#You are doing the same thing with another good invention

[qonphuceingey]

Yes, but you actually can’t do an X-ray without an X-ray machine and you can’t do surgery without scalpels. We already rely on technology for everything. Offloading cognitive tasks just frees us up to do more. If you can do your job with chatgpt, but can’t without, you can still do your job. I’m sure you would find university much much harder without access to google or the internet too.

Why are you using chatgpt to get through college. Why are you spending so much time and money on something just to be functionally illiterate and have zero new skills at the end of it all. Literally shooting yourself in the foot. If you want to waste thirty grand you can always just buy a sportscar.

[inseparabiles]

For the next like, two days, Boys and Wolves will be tagged with Geta & Cara instead of Geta/Cara.

I do not anticipate this state to last any longer than that, but presently the & team of demons in our head has scored a win.

I fucking hate tagging this fic I swear to god. No matter what we do with it it's going to give the wrong impression to someone. The A/N section to explain the relationship tag is several miles long and even that I don't think helps.

Like yes it's platonic. No they're not being platonic about it. Questions? Me too.

[icewindandboringhorror]

examining a seemingly normal image only to slowly realize the clear signs of AI generated art.... i know what you are... you cannot hide your true nature from me... go back where you came from... out of my sight with haste, wretched and vile husk

[violenteconomics]

twst first-years, except they’re third-years now and they have to deal with their own meddlesome (yet loveable) freshmen.

no orientation at night raven college has ever gone smoothly. and this year, housewarden ace and vice housewarden deuce watch as one of the incoming first-years use his signature spell — which takes the form of a whip of all things — to paralyze a couple of students who were talking too loudly for his tastes. after he gets sorted into heartslabyul, he becomes obsessed with efficiency, whipping anybody who doesn’t get things done fast enough, which in turns scares the other students into working ever faster. while heartslabyul has never looked better or been so productive, it does scare ace and deuce. just a little.

(when deuce gets insulted by another third-year, who calls him “too stupid to be vice housewarden”, the third-year immediately gets struck down by a familiar whip.)

at first, jack thanks his lucky stars that one of his new freshmen is almost deathly quiet and polite — except neither of those things necessarily equal good behavior, because one day he finds a huge fight ring happening in the lounge. luckily, jack steps in before the freshman can throw a bloody fist square at his opponent’s face, who’s already cowering in fear with his tail tucked between his legs. and unluckily, no matter what jack tries, this doesn’t turn out to be an isolated incident.

(when the first-year overhears of a plot from another heartslabyul freshman to cause jack’s broom to spin out of control at the interdorm spelldrive contest as a funny “prank”, they both wind up in the infirmary for several broken bones and severe burns to their skin.)

epel’s freshman is an entitled bitch — literally and figuratively. rarely do beastmen ever get sorted into pomefiore, but if it had to be anything, he supposes it only makes sense that it’s a poodle. one whose morning makeup routine takes hours, struts around like he owns the place, howls loudly at anybody who touches anything he thinks is “his”, and barks wildly when he needs something, like he expects someone to tend to his every whim.

(right after epel’s told that one too many bad business deals has led to his family farm being in danger of going bankrupt, he sits in the lounge with a blank look in his eyes. when the first-year finds him, no words are exchanged — the first-year simply curls up on his lap like a housepet and wraps his arms around him.)

ortho quite likes his first-year, actually! he’s nice and sweet and loves to talk to him about the various kinds of inventions he’s making. and he actually likes to go outside every now and then, which is always a bonus when it comes to ignihyde students. his only real issue with him is that he stays up incredibly late into the night, watching the same video on loop about the jupiter corporation’s infamous teleportation experiment, which ended with their test pilot getting stuck inside and likely dying, with an angered look on his face.

(one day, he quietly asks ortho how he would feel about him if he knew that he did something awful. the first-year says that he wouldn’t like it if he did something that ortho would hate him for. ortho pats him on the head with a smile and says that he could never hate him — which, oddly enough, only seems to make him feel worse.)

while a good majority of sebek’s freshmen look upon him with equal parts awe and fear, there is one that is entirely undisciplined! he uses his signature spell to fly around mindlessly and play childish pranks, like taking sebek’s housewarden hat hostage. he laughs impishly as sebek tries to take his hat back, and he laughs even harder when sebek tries to lecture him on the honor and responsibility of being in diasomnia. he never takes his classes seriously, and with the way he acts, you would think he considers being at night raven college more of a burden than a blessing.

(when his first-year gets beaten by some second-years, sebek staunchly defends him against professor crewel when he tries to give the first-year detention. when they get back to the dorm, his first-year tearfully calls sebek the only upperclassman he trusts.)

yuu sees a first-year burst out of their coffin, looking confused and discombobulated. she looks entirely befuddled when headmage crowley guides them towards the dark mirror. she looks scared when the mirror starts talking and declares she has no magic within her, and therefore, belongs to no dorm at all. yuu watches her face crumble with despair as the mirror says it can’t bring her home. it is then that yuu can’t help but step out of the crowd, grab her by the hand, and gently draw her into a hug.

(yuu sees her later, smiling with a mismatch of freshmen from other dorms — a stark contrast from the crying, weeping mess she was only a few weeks ago — and can't help but feel like a part of them has healed.)

their freshmen are often rude, egotistical, irresponsible, wholly troublesome, or some unholy combination of all four. but by the end of the first month, they all knew they would die for them.

(by the end of the first month, deuce will overblot, and the cycle will begin anew.)

[venusinmyrrh]

You said you love a good fashion doc- do you have any more to recommend?

Designers and tastemakers

Very Ralph (2019). The preeminent American designer of our time, one of the very few who can stand toe to toe with the titans of Paris and Milan. To call Ralph Lauren's work "sportswear" is to call the Sistine Chapel "kind of a big painting".

Halston (2019). Speaking of going head to head with Paris, Halston did it first. Skip Ultrasuede-- this is a much better doc about the king of American 70s disco glam.

McQueen (2018). When people talk about fashion as an art form, chances are they're thinking of Alexander McQueen. Worth watching for the pulse-pounding runway shows alone.

Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist (2018). Obviously you already know about this one, but it's gotta go on any comprehensive list. Without Vivienne Westwood, punk would have been nothing but a handful of noisy assholes.

Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has to Travel (2011). My icon, my north star, my personal hero. The empress of taste and high priestess of personal style. Watch this doc whenever you need encouragement to do and wear whatever the hell you want.

The Gospel According to André (2017). Diana Vreeland's protegé and a godfather of style in his own right. If it happened in fashion in the last fifty years, André Leon Talley was there for it.

Lagerfeld Confidential (2007). I have a high tolerance for difficult and unpleasant people as long as I like their work. Your mileage may vary, but Karl Lagerfeld's immaculate, relentless taste cannot be denied.

Institutions and events

The First Monday in May (2016). Witness all the hustle, bustle, savvy, and stress that goes into planning the Met gala!

The September Issue (2009). Same as the above, but for the famous September issue of Vogue. Watch this to learn who Grace Coddington is.

Dior and I (2014). How do haute couture collections get made? In 8 weeks from start to finish, I guess, if you're Raf Simons during his first season at the House of Dior. A documentary and a thriller.

Scatter My Ashes at Bergdorf's (2013). No matter what other retailers might want you to think, Bergdorf Goodman is the last great department store. A portrait, already halfway to a time capsule, of what luxury shopping used to be.

Peripheral, but may be of interest

Nose (2021). The passionate, delicate art of perfume creation for the House of Dior. The French landscapes where they source their materials will make you swoon.

Larger Than Life: The Kevyn Aucoin Story (2017). As the makeup artist to pretty much every single icon of the 80s and 90s, Kevyn Aucoin invented the image of that era as much as any designer.

Fabergé: A Life of Its Own (2014). Come for the dazzling jewels and sumptuous objets d'art; stay to find out how this illustrious name ended up on hair care products in the 70s.

Crazy About Tiffany's (2016). Another luxury jeweler whose name alone is the stuff dreams are made on.

Bill Cunningham New York (2010). The original street style photographer, since before "street style" was even a thing. A love letter to curiosity, and a testament to the power of taking an interest in the world around us.

Still on my watchlist

Salvatore: Shoemaker of Dreams (2020). Directed by Luca Guadagnino, which is enough to put this Ferragamo doc at the top of my list.

Advanced Style (2014). Portraits of seven women aged 62-95 with truly fab personal style. Top Letterboxd review is seething about how out of touch they are with the real world, which means I am probably gonna love it.

Suited (2016). A study of gender through clothing in modern culture.

Dries (2017). A year-- and four collections-- in the life of Dries Van Noten, who, interestingly, doesn't see the point of clothes that people can't buy to wear, and so does not do couture.

Yellow is Forbidden (2018). This doc about Guo Pei appears to use her career as a framework to understand the gatekeeping of global culture by the West. Dope as hell, if it can pull it off.

American Style (2019). The political, social, and economic history of America through its fashion. Another one that could be really awesome if done with insight and panache.

Quant (2021). She may share the credit for inventing the miniskirt with two other people, but it cannot be argued that Mary Quant invented 1960s Swinging London. And for that we say thank you Dame Mary.

[willowsnook]

Concerned (LN)

lando norris x neighbor!reader

Another late night working and you were exhausted. You’d been on PTO the week before, so now you were playing catch-up and drowning. Trudging back to you apartment, you rounded the corner and ran right into someone else.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” your neighbor said at the same time you started to apologize. You had met him a couple of times, but he was gone a lot, so it was a pretty standard friendly neighbor relationship.

“You look horrible.” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, and a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His face was haggard, dark circles under his eyes and a weary expression that spoke of sleepless nights. The lines on his forehead deepened as he tried to hide his fatigue, but you couldn't help but notice how drained he looked.

“I’ve had trouble sleeping,” he admitted, and you tilted your head, looking for more, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Okay, come on,” you said, heading towards your apartment. With a moment's hesitation, he followed behind you into your apartment. The first thing that caught his eye was the unique decor - the walls adorned with scattered pieces of art, each telling its own story. The colors and textures clashed and complemented each other in a chaotic symphony, creating an atmosphere that felt both whimsical and intimate. He couldn't help but feel drawn in, wanting to explore every inch of this quirky space that was a reflection of you.

You sat him down on a barstool in the kitchen before opening a cabinet filled with various powders and ingredients. He watched as you contemplated a bit before picking a couple down and placing them on the counter. Filling the kettle and putting it on the stove, you turned back to him and tried to figure him out.

“You have a lot of ingredients for tea,” he said, not knowing what to say.

“Yeah, I read this book earlier this year about a woman who owned a tea shop and then became fixated on making perfect tea,” you said and he smiled. He felt himself starting to relax around you, appreciative that you hadn’t pushed on why he looked so tired even though he knew you probably had a good idea.

The comfortable silence lasted a couple of more minutes before being interrupted by the high scream of the kettle, and you carefully poured it into a cup that would turn it into your favorite tea invention.

“Let it cool for a couple of minutes,” you told him, and he nodded, picked it up, and moved to the couch. You unpacked your bag from work, looking up occasionally to see him sipping and staring out of your grand windows. Deciding he was probably fine by himself, you went to take a shower and change into your pajamas.

As you emerged from the bedroom 20 minutes later, you spotted the familiar mug sitting on the coffee table, and him sprawled out, fast asleep on the couch. A small smile tugged at your lips as you quietly made your way over to him, careful not to wake him. The soft light filtering through the window cast a gentle glow on his sleeping face. You reached for a nearby blanket and draped it over his body, making sure he was warm and comfortable before retreating back to your room.

The next morning you slept in a little later before coming back out into the kitchen. Lando was still snoring softly on the couch and you kept quiet as you made coffee and pulled out eggs for breakfast. You heard him stir and looked over your shoulder to see him sitting up, yawning. He slipped off the couch and made his way towards you.

“I owe you one,” he said and you waved him off. “You are my favorite neighbor.”

“What an honor,” you joked and he smiled.

“What can I do to repay you?”

You stood thinking for a second before smirking, “Well I’d love it if you could get me Carlos’ autograph; he’s my favorite driver.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together disapprovingly, causing deep lines to form on his forehead. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh at his reaction before turning back to the skillet of sizzling eggs.

“I’m going to head out now, but again, thank you for last night. I really needed it,” he said, and you turned, surprising him as you hugged him. His embrace was tight but not suffocating, and his arms felt strong and sturdy around you. When he pulled back, you could feel the weight of his exhaustion in the way his body slumped slightly.

“You need to take care of yourself,” you said.

“It’s hard,” he replied and you pulled back to see his sad eyes looking back at you. Giving him one last smile, he left you to make breakfast, retreating back to his own place.

———————————————————————

The rest of your weekend went by quickly and you enjoyed the relaxation of not having to think about work. Sunday afternoon, you were deep cleaning your apartment, casually paying attention to the football games you had in the background. After scrubbing your kitchen, you took a break, pulling out your phone and scrolling through Twitter.

Now, you weren’t a big F1 fan; you just tuned in every once in a while mainly because you thought it was cool that you knew a driver, but you’d see tweets on your timeline every once in a while. One caught your attention, and you opened the thread to see some account commenting on a recent stream that Lando had been on with his friends. You watched the video of his friends making fun of him for eating expired food and giggled as they ragged on him.

Thinking back to the other night, you started to actually be concerned about him eating expired food. First of all, it was gross as fuck. Secondly, it could easily make him sick. Having an idea, you grabbed your keys before heading off to the grocery store.

A couple of hours later you were outside Lando’s door, having just knocked on it. He was surprised to see you standing there when he swung open the door.

“I have something for you,” you said, and his eyes flickered down to the bag in your hand before letting you in. Setting it down on the counter, you began pulling out all the Tupperware filled with several different things.

“This should last you until you have to leave again to race,” you said nonchalantly, turning to look at you. He looked at you wide-eyed, taking in what you did for him.

“You made me food?” He asked slowly and you nodded.

“I heard that you were eating expired food, which is disgusting,” you said, and a small smile crossed his face. “That could also kill you, and it would be really irritating to have a bunch of police and noise here to deal with it.”

“Mmmhmm,” he said smirking. “So you did it because you didn’t want to be inconvenienced if I poisoned myself?”

“Exactly,” you told him. “If you were my favorite driver, I would say I was doing it because I care about you and want to make sure you are okay.”

“But I’m not your favorite,” he said and you nodded. “Correct.”

He smiled to himself as you bid him goodbye before heading back.

Later that night he hopped on to stream with Max who instantly asked him what he had for dinner.

“A burrito bowl,” he replied and Max perked up.

“Did you order it?” He asked and Lando shook his head.

“No, my neighbor heard that I was eating expired food so she made me a bunch of meal prepped things to last a couple of weeks.”

“Was it your hot neighbor?” Max asked with a smirk and Lando blushed.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“Just so everyone in the chat knows, Lando has been simping over one of his neighbors for almost a year now, and instead of just talking to her like a normal person, he just stalks her on social media and turns into a lovesick school boy anytime he sees her.”

“That’s not true,” he complained and Max laughed.

"Remember when you saw her at the little coffee shop by your place? She chatted with you for what, five minutes? You couldn't stop talking about it for weeks," he teased, savoring the memory of his friend's flustered excitement.

“Shut up mate,” Lando muttered with a slight grin. Little did he know that you had been tuned into the stream, listening to all of this.

pt 2

[realsocialskills]

Disability-affirming growth mindset

Children are often taught to think “I can’t do that *yet*” as a form of encouraging growth mindset. That’s a really useful strategy when it’s applicable, and it also needs some nuance in order to be more disability-affirming. 

Growth mindset has to be grounded in reality.

Growth means that I am always learning new things and developing new skills and getting better at things. It doesn’t mean doubling down on pursuing impossible dreams; it means doing real things. 

