#and by here i mean in my brain............

[ageless-aislynn]

My mom made a large pan of dressing (also known as stuffing) for her last Christmas and froze half of it. That block of dressing is still in our freezer, wrapped in aluminum foil with her handwriting on it in marker, and I don't ever want to throw it away. It just makes me feel better to know that it's there, even though it's certainly too old to be eaten. I just like that I can open the freezer door and see that something she cooked still exists in the world even though she's been gone for 6 years.

I saw this post on tiktok and as soon as I opened the comments I started sobbing

[stzrgirl4norris]

P1 in World History - OP81

Oscar Piastri x Historian!Reader

summary: no one understands how Oscar suddenly dropped facts after facts on the most random historical events

based on this request (by my favorite ever)

liked by mclaren, redbullracing and 1,300,000 others

f1 🎥 Grill the Grid: High School Edition is HERE

Watch our drivers struggle with math problems, historical dates, and chemical reactions 👀

Spoiler alert: we had some surprises.

view all comments:

lando who gave oscar a cheat sheet? be honest

charles_leclerc I would like a rematch with no ancient greek questions please

yukitsunoda0511 I said “napoleon” for everything. Not my fault it worked twice.

mclaren We are also surprised. Very surprised.

redbullracing Gonna have to bring this up to the stewards 🙂‍↔️

fernandoalo_oficial finally, someone knows I was there when Caesar was stabbed

alex_albon me watching oscar answer every history and geography question with his arms crossed like he’s on who wants to be a millionaire😭

user bro oscar even corrected the quizmaster once. is he ok?

user oscar casually dropping historical facts like it’s not suspicious at all…

user i'm so glad they are f1 drivers and not doctors or something

user why did oscar answer all of that without blinking? i’m scared 💀

user nah bc that man answered “Battle of Waterloo” like it was a pop quiz at dinner. WHO ARE YOU 😩

user oscar's not real. he’s a government experiment gone rogue

user the way he SMIRKED when he got the Cold War question right?? sir who are you trying to impress 😭😭😭

user idk if i want to kiss oscar or force him to write my next essay

user charles i expected more from you

user no but Lando getting the math question was so sweet

user when max said “well technically…” I felt that in my bones.

> user he maxplained that whole video and still lost

> maxverstappen1 I want a rematch

Oscar Piastri just added to his Instagram Story

"Great read 👍"

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername, mclaren and 757,000 others

SkySportsF1 🎤 Oscar Piastri revealed or us the secret behind all his world history knowledge:

“It just sort of happens when you date a historian. Everything becomes a lesson. She once paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism.”

View all comments:

user not me googling “how to become a historian”

user she paused a movie to explain Dutch colonialism and he STAYED??? yeah he’s in love your honor

user no bc i’d explain imperialism mid-makeout if he asked 😭

user that household must be insufferable

user I too wanna monologue to Oscar during breakfast

user imagine pausing a movie to rant about colonialism and he looks at you like it’s the hottest thing ever? god i’m weak

user and he LISTENED??? he RECALLS the info??

user she taught him centuries of world history and what did he give her back? driving lessons?

user “everything becomes a lesson” sir that is the dream 😭 i want to analyze the French Revolution over dinner too

user this is what happens when you date a girl who annotates books and knows who Franz Ferdinand is

user i want what they have. and by that i mean him. and also her brain. pls.

lando so you’re telling me i lost to oscar in Grill the Grid bc his gf is smarter than everyone at McLaren combined?

> oscarpiastri: you lost because you said Napoleon invented the calendar > yourusername: to be fair… he did change the calendar. you were just off by a few emperors > lando: OH MY GOD SHE’S HERE I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T QUIZ ME

alex_albon oscarpiastri she paused a movie to explain colonialism and you didn’t RUN? bro you’re in deep

> oscarpiastri: i stayed. i took notes. there was a powerpoint. > yourusername: in my defense, it was really bad colonialism. like offensively inaccurate. > user: i am obsessed with the fact that she said “bad colonialism” like it’s a genre of film > user: alex is 100% pretending he gets this rn

georgerussell63 I want to add to the conversation that just 5 minutes ago during a chat this man casually cited the Meiji Restoration.

danielricciardo nah bc when she paused the movie he just sat there?? with his mouth shut?? couldn’t be me 💀

> yourusername he nodded. he asked questions. it was adorable. > danielricciardo stop you’re going to make the rest of us look bad

mclaren Confirmed: Oscar is now banned from date night and team trivia. Unfair advantage.

user WHY IS SHE SO CASUAL IN THE COMMENTS I’D DIE

> user she’s literally explaining history and being hot about it > user no bc she called it “bad colonialism” and suddenly I need a PhD >user someone make a TikTok of her best comments, we’re documenting greatness in real time

charles_leclerc If my girlfriend taught me history i’d listen too 🥺

> alexandrasaintmleux you can't even tell me who painted the Mona Lisa > charles_leclerc I said "history" 🙄

user do you think Ferrari can hire her to do something?

> user omg what would she even do there? > user anything is better than what they have ❤️ liked by charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, lando, mclaren and 2,400,000 others

oscarpiastri Turns out there are so many good museums in England Also I now know what mercantilism is now.

view all comments

lando i want her to quiz me

charles_leclerc I refuse to learn, but i’m proud of you

georgerussell63 do you think she tutors for fun?? asking for me

alex_albon you’re literally a walking historical source

danielricciardo please ask her to explain the entire French Revolution to me in meme format

maxverstappen1 you scare me but i respect it

user THEY ARE TOURING HISTORICAL LOCATIONS 🥹🥹🥹🥹

user i know he’s got a napoleon bobblehead

user dating a historian and surviving is proof he’s the chosen one

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, mclaren and 8,150 others

yourusername He said “teach me everything” and now he can name every Cold War proxy war. Proud of my little historian-in-training. Also yes, he scored higher than some of my students on the practice quiz.📚💋

view all comments

oscarpiastri Cold War was a vibe

georgerussell63 okay but she’s intimidating in a hot way

> oscarpiastri don’t call my girlfriend hot. LEAVE. > georgerussell63 it was a compliment 😅😅😅

charles_leclerc imagine being forced to learn at dinner 😔

lando can she explain the space race to me using memes and finger puppets

> oscarpiastri are you 2??

user “cold war was a vibe” i’m IN TEARS

user she’s not just teaching him history. she’s giving him range

user whatever taylor swift said about you know how to ball i know aristotle

user i would risk it all for her to yell about the ottoman empire in my kitchen

hattiepiastri just watched him explain the industrial revolution like it was a bedtime story

kimiantonelli who even knows what happened in 1848????

> user aren’t you supposed to be learning that in school?

user is this a kink thing?

user dating a historian sounds like a trap. a sexy, educational trap.

maxverstappen1 can you prepare me for the next grill the grid?

> yourusername sure thing!! > oscarpiastri NO

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 1,450,000 others

mclaren Study season. Quiz night prep. We no longer know if this is for history or Hungary GP. 🧠🏁📚

view all comments

oscarpiastri she just asked me to rank my favorite Enlightenment philosophers. it’s 10pm. i said Kant and she said “incorrect.”

> yourusername it was a trick question. you were supposed to say “you, darling” > oscarpiastri i’m logging off before I get in trouble > user I NEED THEM TO ADOPT ME

lando does this mean i can’t cheat???

> oscarpiastri she said next time you cheat off me she’s quizzing you on Byzantine trade routes > lando nevermind i’m studying. i’m SCARED.

yourusername Quiz night winner gets free coffee. Loser gets a 20-minute lecture on the French Revolution.

> mclaren we are printing flashcards as we speak

alex_albon imagine prepping for Hungary and getting hit with “define the Treaty of Utrecht” over breakfast

> oscarpiastri: she did that. literally. it was before coffee.

charles_leclerc what’s happening? Why is everyone smarter now.

> georgerussell63 she’s infecting the grid with knowledge. we’re not safe > fernandoalo_oficial finally.

user this is the power of a woman who annotates books and kisses you mid-lecture

user can’t wait until one of them starts mixing up tire degradation with the fall of the Ottoman Empire

[sparklingchim]

game on 04 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.6k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: shy koo 🤭( he can be pookie at times), jimin being extremely chaotic and stirring drama, thigh squeezes <3, talks about first times n doing it raw 😃

summary: jungkook did expect some interrogation by his friends - just not this type.

a/n: we're back!! a bit more chaotic and sillier!!

masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“How was it to fuck for the first time?”

Jungkook freezes mid-chew.

This guy’s audacity.

Of course. Of course it would be Jimin. The man's allergic to silence. And shame.

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. Mostly because he’s trying not to throw his drink in Jimin’s face in the middle of a packed BBQ restaurant.

Mingyu's trying not to laugh while Chanyeol’s shaking his head like he doesn’t want to know where this conversation will go.

They’re all squeezed around a hot grill at one of those buzzy downtown spots. Neon lights, tiny stools, smoke clinging to everyone’s clothes. And you’d just gone to the restroom with Karina.

Jimin wasted exactly zero seconds.

“I’ll kill you if you say shit like that in front of her,” Jungkook warns, voice low.

“That’s why I’m asking now when she’s not here, duh.”

Jungkook exhales sharply trough his nose, jaw tight. He could just say whatever. Say something vague and let it go. But it pisses him off how casually Jimin talks about you like that.

“I swear to god –” he starts, but Jimin’s already talking over him.

“Did you cry after?” Jimin asks with a gleam in his eye. “Or wait, did you bust after two minutes?”

Mingyu chuckles beside him. “Jimin's got a death wish.”

Chanyeol huffs out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “If he lunges, I’m not stopping him.”

Jimin’s eyes widen with faux innocent. “What are you guys on about? I mean, you’ve probably been pining after her for so long now. Finally hitting it, you must have lost your mind, no?” he asks. “Was it everything you dreamed about when you put your d-”

“What the fuck?” Jungkook interrupts.

“It’s a genuine question!” Jimin insists. “No judgment here. Could’ve been a quickie for the memories. A warm-up round.”

“A quickie for the memories,” Mingyu repeats, snorting in pure disbelief.

“Yeah! Like, you finally get to sleep with the girl you’ve been obsessed with for months. Brain’s probably short-circuiting. Whole thing’s over before it starts.”

If Jungkook doesn’t keep his breathing in check, there will be blood.

“I’m not telling any of you my business anymore.” Jungkook reaches for his beer, downing a long pull. “Especially not about her. Not like that.”

Even if this whole scenario would be real, it wouldn’t be their business. Wouldn’t be something he’d toss around for laughs between food and cheap beer. You weren’t some hookup story to debrief after a night out.

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “So you didn’t last two minutes?”

Jungkook just stares at him.

Jimin grins, delighted. “That silence is loud.”

“I will literally strangle you with your own hoodie,” Jungkook says flatly.

“Look, I’m just saying,” Jimin goes on, because he loves pain apparently. “With that kind of tension, all that build-up… I figured the second she touched you, it was game over.”

“Bro,” Mingyu coughs. “You want him to kill you.”

“I’m romanticising!” Jimin defends. “The human body can only take so much emotional blue-balling. You don’t think he dreamed about it? Like full cinematic fantasy? Slow-mo? Background music? Montage of hand-holding and then bam, real life?”

Jimin doesn’t know when to shut up. Now he’s gone and put the image in Jungkook’s head – you, laid out pretty and flushed beneath him, hair messy on his pillow, your fingers locked with his while you whisper his name all breathy and soft.

Jungkook presses the cold beer bottle against his temple. This is fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s on fire.

Chanyeol speaks, voice amused. “Pretty sure Jimin’s just bitter.”

“Jealous,” Mingyu corrects.

“Both,” Jungkook mutters.

“Aw,” Jimin pouts dramatically. “You’re not gonna tell us anything?”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, tone final. “Not a thing.”

He hopes the topic dies there, but of course not. Not when his brain is still glitching with the image of you beneath him, tangled sheets and tangled limbs. A pretty mess. Just for him.

“So... serious, huh?” Jimin nods slowly, but then a cheeky smile curves his lips. “Serious enough to do it raw the first time?”

Mingyu chokes on his drink.

Chanyeol doesn’t even try to get involved. “You’re on your own, man,” he mutters, turning away from Jimin.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Jimin laughs nervously, hands raised like he’s innocent. “It’s a joke! I’m joking!”

“Shut up before I throw a bottle at you.”

“I feel like you wouldn’t react this way if you had fucked raw.”

“You’re fucking dead.” Jungkook stands up. Chair scraping back with enough force to make a point.

And that’s exactly when you and Karina return, both mid-laugh, until you feel the shift in the air and look at the boys confusedly.

“Uh…” Karina blinks. “What’s happening?”

“You’re just in time for Jimin’s funeral,” Chanyeol says, raising his glass like a toast.

“Has the number 2 played a significant role in your life recently, ___?” Jimin asks.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You glance at Jungkook, asking him for help.

Jungkook waves it off, sitting down. “He’s being weird again.”

“Don’t overthink it. Yes or no?” Jimin raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Uh, no?”

He sighs, dramatically disappointed. “Case closed. I’m done here.”

You slide into your seat next to Jungkook, Karina settling in beside you.

“What did I miss?” you whisper to Jungkook.

He dips his head closer, muttering back, “Just locker room bullshit. You don’t wanna know.”

“Was is gross?”

“Very gross.” Jungkook pats your head, slowly reaching down to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Your brain’s too precious for that.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches up anyway.

Chanyeol sighs loudly, leaning back in his chair. “I love this so much,” he declares with a satisfied smile.

You glance over. “What?”

