#creating things is beautiful because YOU created it

[travelingthief]

Disabled people are not a "what if?" scenario btw. I've seen a lot of people disregard bedridden disabled people recently, I assume because they think the concept is a scapegoat. Polytheist circles are filled with disabled people who don't deserve to have their abilities or practices up for public scrutiny.

When we make blanket statements, we are often hurting the most marginalized members of a community. When we make blanket statements discouraging one thing or another, but tack on "unless you're disabled!!" the harm has already been done, and frantically, stings a little more. Disabled people - and I can not stress this enough - are forgotten about in just about every aspect of society.

I think of it like this -

My partner - a wheelchair user - and I went to an event to meet new people, make art, and connect over our shared identities of queerness. My partner contacted the organizers ahead of time and asked about accessibility. They were told the place was wheelchair accessible, we'd just have to use a different entrance. Cool, fine, great! Time for a good night!

We get to the venue and the wheelchair-accessible entrance is locked (don't even get me started on the parking situation). So I go through the inaccessible entrance and get them to let my partner in. The event room was small, cramped, and everyone was at standing tables making art. The organizer, who knew a wheelchair user was coming, was flustered, and cleared off a table in the corner for us to sit at.

So there we were, in the corner of the room, ostracized from others. And the table wasn't even wheelchair accessible. It was just lower than the standing tables. Being shoved in a corner as an afterthought is not accessibility. We ended up leaving. The organizer? Surprised we didn't stay long. Gee, I wonder why we left.

So when we're in these online spaces, we have to ask ourselves - are we truly considering disabled people. When you make a post about how you feel something should be done, are you actually considering disabled people? Or are you gonna get flustered when they show up and clear off a table to act like you're an ally?

We've created these online spaces to share our love and worship of the gods. We all know full well that disabled worshippers are present and contribute beautiful things to our community, yet so often they are left out of the conversations; the door for them is locked. Then when they enter the conversation, they're faced with the grueling reality that no one stopped to consider them despite claiming to be an inclusive space. So they get shoved off in the corner. And when they speak up, abled-bodied people are taken aback.

Have your opinions. Live and let live. But for fucks sake remember disabled people - of all abilities - exist.

[cameronsbabydoll]

i know that scc reader isn't supposed to be independent but PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE indulge me here. she's been around all his business meetings, all his financial consultings, and every single time he's had to sweet talk his way into a deal that works for him. she knows how her husband sweet talks to potential business partners, and she knows how it all works thanks to her unknowing husband. i remember when you mentioned that she had an interest in i think either jewelry or fashion i forget which (sorry) and her daughter pushes her to pursue that as a business. talking to suppliers and potential employees, she finds herself unknowingly using the skills that she's unconsciously picked up from her husband . but because he's always at the office and barely at home, he doesn't even notice that this business even exists. once he notices that she's been pulling away, asking him for less, going out more (meetings, etc), then he starts to get a little suspicious...cue him asking her for her opinion for the most minuscule things, anything to keep his wife close, anything to keep the beautiful fairytale life he's created for himself. because now he sees that he's not in control, he's not the only one with power anymore

🪽

it starts small.

a sketch here. a late-night pinterest board she never shows him. old moodboards folded between recipe books. he doesn't notice — because he's not looking.

and why would he? he thinks he knows her.

his perfect, delicate wife. the one who barely leaves the house unless it's for him or the kids.

but he forgets

she’s been by his side through everything.

the late-night dealmaking. the client dinners. the endless afternoons watching him pour honey over every word to get exactly what he wanted.

she never spoke.

but she watched.

and somewhere along the way, she learned.

her daughter is the one who nudges her.

"mama, you should make stuff again."

"people would buy it, i swear. you always look so pretty. you could make other people look pretty too."

and for once, she listens.

she starts slowly. a few consultations. an appointment at a supplier’s showroom. her voice trembles at first, but it works. she knows how to play polite. she knows how to disarm. she knows how to smile and say, “i completely understand your concerns, but let me offer you a better margin.”

because she’s heard it all before — from rafe.

she doesn’t even realize she’s mimicking him until she’s halfway through an email and hears his voice in her phrasing.

by the time rafe notices, it’s too late.

she’s going out more.

not for brunch or shopping — meetings.

and she’s not asking for money anymore.

not waiting for his approval.

not needing him in the way that used to keep him warm at night.

suddenly he’s hovering in the kitchen asking her what color shoes he should wear with his suit.

asking if this contract clause sounds manipulative or smart.

asking her to come to a meeting just to listen, even though she hasn’t done that in years.

and she gives him soft, distracted answers.

because her head is full of inventory sheets and supplier minimums and opening week deadlines.

because she’s finally making something hers.

he doesn't say it out loud.

but the panic sits in his chest like ice.

because for the first time in their marriage—

he’s not the only one who knows how to win.

and he can feel her slipping from his hands.

[wisteria-honey]

I couldn't leave all this in the tags, it's too true. These are horribly predatory teachings, and I say this as a Christian. If someone who claims to be a Christian tells you that you should be suffering because enjoying anything on earth is a sin, RUN SO FAST AND FAR AWAY.

God said multiple times that He created this world to be beautiful, that He intended for us to enjoy it, and He wanted us to enjoy Him through all the beautiful things He made for us. Honestly not unlike the lot of us, connecting by making art and appreciating each other for it and being appreciated for it. Art is, IMO, the most Godly pastime we have, creating out of our imaginations just like He did. If anyone says you shouldn't be enjoying existence, they want to put you down to make themselves feel like they are better than you.

The suffering that Christianity ought to be speaking of is not a threat, it is a warning because people like to hurt people, and the rest is meant to brace you so you can continue to enjoy the beauty and pleasure of life on this earth even when the worst happens. You were never meant to bow and just take it. You were meant to walk through it with your head high and make a change in the world. Do not deny yourself the beautiful things in life, God put them there to make your life beautiful.

God is a God of love first and foremost, and love does not abuse.

"desire is the root of all suffering" actually suffering is the root of all suffering. hope this helps!

[sunschay]

You Bring Me Back to Life || Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Despite your broken heart, you try your best to overcome the huge hole that your ex-girlfriend, Natasha, left in your chest. You just never imagined in a million years that you would fall in love again, with your best friend, the Scarlet Witch.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: None

Word count: 5,755 words

Part 2 from A House of Lies

Sweat runs down your neck and drips from your forehead, accumulating on the back of your neck. The park is open and looks pleasant, it's still early so a small crowd of people gather around the huge green lawn, some chatting, others simply doing some exercise or admiring the crystal clear lake a few meters away or the huge fountain with a beautiful bronze sculpture. You stop, unscrew the cap from the transparent bottle and collect all the water to your stomach in minutes. 

Exactly three months ago, your life changed dramatically. Especially because you simply discovered that your lovely ex-girlfriend, none other than Black Widow, had been cheating on you for months right under your nose, in addition to having lied several times that she was going on missions with the rest of the Avengers. 

You trusted Natasha deeply and she destroyed your heart without even thinking about how you would feel. Besides, you were sick, isolated at home, on bed rest because a serious pneumonia had caught you. 

The fact that Natasha had taken advantage of your weak physical state, damaged by the virus, to betray you with fucking Captain America still hurt you deep down.

Fortunately, you had realized how much Natasha hurt you. Not only because of the cheatings you discovered, but sometimes you simply reflected on Romanoff's behavior and saw that she didn't seem completely ready for a relationship. Sure, she took care of you, even more so after you got sick, but when it came to companionship and trust, things were different. She always seemed suspicious of you even without giving her any reason to, and she didn't know how to solve an argument without yelling or sex, she really thought that fucking would solve everything. But no, you always prioritized dialogue and patience, things that Natasha really didn't mind putting ahead of your relationship.

Natasha also didn't know how to show her feelings clearly.

You didn't blame her for that, after all, the Red Room reshaped her into a cold woman created to be a special assassin with no limitations. 

Still, Natasha wasn't exactly the most loving type. She was a difficult person to deal with and you knew it from the beginning, but you fell for her anyway. Not because of her body, although she seemed sculpted by the gods above with every curve and every inch of soft, warm skin, even with her scars. She was a good person. She was a great friend and knew how to deal with situations of all kinds. 

She just wasn't a good girlfriend. She wasn't loyal either, and that kind of spoiled her. 

“God, it could be less hot.” You lamented, already completely drenched in sweat from your morning runs. 

You had learned something good from this lesson. Natasha had taught you, not directly, but she had opened your eyes to see that you needed to care much more about yourself than just the people around you who could stab you in the back. Exactly as she did. You were fortunately able to recover from pneumonia and were already feeling better and much more energetic. That's why you had already returned to your intense training and running, after all, taking care of your body had always been a habit, not an obligation.  

Things were going well, except for her completely broken mental state and her trust issues having returned because of what she did. 

Yeah, she really did a number on you. 

You sighed in relief when you entered your new temporary apartment, placing the bottle to fill under the cold filter and packing your things in your bag. You were still going to go to the gym that was a few meters away from the neighborhood. Moving from city to city and country was a habit for you, almost an addiction, but visiting France was always very frequent, since you spent a good part of your childhood here. You loved the landscapes, the food, the romanticism of the country – even though you had no one to share your romanticism and feel loved with – and you loved the extremely wide and common image of the Eiffel Tower. 

Either way, you needed to take a break from the United States, and from the things that reminded you of Natasha, because those things were there with her. 

“Fuck, holy shit Wanda, you want to kill me before I'm 40? I haven't even had kids yet!” You exclaimed as you turned around, seeing the witch leaning against your living room window. 

And there she was. Dressed in her usual dark goth clothes, leather jacket, boots, tight pants and a dark purple shirt underneath the jacket, her blue eyes looking at you as if she was seeing a miracle in front of her. Her red hair was a little longer than the last time you saw her, but she looked beautiful. Absurdly beautiful, and breathtaking, you thought. 

You mentally scolded yourself, thinking that you shouldn't look at your friend like that. 

Anyway, you simply disappeared from New York shortly after you got better physically and after you broke up with Natasha, so you didn't even give any explanations to any of your teammates, which must have certainly upset them. Exclusively Wanda herself. 

“If Steve were here, he would have lectured you for an hour for having such a foul mouth.” She laughed, the way her lips curved was adorable.

Your body quickly went still at the mention of Rogers' name. You felt your shoulders tense and your muscles turn to stone, a bitter, disgusting taste forming on your tongue as you remembered exactly how much contempt and disgust you carried for him now. 

“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Y/n...I forgot for a moment.” She apologized, feeling guilty for mentioning his name as quickly as she saw you.

“Alright, relax, Wands. Everything's fine. What are you doing here? Or rather, how did you get in, you clever little witch?” You teased her, the smile on her lips making you melt for a minute. 

“Oh, are you forgetting for a moment about my super invasive magical gifts? I came to see a friend. I know you left New York as soon as that happened and I'm really sorry. But you had me worried sick, Precious.” She sighed, now looking a little nervous. 

“Oh. Sure. She told you. Yeah, I just thought everything was fine between us and that she was happy, Wanda. But she chose to be happier by cheating on me with him right under my nose and fooling me like I was nothing.” You replied, licking your lips with a blank look. 

“She didn't have to tell me anything, Y/n. I felt it. I just felt it when you left and I felt your pain, so deep and so agonizing. You don't deserve any of this. Anyway, I had the displeasure of seeing them kissing at the Complex the other day.” She said, completely uncomfortable and disgusted with the subject. 

“Anyway. Come give me a hug before I rip your ears off if you try to disappear like that again without telling me.” She said seriously, seeing you laugh lightly and come closer. 

As soon as you hugged Wanda, everything seemed to disappear for a minute. You loved her hug, if her voice could comfort you, her touch made you melt. Her scent was even better, a sweet and light mix of fragrant vanilla and coffee. You closed your eyes, feeling her arms lightly squeeze your shoulders, bringing you closer, and you shivered when her breath lightly passed close to your neck. 

You always suspected why Wanda never had a romantic relationship with anyone. 

To be honest, you had heard some rumors from some certain little birds (Those that started with C and T) that she liked you. Of course you thought it was absurd at the time, you were best friends and you faithfully believed that Wanda only saw you that way, even knowing that Natasha was extremely irritating and frustratingly jealous of you with the Maximoff girl who always treated you so well and so affectionately. 

Still, you couldn't believe that Wanda could like you. 

Okay, sometimes you had reason to be suspicious of course. You were the only person on the team who always received a kiss on the cheek from Wanda (she only kissed her twin, Pietro, before he died) and she always let you lay your head on her lap to vent for hours about your problems, just like you always did with her too, after all you were super close to each other. 

She also used to give you affectionate nicknames like Smarty or Precious. And maybe that's why Natasha didn't like this friendship that you and Wanda share at all, but now Romanoff was no longer a flea behind your ear to worry about. 

You two weren't even together anymore anyway. 

“Hmm...you need a bath, honey.” She said, making you burst out laughing and leaned in close, her lips dangerously kissing the corner of your mouth. 

You shivered, your muscles turning to jelly and your skin crawling. It was embarrassing and it seemed confusing to you, because not even Natasha had that kind of effect on you, when the two of you were together. But Wanda... Wanda was deep, not just in her eyes but in her manner, her hands. God. She was incredible. 

“I know, little witch. I'll be working on it.” You chuckled, licking your lips thirstily. 

Removing the thick, warm sweatshirt from your torso, you adjusted the black tank top on your body. You usually used to wear cold weather clothes and sweatshirts to cover your body, after all, your insecurity with it was endless. A bit confusing, after all, you had always been in shape and your physique was amazing, but the various scars around your body from the battles with the team over the years and your body dysmorphia made you feel completely weak and useless. 

You pulled the bottle out from under the water filter, taking a long drink and suppressing a groan as the freezing water chilled your sensitive teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you felt Wanda drinking from your body, her hungry green eyes moving up and down every part of you. 

This makes your face heat up and turn red like a raw pepper. 

A sigh left your lips and you tried to ignore it, thinking it was paranoia coming from your head. You grabbed a towel and a pair of clothes, a long black t-shirt and knee-length workout shorts, taking off your shoes and sweaty socks. 

“Would you like something to drink? Tea, some bitter coffee? I can get you something before I wash off the skunk smell I have.” You smiled, seeing her return a light smile. 

“Maybe just some herbal tea. But don't rush, go take a bath to relax your body. I'll be here.” She said, her cheeks reddening for some reason. 

You'd love to be able to read her mind like she used to do with everyone. 

“I'll be back in five minutes.” You walk away slowly, entering the small bathroom. 

The cold water made your bones shiver and your back arch slightly. As you washed yourself, you stopped to think if your paranoid theory was right about Wanda liking you. What if she did, and you gave in again only to get hurt again like you had when you were with Natasha? 

No, Wanda wouldn't do that. Right? 

She was the type of woman who would easily like to start a family just like Clint did, live in a calmer and more isolated place, in a house full of children and far from any chaos that could involve the Avengers. 

Even so, you were afraid. 

Wanda made your heart flutter and burn every time you looked at her face. Her voice, her hands, her words, everything about her calmed you. She was naturally sweet. She had lost everything a long time ago and yet she was still the same girl you knew, the same girl who might be the one for you. 

“Noisy head.” You muttered to yourself, the millions of thoughts about Maximoff making you feel lost. 

