#Mira's Fanfiction:

[lovlidollie]

reader cockwarming rafe😋😋😋

of course lovely ! hope u enjoy <3

“r-rafe, please.” you’re on the brink of tears, cunt so impossibly full that you feel like you’re going to tear. you’re seated on his lap, head burrowed in his shoulder as he continues to work, completely ignoring your pitiful cries. rafe is a very busy man, he has things to do and he can’t do those things when he has a whiny little brat complaining about his lack of attention. despite his multiple attempts at trying to explain that he was occupied, you didn’t stop bothering him. you’d simply gone one step too far, saying that you’d “go find someone else.” you knew you’d fucked up when rafe stopped what he was doing and had snarled a “fuckin’ brat. get your ass over here.” he’d pulled his half-hard cock out, and with no prep, had made you sink down onto him. that was half an hour ago. you’ve leaked down onto his expensive slacks at this point, coating them in your stickiness. you feel full and so empty at the same time, you need him to move. to fuck you properly. everytime you had tried adjusting yourself, a strong hand had crept up and held your hips down, going as far as slapping your ass if you continued moving. it felt cruel and mean. your lips are wobbly and eyes glassy as you beg for rafe to do something, anything.

“thought i told you to be quiet,” he snaps against your ear. “i still got work to do ‘n you wriggling aroun’ hoping for something isn’t gonna get you anywhere. brats don’ get anythin’.” rafe pulls your head back, making you look at him. the eye contact makes you shy but he doesn’t let you move, squishing your cheeks together to keep your head in place. “‘f’you had just listened earlier you wouldn’t be in this position, would’ya, huh? ‘m doin’ this f’you. doin’ this to teach you a lesson. gotta prove t’me that y’can be good ‘n then maybe you’ll get what you want.” he pats your ass twice, as if he’s encouraging you, releases his hold over your face and lets your head flop back onto his shoulder.

by the time rafe’s finally done, you’ve wet his shirt with tears from the lack of stimulation. but apart from your quiet sniffling, and occasional twitches, you’d listened to him. you’d been good for him. you’re all hazy, brain fuzzy and there’s drool leaking from the corners of your mouth, but you manage a dopey smile when he pulls you back up. rafe smiles back at you, and if you weren’t so disoriented you’d see how hungry it was, how predatory. “there’s my girl, knew you were down there somewhere.” he strokes your face gently, rubbing your cheeks. “see, baby? not that hard to listen, hm? did good f’me, didn’t’ya? yeah, tha’s right, sweetheart, did so good for dad. deserve a reward now, c’mon. daddy’s gonna make you feel good f’bein’ good.”

[miraculousmultifan]

The months following Steve's fight with Billy and the excursion through the Mind Flayer’s tunnels found Steve at a bit of a loss. The animosity between him and Hargrove had only grown exponentially, but it didn’t bother him as much as it used to. Sure, Hargrove sucked ass, and he had definitely taken over as the newest reigning douchebag, but that kind of stuff just didn’t matter to Steve anymore.

So at school, he found himself sitting with Nancy and Jonathan during lunch. It was a bit awkward considering Nancy and Jon were dating, but he didn’t exactly have any other friends, and he really didn't want to sit alone.

It was early February, and Steve was picking at his cafeteria food, barely listening to the conversation Nancy and Jonathan were having. He was lost in his own thoughts, staring into space blankly.

Across the cafeteria, Eddie Munson was jumping onto a table and taunting several different cliques as he went on a long monologue about society and social norms that most students tended to tune out. Steve watched him with a small smile, pushing his food around his tray. Then, Eddie was throwing barbs at Hargrove, Tommy H, and Carol. Steve winced slightly, knowing the words probably applied to him too, but he couldn't help feeling that Eddie wasn’t exactly saying anything untrue about them.

Before he could tear his attention away, Eddie was turning to face him. Steve's eyes widened. He hadn't even said anything! He’d been laying low ever since their last run-in with the Upside Down, just trying to graduate. So why was Eddie putting his attention on him now?

Eddie jumped down from the table and sauntered over to where Steve was sitting, throwing a leg over the bench to straddle the spot next to him. “Harrington.”

Now that Eddie was so close, Steve could see a slight red tint to his eyes, and he relaxed a little. He was just high.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve replied, giving him a weak smile in response.

Most of the attention on Eddie had dispersed, but Steve could still feel the piercing gaze of Hargrove on the side of his face. That jackass just would not leave him alone, even if he was trying to avoid altercations for Max's sake.

Eddie leaned an elbow on the table to hold his head up with his hand. “How's the fall from grace treating you, my liege?”

Steve blinked. “Huh?”

Jonathan leaned over from where he was chatting with Nancy. “He’s calling you a king. Asking about how you're doing after everyone dropped you for Billy.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie smirked. “With more dramatic flair than that, but yeah, essentially.”

“Oh.” Steve floundered, looking between Nancy and Jon as he tried to think of an answer. “Well, it’s been nice not having as much attention, I guess. Nothing all that interesting has happened to me.”

Nancy hid a snort behind her hand, turning to bury her face into Jonathan’s shoulder. Eddie raised a curious eyebrow but didn’t comment on her reaction.

“Surely the life of a king has to have some frivolities. Raging parties, swooning ladies, the like…”

Steve scrunched his nose. “Nah, man. My parents cut off my allowance after my last concussion, so I don’t exactly have the funds for that kind of thing anymore.” He didn’t know why he was confiding that kind of information in Eddie, but it wasn’t like he cared that much about what people thought of him anymore. Eddie could spread it around if he really wanted to. “I just babysit Nancy and Jon’s little brothers and their friends. I promise it’s nothing interesting.”

Smirking, Eddie tilted his head to the side. “I'm sure you could make anything interesting, Harrington. Especially looking like that.”

Steve blushed bright red from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. Oh god. Was Eddie flirting with him? “Oh. Um, thank you! I'm sure you're pretty interesting too.”

That seemed to snap Eddie out of whatever weird flirty persona he had let settle over him. “Right. Good talk. I'm gonna go now. Have a good lunch, Steve.”

And then Eddie was gone, back to his table as he ranted at his friends with increasingly frantic gestures. Steve stared after him for a bit, biting his lip and trying to make sense of the feelings stirring in his chest. On the other side of the table, Nancy let out a pointed cough with a smug smirk.

“So…” She started. “Wanna tell us what that was all about?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “You witnessed the exact same thing that I did, Nance. I don't have any insider information.”

Nancy giggled. “No, not that. I’m talking about how you blushed like a little schoolgirl when Eddie called you interesting. You wanna tell us about it?”

Shooting another look at Eddie’s table, Steve started to reply before he noticed that some of Eddie’s friends were looking at him. His eyes widened and he whipped back around. “I have no clue what you're talking about. Jon, back me up here.”

“Sorry, dude.” Jonathan winced with a sheepish shrug. “You were pretty red. I mean he did call you hot, so I guess I get it…”

Steve sighed and let his head drop to the table. “I really don’t appreciate the psychoanalysis, Nance. He came over here, talked to us, called the way I look interesting, and left. Sure, I may have gotten a little red, but he was leaning really close.”

Smirking, Nancy leaned over the table to flick the back of Steve’s head. “You’re wrong about one thing. He didn’t come over to talk to us. He only talked to you. I think he finds you more than just interesting.”

Standing up from the table abruptly, Steve shook his head. “We’re not talking about this. It’s not like it matters that much anyway. He was probably just trying to mess with me. I’ll see you guys later.” Steve grabbed his tray and walked off, trying and failing to stop himself from sneaking a glance at Eddie’s table.

Much to Steve’s surprise, Eddie was looking right back at him. When their eyes met, he smirked and waggled his fingers at Steve in a wave. Steve blushed, his eyes wide, and he stumbled, almost bumping into another student in the process.

[missyorkswhore]

same day? oh...thanks Mira!

[game-set-canet]

hey could you make one where the reader is also a tennis player and carlos and she are mixed doubles rivals 🫶🏻

It's Even

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: ok, this turned out way different than I intended 🙈 but i hope you like it, lovely anon 🤍

* Y/N = your name * Y/L/N = your last name

MY MASTERLIST

(via Instagram @ carlitosalcarazz)

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"Well...?", you look up from your phone, confused, as Grigor plops down on a chair next to you.

"Good morning, Grigor! What do you mean by 'well...'?"

"What do you think about the draw?", Grigor grins mischievously.

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical:  "What about the draw?"

The Bulgarian leans back, his grin widening: "So, you haven't seen who we're playing in the first round yet?"