“It just all makes sense now, you know?” He gestures vaguely between Jungkook and you. “Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.”

Jungkook grins. He looks over at you, but you don’t look up at him. Your gaze is cast downwards, a shy smile creeping up your face. Cute.

Chanyeol pats his chest. “Just makes me really happy in my heart.”

It’s kind of funny, Jungkook thinks. How none of your friends questioned the sudden relationship announcement. They just took it in stride, like it had been a long time coming. Like they’d all just been waiting for the two of you to get your act together.

An unspoken sense of we were wondering when you’d finally admit it to us.

He just hopes the breakup goes down just as easily – like, oh well, they gave it a shot, and now they’re back to being friends, no drama.

“Chanyeol gets too sappy when he’s drunk,” Mingyu says.

“I love seeing people find each other. Makes me so happy.”

Okay, maybe Chanyeol is not gonna take the breakup that well.

You’re definitely gonna have to find a soft way to break it to him when the time comes.

“You have a soft heart,” you say, reciprocating his warm smile.

“You two work. Like, it makes sense. Real yin and yang shit,” he declares with complete sincerity. “I speak from the heart,” he adds, tapping his chest. “From here.” His gaze bounces between Jungkook and you. “Don’t you dare hurt it by breaking up.”

“Damn,” Jungkook mutters. “Pressure’s on.”

Your head turns to him then, a little too fast.

Karina lets out a surprised laugh at Jungkook’s reaction.

“Excuse him, ___,” Mingyu cuts in, eyebrows raised as he side-eyes Jungkook. “He’s new to relationships.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jungkook quickly defends himself. He stares into your eyes. “You know how I meant it.”

How did he fuck it up so quick?

“I know,” you reply gently, but there’s something sharp in your eyes. Jungkook realises that this your way of telling him to not slip up. To act, pretend properly.

He shifts slightly, more alert now, then reaches for your thigh. His hand lands warm and familiar, fingertips pressing into your skin just enough to coax you closer. You move without hesitation, slotting into the space he makes for you.

“Am I allowed to ask a question?” Jimin’s voice cuts through the quiet.

Jungkook’s head snaps towards him, meeting him with a challenging expression. “You’re on thin fucking ice.”

“Why?” you ask, curiously glancing between the two.

“Your boyfriend’s a little sensitive,” Jimin says, sniffing a little laugh as he teases Jungkook.

Jungkook’s hand around your thigh tightens. His fingers flex, pressing into the curve of your thigh.

“How annoying have you been to Jungkook for him to be so upset?” you ask amused.

“I swear I’m innocent,” Jimin says.

“I’ll kill you.”

You brush your fingers over Jungkook’s hand, gently running them over his arm a little too. You feel the tension in his muscles shift beneath your touch.

“I just wanna know who said I love you first.” Jimin’s voice is annoyingly sweet. “That too much for you too, Jungkook?”

Despite wanting to strangle Jimin, Jungkook feels a wave of nerves rush up at the question. You didn’t rehearse this part. He glances down at you, and you’re already looking up at him with the same wide-eyed helplessness.

“That’s obvious,” Mingyu cuts in confidently.

Is it?

“Jungkook’s too obsessed with ___ to not spill it every single second they spend with each other,” Chanyeol says.

Reasonable, Jungkook thinks.

“Okay, but,” Karina chimes in. “What if they haven’t said it yet?”

“What the fuck?” Chanyeol grimaces like the thought disgusts him.

You start giggling at his expression.

“Be serious,” he goes on, waving a hand. “Have you seen them? They’re literally glued together.”

Karina leans forward across the table, peering at you two. Jungkook follows her gaze, then blinks down at your lap.

His hand is still on your thigh. Your hand is over his. Neither of you move.

Jungkook brushes his thumb over your skin. “We’re a little touchy.”

You play along, all soft smile. “You’re clingy. Which is why you said I love you first.”

“That sounds like me,” Jungkook agrees.

“Seeing Jungkook as a clingy boyfriend was not on my bingo card for this year,” Mingyu remarks.

You lean into Jungkook, resting your head briefly on his shoulder. “He is so clingy. Gets all pouty when I don’t text back within five minutes.”

Jungkook scoffs, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t do too much now,” he muffles into your hair when he turns his head to give you a little peck.

“Anway, this boy doesn’t like to be called cute and clingy too many times. Can’t take it that often. Can’t handle the truth in high doses,” you sigh.

“It’s called maintaining a rep.”

“What’s so bad about being a golden retriever boyfriend?”

“No, I’m fine with being a golden retriever boyfriend,” Jungkook answers. “But,” he adds. “I am a tattooed golden retriever. That’s different.”

Everyone laughs, and Jungkook feels your fingers subtly squeeze his under the table. It’s a bit ridiculous, this whole act, but it’s also weirdly easy. Fun, even. He glances down at you, catching your eyes for a second.

He wouldn’t have done this with anyone but you.

~

“Spill. Now,” you demand when you’re back in your dorm and Karina slipped into her room, leaving Jungkook and you alone in the living room.

“Spill what?” Jungkook asks as he wanders into the tiny kitchen. He starts poking through your cabinets. “For a med student, you sure you just wanna give your body ramyeon? Think that’s the healthiest lifestyle?”

“Not the healthiest but the cheapest,” you shoot back. You close the cabinet before he can open the next one and hop onto the counter in front of him, blocking his path. “Now stop snooping through my sad pantry and tell me what you boys talked about when Karina and I were gone.”

It’s been gnawing at you the entire way home. You’ve been pondering what the boys talked about the entire time. Especially knowing Jimin. Nothing wholesome comes out of his mouth.

“I wasn’t talking about anything.” Jungkook plants his hands on the counter, one on each side of your thighs “Jimin was the one asking bullshit questions.”

“Like?”

“You’re gonna make me repeat it?”

“It was about me too, no? I wanna hear it.”

“I meant it when I said your brain’s too precious for that filth.”

“I’ve heard and seen enough throughout our friendship already. You think I’m fragile now?”

“Not fragile,” he murmurs. “Just selective about what you let into that pretty head. Don’t wanna ruin it.”

“Stop using your charm and tell me.” You draw him closer by the hoodie strings and force him to focus.

“He asked how it was.”

“It?” You blink confused.

“You know. It.” He looks at you pointedly, trying to make you get through his expression. When he realises that his attempt is fruitless, he sighs defeatedly. “Our first time. How our first time went.”

“Ahh,” you hum, the realisation dawning on you. “But why are you acting like this? You’re never this shy when it comes to that stuff.” You tilt your head just a little, catching the exact moment when the tiniest flush blooms across Jungkook’s cheeks, delicate and rosy. “Are you blushing?”

Cute.

It makes something warm flicker in your chest, stupid and soft.

You didn’t realise it could be this easy to make Jungkook blush.

“I’m not,” he mutters, quickly looking to the side.

You giggle, turning his head back to you by grabbing his chin. “How come?”

“’Cause we’re talking about us.”

“I mean, it was obvious they’d ask stuff like that,” you shrug.

“It wasn’t just that.”

“Oh?”

“Jimin went on and asked if we had ever done it raw.”

You let out a little gasp. “That’s freaky.”

Jungkook takes a step back. “You think doing it raw is freaky?”

You assess Jungkook through squinted eyes. “You’ve probably done that before, right? You’re freaky like that.”

“Big yes on being a freak and big no to doing it raw.” He steps back into your space and pokes your side “Lowkey offended you think I’d risk it when I’ve never even been in a proper relationship.”

“I’m proud of you, Koo.” You pat his shoulder. “I deemed you responsible enough for safe sex, but I did have my doubts, I’ll be honest.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I like to fuck but I’m not stupid.”

You hear light footsteps, then your name called out. “___?” Karina peeks around the hallway corner and promptly freezes when she sees you.

“Oh, I – I thought you were in your room,” she stammers, eyes flicking between you and Jungkook. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” She smiles awkwardly, blinking fast.

For a second, you’re confused. Until you realise that you’re perched on the counter, Jungkook between your legs and his arms caging you in.

It hits you then, how intimate this looks. Like you’re actually a couple caught in the middle of something. Even if Jungkook and you weren’t trying to pretend.

“It’s okay,” you reassure.

Jungkook draws back, hands dropping. “I was about to leave anyway.”

“Oh, no! Don’t leave! Stay! I was just – I don’t even know – but please don’t leave.”

“It’s fine,” Jungkook laughs, already moving toward the door.

You hop off the counter and trot after him, catching Karina mouthing a panicked I’m so sorry at you before she retreats into her room and shuts the door.

“She’s going to feel bad about this for the rest of the week,” you tell him.

“Tell her even though I am obsessed with you, I wasn’t about to take you in the kitchen while she’s at home.”

“You’re not freaky like that?” you tease.

Jungkook short-circuits for a moment, momentarily even stares at your lips, before snapping back to his usual, cocky self.

“Wanna find out?”

It takes you all of ten seconds to wish him a dry good night and shove him out of your apartment.

“Can’t wait to see you at my parents’ this weekend and introduce you as my girlfriend!” he calls out from the hallway.

[e1e4n0r5]

Their Little Plaything: Bonus Scene 5

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Bonus Scene 1, Bonus Scene 2, Bonus Scene 3, Bonus Scene 4

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Former Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 6589

Synopsis: The summer between Junior and Senior years doesn't go exactly as you'd planned

Warnings: ANGST!! Relationship insecurities, feelings of isolation, bullying, implied excessive alcohol use

Notes: This wasn't my fault! Someone suggested this a while ago and I wasn't planning on doing it because it's too heart-breaking but then my brain went 'do it' and I had to obey 😭

Summer between Junior and Senior Years

The air on campus buzzed with early summer heat and long goodbyes. Students were dragging overstuffed suitcases down the sidewalks, calling out promises to meet up over the summer break, hugging, laughing, and posing for last-day selfies.

Cait adjusted her bag on her shoulder and turned to Vi with a look that said don’t make a scene.

Vi, of course, was already making one. She had you pulled tightly against her chest, chin tucked over the top of your head, swaying the two of you back and forth with a grip that didn’t seem like it would never let go.

“Eight weeks,” Vi muttered into your hair. “Fuck it, you’re not going, you’re coming with us.”

“Vi-”

“Cait can refund your mom whatever she’s booked, you can’t go,” she begged.

“Vi-”

“How the fuck are we supposed to manage without you for two months!”

Cait spoke louder than you, calling firmly, “Violet.”

She sniffed, shaking her head. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got it. I’ve got it. It’s only eight weeks. That’s nothing. That’s just, like…Forty gym sessions. Without you. Fuck, I’m gonna be so buff by the time you see me.”

Vi finally let go, though her hand lingered around your waist, reluctant to fully let go.

You chuckled softly, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

Cait stood close, watching the hug, arms folded lightly. She looked so poised, even now, dressed neatly for her family’s car service that was waiting by the curb. She was trying to keep it together. You were already upset, Vi’s neediness and clinginess was starting to come out…Someone had to be strong. But her eyes softened when you turned to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you to the train station?”

“Cait, it’s almost an hour away, in the other direction. You’ve already got to drive three hours; don’t make it five. I’ll be fine, the campus bus’ll be here any minute.”

She nodded unhappily. She knew you were going home to be with your mother over summer – your mum had booked some non-refundable vacation spots months ago, as surprises for you, not knowing you were now in a relationship – but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss you.

Still, you’d come spend the last two weeks at the Kiramman summer estate with them (even though Cait’s parents didn’t yet know you were a throuple) but it was still going to be a long summer without each other.

“Have you got your ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Purse?”

“Yes.”

“Phone charger? Headphones, book for the journey?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

Cait nodded. “Text us when you get to the station.”

You smiled, trying to force down the tears. “Okay.”

“And when you arrive,” Cait said, stepping forward to cup your face in both hands. “And I expect full updates from you. Books read, meals eaten – with pictures! – outfits worn, exercises done. Photo collages of all the places you go with your mother.”

“Got it,” you whispered. “Everything. You’ll be sick of me.”

Vi’s hand twitched on your waist, resisting the urge to pull you back in. “You’ll be okay, right? You’ve got your mom, and…We’ll have video sex every night-”

You giggled, tears in your eyes. “Not when I’m sharing a room with mum on vacation.”

“Okay, secret titty pics in the shower will suffice for those days,” Vi joked.

“And we made the shared playlist, so we can think of each other when we’re apart…” Cait’s eyes started getting damp.

“Yeah,” you interrupted gently. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Eight weeks. Two months.”

It felt like you were all saying it to reassure yourselves.

As they said their final goodbyes, Cait pressed a lingering kiss to your lips, and Vi bumped her forehead against yours, whispering, “Don’t forget us, baby.”

The campus shuttle bus arrived only a minute after their car pulled away. You queued with your suitcase, trying not to cry as you got on board, settling into a window seat, watching the campus slowly empty of students as they all went home for those glorious weeks between years.

It wasn’t until you put in your headphones and they didn’t automatically connect that you realised the worst had happened.

You hadn’t noticed at the time, but as you’d been scrambling to finish packing that morning, you’d accidentally knocked your phone off the bedside table, and under the bed. In the chaos to get out of the house on time, you hadn’t checked if it was in your bag.

Your lifeline – your only connection to the women you loved – was out of reach. And would be for eight weeks.

The train ride was torturous. Not only did you not have your music or any way to communicate with your girlfriends or your mother, but because you knew Cait and Vi would be worried sick. You hadn’t texted them when you’d arrived at the train station, you hadn’t texted once during the two-hour train ride, and you hadn’t let them know you’d arrived in your hometown. You knew they’d be going insane with worry!