Once the shower was over, you wrapped yourself in a towel and brushed your teeth, finishing the rest of the hygiene routine you maintained. Drying your hair and the rest of your body, you got dressed again, your body smelling of fresh soap and freshly showered. Wanda was sitting comfortably in one of the corners of your couch, her eyes staring outside your living room window, looking distracted. You rested the slightly damp towel on one of your shoulders, putting on your slippers and putting water in a kettle, starting to boil on the stove. 

“What's the little witch thinking, huh? Vision, perhaps?” You joked, seeing her look at you with a hilarious expression. 

The fact that Vision was a robot created by a small incident years ago did not prevent him from having feelings and he himself has made it clear several times that he liked Wanda romantically. She, however, did not seem to share the same feelings, but still saw him as a friend like the rest of the team. 

“Certainly not. You still really think I like him, huh?” She laughed, watching you pour some herbs into the boiling water and a tea bag with chamomile tea inside. 

“I know he's been head over heels for you ever since he joined us. But I see that you just don't seem to feel the same way and I understand that.” You answered simply, grabbing two cups and watching the water begin to bubble. 

“I know, and I hope he finds someone who deserves him. I think we all deserve a little love sometimes.” She said and you nodded without much emotion, feeling her approach you. 

Natasha made you believe that you didn't deserve love anymore ever since that happened. But that wasn't all. You just felt like your heart was building iron walls around itself, trying to defend itself from any possible loving 'threat'. You hated feeling that way, but you also knew it wasn't your fault. 

“Y/n. We need to talk a little, okay?” She said and you shivered when you felt her right behind your back, but you just nodded. 

“Sure. Did something happen?” You turned around, pressing your back against the counter and she shook her head with a smile. 

“No, certainly not. Today is Nate's birthday. Clint invited us, he'd love to have you come.” She said, already noticing the tension in your shoulders. 

“Will everyone be there?” The question came firmly from your mouth, but also with fear. 

“Everyone on the team. Although we haven't been a team since... a year ago. If I may say so.” Wanda muttered, swallowing hard. 

It's true. Since the Civil War a year ago, everything has changed dramatically, as the team has split up to fight against each other because of the Sokovia Accords imposed by the cold Secretary of State, Ross. 

“Wanda, you know how I feel about being around those... people. I don't want to cause any trouble.” You said, the thought of seeing Natasha making your stomach turn. 

“I totally get that, my precious. But you also need to understand that sometimes it might be impossible not to see her or Rogers, or both of them in the same place. Sometimes you have to face your biggest fears. Come on, Y/n. You don't have to stay the whole party, let's just have some fun, forget about our problems, you know Clint and Nate would love to see you there, we miss you among us.” She said, biting her lip as she hoped to change your mind. 

Well, she had a point. You missed Barton's son and Clint himself, his family was like a second family to you, if you had one, but being with them was like forgetting everything and anything bad. 

“Okay, I'll go to the party, Wands. For you.” You say, seeing something in the depths of her eyes shine and she hugs you sideways, one hand gripping your arm.

“It's on his farm in Iowa. Before eleven o'clock at night. I'm sure you won't regret it.” She says, making you smile sideways as you pour both cups and hand one to her. 

[...]

If regret killed, you would already be unconscious, sinking into a pool of blood. But you weren't. And you were doing this for Wanda, Nate, and Clint. You deeply missed your friends, missed the way things were before the Sokovia Accords separated everyone and put a good part of the team in a prison on the Raft. Anyway, that was over and here you were in Iowa, one year later. The night was starry, twinkling lights hanging from some posts in front of the Barton house and some familiar faces gathered around a table. 

Looking around, you faithfully hoped you wouldn't have to face Natasha there, but you could already see a tangle of red hair and the figure of a short body near the table made you shiver. Stay strong, you repeat to yourself several times. 

Gathering some courage, you walked over to the table, seeing a few bottles of beer and small glasses of soda scattered there, along with a cake with blue whipped cream cut in half. Nathaniel quickly recognized you on Clint's lap and you hugged them, stroking the child's short hair. 

“Look who showed up, those who are alive always show up! Hey, kid, you had me worried, you were gone for too long. How are things, huh?” He chuckled, ruffling your hair slightly and hugging you sideways. 

“I'm fine, Clint, thanks for the invite. For Nate and for you guys I'll go anywhere. I'm fine, things are slowly going in the right direction.” You said, watching him nod with some concern. 

It was already obvious that Clint knew that you and Natasha had broken up. You just wondered if she said that she was the one who ruined everything between you and that she cheated on you with Rogers. 

“I'm so sorry, mate. For you and Nat... I know what it's like to lose what you hold most dear in life.” He said, giving you a knowing look and you smiled weakly. 

“She was sweet, Clint, until she fucked up herself. But I appreciate the support. Mmm, beer, I could smell it from afar.” You laughed lightly, grabbing a bottle and opening the lid with your teeth, spitting it out and saw Clint frown in confusion. 

He didn't know anything. Natasha really was a tremendous liar. 

“Of course she wouldn't tell you, Clint, you're her best friend. She cheated on me with Steve, for months, yes while I was sick at home needing her attention and affection. People are not what they seem, I learned that kind of late. Don't worry, I've sorted it out with her.” You took a sip of the cold drink, watching Clint sigh in complete disbelief. 

It didn't matter if Natasha and he were best friends or not, Clint was also your friend and he saw you as a sibling, sometimes you even seemed like family, so what she did to you wasn't fair. 

“This isn't fair, Jesus, Y/n! She... fuck, she will hear the sermon she has never heard in her life, she needs to know that this is cowardice. You can make yourself at home, I'm going to call Laura to cut your cake, there are more sweets inside the house.” He said, giving you a quick hug and walked away to the house to clean the small mess Nate made on his shirt. 

You opened your mouth and closed it, sighing deeply as he walked away. You appreciated that about Clint, though. He was always a fair and principled man, so he certainly wouldn't let Natasha off the hook for the shit she did. Steve was also to blame for that anyway. 

“Hey, hacker! Did you miss me?” You laughed, watching Tony come closer and hug you. 

Even though you had been at odds with each other a year ago, Tony was one of the closest people on the team to you besides Clint and Thor, who apparently wasn't here. It was rare for you two to fight for a long time, you always found a way to resolve things. Your and Stark's sarcasm and genial demeanor really complemented each other. You still greeted Sam Wilson and the 'Bucky' nearby, ignoring Rogers' smug and arrogant face nearby, giving a brief wave to Laura, Clint's wife who was taking care of the children. 

“How can I not miss my favorite tin head? How are things with Pepper, big guy?” You smiled, taking another sip of your beer. 

“Listen, I heard about what happened with Romanoff, and I'm so sorry. She doesn't deserve you. I never liked the popsicle face to be honest.” He said, making you let out a light laugh. 

“I know, they deserve each other. It's okay Tony, I'm better off alone.” You whispered and he nodded. 

The night continued to unfold calmly and slowly, and you hated feeling Natasha's gaze on your back, even though she hadn't said anything. You looked ahead and your eyes lit up when the sight of Wanda approaching made you smile, wearing a shiny black dress that ended at her knees, her wavy hair loose and her face illuminated without much makeup. She didn't need any makeup, she was always so incredibly beautiful. You felt your heart race and bit your lip. 

To be honest, you rarely saw Wanda wearing dresses, it felt like the first time. 

“Look who came. I'm glad my mind manipulation had some effect.” She teased you, giggling as she approached. 

Your arms opened wide for her, one hand still holding the drink, and she quickly enveloped herself in the warmth of your embrace. You felt Wanda shiver for some reason as your somewhat bold free hand (the effect of the alcohol) gently touched her back and the side of her slim waist. Wanda laughed lightly against your neck, tightening the hug, and you almost grunted in frustration when she pulled away to greet the rest of the group. Her scent had lingered on you and was so wonderful that it intoxicated you like a new addiction. 

“You look beautiful, little witch. Always smelling so good.” You greeted, watching her cheeks turn pink and Wanda serve you a piece of cake on a colorful plate. 

“I can say the same about you, smarty.” She said, sending you an air kiss. 

Everything seemed peaceful as you ate and chatted in a group with each other, Wanda, Clint, and Tony. It was good to know that things were finally back to the way they were before the whole Sokovia thing. You wiped your lips, which were previously stained with whipped cream and chocolate filling, handing a wrapped present to Nate who was in Clint's arms. You faithfully hoped that he liked plushies because nothing else had come to mind as a birthday present for a 2-year-old. 

“Still not going to greet me?” A husky female voice with an unrecognizable Russian accent came through and you almost rolled your eyes. 

“Good evening, Natasha.” You answered seriously, feeling her deep green eyes look you up and down. 

“Good evening. You've gotten much closer than just friends. Have you ever kissed each other, perhaps?” She teased, trying to look innocent, looking between you and Wanda. 

“You can be sure that whoever wasted one of their kisses would be missing out on a lot, Romanoff.” Wanda smiled tightly, watching Natasha's expression fall and you heard Clint approaching the table. 

“I didn't remember you being so rude, Maximoff. Has time been hard on you, or is it just me?” Natasha smiled and you could already smell the strong drink coming from her. She was drunk. 

“Can you just shut the fuck up, Natasha? Please?” You interrupted, feeling her incredulous eyes now on your face. 

“And why the hell are you talking to me like that?” She questioned, crossing her arms. 

Now you could see her completely, before you. Her red hair was a little less long than before, but the color was still as bright as flames during a fire, and she was wearing a tight black skirt and a white blouse with a plunging neckline in the middle, her lips red. She would have been beautiful if she hadn't been so fucking petulant and ignorant. 

“You shouldn't talk to her like that, just apologize.” Rogers walked in on you and you laughed at the smug expression on his face. 

“Please calm down a bit guys, there are children here.” Laura warned with Clint by her side. 

“The lab mouse is defending his snack. Calm down, Rogers, you could soon be replaced by anyone who thinks faster than you think, get that puppy-dog expression off your face.” You laughed, watching him growl and take a step forward. 

“I'd rather be the lab rat than the abandoned rat. After all, you were the one who got traded first, my friend. If you did your job in bed, she'd still be with you by now.” He smiled cynically. 

You felt the blood boil until it went to your head, your brain simply reacting as quickly as it could. You punched Rogers' jaw hard, hearing the sound of something breaking in it and he staggered, stumbling on the floor already drunk. Of course there was a lot of disagreement between you, he had been created as a laboratory experiment and you were twice as strong as him due to the extra dose of physical and mental powers you carried. 

But Natasha had never said anything, like complaints about the relationship you had behind closed doors. The sex between you seemed pleasant to you and even so, that didn't justify her having cheated on you with Rogers like that. 

“No one complained while she was tasting me, 'friend'. She just thought it was fair to taste the little mouse to satisfy her neediness, it's no wonder Banner left you when he had the chance.” You said, seeing a flash of hurt in Natasha's eyes as you walked away. 

You threw the almost empty glass bottle into a trash bag, hearing the shards shatter and heard Rogers complain about you with your bruised face, besides him insisting on taking Natasha home. It was none of your business, really. Clint guided you inside, without judging or lecturing you, after all he understood how it felt right now. 

“I'll clean up the kids' mess outside. Feel free to do so, but no arguments please.” He said, giving you a knowing look. 

You sat on the couch, a little cramped, looking to the side as Wanda came in and sat next to you. She took your hand, seeing that you had hurt your knuckles when you hit Rogers and took a damp cloth, cleaning the small cuts. 

“Was it worth it?” She asked, the pleasant Sokovian accent making you relax for a moment. 

“Yes.” The whisper came from your mouth, husky and simple. 

“So it's all right. She hurt you, I feel it... right here. But things are moving forward.” She said, her hand implanted just inches above your heart. 

You nodded, feeling her hand still on your chest as you calmed the fury and contempt for the two Avengers outside. Your heart was still racing, but for Wanda now. You didn't understand why she had this effect on you, she was so kind, so perfect in every way. You felt your mouth go dry and your eyes roamed over every inch of her face. 

“I wonder why I can never get it right with anyone. It was like that with Sharon and now with Natasha.” You whispered, watching as she finished cleaning your fingers and began to caress the palm of your hand. 

“Y/n, listen to me and listen to me well. None of this is your fault. Okay, we all make mistakes sometimes in a relationship, it happens often and I understand, it can end up teaching us valuable lessons. But look at you, you are so respectful, patient and simply the most genuine and affectionate person I know. Natasha didn't cheat on you because you are the problem, but she herself is, she is characterless and needs validation from others.” She said, her fingertips caressing your chin. 

You were stunned for a moment, not only because Wanda seemed completely right but also because her closeness to your face, her extremely sweet and calming voice made you feel ecstatic. You nodded, leaning in slowly to feel more of her touch. 

“You think so? About me. You describe me as the best person you've ever met and I don't see that. Not on me.” You sighed, feeling Wanda hold your face with both hands. 

“You are the best person I know and I mean it. You mean so much to me, precious. And you deserve so much more than shallow relationships like Sharon or Natasha gave you. So much more.” She whispered, licking her lips eagerly. 

You smiled, the seriousness and depth of the matter lost as Wanda placed a blue cone-shaped birthday hat on your head. Laughter filled the room and you grabbed a party blower, accidentally blowing it into Wanda's lips. You held back a laugh, seeing the terrifying expression she made and when you thought you were going to get scolded, she grabbed you by the back of the neck, one hand grabbing the collar of your clothes. 

“Why don't you try blowing here?” She teased, smirking as she leaned in closer. 

Wanda's voice sounds insinuating, but she doesn't take any steps that might seem invasive or uncomfortable to you. Your muscles freeze and your breathing becomes irregular. For the first time, you have the greatest chance to kiss Wanda, and you know you want it desperately, because she wants it too, it's visible in her eyes. Her fingers caress your chin and her nails scrape without strong pressure on your skin, then she brushes her lips against yours for seconds before sinking her mouth into yours calmly. 

There is no malice or rush in the kiss. But Wanda brushes her tongue against your lower lip and tries to deepen the kiss, which you allow, feeling her tongue dance in your mouth. 

This is unlike anything you've ever experienced. 

The kisses you shared with Natasha were always rough or abrupt because of the strong sexuality she demonstrated in the relationship, things usually ended in bed. In any case, they were not always very loving or long kisses. 

But with Wanda it was simply intense. The softness of her lips was simply incredible. The way she touched you calmly and cautiously, without wanting to go too fast or being careful enough not to do something wrong to you, showed how angelic she was. The slowness of the kiss. The tranquility. Wanda's scent lingering on your skin. You let out a gasp when she bit your lower lip and your hands pulled Wanda closer, her forehead pressing against yours when the lack of air separated your lips. 

“I love you, Y/n. I don't care if you still wish you were with Natasha. You've always been my friend, my companion. My only love.” She admitted, making your heart race. 

“Wanda. I was so stupid and blind to try to hold on to Natasha while she slept with Steve. I gave her all my love, trust, and loyalty only to be hurt so deeply. But now I see.” You whispered the first words, your lips already missing hers, your fingers caressing her delicate face. 

“...And it's you that I love. I tried to hide it when I preferred to be in your arms and hear your loving words, trying to convince myself that Natasha was the woman of my dreams. But it's you, Wanda. You're the woman I love, the woman I breathe and the woman I want by my side. I don't care if I get hurt if I'm with you.” You said, seeing her eyes slightly watery. 

It wasn't just the fact that Natasha had cheated on you that made you see the truth. She didn't make your heart race like Wanda did. Romanoff's touch had cooled over time, before you discovered the cheatings. But Wanda's touch always comforted you, always made you want more. Her lips were magnificent, they made you feel in a deep ecstasy of passion. Her scent made you dizzy, dizzy with love. Everything about Wanda enchanted you, everything about her made you realize that she was the one you wanted and it only took this night for everything to become clear. 

