. They found this beautiful old house that had belonged to a family in colonial times but needed a little TLC. We had them remove some wooden floors because they were too old and rotting and found a huge Magen David made out stones in the center of the floor. The house also happened to have two separate kitchens and a mikveh or immersion bath in one of the rooms. These a very traditional things that colonial houses have in my region.

My grandmother converted to Judaism so I have a side from my family that is 100% from here and didn't arrive during the 20th century. I had the pleasure to meet both of my great grandparents from that side though they died when I was young. My grandma tells me that my greatgrandmother used to have one of these immersion baths in her house when she was growing up. Women were supposed to bathe in them after their periods had ended, my catholic great grandmother respected the mikveh traddition more than I ever have.

(I wish I had photos from that specific house but this happened over ten years ago, I'll show you some immersion baths from a different colonial houses that are also in my city)

Now how about we talk about traditional clothes. I'm sure most of you have heard of Ponchos, which are traditional in the Andean region, well the one from Antioquia is a little different and it's always supposed to be worn with a hat. Let's see if you can spot what I mean.

A few years ago Spain decided to grant citizenship to the descendants of the Jewish people that they had exiled in 1492. To get it you had to prove through family trees that your family had been Jewish. My city got the most ammount of passports out of everyone in the world, more than Israel. I could have applied from both my family that came from Egypt in the 20th century (we still have the keys to our house in Spain) or through my catholic side, as both of my grandmother's last names applied. I didn't but I could have.

I don't really know why I decided to finally write this post. I have so many more stories. I just think it's both incredibly sad that so much Jewish culture and people were lost but also it's a little heartwarming to see what survived even centuries down the line.

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 2

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.4k

warning: language, mention of injury

heres chap 2 guysss !!! im tryna follow the ideas u guys gave me, so im not 100% sure if its exactly what yall had in mind, but im gonna slowly build it up from here 🤞🏽 hopefully there’s no mistakes and it all makes sense cause i wrote the last bit of this chapter and read through this half asleep 😭 anywaysss hope u guys enjoy 🫶🏽

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was still early, but the campus was already alive. The buzz of conversation, the shuffle of students walking to class, and the occasional skateboard rolling past made it feel like the world had hit play again. Paige stood by one of the low stone benches just outside the library, sunlight hitting her face while a gentle breeze played with the hem of her hoodie.

She was early, way too early, but she’d never admit she was nervous. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs scrolling through Instagram, even though she hadn’t really seen a single post. She kept checking her reflection in the dark screen anytime it dimmed. Hair was decent. Fit looked casual but intentional. Nothing screamed I’m trying, even though she absolutely was.

Calm down, she told herself for the twentieth time. It’s just tutoring. You need help. That’s all it is.

A group of students passed by laughing, and Paige looked up, spotting Caroline a few feet away walking with her coffee, headed her direction. She was with Aubrey, Ice, and KK all of them talking shit about something and laughing loudly. Paige already regretted her decision to come to this part of campus.

Caroline smirked the second she saw Paige. “So,” she said, greeting her with a little side hug. “You texted Azzi?”

Paige gave her a side-eye. “How do you already know that?”

“She told me last night,” Caroline said innocently, sipping her coffee.

Aubrey lit up. “Wait, wait, you messaged her? Already? Damn, that didn’t take long.”

KK raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on? Who’s Azzi?”

Caroline turned to her with a smile. “Azzi’s my best friend. She’s super smart. Paige needed help with some classes, so I suggested Azzi could tutor her.”

“And I said I was fine,” Paige muttered.

“And then you texted her anyway,” Aubrey said, grinning. “Knew you would. Couldn’t go under 24 hours without seeing her again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige said under her breath, adjusting her bag strap to have something to do with her hands.

Ice laughed. “Hold on, is this the same Azzi girl that Aubrey said had you all flustered yesterday?”

Aubrey nodded proudly. “Yup. Paige met her once and forgot how to talk.”

“I didn’t forget how to—geez, will you all chill?”

KK leaned in toward Ice. “Now I really wanna see what this girl looks like.”

“You might get your chance,” Caroline said casually, checking her watch. “She’s got class with me in a few minutes. She’s probably walking up now.”

And almost on cue, a voice called out from behind them.

“Hey, Caroline!”

The group turned and spotted Azzi walking up to the group of girls, backpack slung over one shoulder, her braids swaying slightly as she walked. The sunlight caught on her hoops, and Paige went completely still.

Azzi looked laid-back and composed, like she hadn’t just unknowingly walked into a firing squad of nosy basketball girls. She gave Caroline a warm smile before her eyes moved naturally to Paige and paused. Her smile lingered, just a bit softer now.

“Hey, Paige,” she added.

Paige nodded quickly. “Hey.”

They made eye contact, and it was enough to set off another wave of chaos in Paige’s chest. She was hoping no one would notice, but of course, the girls clocked it instantly.

Ice nudged KK and whispered, “Yeah, I get it now.”

KK nodded slowly. “Mhm. She’s got that calm, pretty energy. No wonder Paige’s out here acting like a freshman with a crush.”

“Shut up,” Paige hissed through gritted teeth, though her ears were turning red.

Azzi looked toward the two new faces in the group, a little curious but she does recognise them. Caroline jumped in. “Azzi, this is KK and Ice our teammates. KK, Ice, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“You too,” KK said, still smirking. “Heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

Aubrey was barely holding it together. “We didn’t even say anything yet,” she said, laughing. “But sure, Paige. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“Liar,” Paige muttered.

Azzi glanced at her, still smiling, and Paige felt the air shift again so subtle, but it was there. That unspoken thing sitting between them that no one was addressing. Paige quickly looked away before her teammates could start up again.

“Welp, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Caroline said to the group. “Azzi and I have class.”

“Later,” Aubrey called as Caroline and Azzi started walking away. Aubrey turned towards Paige with a smirk so evil Paige felt it in her bones.

Paige groaned. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

“Oh, I’m saying everything,” Aubrey said gleefully. “The way you just shut down when she looked at you? Paige Bueckers, the ultimate rizzler herself, turned into a puppy.”

Ice laughed. “And she didn’t even do anything. She just said hi”

“Fuck off,” Paige muttered, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad. Not really. Because yeah, Azzi hadn’t done anything. And yet here Paige was, heart racing from a single look.

—-----------------------

Azzi settled into her usual seat beside Caroline in the lecture hall, her notebook already open, though the pen in her hand wasn’t moving. The lecture hadn’t even properly started yet, but even if it had, she knew she wouldn’t be paying attention right away.

Her thoughts kept wandering.

Specifically, to the text she’d gotten the night before. From Paige.

She hadn’t expected to actually hear from her, not after how Paige had brushed off the idea of tutoring like it was unnecessary, even laughable.

Azzi had stared at the message for a solid minute before replying.

Even now, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about it.

“Earth to Az” Caroline murmured, nudging her gently with her elbow. “You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Thinking about someone?”

Azzi blinked and turned toward her, caught but trying to play it cool. “No. I mean—sort of. Just… thinking.”

Caroline’s smirk said she wasn’t buying it. “Thinking about how Paige Bueckers finally caved and texted you for tutoring?”

Azzi let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “I told you last night. I was just surprised she actually did it. She looked so confident yesterday like she was going to fake it till finals.”

“Well, she is confident,” Caroline said, half-amused, half-approving. “But academics? Paige only pretends she doesn’t care. Inside, she’s stressing big time when she’s behind. Girl’s too proud to admit it most of the time.”

Azzi tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect her to be the kind to reach out. Especially to someone she barely knows.”

“She knows who you are,” Caroline said, shooting her a look. “You’re the quiet one who actually takes notes and doesn’t worship the ground she walks on. That probably intrigued her.”

Azzi gave her a look. “I don’t worship anyone. I just… don’t care about basketball or any other sports.”

“Exactly,” Caroline grinned, tapping her nails against the desk. “That makes you different. Refreshing, even.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, unsure how to take that. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think I’d actually be tutoring her. It feels weird.”

Caroline turned more fully toward her, her expression softening. “Weird because you don’t know her, or weird because she was lowkey flustered around you?”

“I don’t think it was anything like that,” Azzi said slowly, trying to sound firmer than she felt. “She was probably just nervous about needing help. That’s all.”

Caroline tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Sure. That’s all.”

Azzi sighed. “I don’t even know her. Like, I’ve heard of her, obviously, but we’ve never talked until yesterday. And it was barely even a conversation.”

“You don’t need to know her to notice when someone’s acting different around you,” Caroline said, her tone a little more knowing now. “I’ve seen Paige with a lot of people. She’s got this… guard. But with you? She was definitely off her game.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was starting to feel the flutter of nerves deep in her chest. “You’re reading into this too much. I’m just going to help her study, that’s it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Alright, fine. Just tutoring. But don’t act surprised if she tries to flirt in her weird, awkward way.”

Azzi snorted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Caroline teased with a wink.

Azzi leaned back, glancing up at the slowly-filling lecture hall. “I’m not trying to get involved in anything messy. I’ll help her study. That’s it. No weirdness, no distractions.”

Caroline raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying you like her. I’m just saying… keep your eyes open. Paige Bueckers may be all cool and untouchable to the rest of the world, but around you? Something’s shifting.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the words hang between them as the professor started setting up slides at the front of the room.

She wasn’t crushing on Paige. She didn’t even really know her.

But there was something about the way Paige had looked at her outside, something a little tentative, a little unsteady, that stuck in her head longer than she wanted to admit.

Azzi shook herself out of it and looked down at her notebook again, forcing her mind to focus on the lecture.

Just tutoring. That was all this was.

Right?

—-----------------------

It was 10 minutes to 3, and Paige was sitting stiffly on one of the benches just outside the library steps, her jacket zipped all the way up despite the mild afternoon warmth. She kept pulling at the zipper down halfway, back up, then down again like it was a dial for her anxiety. Her foot bounced restlessly, her fingers twitching every few seconds to check her phone, even though it hadn’t buzzed.