But you tried to put it out of your mind; there was nothing you could do about your phone, and when you got back to your childhood home, you’d just think of another way to contact them. At least you still had your laptop.

You walked through the Arrivals area of the train station, looking out for your mum. You smiled wide when you saw her.

“There you are!” she called happily, running over and pulling you into her arms.

You hugged her back tightly, not wanting to let go. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this; your mum’s shampoo, her perfume, the warmth of her voice, the way she held on like you might slip away.

“Hi, mum,” you choked against her shoulder, trying to hold back tears.

“Oh, I missed you so much, sweetheart!”

Sweetheart.

Your heart panged. Vi. She’d be so worried about you.

“I was texting you, you didn’t reply.”

You shook your head. “I forgot my phone in…My dorm,” you covered quickly.

“Oh, no. We’ll sort something out when we get home. We could always get you one of those ‘burnt’ phones?”

“A burner phone?” you teased.

“Oh, stop it. Come on, let’s get you home. And you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to!”

The house looked the same as ever: white paint peeling just a little more, flower boxes full of red geraniums struggling in the summer heat, wind chimes clinking softly in the breeze.

Inside, everything smelled like lemon polish and fresh laundry. You sank into the familiar cushions of the old sofa, curling your legs under you as your mum bustled about, making tea.

“You look tired,” your mum said, handing you a steaming mug and sitting beside you. “School been that rough?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. The semester ended okay. Just…A lot happened this year.”

“Girlfriend trouble?” Your mum raised an eyebrow and gave you that look – curious, patient, not pushing.

You traced the rim of your mug with your thumb. “Well…”

She grinned. “I knew it! I knew my baby had a girlfriend! Who is she, what’s her name?”

“Well…Um…”

“Oh…Oh, is it a boy?” she asked in surprise, like it were a secret.

That snapped you out of your hesitation. “No, no, definitely not a boy.”

“So, we’re still lesbian?”

You laughed. “Yes, mum, we are still a lesbian.”

“Well, spit it out then! Who is she?”

“Cait-”

“Cait! Awww, that’s such a nice name! Is she-?”

“-And Vi.”

Your mum paused, blinking. “Caitandvi? That’s her name? Where’s she from?”

“No, mum. Caitlyn and Violet. I have two girlfriends.”

She gasped your full name. “Are you cheating on those girls? Do they know about this?”

“No, mum, stop! I have two girlfriends. We’re all together. We’re in a three-person relationship. I have two girlfriends; Cait has two girlfriends; Vi has two girlfriends.”

You could almost see your mum’s brain rebooting. “Oh. Oh, I see! Is that the open relationship stuff?”

You shook your head. “No, not open. The three of us are together, no-one else. Closed unit.”

She finally nodded. “Okay, okay, got it. How long have you been together?”

You sipped your tea. “Since just before Christmas.”

She gasped. “And why haven’t you told me this before?”

You looked at her. “Mum, can you imagine trying to have the conversation we just had…Over the phone? When half the time you still face the camera the wrong way.”

She rolled her eyes at you. “Alright, missy, settle down.” She was quiet for a beat. “Are they nice to you?”

You smiled a little, surprised by the question – and the emotion it stirred. “Yes. They make me feel safe. Loved. Seen.”

Your mum nodded slowly. “Then I’m happy for you, and I can’t wait to meet them. It’s not about the shape of the relationship. It’s about how it makes you feel.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, feeling so relieved at your mum’s acceptance and blessing. “They’re really different. Cait’s like…Precision and care. She was Class President this year, and she’s won again for next year too! And Vi’s all fire; she’s on the school football team. They balance each other, and somehow…I fit in there too.”

“They sound like good girls,” your mum said, sipping her tea.

Your eyes stung a little. “I miss them already. I can’t believe I dropped my phone at home and didn’t even notice! I haven’t been able to get in touch with them. They’re going to be so worried about me, or think I’m ignoring them!”

Your mum reached over, rubbing your shoulder gently. “They’ll be waiting for you. The ones who love you always are.”

The first few days at home weren’t terrible. Maddening. But not terrible. You’d spent the first evening trying to figure out how the hell you could contact either, or both, of them.

Your mum had offered to buy you a burner phone – but you didn’t know their numbers.

You’d considered email – but you didn’t have their email addresses.

You could see their social media accounts, but you couldn’t comment or message without an account.

You’d tried to get into your private account (that you only ever used to doomscroll and look at what Cait and Vi posted), but the platform wanted to send a verification code to your phone number – which you didn’t fucking have access to! You’d emailed the help desk, offering to answer any and all security questions – do anything they needed! – but they said there was nothing they could do without your phone.

You could write them a goddamn letter – except you didn’t know either of their families’ addresses, and the Kiramman summer estate was unlisted.

And this rate, you’d have to resort to smoke signals or carrier pigeons…You could just imagine trying to wrangle a bird, sticking a letter to its leg and telling it to go find Cait or Vi. That would only go well…

You unpacked slowly, folding your clothes into the drawers of your childhood bedroom, surrounded by posters you hadn’t bothered to take down when you left for college. Your mum made all your favourite meals, fussed over your hair, asked too many questions about your relationship. It was familiar. Safe.

But not the same.

You kept reaching for your phone, again and again, only to realize it wasn’t in your pocket. Wasn’t on the dresser. Wasn’t in your bag. It was nowhere.

Day by day, the silence stretched out longer. No Cait teasing you in the morning with perfectly timed sensual voice notes. No Vi sending blurry selfies from the grocery store with captions like do we need ten frozen pizzas?

Just…Nothing.

Your mum had surprised you with a disposable camera on day three.

“I know it’s not a fancy phone but you can still take pictures to show the girls! You’ll have to get them developed and printed, but that’s what we did back then,” she explained as she unpacked some groceries.

You examined the camera with a smile, eyeing the extra rolls of film she brought. “Thanks, mum. This is kinda cool. Retro.”

“Please do not describe anything from my youth as retro,” she scolded.

So you started taking photos. You hoped they were okay, you couldn’t see what you’d taken. Maybe everything would end up blurry, or your finger would be over the lens. You captured your outfits of the day – OOTD, as you’d learnt from Cait’s social media. Most of your meals, so Cait would know you’d eaten, even if she wasn’t getting live updates. The beach day you and your mum went on (obligatory secret titty pic for Vi, which then gave you a panic attack thinking of an employee at a photo shop who may end up seeing your boobs). An award-winning photo of your feet propped up on the porch swing, a book in your lap, the sunset in the distance, a gentle blur to the photo to give it that soft and romantic vibe.

The knowledge that the girls would see the photos in the future kept you going, even when you were cut off from them. It was a little thing to hold on to.

But by day ten the doubts began to creep in.

You’d been looking at their social media accounts over the days. Smiles, sun, cocktails by the pool, evening meals in restaurants Cait’s family paid for. Not one mention of you, or missing someone special. Nothing. Just them enjoying themselves.

Two carefree love-struck college girls, living their best summer life.

Maybe it was easier if they didn’t love you back.

Maybe it was better not to hope.

Maybe they’d gone back to Caitlyn’s estate, to her rich family and fancy silverware and acres of land, and realized how easy it would be to forget about you.

You began to wonder if you’d made it all up. If the love was temporary. Conditional. Something that had ended with the school year, like a class schedule or a lease agreement.

Without Cait or Vi checking in, holding you, reminding you that you were safe and wanted and real… You’d never felt so alone.

You walked past your old high school on your way to the grocery store, and it made your stomach twist. Your mind filled with all the horrible memories of your years there – the mocking, the tormenting, the horrific isolation.

The fluorescent lights in the grocery store buzzed quietly overhead. You hadn’t meant to linger, just grab milk for the two of you and leave. But your thoughts kept wandering – without a phone to distract you – to the feel Cait’s fingers tracing your hip, Vi’s laugh muffled into your neck, the smell of both of them next to you in bed.

“Oh my god, look who it is,” a voice drawled behind you.

You turned slowly, praying it wasn’t—

Heather Scott. The girl who played the prank on you in high school, outing you to the whole school, your humiliation published on social media for the world to see. Same perfect teeth, same overly tanned skin. She looked you up and down with a smirk that made you feel fifteen again.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back here,” Heather said, arms crossed. “You always acted like you were too good for this town. What happened, college not work out?”

You frowned. “It’s summer break, Heather.”

Her eyes scanned you. “You look the same. Bit skinnier. Still quiet, huh? Still lesbo?”

You wanted to disappear, but somehow you couldn’t move.

“Oh, come on. Not learnt how to take a joke yet? Bet you’re still the weird girl no-one wants to sit with.”

Your cheeks burned. “Actually, I’m not.”

She raised her eyebrows. “No? You finally got some friends at that fancy college?”

“I do, yeah. I’ve got a best friend-” Shit, you haven’t been able to talk to Powder, either!

She laughed. “Wow, that’s super impressive…”

“And two girlfriends.”

Heather blinked. “Two girlfriends? Now I know you’re making shit up.”

“Look them up: Caitlyn Kiramman and Violet Lanes,” you challenged, even though you hated every desperate word pouring out of your mouth. Why were you doing this? Why were you so desperate for this bitch’s approval? You’d stopped liking her the second she aided in your public humiliation, and that was years ago!

She just laughed to herself as she tapped away on her phone. After a few seconds, she paused, eyebrow lifting. “Blue hair, kinda tall?”

“Yeah! That’s Cait-”

“You’re seriously trying to tell me that these two,” she turned the phone around and showed you the latest photo on Cait’s profile – the two of them sitting in the shallow end of a pool, each with a drink in hand, kissing passionately, “Drop-dead gorgeous women are into you?”

Your heart twisted. “Yes-”

“No fucking way, Y/N. They are way too hot for you. They’re both off-the-scale hot, and you’re seriously like a three on a good day. And besides,” she scrolled back on Cait’s feed, shaking her head, “There’s no mention of you. No other girlfriend, they don’t say they miss anyone, they’re not looking forward to seeing anyone…”

Your heart twisted again. “I’ve asked them to keep me off social media-”

“Why, if you’re really together? Oh, because of that stupid prank years ago? You really think people from school will still pick on you for that? No-one gives a fuck about you anymore.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a fucking loser, Y/N. I bet you’ve made up this whole thing in your head, and these girls don’t even know you. Hey, let me check.” She tapped away on her phone, chewing her gum for a few seconds, and then laughed. “Ha! See!”

She turned the phone back around, showing you a private message screen between her and Cait.

Heather Scott: Y/N says hi

Caitlyn Kiramman: ??

Your lip trembled, your heart pounded.

No.

No, they wouldn’t.

Two question marks doesn’t explain anything! That could mean anything!

Then another message popped up:

Caitlyn Kiramman: Stay the fuck out of our business

* * * Ten days earlier * * *

“Do you think she’ll miss us?”

Vi lay on Cait’s chest in the back of her family’s car, a waterproof blanket beneath them and fluffy one tucked over their naked bodies. It was a three-hour drive to the Kiramman summer estate from college; they had perfected a routine, one they couldn’t wait to show you.

Vi held Cait tightly, as Cait stroked her fingers through her dark hair, lightly scratching her scalp.

“Of course she will.”

“Has she messaged?” she lifted her head a little of Cait’s chest, only to have her hand bring it back down.

She checked her phone screen, unable to hide her disappointment. “Nothing yet.”

“But it’s been two hours,” Vi protested.

“I know,” Cait soothed, “But she might have been in a rush at the station, or maybe her phone died on the train. She’ll let us know as soon as she can. Now, do you want another quick round, or a 30-minute nap before we have to make ourselves presentable?”

Vi growled playfully. “What do you think?”

The Kiramman summer estate was beautiful, quiet, and utterly suffocating. The white brick mansion sat surrounded by orange groves, miles from the nearest neighbouring mansion. Complete with a large pool and bar, terrace, home gym, games rooms, home cinema, and much more, it was the perfect place to escape city life for those precious few weeks of glorious summer weather.

Cait stood at the balcony of her bedroom, arms crossed, watching the distant lights of the city on the horizon. Her family’s staff had unpacked their things as they got settled with tea with her parents. The sheets were pressed, the pillows fluffed, and dinner had been served with ceremonial polish.

But it was missing something. Someone.

Vi tossed and turned behind her, huffing softly. “She hasn’t texted.”

“I know.”

“I know she can be forgetful, but she wouldn’t just disappear.” Vi sat up, bare arms tense, tattoos flexing with every anxious movement. “What if something happened to her?”

Cait turned. “Maybe her phone died, or maybe she’s just catching up with her mother. She’s been saying for weeks how much she’s missed her. She’ll reach out when she can.”

Vi ran her hands through her hair, agitated. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either,” Cait admitted gently. She crossed the room, sitting beside Vi. “But she knows how much we love her.”

Vi leaned forward, elbows on knees. “How can she not have texted back yet? She cried when we were 10 minutes late home last week!”

Cait smiled faintly, brushing Vi’s arm with her fingers. “Okay, to be fair to her: her period was really messing her up that day and she later admitted that she overreacted.” They both smiled softly. “She’ll come back to us, Violet. She always does.”

Cait’s mother, Cassandra, insisted they have tea on the terrace, dressed in light summer linens, surrounded by the expansive gardens filled with bright flowers and gleaming marble paths.

Vi barely touched her tea, her legs jostling under the table constantly.

When they returned to Cait’s room, Vi threw herself down onto the chaise, groaning.

“I’m losing my mind,” she said into a pillow.

Cait sat on the edge of the bed, undoing the clasp of her sandals. “It’s only been three days.”