“I've waited so long to hear this from you. So long.” She sighed, feeling your lips quickly pushing against hers again. 

You had finally found the feeling of having true love in the palm of your hands. The woman of your dreams was in your arms. Wanda kissed you more deeply, moaning softly as the kiss became deeper and warmer, her hands tangling in your soft hair. You saw her smile between the kiss, feeling your body being laid on the small couch and Wanda climbing on top of you, tossing her red hair back before biting your lower lip. 

“Guys, would you like to- Oh. Looks like I'm a little early.” Clint cleared his throat as he entered the room, startled when he saw Wanda and you kissing. 

“Hey, Clint... sorry, we just... uh…” You tried to explain yourself, watching Wanda's face turn an adorable shade of red as she removed her weight from your body. 

“There's some cake left over. Laura will keep it for you if you want...if you want. I'm going to leave right away.” He growled in frustration, walking away in shame. 

“That was... that was hilarious.” Wanda said, bursting out laughing. 

“It was your fault. Nobody told you to stick your tongue down my throat like a pervert.” You smiled, feeling her hold your face and kiss you hard, patting your arm lightly. 

“You say that as if you didn't like it, Smarty.” She replied, her eyes shining as she looked at you.

“I loved it. I love all of it. The way you... You bring me back to life. I love you, Wanda.” You finished, your heart burning in flames for her. 

You had found love in your best friend.  And now you could finally rest your head with the love of your life.

[ijustwannabecool]

Somewhere Only We Know - Part 2

Lando Norris x Reader

Based upon this request:

Hi!!! First of all, I love love loooove your stories. I don't know if you're open to writing for Lando. Just wanted to maybe suggest this: we all know he's spiraling at the moment, maybe someone who he meets and steadies him? I know he has that typical athlete fboy image. But maybe someone who he changes for and really helps him mentally as well. Seeing that change from an outside perspective from people in F1 or fans would be pretty cool. Just a thought that popped up! Thanks! Will be anxiously waiting for your next uploads!

Summary... He wasn’t looking for anything when he found you — just a diner, a coffee, a moment to breathe — but somehow you became everything. This is the story of how he fell, how you stayed, and how together you built something louder than the noise trying to tear you apart.

A/N: I hope this story does justice to your request! I wrote it like a book, so it has chapters within the story. Also, the story was so long that I had to split it into two parts because Tumblr would not allow me to post it. I had such a blast writing it, and I hope you all have just as much fun reading it. As always, thank you so much for being here, for supporting these little worlds we create, and for sharing your love with the characters too.

Happy reading, and have a beautiful day today!! 🖤✨

If you enjoyed the story and feel like supporting my writing, you can donate a strawberry matcha through my Ko-fi! 🍓🍵 (No pressure at all — your kindness is already everything.)

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

DO NOT READ THIS PART BEFORE READING PART ONE!!

Chapter 14: Breakwater

The morning crept in slow and gold.

The lake shimmered in the early light, mist curling over the surface like a living thing.

Inside the cabin, it was warm — blankets kicked off, window cracked open, the air smelling like rain-soaked wood and coffee brewing somewhere down the road.

—

Lando woke up first.

Y/N was curled into his side on the small couch they’d crashed onto sometime after their second — or was it third? — kiss.

Her hand was pressed against his chest, fingers splayed over his heart like she was claiming it without even trying.

He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

Just breathed her in. The softness of her hair against his jaw. The steady rhythm of her breathing.

The way the world outside could have burned to the ground and he wouldn’t have noticed because she was here.

His.

Finally.

—

She stirred after a while, blinking sleepily, her nose scrunching in a way that made him smile so wide it hurt.

"Mornin'," she mumbled, her voice rough with sleep.

"Hey," he whispered back, brushing his thumb gently over her knuckles.

For a moment, they just lay there — no rush, no noise, no weight.

Just them.

Y/N’s voice was still raspy when she teased, "Are we gonna pretend yesterday didn’t happen?"

Lando shook his head immediately. "Not a chance."

She smiled wider, her cheeks flushing pink, and burrowed closer into his side like she belonged there.

God, she did belong there.

—

They spent the morning wrapped around each other, half-tangled in blankets, trading lazy kisses and half-hearted arguments about who was responsible for getting breakfast.

"You drive," Y/N said, poking his ribs with a sly smile. "You’re the adult here."

"I’m not even qualified to own a plant," Lando protested, laughing as he caught her hand and laced their fingers together.

Eventually, they bundled up and wandered down to a tiny diner by the lake, the kind of place where the menus were handwritten and the waitress called everyone "sweetheart."

They sat across from each other, stealing bites of pancakes and grinning like idiots.

For a few precious hours — there was no McLaren. No cameras. No headlines.

Just this.

Just them.

Until the real world found them anyway.

—

It happened as they were walking back to the cabin, hand-in-hand, feet crunching over gravel.

Lando's phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.

He ignored it at first — until it buzzed so violently it practically jumped out of his pocket.

He sighed, pulling it out — and froze.

Y/N noticed immediately.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, stepping closer, peering up at him.

Lando's jaw tightened as he tilted the screen so she could see.

Tweets. Instagram tags. News pings.

Photos.

Blurry at first — then clearer.

Them.

Leaving the diner last night. Laughing by the lake. Holding hands this morning.

The captions were already spiraling:

"New romance for Norris?" "Who is the mystery girl stealing Lando’s heart?" "Spotted: F1 star cozying up at hidden lakeside retreat."

Lando stuffed his phone back into his pocket like it burned him.

"You don’t have to do this," he said roughly, voice cracking a little. "You don’t have to stay."

Y/N just looked at him steady.

Sure.

She stepped even closer, slipping her fingers into his.

"Lando," she said softly, voice clear and unwavering, "I’m not here because it’s easy."

Her hand squeezed his once — firm, grounding.

"I’m here because it’s you."

And just like that — he knew.

No matter how high the waves got, no matter how loud the world screamed, no matter how messy it became —

They would fight for this.

Together.

———

Chapter 15: All the Noise, None of the Doubt

If you asked him, Lando would have said nothing changed.

Not really.

He still showed up for sim days and engineering meetings. Still suited up. Still pushed the limits. Still smiled for the cameras.

But something was different.

Not the way he drove — the way he lived.

The way he smiled wider when his phone buzzed. The way he laughed easier when he caught a glimpse of a photo Y/N sent him — some ridiculous thing, like a squirrel stealing a sandwich or her terrible attempt at latte art.

The way he counted the hours until he could see her again.

They carved out a world in the quiet spaces between all the noise.

Secret coffee dates. Late-night FaceTimes. Quick texts during media days

Soft mornings at the cabin when they could sneak away. Long car rides filled with bad music and even worse singing.

Tiny kisses stolen in parking lots. Fingers brushing under tables.

Nothing flashy. Nothing loud.

Just them.

Of course, the rest of the world wasn't blind.

At the factory, Max smirked as he caught Lando smiling down at his phone again.

"You’re disgusting," Max said, tossing a balled-up napkin at him.

Lando batted it away, not even pretending to hide the grin on his face.

"You’re just jealous," he shot back.

Max laughed. "Maybe. But I’m not the one getting meme’d into oblivion every time someone spots me looking like a lovesick idiot."

Lando flipped him off good-naturedly.

But later, alone in the simulator bay, phone screen glowing with a new picture of Y/N doodling all over his face in an old karting photo he sent her, he thought maybe he didn’t mind.

The media started circling too.

Soft at first. Little jabs in interviews.

"So, Lando, any truth to the rumors about a new girl?" "Someone special keeping you motivated this season?"

He ducked and weaved, smiling without answering, learning how to protect what mattered without lying.

They didn’t need to know. Not yet. Not when it was still this precious, still blooming in his hands.

But it was getting harder to keep their world untouched.

Photos slipped through sometimes — blurry ones of them at a gas station, a coffee shop, a grocery store.

Fans guessed. Fans speculated.

Some supported. Some didn't.

The noise was getting louder.

—

One night, they sat on the hood of his SUV under a wide, bruised sunset sky — the cabin just a small speck in the distance — splitting a bag of crisps between them.

Y/N leaned back on her hands, kicking her heels against the bumper.

"You know," she said lightly, "if you ever want to run... I’d go with you."

He turned to look at her, something sharp and warm catching in his throat.

"You serious?"

She nodded, smiling sideways at him.

"I’m not scared of the noise, Lando," she said. "But if it ever gets too loud for you... we’ll just find somewhere quieter."

He stared at her — this girl who had walked into his life on a rainy night with bad coffee and a soft voice — and realized that no matter how loud the world got, with her, there would always be a way back to silence.

To home.

To them.

—

He reached out, tangling their fingers together, resting their joined hands on the hood between them.

"I’m not running," he said quietly. "Not from this. Not from you."

She squeezed his hand, her smile small and sure.

"Good," she said. "Because you’re terrible at directions."

He laughed — a real, full laugh — and tugged her closer until she was tucked into his side.

And for the first time in a long time — maybe ever — Lando knew he wasn’t just surviving.

He was living.

With her.

———

Chapter 17: Our Little World

It wasn’t about hiding. Not really.

It was about protecting.

About keeping something beautiful just for themselves, tucked away where no cameras, no headlines, no strangers could touch it.

Their little world.

Their rules.

When they were apart — race weeks, sponsor events, the constant hum of everything — they stayed connected in the ways that mattered.

It became a routine without them even realizing it.

Late-night texts.

Y/N: Did you eat real food today or just Red Bull and regrets?

Lando: Pop-Tarts totally count as real food.

Y/N: Get a vegetable or I’m calling Max.

Lando: Terrifying. Ordering salad now.

Early morning FaceTimes.

"Hi," she’d say, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Hi," he’d whisper back, already smiling just hearing her voice.

Sometimes they didn't even talk. Just kept the call open while she painted, while he packed, while they existed on opposite sides of the world but somehow closer than ever.

When they could steal days together — God, those days felt like breathing again.

—

Tiny traditions started to form:

Y/N leaving doodles tucked into his suitcase before he traveled. ("I better see this stuck to your laptop," she teased once, drawing a lopsided cartoon of him driving a spaceship.)

Lando slipping notes into the sketchbooks she left lying around. ("Your art’s better than any trophy," he scribbled once, messy and embarrassed but meaning every word.)

Sharing playlists. ("This song is you," he texted her once, sending a track that was all messy beats and golden chords.)

Movie nights where they talked over half the film, cuddled under a mountain of mismatched blankets, and fought about who stole the popcorn.

("You," Lando accused, mouth full. "Me?" Y/N gasped. "You’re inhaling it like you’ve never seen food before!")

They built a language only they spoke — inside jokes, stolen glances, silent conversations across crowded rooms.

—

But the world kept buzzing louder outside.

Photos kept surfacing. Speculation grew.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She teased him about it sometimes, flicking through tabloids at the grocery store.

"‘Lando Norris and Mystery Girl spotted looking cozy at Starbucks,’" she read aloud dramatically one day, showing him a grainy photo of them with frappuccinos.

He snorted. "That’s peak romance. Frappuccinos."

"You sure know how to spoil a girl," she said, nudging him.

He grinned, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles right there between the cereal and the canned soup aisle.

"I’ll buy you two next time," he whispered.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away.

The world could shout all it wanted.

She knew where home was.

—

One night — late, after a brutal race weekend that left Lando physically exhausted and mentally shredded — they lay tangled together on the tiny couch in his Monaco apartment.

Y/N traced lazy circles over the back of his hand, her voice soft against the darkness.

"You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?" she said.

He turned his head, watching her with tired, adoring eyes.

"I know," he said quietly. "You’re the only place I don’t have to."

She smiled — small, warm, breaking his heart a little more in the best way.

"You’re stuck with me, Norris," she teased, nose brushing his.

He kissed her gently — sweet and tired and so full of everything he couldn’t find the words for.

"Good," he whispered against her lips. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

And for now, that was enough.

Their little world held strong — soft, stubborn, untouchable.

For now.

———

Chapter 18: Say It Like You Mean It

It started with a headline.

Bigger this time. Louder.

Not whispers anymore — shouts.

"Is Lando Norris Losing Focus? Friends Fear New Romance May Be a Distraction."

And worse — comments. Speculation. Ugly words flung like stones.

They picked her apart — her looks, her job, her life — like she was nothing but an accessory to his downfall.

Lando saw it before Y/N did. His phone buzzing nonstop. His manager sending cautious texts. Max even texting him once:

Max:

You good, mate? Ignore the shit. You know whats’s real.

He barely read the rest. He couldn’t think straight.

He was supposed to protect her.

And now — they were using her name like a weapon.

—

He found her at his place, sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a stack of his race gear he’d dumped there last week.

She looked up the second he slammed the door behind him, her smile fading when she saw his face.

"Lando?" she said, standing quickly. "What happened?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just crossed the room in three strides, pulling her into his arms like he needed to be sure she was still real.

"Lando," she said again, softer now, hands sliding up his back. "Talk to me."

He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

"They're saying shit," he muttered. "About you. About us."

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

"I know," she said gently.

He blinked. "You know?"

She smiled — sad and strong all at once. "I’m not blind, Lan. I knew what I was signing up for."

His chest tightened painfully.

"I hate that it touches you," he said, voice rough. "I hate that I brought you into this."

"You didn’t bring me anywhere," she said. "I walked. I chose this."

"But you don’t deserve it," he whispered.

She squeezed his hand. "Neither do you."

—

An hour later, he sat in his car outside the McLaren building, staring at his phone, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

His manager had sent another text.

PR Team: No need to comment. Stay quiet. Let it pass.

But Lando couldn’t.

Not this time.

He opened Twitter. Stared at the blinking cursor.

And typed.

@LandoNorris: You can say whatever you want about me. But leave her out of it. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me. End of story.

He hit post before he could second guess himself.

Then tossed the phone onto the passenger seat like it was on fire.

He didn't care about the fallout.

He cared about her.

—

When he got home, she was curled up on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders, flipping absently through a book she clearly wasn't reading.

He dropped onto the couch beside her, heart hammering.

She set the book down.

"You posted it," she said softly.

He nodded once, his throat too tight to speak.

She smiled — small, shaky — and climbed into his lap without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I’m not going anywhere," she whispered against his ear.

He closed his eyes, burying his face in her hair.

"You better not," he whispered back.

Silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable. Just heavy. Full.

"I love you," Lando said, the words tumbling out — messy, raw, desperate. "I love you so much it scares the hell out of me."

She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands.

"Good," she said, smiling through the tears gathering in her eyes. "Because I love you too, you idiot."

He laughed — choked and wrecked — and kissed her like he was drowning.

And maybe he was.

But if he was going under — he was taking her with him.

Together.

Always.

———

Chapter 19: The Afterglow and the Storm

The first few days after saying "I love you" felt like living inside a bubble.

Warm. Safe. Weightless.

They clung to each other like kids hiding under a blanket fort, pretending the real world couldn’t reach them.

—

Late one night, lying tangled together in his bed, Y/N pressed her nose into his neck and mumbled sleepily,

"Are we gonna talk about it?"

Lando smiled into her hair. "Talk about what?"

"You know," she said, poking his ribs, "the whole 'I love you' bomb you dropped on me."

He laughed, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"I regret nothing," he said.

She lifted her head just enough to glare playfully at him.