Sometimes growth mindset means thinking “I can’t do that *yet*,” and continuing to try until I can.

Sometimes it’s more like, “This isn’t working. Maybe I need to do it another way.”

Or: “This isn’t working, and maybe it’s not going to work. What else can I do?”

Or: “I can’t do *that*, but I can do the important part a different way.”

Or: “I can do that with help.” and/or “Let’s figure out what supports would make it possible to do that.”

Or: “We can do that collaboratively, together.”

Or: “I could do that with appropriate assistive technology. Let’s figure out if some exists and/or if there’s something we could invent.”

In those instances, realizing that something isn’t going to work is part of how we find out what *can* work.

There are also cases in which growth mindset means realizing that something may not be a good use of our time and effort and resources. A skill that is broadly useful to nondisabled people might not be worth it to me, even if I’m technically capable of doing it. (For instance, handwriting is a useful skill for most people, but it’s always been so hard for me that it’s not really worth it. Losing the ability to  handwrite more than a few words at a time has freed up my abilities to do other things, like focus on typing words.)

There’s something powerful about seeing your body as it really is and working with it rather than against it. Sometimes figuring out what isn’t possible or what’s not worth the cost in time and effort is how we find areas where we can grow and flourish. 

Growth mindset means that I *don't sabotage my growth* by wasting time and effort pursuing impossible things. I don’t stand on a chair or a roof and expect believing in myself to make it possible to use my arms as wings and fly. If I want to fly, I need an airplane, and that’s ok. 

At the same time, I think that claiming the power of “yet” is really important for disabled people, and especially for people with developmental disabilities. 

Sometimes there can be a lot of pressure to see ourselves as incapable of doing things every time disability makes it harder or means we need to do things differently or it’s not obvious whether or how we could do the thing. 

Sometimes we get pressure not to try things unless there’s some certainty that we will be able to do them. (And for something as complex and poorly understood as developmental disabilities, there’s rarely much certainty. Having other people’s doubts limit what we’re allowed to try makes the world very, very small.)

Sometimes disability-affirming growth mindset means saying “I can’t do that, let’s do something else,” and sometimes it means saying, “I might be able to do that, and I’d like to try.” Sometimes it means saying, “I want to keep trying even though it’s harder for me and I’m not catching on as quickly and no one seems to know how to teach me.” or “I don’t know if this is going to work but I think it could, and at this point, I’d like to keep trying.” Or, “I know most people learn this by the time they’re four, and I know I’m much older than that, but I’d like to try to learn this too.”

Sometimes it means an adult claiming the right to learn how to read, or finding a dance studio where they’re willing to slow down enough for them to learn. Sometimes it means practicing a new skill in private while you’re figuring out if it’s something that makes sense for you. Sometimes it means asking around to other disabled people to see what their strategies have been. Sometimes it means demanding your right to accessibility and accommodations even when others don’t think you belong and don’t see you as capable of doing things in the space you want to be in.

[severussnapemylove]

Thoughts; Snaters (and general haters) only seem to care about children being mistreated when it has something to do with Snape or a child that's established as the "bad child".

Snape says anything critical about Neville, he's the devil incarnate. McGonagall publicly ridicules Neville and leaves him stranded with a murderer on the loose. *crickets*

Snape makes a bitchy comment about Hermione's teeth, grab your torch and pitchfork. Trelawney insults Hermione repeatedly. *Crickets*

Barty turns 14yo Draco into an animal and physically beats him against the stone floor, making Draco scream in pain. Barty performs the torture and killing spells in front of children who lost their families to those spells. *Barty fans invent a fanon that has Barty being a sweet lost lamb*

Hagrid performs body modification on an 11yo Dudley, who he doesn't know and certainly has no jurisdiction over, resulting in Dudley needing corrective surgery. Fans; *Good old Hagrid*

So bullying and child endangerment is acceptable if it's by a popular character or comic relief? Physical child abuse is acceptable if it's towards a child you don't like?

So, is Snape bitchy? Yes. But the monster they like to make him out to be? Hell no. In fact, compared to what the others do, he's a freaking delight.

I know I've posted things like this before, but I just had another Snater try to pull the same arguments again and the double standards are just mind blowing and makes my blood boil.

[srslyblvck]

daddy issues, tony stark [ Part I ]

pairing: tony stark x daughter!reader

synopsis: tony might've been a great superhero but he wasn't a great father.

genre: angst

word count: 1.1k

author's note: whoops, looks like my daddy issues are showing lmao

Part II

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ TONY STARK HAD NEVER been the best father. In fact, most days, it felt like he wasn’t really a father at all. He was a superhero, a genius, a billionaire—but a father? That was something he struggled to figure out. Between saving the world and working on his endless projects, being there for his teenage daughter felt like an afterthought.

But you never blamed him, not really. You cared about him too much to hold a grudge.

Each morning, you would wake up, knowing your father was holed up in his workshop again. He barely came out, always lost in the world of tech and schematics. You'd quietly slip downstairs, make him a cup of coffee just the way he liked it, and head to his workshop.

The metal doors hissed open as you walked in. Tony was hunched over his desk, a dozen holographic blueprints floating in front of him. He didn’t even look up as you placed the coffee on the corner of his table.

"Thanks," he muttered, almost absentmindedly.

"Yeah," you whispered, barely audible. "You're welcome."

You stood there for a second, hoping maybe, just maybe, he'd say something more. Ask how you were doing, maybe even crack one of his sarcastic jokes. But he didn’t. He stayed glued to his work, fingers flying over the holograms.

With a small sigh, you left him to his world, retreating to your room upstairs. It wasn’t that Tony never tried. You knew he did. He just… didn’t know how.

There had been times where Tony made an effort. There was that one night a few months ago when he knocked on your door after midnight. You'd been up late studying for a history test. He walked in, awkwardly holding a pizza box, his eyes red from exhaustion.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, trying for a smile but failing.

You accepted the pizza, your heart warming for a second. He sat down on your bed, but after a minute of silence, he pulled out his phone, diving into emails and plans for the next suit upgrade.

Eventually, he left without saying much more.

Every night, you'd find him passed out at his desk, surrounded by tech parts and half-finished inventions. Quietly, you'd drape a blanket over his shoulders, making sure he stayed warm in the freezing lab. He never woke up, never noticed, but you kept doing it because… well, someone had to take care of him, right?

The Avengers—Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce—noticed the little things Tony didn’t.

They noticed the way your smile faded when you proudly showed Tony your report card. You’d worked so hard for that A in science, but when you handed him the paper, he barely looked at it.

"Good job, kid," he'd said, sounding robotic.

That was it. No smile, no proud hug. Just a flat, emotionless acknowledgment before he went back to his tech. You smiled weakly, stuffing the report card back into your backpack before retreating to your room.

"Hey," Natasha had said gently as she passed you in the hall. "You're doing great, you know that, right?"

You nodded, forcing another smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

It was the same when you’d asked Tony to come to your school performance. You’d practiced for weeks—every night after finishing homework, every spare moment spent perfecting your lines. You wanted him to be there, to see you, just once.

"Dad, can you come to my play?" you’d asked, heart racing.

"I’m busy, sweetheart. Maybe next time," he'd said, barely glancing up from his project.

You’d nodded, trying to hide your disappointment. There was always a ‘next time’ with Tony. But next time never came.

Steve had been in the living room when you returned home that night. He noticed the tight smile on your face, the way you quickly escaped to your room without saying much. He exchanged a look with Natasha, both of them understanding the weight of Tony’s absence in your life.

You never let them see how much it hurt. That wasn’t your style. Instead, you bottled everything up, shoving your feelings deep inside. Every time Tony brushed you off, every time he missed something important, you just swallowed it down. After all, he was a superhero, right? He was saving the world. There wasn’t time for school plays or report cards.

But sometimes, when it was just you in your room late at night, the weight of it all crashed down. The tears would come, and you’d lock your door, not wanting anyone to see. You’d cry silently, face buried in your pillow, wondering why you weren’t enough for him to care.

Why couldn’t he see you?

There were bad days, too. Days when Tony would snap. He’d yell at you for something small—spilling water on his desk, walking into the workshop without knocking, or accidentally interrupting a call. His voice would rise, frustration boiling over.

"Can’t you see I’m working, Y/N? I don’t have time for this!"

You’d flinch, your heart sinking as he continued to shout. Afterward, he wouldn’t speak to you for days. You’d tiptoe around the tower, avoiding him, the silence between you growing heavier.

You’d lock yourself in your room, feeling the anger and sadness bubbling up. But he never came to apologize, never checked on you. Not once.

Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce saw the cracks. They noticed the way your shoulders slumped a little more each day, how your laughter grew quieter, and how you stopped asking Tony for attention. They didn’t pry—they knew better than to push—but they were there when you needed them.

"Want to train with me?" Natasha would ask, offering a quiet distraction from the heaviness.

Clint would crack jokes, trying to pull a genuine laugh from you.

Bruce would help you with homework, explaining things patiently when you couldn’t focus.

And Steve? Steve would just sit with you sometimes, not saying much, but offering his silent, unwavering support.

They cared. They saw you.

One night, Tony was working late, as always. You slipped into his workshop, a mug of coffee in hand. But this time, instead of leaving it on the table, you stood there, watching him. He was muttering to himself, typing furiously on his holographic keyboard.

You cleared your throat. "Dad?"

He paused, finally looking up at you. There was a tiredness in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. For a moment, he really looked at you—really saw you standing there, holding that cup of coffee like you had a hundred times before.

He blinked, as if suddenly realizing how much time had passed, how distant he had become.

"You need something?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You hesitated, staring down at the coffee in your hands. "No, I just… I just wanted to say goodnight."

Tony swallowed, his throat tightening as he processed your words. He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the coffee mug you held out.

"Goodnight, kid," he murmured, and for the first time in a long time, there was something real in his tone—something almost like regret.

You placed the coffee on his desk and turned to leave, your heart heavy. Maybe one day he’d realize just how much you’d done for him. Maybe one day, he’d see you the way you’d always seen him.

But until then, you’d keep trying. Because that’s what daughters do for their fathers, even when they don’t deserve it.

[insomniac4000]

Cold Brew and Hot Takes

An enemies to lovers WillNE fic. 3077 words.

The bell above the coffee shop door jingled, almost too cheerful for the energy that followed it. As usual, he walked in like he owned the place.

“Morning,” he said, dragging out the word in that deep Geordie accent that had somehow become synonymous with smugness to everyone behind the counter.

She didn’t look up. Not yet. She needed a second to prepare herself, and then;

“I’ll have an iced coffee,” WillNE announced, already taking out his card before she could even blink.

“No please? Shocking,” she muttered under her breath, glancing at the screen as she punched it in.

He heard it. He always did.

“I’d say sorry, but it wouldn’t be very me, would it?” he said, flashing a grin that made two of her colleagues giggle behind the pastry case. Traitors she thought as she tried to avoid eye contact with him at all costs and set about to make his drink.

Undeterred Will leaned casually against the counter, watching as she filled a cup with ice and coffee. “Y’know, if I weren’t loyal to this place, I’d start my own chain. Probably call it, like, Will’s Brews or something. I’d make a fortune. Could probably do it better.”

She shot him a look. “You said that yesterday.”

“I say a lot of things,” he shrugged. “Like how I could make a viral video out of just walking in here and annoying you.”

She handed over the iced coffee without a word, but with the kind of passive-aggressive smile that could kill a man if it came with a straw. He took the drink and sauntered to a corner table, pulling out a laptop covered in Quadrant and YouTube stickers. Always on brand. Always visible.

“Is that him again?” Lia whispered to her once he was out of earshot.

“Of course it is,” she muttered. “Mr. I-Invented-Caffeine. If he says ‘I could do it better’ one more time, I’m going to tip espresso over his MacBook.”

“Careful,” their manager joked. “He’s technically a loyal customer. Comes in almost every day.”

“Yeah, like a cocky ghost that just haunts me at this point.”

Despite herself, she glanced over. Will was already sipping the iced coffee like it had wronged him. He pulled a face.

“Needs more syrup!” he shouted across the room.

“Make your own!” she snapped, and heard Lia try (and fail) to suppress a laugh.

The weirdest part wasn’t how often he came in; it was how often he stayed.

Sometimes, Will would grab the iced coffee and vanish within minutes, probably off to shoot a video or go shout at someone on a podcast. Sometimes he came in with his friend “Jim” she had heard him be called but often he was alone. But more and more lately, he lingered. Laptop open, AirPods in, tapping away at some document or spreadsheet that screamed fake productivity.

And on those days, when the shop was slow, she ended up talking to her co-workers about things. Life. Her friends. Her ridiculous family. And sometimes… her ex.

“I just let it go on for too long,” she’d said one afternoon, while frothing milk. “He’d nitpick everything. Who I texted, what I wore, if I wanted to go out with friends. And the worst part is, I knew. I knew he was controlling. I just… I let it happen.”

Will didn’t look up from his laptop, but he had paused typing.

“And then one day, I just snapped. Threw his crap out, blocked his number. Never felt lighter.”

Lia had said something supportive, and they moved on. But Will didn’t type again for a good ten minutes after that, when she glanced over it his table was sitting there staring out the window while stirring his drink.

It was another Tuesday same as any other really, the group of old women had came in at opening for their tea and cake before their community centre exercise lesson, older kids had come in for their sugar syrup concoctions or hot chocolates and the commuter rush had them off their feet for a while but that was over now it was nine thirty.

Will walked in, sunglasses on indoors like the walking red flag she insisted he was. She braced herself.

“Iced coffee,” he said. “And tell Lia she still makes it better than you.”

“She’s off today,” she replied, already grinding beans. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Shame. Guess I’ll just power through.”

He stayed again that day. Stayed and listened to her talk to the manager about how she’d gone on a Hinge date that was “so catastrophically bad it almost made her miss her ex.”

“Not quite,” she’d added. “But close.”

It was a grey Thursday, drizzly and dull. Will was there typing something or pretending to, when the front door opened and he walked in.

Her stomach dropped.

Tall, broad, leather jacket. That same patronizing smirk that had made her skin crawl in the final months. Her ex. How did he even find out she was working here?

He looked around the shop until he spotted her, then strode up to the counter.

“Didn’t answer my texts,” he said. No hello no pleasantries.

Her spine straightened. “That’s because I blocked you.”

“Then unblock me. We need to talk.”

“I don’t think we do.”

He leaned closer, voice lower now, sharper. “Don’t be like this. You know this thing between us; it’s not over. You’re just in a phase.”

A phase. Like she was a teenage rebellion, like she didn’t know her own mind. She knew the signs now he was trying to get under her skin, trying to manipulate her.

“Back off,” she said, louder than she meant to.

Customers were starting to look. Will had stood up.

“I don’t want to cause a scene,” her ex said, raising both hands in mock surrender. “I just think you’re making a mistake. We both know you can’t cope without me.”

“And I think you should leave,” she said, her voice shaking now, but not with fear. With anger.

��Or what?” he challenged.

Then Will was there. She hadn’t even seen him move. One second he was at the back, the next he was between her and the ex.

“She said to back off,” Will said, arms folded, voice calm but firm.

Her ex sized him up. “Who the hell are you?”

“Someone with ears. And zero tolerance for creeps who don’t understand boundaries.”

“Mate, this is none of your business—”

Will stepped forward. “It is when you walk in here and start harassing someone. She doesn’t owe you a conversation. She doesn’t owe you anything. You lost your chance. So maybe walk away before you embarrass yourself further.”

A tense pause.

Her ex scoffed, but the bravado cracked just slightly. “Whatever,” he muttered. “I was just trying to be civil.”

And then he left, the door slamming behind him hard enough to make the bell clang.