“Exactly. And I already feel like I’m going to chew through the walls. Why hasn’t she messaged us back! Or even just read the messages!”

Cait looked over at her, walking over slowly. “Is this about missing her, or needing something else?”

Vi met her eyes. “Both.”

Cait’s expression softened.

Vi looked up at her, and for once her bravado cracked – she looked small. “She grounds me. I’m angry all the time and she just…Dissolves it.”

Cait kissed her forehead, then pushed her onto her back on the chaise with a hand on her throat. “Then let me help until she’s back.”

Vi pulled her hips close with a desperate sigh. “You better. I’m losing it here.”

They always shared Cait’s bed at the summer home – the Kiramman parents weren’t naïve enough to imagine that the girls would sleep separately. It was soft and plush, a wonderful bed by all accounts. But neither Cait nor Vi had slept well since they arrived.

“Cait,” Vi whispered desperately on the fourth night, “Touch me.”

Cait turned, stroking her hand down Vi’s side. “You’re trembling.”

“I just…I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I know.”

Vi pressed into her, mouth at Cait’s collarbone. “You have to take it. All of it. Please. I can’t be gentle.”

Cait allowed Vi to roll her over in a practiced, effortless shift of movement. “Then don’t be. Let it out. You know I can take it.”

Vi’s fingers clawed at her, and Cait kissed her like a balm. Steady, grounding, there. There was no teasing. No slow build. Just desperate hunger, and the two of them trying to chase something that didn’t feel whole without their third.

Afterwards, Vi broke down a little, quiet tears slipping down her cheeks. Cait pulled her close, combing through her hair as they lay in the dark.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she whispered.

“Not until she’s home.”

Cait stared at her phone, brows drawn.

“She still hasn’t read any messages,” she said, sitting on the lounger by the pool, clad in her favourite bikini.

Vi paced the patio like a trapped tiger. “She always answers. Even if it’s just a heart. Even if she’s in class.” She groaned, squeezing the back of her neck. “I knew something felt off. Something’s happened.”

Cait raised a hand. “Let’s not panic. It could be something small. Broken phone, tech issue...” But even as she spoke, she didn’t believe it.

Vi paused, hands clenching and unclenching. “What if it’s not?”

Cait shook her head powerlessly. “Well, she hasn’t blocked either of us, and she hasn’t left our group chat. So, we’re not dumped yet. Plus, imagine how she must be feeling – at least we’re together; she doesn’t have either of us, she’s on her own.”

They both sat in silence for a moment.

“I just…” Vi started, then stopped. Her voice cracked slightly. “I just miss her so bad, Cait. And I feel guilty. Like I shouldn’t, because I’m with you and I love you – I love you so fucking much – but it’s like...Half of me’s gone.”

Cait took her hand and pulled her down to sit next to her on the lounger. She wrapped her arm around Vi’s waist, leaning into her chest.

“You’re allowed to miss her,” Cait whispered. “I miss her too. Every time I wake up and she’s not wedged between us like our little space heater, I miss her all over again. Every time I send her a text and see it sitting there, unread. You’re not alone in that.”

Vi buried her face in Cait’s shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d fall this hard. For both of you. But I did. And now it feels like she’s just…Gone.”

Cait pulled back just enough to cup her face. “She’s not gone. She loves us. We’ll figure out what’s going on soon, and then we’ll laugh about how panicked and stressed we were.”

Vi nodded slowly, clinging to the hope in Cait’s voice.

Vi barely made it halfway through breakfast.

The Kirammans had insisted they join the morning meal on the terrace again – polished silverware, crystal glasses, and political small talk.

Vi pushed her food around her plate – having drunk too much the night before – and gave clipped, muttered responses. Her hand twitched toward her pocket every few minutes, checking her phone again and again for a message she knew wouldn’t be there.

When her fork clattered too loudly against the porcelain, Cait’s mother looked at her in concern. Vi muttered an apology and stood.

“I’ll go check on her,” Cait said smoothly, folding her napkin and excusing herself to follow before Cassandra could ask what on Runeterra was going on with the two of them.

She found Vi standing beneath the covered walkway, staring out at the fountain like she wanted to punch it.

“She’s still not answered,” Vi said when Cait came up beside her.

“She still hasn’t blocked us, though. That’s something.”

Vi huffed, tugging at her hair. “You don’t get it.”

“I miss her too, Vi,” Cait replied defensively.

“No, Cait, I need her. I wake up thinking about her, I can’t sleep without her breathing next to me. You’re my rock, you always have been, but Y/N…She’s like breathing now.”

Cait didn’t speak. She only reached out, gently curling her hand around Vi’s, pulling her forehead to rest against hers

“I don’t know how to calm down without her. I need her here. I need her safe. I can’t do another seven weeks of this, Cupcake,” she wept.

“We’ll help each other,” Cait said. “And when we get back, we’ll remind her how much she matters to us. Every day.”

They didn’t speak much that morning. Vi was up first, pacing the length of their bedroom like a caged animal. She needed to fucking destroy something. Cait stayed in bed longer than she normally would, her arm curled around your pillow, which Vi had insisted they bring, despite Cait’s protests that it was ‘a little much.’ Both women were grateful for it now.

She buried her face in it, inhaling your scent, and when Vi looked back over to check on her, Cait didn’t lift her head.

“Hey.” Vi knelt beside the bed. “You alright?”

“I thought I’d be stronger than this,” Cait admitted. “I thought if anyone would hold us together, it’d be me.”

Vi’s heart ached seeing her like this, neat hair loose, voice small.

“We both suck at this,” Vi said, crawling into bed beside her and pulling Cait against her chest.

“I want to be with her. I want to wake up with her. I want her curled up on the couch reading while you and I bicker about what to make for dinner.”

Vi smiled softly. “I miss those dumb slippers. The ones with the ears. I always said they weren’t cute. But now I realise how fucking adorable they are.”

“I miss her humming while she brushes her teeth.”

Vi leaned her forehead against Cait’s. “We’re so gay.”

Cait laughed for the first time in days.

By the eight day, something had changed.

Cait had retreated into a cold silence. She read books, scrolled on her phone, posted pool pics like nothing was wrong. But Vi saw through it – the coolness that was a mask for something fraying underneath.

That afternoon in their room, Cait pulled out her laptop and scrolled through photos, silent.

“She’s in every one,” she said softly.

Vi came to lie beside her on her front, looking at the black-and-white photo on the screen.

You were in a towel, hair wet and smiling shyly as Cait took the picture.

“We made her feel safe,” Cait said. “And now she’s gone home, without us. To that place that was never safe for her.”

Vi swallowed. “We’re gonna bring her back. We have to. She’s probably scared. Or lonely. Or convinced we’ve forgotten her.” She gritted her teeth. “Why can’t we just say we miss her in a post?”

Cait shook her head softly. “She asked us to keep her off social media. We made a promise, Vi. We can’t break her trust just because we miss her.”

Vi teared up a little. “But if she’s watching our feeds, she’d see it.” Her throat started burning and she had to swallow thickly. “She’s hurting somewhere, I know it. And we can’t do anything about it.”

“We will,” Cait said. “As soon as we get home.”

“In seven weeks,” Vi almost sobbed into the comforter.

Taking a break from the pool, Cait and Vi were in the pool’s private kitchen getting some cold drinks. Cait sat on a stool at the bar, Vi rifling through the glass bottles on top.

Cait looked up. “Vi…,” she said softly, a small shake of her head.

The dark-haired girl sighed, hanging her head. With annoyed acceptance, she pulled out a pitcher of fruity mocktails from the fridge, pouring two glasses.

“Day ten,” she said, voice flat.

Cait replied quietly, “I know,” staring at her dark phone screen. Waiting for message. Anything.

Vi braced her arms on the counter. “What if she thinks we’ve moved on? What if…What if her mom said something? Or some dipshit from town?”

“We don’t know that. But we know her. We know how much she loves us.” It had become a mantra for them both during their stay.

“Then why hasn’t she tried to message? Not even a fucking email?”

“Violet, she doesn’t know our emails,” Cait reminded delicately. “She doesn’t have our numbers memorised. Who does, these days?”

Vi looked up, red-rimmed eyes meeting Cait’s. “I feel like I’m falling apart. And I’m with you. That should be enough, right? But it’s not. And I hate that.”

“Vi. You don’t have to choose between me and her. Missing her doesn’t mean you love me less.”

Out of nowhere, Cait’s phone pinged. She grabbed for it frantically, almost dropping it in the process.

1 message from [Unknown Contact]

It was you! It had to be! You found a way to make an account!

Cait’s face lit up…And then dropped.

“Who the fuck is Heather Scott?” Vi demanded, reading over Cait’s shoulder.

“And why is she with Y/N?”

Cait typed back ‘??’, dreading the response she would get. “I don’t think Y/N has ever mentioned-”

Vi’s head shot up. “She’s that bitch!” she shouted, accidentally too close to Cait’s ear.

“Ow, Vi!”

“She’s that bitch that pretended to like Y/N in high school and then posted her online! Heather Scott!” she slammed her hand down on the marble top in rage.

Cait glared back at her phone, fury rising within her.

‘Stay the fuck out of our business’

She had to stop herself throwing her phone down, putting her head in her hands, rubbing her scalp to try and calm down.

“I want to go home,” Vi said firmly. “Now. We’ll go home, and we’ll find a way to get to Y/N from there. I don’t give a fuck if we have to drive to her town and scream her name out the car window. She’s not safe there.”

Cait nodded. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

The front door creaked as Cait eased it open. The house was still. Dim with the blinds half-drawn, stale with the scent of summer heat. Vi followed behind her, suitcase thunking softly against the floor as she put it down, exhausted from the journey. Three-hours was a long way to sit in tense silence.

Faintly, from upstairs, they heard sniffles.

“Y/N?” Cait called gently, looking towards the staircase, her heart in her chest.

Silence.

Then more sniffles, a weak cough.

Vi ran ahead, heart pounding. What if you were hurt? How long had you been there? What if you’d broken your legs, or your back?! What if you needed a fucking ambulance because you were dying?! Cait heard her footsteps along the hallway upstairs, and then—

“Cait,” Vi’s voice cracked, “She’s here.”

Cait dropped her own bag and rushed toward the bedroom. God, what would she find? The door was open, Vi in the doorway.

You knelt on the floor by the bed, a chaotic assortment of your things on the floor around you, a suitcase open in front of you as you shoved things in, uncaring for the state of your clothes. Your phone lay on the comforter, charging by the cable, the battery image flashing red.

“Y/N?” Cait called gently, not wanting to overwhelm you, even as she longed to pull you into her arms. Her soft tone just earned more sniffles and a miserable hiccup. “Sweetheart, did your phone die? Is that why you didn’t reply to us?”

You groaned loudly, coughing as you cried.

Why was she being nice to you!

Your eyes were red, as though you’d not stopped crying for hours. You were crying – sobbing your fucking heart out – as you kept stuffing your items into the suitcase, purposefully not looking at the two girls.

Vi didn’t hesitate.

She ran over and dropped to her knees in front of you. “Baby. No. No, no, no. What are you doing? Talk to us, baby.”

You looked up slowly. Your voice was hoarse. “I lost my phone on the first day, and I didn’t hear from you, and I couldn’t contact you,” sob, cough, “and I thought…You were just faking before. And I made it all up in my head. I couldn’t-,” cough, “I didn’t have any photos to prove to myself it was real.”

Vi let out a sound that was more of a howl than anything else and pulling you into her lap, arms wrapped tightly around you, like she was afraid you might disappear. You were too upset, too weak, to even wrap your arms around her in return.

“You didn’t make it up,” Cait said gently, stepping into the room. She looked shaken too, but her voice was steady. She came over to kneel next you, her hand gently but firmly stroking your back. “We’ve been messaging you every day. We thought you wanted space, or you were having so much fun with your mother. Vi was tearing her hair out.”

“I was going to leave,” you confessed. “I didn’t want to come back here, and you both pretend it never happened.”

Vi pulled back, cupping your cheek. “Don’t say that. We’ve been counting down the days to see you again. We missed you. We fucking missed you, sweetheart.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough,” you said. “Not enough to miss. Not enough to matter.”

Cait leant forward, kissing your shoulder. “You are the most important part of us. We love you so much, sweetheart. You belong here. With us.”

Your jaw trembled. “But Heather Scott-”

Vi growled. “Fuck that bitch and anything she said to you.”

“I don’t want to be apart again,” you whispered.

“Then don’t be,” Cait said. “Move in with us, officially.”

Vi nodded fiercely, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re already here all the time anyway. You can choose new bedsheets, we’ll redecorate whatever you want!”

Your lower lip trembled and then you sobbed even harder.

“I missed you both so much,” you breathed.

“We’re home now,” Cait said. “And so are you.”

They didn’t unpack. They didn’t talk about what they’d missed or try to explain the ache in their chests in any eloquent way. They just held you close.

You lay together in bed, your head nestled on Cait’s chest. Vi had curled around your back, arm slung tight over your waist. Cait had her phone in a holder over your heads, talking you through all the photos and videos they’d taken in the first few days when they could, somewhat, function. Their voices soothed you, but you weren’t truly listening. You just needed them there. And they knew that; they’d tell you everything again when you all felt better. The familiar scent of the house, the softness of clean sheets, and the presence of the women you loved wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I didn’t realize how quiet it would be without you,” Cait murmured into your hair.

Vi gave a soft grunt. “I was tearing through the garden like a maniac.”

“I slept in my mum’s room a few times,” you whispered. “I felt twelve again.”

Neither Cait nor Vi said anything for a long time. They just held you tighter.