"You didn’t even give me time to process."

"You kissed me back!" he protested.

"I panicked!" she teased, laughing.

He rolled them over, pinning her gently to the bed with a grin.

"Say it again," he murmured, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

She pretended to think about it, tapping her chin dramatically.

"Hmm... I love—"

He leaned closer.

"You," she finished, nose bumping his.

He kissed her — soft and slow and smiling the whole time.

"Best panic attack ever," he whispered against her mouth.

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Idiot."

"Yours," he said.

"Mine," she agreed.

Always.

—

But outside the walls they built, the world kept spinning.

And not all of it was kind.

—

Another headline dropped the following week.

This time nastier. Sharper.

"Lando’s Focus in Question Again: Sources Say Romance Is a ‘Major Distraction’ for McLaren’s Golden Boy."

And worse — an anonymous "source" claiming Lando was “changing” — not as serious, not as hungry.

It was bullshit.

Lando knew it. The people who mattered knew it.

But still — it stung.

—

He found her sitting on the balcony that night, sketchbook in her lap, a cup of tea cooling by her side.

She looked up when he slid the door open.

"Hey," she said softly. "I saw."

He sank down onto the chair beside her, rubbing his hands over his face.

"You don’t have to keep doing this," he muttered.

"Doing what?"

"Dealing with the fallout," he said, voice tight. "It’s not fair to you."

She shut the sketchbook and set it aside.

"Lando," she said gently, "I don’t love you because it’s easy."

He looked up, heart aching.

"I love you because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me," she continued. "Even when it’s messy. Especially then."

He blinked hard, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.

"You’re sure?" he asked, voice cracking just a little.

She smiled — small, fierce, beautiful.

"Positive," she said. "Now shut up and come here."

He crossed the distance between them without hesitation, letting her pull him into her arms.

They sat there — curled up together under the dark sky, the world screaming beyond their little balcony, but the noise unable to touch them.

Not when they had each other.

Not when they had something this real.

—

Later, scrolling through his phone before bed, Lando grinned when he saw her latest text pop up.

Y/N: Tomorrow = karting rematch. No excuses, Norris. Prepare to lose.

Lando: You’re dreaming.

Y/N: I'm building a trophy shelf.

Lando: You're delusional. I love you.

Y/N: Love you more.

He turned off the screen, smiling into the darkness, and fell asleep with her heartbeat steady against his ribs.

And for once — the noise didn’t win.

They did.

———

Chapter 20: A Quiet Place, A Loud World

Their little world kept growing.

Not hidden. Not ashamed.

Just... theirs.

—

Late one night, curled up together on the battered old couch that had somehow become more home than anywhere else, Y/N pressed her cheek to Lando’s chest and whispered,

"Tell me a secret."

He smiled into her hair.

"Like what?"

"Like... something no one else knows."

He thought about it for a minute. Then said, "I used to dream about quitting."

She lifted her head, surprised.

"Quitting what?"

"All of it," he said softly. "The racing. The noise. The expectations. When it got bad, I used to think about just... disappearing."

Her eyes softened, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek.

"But you didn’t," she said.

"No," he said. "Because... because maybe I was waiting for something better to find me."

He looked at her — eyes wide, vulnerable, raw.

"And then you showed up," he whispered.

Her throat tightened painfully.

"I love you," she breathed, blinking back tears.

He smiled — small and broken and whole all at once.

"I love you more," he said.

—

They started talking about futures after that.

Not big sweeping plans. Just... dreams.

"What if we lived somewhere quiet?" Y/N said one night, curled into his side, tracing invisible lines over his chest. "A little house. A dog. Maybe a cat if you stop pretending to be allergic."

"I’m definitely allergic," he mumbled, half-asleep.

"Liar."

"Fine," he grinned. "But only if I get to name it."

"Deal," she said, laughing. "But I get veto power."

"Deal," he agreed, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

They talked about road trips across Europe. Late-night drives with no destination. Sunday mornings spent fighting over who had to make pancakes.

It wasn’t if anymore.

It was when.

But the world wasn’t content to stay quiet forever.

The invitation arrived three days later.

McLaren Gala. Mandatory Appearance. Formal Attire Required.

An event. A spotlight. A battlefield.

And this time — they couldn’t hide.

—

They talked about it that night, sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptops open, tabs pulled up of tux rentals and dresses she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel comfortable wearing.

"You don't have to come," Lando said quietly, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. "I’ll cover for you. Say you're sick. Say you’re busy. I don’t care."

Y/N closed her laptop and looked at him.

"Lando," she said firmly. "I'm not hiding. Not if you're not."

He searched her face, something wild and terrified and hopeful tangled in his eyes.

"You’re sure?" he whispered.

She reached across the bed, threading their fingers together.

"I’m sure," she said.

A beat of silence.

Then she smiled — wide, mischievous, a little shaky.

"But if we’re doing this," she said, "we’re doing it properly."

He laughed, the sound cracking open something deep inside him.

"Meaning...?"

"Meaning we’re gonna look so good they’ll have no choice but to talk about how lucky you are," she said, sticking out her tongue.

He lunged forward, tackling her onto the bed, both of them laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.

The night of the gala, he saw her standing at the top of the hotel stairs — black dress hugging her curves, hair swept up, eyes catching the light like stars.

She was breathtaking.

Terrifyingly, heartbreakingly beautiful.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs, taking her hand in his without hesitation.

"You ready?" he whispered.

Y/N squeezed his hand once, sure and steady.

"With you?" she said. "Always."

—

The cameras exploded the second they stepped onto the carpet.

Flashes. Shouts. Questions.

But he didn’t let go of her hand.

Not once.

Not when the world stared. Not when people whispered.

He kept her close — proud, steady, unapologetic.

And when they finally slipped inside, breathless and laughing, he pulled her into a shadowed corner and cupped her face in both hands.

"You’re the bravest person I know," he whispered.

"You make it easy," she whispered back.

He kissed her, soft and sure, and if anyone caught it on camera, he didn’t care.

Let them see.

Let them know.

This was real. This was forever.

And nothing was going to tear it apart.

———

Chapter 21: The Space Between Heartbeats

They didn’t plan it.

They just... needed it.

Needed to get away. Needed a place where they weren’t Lando Norris and the girl everyone was watching. Where they could just be Lando and Y/N.

So they ran.

—

They packed the bare minimum — jeans, hoodies, sunglasses, battered sneakers — and drove hours out of the city until the world thinned out around them.

Fields. Mountains. Empty roads.

The cabin was tiny. Hidden in a tangle of trees, overlooking a glassy stretch of river.

Perfect.

Untouchable.

The kind of place where no one knew their names.

—

The first night, they sat on the porch, legs tangled together under a shared blanket, the sky spilling stars across the darkness.

Y/N leaned against him, her voice sleepy but sure.

"I missed this," she murmured.

He kissed the top of her head. "Me too."

"You know," she said after a long pause, "sometimes it feels like the rest of the world... doesn’t matter here."

He smiled into her hair. "That’s because it doesn’t."

—

Inside, the cabin smelled like woodsmoke and old books.

They moved around each other easily — brushing teeth side by side at the creaky sink, arguing half-heartedly over which side of the bed was "better" (it was the left, obviously, and Y/N won, obviously).

No makeup. No cameras. No rules.

Just them.

—

It happened quietly.

Softly.

Not rushed. Not planned.

—

Lando brushed her hair back from her face as they lay sprawled across the bed, the old mattress squeaking under their weight.

She smiled up at him, lazy and beautiful, and whispered, "What are you thinking?"

He ran his thumb gently along her jawline.

"That I’m really fucking lucky," he said.

Her smile faltered — not because she doubted it, but because sometimes love still felt too big to hold.

"You know you don’t have to say that, right?" she said quietly.

He frowned, shifting closer.

"I’m not saying it because I have to," he said. "I’m saying it because it's true."

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing him in.

When she opened them again, they were shining.

"I love you," she whispered, voice cracking.

"I love you too," he said instantly, like breathing.

He kissed her — slow, careful — and she kissed him back like she was anchoring herself to the only thing that had ever felt steady.

—

Clothes fell away in clumsy, breathless pieces.

Laughter slipped between kisses.

Fingers shook a little — not from nerves, but from how much it meant.

Every touch said it louder than words ever could:

I'm here. I'm yours. I'm not going anywhere.

When he finally sank into her, it wasn’t frantic or desperate.

It was slow. Reverent. Real.

Their foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling.

No noise but the soft rustle of sheets and the quiet, broken whispers they shared between kisses.

—

"You're everything," he breathed against her skin.

She pressed her mouth to his shoulder, holding on tighter.

"So are you," she whispered back.

—

Later, tangled in the sheets, hearts still pounding, Y/N pressed her fingers over the steady thud of his pulse.

"The world can get louder," she said softly, tracing a circle over his chest. "I don’t care."

Lando caught her hand in his, kissed her knuckles.

"Let it," he said. "We already won."

Outside, the river whispered over stones. The trees creaked and sighed.

Inside — only the space between heartbeats.

Only them.

———

Chapter 22: Borrowed Time

The next morning felt like waking up inside a dream.

Sunlight spilled across the bed in soft puddles, the air cool and crisp through the cracked window.

Y/N stirred first, her arm thrown haphazardly across Lando’s stomach, her face smushed into his chest.

He was already awake, just... watching her. Committing every little detail to memory. The way her nose scrunched when the breeze hit her toes. The way her lips parted slightly, breath slow and even.

He never wanted to forget this.

Eventually, she cracked one eye open.

"You’re staring," she mumbled, voice raspy from sleep.

"Can you blame me?" he said, grinning.

She groaned and buried her face further into his chest.

"Gross," she said. "You're so gross."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"You love it."

"I tolerate it," she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

They stayed like that — tangled up, half-asleep — until their stomachs rumbled in unison.

Y/N lifted her head, mock serious.

"Pancakes?" she asked.

He nodded solemnly. "It’s the only way."

—

They destroyed the tiny cabin kitchen together.

Flour everywhere. Eggshells in the sink. Syrup dripping down the counter.

Lando flipped a pancake so dramatically it hit the ceiling.

"LAN," she shrieked, laughing so hard she doubled over.

"Ten out of ten landing!" he yelled, throwing his arms up like an Olympic gymnast.

"You’re banned," she said, snatching the spatula from him.

He just grinned and stole a kiss while she was distracted, syrupy fingers slipping against her waist.

They ate standing up, giggling, licking syrup off their hands, stealing bites from each other’s plates.

It was stupid. It was messy.

It was perfect.

But reality doesn’t wait forever.

—

Later that afternoon, as they lounged lazily on the porch, Lando’s phone buzzed against the wood.

He ignored it at first.

Then a second buzz. A third.

Y/N reached over, grabbing it before he could.

"Who's spamming you?" she teased, pretending to squint at the screen.

Her smile faded.

"Lando," she said quietly, holding the phone out to him.

He took it, frowning.

A string of notifications.

Emails. Texts.

His PR team. Zak. Even a few drivers.

New headlines splashed across the top:

"Norris Romance Heating Up: Is the Pressure Getting to McLaren’s Star?" "Sources Suggest New Relationship May Threaten 2026 Contract Negotiations."

Beneath it, pictures — Him and Y/N at the gala. Holding hands. Laughing.

Frozen in a thousand flashbulbs.

Turned into clickbait.

—

He set the phone down carefully, like it might bite him.

Y/N didn't say anything right away.

Just scooted closer, resting her head against his shoulder.

"You’re gonna have to deal with this forever, aren’t you?" she said quietly.

He sighed, staring out at the river.

"Yeah."

A long beat of silence.

Then:

"You don’t regret it, do you?" she asked, so softly he barely heard her.

He turned immediately, cupping her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

"Not for a single second," he said fiercely. "I’d choose you every damn time."

Her eyes softened, filling with tears she didn’t try to hide.

"Good," she whispered. "Because I’d choose you too."

—

They sat there as the sun dipped lower — the world buzzing just outside the treeline, the future heavy but waiting.

Not easy.

Not quiet.

But together.

And that was enough.

———

Chapter 23: Choosing Forever

It wasn’t a decision they made overnight.

It wasn’t made with big speeches or ultimatums.

It happened like everything else between them — quietly, naturally, inevitably.

Y/N sat on the floor of Lando’s apartment, surrounded by half-packed boxes, holding up one of his old race suits like it was a sacred artifact.

"You’re seriously keeping this?" she teased, grinning.

"That’s vintage," he said, grabbing it from her hands and pressing it to his chest like a wounded soldier. "Historical."

She laughed, tossing a hoodie at his head.

"Fine. But it’s going in the 'shrine' closet."

He grinned, tackling her onto the pile of clothes, both of them laughing too hard to breathe.

They were doing it.

Building a real life. Moving in together.

Not because they had to. Not because the world expected it.

Because it was the next right thing.

Because home wasn’t a place anymore.

It was each other.

Of course, the world didn’t exactly make it easy.

The pressure didn’t stop.

If anything, it grew sharper.

A headline broke two days later:

"Sources Inside McLaren Concerned About Norris’ Focus Heading into 2026."

An anonymous quote — someone "close to the team" saying Lando’s relationship was a "distraction."

That he was "different."

That he was "softer."

The whispers turned into noise. The pressure turned into weight.

Team meetings got tense. Fans speculated. Media circled like vultures.

He got the call late one night.

Zak.

Serious. Careful.

"Lando," Zak said, voice crackling through the speaker, "we need you focused. The board's watching everything right now."

"I am focused," Lando said, jaw tight.

"You need to look focused too," Zak said. "Publicly. Especially now."

Translation: Choose carefully. Choose wisely.

Choose.

—

He hung up and found Y/N sitting on the couch, scrolling through a ridiculous meme account she swore kept her sane.

She looked up immediately.

"Bad?"

He didn’t answer. Just crossed the room and dropped onto the couch beside her, burying his face in her shoulder.

She ran her fingers through his curls, silent, steady.

"You don’t have to say anything," she whispered.

He lifted his head, heart pounding.

"I want to," he said.

He cupped her face in both hands, holding her like she might disappear if he let go.

"I choose you," he said fiercely. "Over the noise. Over the pressure. Over everything."

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.

"I choose you too," she whispered back.

And that was it.

Not a flashy decision. Not a press release.

Just two people choosing each other again and again and again — no matter how loud the world got.

———

Chapter 24: Win or Lose, It's You

The race weekend was brutal before it even began.

Everywhere Lando turned — reporters. Questions. Speculation.

"Has your relationship impacted your performance?" "Is the pressure getting to you?" "Is this the distraction McLaren was worried about?"

He handled it. He smiled. He answered carefully.

But inside, a knot twisted tighter and tighter with every word.

—

Y/N stayed out of the spotlight, like they agreed.

She didn’t want to make it harder. Didn't want to become another headline.

But she was there — quiet, steady, just beyond the paddock fences.

He caught glimpses of her between practice sessions — sitting cross-legged on the grass, sketchbook open in her lap, pretending not to watch his every move.

Their eyes would meet.

She'd smile — small, sure, like a lighthouse through the storm.

He'd breathe again.

—

On race day, it rained.

Not a drizzle. A full, chaotic downpour.

The track slick. The sky angry. The world holding its breath.

It was the kind of race that chewed up rookies and spat out veterans.

Every mistake magnified.

Every move scrutinized.

And Lando — Lando drove like his heart was on fire.

Not reckless. Not desperate.

Alive.

Sure.

—

Midway through, after a pit stop from hell, he dropped three places.