Now your curiosity is piqued and you put your phone aside: "No, Dimitrov, enlighten me!"

Grigor leans in conspiratorially and shrugs nonchalantly: "Why don't you ask your boyfriend... and while you're at it, ask him what tactic he and Cristina plan to use for the match."

You feel a gentle blush spreading across your cheeks. Hearing the word "boyfriend" in connection with Carlos gives you butterflies.

You brush a strand of hair from your face and try to play it cool: "We're playing against Carlitos and Cristina?"

"Mhm...", Grigor nods slowly and meaningfully, "And don't you dare get those heart eyes again! Yesterday's practise was enough for me!", Grigor starts laughing, “As soon as Carlos started practising on the court next to ours, you couldn't hit a single serve!"

The gentle blush deepens into a rich tomato red and you shake your head vigorously: "That was because of the wind! And you know it!"

"Of course! The wind!", Grigor leaves no doubt that he doesn't believe a word you say, "Just make sure that doesn't happen during the match, whether your better half is on the other side of the net or not."

*** *** ***

"I can hardly wait for our match tomorrow!", Carlos has one arm around you while your head rests on his chest. You're both lying in the big hotel bed, eyes on the TV.

You smile and lift your head to look at your boyfriend: "You’re really excited about it, aren't you?"

Carlos beams at you and nods: "Of course! It's going to be our first time playing against each other!"

At that moment, you recall a tweet you saw during the rain delay: »Sometimes Carlitos is just like a golden retriever puppy« and the author of that tweet was obviously right.

You grin, furrowing your brow and your hand absentmindedly strokes Carlos' left side up: "But we play against each other all the time?"

"Practise doesn't count! A real match is something entirely different!", his eyes shine with excitement and you feel that special flutter in your stomach, you love him so much.

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

Carlos makes a grand gesture with the arm that's not around your shoulders: "Because it's going to be something special! Imagine the atmosphere!"

Now you can't hold back a laugh and poke him in the chest: "Carlitos, it's a first-round match, not the Roland Garros final!"

"For me, it has the same importance!", Carlitos matches your grin and you know he's at least partially serious.

You slide away from him a bit and sit up, looking down at him: "So, to you, the Roland Garros final is the same as our first-round match?"

Carlos' grin widens: "Absolutely! Because I'm playing against you!"

"True, and that's why you should be ready for something you've never experienced in a Slam final: you're going to lose."

Your expression is triumphant as you see Carlitos clutch his chest dramatically: "Ouch! What makes you so sure?"

"Grigor and I have already won a title together, and Cristina and you are playing together for the first time."

Carlos just shrugs, the grin returning to his face: "I've achieved a lot of things that seemed unlikely."

You ignore the slight increase in your heart rate at seeing that dazzling grin and toss your hair over your shoulder: "True. But not this time. This time, you’re going to lose."

Carlos doesn't say anything in response, he just pulls you close and gives you a long kiss.

*** *** ***

"Can I give you a tactical tip?" Grigor leans over, a bit out of breath, while you take a long sip from your water bottle, "If you’d stop staring at him, maybe you could actually play tennis."

You nearly choke on your drink and throw an annoyed look at your doubles partner: "And if you’d stop making double faults, maybe we could actually win."

Grigor makes a face and nods slowly before grabbing his tennis racket again: "Well, at least he’s staring at you the whole time too, so I guess it’s even."

Thankfully, it's very hot today, so no one notices your ears turning red. The match has been pretty even so far, but definitely not a highlight reel. Internally, you have to agree with Grigor: your level today is far from outstanding - the same goes for Carlitos. Surprisingly, the stands were almost full, and the crowd is cheering loudly.

"Why do I keep playing with you?", you mutter as you get ready to head back to the court.

Grigor grins widely: "Because you can’t play with Carlos: you two would just stare at each other’s butts the whole time and instead of high-fives after winning a point, it would be a five-minute make-out session."

You have to resist the temptation to throw a tennis ball at his head.

*** *** ***

In the third set, the match finally picks up and Carlitos starts showing why he’s called the golden boy. You also begin to play up to your second-place WTA ranking. Especially the tiebreak is a hard fight, lasting almost 20 minutes.

"Game, set, match, Dimitrov and Y/L/N!"

You hear Grigor sigh in relief next to you: "I thought this match would never end!"

You start laughing as you hug each other enthusiastically.

At the net, you first shake hands with Cristina and then with Carlos.

"I told you you’d lose.", you tease and Carlos laughs softly.

"It’s okay.", he still holds your hand in his and your eyes move from your interlaced hands to his face.

"Even though you claimed yesterday that today's match was just as important as a Slam final for you?"

"I don’t mind losing to you because I’m always so proud of you when you win!"

There it is again: his beautiful smile and your heart skips a beat.

Carlos leans over the net and kisses you.

The crowd cheers.

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev @purplecloudarcade

[mortellanarts]

fandom sleeping on the most toxic yuri pairing in the entire series simply because they never spoke in canon smh

[whoseholtz]

if i could tell her | will smith

pairing : will smith x fem!reader

warnings : the BRIEFEST mention of being drunk underage, cursing, situationships (ick), reader is a theater kid, use of y/n, dear evan hansen, kissing, but just sickening fluffiness mainly <3

summary : will finally plucks up the courage to tell y/n he wants their relationship be more than just casual, and when he tries confessing he unintentionally quotes dear evan hansen

word count : 2.5k

Y/N and Will had been casually ‘going out’ for around a month now, but due to their conflicting schedules, they rarely got time alone together. Whenever either party had ever felt like they had the right moment to attempt at confessing, something always seemed to come up, or in many cases, ruin the moment.

The previous Monday, Will was quite literally seconds away from finally, officially, asking Y/N out. But do you know what happened? Gabe interrupted; the moment was perfect, and his teammate had ruined it.

Will attempted not to seem phased by it and tried to move on, but he still felt a hint of bitterness in his stomach when he thought back to that day.

However, the failed attempts aside, Will was determined that today was the day; in a few hours, Y/N would be his girlfriend and he would be her boyfriend. At least that was the hope.

Everything was planned out; that very night was Y/N’s first performance in front of a sold-out audience as Evan Hansen in BC’s production of DEH. He was so proud of her to be able to land the main role in the musical, nevermind that it was a usually male-dominated part to have.

Will has spent hours with her rehearsing, reading lines back and forth to help her learn them perfectly and not mess up. The girl had already known the entire musical by heart, but conditioning yourself to then only play one role was actually quite difficult, something she found out rather quickly.

While the boy wouldn't admit it, he actually enjoyed the soundtrack and found himself listening to the songs in his day-to-day life, even on the way to training.

On one particular occasion, he’d been walking to the rink on his own before Gabe and Ryan had joined him, and due to the noise canceling on his headphones, he hadn't realized until Ryan had nudged him in the side lightly, he'd jumped and paused his music.

This led to him being asked what he was listening to, and without really thinking, he’d replied, “Oh, just Dear Evan Hansen, you know.” Needless to say, he’d been teased for being a theater kid multiple times since then.

This musical had somewhat become a shared passion between Will and Y/N, and even though the hockey player wasn't directly involved in the production, he still felt as though he had become a part of the family that was the cast and crew. Most of his time was taken up by hockey, but that didn't stop him from popping in and helping wherever he could.

Ironically, the group had always referred to Will as “Y/N’s boyfriend," and every time either of them tried to remind anybody that they weren't official yet, eyes would be rolled and unconvinced looks would be pointedly given. So, maybe it was about time they could make the nickname accurate.

Special. That’s what he wanted this to be: special. It was all planned out to be just that, and with the night that it was going to be, Will thought it was no better timing than the present.

Smiling to himself, he thought about the fact that, if all went to plan, he could be cheering from the audience for his girlfriend, not just whatever he was supposed to call her right now.

Presently, Will stood at the entry to the block of dorms Y/N stayed in. He had asked his teammates to help pick an outfit for him and hoped it would impress the girl he was hoping to sweep off her feet.

He wore his favorite suit, a maroon-red color similar to the colors of Boston College itself, with a matching tie and white shirt. Perhaps it was cliche; the more he thought about it, the worse those concerns made him worry, but he brushed the thoughts out of his mind, watching the doorway with anticipation.

In his hands, he held a sweet bouquet of flowers—pink tulips, to be exact. No, he couldn't confirm they were her favorite flower, but he always associated her with the flowers. The first time he looked on her Instagram, the emoji in her bio stood out to him immediately.

He had accidentally admitted this fact to the old lady who owned the local florist, but instead of laughing at him, the lady smiled with a twinkle in her eye, muttering something affectionately along the lines of “young love.”