Your voice was muffled when you continued. “I ran into Heather. The girl who played that prank on me. She asked if I was still weird and lonely, and I immediately started trying to prove myself to her. Like, ‘I’m cool now, I have two girlfriends!’”

Vi lifted her head slightly, about to speak – probably something brash and full of fire – but Cait gently touched her arm.

“We’re proud of you,” Cait said quietly. “That you stood up for yourself.”

You shook your head sadly. “Wasn’t much ‘standing up’. I cracked the second she was mean to me, about us.”

Vi sighed and kissed the back of your shoulder instead. “We’re going to remind you every day that you’re not that girl anymore. And even if you were, you’d still be ours.”

You sniffled. “I thought maybe I’d made it all up. You two, this house, everything. It felt too good to be true.”

Vi kissed the edge of your jaw. “No way. You’re the best part of it.”

Cait adjusted slightly to press a kiss to your forehead. “You ground us, darling. We fell apart when you were gone.”

You lay like that for a long while, tangled in warm limbs and whispered promises, the kind too soft and slow for the daytime.

Eventually, Cait reached for a remote and turned on the soft glow of the fairy lights they’d strung up before summer – your idea to give your photos and videos some mood lighting. The room filled with a delicate pink warmth.

“Let’s stay like this,” she said. “No expectations. Just us.”

Outside, the evening deepened. Inside, they breathed as one.

Safe. Together. Home.

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup

[idle-vapourings]

This is so real.

for myself, I've just had to realize when I'm talking to someone who has no desire to understand me.

because yeah, ableist people be ableist, bigots be bigots, selfish people be selfish, and it will be a losing game every time trying to make them come around.

i had this happen with a friend who had hurt my feelings. I kept it very short and polite because I didn't want to be angry with her or make her feel bad. and then she interpreted that negatively and had a lot of questions for me about my feelings. so i tried to take that in good faith, and explained myself in more detail. I tried to be both empathetic but clear, but really explain and answer her questions. she kept asking me to explain my feelings and at some point I felt that I was being asked to justify having an emotion, which I explained why that hurt. She wasn't getting it, so I explained with more words in an attempt to be clear while being honest how what was happening was frustrating and hurtful to me. she took that as aggression and an unwillingness to work things out with her (the precise thing I was attempting to do). and then she blocked me.

that stung and for a while i thought, hm did i fuck up. but the thing is, no i didn't. really, what it was about is that she refused to accept that she had done something hurtful. so the issue wasn't how i was communicating. it was that she refused to accept a world where she hurt my feelings - even if I had told her it was okay and that I know she didn't mean harm and that I had moved on. Instead, she needed to dissect why I was hurt to begin with and challenge it, rather than accepting that she was a human being who made a mistake. that person wasn't interested in my feelings or my take on the situation. they were interested in being right. and when they couldn't find a path to that with me, they just bounced.

I've also had this happen when requesting disability accommodations after getting a job offer. I requested clarity. I got obtuse replies. I gave more clarity. I got more obtuse replies. That was interpreted as me not wanting to participate in a good faith process. The reality was, the process was not good faith, and it never would have been, no matter what I said.

This feeling of no matter what you say it being wrong can be crushing and frustrating. because at least for me, I feel my autistic brain is really set on there being a solution, a right way to say something to get through to someone or to bridge a connection. and a sincere desire and deep need to be understood and heard. what I've had to come around to is that... sometimes people do not want to hear me. and if they don't, yeah, no matter what I choose, it results in misunderstanding.

I give it a genuine good go once or twice but if they're still interpreting me in the worst faith way possible or choosing to not really hear me then, yanno, time to not bother talking to someone who isn't listening and go talk to someone else worthwhile. I just try to remember that the failure is not mine, here. Someone who doesn't want to listen will never hear me. And people who don't actually want to hear me are never, ever worth my energy in the long run.

The people who really want to listen are out there. I say my thing, I be myself, and I see what the other person does with it.

I LOVE being autistic and trying to communicate because every time it’s

[batsandbirdbrains]

All your posts about Dick being younger than everyone thought at first is making me think of a scenario farther in the future, with all the batkids playing never have I ever or something, and Dick's real age comes out. And none of them really bat an eye at it first, because at this point Dick is a legitimate adult. But later it dawns on them just how young he was when he first started and DID BUCE EVEN KNOW???

Okay but the batkids getting together when they’re like all in their 20s. Dick is supposedly 28, Jason is 26, Tim is 23, and Damian is like 18ish.

And what’s the question god I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of a good one.

Okay it’s lame but I’m gonna go with Tim saying “Never have I ever smoked a cigarette before I was a teenager” because they all knew Jason had an unfortunate experience with a cigarette when he was 12 and they always make fun of him for it.

But then Dick takes a drink and they all hound him to find out how he had a cigarette before he was 13 when he lived with Bruce, the world’s biggest helicopter parent.

“Roy got a pack when he was like 18 and all the Titans tried one. They were pretty good, actually, but I coughed like hell for like five straight minutes,” Dick tells them. Then he snorts and laughs and adds, “Wally threw up.”

“Wait, how old were you?”

Dick starts counting on his fingers, then shrugs.

“Like, ten? Maybe eleven?”

“Isn’t Roy only five years older than you?”

And Dick realizes he fucked up, and he tries to start back pedaling and laugh it off and say he misremembered, but they all hound him for it.

“Wait, Roy is 33 right now,” Jason argues. “How fucking old are you, Dickhead? Because your math isn’t making any sense!”

“Just leave it alone, Jason!”

“No, no,” Tim pipes in. “If you were ten when an eighteen year old Roy gave you a cigarette, that means you’re 25 right now.”

“Shut up, Tim! No one asked you to do math!”

“Oh my fucking God, Dick-for-brains, are you younger than me?” Jason gapes at him, then gags. “I am NOT the oldest here! No! I refuse!”

“Then fucking leave it alone then!”

“Does Father know?”

They all whip their heads towards Damian, who’s swirling around the bottle of beer they let him have. He raises an eyebrow at all of them.

“No,” Dick eventually says, his voice strangled. “And no one is going to tell him.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Dick narrows his eyes at Damian, who’s smirking at him.

“You’ve been hanging out with Jason too much.”

“That’s no way to speak about your elders, Dickie!” Jason says with glee. When Dick glares at him in return, Jason holds his hands up in surrender and backs away. “Just kidding, just kidding.”

“This information does not leave this room,” Dick warns all of them. “I know where you all sleep. Don’t test me.”

“Damn, dude,” Tim whispers. “Fine, fine. What do you want, a blood pact?”

“Are you offering?” Dick asks, pulling a wing ding out of his pocket.

“Do you just carry those around?” Jason asks, laughing.

“Obviously. Now everyone hold out your palms.”

“Spit pact, spit pact!” Tim begs. “Don’t make me mix blood with the demon brat!”

“You’re just jealous my blood is superior to yours!”

Jason is the first to spit into his palm, then he holds his hand out.

“Just put your fucking hands in, gremlins,” he orders. Then he shudders and turns to Dick. “No, I do not want to be the oldest. You can keep the role. This secret dies with us.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dick says haughtily, spitting into his own palm and holding his hand out too.

Tim and Damian both groan and whine, but they join the spit pact with the other two. No one ever tells Dick’s secret.

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[itadooori]

those of yall who read my tags you might remember when i mentioned the concept of touch starved gi-hun crying at acts of intimacy. anyway my junhun demons were whispering things to me again

[close-ups under the cut]

[treba-neco-napise]

listen. my instructor kept telling me "hey loosen up, calm down, i'll brake if anything happens."

i have adhd and a mix of anxiety disorders, i keep missing signs, i was also missing some pedestrians waiting to cross and didn't let them go, i missed twice when the lights jumped back to red right as i was about to go. that was during my license test, i obviously didn't pass. a few months later, i've finally moved out of my parents' house, i'm in a better environment, i'm more confident and my brain has absorbed all the stuff around driving much better. i recently had two lessons again, i was totally fine. actually better than in my old city, and there's trams here, a completely new thing on the road for me. i need to wait about a month until i can take the test again because there's a waitlist but i already have a friend who offered to lend me her car and i can practice driving with her when i have the license, because listen, you can't drive on your own even with a license, you still need practice with supervision.

if you're scared, that's good news. that means you'll be careful. people who aren't scared at all ever are going to floor it and crash into someone.

i'm still scared, a little. but yada yada, courage is not the absence of fear but going on in spite of it and all that. you just need to be generally more confident than scared. that's why you're learning. and even if you never drive after that, you have proof that you overcame your fear, that you're capable enough for people to let you behind the wheel, and as a bonus you can borrow your friend's car and pick up you ikea furniture so that you don't have to pay for delivery.

fear is not an excuse, it's a reason to try.

Why isn't "too scary" a good enough reason to never drive a car

[4ranghaes]

I know you posted it almost a month ago at time I’m writing this request… but would you mind doing a follow up to that one with bnd and reader getting walked in on by another member? Like what is it like the next day? How much teasing can they endure? Will Woonhak be able to survive Jaehyun’s talk?

You don’t have to do a continuation of all the members if you do this request, I was mostly curious about Woonhak.

ot6 bnd x reader [kinda funny, fluff, fem!reader]

pt.2 to this!!!

a/n: okay i actually loved this and i wanted to do a pt.2 to taesan’s too so i just did all of them😭😭

sungho🎀

you walked into the kitchen, sungho’s t-shirt covering your body, as well as your pyjama bottoms. you poured two glasses of juice, smiling politely at riwoo and taesan who sat at the dining table. they just stared at you.

“i’m sorry, taesan! but in our defence, why didn’t you knock?!” you broke the silence, riwoo just laughing while taesan looked insulted.

“why weren’t you making noise?! any normal person does!” he threw back, as you rolled your eyes.

“whatever,” you laughed, “we were gonna order some food, do either of you want anything?” riwoo perked up opposite taesan, who sat pouting.

“just call sungho out here and we’ll talk,” riwoo smiled.

“um,” you paused, your boyfriend’s earlier words echoing in your head.

“i’m not going out there! if you want juice, you’ll have to get it yourself. i can’t look him in the eye right now.”

“i-i know what he wants anyway, it’s fine,” you said, awkwardly.

“oh my god, i can not have this ruining the dorm,” riwoo said, dramatically, “park sungho! get out here!”

“stop! he’s really embarrassed,” you said, shoving riwoo as you sat down beside him, pulling out your phone to flick through the delivery app.

“yeah i bet he is,” taesan rolled his eyes, before covering his face with his hands, “oh my god the image is seared into my brain!”

“well you could’ve left a bit quicker!” you exclaimed, “also, how do you think i feel?! why are you more embarrassed when you’ve seen me naked?!”

taesan stopped then, as the two of you shared an awkward look.

the silence was broken by your boyfriend appearing out of his room, wrapped in his duvet.

“han dongmin. if you say one thing, i’m leaving.”

“what, the band?” taesan teased.

“dongmin!” sungho scolded, collapsing onto the sofa. “i want dakgalbi.”

“okay, baby, we’ll get you dakgalbi,” you agreed, laughing at your boyfriend’s childish behaviour.

taesan just fake-cried, slamming his head into the table. “get out my brain!”

riwoo🦦🍡

“i’m kinda hungry,” you said, putting your phone down and rolling over, cuddling up to your boyfriend’s side. “shall we go and make that fried rice now?”

“or… shall we order?” riwoo grinned, wiggling his phone at you.

you gasped, “shall we?! wait. do you just not want to leave your room in case you see leehan?”

riwoo scoffed, already scrolling through the app, “no!”

you glared at him, riwoo sparing a glance to you as he rolled his eyes, “fine. yes. i don’t think he’s gonna say anything, i’m just embarrassed. i mean i literally moaned in front of him.”

you giggled, getting up and exiting the room, riwoo watching with a screwed up expression. you were right, even though you hadn’t said it, he knew your sentiment, he couldn’t spend his life in his room. but, this would pass in a day or two…

suddenly, leehan appeared at the door, breaking riwoo out of his concerns. you were stood behind him like a supportive mum.

“i’m sorry, hyung,” leehan spoke, face expressionless, “i should have knocked, i should have noticed sooner. i’m sorry.”

riwoo groaned, burying his face in his hands, “this is worse!”

“well what do you want me to say?” leehan laughed, “hyung, look, i’m sorry, but it’s life! i don’t care, also it’s not like i saw anything.”

riwoo hummed, getting out of bed and coming over to the two of you.

“what?” leehan said, as he was face to face with the man.

“get out of the way. i’m so hungry i could die, i need to make myself food.”

“you have been avoiding going outside!” you exclaimed.

“of course i have!” riwoo laughed, before grabbing leehan’s hand as they walked through the hallway. “wait. but seriously donghyun, if you tell any of the other members, i’ll—”

“what? that you and your girlfriend dry hump?” leehan laughed, riwoo smacking his shoulder.

“shut up, idiot.”

jaehyun🪻🐕

“we need to implement some serious boundaries in this band!” woonhak yelled, storming out his bedroom, taesan close behind.

“oh, it’s taesan now? it’s usually myungjae that’s being said about,” riwoo snickered.

“no one beats jaehyun, though,” taesan scoffed, still hanging off woonhak, despite the clear annoyance from the maknae, “what other friends have to implement a ‘no sex in the living room rule’?!”

“yeah, well, just be glad i stick to it,” jaehyun said, saluting all the members, while you smacked his chest.

“myung jaehyun, you absolute liar!” sungho yelled.

“oh god,” woonhak laughed, “hyung?! again?!”

“i walked in on those two making out the other day,” sungho said, now facing the rest of the members for a dramatic retelling.