Aubrey was fully stretched out beside her, taking up way more space than necessary like this was a casual trip to the beach instead of her best friend’s slow descent into chaos. One arm was draped over the back of the bench, the other cradling a half-empty iced coffee that had long since lost its chill. She watched Paige out of the corner of her eye with a grin that kept creeping up every time Paige adjusted something for the hundredth time.

“You know,” Aubrey drawled, lifting her cup to her lips, “if I had a dollar for every time you checked your reflection in your phone screen, I’d be rich enough to drop out and live off vibes alone.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “I was fixing my hair.”

“That the same ‘fix’ you did 3 minutes ago? Or the one right after you dabbed your hoodie with water to flatten that invisible wrinkle?”

Paige groaned and let her head fall back against the bench. “Why are you even here?”

“Entertainment. I live for this.” Aubrey shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Besides, watching you spiral over a girl you met yesterday is 10 times more fun than whatever I was gonna do with my afternoon.”

Paige turned her head slowly to give her the most deadpan look imaginable.

Aubrey beamed back. “Seriously though, you’re killing me. You’ve checked your lip balm, like, four times. What’s the difference between ‘subtle shimmer’ and ‘barely there glow’? They’re the same.”

“They are not the same,” Paige snapped, immediately regretting how fast she said it.

Aubrey’s laugh rang out loud enough to make a student walking by turn their head. “You hear yourself right now?”

Paige pulled the hood over her head and groaned into it. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You just hate that I’m right.”

There was a moment of silence as Paige exhaled slowly, pulling the hood back off and sitting upright again. Her knee was bouncing now, the nerves nowhere near subtle.

“I just… I don’t know,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the library entrance. “She’s really…”

Aubrey perked up. “She’s really what?”

Paige shook her head quickly. “Forget it.”

“Nooo, no, no. Don’t back out now. Say it. I need this.”

Paige sighed and looked out across the quad like the grass was gonna give her strength. Her voice dropped just above a whisper. “She’s really pretty.”

Aubrey clutched her chest like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear it. “There it is!”

Paige frowned, eyes still ahead. “And seems smart. Like, scary smart. But not in a loud way. In a ‘makes you feel dumb without even trying’ kind of way.”

Aubrey raised her brows, clearly loving this. “Damn. You’re gone.”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, folding her arms.

“I’m just observing. You’ve had a crush for a solid twenty-four hours and you’re acting like it’s prom night.”

“She’s tutoring me. That’s it.”

“Mhmmmm. You mean she’s ‘tutoring you’ and you’re ‘definitely not falling apart at the seams’ while trying to remember what two plus two is when she looks at you?”

Paige glared. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I’m gonna throw your coffee across the quad.”

“I’ll buy another one. Worth it.”

Paige groaned again, running her hand through her hair. “God, what am I even doing? I’m acting like a middle schooler.”

“You’re acting like a college student with a gay panic problem,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “It’s fine. It’s cute. Just maybe stop adjusting your jacket every time someone walks by or they’re gonna think you’re shoplifting nerves.”

Paige looked down at herself and huffed, trying to smooth it down one more time before stopping mid-motion, catching herself. “Damn it.”

“See?” Aubrey grinned, nudging her. “You’re spiraling. It’s kinda adorable.”

Right then, Paige’s phone buzzed. She yanked it out like it was on fire.

2:57pm

Her breath hitched. She shot a glance at the entrance.

A flash of dark curls pulled into a ponytail appeared just inside the glass doors of the library.

“Oh shit,” Paige whispered, standing up too fast. She quickly brushed invisible dust off her sweatpants, glanced down at her sneakers, frowned at a smudge, then looked back up.

Aubrey watched with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s about to fail basic math but win the gold in gay panic.”

“Okay, seriously. Stop talking.”

“I’m done,” Aubrey said, hands up in mock surrender. “Go learn some equations and maybe flirt like a human person while you’re at it.”

Paige took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her pants, then started walking toward the library steps.

Aubrey called out one last time, “And maybe try not to stare at her!”

Paige didn’t even turn around. She just lifted her hand behind her and gave Aubrey the finger as she reached the door.

Her heart was pounding. Her palms were a little clammy. But she was walking.

Paige let out one last breath.

The second Paige stepped through the library doors, it felt like her shoes were too loud. Like every step echoed through the entire building even though the carpet was doing its best to muffle them. She tugged her hoodie sleeve down over her palm, eyes sweeping over the rows of tables until she found her.

Azzi was near the far corner, by the window. The sunlight filtered through the glass, catching the edge of her curls and lighting up the gold tones like some kinda magic effect from a movie. She had a pencil in hand, lightly tapping the eraser against the page, her other hand flipping through a worn notebook covered in neat little tabs. She looked focused. Comfortable.

Paige was very much neither of those things.

She hovered for a second, literally just stood there, trying to remember how walking worked before finally forcing her legs to move. Her palms were sweaty again. Her backpack felt too heavy. She hoped her hair wasn’t doing anything weird.

Azzi looked up right as Paige reached the table. “Hey,” she said, a casual, soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Paige’s brain glitched for a second. “Hey,” she said, and it came out a little too fast.

Azzi closed the notebook and motioned to the chair across from her. “You’re on time.”

“I’m always on time,” Paige said, slipping into the seat like her limbs were made of static. She regretted the joke immediately. “I mean, usually. Sometimes. Not like always always, but—”

Azzi raised a brow, amused. “You’re good. I’m just saying I expected a minute or two buffer.”

Paige laughed nervously and tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie again. “Yeah, no. I was already out here. Early. Just, you know… prepping.”

Azzi gave her a look like she was trying not to smile. “Prepping to be tutored?”

“Exactly.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath and opened a different notebook, one already half-filled with notes. “Ok. So I looked over the syllabus and the last few slides from class. Want to start with the stuff from earlier in the week?”

“Please,” Paige said, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “That whole section might as well have been written in some foreign language.”

“Alright,” Azzi said, flipping to the page. “We’re still on systems of equations and matrix transformations. Did you get the basics?”

Paige hesitated. “Define basics.”

Azzi didn’t even blink. “Like… what a matrix is?”

“…Is that the Keanu Reeves one or the number box one?”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s start with the number box one.”

She turned the notebook around and slid it across the table so Paige could see. Her handwriting was crazy clean. Paige immediately noticed how she circled everything in soft, pastel highlighters—blue for definitions, pink for formulas, green for notes. It was weirdly calming to look at.

“So this,” Azzi said, tapping the first example, “is a 2x2 matrix. Two rows, two columns. Easy enough?”

Paige leaned in a little, squinting at the page like it might bite her. “Yeah. I think I remember this part.”

Azzi looked up. “You’re allowed to say you don’t. No judgment.”

“I mean, I kind of remember it. It’s more like it shows up and I recognize the face, but I don’t remember the name.”

Azzi laughed again, light and genuine. “Alright, we’ll reintroduce you.”

She walked Paige through the basics, what each position meant, how they worked when you multiplied them, the reason why flipping them could screw everything up. Paige nodded, trying to focus on the numbers, the shapes, anything that wasn’t Azzi’s voice being low and patient or the way her curls bounced when she looked down to write something.

At some point, Azzi switched to a blank page and turned the notebook so Paige could try a problem herself. She watched closely as Paige worked through it slowly, brow furrowed, tongue slightly poking out the corner of her mouth.

“You’re overthinking it,” Azzi said, voice soft. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Paige huffed and leaned back, pencil pressed between her palms. “One step at a time is how I ended up failing that quiz.”

“True,” Azzi said, grinning. “But now you’ve got me. Upgrades.”

That earned a real smile out of Paige. “Yeah. This is definitely better.”

Azzi looked at her for a second, then tapped the page. “You’re actually not far off. You just missed one sign. Wanna try again?”

Paige nodded, gaze flicking back down to the numbers.

She could do this.

Well… she could try.

And maybe, just maybe if she didn’t totally embarrass herself, there’d be more study sessions like this. Not that she was hoping for anything.

—-----------------------

The soft hum of the library was like a low lullaby, comforting in its quiet, yet full of the sort of focused energy only a place of learning could have. Books, notebooks, and pens were strewn across the table between them, yet all Paige could focus on was Azzi.

Azzi was reading the textbook aloud softly, walking her through another set of equations. Her voice was calm, steady, yet there was an underlying intensity in the way she spoke, like she genuinely wanted Paige to understand. Every now and then, Azzi would pause and ask if Paige was following, looking at her over the top of her glasses, and Paige would just nod though most of the time, her attention wasn’t entirely on the lesson.

She caught herself again, staring. Azzi’s hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face, and those glasses—those damn glasses. Paige had to fight the urge to look away every time Azzi adjusted them, because the way they sat on her face, giving her an effortlessly smart, put-together look, made Paige’s stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t quite figured out.

Azzi wasn’t even trying to impress anyone. She was just sitting there, leaning over the textbook, completely engrossed in helping Paige. Her calm demeanor was almost too much for Paige to handle sometimes like the sort of quiet confidence that was magnetic.

She caught herself again, looking at Azzi’s profile as she read. The way her lips moved as she pronounced the words, her fingers subtly tapping on the page as she went through the steps in the problem.

“Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice snapping Paige out of her daze. “You still with me?”

Paige blinked and tried to clear the fog in her head. “Yeah, sorry,” she said, focusing on the math in front of her. She quickly scribbled a few numbers down, even though she was far more focused on the way Azzi was looking at her now, brows furrowed in concern.

“I said we can move on to the next problem if you’re ready,” Azzi added, voice softer now.