The team buzzed in his ear.

"Focus, Lando. You can still fight back."

He closed his eyes for half a second — saw her sitting in the rain, soaked but smiling, refusing to leave — and opened them with new clarity.

For her.

For them.

For himself.

He fought his way back — aggressive but smart, carving through the spray and the chaos.

Lap by lap. Corner by corner.

Until — P2.

Not the win.

Not the trophy.

But victory all the same.

—

After the checkered flag, soaked to the bone and shaking from adrenaline, he found her waiting by the barriers.

No cameras. No microphones.

Just her.

Y/N pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and smiled.

"You," she said, cupping his face, voice breaking, "you were incredible."

He laughed — half a sob, half a grin — and pulled her into a hug so fierce it lifted her off her feet.

"You’re my win," he whispered into her ear.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

They stood there — soaked. Laughing. Crying.

And for once, it wasn’t about headlines.

It wasn’t about contracts.

It was about this.

Them.

The only finish line that ever mattered.

———

Chapter 25: No More Hiding

The photos hit social media within minutes.

Not official portraits. Not staged PR shots.

Someone caught it — Lando, still dripping from the rain, still in his race suit, wrapping his arms around Y/N outside the paddock barriers, burying his face against her neck like the cameras didn’t even exist.

And for the first time — they didn’t care.

They didn’t flinch.

They didn’t run.

—

The internet exploded.

"Lando Norris and his girl: Paddock’s New Power Couple!" "Norris shows where his heart really is after stormy podium finish." "Real ones only: Lando and Y/N melt fans’ hearts after emotional race day."

The world finally saw it — not rumors. Not scandals.

Love. Real. Raw. Loud.

And they didn’t apologize for it.

—

The next day, Y/N sat beside him during a press day — quiet, off to the side, thumbing through a worn book while he fielded questions.

A journalist finally asked it straight:

"Lando, care to comment on the... touching moment we all saw after the race?"

He leaned into the microphone without hesitation.

"No comment," he said at first — then paused, glancing toward where Y/N sat curled up in a hoodie three sizes too big.

He smiled — wide, wrecked, unapologetic.

"Actually... yeah," he said.

He adjusted the mic slightly, the entire room hanging on his every word.

"I’m just lucky she puts up with me," he said, voice steady. "That’s all there is to it."

The reporters laughed. Cameras clicked.

But Y/N knew — because he looked at her when he said it — it wasn’t a joke.

It was the truth.

Simple. Unshakable.

Them.

—

Later, when they escaped the crowd and crashed onto the couch of his hotel room, Lando tugged her against him, pressing his mouth to the side of her head.

"No more hiding," he murmured.

Y/N smiled against his shoulder.

"Weren't hiding anyway," she whispered.

He laughed softly.

"No," he agreed. "We were just... waiting."

"For what?" she teased.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

"For the right person," he said simply.

Her heart cracked wide open in the best way.

"I guess we both won," she whispered.

He kissed her — soft, sure, forever.

And in that kiss was every promise they didn’t have to say out loud.

Because they already knew.

Together.

Always.

No matter what.

———

Epilogue: A Place to Land

Six months later.

The apartment was still a work in progress.

Half-finished photo walls. Plants that survived only because Y/N whispered threats at them. Lando’s old race suits shoved into the back of closets she was slowly conquering.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was home.

—

Sunday morning spilled sunlight across the kitchen, dust motes dancing lazily in the air.

Y/N leaned against the counter, sipping coffee out of a chipped mug Lando had refused to throw away because it "had character."

She wore one of his old shirts — faded, too big, sleeves slipping past her elbows.

Lando shuffled in a few minutes later, hair messy, sweatpants low on his hips, yawning like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"You look like death," Y/N said cheerfully, raising her mug in greeting.

He flipped her off half-heartedly and stole the rest of her coffee with a grin.

"Morning, sunshine," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She snorted, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Big day," she teased.

He groaned dramatically.

"Don't remind me."

They had a dinner to attend later — something small, just close friends and family — to celebrate his latest podium.

A real, hard-fought one.

The first one after everything — after the storm, after the noise, after choosing each other loud and proud.

Y/N set her mug down and looped her arms around his neck, rocking them gently side to side.

"You nervous?" she asked.

He shrugged, nuzzling into her shoulder.

"Not about the dinner," he said quietly.

She pulled back just enough to look at him.

"But about...?"

He smiled — that small, shy, completely wrecked-by-love smile that still undid her every time.

"About asking you something later," he said.

Her stomach flipped, heart slamming against her ribs.

She opened her mouth — then closed it.

Then opened it again.

"Lando," she breathed, hands tightening around his hoodie, "if you’re asking what I think you’re asking... you already know the answer."

He kissed her — soft and slow and sure.

"I was hoping you’d say that," he whispered against her lips.

Later, tucked into the chaos of their tiny, perfect apartment, a small velvet box sat hidden at the back of a kitchen drawer.

He wasn’t nervous about it.

Not really.

Because some things — the real things — don't need grand gestures or fireworks or perfect timing.

They just need a place to land.

And he had found his.

Right here. Right now. With her.

Forever.

—

One year later.

The living room was a mess.

Half-unpacked boxes. A dog barking at a rogue sock on the floor. Lando wrestling with a flat-pack bookshelf like it had personally insulted him.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a stupid grin pulling at her mouth.

"You know," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "most people read the instructions."

Lando looked up, hair sticking out wildly, an allen key clutched between his teeth.

"Instructions are for quitters," he mumbled around it.

She snorted, walking over and plucking the key from his mouth.

"You," she said, dropping a kiss onto his forehead, "are a menace."

"And you," he said, grabbing her wrist and tugging her into his lap with a dramatic grunt, "love it."

She laughed, arms wrapping around his neck automatically.

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she teased.

He grinned — wide, wrecked, unashamed.

"You’re stuck with me, remember?" he said.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," she said, resting her forehead against his.

—

The dog barked again — a yappy, ridiculous sound — and Lando groaned.

"You wanted a dog," he reminded her.

"You named him Max!" she shot back, laughing.

"It was that or Toto," he shrugged.

She laughed harder, burying her face in his neck.

"You’re an idiot," she whispered, affection bleeding through every word.

"Yours," he said.

"Mine," she agreed.

Always.

—

Outside, the world spun on — headlines, races, flights, pressure.

Inside, they built a life in stolen moments. Messy. Perfect.

A home with fingerprints on the walls, dog hair on the couch, and love tucked into every corner.

A place to land.

Always.

———

The end! :’)

[secretgardensinmymindd13]

thinking about how buck and eddie’s love story is so beautiful exactly because they were written as friends first throughout the show

just to count all the small and grand gestures they did for each other, from the very beginning -

and they did it not because of some physical attraction, but because they just devoted themselves to each other platonically

because they didn’t have the instruments to recognize their romantic and sexual feelings for each other (like eddie repressing every single emotion known to mankind and therefore not being able to recognize his feelings most of the time, and buck keeping these thoughts somewhere very deep in his mind as irrelevant), they kind of had no physical spark that would motivate their actions. so they literally fell in love with each other’s souls

this is the definition of unconditional love

i think that’s my problem with bucktommy - because they really can’t compare to what buck and eddie have, what they built

like, i really don’t get bt shippers, ‘cause when i have buddie’s relationship right in front of my eyes, i can’t take bt seriously. they pale in comparison

and that’s not to diminish the relationships built on obvious romantic and physical attraction, like bathena and henren (madney probably counts as friends-to-lovers) - these couples are beautiful and amazing in their own way, and i consider them soulmates too

but i guess something about the best-friends-to-lovers trope will always scratch my brain, especially when it’s between two characters who believe - or genuinely don’t know - that they can have each other in a romantic way

it’s just such a raw and pure kind of love. and the longer these characters think they’re just friends, the more foundation for an otherworldly love they build with each brick of their platonic fondness and dedication

i really think that if the writers made shannon eddie’s endgame, and had them forgive each other and create a beautiful relationship like all the other couples on the show, i would’ve liked them. i think the actors had chemistry and looked good together, plus the characters already had deep history

and if they gave buck an actually interesting and fitting partner, i’d probably like them too

but then again, i’m so glad they didn’t - because eddie and buck’s characters are so perfect for each other in so many ways, i really can’t imagine them with anyone else but each other

there’s too much stuff between them, and the chemistry between the actors definitely plays a huge role too

when you have something so great in your hands, you don’t fumble it. (this is a message to the writers, because buck and eddie have been fighting the narrative for their love since day one)

and that’s also not to say romantic love is somehow superior to platonic love. as someone who cherishes her friendships even more than her romantic life at times, that’s definitely not the point i’m trying to make

but it’s just that, first of all, it’s what makes sense for these characters. and second of all, we as a society really need such a beautiful queer friends-to-lovers slow burn. i swear it will make history and lay the foundation for more layered and deep queer representation in the future

so, yeah, buddie being best friends who slowly fell in love with each other is my favorite thing about them

it’s the “i don’t have to want to sleep with everyone i have feelings for” part of it all

but they do want to sleep with each other, obviously, so i think they deserve it

just let’s go. let’s fucking go. let them kiss already

[halogenwarrior]

I know this poll finished a while ago, but now that I feel more confident about my ability to write analyses of these things I wanted to have a go at breaking down how the series treats female characters arc by arc - I think it would be interesting if they had arc specific polls for these because it is so long-running that the reblog didn't really have the analysis of individual characters that you get for shorter fiction. Individual characters' treatment didn't really get mentioned here just because there is so many of them, the way you see in media with just a few women that comes up here. I wish I would have felt confident enough to do this while the poll is still running but at least I can see what people who follow me for Warriors think. So:

The whole series: There are quite a few misogynistic patterns all the arcs fall into when taken as a whole. The creation of a society that is intended to have gender equality but winds up having women (she-cats) typically fall and be pressured into roles and expectations of women in the author's society anyway, leading to things like Clan leaders being only 1/4 female for no real in-universe reason; this comes off as a lot more sexist than if the society was written as flawed in this manner on purpose because it shows the authors think women just inherently are like that. And then creating the Sisters as an "obvious bad example" of "look here is a real intentionally sexist society the narrative acknowledges and it's men they discriminate against, our society isn't that bad then see?" The coding of "dainty beautiful woman" and "tough muscular man" on nearly all the characters (lots of male characters described as small but nary a big female character to be seen except the most prominent female villain and aforementioned straw misandry faction). This goes down even to the names, where despite the unisex warrior society, "pretty" suffixes like flower are female only and ones like "claw" are almost male-only. Villains being disproportionately male and when a rare female one appears, they are motivated by stereotypical woman things like love for a man and children. And how they handle the she-cats having or not having children (with the exception of Twigbranch who still was open for maybe having children in the future, every female character who expresses wanting to not have children ends up mentally breaking down (Hollyleaf, Bluestar), making things worse with the power they choose instead of children and being somewhat of a villain (Leopardstar) or straight-up being a straw evil stereotype (Lizardstripe), while characters who say women's purpose is to have children and they have to be happy about it are portrayed by the narrative as right and paragons of virtue). And tendency (except for Berryheart) for abusive mothers to be one-dimensional while abusive fathers are forgiven and made excuses for by the narrative. Also the tendency to, while the overall death tolls are about the same for male and female characters, fridge female love interests way more often than male ones, and killing a female member of the main cast almost every arc while the male deaths are all supporting characters.

Arc 1: Definitely suffers from "male defaultism" where just about every character is male unless there is a reason for them to be female, so not a huge focus on women. The main love interest character Sandstorm gets to be generically cool and sassy but doesn't really have much going for her, her arc is all about her romance and coming to see beyond her prejudices that her love interest is a good guy while the male equivalents who have arcs about breaking free from Clan racist (Dustpelt and Longtail) have more to those arcs than just being driven by a love interest, what with Dustpelt's relationship with his mentor and epic call-out of Tigerstar or Longtail and his apprentice Swiftpaw. So I'd hardly call her good representation. To its credit, it does have two female mentor figures, Bluestar and Yellowfang, who are given complexity and compelling stories (Bluestar's breakdown doesn't ever feel like a "women shouldn't be given power" but written in the same way as tragic male leaders despite the aspect about her children). But when you compare these two to the background characters it shows a nasty pattern - male characters can be fathers and also respected, honorable warriors to look up to, a female character who's a mother is just "mom" and nothing else. Goldenflower gets completely neglected even in her son's POV because she's just a vessel to have Tigerstar's kid, Speckletail is treated as hysterical for believing in her son and gets punished by him dying. The two mentor figures, meanwhile, are only allowed that position of respect due to giving up their children, and that forms the core of why their arcs are so tragic. So the message seems to be "be a mother and you are a faceless nothing, don't and you get to be important but it's not worth it because it will make your life miserable, while men get to have it all".

The New Prophecy: Mostly fixes the male default thing with about an evenly gender split main cast, but then the female characters mostly fall into being oh so wise and dainty and put together compared to the male ones, while snarking at nonsensical toms. This leads to them getting less interesting arcs, like Brambleclaw struggling with his heritage while his sister Tawnypelt has it all put together so she has less focus and no arc. The one who doesn't fit that mold and is immature and messy, Squirrelflight, gets treated by the narrative (or by Brambleclaw, but the narrative never calls him out for it) much more harshly than male equivalents like Crowfeather because men are expected to be tormented and flawed while it's unusual and thus annoying for a woman. Of the POV characters, the two female ones' arcs are largely about romance while the male one is about his heritage and ambition and insecurities. To be fair, Mothwing is actually a well-written and not misogynistic character who has struggles that while they do relate to her relationship with her brother are also about her outsider identity and relationship with religion, she gets written as one-note in later arcs but not in a sexist way - though definitely in an anti-atheist way. This arc also introduces regular main characters Squirrelstar and Leafpool. A lot of people have said the narrative hates them in a sexist way, and I feel that's not quite true - the narrative quite likes them (or at least Squirrelstar, Leafpool gets shafted in SqH) and is interested in their struggles and moments of strength, but it likes then in the way you like deeply flawed, tragic antiheroes and it's misogyny that makes it see them that way when they objectively haven't done that much wrong, while letting morally worse equivalents like Crowfeather suffer less in their tragic anti-hero redemption arc.

Power of Three: Does have the typical 2 boys 1 girl structure but Hollyleaf, while she could have easily fallen into the "boring straight woman above it all" archetype, actually is given complexity and love by the narrative and it quickly becomes clear that she is the type A straight man only in the sense of the messy tragic hero who is just as prideful and sometimes ridiculous as her male counterparts, and ultimately ends up falling apart in a way that fits with her character rather than being because she is a she-cat (though as mentioned it still falls into patterns of how women who don't want children are treated, and she falls into the pattern of female main who gets killed off). However, the supporting cast... we have Nightcloud (one-dimensional "other woman" stereotype until CT who's demonized for getting in the way even though she hasn't really done much wrong), Heathertail who only exists as a love interest to further Lionblaze and later Breezepelt's arcs and gets dropped when she's not needed for that, Cinderheart whose arc is nonsensical and ableist but I guess isn't anything offensive from a sexism perspective...

Omen of the Stars: Has two female leads, but then their plot line is a rather cliche thing to do with female characters (sibling jealousy and fighting over who's more special). Dovewing does fall into the trope of female protagonist who is in the plot for what she innately is (her powers and the prophecy) rather than what she does, but does get some rather interesting characterization around what she feels about her sensory experience of the world and the pressure put on her. But the way the authors talk about her in things like the ultimate guide make this all feel unintentional, with her real purpose to be a satellite love interest for Tigerstar II whose arc revolves around him even though she's the one who's an arc protagonist. Ivypool does get an arc after getting past the jealousy stuff which isn't particularly sexist, but she also doesn't get to have any positive effect on the plot as a spy for fear of breaking the narrative. And points off for the authors having the memory of a goldfish and thus dropping the bit about her husband being the primary caretaker of her children.