“that’s not—”

“shared conversation, and everything!” sungho exclaimed, “and the entire time! he was continuing to finger her! under her skirt!”

“what the fuck?”

“myungjae—”

“please! oh my god!”

“jesus christ.”

jaehyun just laughed, while you hid your face in his shoulder, “what can i say?”

“oh my god,” you groaned. you pulled away, grimacing at the boys, “i’m so sorry, i don’t know why he’s like this.”

“yeah, yeah, you were there too, y/n! don’t act innocent,” sungho teased.

“she’s wearing a skirt, guys,” leehan said, smirking, “we should be careful, they could be up to something right now.”

“shut up, donghyun, that’s so—” you cut yourself off with a gasp as jaehyun ran his hand up your inner thigh, cupping your clothed heat. “myung jaehyun! stop it! you’re such a pervert.”

your boyfriend just giggled, removing his hand and leaning his head on your shoulder, the rest of the members groaning, riwoo and taesan even getting up and walking away, all while myungjae laughed to himself.

“i hope you’re having fun,” you said, sarcastically, peering down at him.

myungjae grinned, “of course i am.”

taesan🎸🐈‍⬛

“hi,” taesan said, entering riwoo’s bedroom.

“hey.”

“did you… get that jar open?”

“nope,” riwoo shook his head, offering an awkward smile to his friend.

taesan sighed, groaning, “i’m so sorry you had to see… that, but also—”

“i’m not gonna tell the others, tae,” riwoo smiled, “don’t worry.”

taesan sighed a breath of relief, “thank you, sanghyuk, genuinely—”

“i might tell my therapist, but, you know, they won’t tell anyone.”

taesan whined, burying his face in his hands, “oh god, i’m so embarrassed.”

“no, don’t be,” riwoo laughed, “i’m into it, actually. just didn’t realise you were too.”

“mmhmm,” taesan nodded, screwing up his face, “too raw to talk about it. maybe another time.”

riwoo laughed, nodding and waving taesan off.

“okay,” taesan nodded curtly, leaving the room, “thanks, hyung.”

he closed the door behind him, returning to his own bedroom where you were laid on the bed. you turned to smile at your boyfriend as he entered, placing your phone down.

“you do it?”

taesan nodded, trudging over to the bed where he collapsed into your arms, “he said he won’t tell anyone besides his therapist.”

you laughed, kissing his head, “well done, baby.”

taesan groaned, burying his face in your body, “fuck that’s so embarrassing. i actually want to die.”

leehan🪸🐠 [this one went in a very different direction to the others so.. smut content warning]

“thanks, woonhak,” sungho laughed, welcoming the boy back out of leehan’s bedroom and into the living room.

“why do i always loose the bets?” woonhak sighed.

“we seriously need to talk with them. how can they always be this loud?” taesan grumbled.

woonhak swallowed, “it was… hot though.”

jaehyun laughed loudly, shoving the maknae, “yeah? you liked it? perv.”

“shut up! just… objectively,” he said, embarrassed, “obviously i don’t want to see y/n noona like that, but…”

“what… what did it look like, woonhak? i mean, what were they doing?” riwoo asked, all the boys subconsciously leaning forward to listen in.

“well donghyun was sat on his desk chair,” woonhak swallowed, “and y/n was on his lap. but, i mean, her entire ass was covered in… you know.”

“in cum?” jaehyun finished, woonhak nodding in response. the boys somewhat laughed, but anyone could tell they were turned on.

“and- before they knew i was there, leehan kind of… took some and fed it to her,” woonhak said, clearing his throat as he nodded, “fuck. that was really hot actually.”

“damn,” taesan spoke.

“fuck,” sungho nodded.

riwoo and jaehyun had pulled pillows and a discarded hoodie over their laps.

“what’s up,” leehan suddenly spoke, emerging from his bedroom. he still wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he had sweatpants covering his lower half, slung low on his hips. his hair was slightly wet with sweat, lips swollen.

“nothing,” woonhak said suddenly.

“you were watching us, right?” leehan smirked, “perv.”

“shut up! you’re the one having sex loud enough for the whole dorm to hear!”

“you’re all jealous,” leehan teased, downing a glass of water, “get a girlfriend and tell me you don’t want to do just that.”

the boys all sighed, going back to their various activities until you emerged from leehan’s room. despite your hardest efforts, you seemed to be walking with a limp, and, as chance would have it, the only bathroom was past the living room.

you smiled awkwardly as you passed by, the boys all staring at you, trying to hide their own heavy breathing.

though your body was covered, they could almost see it. plus, the few hickies on the back of your neck and shoulders that were revealed as you walked by didn’t help.

when you disappeared into the bathroom, their eyelines fell to leehan who was smirking.

“losers.”

woonhak🧸

“this is the worst.”

you turned to look at woonhak, bursting into laughter at his unhappy expression.

“i’m serious, y/n. we’re busted. this is worse than my parents finding out,” your boyfriend groaned.

you were both sat on the sofa in the living room like two naughty children, pyjamas covering your bodies the next morning, while jaehyun paced up and down the kitchen, ever the dramatic.

he finally entered the living room, staring at you with the cutest angry expression ever. “when did this start?”

woonhak groaned, but he had promise to answer all his questions, “y/n’s birthday, earlier this year.”

you suppressed a laugh, nodding seriously as jaehyun took a dramatic deep breath.

“and who initiated last night?”

“hyung!” woonhak whined.

“you said all my questions!”

“fine!” woonhak sighed in defeat, “i did. i even came home early from the studio cause i was horny, and i knew y/n was here, sorry! sue me! hyung, you can’t say anything i’m an adult now!”

jaehyun wiped fake tears from his eyes, “and were you adults using protection?”

you nodded as woonhak frowned.

“what?” you laughed.

“d-did we?” he asked, suddenly worried as he looked to you.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “did we?! i don’t know woonhak you’re in charge of it!”

“y-yeah. yeah we did.”

“are you sure?” you asked, gripping woonhak’s hair to get him to look at you.

“oh my god,” jaehyun said, laying down on the floor.

“not the time hyung! i’m checking the rubbish.”

you groaned, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. you turned to jaehyun, “are you done?”

jaehyun chuckled, nodding, “yeah, i just like to wind him up. just take care of him, okay? and please use protection.”

you nodded sheepishly, woonhak coming back into the room with a successful smile on his face.

“we did! we did. it’s in the bin,” woonhak smiled, coming and sitting back on the sofa, giving you a quick kiss as he did.

jaehyun had obviously grown tired of his own antics, but as taesan entered the room, an evil smile grew on his face.

“taesan-ah!” he yelled.

“no! hyung!” woonhak whined, diving to the floor to tackle the leader.

but jaehyun was ever persistent, “woonhak’s having sex now! our baby! he’s all grown up, taesan-ah!”

“what?!”

[chanceofwhat]

Based off of this short by @someoddwritings for @aroace-get-out-of-my-face ‘s Safety Alarm AU

(Basically, magic user Ford dies and Stan goes nope and resurrects him.) (read their thing first though it’s really good and makes this read better)

“So,” Ford eventually has to ask, “how did you do it?”

Stan blinks at him from the armchair. It’s late, he’s still tired from the incident, and he was expecting they’d go to bed soon. Instead, now Ford’s talking, and his tone sounds like he’s trying too hard to keep it light.

“Do what?” is the first thing Stan’s brain offers, because how could he possibly know something Ford doesn’t know?

“Don’t be obtuse, Stanley.” Ford rolls his eyes, “How did you resurrect me? Did you memorize a spell beforehand? Did you even use an incantation?”

Oh, this. Of course. Stan shrugs,

“Nah. Actually, I’ve got no idea what happened there. I just sorta… focused. I’m thinkin’ it was probably easier because you do so much magic stuff, so I figure you had a bunch of magic in you already or something.”

Ford furrows his brow,

“That’s not really how that works, Stanley.”

“Well, clearly it is, ‘cause you’re here.”

“Yes. I’m here. Because you brought me back to life.”

Stan makes a dismissive “eh” sound and shrugs again. Ford fully does a double take,

“‘Eh’?! What do you mean ‘eh’?! You resurrected me! It took you less than a minute! I was dead, Stanley—“

Stan winces at the word,

“Can we stop talkin’ about that? I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

“No,” Ford feels himself get louder as he grows increasingly agitated, “I need you to understand the magnitude of what you accomplished! You performed a true resurrection in under a minute without—“

“Shut up!”

Ford’s loud confusion quiets as Stan begins to shout,

“I know you were dead, so stop fucking saying it! I saw your head cracked in half, I saw your ribs crushed into little bits, I saw your heart smushed flat, I KNOW. And I’m not lookin’ forward to sleepin’ tonight because I’ve been seein’ it all again every time I close my eyes. I’m probably gonna have nightmares about that forever, and I’ve got no fucking idea how I fixed it!”

Stan slumps further into the plush chair, looking miserable,

“I don’t know how I fixed it, and I don’t know if I could ever do anything like that again. I barely even remember doing it. I just know I saw you and… you couldn’t be dead. It was wrong. I remember thinking it just had to be fixed and you couldn’t exactly do it so I had to fix it and my hands felt funny and I got all dizzy and then you were back, so I was done, and that was that.”

Ford looks at his face exhausted brother sympathetically. He gets it— he still thinks too often about the state he found Stanley in originally, tied up and dying of heatstroke in the trunk of his own car. He remembers the magic he performed to bring his dying brother to him, the surge of energy that his determination brought; that’s something he knows about magic, it feeds on passion and intensity, it works better the more you want it.

Yet, some selfish part of Ford can’t stop thinking about how much work it was for him. The locator spell, the teleportation— both with incantations and specific methods that called upon his expertise— finding his brother within the car, cooling him down, not having enough magic left to bring him into the house with anything but his tired muscles, and that’s not even considering the safety alarm itself—

And Stanley hadn’t even been dead.

It took time after all that for Stanley to recover, and Stanley hadn’t even been dead. Ford died today, and all he has to show for it is a twinge in his back and his legs from how he was awkwardly forced to the ground when the boulder landed on his upper half. When he awoke 36 seconds after his own death, he didn’t even have a headache.

He wants to tell his brother how impressed he is, how incredible such a controlled, intent-based display of magic is. He wants to shout and throw something because how could anyone perform something as complex as a true resurrection without the proper use of spells or incantations, it’s a flippant dismissal, even an offense, to everything he thinks he knows about magic.

Between the incredibly loud, emotionally intense warring sides in Ford’s head, his voice comes out calm and gentle,

“I can prevent nightmares, if that would help.”

Stan looks at him. Ford offers a small, tired smile,

“I know a spell that induces dreamless sleep. I’ve used it on myself before. I can use it on you, if you’d like.”

Stan nods, a small movement.

“That would be nice.”

Ford nods in return.

“Let’s go to bed, then. I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one day.”

When they walk down the hall to what Ford expects to be the guest room only to find Ford’s own room, extended a few extra feet with an extra bed in it, Ford can’t bring himself to argue. Especially not with how grateful Stan looks.

He all but tucks Stan in, using what little magic he has available this evening to ensure him a dreamless sleep and help him drift into it. When Stan conks out, he brushes a strand of hair out of the peaceful, sleeping face before putting himself to bed as well.

When he wakes up only an hour later, plagued by images of Stan’s death that he’s not sure he’d be able to heal the same way, he gives himself a dreamless sleep as well.

[aroacesafeplaceforall]

Hey just so we’re all aware, any sort of “gatekeeping” being asexual or aromantic is not allowed here. I will block you.

For one; it’s none of your business and if it isn’t hurting you hurting them or hurting anyone else don’t make it your business

For two: we have bigger issues then “oh but they have sex sometimes so they can’t be on the asexual SPECTRUM”

Also stop tagging me in your posts if you shitting on other asexuals and aromantics and their identities. I’m not going to participate in that bs

Also^2 there are some asexual and aromantic identities that I’m like “wtf is this” too but that doesn’t mean I’m a fucking exclusionary about it. I’m just like “kinda weird but go off ig” which is my reaction to mspec lesbians as well (y’all are valid; I just don’t understand it and probably never will. You’re VALID I just personally don’t understand it. Like I don’t understand brain surgery doesn’t mean I don’t believe in it)

[brainfuzz]

Also, I'd like to point out that nearly all* of these people think what they are doing is morally justified, correct, legal, and the right thing to do to protect "us." Some of them may believe that deep down to their core, and some be convince themselves they believe it because they really need a job. Everyone is fully capable of being convinced and/or convincing themselves that something wrong is being done for the "right" reasons. Once you get surrounded by other people who are convinced about something, you become part of the echo chamber. The best way I've ever seen it put is in Goodfellas, by the main character's wife who wasn't raised in the mob:

After awhile, it got to be all normal. None of it seemed like crime. It was more like Henry was enterprising, and that he and the guys were making a few bucks hustling, while all the other guys were sitting on their asses, waiting for handouts. Our husbands weren't brain surgeons, they were blue-collar guys. The only way they could make extra money, real extra money, was to go out and cut a few corners.

So yeah, nearly everyone in the SS, and in ICE, are just normal people doing normal people things, and thinking that the atrocities they're committing aren't atrocities, but justifiable actions done to protect the "right" people from the "wrong" people. The logic they use to explain and justify is sound, the difference is they're starting point includes a willingness to do anything and consider the ends justify the means in all cases. The other fundamental difference is that they see a group of people and not individuals. Once you see Jose, who's been here without proper documentation for 30 years, works as a janitor and has raised 3 kids all of whom are college graduates is not just "that Mexican immigrant who's been here illegally and taken jobs from real citizens while collecting handouts from the government" then you start having to treat people like a person and not a caricature or stereotype. And its a hell of a lot easier to subjugate people than it is a person.