“Yeah, I think I got this one,” Paige lied, her words more rushed than she intended. She was trying her best to concentrate, but the math seemed to fade into the background as she found herself distracted by the soft rhythm of Azzi’s voice and the quiet rustling of pages. The way Azzi’s fingers traced the lines of the book as she found the right spot. The way her eyes would flicker from the textbook to Paige every few seconds to check in on her, making sure she was following along. It was like everything Azzi did was just too perfect, too natural, and it made Paige feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you want me to slow down? I know this part can be tricky,” Azzi offered, her eyes searching Paige’s face for any sign of confusion.

But the truth was, Paige wasn’t confused about the math at all, she was distracted by Azzi’s presence, her calmness, the way her voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She gave a small shake of her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Azzi nodded, returning her attention to the problem at hand. She explained the next step slowly and clearly, but Paige’s mind wasn’t really processing it. Instead, she was watching the way Azzi’s lips moved as she spoke, the way her fingers tapped the paper, the way her glasses slightly slid down her nose as she read the equations. Paige couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool Azzi seemed. She looked so unbothered, so calm in her own skin, and it was something Paige both envied and admired.

The longer they sat there, the more the air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken things. Paige could almost feel the weight of the silence, but not in an uncomfortable way, in a way that made her want to lean forward, ask Azzi about her life, about everything that made her the person she was. And yet, every time she tried to get her words together, her thoughts scattered like smoke in the wind.

“Paige, are you sure you’re following?” Azzi asked again, this time with a small frown forming between her brows. She wasn’t accusing or frustrated; just genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige quickly said, shaking her head as if to clear the distraction. She forced herself to focus, finally pulling her eyes from Azzi’s face and onto the equation in front of her. “I think I get it now. Thanks for being patient.”

Azzi smiled softly. “No problem. You’re doing great, really. You just need to take a breath every now and then. You’re trying too hard.”

Paige bit her lip, trying to suppress the chuckle that almost slipped out. “Trying too hard?” she repeated, her voice teasing. “I’m not trying hard enough for this?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes softening as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, maybe you should try a little harder. You’re already getting the hang of it.”

Paige felt a little flame of pride in her chest at Azzi’s praise, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being drawn to the way Azzi sat there, calm and composed, like she had everything under control. And Paige was… well, a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

She forced herself to focus back on the book, willing her mind to follow the equations instead of her thoughts, but it was getting harder with each passing second. She glanced back at Azzi, who was quietly writing out steps on the page. Azzi’s head was tilted slightly, a sign of concentration. And it hit Paige then how deeply she was starting to care for this girl. How much more than just math sessions she was starting to crave.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it,” Paige said finally, trying to focus back in, her voice steadying now.

Azzi looked up and nodded, smiling again. “Good. See? You’re getting it.” She paused, and for a moment, Paige thought she saw a flicker of something in Azzi’s eyes—something warm and unspoken. But then it was gone, hidden behind the coolness of her usual composure.

Paige nodded, forcing her eyes to stay on the page, though her thoughts felt like they were running a mile a minute.

“Alright, let’s take a short break before we do the next one,” Azzi suggested. “You’ve been at this for a while now.”

Paige didn’t protest. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and let herself relax for a moment, her gaze slipping to Azzi again, just long enough to catch her watching her with that same quiet focus. That same soft intensity that made Paige’s heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige didn’t mean to do it—didn’t mean to let the curiosity slip out, but the words came before she could stop them.

“So, uh, what made you agree to tutor me?” Paige asked, her voice softer than usual, as if she was treading into unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but something about Azzi seemed different. Quiet. Like there was so much more beneath the surface.

Azzi paused, her hand hovering over her bag, and then looked up at Paige. For a brief moment, there was that same familiar flicker of something behind her calm demeanor, but Azzi quickly masked it with her usual composed smile.

“I dunno,” Azzi said after a beat, voice casual, “You seemed like you needed help. And I guess I’m a sucker for helping people out, especially if they’re willing to put in the work. You seem like you actually care about getting it right.”

Paige nodded, appreciating the honesty in Azzi’s voice. “I do. I just… get distracted sometimes.” She chuckled softly, but the sound felt more nervous than anything.

Azzi smiled again, a little warmer this time. “Yeah, I noticed.” She shrugged slightly, picking up her notebook and tucking it into her bag. “I like helping people. I used to tutor a lot when I was in high school. It just feels good, you know?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What else? You seem like you’ve got other stuff going on. What do you do for fun when you’re not helping people like me?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, clearly considering whether to answer. Paige almost regretted asking, but then Azzi sighed, almost reluctantly.

“Well, it’s a bit of a random fact, but I used to play basketball. Like, competitively.” Azzi glanced up at Paige, her eyes not quite meeting hers. She continued quietly, “I stopped playing a few years ago. Tore my ACL in a game, but that’s not the reason I quit. I just… lost the love for it, I guess.”

Paige blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. Azzi, with her calm confidence, so different from the athletes Paige was used to, didn't seem like the type who would’ve played a sport like basketball. “You played? For how long?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers tapping against the desk idly. “Since I was a kid. But by the time I hit high school, I wasn’t really feeling it anymore. It wasn’t about the injury. I could’ve come back after the rehab. But after a while, I just realized it wasn’t my thing anymore.” She paused for a moment, eyes flickering to Paige, then away again. “I guess I was just… over it.”

Paige couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at her lips. She knew how much basketball meant to her. The idea of walking away from it, losing that love—she couldn’t imagine it. “So, what did you end up doing after that?”

Azzi gave a small smile, almost wistful. “I got more into school. Focused on things I could control, you know? It’s where I found my rhythm again.”

It was almost like she was shutting that chapter down, not wanting to revisit it. But Paige didn’t press further. It was clear that basketball, once a major part of Azzi’s life, had faded into something she didn’t want to talk about too much.

“Sounds like you figured things out,” Paige said softly, leaning back in her chair, watching Azzi carefully. “I respect that.”

Azzi finally met Paige’s gaze, her expression softening a little. “Yeah, well… I guess everyone finds their own way eventually.” She gave a slight shrug, as if brushing the conversation aside, before turning her focus back to the textbook in front of them. “We should get back to it. I think we’re almost done with this chapter.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, a thousand questions swirling in her head, but she could tell Azzi wasn’t quite ready to share more. And for now, Paige was okay with that. She’d already learned something important—that Azzi was much more than the quiet, composed classmate/tutor sitting across from her. There was depth to her, layers that Paige would have to be patient to peel back.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Paige finally said, refocusing on the math in front of her. “Let’s finish this up.”

As Azzi started explaining the next set of equations, Paige felt a little more settled. They were getting somewhere, and for the first time, Paige wasn’t just focused on the math in front of her. She was focused on Azzi, her presence, the way she spoke, the little things she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just about the lesson anymore. It was about being with Azzi, understanding her in ways that went far beyond equations and textbooks.

—-----------------------

They finished the last practice question with a shared sigh of relief. Azzi leaned over, checking Paige’s final answer with a quick glance, then nodded in approval.

“Yep. You got it.”

Paige blinked down at the scribbled page. “Wait… I did?”

Azzi chuckled, a genuine laugh that made Paige’s chest feel weirdly warm. “You’re improving. You just need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Paige muttered, setting her pencil down and rubbing at her temple. “But I’ll take the dub.”

Azzi started to neatly organize  everything back into her bag. “I think that’s enough math for one day.”

“Agreed,” Paige said, stretching again. “My brain’s officially fried.”

Just as she grabbed her water bottle and leaned back in her chair, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the library.

“Yo, Azzi.”

Paige looked up and instantly regretted it.

Strutting toward them like he owned the place was Jace McCallister—tight end on the UConn football team, cocky smirk permanently etched on his face, confidence dripping off him like cologne. Paige knew him. Everyone did. He was loud, flashy, and flirted like it was a full-time job. The kind of guy who wore his jersey to class and thought everyone should thank him for showing up.

Azzi glanced up, face unreadable. “Hey.”

Jace leaned casually against the edge of their table, not even glancing at Paige. “Just wondering when our next session is? You free this week?”

Paige’s brows knit. Our session?

Azzi nodded politely, unfazed. “Yeah, I think tomorrow. Same time?”

“Perfect.” He flashed her a grin. “Can’t say no to learning from the smartest girl on campus.”

Azzi’s lips pulled into a tight, polite smile. “Well thank you.”

Jace chuckled and finally glanced at Paige, as if just noticing her. “Oh. Hey, Bueckers.”

“McCallister,” Paige replied, voice flat.

He raised a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a tutor too.”

“She doesn’t,” Azzi cut in smoothly before Paige could answer, her tone calm but firm. “We’re just going over some extra stuff.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just watched the exchange, something unsettled building in her chest. She knew Jace. Knew his reputation. And the way he was looking at Azzi now, like she was the next thing to win over, made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t care. It was just tutoring.

But still.

Jace winked, then tapped the table. “Catch you later, Azzi.” He turned and walked off, not a single ounce of subtlety in his swagger.

Paige stared after him, jaw tight.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath.

Azzi looked over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly, shaking her head. “Just… don’t like that guy.”

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Why not?”

“He’s a walking ego,” Paige said, grabbing her stuff. “And he’s a player. Like, in every sense of the word. He’s not exactly subtle about who he hits on.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just zipped her bag and stood up. “He’s harmless.”

“Sure,” Paige muttered, a little sharper than she meant to. “Just be careful, okay?”

Azzi blinked, surprised at the tone. Paige ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

“Sorry. That came out weird. Just forget it.”

Azzi gave her a long look, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

They walked in silence toward the library exit, Paige internally screaming at herself. ‘It’s not that deep. She’s not yours. You’re literally just studying.’ But no matter how many times she told herself that, her clenched jaw said otherwise.

As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, a small group of girls standing near the library steps caught sight of them—specifically Paige.

“Oh my god, that’s Paige Bueckers,” one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Before she could even react, one of them stepped forward, all smiles and nervous energy. “Hi! Sorry, we don’t wanna bother you, but could we maybe get a picture? We’re huge fans.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard but immediately smiled.