Dawn of the Clans: Ok leaving this out because I haven't read it, but I've heard it's the worst of the lot...

A Vision of Shadows: Actually the only one that, if it was put alone, I would vote yes on, but with some reservations. It is driven by the female protagonists Violetshine and Twigbranch with Alderheart fading mostly into the background, as well as Needletail despite her not having a POV. Violetshine is a "strong character", a little bland for me but not in a sexist way, but Twigbranch and Needletail in particular are allowed to be "human" and break typical warriors gender stereotypes. Needletail could have easily been from the first book the "rebellious manic pixie dream girl who teaches the awkward relatable male protagonist to live but doesn't have interiority", but seeing her through Violetshine's perspective later instead allows her to become more than that, and be a flawed and complex character who doesn't get hated by the narrative for it, as well as having a complicated relationship with her young charge that doesn't just get boiled down into "one dimensional bad mother figure". Of course it's filtered through the general conservative boomer tendencies of the narrative towards rebellious youth, but that isn't gendered. Likewise Twigbranch (although not my favorite character personally) is definitely given a personality and arc that isn't about men, allowed to drive the SkyClan plot, and is allowed to be a bad caretaker figure as mentor and stand her ground about not wanting to have children without being demonized for it, and even without fitting into the stereotypical "stoic ambitious career woman one of the guys" archetype that is usually the only way the authors can imagine a woman who doesn't want children. Instead she's hardworking but doesn't always fit into the ambitions of the Clan career trap and passionately emotional, and she also at least for now doesn't want children. As for the misgivings... well there's Sleekwhisker not being given much development for her villainy besides stereotypical "girl motives" like love for her male boss and jealousy towards other women, and of course Sparkpelt, which is the most remembered part of the arc by fans in terms of treating women and why you often hear it said that the new author arcs are worse. The way she's punished for being successful and outgoing, combined with the much better treatment of the other woman, does give the sense that this arc really likes women who are rebels and misfits, but despises the idea of a woman who does fit in and is traditionally successful, seeing them as inherently taking a rightful place away from men.

And I haven't actually read TBC or ASC so I will leave them here, just wanted to say my thoughts.

warrior cats (yes i know its about cats but trust me on this one)

Warriors (AKA Warrior Cats) (Novel Series, 2003)

Explain your reasoning in the tags!

[riddlesrizzler]

𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮

summary: "The worst thing that I ever did, was what I did to you."

characters: draco malfoy. reader

warnings: none, more sad

word count: 1.5k

a/n- this is from draco’s pov!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

I leaned against the cold stone wall, the chill of the castle’s ancient structure seeping into my bones. The place was alive with the start of term-the clatter of footsteps, the distant hum of conversations echoing through the halls-but all of that faded away. All I could see, all I could feel, was her.

She stood by the fountain, the same one where we used to talk for hours in the soft light of dusk, her laughter ringing out through the courtyard. I hadn’t heard that laugh in what felt like a lifetime. It was a sound I once lived for. She was beautiful, that much hadn’t changed, but there was something different in the way she held herself now-a kind of freedom in her movements that I hadn't seen before. The kind of freedom she hadn't had when she was with me.

I felt my chest tighten, my heart ached. I wanted to walk over to her, to pull her close like I used to, but something stopped me. Something told me I couldn’t just pretend we were the same, that we could pick up where we left off. I had ruined that.

She had wanted me once. I knew that much. I could feel it in the way her fingers brushed mine when we walked together, the way she looked at me when we shared a laugh or a quiet moment. There were times when I saw the question in her eyes, that silent invitation for something more, something real. But when things got too tough-when the walls came crashing down, and I couldn’t keep my own life together-I pulled away from her. I let her slip through my fingers.

And now she was out there, laughing with others, living without me. It was all I deserved.

I moved toward her before I even realized it, my feet carrying me across the courtyard, a path I knew well. She caught my gaze as I approached, and for a brief second, there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. A moment where the distance between us felt like it might vanish, like we were standing on the edge of something old, something familiar.

I stopped just in front of her.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.

She didn’t speak, but her eyes met mine again, and I saw the hesitation there-the space she had created between us that I had never thought would exist. With a soft nod, she turned and walked with me down the corridor, the sounds of the castle fading behind us, leaving only the two of us in that small, aching silence.

We stopped beneath one of the old arches, a place we had always come to when we wanted to be alone. I could still see the memory of us here-her sitting on the stone ledge, her fingers tracing constellations she never believed in, while I stood beside her, pretending not to care, but secretly holding onto every word she said.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” I began, my voice thick. “I’ve never been good at this... talking. You know that.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched me like she always had-like she was trying to piece together the broken parts of me that I never let anyone see.

“I’ve missed you,” I whispered, and the words seemed too simple for everything I felt. “I’ve missed you more than I’ve let myself admit.”

She looked away then, her gaze drifting to the floor. The pain in her face cut through me, sharper than any of the insults I’d ever endured. I could almost see the wall she had built between us. I had pushed her away, and now, she was just... gone.

I stepped closer, my breath catching as memories flooded my mind. The nights we spent together, just us. Late into the evening, we would climb up to the Astronomy Tower to see if we could spot constellations. I always claimed I didn’t care about the stars, that I was too old for all of it. But I knew. I knew because I’d always made the effort-staying up, looking at the sky for hours, because she wanted to. And maybe, just maybe, I’d wanted to be close to her, too.

I remember the first time she told me she needed me. It was late, the kind of late where the world felt empty and full at the same time, and we were up in that tower. The wind had been wild that night, the stars so sharp and clear that it felt like we could reach out and touch them. We had spent hours looking for constellations, tracing the lines between the stars like they held the answers to all the questions we didn’t know how to ask. I had tried to make a joke, something about the stars being like a map to some secret world, but she had smiled, that soft, sincere smile that had always been for me, and said, “You make everything seem like it’s worth waiting for.

I wanted to kiss her then, so badly it ached. But I didn't. I didn’t want to ruin it. I didn't want to make her think it was too much, too soon. So instead, we stood there, looking out over the sprawling grounds below, our hands just a few inches apart, but it was enough.

I had wanted her to know how I felt. I had wanted her to know that I was hers, that no matter how much I pretended I didn’t care, I did. I always had. But it was always too late, wasn’t it?

And the tea.

God, the tea. I hated it. I remember the first time I made her tea. She had always liked it, even though I hated it. The smell of it, the way it burned my throat, always seemed wrong. But she loved it, so I made it for her anyway. We would sit in the common room, the fire crackling behind us, and she would sip her tea while I tried to figure out how to be the kind of person she deserved.

But I never could. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell her I was afraid of losing her. Instead, I made tea and pretended that the simple act of doing something for her-something she liked-was enough to keep her from slipping away.

She would always smile at me, grateful and kind, but there was something behind her eyes that I could never quite reach. Something that always seemed just out of my grasp.

And when things got tough, when everything felt like it was closing in, I pulled away. It was easier that way, I thought. Easier than admitting that I was terrified of being the one who wasn’t enough. But what I didn’t realize-what I couldn’t see at the time-was that by pushing her away, I was letting everything slip through my fingers. I was the one who destroyed it. I was the one who let her walk away.

“I didn’t know how to keep you,” I continued, voice breaking. “When things started to fall apart, I pushed you away. You wanted something... more. And I was too selfish, too stupid to give it to you. I thought... I thought I didn’t need you, but I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

She shifted slightly, but didn’t look at me. There was nothing left for me to hide behind now. Not the smirk, not the walls I had built around myself. I had to face the truth, even if it tore me apart.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have been better. You deserved better. And I let you go when you needed me most.”

For a moment, we stood there in the quiet, my heart hammering in my chest. I had no idea what she was thinking-if she still cared, if she still even wanted me. But I couldn’t take back what I’d done. I couldn’t undo the months of silence, the distance I had pushed between us.

And yet, I needed her to know. I needed her to understand.

“I used to make you tea,” I said softly, almost laughing bitterly at the thought. “I hated it, you know. But I’d make it for you every time, because you liked it that way. And I... I just wanted to make you happy.”

She finally looked at me then, and there was something in her gaze-something I hadn’t seen in so long. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t love. But it was something that gave me a flicker of hope, something I didn’t deserve but would cling to with everything I had left.

“I’ll go,” I said quietly, stepping back, the weight of regret pressing down on me. “But if you ever need me… I’ll be here. Just like I always should’ve been.”

I turned away, every step heavier than the last. It was too late, I knew that. She wasn’t mine anymore. But maybe, just maybe, the parts of her I once held could still find a place for me, even if it was just in her memory.

tag list: @accio-rogers @juliet-017 @thaliashifts @shyamanuensis @draco-malfoys-lovergirl

[kittyyclysm]

ok i have a bone to pick with these clothes (no actual spoilers just mentions of small things that happened in the ep)

I don't think Adrien should have this marketable design this far back. Personally I've always thought the reason Adrien has to wear the same thing everyday is because it's a "marketable" design so Gabriel makes him wear it. It makes him recognizable and iconic, and... apparently these multicolored stripes are the most marketable design Gabriel could come up with. But let's just pretend this is the case (since I could be wrong). Writing-wise, I don't think he should have started marketing Adrien as a model since he popped out of the womb.

It would be SO much more interesting and make a lot more sense if Gabriel only started this whole marketability stunt when his ideologies about fashion changed and we could slowly see this design take over Adrien's wardrobe. This 6-year-old shirt could have been a picture of how Gabriel used to treat Adrien and how Adrien used to actually be able to express himself, and it would've gone so well with the Papa Corn thing to show that Gabriel used to be a decent dad.

In Representation in Felix's little theatre-kid play, he described Gabriel's clothes as "clothes so magnificent that they revealed the beauty of anyone who wore them" (12:57). In that case, we can assume he has a fashion ideology similar to Marinette's: fashion is meant to let people express themselves. But we see that that ideology has changed in Pretension, when Gabriel and Marinette talk over pancakes... Gabriel says, "Life is like fashion. You think you have a choice but all you have is the illusion of choice, and I decide what choices are given to you. [...] Fashion is a product, a marketing strategy, an industry that relies on an uninterrupted trend renewal that forces you to either throw away everything you have and buy more or, worse, be out of fashion" (6:41). That last bit is after Marinette describes fashion as understanding people and creating things that will help them express themselves, which, again, seems to be the old ideology Gabriel had.

That being said, Gabriel's old clothes for Adrien should have reflected that ideology rather than totally... contradicting it??? Forcing him into that marketable clothing would have reflected his current ideology of fashion. Now, what pushed him to that new idea? I think that's probably when he wanted to start making more money. Specifically, I think he would have locked in on designing fashion as "a product" when Emilie started to get sick and he was going on all those trips to find cures. It couldn't have been cheap and it would make sense he would lock in for that... and we also know he wasn't a fashion millionaire before since, again in Felix's little play, we find out that he was still poor when he and Emilie married. He could have started corrupting the idea of fashion before Emilie started getting sick, but really I don't think that would happen for no reason unless Emilie had that same ideology. That's completely up in the air, though I doubt the show would go for that complex take of "Adrien's mom actually wasn't that great either" with its Marinette Mary Sue problem and all... I'm not sure what her ideology on fashion would be though, or if she even has a solid view of it. Anyway, I really think Gabriel would have only picked up on that ideology to make bank to try and save Emilie, and I think Adrien would be one of the last things he'd turn into a product since he's an extension of Emilie.

So yeah!! I think the shirt should have been different. A hint of the past where Gabriel treated Adrien as more of a kid instead of a product and those old ideologies he used to have, since one of the huge points of his character is that he used to be some normal, assumedly reasonable guy, but he went off the deep-end. It also would've went well with the Papa Corn bit. And it would have shown how his life was better with Emilie, even if it was something as subtle as wardrobe choice. AND (last and) given that little timeline of him having to lock in on designs in a desperate attempt to save his wife!!!

And likeeee... how cute would a matching frog onesie be????

rant over!!!

i have a lot more thoughts i have to post on the earlier series and even the current series but i may go back through and rewatch to give those!!! but these thoughts stand on their own so i decided to write it down

obligatory thank you to my roomie @baldisfan for getting me into mlb and watching this ep together 💞💞💞and for letting me yap this idea to her as she lets me yap all my ideas tehe

anyway would love 2 hear ur guys' thoughts on this too!!!

[existence-is-a-pain87]

Hiyo! Just trying to write something a bit new so I don't get burnt out on all my requests, hehe.

Basically, this is They Hear You, except the MC is the Trailblazer from HSR.

Why? Why not?

Also this HSR AU differs from the canon HSR (not just because Dandy's World exists in this) because the Trailblazer gets new forms on each Path and gets to tread on more Paths.

It's criminal Dan Heng gets an Imbibitor Lunae form and March 7th gets a new outfit for the Hunt Path while TB gets nothing but a new weapon.

#LETTBGETNEWOUTFITSHOYO

They Listen Across the Cosmos

Yandere!Self-Aware!Dandy's World x Trailblazer!Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors

--☆☆☆☆☆--

They knew of life existing all over the cosmos.

It's why hearing you felt all the more special.

You weren't just some random person. You were someone who lost all their memories, awoken on a space station, and joined the Astral Express.

You were a Trailblazer.

And for some reason, you adored playing Dandy's World.

Like, to the point you were usually playing it in your free time.

"Seriously? Are you playing that game again? Haven't you only been around for like... a week?"

That voice, they soon learned, belonged to your friend March.

"Yeah, and? It's fun and I like the characters. Who cares?"

You were often so calm. Even as situations got stressful, you always remained casual.

"...guess there are worse hobbies to have..."

"Mhm. Oh, hey, you wanna play a round with me?"

"Hm... sure! If you like it, it's probably fun!"

...

They were going to make sure you would be the last one standing in that round.

--☆☆☆--

You had many friends.

From your companions on the Astral Express you had adventures with, to the friends you made upon the space station you awoke on.

You were quite popular.

They didn't like this popularity distracted you from playing more often.

And, apparently, you were also quite beautiful.

There were so many things about you, so is it surprising that in this universe, Vee was even quicker to connect to your phone's microphone?

And, with some convincing from Brightney and a fight with Shelly and Dandy, she allowed the others to listen in?

That's when they heard you on your adventures.

They heard you go to Belobog, be betrayed by Cocolia, be impaled by that lance.

Then they heard you rise like a pheonix, blessed by a cosmic being known as an Aeon to tread on the Path of Preservation.

They heard you defeat Cocolia. They heard the Architects ally with you. They heard the celebrations.

They heard you help fix up a museum. Befriend more people.

You were quite the hero, Galatic Baseballer.

They heard you go to the Xianzhou Loufu thanks to that Kafka woman. They heard you meet Tingyun. They heard you travel about, meeting more people.

They heard you fight Kafka. Then, interrogate her. They heard how she seemed to know you, and the future thanks to that Script.

They heard you fight beings of the Abundance. Grow close with Dan Shu, only to ultimately be betrayed as she tried to turn you immortal by tricks.

They heard you get betrayed as Tingyun was revealed to be dead. They heard you kill Dan Shu with you own baseball bat.

