Sloane — *Parody*
@sloanerp.bsky.social
400 followers 730 following 620 posts
Parody/Role play account for OCs. AI media is mine. Not associated with any FCs. Just me, weaving threads & getting way too invested in fictional people. “Sloane & The Hayes Brothers” #WovenByMC #SoloSL #NSFW #ContentWarnings
Posts Media Videos Starter Packs
Pinned
sloanerp.bsky.social
One woman. Three brothers.
And a love story that doesn’t ask permission.
Grief met grit. Healing found heat.
Now it’s family—by choice, by fire, by every stolen breath that said stay.
Not your usual happy ending.
It’s better.

#TheHayesEffect #BuiltFromTheAshes
sloanerp.bsky.social
sloanerp.bsky.social
🧵 No One Ever Said

It was just a question. A casual, playful thing. But the answer didn’t come with a smile. It didn’t come at all.

#TheHayesEffect
#BuiltFromTheAshes
sloanerp.bsky.social
The vow was already made, and they both knew it: every birthday from here on out, these three little girls—their newest sisters—would never be forgotten.

🧵✔️
sloanerp.bsky.social
—to open presents wrapped just for them, to feel celebrated simply for existing. Because sisters should always know they’re worth celebrating.

Her eyes found Bowie’s across the flour-dusted counter. The older girls didn’t speak, didn’t have to. One look was enough.
sloanerp.bsky.social
Stevie’s smile stayed steady, but inside she ached. She had asked the question like it was nothing, never imagining the answer could cut this deep. Now all she could think about was making sure these three girls would one day know what it felt like to blow out candles with people cheering too loud—
sloanerp.bsky.social
Bowie’s throat tightened. They didn’t believe her yet—she could see it in their eyes—but for the first time since the girls had arrived, she caught the smallest flicker of hope. And she swore to herself, right then, she’d make good on every word. Sisters deserved nothing less.
sloanerp.bsky.social
The kitchen stayed quiet for a breath, the kind that stretched long enough to feel like something shifting. Phaídra glanced at Anya. Anya glanced at Lyra. And Lyra, with flour on her cheek, whispered almost to herself, “Cake…and balloons…”
sloanerp.bsky.social
And a whole kitchen full of chaos just for you.”

Phaídra blinked like she wasn’t sure if she believed it.

Anya asked, “Even if we don’t remember the real day?”

Bowie didn’t hesitate. “Especially then.”
sloanerp.bsky.social
Bowie stepped away from the oven and wiped her hands on her jeans before she crouched down in front of them.

“Well,” she said, voice warm but certain, “then we’ll pick new ones. Together. And next time your birthdays come around, you’ll get cake. Balloons. Bad singing.
sloanerp.bsky.social
Anya picked up the cutter again, tracing its edge with her fingertip. “No one ever told us what day it was.”

Even Lyra was quiet now, blinking slowly like she was still trying to understand what it meant—not to be left out, but to have never been counted in.
sloanerp.bsky.social
Stevie’s breath caught. Just slightly. But the smile stayed.

“You’ve never had a birthday party?”

Phaídra shrugged. Not defiant. Just matter-of-fact. “I don’t think so. Maybe when we were really little. But we don’t remember.”
sloanerp.bsky.social
Phaídra’s hands slowed, her smile fading around the edges. Anya dropped the cookie cutter in her hand, eyes shifting sideways like she was trying to gauge if it was safe to answer. And Lyra—sweet, soft Lyra—tilted her head and looked up at Stevie, her voice quiet but clear.

“What’s a birthday?”
sloanerp.bsky.social
It was the kind of question that should’ve made the room louder. The kind kids usually answered with countdowns and cake flavors and stories about pony rides.

But this time, the room went still.

Not heavy.

Just…still.
sloanerp.bsky.social
Still, their shoulders stayed tight, as if they were braced for rules they didn’t know yet.

Stevie leaned against the pantry door, licking a spoon and grinning. “So when’s your birthday?” she asked, light and easy. “We’ve gotta plan something good now that you’re here with us.”
sloanerp.bsky.social
—but their voices stayed careful, testing the edges of what was allowed in this new house.

It had only been a week. They were learning, slowly, that raised voices here didn’t mean danger. That laughter didn’t get you sent away.
sloanerp.bsky.social
All three girls were crowded on stools at the kitchen island, their small legs swinging above the floor.

Lyra leaned forward with her hands sunk deep into dough she wasn’t supposed to be touching, while Phaídra and Anya bickered softly over cookie cutters—rainbow or hearts—
sloanerp.bsky.social
The kitchen smelled like brown sugar and warm vanilla, and someone had spilled flour down the front of the dishwasher. The kind of mess that would’ve earned sharp words somewhere else—but here, nobody raised their voice.
sloanerp.bsky.social
🧵 No One Ever Said

It was just a question. A casual, playful thing. But the answer didn’t come with a smile. It didn’t come at all.

#TheHayesEffect
#BuiltFromTheAshes
sloanerp.bsky.social
sloanerp.bsky.social
🧵 Lap Full of Proof

She didn’t ask. Didn’t wait for an invitation. Just grabbed a spoon, a yogurt, and the place she’d already decided was hers.

#TheHayesEffect
#BuiltFromTheAshes
sloanerp.bsky.social
Because one day, maybe years from now, when Anya doubts how far she’s come—or when Thorne forgets how much he’s become—Sloane will have proof that this moment existed.

That love was already there.

Even before they knew what to call it.

🧵✔️
sloanerp.bsky.social
She didn’t speak. Didn’t dare interrupt.

She simply lifted her phone—quiet, careful, no flash—and took the picture.

Not for social media. Not to show anyone else.

Just to keep.
sloanerp.bsky.social
And maybe it was.

Because sometimes, trust didn’t come with declarations.

Sometimes, it just sat in your lap with a yogurt cup and a quiet question disguised as comfort.

What neither of them noticed—at least not yet—was Sloane standing just beyond the doorway, frozen in place by the sight.
sloanerp.bsky.social
Thorne’s voice dropped as he responded, steady and low. “You don’t need permission to be held, Anya. Not here. Not with us.”

She studied him for a beat but didn’t answer. Just leaned in a little more, resting her head beneath his chin and taking another spoonful like the conversation was over.
sloanerp.bsky.social
“Letting me sit here,” she murmured. “You just…let me. You didn’t look surprised.” Her voice wasn’t accusing—it was thoughtful. Careful. Like she was still learning what safety felt like, and quietly taking notes in real time.
sloanerp.bsky.social
She ate slowly, quietly, the way kids do when they’re trying to appear more casual than they feel. Halfway through, she paused. Not dramatically—just long enough to glance up at him.

“You don’t make a big deal out of it,” she said softly.

Thorne blinked. “Out of what?”
sloanerp.bsky.social
Thorne didn’t breathe for a second. Then—very gently—wrapped his arm around her. Not tight. Just there. Present. Willing.

She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t speak.
But she didn’t move away, either.