“Of course,” she said, already stepping toward them, voice warm and friendly. “What’s your name?”

One of them nearly melted. “I’m Sam. This is Ava and Kayla.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Paige said, handing her phone to one of them after snapping a few selfies together. “You guys coming to the game on friday?”

“Yeah! We can’t wait! Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Paige said sincerely. “I’ll try to put on a show for y’all.”

They grinned, waved, and scurried off giggling, still whispering to each other as they walked away.

Azzi stood a few feet back, arms loosely crossed. Watching.

Paige turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Azzi shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t expect what?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You being… like that. With people.”

Paige tilted her head. “Like what?”

Azzi gave her a soft shrug. “I guess I thought you’d be more… I dunno. Big-time athlete energy. Standoffish. You’re not.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, amused. “So you thought I’d be a bitch?”

Azzi smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it, though.”

Azzi’s smile widened just slightly. “Maybe. A little.”

Paige laughed. “Damn. That’s cold.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on her, more thoughtful now. “You surprise me. In a good way.”

And Paige couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as they started walking again, side by side.

They walked in silence again for a bit, the quiet not uncomfortable—just filled with a weird hum Paige couldn’t place. It clung to her like static, buzzing beneath her skin every time she glanced over and saw Azzi walking next to her, face calm, unreadable as always.

When they reached the small fork in the path outside the library, Azzi finally slowed to a stop.

“This is me,” she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

Paige stopped too, a little slower. “Right. Yeah.”

Azzi looked up at her. “That wasn’t too painful, was it?”

Paige snorted. “I mean… there were a few moments where I considered setting my notebook on fire.”

Azzi smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“Thanks to you.”

There was a beat of quiet. Paige swallowed and scratched at the back of her neck. “So… when do you wanna do this again?”

Azzi tilted her head, thinking. “I’m free Thursday evening. If that works?”

Paige nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi gave her a small nod. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

“Cool,” Paige said, trying not to sound weird. “Coolcoolcool.”

Azzi’s brows lifted just slightly. Paige looked down at the ground, internally facepalming.

Azzi smiled again, more to herself this time. “You’re kind of strange.”

Paige looked up. “Rude.”

Azzi started walking backwards slowly, smirking. “But I mean that in a good way.”

Paige watched her go, lips twitching. “Sure you do.”

Azzi turned around and gave a small wave over her shoulder. “Later, Paige.”

Paige stood there for a second too long after she was gone, staring at nothing in particular. Then she finally exhaled, rubbed her hands over her face, and mumbled under her breath.

“Fuck.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[somegirlyoumetx]

Where the Game Ends

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Word Count: ~4.3k

Summary: You stayed up too late replaying Hogwarts Legacy. Just one more run. One more goodbye to the boy with too much to handle and no one left in his corner. You hit 100% completion.

Everything done. Everything perfect.

And then you fell asleep.

But you wake up in the Undercroft.

Sebastian Sallow-real, alive, and seconds from hexing you-is standing over you with his wand drawn. The story hasn't ended. It's still happening. But now, you're inside it. No wand. No plan. No way back. And nothing to explain your existence.

Content & Trigger Warnings (18+): Explicit sexual content (NSFW), raw intimacy, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, light pain kink, overstimulation, time-slip/self-insert themes, consent emphasized but emotionally charged.

A/N: This is a standalone one-shot. Emotional development would unfold more gradually in a full-length fic.

This is part of a fanfiction concept that may eventually become a full-length book-but for now, I just wanted to explore it as a single, self-contained scene.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

You set the controller down and sigh. The cutscene plays out—same as always. You’ve seen it five times now. OWLs complete. House Cup secured. This time, you even hit 100%. Every side quest, every hidden chest, every Merlin Trial. It’s all finished. Finally.

And still, something’s missing.

Sebastian Sallow.

He should be here. He deserves to be standing with everyone else, part of the celebration. But for whatever reason, he never is. You never sent him to Azkaban—you couldn’t. No matter how many times you replay the game, you always choose to let him go.

The credits begin to roll, and your eyes are already heavy. It’s late—past 3 a.m.—and you’ve been playing for hours. The soft music wraps around you, familiar and final. You sink back into your blankets, eyes slipping shut, heartbeat slowing.

And then… you drift off.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

You wake slowly.

Your head feels heavy, like you’ve been asleep for years. For a second, you assume you’re still in bed—maybe you passed out with the TV on again. But you smell something different, something heavy: dust. Musty air. A weird hum beneath it all.

You blink.

You’re not at home.

You’re lying on stone flooring, the surface cool beneath your bare thighs. Torch light flickers across the walls. Boxes are scattered around the room. You recognize the architecture immediately—the Undercroft. From the game.

What the hell kind of dream is this?

You slowly sit up and glance down at yourself. You’re still in the clothes you fell asleep in: your oversized frog-print T-shirt and a pair of black underwear. Your cow slippers—lopsided and slightly scuffed—are still somehow on your feet. The sight of them against the stone is so ridiculous it almost makes you laugh.

“On your feet. Now.”

Your stomach drops as you recognize the voice.

Sebastian.

He stands just ahead, half-obscured by the shadows curling around the Undercroft’s columns. His wand is raised—aimed directly at you—and there’s no trace of the familiar smirk you’ve seen a hundred times in cutscenes. He’s taller in person. Broader. Tousled brown hair falls just above his brow. His robes hang open, his vest wrinkled, tie loose, and collar undone like he dressed in a hurry.

His face is freckled—faint, scattered across his nose and cheekbones, especially vivid in the flickering light. And his brown eyes pin you in place with suspicion.

He looks real. He feels real.

And he is seconds away from hexing you.

His gaze drops.

“That’s… quite the outfit to wear sneaking into a place like this.”

You follow his stare and freeze.

He looks completely floored. Not just confused—stunned. Like he’s never seen so much bare leg in his life and can’t decide if you’re cursed or criminal.

This has to be a dream.

But the cold is real. The silence is too loud. The feeling of his gaze on your skin makes you hyper-aware of every breath you take. And the way he’s watching you feels far too precise to be imagined.

You scramble to your feet and throw your hands up in surrender.

“I—I don’t know how I got here,” you say quickly. “My name is Y/N. I woke up here!”

“How did you find this place?”

“I told you—I don’t know!”

“Liar,” his voice snaps. “Try again.”

“I was in my room!” you blurt. “It was late. I fell asleep and then—I woke up here. I was playing a game!”

“A game?” His eyes narrow. There’s a flicker of disbelief. The wand stays up. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Not really,” you say, lifting your hands higher. “But it was worth a shot.”

You shift your weight, and glance around the room—searching for something to anchor you. “I really can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not.”

Sebastian moves suddenly—just one quick step forward, wand lifting higher, and the movement is so real, so close, that you flinch.

“Sebastian!” The name leaves your mouth instinctively.

He freezes.

“You know my name?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I know you because of the game. I know this place is called the Undercroft. I know your best friend—Ominis Gaunt—was the one who found it first.”

He doesn’t move, but something shifts in his expression. Something unsettled.

“Impossible,” he says tightly. “Tell me who you are.”

“Look,” you say quietly. “I’m from the year 2025. This place—Hogwarts, this world—it’s not supposed to be real where I’m from. It’s fictional. It’s… a story.”

He stares at you like you’ve gone mad.

“It’s a game,” you continue. “You’re in it. I played it. I watched your story unfold through a character with ancient magic.”

“Explain,” he says, voice barely audible. But the wand stays up. The tension doesn’t leave the room.

So, you try.

You tell him about screens, about controllers, about pixels and code and decision-based dialogue trees. You try to explain what a video game is, what Hogwarts Legacy is, how you explored every part of this world—from the Highlands to Hogsmeade—and how he was always your favorite part of it.

The whole time, he says nothing.

But his grip on the wand loosens. Just a little.

“Ancient magic…” he hums after you finish explaining. His tone is thoughtful, but there’s something brittle under it. “You’re talking about Milton Shagworthy.”

You blink. “Sorry—what?”

“Milton Shagworthy,” he repeats, completely serious. “He’s the new fifth-year. Helped me with the Scriptorium. With Anne. All of it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Milton Shagworthy? Who—who named their character that?”

He shrugs, unfazed. “I don’t know. But that’s who you just described.”

You’re still laughing. “You’re telling me someone made a custom character, named him Milton Shagworthy, and played through your life like it’s a joke—and you’re just fine with that?”

He raises a brow. “I’m not fine with it, I’m just telling you what’s real. Apparently.”

“And I’m telling you… it was a game. You were in it. That story? It’s something we play. Make choices in. Milton Shagworthy is the result of someone’s really unfortunate imagination.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

“Then you know what I did.”

“I do,” you whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you see it—how his shoulders tighten, how his grip on the wand slackens just slightly. Like something cracked open inside him and hasn’t been sealed since.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean—”

“You already did.”

It’s not harsh. Just… hollow.

You hesitate, then take a cautious step forward.

“Let me help you.”

That gets a reaction. He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Help me? How could you help me?”

You meet his gaze and hold it.

“Because I’ve seen what comes next. In the game, your story ends—or fades into the background—but here? It’s still happening. You’re still in it. And maybe that means I’m not just here by accident. Maybe I’m here to help you get through it.”

He doesn’t respond. Just watches you for a moment—long enough to make your heart stutter. His wand lowers an inch, then two, until it’s finally at his side.

That alone feels like a truce.

He sighs, like he’s weighing his options. Then, without a word, he steps back and gestures—barely—with a tilt of his head.

You settle onto one of the wooden boxes, the edge creaking softly beneath you. He doesn’t sit, but he doesn’t stop you either. You’re not close, but you’re not far anymore.

“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence. “You said you were playing the game before you ended up here?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone can play it?”

You nod. “Pretty much.”