I don't know how to combat this. I don't know how you get someone to equate "those people" with Jose down the street. In my experience, people who agree with ICE assume that Jose down the street will be left alone because he's not causing any problems and has been a model citizen; its the rest of them (aka those I don't know) who need to be rounded up and deported. If someone knows how to do fix this, please let me know.

*A small percentage of them are truly evil people, who know what they are doing is morally wrong and don't care, but that's only because those types of people exist in every space, and they're going to gravitate to positions where they can feed that side of themselves.

Someone was asking in a thread what kind of people could work for ICE right now.

I think it's a good time to remember that the image above are the people who put children into gas chambers.

When I was little, I asked what kind of person could work at a concentration camp.

The answer to both questions I think is "normal people who have accepted the dehumanization of another group of people."

[keraiiszn]

ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

It all started at 3:12 AM, when I woke up feeling like my uterus had a personal vendetta against me. Like it had been plotting this moment for nine months, sitting in meetings with my back, my bladder, and my ankles, strategizing on how to make me suffer.

I didn't scream. Not yet. I just laid there breathing heavily like I'd just done a HIIT workout while eating a burrito, and whispered, "Oh no." Because I knew. I KNEW this wasn't Braxton Hicks. This was the real deal. The baby was clocking in for his shift, and he was apparently the type of employee who shows up early and ready to WORK.

"Elijah…" I nudged him with the gentleness of a mother waking her child for school.

He snored. Not just any snore—the deep, satisfied snore of a man who had eaten a full plate of his mama's mac and cheese and watched two episodes of The First 48.

"Elijah," I said louder, with the tone I usually reserved for when he left dishes in the sink.

Nothing. This man was in REM sleep like he was getting paid for it.

I balled up my fist, stared at it like it held the power of Thor's hammer, and thumped it against his chest with the precision of a drummer hitting a snare.

"HUH—WH—WHO—Y/N, YOU GOOD?! We getting robbed?! Where the gun?!"

"I think I'm in labour."

Now let me paint you a picture of how this grown man—this six-foot-six, business-owning, tough-talking man who had practiced birth affirmations with me in the mirror, packed my hospital bag with lavender oils and those expensive soft socks from Target, watched seven birthing videos (and cried during three of them), and made a playlist called "Welcome to the World, Lil Bro" complete with Stevie Wonder and John Legend—got out of that bed.

He moved like his soul was leaving his body and he was trying to catch it.

"Wait—you sure? Like, contraction contractions? Or like when you thought you were in labor last week but it was just gas?"

I gave him a look that could have curdled fresh milk.

"I don't know, baby. I just woke up screaming on the inside and feeling like someone's playing dodgeball with my organs. What you think?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I waddled to the bathroom like a penguin in flip-flops. Sat on the toilet. That's when it happened.

My water broke.

Now see, I thought it would be graceful. Maybe like a gentle spring rain or a leaky faucet. Something manageable. Something I could clean up with a regular towel and some dignity.

Nope.

That thing gushed out like Niagara Falls decided to relocate to my bathroom. Like someone turned on a fire hydrant. I stood up and yelled, "ELIJAH! WE GOT A FLOOD! NOAH NEED TO BUILD AN ARK IN HERE!"

He came flying in—and I mean FLYING, like he had wings—with a mop.

A mop. Not a towel. Not a change of clothes. Not even a "baby, you okay?"

A whole mop.

"Elijah... what are you doing?"

"Cleaning up the water?"

"Baby, that water came from INSIDE ME. You gon' mop me up?!"

He stood there holding that mop like it had betrayed him. "I... I panicked. I heard 'flood' and my brain said 'mop.'"

Another contraction hit me and I had to lean against the sink. "Get me some clothes. And throw that mop away. We ain't mopping up no birth water."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

While I was bent over the bed trying to breathe through a contraction like the doula taught me—in through the nose, out through the mouth, imagine opening like a flower (which, by the way, is the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever told a woman in labour)—Elijah decided, out of nowhere, that the hospital bag I had meticulously packed three weeks ago was "completely unacceptable."

"This can't be all you bringing! Ain't no snacks. What about your bonnet? The good bonnet, not the raggedy one! What about the baby's sound machine? THE LOUNGE SET! You ain't bring the three-piece lounge set you made me drive to three different Targets for?!"

"Elijah—" I started, but another contraction cut me off.

"AND YOUR CHARGER! Lord Jesus in heaven, you forgot your phone charger. We gon' have a baby with no damn phone battery. How we gon' take pictures? How you gon' post on Instagram? Your mama gon' kill us both!"

This man—this grown man who I had watched parallel park a truck and negotiate business deals—was now tearing apart our linen closet, throwing robes and random items into a duffel bag like we were fleeing the country.

I was having a contraction on the floor, bracing against the couch, doing my breathing exercises, and he walked past me and handed me my eyelash curler.

"Elijah. I'm. In. Labor. I don't need lashes."

"You always say you hate looking dusty in pictures! What if someone takes a photo for the hospital newsletter? What if Channel 7 shows up? You said you wanted to look cute meeting the baby!"

I wanted to fight him. I wanted to throw that eyelash curler at his head and then follow it up with the bonnet he was frantically searching for. But another contraction said, "Nah, we're not doing violence today. We're breathing."

"Baby," I said through gritted teeth, "if you don't stop packing like we're going on a three-week vacation and help me get to this car..."

He stopped. Looked at me. Looked at the chaos he'd created. "You right. You right. Let's go have this baby."

Then he grabbed the eyelash curler anyway.

Getting to the hospital should have been simple. We'd driven there twice for practice runs. We knew exactly where to go.

But at 4:30 AM, with me contracting every five minutes and Elijah's adrenaline making him drive like he was in Fast and Furious, everything went wrong.

First, he missed the exit.

"ELIJAH."

"I see it, I see it! I'ma get off at the next one!"

"There IS no next one for three miles!"

Then the GPS decided to recalculate and took us through the scenic route. Through downtown. Past the 24-hour donut shop where Elijah had the audacity to say, "You want anything?"

"DO I WANT ANYTHING?! I want this baby out of me! I want to not feel like I'm being split in half! I want you to drive like you got some sense!"

"I'm just saying, donuts might help—"

"ELIJAH MOORE, if you stop at that donut shop, I'm having this baby in the parking lot and naming him Krispy just to spite you!"

We finally got to the hospital at 5:15 AM. Elijah pulled up to what he thought was the emergency entrance but was actually the loading dock for medical supplies.

A security guard knocked on the window. "Y'all lost?"

"My wife's in labor!" Elijah announced like he was Paul Revere.

The guard looked at me, mid-contraction, gripping the door handle. "Maternity ward is around the front, baby daddy. Follow the pink signs."

"Pink signs," I repeated through my breathing. "Follow the pink signs, baby daddy."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

We got there. I got checked in. Got hooked up to all the monitors. Got examined by a nurse who had clearly seen it all and was not impressed by my dramatics.

"You're 3 centimeters," she announced.

I almost cried. three? THREE? After all that suffering, all that breathing, all that flooding and mop drama, I was only three centimeters?

"That's it?" Elijah asked. "She been in pain for hours."

"First baby?" the nurse asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled the knowing smile of a woman who had probably delivered half the babies in the city. "Oh honey, you've got a long day ahead of you. But don't worry—" she looked at Elijah "—daddy's gonna take real good care of you, ain't you, daddy?"

Then Elijah, this man who had just driven through half the city like a maniac, who had packed our entire linen closet, who had brought a MOP to clean up amniotic fluid, looked at this nurse and asked, "Can she get the epidural now? You know, as like a courtesy? Since we here early?"

The nurse blinked at him. Slow. Deliberate. Like she was processing whether he had really asked what she thought he asked.

"Sir, labor doesn't work on a courtesy system. This ain't the Ritz-Carlton."

I would have laughed if I wasn't busy trying to breathe through another contraction.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I labored all day. ALL DAY. I walked the halls like I was training for a marathon, bouncing on that big rubber ball they gave me (which I decided was invented by someone who clearly hated pregnant women), and did squats in the bathroom because apparently that's what helps.

My mom came around noon with a bag full of snacks and that worried look she gets when she thinks I'm not handling something right.

"You doing okay, baby?"

"I'm fine, Mama. Just bringing your grandson into the world."

Elijah's mama arrived an hour later with enough food to feed a small army and immediately started rearranging the room to her liking.

"This ain't set up right. Why is the bed facing that way? The baby needs to see the window when he come out. Elijah, move that chair. Y/N, you need to eat something. You can't birth no baby on an empty stomach."

I saw Jesus at one point around 3 PM. Not in a religious way—in a "this epidural is hitting different" way. He told me I was doing good and to stop telling Elijah to shut up so much.

I told Jesus that Elijah deserved every "shut up" he got.

Between contractions, I called Elijah every name I could think of. Not mean names—well, not too mean—but I definitely questioned his intelligence, his common sense, and his ability to handle stressful situations.

At one point around 4 PM, this man brought in a Bluetooth speaker and tried to play "Pum Pum Bring Life" by Kalado because "it's to brighten the mood and it’s true that I was bringing life through my pussy."

I threw a cup of ice at him.

Not the whole cup—I needed the ice. Just the ice. It scattered across the floor like musical notes of my frustration.

"Turn it off."

"But baby—"

"TURN. IT. OFF."

The nurse came in to check the commotion and saw Elijah collecting ice cubes from the floor while I glared at him from the bed.

"What happened here?"

"Musical differences," I said.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By 10 PM, I was 8 centimetres. EIGHT. We were getting close, and I could feel it in my whole body. Everything was different now. Intense. Real.

Elijah had been chewing the same piece of gum for four hours—nervous chewing, stress chewing—and the sound was about to make me lose whatever sanity I had left.

"If you don't spit out that gum right now, I'm going to make YOU birth this baby."

That's when he cried. Real tears. Not "I'm overwhelmed" tears or "this is scary" tears, but genuine, deep, emotional tears.

He was holding my hand, looking into my eyes, and saying, "You so strong. You doing so good, baby. Look at you. You growing our son and you ain't even complaining—"

"I've been complaining for nine hours."

"Okay, you complaining, but you DOING it. You really doing it. You got this."

And I believed him. I felt strong. I felt capable. I felt like Wonder Woman and Beyoncé and my mama all rolled into one.

Until I looked over and this man was eating a Slim Jim.

A SLIM JIM. During labor. During this sacred, powerful moment of bringing life into the world.

"Ain't no way. There is absolutely no way you're having a meat stick while I'm pushing out a human being."

He looked at the Slim Jim like it had materiized in his hand without his knowledge. "I'm stressed! I eat when I'm stressed! You know this about me!"

"Throw it away."

"But I just opened it—"

"ELIJAH."

He threw it away. But I could tell he was mourning that Slim Jim.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The nurse checked me one more time. "We're at 10 centimeters. Time to push."

Everything changed. The room got serious. The doctor came in. More nurses appeared. Elijah stood beside me, holding my hand, and I could see in his eyes that he was scared and excited and proud all at once.

"You ready?" the doctor asked.

Was I ready? Was anybody ever ready for this?

"Let's do it."

I pushed. And pushed. And screamed things that I'm pretty sure my mama pretended not to hear from the hallway. I might've said some things that require forgiveness and possibly some Hail Marys.

The doctor kept saying "I can see the head!" and Elijah kept crying and saying "That's my son! That's my son!" like he had just discovered fire.

And then.

Then I heard it.

That cry.

That tiny, loud, miraculous, earth-shattering cry that changed everything.

Elijah sobbed. Full-body sobbed. The kind of crying you do when something so beautiful happens that your body doesn't know how else to respond. His forehead pressed against mine, tears falling on my face. "He here. Oh my God, baby, he here. He really here."

They let him cut the cord, and his hands were shaking so bad the doctor had to help him. Then they laid our son on my chest, and everything else disappeared. I forgot the mop. I forgot the Slim Jim. I forgot the ice throwing and the GPS drama and the four-hour gum chewing. It was just us. Me, Elijah, and this perfect little brown baby with his daddy's nose and what I could already tell was going to be my whole attitude.

"Hi, baby," I whispered. "We been waiting for you."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Around 6 PM, after I had gotten cleaned up and the baby had been checked and weighed and declared perfect, the door opened.

Elias walked in first, all 6'4 of him, ducking slightly under the doorframe, carrying a teddy bear that was bigger than the actual baby and three foil-wrapped casseroles that smelled like heaven.

"I ain't know what y'all was gonna be hungry for, so I brought mac and cheese, green beans, and cornbread. And some of mama's pound cake for later."

Renee came next, wearing a full fur coat—mind you, it was 71 degrees outside—screaming before she even got through the door: "WHERE MY NEPHEW?! I need to see this baby that had y'all acting crazy for nine months!"

Maya trailed behind with a camera and a ring light. "I'm vlogging the first meeting. Y'all don't be weird. Act natural. But also, maybe look towards the camera when you hold him."

Toni brought wine.

"I can't drink that," I said.

"It's for me," she whispered. "Labor stories make me nervous."

The baby was sleeping in his little hospital bassinet, wrapped up like a tiny burrito, completely unbothered by the chaos that was his family.

Elijah was trying to swaddle him for the visitors, and Elias had the nerve to start coaching him from across the room.

"Nah, bro, tuck that corner tighter. You want it snug but not too tight. Like when you—" he paused, looked around the room full of women "—like when you fold a fitted sheet."