Silence fell.

Will turned to her. “You okay?”

She nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah. I… thanks.”

“No worries,” he said, scratching the back of his neck like it had just hit him that everyone was watching.

She blinked. “I mean it. That could’ve gone badly.”

“Well,” Will smirked, “what can I say? I might be a pain in the arse, but I don’t like bullies.”

She let out a small laugh, the tension finally beginning to melt from her shoulders.

“Maybe you’re not a complete egomaniac.”

“Careful,” he said, stepping back with a grin. “You say enough nice things, I might think we’re friends.”

She rolled her eyes, but something in her chest had shifted. For the first time, she wasn’t looking at WillNE and seeing arrogance or antics or an overconfident YouTuber with a caffeine problem.

She saw someone who’d actually heard her. Someone who’d stepped up.

And that was new.

It was later on in that day and the adrenaline had long worn off, replaced with a bone-deep tiredness as the sky outside slipped from grey to black. The afternoon rush had died down, and it was closing time, the bell dinged again

“Sorry we’re just about to clo…” she started but smiled a little on seeing Will.

“I know, I was just about to go home but wanted to check in and see how you were doing?”. That was how it started, we watched her clean initially as she tried to convince him she was fine Will then ended up drying mugs, of all things.

“Y’know,” he said, holding one up to the light like it was a precious artifact, “this is dangerously close to real work.”

She raised a brow, sweeping crumbs from the counter. “Didn’t think you were the type to help close up.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, “but figured since I stepped into someone else’s argument like some low-rent superhero, I might as well follow through.”

She gave him a smirk. “Low-rent’s accurate.”

He let out a laugh—loud, genuine, startled. It was the kind of laugh that made her feel slightly proud for pulling it out of him.

They cleaned in a quiet rhythm for a few minutes, the silence companionable for the first time.

Then, Will glanced over. “Can I ask you something, though? Not like... nosey. Proper question.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ve been thinking about starting a coffee brand. Been talking with James, you know the massive tall guy I’m sometimes with about it for months. No name yet we’re currently in the research phase.”

She shook her head, amused. “So… what’s the plan? Just slap your face on a bag of beans and go?”

“That was option one, yeah,” he deadpanned. “It’s going to be iced coffee of course but more coffee shop standard but at home. I started thinking, I come in here nearly every day. I see people’s orders, see how they act. There’s patterns. And I thought… you probably know all that stuff better than I ever could. The psychology of coffee drinkers or whatever.”

She gave him a long, slightly surprised look.

“That’s… actually kind of thoughtful.”

He put a hand to his chest. “Please don’t ruin my reputation.”

She laughed. “Alright, well—okay. There are patterns. Not wanting to stereotype at all but some things are mostly true, younger people love their syrups and flavours. Out of the alternatives oat makes the best coffee. Tea people are tea people and can never be converted,”

Will cracked up again.

“And,” she continued, now warming to it, “Americano drinkers are either in finance, in therapy, or need to be. You can tell a lot from someone’s drink. Especially how they treat you while ordering it.”

Will looked oddly thoughtful. “That's… kinda brilliant.”

She shrugged, a little bashful. “It’s just stuff you notice when you make a thousand drinks a week.”

“No, seriously,” he said. “You talk about it like an actual craft. Like it’s not just... pouring things into cups.”

“Well,” she said, quieter now, “it’s kind of the only thing I had to rebuild with.”

He looked at her then—not with that cocky spark he usually had, but with genuine interest.

“I was doing art full-time,” she explained. “Illustration. Freelance gigs, murals. But my ex didn’t exactly encourage that. Said it wasn’t stable, and we couldn’t have two people with unstable careers. So I gave it up.”

Will was silent.

“And when I left him, I had nothing. No savings, no place to live. Started over. Took the first job I could get. It was this place.”

“Damn,” Will said softly. “That’s heavy.”

She gave a small smile. “It’s better now. Slowly getting back into it. Sketched a bit again last month. Felt like remembering a part of me I forgot.”

He paused. “Would you ever want to do something with it again? Like, fully?”

“God, yeah,” she admitted, laughing. “If I could afford it. If I had the time. If I had the confidence again.”

He nodded slowly, then, in a voice that surprised her with its seriousness: “What if you did something for me?”

She blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” he said, setting a mug down carefully. “We need a logo, a website. Something bold and weird. But like… cool weird. Not too weird and off the wall.”

She snorted. “You’re terrible at selling yourself.”

“Yeah, but I’m great at selling other people,” he said, grinning. “I’ll pay you properly, obviously. Could even plug your work in the promo. Get you commissions again.”

She was quiet for a long beat. “…That’s actually really kind of you.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “You’re talented. And you haven’t called me a ‘walking ego problem’ once tonight. Growth.”

She laughed, warm and surprised. “Give it time.”

The next morning, he came in like always.

But instead of barking “iced coffee” like it was a military command, he gave her a lopsided smile and said, “Morning. I’ll get the usual, please.”

She blinked.

“Wow. A please? Did you hit your head on the way in?”

“Shh,” Will whispered. “Don’t let the others know. They expect a certain level of cheek.”

She handed him the iced coffee. “You’re evolving. Like a caffeinated Pokémon.”

He chuckled, stepping aside. “Also, I’ve got a mood board I wanna show you. For the coffee packaging.”

Her eyes widened. “Already?”

“What can I say? I’m a man of impulsive brilliance.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.

Over the next few weeks, the vibe between them changed.

He’d bring her snacks sometimes. They’d swap memes and jokes and she made his drink. She started showing him sketches during her breaks, and he’d give brutally honest but helpful feedback. (“This one’s sick.” “That one looks great but not really what we’re looking for.”) She appreciated his honesty.

And one quiet afternoon, she caught herself watching him laugh with Lia and thought: Maybe he’s not so bad.

Maybe, in fact, he was something else entirely.

It had rained that morning London rain, soft and annoying and everywhere, the fine rain that soaked you through. She was wiping off the counter near the window when Will came in. Hood up, trainers soaked, coffee order already on his lips.

But instead of the usual cheeky grin, he looked… drained.

“Morning,” he said, his voice lower than usual. “Can I just… get something warm today?”

She blinked. “What, no iced coffee? Who are you and what’ve you done with my most irritating regular?”

That earned the faintest smirk. “I know. The drama.”

She started on a flat white. “You alright?”

He scratched the back of his neck, still dripping a bit. “Didn’t sleep.”

She paused, glanced at him. Something wasn’t right.

He slid onto the stool at the end of the counter as she passed him the coffee.

“I had this shoot last night,” he started, “for some mates content. Long, late, lots of lights, mates kept talking about how I’ve changed.”

She furrowed her brow. “What does that even mean?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. But it got in my head.”

A quiet settled between them, the usual noise of the shop feeling distant.

“I think,” he said slowly, fingers tracing the rim of the cup, “I’ve been a bit depressed lately, I was seeing this girl for five years we broke up, no big drama just grew apart and I think I isolated myself a little. My mates kept banging on about how I kept bringing the mood down all the time, I don’t think I realised just how sad and lonely I became.

She stayed silent. Let him talk.

“And lately… I dunno. I’ve been wondering if I actually like who I am off camera. Or if I’ve spent so long turning everything into a bit that I forgot how to just… exist. Be normal. Whatever that is. Maybe just a bit of an indentity crisis I guess, happens to content creators a lot.”

He laughed, bitterly. “Listen to me. Getting all weirdly philosophical in a coffee shop like some divorced poet.”

She gave him a soft look. “You’re not weird. You’re just being honest.”

“Dangerous game,” he muttered, looking out the rain-smeared window. “Especially in front of you. You used to want to poison my coffee.”

“Still do sometimes,” she teased, and he laughed, more genuinely this time.

“I think…” she said after a moment, “you’re allowed to outgrow who people think you are. Especially if that person was always performing for someone else’s expectations.”

He looked over at her, something softer in his eyes now. “That your therapist voice?”

“No,” she said, suddenly bashful. “That’s just… me. Trying to make sense of stuff too.”

They stayed there for a while.

Later that week, he came in after closing.

“Got you a thank-you gift,” he announced, holding up a bottle of wine and a bag of tortilla chips.

“Classy,” she said, amused.

“I contain multitudes,” he replied, grinning.

They sat on the counter, lights dimmed, wine in mismatched mugs. She kicked off her shoes. He shed his coat.

They talked. Really talked.

About pressure, about art, about how her ex once threw out a sketchbook because he said it was “a waste of energy.” Will swore under his breath and handed her the chips like they were a prize for surviving it.

About Will’s first viral video and how for years, he wondered if that version of him—the loud, sarcastic, shouty guy—was the only thing people wanted.

“You’re different when it’s just us,” she said, eyes on the way he swirled his wine without realizing.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Better or worse?”

“Real,” she said simply. “I like it.”

He looked at her then, eyes steady and searching.

“You know,” he murmured, “you’ve got this way of seeing straight through people. Kind of terrifying.”

“You hide it well. Most people don’t notice.”

“I do,” he said. Quiet. Almost reverent.

The silence bloomed between them again—but this time, it wasn’t awkward.

It was electric.

When he kissed her, it was hesitant at first. Like he was checking she wouldn’t flinch or bolt or make a joke. But she didn’t. She leaned in, let it happen. Let it deepen.

When they pulled away, neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

Then Will whispered, “You still gonna call me a walking ego tomorrow?”

She smiled. “Oh, absolutely. Maybe more now.”

He laughed and rested his forehead against hers.

Outside, the city moved. Inside, for once, they didn’t.

[allthesmutl0vers]

Hi! I have a request if you accept.

George and the reader have been dating (sort of secretly) for a while now. The reader is someone who falls outside the typical, generic Slytherin image. She is kind and calm (well, mostly). Until some of her rude bully friends started messing with George, his family and this 'blood traitor' thing about the Weasley name. This is a definite turning point. The reader definitely proves to everyone that she is truly a Slytherin. She shows her scary and cruel side to those who deserve it. From now on, no one will mess with the ones she loves, she can do anything for the guy she loves. Possessive and protective. George's jaw drops... and after all this they may need to find some privacy.

Oo! I love this idea!!😃 Thank you so much for sending it to me 💗Let me see what I can do. Sorry this took me a day to get to, love.

MDNI, NSFW, 18+.

Requests: OPEN

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 🫶

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader

Word Count: 2,959

Summary: Nobody in Slytherin could ever imagine being caught dead with someone from another house, let alone from Gryffindor. Nobody but you, at least. You've always kept to yourself, especially when it comes to your relationship with a certain Weasley twin. Everyone, including even your friends, wonders how you ended up in Slytherin. When those same friends go too far with their deplorable insults, you decide to show them exactly why you were sorted into Slytherin.

TW: Bullying, Name calling, Violence, Smut (P! in V! -You're on birth control), Oral (F! Receiving), Praise, Possessive!George, Protective!George, Spanking, Hair Pulling, Breeding adjacent?- Not sure about this last tw, lmk in the comments if that's what it is.

Song Inspo: Click here (River: Bishop Briggs)

"I'm just saying, this school has gone to the dogs," Pansy huffs. "I mean, seriously, how could Dumbledore think having a werewolf as a professor is a good idea?"

"It was last year, Pansy. Get over it," I mutter as I try to focus on my book. She's nice enough, but I swear to Merlin, she can never just sit in silence. And when she can't think of anything to talk about, she somehow finds a way to talk shit about someone else.

"Didn't peg you for a half-breed sympathizer," pansy quips, leaning back on her hands as we sit in the courtyard.

I roll my eyes, cursing myself for saying anything at all. Because now I'm sucked into a conversation I never wanted to be a part of. "I could say the same thing to you. Isn't your family currently harboring Greyback?" I ask with a raised brow over my book.

"Hush up about that, will you?" Pansy asks as she looks around the courtyard in a panic. "Nobody is supposed to know."

I do my best to ignore her, trying to go back to my book. But when I see George Weasley come into the courtyard with his twins and a band of Gryffindors, and a mix of the other two houses, I can't pull my eyes away.

I watch as he pulls something out of his pocket. It lights up like a sparkler, and he begins to toss it back and forth with Fred while the others around them 'oo' and 'ahh.' Probably the Whiz-Bangs he was telling me about in our last little rendezvous in the room of requirement, a new invention that they've been working on. His eyes meet mine and he smiles, biting the corner of his lower lip as he catches it again.

I smile back, wishing more than anything that I could just go up and be with him publicly. George has mentioned wanting to go public with our relationship, but being a Slytherin princess makes it a little more than difficult.

Going back generations, all of my family has been sorted into Slytherin. And although my parents are a little more progressive than most Slytherin alumni, they've made it clear how they feel about me dating outside of my house.

"Ugh, look them over there. Tossing around that garbage," Pansy huffs, annoyed.

Before I can say anything, she's already up and walking over with Daphne Greengrass. Shit. I stand up, too, and walk behind them as we approach the small circle that has started to form around Fred and George. "Hey!" Pansy shouts, shoving her way through.

Fred and George look between me and Pansy with confused looks and a knot of nerves forms deep in my stomach. "What do you want, Parkinson?" Fred bites back.

"Surprised you managed to slither your way out of the dungeon," George adds with a smirk.

Pansy crosses her arms over her chest with a huff. "How dare you talk to me like that," she spits at them with a venom-laced tone. "I'm just shocked you managed to actually make something. Aren't you failing nearly everything? What's up? Weasley's can't afford a tutor?" She quips.

My fists clench at my sides. It's not fair to blame the children for parents not making more money. Especially when they're the kindest people in the world. I watch George's jaw tick with annoyance. "Better than sucking dick to get a good grade. Or were you on your knees in front of Snape for another reason?" George fires back.

I purse my lips to keep myself from smiling. Nobody is supposed to know that except for me, but the look on Pansy's face makes it well worth telling George about.

Pansy's face turns bright red as everyone around us gasps and starts whispering among themselves. "Shut up," she seethes with anger. She turns to me, and I see her nostrils flare. She knows I had to be the one who told him. "How fucking dare you?" She spits at me. "You promised not to tell anyone. And you tell that filthy fucking blood traitor?!" She practically screams.

Something inside of me snaps, and I look over at George, who is already drawing his wand. I shake my head softly before turning back to Pansy. "Actually, he just guessed. You just outed yourself," I quip, taking a step closer to her. "And don't fucking talk about him like that," I snap at her.

"You're defending him?!" She gasps, pointing to George. "You're a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake. Have some fucking class," she says with disgust. "Talking with blood traitors," she shakes her head. "What would your parents say?"

Everyone around us falls silent. I've never talked this much. Most of these people have probably never heard me talk at all. "You're one to talk about class, Parkinson," I step closer to her. "Your family is so fucking inbred it's a miracle you're even able to write your name."

Pansy begins to shake with anger as she draws her wand, and I draw mine, too, holding it at my side. "You disgust me. The fact you can call yourself a Slytherin with that filthy mud-blood of a mother is beyond me," she snaps. "And defending a blood traitor to top it off?" She scoffs with disgust.

I grip my wand tight. "Say blood traitor one more time, and I'll remind you just how much of a Slytherin I am."

Pansy clenches her jaw before she opens her mouth. "Blood-"

"Flipendo!" I flick my wand, throwing Pansy back five feet and making her land on her ass. Everyone laughs, including Fred and George.

Pansy stands up in a hurry, brushing off her skit as she aims her wand at me. "Locomotor Wibbly!" she flicks her wand at me, casting the jelly-legs jinx.

George steps in front of me, dodging the jinx with a wave of his wand. "That's enough!" He yells, making everyone fall silent again. Fred and George don't yell in anger, so it catches everyone, myself included by surprise.