“And it just… ends like that? My story never finishes?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Not really. You just kind of disappear. It’s vague. Unresolved.”

He frowns. “That’s absurd.”

“Yeah. A lot of people think so. Which is why they write about what they think happens after.”

“Write?” His brow furrows. “Stories?”

“They call it fan fiction.”

He repeats the words slowly, like he’s tasting them. “And what—these stories… are they good? Do they give me better endings?”

You smile faintly. “Most of them do. Some don’t. Some are completely unhinged.”

“What do you mean?”

You clear your throat. “Some people write… other things.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Other things?”

“…Intimate things.”

A beat.

“Intimate,” he echoes, cautious.

“They write about you. About you doing… things.”

He stares. “With who?”

You hesitate. “Usually themselves. Or their own characters.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

He looks at you. Really looks. “And have you…?”

You raise a hand quickly. “I plead the fifth.”

“The fifth what?”

“Never mind.”

He watches you for a long moment after that—like he’s still trying to figure you out, still deciding whether you’re real or just a cruel trick played by magic and grief.

You don’t say anything else. Neither does he.

But the silence that follows isn’t as tense as before. It settles between you, strange but not unwelcome.

Eventually, he sits beside you.

Not close at first. But then his shoulder brushes yours as he shifts, and when your thighs touch—briefly—he doesn’t move away.

He glances at you sideways, guarded. Searching.

“You really don’t belong here.”

“I know,” you say with a small shrug. “But I’m here.”

“You’d really help me?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

You meet his eyes without flinching. “Without a doubt.”

He looks away fast, jaw tight. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you understand.”

“I do.”

“You couldn’t possibly—” His voice catches. “You couldn’t understand what it was like for me.”

“I do.”

You hold his gaze as the words spill from you.

“Sebastian, I watched you suffer. Alone. I saw the pain. The desperation. The way you love your sister so fiercely it tore pieces out of you. I know.”

He’s breathing hard now. Not from anger. From something else.

“You never deserved to be alone,” you say gently. “And you’re not a monster. Not the one you think you are. You’re not.”

Your voice softens.

“How could you be a monster for trying to save the people you love?”

He goes still.

Then he moves so fast you don’t even register that his lips are on yours until you’re already kissing him back.

The kiss starts like a detonation—hot, fast, fueled by everything neither of you have said.

But then… it shifts.

Less rushed. Slower. Less like a spark and more like collapse. Like he’s been holding back for so long that now, with your mouth on his, he’s finally unraveling. His hand curls behind your neck, anchoring you in place. The other slips to your thigh, then higher. His palm burns through the fabric of your shirt like it’s nothing.

You breathe against his lips, voice trembling. “Sebastian—”

He doesn’t pull back. Just leans his forehead to yours, panting, brows furrowed like he’s trying not to fall apart.

“You say my name like it means something.”

“It does,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says, voice cracking. “You. Here. Wanting me like this.”

“None of it makes any sense,” you say. “But it’s happening.”

You’re still sitting on the wooden crate, knees touching, breath tangled. Your shirt’s falling off one shoulder. His tie is hanging even looser and useless around his neck.

His gaze drops to your lips. “Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say, breathless. “But… I’ve never done this before.”

He freezes.

You can almost hear the gears grinding behind his eyes. “Never?”

“Not with anyone.”

His eyes flash—not with lust, but with concern. “And you want this to be with me?”

“I already chose you,” you say. “Every time I played. Every time I watched the story—I chose you.”

He stares at you like you’ve cracked him wide open.

Then he kisses you again. Harder.

And that’s when you feel it—his restraint breaking. His tongue slides along yours, and his fingers tighten on your thigh. He groans into your mouth when you whimper, when you dig your nails into his shirt.

He yanks his vest down his arms, then shrugs out of the shirt underneath, breath shaking. You run your hands over his firm, freckled chest. His body is hot beneath your palms, and you want more.

He pulls your shirt up—pauses just beneath your chest. “Can I see you?”

You nod, and raise your arms.

The shirt comes off.

Your breasts rise and fall with your breath. He’s looking at you like you’re something special—like if he blinks, he’ll miss it.

“Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re unreal.”

Your mouth tilts. “You can touch.”

He does.

One hand, gentle but desperate, cups your breast. His thumb brushes your nipple until it stiffens under his touch. You moan, and that’s all it takes—his mouth is on your throat, then your collarbone, then down to your chest. His tongue flicks over your nipple. He sucks, just once, and you move into him.

“I want you on your back,” he growls.

“Then take me there.”

He stands, grabs you by the hips, and lifts you off the crate like you weigh nothing. The stone floor is cold against your back, but the heat from his body makes up for it. He kneels between your legs, eyes drinking you in.

You reach for his belt. “Take this off.”

He unbuckles it fast, shoving his trousers down to his thighs. His cock presses against the fabric of his boxers—thick, long, hard, and already leaking.

But he doesn’t touch himself. He’s focused entirely on you.

He crouches over you, fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “These too?”

“Yes.”

He pulls them down slowly. The air hits your soaked core and your thighs twitch.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

He spreads your legs and settles between them. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping and massaging like he can’t believe you’re real.

You prop yourself up on your elbows just in time to watch his head lower.

Then his mouth is on you.

You cry out.

His tongue licks a long, slow stripe through your folds. Then another. His mouth wraps around your clit and sucks, gentle at first, then firmer, and your hips buck.

He grabs them. “Stay still.”

“Can’t,” you gasp. “I—Sebastian—”

He looks up at you.

And the sight knocks the breath from your lungs.

His face is buried between your thighs, freckles flushed, mouth glistening, eyes locked on yours. Hungry. Possessive.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing your clit. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“You’re—you’re going to kill me,” you pant.

“I haven’t even started.”

He dives back in.

His tongue flicks, laps, then flattens and drags in slow circles. He switches rhythms—teasing one second, focused the next. You can’t keep your legs still. One of your hands fists in his hair and tugs, hard. He groans, and the vibration makes you see stars.

“Oh yes—please—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He devours you like it’s the only way he’ll survive. He kisses your pussy like it’s holy. Like he’s worshipping you with his mouth. Like your pleasure is the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Your thighs start to shake. Your hands try to grip the floor.

“I’m going to—fuck—Sebastian—”

He moans, “Come on my tongue.”

And you do.

It crashes through you like wildfire. Your body locks, your back arches, and you scream his name.

But he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, softer now, slower, coaxing every wave of aftershock until your legs are trembling and your voice breaks.

You collapse. Boneless. Gasping.

He kisses up your thigh, your stomach, your chest, until he’s over you again.

“You alright?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “You ruined me.”

He grins. “Good.”

Then you reach for him.

“Now,” you whisper. “It’s your turn.”

You reach down into his boxes and wrap your hand around him. 

His cock twitches against your grip. His breath quickens, eyes slamming shut as your thumb swipes across the head. When he opens them again, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re going to undo me.”

He kisses you hard, biting your bottom lip, hips stuttering forward like he can’t stop himself from grinding into your hand. You stroke him once, twice—just to feel him, the way he pulses against your skin.

Then your voice goes soft. “I want you inside me.”

His forehead presses to yours. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything.”

Sebastian pulls back just enough to strip the rest of his clothes off—tossing his boxers to the side—and kneels between your legs again, completely bare.

You look down at him. Really look.

He’s beautiful.

Not just his body—but the way he looks at you. He keeps looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense in his fucked up world.

He strokes himself once, spreading your pussy along his length, then presses the head of his cock to your entrance. He’s slow, like he’s bracing himself for the moment everything changes.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmurs.

You nod, barely breathing. “I want to feel all of it.”

And then he pushes in.

You gasp. The stretch is violent, unfamiliar, and so, so full.

“Y/N—” he growls, jaw clenched. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm—”

You whimper, your walls pulsing. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he breathes.

He inches in deeper, watching your face for any hint of discomfort. You feel every inch of him until he’s fully inside you. When his hips finally meet yours, you moan—long and low.

“Ah—Sebastian,” you gasp. “You feel so deep.”

“Because I’m not holding back,” he murmurs. “You’re going to remember this. Every time you close your eyes.”

He stays still for a moment. Breathing. Letting you adjust.

Then he pulls out—just enough to tease your entrance—and thrusts back in. Your breath catches again. The burn is already fading, replaced with unbearable pressure and dizzying heat.

He fucks you slowly at first, hips rolling, grinding his pelvis into your clit with every stroke.

“I—I can’t believe this,” you pant.

He lowers his forehead to yours. “Believe it.”

His pace quickens. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the chamber. His hands grip your hips. Your moans turn to gasps. Then to curses.

“Fuck—Sebastian—”

“You take me so well,” he pants. 

He leans back, grabs your thighs, and lifts your hips slightly—just enough to tilt your pelvis toward him. The change is subtle, but when he thrusts again—

Oh.

It’s like lightning.

The air punches out of your lungs.

His cock drags against something inside you that makes your entire body lock up.

Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out at first—just a strangled inhale as white heat rushes through your spine. Every nerve in your body lights up. That spot—that spot—he hits it again, and your legs jerk in response. Reflexive.

“Right there,” you moan. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop—”

You feel helpless under it. Like he’s got his hands wrapped around the base of your soul and he’s pulling pleasure out of you one grind at a time. Every deep stroke forces your body open wider. Every motion drags a desperate sound from your throat.

It’s not just penetration—it’s precision. Pressure. The perfect collision of want and anatomy and the kind of slow, focused rhythm that drives people mad.

Your thighs tremble. Your vision pulses. You can feel another orgasm building and you’re not even sure how long you’ll last.

He sees it in your face. Smirks like sin and does it again.

“Oh my God—”

He’s relentless now. Slamming into you. His brow furrows, his mouth hanging open. Sweat beads at his temples, rolls down his chest. You cling to his forearms while your nails dig into his skin.

Then he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You whimper.