"Boy, you don't know nothing about folding fitted sheets," Renee said, pushing past him to get to the baby. "Let me show you how to swaddle. I raised four kids."

Maya was crying because "the baby yawned with purpose" and trying to get it on camera.

Renee asked if we wanted to make him a TikTok account. "For the brand," she said seriously.

Toni kept threatening to take him home. "Just for a week. For bonding. Cozy auntie bonding."

My mama was trying to organize all the gifts they brought while simultaneously making sure everyone washed their hands and didn't wake the baby.

Elijah's mama was critiquing everyone's baby-holding technique and rearranging the flowers they brought "for better energy flow."

The nurse finally had to come in and diplomatically kick them all out. "Visiting hours are over, and mama and baby need their rest."

"We family!" Renee protested.

"Family visiting hours are also over," the nurse said with the authority of someone who had managed many chaotic families.

As they filed out, each one of them kissing me and the baby and promising to come back tomorrow, I realized this was going to be our life now. This beautiful, loud, chaotic, loving circus was our baby's family.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was quiet. Finally quiet. Just me, Elijah, and our son. The baby was sleeping in Elijah's arms, bundled in the blanket that Elias had wrapped him in with surprising gentleness for such big hands.

Elijah was in the chair next to my bed, staring at our son like he was trying to memorize every detail of his face.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you more," I whispered back.

"You cussed me out seventeen times today."

"You deserved every single one."

He smiled. That soft smile he gets when he knows I'm right but doesn't want to admit it.

I leaned over and kissed his hand, the one that wasn't supporting our baby. "Thank you. For being here. For the panic packing. For bringing a mop to clean up amniotic fluid. For the Slim Jim stress eating. For everything."

He kissed my forehead. "You made me a dad. You made us a family."

Our son let out a tiny sigh in his sleep, the softest sound I had ever heard. Like he was perfectly content to be exactly where he was.

And just like that, the hardest, funniest, wildest, most chaotic day of our lives became the best day of our lives.

I looked at Elijah holding our baby, both of them peaceful and perfect, and thought about how this little person was going to grow up with the most loving, crazy, dramatic family in the world. He was going to have a daddy who packed entire linen closets and brought mops to floods, a mama who threw ice during labor, uncles who brought too much food, aunties who wanted to make him TikTok famous, and grandmamas who rearranged hospital rooms for better energy.

He was going to be so loved.

And probably so confused.

But mostly loved.

"What are we gonna call him?" I asked.

Elijah looked down at our son, then at me. "I don't know. But whatever we choose, he's gonna have some stories to tell about the day he was born."

"Starting with the mop?"

"Definitely starting with the mop."

Our baby opened his eyes for just a moment, looked around like he was taking inventory of his new world, then closed them again with what I swear was a satisfied expression.

Welcome to the family, little one. It's going to be a wild ride.

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[cosmogyros]

language-learning advice from a pro

(I started writing this post just now as a message to a friend who asked for language-learning advice. But I’m a GIANT NERD when it comes to language learning, so it got wayyy too long to be a message. So I’m posting it here in the hopes that it might help others as well. I have not edited this or even read through it all yet – it just poured straight out of my fingers – so please let me know if you spot any typos!)

Okay, first of all, there are two parts to language learning: active learning and passive exposure. You can choose to do only one or the other, but you’ll have the most success if you do both.

ACTIVE LEARNING

Active learning is pretty much what it sounds like: actively focusing on the language, learning new words, sounds, phrases, idioms, etc. It’s often centered around a textbook, sometimes with accompanying audio, but you can do active learning in other ways too. For example, you can read a news article online and check a dictionary for every word you don’t know. Or do the same thing with a foreign film – when you hear a word you don’t know (or see it in the subtitles), pause the movie and look it up.

Active learning makes you progress fast, but it also tires out your brain and overwhelms it with new information, making it easier to forget things you’ve already learned. That’s why it’s best to space out your active learning sessions and fill the gaps with passive exposure.

PASSIVE EXPOSURE

The goal of passive exposure is for your brain to randomly encounter words and phrases it learned recently and go “Hey! I recognize that!” This is SO important not only for reviewing and consolidating your memory, but also keeping up your motivation! If the only place you ever encounter your TL (target language) is in your textbook, on some subconscious level your brain will think it’s not that important… because after all, you never encounter it out there in the real world, do you?

Passive exposure can include any of the following and much more: listening to music in your TL; watching a movie in your TL (either with English subs, or with no subs at all and just don’t worry if you don’t understand everything that’s going on); skim-reading a book or a short story or a news article or a blog post in your TL and looking for words you recognize, even if you can’t 100% remember what they mean; finding speakers of your TL in real life and eavesdropping on them; watching instructional YouTube videos or short documentaries in your TL (the visuals ought to help you understand some of what’s going on, even if there are no subtitles); etc.

The idea is to let your TL wash over you without straining your brain at all. Zero effort, just relaxation and fun. You will inevitably notice and understand a few words or phrases, and that percentage will increase as time goes on, but you’re not actively studying when you’re doing passive exposure. Remember the two things you’re trying to achieve with passive exposure: 1) effortless review/practice, by inevitably re-encountering some stuff you’ve already learned; 2) reminding your brain that this language is a real cool thing out there in the world, not just a boring chore located in a textbook.

But there are also two more extremely important benefits to passive exposure that are drastically neglected by most language-learners: 3) picking up the correct pronunciation and accent; 4) gaining an instinct for natural, native-sounding language.

These are two things you will not learn in a language class or from a textbook. You can’t learn them except by doing a LOT of listening and reading in your TL. But the good news is that it doesn’t need to be the “Active Learning” kind of reading and listening; it can absolutely be the “Passive Exposure” kind, and you will still pick this stuff up.

The most important thing, above all else, is to figure out a method of passive exposure that works for YOU personally. This means: do NOT force yourself to repeatedly do something that you don’t enjoy, because you won’t benefit from it. To pick the right method, think of your interests and the things you like to do in your free time: watching movies? reading books? listening to music? writing in your journal? surfing the internet? You can do any of this in your TL, too. Yes, you will encounter a lot of stuff you don’t understand at the beginning. But A) that’s good for you, it helps you learn patience, which every language-learner needs, and B) the internet has free translation tools everywhere you look.

COMBINING BOTH

Personally, I like to pick a well-respected textbook with accompanying audio (Assimil is my favorite; Teach Yourself and Colloquial can also be very good, especially the older editions; Linguaphone used to be fantastic but I’m not sure if it’s still around) and work my way through it, doing one lesson per day if possible. That takes only about 10 to 20 minutes, so that leaves a lot of time for passive exposure. My preferred method is listening to music (I learned a good 50% of my German from just obsessively listening to German pop music in high school), but here are some other things I like to do:

find an internet talk radio station in my TL and put it on in the background

same deal with a podcast

translate a few keywords related to my favorite hobbies/interests into the TL and then paste that text into YouTube and watch random videos in my TL

read a news article in English, and then find a news website in my TL and see if I can find an article about the same topic in that language

watch bad reality TV or soaps in my TL with no subtitles, just trying to guess what’s going on from context

etc.

No Duolingo. No Rosetta Stone. (I’ve written a whole post about the latter here.) You don’t need to spend any money at all, though if you e.g. use a pirated resource to learn and find that it really helps you, I strongly suggest buying it from the original producer after the fact, to say thank you.

MEMORIZATION

This is very much a “YMMV” piece of advice, but: if you’re having trouble memorizing stuff, just don’t. Don’t bother trying to remember anything. Remember that “passive exposure” bit? It does a lot of the heavy lifting in terms of memory. If you keep bumping into the same word or phrase over and over again, you will incorporate it into your body of knowledge almost effortlessly. Of course this is easier with more common words that turn up again and again – but you’d be surprised how well you can get by, especially at the lower levels, with only the more common words!

Intentionally memorizing vocabulary can of course be very beneficial, so there’s nothing wrong with it. But I notice that it’s often one of the biggest pain points for language learners, and I believe language learning should be pain-free.

FROM INPUT TO OUTPUT

Once you’ve gotten a good grasp of the basics of the language, a really effective way to consolidate the knowledge you’ve gained is to use it actively and creatively yourself, in speech or writing (or ideally both!). For speaking practice, besides simply making friends who are native speakers of the language, you can search for a physical or virtual tandem. This is when you meet up with someone who’s a native speaker of your TL and is trying to learn your own language. You can meet for, say, an hour, and chat together for half an hour in your native language, and then half an hour in their native language. So both of you benefit!

Don’t underestimate talking to yourself, too. Whether it’s narrating your actions, complaining to your pet (okay, I guess that’s not technically “talking to yourself”), or simply having an imaginary conversation with someone else, it’s actually a good way to practice.

I also really enjoy writing in my journal in my target languages. The act of hand-writing a word does a lot to help me remember it. If you like writing, of course, you could also look up penpals who speak your TL.

And that’s about it. As always, I am more than willing to answer specific questions on language learning, as this is something of a specialty of mine and I absolutely love to help other folks get started on their own language-learning journeys. Please feel free to drop me a line if you need any concrete advice or are struggling with some aspect of your current language-learning efforts!

[rincent-van-uggh]

Ahh this is so much what I have been thinking. Even if I agreed with intellectual property in principle, IP law benefits corporations far, far more than small artists (because the law only protects those who can afford to enforce it).

All the notions that AI is cheating because it makes the process of art making too easy are not at all distinct, so far as I can see, from people saying the same things about any new art making technology (digital art, electronic music, people say these things are not real art for the same reasons). I mean, people trying to pass off AI art as if they themselves hand painted it are just idiots telling lies, nothing new. If someone uses AI to generate the background for an drawing they did, and they're honest about it, thats just art. People do the same thing with backgrounds not generated by AI too.

I find a lot of AI criticism comes down to "this tool is being operated and peddaled by idiots" rather than that the tool itself is bad. "People who use AI to study for them get lower grades" well duh, having anything study for you is incoherent, you necessarily have to use your own brain for that. If what they mean by this is that people are using AI to write notes and summaries for them to read, this is also misguided as AI cannot reliably create accurate summaries, if it adds in nonsense, you may not realise and study stuff it entirely made up.

There are also adjacent issues. Like I dont take issue particularly with public data being fed to the machine apart from how empowering AI in our current system means empowering shitty corporations. But sometimes private data may be fed to the machine, corporations are getting increasingly sneaky and invasive, changing ToS to say that they can use any of your stuff, even non-public things to train AI. While AI tends to mix together loads of stuff into its outputs, it is feasible that an AI could be fed private data and spit it out wholesale, and we have no way to prevent this currently. I am glad that i have managed to move entirely off of things like google drive because I don't trust them to uphold privacy at the best of times, but especially not in this context.

My main issue with AI, honestly, is that I find it annoying. It keeps being put in places I dont want it, to solve problems I don't have. I think this is a popular position to hold here on tumblr, where we have several times pushed the website management to allow us to opt out of new trendy features we dont like, such as "best stuff first" and other algorithmic generated features, and "tumblr live". I object to having new technology replace the old stuff, not only because the old stuff is what I am familiar with, but because often times it works, in at least some important ways, better than the new stuff. I don't need AI generated art, I enjoy making art myself. I do not want AI customer service chat bot, it is less effective at addressing my needs than the humans are.

The tool is fine, but almost every time I encouter it, it is being used by idiots to uninteresting ends, and I would like to not have to encounter it if I don't want or need to.

Worst part of popular left wing AI discourse online is that there's absolutely a need for a robust leftist opposition to use of cognitive automation without social dispensation to displaced human workers. The lack of any prior measures to facilitate a transition to having fewer humans in the workplace (UBI, more public control over industrial infrastructure, etc) is a disaster we are sleepwalking into - one that could lock the majority of our society's wealth further into the hands of authoritarian oligarchs who retain control of industry through last century private ownership models, while no longer needing to rely on us to operate their property.

But now we're seemingly not going to have the opposition we so desperately need, because everyone involved in the anti-AI conversation has pretty thoroughly discredited themselves and their movement by harbouring unconstrained reactionary nonsense, blatant falsehoods and woo. Instead of talking about who owns and benefits from cognitive automation, people are:

Demanding impossibilities like uninventing a now readily accessible technology

Trying to ascribe implicit moral value to said technology instead of the who is using it and how

Siding with corporations on copyright law in the name of "defending small artists"

Repeating obvious and embarrassing technical misconceptions and erroneous pop-sci about machine learning in order to justify their preferred philosophy

Invoking neo-spiritual conservative woo about the specialness of the human soul to try to incoherently discredit a machine that can quite obviously perform certain tasks just as well if not better than they can

Misrepresent numbers about energy use and environmental cost in an absurd double standard (all modern infrastructure is reliant on data centers to a similar level of impact, including your favourite fandom social media and online video games!) to build a narrative AI is some sort of malevolent spirit that damages our reality when it is called upon

It's a level of reactionary ignorance that has completely discredited any popular opposition to industrial AI rollout because it falls apart as soon as you dig deeper than a snappy social media post, or a misguided pro-copyright screed from an insecure web artist (who decries a machine laying eyes on their freely posted work while simultaneously charging commission for fan-art of corporate IPs... I'm sure that will absolutely resolve in their favour).

It would be funny how much people are fucking themselves over with all this, except I'm being fucked over to, and as a result am really quite mad about the situation. We need UBI, we need to liberate abundance from corporate greed, what we don't need is viral posts about putting distortion filters on anime fan-art to ward off the evil mechanical eye, pointless boycotts of platforms because they are perceived to have let the evil machines taint them, or petitions to further criminalize the creation of derivative works.