"I got it, Georgie," I say without looking at him as I move to stand in front of him. "Levicorpus!" I jinx Pansy, holding her up in the air by her ankles with a dangle of my wand. She screams, frantically trying to cover herself with her skirt. "Had enough?" I ask her with a bite in my tone.

"Let me down!" She screams as everyone points and laughs at her granny panties. Don't try to jinx someone on laundry day.

"That doesn't sound like an apology," I taunt with a smirk as I turn, waving my wand and Pansy over the fountain, holding her a few inches above the water.

"I'm sorry!" Pansy screams as I feel George put a hand possessively on my waist.

"Don't apologize to me," I taunt, leaning into George's touch. Fuck what anyone says.

Pansy looks at George and Fred, who moves to stand at George's side. "I'm sorry!" She cries with tears falling as she hangs upside down over the fountain.

I smirk and pull my wand back, breaking the invisible rope that holds her upside down and she falls into the fountain with a splash. I walk over to the fountain, leaning over the side. "Don't ever let me hear you say shit about any of them again. Got it?" I spit at her as she drips with water.

Pansy nods without a word, sniffling back her tears. I let out a deep breath and turn to see the large crowd that gathered as I dueled with Pansy. "Show's over," I tell them all as I walk up to George.

"Damn, didn't know you had that in you," Fred jokes, running a hand through his red hair.

I huff a laugh. "You know what they say about the quiet ones," I smirk. "I couldn't let her stand there and talk shit about you guys or your family," I tell them both before turning to look up at George. "Let alone my boyfriend," I say softly, admitting what we are aloud for the first time.

George smiles wide and pulls me into his chest. "Finally ready to admit it, huh?" He chuckles, the vibration of it reverberating against my chest as I wrap my arms around his waist.

"Maybe," I shrug and smile looking up into his eyes.

George bites his lip and leans down to my ear, his breath sending pleasurable shivers down my spine as he speaks softly in my ear. "As much as I would love to show you off right now, I need you."

My thighs clench at his words as he pulls back to look into my eyes. "Room of requirement?" I tease.

"That or I take you right here, show everyone who you belong to. But better decide quick, angel."

I chuckle and roll my eyes. "Room of requirement it is."

George leads me through the castle with his hand wrapped tightly around mine, and for the first time, I don't mind giving people a glimpse into my personal life. All of the whispers about George Weasley being with a Slytherin girl roll right off of my back. They don't matter. All that matters right now is getting to where we're going and George blowing my back out.

The door to the room of requirement opens and we walk inside to see the usual lay it that it knows we need.

A bed along the wall, with the silkiest sheets I have ever felt in my life, a small bathroom to clean up in, and a table with a chair. Not really sex up for sex. It appears to be for a student who needs their own room for the night. But it's perfect for what we need it for.

George kisses me as he walks me backward to the bed. The back of my knees hit the bed, and he lifts me up by my thighs without missing a beat. George lays me back on the bed, my head landing on the pillow as he kneels between my thighs.

I moan as George kisses down my jaw, trailing kisses to the sweet spot behind my ear and down my neck, nipping and sucking the tender skin as the blood beneath his lips rushes through my veins.

George props himself up with one arm as his free hand slides up my thigh, gripping it tightly right at the apex. "I've waited so long to make you mine," he groans as my hands work to unbutton his pants between us.

"I was already yours," I breathe as I get his pants undone.

George's fingers slide my panties to the side as he runs his fingers through my folds, landing on my clit and eliciting a moan to leave my lips. "But now everyone knows you belong to me," he moans softly as I pull his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock and pump it in my hand.

"My parents are going to lose their fucking minds," I moan when he inserts two fingers inside of me as his thumb works my clit.

George smirks and leans down to press a kiss to my lips. "Then you can stay with me and mine," he says like a promise. "Let them lose it, I'll be your shield."

I flip us over so I'm straddling his hips, grinding myself down on him. "Careful, Georgie. Or else I might start to think you're in love with me," I tease as I unbutton my shirt and toss it aside.

George sits up, his chest flush with mine as I straddle him. He reaches around me, kissing my chest as he removes my bra. "Would that be such a bad thing, angel?" George teases as he takes one of my nipples in his mouth and starts to suck, nipping the sensitive peak with his teeth.

My head falls back as my fingers run through his hair, pulling him back, and he releases my nipple with a 'pop.' "Only if you don't mean it," I moan softly.

George groans with pleasure. He removes the rest of our clothes with a flick of his wand and impales me on his hard, waiting cock, making me gasp loudly. "Does it feel like I mean it?" He growls, his hand wrapping around to the back of my hair and pulling my head back.

I lift myself up and thrust back down on him, taking him deep inside of me. "Fuck, yes," I moan.

George grips my hip with a bruising force as he works me on top of him. "Then say it. Say you love me," he demands in a husky voice.

"I love you," I moan as he releases his grip on my hair just enough for me to meet his gaze. "Fuck, I love you, George."

George moans as his hand moves from my hair to the back of my neck, pulling me down with him as he lays back and thrusts his hips into mine. "God, I love you, too," he moans. "Such a good girl for me," he groans as his free hand lands on my ass with a hard smack.

I gasp and moan as the sting slowly melts into pleasure, and he does it again. "Yes, George," I pant as he thrusts up into me with a brutal pace.

George flips us, removing his cock from me and diving between my thighs. He throws my legs over his shoulders, and he holds my hips down, and his tongue lands on my clit. "Fuck!" I cry out as my hands grip his hair. "George!"

George uses his fingers to hold my folds apart, opening me up more for him, lapping at my clit with his whole tongue, and shaking his head, threatening to send me right over the edge. My legs clamp around his face, and he moans right onto my clit, adding vibration to top everything else off. The overstimulation is too much, and my fingers tug at his hair, desperate to be free and also not wanting him to stop what he's doing.

"G-G-George!" I cry out with a whimper as my legs start to shake around his head. "Please!"

George grips my thighs from underneath and pushes them up to my chest. "Don't interrupt my meal," he warns me with a dark gaze. "Now keep those fucking legs up."

I hold the metal bedframe above my head with a white-knuckled grip, and George keeps my legs pushed up to my chest. "You wanna cum, angel?" George teases me as he flicks my clit with an annoying soft touch with his tongue.

"Yes, George, please," I beg helplessly as my back arches.

"Then do it. Cum on my face like the good girl you are for me," he taunts before his tongue laps at my clit again. His words and his tongue send me over the edge. My toes curl, and my back and neck arch so far I'm scared they'll break, but I can't bring myself to care if they do.

After George rides me through my orgasm, he leans over me, lines himself up with my entrance, and thrusts into me harshly. "Fuck!" I moan loudly as he leans down to nip at my neck.

"You look so beautiful with my cock buried inside of you," he moans as he holds my thighs. "Think you can cum for me again, angel?"

I shake my head. "I- I can't," I moan pathetically, already feeling another one build. I grips his wrists as his hands hold my thighs up to my chest.

"Mm, I think you can," he teases. He knows I can. He does this every time. It's a game to us, I tell him I can't cum again, and he drags another one out of me. He punctuates with another hard thrust, and I swear I can feel him in my guts with the angle he's fucking me. "Hands on the bedframe," he demands.

I reach above my head, gripping the metal bedframe again. "Such a good girl for me," George moans as he pulls my legs up to rest on his shoulders and leans down, forcing me to take him deeper. "Want me to fill you up, angel?" He teases.

"Yes, fuck, yes!" I moan loudly as he fucks me hard.

"Beg for it," George says sternly, slowing his thrusts to a teasing pace.

I whimper underneath him, keeping my hands above my head. "Please, Georgie. Please fill me with your cum," I beg pathetically, the way he can make me.

"Fuck, I love hearing you beg," George moans as his thrusts quicken again, slamming into me harder.

The tether inside of me begins to fray, ready to snap once again. "George, I'm gonna cum again," I pant with a moan as my eyes roll back.

One of George's hands grips the back of my neck. "Me too, angel. Eyes up, baby," he demands as his thrusts begin to stagger.

My hands leave the bedframe, gripping his arms as he thrusts into me again, and our orgasms hit at the same time. The room a symphony of moans, pants, and a mix of each other's names. Once we ride out our highs, George lays down next to me on the bed, letting out a heavy breath as he pulls me to his side, my head resting on his shoulder. Fuck the last class of the day, and fuck whatever consequences that come from us not being careful as we snuck in here together.

And a big 'fuck you' to my parents if they have anything negative to say when they hear about my relationship. They can get fucked, because I know I will be.

[urinarythreatinfection]

I'm Better

Nami x Male Reader. 5574 words.

Desc: Nami gets tired of your libido and tells you to use a toy, it becomes her enemy.

Cw: Smut, fluff, a bit of angst-ish.

You and Nami are alone in the library. She stands over a map on her desk with you pressed against her back. “Nami…” You whisper in her ear while your hands slide up from her waist to her chest, squeezing gently as you press against her from behind. She starts to pant, letting out a small gasp when you pinch her nipple. It feels good for her, it does, but…

“A-Again…!?” She whines as you kiss her neck. “You have way too high.. hah.. of a libido!” She’s already feeling too sensitive from last night. She should be feeling grateful for having a boyfriend who can last so long, considering how many men cum fast then are out of commission; but this is way too much! Fingering her, eating her out, fucking her in multiple positions while touching her everywhere you could reach; it’s almost every time you two have sex she’s completely drained and out of it by the end. Thankfully you do leave her to work but every time you get the chance it seems like your hands are on her or you’re at least half-hard. One of your hands slides down her waistband to circle her clit with your fingers. “Ah~!” She jolts and once she’s slick you slide a digit inside of her, her hand gripping onto your wrist while the other grips the edge of her desk. It doesn’t take long for her to cum, you know her body well and she’s sensitive. Right when she thinks it’s over, however, you start touching her again once she’s caught her breath “Y-You..!” Nami grits her teeth. “Enough!” She elbows you and you step back, clutching your side.

“Ow…” Stings. “What for?”

“‘What for?’ What do you think!? Are you a dog in constant rut or something!? How are you always touching me!?” The ginger yells with her arms crossed.

“You’ve never had any complaints before though.” You point out and she falters.

“That’s.. well...” It’s true she’s been enjoying it.. Still! She needs to put her foot down or she’s going to end up collapsing one of these days. She’s already almost caused errors in her maps because of all this. “I’m complaining now and that’s what matters.” She huffs.

“Ah.. I guess so.” There’s a bit of silence before you speak again. “Can you at least help me get off?” You’re hard, and it’s uncomfortable.

“No, go use your hand.” One will turn into two anyway, she knows how this goes. You deflate, sad.

“My hand can’t compare to you though..” You mumble sadly and she sighs, annoyed.

“Then go use a toy, I don’t care, but I’ve got to use energy to work and I don’t need you constantly on me draining it away.” Nami quickly kicks you out of the library, leaving you outside the door. “‘My hand can’t compare to you’ he says.” She can’t help the corner of her lips smirking proudly as she goes back to her work. You’re grown, you can handle this yourself.

___________________

‘I’m so pent up!’ You lament, bouncing your leg with your head in your hands. You already had a high libido from the start, but being with Nami and head over heels for her only heightened it. You miss her… You can’t even be near her for too much anymore because you get hard and she kicks you out. You’ve tried using your hand but it just isn’t the same. “I miss fucking her.” You mumble. Usopp, working on another invention at his table next to you, sighs and lifts up his goggles.

“I don’t need to know this, (Y/n).” He’d been working when you suddenly burst inside and sat down, using his workshop as some sort of therapy room. He wouldn’t mind listening to your problems, he’s done it before, but what is he even supposed to say about this? “Nami’s right, you’re like a dog. I’m surprised she’s been able to keep up for this long. Have you ever had other lovers before? How did they deal with this.” You look away nervously. “The libido was a reason for breakups, huh.” You flinch, he hit the nail on the head. You’ve tried other things to quench your thirst, working out, meditating, reading; but it feels like the moment you fall in love your hunger can only be satiated by them.

“Maybe I just need to try harder. I don’t wanna lose her and if that means I have to restrict myself then.. then..” You clench your fists. “I-I’ll neuter myself!” Usopp smacks the back of your head.

“You’re not an actual dog!”

“But what else do I do? Should I ask Chopper for medication that’ll lower it?” That’s the only other solution you can think of. The sniper hums while you rub the back of your head, thinking about how stupid you are until something pops into his mind.

“She said you can use a toy, right? Why don’t you get one?” Your expression brightens at his proposal.

“Oh! You can make one for m-”

“I’m not making that.” He doesn’t even entertain it, shutting it down quickly. “Go ask Franky, he’s perverted enough to make something like that. He’s probably already made one before.”

“You’ve never made one?” You tilt your head and he looks back to his work desk.

“...Go ask him.” He didn’t answer the question.

__________________

As soon as you walk into Franky’s workshop he speaks, not even turning to look at you. “You came here for a toy, right?”

“Was it that obvious?” You’re a little self-conscious now.

“You’ve gotten kicked out by Nami enough times to notice. Here.” He tosses something at you and you catch it. Fleshlight, it looks like it can move too. He must’ve started making it once he noticed your predicament. You examine it, there are 4 modes, slow, medium, high, and SUPER. There's also a star design.

‘Can he make something normal?’ You wonder to yourself, but hey, at least he made it for you. You could’ve bought one on an island, but there aren’t many with specified adult shops; much less ones that would have toys as advanced as this. But the way it looks..

“Is the design too much?” He asks, reading your facial expression. He looks disappointed, you’re starting to feel guilty. Franky is the one who took the time to make this for you and now you’re judging it.

“No.. it’s.. well its—I mean,” You stutter. “I’m gonna be fucking this thing.” You point out awkwardly and he grins.

“Thought it would make you more pumped. SUPER pumped!” He poses SUPER-ly. Maybe you should just leave. You can’t even call Franky a pervert since it’s a compliment to him.

____________________

It actually isn’t bad. Really awkward at first considering the design and that your friend made it, but leaving that aside it’s not bad. It’s good, even; though it’s not your girlfriend. Thanks to that, you’ve been able to hang out with Nami again, and she hasn’t kicked you out. Sure you still have the instinct to touch her, but that's less of a lust thing and more she’s just nice to touch. Still, it’s nice being around her again, you missed being able to talk to her without getting kicked out because you’re hard. She seems to enjoy it too, so everything is sunshine and rainbows; at least for a while.

“Then Usopp told us he had the ability to speak fluently once he was 3 months old, and Chopper believed him immediately. Turns out Chopper could speak around the same time, probably due to the growth rate of him being a reindeer before he finally ate his devil fruit.” You explain your day to Nami, who has started to space out while you two sit in the aquarium bar. “Once Usopp learned that, you could see the panic on his face since now his lie wasn’t as impressive anymo..r..e” Your speaking slows to a stop once you realize the ginger is clearly lost in thought despite looking at you. “Nami?” You call out but she doesn’t respond. “Namiiii.” You call her name again and she finally jolts.

“Y-Yeah?”

“You were spaced out, was my rambling that boring?” You half-joke.

“No, um.” She glances at your crotch for a second then back up at you. “No, you’re fine. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” You hesitate to ask her what the problem is. She tends to be fickle, multiple times she ends up getting sad if you don’t ask but not answering if you do; even getting annoyed with you sometimes if you do. She feels that she must not matter to you if you don’t continue to pry but then randomly angry if you do. You’ve gotten used to it, it’s part of her charm and the package you accepted, but in moments like this where it could be important it makes you hesitate. You’ve started learning her different signals and what to say but right now she isn’t giving any you know of, just spaced out. “What’s wrong?” You decide to ask.

“Uhm.” She looks hesitant too. “Did you ask Chopper for meds to lower your libido?”