A creak from the door in front of him swiftly took him back to his current situation, and he looked up, his voice catching in his throat for a moment. In front of him was a flustered Y/N, and Will truly felt like the luckiest person in the world.

“Hi!” the girl squeaked out enthusiastically. "Sorry, I took a little longer than you probably expected; I couldn't find my key,” she explained, looking slightly guilty.

“It’s no problem; genuinely, I would’ve waited hours if you needed me to.” Will spoke sweetly. Y/N took it as a dramatic use of hyperbole, but in the boy’s mind, he was speaking nothing but the truth. “These are for you,” he added, handing the bouquet of tulips to the girl. “I didn't know which flowers you liked, but, uh, these reminded me of you.”

“They're gorgeous! And... pink tulips are actually my favorite; you must be psychic.” or maybe he just looked at her Instagram too many times—the same difference, really. Y/N was sure that her heart rate was about 1000 beats per minute, but she calmed herself down with some deep breaths.

“Could I?” She gestured her head between the flowers and the hallway she had just appeared from, asking if she could go and put the flowers back in her dorm, and Will nodded, silently sighing in relief at a moment to get himself together.

After a few minutes, Y/N got back, and Will offered his arm for her to take. She did as prompted, and he led her onward. The first part of his plan was in motion; phew, now all he had to do was not mess up the date or the whole part where he was going to ask Y/N to be his girlfriend.

Unfortunately, part of the plan had Will relying on his friends. Yes, he trusted them, but he still anxiously awaited what he was going to be presented with when they arrived at the park.

He had spent all morning preparing a picnic basket of foods for their date; he’d even taken a trip to a store to buy a wicker basket and a red check blanket to fully complete the aesthetic.

Yet, he was (thankfully) pleasantly surprised when, as he brought the girl through the park, his picnic was perfectly set out for their date. He’d need to remember to thank the boys later. Will looked at Y/N, nervous for her reaction, to see what could only be described as pure joy painted across her expression.

“Will! This is so cute,” she let out a squeal of awe. “You didn't have to; oh my gosh, this is so cute.” She promptly wrapped her arms around the boy, kissing him on the cheek in excitement. His cheeks lit up at this, because while she’d kissed him on the cheek before, it never stopped feeling like the first.

They sat together in the afternoon sun, engaged in conversations about many topics ranging from hockey to Taylor Swift, but somehow, the topic of Dear Evan Hansen had not come up yet, which Will sort of wanted it to, so he could approach what he’d been waiting to say for a long while now.

“And then the show's tonight, and like Ms. Laynor said, we could have a few hours to ourselves before we had to get ready for the opening, right? But she never specified what time we needed to be at the theater, so I just thought four hours before was good, you know. Arrive at 4 p.m. in time for the show at 8, perfect!” Y/N ranted on slightly, but Will listened intently, nodding in agreement with her decision.

“Yeah, I think four hours is good, and if she needs you before then she can always message you.” Will reassured the girl, his eyes twinkling affectionately at the passion she held for the theater. Just seeing the smile that graced her face made the boy know this was it—this was the time he was going to do it. He wasn't sure why he knew, but the moment felt right. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“There's really nothing like your smile; have I ever told you that? It's sort of subtle, but real, and it's perfect." Will started; he had a habit of talking with his hands, and as he spoke, it was highlighted. “And I don't think you know how amazing seeing your smile can make someone feel—can make me feel!”

Y/N watched him talk, stunned and speechless as Will confessed what he had never had the guts to speak out loud before. “And I know that when you're bored in class, you start doodling in the margin of your books, and I noticed that you annotate your books with a pen when you see something you like.”

Admitting this took bravery, but honestly speaking, the boy still hadn't come to terms with the fact that this was actually real.

“But I’ve kept it all inside; I haven't said it to you. I’ve wanted to, seriously, but I couldn't seem to talk to you about it; I couldn't find a way, and I didn't know if we were on the same page because sometimes it feels like we're a million worlds apart, so it was like, where am I meant to start? And how do I say it?"

He took a long breath before he said the most important part, “I love you.”

That was it; he’d done it; he’d said it. There was no taking it back now. He felt close to exploding as he looked directly into her eyes for the first time since he’d started talking. Y/N looked close to crying. Will could only hope that was positive, but the demons in his head only told him of the rejection that was coming.

“Will. I don't know what to say. He braced himself for the harsh reality check he feared was building. “That's the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Wow. I love you too, seriously.”

He deflated, “I get it,” before his mind fully comprehended what he’d just heard. “Wait, what?” His previously crestfallen body language perked up instantly. Did she seriously say what he thought she had? Surely he had to be dreaming, and resisting the urge to pinch himself to check was becoming increasingly difficult.

“I love you too,” she smiled. “And I think if I hadn't already been, the fact you just quoted Dear Evan Hansen to tell me how you felt would've made me fall in love on the spot.” She said it meaningfully; his words had been quotes from a song, yet somehow, everything he said felt raw and honest, like he had written the song about her.

With the realization of what he’d done, Will groaned inwardly, “Fuck, there's no way I plagiarized my confession of love from Dear Evan Hansen. I’m so embarrassing.” He knew the words had been too smooth to be completely his own, but of all the things he had to quote from, It was the musical his girlfriend was going to perform in a few hours.

“What? No, you aren't! You genuinely don't know how much it means. You spent so much time helping me rehearse for the performance when you didn't have to, when we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, but you did anyway. And you memorized the lyrics, and now you're quoting the songs when you tell me you love me.”

Y/N looked at him with an expression of pure adoration and said, “You're not embarrassing at all; you're just possibly the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

“I never meant it in a bad way that it was quotes from there. I mean, you changed it so it would fit me; that's just about the most thoughtful thing in the history of things. It was personal, to me and to us; that's what matters.” and she was extremely serious when she said that.

The idea that someone she'd fallen in love with cared at all about her passions meant everything, and then for the love to be requited felt like a million years of joy all at once. The boy felt the same, along with a major sense of relief and, well, a hint of lingering embarrassment.

“I’m glad, wow. I’ve been waiting so long to finally tell you this. I can't even believe it's just happened and that you actually like me back, and all the rejection scenarios I imagined were stupid.” He was cut off by the pressing of a kiss on his lips.

“Shut up,” she mumbled affectionately against his lips, smiling slightly into the kiss. Any of their previous fluttering, drunk kisses were forgotten at this moment; the passion after months of mutual pining solidified this as the first kiss, not just for them as a couple but for them as people too.

They continued for a few seconds before both of them lay down on the blanket, somewhat starstruck, letting the situation completely settle in their minds. It was a comfortable silence as they replayed the moment in their heads like a film reel.

It had gotten to 4 p.m. and Y/N had left for the theater. Will spent the time he had between then and the show in a few hours processing everything that had gone down. It honestly shocked him that he’d ever followed through with the plan to begin with.

Fast forward to the performance. Will sat in one of the closest rows to the stage, excited to watch Y/N perform a project she’d been working on for so long. Personally, he was extremely impressed; the entire cast had worked their asses off, and it was definitely worth it.

While Will had listened to the soundtrack, he’d never seen the full musical performed, and seeing it there was something special, especially knowing how much it meant to the people on stage. As the production came to an end and the cast performed their curtain call, the audience gave them a standing ovation.

Y/N, as the title character, got her own turn to bow and take in the true feeling of the audience clapping for you and cheering for you. The feeling was indescribable, but at that time she felt on top of the world, lost in the moment, at a peak in her life.

She was grinning ear to ear as she met the eyes of Will in the crowd, and this somehow prompted the hockey player to shout, “That’s my girlfriend!” at the top of his lungs.

Needless to say, he was extremely embarrassed that he'd said that out loud, but it got his point across in a pretty public way, no doubt about that. Y/N laughed slightly before the rest of the cast joined back into a line with her, taking their final bows as the curtain closed, the show ending.

a/n :: thank you for reading!! the formatting ended up a bit weird and i had to reupload this bc tumblr decided to bully me and not submit this to tags... but hopefully it works now and i hope you enjoyed :3

[valarioncy]

Remember this comic? It's here on Tumblr now. Context for those who are unaware: This is "The Shallow", AKA Bootleg "The Hollow". The initial trio was designed by @ahyesthesufferingoftvteens and then I kinda ran wild with the concept, because it was exactly what I needed back in late 2021 to escape the whole "my entire family is down with the sickness". And the whole AU culminated in the making of this comic.

I'm currently doing bust and full-body character redraw commissions btw. :0 Visit my blog for more detaaaaails.