They heard the cries you let out that night, the first time they ever heard you break down.

They heard you stay behind. Meet back up with Dan Heng. Fight against Yanqing with Blade.

They heard Blade give you a sword, but not what he whispered in your ear.

They heard you fight against Phantylia and win.

They heard you go to Herta Space Station again. Meet Ruan Mei. Face off against the monster she created and killed it before it itself would die after nearly losing your mind to the Propagation.

They heard you make cat cakes.

Sprout and Cosmo would love to make more with you if you'd like. Why shouldn't there be toon cat cakes?

They heard you leave to Penacony. Heard you when you woke up, shell-shocked from a dream.

They heard you meet Robin and Sunday, and when you entered the Land of Dreams. They heard you meet Firefly, heard you meet Sampo. Heard you meet Acheron and someone they could not hear named Misha. They heard you bring Misha along and grow close with him before he seemed to leave.

They heard you go to Firefly's spot. They heard you fall in love with her.

Why? Why her and not them?

They heard you meet Sparkle. Face off against Something Unto Death. Meet Black Swan. Unite with the Astral Express. Travel with Black Swan, finding Acheron again.

They heard it when you watched Firefly be impaled. They heard your choked sob, the way Black Swan had to mute the memory to protect you.

They heard you fight SAM. They heard you talk with Aventurine, and finding Robin's body.

They heard you continue your journey, facing off against Aventurine when he threatened you and Penacony.

They heard Acheron unsheathe her sword. They heard how you told Aventurine to fight for his future, before being taken away.

They heard you gasp when Firefly revealed herself as SAM.

They heard you go to Dreamflux Reef, meeting up with the rest of the Express. They heard you participate in the gameshow.

They heard you debate with Sunday over your views. They heard him dismiss you.

They heard you meet Misha again, for him to be Mikhail. They heard you share a tearful goodbye as he gifted you his hat and watch.

They heard you take a stand against Sunday. How you lost.

How you were woken up from the Dream. How you stood against him once more.

They heard when you caught the gaze of the Harmony and defeated Sunday.

They heard you do so many things.

They heard of the Stellaron within you.

--☆☆☆--

You went on so many journeys, but all of them were so dangerous.

Yes, some adventures were peaceful, but they heard all the times you nearly lost.

If it wasn't for the Stellaron and your ability to catch the gaze of Aeons, you'd be dead.

So they made their move. Slowly, of course.

Slowly revealing themselves as sentient. Slowly trying to get you to spend more time playing, less time Trailblazing.

They got annoyed quickly when you didn't care. You weren't tempted.

You were too much of a Trailblazer, always kept pushing forward.

But they kept pushing too. And preparing to get to you in any way they could.

Even if it meant breaching the game, they would do it.

They would do it all for you.

--☆☆☆--

The final straw came after you forgave Sunday and refused to leave his side after you met him on his path of redemption.

Sure, in your time since Penacony, you nearly died several times during the Wardance Festival aboard the Xianzhou Loufu and would be dead if not for the remains of the Pemanence blessing you. You nearly lost your sanity during your time at the Paperfold University until the Voracity let you literally eat your way through a memetic virus.

But when you met Sunday again? Instantly saw through his disguise? And when you insisted on joining him since you spent so much time with Tingyun? And then you forgave him and convinced him to join the Astral Express and share a room with you?!

That was too far. You needed them around to help you out.

Your adventures were going to be too much for you at this rate!

Good thing Vee's managed to figure out Aether Editting...

--☆☆☆--

It was surprisingly easy to breach from the game.

And when they saw you? Fully and completely you?

They were thrilled.

You were finally right in front of them!

You were shocked. Especially when they tried reaching for you.

You panicked.

Why are you panicking? Shouldn't you be happy? It's your favorite characters in the real world with you!

...

Stop running.

...

Stop trying to get them to stop loving you.

You're theirs.

THEIRS.

You don't love them?

Oh! Haha! Don't you worry!

Because they'll make you love them!

They love you. Just accept this.

C'mon Trailblazer.

They heard you across the cosmos already, let them have a chance to win your heart.

[tousey-mousey]

I think it is very important that Carpenter is:

Not middle-aged, but unable to be said to have ever been a Young Woman. To my mind, she's about 35 but physically appears in her mid-40s, weighed down by the things she's done, both chosen and forced.

Not particularly pretty. You could call her handsome, but she's not someone who'd be regarded as "beautiful". She says she doesn't care, she usually doesn't care, but sometimes she looks at her reflection and feels a stabbing pain that she's not even allowed to dream, in the privacy of her own head, that she could have had something else because who'd love a face like that? Of course, the real answer is "many, many people", but... that's not what the hurtful little parts of you say in that moment, is it?

Not particularly badly-dressed, but rather cheaply dressed. She wears clothes that were available at the time, for practicality and efficiency, because you can't walk around naked. That's not to say she doesn't want nicer things... but she's never been allowed to have them, and so she doesn't have them even when she, nominally, could have had them.

Thin, but not slim. She's the kind of thin that you get from constantly-empty plates and never being allowed to get comfortable. She has the look of someone who has once been a healthy weight, but isn't now and hasn't been for a while. Bony, gaunt, gangly could all be applied to her.

Looking like she doesn't trust love anymore. She doesn't trust happiness. She doesn't trust selflessness. Anyone who gives her something is assumed to be lying. She also deeply loathes this about herself: she wishes so badly for a love that, when given to her, she rejects without thought or hesitation.

Carpenter is what you get when you take a 12-year-old girl raised in a house that is loving but unkind, and then you strip the love from her. You let her grow up having known love but had it taken from her, having known kindness but always know it to be conditional, and having learnt that there is nothing you have that They cannot take away. You teach her, slowly and painfully, that people who say "they can't take our freedom" are lying to themselves because, when you take someone out of the cage, they will build themselves new bars and dream a new jailer to keep them locked up instead.

Carpenter is what you get when that person is promised things she knows you cannot deliver, is promised things she knows can't possibly be real, is promised things she cannot live without. And so, knowing it is a lie, knowing it is a trick, knowing it can never happen...

...She does it anyway. Because they can take our freedom, and because at least this way you know you didn't create your own bars. At least this way, the gods you're cursing are the ones you chose.

Isn't this great? We each get to choose the thing that eats us!

Started listening to the silt verses and I'm normal about her.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello! Happy Wednesday

I loved the birthday fic so much 😢 it was the perfect level of both hurt and comfort.

If you have any interest, I would love to see a continuation of this fic! It could be a year later, magnus' birthday, outside pov on the fic, magnus handling the next izzy "suggestion" in a different way, etc etc

Really just anything!!! Thanks 💛💛💛

it has been quite a bit, here is the birthday fic for those wondering. this is uh, no angst in this one. just Magnus being Magnus ^_^ and Alec being his Alexander.

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

-

the beauty of knowing

Magnus is prepared this year.

Alexander is understandably wary but the thing is, Magnus knows what he’s doing now and Alexander trusts him.

Despite the failure of last year and Magnus’ desperate — and successful — attempts to salvage it.

When Isabelle shows up with her big pleading doe-eyes and an invitation to brunch, Magnus goes along with it, knowing this time just what he's getting himself into.

When she starts talking to him about Alec and his birthday and how to fix the disaster of the year before and shows him practically a file of plans that she’s concocted, he goes along with it.

All of it.

Including the part where he lets her talk him into something big and grand and extravagant.  

“Just so long as it doesn’t start too early, Isabelle. I have my own plans for Alexander before you 

Because Magnus is just as petty as he is bold and he’s been waiting an entire year to pay Isabelle back.

True, Magnus made his own mistakes but they were ones born from misunderstandings and worry and personal anxiety, not over-bearance and assuming one is correct even after being proven wrong.

“I’ll leave the planning to you and Jace, you leave distracting Alexander to me. I’ll ensure he’s in a much better mood this time.”

Magnus winks and portals away and very loudly sighs, dramatic as he steps through into the living room and collapses on top of Alexander.

Who is rather conveniently, still where Magnus left him.  Even if he’s finished the carafe of juice, the plate of the snacks and what looks like the first book in the series Magnus introduced him to last night.

“Good brunch?” 

Alexander is wary, not because Magnus met with Isabelle, but because his birthday is near. While they haven’t outright spoken about since they resolved it all between them, the year before hangs over them still.

“Oh, it was splendid. Delicious food, bottomless mimosas and I even got in a few moments of explaining we already had plans. Isabelle listened to them for a bit, pretended to like them but thought we should save them for a future empty weekend and showed me a file of what her plans are. To be honest it sounds more like an excuse to create a distraction for herself, Simon and Jace. Through you and because of my connections.”

Alexander blinks at him and sighs but motions for him to continue as Magnus gets comfy on his handsome and rather sturdy but not exactly squishy shadowhunter.

“So I told her to do whatever she liked, as long as she’s in charge of the planning of it. I even offered her an empty room at Pandemonium.”

“And.” 

Because Alexander is frowning, but not in frustration because he thinks Magnus is making the same mistake over again. But in curiosity because he can’t quite figure out the angle Magnus is pulling yet.

But it thrills Magnus to see how much Alexander trusts and knows him.

“And she’ll have a lovely party with plenty of people to mingle with. Unfortunately, due to conflicts in schedule, the High Warlock of Brooklyn and Head of the Institute will be unavailable and stuck elsewhere, unable to make an appearance.”

Alexander blinks at him — slowly.

Then a grin, warm and soft and so very sweet spreads across his face.

“Just pretend you have no idea that she’s planning a surprise and I’ll continue to pretend that I plan on surprising you and Isabelle is the one who will actually be surprised.” Magnus boops Alexander’s nose with a spark of magic and presses harder against his boy.

Alexander’s laugh is a delightful victory and Magnus resolves to be even pettier in the future, because he will do anything and everything to protect this quiet intimacy between them.

“So just us? And what we want to do this year? No interruptions?" Alexander is practically vibrating with contented excitement and it only works to further enthuse Magnus.

“Just us because it’s what you want. This year and every year. Even if someday you don’t wish for me to join you, I will still ensure your birthday is how you want it. Even if it means portaling you somewhere for just your own perusal.”

“Really?” Alexander’s amusement turns to sheer incredulity. “You? Magnus, would just let me go somewhere like that? All by myself. Without you?”

Magnus hesitates, because perhaps he is promising more than he can follow through with and Alexander laughs again and kisses his hair and then tries to contort to kiss his cheek and nearly topples them both off of the couch. 

“Fine, I’ll portal you to somewhere deserted and leave you mostly alone while keeping an eye on you with magic. Fair?” 

Magnus can’t help the way he grumbles about it because really, he’s trying to work with Alexander here and all he gets is laughter. 

And another kiss and Alexander finally shifts in a way that means Magnus is sprawled out across him rather than trying to wedge between him and the couch.  There is magick for an easier time but Magnus has missed his boy and the feel of their bodies touching.

“That sounds far more reasonable and yet I don’t see me wanting you to make plans like that anytime soon, if ever. So then, the real plans?”

Magnus is gleefully delighted because, after they’d talked about it and as a show of trust, Alexander had decided to simply tell Magnus a series of things he’d most likely enjoy and let him plan it.

With veto power before it actually happened, this first time.

Considering how Alexander’s birthday went last year, Magnus is fine with that very reasonable concession.

“At first, I was thinking we could go back to that sushi restaurant we went to, the one where you had fatty tuna for the first time.” Alexander hums, something pleased but not necessarily completely interested. Which is good because Magnus has different ideas now, “however we also go there at least once every three months.”

Alexander presses a kiss to his cheek in fond laughter because yes, they do on Alec's request.

“So instead, I’ll have an order of all of your favorites from various places. Ready to be snapped over at a moment's notice or craving. Furthermore, I’ve secured four days of leave with Mirai where all of your duties will be taken over by your team and Ragnor has cleared up one of my cottages in Ireland and stocked it with the necessities. All we’ll need to do is portal over. You'll literally be unreachable and while Isabelle thinks we'll be portaling in, alas. You shall be in my dastardly clutches and untracable.”

Alexander pauses from where he’s pressing another kiss to Magnus’ cheek, “you cleared four days off of my work schedule. With Mirai so that I didn’t have to be involved?”

For a moment Magnus wonders if he's overstepped in this particular aspect and then he’s been rolled and pinned to the couch.

All of Alexander’s earlier clumsiness is gone as he looks at Magnus with wide, awed eyes.

“You got me time off, without me having to spend hours fighting for it with the Clave?”

Magnus nods and that's about all he manages before Alexander is kissing him.

Eagerly, ravenously, as if Magnus is everything he needs to survive in life.

So therefore.

Intervening in between Alexander in the Clave is not a problem for his boy.

Not at all.

-

AN:

Magnus and Alec have had a lot of conversations and one of them is also Magnus is allowed to take petty and social vengeance on Izzy and Jace for taking advantage of his trust in them and his anxiety at not knowing what Alexander liked properly or if shadowhunters had traditions he might miss etc.

magnus is very proud of himself and alec is very delighted by how clever Magnus is. there is a lot of mutual competency appreciation here.

yes they'll go out exploring and portaling across the world, but every time they go to sleep they'll end up somewhere just the two of them, growing more familiar with it by day with open hills of green, no demons or shadowhunters or concrete in sight. just magical creatures, a half-wild garden and a cottage made from magic.

[mapofsouthdakota]

Maps rambles - Floating Floraletter

Or: Feral Feelings, Flushed Face, Full-body Freakout

Floating Floraletter has officially delivered the most heart-wrenching moment of my entire gaming career.

I’m so happy. I’m so sad. I’m emotionally shredded and spiritually uplifted. Thank you to this game for ruining me in the most beautiful way possible.

10/10 would cry again.

I’m literally crying as I write this, so if the writing’s a mess. I apologize, but also… blame him.

✉️ The letters

First of all, the audacity this man has, leaving us these letters like it’s fine. AND THEY JUST KEEP GETTING WORSE. What do you mean I’ll think about you when I make your stupid jam after you’re DED??? I think about you all the time, Caleb!!! And that jam? It’s gonna be 99% saltwater because I’m crying into it like a broken Victorian widow. (Also we know he already wrote us love letters and hid them in our backpack, just to remove them later ommmggg)

He LITERALLY tells us in one letter to stay away from guys who make us cry!! Caleb, what do you MEAN by that?! You ARE the guy who makes me cry and I physically cannot stay away from you

Jesus Christ, Caleb.

💊Yeayeayea give this man some pills

Ouuuhhhfff, Infold, I curse you!!! Thank you so much for reminding us that our boy is just a little mentally unstable… as if we could ever forget(:

It’s just so easy to get swept up in all the genki vibes and overlook the fact that he’s a deeply complex, emotionally layered man.

👋🏻 Goodbye I SAID NO

WHEN can we just be with this man already?! The yearning! The constant thrill-seeking! CAN HE JUST QUIT HIS JOB ALREADY?!?! The casual “oops I got blown up again” while leaving us alone—it’s killing me. At this point, can we just go full yandere and lock him in a cage?? I mean seriously. Enough is enough, Caleb. Stay.

🙂‍↕️ Final simp full send

At this point, I’d sell my kidneys, my liver, and personally hand over my heart for this fictional man.

Just. Look at him.

This digital creature is the most mind-boggling thing ever created. Tell me I’m wrong. You can’t.

I’m about to quote Sleep Token like it’s scripture:

He’s not acid nor alkaline,

Caught between black and white,

Not quite either day or night,

He’s perfectly misaligned.