“That’s what this is about!?” You’re shocked, raising your voice by accident. It makes her expression turn sad and you quickly backtrack before she thinks you're mad at her for asking. “I'm not mad, not mad, just shocked you asked.” You sigh in relief when her expression turns back to normal.

“I just asked since.. well..” Conflicted. Nami wants to point out that you haven't latched onto her for a week or got hard, even if you two talk for hours and are close to each other; but if she points it out it might seem like she’s complaining despite asking for this in the first place.

“Is it because I haven’t been hard?” You make the choice for her. Takes a weight off her chest not having to make the decision. The navigator nods. “I haven’t been taking meds, don’t worry about that.”

‘He hasn’t? Then why hasn’t he been getting hard? Was I too mean to him? Ugh I should’ve been nicer, I’m not used to this.’ She’s starting to regret constantly kicking you out, she just didn’t know what else to do. You’re her first boyfriend, it’s not like she had the leisure to date around before while working for Arlong. ‘Maybe I should’ve tried asking Robin…’ Though technically Robin wouldn’t have much experience dating either being constantly on the run.

“I’ve actually started using a toy.” That shatters her out of her thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you said you didn’t mind me using one as long as it stopped me from coming onto you.” You remind her and she pauses, then starts to sweat nervously.

‘I did say that, didn't I?’ Nami thinks to herself. She had said that in the heat of the moment then forgot. “So you’ve been using one?”

“Franky made me a fleshlight-”

‘Of course it was him.’

“-and I’ve been using it.” Shoot. Pervert cyborg. Wait, this helps her. Why is she upset?

“So it’s been helping?” She asks and you nod.

“Yeah, it feels better than I thought. It’s great, I get off and now I get to hang with you without getting hard. Despite the design it’s well made.”

“Ohhh that’s greattt..” She forces herself to say despite how clenched her fists are from you complimenting it.

“Thanks, it can move so when I’m fucking it it moves back to me, though I can take that off. If I lay down it’s even like it’s riding me.” Her fingers dig into her palms. “So you don’t need to worry now since I don’t need you to get off anymore. We can just talk like normal.” Despite you continuing to speak she isn’t listening to you anymore. You saying you don’t need her to get off anymore being the only thing in her mind.

‘He doesn’t need me anymore to get off.’ Shit, she’s upset. Even if she’s the one that told you to use a toy she can feel herself getting upset, but she can’t tell you because she’s the one that’s been kicking you out for getting hard. You’re praising that damn toy like it’s better than her, too. Alas, her worry isn’t letting her communicate this to you, so you continue to talk thinking that she wants to know since she isn’t stopping you.

“I’ve been enjoying our time and not having to get my hands on you, since you don’t like it, so the toy’s helping a lot. I should thank Franky again-” You’re interrupted by Nami standing up quickly.

“Sorry! Actually I just remembered I had to go do something! Let’s talk later okay?” She manages to keep her voice and facial expression normal so you don’t suspect anything.

“Oh, okay?” You’re still a bit confused but if she has to do something she has to do something.

NAMI’S POV

Nami speedwalks out of the aquarium bar and to the library to work on something, anything. “Stupid boyfriend, stupid cyborg, stupid toy.” In her hurry she hits her nail bed on the metal handle of the library door. “OW!” Getting her way ended up making things worse. She goes inside and rushes to her mapping desk. There isn’t a rush to do any of this, she planned to do it so she can be with you, but the plan has changed. Her hands tie her hair up into a ponytail then get to work, using pure instinct to roughly draw the map. It’s only helping a bit, and she realizes when she’s done she’d somehow managed to draw the map in reverse. Her notes, she accidentally used them from bottom to top. At the realization she slowly sinks to her knees. It was just a rough draft of the map so it shouldn’t matter but right now it matters a lot, tears forming in her eyes. ‘I asked for this, I did, and it’s working out the way I hoped.’ She sniffles. ‘So why am I so upset?’ Nami puts her face in her hands, she’s horrible. She didn’t even hate you touching her, she just wanted you to do it less often; but instead of saying that and working on it with you she ended up pushing all of it away. Now you’re using a toy instead of her and apparently it’s the best thing ever. Nami stands up and rips the ruined rough draft to shreds, tossing it in the nearest trash can haphazardly. How does she tell you this? Just suddenly say “Hey I know I yelled at you to use a toy and kicked you out everytime you even just got hard but I hate that you’re using a toy now so throw it away because I changed my mind.” That sounds so entitled, and she feels bad for being so fickle all the time. Now you aren’t touching her at all. She sniffles again, a single tear in her eye. “I’m horny…”

YOUR POV

“Thanks for the help!” Franky says to you as you leave. To repay him you’ve been helping in the workshop and around the ship with repairs, it’s labor but it's nice to do. You even got some gear on to make sure you’re safe, welding mask, goggles, steel toe boots. You aren’t actually doing the building of course, but it saves Franky a lot of time and effort having you hand him tools and such. Now it’s the end of the day, so the both of you are heading to sleep. You decide to go out for some fresh air first, whether or not you like it you aren’t like Franky so getting some fresh air will help you. While you’re outside you spot Robin on night watch. She notices you and walks over.

“Hey Robin! Just getting some air.” You explain and she hums.

“I’ve noticed you around helping Franky the entire day, it’s good for you to be out here a bit.” Robin says before continuing. “However, there is something I should say.” You tilt your head. “I don’t want to pry into your personal life, I believe in learning things for yourself, but Nami has been getting more and more upset lately. I’m still her friend and understand that she struggles to ask for help for emotional matters, so I wanted to inform you before she got any worse as it seems she’s not any closer to telling you despite my suggestions.” You freeze. She’s upset? What happened? You thought that you had solved things already! Plus if she’s not telling even Robin it must be bad…

“Thanks Robin, I’ll talk with her.”

“You’re welcome.” Robin knows Nami will be upset with her for telling you, but it’s for her own good. She wouldn’t have intervened if there was some sign of communicating, no matter how small, but there was nothing even with Robin’s light suggestions. Nami was only going to keep it in until something bad happened. She only hopes it’s not too late.

_________________

You knock on the door of the girl’s room, hearing Nami groan. “Come in.” When you open the door and step inside she’s lying lazily on her bed with ⅓ of her lower body hanging off. Her eyes open slowly and trail to you, widening as she realizes it's you and not Robin. She sits upright immediately. “W—What’re you doing here?” Her voice is slightly shaky from being caught off guard.

“I can’t come and see my lovely, beautiful girlfriend?” You ask and she stares at you in suspicion. “I really did come to see you!”

“You’re not gonna ask me for anything?” She frowns, still suspicious.

“I am gonna ask you something but not money.” You get closer to her and try to sit down but she stops you.

“No way, you’re dirty from being with Franky the whole day. I’m not letting you ruin the sheets.” You sulk a little bit. You were looking forward to sitting down after being busy the whole day, but alas she has a point.. even if she secretly just doesn’t want to be close to you right now. “Why were you even helping him?” You try to answer but she interrupts you. “I already put it together, it was thanks for making that stupid toy wasn’t it.”

‘Stupid?’ You’re caught off guard but respond. “Yeah it was, it was mostly handing him tools or materials though.” She sighs, mumbling something you can’t hear. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said I knew it!” Nami stands up angrily. “Of course you would thank him! You’d probably bow down on your hands and knees thanking him for making you a new girlfriend!” You’re stunned, what is she talking about? She walks over and stomps on your boot hard with her bare foot, then angrily lies back down on her bed covering herself with the blanket. Despite how hard she stomped.. well.. you’re wearing steel toed boots, and she’s barefoot. You lean over and try to pull the blanket off but she makes sure it stays on.

“Nami I know that hurts, let me check your foot before it swells.” Stomping on basically hard metal with no protection probably hurt like hell, but she’s stubborn. You sigh. “Don’t make me wake up Chopper for this.” At your words she looks at you with shock and betrayal, then scowls and looks away. She doesn’t take the blanket fully off but slowly sticks her foot out. “I know that’s not the right one.” There’s a pause and then she switches to the other, a part of the bottom is red. You gently grab it and she flinches from pain. Nami isn’t dumb, she knew you were wearing boots, yet she did it anyway knowing it would hurt her more than it hurt you. Physically, at least, since your heart is stinging seeing your girlfriend this upset. You press your thumb on the spot. It’s already starting to swell.

“If you call him for this I’m taking away your allowance.” Her voice is quiet but you still catch it.

“I won’t, but you have to see him in the morning.” You put her foot down and she pulls it back under the cover. You’d like to do something like massage it for the swelling, but you feel like you would get kicked out immediately. It feels like you’re already pushing it. “Why are you so mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

…

“Okay I’m mad, but it’s nothing.” Her first answer was so unbelievable she ended up confessing.

“It’s clearly not nothing, just tell me what’s up. You already hurt yourself.” You love Nami and want to respect boundaries but this is too much, she’s going to end up holding the stress in until she explodes. She doesn’t answer. “Nami I’m worried about you.” Still no answer. “..If you won’t talk I’ll assume it’s my fault and jump into the ocean for my sins.” She flinches, turning towards you with a cold frown.

“You’re gonna talk like that then just do it.” You turn and walk towards the door and she backtracks. “N-No, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” She sits up slowly, looking guilty. “It’s..” She complains a lot over little things but when it’s actually something serious like this it’s like she assumes she can just handle it. That it’ll go away on its own if she bears it. ‘I wish I could talk to him like normal.’ Her eyes trail from yours and you get close to her.

“Why’d you call the toy my new girlfriend?” The redhead grimaces, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m... jealous.” Her cheeks are tinted a little.

“Of the toy? But you told me-”

“I know! I know it’s unreasonable that’s why I didn’t want to say it. I complained and told you to get one in the first place but now I’m jealous of the stupid thing. I’m being stupid.” You would sit down to hug her but you’re still dirty.

“I’m gonna take a quick bath. I need to get clean and it should help you sort your thoughts. Just know the toy is a toy and my girlfriend is my girlfriend.” You’d love to comfort her but your muscles ache, you can't sit on the bed, and you can’t even hug her. Plus, it’s not enjoyable having all this machine oil and sweat on you. Nami nods, but you can tell she’s hesitant. You lean down and kiss her forehead. “I won’t be long.” As you leave the room you don’t notice Nami clenching her jaw.

______________

You feel a lot better now, in fresh clothes and no longer uncomfortable. You’re ready to talk to her again, even if you’re tired; but your eyes widen as you open the door and see her holding a familiar toy. “H-How? What? How’d you get that?”

“So this is my stupid replacement.” She grumbles, squeezing it. “I nabbed it from the boy’s quarters, obviously. They sleep like logs.”

‘Right, she’s experienced in that stuff.. it didn’t matter if I had it hidden or not.’ “I said already it's not a replacement for you.”

“I know. It’s not me.”

“Nami I-” Before you can try to comfort her more she grabs your hand and tugs you onto the bed on your back, straddling your hips.

“But it’s a replacement for my body, and you won’t need it anymore.” She tosses the fleshlight to the side. She’s looking down at you, pouting lightly. She thought you bathing would give her the chance to calm down, but it just gave her time to think about how you’ve been fucking a toy and if even if it’s not her maybe it’s better than her body. A toy that doesn’t get tired or that you don’t have to be gentle with.. she’s starting to develop a bit of a complex about it.

“Nami..?” You say, hesitant. Is this her making a move or maybe she’s just angry? The fact that you’re hesitating instead of immediately drooling and latching onto her is making her insecurity worse.

“There’s lots of stuff a fleshlight can’t do, you know.” She doesn’t want that. Being better than the toy just because of her girlfriend status isn’t enough, she needs to be superior at making you feel better. She’s better.

“Woah!” She leans forward, pressing her chest on your face.

“A toy doesn’t have these.” She says, sliding a hand to the back of your head and pulling you closer. Squishy, she smells good. You can already feel yourself getting hard. You groan into her breasts when she grinds down on you. “Already getting hard, of course you are.” Her other hand goes to your waistband and pulls your dick out, stroking it. It’s so sudden, and your head is going dizzy from the boobs in your face. You don’t even realize you’re air-deprived until she pulls them away.

“Holy shit.” She sinks down to her knees and grabs your cock, letting spit drool down before sinking her breasts down onto your length. Your dick presses against the band of her bikini top, making her hum and press closer till it's completely enveloped in soft flesh. She smirks up at you, letting her finger slowly circle your tip.

“How’s this?” She says smoothly like your heart isn’t beating out of your chest.

“Hot as hell.” You mumble to her and she presses her lips together tightly, seemingly holding in something she wants to say. Before you can ask she presses her lips to the sensitive tip of your dick, licking around while rocking the shaft between her boobs. Her tongue teases the frenulum before taking the entire bulb into her soft mouth. Your head rolls back.

“Eyes on me.” She demands, snapping the band of her bikini against your shaft. You flinch and look back as she starts to bounce her boobs. Warm, soft, you see your dick go in and out of her cleavage with each movement, slick noises from the saliva permeating your ears. She feels you throb, and she starts to pant lightly. “You’re hopeless.”

“How am I supposed to last long like this?” She stops for a moment to push her chest together tighter, focusing the movements on the upper half of your dick so the tip is always engulfed in her cleavage; massaging it as you shiver and gasp, finally spurting cum into her cleavage. Once she feels it stop twitching she lifts her breasts off of you. You fall onto your back, you’re tired. You’ve been doing labor the whole day and now this, it’s a lot. Her hand goes back to untie her top and she goes back into your lap, leaning over and letting it fall onto your chest to give you a full view of your cum in the valley. You hear a pleased chuckle come from your girlfriend watching your eyes unable to leave.

“Tired already? I’m gonna give you something else while you’re resting up.” Nami unzips her pants, pulling them down and off while crawling up until her thighs on the sides of your head. Her panties are above your face, a small wet spot over her hole. She leans back and slides them off before hovering above you. “A toy can’t sit on your face either.” Then she sinks her weight down onto you, suffocating you against her pussy. Her hips rock a bit, moans escaping her before she fully grinds down. “O-Open, ah!” You open your mouth for her to grind her bud down onto your tongue. You flick your tongue around her clit before grabbing onto her thighs and forcing her forward so you can dip your tongue inside of her. Her slick coats your taste buds as she rides it, using your nose against her clit as stimulation while rocking. Her thighs are soft as you squeeze them, her moans muffled over the sound of blood rushing to your head. “Just like that, hah~!” She leans forward to grip onto the sheets, moving back down to hump her clit against your tongue until she spasms and whines out. You continue to lick until she lifts off of you, letting you breathe properly.

‘Why is she so heated all of a sudden, what happened while I was in the bath?’ Your head is blank but you feel yourself slowly dragged up. When you focus your eyes it’s Nami trying to drag you to lay properly.

“Hurry, so I can ride your dick next…” Her cheeks are flushed as she tells you, erotic and cute, who are you to not obey? Plus, having her sit on your face like that had given you plenty of time and arousal to get you hard again. You move up, placing your head down on the pillow after taking your clothes off as she straddles your hips. Your cum is still on her breasts, a bit of it drips off onto your stomach. Even if you aren’t sure what happened, having your girlfriend this hot and bothered isn’t gonna make you complain. Your tip hits her entrance, the muscles there contracting around the glands before she sinks down. With a moan she sinks down onto your hips, squeezing around you before she rocks. “A toy can’t d-do this.” She continues to rock her hips until she lifts herself up then drops down quickly, her back arches slightly, she’s pent up. Cumming once wasn’t enough when going from constant stimulation to nothing for almost 3 weeks. She lifts up again then drops, starting with a medium pace while you lay there panting. Finally you grab onto her hips and thrust up into her. “Ah!”