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: Purrgils and a nursery rhyme from his youth have shaped Ezra Bridger's life in ways that even he is not aware of . . .

The Research Survey Mission (22 BBY)

After an agonizing hour being held up by Republic Security, he finally made it to the hangar bay where his escort was waiting. Dodging precariously between the space fighters, grimly masked clone pilots, and their long-suffering mechanics, he weaved his way through the active hangar with a desperate determination.

The war against the Separatists continued to stretch on with no end in sight, he knew. It surprised him that his scientific study had been approved by the Senate, considering all the funds being tied up in the war's progress. His sponsor, Senator Amidala, had taken an interest in the study of purrgil hyperspace travel routes for humanitarian reasons and had lobbied the Supreme Chancellor for this study to be funded.

Wheezing with the strain from sprinting - something not done since his Academy days - he finally skidded to a stop in front of the vessel assigned to the survey mission: an old, but functional looking G9 Rigger class freighter.

"I'm - my apologies for the wait," he gasped out between heaving breaths. It wouldn't make a good first impression if he vomited in front of his team here -

And speaking of his team . . .

Clutching at the stitch in his side, he peered at the two individuals selected to be his escort. First, the pilot: a young human woman about his age, with raven black hair and a feisty expression on her sun-browned face - a beautiful face, he observed, that looked better suited for a leading role in a holo-drama rather than a drab military flight uniform.

The pilot looked impatiently at the chrono on her wrist. "You're late," she remarked, sounding grumpy.

Still taken aback by her beauty, he took a full five seconds to compose himself. "Yes - I'm sorry about that," he replied. "All the new security; I wasn't expecting - "

The second individual on his team gave a sardonic chuckle. "First time on Coruscant?" asked the second person.

He nodded, looking the other team member up and down with a rising skepticism. He was a young boy with short brown hair, some of which was kept in a thin braid that trailed past his shoulders. A strong, serious face with piercing blue eyes - similar to his own - gave the impression that little escaped the boy's attention.

More importantly, he wore the traditional brown and white robes of a Jedi Knight. They fit him well, despite the boy's youth.

Smiling slightly, he asked, "And you must be . . . Master Depa Billaba?"

Amusement glinted in the youth's blue eyes, breaking through the stoic expression. He barked out a laugh. "No, I'm afraid not. She had other pressing matters to attend to. I was sent in her place."

"Ah, I see. Are you another Jedi Knight, then?"

The boy pouted. "Someday. Soon, I hope."

He stuck out his hand in greeting. "I am Master Billaba's padawan. My name is Caleb Dume."

Dume's grip was firm and steady; the skin on his palm was rough, callused from years of hard work and battle. Far rougher than I would expect any young person his age to be.

Inwardly, he felt a small pang of sadness for the young Jedi; a war was a brutal experience to go through, even for the adults who were prepared for such an event. He couldn't imagine the toll it was taking on the young.

Even if they were Jedi.

"My name is Ephraim Bridger, Jedi Dume. A pleasure to work with you."

The Jedi nodded in acknowledgement. Ephraim turned to the pilot -

"Lieutenant Mira," she answered bluntly before he could ask. Ephraim noticed the emphasis on her rank. "And I'd like to actually start flying now, if either of you don't mind."

She turned and stalked onto the freighter's lowered ramp, disappearing into the ship.

Ephraim blinked and turned to Dume. The young Jedi just shrugged. "Can't keep her waiting," he said politely. Both of them soon followed the pilot into the waiting vessel.

"Guess not," Ephraim muttered. "Oh, this is sure to be fun."

"I hope so," said Dume earnestly. "Could use a break from this war. So, what are we hunting?"

"We're not hunting, Master Jedi. We're searching for something. A creature long rumored to be nothing more than a myth, save for scattered reports from spacers over the Republic's long history."

Dume glanced at him curiously. "What would that be?"

Ephraim turned to him, grinning widely. "Ever heard of star whales, Caleb?"

The Star Whale (13 BBY)

"Alright, alright," laughed Ephraim. "Time for bed, young one."

His son, Ezra, was encased in a bear hug, scrambling to free himself. "Ah, come on, Dad. Five more minutes, please?"

Ephraim considered the offer - until he glanced over his shoulder to find his wife, Mira, giving him one of her patented glares. Her eyes - a lovely shade of violet that he always found himself admiring - pierced through him like a blaster bolt.

Deflating a bit, he whispered, "Not going to happen, buddy. The boss says no."

The child twisted in his hug until he could look over Ephraim's shoulder. Mira blew him a kiss.

With his typical accuracy, Ezra mimed to catch it and pressed the kiss to his heart. It was a time-honored ritual every evening, before bedtime.

"Okay, then," said his son. "How about a story instead?"

Ephraim laid his son gently onto the floor, feeling the aches in his lower back. "I would love that. Head up to your bedroom and choose one. I'll meet you there in a minute."

Before he finished his sentence, Ezra raced up the stairs in a flash. Ephraim snorted and turned to look at his wife. She was throwing a hooded cloak over her shoulders, obscuring her figure.

"I'm heading out now, love," she said to him, voice muffled through the thick cloth wrapped around her head.

He went to her and gave a kiss on the bridge of her nose, the only exposed skin available due to her outfit. They had been doing this for a while now . . . but the worry never faded from his mind.

Since the Empire had come to power, he and Mira had taken over an old communications tower to spread messages throughout the galaxy with other groups of people who were fighting against the growing tyranny of the Emperor and his cronies. It was dangerous work.

But someone had to do it. Someone had to light a candle in the long, vast night that had fallen across galactic civilization.

"Be careful," he said quietly. Mira smirked at him, in her typical impish way.

"I always am," she replied. "Sing me home, when it's time."

"Of course," said Ephraim. He watched her slip out the front door, biting his lip. In his mind's eye, he could see her dodging through shadowed alleyways, dashing across empty streets, finding their hidden speeder . . .

Come back safe, darling, he thought.

"Dad!" came his son's voice, interrupting his mood. "Are you coming up or what?"

Ephraim chuckled, feeling grateful for the distraction. "I'm heading up now," he replied.

_ _ _ _ _

"Star whales?" asked Ephraim. "You're sure?"

Ezra nodded. "I found some of your notes - "

Ephraim groaned. "You were snooping around in my office again?"

The boy flushed with embarrassment. He sighed deeply. Mira had noted it before he did; their son had a predicament for getting himself into trouble. Nothing serious as of yet, thank the Force.

But in these dark times, it could spell greater danger down the road.

Especially given his . . . talents.

"For the last time, there is no candy hidden in my desk. You ate all of it."

"Right. Sorry, Dad." The apology would have seemed sincere if not for the smug grin plastered on the boy's face.

He reached over and ruffled his son's hair with fond exasperation. Ezra giggled and waved his hands away.

Ephraim sat back in his chair thinking of all the stories about star whales he knew of. Finally, he said, "Do you know I saw a star whale once?"

His son's eyes went round as a moon. "Really?"

Smiling, he said, "Oh, yes. It was a scientific study. I actually met your mother on that mission. And there was a Jedi, also."

"A Jedi?" Ezra's mouth went agape. "Who were they?"

"A young human boy, actually. Not much older than you. His name was Caleb Dume." A gentle pang of melancholy went through him at the old memory resurfacing; he had not thought of the young Jedi in the long years since that mission.

He wondered if Dume had survived the purge.

Somehow, deep in his heart, he was sure that the boy had made it. Palpatine had been vicious in his extermination of the Jedi Order, but there was no way that all of them had been killed. Rumors continued to pop up from all over the galaxy . . .

He shook his head. Ezra was watching him, waiting for the next part of the story.

"Oh, yes. We spent a week in deep space, tracking down a pod of purrgils," he continued. Ephraim felt the old sense of wonder and awe grip him as he remembered the towering, majestic creatures. The pod had passed by their tiny freighter, flowing around them like river water.

Closing his eyes, he could envision the golden splotches on their skin mixing with the vivid purple - and those eyes. Those giant, glowing eyes. Being looked upon by the star whales felt like an almost religious experience with the calm, magnificent intelligence behind those eyes appraising the explorers' small forms.

"The sounds they made . . . oh, it was like they were singing," he explained. "It shouldn't be possible in deep space, but the purrgils somehow manage to do it. And they did it so beautifully."

"It sounded like music?" asked Ezra in a hushed tone. He nodded.

"Like little songs," confirmed Ephraim. "I believe it's how they speak to one another."

"Did they jump to hyperspace?"