“Oh, you like that,” he smirks.

“Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

He thrusts even harder. Merciless.

And then he lets go of one wrist to reach down and rub your clit in tight circles.

“You’re so close,” he grunts out. “I can feel you—tightening up—fuck—come for me. Want to feel you lose it on my cock.”

Your mouth falls open. A high, broken whine slips out.

You’re already right there—so close you’re throbbing. Your body’s coiled tight, burning, clenching around him like you’re trying to drag him deeper. He keeps hitting that spot, over and over, every thrust stealing more of your breath.

“I—I can’t—” you cry out, voice wrecked. “Please, Sebastian—don’t stop—please—fuck—I’m going to—”

“That’s it,” he groans. “Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

“Please—please—want you to feel it—want you to feel how much I need you—”

And then you come.

Your entire body tenses around him. You scramble to grip anything to keep your body from losing control. Your thighs shake violently around his waist. Your pussy clenches down hard—dragging a groan out of him.

“Fucking—hell—

You can barely speak, barely breathe. You cling to him, whimpering, still trembling through the aftershocks.

“Inside,” you gasp. “Sebastian—please—want it—want you to come in me—I need to feel it—need you.”

He loses it.

He slams into you one last time—deep, deep—like he’s trying to put something permanent inside you.

“Fuck—yes—I’m coming—”

You feel the first hot pulse of his cum, then another—thick, filling you completely. He moans your name into your neck, over and over, hips grinding through it, desperate to push every drop into you.

You’re still fluttering around him, soaked and full.

The Undercroft is finally quiet.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, echoing louder than the torches crackling along the walls. Sebastian lies half on top of you, still buried deep. His breath ghosts across your shoulder.

For a minute, neither of you speak.

“Are you… alright?” His voice is shaky. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “No. You ruined me, sure. But in the best way.”

He lets out a soft, relieved sound—half laugh, half exhale—and kisses the hollow of your throat. His lips linger there like he doesn’t want to leave.

You shift, and both of you hiss—his cock twitching inside you, your thighs sticky with sweat.

“We made a mess,” you mumble.

“We did,” he agrees, smirking against your skin. “I’m proud of it.”

You let out a breathless laugh, but your body trembles when you feel him slowly pull out. You whine at the sudden emptiness. His cum leaks out of you immediately.

Sebastian watches. Then mutters, “Fuck, that’s obscene.”

He runs two fingers along your core—just to spread it wider, watch it drip out of you. You squirm.

“Stop,” you whimper, hips twitching.

“Oh no,” he murmurs. “I’m not done looking at you.”

He leans down and kisses your hip, then trails his mouth to the inside of your thigh. His tongue flicks out, tasting what he left there.

You flinch. “Sebastian—”

“You taste like sex,” he groans. “Like mine.”

Your legs nearly close around his head, but he pins them open. “Hold still.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you let me fuck you on the floor of a cursed hideout,” he says. “What does that make you?”

“Very, very lucky,” you whisper.

He kisses your clit—just a soft brush of lips. You flinch again, oversensitive. He hums.

“You’re still so swollen.”

You glare. “That’s your fault.”

He grins. “You’re welcome.”

Sebastian crawls back up over your body, settling between your thighs again, his now-soft cock brushing against your sensitive core. You gasp—still sensitive.

“I can’t,” you say, voice shaking.

“I know.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You wrap your arms around him, tuck your face into his neck. You feel safe there—tucked under his weight, surrounded by his warmth.

“You were incredible,” he whispers. “The sounds you made—the way you looked at me—”

You lift your head and kiss him. A different kind of hunger is there now—slower, sweeter.

“I meant what I said,” you whisper. “You’re not a monster. You never were.”

His eyes shutter. He leans his forehead to yours again. “You’re the first person to ever say that and mean it.”

“I watched everything you went through. I know what you did. But I also know why.”

“I wanted to save her. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I know.” Your thumb strokes the line of his cheekbone. “And you deserved someone in your corner. Even if I had to fall out of the sky to do it.”

He gives a broken, hoarse laugh. “You really are mad.”

“Maybe” you whisper. “But you’re here—wrapped around me like you never want to let go.”

“Because I don’t.”

That silences you both.

He eventually rolls to the side, gathering you into his arms, pulling your body against his chest. Your leg hooks over his hip. His hand drifts up and down your spine, barely touching. Just enough to feel like you’re real.

You whisper, “What now?”

He thinks for a moment.

“Now…” he says, brushing hair from your face, “I memorize every inch of you. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case this isn’t real. Or in case it is, and I wake up without you.”

You pull him closer, leg tightening around him. “I’m not leaving.”

He holds you tighter. “You promise?”

You nod against his chest. “Promise.”

[quartings]

The original Gravity Falls pitches and pilot just dropped!!

(Link for those who want it)

For those who don't wanna look through all of it, here are some highlights I found!

Interesting changes from the pitch (What Alex Hirsch showed Disney to make them greenlight the show):

Stan’s secret was that he’s secretly protecting the townsfolk from weirdness, nothing to do with Ford. No mention of Ford in the pitch at all. Stan also wanted Dipper and Mabel to be his successors in this version.

Mabel used to be the unhygienic one instead of Dipper.

Wendy was brunette and didn’t work as the Mystery Shack cashier, instead selling veggie juice out of her van.

As such, Soos (Jesús in this version) worked the register in addition to his handyman job in this version. He was a bit less of a hard worker here, watching telenovelas on the job sometimes, but still loves his job and is extremely loyal to Stan.

Robbie was almost exactly the same, parents’ backstory and all, but there’s an interesting note that he occasionally clashed with Gideon in this version (which we never got in the final show)

Speaking of which, Gideon’s last name in this version was Garrymore instead of Gleeful.

Gideon used to personally harass and prank Stan, going out of his way to vandalize Stan’s stuff himself.

Manly Dan was always planned to be Wendy’s dad. In this version, he hates the idea that his hipster daughter prefers conserving the environment instead of chopping down forests

(For those who wanted more Wendy episodes, I’m surprised Hirsch didn’t use this as a conflict for one of them- it makes her interesting without costing any of her “coolness”)

Sheriff Blubs was originally Sheriff “Blumps”. Durland has the same name likely because Hirsch said he’s named after a real guy.

With no Ford and no Journal mentioned, episodes were originally very different-

“The President’s Cabinet/Irrational Treasure.” Instead of via the journal, Dipper and Mabel find a record of Quentin Trembley in a box buried in the yard. No Pacifica mentioned here.

“Secret Dungeon” Dipper becomes obsessed with a recalled arcade cabinet. Mabel must try and save him by finding the original high scorer.

“Thtupid Thursday” One of the many ‘Shining Twins’ episode concepts Hirsch wanted to do. Dipper and Mabel learn ‘twin telepathy’ from some creepy twins, and soon regret it.

“Periodic Mabel” Mabel invents her own element for the science fair and Dipper is jealous.

“Only the Clonely/Boyz Crazy” The exact same episode just without Candy and Grenda. Sev’ral Timez is called “ReelBoyzzz” in this version.

“Big Dipper” With surprisingly no tie to Little Dipper, Dipper asks a fortune teller to make him older so he can win Wendy over. But she makes him 22, so he and Mabel have to undo the spell.

“Sweater off Dead” Mabel buys an antique sweater and is possessed by the soul of the granny who last wore it. Stan is terrified by the spirit because she reminds him of his ex-wife Marilyn (Deep Edalyn Clawthorne lore???) so Dipper must “Swexorcize” his sister and save her.

“Teed Off/The Golf War” With no Pacifica, this was originally a Dipper vs Gideon episode- No Lilliputtians, either. Instead, the 13th hole is cursed and traps the cast in a time loop.

Now, changes from the Production Pitch (I’m guessing for when the show was already greenlit and this was a way to brief crew members on what the show would 100% be about)

Stan’s secret (likely the portal) and the journal are now set in stone.

Emphasis on continuity and character development. Nothing gets “reset” by next episode. All plot developments are permanent.

All character names and designs are locked in. Pacifica has now been added, as well as Waddles, Gompers, Lazy Susan, Candy and Grenda, and McGucket (No mention or hint at his past here)

Interesting to note is that there is still zero outright mention of Ford and Bill in this version, even though multiple episodes were seemingly in production at this point.

Manly Dan’s conflict with Wendy from the original pitch is still here. Making it even more mindblowing that we never got it in the show

Blubs and Durland are described as a little more playful instead of mean like in the original pitch.

All episode examples made it into the show with no changes this time. They are Tourist Trapped, Legend of the Gobblewonker, Fight Fighters, Boyz Crazy, and The Land Before Swine.

[charles-leclerizz]

driver diaries : collection #3 when you're shy

models : CL16, CS55, MV1, LN4, OP81

VIP guest's in the front row : [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon, @lorarri], [@dallaavv, @nichmeddar, @sisinever] IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK, AND MUTUALS LET ME KNOW IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE REMOVED ON PRIV !

availability : pre-dating with all drivers

designer's comments : she's backkk. missed this series I cannot lie to you all <333. this was requested ! so so sorry I took eons and eons to reply, hopefully it was worth it, if it wasn't (ok stone cold bitch) feel free to request again <33.

Charles Leclerc 16 thinks he did something wrong

You’ve always been a little shy around Charles. It’s not that you don’t like him - God, if anything, that’s the problem. He’s too much. Too pretty, too charming, too aware of how his smile lands like a punch to the chest. 

So, you tend to shrink back a bit when he talks to you. Glance down instead of meeting his eyes. Keep your hands in your lap and your words short, because you're scared that if you say too much, it'll be obvious how badly you're trying not to fall for him. 

Charles notices. Of course he notices. 

But he doesn’t read it for what it is. He sees the way you flinch slightly when he sits beside you at the team event, the way you freeze up when he compliments your earrings, the way you laugh politely but never quite look at him. And after a few days of it, the light behind his smile starts to dim. 