And I am perfectly unwell.

I barely remain,

Maps 🫶🏻

[edenfenixblogs]

Date: 4/21/25

Note:

Hoo boy. I’m gonna stay out of this history section here, because A) people are covering that in more detail than I have the patience for today and B) sometimes you gotta pick your battles on posts like these that are steeped in a broth of misinformation.

So I’m choosing to focus on the whole “Jews killed Jesus” thing here. The video above is great, but there are a few things I’d like to add or provide more insight into as well.

1. First of all, no they didn’t. “The Jews” did not kill Jesus. The Romans did.

2. Judas was A Jewish man. He betrayed Jesus by turning him in to the Romans. In order for Jesus to become the Christian martyr you all worship, someone must have betrayed him. That person was Jewish because Jesus was Jewish and his social circle was comprised primarily of Jews. Everyone he was close with was Jewish. You don’t get betrayed by strangers. Betrayal denotes intimacy.

3. It’s weird that you all focus on the idea that Judas betrayed him rather than that the Roman’s killed him and created the conditions for that betrayal in the first place.

4. It’s weird that you focus on Judaism as in any way relevant to the betrayal of Judas. There are many things that motivate betrayal, but I have never heard of anyone claiming that Judas betrayed Jesus as a direct result of his identity as a Jew. Judas, it seems, was just a dickhead who happened to be Jewish.

5. There were many Jewish people in Jesus’ life who were Jewish and who loved him. Like…his MOTHER. His “earthly” father. The vast majority of his friends. Literally all of his 12 apostles. Some of whom wrote the New Testament you all claim to base your theological identity around. It is absolutely bizarre that instead of taking the Jewishness of these people into account, you focus exclusively on the Judaism of the one you hate the most.

6. Jesus died for your sins, right? Jesus died for all of our sins, right? The moment he died, wasn’t the world supposedly cleansed of sin and all were forgiven? I’m not super clear on how sin works after the crucifixion for you all, but I also don’t care a great deal about that. What I care about is that the whole concept of Christ dying for our sins is central to all of Christianity and has been for two thousand years at this point. This is very much the thing that all Christians want us to know, right? Jesus died for our sins and that is a big, beautiful, and meaningful thing. It was a sacrifice G-d himself made. G-d allowed the sins of the world to die on the cross with his son, and because of that we should all worship Jesus and do our best to avoid sin. And in return for following the path Jesus died to provide for humanity, every single from before Jesus took his last breath on that cross is cleansed. Every murder. Every betrayal. Every rape. Every abuse and theft and cruelty and all manor of crime and horror. All of them. That’s the whole point, right? So tell me why YOU think you know better than JESUS CHRIST OF NAZARETH about this. You’re telling me that you have secret knowledge that every sin in the history of humanity was forgiven except for Judas’s? And tell me why you think that Judas’s Judaism is somehow relevant to that? Why? Is it because you think Jews are inherently evil? That seems like a you problem. Jesus forgave Judas, and he’s the one who got nailed to the cross so he’s in a better position to assign blame than you—random antisemite a couple thousand years later. If Jesus died for your sins, then he did for Judas’ too. You don’t get to ignore that because you hate the Big Bad Jew.

7. If you’re Catholic, the Pope declared in 1965 that the Jews are not collectively responsible for Jesus’ death. Isn’t the Pope supposed to be a direct mouthpiece for G-d on earth? So you’re ignoring Jesus, his dad, and the voice of G-d on earth just because you want to keep hating Jews so much? That doesn’t seem very Christian of you. It’s almost like you care more about hating Jews than about worshiping Jesus.

8. If you are a person who considers themselves Christian and insists on blaming Jews for the death of Jesus, then you have failed at step one of Christianity, and I—a Jew, the creature you most revile—know more about Jesus and Christendom than you. And I know for a fact that I know more about Christianity than you know about Judaism, Jewish people, our history, or our culture.

9. If you are a person who considers themselves a Christian and you insist upon blaming Jews for the death of Christ, then you are engaging in a pattern of hatred that has gotten Jews killed since the moment your savior died for your sins. And I want to be clear that as long as you continue to blame Jews for the death of Jesus, then according to your own religion: Jesus forgives Judas, but he doesn’t forgive you.

10. Not that it matters, since you clearly don’t care about Jews or our beliefs, but we don’t forgive you either. In order to be forgiven, you must apologize to us and make amends and change your ways. G-d will not forgive sins you do to your fellow man. You are responsible for the pain you inflict on this earth, and you are responsible for healing it.

So, to recap, if you blame Jews for the death of Jesus: Jesus doesn’t forgive you. Jesus forgives Judas, but not you. Jesus forgives the Romans who actually crucified him, but he doesn’t forgive you. You are contradicting your G-d’s law by continuing to accuse Jews of the sin of murdering Jesus.

You are contradicting the voice of G-d on earth by continuing to accuse Jews of murdering Jesus and being responsible for his death.

You are denying the core belief of Christianity by insinuating in any way that Jews must carry the sin of Jesus death.

As long as you continue to believe that Jews are to blame for the sin of Jesus’ death, your G-d doesn’t forgive you, and neither does mine, and neither do my people.

You are using your religion based around forgiveness as a cover for your own bigotry, and you are and will remain a sinner until you stop.

Have the day you deserve.

If you're actually trying to say that Jesus is Palestinian, or that he's from Palestine, you're getting a hardcover bible straight to the knees

He's known as Jesus of Nazareth

Nazareth. Which is in Israel

He's not Jesus of Gaza (i can't even use a more time accurate name because Palestine didn't even exist then)

Keep his name outta your mouth if you're gonna play stupid so well

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

The Velvet Underground - La Cave, Cleveland, Ohio, April 28, 1968

Happy Sweet Sister Ray Day! This high holy day for Velvet Underground fanatics is always worth celebrating. But today, on the 57th anniversary, it's especially worth celebrating because Mr. Charlie has unearthed an "extraordinary, previously uncirculated low generation source tape" of this legendary Jamie Klimek recording, which has been bootlegged in inferior quality for decades now.

We're still talking about an audience tape from 1968, of course, but I'm going to agree that "extraordinary" is the right word to use — there's a new clarity and crispness here that blows away any previous version I've heard. And that is great news, because "Sweet Sister Ray" is one of my favorite things in the world. Thank you, Mr. Charlie! And thank you to the late/great Jamie Klimek for bringing his gear to La Cave all those years ago and capturing this unbelievable performance.

In case you need a deeper dive, you can read my long essay "The Velvet Underground's Elusive 'Sweet Sister Ray'" after the jump ...

Recorded at a tiny subterranean Cleveland, OH club called La Cave in late April of 1968, “Sweet Sister Ray” isn’t exactly a song, per se. It’s a close-to-40-minute jam, a languid, endless boogie. The audience tape we can listen to all these years later is murky, but that feels appropriate. “Sweet Sister Ray” is nothing if not a murky experience. 

The journey kicks off with the band (most likely just Cale, Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison; drummer Maureen Tucker isn’t audible here) chugging steadily, slowly over a spare, spidery riff. It’s easygoing, like they have no particular place to go, though there’s an underlying tension and menace. Reed’s guitar spirals off into a more abstract direction for a bit, almost reminiscent of Roger McGuinn’s flights of fancy on “Eight Miles High.” You lean in. What exactly is going on?  Is the band just warming up? Is there even anyone (aside from the taper) in the club? Through the murk, a decidedly surreal atmosphere develops. The music continues at a morphine-drip pace, drifting and droning, with Morrison playing a nervier counterpoint to Reed’s laconic fretwork, Cale rattling around in the background. At some point around the half-hour mark, Cale switches over to keyboards, lending the proceedings a curiously magisterial feel, as Reed begins coaxing beautiful, simmering feedback from his amp. It’s as if some new genre of music is being invented on the spot.

Extended live improvisations were, of course, nothing new to the VU. The aforementioned Columbus, OH show in 1966 features two marathon performances, “Melody Laughter” and “The Nothing Song,” that showcase the band’s most adventurous, avant-garde leanings.  But those pieces were created to complement the extravagant multimedia overload of Andy Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable, with dancers, lights and films adding to the experience. La Cave might’ve had a light show, but it was undoubtedly low-tech. On this particular night in Cleveland, it was just the Velvet Underground, the small audience and “Sweet Sister Ray.”

We haven’t even mentioned that throughout the song, Reed has been stepping up to the mic from time to time to sing a few verses. The lyrics may be off-the-cuff (Reed was known for his ability to generate lyrics at will), but they’re not indecipherable. In fact, they might even tell a fairly cohesive story, a veritable prequel to the actual “Sister Ray,” as our titular protagonist watches a movie — “the weirdest movie I’ve seen in my days.”

Reed goes on to sing about a topic he was intimately familiar with: electroshock therapy. “All the vaseline on your forehead / makes you feel so nice,” he deadpans. “My hair stood on end / and I thought I’d been frozen with a knife.” It’s a thinly veiled slice of autobiography — Reed was subjected to electroshock as a teenager to curb his homosexual tendencies — where you’d least expect it. And the final lyrics feel even more hauntingly personal, if still oblique: “Just then I saw a hole in the ground / and I jumped right in ‘cause there was no one around.” Down the rabbit hole young Lou eagerly goes, to rock and roll, to Warhol, to the dangerous and thrilling dreamscapes of “Sister Ray” itself. Which is right where the rest of the Velvets join him back in Cleveland, as Moe Tucker finally ambles onstage and beings thumping out that unmistakable beat and they segue into what was likely an even wilder excursion. Alas, it’s at this point that the tape fades out …

So where did “Sweet Sister Ray” go after La Cave? There’s some indication that it was further refined and developed into “Sweet Rock And Roll,” a mythical lost VU number from the summer of ‘68. Lou’s old sparring partner Lester Bangs is mostly responsible for the legend, calling the performance he witnessed in San Diego, CA “the most incredible musical experiences” of his life. “It was built on the most dolorous riff imaginable, just a few scales rising and falling mournfully, somewhat like ‘Venus In Furs’ but less creaky, more deliberate and eloquent.” Bangs even quotes some of the lyrics, which fall into line with what Reed was singing a few months earlier in Cleveland: “Sweet Sister Ray went to a movie / The floor was painted red and the walls were green / ‘Ooooh,’ she cried / ‘This is the strangest movie I’ve ever seen.’”

Will we ever hear “Sweet Rock And Roll”? Probably not. But Sterling Morrison claimed that a tape of the show Bangs wrote about was made, but quickly added that it was “stolen that very night. Stolen within seconds, actually. As soon as it ended, it vanished, never to reappear on this earth.”

[himasgod]

LEONA X READER

Where you start to ask him to use his UM for you

Where Leona, always insecure and determined about the patheticness of his UM, begins to change after meeting you, an artist who creates glass and crystal figures, and asks him to use his UM to transform glass remains into sand

loved this one <3

Leona hated his Unique Magic. Always had.

Sure, people said it was impressive. The ability to dry anything, to strip it down until it crumbled to dust in your palm? Sounded like the kind of magic suited for a king. Ruinous. Untouchable.

But in practice? It was destructive. Useless. Unoriginal. All it ever did was reduce things into sand. Turn lush greenery into withered husks. Sap water from soil, drain warmth from food, crack even the air with its dryness.

He’d never found a good reason to use it unless he wanted something to disappear.

And Leona Kingscholar didn’t like being reminded that he was good at getting rid of things.

So when you first approached him about it, out of the blue and way too bold for someone who barely knew him, he looked up from the grass in the greenhouse with a deep, annoyed grunt.

“You want me to what, herbivore?”

You stood over him in that stupid art-stained apron you always wore, holding a cracked chunk of smoky, burnt glass in your gloved hands.

“I’m not asking you to blow anything up, geez,” you said lightly. “I just… need some sand.”

He squinted at you, ears twitching slightly. “What, the beach too far for you?”

You smiled. “Yeah, and your sand is better.”

He blinked. “Come again?”

“The sand you make. From your UM.”

You lifted the shard to show him its jagged edge.

“See, this one’s ruined. The shape’s off, and it’s scorched. But if I grind it down, melt it again, I could maybe salvage it. But if you could just—turn it back into sand, I could get a cleaner rebatch.”

Leona sat up slowly.

“You want me to use my Unique Magic… on your garbage?”

You didn’t flinch at the edge in his tone.

“I want to try turning it into something new.”

Leona almost told you to piss off. Almost.

But you looked at that broken glass with such purpose in your eyes, like you believed something beautiful was still hiding in it.

And for some reason—maybe the sun was too hot, or he was too tired—he flicked his hand lazily and muttered under his breath.

King’s Roar.

The shard crumbled instantly, dissolving into a fine, pale gold powder. Clean. Almost sparkling in the sunlight.

You crouched to scoop it into a container with a small, satisfied hum.

“That’s perfect,” you said, like you’d just watched a flower bloom.

He raised a brow. “It’s just sand.”

“No, it’s potential.”

Something shifted in his chest at that. Uncomfortable. Hot.

You came back the next day. And the day after that.

Always with cracked glass or ruined sculptures.

Always asking, softly but with certainty, “Can I borrow your magic again?” And Leona always acted annoyed, always rolled his eyes like he was being inconvenienced, but he never said no.

And eventually, you started bringing things back to show him.

Bowls blown in spirals of color, where specks of sand were like desert stars.

Sculptures that caught sunlight just right, making tiny rainbows on the greenhouse walls.

Or delicate little trinkets—a lion’s paw, a flower blooming in a dish—that you swore were just “practice,” but he caught you smiling when he lingered on them too long.

“Couldn’t’ve done this without you,” you said once, holding a jar filled with a swirling, amber-hued hourglass.

“Your sand’s smoother than anything I could get from crushing it myself. It melts cleaner. Glows brighter.”

Leona grunted. “You’re the one doing all the work. I’m just breaking things.”

“You’re not breaking anything,” you said. “You’re giving me a chance to start over.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Because no one had ever said that before. Not to him.

Weeks passed like that. And slowly, Leona started to wait for you. Subtly. Not that he’d admit it.

He’d lie on the grass and tilt one ear toward the greenhouse entrance, pretending to nap while secretly hoping for your footsteps.

He found himself pocketing little broken pebbles on walks, wondering if you could use them. Once, he even caught himself thinking about what kind of glass he would be, if you ever sculpted him.

(Probably dark. Sharp. A piece that refused to be molded.)

One afternoon, you showed up carrying a bundle in cloth.

“This one’s for you,” you said, unwrapping it.

“I made it from the first batch of sand you gave me.”

It was a glass lion—small enough to fit in his palm, all sweeping mane and proud curve. Not flashy, but warm, like the sun on stone.

Leona stared. His mouth went dry.

“…Why?”

You tilted your head.

“Because I wanted to. Because I thought you deserved something that stayed, instead of just slipping through your fingers.”

That—hit something. Deep and buried. Something fragile.

He closed his hand around the glass lion slowly.

“…You’re weird, you know that?”

You smiled. “You’ve mentioned it.”

But when you turned to leave, he spoke again, quietly.

“Hey… next time you’ve got something to ruin, come find me.”

You paused, a little smile blooming on your face. “Yeah?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Might as well make some use outta this busted magic, huh?”

Your voice was soft. “It’s not busted, Leona. It just needed the right hands to show what it could become.”

His tail flicked.

For the first time in years, Leona Kingscholar didn’t think of his magic as something to be ashamed of.

He thought of sand in your hands. And glass glowing gold.

And he felt—maybe—for once—

Useful.