“I can’t not move when you’re like this.” You say as you help her bounce on your dick, sounds of pleasure and sex filling the room as you meet her hips with your own movements. She’s close, she is even if it’s quicker than normal. A few more thrusts and she whines, gripping onto your arms that keep moving her as her pussy periodically clenches around you like it’s trying to milk your cock. Even after she finishes you keep going.

“W-Wait I-”

“I’m sorry, just a little longer.” You sit up and wrap your arms around her waist, quickly pistoning your dick in and out to reach your peak while she squirms and whines. Finally you hold her close, chests pressing together as you let out into your girlfriend’s tight pussy. You both pant for a bit before you pull back and kiss her deeply. She quickly reciprocates with her arms loosely wrapped around your neck. When you pull away you rest your head on her shoulder. You feel a pat on your shoulder to get your attention. She pushes you down onto your back.

“Already done?”

“I, well I’ve been busy the whole day I’m kinda..” You’re interrupted by her squeezing her breasts with her hands.

“Are you sure?” She grinds down and your dick twitches. “Because I’m not done yet~”

____________

Nami sits there on your lap, panting as she catches her breath while you heave. “How’s… that?” She says after a big breath, but when she looks down you’re dizzy and fucked out. “D-Did I go too far?’ Worried, she softly pokes your cheek. You groan before passing out. Your body was already worn out from helping Franky the entire day, multiple rounds took whatever energy was left. She looks down at you, then at herself. Though she would like to sleep, she doesn’t want to sleep like this. Nami stands up, cum dripping from inside her, and wipes you off with a small towel. You shiver in your sleep when she gently wipes off your length, then she goes to the bath. It’s relaxing, and she’s finally satiated after being cut off from you for so long. When she goes back to the room you’re still asleep in her bed. Well, it’s not like she can carry you back to your bed, and she isn’t cruel enough to force you awake. So she’ll just have to sleep with you, and is forced to cuddle into your side just to fend off the cold. Your girlfriend snuggles close to you, smiling when you instinctively turn to hold her. She wins.

~Bonus~

“Namiii~” You coo to her while kissing her cheeks.

“I’m busy right now.” She sighs and you pout.

“Aww..”

“Just go use the to-” Nami stops herself.

“You’re still not gonna let me use it?” You rest your chin on her shoulder. “You already proved you’re the best.” True..

“..Alright. But!” She turns and points a finger at you. “Only use it when you can’t hold it and I say I’m not in the mood or I’m too busy.” She doesn’t want a repeat of you only using the fleshlight and going cold turkey on her.

“Alright.” That’s not hard to do.

“And when you use it you have to think of me.” Her hands go to her hips. You tilt your head.

“...? Of course. What else would I be thinking of? You’re my girlfriend.” You’re confused. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get off properly.” When you say that her mouth goes into an O shape. “Nami? Baby?”

‘I didn’t think of that..’ She’s gone silent as you call her multiple times.

I finally finished this *wheeze*. It's pretty long, and i do have shorter stuff in my wips, but I wanted to hurtty up and finish this since the idea was funny to me (I got it after waking up one day). It ended up longer than I thought it would be though, and I still feel like it was shortened. Anyway, I know Nami isn't very popular in the fanfic scene, and I've only seen a few small smut headcanons; so i don't actually know if this has much of a demand. Anyway, I wanted to write it so I did. So enjoy it now/hj

[pomefioredove]

so, I could request jamil, leona, vil, rook, azul, jade, rollo, malleus and lillia with a heroic fantasy lover reader (well, not so much fantasy, since it's basically a fantasy world. i mean, jaskaja, malleus is a freaking fairy prince). a reader who wakes up reading, watching series or movies in the genre, who makes his own maps of his worlds in the back of his notebooks in class, who in potions class takes notes for his own inventions, who starts inventing recipes in the kitchen and when he's supposed to be studying he's actually writing his fantasy stories or novels, maybe he's not even yuu, he's from another dimension! just another x student who is a bookworm. but that his sleep schedule starts to be affected by these habits when midterms come and at the same time he wins a major writing contest, and that between the hobby and the studies he sleeps, eats and rests less.

thanks and good day 💗💗!

of course! this is actually quite cute

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fantasy writer reader

type of post: headcanons characters: leona, azul, jade, jamil, rook, vil, lilia, malleus, rollo additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

well, well, well

for all his teasing, and there has been a lot, Leona actually starts to like you

damn it...

you were just another wide-eyed, naive herbivore to him

and a little bookworm, too

and now...

strangely, he finds himself missing you

thinking about the stories you'd told him...

...even wanting you to ask him about his magic

which he did find annoying, but now, it's kind of endearing...

you do strange things to this man

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul will admit that he was... a little wrong about you

after all, when you first met, he took you as a rather naive person

so... curious

asking him about magic, the sea, potions and spells and...

well, he read that as innocence

for weeks, he answered all your questions, even showed you a few simple spells, all free of charge

...hoping that you'd come to trust him

then, you vanish

he later reads a fantasy story published in the school newspaper

...about him

you were just using him for fantasy character inspiration all along!?

...

...actually... that's quite flattering

he'll let you get away with this one

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jade is drawn to you

and by that, I mean he finds you before you find him

so curious...

he can tell you've adapted to life at Night Raven College much quicker than most would

quicker than he did, even

and he's actually from Twisted Wonderland

magic doesn't surprise you, nor does the politics or history of this world...

how... interesting

he'll follow you around, asking question, reading your stories, never too far away from you

he's never met anyone so strange, really

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil can't imagine being from a world without magic

...and, apparently, neither can you

disregarding your... ahem... heroic interests, you fit right in at NRC

seriously, a few months here and you're already ahead of Kalim

...he could learn a thing or two from you...

it starts making sense when you tell Jamil that books from your world are full of magic

where you lack experience, you make up for in knowledge

he... respects that, actually

you're more well-read than most of his peers!

now, if only he could do something about that terrible sleep schedule of yours...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook thinks you have such a beautiful eye for detail

and a creative soul

of course, he knows a writer when he sees one

and you catch his eye right away

he just can't help it! such imagination, such talent... you inspire him just by being!

...okay, maybe he's a little overexcited

being a poet himself, it's not often he meets someone who understands the beauty of life like a fellow writer

he will eagerly read everything you give him

every story you write, every map you draw, even your own notes and potion recipes

...and he'll give you detailed praises on each one

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is already used to writer shenanigans

...too used to them, maybe

the last thing he wants is another Rook waxing poetically about a bug you saw on the north stairwell

at least you seem quiet

what really captivates him, though, is your interest in potionology

you're already at such an advanced level that you're making your own recipes

even if it's just for your stories, that takes some skill

you'll have to forgive him for fussing over your health and wellbeing

he can sense your potential

goodness, at this rate, you could replace him as housewarden by the end of the year

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

there's nothing Lilia likes more than a good story

after all, he's got lots of his own

so, to him, writers are the greatest thing since... whatever the hell he eats

and he can be a little... pushy

leering over your shoulder, pestering you to show him what you're working on...

he can't help it!

he's just so curious!

the one thing he's good for, though, is details

you ask him if this language, or outfit, or invention, is appropriate for the time period, and he'll be able to answer

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus is always flattered by your curiosity

one might think that a human from a magicless world would be frightened by his appearance and his title

but you...

you're just curious

he likes answering your questions

you seem so interested in magic, he can't help but show off a little

he's already promised to show you around Briar Valley

and, of course, he loves hearing your stories

the ones you write, the ones you remember from home...

you're just a fascinating little human

and he always feels special when he's the first to read something you've written

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

now...

Rollo doesn't quite understand you

no, actually-

he's jealous

not that he'd ever admit it...

but the thought of a world that is so devoid of magic that its people make fantasy of it is so very enticing...

...he's willing to excuse your childish interest

and indulge you in your maps and your potions and your stories

you don't know any better

but to him, your world is the fantastical one, not his

[meanbossart]

Astarion and Drow's antics are wonderful and I love them ever so. You've mentioned that Drow is effectively immortal (which makes sense; Bhaal had a lot of work planned for him), and eventually, even those two chaos gremlins will figure it out.

Have you ever thought about what that's going to look like? Who do you think will notice first? Will Astarion be happy he won't be alone? Is Drow going to have to figure out what to do with the idea that friends like Shadowheart will die but unless a lot of things go wrong, he won't? ....If he lives long enough for people to invent it, do you think Drow would like Bubble Tea?

Well, it is exceptionally optimistic to assume they will live long enough for that to become apparent, but not impossible!

It's kind of already in DU drow's nature to not contemplate on death at all. He thinks he's immune to it despite having zero knowledge of his own (potentially infinite) lifespan, so, in a way, he already operates as an immortal. Meanwhile, Astarion assumes he will age like a normal drow despite the godly origins, which means he would get a good 800 years outta him - if they don't both perish for some other reason long before that, which is what he's realistically expecting.

Elvish and Drow (the race) aging also works differently depending on the version of the lore which you're looking at - some places say they completely stop physically developing once they hit 25, other versions - BG for one, I think - implies that they do age, but at a much slower pace. I'm of the the school of thought that elves grow up normally until they hit their twenties, and then things gradually slow the hell down, with them eventually start to look like seniors at around 400-500 years old.

SO, if the fellas make it another six centuries, Astarion would definitely take notice of the way DU drow's body isn't really showing any signs of aging. Changes? Sure. His scars would have probably faded into near non-existence and been eventually replaced by new ones, and his skin is still subject to things like sun damage and his body overall isn't the SAME - but it's not necessarily older. I think Astarion would be ecstatic about this revelation, because if they have stayed together for that long, then that probably means that things are still going well - and that he had likely just started to panic a little bit at the prospect of his partner eventually growing old and dying.

As for DU drow, he would be exceptionally nonchalant about the news. Of COURSE he's immortal, it just makes sense that he would be - he's already got plenty of practice taking his own life for granted at that point.

Shadowheart's mortality would be something he had to deal with long before then. With her being a half-elf, her life expectancy is much shorter, at about 150-200 years I believe. DU drow would have seen her age and pass centuries ago by that point. As long as she gets to go peacefully (and all indicates that she probably will) he wouldn't have as difficult of a time grappling with her death - he doesn't like having things or people taken away from him by force, but nature's course is inevitable, and a concept he can actually wrap his head around and even appreciate.

Anyways, he would really like boba tea, but only the chewy kind.

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART II: MY HEART DREAMS

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part III // part IV // part V // part V

wc: 7.1k author's note: ahhh tysm to everyone reading!!! your comments literally make my day and the taglist DAMN!! seriously I'm so grateful <3 also i apologize for this chapter being so long, i tried to stfu but it still ended up being 7k

One thing you should've realized sooner was that nothing escapes Sevika's notice in Zaun. 

You were barely a week into your new routine, legs burning as you struggled through your morning run. The only sound you could hear was of blood pounding in your ear—and the addition of a rumbling engine approaching from behind.  

You whip your head back, unsure if your ears were deceiving you but there it was, a truck filled with Sevika's scavenging team catching up, with Sevika herself leaning out the passenger window.

"Pick up the pace, pantry girl!" she shouted, her voice laden with amusement. "At this rate, you'll be old and gray before you join my team!"

Her crew howled with laughter as they sped by, leaving you red-faced and fuming in a cloud of dust.

Now, weeks later, you collapse onto the grass beside Caitlyn, both of you panting heavily after finishing your lap around the neighborhood. The memory of Sevika's taunts still burns, spurring you to push yourself harder during training.

Just as you're about to ask if you should do another lap, something ice-cold presses against your neck. You yelp, jerking upright in surprise.

A dark-haired woman hovers over you, a familiar smirk playing on her lips and a frosty water bottle in her hand. "Still jumping at shadows, I see," she teases. "I'm not sure I can use someone so easily startled on my team."

You glare up at her. "That's rich, coming from you," you retort. "Your late-night victory parties make it impossible to get a good night's sleep around here."

"Feeling left out? The invitations open, you know. Just bring your own drink."

"How about an invitation to join your team instead?"  You counter.

Sevika laughs, the sound was simultaneously frustrating and oddly captivating. "Maybe focus on not tripping over your own feet first, pantry girl."

After you finish your training for the day, you take a quick shower and make your way to the pantry for your shift. But as you approach, you notice something odd - your name isn't on the schedule. Again.

"That's the third time this week," you mutter.

Caitlyn notices your confusion. "Maybe they're cutting back on hours?" she suggests, but her tone is uncertain.

With your unexpected free time, you find yourself spending more time with your makeshift family. Family dinners were something you always had, but for the first time you didn’t have to worry about where or what your next meal would be.

Powder chatters animatedly about her latest inventions, while Caitlyn asks questions that make the kid’s eyes go wild with excitement. Vi listens with a mix of amusement and pride, occasionally ruffling her sister's hair.

Vander sits at the head of the table and he interjects with the occasional piece of wisdom that makes Vi interrupt to remind him that they were too old for lectures or dad jokes, drawing laughter from the group.

As plates are cleared and the conversation winds down, Powder asks to star gaze again, which Vander wants to say no to when everyone has work tomorrow. But then he looks outside and he’s reminded that things weren’t the same, you could afford the leisure to enjoy the skies now.

So you all move to the roof, continuing your evening under the stars. Powder points out constellations, making up stories for each one. Vi playfully argues with her interpretations, while Caitlyn offers more scientific explanations. You lean back, taking in the moment, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a long while.

As the night deepens, drowsiness sets in. One by one, you bid each other goodnight and retreat to your beds.

Morning arrives sooner than you'd like and you meet Caitlyn early, both of you squinting against the bright sunlight as you make your way to the training grounds. The morning sun warms your face as you and Caitlyn wait on the grass for Grayson to arrive with your sparring partner. You're chatting idly, speculating about who it might be when you hear approaching footsteps.

Your eyes widen as you see Grayson walking towards you, but it's the figure beside her that makes your breath catch. Sevika strides across the field, her presence somehow always able to steal your attention. She's wearing dark wash jeans that hug her legs and a sleeveless, tight black tee that shows off her toned arms with her usual red shawl draping over her left side.

Grayson offers an apologetic smile as they reach you. "Sorry we're late. There was a situation to handle."

Sevika merely grunts, barely acknowledging you and Caitlyn. Your heart races—if she was here to watch you were so screwed, there was no way Sevika would let you have a match without her snarky comments. 

"Marcus was supposed to be here today," Grayson explains, "but it seems he's... incapacitated."

You and Caitlyn exchange knowing looks. It's not the first time Marcus has been too drunk to show up, and frankly, you're relieved. Even when sober, he's a total ass.

"So... who are we sparring with?" you ask, though you have a sinking feeling you already know the answer.

Grayson gestures to Sevika. "Someone owes me a favor."

Sevika rubs her head, clearly annoyed. "Can we get this over with?" she grumbles.

Grayson chuckles. "She's just grumpy because she's hungover," she explains to you, then turns to Sevika with a raised eyebrow. "Which you wouldn't be if you didn't drink like it's water."

Sevika scowls, softly as she crosses her arms. "It's my day off," she retorts. "You never come to my parties."

"I drink on my own time," Grayson replies primly, adjusting her stance.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes," Sevika snorts, rolling her eyes.

You and Caitlyn look at each other in shock, from the fact that the two captains are bickering like siblings and they’re going to be sparring with Sevika. 

"Sevika?" Caitlyn sputters. "You want us to spar Sevika?"

"It's better practice for you two - Sevika has years of fighting experience. You can learn some new techniques today,"  She reassures. "So, who's first?"

"I'll get it over with," Caitlyn acquiesced, her voice steady despite the nerves you can see in her eyes.

As Caitlyn approaches the sparring area, Sevika reaches for her shawl. In one swift motion, she removes it, and your eyes widen in shock. Where you expected to see flesh and bone, there's instead a gleaming bionic arm. 