He starts keeping a little distance. Stops seeking you out with the same warmth. Doesn’t sit next to you anymore. When you speak now - quietly, nervously - he just nods, gives you a polite smile, and turns away. 

You don’t understand what changed.  You start thinking maybe he just never liked you in the first place. 

The breaking point comes one afternoon at the track. You catch him alone in the hospitality tent, scrolling through something on his phone. He barely looks up when you sit beside him. 

“Hey,” you say, softly. 

“Hi,” he replies, not cold, but… not the usual Charles. 

You hesitate. “Did I do something wrong?” 

That makes him pause. 

He sets his phone down and looks at you, expression unreadable. “No. Not at all.” 

You twist your fingers together in your lap. “You’ve been… distant. I thought maybe-” 

“I thought you were uncomfortable around me,” he interrupts, voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “You never really talk to me. You always look away. I didn’t want to make things worse by pushing.” 

Your eyes widen. “Charles, no. I’m not uncomfortable.” 

His brows pull together. “Then… what is it?” 

You swallow. “I just- I get nervous. Around you. You’re... you.” You gesture weakly, blushing. “And I’m not good at this kind of thing. I didn’t want to come off weird.” 

He blinks. “You’re nervous because of me?” 

You nod. 

And then he laughs - not unkindly, just like something’s clicked. Like relief is flooding through him. 

“Mon dieu,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his curls. “I thought you hated me.” 

“I don’t!” you say quickly. “I… like you. That’s the problem.” 

He grins then - the real one, the one that lights up his whole face. And it knocks the breath out of you. 

“You should’ve told me,” he says, voice warm again. “I wouldn’t have pulled away.” 

You’re still a little pink as he reaches out and takes your hand. 

“I’ll be patient,” he says, threading his fingers through yours. “But you’ll have to look me in the eye eventually.” 

You do.  And this time, you don’t look away. 

Carlos Sainz 55 he thinks he makes you uncomfortable

Carlos is observant - but not always when it matters.  And with you, he just can't figure it out. 

You’ve been around the paddock for weeks now - part of the extended PR team, quiet and composed, never in the way. Always polite. Always smiling. Always… distant. 

At first, Carlos thought you were just shy. But then came the way you step back when he gets too close. The way your voice goes faint when he greets you. The way your eyes drop the second he compliments you or calls you guapa under his breath. 

And suddenly, it stops feeling like shyness and starts feeling like discomfort. 

So he backs off.  Stops lingering near your workstation. Cuts the jokes shorter. No more smirking comments, no more casual touches. It’s like he’s folded himself in - tighter, quieter - and now you miss it more than you thought possible. 

You don’t understand why it hurts. You weren’t trying to act cold. You were just… shy. Intimidated, maybe. And yeah, he’s gorgeous - of course he is. But it’s not just that. It’s how warm he is. How bright. How hard he makes your heart thump just by looking at you. 

So the silence feels sharp now. And you're the one who's confused. 

It all comes to a head when you’re cleaning up the Ferrari media lounge after a promo shoot. Carlos walks in to grab something, sees you, and does a half-turn like he’s about to leave again. 

You panic and blurt out, “Did I do something wrong?” 

Carlos stops halfway through the door and turns. He looks at you - really looks at you. “No,” he says, slower now, more careful. “I just… thought I did.” 

Your brows furrow. 

He sighs, crossing his arms. “You seemed uncomfortable. Around me. I didn’t want to push.” 

Your heart sinks. “Carlos- I wasn’t uncomfortable. I’m just-” You pause and shrug. “Shy. Especially around people I… like.” 

He blinks. “Like?” 

You feel your cheeks go hot. “Yeah. Like.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs, soft and a little sheepish. “You’re shy?” 

You nod. 

He crosses the space between you in two long steps. “And you like me?” 

“I said that didn’t I?” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers as you watch him approach you. 

He’s smiling now - soft and golden. “I thought you hated me.” 

“You’re too nice to hate.” You glance up. “Too nice to handle sometimes, maybe.” 

He touches your arm gently. “You should’ve told me.” 

“I thought I was being obvious.” 

Carlos smiles, eyes flicking down to your lips. “Next time, maybe say it with words.” 

And then, when you don’t flinch away, he leans in - kisses you slow, patient, sure. Like he’s waited a long time to know where he stood. 

Max Verstappen 1 he thinks you don't like him

Max isn’t good at mixed signals.  He likes directness - clean lines, no guessing, no mess. He prefers it even. So when you start shrinking around him - going quiet, keeping your arms folded, never quite meeting his eyes - he files it under one thing: you don’t want him around. 

Fine. 

He doesn’t take it personally. At least, that’s what he tells himself. You’re shy, sure. Quiet. Polite. But there’s a tightness to it around him, and he’s not dumb. He can read a room - especially when he’s the one dimming the light in it. 

So, he pulls back. Keeps things curt. Efficient. He still greets you when you pass by the garage, still nods if your eyes meet - but the warmth is gone. The teasing, the charm, the slow smiles he used to throw your way like skipping stones? All gone. 

And it breaks your heart a little. 

Because you do like him. So much it sometimes feels stupid. He’s just… a lot. Intense. Beautiful. And impossibly hard to act normal around. You don’t mean to be distant - you just don’t want to embarrass yourself by being obvious. But now? Now it’s like you’re strangers. 

It gets to you one day. You’re both stuck in a driver’s lounge before a media block, alone, quiet. He’s scrolling on his phone, leaning against the far wall, not even sparing you a glance. 

“Did I do something?” you ask, soft but sharp with worry. 

He doesn’t look up. “No.” 

“Then why are you being like this?” 

His eyes flick to you, guarded. “I thought you were uncomfortable. Around me. So I backed off.” 

Your mouth parts slightly. “I wasn’t uncomfortable.” 

Max scoffs, just a little. “You flinch every time I speak.” 

“I flinch because I like you.” You surprised yourself with that one. 

The silence goes still. His eyes lift. 

You swallow. “And you kind of… scare me. Not in a bad way. Just… you’re Max Verstappen. You don’t exactly make it easy to think straight.” 

His brows crease. “So you’re shy.” 

You nod. 

A long pause. Then, a faint huff - amused, almost. He sets his phone down and walks toward you slowly. 

“You should’ve said something.” 

“I’m saying something now.” 

He stops in front of you, hand reaching out to trace a light touch down your arm. “I won’t back off again,” he says, voice low. 

And when he leans in, the kiss is softer than you'd imagined. And everything clicks into place. 

Lando Norris 4 he makes you nervous

You’re shy - painfully so - and the worst part is, Lando notices.  Of course he does. He’s the sun in every room he walks into, and you’re just a shadow in the corner, trying not to catch fire. 

You laugh too softly at his jokes. You look away every time he leans in. You wave awkwardly, never quite speaking first. And the more he tries to get you to warm up, the more your nerves clamp down, making you feel like a walking malfunction. 

Lando thinks it’s his fault. 

The teasing stops. The goofy smirks fade. He gets quieter around you - still nice, still polite - but less… Lando. No more little nicknames. No more playfully asking if you’ve missed him. No more light bumps against your shoulder as he walks past. 

You think he’s tired of you. He thinks you’re creeped out by him.  It’s chaos. Silent, unspoken, and spiraling. 

It all unravels in the worst possible place: McLaren HQ, the sim room. You’ve been helping run logistics, and he’s just finished a long session. He brushes past you without a word. 

That’s the final straw. “Did I do something wrong?” 

He freezes. Turns slowly. “What?” 

“You’ve been... weird. Avoiding me.” 

He blinks. “You avoid me. Every time I talk to you, you look like you want to bolt.” 

Your throat tightens. “I don’t want to bolt. I’m just... not good with this stuff. I get nervous.” 

Lando stares at you. “I make you nervous?” 

You nod, miserable. “You’re Lando Norris. You make a lot of people nervous.” 

A beat of silence. Then- he laughs. Relief spreads across his face like sunshine. “I thought you thought I was creepy or annoying or something.” 

You shake your head fast. “No! You’re just, hard to talk to because I like you, okay?” 

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “...Wait. What.” 

You groan into your hands. “I’m going to jump out the window.” 

“Don’t. I like you too.” 

You blink. 

“And I’m very into flustered,” he adds, stepping closer. “So, if you keep blushing like that, I’m going to kiss you.” 

And he does - right there, with your heart in your throat and the sim computer humming behind you like a witness. 

Oscar Piastri 81 he just ... gives you space

Oscar isn’t loud. He isn’t showy. He notices things in silence. 

Like how your eyes never quite meet his. How your voice gets quieter when he walks into the room. How you always seem to smile at everyone but him. 

He assumes he makes you uncomfortable.  So he gives you space. A lot of it.  He’s polite, respectful, kind - but distant. Detached. Careful not to make you feel boxed in. 

What he doesn’t realise is that you feel boxed out. 

You don’t mean to shrink away from him. You just… don’t know how to be normal around someone you’ve been quietly crushing on since the first time he looked up from his phone and asked if you wanted the last packet of crisps. That small. That stupid. That unforgettable. 

And now he’s cold. Or not cold exactly - but quiet in a way that hurts.  You miss the version of him who caught your eye across the garage with a flicker of a smile. The Oscar who made jokes under his breath and bumped your shoulder when he passed by. 

You think maybe you broke something.  And you don’t know how to fix it. 

It comes out when you’re stuck helping pack gear after a long shoot. Just the two of you. Silence thick enough to cut. 

You can’t stand it anymore. 

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, your voice thin. 

Oscar glances at you, surprised. “No. Why?” 

“You’ve been… different.” 

He hesitates. “I thought you needed space.” 

You frown. “Why?” 

“You never really talk to me. You seem tense when I’m around. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Your chest tightens. “Oscar, I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just... shy.” 

His expression shifts slightly - not dramatic, but you see it. A flicker of oh. 