Ephraim nodded in confirmation. "Their tentacles in the back stretched far, far out. I could see lines glowing on them, brighter and brighter and then - they were gone just like that." He snapped his fingers on the last word to illustrate his point.

"Wizard," whispered his son.

"Totally wizard," he agreed. He stroked his beard. "But then something odd happened."

Ezra sat up in his bed, gripping the covers tightly. "What?" he demanded. "What happened?"

Ephraim stroked his beard, drawing out the pause for dramatic effect. Watching his child squirm in anticipation was always a fascinating experience, which he secretly enjoyed.

Finally, he broke the pause and leaned forward. "One of them stayed behind," he said.

His son's expression turned puzzled. "Really? Why?"

"Ah, well, I have only a theory on that," Ephraim confessed. "But I feel that it is true. You see, purrgil pods are a community. They take care of each other, watch out for one another."

"Like you and Mom," Ezra pointed out. Ephraim smiled.

"Precisely. They are also the only creatures with the capability to emit noise in the deep vacuum of space via their songs. Space is large and vast and dark, Ezra. My theory is that even purrgils can get lost sometimes. So, one stays behind to sing them home."

"Even purrgils can get lost," Ezra repeated, sounding sad.

"All beings, large and small," said Ephraim, "need help sometimes."

He watched his son ponder that for a few moments. Then, Ezra said quietly, "You say that to Mom sometimes."

Ephraim frowned. "What do I say?"

"She asks you to 'sing her home' sometimes. Or you ask her. And then one of you leaves during the night."

He felt an icy fist enclose over his heart. It seemed that he and Mira's covert activities hadn't gone unnoticed by their son.

"We do say that," he confessed. "It's just a saying."

Ezra's face turned to him, with those piercing blue eyes that were an inheritance. "Do you think someday, someone will do that for me? If I get lost?"

Ephraim felt the icy fist close tighter. "Your Mom and I will do that for you."

"But what if . . . " The boy's voice trailed off, refusing to give voice to the fear that had arisen in him. But Ephraim knew what Ezra was going to ask.

It was the same question that he and Mira struggled with every night since their child had been born.

What if you and Mom aren't here anymore?

He reached forward and enclosed Ezra's hand in his own. So small, so soft, so warm - and so fragile.

"You will meet others," he said firmly, "who will love you just as we have. I promise it, Ezra."

His son just gazed at him. "You promise?"

"I do. You are so easy to love, my son. You will find someone who loves you like it's second nature to them - and if you ever get lost, they will sing you home."

The Rhyme (4 BBY)

He sat in the cockpit of the Phantom, gazing through the canopy at the field of stars. Whenever things on the Ghost got too quiet, he liked to sequester himself in there and just enjoy the mechanical ambience generated by the shuttle's machinery.

They're out there somewhere, he thought. The purrgils.

His encounter with the legendary creatures, still so recent, had left him in a curious state. Ezra couldn't shake the sensation that this was not the last he would see of them.

Unbidden, an old memory rose to the surface of his thoughts. His father, Ephraim, telling him stories of the star whales.

One stays behind to sing them home.

Ezra smiled faintly, despite the gentle sadness he felt rippling beneath the recollection. Not too long ago, he didn't want to think about his parents. Thoughts of them were a source of pain that he did not want to revisit, especially when he was just a street-rat scavenging on the streets of Capital City for survival.

But now, with his new family. he could remember his parents freely. The memories were no longer a burden; the pain hadn't lessened, but the others helped him to bear their loss a little better.

He reached into his pocket and took out the holo-recording that Sabine had found for him on his birthday a year ago. Pressing the button, the recording flared to life, showing a static image of his family - before the Empire had come to take it all away.

All beings, large and small, need help sometimes.

Ezra gazed softly at the holo-image, feeling the old pangs of loneliness. Despite his time spent on the Ghost, some nights he still felt . . . lost. Like he didn't belong.

"Even purrgils get lost sometimes," he muttered.

"Is that so?" came a familiar voice from behind. Twitching in surprise, Ezra stole a peek at the source.

It was Sabine. To his surprise, she wasn't wearing her standard Mandalorian armor; rather, she wore simple sleeping wear consisting of a plain shirt, shorts, and slippers.

She arched a curious eyebrow at him and gave a little wave. "Hey, goober," she said.

"Hey, Sabine," he replied. "What brings you here?"

Sabine shrugged. "Just checking up on you. You weren't in your room. Zeb's snores don't seem too horrendous tonight, so I was wondering why you weren't sleeping."

"Actually," he admitted, "Zeb's snores help me sleep. Guess I'm so used to them now as background noise. If he's not here, I can't sleep so easily."

She laughed. Ezra felt his ears flush red at the sound.

Play it cool, he thought firmly. Be cool.

She shuffled up to him and pointed at the co-pilot seat. "Mind if I join you?"

He gestured at the empty chair. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." She sat down, still scrutinizing him with a curious look. "So, what's this about purrgils? You still thinking about those gas pods?"

Ezra snorted. "They eat the gas, they're not - well, technically - okay, yes, I'm still thinking about them."

Sabine giggled. "I'm just messing with you, Ezra." Her face turned serious. "What does this have to do with your family?"

He blinked, suddenly remembering the holo-recording playing in the space between them. In a flash he turned it off, feeling self-conscious.

"I don't know," he replied. "I was just thinking about them for some reason."

Ezra turned to look out the Phantom's canopy again. "My dad used to tell me about the purrgils all the time when I was younger."

"Really?" asked Sabine. "What did he say?"

"That purrgils apparently mate for life. There's more myth than fact about them, but that one is true. Despite their fearsome appearance, they're also really gentle. They won't attack unless directly provoked."

Sabine sat back in her chair, absorbing this. "Wow. Surprising."

"How so?"

"Purrgils don't make any kind of evolutionary sense, goober. Far as we can tell, nothing hunts purrgils. They are at the top of their food chain. And yet . . . " She waved a hand at the stars in front of them.

"They just exist. Just travel from star to star and occasionally take a pit stop to munch on some gas," she finished.

"And to annoy spacers like Hera," Ezra added.

Sabine snorted. "True. They continue to do that, maybe Hera will become a predator to them."

That elicited laughter from Ezra. Sabine grinned at him.

When his laughter died down, Sabine asked, "What else did your dad know about the purrgils?"

Ezra thought about it, then said, "The pod doesn't jump together. Not for long distances. He saw it happen, in person: one of them stays behind."

"Why?"

He closed his eyes. "To sing them home, when it's time."

There was a silence from Sabine. Then, he heard her murmur, "Even purrgils get lost sometimes."

"Yup. You get it."

Ezra opened his eyes. "My parents used to say that to each other sometimes. 'Sing me home when it's time'. One time, I asked my dad what would happen if I got lost and they weren't around anymore."

Sabine was quiet.

"He said other people would find me someday and love me like they did. That if I got lost, they would sing me home, just like the purrgils do," Ezra said. His eyes glazed over with tears.

"Some days I feel lost," he confessed. "I'm grateful for you and everyone else here, but it's not the same as it was with my family. I miss them so much sometimes."

Ezra let out a little bitter laugh. "Sometimes, when I was younger and still on my own, I wished that the purrgils would come and take me. That I could be anywhere but stuck on Lothal without my parents. It didn’t matter where we went - they could take me to another galaxy, for all I care."

All the horrible, seething emotions whirled and twisted within him. Ezra closed his eyes again and took deep breaths, trying to enact Kanan's Jedi calming techniques -

Sabine hugged him. Ezra let out a small breath that he didn't realize was being held.

"I'm here, Ezra," she said. "I'm here for you."

He melted into the warm embrace, just allowing himself to feel the strength and surety of his friend's presence fill the deep, dark cracks that his emotions had opened in him.

"Thank you," he mumbled, his voice a little ragged.

After a long moment, she released. Looking into his eyes with an expression of utmost seriousness, she said, "Look, I'm not much of a singer but I'll do it for you."

Ezra stared at her. "What?"

"Better me than Zeb. Or Hera and definitely better than Kanan." She shuddered at the last name.

"What are you talking about, Sabine?"

She rolled her eyes. "The singing, goober! I'll sing you home if you get lost."

His mouth fell slightly open. "You . . . you will?"

"Yeah. Just don't expect opera level talent here. Give me something simple to sing."

Ezra felt his mouth widen into a grin. "I never really thought about it."

"Come on. You have to know some music, Ezra."

He thought hard for a few seconds. Then he remembered something from his past - an old nursery rhyme his parents used to sing, when he was much younger.

"You got something," said Sabine. "I saw it click in your head, judging by your expression."

He looked at his friend, his mood cautious. "Okay," he said, "repeat after me."

Ezra took a deep breath.

"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run . . ."

The Girl Who Was Broken (1 BBY)

It had been a week since Ezra disappeared.

In the distance, despite the fading light of early dusk, Sabine could still see the smoke rising from the rubble of Capital City. It would take years to rebuild to its former glory. Years that the inhabitants of Lothal would now have, thanks to her friend's courageous sacrifice.

Yes, she felt proud. That's what she kept telling herself and the others, too.

But deep down, a wound remained. An Ezra shaped hole that refused to be filled from all the celebration and praise and joy from everyone around her.

I let him go. He's gone.

She shook her head vigorously at this last thought. "He's not gone," she said aloud.

But her words were snatched away by the rising evening breeze. She sighed and leaned against the balcony railing, taking in her surroundings.

Ezra's comm-tower. His home before he came onto the Ghost.

She knew Zeb and Hera would soon be making plans to leave. The Rebellion needed their talents desperately elsewhere. The war with the Empire had tipped in their favor with Thrawn's defeat but it was far, far from over.

She understood why they had to leave - and why she was deciding to stay. Ezra had asked her to see this through, not them. Sabine acknowledged the logic behind the decision to split up the remaining Ghost crew.

That didn't stop it from hurting, however. She and Ezra had spent plenty of nights conversing about this very subject; what they would do, should the worst come to pass.

But every plan they had come up with included them sticking together. Never had it occurred to them to plan about what would happen if they were separated.

And now he was gone.

"He's not gone," she said through clenched teeth. "He's not!"

Her shout became another casualty of the wind, snatched away in a heartbeat.

He couldn't be. She would know if he was . . . no, she was sure of it. Ezra was still alive out there, somewhere.

The trail had gone cold just outside the Unknown Regions. Hera had taken the Ghost, with her and Zeb, picking up the trail of debris from Thrawn's fleet halfway across the galaxy.

They could go no further. Neither of them voiced the obvious fact aloud on the trip back to Lothal: that no one who went into the Unknown Regions returned to tell the tale.

Ezra's lost out there. He's a smart boy, she thought. He'll figure it out. There's got to be some Jedi navigation techniques he can use.

Until then, all she could do was wait . . . and watch over Lothal, as she promised.

A memory came to her, rushing through her mind like the evening's breeze.

One stays behind to sing them home.

It was a silly idea, she knew. A child's hope.

But she had promised.

Sabine turned her gaze upwards, looking up at the starry night sky of Lothal. Somewhere, in between those pinpricks of tiny, scattered light, was her best friend.

She imagined his face, letting the image of him fill her mind.

And then . . . Sabine began to sing, fighting against the rising wind on this Lothal evening:

"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run. Pick a path and all is done. Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run. The night is falling, and the dark will come. Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf flee. Follow my voice and run home to me."

Her voice wavered at the last verse. When it was done, she hung her head for a moment, letting the tears fall freely.

Had the wind carried her voice away? Maybe, in her most foolish of hopes, it had carried her song to wherever Ezra was.

That he knew she was there. That someone was trying to bring him home.

Sabine slammed a fist on the railing. "That was so stupid," she whispered. "There's no way he heard that."

It was an idiotic idea that the singing would be heard by Ezra. She wasn't a purrgil.

But Sabine knew, deep down in her heart, that she would try anyway.

I will sing you home, Ezra Bridger. Every night, until you come back to me.

~ epilogue ~

The Lost Boy (11 ABY)

He sat on his haunches, exercising his Jedi patience. Before him, a field of plain, unblemished rocks; the gray skies of the strange world he had crash landed on so many years ago threatened a downpour soon. Ezra scratched idly at his beard, studying the rocks with interest.

Finally, he picked one. With a small smile, he picked up a pebble and chucked it at one of the oddly shaped rocks a few feet away on his right.

It bounced off the rock's exterior - and then the rock leapt into the air, revealing the small, crab-like creature that laid beneath it. Or, rather, was attached to it.

The Noti - as Ezra had come to know them as - used the rocks as defensive camouflage when the nomadic bandits came passing by. Since the planet they were on had so many of them, it became a habit of the bandits to just pass them by without much attention.

The little Noti scrambled in place for a few seconds and then froze at the sight of Ezra.

"Ezra Bridger," it said in a tiny little voice.

"Hello, friend," he replied pleasantly. "The village is looking for you. It's time to make camp."

The Noti, by Ezra's estimation, was still a child. The village elder had approached him earlier that morning, babbling like crazy. He still wasn't fluent with their language, but the gist of it was that they were looking for one of their younglings that had gone wandering off.

"Ezra Bridger," said the young Noti uncertainly.

He shook his head. "No, they're not angry with you. Just worried."

Thunder clapped nearby, the sound roiling over the barren wastes. The Noti immediately disappeared underneath it's rock shell again, afraid.

Ezra sighed, walked over to it, and knocked gently on the shell. "Hey, it's going to start pouring soon. We need to start heading back - "

A gust of wind rose with the incoming storm, and, for a frozen moment of time, he heard something.

A voice, singing. As if from far, far away.

A familiar voice. A familiar song . . .

Ezra went absolutely still, his heart hammering away inside his chest. He strained to listen over the rising gale -

There. There it is.

" . . . follow my voice and run home to me."

And then the voice was gone, carried away by the storm wind.

But he heard it. Oh, yes, he heard it.

Ezra smiled to himself.

"Not bad," he remarked. "You're a better singer than you think, Sabine."

He felt a tug on the hem of his robes. Looking down, he saw the Noti clutching a tiny fistful of the blood-red fabric.

"Ezra Bridger?" it asked.

Ezra knelt down and patted the little creature. "Don't be scared. Stay close to me, okay? We need to go now."

The Noti chirped back an answer in its own native language, sounding cheerful.

"Yeah," Ezra agreed. "It's time to go home."

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

.:The Legend of the Green Ninja Lives:. ~Chapter 8: To Each Their Own Brand of Justice~

Summary: Lloyd thinks things are finally looking up a little bit—except, his friends are suddenly acting weird about Ninja stuff, the Shark Army rears its ugly head again, and now the group is faced with (another) alarming ultimatum...

. . .

What's that??? Tired of seeing nothing but certain spoilers for a certain season??? Have no fear—read this instead!!!! *jazz hands*

[ahyesthesufferingoftvteens]

Casually posts art of 35-year-old Mira in that one new The Hollow fanfic I’m writing.

[miraculousmultifan]

would you love me if i was a lobster?

hi!! its been a while since ive done one of these, but inspiration struck hard for this one. so this little drabble was written for the November 10th STWG daily prompt: "I can explain!" ~~~

When Steve walked into the grocery store looking for ingredients to cook himself another dinner by himself, he really expected to just be in and out. Grab a couple things and go.

The problem arrived when he stepped into the fish section. He was just going to grab a filet of salmon and be on his merry way, but no. There was a man dressed like a lobster standing in his way. He had his face pressed up against the glass of the lobster tank, and he kept muttering things that Steve only caught short snippets of.

“I’ll… free… soon.”

“... claws… your master!”

Sighing deeply, Steve tried to maneuver around the guy, but it was like he suddenly developed a sixth sense for knowing when people were approaching him. Next thing he knew, the guy was whirling around to face him with an angry expression, only to flounder when he made eye contact with Steve.

He looked back and forth between the lobster tank and Steve like he was trying to figure out whether he should abandon… whatever he was doing and run away to avoid talking to Steve, or stay and… continue fogging up the glass with his warm breath.

Hey, now that Steve was paying more attention, the guy kind of looked like… Eddie Munson?

“Munson?” Steve asked and squinted, still not sure whether his eyes were deceiving him. “Is that you?”

Immediately, Munson stood up taller and raised his, uh… claws up in surrender. “I can explain! Just… um, give me a minute to figure out what to say.”

The longer they stood there, the more details Steve was slowly picking up on. For example, Munson’s eyes were so bloodshot that he was ninety-five percent sure the dude was incredibly high, and he kept squeezing the costume’s claws together like he was partly convinced he was a lobster. 

Everyone else in the store seemed to be giving them a wide berth, but Steve was uncomfortably arriving at the conclusion that the spectacle was kind of… endearing. He found himself having to hide a smile behind his hand while Eddie turned back to the lobsters in the tank and started asking them to help him come up with an excuse.

Deciding to play along and maybe have a little fun, Steve sidled up to the tank to crouch down beside Munson and whisper playfully, “Is this some sort of jailbreak thing?” Munson yelped and jumped back to gape at Steve, who responded only by grinning up at him and laughing at his reaction. “Aw. What, I can’t know about it? How do you expect to free a bunch of lobsters in broad daylight all by yourself?”