Intricate gears and pistons are visible beneath panels of transparent material, offering glimpses of the arm's inner workings. As Sevika flexes her fingers, you can see these components whirring and sliding with precision, each movement accompanied by a soft, almost musical hum.

Sevika doesn't react to the stares, her face stony as if this reveal is inconsequential. You feel a pang of guilt for gawking, but you can't help wondering - was this a war injury, or a result of the walkers? 

Caitlyn recovers from her shock like you do, now both of you feeling more intimidated by the strength and skills of the woman before you.  You watch as Sevika easily deflects Caitlyn's first attack, countering with a move so fast you barely see it. Caitlyn hits the ground hard, she barely has any time to react when Sevika strikes again.

"Come on, cupcake," Sevika taunts, using Vi's nickname for Caitlyn. 

The use of the nickname catches both you and Caitlyn off guard and she narrowly dodges a punch.  You had no idea how much Sevika had been paying attention to your group.

"Is that all you've got?" The captain says smugly.

As the sparring continues, you find yourself studying Sevika's every move. The way she anticipates Caitlyn's attacks, the efficiency of her counterstrikes, the subtle shifts in her stance.  

But it's more than just her fighting skills that captivate you. It's the fierce concentration in her eyes, the slight smirk that plays on her lips when she lands a particularly good hit. It's the way her muscles flex as she moves, the sheen of sweat that forms on her skin under the hot sun.

You're so lost in your observations that you almost miss when Grayson calls an end to the match. Caitlyn is panting, bruised but not beaten, while Sevika looks barely winded.

"Your turn, rookie," Sevika calls out, her eyes locking with yours.

Sevika takes a menacing stance, her bionic arm whirring softly as she flexes her fingers. You try to quell your nerves, reminding yourself of all your training.

The match begins, and Sevika doesn't hold back. She lunges forward with a quick jab that you barely dodge. Her follow-up kick catches you in the side, and you stumble back.

"With those sparring skills, you'll be dead by now," Sevika taunts, circling you like a predator.

You regain your footing, countering with a series of quick strikes that force Sevika to step back. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't think any walkers would be punching me back anytime soon," you retort.

Sevika smirks, effortlessly blocking your attacks. "There are still survivors out there, some who might not be as merciful as me." she says, suddenly dropping low and sweeping your legs out from under you.

You hit the ground hard but roll quickly, narrowly avoiding Sevika's follow-up strike. "I’m only alive because you needed the meds.”

“But you’re alive regardless?” She counters.

“Urgh, you're the worst, you know that? You just like watching me suffer-"

Your words are cut off as Sevika charges forward. You manage to sidestep, grabbing her arm and using her momentum to throw her off balance. For a moment, you have the upper hand, landing a solid hit to her midsection.

Sevika grunts, a flash of surprise in her eyes. "Well, it's not a bad view," she quips, her voice slightly breathless.

You're holding your own better than you expected, your training with Grayson evident in your improved technique. You even manage to land a few solid hits, each one making you more hopeful that you could finally prove yourself to the captain.

But Sevika is still Sevika. Just when you think you might have a chance, she changes tactics. As she unleashes a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, you are able to block the first few, but the last one catches you off guard, sending you stumbling back.

Before you can recover, Sevika is on you. With a move so smooth it seems almost effortless, she sweeps your legs again and follows you down. You’re on the ground immediately, the air knocked from your lungs, and suddenly Sevika is on top of you, pinning you down.

Her face is inches from yours, her breath hot on your cheek. "There's always next time, pantry girl," she says, her voice laced with arrogance.

Fury and frustration surge through you—at the nickname, at losing, but most of all at yourself for the way your heart races at her proximity. You struggle against her hold, but it's futile—you lost and couldn’t prove you were ready. 

The days blur into a haze of relentless training after the match, your body pushed to its limits.  Yet despite your efforts, something feels off. Each time you miss a target or fumble a move, Sevika's face flashes in your mind. Your focus wavers, distracted by unnameable thoughts that surface whenever you recall her challenging gaze or the smugness in her voice. 

The sharp crack of gunfire echoes across the makeshift shooting range. You squeeze the trigger, watching as your shot goes wide, missing the target by a good margin. Expaseration bubbles up inside you for missing yet again.

Next to you, Caitlyn's sniper barks and the center of her target explodes. Again. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy at her precision.

"Excellent shot, Caitlyn," Grayson praises, her eyes gleaming with approval. "I think I’m looking at my newest sniper."

Caitlyn beams at the compliment.

Grayson turns to you, her expression apprehensive. "Something on your mind? You seem distracted today."

"No, I'm fine," you mutter, trying to focus on the target in front of you.

Grayson raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Well, if you keep shooting like you did today, you can expect another month before Sevika would even consider accepting you on her team."

At the mention of Sevika's name, you can't help but frown. Grayson catches it immediately.

"What's wrong?" she probes, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

You hesitate, then the words tumble out. "I just... I don't get her. I don't know how to convince her I deserve that spot on the team when she's so infuriating and stubborn."

To your surprise, Grayson laughs, a warm, rich sound. "She hasn't changed since we were deployed together, then."

Your ears perk up at this. "You were deployed with Sevika? Can you tell me about it?"

Grayson shrugs. "What is there to tell? We were in the military together for 10 years and she's a brilliant soldier."

"That's all to her?" you press, not satisfied with such a simple answer.

Grayson gives you a long, appraising look. "What is it that you really want to know about her?"

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, then close it again. What do you want to know? But more importantly, why do you want to know? You realize you don't have an answer, and the realization unsettles you.

Seeing your confusion, Grayson's expression softens. "Sevika is not the best fighter," she says quietly.

"What?"

Grayson chuckles at your expression. "Don't get me wrong, she's an advanced and skilled fighter. But she's not unbeatable." She pauses, her eyes distant as if recalling memories from long ago. "What makes her different... She is loyal and fierce. That woman fights till her very last breath. If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her."

Your mind whirs at this information. Who is Sevika beyond the soldier everyone knows her as? You find yourself hungry for more details, more glimpses into the woman behind the tough exterior.

Then you catch yourself, anger flaring up. Why do you care? Why does it matter who Sevika really is? She's just the leader of the scavenging team, nothing more.

You shake your head, trying to clear these thoughts. "Thanks, Grayson," you mutter, turning back to the target.

As you raise your gun again, you can feel Grayson's knowing gaze on you. You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the target. But in your mind's eye, all you can see is Sevika—her cocky grin, her ruthless determination, the mystery that surrounds her.

You squeeze the trigger, and this time, your shot flies true, hitting just off-center. Progress, but not perfection. Much like your understanding of Sevika, you realize. You're getting closer, but there's still so much more to uncover.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

A slight breeze rustles the leaves as you wait by the usual tree, checking your watch. Caitlyn's late, which isn't like her.   You’ve been waiting for 20 minutes already and this was the Caitlyn, the one who’s never even been late to a shift at the pantry.  

You’re about to turn back to the house when suddenly you hear shouting from the road a few blocks away. Without thinking, you immediately sprint towards the commotion.

When you arrived, the scene before you was the last thing you would expect—Caitlyn and Vi were in each other's faces, their voices rising with each exchange. A burly guy from Sevika's crew is half-heartedly trying to separate them.

"You fucking liar!" Caitlyn screams, her face flushed with anger. "Why would you join without telling me?"  

You momentarily pause from trying to pull the fighting couple apart, in all the years you knew Caitlyn she had hardly cursed; Vi must’ve fucked up, bad.

Vi's stance is defensive, her hands raised. "It's safer for you this way!"

"Safer?" Caitlyn's laugh is bitter. "I didn't ask for a white knight, I asked for a partner that's honest!"

The guy from Sevika's crew steps between them. "Come on, ladies, this ain't the place-"

Caitlyn whirls on him. "How could you let her in Sevika’s group like this?"

He backs up, hands raised. “Listen, I had no part in this. Vi was the one who asked, and Sevika accepted her."

Caitlyn's face contorts with anger, and she lunges forward. You jump in, grabbing her arms. "Cait, stop!"

But as you hold her back, his words sink in. "Wait, WHAT?" You turn to Vi, shock evident on your face. "She accepted you to join her scavenging and not me?"

Vi looks away, guilt written across her features. Your blood boils. You release Caitlyn and round on the guy. "Where the HELL is she?"

He crosses his arms, defiant. "I don't have to answer to you."

You step closer, your voice low and dangerous. "Oh, trust me. You want to tell me."

He hesitates, then sighs. "Fine, but it's your funeral. She's in her garage."

Without another word, you turn on your heel and march away, leaving Caitlyn and Vi to their argument. You had your own annoying, lying woman to deal with.

The garage comes into view, its large door open. As you approach, you catch sight of Sevika bent over a motorcycle. Her back muscles flex as she works, visible beneath a black sports bra. Her jeans hang low on her hips, revealing the band of her boxers. For a moment, you were unable to comprehend the sight of Sevika in clothes that weren't military green. 

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before addressing her. "Vi and Caitlyn are out there fighting. I thought you should know."

She turns, surprise briefly flickering across her features before her trademark nonchalance slides back into place. "And that concerns me... how exactly?" she questions, wiping her hand with a rag. "Last I checked, I wasn't running a relationship counseling service."

"Because of all the bullshit you gave about me not being ready? Why won't you let me on the team?" you demand, your voice cracking with desperation. "You let Vi join. What makes her so special?"

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then tell me!" you shout, stepping closer. "I'm sick of your cryptic bullshit, Sevika. I deserve to know!"

Something in Sevika snaps—Her composure shatters, replaced by a raw, barely contained fury. "Fine? You want to know why?" She grabs your arm, her grip tight enough to bruise. "Let's go."

She drags you out of the garage, marching through the community with large strides. You struggle to keep up, confused and a little scared by this sudden change in her demeanor.

As you reach the outskirts of the settlement, Sevika slows down. You follow her gaze and feel your blood run cold. Wooden crosses stretch out before you, maybe 20 to 25 of them, each marking a grave.

"This is why," Sevika grits.

You stand there, frozen, as Sevika turns to face you. Her eyes are blazing, but there's something else there too - something melancholic you've never seen before.

"Do you know how many empty graves we have?" she asks, gesturing to the crosses. "It's a fortune if you're able to bring a body home, or if you can spend someone's last moments together."

She walks among the graves, her fingers trailing over the rough wood of a cross. "This is the type of thing we have to deal with. Every time we go out there, we risk not coming back. And if we don't come back, this is what's left of us. A wooden cross and a memory."

"I've had to bury too many people. I've had to tell too many families that their loved ones aren't coming home. And sometimes, I couldn't even give them that closure."

She turns back to you, her eyes now hard, and gone was the brief moment of vulnerability you saw before. "This is why I won't let you on the team. Because I can't... I won't add another cross to this field."

The weight of her words hits you like a physical blow. But instead of understanding, you feel a surge of anger.

"So what?" you snap, surprising both yourself and Sevika. "You keep me locked away like I'm Rapunzel in a tower? Look around, Sevika!" You gesture wildly at the desolate landscape beyond the settlement. "There is nothing left to lose. The world is gone!"

For a moment, she's silent, and you think you might have finally gotten through to her. But then her expression hardens, a bitter smile twisting her lips.

"You can say that," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "until you have the world in your hand and it's ripped away from you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You see a flash of something in Sevika's eyes - a deep, soul-crushing resignation that makes your anger falter.

"There is always something to lose," she continues. "And every time you think you have nothing left to lose, life finds a way to prove you wrong."

She steps closer to you. "You think you're ready to face what's out there? You think you have nothing to lose? Trust me, pantry girl, you have no idea what loss really is."

"What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?" you challenge, your voice rising. "This isn't living, Sevika. It's just... existing."

Sevika's eyes flash dangerously. "You don't understand-"

"No, you don't understand!" you interrupted, shoving her back. "We're all going to die—But I'd rather die out there, trying to do something I wanted, rather than rot away in here!"

You’re angry and you know you just provoked her but you can’t help but shove her back again, frustrated at her but, even more so at yourself.  You were terrified, of fucking course you were—but who wasn’t in the world you were living in? 

With a growl, she lunges forward, shoving you hard. You stumble back, shock and anger coursing through you. Without thinking, you retaliate, pushing Sevika with all your might.

The two of you grapple, a tangle of limbs and fury. Grass and dirt kick up around you as you roll on the ground, each trying to gain the upper hand. Sevika's bionic arm hisses as she tries to pin you down, but you're quicker, fueled by frustration and pent-up emotion.

With a burst of strength, you manage to flip Sevika onto her back. You straddle her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, which fall limp immediately. Both of you are panting heavily, faces flushed and hair disheveled.

"I won," you gasp out, your chest heaving. "You promised. If I could beat you, you'd let me join."

Sevika looks up at you, her expression unreadable. "When will you learn patience?" 

The proximity is intoxicating, and for a moment, you're distracted by the feeling of Sevika beneath you, the rise and fall of her chest, the intensity in her eyes. 

"You can't expect me to live like this," you insist, your voice softer now but no less passionate. "What are you living for if you're constantly scared of losing?"

Something flickers in Sevika's eyes—pain, fear, or something else entirely. Without warning, she bucks her hips, throwing you off balance. In one smooth motion, she shoves you away and stands up.

You scramble to your feet, ready to continue the fight, but Sevika's next move stops you cold. 

"Sevika!" you call out, your voice cracking. "Don't you walk away from me!"

But she doesn't stop, doesn't even look back. 

You're left standing there, alone among silent tombstones and empty graves, watching her retreating figure disappear into the gathering dusk.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The weight of defeat settles heavily on your shoulders as you stumble into your room. You collapse onto your bed, fully clothed, as the scene replays in your mind. Sevika's face haunts you - not her usual cocky smirk or searching gaze, but that fleeting expression of raw pain you glimpsed just before she walked away.

There's something deeper, a hollowness in your chest you can't quite name. It's more than just the sting of losing an argument or watching her retreat. 

There was something else in her eyes that truly unsettled you—that flash of fear when she looked at you, as if dreading you might become another one of those wooden crosses she would have to mark.

Just as you're about to drift off, a sudden burst of loud music jolts you awake. Shouts and laughter follow, unmistakably coming from a few blocks down—right where Sevika's house is located.

You groan, pressing your pillow over your head. Of course, another one of her infamous parties. But as you lie there, listening to the distant sounds of celebration, a part of you can't help but wonder what Sevika looks like when she's relaxed, surrounded by her team. 

After an hour of futile attempts to sleep, frustration wins out.  You sit up, running a hand through your hair in annoyance. You throw on a hoodie and stomp towards the door, grabbing the nearest pair of slippers without looking.  

The cool night air does little to calm your irritation as you march down the street. You pound on the door, ready to give her a piece of your mind.

To your surprise, it's Sevika herself who answers. Her usual scowl morphs into a grimace as she recognizes you, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. The sight of her throws you off balance—her gray wife beater clings to her frame, and her cargo pants are smeared with what you hope is just mud. Despite the mess, she looks... good. Annoyingly so.

"Do you know what time it is?" you demand, trying to focus on your anger.

Sevika takes a long drag of her cigarette and then blows the smoke out slowly. Her eyes drift downward. "I like your slippers," she remarks.

You glance down, mortification washing over you as you realize you're wearing Powder's pink bunny slippers. "Shit," you mutter, but quickly shake it off. "Why do you have to be so loud? This might come as a surprise but some people are trying to sleep!"

"Worried you won't get enough sleep to organize properly tomorrow?" Sevika taunts, leaning against the doorframe. "Make sure you don't mix up the soup and fruit cocktail cans."

Her dismissive attitude ignites your temper. "Fine, whatever. You're acting like a complete ass," you spit out.

Sevika's eyebrow raises slightly. "Is that all? Because if so, I've got a party to get back to."