“I thought I’d done something,” he admits. “So I backed off.” 

“I was scared I was being obvious.” 

“Obvious about what?” 

You blush. “That I like you.” 

He exhales, almost a laugh. Then steps closer. 

“I like you too,” he says, and it’s so simple, so steady, that you almost miss it. “And for what it’s worth… I like the quiet. I just don’t like being a stranger in it.” 

You meet his eyes. “You’re not.” 

“Good.” 

And when he kisses you, it’s gentle - like everything else he does. Like he’s promising you’ve been understood now. 

[moonwoodhollow]

Koffieboon, Nordhaven

build diary and thoughts under the cut!

I finally started working on the Koffieboon lot as my 2nd to last lot for Nordhaven's Old Town and while I love the layout of the lot with the three connected houses I felt like they all needed a bit more details for the facades first. I ended up changing the windows, as I wanted all 3 houses to have a bit of a different distinctive feeling. For the orange house, I ended up using the Businesses&Hobbies windows, for the green house, I used ones from Lovestruck EP + CC and for the rosy house, I used Life&Death windows.

If there's also one thing I cannot live without when decorating older houses it's corner stones, they add so much to a building and make it seem more complete, at least in my opinion. The ones I used there are by Felix (Estate Orjanic) and Pierisim (Maison de ..).

When I read about the family and their business (café Koffieboon) I felt that the building and the backstory were somewhat disconnected. Obviously, the Loden family could have (at some point) renovated the café, but somehow I felt that the café should have more of an older interior, so I'll probably change that. I do like the current interior, but it fits better to Ivarstad and a hip bookshop.

Now, the layout/ floorplan of the apartment above the café was terrible. I don't understand how there wasn't a hallway and that the front door immediately leads to the kitchen?! Also, the placement of the bathroom was really not it...

Continuing to the bedrooms, those were actually quite tricky. I didn't like how small the children's bedrooms were and that there was a hallway leading from the living room to the bedrooms. I'm not 100% happy with my solution, but I think it's still better than the original.

I love the small extra apartment that the grandmother has, but in reality, she'd probably need a flat on the ground floor, because that poor woman has to climb 2 sets of stairs just to reach her flat, that's unacceptable. Here, I added a balcony because I just love balconies, and they add a bit of detail.

That's it so far for this lot. I will change up the café interior next and if I ever upload this build I'll remove the kitchen on the 2nd floor, but yeah this got long, hope it was interesting to read some building thoughts!

[translatemunson]

save the date

top gun pilots x female!reader blurb cw: mentions of a dress. i believe this can be read as any of the daggers, minus nat (i'm writing something special just for our girl); lmk if i forgot anything.

You’ve gotten the ‘save the date’ months ago. The invitation only came through the mail a few weeks back, but it was 100% set in stone: you were attending your best friend’s wedding with your aviator boyfriend as your plus one. What you forgot to take into consideration was deployment.

It was like playing in a casino: you could get lucky and he wouldn’t be called for a mission until the wedding, or he would be god knows where doing whatever mission the Navy had for him, and you’d be missing him during the wedding.

And since you were never the luckiest person in the room, he got deployed. For six weeks. One month before the wedding date. Good luck telling all your friends you didn’t get dumped, it was just that your boyfriend was government property and they needed him overseas doing some good for the country. It was honorable, but still: you wanted to walk around the venue with a pretty aviator by your side.

It didn’t help that his internet access was limited, nor that you were having second thoughts about attending. Well, if not having someone with you was a problem, he told you he could get one of his friends to take care of you — just so other guys wouldn’t take a chance on his hot girlfriend. But it wasn’t just the lack of your boyfriend that was undermining your presence at the wedding.

One week the dress wasn’t good enough. The next one, just before his deployment, you weren’t sure about the tickets and hotel you booked — he said to keep them, even if he wasn’t going anymore, because you could use the extra space on the plane and the bigger bed. Your first email to him, while deployed, was about how nerve wrecked you were feeling now that your bestie asked you to do a speech. A few days later, you went through it with him, and he reassured you were doing amazing. 

“Gosh, this would be so much easier if you were here,” you admitted on your phone call.

“I know, baby. I promise to take you to a fancy event as soon as I’m back so I can have the chance to see you in that pretty dress.” He was trying his best to cheer you up.

But a phone call across the ocean wasn’t enough. You needed him there, with you, saying you look pretty even though your make up is nowhere near as done. Or telling you look like those old Hollywood stars when your hair was still on the hair curlers. Or saying you need to hurry up before it’s too late to get a nice parking spot at the venue. Or checking if you need a drink or something else during the reception.

You looked down at your phone, hitting “send” on another email, with pictures you took from the party. The whole place is covered with flowers and fairy lights hanging from the trees and ceiling, and you miss him so much it hurts more than your high heels.

You gave your speech minutes ago, and had one of your friends filming it for you. It was a nice piece about your best friend, how she was always the one saying you were gonna be married first but hey, look at you, alone at her wedding. Of course you made fun of the lack of a plus one, but it was fine. You brought back a few embarrassing memories, also spilled some tea on the fact that she had a list with the names for all of their babies. And if one of those names was not inspired by yours, you would be seeing her in court.

“Hey, do you wanna grab another drink with me?” Your friend nudged your arm. “I hate seeing you down.”

“Can you call the Navy and file an official complaint for me? I’ll give you his full name and call sign, so then later I can show up to the courtroom and use those as proof.” You threw your cell phone inside your bag. “Sorry, I’ve been under the weather since the news broke.”

“I know, babe, and I don’t blame you.” She gave you a soft smile. “I think a drink might help you. And maybe I can convince that waiter I’ve told you about to sneak a few sweets for us.”

“Just one more drink, then I’m going back to the hotel.”

“You’re no fun, you know? Maybe something good is happening tonight.”

“Unless you have a teletransportation machine here somewhere to bring me my boyfriend, you can’t trap me for another hour with the promise of good booze alone.”

At the bar, you got yourself your favorite drink. It would be better if he was there, his hand on your waist, making comments about the party or asking you the little details about the people there. It would be his first time in your hometown, getting to know the place you were born and raised. You loved San Diego, but a piece of you would always love your hometown.

“I just wished they had decent Wi-Fi at the ship,” you murmured. “I’ve sent like a hundred pics since I’ve arrived, but still no reply. I can’t believe my own boyfriend is going MIA on me.”

“Hey, maybe it’s just bad connection. And based on what you’ve told me, I bet he’s pissed he’s somewhere in the ocean instead of by the side of his gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Please plan a wedding in the next few weeks so I can attend one with him.”

“Why don’t you plan your own wedding?” She turned the idea around.

“And throw a surprise wedding? I’m crazy, but even I have limits.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t take him too many deployments to pop the big question.”

“I might have to ask him to divorce the Navy before we can get married. Sorry, but I won’t be the mistress in this,” you laughed.

Halfway through your drink, your friend ended up going to talk to one of your colleagues from high school, and you went back to your table, staying up and trying to swing your body in the rhythm of the song — just to get your mind off of things.

You checked your phone, one notification from your email’s app. You clicked on it as fast as you could, blowing out in frustration when you saw it was just a marketing email.

You saw someone approaching from your peripheral vision, and you heard “Tough night?”

“Don’t even get me started.” You pushed your face into your hand.

“Try me, honey.”

You turned your face. And, magically, your boyfriend was there. You blinked a few times, not believing he was really sitting next to you, in a suit. You held tight into his arm, and he said “Did she let you have way too many drinks?”

“No. I mean, are you real?”

“Yes, baby, I’m real.”

“How?”

“Finished the mission early, called in for a few favors, got on the first plane here, and asked your friends to keep it a secret.”

“Oh my, you’re really here.” You threw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer. The last time you were this close, it was the morning before his deployment. You always took the days up to the deployment as a chance to spend all the time together. Ok, you had to work, and the house chores wouldn’t magically disappear, but as soon as you were both at home, you’d stick to his side as glue.

“Sorry I missed your speech,” he hugged you back. “I’ll watch the footage later.”

“That’s ok. I’m so happy that you’re here,” you kissed his cheek.

“C’mon, let me take a look at my stunning girlfriend,” he took a step back and, with your hand in his, made you spin on your toes. The flowy dress and high heels were far from your daily clothes. “You look better than in the pictures, honey.”

Your cheeks blushed, and you could bet even the make up wouldn’t be able to hide it. “Thanks.” You took a look at him, finally noticing how good he looked in a normal suit. The color suited him like a glove, and you were considering finding a good excuse to see him wearing it again. You kinda begged him to attend in those pretty white suits the Navy had, but he was always saying those were only for special occasions.

“Should we take a picture?” He rested his hands on your waist.

“Sure!”

Now that you officially had your arm candy with you, it was time to walk around the party introducing your boyfriend to your friends. They were all very friendly and excited to meet him, but also kept the Navy related questions to a minimum. He was all smiles and handsy, keeping you close to him as much as possible.

You got your picture, on the balcony, with the gardens as a background to your affection. Your friend convinced one of the photographers to take a few official pictures — she used the “He’s Navy and flew all the way here to be with her!” card. On the first pic, you were close, side by side, smiling but keeping your hands to yourself.

And then the photographer asked you to look each other in the eyes, and it was like your lips had a magnet of some sorts. He pulled you closer, and gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “Hold her like that!” the photographer said.

Once you had the pictures taken also on our phone, he took you to the dance floor. A slow song, something your parents would play in the car when you were younger, was telling the steps you were taking. Swaying slowly in the middle of the small crowd, soaking in that moment. You snuggled in closer to his chest, leaving him to lead you. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” you confessed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything before.” He pressed his lips on the side of your head.

“That’s ok. You know I like surprises when they come from you.”

“I know. And I like being with you.” Another kiss on the side of your face. “And I love you.”

You  tilted your head back, connecting your eyes, “I love you too."