Munson seemed to think on that for a little bit (debating the pros and cons, Steve assumed) before he stuck his hand out for Steve to shake, a mischievous twinkle in his sweet brown doe eyes. “Alright, Harrington. You’ve convinced me. I can’t wait to raise a lobster army with you.”

Steve refused to acknowledge how Eddie Munson’s goofy antics were making him feel all fuzzy and warm inside. Sure, he’s funny, but in a weird way, not a cute way… Right? 

Steve tried not to let his growing blush show as he shook Eddie’s hand firmly. He’s just high, Steve. He’s not flirting with you. “It would be an honor.”

(Spoiler alert, past-Steve: he was totally flirting with you).

[missyorkswhore]

He's fucking beautiful

Does he need to look at the camera like that?😮‍💨❤️‍🔥

Ft. @theladydelulu

[jojaydoodles]

My imitator powers have been activated, I'm back working on my doujin.

--- ko-fi // redbubble

[game-set-canet]

could you do an alcaraz fic where you both wake up the morning after his Wimbledon win and it's all fluffy and cute and happy?

My Number One

Pairing: Carlos Alcaraz x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: I had so much fun writing it, so thank you for this request! 💙 there is a lot of fluff (and hand-holding) going on in this imagine, i hope you like it!

* Y/N = your name

MY MASTERLIST

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

The first thing you see after slowly opening your eyes is Carlos’ peaceful face. He is still asleep and has a soft little smile on his lips.

For a few seconds you just lay there and watch your boyfriend while your thoughts go back to yesterday.

Carlos won the second slam of his career. He defeated Novak Djokovic and won the tournament of Wimbledon. Although you were really confident and always believed that he will win it, you can’t remember the last time you cried as much as yesterday – except because of the final of the US Open 2022 of course.

You are so proud of him and what he archived in the last two years: winning slams, becoming world’s number one, breaking lots of records and still he remained the cheerful, humble and loyal young man you fell in love with.

He deserves this success so much after the start of the season: missing the Australian Open hurt him more than he admitted to the rest of the team and after Roland Garros and his loss to Djokovic with all the cramping and emotional pressure. All these thoughts bring tears to your eyes.

Suddenly Carlos snaps you out of your thoughts, you didn't notice that he was awake: “Please don’t start crying.”, his voice is a bit hoarse and still full of sleep, “I hate seeing you cry – no matter if they are tears of joy or not.”

You smile at your boyfriend and quickly try to blink the tears away: “Hey!”, you put your hand on his cheek and softly stroke it with you thumb, “Good morning!”

Carlos covers your hand with his and presses a kiss on your palm: “Good morning, Y/N!”

You smile at each other before Carlos moves closer to you – your noses are almost touching now.

“Did you sleep well?”, Carlos intertwines your hands with each other under the duvet.

You nod a little and smile at him: “I slept next to my beautiful boyfriend who just won Wimbledon alas his second slam, so yes, I slept very very well.”

Carlos’ smile got bigger and bigger with every one of your words and looks at you with a really radiant smile now.

Seeing him like this, your heart skips a beat. You can’t help but close the last distance between you to kiss him. The kiss was slow and tender and ended in little pecks.

“I still can’t quite believe it, you know?”, Carlos leans his forehead against yours, he is only whispering, “I mean, I always dreamt of winning Wimbledon and now…I can’t believe it.”

You chuckle a little because he had already said these words a few times yesterday - and also in exactly these words after winning the final in New York. And as Carlos repeats his words over and over again, you also repeat the answer you have given on every other occasion: “But you did it. And I’m so so proud of you.”

He doesn’t reply.

Instead, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you.

You slowly stroke one hand up and down his back while the second hand runs over his hair.

“Although I have to be honest: I might be a little jealously of the Wimbledon trophy.”, you say teasingly while playfully tugging on Carlos’ short hair, “You hugged it almost the whole evening yesterday and I can’t count the number of kisses you have given that trophy during the team celebration.”

Carlos groans softly because of the feeling your fingernails cause on his scalp. It takes a while for him to answer, his stubble scratches the sensitive skin of your neck: “I’m pretty sure I have hugged you way longer and have given you even more kisses during the team celebration.”, he lifts his head to grin at you, “And to be fair: it’s a really beautiful trophy!”

You roll your eyes and stick out your tongue at him: “I’m your girlfriend! It’s your job to hug and kiss me!”, you giggle a little, “But I’m honestly surprised you didn’t take it to bed with us.”

Carlos’ cheeks turn red which tells you that he actually did think about take it into bed. “No, I think I found the right place for it.”, he turns his head to look at the big trophy which is standing on the nightstand on his side of the bed, before he looks back at you and grins: “Besides, I already have the most beautiful thing of the whole world in my bed: you.”

“Cheeky.”, you laugh and shake your head in disbelief, “I like it.”

Carlos joins in your laughter before snuggling up to you again.

Somewhere in the bedroom you hear a smartphone vibrating, announce the arrival of a message. Your boyfriend groans in annoyance and rolls away from you over to his side of the bed. Without looking, he fumbles for his phone which is lying on the floor right next to his trousers.

“Is it something important?”, you ask him while sitting up in bed and stretch your arms up in the air.

“No, just Alvaro asking if we want to join them for brunch.”

You look down at you boyfriend who makes himself comfortable in bed again: “Do we want to join them for brunch?” 

Carlos suppresses a yawn: “Mhhh, I’m hungry but I don’t want to get up!”, he reaches for your hand and pulls you on top of him so that you lie on his chest, “I say we stay in bed all day: have brunch in bed and later dinner in bed…what do you think?”

“Is this our post-slam-win-ritual?”, you press a feather-light kiss on his lips, “Staying in bed and sleeping, eating, making out the whole day?”

“Yes, because you had the perfect idea last year after the US Open final.”

“You are right, it’s the perfect idea.”

Carlos tilts his head and looks at you with a warm smile: “I love you, Y/N.”, he whispers between loving kisses, “I love you so so much.”, his fingertips stroke over your right cheek, “More than anything else.”

You lean into the touch, close your eyes as you enjoy the feeling of his fingers on your skin: “Even more than your slam trophies?”

“Definitely.”, Carlos chuckles softly, “I wouldn't have won them without you.”

Your eyes snap open: “What do you mean?”, you reach for his hand and hold it in yours, “You won them because you are the best. Because you sacrificed everything for that…you practise every day, and you train really hard…”, you sit up in bed and take a deep breath before you continued in your monologue, “You won all these tournaments because of-“

But Carlos just interrupts you, a soft grin on his face: “My amazing team. Because I have the best possible coach in the world and a family that supports me no matter what.”, he moves over so you are now sitting opposite each other, “And because I have my girlfriend by my side, who truly cares about my, who supports me and helps me every day.”, he doesn’t look at you, instead he focuses on his fingers playing with a loose thread on the bedspread – he seems a bit nervous but he starts talking again, “A girlfriend who encourages me before every single match and cheers for me in the player’s box.”, his fingers slowly wander over to intertwine them with yours, “A girlfriend who is always there for me, who I can always count on and who sometimes knows me better than I know myself.”, finally he lifts his head to look at you with a shy but loving smile, “I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

You have been very emotional the whole weekend: his second slam final, so much work and so much pressure, the relief and happiness after the win and all the love you have for this man right in front of you, who just casually dropped the cutest love confession ever. You can no longer hold back the tears now and two of them make their way down your cheeks.

Carlos quickly takes your face between his hands and wipes away the tears with his thumbs: “Oh hey hey, please don’t cry!”

You smile through the tears and softly shake your head: “You can’t say such beautiful things and expect me not to cry!”

Your boyfriend tilts his head from one side to the other without breaking the eye contact: “I’ve made my girlfriend cry two times in the last one and a half hour, and I think, I’ve seen you weep tears more than five times yesterday…“, his smile is a bit playful now, “Guess I’m a terrible boyfriend…”

You laugh because of his words and nod: “The worst, actually.”

For a moment you just look at each other before you lean forward to kiss Carlos.

♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦ - ♦

tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev

[whoseholtz]

today was a fairytale | alexander holtz

pairing : alexander holtz x fem!reader

warnings : one of my first fully written fics, swearing, use of y/n, switch of pov (will be written in italics!)

summary : when reader goes to a devil's game and decides to make a sign asking #10 for a puck in exchange for a lego set and he actually notices her and the day turns out to be like one in a fairytale.

word count : 1.6k

y/n pov

“Girl, it’s a stupid idea, there’s a bunch of signs around the rink why would he choose yours?” your best friend says looking at the sign you made for your favourite player.

She always knew how to ruin the mood.

You slightly adjusted the sign in your hands which read, ‘Can I trade you a Lego set for a puck, #10?’ in a goofy font. The white card had been something you picked up from the craft store on your way home from work, an impulsive decision as always.

“But but but there’s barely any with his name on it, plus who cares, it’s fun okay, and if he actually spots me it’s a bonus,” you smiled clinging onto that little bit of hope that he would see your sign.

“Yeah, I guess,” your friend shrugged as a smirk grew on her face.

“What is it?” you asked knowing that when that smirk appeared there was always a plan brewing in her head.

“Oh nothing, just the fact that you are a beautiful hot girl who likes lego oh and he’s a guy who likes girls and lego, get his number girl,” she said jokingly nudging your shoulder.

In what world would ALEXANDER HOLTZ notice you?

“Okay get out of your Wattpad-loving brain, let’s just enjoy warmups and the game,” a smirk forming on your friend's face, “but no high hopes of anything more than the game.”

The lights started dimming in the arena, the colours of the devils shining bright with the booming voices from the speakers announcing the players would be entering the ice soon.

Your friend slapping your arm, “Look how cute they look, they’re Disney princesses with pads.”

“Yes, yes, I know to calm down, we don’t wanna look like the crazy ones,” you replied, being conscious of when #10 entered the ice.

Then there he was, gliding smoothly across the ice.

He could easily be on one of the top lines but he gets treated like shit from the shitty old coaches.

Warm-ups went on like normal, the silly superstitions, and pucks across the ice in every direction.

“He’s good at skating I guess,” your friend said smartly, “he plays for the NHL dipshit, of course, he’s good at skating.”

“I know but I looked at his stats and his ice time is really low and like that means he doesn’t have any chance to get good plays,” your friend shrugged, her eyes following his every move.

All she said was true, he dealt with the game. all he cared about was that he was in the league, the best league in the world for hockey.

Being a player's biggest fan came with the depression of the issues at hand, their places on the lines, their falls and other setbacks that come with being an NHL player, and every day you wish they could be the best and biggest player in the league.

Even harder being on a team with two top first-round picks and a bunch of other players who are raved about all around the league.

“Girl snap the fuck of out, he’s looking at you, right at you holy shit,” your friend said slapping your shoulder, pointing at him skating around in circles, locking eyes with you.

“Oh my god, no way he’s looking at me,” you said, jumping up and down not knowing what to do, stay weird or keep calm and try your best to look hot.

The Lego Ferrari car shook in your hand, the other shaking against the glass trying to keep your cool as he skated towards where you were situated.

—

alex pov

Skating towards such a pretty girl was scary, but the sign caught his eye. he didn’t get many signs, trades even and Lego is his favourite thing, so why wouldn’t he be excited?

The white, red and black sign with the pretty girl holding it couldn’t pass his way, maybe he’d even get a point this game.

Going home after a win but with little ice time and no points didn’t help with his mood. he’d sit on his couch in the dim room questioning why he could never be enough for the team and the league.

He has tried so hard.

—

y/n pov

“No way he’s gonna actually want the set. no way you are getting a puck, oh my god y/n this is crazy ahhh he’s coming towards us,” she said, slapping you repeatedly in the same spot, it was starting to hurt.

“Okay just stop, calm down and look cool girl,” you said, wanting to look as normal as possible for Alexander Holtz.

Tap, tap, tap on the glass.

A red glove right in front of your face, the culprit of the tapping noise.

His adorable smiling face looking at you, signalling to get ready for the puck to be thrown over the ice.

You smiled back and nodded, pulling the sign down, holding your hands ready to catch it, not believing what was going on.

You almost wanted to keep your eyes on him even when the puck had been thrown from his hands, but you obviously couldn’t.

The puck weighing in your hand, your eyes fixated on it.

"Y/n, y/n, y/n the lego set, stop googling at the puck and hand him the bloody lego set,” your friend said, slapping you once again.

“Oh fuck yeah wait, hold the puck while I chuck this thing over the glass,” you said, questioning if all those years of skipping gym were back to bite you.

First try, failed.

Second try, failed.

Third try, failed.

Fourth time, WE GOT IT.

He grinned at you one last time before turning around and skating to the bench to place the set down.

A weird feeling flowed through your body. Almost as if you’d just lost something, a presence and a sense of comfort just poof, gone.

But that thought quickly got taken away when the stadium filled with screams of die-hard fans, with you being one of them.

Somehow you’d made it to your seat already getting ready for the game to start.

You realised your head couldn’t stop thinking about the interaction with him, the puck clinging to your hand.

“Hey hey y/n, maybe loosen your grip on the puck, your knuckles are turning white and we don’t want to leave before the game even starts,” your friend said, nudging you to get your attention.

“Oh shit sorry, it’s just he’s so ahhhh, like oh my god he’s got something in his possession that I bought, with my own money,” you grinned, immediately the wave of regret of spending that much money on a lego set, washing away.

“Well let’s just enjoy this game and hope for a win and a Holtz point,” she said, holding up her overpriced drink to yours.

“I’ll toast to that, to Holtz getting a point and maybe a devil's won.”

—

“AND THE DEVILS WIN THE GAME WITH ALEXANDER HOLTZ AS THE STAR OF THE GAME”

The shock on your face shouldn’t have been that big but when a fourth-line player gets chosen as the star of the game it is huge.

“Girl he did it for you, you are his good luck charm, you need to give him something every game,” your friend yells beside you jumping out of her seat.

“Okay, I get hockey players are superstitious but girl there’s no way, let’s just leave it,” you sighed, your life couldn’t be all butterflies and rainbows.

It was not a Wattpad story, and you couldn’t treat it like it was. He probably just threw out the Lego set, you thought you were insane thinking there was a chance he actually remembered who you were; there’s no way he did.

—

alex pov

He couldn’t stop thinking about her smile, how it was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. and he got a goal, points, the fucking star of the game.

yeah, he laughed at people saying hockey players are suppositions and yeah he was a tiny bit. he had his routines but it was never that serious, the only thing different about his game was seeing her, locking eyes with her.

The Lego set sitting on his living room table was a reminder of how her smile made him feel, all bubbly inside like he could rule the world.

“Bro stop zoning out it’s scary, you just got star of the game let’s celebrate,” Luke said as he walked past you, he had invited himself in like he did every other night. win or lose he was there.

“Sorry sorry just trying to figure out what happened today that made me play so good.”

“It was totally that girl you were spying on from the start of the game to the end,” Luke joked, “this is the Lego set she gave you right?” he questioned picking it up off the table.

“Hey, don’t touch that,” he yelled, running towards Luke.

“Shit, sorry didn’t think it was such a big deal,” he said dropping the Lego set onto the table again.

“No sorry I just can’t seem to get her out of my head, and the thought I probably will never see her again,” Alexander said slowly sitting down on the couch.

“Okay don’t think about it that way, be happy you’ve somewhat met her and that you are the star, be present,” Luke replied sitting down on the couch like it was his own home, grabbing the remote and flicking some random show on.

“Never say something like that again, it's weird hearing advice from you,” Alex replied, shocked by the words coming out of his mouth.

“HEY,” Luke yelled, slapping him in the process.

It wasn’t like Luke thought, he still felt her presence somewhat, a faint smell of grapefruit which you would only notice if you really paid attention.

He couldn’t get away from the thought of her.

He couldn’t stop wondering when he’d see her again.

a/n :: hi guyssss sorry i've been lacking motivation so this took... a while to publish and stuff so i hope u like it!! tysm for all the love on if i could tell her <33

also i might be making this a series? maybe? don't hold me to that though :}

[valarioncy]

Have some ominous/angsty/messy and kinda ugly at times Hollow sketches. :0 These are idea sketches for a fic idea that I am once again revising. I'm really proud of the dynamic angle Kai sketch.

This is probably one of my only Kai-centric fanworks and it's been existing as a concept since June 2020. Revised the idea multiple times and have never found a story I ever fully wanted to work with until now.

What advantage does this "Adam gets corrupted and Kai has to do something about it" fic have over the last version, known as "The Tempest"? Well... a cohesive emotional story is a good start. Also a new way to bring Skeet back from the dead which I have not yet seen done before.

Also, trauma processing time! The ideas are capable of paralleling some real world shit we've been through. No, nothing's been written yet, we aren't that far along. :0 But the sketches are a great way to generate ideas.