You're about to retort when you catch a glimpse of the interior of her house. It's a mess—empty bottles strewn about, gear haphazardly tossed in corners. 

"What?" Sevika's voice snaps you back to reality.

"I... nothing," you stammer, taking a step back. "Just turn the music down, okay?"

Sevika studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she turns and disappears into the house. A few seconds later, the volume of the music noticeably decreases.  Sevika.. Was being obedient? 

She reappears at the door, taking another drag of her cigarette. "Anything else?" 

You open your mouth, then close it again. What else is there to say? That her apparent disregard for what you want infuriates you? That her words about from earlier today won’t leave your mind? That despite everything, you find yourself drawn to her in a way you can't explain?

Instead, you just shake your head. "No. That's... that's all. Thanks."

As you turn to leave, Sevika's voice stops you. "Wait."

You pause, looking back at her expectantly.  You notice that there is a hesitancy to her this time, like you were fragile and if she got too close you might shatter.

"Wear proper attire tomorrow, okay?" she says, her tone businesslike. "And check in at the armory with Vi."

You blink, confused. "Vi? What does she-"

Sevika cuts you off with an exasperated sigh. "Do I really have to explain it to you, rookie?"

"Yeah, cause I don't get it," you retort.

"You're on the team."

For a moment, you just stare at her, unable to process what you've heard. Sevika refuses to meet your gaze, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.

As realization dawns, a wide grin breaks out across your face. Sevika immediately cuts in, "Don't think I'm going soft on you and giving you anything you want. This is an easy spot, but-"

You can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads even wider. "Thank you," you say, your voice sincere despite your obvious excitement.

Sevika just nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Yeah, okay. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

You nod enthusiastically. "Right. Yes. Thank you again. Good night!"

You turn and walk away, trying desperately to keep your cool. But as soon as you think Sevika has fully closed her door, you can't contain yourself anymore. You do a little excited jump right there in the street, pumping your fist in the air. Then, grinning like a fool, you take off running towards home.

What you don't see is Sevika, still standing in her doorway. She watches your celebratory dance with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to fondness. Shaking her head, she finally closes the door, a small, bemused smile playing at the corners of her lips.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The early morning sun casts a golden glow over the farm as your team arrives. The dilapidated barn looms ahead, its red paint peeling and faded. Overgrown fields stretch out to your right, while a rickety fence encloses what must have once been a thriving chicken coop.

Sevika's voice rings out across the coop.  "Alright, gather the chickens."

You blink, certain you've misheard. "Wait, what?"  

You weren’t expecting your first mission to be on a farm, much less to gather the animals. But your confusion is quickly overwhelmed by the sight of your teammates scattering, chasing after a flock of very startled, very loud chickens.  

"How do you expect us to get food?" Sevika asks, her tone matter-of-fact.

You turn to her, eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you helping?"

The air seems to still as everyone freezes, shocked by your boldness. Sevika's eyes narrow dangerously.

"I'm your captain," she states, as if that explains everything.

A reckless grin spreads across your face. "What? Afraid you can't catch a single chicken in front of your people?"

Sevika's jaw clenches, and for a moment, you wonder if you've pushed too far. Then, to everyone's surprise, she vaults over the fence and into the coop.

"You have a mouth on you," she growls, eyeing a particularly plump hen. "That's going to get you in trouble one day."

You hop in after her, heart racing at how she easily accepted your challenge. "Only if I'm caught," you quip back.

The two of you circle the hen, which clucks nervously. You lunge forward, but the bird darts away.

"You're scaring it!" Sevika snaps.

"Me?!" you retort. "You're practically harassing the thing!"

As you both scan the coop for a chicken that wasn’t running like it had its head chopped off, a voice pipes up from outside the fence. "They’re bickering like an old couple!"

In perfect unison, you and Sevika whip around, shouting, "Don't you dare say that!"

The moment the words leave your mouth, you freeze, looking at each other in shock, and then it’s replaced quickly with a scowl as the determination to capture the chicken sets back in.

Okay, so barreling at full force towards the animal was not the way to go considering everyone was already filling their cages.  You mentally devise a plan to corner the chicken, gesturing for Sevika to move to the right while you go left. But as you both rush forward, the hen squawks indignantly and darts between you in a perfect straight line.

Unable to stop your momentum, you and Sevika collide, tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You find yourself pinned beneath her, acutely aware of her weight, her warmth, the scent of her body wash and gunpowder that clings to her skin.

Sevika pushes herself up slightly, her face inches from yours. "This is dumb," she mutters. "I don't need to prove anything."

"Mhmm," you manage, your brain short-circuiting from the proximity.

She grunts, rolling off you and standing up. "There's one last chicken," she says, brushing dirt from her clothes. "We better get it."

You turn your attention back to the task at hand, scanning the coop for that last elusive hen. The last hen clucks nervously, darting between the wooden beams of the coop. You and Sevika exchange a quick nod, wordlessly agreeing on a strategy.

Sevika crouches low, her movements slow and deliberate as she inches towards the left side of the coop. You mirror her actions on the right, creating a human barrier. The hen's beady eyes dart between you, sensing the trap.  

"Easy now," Sevika murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. 

The hen makes a break for it, but you're ready. You lunge forward, herding it back towards Sevika. She reaches out, her fingers just brushing the chicken's feathers—

A deep rumble suddenly echoes across the farm, stopping you both in your tracks. You both freeze, exchanging a brief, confused glance. In that instant, the barn door explodes outward with a deafening crash. Splinters of wood fly through the air, unleashing a horde of walkers that stumble and lurch towards you.

"Fuck! Run!" someone screams, and chaos erupts.

Your teammates scramble to grab their chicken cages, but you're transfixed by the sight of Sevika, who's inexplicably clutching the chicken she just caught to her chest with her left arm. Without thinking, you grab her right hand and bolt, pulling her along.

As you run, weaving between broken fences and overgrown crops, the absurdity of the situation hits you. Here you are, fleeing from a walkers horde, hand-in-hand with your usually stoic captain who was so dead set on capturing a single chicken she risked a few minutes just to get it. Suddenly, Sevika bursts out laughing, a rich, genuine sound you've never heard before.

"This is so fucking stupid," she gasps between chuckles.

Her laughter is infectious, and soon you're both giggling like maniacs as you sprint towards the getaway car. The wind whips through your hair, you look over at her and see her tiny ponytail bouncing, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated joy.

As you approach the car, you see one of your teammates dancing in the driver's seat, bobbing their head to music that was loud enough you could hear it from a distance.

Sevika's eyes widened in disbelief. "What is that moron doing?"

"Start the car!" you yell in unison with Sevika.

"Start the fucking car!" echoes from all directions as your team converges on the vehicle.

In a mad scramble, you and Sevika end up diving into the trunk together, barely missing from crashing into each other. The car peels out, tires kicking up dust as you make your escape. You twist around to look back, seeing the walkers crest the hill behind you, their grotesque forms looking like ants as you get further away from the farm.

As the adrenaline starts to fade, you become acutely aware that you're still clutching Sevika's hand. You both look down at your intertwined fingers and quickly release a faint blush coloring your cheeks. 

You glance at Sevika and are struck by the sight of her wide grin, revealing the charming tooth gap from the first time you met her. She looks lighter somehow, the usual weight of responsibility temporarily lifted from her shoulders.

"Maybe you should put the chicken in the cage," you suggest, nodding towards the bird still tucked under her arm.

"Right," Sevika says, quickly stuffing the bewildered chicken into a nearby cage.

Free of your feathered companion, you lean out of the trunk slightly, letting the wind rush through your hair. The music from the car's speakers drifts back to you, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of the woods and the high from the adrenaline rush.

When you open your eyes and turn back, you catch Sevika staring at you. She's not looking at the receding farmland or checking for pursuing walkers. Her eyes are fixed solely on you, an unreadable expression on her face. In this moment, bathed in sunlight and the afterglow of survival, she looks different. Softer. There was no reminiscent of the super soldier you knew her as.

As your eyes meet, Sevika doesn't look away. Instead, her grin softens into something more intimate, more real. You feel a warmth bloom in your chest, a feeling you can't quite name but don't want to let go of.

The car hits a bump, jolting you both and breaking the moment. Sevika clears her throat and turns to secure the chicken cage, you weren’t sure if had imagined the smile or not.

As you return to Zaun, the adrenaline from your narrow escape fades into a collective sense of relief and camaraderie. The team works together to unload the chickens, and despite the close call, everyone seems to be in high spirits.

"Hey, how about another bonfire party?" someone suggests, and a chorus of agreement follows.

To your surprise, Sevika turns to you. "You should come," she says gruffly. "You’re part of the team now."

"Yeah, sure," you reply, fighting to keep the eagerness out of your voice.

As the team disperses to prepare, you notice Vi sprinting towards a certain someone waiting for her at the entrance. "Caitlyn!" Vi shouts, throwing herself into Caitlyn's arms and kissing her passionately.

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, those two made up fast," you mutter to yourself.

Later that evening, you find yourself seated on the cool ground in front of a roaring bonfire. The flames dance hypnotically, casting flickering shadows across the faces of your teammates. The air is filled with laughter, the clink of bottles, and the rich aroma of smoke and grilled food.

You're nursing a beer, listening intently as the others regale you with stories from previous hunts. Sevika sits not far from you, perched regally on a lawn chair. She's quieter than the others, but you notice her lips quirk up occasionally at particularly funny or outrageous parts of the stories.

As the night wears on, a cool breeze picks up. You shiver involuntarily, the chill seeping through your thin shirt. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sevika glance your way. Without a word, she shrugs off her shawl and leans forward, draping it over your shoulders.

The gesture catches you off guard. You want to thank her, but something in her posture tells you she'd rather not draw attention to the act of kindness. No one else seems to have noticed, and you wonder if this is just how Sevika takes care of her team—quietly, without fuss or expectation of gratitude.

You pull the shawl tighter around you, inhaling the faint scent of cigarettes and gunpowder that clings to it. 

The conversation lulls for a moment, and then someone pipes up, "Hey, remember that time at the hospital in Piltover when we-"

"Uh," another teammate interrupts, glancing nervously at Sevika. "Sevika’s here."

All eyes turn to your captain. Sevika just grunts, taking a long swig from her bottle. You can't tell if it's approval or indifference, but the storyteller takes it as permission to continue.

The crackling fire seems to dim as the storyteller begins, his voice low and reverent. "It was before Zaun was established. Sevika, Silco, Grayson, and some of us old veterans had been cooped up in the hospital for weeks. But it was time we got out, find new people and a place to stay."

You lean in, curious, sneaking glances at Sevika, whose face remains impassive.

"The hospital was completely surrounded," the storyteller continues. "But we had weapons and vehicles. Silco had this completely badass idea to add extra defenses to the ambulance in the garage."

A chorus of whoops erupts from the group, and you see a flicker of pride in Sevika's eyes.

"The plan was to pile as many people as possible into the ambulance. But in the garage," The storyteller's voice drops. "There must've been an opening or something. Somehow, those bastards found their way in."

You find yourself holding your breath while Sevika's face is impassive, but you notice her grip tightening on her bottle.

"It happened so fast. One second Silco was up, the next he was down, a walker lunging for his throat. And Sevika," He shakes his head in awe. "She didn't hesitate. She threw herself between them."

All eyes turn to Sevika. You glance at Sevika, trying to imagine her and the emotions in that moment. 

"Go on," she says. "Finish it."

The storyteller hesitates, unsure. "We had to go back in. We cleared the area, but the walker's teeth sank into her arm instead of Silco's neck." the storyteller says softly. "Even then, she didn't stop fighting. She bashed its skull in with her free hand, then turned and took out two more, saving a few more of us.  But the bite meant she was infected…"

There's a collective intake of breath around the fire. You feel a chill that has nothing to do with the night air.

His voice trails off, and Sevika finishes for him. "So Silco ended up amputating my arm," she states.

"When I die, I'll die on my own accord.  Not because some mindless corpse decided it was my time."

The silence that follows is profound. You see a mix of awe, respect, and a hint of fear on the faces around you as Sevika's words hang in the air.

Then, as if a spell is broken, cheers erupt. "Fuck yeah, boss!" someone shouts, and others join in.

Sevika just grins as she stubs out her cigarette and stands.  “I’m calling it a night, try not to have too much fun."

You remain rooted to the spot even though you know you should go give the shawl that's still draped around your shoulders back.  

As you’re watching Sevika’s retreating form, you're struck once again by how little you truly understand her. Just when you think you've got her figured out, she does something that shatters your assumptions. Her rare, genuine smile from moments ago was like a crack in her armor, offering a glimpse of something you're not sure you were meant to see.

You recall Grayson's comment; If she's going to hell, she'll drag you down with her. But Sevika isn’t just dragging anyone down—she's fighting, clawing her way up. She’ll endure whatever comes, as long as she’s the one who gets to forge her own path.

Sevika faced death itself, and she emerged victorious.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni @theacedragon0w0

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

This is another post that has nothing to do with being lgbt+ and is just me musing on another internet phenomenon I noticed: the (forced?) hype around excessive hygiene. 

Shower routines that require 25 different products. “How to smell good” guides that tell you to use at least 5 different body washes within one shower and then layer 3 different deodorants on your armpits or else you stink and everyone hates you. “Tap into your divine feminine and reclaim your female power” by washing your genitalia with these 3 scented products every day. “Find your Wellness Girl aesthetic” and each aesthetic requires you to - you guess it - buy a ridiculous amount of products to all use simultaneously. 

This common thread may already reveal what this is really about: not physical health,  not emotional wellness, not even empowerment - they just want you to buy stuff.

More precisely, they want you to feel insecure enough to keep buying stuff - which is a really horrible marketing trick, considering that excessive hygiene and the underlying social fears can be so damaging. 

Washing yourself too often or using too many products will actually irritate your skin. It can disrupt your natural microbiome, cause painfully dry skin, itching, rashes or contact dermatitis, especially if the products are fragranced. 

(An extra note for those with vulvas: you shouldn’t use scented products at all down there due to risk of increased infections (like bacterial vaginosis or yeast infections). If you notice strong and unusual odor, that’s actually a typical sign of bacterial infections, so don’t just change your shower routine - visit a gynecologist.)

For most people and on an ordinary day (as in, you haven’t been explicitly instructed by your doctor to do otherwise etc.): Using one product for your body (shower gel or body wash or soap) should be absolutely enough to get germs, sweat and dirt off. Of course you may also use additional products for your hair or face - that does not fall under excessive since those are different body parts with different needs. But there is no need to use multiple products of the same variant, like multiple shower gels. That offers no proven benefits - except for getting the company more sales and more money. 

If you regularly feel sweaty or smelly after an ordinary shower with one shower gel, there are a few possible explanations: underlying physical conditions (for example hyperhidrosis (overactive sweat glands), thyroid issues, some neurological disorders, bacterial infections or even certain medications) can cause you to sweat a lot more than needed to regulate body temperature. This isn’t fixed by just buying and using an increasing amount of products. It’s something that needs to be checked out by a doctor. So if you notice an unexplained (I.e not related to increased activity or temperature) change in how much you sweat or how your sweat smells, take that as a potential symptom and see a medical professional. 

If you’re not actually sweating through your shirt after you just showered but you often find yourself worrying about that happening, then there could also be an underlying mental health issue. Ruminating (excessive worrying) about hygiene, sweat, germs, body odor, being “gross” or repulsive to others etc. can be connected to various conditions such as OCD, anxiety (health anxiety, social anxiety etc.) or body dysmorphia. 

Marketing that invents new things for you to feel insecure about - like “only” using one shower gel instead of multiple ones - preys on and exploits vulnerable people. It encourages overconsumption (bad for your finances and the environment), hurts your skin and your mental health. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad